Post by Rojo on Feb 14, 2009 8:38:50 GMT -5
A man steps through the shadows swiftly. His footsteps make a smart, purposeful noise as he walks. His head does not move left or right- only looking forward. His arms move back and forth slightly, giving him a slightly soldier-like air. Jeremy Kite walked.
The cold air brushed on his face. The street he was walking on had no light source whatsoever, making him almost invisible aside from his ghostly pale face. He wasn't expecting a fight; maybe one of the Night Police would lurch out of the darkness and he would have to duck hastily into a warehouse or down a manhole, but apart from that this patrol was supposed to be completely uneventful. He knew two others were patrolling around somewhere, but he wasn't in the mood to talk. Jeremy looked up at large factory to his left, probably the birthplace of chairs or something similar. A rusted iron fence scrolled around the perimeter and the various little sqaure windows were either broken or dark. It seemed no one was home.
Well, it was always possible something could be going on inside. He moved towards the gate, gaze intently fixed on it. There was a heavy padlock on it, barring entry to people like Jeremy who might want to take a look inside. That was good, it probably meant there was nothing queer going on behind the scenes, but he had to be careful all the same. Kite moved away from the gate and started to move anti-clockwise around the building, checking the fence for weaknesses.
"Hmm..." he said thoughtfully, placing a hand on his chin and resting his elbow on his arm which was folded across his chest. There was a particularily rusted-away part of fencing near the back. He tensed his muscles, pulled back his right leg and gave the fence an almighty kick. It jingled in that vexing way fences do, and a section fell inwards. It looked big enough to get through.
Crouching down and shuffling through in a way similar to that of a penguin, Jeremy managed to get through, scraping a small hole in his coat which he would sew up later. Now that he was closer and the moon was behind him, Jeremy could inspect the factory's details. It was made of bricks (some replaced) and there was a large sign saying "TERRY AND SONS." Ah, he had been right. They did make chairs.
Walking around to the back revealed a large slide-up door, probably for crates, next to a blue wooden door. Peering through the keyhole produced nothing, and the door was locked too. He had already made enough noise as it was kicking the fence through, so smashing a door to pieces wasn't a particularily good idea.
Most people would have looked through the window quickly and then resumed regular patrolling, but if stories told around fires, poker tables or even from books had told him anything, it was that the enemy was always convieniently vague in his searching; giving up looking in the toilet cubicles just before he reached the one the hero was hiding in or never checking under the bed when our plucky protagonist is hiding there. Jeremy knew that in reality, if you made a mistake, you got killed. Now, getting killed was something he did not intend to do at all.
Looking around for something to open the door more discreetly with, he discovered the little doormat by his feet. Rolling his eyes, he pulled up the doormat to reveal a little iron key. He picked it up and slid it into the keyhole. Oldest trick in the book, eh? He turned it clockwise and the lock clicked. OPening the door slowly, Jeremy moved into the factory, cautiously pulling his knife from his belt as he did.
The cold air brushed on his face. The street he was walking on had no light source whatsoever, making him almost invisible aside from his ghostly pale face. He wasn't expecting a fight; maybe one of the Night Police would lurch out of the darkness and he would have to duck hastily into a warehouse or down a manhole, but apart from that this patrol was supposed to be completely uneventful. He knew two others were patrolling around somewhere, but he wasn't in the mood to talk. Jeremy looked up at large factory to his left, probably the birthplace of chairs or something similar. A rusted iron fence scrolled around the perimeter and the various little sqaure windows were either broken or dark. It seemed no one was home.
Well, it was always possible something could be going on inside. He moved towards the gate, gaze intently fixed on it. There was a heavy padlock on it, barring entry to people like Jeremy who might want to take a look inside. That was good, it probably meant there was nothing queer going on behind the scenes, but he had to be careful all the same. Kite moved away from the gate and started to move anti-clockwise around the building, checking the fence for weaknesses.
"Hmm..." he said thoughtfully, placing a hand on his chin and resting his elbow on his arm which was folded across his chest. There was a particularily rusted-away part of fencing near the back. He tensed his muscles, pulled back his right leg and gave the fence an almighty kick. It jingled in that vexing way fences do, and a section fell inwards. It looked big enough to get through.
Crouching down and shuffling through in a way similar to that of a penguin, Jeremy managed to get through, scraping a small hole in his coat which he would sew up later. Now that he was closer and the moon was behind him, Jeremy could inspect the factory's details. It was made of bricks (some replaced) and there was a large sign saying "TERRY AND SONS." Ah, he had been right. They did make chairs.
Walking around to the back revealed a large slide-up door, probably for crates, next to a blue wooden door. Peering through the keyhole produced nothing, and the door was locked too. He had already made enough noise as it was kicking the fence through, so smashing a door to pieces wasn't a particularily good idea.
Most people would have looked through the window quickly and then resumed regular patrolling, but if stories told around fires, poker tables or even from books had told him anything, it was that the enemy was always convieniently vague in his searching; giving up looking in the toilet cubicles just before he reached the one the hero was hiding in or never checking under the bed when our plucky protagonist is hiding there. Jeremy knew that in reality, if you made a mistake, you got killed. Now, getting killed was something he did not intend to do at all.
Looking around for something to open the door more discreetly with, he discovered the little doormat by his feet. Rolling his eyes, he pulled up the doormat to reveal a little iron key. He picked it up and slid it into the keyhole. Oldest trick in the book, eh? He turned it clockwise and the lock clicked. OPening the door slowly, Jeremy moved into the factory, cautiously pulling his knife from his belt as he did.
