Caught

15.

We took the shortest route to the back entrance, only the last few metres remained.

And that's when everything went to hell.

The deafening wail of the alarm shattered the deathly silence of the cold corridors.

"What the...?" I didn't understand.

Who had sounded the alarm? Hadn't the director promised me a free pass?

"They must have found the stunned guard," Shira remarked, not the least worried. "We need to speed up."

Amidst the flashing red lights and loud ringing of the alarm, we ran for the exit.

It was as far as we could go.

They were waiting for us.

A group of armed soldiers opened fire without warning.

Shira pushed me around the next corner as several bullets whizzed by. They clearly had no intention of negotiating with us.

I started to panic. This shouldn't be happening. Why didn't the Governor do something? Why didn't he call them off? They were going to massacre us here.

My gaze lingered on a black-clad man with a katana.

Or Shira was going to massacre them.

Either way, there would be bloodshed, and I wanted to prevent that.

"Cover me," he ordered, and I reluctantly drew my gun.

Was I really going to start shooting my own people? I didn't like the idea at all.

The bullet that hit the wall, a hair's breadth from my head, made me reconsider my priorities.

I opened fire and the soldiers temporarily stepped aside to take cover.

Shira took full advantage.

In a flash, he reached the group of soldiers, his sword in hand, and caused incredible chaos among them. By the time they recovered and regrouped, half of them were screaming in pain on the ground.

None of the shots hit him, and I did everything I could to make sure the guards didn't even get a chance to.

I shot one soldier in the arm when he peeked around the corner. Then I disarmed the other two as they tried to get to Shira.

The Imperial's finest assassin moved with elegance, and the precision of his strikes demonstrated that a sword in the hands of our former prisoner could be a deadlier weapon than any firearm.

Fear was written on the faces of his opponents, and when the first soldier lost a limb to a swift blow from Shira's katana, they even began to retreat.

The whole fight lasted only a few minutes, and when it was over the soldiers were lying on the ground groaning in pain. And the last standing was a dark-haired man in a long leather coat, holding a katana, its blade covered in blood.

The blood was also on the walls, the floor, the grey prison corridors were stained with it.

I ran to Shira. A few crimson smears glistened on his face as well.

"Piece of cake," he grinned, wiping the blood from his face. "But we'd better get out of here."

He quickly cleaned the blade of his katana and slid it back into its sheath. I looked at the wounded on the ground, at the bloody mess there, and felt a bitter taste in my throat.

I was a traitor.

"Come on," Shira brought me out of my uncomfortable thoughts and grabbed my forearm. "There'll be others soon."