Angela knew that when her anger flared this high, her aim suffered; and with this wind there wasn't a chance she'd make the shot. Despite this, a roar of anger erupted in her head; Simmons would die by the axe of the executioner making his way into the stage. A block of wood was set up next to a basket, where his bloody head would finally fall. 

The king was almost done with his words on the horrors Hugo Simmons had committed. It was painful enough to watch him crumpling ever lower until Ang wasn’t certain whether he had a spine anymore. The only thing holding up her friend was the rough grip of guards flanking him.

He finished up his brief, incredibly biased account of Hugo Simmons’ career, and announced, “Are you ready for this man – this assassin – to die?”

She didn't wait for the wind to die down. Angela trusted her instincts, and let off a shot into the air. It didn’t land, but she couldn’t ask for miracles right now. Just the cracking sound of a shot echoing throughout the grimy square would be enough – and it was.

The king stopped, the tumult of sound ceasing instantly. The silence was just as deafening. Quickly, he attempted to regain his composure, but it was evident that panic had already set in. The crowd was pulling into multiple directions at once, trying to save themselves all from a bullet. Even the king's words had no effect on a crowd intent on saving themselves. A cacophony of shouts rose up above his pleading voice; Angela couldn’t resist a grin at the sound.

Meanwhile, Ang was stowing away her sniper and she was off the rooftop within a minute. She practically sprinted down the stairs until she exited through the alleyway and into the streets.

She considered going home, but that would be too easy - anger boiled in her veins, clouding her thoughts. Hugo was saved from death for the time being, but they’d reschedule his appointment with the axe. It was only a matter of time, and Angela couldn’t watch this happen without doing anything. She had to save him. Fuck the king; it was his prisoner she wanted.

She must've stood out as the only person going against the general flow of the crowd, but the streets were thick with adrenaline and nobody seemed to notice. Not far off, she could see the king finally giving up on controlling the herd; he was leaving, accompanied by a troop of suits. Hugo wasn’t forgotten, but he had considerably less people flanking him than Bradley did. 

Angela deftly reached down for the knife on her ankle, coming closer to the stage. Three against one wouldn’t be so bad – she had the element of surprise, and she’d be too close for them to use their guns. As for the other guards, she’d need a miracle. Maybe it would come to her this time.

Angela sped up until she was running, hopped onto the stage, and jumped to the first guard. She killed him quickly and easily with a slash to the neck. The other guards reacted as expected – attempting to distance themselves, pulling out their guns. Soon enough, the others protecting the king would notice. She couldn’t give them time to back away.

A swift kick and another was on the ground, a flick of the bloody knife and he was down for the count. The last one was the most of Angela’s worries – he’d backed away far enough so she couldn’t reach him, but left Hugo unattended. His gun was raised, and he was already calling for backup – that was her cue.

Hoping her luck held out this long, Angela grabbed Hugo by the handcuffs and dragged him along with her as she escaped; she weaved an indecipherable path through the crowd, hoping that they wouldn’t dare shoot into hordes of civilians.

That was Angela’s miracle for the day. She was only chased by shouts of “Freeze!” and “Stop that woman!” but no metal whizzed by her ears. Ang sprinted into the streets, but didn’t dare let go of Hugo for fear of losing him. Weaving throughout the city was second nature to her; she ducked into an alleyway and lost the guards behind her, still struggling to make a path through the crowd.

Before there was any time to think, Angela ducked into the nearest door, a somewhat shady-looking jazz-club-turned-bar. Although she’d only been here a few times, this was the place to go if you needed to disappear – and, as it turned out, Ang needed that quite desperately.