Knock the thug out again
From Create Your Own Story
You calmly walk across the cell, grab the big thug by the back of his neck, and smash your knee into his ugly face. Blood sprays from the impact and he collapses, out cold once again. The small man is looking at you with a combination of intimidation and sexual attraction. You smile to yourself.
Cheerfully, you cartwheel across the cell to your companion, showing off your gymnastics skills as well as your lacy black panties underneath your miniskirt during the times you are upside down. Landing elegantly, you give him a seductive wink. You can now see a bulging erection in his trousers.
"So, what's a nice guy like you doing in a jail like this?" you ask, turning around a cheesy pick-up line that many guys have used on you.
"My name is Paul," he begins. "I'm from California. A bunch of my friends and I traveled to Syria to try to help people who were hurt by the war. We were working at a rebel refugee camp when it was attacked by Assad's soldiers. They accused me of being a spy and threw me in here."
"What happened to your friends?"
"They...they were killed in the attack." He begins to sob. You hold him, trying to comfort him, at the same time shaking your head. These young, naïve fools. Do-gooders, thinking everyone else in the world was just as warm and kind.
"So what about you, Miss...?" Paul asks, wiping away his tears.
"Just call me Rania," you say. You give him your cover story about being a Lebanese businesswoman who was arrested and falsely accused of being a spy. "What about him?" You point at the big lump in the corner.
"Him? He's just a common criminal."
"Look," you say. "I know this is making me sound like an insensitive bitch, but you've just learned a rough lesson at the school of hard knocks, and the bad news is it's probably going to get worse before it gets better. The good news is that we can work together. Now our first concern is getting the fuck out of here as fast as possible. If we're still here when the professional interrogators arrive, we'll be tortured until we give them what they want, then killed." Paul is now very pale. You try to give him a "don't worry" smile. It doesn't seem to work.
"Luckily, the first step isn't very hard," you continue. You reach into your long dark brown hair and pull out a hairpin. Inserting it into the lock, it takes only a few seconds before it opens with a click. Paul stares at you, impressed once again. "Come on," you whisper, leading him out of the cell.
Suddenly, a loud voice behind you roars, "GUARDS! THEY'RE ESCAPING!" Whirling, you see the big thug sitting up, still in pain from his broken knee but smirking with victory.
You and Paul try to run, but you run straight into a group of armed guards, who grab the two of you in triumph. "Thanks," says one of the guards to the thug. "When we're through with them, you can have the girl."
"NOOOOO!" you scream. You stomp on a foot and smash your elbow into a head, breaking free. You try to grab for a gun. The other guards raise their weapons. Paul leaps in front of you as they open fire, falling dead to the floor. You shake your head at his heroic sacrifice, then bite down on your cyanide capsule.
YOU ARE DEAD
