He can hear them behind him, mouths opening and shutting in unthinking asynchrony, footfalls fast and light. His momentum carries him in a wide arc around a corner without slowing.
Fingers latch around one arm, and his reaction is violent and immediate. He spins to impact the offending party's face with the butt of his pipe, bringing it to the ground, and resumes his randomized pathway without breaking stride.
He hopes Asadi has made it, and he hopes he is not about to die for the purpose of this moronic, hopeless, pointless, poorly-executed, poorly-rationalized attempt at a diversion.
There is a fire escape above the crumpled green silhouette of some disused dumpster for waste containment, and he scales it.
He can hear them as he scrambles for hand- and footholds, the crescendo of snarls and snapping teeth that drown out the clang as his feet slip from the fire escape's apparent instability.
Fuck.
His hand shoots upward in automatic, instinctive impulse, and catches something smooth and metallic that grasps his hand in response.
Rush looks up and smirks.
"Impeccable timing, as always," he says, levering his weight upward to scale the remainder of the space between the dumpster and the fire escape. He balances his weapon between both hands and jerks his chin in the vague direction of their objective. "Shall we?"
no subject
Fingers latch around one arm, and his reaction is violent and immediate. He spins to impact the offending party's face with the butt of his pipe, bringing it to the ground, and resumes his randomized pathway without breaking stride.
He hopes Asadi has made it, and he hopes he is not about to die for the purpose of this moronic, hopeless, pointless, poorly-executed, poorly-rationalized attempt at a diversion.
There is a fire escape above the crumpled green silhouette of some disused dumpster for waste containment, and he scales it.
He can hear them as he scrambles for hand- and footholds, the crescendo of snarls and snapping teeth that drown out the clang as his feet slip from the fire escape's apparent instability.
Fuck.
His hand shoots upward in automatic, instinctive impulse, and catches something smooth and metallic that grasps his hand in response.
Rush looks up and smirks.
"Impeccable timing, as always," he says, levering his weight upward to scale the remainder of the space between the dumpster and the fire escape. He balances his weapon between both hands and jerks his chin in the vague direction of their objective. "Shall we?"