Crossroads: Jet ★ CNS Issue#14

Jet, 2020 | San Diego, CA | Pre-Awakening

Jet jogged out the front door of his house, closing it quietly so he didn’t wake anyone, then began warming up the way he did when he was on the track team in grade school and high school. He was doing his nightly routine; a go around the city, running, jumping, letting nothing stop him. He decided to do some more advanced jumps tonight; he hopped onto the San Diego trolley and was doing small jumps in place to stay moving. He shot out of the doors at San Diego State University as soon as he could fit through the opening, ran up the stairs from the trolley station to campus, then leapt out into the cool night.

He jogged in place for a moment, looking around the dark campus, and moved his gator-mask off of his nose to breathe the fresh air. People were banned from coming here when the Covid-19 pandemic hit. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be running around, but he also knew that SDSU Campus Police were kidding themselves if they thought for a second that they could keep up with him. He snorted quietly and pulled his mask back up over his face, just below his eyes. The gold Egyptian skull art on it flashed in the dim campus lamps, almost as if to warn others of danger. He pulled his black hoodie over his wild, thick hair, then he started running. The campus was still and silent for the most part, except for the occasional rogue wanderers like himself.

Jet recently found that he wasn’t as affected by gravity as most people were, he could practically glide when he jumped or sprinted. This helped his running and parkour tactics immensely and he wanted to test the limitations of this ability. He ran all around campus, looking for decent jump spots. He got to Parking Structure 12, ran to the top, then swung lightly to the next several floors until he reached the bottom. He did this over and over, strengthening his arm and leg muscles. He ran back across the bridge and over to Storm Hall. He hastily walked part of the patio railing then jumped off and kept going. It was like a balance beam on steroids, but he did it. He was getting better and better at this, pretty soon he would be leaping from rooftop to rooftop again. He had been so broken after his military tour and his encounter with those horrific corporate “soldiers” that only existed to do rich men’s biddings. Military mercs, they were called, and they had all but replaced the United States military. They were hired by private organizations who had far fewer policies to follow, and they exploited that. Jet came to find out that these sociopaths were barely human, if at all. It made him so angry that he became hyper focused, running even faster through campus, this time in the direction of the Art department.

He ran past the dark Aztec Market/Starbucks across from Nasatir Hall, up to the top of Parking Structure 14, and swung from floor to floor again, rolling out of bad jumps. He went down to Aztec Circle Drive and ran to Art North. He took it all in. If he had listened to his mother, this could have been his future. At least that’s what people told him. This was a beautiful campus and a great place to practice parkour, but Jet wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to school anymore, he just didn’t feel like he could do enough by sitting in a classroom. He was sure that some people could, but it was never for him.

Become a lawyer, people said, become a cop. Jet snorted. Lawyers and cops and fucking red tape. What did they do? They were just civilian mercs, never making a difference, catering to whoever had the biggest bank account. This wasn’t the time for wishy-washy bullshit, this was the time for action. No one protected the people, the government and business owners who paid them to do their bidding were disgusting, cruel and ruthless, and Jet would not allow his home to become a cesspool of greed. This city was sacred to him and he had a mission; protect this place at all costs and burn out the “elite” like the virus they were. After a lifetime of martial arts and running, he picked up parkour because he knew it would be a more efficient method of movement than being on the ground, once he and his team began their work. If his family or friends knew he was practicing jumps alone after his injuries, they’d kick his ass. His parkour skills weren’t helpful if he shattered his shoulder or leg again.

He ran up Art North’s stairs and thought he heard some hushed whispering and footsteps–probably someone wondering if they were going to get caught doing whatever they were doing—then back down to the passage between Art North and Art South. As he ran through the passage, he only barely avoided running into two girls who were animated but quietly chatting. They both practically cartwheeled back as Jet dodged them.

“Hel-LO!” the startled one yelled, catching her breath. “SOCIAL DISTANCE, YOU ASSHAT. SIX FEET. IT AIN’T THAT FREAKIN HARD!” She continued yelling obscenities with both middle fingers in the air as her friend laughed at her reaction. The angry one sounded familiar. The laughing one felt familiar. Weird.

“My bad!” Jet shouted back, continuing to run, focusing on that and only that. What the hell were people even doing here this late, if not running, parkour, skating, biking? They probably just needed to get out of the house, he guessed. He ran through the Arts & Letters courtyard and up the stairs onto Scripps Terrace, part of the biking and skating track that wrapped around campus. As he leapt out he almost collided with two more people. The guy was on a skateboard and flung it back, flailing forward but missing Jet. He managed to stay on his feet as the girl he was with wobbled on her rollerblades, dodging the skateboard.

“Dude!” they both shouted as they narrowly missed falling over.

“Sorry!” Jet shouted, feeling guilty. He should probably slow down and not kill anyone. After all, they weren’t his targets. He started heading home, jogging slowly now.

Published by codename: Stasis

Crossroads: Jet ★ CNS Issue#14

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