Lets pretend I didn't read the original plot

Considering Alternative Options pt 2

As I move I come abreast a low wall just as a series of black cars come screeching into the street ahead. In reaction I dive behind the low wall.

Present

I continue to follow the wall while muttering to myself. Was this a turf war? it surely wasn't the rescue cause coming in guns blazing is a good way to kill the hostage so.....

Host please turn around to meet up with the male lead

Oh its back online faster than I thought.

"Do you mean someone with the people firing the guns?"

Affirmative

Its official lets ignore the system from now on, it is clearly mentally unstable

To the host system 365 has no malfunctions, your importance to the story will prevent you from being hurt.

"Like plot armour? How crappy are you trying to write this story?"

Cannot comprehend

"bejhkjdfj, jlskjfod."
Cannot comprehend
"lets fly to the moon"

Host operating outsiiiiide.....

"and its back down, very good, hopefully it will take longer before it comes back on. Once im out of the gun area, I will have to devote time to a more permant means of breaking it or finding a way to change its direction....." another shot skips off the stone above my head. Something to be contemplated later. I crawl until I reach the end of the wall and then sit down. I was actually significantly far away from the original warehouse so I wonder why shots are even coming in this direction.

Maybe the shooters' aim is really that bad. As I ponder the incongruity of giving guns to people who shoot into random empty space a shiny silver Mercedes glides down the street with an escort of black SUV's. Fancy.

Instead of continuing down the road to where the action was the Mercedes comes to halt in the street right next to the end of the wall where I was hiding. Are they not here for the big if predictable event?    

As it occurs to me that they may have seen me as they were driving down the road the back door opens. The occupant gets out as if there was in fact no gun fire flying around and it was just another day at the office. Considering the car I'd expected a suit or dress slacks and an expense shirt but instead the guy is wearing black gothic pants with red beading on the seams and in techno patterns down their length as well as a black vest embroidered with a red upside down cross and chains across the front, including one that went from the seam into the pocket, presumably for a pocket watch. The boots where similarly gothic in style and he was wearing fingerless gloves, closer inspection showed that the clothes were also made from the finest of fabric. Hmm, after consideration this is actually a disgustingly expensive outfit, the designer suit would have been cheaper.

Once I finish examining the outfit I look at his face. Eh, probably a model. His black hair fell to just past his shoulders and his smooth skin with silver eyes was enchanting. Eyes that at the moment look rather amused. Which is when I realise that I am sitting on the ground in a largely abandoned industrial area staring. In my defence since I was the plain one of my actual family and they all worked in celebrity related areas, the family business being fashion design, the habit had essentially been ingrained from birth. Also why I got stuck with the female clothes so often, I was lean enough that they could use me as a viable example for look before taking it to the actual models.

"Sorry, I was admiring your outfit it is very stylish." I say as I get to my feet and dust my off dress as much as possible. The man's brow rose at my comment and at the same time the gunfire down near the other warehouse finally tapered off.

"Interesting time to do so," he says as he gives me a once over and then turns away for a moment to gesture to the men who had come out of the black SUVs. They were dressed all in black, but jeans and sweaters of average price by the looks of it, and they were all wearing dark sunglasses.

"Habit," I murmur while scouring through the memories of Rayne for any recollection of this person, coming up blank and with the system down. The one time it might actually be useful. I was going to have to hope oblivious was an alright reaction. "Um, is their a phone that I could use for a few minutes?"

"If you want help, could you not just ask those gentleman down there?" the man turns back to me and gestures to the cars the guys with guns had come out of.

"I think they're here to rescue a hostage, so they might be busy, I was just going to look if their was a bus stop near here." True on all accounts, though there is the possibility that someone in the group had the vague intention to rescue Rayne at the same time as the protagonist, however, they likely wouldn't miss me not being there. Besides I was obviously no longer a hostage so didn't need rescuing and thankfully transactions these days where all done through bio-metric chips inserted in the wrist so I would be fine to catch a bus.

"Not here for you?"

"Nope, I'm not important enough." I smile as he shakes his head, but still hands me a phone. Rather than sending an instant message I open the browser and after a few minutes send an email. I hop to another site and look a few things up and then clear the browsing history and hand the phone back. "All done. Thank you." The man accepts the phone and puts it away.

"You wont catch any strange looks getting on a bus in those clothes given their state." I glance down over the fancy silk and ribbon purple top and the matching ruffle bell skirt which are somewhat dust covered and shrug.

"I'm rather used to it." Since it was a straight walk from here to the bus stop it would likely be in worse state buy the time I got their unless something else came up. I didn't have high hopes that inhabiting the virtual body of someone else would alleviate my damming trait that meant, even if I'd been particularly handsome I would not be walking a runway.

I wave as I start off down the street. Three steps in and I stumble as the tapered heal of the boot catches on a stone and my ankle twists sideways. The inventor of tapered heals should be hung. It was an unfortunate part of my life that I could be incredibly dexterous and graceful when fighting, or dancing, jumping or doing any no normal physical activity, but walking and most sports for me were tantamount to a two-year-old playing with knives. It never ended well.

By the time I reached the bus stop I'd fallen over twice and twisted my ankles in just about every direction possible plus a few others. The last fall had been mere feet from where the other people waiting for the bus were gathered. I get to my feet and check to see if I was bleeding. What I nice change I was sure that I'd have scraped something that time. I sigh as I look up into the group of people staring at me.

"My friend had a family emergency and forgot the fact that I'm clumsy." I shrug and they turn away. The perfect excuse every time, particularly when half the time it's even true.