[color=00aeef]Chrono 002:20
R&D Maximum Security Ward
Subject ID:# 52-0A-351
Subject Name: Ink [/color]
[color=ed1c24]Status: [ HIGH ALERT ] Quarantine Escape[/color]

The hallway ahead was much longer than she imagined, but little time could be spent worrying about the distance she actually had to travel. Pure idiocy carried her across the cold metal floor, and being a glutton for punishment, Czigani didn't hesitate even when the few random guards came barreling out of side doors, shock batons gripped tightly in their hands.

She maneuvered around the first, a fat clumsy oaf, whose wide swing sent him off balance and face first to the floor. The second tried charging toward the woman in hopes of tackling her, but again Czigani was able to slip past by spinning her lean frame, avoiding a head-on collision and diving through the first door on the left. She scrambled to her feet, pushed the door control to the [i]close[/i] position, and quickly headed down the empty hallway.

[b]“ALERT STATUS: Breach in Sector 3, Corridor 15. Lock down sequence initiated. Proceed with caution”[/b] A monotone and robotic voice announced over the broadcast system, causing the hallway lights to cut out and dimly lit red auxiliary lights to switch on.

“Bitch nuts!” The woman exclaimed, slowing the pace to get her bearings. “All you fuckers will pay when I get out of this shit hole!” 

Czigani could feel the anxiety and fear building up again. She hated the feeling of being trapped like an animal, despised it even, and her body’s defenses seemed to respond, as the runic and creature-like tattoos that covered her body slowly crawled and lifted their blackened tentacles. It was an uncomfortable sensation, that burned the inside of her body, yet in turn fueled their protection even more from the pain it caused. Her powers, for all intents and purposes, were a vicious cycle that she found difficult to control.

But control she did not want at this point. She wanted [i]out[/i] at any cost…

Her feet picked up the pace once again, heading for one of the doors at the end of the dimly lit corridor, and slipped through it before it had closed permanently. She took a moment to catch her breath and refocus, trying to block out the blaring sirens and flashing lights from their internal security system. An overwhelming feeling of nausea washed over her, and she suddenly found herself collapsing onto the floor with barely any muscle response, yet her senses were fully intact. 

“What the fuck...” Her words came out very breathy, as though her lungs couldn’t take in and push out enough air as normal, and the tattoos began to slowly cease their movements, and retreat back to their place of origin on her body.

“Your innate defenses, Miss Salahori, have caused your body to experience a massive amount of fatigue, to the point where your muscle tissue has systematically shutdown until you've fully recovered.”

The voice on the speaker system sounded very much like the lead scientist back in the room they had initially kept Czigani in, however a bit more artificial. 

“Please stop this foolishness, and let us help you.”

The woman, laying on the floor in a fetal position, slowly reached out an arm, hoping to grab the metal chair nearby. Movement came, but sluggish and painful, as she slid closer to the chair, eventually taking hold of it’s leg to pull herself up. Her hand ran up the metal leg, feeling for a place to grab, but managing to cause a small slice in her finger from the jagged fragments on the back of the leg. The pain was momentary, but at least she felt something...

The overhead speaker crackled on once again, repeating the earlier “alert status” in the robotic voice, followed by the voice of the lead scientist.

“Do you hear that, Miss Salahori?. They know your location, and are coming for you. Give up the fight, and let us help you.”

Her senses were sharp, and the will to push on was ever present, but her body lacked the strength it needed. She felt drained and helpless, laying on the floor like some poor strung out junkie in the slums. Maybe this is where she belonged, with the freaks, the outcasts, and the wretched that the rest of society didn’t even want to know existed. Her thoughts dwelled for a moment on those nights, a young punk with no direction, picking fights anywhere and everywhere, and despising her life as the “daughter of a respected police captain”. 

She often wondered if the real reason she had killed him was to blot that title from her history completely, but knew what she was doing and aware that the freedom she once had would be no more after all was said and done. This place, however, wanted to tear her down. This building run by the elitist Science Division in the R&D sector wanted her for only one reason. No. They weren’t going to get [i]this[/i] guinea pig for their perverse pet projects and freakish research. She knew who they were, and didn’t want them to have the last laugh.

“Go to hell, ASSHOLES!” She screamed, allowing the last words to drag on, as she viciously scraped her wrist against the jagged metal chair leg, tearing through her veins, causing blood to pour out, run down her arm, and onto the white floor into a dark puddle where she lay.

The speaker crackled on, followed by the frantic voice of the scientist. 

“Dammit girl, what have you done?...[b]CODE BLUE![/b] Immediate medical crash cart needed in Sector 3, Room A-6! Self-inflicted lacerations to her wrist!”

The man’s voice faded in and out as the blood drained from the woman's body, and the black veil of final death approached to greet her with a wicked grin.