There are good things and bad things about a nearly full moon, Melanie thought. On the good side, it gives great illumination, especially as you run for your life through an urban maze of alleyways, parking lots, and side streets, few of which had adequate lighting. The light would be good if she ever had the chance to use the Glock she was holding in her right fist as she ran. She was an expert shot with the pistol, and knew even in the semi-darkness, she could put a round through an orange at fifty feet.

The bad thing, however, was that the people chasing her also had good visibility, and since they currently outnumbered her six to one, she knew that a gun battle was a good way to get killed. So she ran. Through alley after alley, making random lefts and rights to try and throw off pursuit. Melanie was a good cop. She kept herself in tip-top shape, but her pursuers were more experienced, more numerous, and better coordinated.

Her biggest problem was that she was being forced to fight on unfamiliar turf. She was new to the Southside, having transferred in from Washington Heights less than a month ago. Her pursuers, however, were all experienced cops from the Southside. They knew every blind turn, every dead end, and knew where they could take shortcuts.

Rounding a turn, she skidded to a stop. In front of her were two of her pursuers, Ramirez and Gladstone. Both were young, under 25, and in as good or better shape than Melanie. Most worrisome though were that both were pointing SWAT MP7's at her. She dove to her right as both men squeezed off a burst in her direction, narrowly missing her legs while she rolled behind a dumpster.

"Shit!" she muttered, looking around quickly. There wasn't much around, to be honest. The dumpster was against an old warehouse, with no access on this side other than a metal rolling door that she thought looked very securely locked. No help there.

"Me-ellllll, we're coming for you," Ramirez taunted from the other side of the dumpster. "Make it easy on yourself puta, and give up. We might just let you live. Well, if you make it worth our time."

Melanie checked the safety on her Glock and tried to steady her breathing. Glancing quickly around the edge of the dumpster, she pulled her head back before the two could return fire. She knew she had only moments before the other four men, all members of a corrupt group of cops based out of the Southside, caught up, and then she’d be done for.

Saying a quick prayer to whatever god might be listening, Melanie combat rolled out from behind the dumpster, firing as she came to her knees. Gladstone was arrogant, sure he had his prey secure. His arrogance cost him as Mel put a round directly into his throat, two inches above the body armor he wore. Gladstone's hands flew to his neck, trying futilely to keep his life's fluid in his body. He dropped his MP7, before following by falling face first into the street.

Ramirez, though, was cagier. Mel knew Ramirez was a product of the streets, coming from a tough neighborhood, with rumored gang connections with the Latin Crusade. He had seen firefights before and was flattening himself against the alley wall even before Melanie could roll up and fire. The jarring impact kept him from firing, saving Mel's life.

Melanie adjusted her sight picture over, squeezing the trigger of her Glock just as Ramirez fired back. Both were hit, Ramirez taking the round high in his thigh. The hollow point bullet shredded through his femoral artery, knocking Ramirez down and causing blood to start jetting into the air. He had no chance of survival, his screams losing power as he fell into unconsciousness and death.

Ramirez's round caught Melanie in the left shoulder, spinning her around and sending her face-first to the pavement. Mel screamed in pain and tried with all her might to get to her feet. Her lead on the other four corrupt cops had to be gone by now, and she had to get going.

Before Melanie could even take a step, she saw all four of them walking calmly down the alleyway. Two of them had similar MP7's that Ramirez and Gladstone carried, at their shoulders and ready to fire. The other two, Sergeant Blanco and Lieutenant Yankowitz, were armed with the same style of Glock Melanie carried. After all, they were all cops.

"Drop it, Mel," Yankowitz said. "I'm not going to lie to you and say you might live. But I’ll at least give you a quick death. If you don’t surrender, I'm going to let Blanco and his boys here put you through hell before they dump your body into the river."

Melanie thought about it for just a second. As she did, the beauty of the night struck her momentarily. Besides the silver gibbous moon shining brightly above her, the narrow band of visible sky showed thousands of stars, diamond pinpricks in the sky. Uncharacteristically for the Southside, the air was clear and sweet, unpolluted by exhaust, rotting food, or any of the thousand other smells that normally permeated the ghetto. Other than her heartbeat, Melanie couldn't hear any other sounds except for the scrape of feet on the pavement. It was a beautiful night. "It's a good day to die," she whispered to herself, her finger tightening on the trigger.

Before she could finish squeezing, a huge shape dropped into the alleyway, blotting out her entire field of view. With a startled squeak, she could feel herself grasped in almost impossibly strong arms, and suddenly she was flying upwards, her hearing muffled as she was pulled against something warm, firm, and impossibly large. She could barely detect the muffled pops as the four men below fired at whatever the hell it was that was holding her, and her next thought was that she couldn't breathe. Whatever it was that was holding her, her face was crushed up against a firm wall of what felt like... flesh?

Before Melanie could ponder anything else, she felt her motion come to a stop and she was released. Staggering a step back, she blinked twice, quickly. Standing in front of her was perhaps the most athletic looking man she had ever seen. Six foot four, with massively broad shoulders and chest. He was feral-looking and handsome, with brown-black shoulder length hair, amber eyes, and impossibly white teeth bared in either a grin or a grimace, Melanie wasn't sure which. He was wearing an open black leather trench coat, brown cargo pants, hiking boots, and a white silk shirt.

"Are you hit?" the man asked, his rich baritone voice strained and gasping.

Mel could only nod in shocked amazement. She glanced around and realized that she was standing on a rooftop, most likely the warehouse next to the alleyway she expected to die in. The scenario was too much for Melanie, and the combined shock of the gunshot, her rescue, and now suddenly on the rooftop was too much for her brain to handle. She felt the darkness closing in, and her last thought was relief that something caught her again.