"See, this is all your fault, Ethan! Because of you, we are being chased by a trained assassin with orders to kill first, then ask questions." said a young woman, presumably in her early thirties. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, which was definitely neater when she first left her house. She wore a white T-shirt, paired with a light blue crop denim jacket and a pair of dark gray skinny jeans. She decided to tie her jacket around her waist as soon as she entered the place, not regretting her choice at all. Her tan skin was covered in sweat, from a long, terrifying chase. Her gray eyes were filled with panic, and her lips kept quivering and quaking in fear. Her ID card kept flying in the air, so that all the birds up above could easily see her name, Hazel Brooks. "You never should have brought us here!"
"Me?!" her partner replied, aghast, while panting and puffing for oxygen. He was tired of running. The fitness tracker on his wrist beeped twice, signalling that he had run for two kilometers. To the innocent watch, it was a simple workout. That was how the algorithm worked. If it detected hand movement, it meant that the user was walking, and intense movement, meant the user was running. He was wearing his favorite T-shirt, which had now been drenched in sweat. He had abandoned his leather jacket a long time ago, by flourishing it at their pursuer in a feeble act of self defense. They were more used to writing, rather than wrestling; an impressive workout for the hands, which did not involve their legs whatsoever. "So now you believe me that there is something fishy about this subway, Hazel?"
"Yes, man... I agree. But now is not the time to rub in the fact that you were right about this subway having a scoop!!"
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"Fine, but..." he said, stopping for a minute to take a breath. He felt like his ventricles would explode with the amount of blood they kept pumping, and that the thin-walled auricles were already ruptured. "If we get back to the office, I will make you say, 'Ethan Thompson was right all along into the PA.', got it?"
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Hazel thought to herself, there was one good thing which would happen if even either one of them died. She wouldn't have to deal with her cocky, immature partner anymore. Sometimes, his behavior made her believe that he faked his date of birth on all the important documents, making him much older than he actually was. But for once, he truly was on to something.
"Whatever, let's focus on first REACHING any safe place." (how should the plotline go?)
The subway tunnels were a shadowy labyrinth, the dim lights casting long, eerie shadows of the benches and lights that danced on the grimy walls. The air was thick with the metallic tang of rust and the musty odour of neglect. Echoes of distant trains rumbled through the ground, a ghostly reminder of the world above. Water dripped from the curved ceiling, the sound amplified in the gloomy silence. Graffiti splashed across the walls, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the dull, lifeless grays and browns of the tunnel. However, the lack of lighting and time prevented the two from Hazel and Ethan's footsteps were muffled by the dirt and debris underfoot as they raced through the mysterious ghost town, as they kept trying to escape.240Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7uAfTed1v6
They felt as if they were running for minutes, hours, days, weeks... or at least, until Ethan quickly glanced left and saw a conveniently located staircase they could climb up, which took them off the underground platform and into the open air. He nudged Hazel gently, and showed her the staircase. The two swiftly swiveled left and then, ran up the stairs as fast as they could.
They reached an abandoned portion of the city. Hearing the noise of the footsteps below, they deduced that at least they could probably hide. Hazel, in the spur of the moment, dropped her ID card a few steps after the top of the stairs, then went off to the side, leaving the assassin a red herring.
They hid for a while in a demolition truck, which was there to demolish the very stairs which enabled their escape from the maze.
"So, what's the plan? We're not gonna hide in this truck all our lives." Hazel asked.
"No shit, Sherlock. I don't have a plan!" Ethan hissed.
"Calm down, dude. It's not the end of the world."
"For all we know, it is, Hazel... I heard them say they were genetically mutating something... though I don't know what it is."
"Genetically mutating?! Whoa, tell me more!" she asked, a mix of both curiosity and fear in her eyes. She wanted to know what evil plot was about to unfold before her eyes, but at the same time she couldn't just stand there let such a thing happen.
Ethan took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. “Okay, listen. I only heard it through the door. We need to find out what they’re mutating. If it’s something dangerous, we might be the only ones who can stop it.”
Hazel nodded, her determination clear despite the fear. “Right. We’ll need to sneak back in there, won’t we?”
“It’s risky, but yes. We’ll wait until nightfall. They won’t expect us to come back so soon.” he replied, and glanced at his smart watch, which kept counting down the minutes of his 'workout'. He rolled his eyes, ended the workout and checked the time. It was 8:26 p.m., and he had reached his step goal, in fact, almost doubled it.
"All right, but we should have dinner first. Or get to the office and plan out everything properly." she replied, glancing at her grumbling stomach.
"Let's pick up some takeout from that spot we like near the office," Ethan suggested, a spark of normalcy in his voice despite the chaos. "We can take it back to the office, lay out all the information we have, and come up with a plan over dinner."
Hazel agreed. "Okay, but how about we take it to my place instead? I don't think the office will be open."
They carefully made their way out of the truck and into the familiar eatery, the neon sign with the phrase 'Flavors & Fun' written on it, and a smiling cartoon chef holding a roll, flickering on and off. They were glad that the assassin was no longer on their tails, and entered.
With bags of food in hand, they returned to Hazel's apartment, which was a walkable distance from the office and the restaurant, the city lights casting long shadows on the walls. They spread out maps, scribbled notes, and placed a clipboard on Hazel's office table, the takeout containers steaming beside them.
As Hazel kept munching on her chicken roll, she stood by the printer, waiting for the photos on both their phones to be printed, while Ethan sat down on his partner's office chair, scribbling his notes on the clipboard, as he ate his own roll. By the end of it, the paper was slightly oily, thanks to being handled by his slightly oily fingers.
Dinner was a much-needed break for the two, enabling them to clear their minds and return to work. Hazel set an alarm for 10:00 p.m., when it was time for them to leave the house.
The printouts were ready, so she gently removed them from the printer and placed them on her table. She grabbed a chair from the dining area and sat down beside her partner, who had just found an interesting double-tipped red marker pen and was testing it out.
"Focus," Hazel said, snatching her pen back, and removing the cap. "This can be an equivalent to red wool..."
They laid out a chart, made of four A4 sheets taped together. It was a flimsy arrangement, but it worked for them. As they kept sticking the pictures, connecting them using the thicker end of the pen, and scribbling notes, they didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Until 10:00, when the investigation could properly commence.
Thanks to a convenient shot, they could see the assassin's outfit, a puffy jacket with fully black pants underneath and a mask covering his face.
Hazel rummaged through her wardrobe, until she found a pair of black high-rise jeans sitting inside, and a neglected black puffy jacket to go with it. She wore the outfit, making Ethan pose as the victim, while the real assassin was on a wild goose chase. They reached the abandoned subway and entered the same way the exited. Reaching the lair was difficult, especially while she had to pose as if she captured him, and him posing as a prisoner.
In the shadowed corridors of the underground lab, they slipped past guards and into the heart of the operation. They discovered a lab filled with incubators housing identical human figures, each a perfect clone in suspended animation.
Until... they noticed something a figure in the dark. A ray of light shone off a small reflective surface, hanging from the silhouette's hands. As it inched closer and closer to the duo, Hazel gulped.
Finally, the mysterious shadow revealed itself to be a person, in a similar black jacket and jeans, only taller. He stood in front of them both, and reached for Hazel's hoodie. She was confused, but the removal of the hoodie was quick, revealing the messy black ponytail beneath. "You two are back again?" he asked. She glanced down at the item he was holding. It looked like a long chain of sorts, save for the rounded rectangular pendant. The light bounced off of it, as the assassin read the contents out loud.
"Hazel Brooks. Reporter - Clarence Times... and her little partner." he read, before chuckling evilly. "Not a good idea, leaving your ID card behind, little girl."
He tossed the ID card behind him, and pulled out his gun. "Run while you still can." he said, placing his finger to the trigger. He pushed it down. The shot was heard, but no bullet fired.
He groaned, and pulled a cartridge out, to refill it, cursing under his breath. This was their chance, they thought, so they escaped, but narrowly.
As Hazel and Ethan dashed through the darkened corridors (again), the assassin's failed shot echoed in their ears. They knew they had only moments before he would reload and come after them.
They reached the surface, gasping for the night air, but the relief was short-lived. The assassin's silhouette appeared at the end of the alley, gun reloaded, his aim steady. Ethan pushed Hazel aside as the shot rang out, and time seemed to slow down.
"ETHAN!" she shouted. Usually, when she shouted his name out, it meant he had messed something up, or that she was already angry. She gasped, as she watched the scene, paralyzed by the shock. As the bullet flew through the air, Ethan instinctively shielded his face with his hands, and Hazel quickly dialed 911.
All he saw next was the bullet stuck in his hand, and the deafening ambulance siren kept fading in the background. He was placed on the gurney, and rolled into the ambulance. The mix of the siren noises, along with Hazel's sighs of regret faded into the background, as his head began to throb. Somehow, the oxygen in the back of the truck seemed to deplete.
"Heart rate normal, says the watch," he heard a distorted voice say, as he felt a hand take his watch off, and a cold object touch his chest. His eyes somehow closed automatically, and then all went black.
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