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A cell door opens with a horribly grating sound that is only possible when two cast iron metal components have not been oiled in a very long time. A man is haphazardly tossed onto the dirt floor inside. It would at first appear the man was unconscious, the way he fell limblessly to the ground. But as the cell door closed he sucked in a breath and clambered to his feet, nearly falling over. He coughed and wheezed.
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"It stinks!" he grabbed the cell door and pushed, then pulled, with all his might, "you got the wrong guy, can't you tell!" No one appeared on the other side of the door, though the man seemed to expect it. "My father will have your head for this!", the man yelled, gesturing at the door. "Come back here as-gah!" Something hit the back of his head. The man spun to face his cell again, hand clutching the back of his head. His wide eyes began to adjust to the dim lamplit room, seeing a figure against the far wall.
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"Stop yur yapping.", a seemingly drunk man slurred from the corner. The man eyed the small pile of rocks next to the drunk, and a rock now laying at his own feet.
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"They won't come back!" the drunk yelled, "nothin’ you say will change it."
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"Well I-" the man sputtered, " I don't belong here, th-this is unlawful! Someone needs to come down and listen to me. I- I'm a Grimvalt!" The man patted at his sides, "If I can just- Gods where is my ID?"
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The drunk cut in, "They changed ya durin’ intake, yo'd a been juiced up, tho."
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"What? They can't just-" The man pinched at the scratchy tunic he wore and looked at his bare feet, “My boots are fine reptilian leather! Where are they!”
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"Are you deaf or sumthing? Yo won't need ‘em in here tho, don't worry, ain't gonna change nothing." The drunk tossed a rock he had been holding away from him. "We ain't gunna be here long anyhows."
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A distant shout spooked the Grimvalt. More voices joined it, hollering and banging bars. Two armored men came into view, holding up another man by the armpits. The Grimvalt's voice joined the crescendo, as he attempted to reach through the bars to them.
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"Hey! I'm a Grimvalt! I'm James Octavius Grimvalt! Hey!" Octavius couldn’t fit his hands through the bars towards the men, they were just too close together. He could barely hear his own voice between the others shouting. The guards had no reaction to him, lanterns on their hips illuminated the dank hallway and the dull armored masks obscuring their faces. Octavius pressed his cheek into the bars to see their backs as they passed by. The city's symbol was printed on the backs of their fabric overcoats. Distantly a cell door squeaked open, sound barely detectable under the screams and banging. The guards returned to view, walking faster now without the man they were carrying. "There's been a mistake, I don't belong here!" Octavius yelled at the top of his lungs, knowing he was directly beside the guard's ears. Their steps did not falter as their lantern light receded from view.
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Distantly a voice screamed, "There's been a mistake! I don't belong here." with a grossly exaggerated posh accent. Another voice laughed. A few voices continued shouting. At least one began openly sobbing. Octavius sank to his knees, facing the door, face red. Slowing his breathing, he turned to face the drunk, whose eyes were closed and knees drawn to his chest. The cell was cramped, probably around three by five feet. The cell door made up the entirety of the wall on one side. The ceilings were tall though, Octavius was quite tall, and even he couldn't touch them if he were to jump. A gas light buzzed weakly from a recess within the ceiling. There was no furniture, no plumbing, no windows, and no objects, save for the few stones piled next to the drunk. The cobblestone walls were unadorned, save for the occasional missing stone and what seemed to be a half-hearted attempt at breaking out.
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"Don't look so confused these just holdin cells." the drunk spoke, and when Octavius 's eyes snapped to his face, his eyes were still closed.
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"So they'll take us out soon then?"
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"Yeah got like a hour, max."
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Octavius relaxed, only slightly at that. Someone nearby began scraping at the metal bars or something, making a horrible noise. Octavius swallowed his reaction to snap at the unknown person, they'd probably just do it louder, to purposely be an ass. "I will just speak to someone at that time." Octavius said, mostly to himself.
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"Don't think they write down last words here."
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"What?" Octavius said, rubbing his eyes.
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"Think they want to get it done real fast, they got alot of us to go so, why'd they bother? Doesn't really work from a logistical standpoint if ya think 'bout it. Not like they got a send it to anyone anyway."
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"They don't even send names out in the paper anymore." A voice from a different cell spoke up.
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"Yo don't know that," the drunk replied, "and it’s rude to butt in on other people's personal talks!"
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"I do know, a newsboy told me. And I am not butting in. I am adding helpful information to the discussion." The voice said.
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"Well there ya go-"
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"What are you talking about?" Octavius cut-in, "actually nevermind, where are they going to take us?"
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"Pretty sure they got a specific chamber, I reckon they'll take us a few at a time." The drunk seemed more awake now, and was idly pulling at the threads of his tunic.
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When he didn't continue speaking Octavius gestured with a hand and said, "and then what?"
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"I don't know how they do it these days, used to be electric chair, but I think firing squad especially if they keep us in groups, it'll probably hurt."
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"Gods."
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"Well it probably won't take long-"
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"You're being executed?"
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"Well you will be too, I mean this is Death's Row-"
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Far off, a cell door opened with an unmistakable sound. Octavius swung around to face the hallway just as a figure sprinted by. Octavius inhaled, and a cell door slightly closer opened and two more figures sprinted by. "Are the guards-", Octavius startled at the drunk, who was now standing over him staring at the hallway. Another cell door squeaked open, immediately followed by two racing figures. Octavius 's hands clawed into the dirt. A nearby door squeaked, two more figures came running. Dirt got under his fingernails, Octavius was vaguely repulsed by the feeling. The cell next to their own was opened, and a third smaller figure followed the normal two, but stopped at Octavius 's cell. The figure deftly unlocked the door and pulled it open. Octavius began to rise, and had the wind knocked out of him as his face hit the dirt and the drunk ran over him, then away, running much faster than any drunk person should be able to. The cell door on the other side of theirs opened. Octavius crawled to peek down the hallway. He watched the figure, a woman he noticed, open another cell and jump against the wall to avoid the fleeing occupants. Somewhere above an alarm began to ring. Octavius wondered if they were all running to their deaths. Another cell was opened. But staying would guarantee death, right? The woman opened the last cell door and sprinted after the freed inmates. And Octavius was running after her, unable to remember making the decision to do so.
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