I'm not actually dead!

And to prove it, have a bit of scribble... Written mainly because despite realizing that there's no way I'm going to actually fulfill this year's NaNoWriMo challenge (yes, I had 3/4 of a year to prepare and I still have no idea what basic plot I'd like to play with, much less anything else), I should keep writing anyways, and maybe turn out something decent over a longer period of time than a month, or something. 

"Oi, you there!"

What with all the noise on the street (engines roaring, birds cawing, bells chiming, sea crashing), it's amazing your ear decided to pick that one voice out of the din. Normally you trust the things your senses notice, but you're already doing your best to be inconspicuous, so you continue on in your nonchallant way.

"Alex, stop!"

Your blood freezes. Nobody has called you that in years, entirely due to your obsession to hide your identity. Abandoning the apparently useless persona of a normal citizen, you break into a dead sprint at the sound of your name. You leap fences and dash down alleyways in an automatic attempt to evade pursurers, in a route intended to bring you to the startport in a more direct way than you were originally trying to detract attention from. You don't actually hear any pursuers, and when you risk looking back you see no weapons, cameras, people... anything. The entire area is deserted.

Obviously, you miscalculated. You see no choice but to press forward at the same break-neck pace, hoping to outrun the danger. You're in good health and you see no gas emmisions, but all the same you get woozy, and within a few steps you stumble and sprawl to the ground, unconscious.

A few men, in the neutral suits that scream 'Government Enforcers', appear from inside the surrounding buildings.

"These people never want to cooperate", one remarked dispassionately as they pick up the body and dump it into a transport.

"Always have to do this the hard way", another agreed while fastening a series of straps. "Recruit, here's a lesson for you: they never listen to reason. If we hadn't already arranged for the flight responce, we might have lost it altogether- it was quick. Quicker even than normal, amongst these".

The apparent leader of the oeratives cuts in with "Of course it was fast- that's why Oversight wants this specimen back so badly. Now shut your yaps and do your jobs".

Without further comment, the body was secured, and the transport set on its way to the body's final destination. All concievable security measures were in place: alarms, cameras, human guards, drugs to impair consciousness, restraints, etc. Nevertheless, none of these seemed to matter, since halfway through the journey, Alex disappeared. The restraints fell to meet the table, alarms started a blaring cacophany, and the guards all decided they would rather shoot themselves then face the punishment that would surely be meted out- let the pilot be the scapegoat, rather than they.

The transport arrived, per the timetable. Pilot and Leader go to help the rest deal with the body, and discover the disaster. There was much shouting and blaming and venting of tempers and fear, but eventually the pair got their heads together to deal with business. Leader indeed made the pilot into the scapegoat for the mess, and proceeded with brainstorming the next plan to bring Alex under their control.