Thankfully, it seemed that the officer had no intention of handcuffing Gregory. For now. Instead, the man had his pistol trained on the new aggressors. The police officer was standing his ground. In contrast, Gregory was merely focusing on regaining his bearings. His cursing had stopped and his breathing, though it still hitched in his recovery from his mad dash, had calmed somewhat.<br/><br/>The barricade of men shifted. Greg blinked as a slick, tall man with two grunts on his heels entered the premises. The air was taut. He had an aura of authority; at least, more authority than all of the other ruffians currently encasing Greg in this ominous alleyway. And then the man spoke, and Gregory’s heart just about stopped beating altogether. “I’ve got seven men surrounding you, more watching from elsewhere. Try anything and I’ll have lead in your back and your bodies dragged off to the nearest port.”<br/><br/>At this, Greg’s eyes widened into silver dollars. His gaze flitted all around the sooty, towering walls, searching windows for any additional men waiting to pull the trigger. He briefly wondered what he did in his life to deserve all of this torment. As directed, he stayed still as stone; the way these men were eyeing him, he didn’t doubt that he’d be blown to smithereens if even his toe little toe went out of line. The newcomer muttered undoubtedly dark somethings into the ears of his bodyguards, then twisted round to make a call on his mobile phone. Though Greg strained to decipher the words that were being said, it was a fruitless pursuit. So he stood there, terrified, lathered in sweat and ignoring his hammering pulse, hoping against hope that he would get out of this situation unscathed.<br/><br/>Soon the man faced them once more. “We’ll be keeping that one,” and automatically two men lunged forward to confiscate Greg. If the head man said anything else, he didn’t hear it; by instinct Greg had stepped away, and his arms were raised and ready to tussle. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.<br/><br/>He flinched when he felt the officer’s hot breath on his ear. He’d almost forgotten about him, as the goons posed more of a threat than the police officer. “When I tell you to run you better run.” The man’s hissed words took him off guard, to say the least, and were the trigger for a sudden chaos. Instead of scrambling away from the oncoming wave of hands, Greg stood steadfast beside the officer; he didn’t trust him, but if he had something up his sleeve, he’d take the chance of doing what he said. There was a moment where Greg regretted this decision, when the men were almost on top of him and he knew he would be dragged away any second. Then the thugs halted. Some were rubbing at their eyes, others cursing, and a few shots rang out.<br/><br/>”Run!” The officer ordered, and shoved Greg to the side, and boy, did Greg comply. The grunts were milling around, utterly disoriented, and lashing out blindly at the air. Whatever had happened – and he had a slight, niggling suspicion at the back of his mind that they had all simultaneously gone blind – Greg was thankful for it. He bolted forward, trailing the officer, and pushed through the panicked crowd. One man stumbled onto him and latched on to his hoodie, and Greg squirmed and kicked out of his grasp. Then he was running again, heart leaping from both bewilderment and relief, and sprinted just behind the officer.<br/><br/>He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t speak or exclaim his joy at escaping the clutches of the gang. He just ran, his lungs a factory of strangled breath and his legs searing and automated. He didn’t want to leave the officer, who in the circumstances seemed to be more of an advantage than anything else, and he couldn’t stop for fear of the gang (and authorities) gaining on him. But after a few minutes, he realized that this policeman may be leading him towards certain doom – as in, the police station. He managed to huff, “I think they’re gone,” to the man. He didn’t actually think so – there were supposedly more men out there, lying in wait. Rather, he wanted to gauge the thoughts of this guy – he needed him to say<span style="font-style: italic">something</span>to see what he might do next and if it was worth sticking around or fleeing to some other secluded hideout.<br/>---<br/>The agent sipped at a scalding hot coffee as he settled into his weathered chair. He’d just received a rather encouraging call. The dreamer, Gregory Gray Walker, had finally been located. He had both the local mafia and the police force after him. There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon receive another call that ensured him a good word or two from his higher ups, and another caught superhuman brought into custody over his supervision.<br/><br/>The phone began to drone its monotonous call. He rushed to answer it, eyes lighting up with excitement. It was not the news he expected. His forehead creased in disappointment. He swallowed a sigh that threatened to spill out of him. “Alright, we can’t let this guy off our radar. Send out an armed team ASAP. He’s still in the area. He’ll have to rest. Draw him out and bring him back to me. And get me some information on the guy who helped him, stat.”