She felt anger.
It was odd, it was the first thing she had felt in days. Weeks, even.
It felt good. After being empty for so long, anything, even the most volatile emotion, anger, was better than the all encompassing void that seemed to be her heart.
He went to sleep fairly early, for an officer. Instead of staying up late and drinking away their sorrows, fools, he slept them away.
She took advantage of this.
For an officer, he wasn't very smart. He left his window open.
He should know that she of all people would take this opportunity to not leave a trace.
Because of him, she only needed one glove. Why would she put a glove on a metal hand?
She shoved the spare glove down his throat. Silence.
He looked at her, terrified.
Good.
She made an attachment, on her hand. A whip.
It was charged by her blood.
The next day, when they asked her what happened, she smirked, and spoke for the first time.
"I got pissed."
They wanted to break her, and they had. But at what cost?