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in order: chris brookes, antonio honda, mao, masa takanashi, takayuki ueki

San Quentin's Bloodiest Riot | The Story of George Jackson

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Here is the next chapter! Sorry for the wait!!! Special thanks to everyone who liked my post!!!

They had lost contact with North and CT.

 South had to be held down by Florida when the shouting had first started over the radio. They could not hear much more than the tone of their voices over the static. He had nearly lost his grip when North had cried out the first time. His voice, some alarms and shouting could be heard over the static but since they hadn’t called in back up, they couldn’t move. Florida had completely lost his grip on her when they stopped hearing bullets and only heard static.

 By the time Florida had recovered from South digging her elbow into his gut she was already confronting the two crimson soldiers with guns pointed to their heads. South was angry and she wasn’t going to back down any time soon. Florida let out a sigh and tried to contact the others. No dice. It was all static. With a curse Florida turned his coms off completely. They wouldn’t be able to bail them out even if they could reach any of the others. There was no reason to worry the others.

 “Alright Asshats what did you do with the others?” And there went any hope of grabbing South before they realized they were there. Florida meandered into the room as South made her demands.

“Now hold on little lady.” Oh, no this motherfucking son of a bitch did not just go there. The man in crimson they had seen before turned to look directly at South. His arms were raised but his tools were still in his hands. “What’r-” South cut the man off with a sharp jab of her gun into his visor.

“Shut the fuck up old man! Both of you put your tools down and, you in the burgundy tell me what you did to the others.” South’s demand was punctuated with another jab of her gun.

“Look, Darlin’ nobody is going to order me around in my own base of operations. Now what in Sam Hill r’you talking about?” The man’s accent was coated in stubbornness and he crossed his arms, his tools still in his hands. Florida let out a sigh the man was, apparently, not going to back down to South.

South apparently realized the same thing since she let out a growl that was more animal than human. The heat of her glare from behind her visor was enough to be felt by people that didn’t know her because the burgundy man cringed and flinched. “Shut the hell up and drop what is in your hands.”

“Ummm. I ughhh.” The burgundy man stuttered. Not one coherent word left his mouth as the burgundy soldier fumbled to drop his screwdriver. South was angry and this man’s blathering was only making it worse. The crimson man’s arm raised to stop his associate from dropping what was in his other hand. “Son, don’t drop the sold-”

South lost her very short temper then and there. “Shut the fucking hell up and drop your fucking tools you sons of bitches before I put more holes in the both of you motherfuckers than swiss fucking cheese!” The woman had apparently lost it in her anger, as she brandished her gun again. The burgundy man dropped the rod with a yelp.

Florida let out a long-suffering sigh it looked like he would have to play nursemaid to another one of South’s tantrums. Where was North when you needed him? Florida had wanted to take care of the interrogation. He had even brought his interrogation kit on the mission in case things had gotten messy. He had left his tools back at the ship because he hadn’t thought that any interrogation would happen on the field and his field kit was on the Mother of Invention under repair. With one more sigh Florida took a step closer to South. He better try and rein her in or she would kill their hostages before they spilled their guts.

“Now, young ma’am, how about you give them a moment to answer you before you scratch that itchy trigger finger.”  That was a good start, maybe it wouldn’t end in a big mess he would have to clean up. “Shut the fuck up old man.”

Or maybe not.

“Now back up.” The burgundy man did. Backing up until he hit the table they had been working at. The device they had been working on wobbled. “Now, what have you done with the others?” South took one step closer to the man in crimson, stepping over the tools that his compatriot had dropped.

“Look darlin, calm down. You can’t just come in here, wave around a dinky pistol, and make ridiculous demands without clarifying anything.” The man in red spoke, stepping in front of the burgundy man, his southern twang was clear but instead of the angry and stiff drawl it held before it was different. It still held a tense and disapproved undertone but the man was trying to be gentle, or as close to gentle as a six-foot-seven man in power armor could be. “Who’r you and who’r you looking for?”

The man in burgundy was cowering behind the other. It almost looked like he was reaching for something. Florida picked up the screwdriver the he had dropped before and threw it at his hand. The man let out another yelp as the screwdriver left a dent in his gloves plating. The machine rocked again, as the hiss hand collided with it, nearly tipping over. Both men jerked, the burgundy man moving to grab the machine and the crimson man moving to cover his compatriot.

“Well, look at that. You better answer my angry friend here. That is unless you want me to embed this doohickey into your visor, friend.” Florida reached to grab the metal rod that the burgundy mad had dropped.

“NO, WAIT!” The burgundy man cried out as Florida’s Kevlar glove gripped the metallic tool.