| Flight Of The Phoenix |
[02 Jan 2008|04:54pm] |
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[[Non Journal Entry]]
Nine lives given, five lives gone, and four left to hang in the balance. You'd think it would be enough to cause a man to tread softly and carefully, but living life waiting for disaster was no way to live; not when there was a world full of chance and opportunity waiting for you just outside of your door. Even if that chance and opportunity did nothing but screw you over at every turn.
Joseph slid up the fire escape quickly and agilely, ducking beneath a broken out window before slipping into the dark depths of the high rise building. He pressed his back against the wall and held his weight on the balls of his feet, crouched low and masking his presence in the darkness.
He drew his guns, in spite of the fact that they wouldn't do much good against his present foes. Joseph supposed it was their presence that reassured him more than anything else, they were his metal and the things that had seen him through God only knew how many battles that should have seen him dead.
The floorboards creaked, that much he learned and quickly. He paused and held his breath, waited for the guards to look away. And when they did, he moved again, slipping from room to room in the vain hope that he might stumble across Ben in one or other of them.
( Fine fucking mess you've gotten yourself into this time )
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