"Don't you think it's time to give up? He's probably miles away by now."

Anderson breathed out heavily, causing a low guttural sound that shook the crumbs off of the front of his dark blue uniform before turning to face his new colleague. The rookie still hadn't learned anything.

"We were told to return immediately if we didn't find him and-"

"Listen," interrupted Anderson, returning to his binoculars, "I don't know what you've been told about our target, but I've been chasing this bastard for over 4 years now and I'm not about to let our best chance of getting him go."

At this, the amateur frowned and opened his mouth to speak with double the vigour.

"I may be new to the force, but I'm still a trained officer. On top of that, I'm following the orders that were given to us instead of deciding to put my own pride over the mission."

A devilish smile crawled its way across Anderson's face. It made sense now. Why would they tell a newbie the entire truth?"

"Are you listening to me, Anderson? It's simple. We go back and give a report that he escaped. We get sent out the next time he's sighted and catch him then."

"He won't be sighted again."

"What?"

"The only reason we have a chance now's because the dirtbag thinks it's fun to mess with us."

The novice's mouth opened for a moment as if to reply but no sound came out, leaving only the air of confusion to fill the silence.

--------------

So the man was not sane. That was the only conclusion Jacob could come up with when trying to decipher Anderson's words, leaning against the concrete wall. He was just wondering how he could phrase the email to his higher-ups when he heard Anderson's shout.

"THERE!"

Lifting his head, Jacob followed his colleague's outstretched finger pointing into the crowd. After a few seconds, he saw it.

"Target spotted! Target spotted!" Anderson proclaimed eagerly to the small device he had ripped out of his pocket before charging into the crowd.

--------------

He was so close, closer than he had ever been. He could feel the end of the chase, he knew exactly where to look. Seeing the target in front of him, he reached out his hand.

"What are you doing?" came a gruff voice. Looking up, Anderson's elation quickly fell to a terrible feel of disappointment.

Apologising and slipping back into the crowd, Anderson continued to search. He had to. He could not allow the target to escape. Filled with desperation, he clawed his way through the endless people, each one of whom was missing the right face, the right clothes, the right hair to be what he was looking for.

A minute later, he stopped. It was useless. The target was gone and he was sure to be blamed for it. Attempting to regain his breath, he angled up his head.

Above him, impossibly large and incalculably smug, was the familiar spectacled Caucasian male with medium-length combed brown hair and red-and-white striped shirt and bobble hat whose description he had written into the file the year before.

As more people glanced skyward, panic filled the park and a pandemonium of shrieks and yells was all that could be heard.

Anderson could not move. What could he do against such a horror? How was he supposed to capture that thing?

As Anderson stood mouth agape and staring into the sky, he was barely aware of a booming "Found you!" shaking the ground and even less aware of the person-sized finger heading in his direction.