"She Dreamt of Wild Horses" and the general overall concept of "She Dreamt of Wild Horses" is completely copyright Orin Drake 2004. "Shin-Ra", "SOLDIER", "Midgar" and a certain "deity figure" are copyright Squaresoft, from Final Fantasy 7. As if you couldn't tell.
Background: This is actually a transcribed dream I had. But I blame that much on an obsession with Final Fantasy 7, and a conversation with my boss at about the futility of trying to run away. Granted that's not quite what I actually get out of this ending, myself, but... it was what inspired this, I'm pretty sure. Not sure where it's from or where it's going, but it's out there for your consumption now.

She Dreamt of Wild Horses
by Orin Drake

"Fucking Shin-Ra." She remarked right before the bend that lead to the tiny windowless "cafeteria".
One of the more science-minded techs she'd recently met and decided she wasn't at all interested in, let out a none-too-mild gasp right behind her. "You better be more careful about what you say around here." He suggested, slowing down to get more space between them.
She hardly noticed the reaction, not stopping her from speaking mostly to herself. "How should I be expected to repair a whole block of engine hoses with piece of shit tools, huh?" Had she expected an answer, she'd have gotten nothing but dead air-the guy had taken off into another hallway, unwilling to be so much as caught in a conversation with her.
In reality, she couldn't help but laugh about that one. A mere eight months ago, she was making friends left and right, throwing out jokes and being an overall pleasant person. But that was eight months ago.

It was "stew". Again. Still. An endless cycle of "stews" that ironically resembled a cross between soup and chalk powder. But it was "beef flavored", at least. Uck.
She sat in the back corner, as usual. It had been her rightful place ever since the others had decided to more or less stop talking to her. Sure there would be a group once in a while who sat with her, but conversation was kept at a bare and basic minimum. For good reason. The last conversation she'd had around the lunch table had gone sour very quickly.
"Why complain?" one of the helicopter techs had asked her. "You're stuck with the rest of us."
"No, see, I'm not." She'd responded without the usual politeness she had once felt compelled to grant to everyone. "At least, not quite. At least I realize what a sham this shit is."
Yeah. That hadn't gone over well. Nor had it been the last time she'd suggested similar notions. Partly, it was just to keep people that she felt either completely blind or absolutely stupid from talking to her. But also, she was trying desperately to plant the seeds of understanding and questioning without causing too much attention to be thrown her way... Or, that had been the initial plan anyway.
And as if her thoughts could raise demons, it seemed like the shit was about to hit the proverbial giant industrial seven-speed fan. Her "boss", a wide and not at all graceful man of five feet and a good two-fifty pounds, approached her. "I need to speak with you outside." He announced, leaning down just closely enough to smell something dully alcoholic on his otherwise "stew"-laced breath.
She complied, leaving the bowl of chalky-soup substance, spoon and all. Not like she was ever hungry anymore, anyway. She followed the wobbling man out and into another turn of hallway, stopping right outside of the kitchen pantry.
As usual, he didn't bother with niceties. "I've heard that you have been making some very disastrous remarks regarding your employer."
Good old Blowhard Gilarde. Jackass couldn't see two inches in front of his face to any bigger picture-let alone the gaul he had to call her kidnappers "employers". "I'm not an employee by will, Sir." She simplified monotone.
"Your attitude could certainly suffer some adjustment, Tech."
Ugh, "Tech", she kept to herself. It was easier than learning their names, and yet so much more humiliating than an actual military title. "A stint on a desert island in paradise would do nicely, Sir."
His face turned from unpleasant but self-assured in his mockery, to a terribly ugly mass of reddened aggravation. "Perhaps it's time you proved yourself worthy of being here in the first place."
Yeah, that's all I want to do. Spend more time in this shithole. Regardless of her thoughts ringing almost loudly enough to have been spoken, she waited.
"First thing in the morning, you are going to work in eighteen hour shifts." While his face was still red, that terrible stomach churning look of self-assurance bled back in pretty quickly. "Clear, Tech?"
"Tomorrow's my day off, Sir." She announced steadily.
"No it's not." All anger had disappeared, only satisfaction showing through. "You have no more days off."
"Yes Sir." She responded, sounding bored. What, like any of this was that much different than being told her workday was twelve hours, then getting roped into overtime? Not to mention her "days off" feeling even more horrible, as she had nothing to do in that barren closet of an apartment...
"You will take a cot in the dry food storeroom and call it home. Are we clear?" Gilarde huffed.
"As a summer rain anywhere but Midgar, Sir." She responded without missing a beat. He actually thought any of that would ruffle her? Please. Moron.

At least she could wander outside. If it could even be called "outside". The stench of the air and the general lack of anything having fed off of nonexistent sunshine made it seem like a wide open garage with a cloudy painted ceiling of some sort. Even over the impossibly high fences (Just a modified prison yard, she had come to realize), corporate and industrial wasteland appeared just outside.
And this was not a place she wanted to be. How any of the others could even sleep at night was completely beyond her. Sounds of destruction-mechanical, crumbling due to the passage of time, and simply of the more human sort-would creep through the air ducts to the inside. They not only served to keep her awake, but to remind her. She could not die there. And she could sure as hell not stay there. Damned to the farthest reaches of a real and actual hell just because she was an expert at fixing vehicles.
Is that what Shin-Ra was really all about? Yeah, she knew a lot of the kids that wandered in were acquired and trained for SOLDIER's battle purposes... but the engineers and mechanically-minded, like herself, must all be stolen. Certainly never to be heard from again. And then, such a huge, all consuming corporation couldn't afford dissension in its ranks, even in the lowest squalor... nor could it afford engineers that knew the inner workings existing on the outside.
A smirk ran painfully across her face at that last understanding. She wondered vaguely if the Turks were sent in to do the dirty work, or if higher officers had more fun. She knew Gilarde would have one hell of a good time slicing her to bits. Though he was probably just the kind of perv that got off on dead girls.
She hadn't exactly been asked to offer her skills to Shin-Ra, let alone to live at the edge of the SOLDIER barracks. She'd merely been accosted as she came home from a day at work. It was like all the movies; pulled into an unmarked van by a bunch of suit-wearing, gun-pointing maniacs. They said they were from the government... and she didn't understand then just how right they were. Shin-Ra controlled all.
But why the hell didn't the others understand that? They'd been "borrowed" in similar ways from what she could get out of them. They'd been told that what they did was important and necessary for something very big, very special, and very necessary. She couldn't have been the only one that recognized the bullshit. A little late, granted, but... only a little.
See, she'd been promised that she would only be needed for three months. And that date was up five months ago. It was like that with most of the techs she'd bothered to talk to in the beginning. Eight months... of working... of dirty air, of no sunshine, of no communication with the outside world at all. Of "stew".
This... pissed her off. In ways she could never even so much as explain. But... she was already in trouble, right? What's one more stand for freedom?

Approaching the cafeteria again, she couldn't have said she was nervous. Nor excited, nor feeling anything all that terribly strongly. It was a sense of calm, really. Of knowing. And when all eyes turned to her, the place absolutely full of techs with no Gilarde in sight, a smile actually roamed freely over her features.
"We are never getting out of here!" she yelled, gaining a nice ringing echo off the walls. "You have all got to realize, that we are never getting out of here! We were promised home five months ago."
The rest stared at her, looking uncomfortable... but not with the news. No, they still didn't believe her. They just thought she was a raving lunatic. Well, let 'em. All the more satisfying when they found out that she was right. She threw her hands up in the air and excused herself. Fine, whatever, fuck 'em.

The rest of the day was spent at arms length of everyone. She did her job and she did it well, even with the most rusted and unimaginably antique tools she had at her fingertips. Engines fixed, gauges reattached, axles replaced-yeah, she did that. She did all of that, not bothering to take off for dinner. What the hell was the point? It'd only be a slightly different colored or flavored stew, anyway. Next time a pigeon landed inside the yard, she made a note to apologize... then snatch the poor thing up and cook it herself.
Didn't matter. She wasn't hungry, and even as her eighteen hours wound to a close, she wasn't tired. The lack of anything but bright industrial lights did succeed in making her dizzy after a while, though, so she finally ran out of tasks enough to make her head back to her "new room". Oh joy. She got to do it all again the next day. After having woken from a military cot. Not like that was any worse than the "mattress" in her (seemingly former) apartment, she supposed. At least she'd be able to wander around the dry food storage and try to figure out what the hell went into that "stew".

She dreamt of wild horses, though she'd never seen one. Not a real one, anyway. There were drawings, paintings and television, "back in the day". Ah, yes. So long ago. She knew what was going on in the world. She watched nature shows and stupid reality TV. She didn't have to worry about Shin-Ra, because it wasn't so close to home back then.
And she dreamt of wild horses.

Was that-?
An alarm! Undeniable! Fuck the details-she darted out of the food store and toward the closest exit at full force, knowing it would probably hurt but not minding a shattered shoulder under the circumstances.
To her shock (and continuously moving, momentum-heavy self), she found the door not to be bared at all. It wasn't wide open or anything, but just a shove would have done fine. Ah well. A quick forward tumble, a curl, rolling back into a standing position, and she was running into the early morning like an excited child. Running like there was nothing behind her and everything ahead of her. She would jump that fence. She would fucking jump that fence, razor wire and all, not caring if she lost too many digits to ever be a mechanic again. Freedom! Escape!
-And then she skidded to a stop, the scene in front of her a little too heavy to hit her all at once. Blood. An awful lot of blood. Body parts... dozens and dozens of them... those were arms, there... and someone's detached leg... and so much blood... young soldiers sliced apart... slumped in piles next to their weapons, some of the guns still attached to disembodied hands...
And in the middle of them, standing with his back to her, was some kind of... deity figure. Certainly it couldn't be a man to have done this... the hair shone silver, too bright and too pure to belong to anything mortal. He turned, this demonic angel of death, dressed in black with the palest of flesh-and the most horrifying of eyes. As he gazed at her, he sheathed his weapon slowly. It was almost as if he recognized her... or at least something about her called out him as familiar.
Moving toward her seemingly paralyzed form, he spoke very quietly. "There is no escape." He confirmed, his voice calm... but his lips had trembled ever so slightly. Those eyes, though... they were hollows, looking directly into the city itself... into hell...
"I could kill them all, here..." he continued, slowly drawing his hand across the visage of the compound. "And there would still be more to come. I can survive them." Those glowing eyes turned back to her, taking in every minuscule reaction. "But they won't let you go. They'll never let anyone go."
Her legs felt liquid underneath her, and she landed gracelessly on her knees in front of him-her pants immediately began to soak up the spreading blood, a chunk of still warm, unrecognized flesh pressing against her thigh. He was right. Oh, nonexistent gods, he was right. She could never escape, she could never go home... and they'd only spend so much time trying to brainwash her before they'd find a good political reason to kill her in an open forum. As a traitor. As a danger to Shin-Ra and all of its many hidden arms. They'd find a way to twist her into their own martyr, and she only saw that now through looking into his eyes...
The man was swayed ever so slightly by her emotion. Yes, she understood. "Do you want me to kill you? To save you from this?"
Only eight months ago she'd have fought tooth and claw for what mundane but happy life she'd had. But now... "Yes." She sobbed, no more fight and no more fear left in her. "Please, Sir."
He smiled down at her like a gentle and giving saint, extending a cupped hand to carefully grasp her chin. "It will be quick." He promised, knowing others would not be so lucky. But she had nothing to do with that. No, she was just trying to escape back to the Planet she'd come from. He would help her in that while he could still afford sympathy. If only someone had done it for him when he'd asked...
Those beautiful, awful emerald eyes held her attention, hypnotizing in her last moments. The grip on her chin suddenly tightened as he tore it to one side. The grinding snap was her last sensation, and the great sword's presence through her throat was merely to make certain she was dead.