shiver (FEATURED) | ✓

o36

evanna

IT'S THE HUMAN factor to everything that allows me to locate a fatal flaw. Either it's the softness of the flesh, or the brittle bone, or the malleable mind, presented for manipulation. I watch them stonily as they walk to and from my cell, each dutifully taking guard over Tetrahmon's sole prisoner. All of them avoid eye contact with me, and I've given up on trying to get them to talk. They are robotic in nature, more so than they are human, and their indoctrination has dulled them to duty and nothing more. And yet... they are human, not in a metaphorical sense, not in their conscious acts, but they are. They just are. And that is what separates me from them.

My hands are curled around the bars of my cell, the shiny metal smooth and cold beneath my hands. I've waited. I've waited for seven days, and it's time to get out. This time, though, it will be difficult. It will be difficult to get through Tetrahmon, when everybody knows my aim, my face. I lay down on the cool floor, my platinum hair fanning out underneath my head, and scrape my fingernail down a bar, making an uncomfortable, screeching sound. The time ticks slowly and feigning sleep has become all too easy. Only a few hours, and night will cast its blanket over the city, and the night shift will come.

▿

It doesn't take an awfully long time to figure out how to short-circuit the lock. I throw the taser down onto the floor, and it lands with a soft thud as it bumps against the immobilised body of one of the guards, and let myself out. "Thanks," I say smugly.

I find myself in a maze of hallways, all painted white, the lights above giving it a sense of visual sterility, detached from the outside world. I keep my head bowed down, the knife in hand, blade hidden up the sleeve of my grey clothing. I'm losing time. Seven days of imprisonment have left me incapable of mapping out a logical direction to get out of here. It's strange. I feel... disconnected.

To my great advantage, no guards directly cross my path, although the security cameras are unavoidable. I had been hoping that short-circuiting the lock of my cell would have had a rippling effect on other systems within the area of the building, but it isn't the case. Not even the lights flicker. I pick up my pace, flatten myself against a wall, my shadow pooling into grey around my feet as a guard passes the perpendicular junction to my corridor. A security camera stares straight at me, and I stare back with a grim expression set upon my face, the fingers of my left hand clenching around the knife even more. I check my coast quickly, and deciding it's safe enough, I unwrap the tattered, old shawl around my neck, part of my civilian uniform, and drape it over my head, deciding that my stark white hair is far too noticeable a feature to be of any help to me. With that, I take a right.

The unpreventable comes to light far quicker than I imagined. The lights dim, and arrows light up upon the walls as a siren begins to howl, the sound echoing through every corridor. I ignore the arrows and start off in the opposite direction at a run, the shawl falling from my head. I slam my shoulder into a side-door, hoping for stairs. Half an hour later, I stumble from the building and right myself. Tucking my hair back in, I aim for a brisk pace towards the metal gate that encircles the prison facility. It's another obstacle that I must overcome, but the guards have lost their alertness that no doubt was ingrained into their minds from their training, but not seeing particularly threatening prisoners but have dulled their capacities. It's no difficult chore to take them out and leave.