𝕊𝕆𝕃𝕀𝕍𝔸𝔾𝔸ℕ𝕋║[ᴅ. ᴡᴀʏɴᴇ]

ʀÜᴄᴋᴋᴇʜʀᴜɴʀᴜʜᴇ

Vin sighed happily as he finished tying his boots and adjusted the holsters that adorned his shoulders and leg. He took his handgun, tucked it into the strap buckled around his thigh, and caressed his assault rifle as a lover would. Flicking the weapon with a practiced motion, he inserted a clip, smirking at the smooth, satisfying click.

A low, sinister chuckle echoed through his closed lips. There are no shackles chaining me down now... better watch out, Gotham.

He looked over to Damian, who was running his newly kevlar-gloved hand along the blade of his katana, grimacing at the state of his weapon. It probably hadn't been polished or fixed up during its time in lockup. "Ready to go, Robin?"

The vigilante sheathed his melee weapon with quick flair. "Yes."

Vin started towards the door with his gun ready to fire, but an arm across his chest halted him. He looked at Damian questioningly, and the other was holding a box of rubber bullets to him with an expectant, unyielding stare.

"I wasn't going to shoot them in fatal areas." He muttered indignantly and snatched the box from Damian's hand. He reluctantly removed his hurty bullets and reloaded his clip with slightly less hurty bullets, and slid it in with a gratifying snap. God, he missed that sound.

Even under his kevlar, lead-lined domino mask, Damian's rolling eyes were discernable. "We do not need to give Father more reasons to detain you here once more."

"I hate it when you're the reasonable one." Vin sighed and opened the door. A quick cursory scan up and down the corridor showed no sign of life. "I could have sworn I heard a full group of people in here when we first snuck in." He scratched his head in confusion. Damian's lens narrowed to suspicious slits as they trekked down the abandoned hall.

Damian stopped still, "There were. Look," He pointed to an ajar door. It was a break room filled with tables, chairs, and cabinets. "The coffee is still warm, and this plate of food is steaming. They were here not too long ago." He deduced.

"Good eye," Vin commented. "But the question remains: Where did they go?" He asked, primarily to himself.

Damian's mouth opened to reply but was interrupted by the startling pitch of an alarm. Red lights flashed in every corner and hall of the bullpen, adding to the shrill tone.

"Prisoners #91354 and #91355 are unaccounted for. This is not a test. I repeat: this is not a test. Inmates #91354 alias Spade and #91355 alias Robin have escaped impound." A PA stated clearly over the intercom. They could hear the message resound in nearby rooms.

"Well," Vin spoke up serenely. "We don't know where they went, but we know what they're after," He accounted for his weapons, making sure that nothing was missing. Knife, backup knife, switchblade, handgun, assault rifle; check, check, and check.

Sigh... and one box of rubber bullets.

"The sector doors are probably on emergency lockdown. Got any ideas?" He asked Damian as he emptied his handgun's chamber and replaced the lethal bullets with rubber ones, just as he did with his rifle.

Damian nodded, "The roof."

"Gotcha." He strapped his smaller weapon away, hefted up his automatic, and walked after Damian soundlessly. It wasn't easy keeping your foot noise to a minimum when you rocked metal-bottom boots, but years of practice later, he still preened at his hard-earned skill.

As they neared the end of their third hallway, they perceived the slightest murmur of voices. Damian stopped them, and Vin obediently hung back as the other peeked around the corner, hands gripping the hilt of his katana.