Greg wasn't anything if he couldn't run. That seemed to be all he could do nowadays, but damn, when the time came, and the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, the man could<span style="font-style: italic">sprint</span>. But unfortunately his freaky ability didn't turn him into a cheetah. It just made him have wacky dreams. He was still an ordinary man, underfed and fatigued, so even if he knew how to dart away when a pack of police men came bumbling after him, he couldn't keep it up for long; he didn't have the mental or physical capacity at the time to be clever or quick. He'd charged from the fire escape, away from the flashing lights, and was leading the police through every sharp turn and trash bin and fence he could navigate<span style="font-style: italic">himself</span>through. That was all he<span style="font-style: italic">could</span>do.<br/><br/>But he was rapidly tiring; his knees were tremoring, his heart was like a hammer trying to ram through his ribcage, and his lungs felt like they'd shrunken to half their size. He was hightailing through a narrow dirt passageway between two tattered buildings when the footsteps closely trailing him abruptly halted. For a moment he thought he was free, that the pig behind him wasn't fit enough after all those doughnuts to chase him any longer.<br/><br/>He cursed himself a millisecond later for getting his hopes up like that; he couldn't allow himself to be optimistic, or else he would always be sorely disappointed. This feeble hope took an almost immediate nosedive, as was expected.<br/><br/>A shot sounded out and almost instantaneously the dirt to the side of him exploded into a dust cloud.<span style="font-style: italic">This bastard is shooting at me!</span>He bit his tongue so he wouldn't yelp as he danced away from the shot like a spooked colt. In the matter of seconds another shot rang out, crisp and ominous, but not from the police officer behind him.<br/><br/>Greg had calculated the risk of heading into these territories. If he wanted to outrun the police, he knew he had to brave this hazardous route. There was no alternative, despite the fact that he could at any given moment run into the gang that controlled this area. He snarled unrepeatable words as several armed figures slunk from the shadows. Unable to resist the instinctual reaction, he retreated, and bumped into the police officer, who was nearer to him than he thought. He startled, shirked away, then forced his panicked, overtaxed brain to analyze his surroundings.<br/><br/>Men barricaded both ends of the alleyway, and he was squished in the center with this cop who'd just fired a gun in gang territory. He cursed some more. He might've insulted the cop, too. He wasn't entirely sure<span style="font-style: italic">what</span>was coming out of his mouth. Greg lifted his trembling hands up behind his head. He threaded his fingers into his greasy locks. The hysterical babbling continued, but began to wane. Finally his mouth went dry as a desert. His rambling stopped.<br/><br/>Greg's wide, glassy eyes darted between the thugs, the cop, then the other thugs. There was no discernible path to safety, or at the very least an opening to escape. He chewed on his words for a moment, before spluttering out, "Hey, ah, fellas, s-s-sorry to, umm..." His mind went blank. Jesus, he needed to get better at talking himself out of bad situations. He normally just rabbited. He figured he'd be able to do this if he'd, well,<span style="font-style: italic">slept</span>in the last couple of days. "I come in peace?"<span style="font-style: italic">Dammit, man, you just made it sound like you're a goddamn alien in a sci-fi movie</span>, he thought, fuming at the entire scenario.<br/><br/>He glanced at the cop. He really hoped the guy wouldn't handcuff him or call for reinforcements or crack his skull open with his gun.