Restriction 2

Port Arturo was located on an island south of New Orleans. About two miles off the coast, it was one of the O.S.D.'s safest facilities. This also meant that escaping was easier said than done. Just north of the receiving building wrapping around to the west wing was a shipping area. Almost a mile in size total, trucks came and went through one of the six roads that protruded from the facility. Leaving unnoticed was harder than escaping a max security prison taking into consideration the caliber of the security.

While maybe not the absolute top of the food chain in terms of strength, Lyle alone was enough to foil most any attempt. This location had been chosen as it was near the southernmost point of the Mississippi river. Not being placed on the coast was also a safeguard to the nearby city of Jean in the event of a void surge. Today was what they had prepared for.

Several sirens blared loudly, howling through the night. The loud clunking of floodlights snapping open and on as they illuminated the entirety of the courtyard outside. The night was dark, with the overhead clouds reflecting a similar hue. They shined down and up into the sky, rotating slowly as if seeking a flying threat. Unbeknownst to everyone, the surge being caused by one of their own.

Marco rummaged around his room, quickly changing into sweats and a light hoodie. He packed his bag quickly, picking up what little clothes he had nearby, he picked up his tablet out of instinct, placing it back down on the bed as he looked down at it. This was the point of no return. His hand had been stinging this entire time, but only now did it begin to settle in. He stared down at the piece of his missing hand, perfectly circular. The heat of the blast cauterized the wound as it passed through. He walked into his bathroom, rummaged through his medicine cabinet and wrapped gauze around the wound.

He stepped out into the living room, looking to the right towards the balcony, where he saw the glint of a sniper scope. He ducked as a beam flew over his head, walking towards his room with his head down. There was a set of windows facing the same side, he crouched and closed them before picking up his bag, he walked to the door again stopped before he could see the balcony. He grabbed his bag and tossed it in front of him, it pulverized as it cross the sight of the sniper. Marco took his chance and bolted to door, the middle section of it was melting off as it received two back to back blasts from a handler's weapon. 

He slammed his shoulder through, breaking off the circular section in the center and jumping through the hole. Since it wasn't fully cooled down, it stuck hard to its sweater, searing his shoulder. He crawled to the side as he took it off, tossing it on the floor and sprinting towards the stairs. He saw Darren standing in the hallways, wide eyed as Marco signaled for him to get back inside. Suddenly, a transmission came through his duplex.

"Give up Marco, let's make this easy." Lyle's voice came through clear as day. The door to the stairwell was locked, he walked back and ran forward, kicking the door with the base of his foot. It didn't budge, he repeated his actions and still the door didn't budge. He looked around then down at his hand. The blade still came from out of his knuckle, he raised his fist and lowered it in one smooth motion.

It cut with no resistance through the steel panel. He sliced three more times, the center piece falling off in a perfect square as he climbed into the stairwell. He quickly went down the well, he could hear as the door in the floor under him opened. Two sets of quiet footsteps approached his flight of stairs, they both stopped in the landing just below. He couldn't see or hear them, but Marco knew they were there.

Without much of a choice, Marco peeked his head, a gunshot blasted through the stairwell as the bullet grazed him. They were carrying regular sporting rifles, enough to kill anyone, although he didn't know the extent of his own durability. Pulling his head back as quick as he has peeked it out, he devised a quick plan.

With his new found speed, he hurled over the railing and bounced off towards the two with the wall ahead. The two fired at the spot that he hurled over, struggling to chase him with their aim. By the time their guns were drawn on him again, Marco ducked and rolled, sideswiping in front of him and knocking one of them on the floor and pushing the other one towards the wall with his forearm on the his neck. The guard on the floor's head slammed on it's side, he was wearing a protective helmet, slowly turning his head to see Marco again. The man picked up his rifle, Marco heard him fumbling and looked over his shoulder. He kicked the rifle back towards his chest, a small crunch snapped through the air as he gasped for air. 

The guard on the wall held on to Marco's forearm as he tiptoed. Marco held him slightly in the air as to deprive him of air. Slapping and gripping tightly, he could feel as he gargled attempting to breathe. As much as he could, Marco didn't want to kill him. Marco pulled his arm off the man who fell on his knees while holding his throat.

He left the two of them behind and continued to climb down the stairs. A strike of lightning illuminated the southern ocean as he went down, arriving at floor level. He raised his hand to cut through the downstairs door, opening up the square as he had on his entrance. He looked to the left and right, in front of him, the front exit. He stepped towards the door as he thought back a few minutes. Where is Tyson?

By this point, he should have heard a gunshot or two at the bare minimum for some sort of neutralization attempt. He stepped out, rain was pouring heavily down on Port Arturo. He looked forward, seeing a single figure standing in front of a nearby fountain. Lyle was perched on the edge of the water, facing away from Marco who approached from behind. He was looking down.

"Three dead trainees, Marco" spoke Lyle through Marco's duplex. With swiftness, he took the three bodies out, pierced by several needles across their entire bodies. "Three DEAD traineed, MARCO!" One of them Marco recognized instantly, it was Dilan, the kid who had received them on the day of their return. It hadn't even been a week since they had seen each other last, and now he was dead partially because of him.

"You won't take another step from there." Lyle turned, moving so fast it was as though he had teleported. His gun was already trained on Marco, from the trajectory, straight to his chest. Lyle's smug expression had been wiped, his chest was chock full of the same needles that stabbed into the corpses behind him. Replaced with a face of disdain, he ripped open his tracksuit with his other hand, revealing a large circular tattoo dead in the middle of his left pectoral. It glowed in a spinning red light, quickly picking up in speed. 

Marco recognized the slight sound that came over the rain, it was the same whirring that came from his own rifle when it was in sniper mode. He tried to cover with his right arm as he jumped left to no avail, a new hole being blasted straight through it and under his right ribcage. He stumbled sideways as he looked down at himself. His vision became hazy as he gushed out blood from his mouth. From just under the joint of his elbow, his right forearm was completely gone. He was foolish to try and cover. His guts began to spill out of his side as he began to fall back on the floor with the pole.

The rain washed away his own blood as he looked down at the floor. In reality, this could have all been easily avoided had he just decided not to be a fool. In reality, he couldn't think of a good reason as to why he had decided to bring Tyson back on the ship. It likely would have been a more honorable death "defending humanity" in the parallel than dying in a pool of his own blood and guts. His throat itched, he attempted to cough again, but what came out was a mess of blood and Saliva. 

He looked up from the trail of blood, sniffing through his soaked moustache, Lyle was standing over him, the light casting a shadow over his head. "You weren't as resilient as Tyson, it seems." Lyle lifted his foot back and kicked Marco square in the face, knocking him unconscious.