Months without a voice, months without a word, months without a light that enlightened the dark corners of District Two. The supposed 'Voice of Eight' had vanished into the shadows as quick as she appeared, without a single witness to confirm if they are alive. Papers loomed over the corners of District Two, some of them torn apart, some of them still intact calling out for the now forgotten broadcast of 'Voice of Eight'. Once a program that everyone listened, from Civil Protection officers to the most infamous malignant, was now gone.
Although not many knew their identity, she knew some people did. Not a problem at first, turned to paranoia as the people who protected them fell one by one. The city that once made them feel safe, secure now made them feel hunted, eyes watching every single step they take. In the mall men with pipes and axes, in the city officers with guns looked at them. As they walked down the street, they saw judging eyes looking down upon them. They first waited for a transfer, as those happened quite often for them. They waited, waited and waited. Days were followed by weeks that turned into months...
Then came the day when they stumbled across an APC, with a truck behind it. They knew quite well where this convoy was going. At first, they were too late for whatever that was going to happen, they thought. Their thoughts would be crushed as an officer clad in black grey armor shouted at them, telling them to get on the APC. Surprised, they boarded the APC, to be taken outside the towering walls of the city for a brief moment. A thought struck their head. They had heard tales about the world outside from a radioman residing outside the city before, during the time their broadcast still aired.
They blended in the workforce at first, waiting for the right moment. They watched the movements of the officers, they waited for an opening. It did not take long for them to find that they were hoping to find. Like a snake, they moved past the officers without any suspicion, now reaching a container. Their hands trembled, their bread increased as their hearth pounded like it wanted to get out of their body. They laid their hands on the bars of the containers, with their foot on the ridges of the container. Each pull upwards, each step on a different ridge made their hearth pound even more. They finally reached the top.
In one final move, with one final hope, they ran to the wall, clinging onto any crack they could find on the twenty year old walls to climb. Officers came, but they did not hear nor see them. They pulled themselves up, they reached even higher. Then came a bullet whizzing in the air, hitting the wall underneath their foot. A second bullet followed, which hit their shoulder.
But it was too late for the officers. They had managed to pull themselves up on the wall. As blood started to pump out of their wounded shoulder, painting the concrete underneath them red, they crawled forward, to freedom, to the unknown...
The End.
Or is it? Their fate remains unknown...
