Lynda let out a pained groan as the world swam back into focus, darkness receding to the backdrop of screams and fear.

Agony radiated from her head and as she pulled herself up and promptly collapsed onto her hands, the world spinning uncontrollably. What parts of her mind wasn’t cluttered by the pain  struggled to recall what happened, though all she could grasp was pain and then darkness.

Something solid hit Lynda across the shoulders as she attempted to stand. The blow rattled her, and forced her to the ground once more as pain slipped from her lips. Indistinct and distant words followed the murky image of a peacekeeper as they left. Whatever had been said was lost behind shrieks of the protesters being trodden underfoot. Lynda tried to keep them in sight, but they were swallowed by the chaos that sprawled before her bleary eyes.

With the dull ache across her back and a hammering in her skull Lynda still forced her way upright, though swaying unsteadily as a hand sought for purchase on the stone wall next to her so she didn’t fall a third time.

The noise around her was suffocating as she watched the line of Peacekeepers step forward and split apart. Order shattered as the guard hit the solid mass of unarmed protesters. The Peacekeepers begin to rain down blows with their batons, swinging as quickly as the melee would allow at anyone that wasn’t in uniform.

The protesters, the ones that couldn’t run away, resorted to holding up their banners in lieu of a weapon in the vague and vain hope that their cloth and paper-board signs might act as a shield; protecting them from inevitable violence.

Batons came crashing down, breaking through the placards and the protesters in equal measure, driving the unarmed protesters back and away, or in some cases, down. Some that had attempted to run were grabbed by the hair, or clothes, and pulled back in striking range. Escape was their only hope, but with the press of crowd behind the protesters meant they could only turn and get in each other’s way which allowed the Peacekeepers to slam their batons down upon the backs of their heads, often splitting skulls and dropping the Outcastes in one blow.

Lynda’s hand reached out and pulled one of the nearby fallen Outcastes over, grabbing at a handful of their ragged shirt, but as Lynda’s eyes finally focused she could tell there wasn’t anything left in the person she had in hand; their chest didn’t move and their eyes were fixed skyward as the wound on the back of their feathered head leaked into the ground.

“I didn’t...I never wanted this.” She muttered to the body. “I just...I don’t know what I wanted, I was curious...Was…Was that enough? Did we, you…I…” She babbled, pulling herself away from the body as the Outcastes began to push back. As the peacekeepers marched forward, and crushed those that had fallen underfoot, the crowd split into those that would fight and those that would run; but even as they turned and pushed to get past the maniacs behind the scared protesters shoved them forwards as if they were being sacrificed to the meat grinder so two sets of maniacs could meet on the meat in the middle.

Another round of abuse began as Lynda hauled herself up by a nearby gas lamppost and looked on at the fatal discord. “Please…stop…We didn’t do this…” She begged, but her voice didn’t carry over the riot’s clamour; even if it were quiet her words were weak as she concentrated on standing.

Lynda’s head throbbed to the point of utter distraction as she felt something cold and damp roll down to her cheek from her temple and splash onto her red coat. The noise, the feeling, the headache, all roared for the giant’s attention as she struggled not to get lost in her own head.  

Some protesters fought, trying to repay the violence but coming short with their improvised weapons against the arms of office. Others stood still and held up hands in the hope that by showing no aggression they would be spared.

They were not. In fact it seemed to bring forth more vitriol as they were easy targets. Lynda watched as one person, an observer, was pulled from their house via the window and beaten until bloodied and left on the ground.

Scrunching her eyes closed to try and force all pain away Lynda pushed herself from the lamppost which wobbled in place from her shove.

More screams, more pain.

It had to stop.

The Peacekeeper’s truncheon rose to strike at a prone man wearing a sturdy cloak who was scrabbling away, his panic not letting him get to his feet as a woman tried to pull him up. His hood had fallen back to show an older face with grey hair at the temples but entirely unaltered by whatever curse had made its mark on those around him. He held up a hand and seemed to beg, blood running from a wound around one eye.

Lynda had to do something.

Lynda threw herself into the guard with the truncheon, staggering as dizziness claimed its toll. Her hand rose to cradle her head, oily liquid from her temple staining her hand an abyssal fluid.

The guard stumbled back into another fight where he steadied himself on a brawl, turned and battered the Outcaste behind him across the head, and charged back at the giant that bowled him over with truncheon raised.

Lynda froze.

Lynda's heart felt like a stone in her chest. She had read all about the flight or fight instinct, but here and now she felt nothing. He was coming at her and she hadn't the hint of any instinct.

The guard was on her swinging the baton and hitting the giant as hard as he could muster against her hip. A cry was drawn from her as she buckled a little, placing a hand against her wounded side. The guard pulled back to strike again but as he did so Lynda’s hands shot forward and grabbed at his shield pulling it up and away, causing the Guard’s blow come up short as he was rocked from his feet briefly with one arm suspended in air by the shield straps.

Lynda blinked, incomprehension crossing her face. The guard tried to regain control of the shield, but it felt almost as if it was buried in rock, locked in place. “Please, we didn’t…” Lynda tried.

The Guard swung around his own guard trying to catch the giant’s arms or legs. Lynda wrenched the shield to the side, with a burst of panic, throwing off the guard’s swings and the guard himself as he dangled from the wooden disk like a ragdoll. A bemused chuckle replaced the panic that had slipped from Lynda’s lips, as if she couldn’t believe this was working.

All this did was enrage the Peacekeeper more; with a yell his foot kicked out and slammed into the ankle of the Giant, toppling her with all the ponderous wonder of a falling redwood.

With the fall she wrenched the shield from his grip; her sheer scale acted against him as the strap tore across his arm and ripped the sleeve of the uniform clean off. The Peacekeeper roared as he cradled his own arm while Lynda struggled to her knees. Hissing through clenched teeth under his helm the Peacekeeper lunged once more with every intent to beat Lynda into a puddle.

Now, however, Lynda was not unarmed.

Shoving the shield forward, almost as if she was serving drinks in a rather overly aggressive manner, Lynda buckled the guard over the lip and forced the wind out of him. Surprise filled Lynda’s eyes. The guard groaned, put his hands on the shield as if it were a table, and tried to force himself upright.

There was no reaction, though there was action.

Lynda, still holding the shield, threw it up suddenly as if a fly had landed on it and she wished to shoo it away just on a much grander scale. With the lurching noise of a man trying not to lose their lunch, the guard sailed through the air and landed on the balcony above with a sickening crunch as his body buckled backwards over the iron railing.

For a moment Lynda feared for him, but as he seemed to curl up and fall onto the balcony proper while groaning loudly he seemed to still be alive, even if at that moment he didn’t wish to be.

Forcing herself back to her feet using the shield as a support, Lynda cast her eyes around the carnage that happened before her and then back at the cloaked man. The Outcaste woman next to him, dressed in servant’s garb, had managed to help him up by this point.

“This isn't…” Lynda tried, but failed as the throbbing at both ends of her body causing her to feel nauseous as they met in the middle. “…just try to keep each other safe.”

“What are you going to do?” The woman asked.

“No idea.” Lynda replied.

Lynda turned the shield over in her hands and slipped it onto her arm as the guards turned their gaze back onto the giant, who was still standing while their fellow officer was now missing.

Peackeepers began to move towards her.

Now it was Lynda’s turn to charge, or at least limp; as truncheons rose, she pushed back. She didn’t strike but she pushed her way to those that were caught underfoot, buffeted on all sides by the unbridled mob. Her hand shot down and grabbed at the wrist of a fallen protester, broken and huddled as she pulled them up under the shield and behind her. 

Lynda’s hand became slick as she let go of the Outcaste, who stumbled, fell, then pulled themselves up and ran to the pair behind. Lynda barged through the Peacekeeper hip and shoulder first, tumbling him to the ground as she stepped over and grabbed at a collar of another downed protester. This one didn’t stumble, but when Lynda moved them behind her, they rolled to a stop some distance away and just lay there, unconscious or dead.

Lynda couldn’t tell; too many people, too much happening, too much blood in the air.

Another Outcaste, another collar grabbed and another pulled under the flimsy shield; the people behind her started to get the message and pulled the stumbling Outcaste and their unconscious friend away. Lynda took a strike across the back from a Peackeeper, staggering her to one knee. She gasped, as the shield moved and shifted up to try and cover herself, but the blows moved from a rain to a storm, attempting to take down the woman with sheer force rather than skill.

Lynda reached out for one more Outcaste, grabbed them and threw them behind her with little care or grace as she desperately tried to raise her own defence, but the batons came down on the wood one last time before it splintered in half, causing the two shield halves to fall from her arm.

Lynda fell back, holding her arm as pain blossomed along its length; it felt like a dire warning as they stepped forward. She tried to scrabble for one more downed protester, but the blows and her blood slick hands fumbled her fingers and she was forced to retreat.

Lynda lurched backwards into the arms of the few people she’d managed to drag out of danger. Of the few, two of them had already taken to their heels and fled while the third was in no position to do much except lay there with eyes fluttering as if it were a candle spluttering, grasping for the edge of life in a high wind.

“You’ve done all you can do!” The older man’s voice cut through the crowd’s screams as he hooked an arm around Lynda’s and pulled her back, away from the spreading violence.

“But…” Lynda started, but weakness crept from her injured limbs as she was pulled away, unable to bring her strength to action against them.

“Trust me, Miss, this is a losing battle.” He said, pulling her down one of the winding side streets. Once out of sight of trouble Lynda’s resolve faded and her listless struggles turned into bereaved acquiescence as she turned and limped away with the small group she had managed to get out of trouble.

The stench of blood and sweat fell away into the general reek of city detritus and food rot as the noise died, the fight behind them ceasing for one reason or another.

All that played through her mind was that she didn’t see Clarky at all. Not once, and fear crept through her. She attempted to turn back but was pulled along by the man and his servant, who now had to act as her supports as the adrenaline of battle died away.

They fell over a small barricade, leaving Lynda, the cloaked man and the maid stood on an empty side street. The noise of peacekeepers moving through the alley behind them caught the attention of the small group. The Maid turned down street, placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled. A carriage, parked under an awning some way away, rumbled into life and clattered down the street, the sound of reins snapping as horses’ hooves hit the cobbled street. To Lynda’s tired mind, the coach looked oddly familiar.

“Vincent!” The Maid called to the driver, who looked down from his cloak covered perch with eyes that seemed to have an ominous yellow glow in the dim light. “Back to the house; the master’s hurt!” He nodded and moved to grab the whip while the maid took a crisp handkerchief and placed it to the man’s bloodied face.

“No...” He said, though his voice was weak as he moved the Maid’s hand and took hold of the cloth himself.

“But my Lord, we must away!” She said, her voice raising an octave as she tried to look around the bulk of Lynda and down the alleyway behind her. The sound of footsteps seemed to be gathering closer.

“And we will, I just need to speak with this one first.” He clarified, before turning his attention to Lynda once more while the maid opened the door and set out the step of the carriage.

“Are you alright?” The giant asked, reaching over a hand which was shooed away. Her words were slurred now, and her hand was weak enough to be pushed. “It all happened so fast, I…”

“I’ll live, but you saved my life.” He replied with a smile that was worn thin. Lynda could only give a grim look in return.

“I was only trying…This Riot didn’t need to...”

“I know, but it did.” He let out an aggravated sigh. “You did me a kindness, my large friend, so let me return the favour; it may be a cruelty but it may yet save lives.”

“I don’t...” Lynda tried to focus, but now the danger had passed her body started to send their bills for the ill treatment.

“You don’t have much time to decide.” The man said, pulling himself up upon the coach with a pained groan. “You can barely run, and your status and statue makes you somewhat noticeable and undesirable to help, but if you leave now you may yet get away. Or you can come with me, and I can explain to you what we can do to help each other.”

The man from the riot settled himself down in the seat as if it was something he had done a thousand times before while Lynda tried to think; the pounding of her own head and the noise behind her closing in caused all ideas to derail.

The man rested and as the Maid started to shut the door, Lynda looked around as if unsure what to do.

A shout from behind Lynda forced her hand, as she stumbled in to the carriage and collapsed inside, the box of the carriage rocking slightly at her rushed entrance in and settled on its lowered bearings.

Reigns snapped, and the carriage moved off, leaving the few peacekeepers that poured out of the alleyway looking up and down the empty street, leaving them confused as to where their quarry had gone.