Chapter 1: Reflection
"— Update, Update"
Underneath a square cut-out of the sky, between structures transcending on all sides, occupying that space were sticking shadows of simply the sort you'd expect in a spot with obstructed light
"This is a report on the escaping suspect—"
At nightfall, when dusk ruled, a figure mixed into the shadows as though comfortable. Though the pair looking for this figure were paying due attention, they went directly past him without noticing his presence. This wasn't a result of his appearance, or due to their lack of regard, yet rather in light of the fact that he erased his very presence in the midst of the shadows, with his breath bated and his considerations to another world, making it muddled whether or not he were as yet human, so it was just normal they'd only seen him as a piece of the vast obscurity.
Consequently, it would just be more fitting to portray him as something like a shadow… or, maybe, a "reflection."
"..."
This "reflection" nonchalantly loaned his eyes and ears to his environmental factors, not shivering even once in the chill around him.
"At 8:30 PM, the suspect thought to be part of the band of criminals lost pursuit and escaped at the crossing point close to the train station. Over."
It was the period of ice. Incalculable small scars defaced the rear of the hand held facing his chilled ear. It would be no misrepresentation to say that those scars denoted the way the "reflection" had strolled, his set of experiences carved into him.
"Suspect ran away from the area on foot, passing the service station on fourth road and entering a back rear entryway. Requesting support vehicle on location quickly—"
A murmuring breath.
In a moment... his eyes flickered like a monster hunting prey.
"..."
Those eyes could puncture even what was undetectable.
"Suspect is by all accounts a tall man in his 20s, conceivably an
Was there any significance in the single hold of his clench hand?
That truth be told everything that had happened...
However the transmission had been cut off before the culprit's features had been completely revealed. The transmissions were sent by an extraordinary technique - a strategy both comprehended and generally utilized by the populace at large:
These transmissions, uniquely strengthened against observing and obstruction, had effortlessly been cut off by the "reflection".
"That is compensation... for your assumptions."
He spat in this way while running fingers through his hair, which had lacked pigment since his birth.
Showing no authentic worry for the matter, in the following moment he escaped into the night. The "reflection" may have had a section for "impossible" in his word reference, yet the expression "presence of mind" was absolutely not among its pages. He was just excessively far removed from the concept of somebody being sought after, as though his followers' endeavors to capture him weren't in any way shape or form awkward.
"..."
He ran further, further, further into the back street. He ran with a normal structure as though on an every day run. Breathing at a fixed, musical speed, yet when a foul smell arrived at his nose, his feet halted. Dark trash containers. A plastic receptacle. The season never really masked the off-putting smell of the waste essentially erupting from those packs.
Passing by the data he'd tracked down, the "reflection" gathered that the structure he was behind housed a kitchen, and moved forward to its secondary passage with a calm self-restraint.
"Let me through—like always."
Mathematical examples seemed like a visualization; geometric patterns appeared like holograms; on the blank card he'd drawn not long prior to showing up at the entryway. This was the initial time the "reflection" had visited this spot, the first time he contacted this entryway, yet it opened up very much like a magic trick.
"Just doing a regular inspection. Please let me through. Appreciate it."
He moved through the confined kitchen with a fluid agility. As the "reflection" slipped through the building to the front exit like a lead on the wind, it took some time for the workers in the kitchen to exchange glances and come to the realization that he wasn't supposed to be there.
"...Much excessively weighty… No respect for the client's wellbeing, huh…"
Permitting his impressions to get out was his one slip-up. Paying no psyche to the gourmet expert in his mad outburst over the missing plate of chicken—the "reflection" cleared away the indication of his relief off of his lips.
"....."
At this point, the "reflection" had already completed his escape. He'd managed to make it to a place devoid of pursuers. Perhaps his only want, as he sought complete safety, was to parch his throat.
With quiet, leisurely footfalls, he stepped out onto the main street. Completely devoid of the hurry, nerves, or guilt of one on the run, he looked like nothing more than an average passerby. Therefore, he'd made none of the sort of mistakes that would land him in any new trouble, and any drama he could encounter at this point would only be a result of a fortuitous event or destiny.
Abruptly, a booming thunder, awkward on a peaceful road, made his feet stop. The "reflection" ought to have been only a normal spectator now, at this point he halted… unnaturally.
"....."
The air in the space around him appeared to incline…
He ought to have had scarcely any presence, yet he currently showed a strange fixation. He turned toward the path the sound had come from, glared around a corner, and a couple of moments later—
"Huff… Huff… Shit… Persistent little numbskull…"
A man on the run showed up, his long hair waving in the breeze. He kept going around the bend without looking where he was going, rather looking behind him as though he was being pursued by an apparition while irritatedly cackling his tongue.
"Hello."
"Wha—!!"
Really, he wasn't watching where he was going by any means. After seeing the "reflection" before him, the long-haired man immediately hit the brakes and figured out how to keep away from the last-minute impact. He ended briefly as though attempting to choose reviling and running.
"You're in a significant rush. Debilitated children holding up at home?"
"What's it to you? Outta my way, you're burning through my time."
"I'll choose for myself what it is to me."
"Whatever, just—"
Right then and there—a blazing fireball touched their noses, covering itself into the ground a long ways in front of them.
"That's as far as you go."