It was dark, quiet. The hiss of machinery was a comforting constant as the guard made his rounds, shining a flashlight into rooms with the negligence born of routine. He checked one of the larger computer labs, silent except for the sound of the fans blowing cooled air over delicate circuitry. Then he moved on, plodding away, mind already on his plans for the next day, his date with his girlfriend, whether or not he had any condoms left in the bathroom or would need to pick some up on the way home. The sweep of the flashlight beam across the other rooms on that floor was even more apathetic than before. Section cleared, he pushed the button for the elevator, humming quietly as he waited for it to reach that floor and got in. The doors shut behind him with a hydraulic slither.
Whitened fingertips tensed on the windowsill of one of the dismissed rooms, arms and shoulders flexed and a head appeared, black ski cap revealing only pale eyes and the thin slit of a mouth. The eyes scanned the room once, thoroughly, then with a quick pull the figure rolled up and over and into the building with barely a rustle of cloth. It was obviously a male, his knit charcoal gray turtleneck fitted enough that there was no question there. Utilitarian black cargo pants led the way to even more plebian black boots. There were leather gloves on his hands, strapped close at the wrist, fingers cropped off halfway. The only skin visible was that of the ends of his fingers, and around his eyes and mouth.
There was a shoulder holster buckled around his torso, guns on each side hugging his ribcage. All of it matte, black and dark grays, very little to catch the light or throw reflections. He moved rapidly, landing in a low crouch inside the room, against the wall below and to one side of the open window, then froze. Listened.
There were no unexpected noises, just the shallow, even sound of his breathing and the constant hum of electronics. He straightened up, smooth and unhurried, moved toward the doorway and the hall beyond.
He steps were firm, even, and soundless, heel first and the rest of the foot following, outside edge meeting the ground before his weight rolled forward onto his toes. He glanced into the empty rooms as he passed them, his search much faster and more inquiring than the cursory one the guard had performed only minutes before. Judging by his stride, he appeared to know where he was going, but his gaze as he walked the hallway said differently.
He reached the elevator at the end, considered it for a moment, then turned and went into one of the rooms instead. Found an air vent in the ceiling and, standing on a chair, pushed the grate up into it easily - it wasn't fastened. Half-gloved hands gripped the edges of the opening, and one pull-up later he was in the duct, looking up and down it. One direction was blocked by a large fan, turning sluggishly. The other way was open.
He crawled through the cramped metal tunnel for perhaps fifteen or twenty feet, pulling himself along on his elbows and wincing at the occasional creak of the square tubes, before he found what he was looking for. Negotiating the turn of the duct to come out in the floor of a room on the next floor up - the fifth floor of the building - was difficult, but not impossible, and within moments he was out in the open again.
no subject
Whitened fingertips tensed on the windowsill of one of the dismissed rooms, arms and shoulders flexed and a head appeared, black ski cap revealing only pale eyes and the thin slit of a mouth. The eyes scanned the room once, thoroughly, then with a quick pull the figure rolled up and over and into the building with barely a rustle of cloth. It was obviously a male, his knit charcoal gray turtleneck fitted enough that there was no question there. Utilitarian black cargo pants led the way to even more plebian black boots. There were leather gloves on his hands, strapped close at the wrist, fingers cropped off halfway. The only skin visible was that of the ends of his fingers, and around his eyes and mouth.
There was a shoulder holster buckled around his torso, guns on each side hugging his ribcage. All of it matte, black and dark grays, very little to catch the light or throw reflections. He moved rapidly, landing in a low crouch inside the room, against the wall below and to one side of the open window, then froze. Listened.
There were no unexpected noises, just the shallow, even sound of his breathing and the constant hum of electronics. He straightened up, smooth and unhurried, moved toward the doorway and the hall beyond.
He steps were firm, even, and soundless, heel first and the rest of the foot following, outside edge meeting the ground before his weight rolled forward onto his toes. He glanced into the empty rooms as he passed them, his search much faster and more inquiring than the cursory one the guard had performed only minutes before. Judging by his stride, he appeared to know where he was going, but his gaze as he walked the hallway said differently.
He reached the elevator at the end, considered it for a moment, then turned and went into one of the rooms instead. Found an air vent in the ceiling and, standing on a chair, pushed the grate up into it easily - it wasn't fastened. Half-gloved hands gripped the edges of the opening, and one pull-up later he was in the duct, looking up and down it. One direction was blocked by a large fan, turning sluggishly. The other way was open.
He crawled through the cramped metal tunnel for perhaps fifteen or twenty feet, pulling himself along on his elbows and wincing at the occasional creak of the square tubes, before he found what he was looking for. Negotiating the turn of the duct to come out in the floor of a room on the next floor up - the fifth floor of the building - was difficult, but not impossible, and within moments he was out in the open again.