1.

His breath came in small gasps, as the thin layer of sweat cooled his heated body. With each inspiration and expiration, his chest would heave up and down to absorb as much oxygen as it could. Crouching low with his back against a concrete wall, the back of his shirt sticking to his sticky skin, he quickly peeks at his wristwatch. Forty-five minutes; he had been chasing for forty-five minutes.

Letting a half-hearted growl escape his dry lips, he couldn't help the feeling of self-disappointment spread through his body. His target was quick, much quicker than himself he admits, and none of his tactics have succeeded. To his own dismay, he didn't expect to take this long; it was obvious he needed to train harder.

Checking his 9 x 19 handgun, he clicks the safety off and lets out a satisfied grin at the familiar sound that echoed around him. It was one of the older models, but he took pride in his guns; especially this one, as it was his first semi-automatic pistol he had fired in the State Army. Calming his breath, he runs loose fingers through his hair, pushing it effectively out of his face, and closes his eyes. He listens to the buzz of silence that surrounded him like a swarm of bees. It was as if he was meditating; hiding in the shadows with his body relaxed and head tilted slightly downward. But within a point of a second, he reopens his eyes and pushes off the wall behind him; flying past the grey cemented buildings.

He heard it. The quiet shuffling of feet that was running in the opposite direction; away from him. Keeping his gun low, he moves his long legs quickly, each powerful stride pushing him forward. As he rounds a corner, a dark shadow catches his attention from the corner of his eyes. Grinning with adrenaline pumping through his veins, he follows after it. His eyes were, quite literally, burning with a hot intent to kill; it was no surprise though, as it was his job to hunt, to be a predator.

After turning a sharp right, following the path of his prey, he runs into a narrow alleyway; a dead end. But that doesn't slow him down. He spots the metal railings of an emergency stairwell placed quite a few feet above the ground. He calculates the best way to get up, and lets his body do the manual work.

Running at full speed, he decides to use the support from the opposite wall. Placing his foot firmly and jumping diagonally in the other direction, he gracefully leaps a good height of four meters from the ground. Swinging his free hand up to grab hold of the rails, he brings his feet up to land successfully on the platform. Without even needing to catch his breath, he looks up and quickly scales the stairs to the roof.

A quick look at his watch told him he had ten minutes before this all ended. Finding a harsh resolution to swiftly end things, he steps up onto the roof and narrows his eyes. The roof was a barren space, and his target was nowhere in sight. But he wasn't the one to quickly let his guard down. Taking cautious steps forward, he eyes the surrounding buildings that sat close to where he was; for all he knew, his target was hiding somewhere close.

As his grip on his gun tightens, the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He heard the light tap of foot against cement, before he saw the leg that was aimed at his head. Thanking his natural body reflexes, he quickly blocks the kick with his forearms, but too soon, he swears under his breath as his gun escapes his grip and slides away. Furious, from his lack of attention and the sudden attack, he returns with a roundhouse kick aimed at the neck. Satisfied as he feels the impact, within a blink of an eye he quickly steps forward and continues with a front kick aimed at the chest. With a smirk he readies to throw a punch; he was sure he had caused some damage.

But his contentment was short lived as a fist, that somehow materialized in his blind spot, collides against his own stomach. Having the wind knocked out of him, he wills his eyes to stay open as he crouches low; the area of the punch throbbing with indescribable pain. Black spots appear before his eyes as he jolts from surprise from trying to move his arm. With unwavering conviction, he concludes that he has broken a few ribs.

Attempting to collect his breath and get back onto his feet, he scans his surroundings with hazy eyes. Spitting and wincing as impatience ran through his blood, he staggers as he regains balance after the sudden assault. Turning his head from side to side and clutching at his throbbing abdomen, he couldn't find the target anywhere in front of him. And if his target wasn't in front of him, then it could only mean one thing.

Turning low on the back of his heels, he narrowly avoids a collision between a fist and his head. With one fluid transition, ignoring the pain that shot through his body, he simultaneously takes one large step and brings his arm up; grabbing the forearm of his target and twisting it. Just as he is about to bend the arm behind his target, he releases his grip in surprise as a l