Collect Calls: The Heist

Chapter 1: Jermaine

10 years later.

"CATCH THAT MOTHERFUCKER!" A slightly high pitched voice yells into the humid silence that hangs over the city while a pair of bright red running shoes slap against the pavement again and again.

"This was not supposed to happen," Jermaine thinks to himself as he runs down the wide, open street. He feels something scratch faintly against his right shoulder then moments later, BANG! The sound of a bullet smashing through the air with more force than sound itself kicks its way into his eardrums. In the blink of an eye, the bullet has rocketed across the street and pieces of bark pop off like lightning in a skillet as it buries itself into a tree. There's a swing on that tree.

Jermaine barely notices as he suddenly dives into a narrow side street, a sort of corridor between the small, cramped houses of the Roseville township. Seconds later he suddenly turns again and this time the turn comes with a little hop as he escapes the corridor of death over somebody's fence. In his rush, he quickly looks back to see of any of his pursuers have seen him. Without noticing, he barrels through a small tomato garden the houseowners have near the fence and knocks over a watering can. Water spills out. Some seeps into the richly dark, slightly trampled garden while some rolls away, making its way through the fence to slowly evaporate on the simmering street Jermaine just escaped.

Narrow passages make it near impossible for those blessed with sight to miss. However Roseville is built with many twisting side streets and housing blocks, many avenues where direct line of sight is impossible. Jermaine knows this better than anybody.

When he was around 13, Roseville started feeling bigger yet also smaller. Complex, but predictable. While the people who make the decisions started to feel farther and farther away, less and less reachable. Perhaps this is what a rat in a maze feels like, he had thought, the politicians who decide where the grants go and the corporations decide how big those grants are, are like the scientists... We can vaguely make out their shadows and we know that they're keenly interested in our actions, they even built this confusing habitat for us, but we have no idea what they want, or how to get out. Having thought this far Jermaine came up with an idea, a hypothesis of sorts, perhaps we are rats. The lawmakers and world runners are scientists, but they are not a threat. The real treat is other rats. Today, I am free to chase and search for cheese, happens when I need more than cheese to stay alive? I won't watch myself die. I'll probably hunt another rat, while another rat hunts me. The encroaching sounds of footsteps on pavement, not dissimilar to his, snapps him out of his reverie. Today, I'm both the hunted, and the hunter, the thought whispers in his mind as he races across the yard while trying to leave no trace of his passing.

The yards of the Roseville houses are tiny, so crossing one and into another only takes about 3 paces from Jermaine's long legs. Perhaps because of this, the residents of the neighbourhood have taken to ensure that each and every single yard is demarcated by a fence that is about a metre or so tall. The residents' source of privacy turns out to be Jermaine's source of safety as he crouches low under the fence. He's now about 3 or so houses away from the little side street, but because of how cramped the houses are, that barely translates to 8 metres(25 feet).

It's at this moment that Jermaine's hunters, betrayed by a string of curses, heavy panting and occasional gun burst at anything that moves too suddenly, pass by the first fence Jermaine hopped over. 8 metres away. Although that distance isn't so close that they can hear twigs crush underfoot, especially in the busy Roseville, it is close enough that sudden, loud noises -such as a shout from an angry resident, or the scream of a scared child, woman or man -would be heard instantly. Jermaine estimated that from this distance, considering the hunters' height, he'll be spotted if he tries to scale the next fence which leads onto another street. The cursing quietens down and the sounds of footsteps come to a sudden stop.