Jon stays where he had fallen, still and cold on the ground. In a perverse way, here straddling a rafter, I am glad he�s unconscious there lying unprotected on concrete. Inconspicuous that way, and he won�t feel the need to protect me.
Though I imagine I�ll need the protection, as the other Jon has switched tack and begun to climb up the block machine towards me. His legs look like cables, and I mean the thick ones that support buildings, rather than telephone wires or suchlike. Even so, the machine hardly looks like it�ll support his weight.
I feel like a spectator, up here.
And then, after he slips and has to start over, I see the brushed-steel door to the bat room crack open and a little blond slip of a girl make her way out. She carries a knife, and its blade casts a light to the ceiling.
I mark each of their progress, as she slides between machines and he cuts his way up the machine, banking on the strength of levers that held me up fine, but buckle at the idea of his boat like feet. It takes him considerably longer, but then the girl makes a clatter at the base of our machine, and his head snaps around.
He pauses, and she takes the opportunity to hoist herself up to nearly his level, only a few steps away. And he makes a menacing face and hops onto her ground.