Wow, curran . . . that's just cool. 
Damn, I'm in! Fast 1 knife fighter type. Well, here goes . . .
"Those dirty bastards. Gawdam. Don't they ever get enough?" Kyle Friedmen turned away from the three slumped forms, glanced over his shoulder at Flint. "Aw, Sheeit!" Kyle rushed over to Flint's fallen figure, lying prostrate, arms flung out, one hand just barely entering the pool of light at the edge of the dark alleyway. He nealt down, checked for pulse. Nothing.
A muscle in Kyle's face twitched. Again. A pale beam of starlight fell across a wet cheek. "Dammit, Flint, don't you leave me now, boy. Dammit, don't you leave me." Kyle's voice was low, a whisper, barely audible. He repreated the phrase, over and over, perhaps subconciously believing that if he said it enough, he wouldn't be left alone.
Alone.
Alone, that's what he was now. Alone in mind, in body, in sould. Flint was gone. Kyle drew in a ragged breath, pulled himself to a his feet. Turned to face the world outside the little alleyway, took a step into the glimmering light of the downtown street. Another step. Another, another, another. Soon, Kyle was walking at a regular pace, rhythmically, mechanically.
Sirens.
He began to walk faster. Or rather, he felt that he began to walk faster. He knew he was moving faster, but his mind had no will over his body. His mind was numb.
Now his body was running. The sirens grew louder, grew more distinct, now red and blue strobe lights illuminated the area. He kept running.
*BANG*
Kyle stopped running, then. And he wouldn't run again for a long, long time. He wouldn't run for years. In a state top security prison, there's just no where to run too. Unless you want to be shot again.
He didn't run again, until he met Smith.
So, you like?
Damn, I'm in! Fast 1 knife fighter type. Well, here goes . . ."Those dirty bastards. Gawdam. Don't they ever get enough?" Kyle Friedmen turned away from the three slumped forms, glanced over his shoulder at Flint. "Aw, Sheeit!" Kyle rushed over to Flint's fallen figure, lying prostrate, arms flung out, one hand just barely entering the pool of light at the edge of the dark alleyway. He nealt down, checked for pulse. Nothing.
A muscle in Kyle's face twitched. Again. A pale beam of starlight fell across a wet cheek. "Dammit, Flint, don't you leave me now, boy. Dammit, don't you leave me." Kyle's voice was low, a whisper, barely audible. He repreated the phrase, over and over, perhaps subconciously believing that if he said it enough, he wouldn't be left alone.
Alone.
Alone, that's what he was now. Alone in mind, in body, in sould. Flint was gone. Kyle drew in a ragged breath, pulled himself to a his feet. Turned to face the world outside the little alleyway, took a step into the glimmering light of the downtown street. Another step. Another, another, another. Soon, Kyle was walking at a regular pace, rhythmically, mechanically.
Sirens.
He began to walk faster. Or rather, he felt that he began to walk faster. He knew he was moving faster, but his mind had no will over his body. His mind was numb.
Now his body was running. The sirens grew louder, grew more distinct, now red and blue strobe lights illuminated the area. He kept running.
*BANG*
Kyle stopped running, then. And he wouldn't run again for a long, long time. He wouldn't run for years. In a state top security prison, there's just no where to run too. Unless you want to be shot again.
He didn't run again, until he met Smith.
So, you like?
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