[Dissension]

You race through the barren parking garage that is only illuminated by the green fluorescent tubes attached to the stone ceiling. The soreness in your heels developed from running in your dress shoes didn't seem to hinder your speed.The blurry figure suddenly appearing next to you through the corner of your now-stretched eye initiates a jump in your chest and forces you to hit the breaks.  

A war cry from behind strikes you with surprise, and you lower yourself under the swing of a metallic bat as you turn around. Slowly treading in reverse, you snatch your pocket knife from the elastic of your skirt and reveal the blade with a flick of your wrist. Staring down the visibly torpid group of boys, you feel tireless and a bit of accomplishment in your tactic; to wear down your opposition by flight.  

Diving under another bat swing, you retaliate with one of your own as you rise - your attacker instantly drops his weapon and clutches his throat before crumbling to the concrete. Hastily swaying out of the path of an incoming downward strike, you stagger as the hatchet barely misses your head. Taking a split second to regain composure, you begin to mimic your assailant's circling, albeit aware of your entrapment between him and the other male.  

Taking a quick glance over your shoulder at the bare-handed pugilist, you turn back to the berserker initiating his charge. Twirling out of his path, with your blade high, you thrust it downward at his spine. Now unarmed, you watch him descend forward before a squeezing sensation suddenly envelop your neck. 

By instinct, you clutch onto your remaining adversary's wrists and attempt to pry his garroting extremities off of you, only to fail. Asphyxia is approaching, and the crushing displeasure upon your throat grows stronger. Nails deep into the skin of your neck, breathing near impossible, you claw at his forearms, frantic, kicking, whimpering.  

Your eyesight flickers from black to clear. The ice pick attached to your potential murderer's waist manages to appear clear through the visual disruption. You release one of the wrists, and extend your shaking arm for the weapon. Fingertips lightly tracing the handle, your palm wraps around it, and upon the device's withdrawal, you embed the spike into his thigh with a scratchy yell and the remains of your might.  

Your attacker emits a cry of agony, losing his grip on your neck as he falls onto his side. Stumbling backwards, your hands motion for your throat as you gasp for oxygen, mouth widened while relief gradually consumes your lungs. You watch him squirm about with bouncing shoulders. The pounding in your chest is incessant as the wailing of your crippled adversary.  

The blinking light of the surveillance camera attached to the ceiling is struck by your filthy glare - had you lost this quarrel or not, no one would arrive to defuse the situation. Law enforcement in this society was abortive, and it's pretty much why you're here - you elude a gang of thugs on your way home, and not one police cruiser came into sight. Maybe it's because your call didn't concern their pastimes such as indulging in high-inducing treats or backseat happy endings, and thus it went ignored. It didn't help that young girls had been recently disappearing. 

You longed to rest in the bed within your near-empty studio flat, albeit with a weapon under your pillow, but were snatched off of the sidewalk and dragged into a dark alley by a quartet of degenerates. Thrashing for freedom and screaming for help, you were thrown on the ground and a massive weight dropped on your small, slender frame. The raised hatchet above your head unnerved you as you felt a palm trail your thigh, under your skirt. With clenched teeth, you drove your nails into the dirt, curled your hand into a fist, and flung every bit of it into the man's face. His disorientation was what allowed you to escape. 

Knowledge of your paternal figure wasn't in your head, and malady laid your mother to rest. Without any known relatives or accepting occupations, young and desperate, you found yourself making ends meet through nefarious activities - it began with plain larceny and pickpocketing in the slums, where your swiftness had done you wonders, until the revelation of plundering those unfortunate as you were left you with compunctions. Eventually, a swiping went wrong, and your blunder conjures an altercation with a burly man triple your size - your blade neutralized the threat with an abdomen wound before it could become worse.