>>2586
I slowly picked at a crack in the wall. Over the last month, I had been slowly enlarging it with a broken piece of rebar I had managed to scavenge from the debris laden corridor outside my cell. A frission of excitement ran through my body as I began to see pinpricks of light coming from outside through the crack. I was close, so very close to getting out. I gave it one last solid strike with the rebar, and the crack became a hole. Just large enough to let me through.
I was pretty thin, even before the months of prisoner food had dropped my BMI down from my usual western standards, so I slid through the hole just fine.

There was a small drop down, maybe a foot or so, but in my weakened state, I still managed to fuck the landing, and fell forward into a pile of boxes. The sudden commotion elevated my heart rate, and I lay still, straining my ears for any sign of activity. A minute passed, and I could hear nothing, so I calmed myself down.
There was a rifle sticking butt first out of one of the boxes I had fallen on, and I went and picked it up.

Due to my upbringing in the Midwest, I was no stranger to firearms, and this one was an AK of some sort. There was a magazine already inserted. I clicked the safety lever off, held the firearm by the handguard with my non-dominant hand, and pulled back the charging handle a tiny bit. There was a dull grey cartridge in the chamber. I then let the handle go forward gently (so as not to make any noise) and removed the magazine, giving it a probing shake. It was (or felt) full, so I rocked it back into the rifle.

Suddenly, I heard a female voice call out to me. I couldn't understand what she said exactly, but I knew I was in deep shit. I put the rifle down, and slowly turned around, hands held high. I saw a young woman, wearing paramilitary clothing, and pointing a rifle at me. She seemed extremely nervous, her chestnut colored eyes flicking back and forth between me and the rifle, and she kept shouting at me. I slowly knelt down on the dirt floor. She moved closer, with her rifle at the low ready, closer, closer. Now.

I suddenly launched myself forward, grabbing her firearm by the handguard with my left hand and shoving it down so it would pose no immediate threat. In the very same move, I formed an upright palm, fingers curled, and gave her a vicious strike to the nose with my dominant hand. She fell down with a deep guttural cry of pain. Both her hands were occupied with holding her shattered nose, so I took my chance and availed myself with the rifle she had been carrying. She looked up into the barrel of her firearm pointed at her face. She began to say something, perhaps to plead for her life, or maybe to show some bravado before her end. I squeezed two rounds into her forehead before she could. Her head jerked back, a spray of blood and brains painting the dirt. Her body crumpled over itself, and a puddle of blood began pooling around her head. I didn't have time to give her body a full examination, but I took the time to pat the corpse down for spare magazines, which let me cop a feel of her breasts. Perky and palm sized. My hands moved downwards, towards her crotch. Nothing of value, except for a rather sizable piss stain darkening her combat trousers.

Her comrades were fully awake now, and rather agitated, judging by the sounds coming from the center of the complex. I made my way out by getting down and dirty through the open sewage ditch running out the back of the prison ward area, and began a hike back to the nearest town.

______________

K/V: Victim
Name: Samantha Green
Age: 18
Characteristics: refer to the picture, personality is extremely cheerful and upbeat
Setting: At home, relaxing, and with her guard down