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hammibee


Doktorphil

The young figure sprinted down the alleyway, her lungs screaming against the cold air of the night, wind whipping at her partially unzipped jacket. Her hands were stiff and flat as they sliced through the air up and down at her sides while she ran. Her boots thudded loudly as she dug into the asphalt beneath her. She swerved quickly right towards the gaping mouth of another side alley.

"Gotcha!" He growled. A glint of moonlight reflected off of the pistol now pointing directly at her as she stood stiff. "Put 'em up" he ordered. She raised her arms in compliance.
"Though you could run away, eh? I'll tell you something, miss" He began, with a heroic smirk on his face from the glory of victory. "You and your type, you're a dying, parasitic breed" He began to walk a circle around her, no longer fully paying attention to her, rather than his speech. "And guys like me, we're the reason you're dying out. You think that you're some kinda hero or-" He was cut off by a blow to the side of the neck as he walked behind her.

He stumbled, dropping his pistol. She turned towards him fully and kicked him in the gut. She picked up the pistol and hit him with the muzzle repeatedly until blood began to spring from his face freely and he dropped to the ground. She let the pistol fall to the floor, turned, and moved quickly. It wouldn't be long before another guard on duty noticed the body, and one confrontation was enough for tonight.

She moved swiftly, sticking to the shadows. She eventually found her way to the small place in which she resided. Not so much a home as a dwelling, it was a small section of the old sewers. Since the installation of the new sewer system, the old had to be left in place, as much of the city sat upon it. It had supposedly been locked up, but she knew she was not the only one within the system. Others like her, and those completely different, many had a place in here. Not being used, it was completely dry and had only the faintest smell to it. All along, there were small sections that created a sort of 3-sided room, with the missing wall facing the main sewer lines. In one of these, she stayed. No guards or policemen dared to enter here, as rumours always circulated that there were dangerous chemicals. Some of these were thing she had deliberately set up. Just mixing bleach and chlorine cleaners near an aeration vent kept them out, while most harmful vapours drifted off into the city above.

She sat down against the wall where her makeshift bed was and entered deep thought.

Rachel Martin had become a rebel at the tender young age of 15. She had run with several 'terrorist' groups throughout her youth, but had, as of a year ago, began her terrorizing alone. Now 23, she had committed herself to a life with no chance of turning back. She had been responsible for several small explosions and the killing of 70-something guards in her career as a rebel, small stuff compared to what she wished to do. She remembers well what happened with the "V Revolution", but it seems that most attempts at a repeat had been failed by any and all.

Sounds echoed from far down the sewer, and Rachel listened intently. If the guards had found the body yet, as they likely had, they'd already be looking for the killer. She might have to lay low in the sewers a few days. She doubted they come for her in there. But it was probably just another fight happening, it seemed they broke out often along the lines.

She crossed her arms and felt the reassurance of the twin pistols in their holsters underneath her jacket.
"That depends. Do I dislike you, or do I not care?" she replied, taking steps closer to him. Looking him up and down, she made a decision.
"I'll guess and say I don't care, seeing as most cops won't come down here anyways. What does it matter to you?"

"Fine, I'll tag along then. There'll only be trouble if there's cops" she replied. She grabbed the small backpack that contained her belongings, mostly the essentials of life, and followed.