Lillia took a deep breath, strength surging through her bones. Prison wasn’t an option. Though the arguably right thing, she could not accept that outcome. The first step. She’d taken the first step. Why would she turn back now? Thalia still needed her, Lillia refused to give up until she’d at least done that.

The basement felt more cramped than usual, though that was probably due to the rush. Lillia heard the door open. Her nan greeted them kindly, adopting the role of a confused, defenceless old lady. The police demanded to know her location, her nan, however, played dumb, saying: “My granddaughter hasn’t come home today, I’m very worried you see.”

The ruse wouldn’t last much longer. Lillia fished around in the box, focused on remaining silent. Her hand glided through empty space, her fingertips stretching to feel the slightest texture. She strained her arm, sweat forming on her forehead. She peered over, into the box. Lillia wished she had taken more care putting the items back in the box as a bunch of frames and loose pictures lounged upon the weapon. From the lack of noise above, time was running out.

Fuck it.

She retrieved the pistol with a single, swift motion. Photos whooshed and the frames scraped, though nothing loud enough, Lillia hoped. She turned the weapon over in her hands, examining it once more. On the top of the pistol was a notch, she pulled it, and revealed a small hole into the barrel — no, the chamber.

“WHERE IS SHE?”

Objects clattered against the basement ceiling. Ammo. Where’s the ammo? Lillia rooted around in the same box a little more, though came out empty handed. What did it even look like? Three other boxes stood awkwardly in the basement. Great. Lillia cursed. There wasn’t any time to look through them all. She sighed. An idea entered her head. She did not like it. Lillia weighed up her options. Sadly, the new idea was faster and more efficient. Something smashed above. She waited for the noises to not be directly up.

Fuck. It.

Lillia got a firm grip on two of the boxes, and with no effort at all, threw them over. They smashed against the floor, thudding with emphasis, shouting out Lillia’s location and spilling their contents on the floor. Instantly, she pounced, fumbling through the mess. One box only contained clothes, the other a collection of odd bits and bobs. Footsteps galloped towards her. She checked the other non tipped box. Empty. Apart from a small cloth pouch. Lillia snatched it. The weight of the pouch gave her hope. Inside, a bunch of small metal casings. Ammo.

“HEY!”

“No! No! That’s just … my dog!”

“Shut it.”

Lillia dodged away from the stairs, shoving four of the metal casings into the gun. The latch shut with a spring, a gear turned, pulling the lever back with a snap. Did that mean it was ready to fire? No time to wonder, the first officer entered the basement, hunched over, his head darted to Lillia. She hovered her finger over the trigger. The man charged at her, nothing but hatred spread across his face.

I’m a murder. She told herself.

Then Lillia pulled the trigger.

Silence.

A crack, like a whip of lighting, stabbed her ears; followed by a groan, then the squelching of blood. The officer kept his momentum, sliding to a stop right next to her. His eyelids peeled right back, his mouth wide open. The stare of death. Lillia threw up a little in her mouth.

“Was that…” the voice trailed off.

Lillia growled under her breath. She moved towards the stairs, the pistol, smoking, held in front of her like a shield. Her triggerfinger quivered. The gun shot. Lillia half wished it hadn’t. That way, she wouldn’t have to keep choosing, it would have been all over and she at least tried. Fate, it seemed, wanted her to keep going — taunting her. Wondering how many steps Lillia could take.

Lillia crept to the stairway. Backing up, creaking on the flimsy stairs, a second officer stood in her way. This one didn’t charge at her, he didn’t shout or scream. He just stood. Motionless. His jaw slowly dropped. Lillia’s gaze pierced him way before the bullet. Her eyes peeking from under her brow, her pupils dilating. The discoloured green added to the unsettling feeling. Of all the last sights to see, the bloodlusted girl had to be one of the worst. 

The stairway thundered. Lillia staggered backwards, flowing with the recoil. Her arms rang. The bullet sliced through the air, howling in excitement; bones crunched, shattering. The shot destroyed the officer’s left knee — not what Lillia intended. It didn’t matter though; the policeman crumpled down the stairs, his body bending in unnatural ways. He stopped, spread about the bottom stairs, stirring, tears dropping from his eyes. Lillia leant against the wall for support. She lost her breath, an incomprehensible mess of deep, fast and shallow gasps. The pistol shook in her hand — no, her whole arm was shaking. Why was it shaking?

A crash and a flurry of thuds came from the living room, a cut short shout too. Right. Her nan. How many more were there? Lillia had shot two bullets, leaving two remaining. Three or more officers wouldn’t be possible with this current strategy, hell, even two might be pushing it. She questioned her accuracy. On the stairs, she swore she pointed the pistol at the man’s chest, yet it hit his knee. Unless it was almost point blank range, Lillia could miss. What then?

Slowly, she stepped over the body, tip-toeing up the stairs. Lillia considered a dash to the kitchen, plenty of knives made their home there. The plausibility of making it there was unknown, though she guessed low, also, Lillia had noticed the officers wore a sorry excuse for armour. Hardened leather maybe? Something worse, most likely. Either way, that introduced the chance for a slash or a weak stab to glance off the officers, leaving them uninjured. Lillia sighed, halting before the top of the stairs. So much to think about, yet so little time. And in the moment, all she will have is seconds.

Lillia spun a full circle entering the living room. Empty. No, not completely; an officer laid on the floor, unconscious. Inspecting the room, it became clear what had happened. The armchair lay on its side, the radio scattered in pieces across the floor. Drops of blood soaked the carpet, along with fragments of glass. A much more drawn out and brutal fight took place here. Lillia clicked her wrist, steadying the gun, only extending one hand this time, using the other to balance around the glass and broken wood. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, not ideal, but she pressed on.

Noises came from the kitchen, beckoning her towards them. A metal clang overpowered the others, and a large man fell through the doorway. He groaned, moving to his feet. Lillia aimed the pistol at him — she hesitated. There was a distance between them. The officer caught a glimpse of her. She pulled the trigger, feeling the heaving mechanism move. Each time, it demanded a little more strength. Lillia closed her eyes, grimacing in the flash and shuddering. The bullet whistled, disappointingly. The impact was not that of a body. She opened her eyes.

The officer tackled her with a grunt, throwing her to the floor. Pain spiked in her lower back, growing warm and damp. The officer transferred all his weight into his knee and planted it on Lillia’s stomach, forcing all the air from her lungs. A firm grip like a metal claw locked around her right forearm, pinning it against the uncomfortable carpet. She clasped onto the pistol, though, refusing to let it go. One bullet left, and in this position, it wouldn’t hit anyone. The man’s ugly face hovered inches from her own, his heavy hot breaths disturbing her skin. A thick arm laid across from her chest to her left shoulder, pushing down horribly; as if the knee and grip wasn’t enough to keep her still.

“I’VE GOT THE BITCH!” the officer called out, a little too proudly, a smirk forming on his disgusting face.

Lillia screamed at him, desperately struggling beneath his weight. The pain grew, her lower back particularly screaming. Lillia tried to push back against the officer, though her bones tired quickly, she had nowhere near the strength necessary. However, she did find that she could move her left arm slightly. She glared at the man, gritting her teeth and seething at him. He continued to foil any attempt to break free. Lillia kicked her feet around wildly, raising a shout with them. This unbalanced the officer, and — more importantly — distracted him. She kept it up, forcing her left hand underneath her back. The officer moved back to combat her legs, giving Lillia enough strength and room to slightly raise her body off the floor. Her hand had a much easier time reaching the lower of her back now.

She fumbled around that area, continuing to scream and kick to the best of her ability, though her thighs had been pinned to the ground, she wasn’t getting as much reach with each kick. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. The officer struggled, though maintained control. Lillia screamed at him again, her hand catching something sharp. She gripped it — a small shard of glass — and yanked it out from under her. Her left arm lay back at her side, hiding the shard in her closed fist. The officer moved back upwards, irritating her bones. Lillia examined him. The makeshift armour covered most of his torso, though the sides were still exposed. More than that, Lillia pinpointed an area just above his hips that was unarmoured and she could possibly reach. Still, it was a longshot, though her breathing was shallow and painful. Remaining here was not an option. 

Besides, she desired nothing more than to kill that piece of shit.

Lillia loosened her grip on the pistol, slowly sliding it from her palm. This caught the officer’s eye, edging his hand further down Lillia’s arm, slightly moving his weight from her left side. She could reach slightly up now, but nowhere near the distance she had hoped. Lillia moved the shard in her hand, gripping it like a knife, positioning it level with the officer’s thigh. She prayed that his trousers weren’t armoured up too. He glared at her, moving for the pistol.

Lillia screamed, forcing her arm inwards, feeling the fabric tear as the glass penetrated his skin. Blood squirted. The officer howled in pain, freeing his hands off Lillia to grab at the wound. He rolled over, luckily not stopping on the gun, letting out a guttural noise, baring his teeth at Lillia. A small leg wound wouldn’t be enough. She leapt to her feet, each one of her bones aching and crying in agony, and without hesitation, began kicking the officer in the ribs. Powerful, deliberate kicks. Lillia didn’t hear his cries, the pain painted on his face. She just kept kicking. Hatefully.

She scooped up the gun, the barrel pointed at the officer's chest, wincing as pain shot through her arms and shoulders. “You fucking bastard.”

“WAIT! Please!” He raised his tearful gaze and hands, now a bright red, at her. “Please … don’t. I’m just a … policeman, I just needed a job!”

Lillia faltered. She breathed a shaky breath. “No…” she muttered, “you’re nothing but scum.”

“Lillia!”

The flash absorbed the terror on his face. The bullet exploded on his chest, leaving a bloody hole in its centre. Lillia’s whole body shook. She dropped the pistol and stumbled backwards, falling into a warm embrace. Her nan held her with bloody hands, stopping her fall. Lillia groaned, red dripping from her back and left palm; thin slices up, down and sideways. Her eyes grew heavy.

“What … happened?”

Rosemarie chuckled angrily. “A massacre, that’s what!” She laid Lillia on the sofa and lifted her shirt up, exposing her lower back. She hummed to herself, fetching a needle and thread and bandages. “Somehow, you’re barely wounded. Lucky.”

Lillia groaned again, squeaking as cold metal touched and weaved about her skin.

“Take this,” her nan ordered, handing her a bandage. “Wrap it tightly around your hand.”

“Which one?”

“Which one do you think!”

She nodded softly, retrieving the bandage and doing as she was told. “I didn’t know we had a hidden stash of bandages.”

“We don’t. This is torn up fabric. Now pass it here.”

Lillia did so, and her nan lifted her up slightly and wrapped the fabric-bandage hybrid all around her lower abdomen. Upon completion, Rosemarie lifted her up into a sitting position. Lillia’s vision was fuzzy and dizzy.

“You said there was a massacre?”

“Pretty much!”

Lillia grasped her forehead. “Did I do that?”

“Don’t act dumb!” her nan demanded, “you know full well what you did.”

Lillia calibrated her vision. Blood. Bodies. That’s right, she’d chosen, hadn’t she? “I … killed them all.”

“No, but most,” Rosemarie corrected, “I knocked two unconscious. The other three…”

“You told me to choose!”

“Yeah! Choose! Not murder three policemen!”

“Don’t call them that.”

“Huh?”

Lillia clenched her fist. “They’re not ‘men’. They’re—none of them are human.”  

“Lillia,” her nan began, dropping her voice into lecture mode.

“No.” Lillia cut her off. A dark aura unsettled her nan.  “You’re going to blame me for this? You sent me into the basement to find the gun! Yeah, I killed those monsters, but don’t act like you didn’t expect that! What did you think I was going to do with the gun? Huh?”

“Lillia,” she gasped, “what is this?”

“What? I made a choice, didn’t I? You want me to regret it?”

Rosmarie sighed. “I guess … yeah, I didn’t really think past you entering the basement.” She glanced at her, a sombre smile spreading. “You did make a choice, I suppose I just hoped it didn’t have to end in this.”

Lillia stumbled to her feet, her back stinging. She held onto her nan for support. The anger didn’t drain fully this time, it lingered, especially the hatred. Inside, not a single cell regretted this. She couldn’t quite comprehend why — she felt immense guilt after killing the mayor, and he was also a horrible monster. Maybe she was getting used to it? No. She shook her head. Never. 

“I’ve taken the first step, nan.”

Her nan nodded glumly. “Yes. You have.”

Accomplishment beat in her heart. “So, what’s the next step?”

“Lillia,” her nan repeated. She placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not up to me. What is your next step?”

“Well,” she said, “I still need to get Thalia her money.”

“Right.” Rosemarie nodded. “Well, we can’t do that here. Besides, we’re going to be wanted criminals soon.” She paced to the door, muttering to herself. “Regardless, our next step—your next step—is in Lisabethium.”

“The city?”

Her nan looked at Lillia like she was stupid, then shook her head at her. She reached down and grabbed one of the officers by the ankles. “We should clean up first. Give me a hand.”

“And then?” Lillia asked.

Rosemarie smirked. “If we’re quick enough, we catch the last train to Lower Lisabethium.