Bobby sat cross-legged on his bunk, squinting at the note Adrian had left him. His face twisted into a mix of disbelief and irritation as he reread the messy handwriting.
"You've gotta be kidding me..."
He groaned, rubbing his temple. The paper crinkled as he unfolded it further, revealing a scrawled plan that looked like it had been written in the dark — or during a sugar crash.
Adrian's Note (aka: The Escape Plan)
Okay Bobby, here's the plan:
First, use the device hidden under your bed. It'll deactivate your suppression collar. I call it the S.H.I.T Box — Suppression-Hacking Internal Tech (yes, I know what it spells).
Yes, it's a stupid-ass name. If you think so too, then you're officially gay.
Bobby raised a brow. "What in the seventh grade is this?"
He flipped the note.
Second: Get to the generator room and plant the EMP grenade I left hidden in the air vent near the showers. Set it for 5 days from now, 11:00 p.m. sharp.
That's our best window — just before the new Warden arrives. Trust me, I did the math. High Specs doesn't lie.
Bobby sighed. "Fine. Reasonable enough. Questionable delivery."
Third: Leslie — 2:30 p.m., head to the security room and disable the cameras in Cell 13. I'll try to sneak into Cassie Vega's cell and negotiate for her help. If I die, avenge me. If she kills me, I probably deserved it.
There's a fine line between genius and insanity, and I'm doing the cha-cha on it.
Bobby let out a long breath. "He's going to get us all killed. But damn it… he might be right."
He glanced under his bed, retrieving a small, clunky metal box no larger than a deck of cards. Attached was a single button.
"Here goes nothing."
The moment he pressed it, his collar emitted a sharp beep, followed by a high-pitched whine and a click.
The device fell silent.
Then he felt it — a rush of strength, pressure returning to his fingertips like blood after numbness. His spatial powers surged, electric and wild beneath his skin.
Bobby grinned. "Oh, I'm back, baby."
Scene: Operation Penny Crawl
Phase one: get into the security sector unnoticed.
Bobby crouched by the hallway wall, fingertips shimmering with spatial ripples. Every few steps, he flicked a penny from his pocket, bouncing them off the walls like echolocation markers. Each clang told him more — distances, density, movement.
One bounced too far.
"Shit," he whispered, diving into a shadowed corner.
A pair of guards walked past, chatting about their lunch. One of them held a burger so greasy it was glistening under the LED lights. The other flipped through a gossip magazine.
"Seriously, who is dating She-Hulk right now?"
The guards passed. Bobby exhaled and continued.
He created a small portal in the floor, crawling through a shaft of folded space, and popped out behind a breakroom door labeled Security Sector C-2.
Peeking through a cracked opening, he spotted a guard at the console — his feet kicked up on the desk, sipping from a steaming coffee mug while flipping pages of a pin-up magazine.
"Gross," Bobby muttered.
He scanned the room. On the guard's desk: one cup of hot coffee, one tranquilizer dart, one half-eaten donut, and zero attention span.
"Perfect."
Bobby summoned a thin, razor-sharp ripple of spatial energy — what he called Spatial Cut. He sliced a hairline fracture through the air just beneath the guard's coffee mug. The bottom of the cup gave out in an instant.
Hot coffee spilled everywhere — straight into the guard's lap.
"AAAAHHHH! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT—"
The guard shot up, frantically trying to wipe the searing liquid from his pants.
Bobby didn't hesitate. He warped behind the man, snatched the tranquilizer dart, Grab it and flick it on his leg.
The guard staggered, wheezed, and collapsed like a felled tree.
Bobby dragged the unconscious body behind a desk and muttered, "Hope you like naps, asshole."
He rushed to the control panel. A flashing diagram labeled Cell Camera Grid caught his eye. He located Cell 13 — Adrian's current cell — and pressed a button labeled Diagnostic Mode.
A sticky note from Adrian fluttered out of the EMP pouch in his jacket.
He chuckled.
The note read: Stick this to the monitor. Maintenance cover story. Also draw a smiley face.
Bobby rolled his eyes but complied.
He scribbled a grinning face on the sticky note and slapped it onto the screen:
"CAM 13 — MAINTENANCE: BROKEN"
Then he shut off the feed.
"All right. You're up, boss."
POV: Adrian (Solitary Confinement)
Adrian sat cross-legged on the cold metal floor, hands resting on his knees, eyes half-lidded in quiet focus. The walls around him pulsed faintly with the hum of electricity. The overhead light flickered every now and then, casting long, twitching shadows on the steel walls.
"Forty-seven minutes left," he whispered, glancing at the corner where a rusted clock ticked steadily.
He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his breathing steady. One hour in solitary confinement felt like a week. No movement. No sound. Just the distant echo of steel boots down the hall and the occasional clank of a shifting pipe. It was meant to break people.
But it wouldn't break him.
He leaned back against the wall, arms folded. His eyes scanned the corners of the cell again, not out of paranoia, but habit. The plan was in motion. Bobby should've knocked out the security feed in Cell 13 by now. If bobby followed through, the cameras would loop, and Adrian could make his next move.
He rolled his shoulder. Muscles sore, but steady. Mind sharp. No mistakes tonight.
He'd seen Cassie only once in passing when I got locked up here. Quiet. Always in the shadows. Dangerous, maybe. But right now, they needed dangerous.
"I just have to get her to listen."
The silence returned. He let it.
For the next twenty minutes, he didn't move. Just breathed. Waited. Let the stillness wrap around him like armor.
When the door finally hissed and the locking mechanisms disengaged with a clunk, Adrian opened his eyes.
"Showtime."