A "vertical slice" of fiction.
The Chase
Jackie staggered into the alleyway and collapsed against a crumbling brick wall, chest heaving with each breath. It felt as though he had been running for an eternity, though it was probably closer to about 5 minutes.
He reached into his pocket, tracing his fingers around the cold metal edges of the thing in his pocket. There were two small indentations along one of the slightly curved surfaces highlighting two areas which could be pressed.
Temptation to press one of the areas rose suddenly. He wouldn’t know where he would be transported to, it could very likely result in his death, although staying here much longer would probably result in that anyway.
As his breathing settled and his ears stopped pounding with the rhythm of his pulse sounds from the street and his alleyway hideout started to register to his attention. Listening carefully he could hear his pursuers: barking of commands, reports of no sighting, dogs barking, loud resounding clangs followed by heavy scraping…
Jackie pulled the metal thing from his pocket and briefly assessed it in the waning light. The small device was boring in appearance. More of a white, metal pebble with shallow ridges.
Tracing the indentations with his thumb he mulled over the only real choice he had left: which side to press.
It was now or never.
As if flipping a coin he threw it up in the air, giving it a spin as it left his palm. After a short arc it landed in his hand and he immediately pressed the area under his thumb. His senses flared with pain as his ear were assaulted with harsh white noise and vision went a dull red. Blood started to leak from his nose as pressure mounted in his head and chest. Was this how it was meant to work?
Instantly there was… nothing. No pressure, no red vision, no sound. The sudden contrast was uncomfortable.
As he turned, his heels echoed on a cold hard surface that seemed to go on forever.
There was nothing as far as he could see.