Showing off:

It had been a force of will for Logan to wait until she'd called his name. Their signal that the guard wasn't paying attention. He leapt to his feet and, with a smooth fluidity he yanked the guy backward and against the wall behind the door. A quick release of smooth deadly metal into his neck severed both his windpipe and his brain stem with little mess.

Quickly he wrapped the sheet around the guard's neck, stemming the blood flow. It wasn't like the movies, where a spray of blood covered everything and soaked your clothing and the splattered the walls. It just bleeds, it's not slow like molasses, or fast like a leap from a garden hose. Things are theatrical. It isn't pretty or artistic. You just bleed.

And when you're a bad person, nobody cares when you die. A few moments later, the guard has lost his boots and socks and was a little more presentable as a sleeping convict in the corner if any of his guard buddies looked for him.

The Keycard he held was stamped 'Kyle Rutledge Security: 3rd floor Genetics Research'. Logan grabbed it and took another quick moment to survey his handy work, quite proud of his accomplishment. He turned to Marie and tamped down the absurd inclination to boast. To show her he could hold up his end of the bargain.

The words he didn't plan on speaking died in his throat. She wouldn't have associated them with anything anyway. She was still huddled in the corner, wedged between the wall and the end of the cot, pressed so close to the cement he imagined that if she could she would melt right into the blocks.

Suddenly he was aware of how much he'd forgotten. This girl, this woman, was as much a lab rat as he had once been. For two years she'd had to deal with whatever it was they'd done to her. Nothing good judging by the scars that littered her skin.

His eyes took in details, the tracks her tears had made in the dirt on her face, the clean porcelain colored skin, her bandaged hand bloody from clutching the metal bar of the cot, her fingers working frantically on the yellow trim he’d tied to her good wrist, and look of complete fear on her face.
You must login (register) to review.