Running
He didn’t know whether it was that they didn’t think he was a threat any longer or they just didn’t care but John found himself without shackles but unfortunately for him they’d been smart enough to leave the collar on.
They’d moved him, from his cell to a mobile van and stuck him in the back with a guard. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened in the last couple of days but he really didn’t care, not when he could just about reach the firearm on the guard’s belt in front of him.
John knew one thing for certain unless he got out now he was never going to get out; he’d be locked up behind bars all his life and he’d never signed up for that. Besides, he was three kinds and ways of fucked and it wasn’t like the humans were volunteering to patch him up.
For the moment he played on his vulnerabilities and huddled in as close as he could, slowly inching closer to the guard because John had learned the necessity of patience in his dealings with the homosapiens as of late much to his dismay.
Even with one eye swollen shut he was still able to gauge the distance between his hand and that firearm. Hunkered down and breathing slow he positioned himself just right and when the turn for the next corner came up John moved.
It wasn’t the most smooth or elegant of manoeuvres and it was something of a tangle of limbs complete with a stray obscene swear word here and there and a sudden swerve of the van that had John slamming into the metallic side with a guard taking a swing for his face.
Blood gushed forth but John ignored it in favour of reaching for the gun and pulling it back to cock the trigger and plaster the muzzle right up against the guard’s temple and just like that everything came to a screeching halt.
The guard in the front had his finger over the trigger for the collar and John simply muttered, “Push that and your friend here is as good as dead.” That seemed enough to make the other guard pause for thought and John just smirked. “Good boy.”
He scrambled back up to his feet, finger still wrapped right around the trigger and for a moment eyes darted around as if weighing up all the options. “Keys,” He said very simply to the guard still on the floor, opening up his palm as if to say “toss them here.”
The guard hesitated but a clucking of John’s tongue and a movement of the gun had him rethinking and soon enough the keys were tossed and caught. John then glanced between one guard and the next before backing up to slide the keys into the lock until all bolts and locks were disengaged.
Maybe this was too easy, maybe he wasn’t thinking straight but honestly he’d taken quite a few smacks to the head so John didn’t think he could be held entirely accountable for his actions.
As soon as the doors opened, he was out of there, not even bothering to look back or even care if the guards were on his tail. Frankly, running seemed like an option worth trying for right now.
So that’s what he did, he ran and he ran until he’d left it all behind.
They’d moved him, from his cell to a mobile van and stuck him in the back with a guard. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened in the last couple of days but he really didn’t care, not when he could just about reach the firearm on the guard’s belt in front of him.
John knew one thing for certain unless he got out now he was never going to get out; he’d be locked up behind bars all his life and he’d never signed up for that. Besides, he was three kinds and ways of fucked and it wasn’t like the humans were volunteering to patch him up.
For the moment he played on his vulnerabilities and huddled in as close as he could, slowly inching closer to the guard because John had learned the necessity of patience in his dealings with the homosapiens as of late much to his dismay.
Even with one eye swollen shut he was still able to gauge the distance between his hand and that firearm. Hunkered down and breathing slow he positioned himself just right and when the turn for the next corner came up John moved.
It wasn’t the most smooth or elegant of manoeuvres and it was something of a tangle of limbs complete with a stray obscene swear word here and there and a sudden swerve of the van that had John slamming into the metallic side with a guard taking a swing for his face.
Blood gushed forth but John ignored it in favour of reaching for the gun and pulling it back to cock the trigger and plaster the muzzle right up against the guard’s temple and just like that everything came to a screeching halt.
The guard in the front had his finger over the trigger for the collar and John simply muttered, “Push that and your friend here is as good as dead.” That seemed enough to make the other guard pause for thought and John just smirked. “Good boy.”
He scrambled back up to his feet, finger still wrapped right around the trigger and for a moment eyes darted around as if weighing up all the options. “Keys,” He said very simply to the guard still on the floor, opening up his palm as if to say “toss them here.”
The guard hesitated but a clucking of John’s tongue and a movement of the gun had him rethinking and soon enough the keys were tossed and caught. John then glanced between one guard and the next before backing up to slide the keys into the lock until all bolts and locks were disengaged.
Maybe this was too easy, maybe he wasn’t thinking straight but honestly he’d taken quite a few smacks to the head so John didn’t think he could be held entirely accountable for his actions.
As soon as the doors opened, he was out of there, not even bothering to look back or even care if the guards were on his tail. Frankly, running seemed like an option worth trying for right now.
So that’s what he did, he ran and he ran until he’d left it all behind.