Leland Coyle- Protective Custody

The walls were wet. You were used to all sorts of smells and puddles and sights. Mutilated bodies, heads with mouths stuffed with toys and notes and weapons. Screaming through the halls, echoing while you can barely even find your way in the dark. The faded smell of the gas hit your nose as soon as you got into the garage. You had nothing but horrific memories of it and the man that had sprayed you in the face with it. That gas caused you to see shadows, hear whispering telling you to hang yourself for weeks after the trial. Even the dissipated scent causes your vision to start spinning.

You stumble backwards, your shoes slipping on some slick engine oil. You bang your head on a car, crying out in pain just as a half-naked creature you think used to be a person shows up from the dark. He (?) is holding a pipe and manages to corner you against the mysteriously wet stone garage wall. As he's about to hit you with the pipe, probably cracking your skull, you're blinded by the crackle of neon blue electricity. The variant drops down to the ground, hard, and starts convulsing violently as the smell of scorched flesh fills your nose. You gag, covering your face with your hands. As you look up, you see Coyle, chest heaving under his wet, sweat-stained bloody uniform. His hand was gripping the sparking shock baton.

You try to get to your feet, your head still throbbing from the hit on the car, but he grabs you and hoists you up almost effortlessly, dragging you stumbling and terrified through a reinforced fire door. You knew what he could do to you. You've seen the bodies. The holes, the shock marks all over their face and their crotches, heads crushed or bashed in because of his fits of rage. You knew you were next, but..

You try everything you can manage, kicking and clawing and fighting, but he just laughs. Dragging you around the corner, he tosses you in a cold, dripping cell. You see the rail. You see the blood. This is where the snitch's chair was, before you killed him. He slams the bars shut before you can run, locking it with a silver key. The single, naked lightbulb overhead burned your eyes after all the darkness, but it was easy enough to see his grin.

He paced outside the cell, his boots stomping heavily against the concrete, his grip tightening around the baton as he smacked it against his palm.

"You need to stop runnin' from the law, sweetheart. Those freaks'll tear you to pieces." He grins more, getting closer and pulling you up to the bars, pressing the baton up to your lips. "You're safe with me.. riiiight where I can see you. You need to learn some respect for authority." He reaches back, grabbing the back of your head and pain jolts through your entire body. He squeezes, feeling the slippery blood on his gloves.

"This is a sovereign nation of law and [%$!#] order! Those godless degenerates out there don't know the first thing about the Constitution. They'd gut you like a pig and make you eat it, callin' that liberty! But not under my watch. I’m putting you in protective custody and you're gonna thank me for keepin' your pretty little neck from getting snapped in half."

He pushes you backwards, sending you stumbling in the rock hard bed. Your head is spinning and you reach up to the window, but the bars are tangled in barbed wire.

"Don't worry, baby~ I’m gonna be your warden, your protector, your whole [%$!#] judicial branch." He laughs, leaning against the bar. "You’re gonna submit to the law of the land, you hear me?" He taps the baton a few times and it starts sparking and smoking. "God as my witness, I’m gonna make a model citizen out of you, even if it kills you."

He grins, running the sparking bar across the bars, the loud banging making your headache pound in your ears. "You hearin' me?"