Tags let his fingers play over the keyboard without thinking. He'd been computer-literate in a previous life, had to know just a little more than the basics in the military, but his knowledge now was greater than if he'd gotten a 4-year CIS degree. Now, it was all second-nature.
He was also profoundly uncomfortable. The little hidey-hole he was using while doing some inside surveillance on their next target barely had room for a chair to sit in and a desk to put the laptop on. Tags was well-built... but hunched over like this, he felt small. In his mind, he compared it to a sardine can for a second before thinking that a sardine can didn't do it justice.
"Shit," he breathed, eyes playing over the screen at a frantic pace. Even so low, the deep bass of his voice seemed loud in the small space. "Where'd he go?"
*Fuck fuck fuck* raced through his mind as he tried to re-locate the mark. Everything about him ran through Tags' thoughts: geeky kid named Zayden, glasses, fourteen years old, bullies at school call him 'Gayden' because of course they do, outcast, oblivious parents who just think their kid isn't 'trying hard enough' to make friends, starting to think there's something wrong with the world...
Tags rubbed at his eyes to clear his thoughts out. He'd been planning to send Zayden a message over his computer when he got home from school; it was time for more contact, time to start prepping the kid, time to start warning him they could show him the truth but there would be no going back. He'd lost Zayden leaving school, which meant the routine changed. When the routine of a lonely middle schooler walking home changed, it probably meant something was wrong.
"Gotcha," Tags didn't even notice himself speaking when he found the target again. Something had gone wrong alright, but not the kind of thing Tags could do anything about.
Resting his elbows on the desk, Tags laced his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands as he watched Zayden's bullies finally kicking it up a notch. "Fucking kids are horrible," he muttered to himself.
He could go. He could help. *I can tell the captain I was worried the target was in too much danger.* He would be lying; the bullies weren't going to kill the kid. The hits were few and far between. Mostly they faked it so Zayden would be scared and react, so they could mock him for flinching. *C'mon kid... you can get through this... you'll get through this and you'll meet us, and it'll get better... you'll handle it better, I was too fuckin' old...*
When his phone rang, Tags was staring so hard at the laptop that he'd begun ignoring the world around him, and he jumped in his seat. His head hit the hanging lamp above him, since there was barely any clearance.
A hard frown crossed his face as Tags chastised himself for letting his attention wander, or maybe he was just pissed off. He wasn't sure, and it didn't matter as he retrieved his phone from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. His other hand absent-mindedly ran through his thick hair, in case knocking into the lamp had made a mess of it.
When he hit the talk button and put it to his ear, the sudden agitation came through a little in his voice. "Yeah?"
The person on the other end either didn't notice or didn't care. "We're pulling you out, there's some activity starting up. Captain thinks the line's been traced."
"You're kidding," Tags went tense.
"'Fraid not," came the response. "The hardline's been cut, either they're on to you or that's one *hell* of a coincidence."
"Shit," Tags got up from the chair, laptop forgotten, but he couldn't really stand up so much as crouch. He bumped into the hanging lamp again, making the shadows in the dingy room dance around. He blocked most of the light himself.
"Just get moving," the voice on the line said, "I'll find another exit and call you back."
"Right," Tags hung up and pocketed his phone. He was out the door and up the small flight of stairs leading up to the sidewalk in seconds.
Breathing sharply, his breath fogging just enough to notice in the cool night air, Tags looked around and unconsciously stretched a little to get the kinks out of his limbs and his back. He didn't need to think about what way to go, because the decision was made for him.
The police officers maybe thirty feet away, next to their parked squad car, saw him. One had what was undoubtedly a photograph in his hands, because he looked at Tags, looked down at it, then looked back at Tags, eyes so wide they could've popped out. Then he shouted at his partner, "Hey, that's him! "
Tags watched the other cop do a double-take as he began to move, backstepping as the thought crossed his mind that he could just kill them, but if eyes weren't on them right this second, causing a ruckus might change that, and then he'd *really* be fucked.
"Stop!" One of the cops yelled, but Tags had already turned and started running. "Police!"
"Yeah, no kidding," Tags muttered, the cops lost in the sound of his boots hitting the ground and the throb of his pulse through his neck.
