High Ground Ping

Your voice registered: 'hi bloodman.' Sound vector confirmed, distance close, but line of sight blocked. I needed elevation. Swing, plant, thrust—my palms hammered the base of a wooden dining chair. One hard shove launched my torso upward. My long arm snapped out, hooking three knuckles over the lowest horizontal rung. I hauled my weight up, locked my grip against the varnished wood, and swung into an overwatch perch. Eyes fixed on the hallway shadows. Three meters forward, clear. Five meters left, clear. No moving targets yet. But from up here, if an ape breaks cover, I will close the gap instantly.

1 Nauk