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escape pulled away from the building and balanced awkwardly for a moment before tipping over and crashing into the adjacent building. Metal scrapped against metal and metal scrapped against stone when the different layers of the fire escape folded in on itself, taking the assassins with them.
    "Die you fuckers," Carter said as the metal rails, support bars, and grates, were twisted into a mangle of deadly spikes.
    When the tangle of broken metal finally came to a stop, the assassins were left in a vicious blockade, like the worlds worst animal trap. Their bodies had been penetrated by numerous busted rails and one assassin appeared to have been impaled medieval style straight up the ass and all the way out his throat. Carter assumed he was dead or would soon be, but the other hadn't been so lucky. Still alive, he screamed in agony. A metal bar, what appeared to have been part of a handrail had stabbed clear through the man's thigh, while another shorter piece of broken metal had penetrated his left shoulder.
    The man was held aloft by the spikes, and the right side of his body dangled in midair, putting all his weight on the chunks of broken metal sticking through him.
    "What the hell happened here?" an assassin asked when the others, who had taken the stairs, rounded the corner of the building. The wreckage of the fire escape lay between Carter and the assassins.
    "There he is. Don't let him get away!" another cried.
    "Go around. We're not going to get through here."
    "But what about them?" The first asked eying their companions amid the wreckage.
    "Fucking leave them."
    Carter wasted no time in using their confusion to his advantage. He ran along the alleyway, ducked into a department store, and ran out the back on the opposite side of the building. He kept running, never looking back. He ran until his legs ached, until he reached the docks downtown, and hid inside an old shipping container. Carter gasped for air, having over exerted his out of shape lungs. He hadn't been taking care of himself and now he was paying for it.
    With no chance of going home, he had only one place he could go, and it was the last place he wanted to step foot in at that moment. But he had no choice. It was time to go see The Fox. 
     
     
    #
    Chapter 4
     
    The rapping in her dream turned to a pounding in reality when The Fox awoke in the middle of the night. There it was again, the pounding on her front door. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, grabbed a knife from between the mattress and box spring, and tiptoed down the cold hardwood steps. Straight ahead in front of the steps was the front door, and a shadow loomed in the small strip of glass in the door. The figure of a man, a man who kept pounding on the door, would have been hard to make out for a normal person, but to her keen eyes was clear as day.
    She undid the bolt, the chain, and the lock on the door. Holding the knife behind her back, she cracked the door open and peered outside.
    "Olivia," a disheveled looking Carter said.
    "Carter, what in the hell are you doing here at this time of night?"
    "Can I come in please?" he asked.
    She cocked her head, looking back up the stairs toward the bedroom.
    "Sure." She opened the door wide, all the while holding the knife behind her back.
    What would drive Carter to her doorstep? Whatever it was it couldn't be good. It never was with this man, and as he passed she saw the telltale sign of red, burned skin on his normally pasty white neck. Carter's short dirty brown hair was also missing. He had used, and recently. She slid the knife behind a vase on the shelf when he turned his back on her.
    "Been using much?" she asked as Carter entered the kitchen.
    He went to the cupboard and took out a drinking glass like he owned the place, turned on the faucet, and filled his glass with water. He drank the entirety of its contents in one gulp, then went back for a second like a refugee who had been water starved in some desert.
    "Just tonight. Oh, and