Escape: Through the Fourth Wall

9: Downtown Showdown

Again, I didn't bother questioning it.

Nosedive time!

The imagery of the wind rushing past my face probably made an ideal cover for this book, but the Author is obviously either too incompetent or too lazy to bother taking advantage of opportunities staring him in the face.

(Both. Definitely both.)

Wham!

I landed bang splat on the middle of the hood, and before I could get a better look at the mutant goblin creature a hatch opened up in the middle of the limo's hood and the upper half of one of those burly high-tech bodyguard guys popped out of it, holding one of those complex gun thingamajigs.

He aimed it at the goblin creature and the gun began whirring and glowing an ethereal blue- was it charging?

"Oi!" I yelled at him, and he whipped around, apparently noting my presence for the first time. "Pick on someone your own size!"

Truth be told, this wasn't the smartest of moves.

Sure, I was a superpowered human who could normally wipe the floor with four hundred and twenty of such bodyguard blokes within seconds with both hands behind my back and doing the Bird Box Challenge, no problem.

But remember, I didn't know what that gun was capable of.

I didn't know that it was already done charging.

And I most certainly did not know that that bozo would fire it at my face the instant he saw it.

Heh. 

Up until now this book was this childish, spontaneous mess that did basically whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted using plot convenience as an excuse.

From here on, it becomes a not-so-childish spontaneous mess that does basically whatever it wants whenever it wants using plot convenience as an excuse.

If you're squeamish, put this away and go back to Teletubbies.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Once again, it was as if everything was slowing down and a series of screwed up events followed each other in quick succession.

I could see the man pulling the trigger. I could see the gun, pointed right at my forehead, glowing brighter- a blinding, heavenly azure- and I could see sparks shooting out of it, as if it was unable to keep all the energy inside it contained.

I could feel myself moving out of the way, on instinct alone.

But not fast enough.

In fact, if the man had pulled the trigger even a fraction of a second faster, or if the gun had taken even a couple milliseconds less to zap its brilliant beam, or if the last person I'd have expected to save my skin had hesitated for the slightest of moments, I wouldn't be narrating this story to you. I'm even willing to bet that this book would never have been published. You wouldn't be reading this right now and would be doing something more productive with your tim--

You know what, let's not think too much about this, okay?

Where was I? Right, dying.

Or at least I would have been if the sonic boom I heard somewhere to my left had been after the dazzling beam erupted from the gun.

And I don't know about you, but experiencing a sonic boom caused by a knife and a plastic spork  slicing through the air at fifteen hundred kilometres per hour was a first for me.

That's right. 

A knife.

And a spork.