Swirls of red and gold roiled in the overcast sunset over a dilapidated downtown alleyway. Overfilled dumpsters and tipped recycle cans broke up the monotony of brick walls that lined a path of wet paper and cracked pavement. The place smelled of trash and decay so thick it could almost be tasted.
Victoria checked for any movement other than rats, clouds of flies, and a handful of seagulls. She paced behind one particular building, a pawn shop, but checked every neighboring stairwell for a good angle to hide from view in an emergency. Her eyepiece glowed bright with a thermal overlay on part of her vision, where she saw the two shop employees beyond the brick wall and a customer who walked through the front door.
“No one can escape from this place without me finding them,” Victoria said into her mic.
“Are you sure this isn’t a practical joke?” Murphy’s voice was accompanied by a seagull which shrieked at him as if it begged for food. “Since when does anyone at the department believe people can vanish?”
“They don’t believe he can vanish,” Cooper said over the radio. “They believe our suspect has some sort of trick. And as luck would have it, we’re about to get our front row performance. He just walked into the shop.”
“I presumed that was him.” Victoria watched the red and orange lump that was their suspect through her thermal view. “He is slumped over. It is so obvious he is hiding a gun the way he walks.”
“Remember team, he’s been armed in most sightings, but you’re only cleared to use the stun darts,” Emma said to everyone.
Victoria drew her government-issued pistol, a modified revolver with seven rounds, all specialized stun mechanisms for non-lethal captures. She looked down its sights and scoffed at how crooked they were.
“You don’t need those bent sights, Victoria,” Emma said. “You’ll still hit your target when he tries to escape past you.”
“Even with an ace shot on our team, it would be nice if people would treat their borrowed gear better,” Murphy said as his visual feed showed he aimed a dart gun with a bend in its short barrel.
“Look who has finally decided to play.” Victoria held her revolver in both hands at her hip.
All three agents had a form of thermal overlay to watch the proceedings.
The suspect’s orange and red form held a yellow pistol and pointed it at the orange blobs that represented the two pawn shop employees getting on the ground. The suspect made aggressive lunges and one of the employees half-stood in order to make rapid grab-and-drop movements in front of the suspect, likely coerced to fill a container with stolen items. The suspect made sharp movements of his arm to order the employee back on the floor next to the other before he backed out of the front door.
“He’s out, and not heading to the park,” Cooper said. “He’s sidestepping around the building to the alleyway.”
“That’s a relief.” Murphy’s visual feed showed he attempted to aim at the suspect from his spot in the park but failed before the man got away.
A young man with shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders and a messy, short beard in a dirty yellow jacket and stained jeans came around the corner into Victoria’s view.
“Stop!” Victoria aimed her revolver at the man’s neck. “Raise your hands above your head and get on your knees.”
The man’s clean white sneakers splattered in a shallow puddle of mud and engine oil. He hopped in place, but not to slow his movement. His focus shifted to an old metal stairwell which led up to a series of apartment balconies. He was already halfway up the first section before the first shot was fired.
“I’m on my way to your position,” Murphy said.
Victoria grinned at her accuracy. She knew she caught him in the throat which would give the stun toxin a direct route to his bloodstream. She aimed again as he scrambled further up the stairs.
“I’ll watch from the rooftop in case he manages to pull a stunt,” Cooper said.
The young man slumped his body over the stair rail and flopped himself into a dumpster. He never let go of the stuffed backpack in his hands and he moved as one into the trash with his stolen goods.
Victoria shot him again, this time in his exposed wrist. She took cautious steps toward the dumpster and paid more attention to the thermal overlay to see what the suspect did inside the hiding spot.
The young man was curled into a fetal position and made a sluggish effort to pull something from his pocket. The orange and red blob wasn’t able to provide any clues as to what it was, but it didn’t immediately pick up heat and turn yellow like the pistol did in the shop. In fact, a dark blue line which resembled the pistol’s grip remained at his waistline. Then the thermal reading for the man was gone as if he was never there.
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