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Sam smiled to himself as he drifted along the blue waters, happy to finally be out in the world again at long last. It had been two years since his imprisonment, and during his tenure, he had done nothing else but plan his escape. This would be his third (and hopefully last) attempt at freedom. Everything was going better than Sam had expected. The inflatable raft he'd stolen hadn't been punctured in any way, no one had noticed all the food and medical supplies that had gone missing, and most importantly...

No one knew that Sam himself was gone.

Above all else, that was what would make this attempt successful. There was a chance that they knew he was gone by now, but even so, Sam would reach land—and freedom—well before they sent a patrol this way. Directly north of here was the mainland of the United States, and as soon as he hit the beach, he'd disappear. After that, the law would never find him again. The Boss would be able to pull some strings to ensure that Sam would stay free, and perhaps he'd even get a brand new name.

Sam laughed at the thought and shook his head. The Boss was just as likely to blow his head off as he was to welcome Sam back into the family. No... no, The Boss would just kill Sam for what he had done. He had to be honest with himself: there was no going back to the Family now. There were some lines in the criminal underworld that a fella just shouldn't cross, and Sam had crossed one of the most forbidden lines of all. Only his prison sentence had saved his life, Sam knew. He would have to stay away from the Family and carve a new life on his own... but that was okay, he could manage.

He eased off the plastic oar, pulling it into the raft before plopping down on his rear, the raft shifting hard with the motion. Sam then wiped the sweat from his brow, looking down at the compass he had 'procured' from one of the boats docked at the prison. The needle was still pointing directly north, showing that he was still exactly on course. He closed the compass with a grin, slipping it into the pocket of his jumpsuit as he stared at the horizon. With clear skies, fantastic weather, and summer heat, today was the perfect day to escape from prison.

His eyes slowly drifted downward, finding the healthy variety of booty he'd snagged for this escape. First aid kit, of course, took that from the infirmary along with a bottle of pain meds and a scalpel. Sam didn't really have a reason for taking the scalpel other than the fact that it was there, perhaps his prison brain designated it as a fantastic shiv. Both had been secured within the first aid kit itself, as he neither wanted to lose the meds nor have this inflatable raft get accidentally punctured.

Then there were the snacks he'd taken from the cafeteria, typical crap-tasting bologna and bread for the most part, but there were a couple of bags of chips he'd been able to steal, along with a few dozen water bottles for the trip. The island he'd fled from wasn't too far away from the mainland, but that didn't mean that Sam expected nothing would go awry. What if the compass was faulty and was leading him away from the north? He'd need some way to keep himself alive long enough to figure that out and rechart his course.

And of course, the flare gun. It was a guaranteed way to head straight back to prison, but if something went fubar, he'd need to use it to save his life. Then again... perhaps he'd rather just risk death.

After all, his 'life' in prison could hardly be called such. The terrible food, insufferable wannabe gangsters, overbearing guards, and the lack of any privacy made death seem almost preferable. Hell, maybe it was... Sam had gotten a life sentence with no chance for parole, prison would be the rest of his life if he was ever caught again.

It was something to mull over, about whether or not to die free or to 'live' in chains. After a few moments of contemplation, Sam decided that he'd rather not think about it. All was going well, there was little chance that something could go wrong now, no point in thinking about dying today. He'd cross that bridge if he came to it, and if everything kept going right, he wouldn't have to.

He stood awkwardly with a groan, trying to maintain his balance on the raft as he twisted his back, hearing a few audible pops as he did so. Twenty-seven years old and prison had given him the back of an old-timer. Sam wondered if all that weightlifting could be part of the issue; after all, there was hardly anything to do in the joint besides chores and exercising. Oh God, how he had hated the chores... Maybe that was what ruined his back? Sam sighed as he ran a hand through his short black hair; it used to be so long and glorious, but it had been chopped down regularly for two years. It would take months to regrow to its former radiance.

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He shrugged before picking up the oar and continuing to row along the calm ocean waters. His poor old man back would simply have to deal with what came its way, things would be hard and there was no point in risking recapture by babying it. Besides, Sam's back wasn't really 'ruined', it didn't hurt after all, he just wasn't sure why it kept popping all the time. If he could evade the law long enough, he'd need to go see a chiropractor...

Sam blinked as something massive and dark started brewing on the horizon ahead of him. It hadn't been there once he had sat down... it was like it had simply appeared, consuming the sky infinitely in either direction. It was the biggest storm cloud he'd ever seen in his life, and its sudden appearance sent a cold shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he felt his raft rocking gently, and he looked down at the water to see that it was rippling out from the storm cloud's direction. The lines were thin and even, but they slowly gained in size as they continued to drift out from the direction of the storm. He looked to his flare gun and hesitated.

It looked like the decision would have to be made after all... he could pull out of the plan and go back to prison, or he could try and brave the storm in his little raft. He agonized for a full minute before he finally came to a decision. His hands clutched the oar tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared down the storm.

It was better to die free, and besides, who knew? Maybe he would survive and be able to make it to shore. There was only one real way to find out. With his mind set, he continued to row forth, praying that the Big Guy upstairs would help see his way through.

After some time, he finally came beneath the cloud, shocked to see that no rain had begun pouring at all. The ripples were still there, but only slightly more intense than they had been outside the cloud. It was eerie; the sky had practically become pitch black... a strange primal terror then began welling in Sam's chest, and he froze, hands still firmly grasping the oar as he stared up at the looming darkness.

And then it fell.

Not rain, the blackness itself.

It engulfed Sam in his entirety, drowning out his screams with the whispers of a thousand weeping voices. They cried out to him, asking him to set them free as he thrashed violently. The cloud was suffocating, filling his lungs with its overwhelming presence as the voices cried out for him to get away, to kill himself before it took him too. Sam scrambled across the raft, feeling around in his panic for something, anything he could use to save himself.

His hands wrapped around something hard, and he fumbled with it until he felt a trigger. The flare gun! In his panic, Sam lifted the thing upward and fired. It tore through the blackness like a thunderbolt, the red light illuminating the sky to reveal a thousand gigantic screaming faces that constantly writhed and shifted, gnashing yellow teeth as they glared down at him with hatred. The demonic cloud seemed to leave his lungs finally, and he coughed, falling to his knees as he began sucking up as much air as possible.

A real demon, there was nothing else this thing could be! His breathing quickened as the cloud started to slowly descend toward him once more, moving around the soaring flare as if to avoid it. Sam gasped, eyes widening with terror as he scrambled to reach one of the extra flares he’d brought. His hand wrapped around one too tightly, and it slipped free of his grasp as the cacophonous wailing grew closer and closer. He tried to see where it could have fallen in the dimming light of the flare he’d fired before, spotting it on the opposite side of the raft. Sam leapt forward, landing on his belly to grab the spare flare as he hurriedly tried to load it back into the gun with a shaky hand. Hot putrid smelling wind ripped at his clothing and hair, forcing him to gag as he turned to aim the flare gun once more.

The creature was only a few feet above him now, its hundreds of massive goat-like eyes locking onto his and filling him with a primordial dread. Sam could now see that the wind and its stench came from the demon’s thousand opening maws. It was like each cavernous mouth had been piled full of rotting flesh and sewage. Sam would not let this thing touch him! Without any hesitation, he fired, the red light tearing through the demon's smoky form before it let out a thunderous screech. Violent waves then began crashing against Sam's raft, threatening to send him overboard into the black waters below.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as despair set in. This was the end of his life, there was no clever plan for escape this time. He hung on desperately to whatever he could, but it proved to be a fruitless endeavor as he was finally sent hurtling over the edge of his raft, sinking into the now icy-cold waters. He struggled, flailing his arms and kicking as hard as he could to try and breach the surface, but it was to no avail.

The burning in his lungs eventually won out, and water began filling them as his instincts took over, his mouth opening to try and breathe in air.

Everything went cold and black.