ANCHOR-9 - "D-Block" Nov 27, 2015 12:37:01 GMT -8
Post by Naitome on Nov 27, 2015 12:37:01 GMT -8
In the tumult's din, tipping, sunk under the awry abattoir gristle; Naitome catches a strobing light with stray gazing, notes it descend and come to rest only once even with the floor. A black box, rust encumbered, twice the size of any cell. The elevator. A split double-door of zaftig dents, enceinte with armor and tools and bodies that chock a maimed tangle of authority with their arriving. The cavalry guard, reinforcements. A squadron of eight samurai removed themselves from the mobile metal holding, invading D-Block. Their presence filled the small space, compressed it, eliminated much of the distance necessary to effectively fight back. They stood before us now in a sentinel throng, brandishing adze vallation. Each of them was a seven foot chassis of blades. primed for a last stand. They spread only far enough to beat the prisoners silly should they rush the elevator doors, which jittered shut their apparatus' spent ingress. Naitome thought to earlier, similar revelations of the Iron Country's intent. They were not really attempting to kill the ninja within. They wanted them re-captured.
"Anybody wanna help a guy out?"
He called to whomever was near enough to hear and reply their rage at the overseers.
"If they outnumber me eight to one, i'll have to kill them all with one hit. It'll be pretty boring."
The samurai did not seem impressed. They had not been trained very long, but they had been trained very well. All prisoners boasted of their prowess, they had been told. The shinobi lie. Deception is their primary tool, it is why the shinobi are inferior. Their own in-fighting nearly destroys them all repeatedly, throughout history, we are only doing them a favor. Speeding them through one final self-destruction. Listen to nothing they say, the guards had been forewarned, and focus only on containing them.
The head guard, a bundle of blue feathers agitating the corner of a dog-shaped mask, said
and his elbows jerked twice, retaining their grip on an odd spiked sword. The others immediately stomp-stepped into two angled diamond formations, sets to approach a white-haired female who looked in better condition than most of them, a hooded girl with a scent Naitome found familiar and comforting, a green-eyed man with hair of silver, and Naitome himself, dealing with them each in teams of two to one. Naitome found his eyes lifting from one to the other, spied the elevator through astray glimmering, counted odds. They needed to get through those doors; the elevator shaft would be invaluable, its access to the rest of the facility, to some possible exit. They'd been, knowingly or not, brought the very key to their freedom.
He wondered why the samurai had chosen them specifically as targets, though upon closer inspection, they did seem to be the strongest of the nearby bunch, the most certain in their shared goal of escape. Petty violences cackled up from the outer bendings of D-Block's arching, perpetrated by the special hate bred from torture. The samurai ignored them, "they" watched with efforts that made it seem like they did not care. The others were all content to observe their insurrection's consequence, so long as they did not suffer the brunt. This moment would decide if their 'riot' was the start of a quest, or a quelling.
Naitome said in Kaminari no Kuni slang to the three others who'd earned the bastion's heed.
"Naitome. From Kiri."
He added, hoping the others might follow suit with introductions, while remaining vigilant of the samurai pairs only a few feet from impeding their escape.