So my school drama department just finished our run of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, except with a twist: the story is set in a dystopian future, and Caesar and the other Roman senators have super powers.

It was way fun to do the show this way (we didn't change any lines, just cut some), and I got to play Decius, one of the conspirators who stabs Caesar and to whom we gave the power of mind-reading (we also left the characters open to either gender, since there's literally two women in that play, so Caesar and Cassius were girls. So I guess we did change lines 'cause we changed pronouns). The fate of this character, along with another character named Casca (an awkward and outcast senator, also a girl in our version), is left ambiguous. It's assumed Decius and Casca get mobbed with the other conspirators after Antony's funeral speech, but I didn't like that, so I wrote this one-shot of the two of them making it out of Rome alive. It was really fun to write (and I'm going to be spamming my cast members with links to it), so I hope you enjoy it!

(I also tried my darndest to write Decius's lines in Shakespearean iambic pentameter, so hopefully that works out well.)

Context: Julius Caesar, the great Roman senator on her way to being a tyrant, has just been killed by a conspiracy of five Roman senators. During the fight, she broke Decius's wrist and deeply bruised Casca's jaw. Antony, one of Caesar's greatest allies, comes to the senators and asks if he could speak at Caesar's funeral. Much to conspiracy leader Cassius's annoyance, Brutus agrees. Decius, who knows of Antony's secret power to control the minds of the common people, flees at the soonest opportunity.

Decius Brutus clutched at her arm, her face contorted in pain, as she hurried down the street. She wove through the masses of people that surged around her towards the Capitol. She could see their thoughts, floating around their heads like hazy smoke, all containing words like Caesar, mutiny, and murder. The owners of the thoughts were following the winds of rumor, flocking to the place Decius so urgently was fleeing.

Caesar was dead. Their enterprise had been fulfilled. But Decius felt none of the pride or joy she imagined she would. She felt only pain, pain and. . . fear. It was hard to admit herself, but with her wrist throbbing­­ and useless—most likely broken—and her knowledge of Antony and his powers, she was afraid. Afraid of these very people among whom she walked. They could at any moment recognize her as one of Caesar's killers and mob her. Her uninjured hand gripped the dagger at her side. She would be powerless to stop them.

Which was why she must flee. Flee the city, before Antony could set the plebeians on her like hunting dogs.

She tried to force herself to act natural, tried to calm her legs into her usual stately walk. But it was to no avail. She was as jumpy as Casca! And just as useless, too, she thought with a grimace at her broken wrist.

"Decius!"

Decius whirled around, her heart pounding in her ears. Speak of the devil. Casca was running towards her, skirting around the plebeians, who hardly seemed to notice her.

Decius did not want to wait for Casca. She did not want to see any of the conspirators ever again. And yet some instinct told her that they might be safer together, no matter how useless Casca seemed. She had been the first one to attack Caesar.

"Decius," Casca said again when she caught up, the word breathless in her throat. Her hair was disheveled, her face displaying naked fear. A shiny purple bruise was beginning to form over her crooked jaw, courtesy of Caesar during the last fight of her life. Crazed thoughts darted around her head, some faster than Decius could read, all tinged with the red of pain and fear.

"I noticed you separate yourself from our band," Casca said once she had caught her breath. "Cassius did seem to notice as well, and looked suspiciously after you. Wither are you going?"

"Away," Decius replied. "Away from here, for Antony/ shall surely stir the common people up/ and they shall come a-chasing after us."

"You mean to flee after our great triumph?" Casca asked. Her face betrayed what she was thinking, before Decius even glanced at her thoughts: she did not feel the triumph either. No doubt Cassius had stolen it all and left none for the rest of them.

"I do not soon excuse myself to you," Decius replied, giving Casca her patented stare. It helped calm her thundering heart somewhat. "But I will not deny my intentions."

She turned and continued on her way. Casca followed.

Decius continued, not looking back at Casca, "I knew I must in hurry quit this place/ as soon as Brutus raised his voice against/ the death of Mark Antony, though Cassius/ with all her wit did rightly want his fall./ He will not let us live after our treachery."

"I did not think Antony as one to raise violence against us," Casca said nervously.

"Then you are slow of mind more than I thought," Decius snapped. "Did you not see his harrowing visage/ On entering and beholding Caesar?/ I cannot see direct into his thoughts/ Yet I can eas'ly mark a pretender/ Upon seeing only his flatt'ring face."

Casca did not respond to this. There was silence for a time, save for Casca's heavy breathing and Decius's occasional grunts of pain. She should be getting to a healer, to mend her arm before she left the city, yet there was no time, not now.

They reached Decius's house. She bounded up the steps and fumbled with her left hand to unlock it. Once the door was opened, she turned to Casca. "Surely thou hast supplies in thy own home/ ready to carry should you have to flee?"

Casca's face went blank in confusion. Her thoughts, which had been twirling frantically around her head, stopped moving as one large, slow thought traveled through them. She means a get-away bag. I've never even thought of having one of those.

Decius had her answer before Casca even spoke. "I have not need," she stammered, "of preliminary—"

"Oh, you did not, but now you surely do!" Decius replied. "And if you wish with me to safely leave,/ you must return here in five minutes hence/ with what goods you can salvage from your home/ and leave the rest behind."

Casca gulped but nodded.

"Why dost thou tarry here like a lump? Go!" Decius stepped into her house and slammed the door in Casca's face.

Ten minutes later, Decius and Casca had come back together and were making their way down the streets, which were now mostly empty as the crowds surrounded the Senate-house. Decius's arm was in a make-shift sling, and her pack containing the most important of her belongings hung from her left shoulder.

Casca hurried to keep up with Decius's long strides. "Dost not the funeral for Caesar soon begin?" she asked nervously.

"Yes," Decius replied. "We must have wings on our feet indeed/ if this cursed city we are to safely leave./ But first I must receive care for my arm/ lest us I be unable to defend."

"I know a healer—"

"I have a nurse in confidence yonder," Decius said shortly. Any healer Casca knew would likely betray them in an instant.

Casca fell silent as she realized this as well. Her thoughts were no longer as frantic as before; now they floated about her head like a wandering shoal of fish. Decius did not waste time reading them.

They reached the healer's hut in the slums of the city, and Decius prayed he was here and not at the Capitol like the rest of the sheep going to mourn Caesar. With her good arm, she rapped on the wooden post on the side of the door.

The door swung open with a squeal of hinges. A young apprentice boy stared up at Decius, his eyes taking in her blood-stained but elegant robes. Green-tinted thoughts of awe at seeing a patrician circled around his head.

"Is Albinus here?" Decius asked imperiously.

"Y-yes, my lady," the boy stammered. "I shall fetch him hither."

"We have not the time," Decius replied. "We shall follow you." She stepped across the threshold, almost stepping on the apprentice boy as he moved out of the way.

"Of course, m-my lady. He is back this way."

Decius and Casca followed the boy into the small hut. Fumes of incense hung from the low rafters, giving the halls a misted look. Sound did not seem to travel so much as form an aura around one's head. Decius quickly noticed Casca's loud breaths in her ear.

They soon emerged in a small room with pillows and bedrolls strewn on the floor. A solitary man knelt over a low table, mixing herbs in a crucible. He looked up at Decius in surprise.

"Decius Brutus," he said. "I had heard of course/ of a murderous plot against Caesar./ I should have foreseen your close involvement."

"I am injured," Decius said simply, "and in need of your skill."

"Of course." Albinius bowed his head in respect. The grey of his working uniform was dull against the more colorful adornments of the room. "Sabinus," he said to his apprentice, "go now and ensure/ no man shall enter this establishment."

A thought, purple with worry and confusion, flitted above the boy's head. "Yes, my lord," he said, bowing clumsily and hurrying from the room.

"Sit thyself down here, Decius Brutus," Albinius instructed his patient, gesturing to a pillow next to him. Decius left Casca in the doorway and crossed the room, lowering herself down with a wince. Though her wrist was the greatest source of her pain, she could feel bruises forming across her entire body from when Caesar had thrown her to the ground.

Albinius frowned, his eyes flicking between Decius and Casca. "Dost not thy friend of injury suffer?"

Decius had forgotten about Casca's crooked jaw. "Yes," she said impatiently, "she will need healing as well as I./ With haste, man, else we be found by the mobs."

"Are there mobs?" Albinius asked politely. He gestured for Casca to sit down as well and then gently took Decius's arm, easing it out of the sling.

"There shall be," Decius snapped. She knew she was hostile because of her fear, because of her pain. This knowledge, however, made her no less hostile.

Albinius quieted her down, and then began to work on her arm, smearing it with paste and running his spindly fingers up and down her skin. His touch was light but firm, not causing pain but keeping the joint still. Decius could feel his power running from his fingertips into her skin, burrowing down to her bones and reknitting the broken fragments. Healing was one of the few powers found among the plebeian class; they were valued in their trade and on the battlefield, but they rarely rose to any sort of power.

The healing soothed away Decius's pain for the first few minutes, but soon a new ache arose. Decius gritted her teeth against it, forcing herself to stay still. It burned her skin and stung at her muscles, quickly growing more intense than the original pain.

"It's alright," Albinius murmured. "It shall pass. Stay you silent."

"Shut up," Decius growled, because she couldn't be bothered to follow iambic pentameter in this state.

Albinius was right, however, and the pain soon faded away, leaving a blissful absence of feeling. The healer wiped away the salve and probed at Decius's wrist one last time. "Be careful with it for the next small while," he instructed. "I believe it shall be fine in time come."

"Thank you," Decius said courteously, feeling her composure return now that the pain was gone.

"Now you, my dear one," Albinius said, extending a hand to Casca. Decius got to her feet and moved to the edge of the room while Casca took her place in front of the healer.

Though Decius was immensely calmed, her wrist no longer causing her pain and even her bruises seeming subdued, she still felt a simmer of apprehension in her stomach. "The funeral must have by now begun," she said, tapping her fingers against the wall behind her. "Soon Antony will stir the people up/ against us, noble Caesar's murderers."

Albinius glanced up from where his deft fingers worked at Casca's chin. "I'm sure there is some time," he replied. "Be still, my friend," he said to Casca as she squirmed beneath his touch.

Decius was not so sure. She soon found herself pacing a small stretch of floor free of pillows. Surely her own healing had not taken as long as this? Maybe she should simply leave, and let Casca alone to her own devices. If they did not get out of the city soon—

"There," Albinius said, "good as new."

Casca got to her feet, and Decius saw with satisfaction that her bruise was gone and jaw straight.

"I wish you well, my friends," Albinius said, reaching across the small room to shake Decius's hand.

"Thank you, Albinius," Decius replied, "for your troubles./ We shall swiftly leave you and yours in peace./ Come now, Casca, the funeral speeches/ for Caesar may already've concluded."

Albinius bowed to them as they left. Decius dropped payment into the hand of his apprentice as they left.

As soon as they had passed out of the hut into the open air, Decius breathed a sigh of relief. The streets were still empty. Antony had not yet formed his mob.

"Where now, Decius?" Casca asked, shrugging her pack over her shoulder.

Decius did not reply, but instead started down the street, leaving Casca to follow. They no longer had time for conversation. They were a few long streets away from the edge of the city. Decius put her back to the Capitol as she fled the city, Casca at her heels. The plebeians could not cross the border that gave way only to those with powers. If they could get past the force-field, they would be safe.

There was a shout in the distance.

Casca jumped and clung onto Decius's sleeve. Decius twisted away from her.

"They come," Casca whispered. "They come to tear us nigh apart."

"Then on," Decius replied, "before they can encircle us."

Casca nodded. The frantic pace of her thoughts was beginning to return. Decius continued on.

The shouts of the mob continued as well, and Decius heard Casca begin to whimper from behind. Decius refused to be discouraged. They could make it. They were almost there. They could—

Thundering feet from behind.

"Fly! Fly!" Decius shouted. It was an unnecessary instruction: Casca had already doubled her speed. The two conspirators tore down the cobbled streets, hearing the mob advance on them from behind.

"There they are!"

"Tear 'em! Tear the murderers!"

"Catch 'em! Do not let them leave the city!"

Casca cried out and grabbed for Decius's hand. Decius did not have the time to pull it away, and so the two ran together, Casca clinging onto Decius and Decius pulling her along behind.

The border was a mere few yards away, shimmering a pale pink against the colors of the wilderness beyond. Decius willed her feet to carry her through its veil, to safety.

Casca screamed behind her.

Decius whirled around just as Casca's hand slipped out from her own. A mob-woman, dirt and sweat streaked across her snarling face, had a firm grasp on Casca's arm and was pulling her back into the crowd.

Decius didn't hesitate: she turned and bounded away from the mob, taking the last few steps necessary before plunging beyond the force-field.

"Decius! Decius, help me!"

Casca's pitiful cries trailed after her. Decius turned around, the force field casting everything in a pink light, and watched as Casca fought against the countless hands that grabbed at her. Her face was streaked with tears, her thoughts with fear. And as Decius watched, safe from the crowd, she saw one thought hanging over Casca's head, misty as rain.

I thought she was my friend.

Decius put a hand on the dagger at her side.

I cannot believe I am doing this.

Then, with a scream of rage, she jumped back through the force-field and descended on the crowd.

The mob eagerly awaited her with outstretched arms, but fell back as soon as Decius started slashing at them with her dagger. She may not have powers suited for combat, but one did not become a Roman senator without knowing how to fight. Decius whirled and slashed and lunged, and the impromptu mob of unskilled workers gave way before her.

After nearly getting killed by Caesar, cutting through these commoners as if they were fly-paper felt surprisingly therapeutic.

Decius kicked at the mob-woman who was holding Casca, and she doubled over and let go of the conspirator. Casca fell into Decius, her tears landing on Decius's shoulder. Decius pushed her away. "Fight," she commanded.

It took Casca a second to grab her dagger, but she clung to it like a lifeline.

"Back to the force-field," Decius said, slashing at the chest of a mob-man.

"Y-yes."

Together, the two senators retreated to the force-field, defending themselves against the mob of plebeians bent on destroying them.

Decius got to it first. She stepped back behind it after landing a final blow on someone's shoulder. She threw her dagger to the ground, then reached out, grabbed Casca's arm with two hands, and pulled.

Casca fell back through the force-field, bringing a mob-man with her. He hit the border face-first, screaming as it burned his skin. His fellow plebeians pulled them back, and he moved away, clutching at his face.

And then they were safe.

Decius watched the line of commoners that stared at her through the barrier. They quivered with rage, but didn't reach out for the senators. They knew what would happen if they touched the force-field.

"Come," Decius said to Casca through labored breaths.

The two turned slowly away from the mob and started down the road that led away from the city.

They walked in silence for a while, save for their heavy breaths, Casca checking over their shoulder every few steps to ensure no plebeians had somehow made it past the force-field. Decius sheathed her dagger and calmed her breathing, pretending she was on a leisurely stroll.

Once their breathing was quiet and the force-field was out of sight, Casca let out a choked sob and threw her arms around Decius.

"Thank you," she cried, hugging Decius tightly. "You saved my life."

Decius stood awkwardly, not knowing how to react but not wanting to shove Casca off. So she endured Casca's clinging hands and sweaty fingers, taking it like a tree. Eventually, Casca moved away, wiping tears off her face and smiling up at Decius.

"Knew I would not regret following you," she said.

Decius didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. She continued walking. "I have a safe-house down the road yonder," she said. "There we can stay for some time while we wait."

"Wait for what, Decius?" Casca asked.

"For the great war to end," Decius said.

And so, side-by-side, the conspirators walked down the road. They were bloody, sweaty, and tattered, but if there had been an observer in the fields of long, wavy grass surrounding the barren road, they would not have been able to miss the spring in their step as they walked together to freedom.