The capture of BPA finest, Superintendant Hone. Now in Chains! Again...

[Marcus]

A fist slammed into the mans's stomach, causing him to bend double.

"I said, bugger off you creep."

As the man walked away a little unsteadily, and a little out of breath, Casey leaned back against the wall and turned her eye back to the center of the makeshift arena. The area had basically been cut out of a large pipe section with a floor welded in. Back in the dimly lit stands Casey idly watched as Hone measured up his opponents. She didn't know why they were bothering to send her in here to get this miserable excuse out of here, and she didn't particularly care, she got paid enough to rescue him and not enough to care what shape he was in. She wandered around the outside wall of the stands, scanning to crowd. Swiping a glass of whiskey from a distracted waiter on her way past she spotted the Gaoler at one end of the fence line, laughing with the other guards, placing bets on how long he'd last and slapping each on the back. Slipping around behind to a few meters back she listened to their carousing. They'd bet 20 credits he'd last to the last few standing, idiots, she'd bet 10 he wouldn't last half way.

---

[Hone]

It was a good thing he did.

The Madman, evidently scenting an opportunity for blood, had turned as soon as the Voice stopped speaking, and was in a snorting charge towards the Superintendent. With a yell Hone Slapped out his right hand, catching the man in the face, and leaping aside out of his attempted bear-hug. Madman crashed into the wall behind him, but simply used it to propel himself fowards even faster towards Hone. Backpedaling furiously, Hone fended the man's constant assault aside with a series of deflecting slaps to the arms, a strategy that earned jeers and Catcalls from the watching Mollys:

"AYE FEKIN GIRLS BLOUSE!" One called down,

"Call that fightin?!" A woman laughed, "You look like my wee ones!"

A chorus of laughs followed that statement, and a few mollys started to throw things, mostly old food and bottles, which Hone was glad to see were thankfully empty, and not Molotov cocktails! However they were not the only combatants in the ring, as Hone parried another punch, he collided with the back of another fight, coming up short and allowing his opponent to charge him, barreling both the Policeman, and whoever he had hit, to the ground.

Rolling over the steel floor, grappling with his enemy, Hone thought he was done, the Man's strength was terrifying! Hone jabbed the mans eyes with his fingers, and slammed his elbow into his nose, but it was no good, Madman had his left hand in a lock, and was slowly bending it backwards behind him, despite Hone's best efforts to stop him. He even seemed to actually be pushing the elbow jammed into his nose, back with his FACE! A face that was contorted in a maniacal grin, as he bared his teeth.

'He means to bite me', Hone thought to himself. The Irony was not lost on him; As the Mollys who'd come to string him up had found, biting was a surprisingly effective strategy in any battle, not least because the enemy was seldom expecting it.

"heehhh, heeehhhh, heeeehhhhh" Wheezed Madman, now pressed closer than Hone had ever wanted to be with ANY man, "I bet you taste gooood, Pig!"

'Dear God' Hone suddenly realised; 'He doesnt want to just bite me, Madman means to EAT me!'

The man was a Cannibal.

Struggling with a new sense of desperation, Hone managed to lean and jam his elbow harder and harder into the other mans face,

Once,

Twice,

Three times he managed to bludgeon Madman back, working his elbow viciously, trying to find vulnerable points. But his left arm was on fire, and he was almost out of breath, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold him off for more than a few seconds.



It was enough.



With an audible whooosh; a black booted foot swung down and smashed into the side of Madman's head, snapping it back at a terrifying speed, so that it seemed to leave his body behind, before the rest of him catapulted after it, and he tumbled across the metal floor. The man who'd done it Leapt over Hone without even glancing down at him, landed, and kept running at Madman in one seamless movement, as Hone rolled, choking, to his feet.

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[Hone]

Panting, the man in charge of enforcing Law and order across an entire Solar System, glanced across at the corsair who he had just been grappling with in the dirt, on the floor of a Molly prison.

The black clad man who had probably saved his life was attacking Madman with lightning fast blows, Madman was roaring and swinging back, but the man that Hone now labeled "Ninja" was dancing around them, and striking back with precision.

Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Hone made use of his respite, by glancing around the ring, and scanning the competition. Most of the prisoners seemed to have disintegrated into scrums of 2 or 3 wrestling combatants, although there were a few already down and leaking blood. Surprisingly there didn't seem to be much attempt to organise and fight back against their captors, until Hone realised that the Molly's prisoners were of course a mix of bounty hunters, pirates, corsairs and others, as much enemies of each other, as of the Mollys. Hell, half of them probably Relished the chance to fight! However Dreadlocks seemed to simply have keeled over in his corner, not even attempting to fight, and the two Boys were still cowering together, flinching whenever a man came close. So far all three seemed to have been left alone, Dreadlocks because he'd never been expected to pose a threat, and despite their youth, the sight of two people so clearly working together, seemed to deter most casual predators from attacking the Boys at this stage.

Deciding that allies were his best chance of surviving, and seeing that the Boys evidently had the same Idea, Hone sidled around the edges of the fray, and backed slowly towards them, his arms up, and his head scanning back and forth, alert for any new threats.

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[Hone]

As he neared the Boys, and felt the reassurance of friendlies at his back, Hone allowed himself to relax a little, and begin searching around for more than just the next enemy. Running his eyes over the combatants, the shaft, and the audience in his quest for an escape route; Hone felt a sudden jolt of recognition:

*A face!*

"But who?"
He swore he'd glimpsed someone he knew in the audience, but it was gone in an instant. Distracted, he stared up, searching desperately for the illusive face, only to feel another jolt, this one sickening where the first had been exhilarating; a stinging blow to the back of his head sent him reeling forwards!

Involuntarily, Hone dropped to a knee, then threw an arm out, to stop himself from falling completely, as consciousness came rushing back. With a snarl he whirled, as quickly as his already whirling head would allow, to find the foremost of the Boys shuffling back, his companion still cowering behind him, and in his hand, a pipe with a mess of wires sticking out of it. The tube had apparently been thrown at a contestant (most likely at the Boys themselves, to encourage them to get moving) or was simply junk left lying around in the Shaft, and had most recently been utilised as a "Policeman-Basher"!

"S-stay back"
The Braver Boy stammered, while the Nancy-Boy behind him peered over his shoulder.
"We're not figh-fighting... Get Away!"

"You bloody fools"
Hone grated out between clenched teeth, his head still throbbing.
"I'm a damn policeman, look at my uniform!"

Brave glanced down at his chest nervously, Hone had to admit it wasn't the most reassuring sight; The red shirt had combined with the liberal soaking of blood, his own and others, to make him look as though he were covered in gore. Brave evidently recognised something, because he suddenly slumped into a slack jawed grin of relief.

"Oh thank god!"
He sighed,
"You - You're all here to get us out?! Whe- where are the rest of your guys!?"
He enquired anxiously, scanning the stands as though expecting to see a platoon of SRD storm through at any moment.

"Yeah..."
Hone grunted, straightening up, and checking around to make sure no one ELSE was planning on blindsiding him.
"About that, looks like we're in this together, it's just me."

"Bu-but I- You! You're a-"

"Look we can argue about this later, if we still have teeth, right now, we gotta survive this, and I dont think we can do it by just sitting out of it."

Indeed even now the crowd were getting restless at the sight of THREE grown men in close proximity, and still not a single punch being thrown, Brave's coshing had caused hilarity, but now the shouts and rain of projectiles were beginning again.

"Looks like we're gonna have to knock some heads if we're gonna stop that crowd from demanding OURS. Follow me!"

Hone called, as he stepped back into the fray.

---

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[Marcus]

Casey slipped the card back into the Gaolor's pocket fighting the unnatural impulse, she was was more used to keeping things she found in people's pockets then putting them back, but she needed the mans ID code to gain access. She spared a moment's glace at the arena and wasn't surprised to see Hone had fallen for arena rookie trap, know locally as 'The Flying Pig', and he was now turning bravely and valiantly to face of the horde of attackers in defense of the defenseless.

"Idiot." She muttered "Look behind you..."

The Mollys only entertained two types of people in their sporting events, those who can fight and those that can entertain, and like most policemen Hone was rising towards to latter to the glee of the crowd. The pair of 'boys' that Hone had just turned his back on had stopped their performance, one with a pipe was moving up behind Hone for a finishing move while the other was waving his hands in the air for the approval of the crowd.
Sighing in exasperation she moved quickly to a open vantage point behind most of the crowd, taking care to swipe bottle from a drunken Molly sleeping it off in his seat, she turn and, with proficiency of an experienced bar fighter, tossed the bottle over the crowd directly towards Hone's unexpected attacker.

---

[Hone]

Hone whirled at a smash behind him, to find Brave sprawled out on the ground, blood leaking from the glass shards embedded in his face, while Nancy stood frozen, staring in horror.

"Come on, Move!"

Hone shouted, it seemed someone in the crowd had gotten angry at the lack of fighting going on in their corner, and decided to take matters into their own hands.

"I knew this would happen if we stayed out of it, now lets go!"

But Nancy seemed even more petrified than before, and scrabbled desperately away from Hone, when the Policeman reached out to him.

Writing him off with a sharp exclamation of annoyance, Hone grabbed up the pipe from the fallen Brave, and charged back into the Melee, leaving Nancy to the mercy of the Crowd.

---

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[Marcus]

The noise from the arena was far behind her now. Using a access card from an off duty maintenance worker she gained access to the Revolution through one of the many construction gantries that now surrended the ship. Unnoticed as just one more new face among the repair crews she made her way to the empty, and unguarded, cell block. Opening the maintenance panel to the central control station she inserted a wireless receiver into the network and resealed the panel.
Outside in the corridor she popped open a vent and inserted a pistol. Her work done she made her way to the main hanger, the arena fights never lasted long and she planned not to be anywhere near this area.

---

[Hone]

Almost everyone was down.

As Hone stumbled through the detritus of an enforced brawl; his vision fogged, and his head ringing, blood seeping down his face, and fingers trembling around his weapon; the sounds of combat still penetrated through to his numbed brain.

Most of them had gone down easy, while he'd been wasting time with the Boys, the balance of the shaft had paired off to slug it out, leaving them distracted and vulnerable to a smart coshing from behind. It had reminded him of friday night on truncheon patrol in London really.Meanwhile The few roamers were usually dissuaded by the sight of a man with a weapon. Usually.

Then he'd met the group of three who were also looking for easy targets, and he wasn't sure his ear was going to look the same ever again.

But now, limping out from the ordeal, Hone looked up to see-

His nemesis.

Of course it was. He didn't know why he had expected anything else, there; superimposed like a fanciful representation of Ying and Yang, (the kind drawn by nervous types, who had dreams about blowing up their school) fought Ninja and Madman.

Madman was strong, there was no doubting that, he was still roaring after Ninja, punching hard, fast, and repeatedly, and presumably had been punching the entire time Hone had been circling the arena. But his punches counted for naught when they failed to connect, even as he watched, Hone saw Ninja spin around Madman and cut a back chop to his neck, then vault himself over the furious rebuttal - in the shape of Madman's out stretched arm - landing a spinning kick to the side of his face as he went.

And Madman staggered.

Gasping, he dropped to one knee, and threw up his arms. Hone started, could it be? Ninja danced in, and threw three straight jabs from a flighty boxer's pose, Hone gasped and willed himself forwards faster, if Madman was feinting... But no! With a roar Madman was up, and bull rushing Ninja. Almost blindly he seemed to be moving in his desperation, while Ninja tormented him constantly, ever flitting out of reach. Until finally Madman slowed, and Ninja stepped in for the coup de grace,

And Madman Fell.

On top of Ninja.

It was a bubbling sound, Hone didn't recognize it at first. Didn't realise until Madman turned his blood soaked face and looked at him, that it was laughter.

"A heh, Heh, Heeehhhh" it came weezing out, "A Heehh!" *bang* "Heh" *bang* "heh" *bang*
Each laugh accompanied by the sound of Madman smashing his head into Ninja's , until there could only be said to be one man standing there.

Finally, he turned to Hone; "Yeesth" he dribbled, along with two of his teeth, "You came, baaa..."

And approached.

---

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[Hone]

How long had it been?

Hone couldn't count the days anymore, the months of agonising recuperation. After that brutal first fight in the shaft, he'd been dragged back to his cell, -that blood spewing onto his upturned face- and dumped, a bleeding broken pile of a man, in the middle of the floor.
His limbs twisted -that man's insane strength! and torn where they were still lucky enough to be in one piece, he'd lain comatose - that stillwarm, THING lying atop him as the light faded from the advance of darkness - for almost 3 days before, driven by desperation, his body had forced him to consciousness, so it could drag the pathetic remains to the lifesaving waterbowl, the Mollys had left in the corner for him like a dog.

Those hands SQUEEZING his neck...

It had been another day and a half before he could rasp out for some food, desperately clawing his hold on the cell door's viewing hatch with his one good arm, to strain his mouth closer to the hole.

The Mollys had mostly ignored him while he was too injured to even make it from one side of his cell to another in less than an hour, and though he had thrown up the first time he'd tried to eat, - those chunks of meat, those EYES that had sprayed fluid through his crushing fingers - he'd done his best to surreptitiously build his strength back up to a working level. The result was that he was now considerably stronger than the Mollys expected their crippled prisoner to be. The result was today, because;

The TASTE of his blood...

Today was the day he had found it, today was the day he escaped.





It was a good day for John Magnus, he'd won 53 credits on the card night last night, and he didnt even have to get his splitting head up early this morning, as he only had prisoner duty!
Not even much duty at that, the "Christmas Hog" in cell 8 never gave any trouble, just lay around groaning.
"Hehe, here piggy piggy" he chuckled as he tugged open the hatch, "Sorry, just bangers and mash today, wouldn't want you going hungry, and I'm afraid we aint got no more corsairs to feed you!"

The last thoughts that went through the head of John Magnus on that good day, were wondering if Jean would like one of those Pearl Necklaces they were getting from some of the Gallic traders, he could spend some of his card winnings, and surprise her, she'd been looking tired lately, and she deserved something better. They were good and worthy thoughts, and they deserved a chance to ripen, and perhaps lead a man to bring some good and happiness into this universe.
Unfortunately the next thing that passed through his head was a subsonic, hollowpoint, .16 caliber silencer round.



The hue and cry wasn't raised for over three quarters of an hour, when a flustered molly burst into deck 5's monitor room, spilled one of the drinks from the 3 way, semi final, rotation match that was currently in progress, and only avoided an introduction to the well, by way of his face - by blurting out that there was a prisoner missing from one of the cells.
It was quickly deduced that he must have left the station by now, when one of the emergency escape pods launch alarms started blaring, and everyone immediately available was hastily scrambled into whichever ship happened to be nearest, in order to pursue, pickup, and pound the policeman in the plundered pod.



After 10 minutes of pursuit, the pilot of the good molly ship "Tax THIS" was getting annoyed.
"Tha feker's fekin dead in the water," he grumbled, motioning for his co-pilot to grab him a whiskey from the back, "fekin things go no engines righ?!"
"Right" answered his companion, handing him a tumbler.
"Aye, fekin things jus launched like a hellfire eh? Shot out by the base tubes and jus got the bloody momentum for speed?"
"Thats what I was told" came the answer from the side seat, the occupant of which was busy scanning the sky outside the cockpit window for other ships, as a good observer should.
"God DAMN it tha stuff's shoite!" the captain declared, while knocking back a second mouthful. "Mus be tha crap from Gallia, frogs don know nothin! Like this eejit" He gestured at the fast approaching pod ping on his console. "Feker's gotta be mad if e rekons momentum can outrun engines! Pod was never gonna fekin escape was it?!
"That's right"
"Argh, I do NOT need this shoity fekin booze on top o me angover, its givin me a fekin eadache, fek you get this from a horse's fekin arse? Make yesel goddam useful staid o tryin t poison me wi ye engine fekin omebrew, an explain t me why this pig-feker's gonn try to escape this way! Cmon ye should know, yer the first one as found im missin, thas why ye on t firs ship out aint it? Whaddid ye say ye name was? John Magnus?

"Yes," came the answer, as the tumbler slipped from his fingers, "John Magnus".

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