Tilting my face, I’m glad of the rain even though it evanesces into the ether from the heat on my skin. Through the gloom of the sky, the moon is a scythe tonight, a fitting omen of my mission. Dirt clings to the soles of my feet, which move on instinct, following an invisible path. With every step I’m surer of what I must do. Images of teeth and bone and scalpels flash in my mind, though no longer accompanied by my agony anymore. Kane’s deep growls of satisfaction will soon rumble through the streets of the City of the Dead. The notion of it sets goose bumps firing over my skin.
Unbothered by fatigue or hunger, I walk into the night. Under the cloak of darkness, I spread my wings, arching my back as a cat would shake off a nap. The earth reeks of dampness following the rain, yet the air crackles with the possibility of what is about to happen as my feet hit soft grass and I set my eye on the low-lying structure before me.
A menace in itself, all beige on beige, brick and barbed wire. A place with one sole purpose: to protect the world from those it houses. It’s not without a hint of irony that I stalk up to the building, seeking my way in, bringing a harbinger of doom to one of its inmates.
I pause slightly at the sign near the main entrance informing me I’ve arrived at HMP Long Lartin. Home to some of Britain’s worst. My Fury instincts simmer in my blood, Alecto’s fiery rage telling me to burn, burn, burn.