chasing death

First jobs always make me nervous. But this specific one made me more nervous than most. I was asked, on the first day of my career as a flying fighter, to stop a bunch of gangsters from escaping the police. For some reason, they chose the hardest criminals to stop on my first day. Very nice of them. But I really had no right to complain. I understand why they would not want me to succeed.

Flying over the city, I looked down, trying to spot a Toyota, in which the criminals, at least according to the report I was given, escaped. Of course, there are too many Toyotas in the city so that information was totally useless. Really, I searched for a Toyota followed by a bunch of police cars, since I assumed they were not relying on me. 

It took me around 5 minutes to find them. The police lost them seconds after I started my chase. The Toyota chose to go left at the last second, and the police were forced to go on straight simply because they did not have enough time to make the turn. Having done the same myself many times, I saw it coming. I came down, at around 150 miles per hour, and soon enough I was right behind them. I looked into the car through the rear window.

There were five of them, all holding weapons, except for the driver who was, of course, using his hands to drive. 

And here was the tricky part: how could I stop them? They were in a car. I could not just stop the car since I was certainly not strong enough. So I just watched, waiting for them to get out of the car.

I went up into the air one hundred meters and stopped, only watching. The car turned left, then right, left again, then the car left the road, drove on the curb (2 centimetres from a museum’s entrance), did a U-turn and drove back towards the centre of the city. I gazed after it, puzzled. Why did the driver take them back to the centre of the city? Any good criminal knows that the best thing to do in a chase is to leave the city.  Unless…

I descended, landing right behind the car, and saw at once that I was right. Except for the driver, who probably was not even wanted, no one remained. I cursed loudly. They must have seen me and got out. Luckily, there was only one place in which they could have exited the car without me seeing. 

I flew as fast as possible towards the museum. On the way, I stopped to take a gun from an officer’s holster. He certainly would not need it as much as me. I landed at the fire exit, praying that they did not leave already. Luckily, they did not. I hid behind the door as it opened. As they started running, there back to me, I shot one right in the head. They did not stop to help him. Instead, they ran even faster. I chased them but was forced to duck as one of them turned and shot a spray of bullets in my direction. I recognized him as George Cole, a man that used to work with me before I switched sides. They turned a corner, and I followed, flying above. George, who knew me, looked above, but the rest just looked behind, not knowing I could fly. I quickly shot him twice. I missed the first but the second caught him right on the top of his head, and I mourned his death even as I continued chasing his new friends. 

The moment George died, they looked around constantly, trying to find me. When they gave up, they decided to split up. Luckily, by the time they decided that only two of them remained. I managed to kill one and doubled back to find the other. It was at that moment that he spotted me. 

I was forced into a dive, and then into a roll as bullets shrieked above my head. I moaned in pain as a bullet hit my shoulder. 

And then he was away. Running, as fast as he could. Leaving me puzzled. Why didn’t he shoot me? I thought back to recent experiences and decided that he must have run out of bullets. 

I continued to chase him, flying high above the ground. To my surprise, he ran into a building. A great mistake, since buildings do not have many exits.

I tried the door. It was locked. I flew around the building and observed. There was only one door leading outside. The windows were too high up. What was he thinking?  

 I got my answer soon enough. I spotted him above the city. Connected to a harness that was connected to a cable that led down into the river. He splashed into the water as I descended, aimed, and shot. No bullet extracted. I threw the gun away, angry, and followed him. He swam for half an hour, slowly. I was in no hurry to catch him since even if he did have bullets left, you cannot shoot with the specific gun he had after it got wet. I simply followed him, hovering above the water. 

“You know you are beaten, I cried to him. “There is no way to escape. I might have mercy on you since I was a criminal too. ”

He knew that. He swam towards the riverbank. I landed right beside him just as he finished climbing out of the water. I looked into his eyes. I expected to see in them sorrow. He had lost his friends and was now lost. But he surprised me. In his eyes, there was only one thing.

Nothing.

Not anger, not frustration, not sadness. Simply nothing. He did not care. And I knew what was going to happen. I was going to give him to the police. They would put him in jail for a number of years. Then he would come out and kill as he did before. I could not, in my wildest dreams, imagine this person, become somebody better. I thought back to the vast amount of books I read and made a decision.

Taking his wet gun, I swung it with all the force I could muster- straight to his head. He fell there, liquid leaving his broken skull. He was dead. 

And from then on, I lost my job. They did not agree with me that he needed to die. But in my eyes, I am a hero. I did what was right. A hero is not the man who is always nice, nor the man who is always mean. It is the man that knows when to be nice and when to be mean. 

If I would not have killed him, this story would not have been so short. It would have been one of those stories Where many more fights occur. Where because of compassion, the story becomes endless.

No, I could not have that. And the police could not stop me as I flew away, happily smiling into the winds.