Colt Cain (completed)

Escape

After being stripped of his signature motorcycle helmet and other belongings, Colt spent the night in the cell he was flung in. The drunk man was all over the place, shifting and fidgeting constantly like a trapped fly against a window. Colt barely moved. Any longer and he'd web the cell and eat him like a tarantula. He sat in one position for the whole day and morning after. During the night he leaned back and slept against the stone wall. After watching the now hungover man pee onto the seat of a metal toilet and stone floor for the seventh time, Colt decided he'd had more than served his sentence. He stood up to Dave's surprise, and shook the cell's door to get attention, revealing he wanted to speak to a detective. From what he could gather from the light from the barred window, it was lunch time, so any officers that weren't out were having lunch in the cafeteria, or had left to do so. Wherever they would be would be too inconvenient to put an instant and collective stop to him. He could get out in minutes, easy.

A woman in a beige coat approached him, sandwich in hand. She didn't seem too happy that she'd been called away. "Interrogation room," He demanded. "Now, if you want my associates, and more." He enticed her with an offer she couldn't refuse. Reluctantly, she had him released and put in a room, where she sat and handed him a pen and paper. She didn't leave that room. Kicking the table into her hips, and flipping it up to shove up against her chin, subsequently bashing the back of her head against the glass. The door unlocked, he slipped out and overpowered the guards and rushing closer officers with little to no effort. Returning to the corridor of cell's, he first unlocked his, exchanging each a nod of respect.

Being freed by just short of a friend, Dave slapped Colt on the back upon watching the cell door fly open. "Good shit, mate! I owe you!"
  "I know. Can you fight?"
  "Pfft, can I fight!? Can you fight, leather jacket?"
  "Can you use a gun?"
  "Nah, but I wouldn't mind learnin'." He looked up and down at Colt. "Where you pulling a gun out of, pal?"
"American officers carry guns." It was at this point Dave was sober enough to recognise Colt had a British accent and overlooked the nationality specification.

Proceeding from letting Dave free, he continued on to do the same for everyone else, essentially coercing a riot within the station. Colt at the lead, with Dave giddily on behind him, they  quickly moved along the corridor to the door, where a poor officer's head was sandwiched between Colt's hand and the door they'd just come through. Dave was given his baton and told to wait at the door to the main room where numerous detectives and officers alike had lunch and worked. Once a big enough armada had gathered at the door, criminal order a breach in which they more than happily went through with, bursting through the door and filling the room. He specifically asked they destroy as much of the computers as possible, leak into the evidence room and get rid of much as they could however they could. He was putting a lot of trust in some pretty basic criminals, a lot more than he liked. But he had more to do outside the station, he was sure they wanted to get back at those who'd arrested them. It was just convenient that he wanted all records of his existence erased, again.

Colt slipped around the side of the chaos and hugged the wall. He waited behind the first exit to let a pair of officers on a smoke break pass by him. Swiflty, with little to no sound, he showed off his hand-to-hand combat skills again by knocking both of them unconscious before they even knew he was there. The escapee looted them for a pair more guns to defend himself as he moved on. Eventually, he made it outside then broke into the nearest police cruiser, utilising officers' loot along the way to start it without hotwiring. He pulled out and drove away almost casually, the sirens on instantly so other cars would evacuate his way.

He'd continue for some time, but a tight tugging to his chest became too much to ignore. Pulling over to recover, it only got progressively worse. It was like he was winded, but concentrated on his wound; being squeezed of his oxygen, his lungs shrivelling up inside, his body sucking air from a hole in his chest like a vacuum. For an extensive time, he was gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching the steering wheel and stomping his boots on the floor violently. It became such a strain that he was sweating and coloured crimson in the face when he was relieved of his pain. He could finally relax, and felt like he deserved it. There was no way to put his physical relief into words. His chest fell heavy, but felt empty at the same time. It took a minute before he could think straight, and remind himself what it was. Even a master of murder like him could be hurt, maimed or killed. Colt Cain was no exception to a gunshot wound and was very lucky to have survived it. Luck was limited however, as the permanent damage he'd suffered meant that without an inhaler, another attack like that could be fatal. The more it deigned him that a low-life diamond thief turned on him, a nobody disabled him, living waste put his life on crutches. The brighter and bigger an uncontrollable roaring inferno exploded in his blackened soul. The thought of the four traitors living their best life churned his emotional state, the thought that they could often look back on the worst day of his life and laugh at him behind his back filled him to the brim with negative exhilaration, a high of murderous adrenaline that would last until retribution could be served.