Midlonia
14-12-2005, 22:14
Snow, fluffy, innocent, white. A town, a wonderful little place where people sleep, work, eat, sing, worship, People are singing carols as the holiday, and the 425th anniversary of the birth of Midlonia approached. Beaumont, a little town in Montemarte sang and shone in the night, a tiny jewel in a little sea of white hills, dark clouds and…
I look up, I thought my eyes glimpsed movement and glanced at the darkened, Smokey chimneys of the small-brick houses… there again, a figure jumping. My quarry. I broke into a sprint in the street as I tried to keep up with the figure. He was remarkably flexible, and moving very fast as little avalanches of snow, and in some cases roof tile, cascaded down onto the footpath.
“Out of the way! ICPO! Out of the bloody way!” I bellowed as the crowds of shoppers got the ‘Dear in Headlights’ effect and milled in my way. The dark figure, still leaping from building to building was headed for the edge of the town, towards the industrial district. Blast him, if he got into the warrens of Industrial Buildings and machine-plants we would loose the lead.
I wound up running up and over a small confection stand, much to the bewilderment of the owner, then making the 4 foot leap up onto the rooftops of the small houses. Thank God for older generations being so small or I would have smacked straight into the second floor, if I was lucky and then squeaked down it rather comically.
I stumbled slightly and regained my balance before screaming out. “ICPO, stop!” rather breathlessly, the figure merely continued his run.
“Oh for Pete’s sake.” I muttered as I ran and began to pick up speed again. Then, the shadowy figure, cloak billowing as he fled, leapt again, then vanished for a second. I ran and then my feet slid as I tried to stop on the icy roof and looked down, grabbing a Chimney for support. The street ran below, here the gap was just too wide for the figure, and he was now clinging onto the edge of the roof opposite. I took a deep breath, and paced back a couple of chimneys, before running as fast as I could, I think I bellowed too as I leapt, I can never quite remember. With a crunch and a desperate flailing of hands I grabbed hold of one of the chimneys on the next terrace row. The terracotta top of my purchase slipped and crashed onto the street below. I regained my balance and turned back to the edge, the black leather gloved hands beginning to slip.
“You’re under arrest by the ICPO mate.” I chuckled as I offered my hand, which was grabbed by one of the, now slippery gloves as I pulled. The figure was breathing rapidly, I could see a wire sticking out of the thick shirt he was wearing, adrenaline, or some sort of chemical enhancer had caused him to be so agile. “Right, you gunn-” I never finished the sentence as the figure immediately barged past me and began running again. I simply cursed and began running after him again. Whatever enhancements he had been using had evidently run out, he was slower, and each jump was matched with a slight uncertainty, eventually I began to catch up with the figure. He was just out of reach, so I did whatever came to mind and rugby tackled him right near the end of the terraces, the combined force caused us to fly across the street and through the large glass window of an abandoned factory.
We both crashed onto the walkway, winded. It took me a few moments to recover. I was just beginning to get up when I was kicked in the side, and I fell back onto the walkway with a grunt of pain, I was then roughly picked up by the cloaked figure and was hit in the face, I kneed him in the groin, which caused him to cringe and whine. I then pulled the boxy KessWig pistol from inside my coat and clicked back the hammer. “You are under arrest by the ICPO.” I said through gasps of breath. Instead of doing what most of my quarries do, which is finally give up when they have a gun waved in thier face, was to leap at me and cause us both to fall from the raised walkway and down onto the hard concrete floor below, somewhere in the fall, I think when I hit the ruddy floor, my pistol bounced out of my hand and skittered off and was promptly swallowed by the darkness. I hit up and managed to throw the weight of his body off of mine, he rolled away from me, then jumped up and reached for inside his coat, the heavy pistol shone a little in the light from the shattered window we had crashed through only a few seconds before, a single flake of snow fluttered and settled onto the barrel of the heavy and thickened piece of metal.
“This match is mine, I think.” His reedy voice hissed and echoed slightly. “You see this? It’s an old Hefton pistol, three rounds in one go, the most powerful pistol in. The. World.”
I am 26 years old, I have blonde hair, green eyes, I wear a light grey suit, remarkably the Bowler hat I wear is still attached to my head, but sitting at a horrendous angle. My name is Ivan Lackenby and I am an ex-civil Protection Inquisitor, that’s a detective/CSI style rank to those not in the know, and right now I am unarmed, and looking at a madman with a pistol pointed in my direction. I gulp and stare down the barrel of death.
I look up, I thought my eyes glimpsed movement and glanced at the darkened, Smokey chimneys of the small-brick houses… there again, a figure jumping. My quarry. I broke into a sprint in the street as I tried to keep up with the figure. He was remarkably flexible, and moving very fast as little avalanches of snow, and in some cases roof tile, cascaded down onto the footpath.
“Out of the way! ICPO! Out of the bloody way!” I bellowed as the crowds of shoppers got the ‘Dear in Headlights’ effect and milled in my way. The dark figure, still leaping from building to building was headed for the edge of the town, towards the industrial district. Blast him, if he got into the warrens of Industrial Buildings and machine-plants we would loose the lead.
I wound up running up and over a small confection stand, much to the bewilderment of the owner, then making the 4 foot leap up onto the rooftops of the small houses. Thank God for older generations being so small or I would have smacked straight into the second floor, if I was lucky and then squeaked down it rather comically.
I stumbled slightly and regained my balance before screaming out. “ICPO, stop!” rather breathlessly, the figure merely continued his run.
“Oh for Pete’s sake.” I muttered as I ran and began to pick up speed again. Then, the shadowy figure, cloak billowing as he fled, leapt again, then vanished for a second. I ran and then my feet slid as I tried to stop on the icy roof and looked down, grabbing a Chimney for support. The street ran below, here the gap was just too wide for the figure, and he was now clinging onto the edge of the roof opposite. I took a deep breath, and paced back a couple of chimneys, before running as fast as I could, I think I bellowed too as I leapt, I can never quite remember. With a crunch and a desperate flailing of hands I grabbed hold of one of the chimneys on the next terrace row. The terracotta top of my purchase slipped and crashed onto the street below. I regained my balance and turned back to the edge, the black leather gloved hands beginning to slip.
“You’re under arrest by the ICPO mate.” I chuckled as I offered my hand, which was grabbed by one of the, now slippery gloves as I pulled. The figure was breathing rapidly, I could see a wire sticking out of the thick shirt he was wearing, adrenaline, or some sort of chemical enhancer had caused him to be so agile. “Right, you gunn-” I never finished the sentence as the figure immediately barged past me and began running again. I simply cursed and began running after him again. Whatever enhancements he had been using had evidently run out, he was slower, and each jump was matched with a slight uncertainty, eventually I began to catch up with the figure. He was just out of reach, so I did whatever came to mind and rugby tackled him right near the end of the terraces, the combined force caused us to fly across the street and through the large glass window of an abandoned factory.
We both crashed onto the walkway, winded. It took me a few moments to recover. I was just beginning to get up when I was kicked in the side, and I fell back onto the walkway with a grunt of pain, I was then roughly picked up by the cloaked figure and was hit in the face, I kneed him in the groin, which caused him to cringe and whine. I then pulled the boxy KessWig pistol from inside my coat and clicked back the hammer. “You are under arrest by the ICPO.” I said through gasps of breath. Instead of doing what most of my quarries do, which is finally give up when they have a gun waved in thier face, was to leap at me and cause us both to fall from the raised walkway and down onto the hard concrete floor below, somewhere in the fall, I think when I hit the ruddy floor, my pistol bounced out of my hand and skittered off and was promptly swallowed by the darkness. I hit up and managed to throw the weight of his body off of mine, he rolled away from me, then jumped up and reached for inside his coat, the heavy pistol shone a little in the light from the shattered window we had crashed through only a few seconds before, a single flake of snow fluttered and settled onto the barrel of the heavy and thickened piece of metal.
“This match is mine, I think.” His reedy voice hissed and echoed slightly. “You see this? It’s an old Hefton pistol, three rounds in one go, the most powerful pistol in. The. World.”
I am 26 years old, I have blonde hair, green eyes, I wear a light grey suit, remarkably the Bowler hat I wear is still attached to my head, but sitting at a horrendous angle. My name is Ivan Lackenby and I am an ex-civil Protection Inquisitor, that’s a detective/CSI style rank to those not in the know, and right now I am unarmed, and looking at a madman with a pistol pointed in my direction. I gulp and stare down the barrel of death.