He had his chest pressed up against the wall, angling his body to face his would be assailants. He could only assume they were out for his life. Corpse aside, referring to someone as a “mark” could only spell trouble. There weren’t a lot of options at his disposal. The room was barren of furniture, picked clean of objects he could use to hide behind. The window was a lifeline, but without knowing what floor he was on, he was taking a major risk just booking it out that exit. Something cracked under his feet. The mirror shards!

“I’m so sorry Miss, I-I have the keys to the door. J-just give me a moment to check my other set of pockets.” The stammering voice rattled, small mechanical taps behind the wooden frame. He took this moment and grabbed a large enough shard into his hands. He tried to hold it as best he could but he could feel streaks of liquid run down from his palm and up the shard.

“A-ah! I found it M-Miss.” The stammering voice exclaimed, his rattling subsiding.

“Just open the door, you idiot! He could have woken up by now with all of the noise you’ve been making.” The female voice yelled. The wooden door frame flew from its hinges and he was faced with a confusing ensemble. On either side of the woman were raggedly dressed people. Or at least he thought one was. There was one man who was covered in dirt and grime, a brown coat stitched and patched to the point it was more piecemeal fabrics than discernible clothing. His partner, however, was just fashioned in a burlap sack down to their knees. Sewn on this burlap sack were rows upon rows of pockets of varying sizes. His (Its?) skin was cast in a yellowish bronze, rust peeling away at the paint that used to be on the limbs. The woman stood out like a sore thumb. She wore a black suit, of all things, and a purple shawl that trailed down from her shoulders to her waist. Her eyes were severe, her hair short, parted to one side and shaved on the other.

With a heavy thunk, she dropped what looked to be a black cross with a handle at one end on the floor.

“What is the meaning of this! Where is he?” She yelled at her contacts, but the words he was hearing did not match the words that were spoken. Curious, but the thought was shelved for more pressing matters.

“I-I promise this was the place. H-here you go. This is the note we got.” The mechanical one fiddled with their pockets until finding an ornate sheet of paper to hand over to the woman. She ripped it out of their hands and scanned its words for a moment before crumbling it and throwing it to the ground.

“And he’s not here, now is he? Just…” she paused, rubbing her temples in exasperation, “Just fan out. You, check the window. See if he jumped, You, check the bathroom.” The two ragged individuals took a moment to register her statement before making their moves.

Shit.

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He pulled away from the door frame and got into a half crouch, keeping his center of gravity low and his head at about chest level. The mechanical one gingerly approached the entrance of the bathroom, its singular yellow eye now glimmering with fluid and light. Just as they passed through the bathroom frame, he kicked his legs outward and shouldered the mechanical person. He felt some bruising but pushed past it, running with all of his might towards the door frame.

The woman pivoted, wielding her cross in one hand and getting ready to swing at him but she faltered for a moment. Their eyes locked and he saw it then; there was recognition behind that gaze. He grabbed the advantage and swung his full weight into her abdomen, knocking the wind out of her lungs and her body onto the wooden flooring. He didn’t look behind him, staring forward into the dank and decrepit hallway. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the hall that he heard it.

“Fucking useless! Get him” the woman yelled before he heard the splintering of floorboards behind him. He sprinted faster, harder, his breathing shortening with every frantic step, his goal just a few meters away. Just as he could feel the wood flakes peppering the back of his head, he grabbed onto the door frame of his exit and pivoted his way to the side. He descended, failing to catch a glimpse of what had ripped its way towards him as he ran down the stairs. Looking over the railings told him all he needed to know about his window plan.

“Come on, will ya! He’s gettin’ aways!” The other man yelled, his voice echoing down the stairwell. More footsteps began clattering on the creaky floorboards. He needed distance.

“Here goes nothing.” He grabbed onto the railing and took a leap of faith through the center of the stairwell. Even as the wind whipped through his jacket and slid through his fingers, it felt stagnant, stale. He reached out to what he’d been aiming for, a metal railing near the bottom floors and held on as tightly as he could. His body slammed onto the wood with a dull thud. He gasped for air but his knuckles were white, refusing to let go. He looked up and could see the distance he’d created, felt like he could take a moment to collect himself and plan a little farther beyond immediate.

“H-How’d he get down there!” The mechanical one yelled, his steps faltering far above the stairwell.

“It doesn’t matter how! We’ve gots to get him or we’ll be gotten, ya dig?” The other man replied, his steps an uneven mess of skipped steps and cut corners. Seeing as the drop wasn’t much more than two flights of stairs, he let go again and braced his legs for impact. With a heavy thunk, his legs braced the impact surprisingly well. In front of him was the exit and the scene beyond filled with gray and brown trash and ramshackled buildings stacked on top of one another with shoddy foundations. He took off, the ground shifting from creaking floorboards to squelching trash as he ran in a random direction away from the building.

It was a while before he turned back. He went from turn to turn, taking as obtuse of a path he could in these trashpacked city streets. There were people properly bustling around the area now, heading here and there to destinations unknown. If he didn’t lose them with his turns, he surely lost them having weaved through the thickening amount of foot traffic.

It was a shame that he was lost, himself.