They'd arrived.
The building didn't look unlike one she had used before when she was escaping from that prison in... it was the same place. What else had life decided to throw at her this time? They escorted her in via the front door, Cynthia didn't mind, it made a change from her usual 'yank the window open' routine. The pervert and brainless one were replace with two burly, heavy-set guardswith close set eyes, big noses, and squashed faces. They reminded her of the pig-like guards from Star Wars VI.
However she opted against pointing that out as they did have weapons and she didn't.
She recognised the guard from the hotel. He was sitting on an office chair in the middle of the room. The guards pushed her towards him.
Apprehensively she sized him up and cursively glanced around. Shit. There was no way out.
Without warning the guard swung his fist and caught her lower jaw with a crack. Cynthia fell to the marbled, dusty floor with a crash. Her eyesight going blurry and starry; her face felt as if it was on fire; blood poured out of her mouth forming a perfect puddle encroaching on her right hand; a chipped tooth dropped with a splas into the scarlet. Cynthia didn't know how long she'd stayed like that until she finally got up. Her foot fell into the muck that was now slowly curling in on itself and turning brown and she nearly slipped.
Regaining her balance she turned to look at her attacker. His face was impassive. Half of the guards had been replaced by the technicians.
Cynthia saw Marc standing in the fray. His face wasn't impassive - he looked worried.
And Cynthia was at a lost to know why.
"He admires you, you know." The smart, polished voice rang through the still, stagnant air: the man from the hotel.
"He admires your courage, determination."
Turning round Cynthia replied, "do I look as if I give a fuck."
"I think you do. You weren't meant to be born miss Sparrowhawk. You ruined the plan, and the lives of many." He held up his hands in mock surrender, "I know none of that was you're fault. So really, who really should you blame: life, or your parents?"
"Life of course."
"Your certainity is also admired."
This was infuriating the crap out of Cynthia. What was his point? If they were going to try to kill her, do it now so she could run away like she'd always done before.
"You're not escaping this time miss Sparrowhawk." He clicked his fingers and the light went out. At the same time a dozen unearthly ones switched on.
He must have seen her face because he said, "just a little project we've been working on."
Cynthia opened her mouth to say something and at the same time caught Marc's eye - was he crying? Consequently she missed what the man said.
She saw Marc's finger move down towards what looked like a button.
The tears glistening on his cheeks unoticed by anyone else.
She ran.
...
Too late.
The lights flared.
And Cynthia Sparrowhawk ceased to exist.
YOU ARE READING
Working Progress
ActionA story about a girl whose life doesn't seem to give her any answers, and where life itself wants to control her. Needless to say she tries to rebel against it's plan for her.
