In the echoing and arcane architecture of Killhouse, [[all is still.]]The gas released by Amberdraught; Essex's disenfranchised ex-governor, unlike the toxic cloud that drove you to this infernal Jailhouse in the first place, puts its victims to sleep only.
The collapsed figures of nearly 500 people, penitent and pilgrim alike, lie supine on the concrete killing floor of Prudence for the better part of two hours.
For the fortunate and death-mask-donning few that did not fall to the knockout gas - they spent that time navigating the smog-filled halls of the penitentiary in search of the failsafe switch that would return power to the ventilation system and clean air to the lungs of the unconscious masses.
Outside Killhouse you hear the crack of thunder and the distant patter of raindrops on the red glass ceiling.
A fan, then a hundred fans, kick on in unison.
As the clock strikes midnight [[everyone begins to wake up]].
First to wake are the physically smaller survivors, the gas working through their system faster by dent of their size. Their redrimmed eyes flutter open like the stuttering wings of a moth - and they display their teeth in grimaces of pain that mirrors that which you are beginning to feel.
Your own head throbs, feeling much like the events of the past two hours were a dream.
And you suppose, [[they were.]]You pull yourself to your feet and move just to feel your body do what you tell it to.
You wander the halls of Killhouse for a while. Everyone is befuddled. The glassy eyes of Lifers follow you from where they lie on the floor but none pursue.
Why would they? After all, [[The Indulgence is over.]]You pass the Warden's office. The door is open.
Inside you see Tabitha St. Mercy, blood and mucus pouring from her eyes to run beneath the rag that covers the lower half of her face, staring directly into the terrified countenance of one Augustine Amberdraught; ex-governor of Essex and, you think in this exact moment, [[the unluckiest man in the world.]]You hear the middleaged man begin to sob into his paunch but your feet carry you onwards through the Penitent Wings, the Hot Mess Hall, and to the hermetically sealed portcullis that seperates the hot and musty Break Room from the Lonestar Wastes beyond.
As you go, others fall in alongside you. The bloodsmeared faces of your peers, less than you arrived with, lead the way. The orange jumpsuited majority, the Penitents of Killhouse who - as of moments ago are neither peregrine or penalized - follow after towards [[their promised absolution.]]And it is with a pressurized hiss that the blastdoors unlock and the velvet midnight beyond bids you pass from the claustrophobic dark of Killhouse and into the chilly and damp air that follows an [[autumn storm.]] You and nearly 400 other people step from the vaunted and sacred halls of Prudence and into the cool night air of the San Saba. The crowd spills out onto the lawn like hatchlings, desperate to make some space between themselves and the horrible nest that spawned them. It takes merely minutes for the exodus to conclude.
The crowd breaks into groups which further self-divide. You hear the sound of engines turning over and the ambiant mutter of self-made men with a future ahead of them.
Behind you the gates to Prudence [[slam shut.]]Everyone jumps in unison. The portcullis hisses distantly as the hazlocks relatch. Some of the orange-jumpsuited freemen trade knowing looks and return to their purpose.
You watch them for a while, noting the gusto with which they take to labor when it belongs to them.
Then you tilt your head back and breath a deep, unkilling lungful of Lonestar Sky - and you regard it for a while before turning to leave yourself, Justice done as it ever might be, so long as law dwells in the hearts of men.
[[Fin]]OOC: Thank you for spending your Halloween with us!
We hope you liked being locked up in a scary helljail for many hours! We enjoyed locking you up!
Another event in the bag. One more this year to close it all out.
Next year look for us in Feb for a National Event!
Hugs n Thugs
- The DRTX Team