Winter’s bare feet pounded against the stone, the shock reverberating up her legs. She heard yelling from the pursuing guards and exuberant cheers from inmates. Having a vague idea of where to go, she sprinted down the stairs with minor difficulty. The inconvenience was that the weapon slung behind her was so long it struck the steps as she descended.
Thankfully for potential escapees, the prison had an open, circular layout. With cells and windows lining the outside and inner walls, navigation was effortless. Those cells held a few hundred prisoners spread out through multiple stories. The holding ranged from temporary internment to extensive sentences. With this versatility and population, the complex was notorious. It was infamous enough to be quite well-known in the greater Stoneridge region. Most of its notoriety came from the rumor that the guards execute prisoners at random. Despite this cruel reputation, the guards had been the slightest bit friendly.
Regardless, running through the large structure was a breeze. The prison layout centered around a wide courtyard visible from the interior windows. The courtyard, containing a scaffold for executions and ceremonies, had a gate. This gate was her ticket out. All the hallways led to two doors inlaid on opposite ends of the yard. Exiting out either of these doors and routing away from the scaffold would bring her to the exit. A sizable antechamber existed between the courtyard's exit and the "real" exit. This was negligible though, as ceremonies seemed to occur outside or in the courtyard. From her experience in the prison, welcoming ceremonies for notable guests were outside. Meanwhile, announcements, executions, and other such routines were on the scaffold.
Winter panted as she reached the front entrance. Her petite, encumbered form only out-pacing the guards due to her youth and fitness. When she finally reached the antechamber, a soft light streamed in past the snowfall. Her overwhelmed, darkness-adjusted eyes squinted at the brilliant rays. As her eyes corrected to the brightness, she froze like the surrounding snow and frost. The outline of two human silhouettes at the large front gate almost caused her to retreat. With no other plan in mind, she held the weapon close and sprinted. She barreled into the individuals blocking her path, just barely managing to push past them.
As she looked up, dread filled her like a burning acid, threatening to weigh her down and drop her dead. Ahead of her, a familiar, gold-trimmed carriage sat, tailed by an entourage of similar vehicles. A dozen armed individuals wearing full-plate, elaborate, bulky armor approached the carriage doors. The luxurious carts were a ways down the road, but that only gave her time to panic.
The guards she pushed past a moment ago began to run after her in conjunction with the original pursuers. There was no turning back now, not like she could earlier either...
She prepares herself to leap the half-a-dozen steps down to the road. Her weapon, carried by a sash much too large for the girl, could swing with freedom. The back-slung object threw her balance off as she jumped. Her face slammed onto the gravel, letting the guards finally catch up with her. The men were wheezing and panting, but she couldn't blame them. They probably don’t do much cardio cooped up in that place all day.
Winter tried to pick herself up, but she faced reprimand by a half-hearted, exhausted guard. That same man grabbed one of her arms and held her in place, his sweat flooding through his armor. Prompted by a loud thumping, her capturers fixed their posture and stood at attention. Confused, Winter looked up. United, the ceremonial knights struck the butts of their florid halberds into the gravel. This rhythmic thudding brought out every ounce of professionalism the prison staff had. The common guards–even the chefs–lined up and stood at attention, saluting the visitors. The exalted guests left their carts one by one, beginning from the back. A series of stomping accompanied each individual's departure. One of those pricks was, of course, the obese guy whose dumb meeting with Master she fucked up.
The guards, realizing a ragged, unwashed slave girl wheezing on the road wasn't a good look, panicked. Not wanting to make a scene in front of the approaching guests, a quivering guard pushed Winter down. Attempting to hide the inmate behind them, they formed a wall of sweaty men, blocking vision of her from the road. Her ribs felt like snapping under the iron treads planted on her gut. The weapon splayed out beside her, the guards having not enough time to tear it away from her before hiding her. Its shining appearance drew the curious but transient attention of one of the visitors. This fellow, a thin, tall man with a hefty mustache, averted his gaze upon seeing the bruised vixen behind.
The guards stood with silence, showing a wary respect for their guests. Winter, still pained, reached to the side, shaking. She carefully racked a yellow cylinder into the tunnel, the slide making an audible click. The guards, despite almost certainly noticing, didn't dare turn away from the passing aristocrats. She REALLY wanted to yell at them to walk faster, but for the first time in a while, she bit her tongue.
After a tense minute, the escorting knights followed the guests. Without higher eyes watching her, Winter coughed and let out a deep breath. The guard she ran into at the entrance helped her to her knees but prevented her from standing.
With an exasperated expression, he spoke in a soft tone, “We’ll put you right back where you came when you tell what that awful noise was darling.” He paused at her skeptical stare and decided to clarify with a darker gaze, “Talk or you sit here till you freeze, little girl.”
There it was. Master did the same thing.
Winter corrects her posture, the brace over her ears falling off her head into the snow at her knees. Judging from the guard’s lack of verbal note over her ears and tail, he’s had some experience with her kind before. However, her name is Winter for a reason: she’s an Arctic fox. Anyone with basic knowledge would know that the cold isn’t a deterrent for her. He may have just enough manners to know remarks would've been rude.
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She sees the guards who attended the ceremony begin reentering the prison. dropping any semblance of stoicism, chatting and gawking at her. Winter, seeing this, begins to wipe her eyes and choke back a sob. The guards, seeing this, have a hint of sympathy. Not enough to change their actions, but enough to lower their defenses and wait for her to calm down… which was all she needed.
As the last of the sentries other than those at the entrance door returned to their stations indoors, Winter let her arms drop to her sides.
“It was this… thing." Winter paused, her voice soft and coy as she lifted it, her finger resting on the trigger. “I was fiddling with it a-and then… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, I swear!” The two sidelined men watching her looked skeptical at her explanation, but the middle one, that guy just smiled. He seemed almost paternal with how he looked at her. He stepped closer, his arms outstretched in a comforting, gentle embrace… though she could see a slight, arrogant grin barely hiding on his face.
Master did that same thing, too many times.
She shoves the barrel into his midsection, closes her eyes, folds her ears, and fires. She feels a rush of adrenaline as she throws herself from the group and begins sprinting once again. As she runs, she opens her eyes but doesn’t dare to look back even when enraged screams reach her ears.
Over the sound of her pounding heart, heavy breathing, and ringing ears, she heard a whistling followed by a soft THUNK in the soil. Arrows began raining down like a steel hail, her saving grace being the expensive vehicles she ran beside. The guards seemed more concerned with not damaging the carts than catching a lowly slave. Afraid of what she’d see, she dared not look back. She breathed in and continued sprinting for a full minute, almost to the perimeter, and–
Shit.
A lone guard is running from the direction of the premises' exit. Idiot fox... OBVIOUSLY, guards are at the front gate! What was she thinking? This hunk she's lugging around must have what? 8 shots left? And she wouldn't go on a killing spree even if she could! What to do…? What... To… do..?
After passing the last carriage in the row of luxury, she smelt an ominous stench: hounds.
She groaned and looked over her shoulder, far enough away for whatever remained of the deceived guard to be long out of sight. Her face dropped when she saw a half dozen oversized hounds zoning in on her with a crowd of guards on their heels. She had at best a minute before getting shredded. The massive hounds, overfed by mana, carried disproportionate weight as well. They were, of course, still more than capable of outrunning her. Her stamina had managed to keep her from the guards' hands, but her head start was all she had now.
The guard coming slowed to a cautious stop, his hand resting on his sheathed blade. She runs up to him, waving her arms while unslinging the weapon.
“Hey! Help!” She feigned wiping her tears before stopping in front of the guard. Taking one last desperate look at the crowd behind her, she covers her face and pretends to sob. Panting, she opens her mouth, gaining the concerned guard’s attention. She unslings the weapon and holds it forward, the lie she planned on saying caught in her throat as anxiety overtook her. She grits her teeth and instead gives a wide, hard swing to the face of the guard using the weapon. She was not nearly strong enough to knock him out, but the weight and momentum constituted enough force to get him out of her way. Taking advantage of his hesitance, she sprinted past him, making sure to shove him down as she passed. The guard cursed and threw his sword as she sprinted away, missing her spectacularly. He holds his head and begins to stumble after the girl, muttering profanities while the hounds pass him moments later as well.
Speaking of which, the hounds are much, much closer now. Winter starts to wonder how she’ll escape them outside the prison. She doesn’t have much juice left and hiding from hounds isn’t a reliable way out of any situation…
Seeing the final sentry spot, the real front gates, the premises exit, almost makes her legs and heart stop out of joy. She’s so close… she can taste the freedom! Boy is it better than Master’s shitty wine!
The prison stood atop a cliff with a path carved out the side for carts like the ones she passed to ascend. This left her with two options: Take the plunge or keep on running. Conveniently, the guards at the front gate didn’t seem to be paying attention: their arms laid to the side and cards were being dealt to a group of four–one hand laid face-down at an empty seat. She was confident they couldn’t respond in time to catch her. The guards would need to realize what was happening, drop the cards, grab their weapons, and give chase. By the time that happened, hopefully, she would already be a ways past them. No, her biggest issue was still those damn mutts… No way she could outrun them, even now she feels like collapsing. Her best shot has to be jumping off. The greatest worries are whether she’ll survive in a decent state and whether the hounds will follow. Her intuition told her she was once again betting her life on some silly assumptions…
She examines the weapon in her hand, the catalyst for all this, and gives it a little kiss. If this is the last time she sees it, she wants to appreciate it for at least giving her this opportunity. She may have failed before… but this time, she’ll be free!
The dealer looks up and sees her, dropping his cards and grabbing his sword. Before he and the other players can exit the gatehouse, the girl throws herself off the side of the steep cliff. She barreled down the stone while rocks and branches tore into her rags. She skidded down a slope of snow before her back slammed against a stump, finally stopping her fall. A few pebbles rained down on her before a large crash and crimson splatter covered her. The warmth was nice... but she was hurting. Bad.
She sat up, everything aching as blood soaked into her skin, clothes, and hair. Seeing the pile of canine gore beside her, she released a dry chuckle. She looked up and saw a crowd of snarling beasts looking down on her. She stuck her tongue out–regretting it instantly as blood dripped into her mouth–and then limped into the surrounding forest.
She looked down and immediately stopped laughing. The weapon was... different. As she walked through the woods, her curiosity blotted out the pain. A small, blue screen poked out on the left side of the weapon. On that glass rectangle, three features stood out: one was a red skull with "I" printed beside it, and the second a drawing of the cylinders the weapon fires. Eight of the cylinders were fully colored while two were the opposite: grayed out. The third and final feature, the one that made the least sense, was a set of three symbols:
“M82”