A quick thing I typed up at work as I had like 10 minutes to fill in until the afternoon shift came in to send me home.....
She ran. That was the only thought she had in her mind - to run. Her over exhausted body tried its best to give what her mind demanded. To keep going, to get away. She was pushed this way and that from the explosive percussions of live artillery shells, with the nearby explosion being nearly as deadly as the direct hit.
Up the stairs she raced, feeling horribly exposed, though no more exposed as she was before really, but at least she could jig around providing a more difficult target to aim for. She winced as a piece of tile was cracked off the wall and it dug into her face, leaving a small cut that freely flowed with blood.
The one who pursued her came lumbering up the stairs. This one didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t need to run, their armour was stronger than hers, given the recent fighting, in a lot better condition then her own. The stairs groaned and flexed under the greater weight of the pursuer. The pursuer stopped and listened, he had lost her as she topped the stairs and he came around a column to start the climb. He paused, he listened and finally he discerned the difference of the thuds of her footfalls from that of the firing weapons. He trod carefully in knowing full well that the stairs could collapse underneath him. While he wouldnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t be hurt in any meaningful sense of the word if he fell with the stairs, it will however proveÃ¢â‚¬Â¦problematic to find another way up, he was already too late as it was. As he pushed himself off the top from last stair onto the landing, there was a large groan and a crash as the stairs finally gave up their struggle. There was a few curses from the lesser armoured men on the ground floor as they were caught in the dust cloud and a few were caught by splinters from the wooden stairs.
Off to the right he could see that she pulled her head back around the corner from seeing if he was caught in the fall. She only just pulled her head around in time for a hole was punched through the door frame from his weaponry.
She was off again. The small respite doing very little in allowing her to catch her breath. Again she ran from the man who easily topped her small frame by an easy two feet. She didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t even bother turning to see if he followed, she could hear him. She didnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t try to turn and fire her own weapon at him, he wouldnÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t even flinch.
The corridor darkened slightly as he entered through the door. His shoulders scraping paint and plaster from the walls as he walked. This was what made firing of his weapon difficult enough to miss his target, plus her constant jigging from one side to another.
Then she turned down into another corridor, at that moment he knew he had lost. Even though she was only a hand full of meters in front of him, near enough to have a conversation with out needing to raise ones voice, the narrow corridor dragging at his bulk made it difficult to keep up with her faster pace. As he made the corner he saw her disappear into the last room and close the door in a surprisingly gentle click.
He finally scraped his way down the corridor to the door and opened it, to find her in the middle of the room drawing in deep ragged breaths. She smiled at him a small lop sided grin of a victor and picked up the small Vox broadcaster from the floor and made contact to say Ã¢â‚¬Å“Canoness Amanda to all receiving units. Pull back, this exercise is now finished and won by the Adepta SorritaÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s.Ã¢â‚¬
"Wake up me boy! There you are. Now, how many finger am I holding up?"
"It must be worse than I though; lad can't even tell the difference between a hook and a finger"