Runners vs Walkers: The eternal battle for death

Chapter 3 and 4

This note is definitely worth a read! Hey. If you're reading this thank you. If you're not, you can't read my note, so this is pointless... Anyway, if you read this and enjoy it, can you help me out by liking or voting?  The first voter must comment so I can set up the point system (read further down) and see who the most fluent voter is. However, if you are the first one to vote, and do not comment, the first commenter gets the points. Thereby at the end of the book, I will read your stories, and comment and vote. The point system is here:

1 vote = 1 dedication

2 votes (on different chapters and segments of story) = 2 consecutive dedications

3 votes (" ") =3 dedications, and a fan

4 votes (" ") = 4 dedications, a comment and fan

5 votes (" ") = No dedications, comment and fan, cover for three of your books (or if less than three books, all books will have a cover)

So, sounds a good deal for voting, and commenting, doesn't it? It needn't be a long comment, either. So... read on... Oh, wait! I will be doing twenty to thirty chapters... it is anyone's game now...

Chapter 3

The second I land, Garrett begins shouting. 

"No!" He shouts, repeating himself over and over. But it is too late to turn around now, as people are swarming around the drone, all wearing black robes made of silk with leather hoods. They are all grinning up at us, as we clamber down the steps.

"That's Mark's cow of a wife!" One of the Walker's shout at their companions.

"We'll get a good price for 'er!" One says back to the first shouter. "I 'ear Mark wants 'er dead!" I expected foreign languages, but no language other than my own appears. They cuff me without warning and Garrett shouts at them. But one of them smothers his face with a dirty rag, and he goes silent. I feel my powers weakening as the cuffs are secured, and I panic. Then somebody smothers my face with a foul-smelling rag, and consciousness slips away from me...

Somebody has cuffed my hands to a chair, my ankles wrapped in shackles to the chair legs. For once they have done their job properly. And then I jump in shock, and I feel the ache where the metal wrapped around my ankles too tightly. Mark sits there, anger twisting his expression disdainfully, an expression of which he is very learned. Of all people, why must Mark-- MARK, the name seeps moronic tendencies-- be the interrogator? I stare at him, as sits there as if he is the Almighty, and hatred swells inside me. I long to hit him, the way he hit me. To hurt him, as he did to me. And then I'm thrown off guard by the smile that swells his face, as if it is his dream to see me so belittled. I suppose I did try to kill him. 

"So..." He says, in an angry voice. The hatred swaps to anger, and in a fit of it I shout the words;

"Don't be angry you idiotic moron, get on with the interrogation so you can lock me up, and decide I am worth less than you. Well you are wrong. Because despite my flaws, yours are ultimately worse, you Runner killing, pig-shagging, goose f***ing, MORON!" I snarl at him, and he shifts uncomfortably.

"I do kill people, but only to show you I am worth something." The words coming from his mouth are so untruthful and so hypocritical I say nothing. If I wasn't cuffed I may have throttled him.

"Do you admit to being a murderer?" He growls at me. For a second redness washes over me. Shame and embarrassment, anger, hatred, an ache for Garrett, to know he is safe. It all swells to the size of a rocket, and I let out a sound like a pained child. The sound I have always linked to being cut by a butcher knife. Because right now, there is only one way to make sure Garrett stays safe, one saddening sentence. Two certain-death will become me sentences.

"Yes. I admit I killed them."

Chapter 4

My words shock us both and for a second we sit there, hatred sweeping our expressions. 

"You-you ad-admit it?" Mark stutters.

"You heard me." I snarl, and he shifts uncomfortably again. For a second pity strikes his expression, and I feel a feeling of lesser loathing towards my ex-husband.

"Well... why?" Mark says. And I can tell he never wanted me dead, just to be kept as his pride, to show his friends, to hurt and dominate over. Somehow that is just as bad.

"You know why I did what I did." I say, and he flinches. 

"You love him." Mark says, his eyes alive with laughter. Mark stands up and with a click of his fingers the chains recoil.

"She admitted to the murder!" He shouts, and instantly the door bursts open and six or seven guards, plastered from neck to ankle with black Kevlar. One of them grabs my shoulder and pushes me to one knee, and a crunch alerts me that my ankle on the right leg is shattered. I don't wince, though. I don't even wail in pain. Because I am focusing on the person standing in the back, the man with lighter coloured Kevlar. The man with the exact height of Garrett, and the same width as well. That's when I pass out.

Sorry it is short. I will make them longer I promise :)