Control
Drag to draw.
c
The floodlights’ glare slices through the night as you press against cold brick, your crew’s ragged breaths syncing in the shadows. Every inch of the yard is a trap—coils of razor wire snagging the dark, crackling fences humming with lethal current, guards barking orders as boots crunch gravel. No room for mistakes. Map the blind spots: maybe through the laundry vents, over the mess hall roof, or under the repair shed’s gap in the fence. Move swift, silent. That flickering lamppost near the east wall? Buy three seconds between patrol rotations. Signal your crew—a clenched fist, two taps on steel. Distract the tower guard by triggering the generator explosion you rigged yesterday. Now *run*, asphalt biting through stolen boots. Duck the sweeping searchlights; vault the service barrier. Someone’s radio static crackles—they’ve spotted the breach. Shouts erupt. Sprint for the tree line, haul your slowest ally forward. Tires screech on the access road. Dive into the drainage culvert, mud choking your gasp. If the K-9 units catch your scent, it’s over—solitary, chains, another year lost. But if you hit the river before dawn… freedom’s a stolen van with keys taped under the bumper. Keep the crew tight. Survive.
