<ul>As far as connoisseurs of small spaces went, Zilah had never counted herself among them. <br/><br/>Once, in her father's library she had come across a particularly weathered magazine celebrating the 100th anniversary of the Chinese Water Torture Cell. As a child, she had been so intrigued to learn about this Houdini man that hung himself upside down in a small glass cage and used his magic to escape. For the longest time she had attempted to imitate him.<br/><br/>Until The Purge happened and she truly understood the meaning of confined space.<br/><br/>Something seemed to groan alive around the next corner.  Pausing for a moment, Zilah simply listened, straining with the effort of her movements. The groan seemed to morph, growing louder and progressed ever still into a desperate shrill. Before there was any time to react, the paper had slipped from her fingers and a strong gust of air was ever so purposefully pushing her backwards.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Fucking computer</span>.<br/><br/>What genius had decided that it was necessary to install a fan system this powerful on a ship this size? Zilah was thankful for the goggles around her eyes, knowing full well that if they were not on her eyes would have been suffering. Each moment brought her closer to the five minute mark and now with the map gone and the gust of air pushing her back, Zilah was beginning to lose hope.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Breathe, in and out, breathe, in, out, in.</span><br/><br/>Lowering her forehead to the metallic vent floor, a long sigh escaped her lips. She was going to die. It had never felt as palpable as it did now. All around the whirring continued and she tried to pay it no mind. All she felt was a longing for home -- the perpetual sunlight, the silver of her mother's hair, the smell of her father's books.  Perhaps if she fought through this, there might be a chance. If she made it through, she would no longer make excuses.<br/><br/>The floor was smooth with little in the way of grip. Regardless, she pressed her feet on either side of the vent and continued to push through, now with her body pressed to the floor to create as much traction as possible. It would take her longer this way, but the computer would not outwit her. Thankfully, the more she called down, the more she realized the map to the core had been memorized and she had no use for the piece of paper.<br/><br/>The cut on her stomach continued to pound at her in pain. It had likely opened again and was bleeding into the suit. She would have to deal with that later. With aching legs and arms and chest, the woman pressed on attempting to fill her mind with motivating thoughts so that she would not start cursing and yelling and screaming at the goddamned computer in every language she knew.  Rounding the corner she eyed the fan causing all of this. <br/><br/>She could have shot it, forced it to stop blowing the air around, but that would bring attention to her. It was best to avoid that. As she moved, a second fan turned on and the gust of wind grew stronger. Zilah growled in frustration, her fingers now prickling for the gun at her thigh.<br/><br/>Instead she chose to glance at the wrist piece, noting how much time was left. Despite having felt like a painful century, only just over four minutes had passed. There was still time.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Clink!</span><br/><br/>Turning her head to look before her, Zilah noticed her gloved hand had shifted something metallic in the duct system. Inching closer, the goggles brightened up the darkness around her and she realized it was another maintenance entrance, this time directly into the core. Gripping the small ladder's rungs, she held on.<br/><br/>She'd made it. She had <span style="font-style: italic">fucking</span> made it. The computer had hoped the air would be enough to stop her, to cause her pause, perhaps it had hoped the pain in her stomach would stop her. The computer had underestimated the human will to live and its motivators, and because of it she would end its pathetic, useless existence now.<br/><br/>Eyeing the wrist piece with wary eyes, Zilah watched the seconds count down.<br/><br/>3...2...1...<br/><br/>0.<br/></ul>