Guilty | ✓

XXVII | Guilty

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | FOREVER

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MACHINE GUNS BLARED as security officers fell limp into heaps of their own blood, bullets pierced the white walls as the curdling screams of the night-gown dressed patients as they saw the scene delicately unfold to masacre.

Genevieve huffed, shooting another officer before turning around and killing another. A never ending, back and forth routine. The machine guns that were curdled between her fingers felt awfully heavy against her as her ears seem to clog in agony.

She quickly gripped the patients arms and so of other female psychiatrists, pulling them out the asylum for safety. Her leather gloves smashed against one of the officer's chins as she easily knocked him down, feeling the shiver of the cracked bone surge through her body.

"Move! Move! Move!" Genevieve kept pushing the patients out of the way, keeping them behind her as she began tackling one of the officers—who attempted to attack her with an electrical batton.

Curling her fists, Genevieve quickly jumped to the fighting stance—her opponent was large, very large compared to her, with a larger build and an evermore scowl on his lips.

Quickly, she side-stepped him, throwing a quick and steady left hook to the officer's cheek, feeling the burn of her fist against his raw cheek. Genevieve could feel the officer stumble back a bit in surprise, but he quickly jolted back and regained his former fighting stance. He followed her actions and threw a punch towards Genevieve's direction—this time instead in her upper body, in her diaphragm.

Her lungs flattened in a spasm as Genevieve's composure fell, her lungs seemed to deflate, but by each breath she took, no air seemed to reach her lungs. She clenched her fists against her chest, feeling inner tears swell on the corner of her eyes as she pulled back, breathing harshly.

With a shake of her head, Genevieve blinked rapidly attempting to regain her composure. Luck seemed to fly off far, the officer kept kicking her, punching her and knocking her down.

Once air finally reached Genevieve's lungs, she swung forward, charging towards him as she stood up, finally arriving at the chance to snatch the revolver that stood in belt and shooting him.

A breath of relief fled from her lips once she noticed the lack of officers in the specific story of the psychiatric mental institution. They were all laid dispersed around the floors, completely lifeless.

Genevieve's eyes widened once red lights immersed in the building, casting on the bland walls and the other patients.

"Hurry!" The leftovers of the other patients and psychiatrists quickly scrambled, fleeing to safety as deep yells crucified from the outsides of the asylum.

Before Genevieve could follow them and disappear before the police arrived, a voice called out for her, it was fragile and cracked. Utterly helpless.

"Heather! Heather! Help!"

Genevieve followed the voice cautiously, recognizing the tone in familiarity of Dr. Greyson's. She eyed the sign-tag that printed her faux name, Heather Beau, feeling the voice from the inside.

She pushed the door open, in no surprise revealing a limp looking Dr. Greyson. Genevieve could spot the dry blood that casted his body as he clutched his stomach with one hand as the other reached out to Genevieve.