(This thread encompasses the "Grateford Prison" arc of the game [i]Resistance 3[/i]. No work has been done in [i]Resistance 2[/i], and so it and presumably [i]Burning Skies[/i] are now unavailable. Only myself and Doc for now.

For Azumi, this takes place after "Bite the Rotten Apple" and before "Risky Business". For Greg, this takes place after the thread "Wish I Had An Angel" and the scraps "Scorched Past" and "Finally, a Lead", but before the upcoming fic "The True Mirror" and the plot "Rip in the World". For Cheryl, this is some time after "Dark Chest of Wonders", but before "Broken Trinity", with a thread between this and Dark Chest as well. For Kalas, this is after a scrapbook entry after "Bite the Rotten Apple", said scrap to be named.

Furthermore, in order to manipulate the mechanics of the world, any ability to use magic and any armor has been removed from the Interferences present due to the interference [no pun intended] of the "Pure Chimera" wormhole to their world as of the end of the second numbered game. Weapons are usable, but heavily restricted due to narrative reasons.)

Blurred vision. Pain. A wet forehead. Heat in front, cold metal on back.

Azumi Ian coughed, her vision coming back. She was in her casual attire, that much she could see. Her weapons of choice on this operation had been her knife, shortsword, and submachine gun aside from her typical handgun, but the limitations of her attire had taken away the aforementioned large Brute Knife and M7S submachine gun, left them on her ship, by now just a shuttle between her home and other worlds.

Fire. Fire was all around them, the pieces of a train scattered around on the ground. She could see someone in the distance, pinned under a metal axle on his waist, facedown as he tried to get out futilely. He had on a brown jacket and had brown hair, his light skin marked with a five-o'clock shadow and dark brown hair short on his head. He appeared malnourished, but not weak, determined eyes on his face and a necklace of some kind of teeth around his neck.

The train had crashed and exploded almost immediately after she and several others had touched down, some kind of gigantic arachnid creature stampeding away after causing it. The sound of motorcycles was still audible until recently, people probably getting off of them.

She could see other familiar faces and unfamiliar ones around her. One stuck out nearby, coming to, a shard of metal speared through his side into the ground, pinning him there but alive. Greg Zivaku, in immense pain, tried to wrench out the shard. He screamed, finally doing so, but fell, blood seeping into the dirt around them.

"Kynthia..." she could see him mutter, but couldn't hear well. Even now he still would fight for her, even though she was not among them. Or maybe it was him hallucinating? She looked to others, only one unfamiliar probable Interference amongst those either too weak to get up or pinned down.

A rather ugly, bald man with a machete walked up to the group, another disheveled man with a similar weapon walking to the single man under the axle. She closed her eyes calmly, waiting for the machete to fall and kill her. Finally the end of her torment as an Interf--

[i]Bang![/i]

She looked up at the man about to kill them one by one, saw the spread of pellets around his chest from exit wounds...and he dropped the weapon from his raised stance, falling to his knees, then the ground fully. Their savior was plain, though strange. He was approximately in his sixties, with a bald head, a white beard, spectacles, and a torn up brown suit and jacket. In his hands was a [url=http://resistance.wikia.com/wiki/Rossmore_239_Combat_Shotgun]shotgun[/url], one he pumped before turning to the other man and shooting him as well, to the same life-saving result.

Normally, she probably would have complained. She wanted to die, didn't want to have to protect them so much... but she knew that was useless. She did listen to him, however.

"Interferences," the man said softly. "Are you okay? Joseph?"

Azumi called out. "Yeah, I'm fine! Get this thing off of me! Them too!"

Greg, meanwhile, was finally coming to at last. "Thank you..." Not quite, it seemed.

"Joseph", as the man under the axle was called, nodded, though pained as he spoke. "Yeah, but I'm stuck."


Well, this was just great. After trying to look for ways to get her mind off of the kidnap incident, she now found herself pinned under the wreckage of a train, the impact of the explosion having added further damage. Surely this would get her mind off of her and her friend's previous imprisonment.

That was Cheryl Mason's thoughts as she came to, groaning once before her vision returned. At first, she thought to writhe herself out of the wreckage, but a sharpness toward her leg stopped herself, not wanting to risk any further injury. Instead, she looked herself over, finding no other damage aside from a few bruises and scrapes, small things that she could deal with.

Oh, and she was left with only her small knife again. Wasn't that just [i]perfect?[/i]

The Holy Mother sighed, and looked around to see if anyone else was around. Aside from the man who seemed to be the protagonist of this world, she had found some of her fellow Interference allies, aside from the short one she didn't recognize. Her apparent boss, Azumi Ian, Gregory Zivaku (she had to cringe as she watched him pull the shard out), and the blue-haired boy was was now coming to himself.

Unlike the others, Kalas had not been trapped under the destruction of the train. However, the explosion had thrown him back roughly, the impact of the force having knocked him out. The Divine Child groaned, tried to push himself up, but to no avail. He had just left the Mirage Arena, the training course having gone awry thanks to a sudden possession of the Angel of Darkness after so long, and now he had to deal with this?

Not only that, but he felt that he no longer had his Magnus, his winglet, or his Oblivion Key, along with the ability to summon his one wing. Perfect; it hasn't been since his Silent Hill visit since he's felt that. Though he didn't remember his clothes having a sudden change back then. A copper long-sleeved vest in place of his chestplate, his tan cape now reduced to a scarf around his neck, his blue shirt with white stripes only losing the poofed sleeves, baggy blue jeans and sneakers with light blue linings. Oh, and he had a bandana in place of his rope band.

Just great, he thought to himself. It seemed he couldn't even speak to Xelha either, which didn't help matters. On the plus side, it was probably a good thing that Lucifer didn't follow him down.

"Hey, Hugin," Cheryl called from her place, refering to him by his InterAssassin alias. She tried to wave her arm as best she could to gesture in her direction. "Mind giving us a hand?"

Kalas looked up, finding each of the Interferences that had also dropped down here for one reason or another. Unlike the others, he recognized each and every one of them (and of course, wasn't happy to see Azumi again). He barely held back his own wince as he saw what Greg did, resisting the urge to ask how crazy he was. And the last...great, he was hoping he wouldn't have to see that brat again.

"Dolores," he began weakly, also refering to her own alias, "if I could even--urgh--get my legs to work, I'd pull you guys out..."

And that was when the men with the machetes, ready to kill them all. Cheryl just groaned; now they were all gonna die, unless some intervention was about to happen. She just lied there, about to let them just get it over with. It wasn't like she'd do much with just her knife, anyway.

Kalas, on the other hand, just glared sharply. Even in his weakened and unarmed state, he wasn't about to kill any of them just yet. He snarled, only coughing once, "Just try it..."

Thankfully, their lives had been saved not a second too soon. And by someone who knew about them, no less. Sure saved a lot of awkward explanations.

"Perfect timing," Cheryl said bluntly, wriggling herself very slightly. "Now if you can help us out of this, that'd be great."

Kalas just sighed, barely able to raise his hand to gesture to himself. "And while you're at it, gimme a lift."

(I'll get them into the prison on the next round. Might as well start up ASAP.)

====

A little bit away from the others, there was groan from the aforemention short one.  The groan was soon followed by a cough as he tried to clear the soot and ash from his windpipe.  He tried to push himself up, but there was a sudden pain and a worrying sound from his arm, and he fell back to the ground.

"Maker damnit."  Various other curses were uttered that weren't worth repeating.  Spencer was not in a good mood, and for good reason.  He certainly hadn't been expecting a train to explode right next to him just as he arrived on this world.  It was probably a good hint to leave as soon as possible.  Unfortunately, in his current state, it was almost impossible to move, much less leave.

All he could do was move his head around to see who was around him.  There was that more plainclothed guy, probably some sorta protagonist.  None of the others were recognizeable, except for that annoying Blueberry.  He most likely would have made some sort of wisecrack, but the pain he was feeling derived his brain of good quips for the time being.  Instead, he only groanend again.  Gathering what little strength he had, he reached forwards with his good arm.  It was then he saw something that gave him pause.

His arm was bare.  Which meant he wasn't wearing his robe, leaving him only with his vest as a shirt, as well as revealing the numerous scars on his forearms that his gloves didn't hide.  Great, the last thing he needed right now was to not be wearing a proper shirt.  At least he still had his staff, apparent from the familiar weight on his back.

He went back to trying to drag himself forward with his good arm, but he wasn't able to make any progress before a man with a machete approached him, with the obvious intent to finish him off.  What a way to go.  But hey, it's not like anyone would miss him anyways, so he wouldn't be leaving any mourners behind.  What he wasn't expectign was for the man to quite suddenly be shot, and then proceed to fall over.  The Blood Mage didn't really approve of killing, but he figured it wasn't bad when in self-defense if you couldn't find another way.  Better Mr. Machete than him, anyways.

Spencer looked up at his apparent savior, some bald old guy with a funny accent, who apparently know about Interferences.  Well, that certainly made things easier.

"And a little help over here would be nice."  He said, as the others requested help.  Even if he wasn't pinned down by some of the wreckage, he was way to weak to get up.  He felt like he had been hit by a million baseball bats on every part of his body.  Not only that, but he felt a different sense of being... drained.  Like something was missing.  Something important.  He couldn't quite pin down what, though.  You know, what with the pain and stuff.

Suddenly, Joseph looked up, and called out to the old man.  "Behind you!"  Too late.  The old man was shoved to the ground by another guy with a haircut as funny as the old man's accent.  The ponytail guy then jumped on top of the old man, and began punching him repeatedly.

"Leave 'im alone!"  Spencer yelled, although he was unable to do anything at all.

Joseph stretched forwards, reaching for a shotgun that had landed close by, but was unable to reach.  He looked back up at Ponytail, yelling.  "No!  [i]Stop[/i]! STOP!"  Ponytail did indeed stop, and looked at Joseph.  He got off of the old man, he was bleeding profusely and wheezing.  Spencer knew that if he could just [i]get up[/i], he could use his Blood Magic to at least seal the guy's wounds, but it was no use.

Ponytail walked forwards, and bent over to pick up a machete that had been dropped in front of Joseph, who looked up in horror.  Ponytail looked at the trapped man for a second, before turning around and heading back towards the old guy.

"Wait... Wait!  I'll give you whatever you want!"  Spencer similarly tried to protest, but to no avail.  Ponytail stopped in front of the old man, and held up the blade.

"No... Don't do it!  Goddammit you son of a bitch, I'm warning you!  I'll kill you!"  Ponytail kneeled in front of the old man.  "No!  Don't!  DON'T!!"

There was the messy sound of a blade cutting into flesh.

Joseph looked down, and flailed uselessly against the ground, screaming curses, as Spencer could only stare in disgust.  What kind of person could kill an innocent like that?

Then again, he already knew.  He had seen peoply like Ponytail a hundred times, back in Kirkwall, especially Meredith, the Knight Commander who had nearly succeeded in massacreing all of the innocent mages in the city.  The mage struggled in vain on the ground.  He wasn't going to let this monster murder anyone else, not if he could help it.  If he could just [i]move[/i], he could take this guy down.  Ponytail wouldn't be anything against his magic.  However, nothing he did worked.  He was just too weak.  He had failed to help anyone.  Again.

====

As the apparent villain "dealt" with the old man, Azumi, too, shouted. She still had her morality intact, after all, and truly wanted to help, to break the man's arm, to save the victim...

...but she couldn't. She couldn't even move. So she just shouted, trying to get free. The soldier reached to her holster, trying to pull out her handgun, to get it free and take this guy down, even if it weren't a kill shot... Too late, couldn't even get a good leverage.

Greg, also, had finally gotten to his senses. He couldn't move much, his wound not helping matters, but he, too, shouted, tried to get free. He had to... No, he, too, couldn't get out, swore under his breath at his failure.

The head rolled away from the corpse, and the sergeant slammed a fist into the ground. "Damnit!"

The one with the machete, the killer of the old man, grinned, looking around at everyone else. He waved to the others. "These ones look good! Time to round 'em up, boys!"

Several more of the gangsters, from the looks of them, came through, one approaching each of them. "Ponytail", as he was, to a degree, known, grinned down at "Joseph". "You ready to have some fun, boy?" For all of them... a foot slammed down.

Watching the man deal with their supposed savior had Cheryl on edge. She too had screamed, struggled even more against the debris fallen on her. Even as a deep gash formed in her leg from the sharp protrusion, she still tried to get herself free, try to save the man.

Kalas, too, shouted out for "Ponytail" to get back, fighting even more to get back to his feet. He couldn't let this happen, couldn't let anyone die again. They were Interferences; they had to stop this one way or another.

They couldn't. When the head rolled away, it was clear that they were too late to save anyone. Cheryl swore loudly, yelled out, "You son of a bitch; you're gonna die for that!" and continued to writhe herself from the wreckage, this time to try to kill the apparent villain.

Kalas, however, was completely silent. Another life lost, and they were all completely useless to prevent it from happening. He, too, slammed a fist into the ground, swore under his breath. How could they have let this happen...?

And then more of the gangsters showed up. The one approaching Cheryl grinned down at her with crooked teeth, making her cringe. Acting quickly, the Holy Mother pulled out her knife, her only weapon, prepared to stab it in the man's foot as soon as he raised the other...

...only for him to stomp on the hand that held the small blade. Cheryl clenched her teeth, holding back the cries as her hand was smashed.

"Don't think so, you little w****." And with that, he kicked her head, knocking her out in one blow.

The gangster approaching Kalas seemed to raise an eyebrow when he saw the strands of blue hair under the bandana. He didn't bother to ask, just stopping before the young man. Kalas glared sharply up at him, too weak to really do anything except hock up saliva and spit right at his foot. The gangster didn't react much, just whiping his shoe against the ground...and then bringing it right into his face before he could try anything else, knocking him out next.

===

[i]The Next Day (August 14th, 1957), Morning
Grateford Prison, Pennsylvania[/i]

It seemed he had an affinity for waking up with headaches every time he was knocked out. Kalas groaned as he awoke on the bench, slowly sitting up and placing his hand over his temples.

"Okay, that bastard dies..." he muttered, immediately recalling the events that had happened before this. He looked up, and saw Greg and Azumi in the corner from where he was. The angel was still unconscious, still heavily wounded, and the soldier was crouched right beside him. It was then that the Divine Child looked up, and saw where they were.

They were all locked in prison cells, in this dark, ruined place. Aside from the three sharing a cell, Cheryl and Spencer were locked in the one opposite to theirs. Adjacent to theirs was that "Joseph" guy, who was also still unconscious.

"...so I guess this is what it's like to be locked up, huh?" Kalas had to ask, in a small attempt to make light of the situation. "Closest I've had was house arrest from that one time."

"With the way you do things, I'm surprised you haven't been actually arrested," Cheryl remarked back at him, having been sitting against the bench and fiddling with her knife. When she had awoke, she had spent most of her time nursing the wound in her leg, which was now a deep, visible scab just stopping before her heel. She only hoped it wouldn't be infected by the time they got out of here.

And she seriously doubted a Save Point was going to spontaneously appear like it did in that heavily raining city.

It was then that the sound of footsteps came closer, though not the same catcalls as usually came with the captors. An older, frail man approached, with black, graying hair and glasses, looking into the cells. He didn't look as sadistic as the others, perhaps a prisoner himself. "How is he?" he asked, looking to the only unconscious one among the Interferences.

Azumi was quiet, not even looking to them. All of her concern was for this one man, one who she peeled the shirt of up somewhat. "It's infected..." she muttered, not even looking to them. "I need some kind of medicine."

He looked left and right, making sure nobody could see... and threw down a small bottle and a roll of bandages. "I thought something bad was going on. Seal it up soon."

She was surprised, but didn't look it, just taking the equipment and starting to work, feeding him the pills, massaging his throat to force them down, then wrapping the bandage.

Kalas was also surprised, blinking once. He said nothing to this, however, and just looked at the old man with a frown. "You some double-agent, or something?"

He quickly shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

(A quick talk with him, then we'll get to the next section probably.)

====

In the cell he was sharing with the woman, the mage could have made a comment across to Kalas about how he himself knew cells better than the Blueberry ever would, but didn't bother.  Spencer was slumped against the wall away from Cheryl, not moving or responding to anything much.  How could he let that man die?  If he were just a little stronger, if he had just moved, his magic could have knocked that guy's block off.  Instead, an innocent man had died when he should have done something, and, as some experimentation revealed, he couldn't use his magic here, anyways.  He was basically useless.

He pulled out a bottle of Lyrium and chugged it, before throwing it against the opposite wall.  It didn't shatter, but throwing things seemed to be a good outlet for frustration so far, so he wasn't complaining.  Even though this world sapped his magic, his Lyrium addiction remained.  The one thing he wouldn't mind getting rid of, but it still stuck with him wherever he went.  Fantastic.

Now that fidgety old guy showed up.  The Blood Mage had no idea what to think of him.  He figured since the guy wasn't in a cell, that he had to be working for Ponytail, but then he tossed over the medical supplies.  Was he being forced to be in his position?  He was somewhat reassured that there was at least a halfway decent person living on this world.

"I'm guessing you ain't gonna let us outta these cells."  He  said to the fidgety guy, who shook his head in response.

"[i]Just [/i]great."  Spencer didn't say anything else, and just leaned his head back against the wall.

====

"That figures," Cheryl muttered, putting her knife away and slumping back as well. "Guess we just have to wait until they torture us, or whatever it is they plan to do with us."

Kalas, however, had other plans. The former winged man got up from the bench, walked up to the bars of the cell to face the old man. As the man looked somewhat concerned, Kalas spoke as quietly as he could, mainly so the other goons wouldn't hear him.

"You and I both know you're lying," he started. "I would know; I was in the same place as you once."

For a moment, the fidgety man was silent, staring at the young man before him. From the looks of the boy's blue hair...he was probably one of them, those that have been mentioned in the notes. He didn't mention this, however, and replied just as quietly, "There isn't much that I can do about it. You should probably know that."

Kalas would have argued...but an idea came to him right then. Looking straight at the man, he told him upfront, "I'll work for these guys, then. Get me out of here and take me to that guy, and I'll talk about it with him."

This had earned a snap up from both Cheryl and Azumi. Though the latter was focused mainly on nursing Greg's wounds, she had give one glare to the blue-haired boy, hoping that he was faking it. The former just looked with a 'you can't be serious' expression. The old man was also surprised by the request, having to shake his head.

"You know the Wardens won't allow it that easily," he said on the matter.

"Not without you to back me up," the young man countered. "Trust me on this. I know what I'm doing."

Another moment of silence...before the old man sighed, looking to the Wardens nearby. "Only this one," he said, before unlocking the cell and allowing only Kalas to step out. The few Wardens stepped over at this, keeping their guns trained so that Azumi and Greg wouldn't escape. The soldier just kept her focus on nursing the angel's wounds, not looking up once, or even making a comment in response.

With that, the frail man led Kalas away, to make an alliance with the rest of the Wardens. Once they were out of earshot, Cheryl just had to make a comment, knowing what the fellow protagonist had done before.

"Once a traitor, always a traitor."

Of course, it was right then that Greg had finally come to, groaning from the pain as he slowly sat up. "Ugh...what..."

"You're still weak," Azumi said, still addressing him as her authority. "You need to rest."

The angel shook his head to this. "No...no, I'll be fine..."

~*~

Meanwhile, Kalas found himself walking passed several of those "Wardens", who all glared at him in turned. One even spat at him, to which he wiped off, all the while doing all he could to keep calm. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, he told himself.

It wasn't long before he found himself before the one in charge, the Ponytail guy from before. He looked at the boy with a grunt, and then to the old man that brought him here. "You lettin' prisoners out now, Herbert?"

The man, now identified as Herbert, shook his head. "It's not what you think, Mick. He says he wants to work for us."

'Mick' looked back at Kalas then, who looked back with an unchanging look. He shoved him once; the boy still didn't respond, though he looked like he wanted to.

"Too pretty, I hafta say," he then commented, earning a few laughs from the other thugs. "But I think you can make the cut."

Kalas almost wanted to punch the man for the comment, but held back. He instead spat to the side, acting the tough guy once more. "You 'think'? I know your kind of work around here; I think I know what I'm doing."

Mick had to smirk at this. "A smart one, are ya? I like this one already." With that, he brought the boy aside, getting to the specifics. "Since you already know like you say you do, I guess I don't have to explain that the fighting here's for our entertainment."

"I can already tell," Kalas said, trying not to glare. This was something he wasn't going to be proud of doing, among many other things he wasn't already proud of.

"Good on ya, kid," Mick slapped him across the shoulder. "We send in all that we can. Grims, Leeches, a few of our boys even. Then we throw 'em right back for the next time. It's just that simple."

The blue-haired boy just nodded, not bothering to ask what 'Grims' or 'Leeches' were. Probably the monsters of this world, he figured. With this, he decided to negotiate one thing. "I'll work on one condition. And no, it has nothing to do with letting my friends go."

Mick now had to raise an eyebrow to this. "Better make it good."

"Should be good enough," Kalas remarked. "You know that orange-haired woman? She's a double-crosser, almost got me and another friend into a lot of trouble. She's pretty tough, but I think you can do something about making it harder for her."

Another moment of silence, as the apparent Head Warden thought to consider this. Afterwards, he then smirked and clasped the boy's hand to seal the deal. "Alright, kid. We'll send more after her. Think you'll make a good Warden here."

Kalas forced a smirk back, though deep down he did regret this. In spite of his anger towards Azumi working for those guys...he knew this would come back to bite him in the ass.

====

Spencer first thought, as he listened as Kalas tried to convince the old guy, that the bluenette was trying to help them.  To his actual surprise, it turned out that he was just trying to help himself.  Screw them over just so he could get out of here without a scratch.  The Blood Mage jumped up, clutching at the bars, trying to get a good look at the cell next to them.

He could only watch as Herbert let Kalas out, and began to escort him to whoever was in charge of this merry band of psychopaths.  He even tried to grab Kalas' arm as he passed, but the pars kept him from reaching far enough.

"Bastard!"  He yelled after Kalas.  "I thought you were one of us!"  When he didn't even receive a response, Spencer growled in rage, and kicked at one of the benches connected to the walls.

"I can't [i]believe[/i] this!  Now I wanna get outta here just to kick some sense back into that idiot!"