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Just Another Run (Literally)

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RelentlessImp

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« on: (21:30:46/07-14-13) »
Csilla ran over the details of the meet again through the link in his goggles, checking and double-checking the information, simultaneously tapping in addresses and planning his route between the gated community and the meet point. It was a simple enough job; Point A to Point B, through unfamiliar - and dangerous - territory. He'd mapped out most of the area of Bellevue, through experience and reviewing recorded footage of his parkour; getting to the meet point wouldn't be an issue. Getting through Redmond, however...

Down, Cat whispered in his ear. The dwarf slid down immediately at that feline voice hissing inside his mind, depositing his body further behind the well-manicured bush. The urban explorer suit clung tightly to his slim frame, creaking softly against his flesh in the night, the black latex whispering its stress. The moon glittered low in the sky, rising towards its azuth, casting the garden even further into shadow; but had it not been for the dark suit, the large bush and his small frame, the CorpSec guard policing the grounds of the community would have seen him as a maglight flashed in his direction. The CorpSec, a knife-ear in armored bodysuit, frowned and peered towards the bush the dwarf was concealed within. Shaking his head, he turned away, muttering to himself. "Thought I saw something... these night shifts are really fragging me off."

Csilla waited until the sounds of the CorpSec goon faded and all that was left were the sounds of the night; engines humming along streets beyond, the faint noises of chittering insects, the steady thump-thump-thump of... Csilla's cheeks reddened as he looked up at the building behind him, noting the light gleaming through the solid window. Well, at least that detail having gone unnoticed wouldn't frag him; the inhabitants were far too busy. He knew them; knew everyone in the community, and they knew him. Had they opened that window and looked out, the crimson-and-blonde hair would have been a dead giveaway. Better to move while they were preoccupied. Pulling the gloves on, tightening their wrist-straps, drawing the form-fitting armored hood over his head and resecuring his goggles over the opening for his eyes. A quick look to make sure the coast was clear; then out from the bush, leaping to the wall, over the fence, trusting in Kane's hacking skills to have disabled the sensors over this miniscule bit of gate.

His feet hit the ground on the other side of the wall, and he was off, a map on the corner of his goggles showing his location and that of the meet. Full speed, no hesitation; all care melted away in the burn of muscle, the heat of breath blowing back against his cheeks from the hood, the city blurring around him as his vision tunneled to what was just before him, his thoughts only on clearing this obstacle then looking for the next. Csilla was left behind, the good Corporate dwarf child; Paws-in-Shadows moved over, through, or under all in his path, lost in the night, Cat whispering in his ear.

*

A bullet sparked off the dilapadated building in front of him; his limbs ached, his lungs burning for air as he skidded, faceplanting against the building's side, hands up at shoulder-height to keep his weight from carrying him into it. Twisting, back against the wall, glancing down the alley; and in the edge of his vision, the ork gangers who wanted him. Well, not him; the package dangling from his belt, secured with four nylon straps surrounding its oblong edges, bouncing against his thigh. He should never have tried to go through at the ground level; better to be late than to be shot. Pushing from the wall, he darted down the alley, leaping towards the chainlink fence at the end; small fingers caught the top, booted feet hooked into the holes in the links, propelling him over. Hitting the ground running, he scrolled the map, looking for ways out, but the Redmonds were perhaps the worst-mapped part of the city. All up to his senses now.

There; the sound of chainlink shattering, the roar of an engine behind him, automatic fire sparking across the buildings surrounding him. One round caught him in the back of the hip, but the armor plating of the jumpsuit kept it from doing anything other than bruising. The Roadmaster behind had a massive ork that looked closer to a Troll on the reinforced mount, belt-fed heavy machine gun spitting bullets. But Paws had his out; parking garage, there on the left. He faked two steps to the right, heard the whine of the machine gun change as its angle went to cut him off, and then bolted left, leaping atop a junked car roof, then onto the stone wall surrounding the garage. Momentum carrying him forward, pushing off the wall, leaping as hard as he could from the wall. His chest impacted the side of the garage, his arms scrabbling for purchase on the concrete floor. Too smooth; drek! Then his fingers caught a chain, and his other hand came to brace. Bullets bit into concrete as the Roadmaster came to a halt; he was a dangling target. Another bullet caught in the armored plating of the jumpsuit as he twisted the weight of his lower body up, bringing his stunted legs up and over.

Go, go, go, Cat whispered as he came onto his feet and more bullets ate at concrete, dust falling around him. Laying a hand on the package to keep it from bouncing as he took off, the angle of the building cutting off the machine gun. Racing for the ramp down; perhaps he could find a way out at ground level. Barking automatics as he reached the top of the ramp forced him to reevaluate that decision as bullets whizzed around him. Leaping across the gap between ramp and floor, cutting off the gangers below, landing in a roll and flipping onto his fee and racing for the ramp across the way.

I need a wall! he screamed in his mind; the Spirit responded an acknowledgment, materializing to cover his tracks. It took the form of a glowing GridGuide agent, feminine in form but lacking defining features, a double yellow line down the center, its arms and legs dotted with white lines. The spirit opened its mouth; a prerecorded message escaped. "This road has been closed. We apologize for any inconvenience," it stated as the gangers raced up the ramp after the dwarf. Hands extended, becoming giant red STOP signs, as the parking garage shuddered; the ramp shattered beneath the gangers, and the roof above fell inwards. Gangers collapsed in a shower of concrete and dust, some half-buried, others rolling clear of the wreckage.

Thank you, Paws whispered to the spirit, who returned the sentiment in the form of another prerecorded message. You have two points remaining on your license. Thank you for using GridGuide, your Guide through the city. The dwarf's feet were on the ramp; collapsing the path wouldn't stop the gangers for very long. The moon was high up in the sky; he'd be a black blot against its pregnant form, easily traceable through the air. No choice but rooftop now, though. Up a ramp, across the parking lot, up the ramp, across, up. Then he was on the roof of the garage, and he did a quick double-check on direction before taking off across the roof.

Leap, roll, twist; from one roof to another, across, leaping across broken central air units or sliding beneath ducts, leaping from the roof and landing in a roll on another. He heard the gangers shouting, the Roadmaster below, easily keeping pace; they took potshots with the mounted machine gun, their AK-97s, their pistols as he leaped between roofs and they were afforded clean shots. Those were the moments he feared the most; the impact of a bullet could alter his flight, and he was barely clearing the rooftops as it was. But there it was, just ahead; darkness gave way to bright lights. The border to Snohomish, where CorpSec would watch him die, and Knight Errant would pepper the goons to keep them in the Barrens. Just four roofs left... three... two... his lungs were screaming, wanted more than the steady, even breaths he kept pumping in and out of them. His arms and legs were aching, straining with exertion. One more roof. There it was just below, the border!

He pushed from the roof, sailed through the air; a three-round burst caught him in the midsection, spun him rapidly to the right. What a sight; a dwarf in a jumpsuit in an uncontrolled pirouette through the air. He felt cold night air through the jumpsuit; one of the bullets had penetrated, but only just, leaving a deep bruise in his abdomen. He hit the roof on his side, groaned; the package was on the other hip, at least. But he kept rolling, too much momentum and not a hard enough stop. Curling into a ball, rolling side over side, protecting the package with his core. And then there was no more roof; free fall, the swooping sensation in his stomach telling him the landing wasn't going to be pretty. The ground rushed up; his back met it, his head bouncing, protected by the armored hood so his brains stayed inside his skull. Dazed eyes looked up; he heard startled gasps, saw familiar faces of wageslaves on a night out, flashing lights blurring his vision further. A large ork above him, lips moving; he couldn't make out what he was saying. A hand reached for him; he swatted it away, or tried to, his arms failing him as he no longer had an understanding of up and down. A gun came off the ork's hip, pointed down at him; he recognized the expression on the ork's face. He lay there as the massive ork hefted him up, led him into the foyer of the club, stuffed him into a security room and closed the door. The thumping bass of the music within married the thumping in his head from hitting the ground.

"Just a little nap," he muttered from behind his helmet; or he thought he did, thought he felt his lips move. Then he knew no more for at least an hour.
Next time you're down on your knees, and you're expecting a slap, it might be me in that mask, and I just might have a bat.
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Deepeyes

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« Reply #1 on: (16:23:50/06-08-15) »
Edge of your seat, just like I like it! :) More?