Unnecessary Justice; scene 4

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Stanley raced past mosaic brick walls, forgotten gutters high above cascading him with the nights collections. Trash cans and street debris toppled & clattered wetly beside him as his limbs flailed at high speed, the soggy sound of would-be attackers in pursuit echoing behind him. He was practically swimming through this wind swept alleyway, struggling for air as smothering fear threatened to halt his escape.

His intricate knowledge of the Seattle streets were no match for the gut wrenching panic brought on by the band of thieves behind him. His escape routes were all planned with passivity in mind; he was used to slinking quietly with the shadows, not barreling blindly through the dark. Confusion mixed with adrenaline too readily for Stanley, and now he was running with no destination other than wherever his persistent muggers weren't.

A few more frightened turns and Stanley erupted without warning from the soaking alleyways. The waterfront street lay before him, unseen waves crashing loudly behind the blocky buildings on the other side. Their booming aftermath bounced between Stanley and the Viaduct Gardens above him, his hands clasping his ears as he ran headlong across the parking lot.

He was back where he'd started! How could this have happened? There were no hiding spots to wait in or corners to slow them down out here. He was back in the open street, a short distance to travel when your daily workout is robbing people on foot. The rain streamed down his face and into his eyes, blinking madly as he flopped across the parking spaces with hands still clasped in useless panic to his ears. He bounded off the sidewalk into the body of water that resembled the city road, kicking up a scared spray as he darted across the street.

There was barely any traffic this late at night, but he could see a large bus bearing down the black-top river towards him. Stanley could also make out a big warehouse in front of him on the other side of the road. A number of cars could be seen in the empty lot of the warehouse, too clean to be abandoned vehicles. Stanley's brain worked as fast as his keen eyes, adrenaline finally winning out over sheer panic.

He pushed his frozen body faster, barely glancing right as the safety sensors on the city bus sounded a lazy honk. The bus was closer than he thought. His feet were numb, but Stanley forced them forward with flicking momentum. He was almost on the other side of the road, yet the bus was almost on the other side of him. A stinging ringing in his ears and biting cold on his pumping arms, he closed his eyes and grit his teeth, chest puffed out in front of him as he ran for his life.

The wind & rain picked up and threw him to the soggy sidewalk as the bus stormed by, a moist slap hitting the sidewalk. Stanley pushed himself up onto his elbows, a muddy reflection staring back from the pavement. He couldn't tell if he looked as bedraggled as this murky mirror depicted, but he felt it. Panting, he got to his feet and looked up at the warehouse in front of him. The cars had been parked politely between the faded lines and they looked well kept. As abandoned as this building seemed, someone had to be inside to warrant such a collection of vehicles at its entrance. Still standing in the puddle he had landed in, Stanley turned around to look across the street he'd just cleared in leaps and bounds.

The gang of lurkers did so four lanes away from him. They appeared to be waiting for Stanley to notice them, because as soon as he did they started sprinting across the road towards him. They ignored the common sense practice of looking both ways before crossing a street and just ran, nearby buses refusing to swoop in with flattening solutions. The empty road behind him underlined his plight as Stanley turned on his heels and headed for the comparative safety of the warehouse. His chest instantly filled with fire as his heart remembered why it had been beating so fast moments before, lungs sucking in as much air as they could use. Crossing the almost empty lot in seconds, he grit his teeth and closed his eyes again as he braced for impact. Arms stretched in front of him, the closest door ran into Stanley with a solid bang.

The door swung inwards with explosive ease as both his hands hit the bar that opened it. He lost his balance and went sprawling onto the dusty floor, mud forming instantly as his sopping wet clothes streaked a landing strip along the ground. Without missing a beat he was up & running again. He took a split second to look around, the doorway to a world filled with rain falling behind him. Splashing footfalls gained closer in the distance before the closed door silenced them.

There were stacked metal shelves on either side of him, filled with miscellaneous boxes and tarpaulin covered mysteries. They were barely visible in the dim light and he couldn't see the highest shelves climbing towards the dark ceiling of the warehouse. As Stanley sped through this alleyway of a different sort, he could just make out a bright light through the gaps in the shelves coming from what seemed like the center of the building.

He put his head down and ran as hard as he could, feet pounding the floor in time with his heart. The chased abruptly turned a corner as the chasers sounded like they had figured out the complexities of opening a closed door. Stanley slammed into a metal shelf as he turned another corner, unknown articles spilling onto the ground behind him. He winced as he heard the curse laden shouts behind him trip and fall over his droppings in the aisle, the howls of a many legged beast slipping on the banana peel of chance creeping on him.

He couldn't keep this up. Years of physical neglect had molded a physique fit for hiding, not running. His skinny frame was being jostled through various obstacles, each angular edge sprouting a new bruise on his tired physique. Stanley had been mugged before but they had been uneventful affairs; a swift kicking, the fetal position, and a well placed dummy wallet were all he’d endured in the past to escape with most of his blood still where it should be. This seemed a little more serious. No doubt his unwanted entourage were upset from all the running and wet weather, and criminals didn’t seem the forgiving type these days. When they caught him...

He pushed the thought away and replaced it with hope instead. He was getting into the swing of these shelves and had actually gained some distance during his pursuers fall. If he could just make it to the light, plead for help from whoever was hanging out here this late at night, maybe this would all end well?

The thought of everything ending well ended badly as Stanley missed a step and tripped over himself. He wasn’t far from the end of this maze of shelves, but as he hit the floor and slid yet again he could hear the persistent muggers turn into the same aisle. He scrambled to his feet with sweat and rain running into his tearful eyes, the soles of his shoes working double time to keep up with his momentum. He stepped on his own hand. The shelf to his right provided some assistance as he pulled himself up and forward, forcing his skinny body to keep running. Another bruise. The army of angry feet were closer now, so much closer. Maybe the people in the light would be quick witted enough to sense his plight and tear his attackers off of his fetal position before they pummeled him too hard. Maybe they would just take his money and be done with it, job well done, lets go get some drinks. Maybe he was invisible.

The end of the shelves were almost behind him when Stanley felt arms around his waist. Had his experiences with affairs of the heart/libido been more extensive, he may have taken a moment to appreciate the reassuring way in which the arms wrapped him fully, or how they hugged him tight like they never wanted to let go. All these comparisons were lost on poor Stanley. Instead all he could think of was screaming as he and his heavy companion fell forward, but he knew that seldom helped in this town. At the very end of the shelves on this side of the aisle was a stack of matching boxes. Half running, half falling, he silently aimed what was left of his strength at them, hoping they would conveniently rid him of his bear-hugging passenger.

They tumbled into the tower of cardboard as one mass, rolling and crashing into the open expanse of the middle of the warehouse. They were just on the edge of light yielded by various lamps fastened to the metal shelves that served as far off walls around this makeshift room. Dust filled the air with a drifting haze, everything cast in a fuzzy light reminiscent of old soap operas on a television. From his vantage point pressed an inch off the warehouse floor, Stanley couldn’t make out much else.

He then noticed the lack of beatings coming his way. With the immediate threat of pain momentarily subsided, Stanley risked raising his head slightly to get a better view of his surroundings. The weight of the man on his back was worrying, but motionless. Stanley realised why. He must be staring at the same scene Stanley now saw.

At the center of the circle of light was a pile of splintered rubble. Recognisable wooden shapes led Stanley to believe it had been a table in a past life, with a littering of silent & moaning bodies around it suggesting there had been an abrupt end to their card game or whatever it was that had brought them together. In the middle of this broken mess was a gray figure of a man, stoically staring at another man dressed in a khaki outfit reminiscent of a classic detective. This Dick Tracy costume was ruined only by the perfectly still black sword he had leveled at his gray partners head. They appeared to be smiling at each other, though the tension in the air was more stifling than the dust.

Seconds after Stanley and his attacker had hit the ground, the scene in front of them broke into a frenzy of movement. So did the unseen behind them, as the other muggers finally caught up with both Stanley and current events. They too slowed to a standstill to observe the fight unfolding amidst the broken table, slack jawed disbelief replacing their desire for Stanleys valuables. The khaki man swung at the gray figure with surprising speed, a flurry of clothing and metal as his trench-coat flapped wildly around him. With equally admirable speed the gray figure held up both arms in an X-shaped block. The deflection sounded a metallic ringing around the warehouse, subsequently followed by different tones of defense as the khaki man continued to jab and slice at the gray figures parrying forearm guards. Each connected hit began to blend into one another as the onslaught of black steel continued. They were keeping to the light but were zig-sagging closer to their audience with every duck and dodge. Though the khaki man couldn't get a cut, it was becoming obvious that the gray figure was on the defensive, barely able meet black steel with gray wrists.

As they came within a few feet of Stanley and his passenger, one of the panting thieves tried to say something. It may have been a vote of encouragement, or maybe he was thinking about robbing one of the fighting men. Whatever his intent, he didn't get very far as the khaki man elegantly pushed his gray quarry into Stanleys group with a powerful swing of his sword. The gray figure had managed to raise both guards up in a boxing stance, but the force sent him bowling into the standing muggers. The stumbling bunch hit the floor with a chorus of "oof!"; the gray figure was on his feet with an imperceptible flourish almost immediately.

The gray defender darted back into duel with the awaiting Dick Tracy. The fallen gang stuck to the floor rubbing their heads where it was safe, and the one pinning Stanley maintained his awkward position. It dawned on Stanley that the weight on his back was just that; weight, not pressure. With the sideshow in full swing, now was the time to exit stage left. He took a quiet, long breath of encouraging yet incredibly dusty air and rolled the mugger off of him into the nearby shelves.

The weight was gone, and there was no immediate pummeling forthcoming, so without looking around Stanley made a break for freedom. He didn't know if his admirers would follow or not, and he didn't care. He had given up on looking for help in this warehouse of violence, and all he wanted now was the relative safety of his overcrowded apartment decorated with loneliness.

It dawned on him after only a few hurried steps that he was sprinting directly towards the center of light filled with fighting.

The two men were locked in combat. Literally it seemed. Time slowed to a crawl as Stanley took in the fire to his frying pan; one mans face shrouded in darkness and teeth as he unrelentingly pushed a sharp blade towards his opponents neck, the other mans face a contortion of grimacing muscles and sweat as he kept both wrist guards firmly clamped in a protective X against the inching swords.

Stanley craned his neck around in mid dash to see if his entourage were in pursuit, to see if his half baked escape route wasn't a completely wasted effort. What he didn't see was the burlap sack laying directly in his path through the shattered table debris. Foot wedged under folds of solid lump, Stanley fell to the ground in a faint mushroom of sawdust and clattering limbs.

Winded from his landing, he turned over onto his back. He still didn't see the burlap sack, and wondered instead what the hell he'd tripped over.

"No matter what happens, stay calm" said a gravelly voice by Stanleys ear, "or things will get much worse."

It wasn't an entirely frightening voice. It was just that, being mere inches from the ground in a dangerous warehouse on a criminal-filled stormy night, Stanley's ear couldn't help but interpret the voice as frightening. At the very least it was disturbingly peculiar.

A moment after the mysterious voice had finished, more dust flew into the air right by his head in the wake of a pair of heavy duty gray boots that seemed to slide to a halt. Stanley's eyes cast upwards, taking in the sight of this arguably costumed fighter. He noticed padding and pouches and ropes and blades and wires, all attached with various straps and belts to the figures torso. From this vantage point, he looked like a paranoid riot policeman.

The gray man was panting heavily, forearms still held in his crossed defensive position. His legs were shoulder width apart, forming the same stance he'd presumably been in a few seconds and twenty feet ago. Something had hit him with enough force to move him bodily across the room, and yet he'd stood his ground.

Stanley's mind was working fast, but his grip on reality was slipping faster. What had he gotten himself into? How was he going to get out? Why is everyone so violent?

The gray figure lowered his arms slightly to speak.

"Ready?!" he barked irritably at no one in particular.

Before Stanley could crane his neck upwards to see if the trench-coat wearing combatant would respond to this uninspiring trash talk, the gravelly voice by his ear spoke again. "Ready!" it shouted, directly into Stanley's ear drum.

The gray fighter nodded, and began to tap his fingers on the back of his left forearm. A light flickered under his digits, and Stanley barely had time to imagine that it might have been an uber-phone screen before the star speckled ceiling of the warehouse began to hiss at everyone.

It started to rain inside the warehouse. Boxes turned to mush after years of dehydration whilst old and new dust became puddles of mud. Eyes assaulted by drops of water, Stanley rolled over and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Sputtering, he looked up to see Dick Tracy's stunt double standing at ease in the rain not fat away. He had his blade on his shoulder with his head cocked slightly to one side. With khaki hat still masking most of his features, a faint aquatic grin filled with teeth could be seen before Stanley's world turned to pain.

Sharp fiery sensations soared up his arms and into his shoulders. His neck and back spasmed as his face scrunched up into a mask of agony. Every muscle in his body was suddenly trying to assert itself and take the helm of this shipwreck of a human being, and they had all decided to start heading in different directions.

It was over in an instant. Stanley swam in darkness.

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