|E&E (standard:science fiction, 22536 words)|
|Author: Saxon Violence||Added: Jan 04 2013||Views/Reads: 3565/11328||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A Murderer is asked to escape from prison and escort a guard's daughter to Refuge during a Civilization-Killing Drought.|
E&E Chapter One I didn't have any love for any of the Laws who guarded the prison. I was locked away without just cause and they were the ones who stood between me and freedom. Don't tell me that some of them were ignorant or “Just doing their jobs”. That wouldn't be a mitigating factor. That would be an aggravating factor. Thing was, I had no love for any of the other clients either. I'd have mown down dozens of guards or clients with equal fervor and indifference if it would transport me outside the walls. If the untermenschen who accosted the Law named Riemann had been working toward their own escape or even pursuing vengeance, then I'd have left them to it. Their objectives were rape and torture though—and while I didn't give a rat's derriere about Riemann, rape—particularly homosexual rape—offended my sensibilities. I came up behind one. It isn't as easy to break a man's neck with a quick chiropractic style twist as they're always showing on TV. It can be done though, with the right technique and plenty of “Oomph!” One down. The second one was easy too. He had his pants down around his ankles restricting his movement and giving me a great handhold. I reached between his legs from behind, with my right hand and secured a firm grip on his scrotum. That's another thing that's rather demanding—picking a man up over your head, with one hand on his neck and the other on his crotch. I'm uncommonly strong though. I swung him down so that the full weight of his body and my swing came down right on the top of the head—broken neck number two. A booming kick to the crotch of the third, hard enough to rupture both his testicles and there was only Riemann and me against two demoralized untermenschen. Riemann had regained his pepper spray and thoroughly soaked one of his clients. I loathe the idea of risking my hand by striking someone's bony head with my fist—but I'd spent years developing a powerful open-handed slap. It's much more effective than one might think. I was busy slapping my last client unconscious when several of Riemann's fellow gang members came to his rescue. They didn't cut me any special slack. They come in expecting to do some tenderizing with their riot sticks. That was okay by me. The Laws were no better than the clients as far as I was concerned. I neither expected nor counted on leniency because I'd been nominally on Riemann's side during the brief pleasantness. I stepped inside one Law's over-handed blow and delivered a powerful poke to both eyes. There is always the possibility of poking out an eye with this maneuver—though it is used to temporarily blind and incapacitate through pain. Must have been on a roll though, because my poke ruined both the Law's eyes... He shouldn't have been trying to brain me. I plucked his club from his nerveless fingers. I had about six inches of hardwood club sticking out the thumb side of my hand. I closed with a second guard, grabbing him with my free hand as I did so. I pulled him close while pumping five or six very hard shots into his solar plexus and midsection. My left forearm blocked a blow another Law aimed at my head. Never mind Click here to read the rest of this story (3316 more lines)
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