The lights come up on a long, empty room. Porrim Maryam stands there, trying desperately not to shake. If she’s been caught in her crime, the very least she can do is be a woman and face her death with some fucking dignity. She bites her lip. No. There will be no crying. From the distance, there’s a faint whirring, and then a loud SPRING!
Porrim throws herself to the ground, and in the place where she was standing a moment before, an enormous, three-foot-long tattoo needle sticks out of the wall. She wheezes, and stands up. She doesn’t have time to think before she throws herself sideways to escape an enormous sewing needle.
In the next few minutes, the needles just start coming faster and faster. Pushpins, thumbtacks, knitting needles, hypodermic needles, T-pins, and every other kind of sharp metal object imaginable. And with every launch, Porrim escapes by an increasingly narrow margin, until FUCK!!!!
Porrim lets out a screech of pain as a hypodermic needle impales her left hand, pinning it to the wall. Within the next few seconds, three other needles pin her other hand and both her legs, until she’s completely immobilized. Pinned like a moth to a bulletin board. She gulps. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
There are a few moments of dead silence. Porrim hisses through clenched teeth, trying to block out the pain. God, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Dave and Kanaya and god forbid KANKRI don’t need to see her cry in her final moments. She clenches her teeth and lets out a breath of air and whispers
“No+ regrets.”
SPRING!
When the confusion clears, there is an oversized sewing pin, the little plastic head colored dark green, embedded right in the center of her chest, impaling her. God, there’s blood. Blood everywhere. And Porrim Maryam, murderer of Aleesa Karaki, is dead for good.