Escape from Death Row

[Lev Orlova]

"Leonid Pavlinov Orlova, the Grand Jury of the Galactic Alliance War Crimes Commission finds you guilty of murdering twenty seven unarmed combatants, 10 of which were surrendering soldiers and 4 of a questionable combatant status. Participating in paid-for ethnic cleansing of the natives of Marvak IV, seven counts of participating in paid-for wanton destruction of civilian private and public property..."​

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The stocky, stoic Czelosmertian stared ahead blankly, his eyes unfocused. He was shackled at his hand and waists, ironically dressed in some shoddy business casual attire and wearing a clear facemask with an air tank on his back. He thought about what he had for breakfast that morning in the detention center. It probably was the last good meal he'd have. Atleast until...​

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"...hereby sentences you to DEATH."​

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His final meal.​

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. . .​

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It had been some time since the renown bounty hunter [member="Koda Fett"] had secured Lev as his quarry. Enough time to get settled into the Galactic Alliance Judiciary Central Detention Center. Lev's lawyers had made requests to the court for appeals to the death sentence, but Lev himself told them to stop and that their services were no longer required. Better to let a dying man be alone than pestered by bloodsucking parasites til his death. There was only one way out of this place, in a casket. There was no way of sneaking anything in or out, no way of escape, no one had done it in almost a millennia, to Lev's knowledge.

Now Lev's big day had finally come. The chair was waiting for him. Truly, he would not leave this place until he was declared dead. Though he had never been keen on following the laws of the nosy, far reaching Alliance, this one time he decided to obey. Lev had asked for something very special for his final meal, Czelosmertian shaslik, made by a Czelosmertian chef and not from the cafeteria. The prison obliged, he was a dead man anyway.

. . .​

"Vanya, remember, you're just cooking a last meal for some scumbag. You're annoyed, you don't want to be here, infact you're ONLY here because they're paying you slightly better than what they do back home."

"Right, right..."

The gaunt chef nervously ran his hand through his hair and readjusted his facemask, watching the bright city from inside the glass elevator. A man with a similar face mask in casual clothes stood across from him, a gruff looking type of a person who's profession was probably vastly different from the chef's.

"You don't know him, if they ask you questions about him or what you think of him, play dumb like you don't know the language well. Infact, if they ask you anything at all just do that."

"I-I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Know the language well."

"Good! You're already playing the part. Now when you 'salt' it, don't make it seem like a big thing. But remember: Only TWO shakes. Three and he might actually be dead when we get him."

The elevator slowed down as it came to the first floor.

"I won't be here when you get back, just remember your itinerary and when I see you back home you'll get the rest of your pay."

"O-okay."

The gruff man placed a hand on his shoulder, probably less reassuring to the chef than he intended it to be,"And Vanya, don't forget to breath."

The chef swallowed and nodded, exiting the elevator and making his way down the lobby of the hotel, towards the police speeder that was waiting for him outside.

 

[Lev Orlova]

Vanya was swifted away to the prison, searched, and taken to the kitchen. Though he was exceptionally nervous during the search, the guards only managed to take his communication device, nothing else. The cook lightened up a little, who would look at a salt shaker anyway? The chef's mind was racing as he was escorted to the prison's kitchen. Doing a job for these guys was exceptionally dangerous, and if he did manage to 'salt' the shashlik too much, well... He didn't want to think about it.

Setting up in the greasy, disgusting kitchen, he opened the small cooler he had brought along with all the ingredients. He chopped the meat, fired up the grill, diced the vegetables. He brought the thick orange broth to a boil, and poured into a bowl. He slid all the other ingredients into the broth, and picked up the salt shaker. Taking a deep breath, he shook it once slightly, then twice, then immediately set it down so hard it made a loud clunk against the metal prep table. The guard watching over him raised his eyebrow for a moment, but the chef's odd behavior only brought a derisive chuckle. The cook quickly put all his ingredients and utensils away, and was swept away again by the guard, clenching his fists to keep them from trembling as he left.

. . .​

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The floating guard platform meandered over to Lev's cell. The guard knocked his baton against the metal wall on the outside of the ray shielded entrance. "Orlova. Last meal. Mask on. Face the wall." Lev looked up from his uncomfortable rack, his eyes glancing over the guard with that same reluctant, expressionless gaze. He reached down to his feet and secured his facemask over his face, twisting the valve on the airtank it was connected to. He then turned towards the wall and placed his hands against it. The guard let the rayshield down and there was a light woosh as the alien's unique air mixture was let out. The guard coughed, the nasty mix of gasses disorienting him slightly. He set down the meal, covered with a brass top, on the ground, and went back onto the platform before closing the rayshield. Without a word the guards floated away on the platform, as the gasses refilled into the prisoner's room.

Lev turned away from the wall, and picked up the small meal platter. He sat down on his rack and set the platter across his knees. He slowly took the top off the meal and set it aside. His mask began to fog up slightly from the steam coming off the fresh meal. Lev stared down at the meal for a long time, mentally preparing himself for what was about to happen. Lapcincem, a deadly poison agent to most life forms. The same was not different for Lev. But in very small doses it would make one appear to be dead, lowering their heartrate to an astronomically low beats per minute, stopping their breathing to the point that it was almost undetectable even to machines. However, they needed an antidote or they would die within 30 minutes. The plan was all in set, all that left to be seen was whether everyone would do their part or not.

Lev took off his mask, and took the spoon on the platter. He flipped the spoon through his fingers a few times, staring down at the thick bowl of vegetables and meat. He chastised himself, if he were really going to die today then he would have already finished the bowl. He forced his muscles to act, dipping the large spoon into the soup and taking a mouthful of the meat and broth. It was good. He kept going, though it wasn't the best shashlik it was the best meal he'd had since he was put here. Suddenly, a sharp pain gripped Lev's heart. Here it comes, he thought. Every inhale was like a thousand needles into his lungs, he stood up from his bed suddenly, the platter clattering to the ground loudly and the soup bowl shattering into pieces. He reached down to quickly slip on his mask, had to remember that part, or else he really would die when the guards took him out of here. He took a few deep breaths from his mask, the pain excrutiating. He cursed in his native tongue, crying out for help,"Aaaaaggghhh! Ackh! Pomogi, gad! Nnnn-hhhnngg!"

He stumbled towards the rayshield, slamming his fist weakly a few times against it. There was no acting needed here, the cry for help was quite genuine. The guard platform quickly raced towards the cell, one of them calling out over the radio,"Medic to Cell Xray 51!" Lev collapsed onto his back, his heels scraping against the floor as he gripped his heart, groaning in pain. The guard quickly opened the door, clearing the alien atmosphere out. Before they could even reach him, Lev was still. One of the guards rushed to him and put his ear to his heart, then pressed his fingers up against his throat. He looked back up at the other two, shrugging,"Well, it was his last day on the galaxy anyway." The two other guards chuckled,"Yeah, well, let's let medical check him out and get a toe tag on this scumbag."

The kneeling guard reached down to take off the mask, and the third guard quickly snatched him by the wrist. The first looked up to the third with a puzzled expression,"What, what?" The third guard, having been paid off to ensure Lev made it to the morgue safely, quickly responded with his practiced excuse. "I don't want legal down our throats thinking we pulled his mask off for fun or something." The kneeling guard, stood away from Lev,"Oh. Yeah. I mean, I guess." There was a short pause as the men looked down at the dead body. The second guard suddenly started laughing,"How's that for a -last meal-, right?" The three laughed, stepping away from the body to their platform.