"I won't do it, Fergus." the tone of his husky voice made this statement final, immovable.
"You can't keep me here." he added, studying his surroundings carefully and un-noticeably, his eyes flicking about in search of every possible exit, every action and its outcome, and every person he would have to deal with in order to successfully slip away. There was a bit of a draft in the rusty box of a room, holes dotting the ceiling of the office in the abandoned, and previously unused warehouse; the musty scent of rust and a delectable bouquet of pastries wafted through the chilled air that also tickled his face and made the edges of his trench coat tremble slightly; he could see every puff of air he exhaled hang for a moment in the air before him.
"Jimmy, I'm not going to just let you leave." the one called Fergus replied in his gruff British accent, sounding just as serious and set in his decision.
The man in the trench coat, who was called Jimmy, furrowed his brow.
"No...you really can't keep me here." he reiterated. Fergus chuckled, pacing with his hands in the pockets of his black suit.
"I can try." he shrugged. The doors behind the trench-coated man burst open and he ran towards Fergus, ignoring the newly arrived men with guns, who also pulled out a gun. Jimmy expertly disarmed Fergus and smacked the pistol into Fergus' face, darting away when the angry suited man lashed out at him.
Jimmy ran for the desk at the end of the room and once he had climbed on top of it, all the while dodging bullets with pure luck and skill, he picked up the chair and thrust it up and into the rusty ceiling, causing that part of the roofing to crumble. With a quick grin at Fergus, Jimmy swiftly set down the chair, and leapt up off of it, finding a stable place to hold on the roof to pull himself onto.
And thus he escaped, not without a stray bullet to the shin and the echo of an infuriated voice cursing "bollocks!"