Here, have some free-writing to ignore

SYSTEM: ICONS

I know that fiction is the least popular thing here, but have some text that fell off my hands today. It has been a long weekend of dealing with estate and executor business, and I have no brain for anything else.

If I figure out what this story is actually about, this is probably the start of a Mynah story.

* * *

I am liberating some diamonds from their current imprisonment in a Kraft paper envelope in the second drawer of a locked safe when this translucent glowing head thrusts through the drawer and begs me.

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re our only hope.”

The words were different but the intent was the same.

Unfortunately, the room with the safe is miked for sound and while I can negate sounds like footsteps or careful drilling to open the safe, I can do it only if I expect them. This request is not one I expect and the alarms start going off.

I have no time right now. Police response time is between one and seven minutes, depending on where the patrol car is. There is only time to sweep some envelopes into my disposable-if-necessary bag and run like hell, tripping every sensor I avoided on my way in.

Plan A was stealing the gems. Plan B was escaping. It turns out that the translucent head hurts like hell when you put your hand through it to get the envelope, so Plan C is getting arrested.

Oh, I try hard: I lose about six seconds to pain management, and twelve to getting out of the room. I briefly consider diving out through the window at the end of the corridor until I remember that it’s barred. Instead of down, I head up six flights in the stairwell (another twenty seconds), and get the roof exit open (thirty very long seconds). There are three buildings I can jump to, so I pick the one with multiple exits, and run like a gazelle to get across.

All while this translucent blue figure is floating beside me and repeating the “Help me, Obi-Wan,” message.

The damaged hand costs me my jump because I try to use it to catch the edge of the next building and then scream in pain. I switch hands which means dropping the purse and the gems, which at least means that when the police pull me up I am not carrying contraband.

However, I’m of interest in at least two other larcenies. So they cuff me and hustle me into the squad car.

At least when the squad car starts, it leaves the blue translucent guy behind.

* * *