The door swings open, and Lola thrusts the heel of her hand up. The blow connects with the stocky guard's nose and he drops his gun, letting out a growl as he clutches his face.

Lola kicks him between the legs before he can recover. In one quick movement, she grabs the gun and throws it towards me before reaching for her own. Her fingers just brush the handle when her feet are pulled from under her, sending her flying to the ground.

"No!" I scream, but it is too late. The guard wriggles on top of her, grabbing her gun and trapping her body with his. He reaches into his waistband and presses a button on his radio. "I need back up in C214. Now!"

Dr. Wells lunges forward, attempting to grab the gun on the floor. I react quickly, pulling her back and shoving her to the side before picking up the gun.

I point it at Dr. Wells, watching as she straightens up with a small, triumphant smile. My lungs burn; I haven't breathed in almost a minute.

The guard pulls Lola up to her feet, holding her still beneath his arm. Lola's smiles at me, her hand twitching anxiously by the side of her shorts, and I know she wants to reach for her syringe.

I press the barrel into Dr. Wells' forehead, knowing we need a distraction. "I'll make a deal with you," I say, causing the guard to look up. "If you let Lola leave, I'll put my gun down and come with you."

"You know I can't do that," the guard says calmly, "but I'll make sure no harm comes to either of you."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Dr. Wells snaps. "You couldn't have just lied to her?"

I press the gun harder to her temple. "How do I know once I take my gun off Dr. Wells, you won't kill us both, anyway?" I ask.

Lola's hand slips into her pocket, but the guard doesn't notice.

"Hey," Dr. Wells says. "What are–" but it is too late.

The guard looks down at the syringe in Lola's hand. At the last second, he pushes her away from him before aiming at her chest.

"No!" I scream.

My voice is drowned out by the sound of the trigger. Lola stiffens, her back arching slightly. She falls, first to her knees, and then to the ground before slumping to the side. I let out what sounds halfway between a gasp and a sob, struggling to breathe.

The guard turns on his heel and aims at me.

"No!" Dr. Wells hisses. "We don't want to waste any more."

I ignore the guard's commands and rush to Lola's side, pressing my hands to her chest. "You're okay," I repeat, over and over. "You're okay." Tears stain my cheeks as I press down harder, her breath getting shallower. Lola can't die. She can't.

The guard tries to pull me away. I lash out and kick him but he catches my foot, tackling me onto the floor. The pain makes my vision go black at the edges. He pulls his foot back like he's about to kick me, and I roll onto my knees.

Four guards charge into the corridor, their guns outstretched. They are on me in a second: one grabs my arms while another lifts me up, and I'm pushed down the rest of the corridor.

I'm not afraid of what's coming; I'm in too much pain to think. I feel numb inside, but outside I am a screaming, thrashing force of will. I bite a hand that belongs to the guard on my right. He either barely feels it, or he is too well-practiced in the art of losing himself, because his grip doesn't lessen in the slightest.

As though tired of my resistance, the guard to my left pulls out a familiar syringe. The needle gets closer, but instead of fighting what I know is inevitable, I close my eyes and welcome the dark.

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