I ASSUMED I'D BLACKED out since the last thing I currently remember was the explosion of the Kremlin and how I'd pushed Miles forward in an attempt to keep him from the blast. Clearly it hadn't worked as once I'd peeled my eyes open, I saw that I was in a hospital; nurses and doctors bustling past directing patients and visitors to wherever they needed to be. And if my guess was anything but accurate, I'd be willing to bet that Miles was in here somewhere too. Voices faintly echoed around and I looked down to see a cannula sticking out of my hand; a saline drip slowly filtering through it. I lifted my other hand only to find out that it was handcuffed to the bed. This jarred me slightly as I opened my eyes more and the environment got louder and less hazy. I turned my head to see a news report about the Kremlin, explaining how officials thought it was a gas leak when in reality, I knew it wasn't. I leant my head back and waited for the constant pounding to subside.
"Our media is no more truthful than yours. American." A man, towering above me drawled angrily. I tried to sit up but the pounding combined with the handcuffs was too much so I gave in and sank back into the pillow of the hospital bed. "But we both know, the real cause of the explosion." He went on. "Was YOU." He spat, revealing a reverse jacket which I recognised to have been my disguise before the explosions. I groaned as the man played me a tape of the mystery voice who'd piggybacked our frequency and essentially framed us.
"Awaiting your go sign, team leader. Standing by to detonate." The voice repeated. It was then rewound and repeated before the man put it away into his coat pocket.
"And the worst part for you, Team Leader." He hissed. "Is that I'm the man assigned to make you suffer for it. For what you did to MY country." He said bitterly as he produced a cigarette from his pocket and was about to light it before a nurse snatched it off him. He frowned.
"This is a hospital, not a night club!" She chastised him before speaking to her colleague to ask for some help. "Room twelve, this one." I heard her say as her and her colleague wheeled me along the corridor and into a more private room. What she didn't realise however was that by leaving the clipboard on my bed, she'd enabled me to sneakily remove the paper clip to remove my handcuffs. As the nurse went to pick up the clipboard, the papers fluttered everywhere onto the floor. She bent down to pick them up before walking away leaving me with just enough time to get up out of the bed and make my escape all while the Russian agents were discussing something just outside the doorway.
Mile's POV:
I WOKE UP IN a haze, still groggy from the impact of the explosions. Thankfully though, I'd been told I hadn't acquired too serious of injuries; the worst being a bruised and slightly sprained wrist. As I came round a little more, I lifted my hand to see that I was handcuffed to the bed. But there was no need for concern since I always carry an emergency Bobby pin on me as you never know when it'll come in handy! It took me just seconds to pick the lock and free myself from my handcuffs before also carefully removing my cannula (although, not without the pain). Once I'd done those two things, it instantly gave me more freedom. I needed to find my Father and the only way I could think of doing that would be to climb out of the window. I couldn't leave via the door since the nurse's refused to dismiss me until they'd spoken to a family member (of whom, nobody was available) and I'd gathered that there were Russian agents swarming the place since they thought it was the Americans that had bombed the Kremlin and since I was the last one seen with Dad, I too was also a target for interrogation and questioning in general. Which brings me back to the window.
Taking a deep breath to steady my rapidly beating heart, I swung my legs out of the window and onto the ledge outside, pulling myself upright on the window frame. I wobbled slightly but managed to recover quickly. I looked to my left and right to check that the coast was indeed clear before I jumped down into a dumpster below. It hurt more than I'd expected and would most likely add more bruises and cuts but at least I'd made it out alive. Now, to find Dad. Although I'm not sure that would be too difficult as I saw him a few windows down, apparently having the same idea as I'd had. Typical genius. My ideas are always nicked! An aggressive Russian man was glaring at him from the nearest window, talking to him even but I was just too far out to hear. Yet, Dad didn't jump. Instead, he seized his opportunity and ripped off his belt and used it as a zip line to slide down a telephone cable before lading with a thump on top of a grey van's roof and rolling off onto the floor. The driver cursed and yelled but Dad being Dad, didn't take any notice. He spotted me and ran toward me. I climbed out of the dumpster and ran with him; all the while, the angry Russian was firing his pistol left right and centre.
As we ran away down the street, we grabbed some clothes to put on; a black leather jacket for Dad and a sky blue hoodie for me along with two pairs of black, lace up combat boots. I hastily pulled them on as Dad swiped a nearby cellphone from a table and made a call, presumably to call a safe vehicle to our location. He then threw the phone down a drain and took my hand as we slowed to walk as we made our way through the winding cobbled streets, past various shops and restaurants until we came to a TV shop which was playing the news. Like many other channels, all it showed were the devastating pictures of the Kremlin aftermath. We stayed and watched for a little while before continuing to wonder through the streets which had quickly been illuminated by street lamps as the darkness of the night closed in.
After what seemed like hours, we came to a smaller more secluded street where what looked to be a sleek, black Range Rover was waiting. We walked toward it and I hesitantly hovered behind Dad as he opened the car door and sighed before stepping in. He motioned for me to follow and I eventually did, due to not wanting to get left behind in the dark, dingy, cold streets of Russia's autumn...
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Word Count: 1181
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The Analyst's Nightmare (Mission Impossible 4)
Action"This message will self destruct in 5 seconds." He turned to look at me, a quizzical expression covering his features. "No, no, no, no! Don't give me that look I know what that means!" I said, defensively. What is it that one does hours before wh...
