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description
Midnight’s your only ally—grit under your nails, sweat tracing the prison tattoo on your neck as you press against the cold concrete. The yard’s razor wire glints under searchlights; three shadows flicker ahead—your crew, low-crawling toward the maintenance tunnel. Every rustle of gravel echoes like a gunshot. You memorize the guard rotation: six seconds between sweeps. Move now or kiss freedom goodbye. The power grid hums ahead—a spiderweb of death strung between crumbling walls. Jonesy freezes; your hand clenches his shoulder. “Wait for the flicker,” you hiss. Lights dip—three…two…*now*. You vault the first wire, boots skimming dirt. Sirens wail in the distance. Ramirez curses—blood drips from a fresh cut. “Keep moving,” you snap. The tunnel grate creaks open; stench of sewage burns your throat. Cops fan out behind—flashlight beams slice the dark. You duck behind a dumpster, pulse hammering. “East fence,” Mika whispers. “Cut the chain, not the lock.” Bolt cutters bite metal; the links snap. Too loud. A K-9 snarls. Run. The final barrier: a 20-foot fence crowned with coiled wire. Boost Mika first; she straddles the top, flings a rubber mat over the spikes. Your palms bleed as you climb. Below, red dots dance—laser sights. Tires screech. “Go, go, *go*!” Concrete bites your knees as you hit the ground. The city’s glow taunts beyond the woods. One rule: get caught, and it all resets. You sprint, your crew’s breaths ragged behind. Freedom’s a mile ahead—if the cops don’t corner you first.
