All good stories feature a cat and mouse chase. Sheriff Aiden Stone would agree if he wasn’t too busy currently being the mouse. He was used to the way drug dealers and human traffickers transformed into marathon runners upon their imminent arrest. What he wasn't used to was being the one being pursued. Just a few more flights, he grit his teeth; he needed to draw his assailant to the roof, bringing his brawl away from tight corridors.

The only thing Aiden needed to do right now was try not to get stabbed. He knew it was a matter of time before it would happen, but he needed to minimize those point blank attacks down to 5 or less. He ran up a flight of steps; sharp, short breaths burned at his lungs. His leg muscles ached as they strained to keep up with the pace of the pursuit. Goddamn it! Aiden willed his body to keep pushing further, he must make it to the roof. 

Rapid footfalls coming from behind him alerted him that his assailant was closing in. Supernatural speed was not something years of service had ever prepared him for. A sudden Clang! resounded as metal impacted metal in a ferocious cacophony. The assailant’s aim with a blade was true; if Aiden had not been wearing the Armor, the knife would have penetrated all the way through his back and heart. Well, that was 1 out of 5 attacks neutralized.

The recoil of the impact gave Aiden's fingers precious seconds to find what they were looking for. He made a 2-point turn and closed his eyes; his fingers flicked his flashlight on. Bam! 20,000 lumens turned night into day in the narrow stairway. Even with supernatural speed, his foe couldn’t outpace the speed of light.

“Augh!” His assailant’s roar was chilling—more beast than human. No matter how strong or how fast a Folklore was, they were unlikely impervious to being blinded. With his forearm bracing the brick stairwell and his left arm grasping the railing, he delivered a snap kick at his blinded opponent. A resounding crash was followed by the sound of a body tumbling hard down the stairs.

Aiden didn't have time to gloat. It took a Folklore only moments to recover physically, and with him came his signature knives. He clambered up the last flight of steps and rammed his shoulder at the door, throwing the rooftop door open. It was just past midnight; the air on the roof was cool, and the wind tousled his disheveled brown hair. The town of Idyllic was fast asleep; only some stars, and the lights coming from New York City across the water served as consolation in the darkness. Aiden forced himself to breathe. The first part of the mission was accomplished: he had reached the roof.

A thick, venomous voice spoke from the stairwell, "Pitiful. You really think you can escape me? I'll cut your tongue out before you have time to scream." 

Aiden had heard many baseless threats. None of them made his skin crawl like the words from this being’s lips. With his body still aching, Aiden positioned himself perpendicular to the door and waited. He tensed his back muscles and shifted his weight between his feet. Pure adrenaline pumped in his veins as he waited for the moment. When the assailant emerged through the doorway, Aiden struck. Years of boxing experience activated; he pivoted around his toes, and his fist rammed his target right in the gut.

A whooshing sound filled the quiet night as air forcibly left lungs. The figure that had tried to emerge from the stairwell had been mercilessly punched back into it. Aiden spared no time clicking on his flashlight, blinding his opponent once more before swiftly moving to a different point on the roof. 

The adrenaline was short-lived. Aiden soon felt a throbbing pain in his forehead, a cursory dab with his sleeve confirmed he was indeed, bleeding. That short exchange wasn't as one-sided as he had initially thought; his opponent gave as good as he got. Aiden collected himself. His magical Armor could take four more strikes, but if his target aimed for his head, it would all be for naught. Due to the antiquated nature of this town, he also only had 6 shots in his revolver. He needed to make every shot as well as every block from his armor count, or he'd be joining the last Sheriff in the ground.

Aiden crouched behind an air conditioning unit, trying to assess anything in the vicinity that could be an advantage. First, the coarse gravel that lined the roof was going to be mighty useful; any step either of them made should alert the other to their precise location. Second, his opponent only carried knives; there were, of course, adages about knives and gunfights. Lastly, there was the matter of time. Aiden counted; if he could hold out for 9 or so minutes, he'd be able to turn the tables. All of these advantages were how this mouse could turn from prey to predator.

The only glaring problem Aiden faced was that advantages like these don't always apply to a magical opponent. In the best case scenario, these advantages would buy him time, but the question was, would it be enough?

Crunch, crunch, crunch. The gravel betrayed his opponent’s boots. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Aiden dug out his house keys. He threw them. Another metallic symphony filled the air. The metal conduit the keys had hit had been shredded into thousands of pieces. The claws of the pursuing cat were not just for show.

His heart was in his throat as he lined up his flashlight and pointed it at the sound. His opponent had anticipated this. Aiden could see an elbow and forearm blocking the light's blinding rays, while in his opponent’s outstretched hand, was yet another knife. With inhuman speed, his opponent closed twenty feet of distance between them.

Aiden leaned back as far as his stance would allow him; his hand grasped the wooden grip of his service pistol. Two shots rang out from the rooftop. When this was all over, he'd have to thank Billy for his lessons in point-shooting, Mr. H for the Armor, and Mia... Well, when this was all over, he had a lot to give thanks for.

In a flash, his enemy had dodged back and retreated into the shadows. An angry hiss followed, clearly Aiden’s shots had found their mark. Aiden’s mental math told him he had four shots and four uses of Armor remaining. His defenses were running out faster than his time. He needed to stall. Aiden licked his lips and willed his voice to sound level. "This isn't the first time you’ve been close to killing me. Why didn't you rid yourself of me then? It could have saved you a lot of trouble."

Silence. Perhaps his opponent knew he was stalling. As Aiden prepared himself for another onslaught, a voice, cool and unperturbed, said, "At the time, it was more pragmatic to leave. You were so focused on finding the victim, I could have snuck away in a clown suit and still gone unnoticed. Besides, if I had stayed to kill you, it would have made headlines. The sad truth is that one dead detective is more likely to make the papers than a whole crowd of dead whores." 

"What about Sheriffs then? Do we make headlines?"

"The last one didn't." The voice was suddenly quite close.

A sharp pain shot up Aiden’s wrist. He bit back a strained scream as he dropped his gun and scrambled to dodge behind a water tank yards away. His eyes had mostly adjusted to the dark now; a flash of metal from his forearm showed a small throwing knife lodged in it. Aiden deftly pulled out the knife and used it to shred one of his shirt sleeves. As quick as he could, he messily bandaged his arm and forehead; his open head wound caused blood to drip down his face, narrowly missing his eye. He couldn’t afford to be blinded right now. 

Unfortunately, the most recent altercation left him unarmed. He needed to get his gun back. Desperate, he threw the knife towards the solar array, hoping the same distraction from earlier would work twice. He didn't wait to hear the subsequent symphony but rolled his entire body to the nearby corner of the building and grabbed hold of the ledge. His arm bellowed in pain as he swung his entire body off the roof. Clinging to the ledge, he glanced down at the dark street. No one was around to witness his daring activities tonight. With just the masonry and his fingers supporting him, Aiden shimmied along the side of the building as quick as a rat. 

This really is like a scene from an action film, he thought excitedly despite his plight. He never knew his pull-up proficiency would one day allow him to toe the line between life and death. Luckily, he was taught early that no boxer worth their salt would skip pull-up training. Aiden reached the far side of the building and silently climbed back into the figurative arena. He lowered himself into a crouch and moved towards his gun’s location.

"Where did you go, Sheriff?" A cold voice rang across the rooftop. "I didn't peg you for the clever type; you struck me as a defeatist."

Aiden ignored the taunt; soon he felt the silhouette of a gun’s barrel beneath his foot. Gotcha, his hand slid down silently, wrapping around the revolver. How much time had passed? He needed to read his watch, but the glow from the illuminated clock face would give away his location. Time to take a gamble.

His lungs ached and his lips were chapped from the events of the night, but still he called out. "I think you're just disappointed. All these prolific Heroes and brilliant Folklores live here, yet none of them managed to figure out who you were. Just me, the drunk, pitiful human. It didn't even take me a full year." While speaking, Aiden clicked his watch and saw that he had 3 minutes left. Soon just didn't feel soon enough.

Suddenly, the hairs on his neck stood up. Aiden rolled, anticipating a slash, but instead felt a hard blow to his back. Clang! The Armor had stopped a third blow, sending him flying towards the rooftop door. There was a loud crunch; the impact of his body hitting the door had Aiden tasting iron. He coughed and cursed at the same time. The Armor had protected him twice in a row, but based on Mr. H's warning, it was nearing the end of its life span. Aiden was down to 1 last block, and he wasn’t so confident that was enough. He willed his legs to stand, but alas, they wouldn't budge. The footfalls of his assailant approached him at a leisurely pace from directly before him. Aiden raised his gun at the barely visible assailant. 

Starlight gleamed off of the edge of a long black knife. Aiden could barely see, but he didn’t need to to envision the cruel smile plastered on the murderer’s face. “You fought valiantly, Sheriff, but this is good night.”

With his gun still raised, Aiden compelled his lips to greet death with a smile. He spoke as he cocked back the hammer on his Smith and Wesson model 19, "Don't write me off yet; I'm going to send you back to Hell."