Chapter 2 -- The woman with cold eyes

The woman looked around the white room. She hadn’t dared to move since she opened her eyes, but now she inched into a sitting position. A mirror was attached to the IV frame. She extended her hand and aimed it around, trying to figure out its purpose. She glimpsed her reflection in the glass and quickly aligned the mirror to point at her face. Coarse blonde hair fell in carefully groomed waves to barely past her ears. Her skin was the same pale shade as the walls.  Her gaze slid from the mirror to the IV next to it. She ripped the tape holding the needle off her arm, wincing as it tore from her delicate, stretchy skin. She pulled out the needle and put the tape over where her veins were now exposed.
She tore the blanket off and made her way to the door. She pulled the handle, but it didn’t budge. Frustrated, she kicked the door with her knee. She turned around and scanned the room, looking for any details she had missed.
There.
There was a security camera in the corner of the ceiling.
She grabbed her bed and dragged it under the camera. She wheeled the stand next to it, discarding the bag. She stood on the bed, picked up the IV stand, carefully aimed, and thrust it at the camera.
She threw blow after blow at the camera, trying to break the glass, or at least damage it beyond recognition. She kept hitting the camera, strike after strike after strike. She knew she had probably broken the glass by now. She chucked the stand on the floor. She found the surgical needle, and she stabbed the metal end into the camera and wiggled it around, trying to disrupt the workings inside.
She realised while she was busy breaking the camera, the brains behind this whole operation were on to her now. The only exit in the room was a locked door or the ventilation shafts, and it would be near impossible to take the grille off the shafts, let alone fit in them, small as she was. That only left a locked door, but with delight she remembered that she clutched a long metal pointy object in her hand.
She leapt down from the bed and stuck the needle in the keyhole, feeling around for the metal tumblers and moving them aside.
Before she could finish, she heard sounds of movement outside the door. She pulled the needle out of the lock, thinking frantically. She knew she had surprise on her side, so she picked up the IV stand and held it aloft, poised, ready to strike.
The door opened, and two security guards were confronted with a small blonde woman screaming and charging at them with an IV stand in her hand.
Time slowed down. She heard her pulse thud in her ears. Adrenalin shot through her body, coursing through her with every heartbeat.
She thrust the long IV stand at both guards’ throats to stun them. She aimed a kick at the man’s throat, but he caught her foot. The woman tried to grab her arm. She stabbed her hand with the needle, drawing blood. She shrieked and let go.
The male guard lifted her foot up to try and immobilise her. In one swift move she lifted her other foot to kick his groin, and used her weight to drag him forward and topple over.
The female guard made a move to grab her, but she dodged. The woman aimed a punch at the guard’s jaw but she blocked. They exchanged blows, neither of them hitting their mark. The wall was creeping towards the woman.

Too late it dawned on her that the guard was deliberately cornering her, steering her with blows.
The woman changed tactic. She bolted for the door, snatching up the IV stand. She slammed the door behind her and barricaded it.
She heard the rattling and shouts of the trapped security guards, but as long as the IV stand was barricading the door, they were trapped.
The woman’s brain drifted out of the fight-or-flight response and she took in the extent of what she’d done.
She had just fought her way out of a room using nothing but an IV stand and a surgical needle and besting two trained security guards. She wore nothing but a hospital gown, held the surgical needle in one hand, and faced a room containing the two security guards, barricaded shut with the IV stand. And now her heartbeat was pounding in her skull; the alarms were ringing in her ears; and she felt nauseous.
She felt dazed. It didn’t feel real. It felt like for the last few minutes, someone else had taken over her body and she had merely been along for the ride. As time sped back up to its normal pace, exactly what she had done sank in, and without warning, her hands started shaking.
She couldn’t afford this moment of weakness. She had to keep moving, but her body ignored her mind’s demands and her feet remained planted on the spot. Her hands continued to shake.
She had to move. She had to move now.
It could have been five seconds before the guards showed up; it could have been an hour. Someone prised the needle from her numb fingers. Voices were shouting. Someone pulled the tape from her arm, and without registering why, she fell unconscious.

The world blurred into focus. The IV needle was in her arm again. She groaned, and reached over to pull it out. Her hand didn’t appear above the needle. She frowned. Her sluggish brain tried to comprehend. She had moved her arm, but her eyes told her she hadn’t.
She shook her head, trying to shake the cobwebs out. She looked at her arms. Thick, black bands bound her limbs to the bed. Anger boiled up inside her. She desperately tried to wiggle her way out of her bonds, spitting and cursing and seething. She wanted desperately to find the person whose big idea this was and give them a kick in their womanhood so hard their mother’s mother would turn in their grave. The bonds chafed at her wrists and left red marks; she was going nowhere. She gave up and stared at the ceiling. She closed her eyes; let a tear escape down her cheek.
She whimpered.