“Got cut,” Natalie said.

“She’s bleeding a lot.”

“Let’s get you out of there. I’ll lift you down. Come on.”

Natalie began to work her way through the window, which didn’t open all the way. Nice house as it was, there were still shortcuts in construction. Victoria helped her.

Victoria’s voice was reassuring. “We’re getting our forces together. Same as Trial and Error. This doesn’t go unanswered.”

“My—” Natalie started. She wasn’t sure how to label Tony. Stupid, to have that be the thing she stumbled over in this moment.

“Tony’s scraped up and scared, but he’s otherwise fine,” Victoria said.

Natalie nodded. With that, she could pass out.

Beacon Interlude 8.y

William’s shoes rubbed his feet raw as he ran, the seams like tiny saws against flesh, the crisp edges of the material at the ankle and tendon more like the blade of an axe, waiting for flesh to come to it, rather than the other way around. The ground by the fences was dirt that had been packed down to be as hard as any concrete, and even if his shoes weren’t shredding his feet, he would still be suppressing a wince with each footfall.

He couldn’t show weakness. Stepping onto the grass, it would cost him too much. Stopping? Resting? It would be an excuse that too many people would use against him.

Not just the people here, either. There were a dozen people in the yard, no doubt taken painstakingly from a list, to keep them away from bad influences and their old gangs, to avoid power interactions, and keep it all simple. It wasn’t just them that he had to concern himself with. The buildings throughout the prison complex were spaced out, but plenty of them had a view of the yard and the surrounding area. Man and woman, divided by a short wall and a wider gap than usual, could look over at the yard from their individual buildings.

People could only watch so much television, and there were plenty of strategists and long-term thinkers who watched the yard to evaluate, study, assess.

He knew he wasn’t a big guy. He was fit, decently attractive, with his mop of blond hair that was halfway between curly and wavy being his primary selling point. He’d been told since he was in middle school that he had a natural glower, and now for the first time, he found himself grateful for it.

This was a stage, and by running, he performed. To stop or take the easier path of running on grass would see an easy dozen people judging him. They would switch over their assessment of him from ‘villain’ to ‘victim’, and then they would victimize him.