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

[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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