The Unobserved
Two hands hit against the floor, both clad in light, black fingerless gloves bearing a striking insignia along the backs of them in bright red; it was a strange shape, with four separate points , the owner of the garments leaned forward, her body already curled tightly together in a loose squat, and with twisting slightly, she managed an awkward roll across the smoothed sterile-white surface of the City's many rooftops, and in a fleeting second, she was up and running once more. The place she navigated, far above the real estate, was a network of aerial byways known only to the insurgents who manoeuvred atop them. It was a state of existence for these forerunners – the Mirror's Edge – their personal playground which they utilized to cheat the rules of their time. It wasn't a safe job, and it certainly wasn't easy; but it shined a new light to the individuals who ran this dirty and dangerous underground. Their ideology (if nine out of ten things in this godforsaken city was a crime); why live a life without freedom? Even if it took them to their graves; at least they would be remembered as the ones who plagued the system. It was a small process, but significant in its own way, for with each package delivered whispered a more sinister reputation to the ears of the law and those who supported it. They were the Runners, a small but deadly poison to the government, noted as insignificant at first, but it grew into an expansion supposedly so large that it can no longer be contained. They are the motion of the city; an illegal courier group working for the insubordinates that society had pushed aside and papered as the transformations passed over them. Little people the City had forgotten, but not gone, still breathing rebellion and ever tarnishing the name of the rulers above them. Their couriers are the unobserved and the mythical – but that's just the way they like it. Their reputation precedes them; when, in reality, they're little more than iconic groups of rogues struggling to survive against the pace of convention; trying to find a humanistic flow and momentum in a highly mechanised world. But the flow, that is what keeps them functioning, what keeps them constant and awake. They lived for this moment: and this one alone.
"Alright; Callaghan's almost there. I need you on the west side, you've gotta get into that building before she does - got it?" The ear piece caught a brief moment of static while the Tracker's voice disappeared and by this time, the Runner had already made it to the end of the edge of a building overlooking the New Eden museum – the building itself wasn't exactly new, but it had recently been bought and converted into a museum – there were to be several noted archaeologists and historians attending to open new renovations and displays to the public; but the Runner's main concern was Callaghan. The woman had to attend for mayoral obligation, but she had spent far too long in the darkness, away from the cameras and lights that fed upon her. She was weak, in recognition of recent events, only rats shied to the shadows because they were afraid of what the light may bring. Scoffing with disgust at the person she once held faith in, Kate shook away the thought of her and jumped onto the zip line which descended her to the roof of the museum, but she was still at least fifty metres above where she needed to be. Guided by her Tracker, she made her way down onto an unused balcony before successfully attempting a wall run and grabbing onto the window ledge above, from here she was able to shimmy across until she reached the ventilation system and slip inside. Once inside the building, getting close to the ground floor was easy – all the security were stationed there for the presentation, leaving the rest of the building virtually unguarded – however, situating herself in a sufficient hiding spot that was close enough to the front of the presentation was a little trickier. By now, she'd made it to the third floor gallery, which overlooked the expansive hall of the museum, she could see a guard was positioned as close as she could get to the entrance while still keeping herself upon the galleria, but she was stooped over while sitting on a small white bench, many of which were lined up against the walls on each floor: it was clear that she was in deep slumber.
The Runner quickly began to deconstruct the place she found herself in. The hall itself was large and clear – though that would certainly change at the time of the presentation, there was already numerous media moguls and passer-by's milling around in the empty space – the far wall, of which housed the main entrance, was constituted of glass, separated evenly into thin panes . Opposite, on the other side of the hall, was the newly erected stage purely for the presentation ceremony, to its left, the reception desk. Far larger than it ought to be; simple and smooth, it looked to be made of polished wood – but Kate couldn't even think to where wood was being cultivated in these times, though, she'd hardly left the city. Finally, behind the stage, was a large metallic elevator that ran up the length of the building. There was little point making her way to the ground floor until she'd found a sufficient place to cover herself, and the crowd wasn't an option – she'd be obvious even if the room was packed full with the public. She knew at that point, that little other choice. Slivering over to the guard, Kate tentatively pulled her gun from the holster and within a fraction of a second, pulled the head forward and butted the gun's handle into the back of the woman's head. Luckily she didn't bleed, but she had called out before eventually dying and the Runner knew that she only had a few minutes before other's arrived to find out what was happening. She pulled back the body into the room behind them, stripped it, then dumped it at the back of an exhibit behind some makeshift foliage – it was quick process, and would hopefully last until the end of the ceremony. Besides, she'd be long gone before anyone noticed. Settling into the enforcer's seat, she waited now, for the last few minutes to drag out until the beginning of the ceremony.