I kept running, my legs starting to burn from exhaustion as I went deeper into the forest. Behind me, I could still hear the police sirens ringing continuously on a loop. From what I had just done, I figured more SWAT would be coming shortly. Adjusting the rifle's strap around myself, I took a minute to focus on my surroundings as I ran. No footsteps other than mine could be heard, and that was just perfect.
I couldn't have known it was a routine patrol, could I? They weren't just kids, sure, I knew that, but I didn't expect them to be enforcers.
Some normal cops were there, coupled with SWAT. Enforcers must have intercepted them mid-patrol and decided to lend a hand. Not unusual; they liked to show off a little bit. Still, I guess I should give them some credit for handling the bar thugs so well.
Hmm? Oh, yeah. Enforcers are tough, but simple. Basically, they are the vampirical equivalents of the FBI.
I ran until I couldn't hear the sirens anymore. I slumped against a random tree, sliding to the ground as I panted heavily, regaining a bit of stamina. Calming my breathing for a moment, I looked down at the heavy-caliber rifle I currently had strapped around my shoulder. Cursing discreetly, I began to disassemble the rifle and bury the parts in the dirt, covering them up completely.
It wasn't necessarily bad that it was so dark I could barely see what I was doing. It only meant they couldn't see what they were doing, too, right? That line of thought cheered me up for a single second until I remembered that the police had flashlights, and the enforcers could simply see in the dark. Which was /perfect/. I was majorly disadvantaged if they found me now.
Having hidden the rifle, I got up, covered my tracks, and immediately headed north. I had a pretty basic knowledge of these woods, so if was correct, I'd arrive near home in about an hour or so of walking. /Perfect/.
An emotionless voice sounded through the radio. "Cesterfield-two, this is Tower. Report."
The voice of a woman responded. It was young and hoarse, fatigued. "Tower, C-Cesterfield-two. We have... had, contact with Maddox during a coordinated sweep, over."
"Was she apprehended, Cesterfield-two?" Inquired the voice, a noticeable edge to it.
"Negative, T-Tower. She-" A hacking cough came from the woman as she spoke. It took a few seconds for her to continue. "-got us, and the entire detachment of humans, over."
Silence reigned on the frequency for several seconds until the voice spoke again, bitter-sweetly. "At least we have her location..." A sigh escapes the voice. "You did good, Sam. Get back here, I'll warn HQ about this." At a sudden impulse, he spoke again. "What about the others?"
"...we're all fine, don't worry. The humans got the worst of it, but no casualties." 'Sam' coughed again, massaging her throat. "She got her hands on one of their rifles. SWAT couldn't even enter the building."
"Shit." He had abandoned radio protocol by now. He didn't care. "Just get back here, alright? We'll deal with her later."
"W-We're on our way..."
I placed the large concrete block in place with a huff, adjusting it so it fit in with the rest. I felt pretty damn relieved that I finally made it back "home". Turning to look at the bare, dusty and dark concrete room I had accommodated myself in, I located the couch and promptly fell on it. The worn-out springs creaked under my weight as the cracked leather tickled my face. Moving over to a sitting position after several moments of wanting to die, patting my clothes for good measure, I got to work on finding bullet holes or deadened wounds.
Just as I was examining my bruised arms, my phone vibrated inside its pocket. Taking it out and sliding my thumb across the call button absent-mindedly, I continued to study my wounds while speaking simultaneously. "Find anything?" Was my half-expectant, half-knowing reply.
A deep male voice came from the other end of the call. He sounded old, but not unable, and had a bad case of smoker's lung. "You should know by now, brat. They don't care about what you did, they care about what you're doin'."
I wonder if I'll ever get on good terms with this guy. "Did it hit the news that fast?"
"'Course it fucking did, you woke up two separate neighborhoods, as if burnin' one wasn't enough. P.D's piss-drunk-mad at you for roughing up their boys, and the lads are startin' to get an itch for the shit you can do."
Rolling my eyes at the last bit, I spoke again. "And the enforcers?"
"Quiet. I dunno how bad you done 'em in this time, but it sure made them shut the fuck up. They did say you were involved but didn't talk about anythin' else." From his tone, I figured he was either smiling or grinning. "Pleasure doin' business with you on that end, brat. I'd say they're gettin' something ready just, and I really mean /just/, for you."
"I can see how you would 'appreciate' that." I laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Good evening, Francis."
I heard him snort and ramble a quick "Yeah yeah, whatever, brat." before I hung up.
Glancing at the rest of my completely empty room, illuminated by a single lightbulb, I let my head fall back on the couch as I sighed and rested for a few minutes.
And then I sat up in a rather straightforward manner, reached behind the couch and hoisted a filled duffel bag up and onto my back, getting up and heading for the exit. I still had shit to do, after all.
It was a quiet night, with no one walking the streets at all, and a dulling chill piercing my clothes. The buildings which housed different kinds of storefronts were all dark, except for one. A single door with a wall-fixated light on top of it, with no markings or letters of any kind except for the address number. There was an intercom attached to the wall beside the door, and my hand reached said intercom almost immediately after reaching it. Without hesitating, I spoke two simple words. "Courier service."
It wasn't long after that the door opened, a tall, muscular guard clutching a pistol looking down at me. He wore a simple black shirt that greatly enhanced his muscles, and his bald head featured a pair of piercing green eyes on his robust face. He had an eyebrow cocked at me.
"Hmm. Not very discreet, are you?" He grumbled my way in his surprisingly smooth and deep voice. "I watched the news fifteen minutes ago."
Shrugging up at him, I motioned backwards with my head. "I don't do discreet. Not with the enforcers, at least."
He examined me up and down, and after frowning his thick eyebrows, finally moved to the side so I could walk in. It was a simple room with decaying paint, four chairs queued against the wall, and another door which was made of metal. The guard spoke again, already heading to sit down on one of the chairs. "They'll want to check the bag, so make sure to warn them first if you're carrying explosives." He crossed his arms and leaned back on the chair, eyeing me with the same hard frown as before.
I nodded, dispensing a quick "Thanks." to the guard as I knocked on the metal door. This one opened almost immediately, two heavily-equipped guards with ski masks and dark goggles hiding their heads. Both carried fully-automatic rifles, had holstered pistols, and batons clipped to their belts. No distinctive insignia or markings were apparent in their uniform.
The one to my left pointed to the floor a couple of feet in front of me, and so I walked inside the corridor. Wasn't much different from the small room, except it had no chairs, and the gray paint was spotless. After they were done checking me and my bag, they sent me on my way to the end of the corridor to yet another metal door. With a hard knock, I waited for it to open.
The room was immense and heavily decorated, very much like a mansion. Crowds of people, both vampire and human, filled the floor, becoming denser the further into the room they were. All were of a shady nature, with some having fake laughs with their "friends" while others openly disputed staring contests with their nemeses. I could easily spot over five faces from the news just by glancing around.
Squeezing my way through the clusters of assorted criminals, I approached an empty booth at the far end of the room. A man in an expensive Italian suit sat behind a panel of bulletproof glass, staring at his cell phone in a bored manner until he saw me. His eyebrows quickly perked along with the tips of his mouth as he examined me up and down.
"Ah, yes, it's about time someone came to me today! Nothing ever happens in this boring town, nowadays." His thick British accent did not match his script at all. "But I'm sure you don't want to waste time with pleasantries, am I right?" He pointed to the slot in the right side of the glass panel. Without much ceremony, I unslung my duffel bag and slid it into the slot, the bag stopping right by the man's eager hand as he reached for it and dumped it in front of him.
It wasn't long after he had started rummaging through the bag before he looked back at me, a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Shame that friend of yours had their things borrowed by the police, wasn't it? I'm glad you got them back" Keeping my expression neutral, I allowed a faint shrug to pass while waiting for his offer.
"I'll give you twenty grand if you allow me to have the pleasure of returning this to them," he said with gusto. "Our way."
Raising an eyebrow at him as if he had told a particularly weird joke, I replied. "Twenty-five. He really liked that heroin, you know. I'm sure you can get twice my price back from him."
He chuckled, shaking his head amusedly. "Is that so?" came his sarcastic reply. "Hm. You're new, and we're nice, so maybe I can cover your offer."
He put on a set of plastic gloves, removed the packages from the bag and dispensed them inside a metal drawer he had opened. He whistled to himself while opening what could be loosely described as a cash register crossed with a safe, revealing the reckless quantity of money stuffed inside. Removing bundles of money at once, he deposited them in my recently-emptied duffel bag. It was filled with money by the time he finished, closing the bag with a quick zip and locking the 'cash register' with his elbow. Sliding the bag back to me through the slot, he smiled unlike a bank attendant.
"Just promise me that you won't forget how utterly nice we are anytime soon, yes?" He laughed, piercing me with his stare. "That would be most disrespectful on your part."
Rolling my eyes and nodding, I gave him a quick look while I put on my duffel bag. He laughed a bit more, shaking his head again at my apparent naiveté. "Know what you're doing? Very well, then." Motioning with his hand that I was good to go, he closed our exchange with a polite but questionable "Have a pleasant evening, ma'am."
