Arthur is a very fast runner. He flies across the wet pavement, defying the rain, nearing the speed of light. His fuel is his agitation. He's furious. Buildings and cars leap out of his way as he shatters puddles with his sharp feet. Urgency, urgency. This is his heartbeat.
The whole damn job just crumbled. Again. And it's raining. Again. God only knows why all of his recent jobs follow this trend; Arthur surely doesn't. All he does know is that if the projections catch him, it's curtains for the rest of the team, both here in the dream and topside, where the mark will have them all done in. Arthur must employ his specialty, the Merry Chase, to buy time for the rest of the fops on his team to get Kicked out of his head. As long as the projections of the mark are occupied with him, the dreamer, the mark himself won't care. He'll know, but by the time he comes to Arthur will have shepherded his team out of the place without leaving a trace of their presence.
The windshield of a grey sedan explodes up ahead of him. Oh man, they're shooting at me. This dream has taken a turn for the theatrical. Normally, Arthur tries to avoid overmuch drama in his dreams.
However, in this screwed-up dream, he can afford to be dramatic.
Arthur ups his pace, ducking and weaving between the bullets of the projections. He suspects the mark is chasing him, too, throwing in his own two cents' worth of hot metal and vexation. Because this is Arthur's dream, he can mess with the mark. With a colossal feat of concentration, Arthur heaves the whole party from the city streets to the sodden rooftops, never breaking stride. He doesn't look down as the pavement shoots away from him; he doesn't falter as the rooftop of an apartment complex jars his feet. He leaps across the gap without thinking twice, satisfied at the yelps of the projections who didn't see it coming.
Most of them did, though. It doesn't matter, though- by this time Arthur's team will have left his dream. Arthur takes long, thorough strides now, his urgency depleting and driving the projections off their crackers as they try to comprehend why their prey is ceasing. They soon find out why. Arthur reaches the end of the building and without hesitation throws himself off of it. His palms open and fireworks burn the rain-soaked air. The dream is ending. There's time for this shit. He twists 'round in midair, savoring the expressions on the projections' light-bathed faces, and bares his teeth in a devious, delighted grin as he surrenders to the Kick caused by his acceleration.