You Make a Break For it

You make a break for it. You move in the opposite direction from the other runner, making your way to the opposite side of the bus. You move as quietly as you can until you're out of their sight, then you dash toward the maze of parked busses nearby.

There’s a soldier on you in moments. You curve your path, hoping to make yourself harder to hit, but you're no match for Imperial marksmanship. The first stunning bolt they fire hits you, and when it does, you’re out before you can even feel yourself fall face-first in the snow.

You wake up inside the building. For one moment, you try to believe the previous day, the day of your enslavement, of the conquest of your planet, the day that promises to be the last time you'll ever see anyone you love, was just a dream. You try to believe it, but the rough, thin carpet underneath you and the chains around your wrists deny you even that fleeting moment of relief. You open your eyes.

You seem to be in the vice principal's office. It's not too different from when you last saw it. The desk is still there, as are the bookshelves built into the wall behind it, though the books are gone. There are shackles around your ankles now, along with the ones on your wrists. Another chain connects your manacles to your fetters, and all of that is chained to a metal anchor in the wall. Throughout the room, there are four other anchoring points like this one, each with a single chain dangling from it. You pull, and yank, and tug, but your bonds withstand all the strength you can muster as though you were an ant trying to topple a skyscraper. Once you give up, you're left unable to do until you hear footsteps. Someone is approaching from the hall outside. A soldier? What are they going to do to you? They can't mean to kill you. They would have done that outside, right? The door opens. There is indeed a soldier standing in the doorway. She looks down at you, quizzical eyes hidden behind her helmet's dark visor. She presses a button on her wrist. "Bov tus gosch," she says, seemingly not to you.

"Hello," you say. "What's going on?" It's a long shot hoping she'll understand you, and it doesn't pay off. She enters the room, and watches you until a well-built man in urban camo power armor arrives. "Zhorosef," he says to his comrade. She salutes, then leaves. He enters. "How long have you been awake?" he asks. His Imperial accent is so thick he sounds like a caricature of an Imperial from a bad holomovie, but in every other respect, his Nothian is flawless.

"Just a few minutes," you say.

"That was very stupid," he says, "what you did out there. Did you really think you had a chance of getting away?"