Isolation Wing, last medicine run of the night; the latest run, the fewest stops. The med cart, manned by two large male orderlies, makes its way down the hall. It pauses only at the cells of the patients who are restrained and therefore, presumably, require no armed cover or extra bodies. A cell opens, one man goes inside, the other waits in the
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The next three, though, do get his attention.
By the time people start coming the opposite way, he's up and alert, peering out the little window. Then he starts to yell and pound on the door. If he can get anyone's attention, guard or inmate, that's all he needs.
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John hurries to Harvey's door and unlocks it quickly, constantly keeping his eyes out for security. It seems that there's enough chaos that he's far from the focus, though.
"There you are, old son. Free as a bird. Don' say I never gave you nothin. Now run!"
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"Down that hall, mate." He points, but cocks his head curiously. "Doubt the nurse will be in at this hour."
Maybe he's just going to steal drugs, which is all well and good, but John would put it off until he's on the outside. To each their own, though.
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"Cheers, squire."
He takes the keys when they're tossed to him and goes about opening every door he passes like a good lackey. After all, the more looneys there are in the halls, the less likely it is that he'll be caught before he makes it outside. From there...he has no idea where he'll go.
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He managed this with items found on the supply shelves-a couple of brillo pads, batteries from a flashlight. Voilà. Add his very own orange jumpsuit, and the cotton balls, bandages and things on the cart, and you have a portable bonfire.
So, here he comes and there he goes, and all the while he's humming something under his breath.
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"Where to now, squire?"
He still stops to unlock doors quickly as they go. It's only fair, after all, and leaves more cannon fodder in their wake.
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Geoffrey is at home in his modest Narrows apartment when the escape gets underway. However, his home computer steadily cycles through the security camera views on two of its three monitors. Only the third displays his game of Warcraft. When he sees the Joker on one of the other screens, he closes his game abruptly.
"No!" He watches other doors being unlocked and patients set free. "No! No! NO!"
Running to his bedroom closet, Geoffrey takes out a duffel bag and shoves a few guns into his waistband and hangs a small but heavy bag off of his belt. The bean bag firing shotgun is the last thing out and he runs out the door. He will not suffer a riot or a large scale escape. No sir. It's only a couple of blocks on his scooter to the asylum where he intends to tazer, bean-bag, and rubber bullet patients into submission and nip this break-out in the bud.
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Back home, where nobody is watching, the screen will show someone emerging from the maintenance closet in white orderly scrubs, along with, you know, some things on fire (see above). The first guard that manages to get close enough to constitute a threat will receive a few squirts in the face from his new friend the spray bottle. Say hello to liquid drain solvent!
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Anyone who would spray decent men in the eyes with drain-o should be lobotomized. Honestly. What has this world come to?
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And maybe it's a bit convenient that whatever the hell is going on here happened right before anyone managed to come and take her back to her cell.
She's certainly not going to knock convenience. However, she is going to peek out into the hall and see what's what.
Maybe take one of the thicker books with her. Just in case.
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Right. Like the library is an elevator, and the blazing cart is late for its job interview. Move it or lose it, woman!
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That hall-rocket has places to be, after all!
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Anyway, 'Chuck' is now standing in the hallway, fists raised victoriously. To onlookers, this pose may suggest something poignant, such as GOOOAAALLL. Next, it alludes to whoops, gotta go as he dodges the furious swiping of one heroic orderly. For his efforts, this man gets a shot of draino to the eyes and a chance to suck face with the nearest brick wall.
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The phone is ringing, but it takes frantic shouting just outside his office door to finally bring Gordon out of sleep.
He wakes with a jolt, immediately answering the phone. This can't be good.
Panic is what follows close behind the commissioner as he slams down the phone, grabs his coat and flies out of his office, hoping everyone and their mother is already on their way to Arkham.
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