Burned | John Murphy [ON HOLD]

┋┊Five┊┋

It had been weeks since Maggie had any contact with people; the four white walls that enclosed her were the only things she'd seen aside from a few plates of food a few times a day. She rotted away with only the memories of Murphy's bloody face keeping her calm.

It was a weird feeling—being proud of something so evil, so sinister. She was looking back fondly on her outburst, beaming with joy at the pain she caused him. The people called her insane when they dragged her to the isolation ward, but she didn't think so. She wasn't insane, only cornered. It was like she learned in school; the fight or flight response kicked in, and she would fight like hell.

She hoped he was badly bruised and beaten, and when the other prisoners asked what happened, he admit it and tell them he was outmanned by Maggie Keagan. She knew he wouldn't—he was probably lying right now—but all she needed was the satisfaction of the truth.

They released her from isolation, and she went with them peacefully. The guards were no longer her idols; they were her enemies and captors. They had taken her life from her, and she would forever resent their authority. She resented them, and she hoped she'd get the chance to do to them what she did to Murphy.

She didn't know what to expect of the Prison Station, but when she arrived, it was very underwhelming. A giant, box-shaped room with bars lining the walls smelled like moldy bread and waxed floors; all of the prisoners sat silently in their cells, some talking, some sleeping, others reading or drawing. They looked a lot less hostile than she originally imagined; no one was flinging themselves against the bars or demanding to be set free. It was... peaceful. Boring, but peaceful.

The guards lead her to her cell, and before opening the door, they clipped an ID badge to her shirt. She looked down at it; the numbers 306 stuck out at her. 306 people had once been imprisoned.

How many of those people were starving and needed extra rations? How many of those people needed medicine for their children? How many of those people were killed for trying to save a life?

Below her number was her charge: 15-C. From all of her studies on the criminal system, she learned that she was charged with arson, but the council was unsure whether she was falsely accused or not. She would receive another trial before her death, but she knew those trials never worked in the accused's favor. She was ultimately doomed.

Her cell was thankfully far away from Murphy's, however, she wasn't happy about having to listen to the two boys in cells next to her have long conversations about chemistry and hacking the Ark system. Occasionally, the guard on duty would overhear them and offer some input, but immediately after, he'd add, "but it's only hypothetical."

Maggie spent almost an entire year of her life in that cell eating her rations and wasting away. In her spare time, she'd punch the wall for minutes at a time until her knuckles bled, and for the days after, she tracked the healing process of her wounds. Her body was adapting to quickly healing her, and she trained herself for when the doors opened so she could fight the guards and kill Kane.

She wasn't stupid; she knew there was no chance in hell that she'd be able to kill the councilman, but if she could at least get a good punch to his face, she could die satisfied. She did fantasize about his death, but she knew it wasn't likely to ever happen.

She woke up one morning (or maybe it was the afternoon) to hear screams and shouts from the other inmates. They were saying things like, "I'm not eighteen yet," and, "Please don't float me!" Some of them even fought the guards, getting a few good punches in before they were electrocuted with their weapons and carried over their shoulders. Maggie's cell door opened, and she stood up, preparing to get a good hit in on the man's face, hopefully breaking his jaw or knocking out a few teeth.

"Margret Keagan," the guardsmen said, "you're coming with me." She balled her hands into fists, preparing her attack.

At first she didn't recognize him, but at a second glance, she met Sam's eyes. "Sam?" she asked, her fingers rolling back down to a relaxed position. "What's going on?"

"You're coming with me, that's what," he said. "Now come willingly, or I won't hesitate to follow orders."

"Orders from Jaha?" she asked. "Or from Kane?"

"Orders from the entire council," he told her. "Come with me, Maggie."

"I'll only come out willingly if you tell me where I'm going!" she shouted. She balled her hands back into fists, deciding that she hadn't punched the walls and bars all this time for nothing.

"I'm not authorized to inform any delinquents of the plan, Maggie! Goddamn it, come with me, or I'll knock you out!" Sam was frustrated, that much was obvious. But Maggie was furious, and fury outweighed frustration.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said before lunging at him, punching him in the gut and throwing off his balance. She was able to hit his face a few times, hearing a loud crack. Another guard saw the fight and broke it up, shocking Maggie with his nightstick. She crippled into a heap in the new guard's arms, and she felt herself being moved.

She regained some consciousness and began kicking and screaming. "WHO GAVE THE ORDER?" she asked, her voice as loud as an explosion. "WHO SENT YOU HERE?" She didn't care where she was going—not even if it was to her death. She wanted to know who was sending her their so her vendetta could last eternity.

She was tossed down onto the ground, letting out a groan when her body hit the floor. The guard grabbed her arm and slapped a bracelet around it, which dug into her skin, causing her to kick him off balance. While he was down, she grabbed his nightstick and pointed it at him. "Who's doing this to me?" she asked the guard who was now raising his hands in surrender. "Who sent you here?"

"Maggie, drop the weapon!" The voice of her father caught her off guard for a moment, and the fallen guard snatched his weapon from her hand and aimed it dangerously close to her neck.

"Dad?" she asked. "Dad, what's happening? Who ordered this?"

"Maggie, you need to listen to me," he said. "We will meet again."

"What..." she trailed off. "No, Dad, I can't be sent to death now. It's not the law—"

"This is only the beginning, sweetie," he told her. "You're a fighter. Fight." He nodded to the guard who pulled her back into line with the others.

"Dad!" she cried. "Dad, no! Don't let them do this! Dad! Dad!" Tears formed in her eyes; she had not cried in nearly a year.

The guard put her on what appeared to be a drop ship. All around her, delinquents were being strapped into chairs just as she was, and soon the ship was filled completely. The guards vanished, and a video appeared on the screen.

It was the chancellor. Jaha was sending them to the ground to die. Maggie didn't listen to a word from the video; instead, she closed her eyes and felt every motion of the drop ship. She thought it was the end.

But it wasn't. The ship crashed onto earth, and Maggie opened her eyes. She wasn't dead. "Holy shit," she muttered. Along with the others, she unbuckled her belt and walked towards the door.

"Don't open it!" someone shouted. "The air could be toxic!"

"Then we'll be dead anyway," someone else said. The doors were opened, and the rays of the sun flooded Maggie's vision. A crisp smell, woodland air, filled her nose.

"We're back, bitches!"

They made it. Earth.