Chapter Text
Bare feet slam against floors that are somehow slick and sticky at the same time.
This wasn't some desperate bid born of hope. This was an exercise in futility. This was another attempt that would end like it always did.
Right. Right. Left. Forward. Left. Stairwell sign but go right instead. Breathing hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her mouth hurt. Existing hurt so what did risking more hurt really matter?
The quiet plan of soles on concrete stairs split open at the sound of klaxons and the abrupt shift of lighting.
The old self peeled away, cut open down the middle starting with her belly and ending with her forehead. The shell of who she'd been was gone. It was time for now.
Emergency door. Shouting. The cold breeze of air conditioning making the surgical gown feel so much more exposed. Shouting. Panic, not guards. But that meant less time.
Stairs again. Alternate. Then double back. Be unpredictable. Be clever. Clever was just another word for unpredictability on purpose. Cubicles. Different klaxons. Fuck.
Automatic locks. A few interns were staring at her like they were looking at a wild, starved lion. And the shouting of order through the chaos.
This was it. She'd lost when the doors locked. Knew enough by now. Knew they weren't shooting to kill. Didn't know which ones were beanbags and which ones were tranqs.
Fingers were a type of claw. A stapler is a kind of hammer. Beanbag 1 screamed and clawed at the staples in her hand.
Beanbags 3 and 4 landed solid shots. She almost crumpled. Pain blossomed from what were definitely going to be gnarly bruises, but not anywhere that affected locomotion. It also meant 2 was the tranq.
2 was the worst shot. She'd clawed him twice. Broke a rib once. He paid her back but it didn't help his aim. But the payback had hurt. A lot.
She leapt from cover, throwing a wheely chair down the aisle and suppressing an adrenaline filled cackle as she watched the cushion take three darts.
Didn't stop. Don't stop. Never stop. Not when it was Now.
Three shots out of usually six. Unless they were new guns. Didn't look new. Shot four was disgustingly bad, not even within five degrees of her. Five landed at her feet and tranquilized an unfortunate bit of carpet.
Six Didn't get a chance to leave the barrel. She knew the gaps in armor. The laceration pattern. She knew where to bite. 2 was done today. Maybe that could be her victory.
She was still thinking of victory when the world turned sideways and she landed in a heap. Crimson dripped from her chin as her vision swam. Someone hit her in the head. Now that was just dirty.
She approved, giving more than one pained, monstrous little giggle as Six embedded itself in her arm and the world became nothing but pain and her own quieting heartbeat.
They'd increase security. Add restraints. Add checkpoints. Injections. The usual. It stopped feeling like defeat and had begun to feel like the calm after a storm.
The fading world snapped violently back into perspective as her hand flared with pain, a boot slamming down on it. She heard names. Felt spit hit her cheek.
Sore fucking winner. Except 2 had overstepped. She didn't know what would happen. Maybe he'd get
The thought was supposed to be beanbags. Instead the wash of blood from his wound, shining in the fluorescent as a gunshot silenced everything, took over her thoughts.
She was fading too fast. The pain wasn't enough to grip. But she saw those boots. Military shine. Somehow always tied with the exact same knots. The Director was speaking calmly.
Fuck. The Director being calm never ended well for Z14.