"Got you, Timber."
Striker said, pinning me down on the concrete and beginning to cuff my wrists behind my back.
Well, it worked.
My simple plan to turn myself in worked.
But why wouldn't it work? He wants me, so he got me. Simple plan. Easy. Toddlers could accomplish the same thing.
Striker lifted me off of the ground and didn't bother to try and carry me bridal style of anything, he just shoved me on my broken shoes to the side of the plane and tossed me in, and starting it up as if I wasn't there.
It's like he just went grocery shopping.
Sitting up to adjust myself, I propped my head up to look out the window, grunting against the gag and fighting the straps from the seatbelt.
Letting out a bit of a bewildered breath, I watched as a familiar car seemed to catch up to the plane, drifting to a stop. Guilt was creeping up my spine as Rocori's unmistakable figure leapt out of the car, stopping the traffic going both ways but she didn't care. Her eyes were full of fear, anger and anxiety.
We weren't so high off of the ground yet, and I could barely just hear her yell in the distance over the whirring propellers; "FUCK! YOU IDIOT!" Her scream of anger echoed in my ears for a few minutes, watching the city of Arcana fade behind me as he was taking me nowhere East.
Nowhere east?
I started protesting against the gag, and he was visibly agitated to take it off; he still held it in his hand ready to put it back. "We passed the prison." I brought the salvia back to my mouth and reset my jaw.
"I know." Striker said blankly. Sheesh. I hope he doesn't have some creepy torture chamber or something that he's gonna take me to.
I was still silent afterwards, becoming lost in a haze by the cloudy view blocking my vision for any idea of where we were going.
He didn't bother putting the gag back in after understanding my silence for about three minutes, and he shifted in his seat.
"Hazel, can you turn on the radio please?" I flinched when he started talking, trying to turn my head around to the backseat. Who the hell was Hazel? Mother? Sister? Cousin?
Girlfriend?
Moments after, he pressed a few buttons on a little keypad in front of him and the music started to play.
A hyper 80's song rattled my bones with the bass-line, but all of this was a little suspicious.
"I am truly sorry, Timber." Striker sighed, seeming to go on autopilot. I turned to face him, puzzled.
In a flash, my world seemed to start fading black and my eyelids felt heavier than the plane itself. With a whine, my head became jello and I lost consciousness.
•
Zapping awake to the sound of a screeching chair being moved, I darted my head around to try and understand where I was — only resulting in a headache.
"Finally," Someone grumbled. More shuffling. "I was worried I killed you." I huffed to that, finally lifting my head to see him.
He was sitting on a backwards chair, now with his arms propped over the top of it and a bit of a slouched posture. His head was tilted at me and I couldn't see his face.
"I'm serious, Timber." He responded to my body language from his stupid remark. "Liff heh ill belfe vou!" I snapped from under the gag, feeling even angrier when he only laughed, standing up out of the chair.
I was breathing heavily and panting into the gag from trying to break out of the cuffs I didn't even realize I had around my wrists.
Striker slowly walked around the chair to come meet me face to face, bending over and placing his hands on his knees, sighing again. "Your trash talk is so much cuter when I can't understand it."
I whined in annoyance, narrowing my eyes at him and baring my teeth against the gag. He roughly propped my chin up, making me groan, and ripped the gag out of my mouth.
Nausea waved for a second, feeling drops of my own spit land on my clothes. "What do you want."
Striker only tilted his head, folding the gags cloth back up and wiping his fingers, tossing it aside like it was worth nothing (which was true). "I want a lot of things, Timber," He began to slowly pace around my chair, sliding his now gloved hand on the top of the chair, shivering my spine as he traced lines in my hair.
"Why won't you work with me?" His tone changed to persuade me. All sorts of things were starting to flow their way back to me, from unknown times of my life and I was struggling.
My tongue feels like glue, stuck in my mouth and unable to break free no matter how hard I tried to sever the bond between them. My breath is running short.
He made his way back around to the front of my chair, keeping eye contact. "You know the way of life down there so well — the streets are like your replacement family," He says. "And you know the Law very well and what we Officers do and why we do them. I have no doubt you could be the next Captain."
His eyes glowed, looking somewhere else for only a second — presumably a camera — until landing back on me.
"I wouldn't betray my family as you put it. I'm loyal." I say with full confidence. Who are you? This isn't the Striker I normally talk to or ever will talk to.
"Loyalty only goes so far," He stammered, looking around the room. "Like the roots of a tree." My eyes darkened when he held up a shiny red apple.
"Trees, like to spread far across their landscape, living for centuries on end and sharing all that they've learned with the world." He was grinning, by the way his eyes squinted under the mask.
"What's your point, Striker? What does this have to do with anything?" I turned myself in, in hopes of prying information out of him and trying to spot weak points that we could use to our advantage. And... for another reason.
"I know why you're here, Timber," My heart thudded to a loud stop in my chest. I've never felt my face so tense in emotion, but I fought hard to stay neutral. "I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work."
"And why am I here, hotshot?" I tilted my head at him. I was undeniably glancing at his features, his oh so perfect features. Features I couldn't admit aloud that were breathtaking to the eye.
The way he stands and makes his shoulders drape with muscle, a small tattoo that he tries very hard to hide on his collarbone that sneaks through the fabrics of his shirts and/or vests. I can't read the small calligraphy, but it now leaves me curious,
I don't think I actually know Striker at all.
"That's what you're going to tell me, I wanna hear it from you." He points a rash finger.
"Make me." A firework goes off in his eye and he picks me up quickly from the chair by the collar of my shirt, I fought to kick him but by the time he threw (pinned?) me against the wall it was no use.
"Oh really?" He teased me, not a drop of seduction in his voice, but anger and impatience.
Striker wound my hands around, quickly replacing the cuffs as he left my hands to dangle in front of me now. Does he not know that gives me the perfect fighting opportunity?
When that 'perfect fighting opportunity' may be is currently unknown but—
"You already know where the hideout is!" I argued when his other hand moved near my hip, getting too close to my skin I thought I'd set him aflame if he touched it.
"I need an address, Timber." Striker pushed my emotional buttons and was sending my feelings places I didn't want to imagine.
"How did you know where to drop me after you kidnapped me — again — then? What's your excuse? What are you trying to accomplish here?!"
"There's no good excuse, Timber," He shut his eyes in anger. "Give me an address!" His voice roared through my ears. We had a strong sense of eye contact that made my body feel all fuzzy and weird, but this was my chance.
Swinging around quickly, I elbowed him in the gut, only getting a groan from him as he peeled off of the wall. Tugging on the cuffs as hard as I could, it did nothing.
I huffed, seeing he was ready to fight back against me now too, so I did the most predictable thing; trying to kick him.
Striker caught my foot in his hands and twirled it, spinning me to the floor with a yelp. Reacting fast, I kicked him with both legs in the abdomen, knocking him back to the chair.
"Brat." He snapped under his breath, starting to throw punches at me that only so many I could block.
Before I could be backed up into the wall all the way, I leapt up to it and bounced off, landing on his shoulders with my legs wrapped around his head. He stifled a groan of surprise and knew it was my turn to spin him to the floor.
When we were both horizontal, I got up first and kicked him like a football into the wall again, and made a break for the closest door.
I was in an okay sized police station, which meant one of the actual exit doors couldn't be too far.
Hearing his groans of pain, I knew he'd get back up soon. "Do not, let Timber fucking Alpharo, escape." Striker breathed into the comms in the building.
Just like that, there were hundreds of officers' eyes on me.
"Oh shit." I mumbled, booking it down the next hallway and trying to find the nearest window.
Dodging officers and tasers, sneaking through rooms and climbing over desks and chairs, I slid between the legs of a cop and leapt through a window I was able to find at the end of the hall.
Painfully getting to my feet, I sprinted to the first car I saw, breaking the glass with my cuffed hands and trying to reach in and grab the lock.
Stupidly giving up, I tried the handle — feeling so embarrassed when it opened.
Hopping into the car, I fired it up dangerously by force, sliding through the rest of the street and making a break for the nearest store or building I could get a gun.
It was horrifying enough I was able to intimidate the cashier just by shouting at him. Although I think he knew who I was, judging by the vigilante outfit and the tight cuffs on my wrist.
Running back to the car, my next stop was a small pond near one of the parks. I dipped the cuffs in the water, rinsing my hands and hoping to disable any trackers that were in the cuffs; a new feature Striker definitely had, and that some cops were getting.
I stared through the windshield, just trying to take a moment to relax and figure out how to calm down. My heart was beating 20 miles out of my chest, and I was beginning to get a headache.
Personally, I just wanted to cry. I just wanted to harness any energy I had, and just turn myself invisible for a few minutes, forget that I'm a criminal, forget that Striker had me in his clutches.
Forget Timber being Timber.
Forget I existed, wiping my name from any file.
That's something I've been trying to do for Rocori — and secretly Kyarra — for years now.
Getting back into my zone, I kept my eye out for any foreign blackhawk to be sweeping through the city but the skies were crystal clear.
That made the ride to the volcano base smooth. Too smooth.
Rolling into the base, I saw Kya arguing with the collector about her recent robbery, and how she didn't get enough items to max out her cash.
"Can you just give me the six-grand? It would be greatly appreciated." Kya begged.
"I'm sorry, Kyarra but you didn't get enough kilos in here. I'm not able to give you the max. Four-grand is the best I can do for you." The collector said — a blonde archaeologist who worked with her boyfriend on trading artifacts for money transactions.
Quietly laughing to myself, I made my way to the trapdoor that went downstairs — it contained a map that had all of the criminals' and cops' locations, traced by ID.
Fiddling with the cuffs using my teeth, I gave up and pulled up the door with my foot for the most part, sliding down and trying to spot her ID number on the map.
Her location was just outside the city and closer to the water, which meant she was probably busy robbing the power plant.
Our top robbery locations aren't labeled by name, just with a symbol. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between them.
Power plant is a lightbulb, for some reason.
Kya's great idea was to make the museum's logo a dinosaur in honour of the dino bones we constantly steal inside.
Half of the time, we're not even sure if we're taking anything valuable anymore. But we still get profit from whatever material we rob.
The machinery in the building faltered a little for a brief second, and there was a small power outage with a disabling hum.
That means Roco's coming home soon.
Turning around and fiddling with the cuffs again, I started climbing back up the stairs and stopped when Kya flinched at me.
"Well hiya," Her hands hesitantly drifted away from her gun. "When did you get back?"
I stared at the cuffs, and then her. "Not too long ago." I realized I had glass shards from the window in numerous places on my body.
"Mhm..." She decked me up and down. "Shining armour couldn't make it for the fashion show?"
"Striker?" I coughed, different realizations pounding me at once. "About that... he wants the address of the city base. Warehouse. Whatever the fuck we've decided to call it."
Her hand posted next to her gun again, steam rising from her ears. "Did he not already fucking know? How did he find you last time then?"
"No. He tapped into my car last time and went to the pinpointed location," The chains dangled rudely. "The warehouse on any maps doesn't officially have any address — it also ceases to exist; the satellite photos aren't updated."
"Shit... doesn't he remember where it is?"
"He'll figure it out sooner or later. And besides, a lot of the cargo ports look similar."
Her brows lifted in agreement before she stared at me. "You didn't give it to him did you?"
"What? Of course not—" I blurt. "No no wait that's bullshit. I know you, Timber. You told him where the actual base is didn't you?"
"No!— He has my stuff and probably is gonna go through it!" I tried to defend, realizing I just made it worse. "He has your shit? What the fuck Timber?!" Kyarra shouted, grabbing the collar of my shirt.
"What belongings do you keep with you?!" She tugged me forward, so we were both at the top of the platform. I stumbled when she dragged me up.
"Why are you so pissed about this?!" I tried changing the topic, I don't know or remember the exact items I have in my bag or pockets.
"Because, Timber, you cease to follow the easiest rule of all criminals; never trust a cop," She stop to breathy-laugh at me. "Never. Trust. A fucking. Cop."
I scoff at her, lifting my head up higher. "It's not like you would understand." Kya spits one last time.
A gunshot rattled our ears and we both reached towards our closest weapons, stopping when we saw it was Roco. Glowing duffel bag over her shoulder, head down, and pistol raised in the air. "That's enough, Kyarra."
Kya mumbled some curses and slid her gun back into the holster, turning to walk away. I fiddled with the cuffs slung around my wrists.
Everyone that associated with us or even considered our little team an acquaintance, knew better than to get in Roco's way when she looked like that. Pissed.
She's ruthless and reckless. Which makes her the most dangerous at some points.
"Timber. Downstairs, now." She ordered, carefully handing the glowing vase of uranium to the collector. She muttered a quick, "I'll have the money for you when you're ready."
Roco turned around to face me briefly, before swinging the trapdoor open and leading me through first.
I sighed, wondering what she could possibly have to say now.
"That's why you turned yourself in?" Roco spun one of the tools she was using to break my handcuffs open in her hand. I had finished poorly explaining why I turned myself in.
"It wasn't a smart move, I know..." I sighed, looking down at my hands. I kept them steady for her like she demanded, grunting quietly alongside her when they snapped off, clattering to the concrete below us.
She sighed, tossing the tool to the side. I held my wrists until they felt normal again. "Do you know where he is now, at least?" Roco stood up, bouncing to the balls of her feet and pushing herself up from there.
"No. It's a big city," I stood up as well. "He could be anywhere." She stretched her arms out and I paced my way to the holographic map.
"Hey," She said quickly, grabbing my attention, eyes worryingly glued to the map. "Do you think we could track anyone on this?"
"That thing was made to track other criminals. Who are we tracking? Normal citizens?" I wrinkled my nose.
"No," Roco smiled. "Cops. Specifically, Striker. If we can figure out a way to reprogram it, his name is going in first."
Looking at her, I smiled, walking right over to the toolbox and sitting down on the floor to view the control panel. She joined me seconds after, laptop in her hand with a long wire connecting my plane and it.
Test after test, rumble after rumble from the volcano — which was weird — Roco decided it was time for the field test. "Computer," She chimed gleefully, but was obviously tired of working on this thing.
"Yes, Miss Louvremont?"
"Where is Officer Striker currently?" She continued, holding her hands together. There was a small pause, "Latitu—"
"Closest landmark then," I interrupted. If they were more than 3 miles away from the landmark, it would pick the next building that isn't a registered landmark — power plant, museum, etc — only if it was on a satellite map.
"Volcano base." Computer deadpanned. Roco and I shared the same questioning glance. "One more time, she's probably bugging," She whispered, typing some things into the computer. "Computer, where's Officer Striker?"
"Volcano base, Miss Rocori. 131 yards from your current standpoint."
The volcano rumbled again and that was our sign. It's dormant, we know that. That was the sound of impact from the outside. Leaping to our feet, Kya was up there greeting us, giving concerned faces but she still tossed me my rifle as if we didn't fight almost 30 minutes ago.
"Is it the feds?" She asked. "It's the fed." Roco mumbled back to her, shoving a clip into the bottom of her rifle and reloading it.
The three of us were already on our way out to greet that bitch and we stopped when the loud, familiar voice, boomed through the speakers of the base.
"I'm giving you an option to surrender, Timber," Striker seethed, sounding professional almost. "Make it easier for yourself and throw up that white flag. It's called a Hunt for a reason."
I shivered.
"You have until dawn."