Saturday, June 26, 2010

Ann Onymous, pt. 3, 407 words

“Shit!”

Something whirred close by overhead. Ann ducked in reflex as she ran – and drew to a hard stop as an entire landing from the fire escape crashed into the rooftop before her, the iron twisting and breaking with the impact. Ann threw another look over her shoulder, and saw the huge figure hauling more of the fire escape up and snapping off pieces of the old iron. A chunk of railing went flying, and Ann barely dove out of the way in time.

One hand ducked into a coat pocket, producing another little toy. Ann popped a switch and let fly before turning away and shielding her ears.

The flashbang went off with a piercing concussion, and the lenses of Ann's goggles polarized briefly against the sudden flare. She kept moving, and toy number three came out of yet another pocket. At the roof's edge, she slapped a palm-sized metal disc against the rooftop. An explosive bolt went off. A thin cable unwound steadily as she took one end and slipped over the edge, rappelling down the side of the building.

Dropping the last ten feet, Ann landed at a run. Other pedestrians barely noticed her until she was past, bowling them over in her wake. More and rougher debris crunched underfoot here at ground level, but she ignored it. Her feet could hurt after she got away from the... the thing chasing her.

God damn it, it should have been a routine night. How did they even know where she was going to hit? But they had, and this thing had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for her. It had been well-armed with several firearms and a full dozen knives, but had spent its ammunition wastefully and flung the knives from an absurd distance before closing. As if it had wanted to get the distance out of the way and tear into Ann with its bare hands.

Ann chanced a look back, quickly scanning the rooftops. Nothing unusual, no strange shadows crouched overlooking the street. The figure was nowhere in sight. Right. Time to get lost.

One of her stashes of normal clothing was nearby. She could drop off the camo coat and contraband hardware, walk out in boots and a jacket like any normal person, with nothing on her to show that she was anything but another wage-slave out to pick up a late dinner on the way home from work.

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