A Mentor of Old

[Miranda Frost]

It is astounding that rudeness of astronomical proportions can be tolerated. The good doctor wrapped her brittle knuckles against the stainless steel of her desk, the cold blue grey of her eyes staring deep into the sporadic snow broadcasted through the dim light of her screen. The woman's frown deepened the sharp canyons brought about years of her work, work that seemed to ever degrade in its momentum.  A rough exhale pushed a light cloud of heated breath at the screen, coating it in a layer of fog. Another customer had backed out of their agreement. At this rate how was she to pursue her research?

 The Empire had turned a blind eye to her dealings but without the state's funding she had been left alone to find some way to pay for her research. Her side business was lucrative, but the selection of those her services could be provided to was challenging to say the least. The Empire had indeed overlooked her research, but everything else was fair game. Many didn't feel as if her services were worth it, despite the high quality of products she offered.

 Her bony hands would brush the fragile, pale hair from her face, her glazed eyes glanced up at the mosaic of monitors covering her walls, each one a camera providing a watchful eye over her building. The few workers employed here remained in their spaces, running the tests the good doctor had provided. All was well. All was quiet, and then the front doors opened.

 Miranda's heavy steps echoed over the open room. Her eye flicked from one end of the room to the other. Nothing seemed to be within the light of her sight but polished, silver tile and cameras. Her eye's retina  contracted, pushing her crimson light further, its rays penetrating deep within the reflective surfaces. What she uncovered was quite unsettling. She'd take a step back but it was too late. Tiles burst and exploded into thousands of gravel sized shards, the black barrels of various sizes expanded from robust metal arms, the ends of which pointed towards the intruder. Before Miranda realized what exactly was going on, her vision would fail, blinded by a myriad of bright lights. Her eye slammed shut, her arms raising to cover her face instinctively.

 Her body would be assaulted by countless projectiles, most of which ricocheted  harmlessly off the tough scales of her coat. Higher caliber rounds drilled through the heavy piece of clothing, sinking into her degrading flesh. Her teeth would grind together, her body sliding back from the amount of heat she was receiving. She couldn't move. She couldn't parry. She couldn't escape. A hurricane of lead welcomed her into this building, a reception she wasn't quite fond of.

 "F-fuck", she'd stutter as the furious storm of turret rounds ceased. Her ears rang and her body was overcome with a growing numbness, an ever encroaching darkness encircling her  vision.