Taking the Initiative: Fly in the web
by bob_obo
She ran. She didn't know where she was - she didn't know where she was going. She just knew a desperate, blind need to escape. She ran through the warm night, through the grass and bushes, through the mud and the trees, through the concrete and bricks with oblivious abandon.
She collided with startled onlookers, faceless bit players in her obscure reality who reeled, spluttering at her in uncomprehending indignation. Heedless of the startled curses and profanities, she spun away, effortlessly keeping her balance and easily returning to the fluid gait that she seemed to have maintained for eternity.
Even still, someone was gaining. Her hunters.
She knew they were there in the way that the rabbit knows of the fox. Somewhere buried deep within she felt the wolf stir angrily in protest. It was gone in an instant, nothing more than a spark of hopeless snarling impotent defiance. She knew that to turn and fight death was assured. Only by running could she briefly stay its call.
Cutting through the blinding, choking fog of terrot that hazed her mind, she saw a figure ahead. For a moment she felt a twinge of hope, then reality broke through abruptly. She slowed, a familiar sense of helpless frustration spreading through her, annihilating what little resolve remained to fuel her exhausted spirit. The man was not alone, with him were several others, all dressed in uniform greenish hues. Each carried a weapon she was depressingly familiar with, trained on her with unmistakably hostile intent. Desperately, she risked a pleading glance at the first mans face. There was a dichotomy in his expression which almost terrified her more than the weapons pointed in her direction. Something there in that broad visage said that she'd chosen her target well, there was an agony of indecision in his eyes.
On the other hand there was a cold hatred that bespoke immediate death if she moved.
In the face of certain doom, she felt a hopeless crippling terror waft through her body, weighing down her limbs and filling her mind with vapid dread.
The man addressed her calmly and authoritatively, “Hostile twenty three, you will lay face down with your hands above your head, now!”
The unyielding, cruel tone seemed to slam into her with more strength than the heaviest blow, hammering down her spirit and strength effortlessly. She felt herself trembling, begin to comply with a sense of bitter habitual hopelessness.
Then something else swelled up inside her. Something that had survived for longer than she could remember without being cowed - something that seemed far more eternal and unbreakable than anything she could take credit for. Some small part of her that through the countless beatings she'd loathed for causing her more pain, but equally had kept her alive through all those dark years. It was a part of her she hated but could no more be rid of than she could rip out her own spine.
For example, they both gave her backbone.
She looked up and boldly met his gaze. To her surprise, the man flinched and looked away.
She seized the moment even before she realized what she was doing. She'd leaped faster than thought to cover the dozen feet between them and cannon heavily into him. The lackeys surrounding them scattered, trying in the confusion to find a clear shot on their suddenly mobile target, but failing in the momentary flurry of limbs.
Somehow at the end of it, the tiny, wafer thin girl held the far larger man in an iron grip, his arm twisted back and his face pale, contorted in pain and fury. The men visibly blanched at this change of circumstance, training their weapons uncertainly on the girl and her impromptu hostage.
Mira smiled boldly at them. She was well aware her advantage would last a few seconds at best, but that was all she needed.
She backed away carefully as they watched her warily.
“Follow me, and I will kill him.” she warned.
“Really?” her hostage murmured, then winced as her arm tightened in warning around his neck.
“Stay right there or we will shoot you.” One of the soldiers spoke through gritted teeth.
Mira focused on him warily. Tall, dark skin, a look of arrogant unconcern in his eyes. Crap. She'd correctly identified the leader, and taken advantage of his unaccountable lapse. She'd thought maybe it might have gained her the leverage to escape this situation alive, but she hadn't been counting on an ambitious underling. She took a step further back, trying to fight off the reemerging terror and to judge how far she needed to move to attempt an escape.
Too far. She knew the man in front of her now would never allow her to escape, even if it meant his leaders demise. Especially if it meant his demise. She felt a shudder go through her prisoners body as he came to the same conclusion.
She froze, indecision and helpless terror rooting her to the spot, breaking even the pitiful resolve to escape that lent her a last vestige of strength. For a moment she was poised between an unendurable need to flee and an unbearable desire to submit.
For the moment, the two sides were at an impasse. She couldn't more any further, her hunters were unwilling to attack while she still menaced their leader.
Unfortunately, they knew they had reinforcements rapidly approaching. With a rush of despair, she knew had she had no one. Al they needed to do was wait.
With that knowledge, came a kind of strength. When there's nothing to loose, there's nothing to risk. Without hope but with limitless determination she shoved her hostage forwards to stumble helplessly towards his companions. She spun and ran towards the end of the alleyway, expecting at any moment bullets to thud into her body.
They didn't come.
Disbelieving, she pushed the astonishment back and continued to run...

Spike looked down from the rooftop with interest. He'd watched curiously as the initiative soldiers chased the girl through half of Sunnydale. He'd been surprised and more than a little impressed at how close she'd come to evading them, in spite of her obvious ignorance of the town. Then she'd been trapped randomly in an alleyway. No other way out and cornered. He'd assumed that all she wrote, but no - in an hilariously ostentatious display she'd grabbed the soldier boy wannabe general and backed out. Then for some unfathomable stupid reason she'd abandoned him and ran.
He'd thought that was it yet again. He'd even felt a little sad for her – he'd rooted for her alright, anyone pursued by the soldier gits were alright by him. Not enough for him to help of course. That'd just be foolish.
Then what he'd seen had perked his interest. She'd turned and ran. Left herself open in a blatant act of suicide. In spite of her speed they'd had a clear second to shoot her down.
They'd hesitated.
Maybe they were concerned for their leader. Maybe they were waiting for a clear shot and they waited just a moment too long. But Spike didn't think so though.
He dropped his cigarette to fall weightlessly on the oblivious street below, then set off to follow tonights entertainment.
From his raised perspective he could see what she could not. They hadn't let her go. The soldier boys were out in force, and at least a dozen of them were steadily closing on her, moving in for the kill.
With a rush of uncharacteristic altruism, Spike swore that wouldn't happen. Whoever she was, she had an ally tonight, and the initiative wouldn't have another victim...

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