Estelle slowly opened her eyes, getting used to the glaring incandescent light overhead. After a moment, she
snatched the syringe from the nurse’s hand and flung it at the security camera.
With a loud “thwack”, the syringe hit its target. The red light on the camera flickered and then went dark.
Estelle felt weak. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather her strength before sitting up and yanking all the
wires that tethered her to the machines. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up, her legs
trembling beneath her.
A cold sweat had broken out on her skin. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious or what she had
endured, but her body felt exhausted, her strength sapped away, and her head throbbed as if a nail had been

driven into her skull.
She quickly stripped the nurse’s uniform and dressed herself in it, then positioned the nurse on the bed where
she had lain. After putting on a surgical mask, Estelle cautiously opened the door and stepped out.
Her gun had been confiscated upon her arrival, but the needle she had hidden between her fingers had gone
unnoticed.

tip in her hand, almost feeling a sense of gratitude towards the men she had

The hospital corridors were eerily quiet at night, lit only by the sterile glow of the fluorescent lights.
Leaning against the glass door to catch her breath, she spotted a nurse’s cart nearby. She grabbed the handle,
recalling her prior visit to the eleventh floor to orient herself, and then started pushing the cart towards the exit.
After a few steps, she was gasping for air, her legs heavy as if filled with lead, and the pain in her head
intensified. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
Rummaging through the cart, she found a bottle of unopened glucose solution. She cracked it open and gulped
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