Ugh everyone I'm back. And I'm sorry I went AWOL again. I feel like a terrible person. I'm sorry I keep leaving you... But I can't promise not to do it again, because my spring semester of school is about to start and I might not have time to update for another few months... Anyway, with that said, I wanted to try to get one more chapter in before then, because I keep seeing all these reviews and they've managed to guilt me into posting. XD
So speaking of reviews, let me just address the reviews I've seen since I left. (You guys are great. Thank you for sticking with me.)
i - As usual, thank you for all that you wrote, and I have to agree with your suggestions for improvement. Now that I look back at it, the conversation between Fang and Noel and Claire was pretty short. (It's reminded me to work some more on dialogue for the coming chapters!) Thank you again! :)
jollyp, Nina, and others whose names I don't know XD - This sounds weird, but thanks for bugging me over all these months. If you hadn't been there, I don't think I would have remembered to post...
Anyway, hopefully this chapter lives up to your expectations! And I also hope to be back soon...
Chapter Eight: Under Control
Claire came to lying on her side in a cell. She was surrounded on four sides by walls, one of which was made of rusty metal bars. For all their high-tech bases and fortress-like buildings, Pulse hadn't even bothered to give her a secure cell. This cell looked like something General Ballad could snap in half with two fingers.
Then again, it wasn't likely she could actually make it out. Two soldiers paced the block constantly, passing by her cell nearly every minute. Even if she found a way out of the cell, it would be virtually impossible to sneak past them.
Unless, of course, she created a diversion.
Claire sat up and began to examine her cell. Gray stone made up the walls and floor, and a frayed, threadbare lavender blanket was spread out on in the back corner. Claire stared at it for a minute, thinking that the blanket and General Ballad's hair shared the same color.
Part of the wall ahead of her—the one composed of metal bars—had hinges and a lock and appeared to open out into the hallway. She highly doubted anyone would bother to open the door from the outside. Probably they only used it to throw prisoners in. Except…
She heard a flurry of voices somewhere in the distance and pressed against the cell bars, hoping to catch some of the conversation. One voice stood out, and as it echoed through the stone hallways of the cell, Claire strained to hear it. Its tone carried a commanding, no-nonsense air.
"…need them out now. They're…"
Claire fought down the surge of hope that soared in her chest. They couldn't possibly want her out already, could they? She returned to listening, to picking out stray words from the echo of the man's voice.
"…trial," he said.
A question framed by a voice quieter and less clear answered him.
"I'll give you ten," he snapped. "Bring them out."
"Fifteen."
"No. Ten." Footsteps. "The judge doesn't take well to waiting."
Judge. Shit. No way in hell would the Pulse government give anyone from their rival nation a fair trial. It was probably all for show, a dramatic farewell before their inevitable and, no doubt, brutal executions.
Down the hall from Claire, one of the cell doors opened, and she heard a muffled shout as the two guards dragged their prisoner from the cell. She needed some sort of plan, and fast.
She waited and listened to the next two doors opening, as well as the scraping and skittering noises that resulted from the prisoners' noncompliance. A few times she heard a shout of pain or the slap of metal against flesh. So the guards were armed, probably with some sort of blunt metal weapon like a gun, maybe a baton.
Finally a key clicked in the door to her cell, and she looked up to see the two guards standing just outside. One of them had a cut on his cheek just below his eye; Claire, naturally, did not let the fresh wound go unnoticed. If one of the other prisoners had managed to wound him, then of course she could too.
The guards stepped in and dragged her up by the arms. As soon as the one on her left procured a pair of handcuffs to snap around her wrists, she lashed out and hit him, knocking the cuffs from his hands. They went skittering to the floor.
"Hey!" the guard yelled, but he hesitated, unsure whether to pick up the handcuffs or go after her, so Claire punched him in the face. He stumbled back against the cell wall. The other guard reacted, one of his hands clamping around Claire's wrist. Claire pushed him against the wall and took a knee to his stomach. He doubled over, and as Claire backed up, the first guard came from behind her, his hands closing around her throat. She grabbed his arms, wrestling with him for a minute and fighting to breathe. She kicked backwards, but none of her kicks landed.
Faintly, she heard the second guard, who now lay on the ground, choking out some words into a radio. "Reinforcements…" he growled.
"No," Claire hissed. She felt like her face must be descending to some darker shade of purple; she gasped for air but never really got any. Desperately she moved, backing the guard up into the wall behind them, close enough to knock her head into his. He let out an exclamation of pain and let go, finally. She took a deep breath, remembering suddenly how necessary air was, and lunged at the first guard, smashing her elbow into his face and relishing the crack she heard as well as felt. Blood rushed down his face and he screamed, just before their reinforcements stormed the cell.
There were five of them total, and Claire knew she couldn't take them all on at once when they surrounded her and pinned her arms back behind her, securing the cuffs around them despite her struggle to get free.
A sixth member appeared at the door, and this one was not a man but a woman, with sleek, straight brown hair and glasses. She smiled cruelly at Claire and pretended to ponder her next words a moment before she stated, "No… I changed my mind. There won't be a trial for this one. Leave her here."
"What?" one of the guards exclaimed. "But—Your Honor—"
"Quiet," she commanded. "She'll go straight to the firing squad tomorrow morning. Court here is adjourned. Leave her."
The soldiers obeyed, shuffling out of the room after her. The two guards Claire had attacked looked pissed, but they pushed themselves up from the floor and followed their comrades.
One of them pulled the door shut with a click and spun the keys around his finger, all while looking Claire straight in the eye, as if making sure she knew she had no chance of escaping. She glared back at him until he disappeared into the hallway and around the corner.
No trial. No trial. Claire wondered which was worse: a trial that would probably end the same way no matter what, or no trial at all.
She'll go straight to the firing squad tomorrow morning.
Claire clenched her fists. She would find her way to escape the firing squad if it meant having to dig her way out of the cell. She refused to die at the hands of the Pulse military on a reconnaissance mission.
Especially, she recalled, because this was her second brush with death on one of their General's "training" missions.
Maybe it's just because of his lack of experience, a voice in the back of her head said, reminding her of the story Caius had told her a few nights ago. Maybe he doesn't know how to run training missions, how to keep trainee soldiers out of trouble.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she leaned her head back against the cell wall and sighed. She couldn't believe she was actually making excuses for General Caius Ballad.
She looked around the cell again, examining the walls for weak spots, checking under the pale lavender blanket for hidden tools, rattling the bars of the door to see if it would give. Of course, at this last step, one of the guards came around the corner with the keys in his hand. He stopped at her cell and planted a boot against the door, sending a jolt through Claire's hands. She backed up.
"Keep away from there," the guard snapped.
Claire swallowed and ducked her head. "H…help," she murmured.
"What was that?" the guard asked, taking a step closer.
"I'm…" Claire whispered. She let one hand close around the bars of the cell again.
The guard stepped closer again. "What? What is it?" he demanded. "Spit it out."
"Help me," she said in an even smaller voice. When the guard bent down to listen to her, she thrust a hand through the bars of the cell, making a grab for the ring of keys around his right wrist. But though she successfully closed her hand around them and jerked them from his hand, the ring got caught between the bars of the cell door, and the guard slapped her hand away, taking his keys back and standing up.
He spat at the ground in front of her cell. "You little bastard," he snapped before returning to the hallway and continuing to make his rounds.
Claire clenched her teeth, wondering what else she could possibly do. The other three soldiers were likely at their trials right now, and even if they came back alive tonight, the walls between them were solid stone, and the guards would never stop patrolling the cell block. Her last hope was to try to make an escape tomorrow morning, when her execution was scheduled.
She slid back on the dark stone floor and sat on the threadbare lavender blanket, leaning back against the wall and bringing her knees up to her chest. The cloth didn't feel like much of a change from the stone floor, and it reminded her of the headband General Ballad had worn on her first day of training. She closed her eyes and attempted sleep. After all, she'd probably need it for tomorrow.
Some time later she woke to the sound of boots colliding with the stone floor and cell doors opening. Her eyes flew open, and she scanned the hallway outside. From her vantage point, however, she could see little. Only the shadows, shuddering against the scarce light, and the noise gave her any indication that someone was there.
"Let me go!" a muffled voice said. It probably belonged to one of the soldiers General Ballad had sent to the base.
Another voice, this one clearer and closer, laughed in reply. "Soon you'll all be dead. None of you will be bringing back intel to your superiors."
Claire sat back against the wall, letting her shoulder blades crash into the stone, and exhaled. Of course all of their trials had been for show. Pulse hadn't intended to let any one of them go free.
"You assholes," the voice of the trainee soldier snapped. This comment was followed by the sound of impact and a yelp of pain, in turn accompanied by the sound of the cell door closing again.
Claire expected to see the guards pass her cell, but instead she watched their shadows disappear down the hall. She wouldn't leave her cell until they came for her tomorrow morning.
The sound of the door squeaking on its hinges woke Claire several hours later. She'd slept, but very little. Time after time, the footsteps of the guards outside her cell had woken her, and she'd spent most of the night watching the shadows in the gloom.
"Time to go," one of the guards muttered, stepping into her cell and dragging her up by one arm. She didn't resist; if she did, they might throw her back and lock her in while they shot her fellow soldiers.
They walked in a single-file line down the hallway that led them out of the block, flanked on either side by guards. No one spoke.
The hallway led to a set of stairs that opened up to a large plane of concrete. Off to Claire's right, a large crowd stood, restrained by several more Pulsian soldiers. In front of them stood a line of soldiers with rifles—polished black, with attachments that made them look heavier than necessary. The officer from the day before stood in the center, the wind carrying her light brown hair over her shoulders. A satisfied smirk adorned her lips, similar to the one General Ballad wore when he threatened his soldiers during training to get what he wanted.
She waved a hand, and two of the guards dragged the first of their soldiers out into the open, before the Pulsian firing squad. But instead of giving the command to fire, the officer frowned and shook her head.
"No," she shouted, "bring me the first one. The one without a trial. I want her first."
Claire's eyes widened as they took her arms and dragged her out in front of the crowd. She tried to break free and managed to jerk her arm out of the grasp of the soldier on her right, but immediately he reclaimed his hold on her and shoved her in front of the Pulsian soldiers with rifles.
"Attention!"
Claire realized, suddenly and brutally, that one: she had only seconds left to live unless she escaped, and two: the chances of escape were very, very low.
"Ready, aim…"
The soldiers lowered their rifles, looking down the sights at her. The crowd went still, and the soldiers in front of her were motionless as well. This wasn't exactly what Claire had envisioned her last sight looking like.
The female officer in front drew breath to give the command. Claire saw motion out of the corner of her eye, and right in front of her, a figure moved through the crowd and cut down an entire row of guards. The guards fell to the ground, the crowd screamed and scattered; the female officer spun around and began shouting that they couldn't disturb an execution. Claire didn't dare move—the soldiers ahead of her still pointed their rifles at her.
She did, however, let her gaze fall on the action behind those soldiers. The female officer stopped mid-word as a sword pierced her abdomen, protruding from a spot just below her rib cage and sending her blood scattering over the pavement, an offering. She had no time to react. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the ground.
Her assailant jerked the sword out from her lifeless body and faced Claire.
"Good morning, Pulse," he said in a low, deadly voice.
Instantaneously, every member of the firing squad turned and trained their rifles on him. She heard the unison clicks of every weapon.
"Caius," she breathed.
"I suggest you let them go," he said.
"And I suggest you leave this place immediately, before we decide the date of your execution, Ballad." One of the officers at Claire and the other soldiers' side stepped forward, addressing him. Claire suddenly felt a pang of fear, though she was quite sure she had wanted him dead a week ago.
Before Claire even had time to blink, General Ballad was in the other officer's face, and his sword was through the man's gut.
"Right," he snarled. "My execution."
The officer gave him a last wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of surprise and terror before he slumped to the ground, dead.
"Let the prisoners go," General Ballad commanded, turning to the rest of the Pulsian soldiers who held them. When they didn't respond, he raised his voice. "I command you to let them go, or I will slit all of your throats!"
Unarmed, the officers had no choice but to obey. Claire breathed a sigh of relief as their hands slipped from her arms and they withdrew from her. The next second, General Ballad's hand replaced them, his gloved hand closing around her wrist. "Farron," he hissed in her ear. "Letting them deny you a trial—what in the hell did you do?"
"Tried to escape," Claire muttered, ducking her head.
"A foolish move," General Ballad snapped. "Do you not remember what I told you about defying authority, how it may kill you?"
Claire wrenched her hand out of his grasp. "If I choose to die escaping from the nation that has so long been our enemy rather than surrendering to death at the hands of its officers, then that is my own decision," she replied. "Which reminds me, thank you for nearly getting us all killed. How long did you stick around to watch? How long did you wait before you decided to actually step in? What kind of commanding officer are you?"
Glaring at her, he returned, "That is my business."
He turned and took the lead, and she followed. People scattered, running in all directions and stumbling over the bodies that now lay every which way on the pavement. Claire's eyes landed one more time on the brown-haired officer who had sentenced her to death before General Ballad shouted at her not to look back.
Ahead, she sensed a disturbance and realized that one of the soldiers was shouting for reinforcements, while more of them poured out of the door to the building where they had held the four of them from Academia. These soldiers were armed. Claire realized that she was not—she wouldn't stand a chance. But she refused to hide behind General Ballad and wait for—
She didn't realize that he had stopped walking until she nearly ran into him. His hand moved from his side, and Claire felt cold metal press into her abdomen. She looked down and identified the cold, dark shape of a gun in his hand. Looking up at him, she accepted the weapon.
"What about the others?" she asked. There was no way he'd brought enough for all four of them.
"Protect them," General Ballad replied, not looking at her.
He took the lead and set off at a run again.