the lazarus job - tmnt (2)

i. a summer's night

one. a summer's night

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SUMMERTIME in New York City was one of the most charming times throughout the year, except during Christmas, of course. It was the weather of pool parties and water balloon fights. It was the sunny days that bid kayakers and swimmers to head to the beaches.

Summer nights were cool and relaxing, but hardly asleep. Parties sang from every balcony; alleyways were alive with music and dancing. It was the time to be alive, to enjoy each star that the sky let twinkle.

Summer nights were perfect, and to most, it seemed that this Friday night was just as ideal as the nights before.

But while it might have seemed perfect to some, it was an especially terrible night for one specific eighteen-year-old.

High up above on the leveled apartment roofs, there was a thundering sound as feet crashed against the concrete; a strange pitter-patter that resembled raindrops hitting the earth.

A figure, cloaked in black from head to toe, sprinted rapidly from rooftop to rooftop. Her steps were precise and slick like a cat as she ran from the four figures following a few meters behind her. Unlike a normal human, these figures were running far faster than any human or animal on Earth. They sprinted so quickly, one would mistake them for a massive hummingbird.

The cloaked girl sprinted off of an AC unit before tucking her knees into her chest and rolling to a somersault before she regained speed and continued. Her steps never faltered nor wavered. She never hesitated before jumping. Everything was timed, precise. Her shoes, practically worn down to nothing, felt every piece of gravel, every wire, and every sharp pile of garbage.

The hazel-eyed girl was wearing dirty and torn black jeans with a few layers of black clothing on top. Her hands were covered in black, fingerless gloves while on her face was a bandanna that covered her mouth and nose.

The four figures sprinting behind her wore similar clothes, but with far more protection. They appeared to have snow-like goggles over their faces, concealing their eyes while leather masks covered their mouths and noses, feeding them the air they needed to breathe.

Nadia couldn't focus on her pursuit. She couldn't afford a glance over her shoulder. She was blind to the darkness and she accepted it; all she could do now was run as fast as she possibly could and hopefully outrun the assassins.

With every step, Nadia began to realize that perhaps her plan to outrun them was not exactly the best option. Her breaths were becoming sporadic, uneven. Her heels were beginning to ache painfully from the constant collisions against concrete and asphalt. Nadia began to do what she hated the most: panic.

Panic made her messy. It made her predictable.

So, as though a switch flipped in her head, Nadia decided to be unpredictable.