his truck roared as he sailed over lake washington. the 520 bridge was a civilian freeway, but it was the most direct rout to medical support. windows down, the cool damp western washington air calmed him. hospital signs directed him off the freeway in redmond, and he turned into the new medical support facility. once known as Marymoor park, the medical support complex was nestled in the middle of the deserted park. palmers pulled into the rough gravel lot and parked. taking a deep breath to steady himself, he started toward the nondescript brick building. An uneasy feeling flowed through his body. he looked around. the parking lot was empty. there was not one car truck or medical vehicle. cautiously, he continued towards the door. there was a security pad to the right and hesitantly he placed his palm on the scan pad. ACCESS DENIED flashed across the top of the pad. slowly, he reached for his com, "this is agent jordan palmers. access required for admittance to medical support." no voice came over the line. he started to repeat him self, "this is agent jordan palmers..." before he could continue, a harsh crackling static interrupted him. throwing his com to the ground, every fiber of him screamed 'run! now!' fight or flight took over. he chose flight. Palmers took off running towards his truck, bowie knife in hand. flinging himself into the drivers seat, he started the truck before he was even completely in it. gunning the engine, he launched the truck over a dirt divider. "this is bad, this is bad," he yelled to himself over the sound of flying dirt. the truck hit the pavement with a crash, tires digging into the black top with screeching sound. going well over the limit, he sailed out of the park. he tore down bellevue-redmond road. he had a safe house on the woodinville side of avondale in a small gated community, that SPAR did not know about. it was right on a human witch border. if he could make it there he would have time to think and regroup. he punched the second radio preset as he fishtailed through town center. the news talk station was reporting on a lost cat, but then he herd some chilling news. "TWO SPAR AGENTS WERE RUSHED TO THE HOSPITAL EARLY THIS MORNING IN CRITICAL CONDITION" two? "ONE AGENT, SCOTT BISHOPS, IS IN CRITICAL CONDITION AT OVERLAKE'S SPAR MEDICAL FACILITY. THE OTHER AGENT, WHO'S NAME HAS NOT BEN RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC, DIED IN TRANSIT." died? palmers found himself white knuckled as he blew through a red light onto avondale. "THE AGENTS APPEAR TO HAVE GONE ROGUE, ATTACKING AND KILLING A HUMAN CIVILIAN JUST ACROSS THE WEST SEATTLE BRIDGE BORDER." human? rogue? "SPAR'S OFFICIAL STATEMENT IS: OUR AGENTS ACTED OUTSIDE OF SPAR'S JURISDICTION. OUR HEARTS GO OUT TO THE FAMILY AND FRIENDS OF THE HUMAN FEMALE WHO'S LIFE WAS TO TRAGICALLY CUT SHORT THIS MORNING. WE WILL NOT BE RELEASING HER NAME AT THIS TIME SO HER FAMILY CAN PROPERLY MOURN THEIR LOSS.'" palmers swerved around a blue sedan. his mind raced. what the hell was going on? in his rear view mirror, he saw two large SUVs copy his movements around the sedan. he watched the SUVs as he wove through traffic. they followed, closing the gap. swiftly, palmers cut in front of a large garbage truck, powering his truck down a two lane side street that led into a more rural area. eyes on his rear view, palmers saw the first SUV fly by the turn, but the second drifted around the corner, tires smoking momentarily. palmers took the winding turns in the road wide. the SUV deftly followed his every move. a hand stuck out of the passenger window. it held a black pistol, probably a glock .45, the standard issue SPAR hand gun. the hand unleashed a smattering of bullets across the back of palmers truck. palmers gripped the wheel tightly as it violently shook in his grip. he felt the truck pull to the left and he knew instantly that a tire was blown. the hand fired again. another tire blew. the truck fishtailed wildly across the road, sparks trailing behind it. palmers struggled to correct, but he was not able too. the truck veered off the road, sailing through the air. in the fastest moment in history, palmers had his seatbelt off and dove from the truck. he tried to tuck into a controlled roll, but he was too close to the ground. dirt and grass slammed into his face and he herd a loud snap. blinding pain shot up his left arm. palmers came to a stop, breath heavily, as his truck came to rest on its side about 50 yards to his right. the SUV skidded to a stop pm the street. palmers stayed low, head and arm throbbing. he saw two figures step our of the SUV. he was sure they were SPAR agents. the driver reached into his suit jacket, to the inside pocket. palmers herd a click. it was familiar to him, but the pounding in his head made it impossible to place it. he tried to prop himself up, but his arm gave way. palmers quickly made a list of his injuries. his left arm was very broken and he was sure his nose was as well. his right knee was was injured but he knew it was not broken. he was just about to try to sit up again when his beloved truck ripped apart with a loud bang. as truck door flew towards him, he remembered where he had herd that click before. it was the clasp on a standard SPAR issue flack grenade. OH DAMN, palmers thought, MY TRUCK. the door crashed into him. he saw stars as his world spun violently, debris from his truck covering his body. everything went black.
