Personal Statement : Locked Up Again

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Locked up again. Ever since I woke up in this damn place, I’ve been locked up over and over again. I’m not some prisoner that needs to be locked up…well expect for the last thing I did, but that was completely their fault. They shouldn’t have attacked us. Jensen’s probably right, though. I shouldn’t have shot that man, but he shouldn’t have tried to kill Jensen. He should have known better.
I hate this place and these people.
I was right. Rebels are nothing but crowding soldiers who can’t even think for themselves and believes that anyone who’s not human isn’t a person. It’s sickening.
They end up locking me in a metal room, tightly hand cuffed to a table and left alone behind a thick steel door. I’m out of the cuffs in a matter of
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Though, they’ll probably assume I’m still locked up and unable to defend myself. Time slips by and within an hour, a loud click of the door as it unlocks and whispers echoes from the hallway.
“We take the demon out quick and quietly. Shoot a few dozen rounds in there,” a familiar angry voice orders, harshly.
It’s Kane.
I hit the floor as the door is cracked open enough to just let the barrels of the guns in. I kick the table down for shelter as bullets light up the room, violently going everywhere. I knock the chair down to protect my head and chest as I lay in my side, waiting for the shots to pass. There’s nothing I can do besides wait it out. My arms are crossed over my head and I curl my knees into my chest, making myself as small as possible. The dinging of the bullets hitting the metal walls and the floors barely lasts ten seconds. It’s a miracle that I don’t get shot myself.
The rounds stop, and the door opens all the way. I remain perfectly still, following my instinct. If I move, they’ll shoot again. I hear footsteps surround me and I can feel eyes on hatred staring down at me. Three pairs of footstep, three men.
“She dead?” one voice asks, his English horrible and his words thick with a twisted accent.
“Let’s double check,” Kane say, cocking back his gun and I attack.
I attack the man with the accent, being closest to me. I grip his wrist and yank him forward, tripping him with my feet as Kane shoots me, mistakenly
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