Angry and panting, Aryn glared at the door. It refused to open. She drew a gun and fired a single shot, knowing it would bring the soldiers, but she had to find out. Sticking a finger into the clear hole through the door, she felt what she had guessed: a wall blocking it from opening. Either the state had brought an alchemist along or-
"Blayne," she muttered darkly, followed by a string of curses that sent the three remaining cooks scrambling into the safety of the pantry. The kitchen was big enough that they hadn't minded when she came in to hide, but once her gun came out, most disappeared into the pantry.
Suddenly her ears caught the softest of sounds, footsteps and an occasional clink. Whirling, she had the other gun out and a shot through the doorway before the soldiers could raise their guns. One dropped his gun and swore, his hand bleeding where the bullet had nicked him. The others opened fire. Aryn dove behind a counter. Knowing they would try to surround her, she took a quick breather before tensing her muscles and crossing her arms, each with a gun, over her chest. Then she smiled.
With a yell, she threw herself from her protection into a handless somersault, guns blazing to either side. Immediately after completion she rose to her feet and started running, one gun firing into the mass of soldiers trying to hit her and the other gun shattering the glass of a window. A State bullet caught her in the thigh. She swore, but vaulted through the broken window anyway. The glass remnants dug through her palm in a jagged, sticky line as she landed in a crouch, adrenaline temporarily subduing the pain. She stood to start running…
Hands grabbed her, twisting her arms painfully and causing her to drop the guns. She was forced back down, kneeling on the broken glass. Even her head was made to bow. She couldn't see, but she knew- damn military dogs.
Abruptly the hands holding her head down were removed, though she was still pinned by some hands and feet. There was a concerted shout of "Sir!" She looked up to though a curtain of blonde hair to see a blue-garbed figure looking down at her. Black hair could barely be made out, but his eyes were shadowed by another of those stupid hats. His voice was calm, thoughtful, and slightly deep, but bore a hint of- amusement?
"Well, it's not Blayne, but well done anyway."
"Thank you, sir!" the soldiers replied briskly, then unceremoniously hustled Aryn out to the waiting trucks.