Pathos - A Duskwood Fanfiction

Chapter 34

In a town far away from the decidedly much more picturesque quietude of Duskwood, a passenger bus approached a lonely service terminal just as the first light of the morning broke on the horizon.

The bus slowed to a stop, and after a moment, its front doors jerkily creaked open. As a rush of biting October air swirled into the sleepy warmth of the bus interior, a tall hooded figure dressed in black descended the stairs and stepped out into the watchful and frigid dark.

The bus doors closed behind him as he did this, and he stood in silence as the lumbering vehicle turned out of the terminal and back onto the highway that had brought it there, not moving until the sound of the bus' engine had faded away completely.

When he was satisfied that he was completely alone, a pale hand slipped into one of the front pockets of his jeans and closed around something small contained within it before bringing his hand back out again. He held it in a clenched fist as he looked around slowly, meticulously scanning the environment that he now found himself in.

Had anyone else been there to see it, they would have seen him lift his head as he stared upwards, deep blue eyes the same colour of the early morning sky above him combing over the exterior architecture of the empty bus terminal. They would have watched as his gaze traced the outlines of the building, and may have taken note of the way that he seemed to pay particular and careful attention to the areas most traditionally allocated to surveillance infrastructure.

Seeming to find nothing of note, he took a deep breath, and, still holding his hand in a fist, walked towards the side of the terminal. He walked about half its length before coming to a stop beside an industrial sized dumpster that was standing with its back to the wall of the building, and then took a few steps back to regard it for a moment. And then, after looking around himself one final time to make sure that he was still alone, he slipped what he was holding back into his pocket and ran towards it.

Using the momentum gained from his steps, he jumped upwards as the dumpster came at him with speed, and reached up a hand grasp the lip of the closed lid as a pivot point as he vaulted onto the top of it.

He landed in a crouch, and stared upwards towards the roof. A water runoff pipe of questionable structural integrity hung off of the gutter lining the edge, the brackets attaching it to the wall visibly rusted and disintegrating. He stood then, took a breath, and then with all of his strength, jumped.

He landed against the pipe several feet above the top of the dumpster, and grabbed onto it as he started to fall. It caught his weight and after a few precarious seconds of metallic cracking sounds, held.

He made his way up the pipe slowly, and when he reached the lip of the roof, swung himself up onto its surface.

Right into the dark muzzle of a pistol that was aimed directly into his face.