John Jones was on his usual bus to work. It was the same one he had taken every day for the last three years. It all seemed so normal. Yet, deep down in his psyche, his long dormant instincts handed down from countless ancestors, from the time they became upright on the plains of Africa, those instincts were telling him something was wrong, very, very wrong.
He raised his newspaper back to his eyes but he did not read. Using the paper as a blind he let his eyes cast about the other passengers. He finally saw the stranger. Behind the dark glasses and his own paper, the stranger was looking at him. Jones could feel it in his bones. He could feel those shielded eyes burrowing into him. The instinct for fight or flight was engaged in mortal combat in his mind.
Jones delved deep into his memory banks and tried to place the man. "Who is he?" coursed through his mind. He glanced in the man's direction again. Time slowed as the adrenaline continued to flood into his system. The man was big, maybe 6"3" or bigger. He was built like a mountain in rough, worker clothes. His face looked like he had been in a lifetime of combat. He was one of those people one always looked at and thought "I'd never want to meet him in a dark alley."
Jones explored his past and for the life of him could not come up with any reason for anyone like the stranger to be watching him, for him to be after him. He finally started laughing to himself at his relief, receiving strange looks from his fellow passengers. Yet still..., he decided once and for all. He would get off at the next stop and when the man continued on his way there would be no problem. And, if the stranger got off behind him he would just walk to the front and get back on the bus. He was still two miles from work and he had plenty of time. Maybe he would just finish his travel by walking. It was after all a beautiful day.
The bus slowed for the stop and as Jones walked to the rear exit, with his peripheral vision he could see the stranger better. The man was talking into his sleeve and starting to rise from his seat. The stranger was on his heels as he stepped to the pavement. Jones looked to the front of the bus and to his horror saw that no one was boarding. The bus pulled away before he could recover from his shock. He started walking rapidly down the street. The footsteps of the stranger were closing in behind him. As the man came close he quietly said "No use running Mr. Jones. We have you now." With those words the flight part of the instincts won the battle. Like a sprinter coming off the blocks he exploded away from the big man. As he expanded the distance between them he heard the words "Stop" then, "He's running."
John was glad he stayed in shape. He was a runner in college and he had never stopped. He could barely hear the slap of the feet behind him. His confidence in his safety was shattered as the black Suburban careened across all the traffic and jumped the curb. The doors exploded open on the land tank as two "men in black" leaped from the vehicle. In terror as he broke down the nearest driveway Jones could almost swear that one of the men was "Agent Smith" from "The Matrix." And, like in "The Matrix", "Smith" was fast. Very, very fast.
"Smith" closed the distance between them as they hurtled towards the backyard fence blocking their path. With "Smith" almost breathing in his ear by sheer instinct he threw his briefcase behind him, catching the man in the shins and causing him to go face first into the six foot board fence as he tried to regain his balance. Jones escaped over the barricade. He leaned against the opposite side of the fence catching his breath as he scanned the alley. Which way to go? To stay where he was would ensure them getting him and yet he still had no idea who they were or why they were after him.
NO TIME! A black 4 door sedan made a screaming ninety degree turn into the alley and sped towards him. He scaled the next fence across from him and fled to the next block.
As he ran in terror, his systems surging into overdrive from the adrenaline coursing through his systems, a long dead and buried memory cap was unsealed presenting him with a startling revelation. Now he remembered, at least he thought he did. His terror was now complete. He had forgotten them. He had broken his promise to them and then wiped them from his memory. He had moved. He had crossed the country and led a different life, but now they had found him. He now knew that they would never forgive him. They would never stop hunting him. As he continued splitting blocks and going over fences a shadow crossed his path. He looked up and over head was one of the dreaded silent black helicopters. He ran like the devil was after him for failing to make his previous appointment in hell.
He never saw the man with the gun. He just heard the shot and then felt the pain as the tranq-dart stabbed deep into his flesh and poured its poison into his system. As the potion overcame his senses he tumbled to the ground, oblivious to the pain, oblivious to the grating of his skin over the rough surface, and, oblivious to the men closing in around him.
He came awake, his senses slowly returning. He was alive. He found himself strapped to a massive wooden chair. His hands and wrists secured with broad leather straps to the arms. His legs and ankles tightly secured to the legs of the chair, slowly removing all feeling. He was wired to some kind of device, electrical in appearance. There were wire leads attached to various very sensitive parts of his body. He was naked except for his jockey shorts. "At least they left him those." passed through his mind.
He tried to pierce the darkness of the room. It was very small with the walls painted some deep dark non-reflective color. Just barely visible across from him appeared to be the door with a mirror, obviously so they could observe or maybe even record what took place in the soundproof hole in the world. Someone must have seen that he was awake. A bank of hot, bright lights flooded the room and blinded him. The temperature of the room climbed rapidly causing him to sweat profusely. He wondered if his sweating would enhance the connections made to his body. He sat there baking in his own juices, beyond miserable for who knew how long. Finally, just before that point where he knew he couldn't take the barbarity any longer, "Smith" came into the room. He was still wearing his sunglasses.
As he approached he picked up a small black box which held the wires that led to his body. Visible on the box was an ominous red button. "Mr. Jones" he stated, "that was very foolish running away like that. You should know, nobody ever evades us forever." Jones clenched his eyes tight at the horror he knew was to come. He let loose with the wild scream of a tortured animal as "Smith" caressed the red button with his thumb. He continued, "Nobody ever escapes the College Loan Police. Now about those missed payments..."
Hunted...
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