User:The Unknown Hitchhiker/Transcription

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http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/university-school-roleplay/lit-adv-no-posting/t.58137317_1/

http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p266/OkayWhyNot/Becca%20Stuff/Icons/th456820.gif

[size=10]@Soul: No problem! I'll take care of her just fine. @Rikuyo: Come on now. Off to the nuclear power plant.

Yasu@Rikuyo: o.0 Base? Like in baseball? Never played it. Yasu@Angular: What's a base? Angular@Yasu: Nothing for you to worry about. Maybe in a few years. -_-' Yasu@Soul: -nom- I can imagine swimming around on some cheesecake.

Angular@Soul: No kidding! I'm doing the same. :][/size]

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The message didn’t find its way through the wires. But for something as important as this, that was already anticipated and counted for. Telegraphs these days were not as reliable as they used to be, and the newly budding Internet was still in testing. It wasn’t a surprise the connection failed to reach to Veidt’s personal computer. The precinct had never encountered such a criminal like the one they’re currently holding in their cell—and to think it! He’s still in the cell, having locked himself into it, trapped and confined, which was the exact opposite of what the usual criminal does. He [i]did[/i], however, seemed to have mentioned that he had planned to escape. How, they didn’t know, but they were all taking necessary precautions to prevent this, even if it meant doubling the work load the officers are receiving.

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[imgleft]http://i282.photobucket.com/albums/kk252/PolyphonyOpinion/Ozy2.jpg[/imgleft][align=center][color=#7407c0][b][size=20]A[/size][size=15]DRIAN [size=20]V[/size][size=15]EIDT[/size][/b][/color][/align]

[i][size=10][color=#5d6fac]"The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear:"[/color][/size][/i]

[align=center][color=#530FD2][size=11]XXX[/size][/color][/align]

[align=right][size=10][i][color=#5d6fac]"'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'"[/color][/i][/size][/align]

“Looney” was sleeping, or was trying to, or was pretending. There was no need to endanger anyone by trying to cuff him right there and then, so Captain Miller took the opportunity to send a message to who he thought would decode that criminal’s mind.

The man they picked was a fairly new, but very enthusiastic young officer named Roy. He was being bored at his desk while logging new criminals. Only a several of them actually gave Roy a hard time that night, so work was especially dreary. He considered heckling a few on purpose, but that wasn’t ethical, and causing a scene was out of the question. It was all Roy could do to keep himself from falling into a monotonous drone in a display of boredom. So one could only imagine how Roy felt when he was sent on a manual message run that would last an hour at most. For him, it was anything to get out of being stuck in that building for the rest of his night. For all the other officers around him, it was anything to get that weird guy out their door.

Adrian Veidt was sleeping in his bed when the call came. The phone was set at a quiet tone so it wouldn’t startle him—not that it would, anyway. After the secretary told him a young man was waiting in the lobby for him insistently with an urgent message from a police captain, Adrian thanked her politely. He worked his grogginess off by taking a light jog to his closet and then punching the door a few times. A few dents, but that was all. He didn’t feel a suit would be needed just for going down there and telling the kid to leave, so he didn’t. He put on something collared and took the long ride down the elevator.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting comfortably in the backseat of his limousine; Roy was sitting beside him, muttering about Captain Miller and his police station, whose merits and reputation Adrian had recently questioned in an attempt to get Roy to leave. Of course, the file that was brought along showed him otherwise, and Adrian, with only slight difficulty, could see that Roy was telling the truth. If a police officer was truly holding such a dangerous man in their building, there would have been signs of panic, and possibly a little bit of worrying, but Roy showed neither of that and instead, seems to be quite happy. Why, he wouldn’t ask, but he didn’t care. The driver sped along the city streets at a speed only possible when no other car was out to cause traffic.

When Adrian got there, he began wondering why he had so readily complied. Perhaps it was his old connections with the officers or maybe it was feeling of being on a case again, the feeling of being able to so easily hold someone’s life in his hands. But that was a long, forgotten feeling, left behind for more than a year... The first thing he noticed was the prostitute. She was badly bruised; bandages were wrapped in archaic styles all around her by obviously inexperienced police officers. The most peculiar thing was that she was still sitting on her chair, handcuffed, surrounded by men who jeered at her condition and mocked the unfortunate occurrence that led her to it. From the looks of it, she was messily beaten by someone who either had no training or didn’t need one—a spontaneous attack, that is. But even if she was a prostitute, she still was a woman in need of redemption. And redemptions, of course, are one of the wide variety of things that Adrian Veidt has to offer.

He knelt in front of her, ignoring the useless taunts that spilled from the mouths of the thugs and criminals around him, and said in a voice as charming as he could make it, [color=#5f07c0][b]“Hi there. Not feeling so hot now, huh? Here, why don’t you come with me?”[/b][/color] He motioned for the stunned policemen around him to uncuff her. When they didn’t, he walked up to Roy, smiled warmly like they were old friends and clapped his hand on Roy’s back. [color=#5f07c0][b]“Come now. Just this once.”[/b][/color] The young man gave a look of suspicion and overall disbelief before muttering something along the lines of [i]I guess even the smartest, richest, happiest man in the world needs an escape[/i]. He pulled out a large ring of keys, picked out the correct one and handed it over to Adrian, who unlocked the restraints and pulled the prostitute to her feet. She said something derogative about her treatment by the other officers and asked him what positions he liked, but Adrian wasn’t listening. [color=#5f07c0][b]“Set her down over there,”[/b][/color] he commanded, and pointed to a stool in another corner of the room. [color=#5f07c0][b]“Now show me your special guest.”[/b][/color]

While the Captain explained the details of the incident, he led him to one of their holding cells. Inside was a man, probably thirty years of age and counting, sleeping. He wore the uniform of a cop, most likely stolen, not fabricated. Careful observation revealed bloodshot eyes, a characteristic Adrian knew was reserved only for the sick, the allergic, or the mentally insane. He had a lot of nerve, coming to a place like this, and lot more nerve, to be able to predict his eventual escape. A few instructions were necessary, however; Looney was not your ordinary day-to-day criminal. [color=#5f07c0][b]“Seal the doors. Dispatch your men to the alley behind the building. Station them right behind the wall of this cell. Bar all windows. Everyone stand guard, guns out.”[/b][/color] Adrian looked at the man one more time, analyzing and recreating every possible move he could think of—it would be easy for Liam here to just reach out and kill him. A silly mistake would be silly.

Veidt, the man of perfection, stooped down, face-to-face, with the lowest of the low, Looney.

[color=#5f07c0][b]“Alright, I’m here. What do you want?”[/b][/color]