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Nines hadn't been in Durem for quite some time. Last he had been about was well before his big scare, when Roan had nearly greased him on the wall of her bar. Now, he had to check his old safe hole in the ground; there was a very real chance some lucky halfwit had broken in and made off with his stuff. That just wouldn't do.

It was fortunate, then, that the small rental garage wasn't broken into. Considering he had dumped enough cash to cover the charge for a good three more months past this one, it had better be so...and thus, Nines rolled back the door and stepped into his workshop.

The haven itself was large enough to fit a couch, generator, a few small home electronics, but mostly it was occupied by a workbench, footlocker and a large assortment of paramilitary gear. Taking up a full quarter of the space available, the storage unit had a bit of a claustrophobic feel to it. Home sweet home.

Peeling the polo shirt off his back, Nines was swiftly bare chested and bare footed in his own haven, and began rummaging. He needed to get to work quickly, and it would take the better part of an hour to sort out the hardware he needed. Detonators, explosives, arms and armaments...yet he wasn't packing anything to move. In truth, he was setting up a workspace with a failsafe. An angle grinder, a sharp, heavy blade, a generous helping of thermite all wired to a detonator he kept on his person at all times...it all boiled down to what looked to be a very hairbrained scheme to remove his shackles and burn the building down.

*WHAM*

The knife Nines had been handling slammed into the workbench, embedding itself into the wood.

SHUT UP! What the ******** is wrong with this s**t? Get out of my head!

The brief outburst was yelled aloud, leaving not but silence in its wake. Finding himself heaving short, heavy breaths, Nines had to force himself to calm down and let his breathing stop like it should. Biting back the urge to grumble, he finished gathering his materials, then paused. Everything was primed and ready to go...the detonator was in his hand, with enough ordnance wired to ensure his failsafe policy worked. He was as secure as he could get, but knew that thinking such things were of any use was a fallacy. Most importantly, he knew what to expect when he broke out the angle grinder. That would need to wait for a later time. Right now he needed to see what he could get away with. If he was right, his actions would go unreported until the damage was witnessed by the butler on his return. If not...then he would have some very serious concerns to raise regarding the intellectual capacity of his "superiors", assuming he lived long enough to do so.

Here goes...

I SAID SHUT UP!

That did it; rather than planting a knife in the desk, the kukri in his hands fell with the full force of his arms, slamming violently into his leg just above the shackle. Grimacing and squeezing crimson tears from the corners of his eyes, Nines lifted the blade and with an equal degree of force it fell again. Three strokes, and the foot was removed. Teeth cracked under the force with which he ground them together as he bled freely across the towels spread on the floor. He then pitched forward, panting as he gripped the blade in shaky hands.

Trying to stabilize his own nerves, Nines knew that he had to keep going or else he'd lose out his willingness to continue. Biting down to the point where his gums were bleeding, he raised the kukri with one arm, and planted the other on the desk where. Again the blade fell, and this time he howled with the first strike as it cut clean into the bone. A second blow tore his arm off just above the armlet, leaving him to bleed profusely. Slowly, he sank back against the wall, seated and gasping for air he didn't truly need. His limbs felt like jelly as he stared blankly into space, clutching the detonator in his hand.

Cold. Unending, absolute cold. Somehow, he knew this had been coming. He tried to sigh, but it turned into a phlegmatic cough that spattered crimson flecks across the floor before him. Clutching the detonator like a lifeline, he spoke with a slurred, broken voice that cracked between broken teeth.

Stop skulking you b*****d. If you're going to come in, then just come the ******** in.

A lot of people have been disappoint of late. I have that effect.

Bitterness, much? Nines was more than thoroughly frustrated with the effect he had on people, but he tended to be much less angry when he spoke about it. Maybe it was just the who that he was talking to. Regardless, he tried a chuckle, but it failed.

Not until the last band is off. I'm either walking out of here a free man, or I'm not walking out at all. I won't be a prisoner, least of all to you.

So what makes it worth the trouble? Where is the line of diminishing returns?

He spat blood, and curled his lips back in a sneer at the presence lurking outside. He knew he had only one card on the table, and while the thought was terrifying, he was willing to use it over admitting defeat.

I won't be a prisoner, and I won't be your tool.

*click*

The amount of explosives wired, all laying within sight of Nines, would be easily enough to ruin the building. Most of the ordnance was incendiary, devised intentionally to kill the freakshow if he dared set foot inside, but there was still enough concussive explosives to pulverize the garage and everything inside. Most importantly, Nines had arranged it so the connections were visible; he wouldn't tolerate someone monkeying with his demolitions work without him knowing. It just wouldn't do to be trumped. And now, the safety was off. Anything tried to mess with his ordnance, and the building would be obliterated, taking him with it.

I won't work with a killswitch. I told you this already. Your call.