Artemis abandoned a hopeless post near the Nemean Lion at last--a grip gave way...unable to latch onto a monument that had never existed. To be without a mother; was all she had known. Artemis returned to her mundane life...playing with explosives and such. Life had always been disappointing--a steady stream of news and self-loathing tears fluttered and fell violently around her thoughts. There had been an outstanding amount of nonsense that came at the expense of her mother’s freedom.

Artemis would take a keen interest in political gossip--mainly of the Cyclops holding out tantalizing articles of blackmail, some that Kompromat...blistering the hands of the beholder; hunting down and propping up the Mechanical Boar...to keep a river of weapons flowing. The world wrapped itself around the Mechanical Boar unable to untie a heaping bundle of threads as a man stammered and kicked about; casually committing treason to protect his image--tossing sands and soil to hide his predilection for urine. Artemis knew the duo were dangerous...in ways that could destroy the world ten times over--it had been easier to frame a larger picture; of villainy and international unification, when using familiar colors and repainting the final days in a building entrusted as the führerbunker. By guiding a Mechanical Boar through a maze of the Minotaur through fire and brimstone--with the offering of political freedom.

The Mechanical Boar had already sucked the land dry--long-winded speeches wandered aimlessly, as he strutted through a dark maze. The con artist had integrated the citizens money straight into his own pockets--renting out his own properties, and utilizing them for sports and hosting events at inflated prices. The Mechanical Boar could never be satisfied; the follies of gluttony had taken its toll on his memory...he paced upon green lawns and yelled over green and silver flying chariots; screaming at the sky when realizing there had been clouds above the entire time. The only way to turn his attention was to bait the creepy old man with humor that agreed with known crazed thoughts and hushed hopes of rearing his own daughter. A violent silence had sliced through reality when Artemis had been a young girl--a nightmare of laughing tracks and applause brought life into focus for a child facing a new millennium. The things she knew to be true and real; painted as unreal and unacceptable to the following generations. The law barely managed to keep the Mechanical Boars tongue in check--but it hadn’t kept him from signing name and love poem in a book of Birthday, wee hooves had been busy...digging his own grave. A firm line of solidarity was cast by a single man wreaking havoc on the entire world--a fog of surreal density had boggled down the progress of civilization. The world stopping to admire the thrashing of fits and a man aggressively touching himself as he gazed upon offspring and children--a lone village idiot had broken past the thresholds of luck; becoming the outlier that failed upwards in short-handed terms. The man’s idolization of one daughter had caused a crack in the marble; an empire set on course to crumble seemed less daunting--when dealing with sensationalized fatigue. Artemis found the dichotomy of their relationship to be unhealthy, but understood that the dead-eyed savages coveted their long-standing culture and traditions surrounding incest. After all, they had colonized the land, and "won" plenty of wars with the local Indigenous Warriors...to preserve this particular statement of sexual freedom.

Artemis began to feel disgusted whenever she saw either the Mechanical Boar or his beloved daughter, plastered all over the front pages of the news--the jarring imagery of a woman sitting on the lap of her father had come into focus with the echos of the past. The Mechanical Boar left squealing on stages, ranting like an overwhelmed supply teacher--holding the title captain over a clunker ship aimed at an iceberg by choice. The wheels of time and needles of fate had sewn a tapestry where a single man was given everything, offered a world painted with golden opportunity and alas; his fits of contempt were feathered by the logical boundaries of familial love. A simulation of treacherous desires had been set into motion by a father...proving the dept of corrupt intent born into a world that spun its webs on political freedom.

Artemis would work hard to distract herself from the memory of his daughter fondling herself as she smeared and lathered herself in gold paint--her dreams were so uncomfortable...the pages of reasoning had offered a sliver of sanity to accommodate such extreme dreams. Creativity flowed effortlessly through the reconnaissance work done during her dreams--nonchalantly excusing herself from salacious dreams, and falling into a sterile hallway--right side-up and disoriented from the swivels, as she sprinted down long corridors lined with red doors. One day in the fall, Artemis awoke abruptly--a day of battle had finally arrived. The Mechanical Boar had finally gone full-blown dictator and the citizens began arriving at her door; screaming that she do something...a curse of invisibility broken when desperation kicked in. Plenty of women knew what it meant--to scream into a cave, and be silenced by the act of other taking wooden stake to their ears--impalement had been more soothing than reality. Bloody ears and scared throats drew up a grime scene; women yelling that nobody listened and men yelling that their physical strengths couldn’t fix this particular problem--a mob of concerned citizens had awoken from their weakening state of slumber. The image of a man clasping the hips, waist and arms of his blossoming daughter had set the world on fire--a tizzy of discomfort and spark of desire kept the ant-like mortals moving along predestined trails...to sense a modicum of disappointment in their leaders, to replicate history and preserve a fringe and delicate government--powered by diversity and freedom.

Artemis sat upon a war-pony; her curly hair blustering in the winds of change...the world had seen all she had worked towards--they had heard the echoes of despair tossed into a canon of time. All it had taken: was a perverted grandpa--implementing orders of Marshall Law upon the citizens of the polis. Cool guys. Artemis needed her army now more than ever: the world had offered her crown of feathers...without explaining that she’d have to remove it from Athena first. She sat upon a war-ready animal; unable to find self soothing measures in a time of chaos, steering the gentle beast in circles--unable to break the routine of sorrow most weeks. The surrender of duty and title had come at such an immense cost...Artemis couldn’t undo the death of sibling; let alone save the world. She had failed in saving a mentally unwell sibling from herself...the patterns of letting others down--stitched in neatly spaced threads. The emperor Caligula had been reborn into flesh--Athens was in ruins and there was Artemis; lost in a trance of grief...too exhausted to fight for others freedom.

Artemis was occasionally a part of the problem, for the lack-of-intervening with the war path of a Mechanical Boar--much like with Athena; she’d walk off to check advanced aeronautical equations...instead of waiting for someone to paint a white room with chaotic distress. Her life open for ridicule--outside of the circumstances of watching others burn the world down and doing nothing. The spectacle of erratic moves and half-thought-out plans often manifested into a casual criminality that absorbed everyone and anyone within proximity...the likes of which--proven by placing a child named "Little Ivana" in an empty room with the most violent of predators, where she stood in a corner; facing the music and witnessing the depravity of a man...bloated ankles chained to the same handful of mistakes--holding a heart-topped key as the lynching pin to a monsters shackles. To best describe the costs of extremity in wealth and desire within silent gestures; to prepare the world to rear itself over for two men paving a path of destruction...Jeff and Donald staggered into formation, the bottom to a dominate third; whipped into dismantling democracy as foreplay...shuffling dirt over their sins, and forgetting what it meant to be unproblematic; kompromat providing eternity with two boorish men--their fates inextricably tied.

The path of blood-soaked stones; those paved by a woman half-alive, distracted from the horrid pitches of the tortured screaming in a near background--she’d learned to tune out the fits of rage of Athena early on. The song of the siren worn down by exhausted chords...Artemis standing forever alone; walking away from the madness of it all--Athens had been a seedling of remorse, falling unto winter soils. The helpless causes of those uneducated enough to believe thoughts and prayers would soften the top soil--to fulfill a selfish purpose, with no room for objection; ready to pounce into action when the ridicule or constructive criticism came with familiarity. To be without the shouldered burden of a siblings patterns and ability to paint the law to be invisible; unbound to their will and goal...the fall ushered in a harsh forecast, frigid and uncaring as to the newly unlocked freedom.

The fights against recidivism never came to an end. A miss of step--the heavy of hand, the words ringing in buzzing buildings--the mundane world had been drenched with overbearing beige. Artemis remained swaying on unsteady footing--trapped in a spell of catastrophic worry. To be alone in a world; caring about everything so deeply--while shallow souls moved ahead in the world with ease. Shamelessness in shallow failings kept her mind tied to unhealing wounds--knowing the consequences of being uncaring in a time of compounded changes. The sifting of words and emotions where the only thing to offer a speck of a sanity--a book filled with discontent and fewer solutions--brought a sense of peaceful freedom.

Artemis had wandered up on a vast black-box: It was a prison guarded by a flock of depraved boars--basking in corruption; trading fair-pay to uphold their traditions of racism and ignorance, smuggling, stealing, had all been a lowered bar...placed to remove shocking value of bounds-and-leaps past laws and regulations. The black-box always bore the name St. Clair in these dreams--a place that had been devoted to those committing war crimes, instead of the options of rehabilitating care or the standard incarcerated system. The few knew what angers that boiled deeply with a person surviving an unchangable experience; foolish for having dreams of doors leading to a life of freedom.

Artemis frequently visited the men and women in these black-boxes, as she loved practicing her best fighting techniques with worthy adversaries; edited poems were sent to show the methods of progression--a courtesy edit sent out as a goodbye and silent bow to those with nothing but time on their hands. The survival gene would kick in for some, as it had for Artemis by the age of sixteen--the surreal situation of a bad life; getting worse had forced her rebellious soul into a corner. She found it odd; how many prisoners sat well with their crimes, for sure....some were the greatest warriors the Nation had to offer, some were just people being doubly-chastised, for the manufacture of a crime--and solidifying the numbers that defined each individual sub-set of citizens falling under its umbrella of information. Being guiltless, shameless, and taught to be harmless were the only lessons learned by the time Artemis had "earned" her freedom.

Artemis could sympathize for all those that had been locked away for minor infractions, or those that received more time because of the inevitable. Environments drenched with criminals, and guarded by lesser criminals--don’t really offer a lot to society. Artemis knew how it felt; to wait for a judge to rule on every minor action--they had always held her to higher standards than everyone else. The system of fostering; had no nurturing qualities to apply to everyday life...she had been taught to simply live day-by-day; doing her best to refrain from being eaten alive...the name criminal no longer impacted such impracticable pride. Behaving, wouldn’t manifest two parents from thin air....she’d remain an orphan after each infraction. None of it mattered. Her ability to not care about anything and everything; was an indifference that plagued a majority of Indigenous Warriors--the causation of crippling expectations had been sprinkled on an entire community; not always for their talents...some were just like Artemis--holding a deep emotion for compassion. Their culture would have once prescribed them with tours in battle instead of locking them away for eternity--the Race of Mortals had come to its end lap; a last trail of tears stemmed into every history book. A dusting road paved by sorrow and mistrust; kept Artemis boggled by worry...nobody seemed to sense the winds of change--nobody cared to see the deranged path of a Mechanical Boar...let alone find the time to care about an hourly worker, overqualified and longing for professional freedom.

The neurological reaction of a Warriors rage--had been a plentiful gift by Diomedes: famed soldiers in past lives (criminals in this one), occasionally driven mad by Hera in their dreams--their souls punished for their actions in their real lives. To look past a reflection; to wonder what life would be like when falling into inverted dimensions--the simpler things like having parents--became a make-or-break situation. Had the depression been a cause of orphan-hood? What would life be like, withtout such an immesurable burden? Artemis pitied all of those that stood in the path of a Diomedes: as she had suffered at the absent hand of Missy and curses struggling with her inner-self. The single mom of three daughters--had resorted to trading her children in, for a life without responsibilities: forgoing all maternal duties to pursue freedom.

Her mother’s profession was never an issue to Artemis--since the timeless work predated most things, and the legality of it had changed over-night; sex-work now qualified itself as an occupation...complete with taxes, unions, and labor regulations. Artemis wondered how many women had been encased in the black-boxes for an array of tic-tak crimes: their recurring offenses--compiled into one word that condemned them for eternity. The women were occasionally guilty of holding-up the traits taught in enslavement, or accepting the open demand of the position...to be more practical than the lesser-paid alternatives. The perpetuity of investing in silver poles and bright colored feathers--held more promise than any job available to the current generation. The demand had been high, and the small metropolis provided the supply of field specialist--they just happened to like being naked in the publics. Artemis had been raised in an urban jungle that was famed for its Amazonian dancers...the bouts of endless rain forcing entertainment indoors--while eager patrons cheered on their soggy woes. The flutter of bill folds falling upon the sticky floor--the image of someone as common-looking as Artemis: walking between a table of delectible menu options and drinking to no-occasion--with their hand-crafted ales raised to the Gods upon Mount Olympus. The life of sparkle and glam seemed gritty during the day hours--much like the lesser physically well days of person with disability. Everything came into focus; when a life on a throne of wheels kept professional doors closing in Artemis’s face. She couldn’t conform to a life on silver pole...even if she wanted to. The glittering dancers brought saddened-joy--where vitamin D was lacking, and supplemented the economy with the two piece bills in constant circulation. The note became a telltale sign of those that proudly retreated to dark rooms with beautiful women or men--to further fulfill their prowess in fantasies, and explore their sexual freedom.

The scarcity of jobs bringing further panic to the citizens, as inflation resulted in chaos spreading across the land like a wildfire. Their society had created the Diomedes, as they voluntarily began gouging out their eyes to avoid the sight of private industry. Shoving the black-boxes out of sight, and protecting the monetary value of their property. One night, she walked into a cell to remedy a distraught man sleeping and mumbling to himself. Artemis met up with him in his dream, by laying her cheek next to his softly and finding a common frequency as she hummed. The handsome man showed no sign of being afraid of her unannounced presence, as he calmly informed her that he was the criminal known as Mills. Artemis had grown up admiring the famous olympian Billy Mills, and so she felt compelled to comply to this coincidence by simply saying “dope”. The man expressed his urgency in attempting to escape the black-box and its torture, and the conviction in his voice made Artemis want to cry. She told the man how she had once lived up to skewed expectations, and proudly called herself a criminal. The man understanding that they were filling a temporary role that had been cast upon them, and Artemis felt bad for using statistics in her favor. Mills began to cry softly, as he mumbled to himself a slow rhythmic beat, and avoiding looking at her. Artemis sat atop his chest and waited for him to finish his story. The man fell into a somber spell, and Artemis grew worried that she couldn’t return to her friend, as he now avoided sleep in order to resume his incoherent mumbling. Artemis took to the winds and sleuthing as to observe whatever atrocities St. Clair had been accused of, and she headed East to find solution for her comatose friend. Once again, Artemis set forth to fight another battle alone. She had promised herself to a thousand crusades, if it meant preserving their liberties and freedom.

Entering the black-box: Artemis instantly noted a putrid smell of death that vaguely reminded her of Hades. The lingering taste of freshly exchanged body fluids suggested that anal rape was what had caused all the horrific screams, as the air felt stale and warm all at once. Artemis leaned over, and did a spot on impression of her baby-friend Roro, as vomit casually fell from her mouth silently, without a gag-reflex triggering it. Gross. Artemis found herself, only annoyed that vomit was lodged in her nasal cavity as she feebly wiped barf from the sharp edges of her mouth. She wiped her chin, and inspected the cells on each side of the hallway, all closed under lock and key. Tilting her head with confusion as she wondered why the boars had defiled their own reputations as they smeared blood all over the doors. Artemis leaned closer and scanned the perimeter for potential threats, as she fumbled into her quiver to retrieve a clear binding ribbon. The small adhesive strips, had given her the opportunity to preserve bloody fingerprints for later trial dates, against all the boars that had committed human rights violations. Artemis cracked her neck from side to side, as she cautiously walked down the hallway. She pulled her hand steady as she reached behind her back: ready to draw her bow and arrow at any moment. A disruption of clamoring upon metal bars erupted, as she wondered what types of wild beasts were being held in such inhuman conditions. She began to doubt herself, as she wasn’t quite sure how the action of being there could position her to further help her friend Mills. As she neared the end of the hallway, she turned about-face and saw a fat man...standing directly opposite of her at the end of the hallway. His pale and hairy belly sagged low, as she was too fat to tuck in his shirt. The man, comedically reminded Artemis of a very pregnant sow. The man shook his head at the woman in boredom, unintimidated by her larger than life stature. He lost interest immediately, as he unzipped his pants and left to enter a door that stood to his right. “Yeah…that’s not how this goes,’’ thought Artemis to herself in a monotone calmness. Taking off in a sprint, down the hallway as she raced the closing cell door. She desperately needed to save whoever the man-sow had taken hostage in that moment. She faced her fears head on, and prepared herself for death. Knowing her suffering would be worth it, if it meant she could preserve the life of just one individual, and further ensuring their freedom.

It bothered Artemis that the man had ignored her, but not as much as it bothered her to know that her speed would keep her from reaching the door in time before it closed. The overestimation of her own physical abilities, had resulted in her losing track of which cell door the boar had entered. Artemis didn’t have the luxury of being offended by sexism or those indifference to her female might. As she rushed down the hallway, in deep philosophical thoughts for no reason...her eye was attracted to the blood protruded from the meal slots. Their nails, being ripped out and stuck deeply carved into their cell doors. These poor people, were trying to escape from something that no human should endure. The epiphany of the gory scene, explained why Mills had sent her to the black-boxes to scout in the first place. She stopped for a moment, as she announced herself at last to her fellow criminals. Taking the base of her long-bow, and casted abruptly upon the concrete floor. She knew they couldn’t pass, but it had been her only option for demanding the attention of her fellow hardened warriors. She hit the floor in a slow rhythm as she sang sweetly, the cedar bow thumping the pavement, in a way that resembled a deep drum. She felt the curious, leaning against their doors: silent in their despair. Intrigued by her voice, having not heard a woman sing in a long time, and afraid that it was a trap set by the boars. Artemis sang her traditional songs to these men, as she walked along, and tried to find the door that housed the beast she had decided to slay. She stopped and asked that they return her calls with pride, as she returned to singing once more and tapping back on their doors as she wandered down the hallway. Artemis felt the trick reminded her of her teen years as a criminal: holding a pick to a stubborn lock, as she scavenged the black-box frantically. They began to increasingly tap back their compliance, and safe with the idea that she had come to their aid. They no longer needed to lie or suppress their demons, as Artemis was the only true demon in attendance. Artemis hoped to become their leader in command one day, feeling confident that these were the dead-eyed warriors that she had been searching to fight alongside. Their culture: crime. Their might was uncontainable, as each Diomedes warrior held twice the strength of a normal human. Artemis had finally grown to love this trait aboot herself, as used her past as a criminal to inspire the youth and display her individualistic freedom.

Artemis began to panic as her method of tapping was quickly overshadowed by the horrifying screams of a man being penetrated. His shrill cries, rang throughout the corridors of the black-box. The cursed cube, stood empty-yet-full at all times and surrounded by nothing for isolating purposes. Artemis didn’t have time to search, and ultimately resorting to her papa’s old tricks: demanding that the ugly man, show his face immediately...unless he was ready to admit that he was Artemis’s Bitch. As she began to curse the man...her warriors laughed feverishly under their breath. Now in attendance to a comedy hour. They listened intently as they heard the voice of the woman, move her set...from one with cheer songs of love and plight, to another filled with the yelling of profanity-riddled commentary. A voice from behind a door softly whispered through his food slot. He frantically snapped his lips as they pressed firmly against the slot, smeared with his own blood. He asked the Indigenous Warrior, what they were expected to call her and Artemis was more delighted by his earnest voice, as she could hear he was smiling as he spoke. She cracked her neck from side to side, as she informed the listening men...that her name was Tila on the battlefield. She used the time to rally their support as she recruited them as troops by simply explaining that Mills was in trouble, and that she had come to the cursed black-box to attempt to find a solution and break his comatose spell. The man was satisfied with this briefing, as he reached out his malnourished hand to shake the hand of his captain. She felt ashamed that her hand was plump and rosey, and his frail and bruised. Artemis shook his hand without hesitation, but paused to store the emotion away accordingly. The man began to cry, as he explained that he was imprisoned for a magical plant that was recently legalized. The man had paid for his dime slinging ways by being raped everyday and beaten by the officers that pretended to protect the citizens from criminals. She asked for his assistance in finding the door she was looking for, and felt his hand fall heavy. He had used his last breaths to introduce himself, as his heart gave out from starvation. The correctional system in work: as that the dead-eyed savages slept safely in their quiet suburbs as they exiled left for dead in black-boxes. Defending their moral standpoints on the basis of ignorance to the subject, and having convinced themselves that the system worked and would ensure their freedom.

Artemis gently laid the dead hand to rest, as she went back to her overwhelming task. Livid, in a strange all-consuming rage, that overshadowed anything that she had ever felt in her life. Artemis approached a suspicious door, violently shaking in delight, as her hand grazed the absorbent silver bar that sucked the last ounce of heat from her body. She took a deep breath, and in the quiet of her own doubts, Artemis heard soft chats cheering her on. Her men, had began chanting “Tila...Tila” in sync, as her insecurities in faded away and she finally pulled the cell door open with confidence. They had dispelled her daydream at the door, simply by calling her name. Artemis had become desensitized to the masses and their invasive flashing lights, as crippling fear no longer captured her imagination or discouraged her from setting foot onstage. She found herself petrified in a familiar feat once more, as the open door presented the horrors that she often ran away from. Standing inside of a familiar room: furnished with only a mattress and a flickering light above. These poor men had been living out her nightmare everyday, unaware that her memory had been the original sin that now trapped them in black-box. She stepped into the shallow room, as the boar continued to thrust his erect penis into the ass of a bound prisoner. The man strapped down and bent over, with a blindfold and gag, as he bled profusely from his raw rectum in shame. Artemis was too angry to be shocked, as she simply stood in the door and began instigating a fight with boar that was busy raping his prisoners. Artemis took her chance, as she finally lured him to charge her. She swept past the obese boar, and swiftly grabbed the naked man that he had been raping repeatedly. Slamming the cell close behind them as she moved away from the angered beast. She pulled the poor man into the corridor and removed his blindfold, as she cried uncontrollably on his behalf. Artemis continued untying the ropes that kept him bound. The same ropes, that had once restricted his hands from defending his own sexual freedom.

Artemis used this time to restore the dignity of the man she had finally managed to save. She handed him trousers quietly, and gave him medicine for his many lacerations. Artemis saw the boar burst into the hallways in a furry, as she glanced over her shoulder. She turned to kill the pig-man, and as she did, the man asked who she was. She half-heartedly said, “nobody”. Thinking that it wasn’t the proper time for humble-bragging. The beast charged at her without a second thought. Artemis saw a reflection cascade over this dome, as his soft spot leaned nearer. Artemis had a thing aboot stabbing, that made her appreciate anatomy in different light than most. She charged the boar, as it drew nearer..she placed her hand to her back once more. Her target chosen, just as quickly as she had retrieved her bow and arrow from its resting position. Instead of drawing her bow last minute...Artemis took her right hand, and grabbed a single arrow. Holding its tip tightly beneath her fist, as she used the arrow as a personal knife instead. She took a quickened step to the nearest wall, and encroached on her prey. The boar had finally taken the bait, as he drew too close for comfort. Artemis swiftly stepped from the floor, using one foot to step up the wall, as she threw her body into the air. She lunged, up and over the beast, until she could see past the rim of his bald head. She grabbed her arrow with both hands, and drove the obsidian tool, straight down upon the man’s head. She felt his knees buckle under her weight, as her arrow protruded out through his many chins. Killing the monster instantly. She kicked his corpse and called him a bitch one last time, as Artemis politely bent over, and finally retrieved her slender arrow from his split skull. “Eww gross” thought the woman, as she wiped goop from her handcrafted arrows. She looked up and saw the man she had assisted as he quietly observed her ritual of slaughter. The petite woman was a marvel to him, as she somehow held the moves of a giant skilled gladiator and the appearance of an aging hag. The strange woman had put her own life at risk in the pursuit of blind justice and freedom.

Artemis looked up with a shiver in sensing she was under surveillance, and saw the man observing her playing with the blood sitting in her hands. Deciding once and for all...that scalping the boar would be considered overkill since she had an audience. Criminals could always communicate with the locking of eyes, as their bouncing pupils danced magnanimously. They quickly became a pair of strategizing comrades, and strode down the hallway in a lockstep. Briskly walking towards the entrance of the black-box, until they were intercepted by some beastly bacon with a star badge. They were standing in the narrow path of the army of pig-men, as she moved into an open stride. Artemis was prepared to defend the men and women and all those that had lost their dignity at the expense of these bitter sows. She felt her eyes dart around the terrain, and her lip began to curl into a familiar snarl. She’d gladly scalp each and every one of these mother-fuckers with no remorse. Their lives, seen as a fair exchange for the lost funds of the city-state. they had squandered the wealth of land, in order to preserve their culture of false-patriotism. Artemis hadn’t the fucking time for this shit. The two had decided that it was time to free the men that now stood captive, as they had finally repented for their crimes. Artemis knew that many had been well versed in fine literature and law, as they had wisely exchanged their one book...for ten. Their demand for change was finally heard: found in degrees and activism, as their political voices were cursed to be muted indefinitely. The correctional facilities had bought and paid the senate. Ensuring that the Diomedes were forever enslaved and oppressed. Casting unlimited tethers to their black-boxes where their fellow inmates were still trapped: voiceless to the violence. They kept calling themselves criminals, as they were the Diomedes (the terrible) and often taught to forget love and hope. They had forgotten their personhood the second they traded it in for their freedom.

Artemis worked to catch her breath as they raced back down the hallway. She had been given the instructions once more, to jump up and over the pigs that lined the hallway. Her conspirator advised her to take to higher grounds once more, as he was preparing to release all the cell doors open at once to create a distraction. The man handed her small sterling silver clip, and told her that he had protected the family heirloom rectally. It was apparent that the shiny metal had been what had originally attracted his rapist, as pigs are obsessed with all things that shine. Artemis took the item and placed it in her quiver, as she assumed it could be used for something…someday. As the mass of pigs grew closer: the two said their farewells for the time being, letting their hands go at last. The pair had a plan and strategy. Whereas the swarm of ignorant pigs had none, as always. Artemis told the man he needed to bury all of those that had died and were left laying facedown to rot in their cells. The man nodded in silent agreement, as he now had a better understanding of both life, and those who live...dead. He reached across Artemis and pressed the button slowly, watching as all the cells softly clicked and viciously burst open all at once. Her men, now stood hesitant in their doorways. Skinny and bloody in their confusion from the endless abuse at St. Clair. Their eyes fell downward upon the dead pig-man who lay with his skull split open. The men now saw Artemis in all of her naked splendor, a fearless Tubman to follow to their freedom.

Her army now flooded into the hallway with an excited buzz. She began to call formations as they charged: instructing her men to run tightly packed into three lines, as they were to plow down the middle of the strike lane of pigs. They outnumbered them in sheer might, kicking the rows of dividing pigs into the cells they had once protected. They sprinted into battle as a well-formed platoon, and Tila was leading the charge. She watched from above, as they successfully clashed with the swine. They had cleared enough pathway for her to move past the crowd. She nudged through the bumping shoulders and yelling, as she loftily rolled out from behind the entrance door. She looked over her shoulder, and she saw the man she had assisted. His fierce face sticking out in the crowds. She had done all she that she could in the short time they had met, but Artemis knew their paths would cross again in the future. Artemis made it back to the bedside of Mills, and she saw he was still glossy-eyed and incoherently mumbling to himself. She sat next to the man and held his hand, as she cried for all those locked up in black-boxes that she had just escaped. As she cried in her desperation of not knowing what to do, she remembered the gift her new friend had given her. She retrieved it from her quiver and washed off the shame and feces that had once caked its surface. She placed it upon Mills, centering it on his broad chest. Artemis felt her hands shaking in anguish, as his chest continued to heave and his breath began hyperventilating. She needed this to work. The tears began to swell behind her eyes, just as the man woke up and groggily speaking to her softly. Artemis told Mills, how she had found his clues and built an army trying to get him to wake up. Weeping at his bedside, as he grinned to see her with doubt. He pointed out that she now had two-point-three million soldiers ready at her command, and admiring her ability to be Minty. Artemis had hoped she still held the support of the Indigenous Warriors, as their only stood two million left..that had survived the Genocide. Artemis heard drum beats and swelling orchestras in the distance, as she prepared for an epic battle in the near future. She awaited the day when the citizens came knocking on her door, asking for advice in dismantling the mechanical Boar that now openly threatened all of their freedom.

Next Chapter: *[ XXI ] Artemis and the Golden Apple*