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March 1st


New York, Unknown






Earbuds were something she rarely wore. Her focus had to be so precise when she was working on her glass, somehow this evening the sounds of cellos playing heavy metal made her more intent. Hair was pulled up and piled high on her head, a small lock was tickling her cheek. Narrowed eyes were trying to ignore it, a whiff of breath from her lower lip trying in vain to get it from her skin. Spacers were set aside and she sat back, pulling her hair down to re-twist and pull it back again. The project was coming along, spending time at her work table was not something she had done a lot of in the last month. She’d been meaning to finish the stained glass repair from the café door window for a while now, tonight had given her the opportunity. The shop was slow, after Valentine’s day. Quiet, evening rush over. Perfect.


Heels of her black ballet flats hitched up on the rung of her stool. Elbows on the workbench, her chin came to rest on her hands as she stared at it, deciding what to do next. Eyes flicked up at the light that signaled the front door had opened, going back to studying all the colored pieces laid out. Fingernail played with one of the aquamarine studs in her ear, sliding down to twirl the long pendant with her finger.


Jesse’s head peeked in, *npc* “Detective Stanford stopped in.”


She looked up, pulling out the earbuds. He wasn’t a stranger. Sometimes he checked in just to make sure things were okay and get free coffee, which she was fine with for any law enforcement types, sometimes he was following up on shoplifters and such. Nothing like that had been an issue of late. Just saying hi probably.


“I’ll be out in a sec.”


She slid off the stool, black worn button up cardigan sleeves pulled back down and wrapped around her a bit closer. It was chilly for some reason, and the deep aqua blue cami wasn’t doing much to help even though she’d layered it over a black one. Earbuds were popped out of her phone and she wound them up and dropped them on the work bench. Phone in her back pocket.


He was rifling through one of the leather bound blank journals she sold as she stepped out. The older gentleman had been around for about five years or so, he knew her and the area fairly well. Was a cop somewhere else in the city before this position, but she didn’t know where.


*npc* “Sorry to bug you so late, was gonna call but then remembered you don’t drive so thought I’d save you the trouble.”


“Coffee?” she asked.


He set the journal down, shaking his head.


*npc* “Not this time, thanks.”


“You pick that up every time you come here. I think it has your name on it.”


He smiled, then nodded.


*npc* “Sorry to bug you in the evening. We arrested a guy a few days ago, had some interesting things on him. Found one of these tags in the bunch.”


He held up the journal and tapped the price tag with the store name on it before putting it down.


*npc* “Think he might have been stealing from here, thought you might want to come down and take a look at the stuff.”


Brow furled. Great. She hadn't been in the shop as religiously since the holidays. Not as many eyes to watch the place. Jesse was closing, and it was unlikely to pick up. She could do that.


“Sure, as long as I get a ride home.”


Cars had been elusive. What she wanted and what she could afford seemed to be two entirely different things. Ballet flats were slipped off and replaced with an older pair of black biker boots. They were more feminine and the older they got, the softer the leather became and they had begun to slouch. They were easier to wear over tighter jeans, and they were comfy. Leather jacket. Scarf… she was so fucking ready for winter to be over. Phone was pulled, a quick text to Ryan, just because.


“Hey, I had a Detective Stanford come by to take me down to the local precinct. Happens once and a while when they find stolen items, he's our usual guy. Shouldn’t be long, he’ll bring me home so I don’t have to catch the subway… see you soon.”


Phone back in her pocket, she checked in with Jesse and went out the front door. There was someone else in the passenger seat, a face she didn’t know.


*npc* “Rorye, this is Detective Fields, apparently I’m getting old and I have to train my replacement,” he said as he opened the passenger rear door for her and then slid into the driver’s seat.


She rubbed snow from her eyelashes as she got in and he closed the door. It was getting bad out.


“Nice to meet you Fields,” she held her hand over the seat and he reached behind and shook it. “You’re not old Stanford, maybe they just have more money to hire more help.”


He laughed.


Settling back in, she fussed with the seat belt. She hated the fucking things, but she hated cars too. Stifling. She felt like she was in a cage, and she was getting one. Joy. From the limited driving she’d done, it was a little different when you were actually in control of the thing.


*npc-Fields* “I’ll get the heat up.”


Stanford was playing with a Cantigo as he drove, taking a long drink. They didn’t even make those anymore. Lucky bastard. Traffic was light, the snow was managing to keep everyone home. She recognized the shortcut, looking down for several moments as she discretely pulled out her phone. It just didn’t… turning the screen brightness down all the way, she hit the text with her thumb.


*Another detective in the car. Fields. Doesn’t feel right. Will send location.*


She looked up, trying to find the streets, not able to read the signs that were coated in ice. Shortcut had become somewhere she didn't recognize. No immediate traffic. She turned in the seat to look out the back window, forearm wiping the condensation that lingered in between the defroster lines. Stanford looked at her in the rear view.


*npc-Stanford* “Rorye, just relax.”


She sat, muscles tense.


“Stop the car,” her voice left no room for argument.


*npc-Fields* “Relax. You’ll be fine.”


Seat belt unlocked and she slid to the center of the seat.


“Stop the car,” it was the only chance she would give them. Everything spun through her head at once. All the training, all the work, all the advice... and the mantra every girl had drilled into their brain from birth screaming through her thoughts.


Never let them take you to a second location.


*npc-Stanford* “Rorye, it’s okay. They said they just want to talk.”


She spun in the seat, kicking the window until it cracked. Fields turned in his seat, the muzzle of the gun very real.


*npc-Fields* “I will not hesitate to shoot you in the fucking face. Sit. Down.”


Standford looked panicked.


*npc-Stanford* “This was not the deal.”


She slid next to the rear driver’s side door, putting the seat belt on. His gun stayed trained on her. She knew exactly how to disarm him, but there were too many variables. The weather. The streets. The traffic. She would have to plan this.


“Where are we going,” she asked quietly.


Her eyes were on him, but her attention on the traffic. She'd absorbed the way he held it, where it was aimed. Slightly over her left ear. He had trigger discipline. She was faster than this man's ability to fire an aimed shot, but she couldn't bank on Stanford's reaction and she'd be the only one not in a seat belt if they crashed. They were going too fast, and she wouldn't risk getting hit with an airbag unrestrained. If she was unconscious it would be for nothing.


Headlights on the passenger side and a lone intersection were coming up, readying to kick the back of Standford’s seat as hard as she could. She finally knew this intersection, she knew where to go once she was out. Stanford looked up at her for a moment as if he almost knew, and that was all it took for the world to spin out of control. He blew the stop sign on purpose, Fields and his gun turned away from her at the sound of the horn blare. The nauseating sensation of weightlessness that she knew would end in pain spun through the car as the other vehicle slammed into Fields' passenger front door. The sound of glass and metal erupted, reverberating through her bones.


Then silence.

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Silence so loud the pain was all she could feel first, a pressure that felt like thundering whitecaps against saturated surf and she was churning within it. Disoriented. Drowning.


Then ringing. Ringing so loud it was nauseating.


Her heartbeat finally was there. Her breathing. Fingers were already unconsciously working the door handle, it wouldn’t open. It was the horn from the other vehicle that broke through the din as it sputtered and went silent. Broadsided, her car had spun through and buckled into a light pole on the passenger side. The other, was in the middle of the silent intersection. Airbags had deployed, everyone seemed to be breathing from what she could see. Stanford was unconscious, as was Fields. Fields had taken the brunt. Broken bones on his right side likely. Gasp of pain brought a sharp hiss as she unbuckled, hand on her left ribs as she kicked the door. Son of a…


Get out of the car.


Get out of the car!


They were probably being tailed, or meeting a pass-off and she had minutes if not seconds; no idea how long she'd actually been out. Reaching for her cell, she scrolled through it with a quivering thumb as she fought with the door. Fucking gloves! Teeth gripped the leather on her middle finger and tore the glove off. She couldn't get it to work, her hands were too cold. Forgoing the door, she leaned back with an audible clench of pain through her teeth and kicked the window, thumb pressed the emergency call button as hard as it could. 911, but it was something. The call went through.


Location was spilled out to someone on the other end as she kicked the window again. Fucking bulletproof? Seriously? Now? It had to be now? Location would send people. People would be witnesses. Sirens would bring attention.


Call dropped, kicking the window again and breathing on her fingers to warm them up, thumb hit Ryan's contact and it dropped.


"C'mon!" she growled.


A crack erupted in a bright flash of light, raining sparks down on the car, the streetlight had just given up the ghost. The headlights to the other car were out, hers had the only light other than the pale glow from the city. It was an industrial area. Warehouses. Shipping. Everywhere she didn’t want to be.


She hit it again, it connected.


A gunshot froze her blood, the spatter across her cheek making her instinctively slide off the seat and onto the floor out of sight, holding her breath. Eyes dared to peer up at Fields. He was dead, shot taken through the broken passenger window, the warmth of his blood across her cheek.


Calm. Think.


She could hear the phone ringing, forced to shove it in her pocket as a second gunshot ripped through the passenger window, and Stanford.


Controlled breathing.


The muffled ring was still in her pocket. It hadn’t disconnected.


She couldn’t place where the shots had come from, the steam of the engine, snow of the storm, fog on the shatter-cracked windshield and her rear compartment windows making it almost impossible to see. Her car was miraculously still running, sputtering as fluid bled into the street.


The sudden crack against the back window was terrifying as someone hit it with a crow bar, followed by the passenger side that she’d already almost shattered. They didn't break. That meant the front window might come out in one piece since it was buckled. The window she'd cracked was hit again from the outside, finally breaking through. She pulled herself over the front seat as someone reached in the back passenger window. Fields’ gun was on the floor, too far away. She searched for Stanford’s gun, turning quickly, back against the dash she fired two shots through the driver’s rear window before it jammed. A string of profanity from outside the car was vicious, coupled with her own choice words.


No idea if her phone was still on in her pocket, she kept repeating the intersection in a quick mantra. Hoping someone heard it, trying to focus her thoughts. She had a fucking concussion. Head was fuzzy, streaking with pain as she pushed at the shattered windshield with her shoulder. One of the corners pushed out in one crumpled piece and she slid down the hood and onto the street with a pained grunt, immediately taking cover behind the front right fender to try and figure out where to go. A chain link fence was behind her and traveled as far as she could see in either direction. A building across the street.


*npc* “Just stay put. We aren't going to hurt you.”




*npc* “I'll fucking hurt her, she fucking hit the side of my coat, I think I’m bleeding.”




*npc* “She probably grazed your ass, stop it with the sissy shit. Button this up and let’s go. It’s one person. This has already been a fuck-up.”


Two, there were two.


She could hear the crunch of feet on snowy glass, the slam of the crowbar against one of the fenders as they attempted to roust her out of hiding. Leaning down, she could see feet through the hissing steam of a dying car.


They were coming around from opposite sides. The guy on her left was going to round the corner first.


*npc* “C’mon rabbit, don’t fucking do this to yourself.”


She'd been called that before. Remy's. The magus.


This was a lead. She could give herself up and see where it led. She knew too much to kill. Then again they could be getting rid of loose ends. She could vault the fence. If they chased her, they weren't going to kill her. If they shot her... well, question answered. She could confront and take out one before the other took cover and it was a standoff again.




If compromised go to the gym.


She could lead these jackasses right into a kill zone without giving up the gym, IF any of her information had gotten through. Could Ryan track her from here? Would he go there first? For all she knew the phone could still be connected and one word could give enough information to bring these guys and whoever came to their aid right down the middle of Ryan's sights.


A decision had to be made.



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Breath was ragged, everything quiet, back of her hands wiping the snow from her eyelashes that had turned pink from someone else’s blood. She could hear sirens… that moment between death and salvation when help was so close, yet so impossibly far away. It seemed to have made them pause in their trek around the car.


*npc* “She called the damn cops.”


Sirens suddenly went silent as if someone had flipped a switch. Maybe they had. Her detective was real. Fields? Unsure. If they’d compromised him, who knew who was calling the shots here. Wind shuffled snow around her in a sudden gust, heavy realization stopping her breath.


Help wasn’t coming.


They had backtracked slightly, now returning to finish their snatch and grab. Crowbar hit the hood again, muscles tensing at the sound.


*npc* "C'mon, just make it easy."


“Right or left!”


The ferocity of her question from her position demanded an answer, she was shifting her weight to get her feet under her, listening to their movement.


They stopped.


The guy on her left was still closer.


*npc* “The fuck?”


“Right. Or. Left.” tone was fierce. “You choose which knee gets blown out first when you turn that corner.”


*npc* “Shit.”


Fear and intimidation were valuable tools, especially when you were bluffing about being armed.


*npc* “You go get her, we gotta go!”


“Where are we going gentleman?”


They were quiet.


*npc* “Somewhere to talk.”


“About what? Maybe you’ll walk out of here without a fucking hole in your kneecaps if you tell me what’s going on. You could have asked nicely, you’re not inspiring a lot of trust here killing my chauffeurs.”


*npc* “Well… can we call a truce?  ...we'll fill you in.”


They were communicating non-verbally, their pause in answering her was telling. Muscles coiled, running through her entire scenario in her head like a dance. She saw the tip of the crowbar first over her left shoulder; the idiot didn’t realize it was visible to her before he was. As she grabbed it right over left and pulled it toward her, he came with it, stumbling forward as she yanked it out of his hand. His downward momentum and her push upward from her right foot brought his face straight into the metal. The swing worthy of a home run cracked audibly against his nose, right hand letting go of it as the left followed through in a graceful arc, right fist slamming straight into his sternum. His head hit the bumper as he went down, metal flipped to the other hand and she launched it at the other as he was aiming. Several gunshots rang out, aim skewed as he raised his hand in front of his face to save his teeth. She was already behind it, the combination she’d practiced until she was too sore to move effectively disarming the asshole, crumpling his wrist and smashing the side of his knee. She secured his weapon and stuck it in the back of her waistband, punches until he was unconscious afterward pure fury. Unnecessary. Heated. Angry. Fury.


Chest heaved for a moment as the silence fell around them all. Car sputtered and died, lingering hissing and popping for a few moments until even that was quiet. It had taken less than five seconds.


She had to go.




Cell phones collected from everyone, she stuffed them in her jacket pockets. They were both alive but down, the first’s survival was questionable. Two dead in the car.


Hastily reaching through the window and finally retrieving Field’s gun, the grunt was sharp at the pressure of the windowsill into her side. Standing up, leg buckled, hand on the sill to stay upright. She wasn’t hit… but something was wrong, steadying again to get the fuck out of there. They were the ones in the truck that had broadsided them. The truck was useless, they had to have called for a ride out of there. She had been that close to the “second location”, unsure if Stanford had helped or hurt her cause. Hurt. He'd tried to help, and his clusterfuck of a decision to accelerate was just now revealing its consequences. Back of her hand wiped her nose, it was bleeding? Hand was bleeding? Maybe. She wasn’t sure which was hers and which was the detectives’ or the other two.


She had to go.


Into the dark, into a storm. She scaled the chain-link fence, dropping to the other side with an audible cry of pain. She wasn’t hit, but her legs buckled again, catching herself with fingers through the links. After a few steps it was fine, hand under her coat on her side to begin to pick up speed. It was tender, but tolerable. Bruises definitely. She was almost certain she was fighting a concussion, maybe a cracked rib from the door when all came to a stop. Maybe. Evade and get to the gym. She had to put distance between her and this. Someone was coming, and it wasn’t friendlies. Pushing herself to move forward faster, hand pawed through her pocket to find her phone among the others, pulling it out. Screen was cracked, she’d landed on that side when she pushed out of the car. Damn!


Keep moving.


Keep out of sight.


Slowing to evaluate how far to the next block and pause under a fire escape between two buildings, she was breathing harder than she should have been. Reaching up to stifle a cough brought on by trying to choke in frigid air, fingers drew back blood from her lip.



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Standing under the fire escape, what she could see she recognized.


From where she was, she could get there with only one street to cross. They hadn’t managed to drive with her very far before the situation had turned nuclear; the gym was now roughly halfway back to the shop. One trek she had wanted to take Ryan on when the weather got better was over the rooftops. They were like a network with the historical buildings, seeing the world from above instead of having to bustle through the streets was unique to an old city. Plus, it was fun as hell. In the winter, in a storm? She would have to make no mistakes, and trust she knew the jump points. Staying off the street was worth the risk.


A few running steps and she kicked off the wall, fingers catching the bottom rung. One hand slipped off from the ice, her swing backward giving her enough momentum to get her hand back up and pull herself upward. The stairs were steep, breathing in the cold air was taking its toll and dizziness was setting in. Not much farther and she would at least be out of the elements. The way she was going was as the crow flies, pulling herself onto the roof and starting her trek. Ears were nearly frozen, her leather coat doing a lot to cut the wind, but the layers beneath had lost their warmth before she left the accident. Gloves had been pulled back on, but there was only so much you could do when all there was between you and the frigid air was a few layers.


Hop up onto the old pharmacy, jump down to the apartments in between, climb up and over the air vents on the next complex over… the locations were being checked off in her mind to keep them straight. Shivering had set in, but she was pushing herself to the limit. Getting her face out of the open was the primary goal.


The trek down the fire escape seemed longer than it should have been, realizing she’d stopped moving. The world around her was moving. Too damn cold, everything felt disoriented. Forcing one foot in front of the other to the last landing, she slid off to hang and drop the final distance to the ground. Left hand again gave way, left leg crumpling on impact. Something was definitely wrong. It couldn’t be bone, could it? That was something that had corrected itself when the world rocked a second time… broken bones were still possible under extreme circumstances for her, but it was unlikely. Concussion was more likely. Her aching left side heralded something more at work, no time to stop and think about it.


The world was spinning again, worse as she pulled herself up and tried to steady her left side. Her left shoulder had joined the tangle of pain. Only one more street to cross, and the gym would be in sight. Before, the hitch in her step was annoying. It was becoming more profound the further she went.  Shoulder leaned heavily on each of the gates to steady herself as she unlocked them and pulled them closed to secure again. Bypassing the breaker box, she made a beeline for the second floor from the foyer, aware of the tingle on her right hand now that the wind was no longer battering her body. She yanked off her glove, it was bleeding. Glass possibly, or the guy's face. Fingers stretched out as she pulled herself up the stairs. A little of both. She shouldered into her small loft room, unconsciously glancing around to make sure nobody was there. Why would they be? Still a habit.


In her tiny bathroom, the hot water was sought, adjusting it so it didn't scald her skin. Pulling off her other glove, she let the warm water sluice over her hands, swirling with pink. Shivering had started some time ago, worse now that she was in relative warmth. Squinting into the mirror, a deep cut on her left temple was blossoming into a bruise that had already turned her cheek and under eye purple. The bleeding had ceased for now. Hair was pulled out, seethe sharp as her arm stretched upward to pull it back and secure it into a looped ponytail.


Before freezing skin would feel better, it would sting like hell. Warm water was cupped in her hands and run over her face to get the blood off. Hers. Theirs. Who the hell knew? White towel wiped the rest off and she tossed it into the sink. The snowstorm had managed to get some of the blood off her leather coat but it in turn ran off onto her jeans; they were not salvageable. She limped into her room, carefully removing her leather coat and laying it over a chair near the door, discovering she was still dripping blood from her hand. It would definitely need stitches, returning to the bathroom to retrieve a hand towel to wrap it. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to climb into the shower with water on full hot. She wasn’t safe yet, it would have to wait.


Several old lockers doubled as her closet. Searching through a few folded stacks of tee shirts, she found what she was looking for. One of her old gray zip-up hoodies would add an extra layer under the leather jacket. She had an old belt knife on top of the lockers, checking for it. Jackpot. It was slid into the hoodie pocket. Gun in her waistband was checked. The other had only one shot left.


She should never have taken off her blades, or stepped out of her front door without being armed. But, Stanford was a friend. He was a cop. She still shouldn't have trusted him or gotten into the car with someone she was unfamiliar with. This was a brutal lesson she was already damning herself for, and was not looking forward to explaining to Ryan. It had been a test of her metal, and in her eyes she'd come up short on every level.


She pulled the hood up and put her coat back on to keep warm, sudden pain on her left side catching the breath in her lungs. She sought the bathroom mirror and pulled up everything to run her ‘bandaged’ hand over her left ribcage. It was a rainbow of dark colors. Broken? Fingers pushed at her stomach just below her ribs, the pain bringing a nauseous choke. She had internal injuries. Deep bruising at the bare minimum. Slamming into a car door could do that.


“Shit,” was said out loud, the same time her eyes snapped to something in her room.


There were mementos from her old life in the room, a few old pictures. Same bed, a couple of throw pillows, wool blankets, a few things on the walls; items that deserved to stay in the place where the memories had been made. A shoe box that had been under her bed was now on it, open with items out. She frowned, silently turning in a circle to take stock of everything she'd glossed over when she came in. Things were out of place. Someone had been searching her room.


Inaudible footsteps made their way to the bed, picking up the items that were pulled out and rifled through. Mementos and fliers for advertised fights her brothers had been in. Pictures of her and her brothers. Her mother and father.


Ryan had keys, but… he wouldn’t do this.


She didn’t hesitate. Not spending another moment thinking about who could have or would have, she was moving again. Up the stairs to the balcony access, yanking the red pulls for the roof vent and making her way up the ladder. She was not moving fast enough. Muscles were burning, injuries were taking their toll. Getting to his apartment was a longer trek by far, and the distance was daunting.


She would not lose this round, they would have to shoot her first.


Pulling herself out of the escape access and onto the roof, the chill hit her like a whip. After a block she would have to go back to the street, on the street she would have to be more vigilant. She could stop in a storefront or two to regain some warmth, but it was closing time for almost everything, and bloody was never a good sign to anyone. She couldn’t trust the cops if they were called. Riding the bus was a more direct route, but it would draw the same attention.




She knew the system backward and forward and could evade as long as she felt it was safe. Train hopping would keep her off the street, and would get her close enough to make a last break for his apartment. Of course, she probably wouldn’t be in one station long enough for Ryan to catch up, assuming he’d gotten the original call. Something was also very wrong; skin pale, nauseous. Thoughts of a concussion were giving way to greater fears.


The momentary respite had given her enough recharge to get a few blocks from the gym on foot, disappearing down a subway drop and out of sight. Head down, face under the hood, hands in her pockets as she waited, the sparse traffic this time of night didn’t pay her a lick of attention. Train slid to a stop, sigh pained as she stepped on and made her way to the far corner of the car to sit. Back opposite the platform side, she could see who got on and off. Hood was also up, hiding her features from view even though she could still see and keep track of her surroundings. It was out of the elements, warm, and she leaned her right temple on the back wall, pulling her coat tighter around herself. As the car began to move, there was a small sense of relief. She needed to close her eyes.


Just for a second.

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March 1st, 2019

1915 Hours

Manhattan, New York 


“Hey, I had a Detective Stanford come by to take me down to the local precinct. Happens once and a while when they find stolen items, he's our usual guy. Shouldn’t be long, he’ll bring me home so I don’t have to catch the subway… see you soon.”


That was the text Ryan had received on his way home from ARMA headquarters.  He had stopped at his Manhattan apartment, to refit some tactical equipment before heading back to the “Book of Kells.”  As a pillar of the community, Rorye had frequent and unexpected contacts with an assortment of characters.  This wasn’t unusual.  The text he received minutes later, however, did cause him concern.


“Another detective in the car. Fields. Doesn’t feel right. Will send location.”


Harker half-jogged through his apartment building’s lobby, making his way back to his Challenger with haste.  Rorye’s intuition was almost as supernatural as her speed.  If she felt something was amiss, then danger was certainly afoot.


“Send status and location ASAP,” the agent replied via text message.  A number was thumbed on his phone as he backed his car out of the garage.  The muscle car’s V8 Hemi gave a hearty roar as he sped away from the parking lot. 


“Hey man, it’s Harker,” Ryan said to his contact at the NYPD.  A good buddy from his short time on the force, they had gone through the academy together.  “Yeah I need a quick favor… Do you know a Detective Stanford?  Okay, what about a Detective Fields?  He should be out of the same precinct…”


Still no answer from Rorye.  She wouldn’t have sent him a distress message and then ghosted him unless something was wrong.


“Huh, are you sure?” the ARMA operative’s paranoid suspicions were confirmed.  “Alright thanks bro, gotta go.  Bye.”


“No Det. Fields from that precinct,” he messaged to Rorye in a text.  If she could talk, she would have called, and his experience with covert missions told him a phone ringing at the wrong time could get her killed.  So, he refrained from calling.


Ryan tore through the streets of New York with the daring of suicidal psychopath.  His abilities aiding him in navigating the evening’s traffic, even as he ignored traffic signals and jumped the occasional curb.  More than once he veered into oncoming lanes, anything to get to her in time.


The ARMA agent’s next call was to tech specialist at the Vanguard of Humanity.  Harker had helped him with an issue back when he was still on the Vanguard’s HRAT (High Risk Assault Team).  Simply put, the man owed him a favor.  “Thompson, it’s Harker…  Don’t give me that shit, I don’t have time for it.  I need a favor, and your going to pay up, or the next time you see me I’ll be putting a bullet in your fucking kneecap!”


Ryan’s voice lowered, even as horns honked excitedly at him.  Tires squealed as he fish-tailed through an intersection.  Almost lost it. This damn snow was making an already treacherous journey downright deadly.  “I need a ping on a cell phone, prepare to copy the number…”


A moment later the tech provided Ryan with lat/long and street intersection.  The Vanguard had far reaching influence and extensive resources.  A cell phone ping was easily within the organization’s capabilities.  Boot slammed the brake pedal, free hand wrenched the steering wheel, and his Challenger performed a buttonhook in the middle of an undivided highway. 


She wasn’t far.  Ryan just hoped he could make it to her in time.


(OOC: More to follow.  Just had this in the works and wanted to get it posted. ;))

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