Amalia was looking around as light slowly began to filter in the room. She was taking stock of her surroundings. She was scanning the room for weapons. She had noted the crates in the corners of the warehouse stacked neatly in the corner. There was evidence of traffic in the room, though she had no idea where her assailants were at this point.
Off to the right was a broom leaned up against the wall. Aside from take-out containers and herself, there wasn't really much else present. She was eyeing the broom calculatedly. Her mind devising a plan of escape.
Outside she could the shuffling of feet. There were dim, barely concealed lights moving around the perimeter. Snippets of conversation drifted in and out as she strained her ears to listen.
It was time to make her move. Wincing against the searing pain in her shoulder, she struggled to find her way out of her restraints. Using her left arm she braced herself on the floor and pushed herself to her feet. She took another deep breath and prepared herself for more pain. Pulling her right arm forward she bit down on her lip and threw her weight against the wall, popping the shoulder back into its socket.
Her eyes were immediately swimming with tears as she shut them hard against her pain. She had to focus. Taking several deep breaths she steadied her mind against the aching in her shoulder before slipping over the to the opposite side of the room where the broom was and waiting. She needed to time this perfectly, she couldn't allow the tiniest noise to give her away.
The broom held to her chest she waited, hiding in the far corner of the room. She listened intently, hearing the steady approach of footsteps drawing nearer. As they pulled open the door she took her chance, slamming her foot down on the bottom of the end of the broom, snapping it off. The sound of the wood cracking so perfectly timed it coincided with the grating noise of the door opening and closing.
She watched as the men moved to the opposite side of the room, they're eyes scanning their surroundings in confusion.
"Where did she go? She was just right here?"
The taller of the two men looked to his partner, posing the question. The older, but shorter looking of the two shrugged his shoulders.
"She couldn't have gotten far. Not in her shape."
Together the two men began to study the room, their eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. Searching the shadows for her. They were expecting someone small and fragile. Someone weak. Clearly, they had underestimated her.
Amalia was filled with rage. Rage over the loss of her father. Rage at her situation. Rage at their existence. She was seeing red. Her blood had turned to ice and her eyes filled with a hatred that ran so deep it would chill the most stoic of hearts.
Slipping behind them quietly, the pointed end of the broomstick poised for the attack she crept closer to her target. Her first move on the shorter of the two men, she swung at his feet. The man completely turned around cursing at her, tripping over the broom as he did. That didn't keep him from lunging at her as he fell.
At this point, the taller of the two men was approaching her. As she lifted the broomstick to thrust it into the other man's chest she felt the other grab her from behind. Acting on instinct, the broom she held in her hand swung backward, pushing through his rib cage and plunging into his chest. The blood splattered everywhere as she heard a sickening gargle in his throat. The moment the stick was dislodged the man immediately began aspirating blood as it came spilling out of his throat and his wound splashing her as it did.
The moment he fell to the floor, Amalia wiped the blood from her face. It left a large red smudge spread evenly across her cheeks as she stood over the other man. The look in her eyes worse than anything he could have imagined. She wasn't even phased by the death of his comrade. She didn't blink. She wasn't shaken. Nor was she in shock.
She was utterly, and completely emotionless. The expression in her eyes was so bland, she might as well have been looking at insects.
The second of the two men felt a fear he hadn't known he was capable of welling up in his chest. She stood poised over him, the bloodied stick held over his torso. Immediately, he attempted to roll away. His hands snuck out, grabbing onto her ankle to pull her down as he rolled out of her range.
Amalia felt her feet go out from beneath her and instinctively stopped her fall. Using her left arm she braced herself from the fall rolling to kneel as she prepared for his attack. At this point, the coolness in her gaze was replaced by a calculating look as she scanned him and the room, watching him. Watching the surroundings. Aware of every little move and sound.
He was stepping to the left, trying to keep some distance between the two of them as he figured out his next move. Terrified of what she would do next. In his escape, he couldn't help but turn ghost white at the sight of his comrade on the floor, blood soaking his shirt as spilled out on the floor.
In his shock, he tripped over his own feet land in the mess of blood around his friend. Horrified, he began to stammer trying to climb away from the body. The more he struggled to get away the more he fell. With every clumsy step, Amalia was drawing nearer and nearer.
Truth be told she didn't see the man in front of her. Nor did she take note of the body. She blinded by the strength of her emotions, and right now, she was much like a berserker on the battlefield. Her body was running thoroughly on adrenaline, and the only thought in her head was to kill and survive.
There was a faint shuffling noise outside the warehouse in the meantime. Hunter and his men were taking down a few remaining guards. The majority of the vipers had already fled the scene and made their way back to the main hideout. The security had been sparse, to begin with. Taking care of the stragglers they had left behind had taken minimal time.
Hunter's men were flanking all entry points and proceeding to enter the warehouse. They filed in two at a time from both the rear and front entry points. In the meantime, Amalia who was focused on her prey hadn't noticed a thing.
The sight that met Hunter's eyes as he opened the doors was enough to chill him to the bone. There before him, was the girl he had loved and cherished. Whom moments earlier he had kissed and held, and now, she stood towering over a clearly terrified man preparing to plunge a broomstick into his chest.
If that hadn't been enough to startle him, the body at her feet was enough to shock him thoroughly. He had encountered many sights during his tour of duty. But the sight of this small seventeen-year-old girl, covered in blood on a rampage was terrifying.
Tentatively, he walked toward her.
"...Lia...Drop the stick, Lia, it's me, its Hunter."
He coaxed her cautiously. He had seen many men and comrades go this route before. He immediately recognized the signs of bloodlust, the vacant expression, and the tunnel vision. He had to tread carefully, otherwise, he would be the next one on the floor.
As he approached he carefully and slowly reached out for the stick she was holding before slipping it from her hand. He heaved a sigh of relief, thankful that his words were reaching her and as he took the stick away he pulled her into his embrace as he barked orders at his men.
"Cage, get your men over here. Take this piece of shit away and get any information you can from him. By. Any. Means. Necessary."
Cage, who had come in behind him, had turned ashen at the scene he had walked in on. He nodded his headly mutely at Hunter as he tried to digest what he was seeing. How was it possible for a girl this young to do this much damage.
Hunter, in the meantime, held onto Amalia tightly as ordered the rest of his men to clean up the mess. Throwing the stick to the ground, he wrapped his jacket around the now trembling girl and hiding her eyes from the damage walked out of the building.
It was going to be yet another long night and Hunter intended to full exact his revenge on the men who did this to his girl.