Work Text:
Thompson walked on steadily. The late afternoon was uneventful, his shift would continue for several hours yet though. His footsteps echoed on the metal floors of the spartan hallway, walls painted white and yellow. Not much to look at, but that was the point. Nothing out of place would evade the guard’s notice.
Thompson was about halfway through the hallway when another set of measured steps started coming from the adjacent corridor, growing louder as the person was nearing the same junction.
Exactly at the intersection they came face to face. Without slowing down, Thompson nodded wordlessly at Davis, who returned the greeting and both continued on their assigned patrol paths.
This hallway was sloping down slightly, coming to an end with another one attached perpendicularly, allowing both a turn to the left or to the right. His assignment commanded left and so he did, as every shift.
As Thompson walked on, nearing the end of this hallway as well, footsteps again started resonating from up ahead, beyond the corner. Measured, confident, and once more they would meet around the corner. Thompson enjoyed these little moments of perfection, the symmetry of the system. Even while he couldn’t remember another guard coming this way at the current time, their synchronization remained impeccable.
He continued at a sedate pace, reached the corner – a slight figure in a dark crop-top of all things jumped back in surprise, and only his training prevented him from doing the same.
“Hey!” he called at the unfamiliar woman, reaching for his baton. What was this person doing here?
She narrowed her eyes, clearly ready to fight rather than flee. Her hands went to her thighs – there were empty gun holsters and she realized her mistake immediately, scowling, and started backing away.
“Stop!” Thompson started after her, and inexplicably she grinned at him before turning and taking off at a sprint.
Thompson followed, not as fast unfortunately, but fast enough not to lose her. He had kept up with his training rigorously, but this woman was exceptionally athletic. She turned a corner and in a few seconds, her footsteps changed, became slower and… heavier?
Thompson turned the corner, baton at the ready, and instead of the woman came face to face with a mountain of a man, dressed in the prison uniform all resident inmates wore. A massive fist flew into Thompson’s face and his head snapped to the side. There he could see the woman, standing with a relaxed posture and smiling in satisfaction. He reached up with his weapon but another hit knocked it out of his hand and another turned his vision temporarily black. He tried to block, but the next punch targeted his stomach and the next his back, sending him to the floor. Among more punches, he could hear the measured, confident steps moving away.