"Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?"

- Robin Williams

02:26 p.m

8 days earlier

Having pulled out one of the metal pipes from his toilet, Tim used it as a lever in a desperate attempt to yank apart his cell bars. Grunting from the force, the past two hours of work gave a bare result of 2 centimetres of widening.

He stopped his effort to escape, stepping back to the centre of his cell to access his situation “This isn't working,” Tim huffed, before analysing the room again.

The cell was still as bare as it had been, save for the toilet which had been forcefully kicked and pried from its loose attachment to the wall. The water that continued to leak from the exposed piping ran off into a drain in the corner.

For the dozenth time that day, he swung the pipe against the metal grills, letting out a clang loud enough to continue ringing in his ears even after the original sound subsided.

“Anyone out there?!” he shouted into the empty corridor. As before, the only reply he got was from the realm of silence.

For the first time in a long, long while, Tim had ran out of ideas. Dejected, he sat back down on his concrete bed. His mind though, continued to race with thoughts of power drills and TNT.

I've got a schedule to keep with a certain meddling kid.

Though he knew patience was the only thing that could possibly get him out, Adam Pearlman's last words to him kept him itching to move. He had no doubt the 'meddling kid' was Clay, and without any contact with the outside world since the breakout, he had no idea what the situation was like, leaving him in a constant state of agitation.

“Timothy!” the crackling, energetic voice of the librarian, Howard Galloway echoed into the hallway. “Are you in here my boy?”

“Mister Galloway?” Tim called back, surprised. “I'm down in the basement! Holding cells!”

In a tone of shock, the older man yelled back, “W-who said that?”

“It's me Mister Galloway. Tim.”

“Oh right! I was looking for you.”

“I know. I can hear you.”

“Right! Sorry. Forgot about that. Got excited.”

“Excited by what?”

Tim's call was followed by a period of silence. He could faintly hear the footsteps of the librarian, the audio a deafening loudness after the hour of solitude. Suddenly, Howard excitedly said, “There's a lot of dead bodies up here,” his voice sounding closer than it did before.

Tim's heart skipped a beat when he heard those words, the eccentric tone worried him. “You okay there?”

“Just fine,” Howard replied. This time, Tim knew the voice came from his hallway, as the sound was clear and did not echo as it did before. “Where are the keys?”

“They should be in the cell to my left,” Tim went to the bars and stuck his hands through them, waving for Howard's attention.

“Ah!” I see you. “Those are your hands right?”

“Who's else would they be?”

“I don't know,” Howard walked into Tim's line of sight and the teen stepped back in surprise and awe. “Maybe some bad guy who wants to take advantage of an old man?”

But Tim could not focus on his words, for Howard had seemingly grew younger. Though the man had always been chided for looking youthful, Tim had no doubt the librarian was actually younger then. His hair, once soot black, now had a glossy shade of brown attached to it. The mess remained, though with a lusher and slicker flow for each strand. The scars that once adorned his skin had faded considerably, and the rare wrinkles had all but disappeared.

“Ah!” Howard exclaimed and walked off to the left. “The key,” he returned with the ring of keys to unlock the cell door.

Though the door swung opened to his freedom, Tim stood in his cell, still dumbstruck by Howard's de-ageing. “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean 'What happened to me?” Howard stared down at his body, expecting to find perhaps a giant spider that had latched on to him, or his body bleeding and disfigured. “There's nothing on me.”

Taking his steps out of the cell, Tim continued to stare intently at the man, analysing the almost foreign features. “You look...younger.”

“Oh...right! About that, well, now's not the time to explain,” from his pocket, the librarian took out a white envelope and handed it to Tim. “I think you have a best friend to save.”

“How did you-”

“Stella called. Said her brother disappeared from the hospital.”

“And she called you instead of her parents or the cops? Why?”

Howard grinned. “Think about it.”

The logic quickly came to him. “Parents and cops will get flustered and ask questions, delaying time. She wants me out and acting as soon as possible.”

“Smart boy.”

“I still have questions for you though.”

“It'll all be answered in due time,” Howard replied.

“Why can't you just tell me now?” Tim exclaimed. “This isn't a movie where you need to go, 'No time to explain!'”

“Yes, well, we do have time. But not enough to talk you through my situation and help Clay. For now, you have to just trust me and go save your friend,” Howard opened his arms wide, telling Tim to look at the situation around them. “I already gave you a deus ex machina. I suggest you take your blessings now and go,” he nodded towards the staircase out.

Tim turned to the direction pointed, “Can't you explain on our way-” he turned back, but Howard had disappeared from where he stood. Stunned, Tim could only express, “What the fuck...?”

He scanned his tight surrounding, taking a quick look into Adam's cell to make sure he had not missed anything. Indeed, the librarian was no longer in the vicinity, as if he had never existed. Tim looked down to the envelope, the only evidence left that the man was there with him. On it, scribbled in barely legible cursive, was 'For Clay'. As he started walking towards the stairwell, he carefully tore the envelope open. Within it was a neatly folded piece of paper and two newspaper clippings. He unfolded the paper, showing a printed photograph of an unfamiliar school's baseball team. Deeming the newspaper clippings too troublesome to read at the time, Tim slotted the photo back into the envelope and slid them into his back pocket.

The lights above flickered as he neared the stairs. Ascending, the sudden stench of blood, thick as mist, hung in the air. He noted the two bullet holes in the wall on the first landing. After turning the corner, he jumped back from the sight of a police man, awkwardly laid at the top steps of the stairs, blood dripping onto the flights below him.

There's a lot of dead bodies up here.

Howard's words echoed in his mind and he wondered just how many more. His question was almost immediately answered when he stepped onto the landing of the main holding cell. The entire hallway was bathed red, liquid oozing out from the two dozen cells. A couple of officers slumped against the metal grills, unmoving.

Something gripped at his stomach, the stench of blood strong enough that he wanted to puke. Swallowing the taste of vomit back in, Tim pushed through the massacre, staring in denying focus on the ground beneath him, not wanting to look up at the spectacle any more than necessary. He ascended the stairs once more to the main floor.

Even through the lobby of the police station, he could see from the corner of his eyes the bodies that littered the room. And then he saw a pile too massive to ignore. Fifteen bodies of both men and women, two in police uniforms and the rest in casual civilian clothings, all with sub-machine guns slung around their shoulders, was piled into a small mount right beside the entrance.

If you kill fifteen of them once we get out, I'll double your reward.

Adam Pearlman, with his drugs and control, ordered the killing of fifteen of his own. Just so he could distribute less of his precious Somnidin. A sudden sense of rage welled up inside Tim and he could feel his hands balling into fists.

He walked up to the pile of bodies, the queasiness vanishing completely in his unexpected righteous fury. From the body nearest to him, Tim searched the pockets to find a phone. However, it was password protected. Not wanting to waste time cracking it, he reached to the next nearest corpse and looted one without the restriction.

Scrolling through the messages, he read through the ones filed under that of an anonymous contact. Within were messages presumably sent from one of Adam's men, detailing a meeting location for which to go to after the prison break, likely to collect the Somnidin reward. Without the time to check the legitimacy of the information, or find other leads, the teen took a revolver from an officer, along with the belt and holster. He put the equipment on and hid the firearm under his shirt. He unloaded another officer's revolver for spare ammunition, storing it in the bottom right pocket of his cargo.

Geared up and with a destination, he exited via the main entrance, leaving the bloodbath behind. Out in the fresh air at last, he vomited onto the pavement.