Out Of The Cage

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Emerson ran like he had never run before. His lungs heaved, his body covered in a layer of sweet. The sun was harsher than he remembered it being inside the suits he was used to wearing outside the mountain. Now all he had were the clothes on his back and his gun with only a few bullets. It was true that Emerson had one of highest chances of survival compared to others from the mountain, having been outside before, having a good knowledge of the terrain and having watched the Outsiders enough to have an idea of how to find food and water. He would be able to survive, that was for certain, and at this early stage of his escape that was the main thing he was thinking about. Anger ran through his body, his eyes were red raw and his throat sore. His grieving had to come with a constant movement, getting himself as far from Mount Weather as he could and the murders who were inside it.  If he survived, the rest could come at a later time. His grief. His revenge. They could both be pushed back to when he didn't have to worry about being killed--weather by the people from space or the outsiders who knew who he was. After what felt like hours of running but wasn't anywhere near that long, Emerson could see that from the position of the sun, he stopped by a river. It took him a minute, during which he drank and sat down on a rock, to realise the river wasn't too far from the Mountain but far enough, he hoped, that he was safe to rest. Although his mind felt more tired than his body, it would be a smart idea to rest with the harshness of the sun above him. After a while he crouched in the dirt at the bank of the river, using a stick to draw a rough map of the area. He could remember things clearly enough to know where he was and where he might be able to go. His mind still held information from maps that he had used and other times he had been outside of Mount Weather. He knew that there were edible berries further south along the river but that if he went too far he would come across and Outsider village. The sound of a crunching leaf suddenly grabbed Emerson's attention. He shot up onto his feet, turning to face whoever or whatever was there while his hand curled around the handle of his gun. That grip loosened right away at the sight of the person in front of him and Emerson's eyebrows pulled together. "Cage? You made it out too?" he said, a sense of relief running through him. CARL EMERSON ------------ Cage Wallace Like my punny title? hehe

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Cage could feel his heart beating heavy inside his chest. It was like someone was inside his soul - hammering away at the inside with a sledgehammer. Thump, thump, thump. Whoever it was would not give up. Thump, thump, thump. More thumps followed by even more thumps. It was causing his head to spin. His instincts told him to keep running. Leave that place behind. It wasn't home anymore. It had stopped being his home the moment his father had let those... those wretched Outsiders in. Like they were some of his long lost children. There was a roar inside his head every time his father's face filled his mind. Between the rapid panting of post-hysteria and the new found anger that surged through his soul. It was a surprise he was still alive. He stood in one spot for what felt like hours. He felt like he could punch the same tree until he made his knuckles split and bleed. They were gone. Every single one of them. All of his plans were broken glass at his feet. So, the question had begun to take precedence. Had he been the facilitator of their deaths? In order to find that answer he would need to open the doors. But was it the fear talking? He didn't know anymore. All he knew now was to run as far away, and as fast as he could. He didn't know why. Just that he had to. With a reason... that..



There was no rhyme. No reason. As he ran through the woods he ran with a desperation as if he were trying to catch up to something, or leave something behind. Often times he would stop, scream as loud as he could, more running. One time he had fallen to his knees and sobbed. Followed by more running, and more and more and more. He would not stop until his legs gave out. Or until he found every single Sky Person and erased them from this Earth. Curse them, curse them all! He did not know how he had gotten out. Perhaps he had betrayed his own people for his own survival. Was that possible? Could one man be responsible for the death of so many people? He could feel as his face snarl as his father's face once again took over his mind. You did this! You! Not me Then he could hear his father's laugh. That sly slimy little smile. The same smile that he plastered on his face every time Cage had made a mistake when he was little. He hated the way that face looked. If he were still alive... if only he were still here. I should have dealt with you sooner, old man. Cage said aloud to no one in particular. Only there was the sound of a twig snapping. Cage whipped around from the spot he was resting. A single Grounder came forth from the trees. Cage snarled again.



Filthy animals. The Grounder slowly came forward. A spear in hand that was resting across the shoulders. Cage ducked low slowly moving his hands to retrieve the sidearm from the waist. He wanted the Grounder to try something. He felt a blood rush. It was a need. No mercy had begun. This time it would be different. He waited for the Grounder to move from right to left. As Cage slowly circled low to the backside. He leveled the pistol slowly moving his arm from the shoulder to level it directly towards the back of his enemy. He tilted his body to make him a smaller target. I would advise you not to turn around. I am aiming a 9mm at the base of your skull. The Grounder immediately stopped. He did not turn around. Cage studied the way his massive shoulders heaved and fell. He was angry. That a Mountain Man had gotten the jump. Cage perked an eyebrow, finger hovering above the trigger. Neither man exchanged a word. The Grounder slowly began to turn much to Cage's disgust. His man was snarling indignantly. Cage watched as the animal spun the spear to be combat ready. Cage huffed. He squeezed the trigger filling the woods with a blast. He then moved the back of his other hand across his mouth. There was no use in keeping them alive. It was war now. It had been a major waste of time trying to keep them alive. New era.



There were no more Grounders, Sky People, Reapers. They were all dead. Cage would burn all their little villages to the ground. He would fill the horizon with blood and smoke. No mercy. He was the rightful leader. He would ensure that these filthy animals were kept in line. He flipped the safety on before replacing the pistol at his waist, tucking the shirt over the waist band. He kept walking. His mind filled with anger and a storm of voices. He was trying to sort through the noise. He had tried to the radio. Multiple times. But every time he was met with silence. He had walked right into target of a man that knew how to use a weapon. Cage instinctively perked up, only to see that it was Emerson. He let out a sigh of relief. It seems that I did he spoke with some hint of the remnants of his anger. But as he acknowledged that he was now in the presence of a trusted friend, he warmed up. You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend. He took a few steps forward. Cage would not take no as an answer. He embraced his most trusted friend with a relieved hug, patting him on the shoulder with earnest.