The snow is falling lightly on the earth outside. The church bells toll only a few blocks away from my prison. Streetlights create pools of safety for those who still tread the sheet covered streets at this ungodly hour. The steeple on which the bells chime is the only structure in my horizon. The pale, yellow light that illuminates the clock is definite against the dank blackness that rests just beyond, like a beast lurking patiently for it's prey to stop and let down its guard for only on moment.
This is something I do much too often. I sit here and narrate my own life because I've nothing better to do. My mind wanders to the smaller, insignificant things as I sit inside this hell hole and rot to death. No, my keepers are much too cruel to allow merely that to happen. They'll make sure I suffer past death. I believe, then, that it is only a fair trade that I bring about their untimely deaths myself.
I can laugh despite my situation. Here I am, sitting in the stark white room listening to what I can only assume is some gothic version of carol of the bells. A Christmas present, most likely. I enjoy the tune though, humming to myself as I stare out the window. Narrating, thinking, wondering, plotting. All at once. How smart I am! Only, to them I am not smart, only twisted and cruel in all my ways.
I continue to smile, finding the idea enjoyable.
I don't know what's funnier:
The fact that they believe I'm as twisted as I act,
Or the fact that they're right.
The sitting teen stands abruptly, timing the motion with the music as it slowly dies over the intercom system throughout the building. She turns on her heel and approaches the barred door locking her from the world. Her face was blank as a slate yet to be touched, foreboding and mysterious, yet full of potential.
Well, kind of.
She stands just behind the door. Obnoxiously, the taps the bars in union with the long dead beat from the speakers. The pings resonate over the air and brings the guard storming over to her cell. A late night tradition for the two. His face is contorted in anger as he stares down angrily at the slightly shorter teen. A small smile crosses over her lips as she stares back up, her golden irises glittering under the nonexistent light in the room.
"Listen," The guard said in a harsh voice, the dark skin of his forehead scrunching together in anger, eyes blazing. "It's too late for that crap! The others are trying to sleep and I'm already pissed that I had to work Christmas Eve. Just do me a favor, sit your ass down, enjoy the music, and go to sleep." His face contorted into a sneer, his playful green eyes reflecting the teen's blank face. "Maybe if you're good," He said in a joking voice. "Santa Clause will come give you a present."
"Santa?" An eyebrow arched on the teen's forehead, the smile growing wider. "I don't think so. I'm getting a present from myself this year."
"And what would that-?" He didn't finish.
The teen's hand shot forward. She pulled the keys on the guard's belt free from his body, retracting them back mechanically into the cell. The guard instinctively reached his hand into the cell door, fingers reaching out for the teen with his keys. Agile and quick, the teen grabbed the guard's arm, using the leverage of the cell door to snap the bone clean in half, the pop and crunch of bone resonating dully as the music began again. Thank heavens for endless replay.
The guard would have screamed like a little girl, if the teen hadn't palmed his jaw as it opened, sending his teeth into the roof of his mouth as his jaw broke. He fell backwards, writhing and crying in pain, but only coming out as a gurgling as blood poured from his mouth and teeth wounds. Indifferent, the teen smiled as she unlocked the cell door, jingling the keys mockingly in the air. She looked sincerely at the guard on the floor, whose fear was now evident.
"Do you have a family?"
The question was fairly simple and could be taken a multitude of ways. Regardless, the guard shook his head no.
"I really hope you aren't lying to me." The teen said, flipping through the numerous metal keys on the chain in her hands. She selected one in particular, holding it up to get a better view of the teeth in the air. "I would hate to do this to someone who had a family."
The guard didn't take back his answer. Blood pooled in a black hole beneath his head as he continued to strain against the weakness overcoming his body. Looking blankly at his face for a moment, the teen plunged the key down into his throat, immediately ceasing his futile movements and strained noises that escaped his mouth. Pulling the keys lose, the teen took off down the hallways at full force, knowing exactly where she was going.
At the first intersection she came to, she took a right, counting the doors under her breath before she stopped outside one. She broke through the glass without hesitation, opening the door and rushing inside. Blood cascaded from the deep wounds in her forearm, leaving a red trail on the cool, tiled floor, wetness on her bare feet, and rivulets of crimson down her white clothes.
Inside, the teen easily found what she was looking for. Rows of stands stood against the walls, each displaying sets of armor and selected weapons. Stopping at one, the teen ripped the garments from the stand and began to replace her own with them. Whilst changing her shirt, the teen noticed the flesh on her arm was already stitched together, not even a red mark to show she had even been injured by the jagged glass. Running her fingers along the unscarred flesh, she sighed to herself, continuing her clothing change.
As she pulled the strap around her forearm tightly, she flexed her fingers inside the tough leather, hearing the material tighten around her grip. Flexing her palm open quickly, a steel blade glinted brightly as it shot from the glove. Smiling, the teen retracted the blade and set off into the hallways again.
She sprinted through the hallways with great speed, murmuring under her breathe the directions she'd kept mapped out inside her head from the numerous times she'd been led through these hallways by heavily armed guards. They must have gotten Christmas off because all the guards on duty that night were most definitely not heavily armed in any way, shape, or form.
First intersection, left.
Second intersection: Two guards, one stone, right, then left.
She slowed to a crawling walk as she peered around the corner. The two guards were in the darkness, firearms raised in alertness. She darted out from behind the corner, moving with a quiet grace that can only be matched by a wild predator. Leaping high into the air, she crashed down on the two guards, blades hissing as they sprung forth from both gloves and sank greedily into the necks of the unsuspecting man and woman. Splattering blood in arc formations as she pulled the blades free, the teen continued down the right hallway, taking the next immediate left.
Final intersection: One guard, right, left, straight, straight, left, another right, two guards, freedom.
Not slowing, she pulled a shot, curved blade free from the belt on her waist. She sliced through the guard's abdomen, stabbing into his exposed neck as he doubled over in pain. Sheathing the blade, she continued down the right hallway before turning left. She continued before turning left, then taking the next immediate right.
The guards there were ready for her. Upon seeing her, they fired a bullet storm from hell on her. But it didn't work any better. She leaped into the air, blades hissing from the leather cover once more. Twisting her body in the air, she landed behind the guards, their backs facing her. Before they had time to turn, her blades pierced their hearts, stopping the beating that rang loudly in her ears. Pulling the blades back, the recoiled like glittering snakes beneath the leather on her hands. Shaking the blood off, she turned and approached the final obstruction: the door.
Of course it was protected: video monitoring, key card access, biological recognition, electronic keypad, the works. Too bad the glass wasn't fist proof.
Fresh blood spurted over her fist as the opened the door, the cold, crisp air rushing into the stank, stagnant building. Rubbing the wetness between her fingers, a mischievous smile crossed her face. Squatting down, she began drawing a large, decorative 'A' on the door. A signature.
All great artists have one, don't they?
An artist. A euphemism, I suppose.
She smiled, stepping outside the door and into the crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath her shoes. Taking a quick glance around, she silently closed the door and ran down the street. The darkness of the tall buildings quickly encased her, eradicating her existence until it was almost as if she wasn't there. Even her footsteps, the only remainder of her existence, evaporated into the snow like a puddle on a summer's day.
Maybe an hour or so later, a man in a trench coat, suit, hat, and scar stepped out of his expensive sports car. He strode up to the door and threw it open, knowing full well it was already open. He saw the bloody mess of his guards inside the door and the dripping, red 'A' painted messily across the door. He slammed the door shut, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists repeatedly in anger. Frustrated, he pulled out his cellphone, angrily punching the buttons and holding the receiver to his ear.
It rang twice before the other end picked up.
"This better be good," A gruff voice wrought with sleep said on the other line. "What business do you have calling me at this hour?" His voice was a hushed whisper, but still came off as harsh and unrelenting as his normal volume.
"There's been an escape, sir." The trench coat man said, getting back into his car. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life as he tore down the street, his lights cutting through the darkness.
"Well, who escaped?" The man on the other end asked. His voice had changed completely. Fear and realization tinged his words. He knew the answer before he said it.
"Anthem's escaped, sir."
The other line was quiet before it cut completely, giving way to the dial tone. Hanging up his phone, he continued to drive through the darkness, knowing that only the unbeknownst was going to become of him after this. As he drove, something obscured the light of his car. He slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, thankfully, without causing an accident. His eyes widened with fear, his limbs frozen by it, and stared ahead in silence.
In front of him, stood the teen girl. Blood streaked across her face, a badge of her deed. Her golden irises sparkled in the light, capturing his attention and guiding it elsewhere. It would have worked too, if it wasn't for the taunting smirk on her face, or the cocky lean in her posture. Regaining his senses, the trench coat man opened the door and slowly stepped out of his car, keeping close to the car door as he did so.
"Anthem," He said, his voice shaking slightly. The light in the girl's eyes changed, turning into a questioning glance. To kill or not to kill, that was the question. "What have you done?"
"Elementary, my dear swine." Anthem smirked, the golden irises resuming their taunting leer. "Not what I have done, but what I am going to do."
"Why-,"
"I'm going . . . to crush . . . every. Last. One of you." Anthem said.
She turned and left, fading into the darkness as the man stood there, void of all thoughts. He climbed back into his car and shut the door, still feeling the cold, darkness of Anthem's words trickle through his brain.