Daz looked around, expecting Cora to pull a gun out, or for soldiers to jump out from behind and drag him out of the pit. Instead, Cora seemed to pull back and let out a sigh. He lowered the knife slightly in confusion, before raising it again as she began to speak.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Calm down?</span>How could he, when he was stuck in a trap and being threatened by an enemy?<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Calm down?</span>I-what?" Daz watched in confusion as Cora threw a bag over the edge, dangling it by the straps. His immediate instinct was to reach out and snatch the bag, but he didn't move from his defensive position. He noticed that the bag was the same make as his own, only a brick red compared to his forest green.<br/><br/>All he had to do was grab the bag, and he was out. That's what she said. Daz gazed into her eyes for several moments, barely daring to blink. He wanted to jump inside her skull, to read her intentions as easily as a book. All he could see was earnestness, which was easy to fake. He'd seen it enough on the lower levels. Children would beg for food or money, professing to be poor innocent souls, but when nothing was given, would draw a knife and force it from you.<br/><br/>A first aid kit sounded nice. Most of Daz's wounds had bled over enough to scab, so he wasn't in need of any bandages, but a splint for his foot would be a miracle. It was just in front of him, dangling slightly out of reach.<br/><br/>Still holding the knife, Daz pushed the rations back into his bag and put it over his shoulder. He stood slowly and began shuffling over, keeping as much of his weight on his uninjured leg as he could. He stopped just shy of reaching the bag.<br/><br/>If Daz took the bag, he could have the first aid kit. He also wouldn't be able to get out. It was possible Cora was lying, and that the bag was filled with useless junk. She seemed so willing to put it over the edge that it was likely the case.<br/><br/>Cora was unmistakably Klive Whittle's daughter, but would the government really go through such a trick to torture a low member of the rebellion? Sending in a council member's daughter to make a rebellion member feel safe, before stabbing him in the back, seemed like an overexertion. But if she wasn't a trick, then why was she here? She couldn't be a member of the rebellion.<br/><br/>It wasn't possible. People on the upper levels didn't change, or car about the lower ones. They had everything they wanted. No one would sacrifice that for some half-baked attempt to escape the cameras.<br/><br/>If it was a trick, and Daz let her pull him up, she could kill him before anyone stopped him. That is, if anyone came to stop him.<br/><br/>Daz took the last few steps, planting his good foot into the wall and grabbing one side of the bag. He readjusted the knife in his hands and grasped the other side, still keeping the blade at the ready.<br/><br/>Daz's bad foot hovered just slightly above the ground, his weight supported by his foot in the wall, which he began to inch up. He would have to try to jump up while swinging out to avoid the ledge formed above him, as Cora pulled on the bag.<br/><br/>"Okay," Daz said, "I'm ready."<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">1, 2, 3.</span><br/><br/>Daz pushed off with his leg, letting his bad one give him momentum like a pendulum. He felt the bag go taught as he ended his swing and Cora pulled like she said she would. It was only a moment, but Daz felt like he hung in the air for several seconds, his heart pounding in his ears. In a snap, it was gone, and he felt himself hitting the ground in an uncontrolled tumble.<br/><br/>Thankfully, Daz didn't hit his foot. He shook his head, orienting himself on the ground. He had pulled Cora's bag from her hands on the upswing, and it was lying on the ground beside him, along with his hunting knife. He quickly reached for it.<br/><br/>Cora was sitting just an arm's reach away. Daz gripped the handle of the knife, remembering that the ground was weak. He took a careful shuffle forward before grabbing Cora's shoulder and pushing her down, swinging his knee over her and raising the knife to her throat, while digging his elbow into her other shoulder.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Just do it,</span>Daz thought, tightening his hand. His breathing was heavy as he stared into the redheaded woman's eyes that were inches away from his own. He realized that his arm was trembling, and that he couldn't control it.<span style="font-style: italic">Do it!</span><br/><br/>If it had been a trap, soldiers would have jumped out already. Daz couldn't deny it. His face was full of emotion and intensity as he thought.<br/><br/>Maybe she was just another failed rebel like him. There was no point in slitting her throat.<br/><br/>"AAAAAHHHH!" Daz screamed in frustration, releasing the pressure from Cora's shoulder and slamming the knife's handle into the ground beside them in pent-up anger. He pushed back from her and sat, injured leg stretched forward, other leg bent to the side underneath him.<br/><br/>"That's some damn strong fabric," he managed, gesturing to the bag with his free hand before resting his face in his hand.