Escaping was easy.
The silent art of slipping past the bars,
Of iron chains beneath a sky of stars.
A whisper through the keyhole of the mind,
A dance with fate, leaving the past behind.
Not running from but reaching for the light.
A sigh… a breath in the dead of night.
Escaping was easy, she thought again, standing on the rooftop where she wasn't supposed to be. Breaking rules was easy too.
Rachel stood on the highest floor of the asylum, a place where she had been caged for far too long. But now, finally, it was time. Time to break free.
One thing about her was impossible to miss....she was no longer dressed in the pale, shapeless clothes of a patient. Instead, she wore grey and black joggers, a long-sleeved T-shirt beneath a light blue half-sleeve shirt. Her blonde hair, tied neatly into a ponytail, swayed in the night breeze.
She had the freedom to dress as she pleased now. Perhaps she always had but tonight, she chose to.
The sky above shimmered with scattered stars. Rachel inhaled deeply, then jumped from the seventh floor. Her body twisted gracefully in the air before landing smoothly on the garden boundary outside the asylum.
Parkour was second nature to her. In LUNES WORLD she had trained like a professional; in this world, it was as easy as breathing.
Blending into the night, she made her way onto the busy city road, the roar of engines and sweep of headlights washing over her. She walked calmly, deliberately, her gaze sliding across the rushing cars. To anyone watching, she looked like just another passerby.
But she wasn't. She didn't belong here.
Not yet.
There was still something left to do.
Rachel stopped in front of a glowing signboard: EVERYDAY BAR.
The name flickered in color-changing bulbs, drowned slightly by the neon lights of the street.
A bulky guard stepped in front of her. "Sorry, tonight the bar is booked by J.H. Thomes. No outsiders." He smirked, lowering his voice. "But if you want, maybe I can let you in if you agree to-"
Before he could finish, Rachel grabbed his wrist, twisted, and flipped him hard onto the ground. He groaned in agony, clutching his shoulder.
"The guard let his guard down," Rachel muttered smilingly, stepping over him without hesitation.
Inside, the bar throbbed with life. Music pounded. Crowds laughed, drank, and danced oblivious to the storm about to break. Dressed in her casuals, Rachel slipped through the mass of people, avoiding notice as she climbed the stairs.
The first-floor corridor was lined with guards. Each carried a heavy gun strapped across their backs-AK-47, maybe M416. Their uniforms were sharp, their stances alert.
Rachel didn't flinch. She was skilled with weapons, but her real strength lay in speed and precision.
Pulling a taser from her pocket, she crept forward.
"I told you he wouldn't listen," one guard grumbled.
"You should've tried harder," the other replied. "You really thought just asking for a raise would work?"
Rachel struck before either could react. A flash of sparks and the first guard collapsed, writhing before falling unconscious.
The second spun, eyes wide, hand flying not for his rifle but for the pistol in his pocket. Too slow. Rachel dropped low, pivoting, and slammed her boot into his jaw.She did a copera kick. His teeth cracked under the blow, and he hit the floor with a sickening thud.
The noise carried.
Every guard in the corridor stiffened. Voices crackled over walkie-talkies.
"She's wearing a light blue shirt and grey lowers! Find her!"
"Move! She's headed upstairs!"
Rachel darted up the stairs two at a time, snatching a rifle from the fallen guard. Her pulse stayed steady, her mind cold.
On the third floor, the reinforcements spotted her men in black uniforms, armed and charging up the stairwell.
"She's fast! Shoot her!"
Rachel didn't hesitate. She raised the rifle and squeezed the trigger. Bullets thundered through the corridor, cutting men down as blood sprayed across the walls. Bodies tumbled from the stairs, crumpling on each landing, the sound of gunfire drowning the music below.
Screams, groans, then silence.
One guard's last thought lingered as he fell: This… this is a massacre.
Rachel stepped lightly, careful not to touch the spreading pools of blood. Her boots crunched on shards of glass and bullet casings instead. At last, she reached the fourth floor.
There it was, the office she had come for.
Dropping the empty rifle with a metallic clang, she walked calmly to the chair behind the desk. Sitting down, she leaned back, exhaling.