"Sixty years. First really publicized criminal ever to walk through these doors, and first to come in during my career as a guard here. I swear they were all cheering for him. Every last one of them. All the thieves and murderers, rapists, cop-killers, everyone. They worshiped him. Most of them are out on parole now, some others got killed. Couple of them are still here. And their cheering again, you know why Samson?"
"Their cheering because that bastard Drogan is getting out today. And I swear to God, he hasnt aged more then a year."
*Please allow me to introduce myself*
They were cheering, the same as they had sixty years ago, all of them. The guards were scowling, the two escorting him through the cell block looked straight on, their faces blank, but he knew they were angry, he knew they were afraid. Drogan could smell their fear. Closing in on the gate that so many had only passed through once he looked up, into where the wardens office was. He could see the old man's scowl as Drogan made his way to freedom. The Warden was, or had been, one of the Silver Knights
As he walked the chains around his wrists and ankles clinked, ten more steps until these guards, who he knew for a fact had still been in diapers while he was killing and stealing from men who were stronger and smarter then they ever would be, could take these chains off. He passed the threshold, a door slammed shut behind him.
Guard number one bent to remove the ankle-cuffs, while Guard number two did the same with he handcuffs. "Approach the counter, dirtbag." Guard one grunted.
Drogan grinned at him, and stepped forward. The clerk at the counter wordlessly pulled a bin from beneath his side, and placed it on the counter. Drogan took the bin, marked with his name and his prisoner number and set it on a bench which sat on the right side of the room. He pulled the garments out, inspecting each of them. They were in perfect condition, the same as they were when he was put into this building. He removed the orange prison issue jumpsuit, the same thing he had worn every day for the past sixty years, and began to dress in what had been his usual fashion. The pants, shirt, tie, waistcoat, coat, though he refrained from putting on his overcoat, on the grounds that it was quite warm. That being done he looked to the bench once again, and noticed something wasnt there. He turned to the clerk.
"You forgot something. Wheres my hat?"
The clerk looked up sharply from the newspaper he was leafing through, and then quickly looked under his counter again, he came back up a moment later, and handed a a black fedora to Drogan, wordlessly as always. Drogan grinned putting on his hat. "Thank you."
Outside was beautiful, even more so because of how long it had been since he had seen it without being behind a fence. He had crossed the threshold, There was a single walkway, leading out the open gates. And at the end, were his people, in the same 1940 Standard Tudor. Jonah riding shotgun, dressed differently then he had last seen him , but mostly unchanged like himself. Roland was behind the wheel. and Michelle was in the back, behind the drivers seat. Drogan climbed in, and picked up the deck of cards which had been on the seat, waiting for him.
"Where to, boss?" That was Roland.
"Im sure things are a little different, what do you think?"
"Marley's Point, not that far from here."
"Is there a coven?"
"Yeah I think so, im not sure how many strong."
"Hmm, do you think they could be a problem?"
"Never know for sure boss, but we can try to steer clear of them and if need be we can make things messy."
"Ok, lets get out of here before the warden decides to have his snipers do a little target practice."
And so the engine started, and Drogan left Murk Valley Correctional Facility behind him.
Age:230, appears to be about 28
Species: Vampire, regular
Weapon:Thompson Submachine gun, 45 caliber revolver. Large knife.