When menaced by the pit-faced prison guards, their clear inhumanity and heavy black batons unnervingly suggestive of the wanton violence they threatened, the average tormented university-goer fell in line. Nobody, after the veritable electrocution that was the shock of finding oneself thrust into this urban netherworld, wanted to risk a savage beatdown courtesy of these freaky things’ truncheons--or so Barney thought.

While he and the others wilted under the guards’ eyeless gaze, silently cooperating in the hopes of keeping those fracture-inducing weapons at their sides, Vincent took action. A singular idea had possessed him: that falling into the hands of this place’s security meant death, and any chance for survival, no matter how risky or slight, was worth taking. A few guards close by had their attention on physically motivating Mila and Jin, who’d recovered less well than the others from the ordeal so far. Grunting [b]“Get your asses in gear!”[/b] the nearest shoved the poor redhead into Jin hard enough to send both sprawling. It was then that Vincent threw himself into the guard, capsizing not just the aggressor but his closest compatriot as well, who took an unlucky blow from the fallen guard’s flailing arm. As they went to join the others on the ground, the criminal made a break for it.

Even as his subordinates struggled to get up, the captain moved quickly after the runner. [b]“HEY!”[/b] Vincent took off with every ounce of speed his legs could muster, so fixated on his goal of the open guardhouse gate that he didn’t see the guard’s arm in motion. Instead he could feel the air pressure against his hair as the baton came down in a leaping overhead smash, narrowly missing both Vincent’s shoulder and leg. Not even a second later it struck the surface of the dock behind him, strong enough to crack the ground. Fragments flew amidst the big pink splash, but the criminal sped away, the adrenaline pumping through his veins from the near miss lending wings to his feet.

As he pulled away from the cluster of guards and students, however, Vincent became acutely aware of a single fact, one no less damning for its simplicity. The great yellow searchlight atop the courthouse, the eye whose eerily animal likeness could make one’s skin crawl, swiveled to follow him. No matter where he went, he would be bathed in its lambent flood. Suddenly, the feasibility of an already unlikely escape had dropped to rock bottom, but the beacon’s glare was hardly the extent of his worries. Behind him, the guard captain pulled his arm back with his baton held tight, and only after a moment did Barney realize that the fearsome sentry meant to throw it. A sudden, irrational urge flared in Barney’s mind, telling him to tackle the guard and give the runner a chance, but he couldn’t do it. His logic and instincts for self-preservation would not allow it. And though a million things told him he’d made the right decision, he still felt ashamed.

The next second the captain hurled his baton like someone throwing a stick for a dog. It sailed through the air and struck Vincent in his right tricep. Though it amounted to just a glancing blow, and neither broke bones nor prevented him running, it sent enough pain through his arm to make the impact with the dock feel like a stubbed toe. Wounded but tough enough to continue on, Vincent staggered for only a moment, and as he resumed his flight the guard captain straightened. [b]“Hmph! He won’t get far.”[/b] Though lacking a face to sneer with, he conveyed the expression well enough with his voice alone. Barney could exactly see with the sentry’s back turned, but he thought he saw the guard reach to his chest and make a pulling motion. When he withdrew his hand, a liquid, shadowy mass formed into the shape of a new baton. Dumbfounded, Barney watched as the guard used the weapon to point at the fleeing criminal’s back, just before he passed through the gate between dock and prison. [b]“What are you morons doing? After him!”[/b] With angry noises of affirmation, the two guards Vincent knocked over raced in his direction.

Then, the captain turned toward the rest of his captives, their progress halted by the unexpected escape attempt. No emotion could be gleaned from staring into his yawning pit, but his anger could be tangibly felt, and Barney knew in that instant that he and the rest were about to suffer the consequences of Vincent’s defiance. “Looks like your friend made the wrong choice,” the guardsman drawled. “Can’t have you gettin’ any ideas now, huh? Boys, hobble ‘em.”

Panic seized hold of Barney, but before he could even fight back the nearest guard lunged for him. The dark sentry grabbed him in a choke hold, the pit of its face so close that the bearded man could feel the warm humidity welling up from within. As struggled against a grip much stronger than it should be, the captain approached and with a swing of his baton struck Barney right on the bridge of the fit. “Augh! Gah!” Barney cried, any fight taken out of him. Though he couldn’t tell if it was broken, just setting it down hurt plenty, and that was enough for him. When the captain raised his arm again he pleaded, “Please, no! I won’t run, I swear!” The guard gave a stiff nod and moved on to the next person, held in place by his next crony. With teeth clenched both from pain and anger, as much at his own pathetic simpering as the cruel guardsmen, he watched the same fate befall the seven others, even the little girl. He silently begged the others to not fight back; if anyone tried to kick or bite, they’d surely receive as many blows as it took to beat them into submission, and probably a couple more after that. Once the captives’ collective ability to run had been hobbled, it was time to march.

The guards forced their newest prisoners to limp down the dock and into the prison. From there it was only a short walk to the courthouse, not even two minutes, but it was time enough for Barney to witness exactly what was going on inside the prison yards--the ground-level view denied to him by the walls along the shoreline. The sight filled him with such horror that it chilled him to the bone, and half-remembered words sprang, unbidden, into his mind. [i]Your situation is not an enviable one,[/i] they whispered. [i]I couldn’t blame you if you called it Hell[/i]

The prison yards were alive with convicts. Clapped in chains between their huge metal collars beneath iron helmets with human faces, and wearing striped uniforms in the distinctive white, black, and blue of Barclay Waterfront University, they were herded like livestock along the yards’ gravel paths by guards brandishing buzzing cattle prods. The sentries oversaw the endless procession going in and out of various pens, where the inmates sat in rows of desks. Once seated, pipes affixed to their helmets, and as a glowing yellowish fluid pumped into the back, what appeared to be money got vacuumed out through the mouth. Perhaps worst of all, the scene was silent except for the shuffle of feet, the clanking of chains, and the whir of the machines. Nobody wept or screamed. It was a grim march of inhumane utilization, one that made Barney’s early usage of the word ‘nightmare’ seem laughably, painfully premature. After only a few moments he averted his gaze, unable to stomach it. His eyes drifted to the searchlight, still locked onto Vincent as guards corralled him between the pens. His hopes that he might find refuge in the prison grounds had been in vain, and Barney didn’t want to see what became of him, either. Luckily, it didn’t take long to reach the courthouse.

Once the new arrivals were inside, the grand double doors shut with a massive slam, sealing the scene of barbarism outside. Barney forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to keep the gasping to a minimum as he fought to calm himself down. “This isn’t real,” he murmured once more. “It isn’t real. I’ll wake up any minute now, moan a little, and go to work…” As he labored to control himself, however, he couldn’t help but be distracted. If not what he’d just witnessed, in fact, he might have been stricken by admiration. The courthouse’s grand foyer made for an awesome spectacle, its rich red carpets and tapestries striking among marble-white pillars, arches, fancy railings, and curved stairways. In some ways it reminded Barney of a posh theater house more than a court of law, but the enormous, classical statues that littered the place, all glaring down imperiously with their swords and shields and scales at the ready, helped reaffirm the place’s identity. Here and there he spotted more security on patrol, the molded white decoration on their uniforms elevating them above the ordinary guards outside. After fanning out to make sure they had their guests surrounded, the arrival’s escort settled in to wait.

They did not wait long. Barney, kept alert and fidgeting by the lingering pain and his raw nerves, became aware of an intermittent tapping that grew steadily louder. By the time the source appeared, all eyes were on the left-hand staircase that swept down to the ground floor straight ahead, and everyone beheld him at once. It was a man, middle-aged, with brown hair starting to thin and gray, and a stocky frame. Gilded glasses over flinty eyes were sandwiched between broad shoulders and cheeks hardened by scowling wrinkles, and he sported a bushy but well-kept goatee. On closer inspection, the right lens of his glasses was dark, and its frame fanciful to the point of looking like a half-mask. He wore the tie, collar, and flowing black robes of a judge, but his attire aside, he seemed to Barney somewhat familiar. In fact, he looked like the spitting image of one [url=https://i.imgur.com/Z5lbBJa.png]Myron Pondwater[/url], president of Barclay Waterfront University, if not for a few unusual traits. His long robes trailed behind him and seemed to curl upward toward the end, turning wispy, and they seemed to move of their own accord. In one hand he managed an oversized judge’s gavel, bigger even than a croquet mallet, whose head he held to use the tool like a cane. And his eye. Though Barney couldn’t say what color they ought to be, the one visible eye that sized up the young people before him was a shade of luminescent yellow that at this point felt disquietingly familiar.

He came to a stop and placed the butt of the gavel in front of him, with both hands rested upon it. [b]“So, these are the folks who’ve thrown my prison into a fine state of uproar.”[/b] With a look of disdain he narrowed his eyes. [b]“On closer inspection, they seem quite ordinary, although certainly not of my stock.”[/b]

The guard captain nodded. “[b]Yes sir, we captured them before they could cause any trouble. Only one got away from us.”

“Not from me,”[/b] Pondwater corrected him. [b]“He was detained moments ago by the pens and will be with us shortly, although with the state of his jaw he may not feel very talkative.”[/b] His gaze never left his guests, which meant that everyone could see his expression of mild amusement, the look of one in complete and utter control. Barney shivered, and Pondwater continued. [b]“You all, however, seem quite capable, and I do have a few, simple questions. So let’s consider this the beginning of an impromptu trial. If we can treat one another fairly, we can come to an understanding, correct? So, who are you? How did you get into my prison, and for what purpose?”[/b]