>You are Anon.
>You’ve managed to hide in what looks like an abandoned office room. There are still a few cubicle dividers tossed about like a sad remembrance of shitty office hours.
>Oz is able to walk and move on her own, although any attempt to use magic is greeted with pain and disorientation, so you ask her to watch the door. You have a call to make.
>You pick up the phone you took off the guard from earlier and dial a number. It rings until finally a familiar old voice answers.
>”Hello?”
“Jeb. Its Anon.”
>”Jesus, boy, where the devil have you been? We got your text but-“
“Long story short, Mike took me and Oz. As soon as I could I had her text you guys. Is everything in place?”
>”It took us almost the three damn days to find you. Lucky for you, Clet happens to be one of them hackers. He traced the text somehow to a specific location of where it was sent or whatever. I don’t know, fucking retarded genius he is…yes, everything is getting put together now. But you’re early-“
“Couldn’t be helped.”
>You look at Oz and lower your voice.
“They were torturing her, Jeb.”
>”Fine. You’re still a half hour early. Don’t suppose you got some magic time waster on you do you?”
“No. I’ll call you when its safe. Thanks, Jeb.”
>”Just get you and that pony out alive.” The line clicks as he disconnects. You hang up and check your rounds. You have ten rounds left in your mag, and two more twenty round mags. You also have a side-arm with only fifteen rounds. Not a lot of options here. You sigh and walk over to Oz, gently brushing her mane. She jumps but relaxes when she realizes its you.
“How’re you feeling?”
>”I am at around 75% functional capacity, Anon. I still cannot project the phenomenon known as magic without causing major pain and dizziness, but I can move about with no problems. The internet and the data plan load, but slowly.”
>She looks at you with a note of fear in her eyes. “…Anon, what do we do now?”
“Just stick with me, Oz. I’ll get you out of here.”
>By my life or death, you echo ominously in your mind.
>You give a light shrug before moving to the door.
“Let’s move.”
~~~~~~~~~~
>You move swiftly and silently down the hallways, Oz trotting just behind you. Your weapon is up and ready; just like you were trained. Everything is a threat here. If you didn’t need the ammo so bad you’d have shot out the cameras.
>You round a corner to reach a hallway that leads to an opening; a sort of atrium. There’s a couple guards milling about, looking unsure but gripping their weapons tightly. This is going to be a nightmare.
“Oz…stay here. If you hear me give a wolf whistle, that means stay away. If you hear a normal whistle, that means hurry up and come on. Got it?”
>You sequester her under a nearby chair; the best cover you can find. She nods quietly as she curls up. She looks like she wants to say something to you, but you just shake your head. There’s time for sad goodbyes later.
>You move down the hallway slowly, regretting the fact there’s not a janitor’s closet nearby you could have rednecked a grenade or some kind of bomb from. You pause at the edge of the hallway, just out of sight of the four milling mercenaries. You survey the surroundings. A standard office entrance. Sliding glass doors, a couple chairs, a flat screen in the corner blaring CNN, and a security desk. As you notice this feature, one of the guards looking off to the side looks near your corner.
>“The fuck…?”
>Of course there’s a fucking mirror showing the hallway you’re in so the desk can see. Before they can react, you round the corner, muzzle blazing as you time your bursts. The first guard goes down with a yell as your bullets rip into his back through his not-too-impressive body armor.
>You keep firing as you move, using the element of surprise to move as swiftly as possible. The first guard that noticed you is quick on the draw and returns fire even as he tries to back away. He ends up falling over a chair. The glass doorways shatter as his rounds go everywhere.
>The third guard gets a bead on you, but you bank left behind the security desk. As you squeeze off your last rounds, you hear the forth man calling for backup over the radio. You drop the empty mag and reload as swiftly as you can. You listen to the two goons expend their rounds around the table, ducking as one richoetes near you. Bits of office chair and papers float everywhere as bullets sing. 
>The sweet ringing silence that fills the air as they start to reload is your cue. You slide on your side to the side of the desk away from them and curl around it, opening up on the two hapless guards. They go down like ducks.
>The last guard finally manages to right himself and he moves around the chair. He aims at you and smirks, pulling the trigger only to be met with a dull click; he had wasted his rounds when he fell down. His eyes widen as you jump up and pull your own trigger, only to be met with the same result. 
>You both stare at each other for a moment before he drops his mag, slowly reaching for a fresh one. Or, at least its slow. The adrenaline pumping in your veins leaves no room for error as you simply reach to your beltline and draw the sidearm. As you clear your belt buckle, he’s slamming his magazine in place. As you pop off the safety and bring the weapon to bear, he’s sliding his bolt forward to load a round.
>Both of you pop off rounds at the same time. He goes down like a sack of bricks, and somehow you remain standing. Ignoring this startling revelation, you move forward and make sure all four of the threats are neutralized. Three of them are dead, one is fast on his way judging by his wheezing. 
>You kick their weapons away from them and give a shrill whistle. Oz comes after a few minutes, obviously nervous.
“Come on, Oz. We need to get to the parking lot.”
>She stares at the bodies and the property damage, her eyes wide, like that night you fought that bear. She minces her steps, avoiding blood and spent casings alike to reach you. “…are…are they…?”
>You only nod. She closes her eyes; you can’t tell if she’s upset with you, them, or the whole situation.
>Now with only the side arm, you move out to the parking lot as swiftly as possible. You aren’t worried about stealth now; the little OK Corral re-enactment just ruined any chance of stealth. You pull the one last item you took from the guard out; a set of car keys. You hit the auto start and listen for the sound of the exhaust as the vehicle turns over. It sounds loud. Excited, you run over to find…
>A lime-green Dodge Challenger with a bunch of Spanish painted on it. Oh for fuck’s sake, who’s writing this?
>You shake your head as you unlock the car and climb in. As you sit down, you feel something trickle down the side of your head. It’s warm and smells bitter, like iron. So something grazed your head, big whoop. As you look down at the steering wheel, you notice a couple of red spots growing near your shoulder.
>Well, you did say by my life…
>Oz climbs in the passenger seat and notices you looking at yourself. She gives a small gasp, but you shake your head.
“Just buckle up, Oz. It’s time to blow this popsicle stand.”
>You turn on the radio to find…Hispanic pop music. No surprises. You flip the stations until you hear a familiar radio DJ.
>”And that was ten minutes of sponsors. Whoo hoo. Now back to our hour long music marathon, starting with Spiderbait, only on…”
>As the song starts, you shift it into gear. The guitar cuts in as you speed off, tires squealing like never before.
>The car takes off, blasting through the parking lot like a bat out of hell. As you pass the office building, several guards shoot to try and stop the vehicle, but to no avail. You’re on the main road before they can catch you.
>As you speed down the main thoroughfare, your confiscated cell phone rings. You direct Oz to answer it as you notice a bunch of flashing red and blue lights behind you. You proceed to shift gears and floor. Oz answers the phone tentatively.
>”H-hello? Hi, Miss Arlene. I-I’m fine, thanks to Anon. One second.” She looks at you. “She wants to know where we’re at.”
“Fifth and Main, headed to the overpass.”
>She relays this information to Arlene, who’s response is not promising. “She says that route already blocked off by a bunch of black vans. She suggests you try towards the draw bridge that leads out of town.”
>You grunt as you sharply turn to avoid creaming a Ford Taurus that has a green light. Your tail whips out and sends a bunch of newspapers flying as you regain control and take off.
“Fine. But I hope she’s got a plan to deal with the police blockade.”
>”Police blockade?” Both Oz’s and Arlene’s voices mix as they ask this.
“I got five cruisers on my tail…”
>Oz listens to the phone for a moment before nodding. “Got it. Thank you, Miss Arlene.” She shuts the phone and looks at you. “She says she has it handled, Anon.” she reaches up to wipe at some blood that’s traced its way across your face thanks to your sharp turn. You don’t stop her, but grumble something about distractions. Oz gives a nervous smile, but then screams as you almost get hit by a squad car attempting to try a pit maneuver.
>You keep control of the vehicle and floor it, shooting off towards your intended destination. As you cruise along, you notice more patrol cars coming out of the woodwork.
>Shit.
~~~~~~
>You are a member of the city’s police department. 
>You have been directed to set up a full road blockade, cutting off access to the drawbridge from the main road. The drawbridge is the only way to the mainland from this side of town, and the fugitive is supposed to be headed this way.
>You know nothing except there was a robbery at the office building on this side of town. The suspect stole some important things, and was considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. He had even stolen some guy’s vehicle.
>As you listen to the scanner, something catches your attention. There’s a vehicle approaching, but its not a car. It’s a tow truck driven by an older Hispanic looking man. A bunch of your fellow officers begin to shout and gesture for him to turn around, but the man continues crawling forward until the vehicle stops an inch from your car.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?!”
>The man ignores you and drops the back of the tow truck. It settles into a ramp as a bunch of officers come forward and yell at the man who clearly understands no English. With a sigh, you pull out your Spanish-English dictionary and begin to look up what you need until a loud rumbles distracts you. The suspect is roaring up the street with a vengeance.
>Behind him is every officer not on the road block. You would shit your pants if you had anything to shit.
“EVERYONE GET OUT OF THE WAY!”
>You run to the side away from the madness as everyone else does. The old Hispanic man flees from the tow truck faster than you expected. His name badge says “Jose” but that’s all you see before the rest of the situation hits you. 
>The Challenger takes the tow truck’s ramp at a swift speed and clears the barricades before bouncing and skidding out of control for a moment before taking off. The rest of the cars aren’t as lucky as all the cruisers crash head on into the parked cars. Even those who tried to slow down met with a similar damaged fate.
>The oddest part of the whole scenario were the occupants of the Challenger. Inside you saw a rather redneck looking man behind the wheel, and with him was…a unicorn?
>The car blares the opening bars of “La Cucaracha” as it drives off. You swear you could almost hear someone yell “Goddamnit” as they drive off.
>This thought is driven from your mind as the chaos of the scene washes over you. You remove your cap and throw it on the ground.
“GODDAMNIT!”
~~~~~~~
>You are Anon.
>Holy shit that was awesome.
>You think Oz peed on the seat though.
>You’ve steadily been losing strength in your left arm, thanks to the bullet holes in your left shoulder. This sucks but you only have to go straight from here on it. You shift gears and look at Oz.
“Told you I’d get you out of here.”
>She manages to smile back. 
>Two hours later, you abandon the car at a gas station outside of town. The axles finally had enough of your shenanigans. You walk over to a familiar old pick up truck and pick the keys from the sun visor. You turn on the ignition, and look at Oz as she settles in beside you. Your good arm now rests on the steering wheel, your bad arm is bandaged and in a sling.
>”Anon, where do we go from here?”
>You consider the question as you scroll your iPod, finally selecting a cliché favorite.
“Anywhere we want, Oz. Preferably some place with cheap medical care.”
>She chuckles softly and rests against you. She’s soon fast asleep as you drive off into the rising sun.