Plisken looked out across the concrete jungle.
How long ago was it that he had agreed to imprison himself here of his own accord. Seems like it was years ago; it probably was.
Island Torture, or I.T had been his home for some time now, but not much longer. One way or another Plisken needed to escape, with or without what he went in for. The poison coursing through his veins had almost come to it's inevitable conclusion.
Plisken had awoke with sweat dripping from his brow, his dream still echoing in his ears:
"Y-You are the... Duke of I ... I.T. You're A-Number One!"He shuddered and sat up on the couch, he could wait for the plane to come back around or make the trip across the bridge. The former would likely mean an untimely demise, the latter would risk everything. Plisken hauled himself off the couch and made his way back to the interface, surely the plans of how to traverse the bridge would be in there somewhere, he absent mindedly reached for the coffee cup and raised it pointlessly to his lips; the contents having been emptied hours beforehand.
Cursing he dropped it to the floor and focused on the terminal again, it's illuminant glow filling the room.
"The way out has to be here somewhere ... ", he muttered, but the sound was muffled over the sound of the building being barricaded and people arming themselves.
Getting out wasn't going to be easy, but it needed to be done.
