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Manticore · (This post was last modified: 10-02-2012, 07:35 AM by Manticore.)

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

He woke slowly, consciousness slowly sliding from the darkness of coma to the light of reality.

He breathed, for what felt like the first time. Slowly, he savored every ounce of air.

His eyes blinked open slowly, drawing in the blinding white light and slowly adjusting. He kept them open just a crack, for something in the back of his mind warned him of a potential danger.

He remembered now, recalling the horrific events of the interrogation. He shut his eyes again and just breathed slowly, as his mind struggled to process everything that had happened.

Was he still the man he'd been born as, even after everything that had happened? Or was he the man he chose to be, the new man who'd committed to fitting into this new life he'd built for himself? He'd made his choice almost without thinking when the pain had risen and that strange power deep within him had risen. It had been spawned from desperation, the kind of thing that only a man who was literally staring death in the face could possibly feel. Did that mean something too?

And yet, he knew that on a deeper level he still remained the man he'd been born as. He still felt nothing compelling him towards any sort of morality, still felt a perverse thrill in bloodletting, and still had a strong desire to rationalize all of his actions and lie whenever necessary. These were all sociopathic tendencies that he recognized intellectually, and had gone to great lengths to conceal from the Navy's psychologists. Would it be possible to keep his secrets if he ever managed to escape and get back? That was such a distant possibility that it hardly bore...

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the rustling of clothing and heavy footfalls, growing louder. He instinctively relaxed all his muscles, attempting to give the impression that he was inert and still unconscious. The man drew close and stopped, probably right next to his cot.

It took all his focus and effort not to flinch visibly as a breathing mask was abruptly shoved onto his face. He continued to breathe normally, and felt the shock of something foreign entering his body through his mouth and nose. He felt the effects before he realized what it was. More cardamine.

He felt himself rise into a high, drifting on drug-induced currents of air. The feeling was wonderful, but even more wonderful was the fact that he didn't immediately crash this time. It wasn't nearly the high he'd felt in the tank that first time, but now it actually persisted. He felt pure energy rushing through his veins, and this sudden feeling of empowerment convinced him of his next course of action.

The footfalls sounded again, moving away from him. A rough voice spoke abruptly. 'Looks like he's still out cold. Should be coming 'round soon though. I'll stay 'ere and keep an eye on 'im, you can 'ead home.'

Another man grunted his assent from somewhere far off. A heavy door shut, and Lambert knew he was alone with the one Rogue. The footfalls came back towards him. There was a loud rattling noise, and then he sensed through lidded eyes that someone was standing over him.

He took a breath and held it. 3... 2... 1.

His eyes snapped open but his hands were already moving. He saw the man, a rough-looking Rogue in a simple white smock, looking down at him. He watched the surprise and hesitation blossom in the Rogue's eyes as his arms leapt forward in a quick maneuver. It was extremely difficult to incapacitate someone from the kind of position he was in, but his hand-to-hand training took over as his torso followed his arms off the cot he'd been lying on. Before the Rogue could react, he'd slammed a fist into his stomach with cardamine-infused power, while bringing his other hand all the way around the man's head to assist his lurch forward and guide his forehead into the side of the cot. The Rogue's face connected with the metal bar that ran lengthwise along the cot, and blood fountained from his shattered nose.

Lambert continued his motion upwards, pushing himself off the cot and onto his feet. With a practiced motion that appeared almost casual, he reached down and twisted the Rogue's neck sharply, snapping it loudly. The body slumped to the floor.

Lambert was in motion immediately. He ripped off the white smock the man had been wearing and put it on over the plain grey jumpsuit he was wearing. Otherwise, the man possessed nothing else that could be useful. He slid the body under the cot, hiding it from obvious sight, and glanced at his surroundings clearly for the first time.

It was a fairly small medical ward, with four cots aligned side-by-side, of which his was the one closest to the wall. There were a few pieces of medical equipment in the room, and an open door led to what he assumed was an office while a larger closed door led to what was probably one of the base's main corridors. He moved into the office and shut the door.

Inside, there was a desk and a small set of lockers. One was open, containing a set of clothes and, fortunately, a small handgun in a holster. Lambert quickly changed out of his jumpsuit into what he presumed was the dead Rogue's clothes. This would be enough to get him around the base without attracting too much attention. A small mirror was mounted on the inside of the locker's door, and he looked at himself through it. He had begun to grow in a beard, and his face bore even deeper and more noticeable lines than he'd remembered. In short, he looked like hell. He would fit right in among the Rogues.

He considered his next move. Now that he was free, at least for the moment, there was no point in dallying around aboard the base. He needed to get into space, and the best way to accomplish that was simply to take a ship out of one of the docking bays. He figured he could pull it off if he paid a little visit to the docking bay's control room first, so he could clear a ship for launch ahead of time. Then would be the small matter of actually stealing the ship and making it away from the base before anyone was the wiser.

It could work, he figured. And at least if they catch me now, I'll get to go down fighting. He smiled darkly as he pulled the pistol from the holster, smoothly racked a new round into the chamber, and replaced it.

He left the office, opened the door, and vanished like a ghost into the bowels of the base.

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