Among the Felidae (Yurina and Alan23)
Sometimes, where you ran to didn't matter. Sometimes, you just had to keep running.
In retrospect, Hari Polalrd couldn't help feeling that taking the commission to investigate the drug cartel in the darkest part of the city was a big mistake. Or, at least, when the back up promised by the regular police had been delayed, to go forward with the attempted bust anyway. He was no coward, and a crack shot, but against the drug lord's six highly-trained bodyguards, he had always been on a hiding to nothing.
He'd been lucky, he realized, to get away at all. In the shootout, he'd managed to drop two of the bodyguards, but at the cost of taking a nasty wound in his left arm. It was only his ability to run, and twist, and his expert knowledge of the sewers and abandoned warehouses and cellars of the oldest part of the city that had enabled him to shake off the pursuit.
So now, here he was. Blood streaming from his left arm, his body wracked with pain, and - by the feel of it - he was running a fever. If he could have counted on getting back to the occupied part of the area, these things might not have been too bad. He could have flagged down a passing car, or a pedestrian with a cellphone. Within minutes, he could have had an ambulance whisking him off to get the medical attention he needed.
But, alas, this was not the case. Instead, in his panic, he'd run so far, made so many twists and turns, that even he was lost. He did have a vague idea that he was in the part of the city that was near the docks, a formerly thriving area that had long been abandoned when cargo had ceased to be carried by river, and switched to air transport. Now, all that lived in this maze of derelict buildings, narrow staircases, old warehouses and bricked up cellars were rats, cats and the occasional homeless person.
He was lost, and about to faint. And now, he'd come upon a steep row of crumbling stone steps, slippery with moss and with the handle long vanished. His plan had been to retrace his direction, but his weakness would not allow him. Suddenly, he felt his feet slide form under him, the world shift, and he was falling...
Starr exploded in his head as, after three flights, going down into what must have been the very bowels of the earth, he hit the stone floor with an almighty thump.
*****
He had no idea how long he had been out... but when he woke, his head was thumping with pain, his clothes were soaked in sweat and his arm felt stiff.
Sometimes, where you ran to didn't matter. Sometimes, you just had to keep running.
In retrospect, Hari Polalrd couldn't help feeling that taking the commission to investigate the drug cartel in the darkest part of the city was a big mistake. Or, at least, when the back up promised by the regular police had been delayed, to go forward with the attempted bust anyway. He was no coward, and a crack shot, but against the drug lord's six highly-trained bodyguards, he had always been on a hiding to nothing.
He'd been lucky, he realized, to get away at all. In the shootout, he'd managed to drop two of the bodyguards, but at the cost of taking a nasty wound in his left arm. It was only his ability to run, and twist, and his expert knowledge of the sewers and abandoned warehouses and cellars of the oldest part of the city that had enabled him to shake off the pursuit.
So now, here he was. Blood streaming from his left arm, his body wracked with pain, and - by the feel of it - he was running a fever. If he could have counted on getting back to the occupied part of the area, these things might not have been too bad. He could have flagged down a passing car, or a pedestrian with a cellphone. Within minutes, he could have had an ambulance whisking him off to get the medical attention he needed.
But, alas, this was not the case. Instead, in his panic, he'd run so far, made so many twists and turns, that even he was lost. He did have a vague idea that he was in the part of the city that was near the docks, a formerly thriving area that had long been abandoned when cargo had ceased to be carried by river, and switched to air transport. Now, all that lived in this maze of derelict buildings, narrow staircases, old warehouses and bricked up cellars were rats, cats and the occasional homeless person.
He was lost, and about to faint. And now, he'd come upon a steep row of crumbling stone steps, slippery with moss and with the handle long vanished. His plan had been to retrace his direction, but his weakness would not allow him. Suddenly, he felt his feet slide form under him, the world shift, and he was falling...
Starr exploded in his head as, after three flights, going down into what must have been the very bowels of the earth, he hit the stone floor with an almighty thump.
*****
He had no idea how long he had been out... but when he woke, his head was thumping with pain, his clothes were soaked in sweat and his arm felt stiff.