Unnamed - Update 1

They bounced. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe more. Always with that metallic ting. Always echoing, managing to be heard over the roar of each gunshot. They were but few, yet still the ground seemed to be littered with them. The casings, each of a 9 mm bullet, shone in a bright light. A light produced by spotlights overhead, as they worm their way around the area, searching for a desperate man. A man without dignity, without pride, without a soul. He lurks in the shadows, bathes in the filth, and thrives on the misery of others. Some fear him, some hate him, and others know not of his existence. This man is not so different from the rest of us, it is just his misfortune to have strayed from the path. As fearsome as he may be, he is still no more than a common thief. Willing to do anything to get by, be it vandalism, assault, or murder. His only resorts are his last, and so it will be until his end.

Desperation lies within his heart, as he bounds down the alley. Not so much fearing for his life, as it is not a kind one, but fearing his capture, as it may be soon to come. The streets are much kinder to a wretch such as him, than a false correctional institute willing to do worse than just kill him. And so his shoes slapped against the wet pavement, and his shoulders shrugged off the curtain of rain that hung around him as a shroud. The whooping of a helicopter's blades filled the air with sound, seemingly in an attempt to drown out the not too distant police sirens. He was sure he could escape unnoticed, as he had many a time before, although this time he had left behind a corpse. A soon to be rotting corpse, that belonged to a young woman. She had been in her mid-twenties and alone, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and expensive clothing, he had thought her to be as good a victim as any, perhaps more so.

Her purse was slung over her shoulder, hanging by a spaghetti strap. The soles of his shoes had made no noise, as he crept up the sidewalk behind her. His hand reached for her purse, and closed around the strap. She turned around, and looked into his face. Trembling, she reached for something, it later turned out to be pepper spray, but at the moment he assumed the worst. He unholstered the 9 mm pistol hidden in his jacket. The appearance of the weapon did nothing to falter her. And so the first shot rang out. That's all it would've taken, but he couldn't stop there. He fired again, and again, each shot throwing the woman around like a rag doll. Soon she lay on the ground, and he stood, holding the empty firearm. Blood lust shook him, he knew not why, yet the urge for murder was so strong. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, as if he was struggling to breathe. His eyes looked about the grisly scene, seeing it as something not so unusual. And his mind raced, for murder was not commonplace in his line of work, yet there was no panic, no regret, no sadness. In fact he was unsure of whether he was even capable of feeling anymore. He tucked the weapon back into its holster, reached down, and lifted the purse from the fresh corpse.

And so the sirens sounded, whirring in the distant night. They were soon accompanied by the helicopter, although he didn't know if it was really necessary. He was almost out of the alley, and into the street. His heart pounding, and his lungs working, he looked around the street, looking to blend in. Unfortunately for him, people tended to steer clear of this area, especially at night. With no one else around but him, he was beginning to become less sure of his escape. The cold streetlights cast a gloomy light upon the street, as the rain continued to pour down from the heavens, and as the police continued to inch ever closer. He sprinted, almost slid, across the wet pavement, trying his luck with the other various alleyways, thinking that perhaps he could find a dark place, sit there, and hide from his ever so persistent pursuers.

He was nearly as weary as he was drenched by the rain, yet he couldn't slow progress now. They were still looking, still watching, waiting for him to slip up. The sirens, and the chopper seemed to have gotten much fainter, from what he could tell, but still he couldn't be sure. All this noise over a few gunshots had him a little spooked. Perhaps he was more notorious than he had previously thought, or maybe it was just bad luck. The wind had begin to pick up, but he hadn't noticed. It wasn't until the helicopter was right above him, and the rain began to whip around his body, that he noticed. A bright spotlight clicked on, and he became illuminated. No longer cloaked by darkness, he finally began to panic. He ran out into the street, not bothering to think. Still the light shone upon him, and whooping blared in his ears. He looked back, and saw the chopper, descending upon him as a raven would a worm. He heard a faint whoosh of air, felt a force upon his back, and soon saw nothing but the inside of his eyelids.

His eyes flickered open, only to shut once more against the light. He blinked at an almost constant rate, his eyes still adjusting. Eventually he was able to make out something, a bulb hanging from the ceiling, which hung almost right in front of his face. As he tried to remove his face from the light, pain shot up his back. He winced, the pain was not constant, instead it appeared only upon him moving. And so he sat, moving as little as possible, while still trying to examine the room. Only now did he notice the ropes binding his wrists together behind the uncomfortable wooden chair upon which he sat. He also saw that the floor was covered in a rust coloured substance, one which looked awfully familiar. But that's all he could see, as the walls, if there were any, were bathed in darkness too great to see through.

It was strange that a light so seemly bright, would uncover such a small area, the light could barely illuminate him in his entirety. What was stranger yet, was that he was even in such a strange place. He hadn't the slightest idea of what had occurred after the blackness, as that's all that seemed to proceed his memories of the helicopter. He thought maybe he had been shot, although it must have not been regular ammunition, or else he would have more than likely died on the spot. Probably a tranquilizer of some sort, they obviously wanted him alive. But why him? He wasn't so special, at least that's what he thought. Maybe they knew something he didn't, although he didn't know much of anything anymore. He could only sit there, in that strange room, and wait for something to happen.