Chapter 3.3 Emily was a gazelle, racing for her life against the bloodthirsty pack of lions that followed in hot pursuit. Her apartment was only around the corner, but she wouldn't be able to lose them with speed alone. She pivoted on her feet, turning left at the three-way intersection towards her home. She her boots slid under the blanket of snow slightly, but she caught herself before she could fall. And two doors down, she saw a strange sight. The door to her apartment was left wide open. Under normal circumstances, Emily might've been startled at this sight, but in her current situation, it was a blessing. She didn't stop once she ran inside: with a hurried and panicked air, she slammed the door and locked it. Panting outside hinted at the state of the three officers. Emily peeked through the blinds to see the guards looking down. Footprints in the snow led straight to her door. Even inside, she took note of the thawing flakes of ice on the hardwood floor. If she wasn't scared before, she was now. But outside, something else was developing. The guards shouted, prompting Emily to peek outside again. It was Baltimore, face to face with the armed warriors. And as he ran with all three men in tow, she giggled at the karmic justice. 'Better him than me' she thought. Emily turned back to the living room adjoined with a simplistic kitchen. Everything was in order, no lights were on. It was strange: it seemed like no one was home. The door was left wide open. Maybe her sister went out? She dismissed the thought, knowing Sofia was smart enough to to come back home when she felt she was in danger. She didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet. She looked to the coffee table. The compass was gone. It was mysterious, even baffling. But her concern was directed to her sibling, or lack thereof. She crept around her home, wood creaking under every step. The stairway up was dark, but she bowed her head over the railing to try and see regardless. "Sofia?"

LionHeart - Chapter 3.2 Everything that followed within seconds: the click of the hammer, the ring of a gunshot, and the spray of crimson on the back of her head. Her hair fell back down over her dyed neck, as she scrambled to crawl away. A dull pain shot through her knees when she tried to stand, an aftershock of what she felt when the officer threw her onto the street. Again, she fell, a frenzy of golden hair jumping in every direction, but it was the startling image of a hollow head behind her that spooked her. Emily landed on her back, the silver white snow cushioning her fall. Another man, dressed informally in a rugged attire dashed to her with an open hand. And then she screamed at the top of her lungs, but not before the stranger's hands could muffle it. "Quiet!" He shouted through a whisper, "Shush, dammit!" Emily acknowledged his order, but she dismissed it. There was no guarantee that his intents were pure. He could be a rebel, or he could just be a bystander. There was no way to be sure, and so she continued to call for help. The man did not find this amusing in the least. "Shut up, or I'm leaving you to die!" He firmly declared. She silenced herself, focusing on his face instead of crying for help. It was a risky leap to trust him. Under the pressing weight of his gloved hand, she nodded to him with an air of worry. "You gonna behave?" She nodded again. "Good girl." He smirked, removing his hand from her mouth and grasping her wrist. With a quick and gentle tug, the stranger helped her off the ground. Her clothes were damp with melted snow. She glanced to the officer's corpse behind him, I got oozing slowly from the hole in his head. It was sickening; Emily almost vomited, but the man took notice and deftly kicked the piled snow onto his victim's head. She looked away from the scene. 'What am I doing? Why is this happening?' Thoughts of the like nature were racing through her mind, but she still couldn't speak. With a deep breath and shaky hands, she wiped her face from tears and blood. Composure returned to a pale Emily when she found the strength to speak. "Who... Who are you?" Millions of questions were buzzing in her mind, but she couldn't put them into words. The man, however, simply shook his head. "What?" Her overall shyness was replaced by frustration in that moment. "I don't know who you are, or-or what you want from me, what am I supposed to say, thank you?" She was absolutely lost in the moment. "It would be a start," He sighed, "but I think it'd be more appropriate that you return he favor." He waved her to follow as he pivoted back to the café. She froze, knowing what was ahead. Internally, she was panicking. "I'm not moving until you tell me who you are, because I'm freaking out right now: I-I almost got shot, a-and my best friend's corner shop was vandalized..." The stranger was unfazed by her rambling, turning around with an unwelcoming glare to emphasize the urgency and pressure he was under. But what he saw made him shift to a more empathetic visage. She was shaking, her left hand wrapped sheepishly over her right arm, bruises and cuts adorning her light skin. Her once straight and neatly trimmed hair was wild and knotted. Even her clothes were damp from the snow; partially stained by the blood of the dead officer. If it wasn't enough to introduce himself as a forceful brute, he was also being insensitive. "Baltimore." "I'm sorry?" "Call me Baltimore." "Oh... That's an interesting name." Progress at last. In this day of disastrous and terrible surprises, she had found a silver lining. Granted, their meeting was unorthodox, and by no means suave, but they were indirectly allies. It was hope for her: hope that she needed. "Thanks for, uh... For what happened just now..." Just thinking about the cadaver made her stomach lurch. "Don't mention it. It's not everyday this sorta shit happens," he said with a hint of humor, "but people like us gotta stick together." He waved to her again, this time with a smile. "Come on." "Hey, hold up, we can't go that way," Emily was well aware of the anarchy the rebels could bestow upon the town, let alone the damage they could wreak on herself and her newfound ally. "there are rebels brining down homes and shops: they'll kill us if we go down there!" "Not if I ask them to stop." Then it clicked. It was such a crushing realization, too. The reason he shot a Monarchy officer, the way he holds himself when he speaks. Emily took two steps back physically, but in her mind, she had already backtracked to square one. He was supposed to be her friend, her hope. But that hope was all gone now; replaced with the raging fires of treachery. "...You're a rebel... You're the reason I almost died! You're the reason my home is being burnt to the ground!!!" Baltimore was unsettled by this sudden shift in settings, but he was unfazed by her fury. "So you yourself are a loyalist." His disapproving frown cracked a brief smile as he laughed, "And they still tried to hurt you." Within seconds, his frown returned. "Funny how scum like you can defend scum like them. Even after you saw their true colors." "That was a mistake!" "Horseshit." He was right. It was a load of crap. That man was psychotic, and he was armed. But there was still no excuse for the actions of the insurrection this night. "You're horseshit!" "And to think I saved you..." Even riled up, the stranger was relatively calm. Such a cool demeanor showed integrity as a person, but to Emily, integrity was a lost concept amongst barbarians who only waged war. And at that very moment, three more guards with affiliations to the King ran into the street, swords drawn. "Over there! I see two more!" One of them shouted as they sprinted to the duo at odds. "Wait! I'm not a reb--" Before she could finish her thought, Baltimore grabbed her by the shoulders with an eerie smile, shaking her dramatically. "They're onto us, Captain! Run!" He shouted, darting off into an adjacent alley. All three soldiers took notice, immediately disregarding the supposed cannon fodder Baltimore portrayed himself as. "There! Get her!" The third man roared. She couldn't believe her eyes. As if being betrayed once wasn't enough. Without another word, she crosses the block, banking right along the sidewalk. She wasn't far from home, but if she was to evade the authorities, speed was necessary. There was no time to reason with the men in pursuit. There was no trail to follow the wicked Baltimore and exact revenge. There was only room to run.