He doesn't need more than the first word, before he's is going. On his feet and up at the screen door, gun at his eye level, taking in the fleeing shape of a person and the room empty aside from that. Maybe more than one today, too. Because that made his odds 100% more likely, as he was flinging the door open and slipping quickly through the house, keeping an eye on every open door and room, for moving shadows and other people.
The sound of more rapid-fire and breaking glass had him wanting to break into a run already, but it was foolish to go running into any large, shadowed space. It was like asking someone to kill you, just in the favor of your own idiocy. But the last room is as empty as the first, and then means he can sprint for the window, and get a good eyeful of outside, and too bright after dark, while he's launching himself out of the window without a pause.
Taking off running after the guy who is definitely Doran, dreadlocks and rastafarian clothes almost. Flatout following, even when the sound of traffic breaks in, with slamming metal and Makes Steve dig deeper, push himself faster, jumped up to slide across the back of a stopped car, just in time not to get slammed between another running into the first. But he can't stop to think about it. Can't stop to even look at the driver and see if they are alright.
That's what cops are for. Steve's gun is still trained on Doran, who somehow got his hands on a small woman and her car, using one to shield him from behind and the other to shield him from in front. Casualties, public casualties, were not something Steve was here for. Doran was jerking her around, and holding her close, yelling at him. "Put your gun down!"
"We don't have to do this, man!" No one had to die. Steve didn't even care about bringing Doran in, as much as getting information from him. "I said put the gun down!"
The words were thrown, vehemently at him, but there was no single release for the tension in his hands. His gun wasn't going anywhere. Not while he had the hostage, not while he had the answers, and Steve had a single memory of all of his training. "You sold a gun to a man named Victor Hesse. I'm not after you, I want him!"
"I'm not talking to you," Doran threw back at him, hiding behind the woman with the bright pink shirt.
"Where is he?" Steve yelled toward him, across the space. No less fierce, no less a demand over being a request. "I said I'm not talking to you! Now put the gun down or I'll kill her!" He seemed to shrink and grow all at once, the high of the chase and fear of capture, making his voice sharper and faster. More erratic. "You don't think I'll do it? I'll do it! I'll kill her right now!"
Steve's eyes didn't leave Doran to look at her. Even if it was less than an inch of movement in vision. He could see her at the edge of his face, even when he didn't look. Public casualties, were very public, and she hadn't done anything to get between them, and maybe he gave up something, he could find a way in. A chink in his erratic behavior, a different tact. A different way to pull the information out of him.
He let go with one hand, and raised his hands, slowly, incredibly so. Ready to toss them back, and fire, at any second.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2014-01-18 10:33 pm (UTC)He doesn't need more than the first word, before he's is going. On his feet and up at the screen door, gun at his eye level, taking in the fleeing shape of a person and the room empty aside from that. Maybe more than one today, too. Because that made his odds 100% more likely, as he was flinging the door open and slipping quickly through the house, keeping an eye on every open door and room, for moving shadows and other people.
The sound of more rapid-fire and breaking glass had him wanting to break into a run already, but it was foolish to go running into any large, shadowed space. It was like asking someone to kill you, just in the favor of your own idiocy. But the last room is as empty as the first, and then means he can sprint for the window, and get a good eyeful of outside, and too bright after dark, while he's launching himself out of the window without a pause.
Taking off running after the guy who is definitely Doran, dreadlocks and rastafarian clothes almost. Flatout following, even when the sound of traffic breaks in, with slamming metal and Makes Steve dig deeper, push himself faster, jumped up to slide across the back of a stopped car, just in time not to get slammed between another running into the first. But he can't stop to think about it. Can't stop to even look at the driver and see if they are alright.
That's what cops are for. Steve's gun is still trained on Doran, who somehow got his hands on a small woman and her car, using one to shield him from behind and the other to shield him from in front. Casualties, public casualties, were not something Steve was here for. Doran was jerking her around, and holding her close, yelling at him. "Put your gun down!"
"We don't have to do this, man!" No one had to die. Steve didn't even care about bringing Doran in, as much as getting information from him. "I said put the gun down!"
The words were thrown, vehemently at him, but there was no single release for the tension in his hands. His gun wasn't going anywhere. Not while he had the hostage, not while he had the answers, and Steve had a single memory of all of his training. "You sold a gun to a man named Victor Hesse. I'm not after you, I want him!"
"I'm not talking to you," Doran threw back at him, hiding behind the woman with the bright pink shirt.
"Where is he?" Steve yelled toward him, across the space. No less fierce, no less a demand over being a request. "I said I'm not talking to you! Now put the gun down or I'll kill her!" He seemed to shrink and grow all at once, the high of the chase and fear of capture, making his voice sharper and faster. More erratic. "You don't think I'll do it? I'll do it! I'll kill her right now!"
Steve's eyes didn't leave Doran to look at her. Even if it was less than an inch of movement in vision. He could see her at the edge of his face, even when he didn't look. Public casualties, were very public, and she hadn't done anything to get between them, and maybe he gave up something, he could find a way in. A chink in his erratic behavior, a different tact. A different way to pull the information out of him.
He let go with one hand, and raised his hands, slowly, incredibly so. Ready to toss them back, and fire, at any second.