[i]May 3, 3:14pm[/i]
In the few seconds which followed her instigation of a cafeteria riot, Sam felt as though the world slowed a bit. She felt removed from reality as the guards fell upon her intended victim, desperately attempting to sedate him. That detachment followed her through the corridors, causing a sense of distance from what was happening around her. None of it seemed real.

Adrenaline was the only thing which kept her legs moving. Her eyes slammed shut when the harsh glare of broad daylight struck them. In those few moments of weakness, she managed to stumble into the street, narrowly avoiding a jeep full of rowdy teens. All of her senses were flooded with information and the alarms of the institution were mingled hopelessly with the sirens of approaching emergency vehicles. She could not hope to tell the difference between an ambulance and a van full of hospital security personnel dispatched to apprehend her.

The air was thick with the stench of burning rubber and plastic which forced her into violent coughing fits. Barely perceptible to her, through the haze, was the haphazard arrangement of mangled cars and a broken mass transit vehicle. Everywhere there was fire, smoke and yelling. This was anywhere except where she wanted to be.
With her head pounding and her chest heaving with the effort of grasping what air she could, she threw herself at an alleyway beyond the wreckage. She felt certain that distance from this horror was the only method by which she could regain her wits. In the following moments, she could recall only momentary blurs of disjointed images, half-felt sensations and the ghosts of dead memory.

[i]I'm going to die,[/i] was all she could think before she slumped against the cold concrete.

[i]May 3, 11:50pm
I don't know how, but I made it. There must have been some kind of accident outside the facility. Did they deploy tear gas to knock me out? If so, they may have cost countless lives in the process. No, that doesn't make sense. Not just to get at me. Then what happened?
I have no idea where I am now. My head feels like it's going to rupture. There's fire in my veins. All I can think of is getting to someplace safe. I know I saw some warehouses around town. I'll try to find one. Maybe I can lay low for a while.[/i]

[i]May 4, 8:23am[/i]
Sam stirred beneath a stack of cardboard. She gingerly placed her palm against her temple, her face twisted up with the intensity of her headache. If she'd ever had occasion to drink, she guessed that this might have been what the adults meant by "hangover". It took minutes to achieve, but she found her footing and took the time to get her bearings.

The empty warehouse was dirty, strewn with garbage and signs of squatters past, and as her presence could attest, had no mentionable security whatsoever. It might pass for temporary shelter, but certainly nothing she'd call safe.

[i]First things first,[/i] she told herself. [i]I need threads, gear, and food.[/i]

[i]May 7, 5:58pm
People don't know what they have. They sure don't know what they're throwing away. I found some clothes out for the garbage. It's not like anything I had at home, but I like them. Extra pockets for extra stuff. You have to admire the philosophy behind that.
After some poking around, I found out that this place used to move all kinds of things. I don't know if they were recalls or what, but there's nothing wrong with a lot of the stuff they left behind. I can fix some of it, for sure. I've already figured out how to tap in to the city power grid, so at least I won't freeze. Nothing here to eat, though. I'm starting to get hungry.

May 9, 3:32pm
I have it figured out. If I sleep during the day, and don't make a show of the fact that I have electricity, I can move at night and score some food. They're always watching, though. Always. I always feel like they're just one step behind me, trying to take me back.
I...won't...go...back.[/i]

[i]May 10, 12:23am, Holding Cell[/i]
The endless black through which Sam drifted began to fall apart. There were sensations breaking through to her conscious mind; images which she did not care to see. Slowly, the pain came back, accompanied by new symptoms; not the least of which was the war being fought in her stomach. That had started days ago and had only intensified since her escape.

As she clawed her way through delirium, it became apparent to her that she was no longer alone. There were male and female voices here, most of which seemed to be in just as much trouble as she. The specifics of their conversation were lost; muddled by the effects of the tranquilizer.

When she finally opened her eyes, the reality of where she was -and how she'd gotten there- rushed into her mind with bitter, unrelenting clarity. She had been taken. She scrambled to her feet and threw her back against the corner of the cell, instinctively limiting direction of approach. Between gasps for breath, the wide-eyed Samantha Cole could not even formulate the thoughts behind the questions she now had to ask. Instead, all she managed was a primal moan.

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