“It’s only two in the morning. There’s still time.” I cyclically murmured to myself. The streets of the city were dead but my mind was very alive. Sweat dripped down my hairline and my body temperature defied the frigid air. I would be there by now if running in slacks and a suit jacket was socially acceptable after dark. The dark stain that occasionally peeped out from behind my tie wouldn’t help my anonymity either.
The layers upon layers of windows facing me made my paranoia grow exponentially. The walk from the target’s house to The Basement wasn’t far, but the stillness of it all made everything feel wrong. The box isn’t moving is it? Shit. It’s moving. I lowered the angle of the hand truck hoping that will make the bumps in the sidewalk less noticeable. Time to pick up the pace.
The rattle of the box’s content was less disconcerting than the scratching noise that followed.
“No..nonononono,” I spit through grinding teeth. I pushed myself over my limit. I’m tearing through the dark reflections of the night, innumerable reflections of my face molded into a fusion of terror and determination. They look down and over me, making me feel like I was frozen in a mirror city. They were supposed to have it drugged for the duration of the transfer. This isn’t right. If someone else got there first…if it breaks through now on the street, although these are desolate hours.
Should I:
Slow down and trust that the dugs will work
Panic and run the rest of the way to The Basement
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