CSI: This chapter makes me wonder why I ever separated the escaping and fighting into two chapters because I'd be struggling to make it 2k and now it was just like "oh em gee it's 2k i didn't realise".
Wattpad sucks (i tried to upload the gif about seven times and it kept saying it was over 3mb when it WASNT)
TW: Violence
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Saturday, 2nd May 2015
IT IS CASEY'S FOURTH DAY OF COMBAT TRAINING, and her second day in incorporating portals into her fighting. However, Casey doesn't plan to stick around long enough to learn any more than she's already learned. Her plan is formed and she is ready to leave.
She spends thirty minutes after she's woken up going over the plan in her mind, keeping the plot airtight and at the front of her mind. The soldier who trains her in combat enters the room; Casey puts up enough of a fight to keep from raising suspicions, but not enough to waste time.
As she's walked to the new training room, Casey feels her switchblade sitting uncomfortably in the waistband of her leggings. She can't have it in her jacket pocket as that runs the risk of the blade falling out while in the midst of combat, thus leading to her plan being ruined, so she has to deal with the uncomfortable lump digging into the small of her back.
In the room, Casey spots her blue thing in its usual spot, inhaling deeply, knowing she'll have to find some way to use it and allow herself to slip it into her pocket before she leaves for the toilet.
Combat starts and Casey launches into action. She either needs to lose by a lot, or she needs to keep moving. Her portals help with the latter, as they allow her to zap around faster than the soldier can turn, but she doesn't want to exhaust herself too heavily, therefore leading to her being unable to get far.
Casey stands on a portal, taking a moment to breathe. She's close to her breaking point; she can feel her breathing condition decline. All she needs now is to keep zapping from one end to the other, occasionally throwing a few punches and kicks to avoid suspicion.
It almost works, until Casey fails to stick the landing. She rolls her ankle, sending her crumpling to the floor. She lets out a sharp gasp and clutches her right ankle, the one which she rolled, rubbing her thumb over it as a way to soothe it.
"Get up," the soldier barks, impatience laced in his voice.
She shakes her head. She hasn't tried, but Casey can already tell that she can't stand on her ankle. Not for a while, at least.
"I don't fucking care if you've hurt your fucking ankle, get up."
She knows she can't put it off for longer; if she doesn't get up herself, she'll be forced to her feet. So, Casey carefully eases herself to her feet, balancing on her ankle and slowly putting more pressure on it. It isn't so bad, but sharp waves of pain still shoot up through her leg, causing her to clench her jaw.
