[center][i][u]Brooklyne Heights[/i][/u][/center]

[hider=Yar! Here be a long intro post!]
A cold wind whipped down the riverside street sending the young man's unzipped jacket fluttering about his chest: surely a sign of the harsh winter that was coming to the sleepless city. The young man who walked casually down the street with three plastic grocery bags filling his hands hardly seemed to mind, rather the subtle smile curling his lips and his long intent breaths indicated just how much he relished the icy bite; the feeling of needles against his unprotected skin. It was a feeling of freedom, one that reminded him of what had been taken from him those four long years. He could still remember those cracked white walls, the dead fluorescent light on his skin day and night. It had been almost 6 months since his escape but he suddenly could taste that stale, sterile air. Now a chill did run up his spine, the blood quickening through his veins as the unwanted memories trickled back. 

Atticus Tyren stopped and shook away the images he saw all to often, though some ghosts remained as they always did. His dark brown eyes peered out over the rushing water; thin, pointed eyebrows furrowing against the light of the sunset reflecting off the waves. Slowly those eyes moved up to the Manhattan skyline, to the glittering windows of a dozen imposing skyscrapers that formed an almost impenetrable wall separating him from the world he'd once known. Atticus wondered if his father stood at one of those windows, looking down over the city beneath his feet and pondering where he might catch his estranged son. "Not likely..." He admitted to himself for even those sorts of thoughts would have been more attention than his father had ever been willing to give him in 22 years. Just for a moment, the young man's dark eyes narrowed and he imagined holding his father over the edges of one of those skyscrapers before once again turning away and continuing his short walk home.

Atticus pushed open the door to the lobby of his apartment building and found it unsurprisingly vacant. Once a property on the up-and-up, home only for upper middle class families and above, the Civil War had done a number on the local housing market. Though long neglected, Atticus liked the feeling of sophistication the spacious marble-floored lobby provided as his shoes clicked across the scuffed surface. The elevator was in a state of disrepair and so he plodded up the stairs to his 4th floor flat, pushing through the stairwell door and sighing at the smell of must that hit his nose. Dim lights overhead flickered occasionally as he stopped before #43 and attempted to fish the keys from his pocket with hands full of groceries. He managed to retrieve them just as one bag went tumbling to the floor, sending a few cans rolling across the stained carpet. Cursing aloud, Atticus dropped down to his knees to retrieve them when a sudden voice from behind caused him to jump. "I think you dropped this..." 

"Damnit, Sarah!" The young man snapped as he spun to face the freckled smile of his neighbor from #44. He quickly snatched the can from her outstretched hand, his scowl doing little to dissuade her cheerfulness as she giggled. 

"Sorry! Didn't mean to sneak up on ya, Blake! Sarah casually flicked a lock of curly red hair out of her face before bending down to help with the rest of the groceries. Atticus didn't immediately respond as he grabbed the last can, stuffing it into the bag with a tightlipped frown on his face. This time Sarah looked over to him a much more sincere look of apology on her face. "Sorry... I really didn't mean to upset you..." 

With a long sigh Atticus faced her again and grumbled. "It's not that... I just..." He ground his teeth at the thought of opening up to this girl he'd only known a few months but he couldn't much stand the sad twinge in her eyes. Besides, he'd already started explaining so he might as well finish. "I just try not to let anyone sneak up on me, alright? I try to stay alert and you caught me unprepared." 

Sarah gave a sort of awkward chuckle as she regarded him with a slight tilt of her head. "Why? It's not like someone's after ya." 

"Right..." Was all Atticus replied, forcing his mouth into a rather convincing smile. He, of course, could not tell her just how [i]wrong[/i] she was on the matter; reminding himself that she would never be able to understand his situation. The young man really was angry that he'd be so focused on some spilled groceries that he wouldn't notice someone approach, that he wouldn't [i]feel[/i] the thick red liquid pumping through their body. Enemies were looking for him and all it would take was one slip-up to bring him back to that horrible white cell. 

Groceries in hand once again, Atticus turned back to the door and put the key into the lock...

And froze. 

Suddenly it was as if the world came into focus and Atticus became hyper aware of his surroundings. Something wasn't right and his instincts screamed at him to notice the signs. [i]But what is it?[/i] Nothing in the hallway looked out of place, out of the ordinary, but he could sense [b]something[/b]. 

[i]There![/i] Behind his apartment door he could barely make it out, the faint rush of blood through heart valves. One. Two. Three separate feelings behind that thin wooden portal. Realizing that Sarah had been speaking for some time but having not heard a word Atticus spun and cut her off. "Hey Sarah, I'm sorry but it's been a [i]really[/i] long day. I'm going to turn in for the night." 

"Oh!" She said blinking her bright blue eyes and seeming only a little bit hurt. "Y-ya, okay then. Have a good night Blake!" 

"You too!" He smiled, turning the key and quickly shutting the door behind him. Atticus felt a twinge of guilt at how he'd left her but knew that she couldn't be dragged into this. The small entry hall was heavily shadowed from the failing light streaming in the living room windows but he did not flip the light switch, instead setting the grocery bags down as casually as he could manage while his eyes scanned every corner. They were there, he was sure of it now, three unknowns hiding in his bedroom, kitchen, and pantry. Knowing they would wait until he'd fully entered the apartment, Atticus reached up to the shelf of hall closet and retrieved a small duffel bag that was stuffed there: always ready to go. He threw it over his shoulders before pulling a small black flip knife from his pocket. "I know you're there..." The young man called out as he walked slowly into the living-room, hands out to his sides. "I'm impressed you found me so quickly. Father must have really shelled out for the best..." As if on cue the three figures in black combat gear and masks appeared, each one bearing a large stun-pistol that they wasted no time pointing in his direction. [/hider]

"Put your hands up and we'll make this quick." The one in front said, stepping in threateningly. Atticus slowly raised his hands above his head, one still clutching the knife. "What's that in your hand? Drop it or we'll drop [i]you[/i]." The young man's face remained cold as, after a moment, he let the blade clatter to the floor. With a signal from the one in front, the second soldier moved in on Atticus while holstering the tazer and producing a pair of handcuffs. The first clicked the radio on his shoulder, stun gun never leaving the young man who stared back at him calmly. "We've got him. Send in the retrieval squad." 

The soldier reached up and cuffed one of his arms, pulling it down to his back, but just as he reached for the second he noticed the tiny trickle of blood coming from the hand that had been gripping the knife ever so tightly. Before he could speak, the red tendrils shot out and wrapped him around the neck. He let out a choked cry of surprise as they quickly constricted his windpipe. The leader fired his stun-gun in alarm but Atticus was already moving, whipping the tangled soldier around to use as a shield. The prongs went into his chest and the young man wasted no time launching the twitching, jerking body at his comrades. Struck hard by the projectile, neither of the remaining soldiers could react as Atticus jumped through the glass window and landed on the fire-escape. Without a moment of hesitation he rolled over the edge as if to plummet to the alleyway bellow but instead more tendrils of bright crimson stretched out from a few of the dozen small cuts on his arms and face and wrapped around the metal, lowing Atticus safely to the street. 

The sound of sirens already filled the air as the retrieval squad answered the call of the containment team and Atticus knew they would be combing the entire area for him in a matter of minutes. He took off on foot, running deeper into downtown Brooklyn and hoping he could reach the gang-controlled territory before they ran him down.