booker has been dead for twenty minutes.
dead, as in cannot bring him back, cannot fix him, dead.
she stopped spiraling after dozens of footsteps reach her ears, not
allowing her time to grieve. if she’s captured now, his death will have
been for nothing.
while in retrospect abandoning the dead body of booker is a terrible
idea, it’s the first one she thinks of. he’ll forgive her in the afterlife.
she had no other choice. besides, he’s completely covered by crates,
they’ll never see him. a body is a body.
quietly, she creeps out the window of the warehouse ... only to land
quite noisily on an abandoned riot shield. the slow step of feet turns
to a rapid shuffle as guards pour in from both sides, guns pointed
right at her, voices shouting words that sudden anxiety drowns out.
this is it. this –– after this, she’ll be sent back to comstock. with the
tower destroyed, he’ll send her somewhere booker will never find her.
no one will ever find her. she’ll grow up alone, isolated, only the ever-
vigilant (militant) songbird to keep her company.
if not for the glimpse of a shadow at the corner of her vision, she
would have given up entirely. but the distraction is enough to shake
her into awarerness, because they’re not going to shoot her. com-
stock would kill them if they did. you have no power over me.
❛ stay away from me! ❜ it comes out as a growl as she shoots out one
of her hands and opens a tear next to one of the officers, sending a
well-timed bullet through his side.
