LVIII vs BKole

"Hrm."

The fading sunlight dropped it's rays through the high-rise apartment blocks and city-scape terraforms that dominated hers peripherals and his vision. He coughed a few times as the smog wafted upwards through the air and across the reflective windows that completely destroyed any concept of space and direction. He snorted a little, and adjusted the filter in his gas mask.

Smog mean't nothing to him, it was the cities version of cloud cover.

In fact, according to the Neon Bible, everything could be transfered and understood through parallels with Nature. Darwin's ideas mixed with a little modern planning, and you have Natural Selection applied to old flats, and wooden huts. They simply couldn't compete.

He ran forwards, slamming his palms down at the last moment and vaulting through the air, twisting his waist to allow his feet to take the impact of the other wall, and letting his arms go limp to take on the slack of his body as he swung through the fire-escape onto a fifth floor platform.

He looked downwards, running a hand through his black hair, and allowing himself a moment to relax his vision. Every now and then relaxing vision allows it to re-focus. Sharper than before.

Plus, he had an odd feeling. A feeling of pursuit, like he was being harried. It wasn't a sense by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a wretching in his stomach. A rolling feeling that a Rabbit must feel as the hawks and cats and Weasel's draw in on it. A feeling of dread that he felt with every stretch of DNA and residual instinctual gasp that wasn't eaten up with iPods, Digital TV and Twitter scatter shots.

The buzzing of a moped below snapped him out of his dread, and he made he was down the Fire-escape. It was probably nothing. After all, he would be the first to admit that sometimes he gets confused. He shook his head as he stepped onto the street.

It was all going to be fine.

She wasn’t sure what Ramses wanted with this guy but it was not her job to question, just to kill. She had been watching him from the streets; from her red triumph motorcycle.

Its purr and constant vibration gave her a weird feeling. It was standard issue; she was a member of the Lethal Weapon Brigade a secretive group based in Italy.

Its leader was Kelly, The first lethal Weapon; however whoever sponsored the group had bigger plans for the organization.

People watched, as she sped her huge bike down an Alleyway and took position under a fire escape.

Turning the bike off she slowly surveyed the area a small gate laid on the ground with a column of steam coming from it.

Data readings began running through her brain… {Loading}….. {Suspect found} She waited for the data readings {Ed, Hunter no specific Data is listed} She quietly cursed her luck and then pressed a button on her bike.

Huge silver spike ripped through the tires, Tina revved her engine back up and sped up the side of the buildings.

She had her weapons drawn ready to strike. As her vehicle stormed up the side, her initial reaction was TOS. Terminate on sight, a rule all LW’s were supposed to do.

As he rounded the corner, he stopped. Eyes daring through the plastic covering like fish in crystal-clear shallows, he heard a noise.

Motorbike engine. Standing still, turning over but in first gear, ready to go. He sniffed the air through the filter. Oil, smog, petrol. Superbike? Normal Bike? Slick whatever it was.

He crouched low. They were after him again? Or weren't they? Haptic technology was important. If they were tracking him through GPS, though he couldn't see how, they wouldn't be able to find him here. It'd give a reading of four blocks away, within a wall cavity.

Virtual co-ordinates. He moved up against the wall, poking his head around to try and get a glimpse of the biker. Maybe it was a normal biker? Nothing to be paranoid about right? Wrong. Everyone is a threat. Everyone. Even Mother, rest her soul.

Grabbing a hand of assorted Rubbish off the floor, a McDonald's burger wrapper, still with sealing sticker, a crushed coke can, some chewing gum, both chewed and unopened and four or five used napkins, be began to formulate a plan. Taking the McDonald's wrapper, he wound it around the Can, which he condensed as much as possible, enough to make it smaller, but not enough that the crumbling metal could be heard. Rolling the napkins into "fingers" and keeping them that way by running his tongue tip across the fringes of the dirty paper, he made sure they all stemmed from a singular place, like fingers, only a much more stylised version.

Finally, securing the digits to the can with the McDonald's seal, he placed all the assorted pieces of gum into his mouth and chewed for thirty seconds, before attaching the hand to the wall. Just enough for the fingers to appear as though they were reaching from around the corner. There he waited, for a few moments, before kicking another can, and diving behind some dustbins.

The trap was set.