A Back Door

[Storyteller]

The pair of you move round the back, keeping low, out of sight of the house. There don't seem to be many windows which you could look in or out through, but it pays to be safe. Once you're round the back, you vault the fence, and drop silently into the garden. While the street is well-lit, there is almost no light back here, and while this makes it almost impossible for you to be seen, it severely reduces your vision back here.

[Treyvon Johnson]

I head near the door gripping my blood in case I need to move out of the way quickly.

"You're a Shadow, right?" I ask in a whisper. "I think it's on you to get us a way inside. I can barely see back here."

[Storyteller]

John nods, and puts a finger to his lips. He crouches, and walks slowly forward, further into the garden. You can just make out him motioning to follow you. As your eyes adjust to the dark, you can see a back door, nearest to the side of the fence you're at. Two windows, one boarded, the other broken and dark, fill up the rest of the space on the wall.

John creeps towards the door, stops, and wait for you to catch up with him.

"Well, there's one way in, but i'm not sure how accessible it'll be."

[Treyvon Johnson]

I move over to him and survey the area for good measure.

"Do we have any other options?" I ask, though it's not exactly a question.

[Storyteller]

He stays silent for a few moments. It's too dark for you to see his facial expression.

"Window? Either one'll be noisy. Glass one less so, and easier to get through, though we'd probably take a few cuts a bruises."

[Treyvon Johnson]

I shrug.

"Window it is then. Better to get a few cuts and bruises and have the element of surprise than to deal with who knows how many prepared somebdoies. You know?"

[Storyteller]

John grins.

"Me first."

Crouched, he moves, keeping low, across the grass. When he reaches the window, he steps onto the ledge, and climbs through, leaving a bit of material on the broken glass.

You move up to the window, following his path. You step onto the ledge, and try to squeeze through, without touching the jagged sides. You almost make it, but when you're lowering yourself in, you gouge a cut down the length of your arm.

On the other side, your feet don't go down to the ground, but stops just below window level. Looking down, your feet are on the top of a unit of some kind. There's hardly enough light to see, but as you look up, you freeze; a sharp sillouette - two figures, one holding the other in a chokehold, with a gun to their head.

[Treyvon Johnson]

I move as slowly and quietly as I can to ready my gun. What I wouldn't give to be able to see through John's eyes right now. Still, I just keep ready to move out of the way if necessary. For the moment, all I can do is listen and see if anything comes of it.

[Storyteller]

When getting your gun ready, you catch it ever so slightly on the surface that you're standing on, making a neat little tap.

The figure maintaining the chokehold tries to spin round to face you, but doesn't quite manage it, with the other person resisting. The struggling man in the chokehold seizes the chance to strike out, and catches the man in the stomach, pulling away. The other man isn't caught out for long though, and fires his gun at the escapee. You don't see whether he hits, but the muzzle flash is enough to illuminate the scene for a brief second, showing John as the man who was in the chokehold, an unknown stranger as the gun-wielder, and a third figure, standing in the door to the room, watching on, who you don't get a good look at.

[Treyvon Johnson]

Shit. That's all I can say about this. I crouch and move myself over to the corner that John was near. At this point I just want to turn on the lights and deal with whatever comes next that way.

"John," I say softly. Hopefully it's enough for him to recognize me if he's still got his super senses going.

[Storyteller]

The gun goes off again, showing John trying to grab the gunman by the neck. The bullet goes upwards, and you feel a large chunk of wood and plaster come just past your face. There's a sudden crash, and another gun flash, and you see than John has been thrown back, to near the man at the door, and is lying on his back, with blood on his front and face.

[Storyteller]

Or does it...

As you focus more clearly on what you've just witnessed, you realise that the last gunflash showed something a little more interesting. The light reveals Victor, slashing at the gunman's arm, throwing his aim for that last shot completely off, missing John.

[Treyvon Johnson]

This is ridiculous. I look around for a light switch or something that I can turn on long enough to get everyone's positions.

[Storyteller]

After too many precious seconds, you spot a switch, which you can only assume, or rather, pray, is a light switch, just within arms reach, off to the right of the unit. You go for it.

You click the light on for just the short moment, so that you can see what's going on. In the brief moment you leave it on, you see Wic and the gunman struggling in the middle of the room. Wic's using his punch daggers, but the man is still holding on to his automatic, while trying to hold Wic back. The gunman himself is about the same height as Wic, and has black hair, wearing what look like black leather biker clothes. John still lies on the floor, though he appears to be ok.

You click the light back off again, ready to act.

[artman01]

Damn what the hell.

I try to get my barrings on the guy. I pull my knife out and try to help Wic.