[hr][center][color=slategray][b][h1]Harry Kingsfield[/h1]
[IMG]http://www.oystermag.com/sites/default/files/imagecache/article-image-650x580/images/dale-cooper-i-only-have-time.png[/IMG]
Location:[/b][/color] Lake[/center][hr][hr]
Well there went that whole "Fight" option. Disarmed against a seemingly invincible... man(?) (yeah the hi-point wasn't exactly much better than a peashooter, but nobody just took bullets to the chest like they were nothing) there were very few options that a rational mind would be able to come up with, and even fewer that presented the option of not dying horrifically. Harry didn't need to be told again to leave. In fact, his brain didn't even really register that warning he had been given. The private investigator turned around and booked it as fast as he could muster.

It wasn't elegant, or dignified, but it was the best he could do. His body pushed itself beyond physical limits he had forgotten he possessed. And he'd keep going until he was back in a civilized area, where all the exertion he'd performed would hit him all at once. Everything from his legs to his throat would burn, and his lungs would weakly flop in his chest in an effort to reoxidize his blood stream. It wouldn't be until some few minutes had passed recovering from the physical strain of the ordeal that his wits would begin to return to him. This is all assuming he actually managed to make it out of the forest intact, of course.