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Gala

Amanda dashed through the massive doors of the Marble Estate, throwing herself to the side and falling upon the cold marble floor in avoidance of a stray round of bullets. She fell on her side, sprawled out behind a large stone pillar that was one of many that ran around the grand room she now found herself in. The room was a massive circular antechamber, three sets of closed doors leading away from it into their respective wings, several circular balconies over looked everything, and two spiraling staircases snaked up to each and every floor. The light was enough to be blinding, flood lights set into the ceiling scorching everything in their glow. Below, the marble slab of flooring was set with the polished insignia of Denton: A tall maple tree, playing host to fifty-seven perching birds of prey, forged from bronze metal and set in the center of a surrounding copper disk, with the five word message of the founders "Together, a bulwark to injustice". It looked much less bold now, covered in bodies, bullet holes, and fresh blood.  Another burst of leaden intruders tore into the stone walls, making hairline cracks and fractures. 

She twisted herself to her feet, one thought swallowing everything: Get to safety, out of the crossfire. This mantra held close to her heart, she sprinted through the fallen doors to the left, ducking down in a feeble attempt to lessen her presence. Just as her foot crossed the threshold, the main entrance to the building fell down in cascade of broken stone, glass, and splintered wood. Then, as if cutting off access to the building had had a disastrous affect on the other parts of it, the power cut and her vision faded into darkness, her eyes open wide yet seeing nothing. Her lungs and throat broke down, reeling at the inhalation of so much debris and sending Amanda into a coughing fit. A chill went down her back, tracing a long trail over her spine as the interior silence and its implications registered in her mind. Other than the roaring bangs of the outside world, the halls of government had gone completely quiet and still. This brought about another unsettling thought. The mob that she had been a part of naught five minutes ago had either disappeared, escaped, moved to some heavily sound proofed section, or been killed. Stopping to just think for a moment, she leaned against the cool painted wood of the half-closed double doors. Her third conclusion was the most likely. She knew, from previous experience, that the rooms in which the Denton officials met and discussed issues were sound-proofed, lined with noise-canceling sheets and excess insulation. The rooms were stiflingly hot, but secure.

She took another deep breath and began to feel her way down the dark hall, hugging the leftmost wall. She didn't even know where she was going anymore, why she was pushing deeper into the forbidden halls of clandestine governing, but she nevertheless felt her way tediously forwards, farther and farther into the blackened air. Her she moved steadily along, collecting splinters in her hand and wincing in pain as they drove in deep, but still preferring to be able to navigate rather than risk stumbling away into the dark. That though sent her tumbling into open air and stumbling, her hand failing to find the corner. She passed where she stood, cocking her head to the side and straining to hear any possible noise other than the cacophony of war that raged out of doors. She felt something to her right, lurking at the edge of perception but still very much there, very much concrete and real. As a moth often does when spotting flames, she moved to her right, towards the thing that stalked therein. A click pierced the shadowy veil of the relative silence, a small radio sputtering to life somewhere ahead and wheezing out the rising notes of some classical song, the notes climbing up a sturdy mountain before tumbling down the other side and rolling over into the vibrational sea. A light cough joined the crescendo, someone chocking at its base. 

Then came the sound of a match scratching along the side of its box, and bursting to flame. After the dark, it burned like a thousand stars. The glow framed a figure, dressed in a black suit and white tie as she lied slumped against a circular wooden table in the center of a long meeting hall, still tangled in shadowed web save the same isle of fire-light. Bottles of liquor and the bodies of many other men and women, similarly dressed but much more blood stained and clearly unmoving. The slumped woman coughed, spewing red flecks from her mouth as she grabbed at a yawing gash in her side. She stared straight ahead, almost unseeing as she listened to the humming thralls of mechanical music. Amanda did not recoil, but instead moved closer and leaned in, taking a knee as she went. "Miss, you're bleeding. What happened, do you need help?" She asked. The woman turned her eyes to Amanda, staring straight through her for a second before finally registering the bouncing light. 

Then, the bleeding woman laughed -- not exactly deep, and not exactly shallow, it seemed to pain her. "I know that voice...you were on the radio. We...listened. We...heard what you had to say of our plans. It was all we could...do for the city. This was all for Denton. You started this. I don't blame you. Look at your face, you aren't a monster. They...they...they said you were. That you tore down everything out of...greed...spite. I don't blame you. Don't blame me. I never...never...wanted. Outvoted....vetoed..." The words were coming with less clarity from her mouth, tripping each other in their eagerness to get out of that dying mind. "I...it was him...he...a signature...all he wanted...then...and then...a celebration. I can't...please just leave me. I'm done...I..." She sputtered and coughed, too far gone for words as the glaze of doom danced into her gaze. Amanda didn't know what to do. She had no direction, no clue where to run or who to find in this horrific web that had strangled the city. Perhaps...perhaps she could leave? Escape from the only city she had every known?  A concussive blast from outside swiftly reminded her how that would end. So where? The tramp of feet from an upper floor signaled her decision. She was in the Marble Estate itself, the very halls of government. Certainly they would have ways of escape other than doors, windows, and helipads. Most definitely they would have some sort of "safe room" from which to wait out hard times like these. And if she knew anything, she would want her escape route to be easily accessible from this safe room in the event of a breach. Seizing the small box of matches from the now dead government official, she turned to begin her search, the small flame of a match framing her face and the ball-music of the radio framing her in an odd air.