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Description
May 2, 103 PN

With blood running from my forehead and mouth, I planted my wounded hand into the cement and dragged myself towards the door. On the surface of my mind, I could easily remember the 'fun' Wright had. He removed the wire from my feet, each barb wrenching itself away from my skin with a sharp stab of pain. I couldn't move, frozen in place by his gaze. I felt his heavy boot on my stomach, then screamed as he dislocated my shoulder, a loud pop covering my cries. The broad toe of his boot smashed into my ribs. I started to curl into myself, trying to regain my breath when his boot came down again. I gasped again and kicked out at him, hoping to catch his chest, his stomach, anything to gain the upper hand. Instead, I felt something sharp go straight through my foot. For a moment, nothing registered. Only when I looked and saw the short knife thrust through my left foot did I finally comprehend. He had no problem picking me up, then slamming me hard onto the table. I hit so hard my back bounced against the tabletop, but I refused to cry out this time. I lay there a few minutes, trying to quickly regain my composure. He picked me up again, threw me down onto the table harder than before. My spine felt like it would snap in half; my ribs throbbed; my innards felt jarred and scrambled. He picked me up a third time; threw me down so hard that I broke clean through the table. I fell straight to the floor and lay there, unable to speak or move. Before he left, he placed a well-aimed stomp to my stomach and told me to have a nice day.

That was three hours ago. With gritted teeth I made it to the door and sat against the wall, gingerly cradling my arm on my lap. My shaking hand grabbed the knob. The first attempt ended with my hand falling to the floor. The second try wasn't much better. Grunting, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and twisted, using all my energy to jerk it open. I weakly kicked the door in and remained still, reserving what little strength lingered. Against my better wishes, I anchored both feet on the floor and gripped the door frame and gave a mighty heave up. The room swayed, I almost lost my grip and toppled to the ground, but succeeded in keeping my balance.

I limped from the room, pinning myself to the wall for support. Down the hall, I could hear a mess of voices screaming towards one another. None of it made the least bit of sense. I staggered down the corner and slipped into a large room, falling to my knees, coughing. I took a good look at the room, my eyes catching a circle of five chairs and a wooden broom resting on the floor. My stomach suddenly churned; I wanted to vomit.

A sudden blow to my waist broke my thoughts. I landed on my side with a stifled cry and rolled out of the way of another. Their footsteps slammed against the boards and shook the floor. They'd be here any moment. Without a wasted second, I charged and pinned my attacker to the wall, pounding my fist as hard as I could into his torso with every ounce of strength I had. His hand enveloped my fist. I was bent down and his bony knee came up and struck me in the face. I felt my nose crack, and warm blood gushed from my nostrils. I jerked my hand free and caught a glimpse of the man before me, much taller and dressed in nothing more than a filthy button-up shirt and ripped jeans covered in what I hoped was dirt. He advanced. I turned, reached for the broom, wincing as my hand seared with pain. From the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out a hunting knife. I shut my eyes tightly and gave a mighty swing, hoping I would hit him. There was a loud crack, and the broom handle snapped in half. I staggered back in shock. He advanced again and slashed down. Now or never, I jumped back, and thrust the sharp end into his body. A few seconds passed. No noise. I opened one eye and stared at the limp body before me. His eyes stared back at me with a misty gaze, one he shouldn't have been able to manage while alive. I immediately pulled away from the broom and took a step back, eyes wide and knees buckling.

"Get up…"

There was no movement.

My voice soon flooded with anger and I kicked him. "Get up!" I kicked him again. "Get up!"

He laid still, his misted eyes staring at the ceiling.

I screamed and kicked, hoping that his plan would cease soon. I leaned against the wall, hand clasped over my mouth. I caught my breath, taking in deep gulps of air and trying to recuperate. When I had calmed some, I reached for his hunting knife and slipped it into my belt loop. I looked at my limp arm, then hesitantly wrapped my hand around my upper arm. I knew that had to be done. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was going to happen sooner or later. I took a deep breath, carefully bent my elbow, then forcefully popped it back into place. I bit down on my lip to stifle a cry, the taste of blood already in my mouth. It took a minute or two until I was able to fully move my hand.

Time passed before I managed to get my feet moving again.My nose continued to bleed; the entire center of my front shirt was painted in red. I kept a shaky hand near the knife as I hurried down the hall, fighting to keep a steady eye out for any others who would try to attack. I whipped around a corner and tensed as legible voices came into range. They were getting closer. I dove into a small room and proceeded to close the door when my ears picked up their conversation.

"How's the kid?"

"It's like talking to a brick wall, I swear. The fucker actually spit in my eye!" There was another swear I couldn't quite pick up. "What about the girl?"

"Wright took her for 'interrogation', last time I heard. He seemed pretty excited when he saw her."

I gripped the knife when there was a laugh. "You know how he gets...!" The footsteps came to a halt close to my position.

"Hellser knows damn well we're not going to get any information out of the bastard. He's better off with a bullet to the head. I don't even think he's a Crosser."

He? I inched closer to the door.

"Maybe not, but he could be an informant. Might've gave our position away to them days ago!" I held in a flinch as there was a bang against the wall.

"Doesn't matter, now. We need to get going. C'mon."

I held my breath as they descended down the hall and vanished, then ran a hand through my hair. I knew I wouldn't have been ready for another confrontation; if spotted, it could have been my last. I creaked the door open enough for me to exit and moved on, knife now glued in my hand. I didn't know how many of the Irons there were in the train yard, or how many were coming my way. I only knew one thing...

If I was going to die, I was going to die taking as many of them with me as possible.

Description
May 2, 103 PN

With blood running from my forehead and mouth, I planted my wounded hand into the cement and dragged myself towards the door. On the surface of my mind, I could easily remember the 'fun' Wright had. He removed the wire from my feet, each barb wrenching itself away from my skin with a sharp stab of pain. I couldn't move, frozen in place by his gaze. I felt his heavy boot on my stomach, then screamed as he dislocated my shoulder, a loud pop covering my cries. The broad toe of his boot smashed into my ribs. I started to curl into myself, trying to regain my breath when his boot came down again. I gasped again and kicked out at him, hoping to catch his chest, his stomach, anything to gain the upper hand. Instead, I felt something sharp go straight through my foot. For a moment, nothing registered. Only when I looked and saw the short knife thrust through my left foot did I finally comprehend. He had no problem picking me up, then slamming me hard onto the table. I hit so hard my back bounced against the tabletop, but I refused to cry out this time. I lay there a few minutes, trying to quickly regain my composure. He picked me up again, threw me down onto the table harder than before. My spine felt like it would snap in half; my ribs throbbed; my innards felt jarred and scrambled. He picked me up a third time; threw me down so hard that I broke clean through the table. I fell straight to the floor and lay there, unable to speak or move. Before he left, he placed a well-aimed stomp to my stomach and told me to have a nice day.

That was three hours ago. With gritted teeth I made it to the door and sat against the wall, gingerly cradling my arm on my lap. My shaking hand grabbed the knob. The first attempt ended with my hand falling to the floor. The second try wasn't much better. Grunting, I wrapped my fingers around the handle and twisted, using all my energy to jerk it open. I weakly kicked the door in and remained still, reserving what little strength lingered. Against my better wishes, I anchored both feet on the floor and gripped the door frame and gave a mighty heave up. The room swayed, I almost lost my grip and toppled to the ground, but succeeded in keeping my balance.

I limped from the room, pinning myself to the wall for support. Down the hall, I could hear a mess of voices screaming towards one another. None of it made the least bit of sense. I staggered down the corner and slipped into a large room, falling to my knees, coughing. I took a good look at the room, my eyes catching a circle of five chairs and a wooden broom resting on the floor. My stomach suddenly churned; I wanted to vomit.

A sudden blow to my waist broke my thoughts. I landed on my side with a stifled cry and rolled out of the way of another. Their footsteps slammed against the boards and shook the floor. They'd be here any moment. Without a wasted second, I charged and pinned my attacker to the wall, pounding my fist as hard as I could into his torso with every ounce of strength I had. His hand enveloped my fist. I was bent down and his bony knee came up and struck me in the face. I felt my nose crack, and warm blood gushed from my nostrils. I jerked my hand free and caught a glimpse of the man before me, much taller and dressed in nothing more than a filthy button-up shirt and ripped jeans covered in what I hoped was dirt. He advanced. I turned, reached for the broom, wincing as my hand seared with pain. From the corner of my eye, I saw him pull out a hunting knife. I shut my eyes tightly and gave a mighty swing, hoping I would hit him. There was a loud crack, and the broom handle snapped in half. I staggered back in shock. He advanced again and slashed down. Now or never, I jumped back, and thrust the sharp end into his body. A few seconds passed. No noise. I opened one eye and stared at the limp body before me. His eyes stared back at me with a misty gaze, one he shouldn't have been able to manage while alive. I immediately pulled away from the broom and took a step back, eyes wide and knees buckling.

"Get up…"

There was no movement.

My voice soon flooded with anger and I kicked him. "Get up!" I kicked him again. "Get up!"

He laid still, his misted eyes staring at the ceiling.

I screamed and kicked, hoping that his plan would cease soon. I leaned against the wall, hand clasped over my mouth. I caught my breath, taking in deep gulps of air and trying to recuperate. When I had calmed some, I reached for his hunting knife and slipped it into my belt loop. I looked at my limp arm, then hesitantly wrapped my hand around my upper arm. I knew that had to be done. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was going to happen sooner or later. I took a deep breath, carefully bent my elbow, then forcefully popped it back into place. I bit down on my lip to stifle a cry, the taste of blood already in my mouth. It took a minute or two until I was able to fully move my hand.

Time passed before I managed to get my feet moving again.My nose continued to bleed; the entire center of my front shirt was painted in red. I kept a shaky hand near the knife as I hurried down the hall, fighting to keep a steady eye out for any others who would try to attack. I whipped around a corner and tensed as legible voices came into range. They were getting closer. I dove into a small room and proceeded to close the door when my ears picked up their conversation.

"How's the kid?"

"It's like talking to a brick wall, I swear. The fucker actually spit in my eye!" There was another swear I couldn't quite pick up. "What about the girl?"

"Wright took her for 'interrogation', last time I heard. He seemed pretty excited when he saw her."

I gripped the knife when there was a laugh. "You know how he gets...!" The footsteps came to a halt close to my position.

"Hellser knows damn well we're not going to get any information out of the bastard. He's better off with a bullet to the head. I don't even think he's a Crosser."

He? I inched closer to the door.

"Maybe not, but he could be an informant. Might've gave our position away to them days ago!" I held in a flinch as there was a bang against the wall.

"Doesn't matter, now. We need to get going. C'mon."

I held my breath as they descended down the hall and vanished, then ran a hand through my hair. I knew I wouldn't have been ready for another confrontation; if spotted, it could have been my last. I creaked the door open enough for me to exit and moved on, knife now glued in my hand. I didn't know how many of the Irons there were in the train yard, or how many were coming my way. I only knew one thing...

If I was going to die, I was going to die taking as many of them with me as possible.