NationStates Jolt Archive

Timothy ran, his legs sore, his throat burning with the breaths that longed to be free, his eyes waterng withe the strain and the fear.

Yes, the fear.

He drew out his short sword and held it out now, no longer wishing to be unseen, only wishing to get away. The crowds ahead of him parted, some little girl pointing and screaming at the man with the "pointy knife".

With a growl, Timothy slammed his way out of the Skytrain, and looked around at the faces rushing by to get home or something similar. The sign above read Metrotown. An ad behind him read "Shopping Squared."

Timothy glanced behind him once more and caught a brief glimpse of black.

No - two glimpses.

"Move it... MOVE IT," Timothy snarled. A man who got too close to him recived a slash to his side as a punishment for invading Timothy's private bubble.

More screams. A shout for someone to call police.

These Timothy ignored as he bounded down the long flight of stairs that would lead him towards the megamall, and perhaps freedom. Slap, Slap, Slap. His feet made oddly comical noises as they bounded down the stairs. His hand gripped the sword tighter, the grooves on the hilt digging into his skin, making a meal of his blood.

But he moved faster. He had to go faster. Behind him he could hear footsteps.

But only one pair. Where was the other man.

Timothy took a left on the concourse and headed to the pedestrian bridge that linked the Skytrain station and Metrotown. below flowed a never-ending stream of cars, moving upriver to spawn tehir passengers like over-pregnant poisson.

About halfway across he stopped.

Down on the mall side was a figure cloaked in black. His uniform was free-flowing, and seemed to have a life of their own. The black edges flapped in the wind.

There was no wind.

Timothy cursed and turned around. Behind him stood a figure in white. Blindingly white, like the sun burnt out your cornea and all you could see was a mono-chromatic shade of pale.

"You've been selected, Timothy Powers, Age 24, Height: 5'11'', Weight, 175 poundssss (long drawn out s here) Race: Caucasian, Sword type: short sword," said Black, drawing out appeared to me a pike of some sort. The blade was flat and long, and quite plain in design.

"No, nooo. I got out of the game, I'm out of the game. You're breaking the rules," screamed Timothy, backing

White withdrew her own pike. It was shorter by a foot, but the blade was larger, and shaped like a crescent.

"Now, now, Timothy Powers, you know that there is no leaving our game... besides, you're worth 1000 points..."

Black and White drew closer to Timothy, who in his credit, didn't scream any more.

His throat was slit in one fell slash. He couldn't scream anymore...

"Jered - over here."

Vancouver Police Dept. Det. Jered Chartrand stepped gingerly underneath the pale yellow police tape that stretched around Bays 1-4 of the Broadway and Commercial Bus loop. He flicked his gaze to his right and saw a swarm of journalists hovering around to get a shot of the body, which was just off to his left.

"Damn journos."

Chartrand waved his hand in recognition of his partner, Det. Kale Morillo, who was kneeling in front of a tarp-covered object.

An arm listed just underneath and outside of the tarp. It was missing a hand.

"Ugh, what the hell happened here, Morillo," said Chartrand, kneeling down beside the body. The body was fresh - you could tell after a few years on the job, he always said.

He lifted back the tarp and gazed down at the face. It was a soft, almost angelic face. It was a she, perhaps in her late teens, early twenties. No piercings, and a soft sheen of lip gloss.

There was no sign of trauma about her face.

Morillo leaned over and pulled thetarp down just a tad more. A small, slick entry wound lay between her breasts. To Chartrand, it looked like a knife did the job.

"What is this? A rape gone bad? And where is her hand?"

"I don't know... none of is know, but as to her hand, well..."

Chartrand followed his partners gaze to a few meters away. Underneath a smaller plastic covering, though see-through, was a hand, a hand that looked like it was gripping something.

"I know what you're thinking, and yes, that is a sword," said Morillo, pulling back on the cover and stepping back. The coronors office had arrived and readied the body to be taken away for further examination.

"But what is a girl doing running around with swords in the middle of Vancouver?" said Chartrand, looking around him and taking in the glory which were all of the high rise buildings in the metropolitan centre. "And did anyone see this?"

"We're working on that... trust me. We're all as stumped as you are."



...
...
..?

500 points