Scout sat on the curb, tying his shoes. He pulled the laces as hard as he could, feeling the vice grip clamp on to his feet, just the way that he liked it. Standing up, Scout surveyed his path. He looked down the dark alleyway, noting the ledges and fire escapes that dotted the walls of this dark, dirty alley. This was his brother's favorite run. Picking up his baseball cap off his head, Scout brushed his brown hair back before placing it back on. He smoothed out his t-shirt, adjusted his dog tags, and dusted off his short brown pants. Hand-me-downs suck, seriously. Pulling his socks nice and tight, Scout got ready to do his favorite thing. Run.
Crouching down, he touched the ground with the fingers and shook his chest, feeling the bag on his back shift in its place. "Hurmph," Scout grunted, and made a mental note that he would have to tighten it. His bag, thin and long, was perfect for stowing his metallic baseball bat in it. It came up around his left shoulder, across his right hip, and its one strap clicked together near his sternum. Behind Scout, the world kept moving. Scout closed his eyes and listened. A car stopping, feet hitting concrete, guns cocking with a sharp, resonating sound. It was time to go.
Shooting forward, Scout lunged for the nearest fire escape's ladder and yanked himself up. He shot up the stairs, the metal clanging as his feet slammed against it, nothing more than a blur with dog tags streaming behind it. He stopped, limited by the height of the fire escape. Scout got his bearings, realizing that he had reached only about a third up the alleyway walls. He was scared, he was confused, he didn't know why someone would pull a gun on him. All that Scout knew was that he would need to get inside the building and hide, fast. And if there's any one thing to be said about Scout, it's that he's fast. Extremely fast.
Turning around and facing the window, Scout pulled his baseball bat out of his bag and bashed in the window in front of him, and then pulled aside the blinds and looked inside. Cool air rushed out as the air conditioning in the building did its job. Inside, two men with black suits stood facing him, with guns pointed. Scout need to move. Quick.
Making sure he had a firm grip on the cold metal, Scout turned around and launched himself at the fire escape across the alleyway as bullets shot through the window. Scout felt his bag shift as he flipped in the air, and knew that it would fall off. Seriously, this sucks, Scout thought as he spun around in the air and grabbed hold of his bag as it slipped off his shoulder. Then Scout slammed into the fire escape, and he knew he needed to move.
Slipping his bag back around his shoulder and pulling it tight, Scout moved up the fire escape, hearing bullets plunge into the brick wall where he had been only moments before. Scout needed to get inside. The highest window he came to he would have to jump in.
Scout noticed that the fire escape he climbed up seemed attached to an office building, and that he was reaching the top was too fast. Scout looked down and saw that he was high up; the men in the alleyway below him were quite small. Scout took this time to analyze the men and see if he could figure out where they had come from.
They wore very peculiar uniforms: black, three piece suits, and enormous sunglasses that concealed their eyes. They might have been CIA or FBI, except the last time Scout had done something worthy of this much attention was before his brother had left, exactly one year ago today. They spotted Scout and raised their guns. Scout moved.
Scout wondered in the back of his mind what they were after. This seemed just like the time Scout's older brother disappeared. Scout was sure that where ever his brother was, if he was even still alive, that he would rather have his little brother free then taken captive by these men. Then, a syringe plunged into the wall right in front of Scout, and he knew that he needed to pay more attention to the situation at hand.
Scout came to the top of the fire escape and took a tight grip on his steel baseball bat before slamming it into the window. The glass cracked and Scout moved inside the building, being careful not to cut himself on the glass. He could hear the soft shot's that the strange needle shooting guns made behind him, and Scout knew that he needed to hide. He didn't know what was in those needle guns, but he could guess that is wasn't a flu shot. A sharp pain entered Scout's left hand as he scraped himself on a stray piece of glass. He clenched his fist and looked for somewhere that he could bandage up, or rest for a few minutes.
Scout spied an open vent in the ceiling and moved towards it. The opening was high up, but Scout was sure that he could reach it. Scout put his baseball bat in his backpack and, jumping up, his fingers grazed the edge of the opening. That was all he needed. Grabbing on, Scout pulled himself up, careful not to agitate hit wound, and pulled white tape and a Band-Aid that he carried around with him out of his backpack. He began to bandage and tape his hands for more grip, and listened below to what was going on.
Scout finished taping his fingers, and flexed his hand, feeling the resistance. Moving his head side to side, he cracked his neck. A shuffle of movement sounded below him. He knew where his attackers were. He crouched, ready for anything.
A man popped his head up through the hole in the vent in front of him. Scout moved. Fast. Pouncing forward, he kicked the man's head down through the hole and used it as a platform to lower himself down. But the man wasn't alone.
The other men were surrounding the first, and though Scout couldn't see their eyes, he was sure they were filled with surprise. They raised their guns. Scout moved. Faster. Turning around and leaping off the man's head, he bolted towards the window across from the one he entered from, hearing the syringes whizz through the air as they passed through where Scout was a few milliseconds ago. The window loomed in front of Scout, taunting him with the freedom that lay outside of it. It looked too thick to break through just with his body though, so Scout slipped his baseball bat out of his bag and whipped it at the window as hard as he could. It smashed up against it, shattered the glass, and kept moving. Scout moved. Even faster.
Scout burst through the window in front of him, shielding his face from the glass and bracing himself for impact. He felt himself moving through the air, and the syringes still flying past him. Scout knew that if shot at now, he wouldn't be able to dodge the syringes.
The men seemed to notice that, and they pumped the air full of needles. Scout felt himself hit gravel. He had made the leap to the next roof. Lucky. On the roof of the next building over, there was a stairwell. Scout grabbed his baseball bat and scrambled for it, hearing the needles as the sliced through the air surrounding him.
The men had thrown themselves out of the window, most of them missing the jump and crashing into the alleyway below. But the few that made it were soon standing on the roof with Scout, weapons cocked. Scout moved. Faster, faster. The jump to the next building was quite a large one, and it would need some speed, of which Scout had quite a lot. Taking deep breaths, he bolted towards the edge of the building, leaping into the air and hopefully to the roof of the next building.
But he wasn't going to make it. No, no, no, come on! Scout willed himself, kicking in the air. His feet hit something solid, and he got an extra boost, enough to carry him to the next building. Scout stared at his feet in shock as he saw them kick off what seemed to be thin air. Then he slammed into the side of the building. The breath knocked out of him, Scout grabbed onto the edge of the roof and climbed his way up. The few men that had made the first jump were now attempting to make the same jump Scout just did, and failing miserably. He stood on the edge of the building and looked down at his attacker's mangled bodies. And started laughing uncontrollably.
"Ha ha, ha ha you got owned!" Scout made a gun with his hands and shot down into the pile of dead corpses below. Corpses that had sparks coming out of them. What? Scout heard something whiz through the air and suddenly he felt a pain in his hand. "What the...?" Scout questioned.
It seemed that one of the guns had malfunctioned, and accidentally shot, nailing Scout right in his hand. Oh, great, this is real freakin' embarrassing, was his last thought before the darkness took over. The last thing that Scout heard was the stairwell door behind him opening, and he knew that his attackers had him.