There is a prison, somewhere out there, in the big, bad world. A secure prison, of stone walls and cold cells. The prison is cold in the winter. It's cold in the summer. Heck, it's cold here at every time of the year, don't question it.
Anyway, you might be wondering about the inmates. Why the lower sections can be freezing, the top section scorching hot, why only one human is needed to keep the prison going.
There are no human inmates in this prison. No, the prisoners here are on the more... somewhat immortal side. I use the word somewhat because while many of these creatures require no food, are virtually impossible to kill, they can indeed be killed. Honestly speaking though? You just don't want to go up against them.
There is a man. A Psychic. He's tall, wears a mask, long coat, bowler hat. This prison has always been one of the most well kept secrets in magical communities, but unfortunately, this man has rather... effective matters at getting information out of people.
The prison is a squat, concrete building. It's surrounded by powerful spells that distract normal, everyday humans from just stumbling on the prison. It's also surrounded by an electrical fence, there are two snipers in a nearby towns with their sights o. The only gate in the fence, which is itself guarded by two more sorcerers, each capable of calling backup. Lots and lots of backup. Oodles of backup, untold quantities of backup, amounts of backup as never seen before, backup that gives a whole new meaning to-
Ok. I think you get the idea.
An assassin runs quietly along the rooftop. Overhead, the silver moon glows softly in the dark sky. He reaches the edge of a building. One of dozens. Quickly, he walks down the wall, his sorcerous abilities allowing him move over the wall as though it were the floor. He's a Wallrunner. A good skill for an assassin. He sees the sniper. An easy target. Too fixated on the gate...
The sniper glances up.
Cursing internally, the assassin dodged a bullet from the silenced rifle. He drops off the wall, catches the top of the window and swings into the man. He snatches the man's rifle and shoots him with it. The door opens and the assassin leaps to the side to avoid the bullets that the woman is firing out of her pistol. He ducked behind a couch, keeps going as the bullets shredded the pillows. She clicks out of bullets and yanks out a second gun. He fires once and she flips over backward as the bullet hits her head.
The assassin gazes over the carnage. Then he coughs, chokes. He staggers to the couch and sags in it. He never wakes up.
Not too far away from that electrified fence, there is a group of men. One of the men is tied up and kneeling in front of another man, with a gun. And then there's the body of a third man. The Psychic. Inanimate. But as the life of the assassin in that faraway town drains away, his eyes open. He gets up. You see, one of the abilities of Psychics, besides occasionally seeing the future and telepathy and all that good stuff, is that they can take over people through physical contact.
"Please," whimpers the man who's tied up, "Don't. I want to live!" He clicks his fingers rapidly, trying to summon fire. A Blaze.
The Psychic doesn't answer. He clamps a hand on the Blaze's forehead. The man with the gun clamps a hand round the Blaze's mouth and gestures. The air shifts, and the man's screams never reach out into the night.
The process takes a while, but finally, the Psychic slumps. The tied up man jerks. Then, the man with the gun, the Gale, an air manipulator, slices through the ropes with a sharp blade of air.
The man gets to his feet. Doesn't say anything. Walks off.
The Gale sits down. Watches. In his hand, the gun gleams.
The Blaze, whose body has been taken over by the Psychic, walked swiftly toward the gate. He emerges from the cover of the forest.
One of the guards reaches for his gun, the other snatches out a radio. A fireball hits the radio, and it goes flying, sizzling. The first guard raises his gun, but the Blaze is too close, and he rips the gun from the man and shoots him with it. The other man snatches up his radio and gets a bullet in his head as well.
The Blaze calmly takes a keycard from the body of the first guard and opens the gate.
The Blaze steps into the prison. It is dark. He lights a flame in the palm of his hand, illuminating his surroundings. Cobblestone floor, cobblestone walls. Cold. Really cold. The Blaze reaches out with his senses, searching for a human sized heat source.
The lone Operator of the prisoner patrols the hallways slowly, trying to conserve energy. It's really disturbing and cold, here, even in the upper levels. It's even worse in the lower levels, where soft whispers float out from behind the doors and the chill sinks into your bones. In the upper levels, the heat was incredible, warping your perceptions of what was real. The Operator couldn't wait for his shift to be over. When he'd first been roped into this job, he'd been so excited. So stupid. He hasn't seen anything out of the ordinary for all these years- and likely never will.
A man steps out from around a corner.
The Operator blinked in shock, then his hand begins to glow with energy. A Blaster. A sorcerer that threw energy. His jaw looked weak. His stance told that he didn't know how to fight.
All this the Psychic who had possessed the Blaze's body registered in the space of a heartbeat. The Blaze stepped forward, punched the Blaster in his weak chin, swept his legs out from under him. When the man landed on the floor, the Blaze calmly reached down, picked up his head, and slammed it against the floor. He took the man's key. So simple. This prison's secrecy had been its great strength, closely followed by the security. He grabbed the man's head and picked it up again.
"Are you conscious?" asked the Blaze, the words sounding strange to himself. The man groaned. "Good. I need your voice to open a door. If you do not comply, I will make you scream. You are going to die, but if you defy me you will scream for days before you die. Will you do as I say?"
The Blaster nodded.
Thy descended into the lower levels via an elevator.
"As I understand it, the lowest levels house the most... dangerous individuals, correct?" asked the Blaze. The Blaster nodded.
The two of them walked down the corridor. It was icy cold. And silent. The Blaster had never been to this level. The silence was unexpected and unnerving.
The Blaze stopped in front of a door and fit the key in. He looked at the Blaster.
The Blaster grimaced. "Op...Operator 02, clearance level 10,"
The door clicked. The Blaster backed away.
Silently, the door opened. A humanoid being stood in the doorway. Tall, at least 8 feet. His face was deathly grey. He dressed in heavy grey robes that reached the floor. His hands were gloved, but the tips of the glove, while appearing to be made of fabric, looked sharp.
"Magnificent," breathed the Blaze, and that is all he manages before the gloves hand came around, lazily, almost, and swipes his belly. Unlike a normal glove, it parted his shirt and then his skin and flesh, spilling blood and organs on the cold floor. The Blaze didn't make a noise.
The sound of doors closing snaps the silence. The Blaze looks weakly in the direction of the noise. The Blaster has fled in the lift. Fool. The Blaze dropped to the floor, and far away in the forest, the Psychic opens his eyes.
"It is done. We leave now," he said. The Gale nods.
In the prison, the Blaster ran. The control room. He has to get to the control room. Then he can get backup. They could stop the... whatever manner of monster had been unleashed. The deathly pale creature emerges from a corridor. The Operator curses. How had it got here so damn fast? It occurred to the Operator that he had expected the Wraith to just stand there, waiting for the lift to come back down, then come up in the lift, listening to Perfect by Ed Sheeran all the way.
He runs. The corridor is wide. He can dodge past it. He probably can. Right?
The wraith suddenly glides forward, its grey face remaining utterly slack and lifeless. It extends one clawed hand toward the Operator, who shrieks in terror and flattens himself against the wall, then dives past it. He runs.
He can't hear it. He can't hear the thing, the wraith.
Boom boom boom his heart thunders in his chest, rings in his ears and he finds that he likes that sound. It's the sound of life. He doesn't want it to stop. He wants to live.
The control room. He dives into it, tries to shut the door but the wraith is right there, and it effortlessly pulls the door open. Its face is grey and slack and dead. It looms over the Operator.
"What the-" comes a voice from behind the wraith. The wraith pauses, then turns. The second Operator had arrived for his shift. Bad timing.
The first Operator dives for the control panel as the second one starts to scream.
He picks up the receiver. "Something's escaped! Something's free! Send help! Send-" then he feels cold fingers round his neck like a vice, and they tighten and drag him back, and he screams all the way.
