A grenade tore a massive hole in the giant reflective glass wall ahead of them. Jasan dived behind an overturned mahogany desk. Bullets slammed into and through it. Jasan pulled another grenade from his pocket. He popped his head up momentarily, and hurled the grenade.
"3."
Bullets slammed once more into the table, splintering the wood. A tracer burned it's way through.
"2."
Two or three more tracer rounds penetrated the table.
"1."
Jasan's grenade exploded. The men in the hallway had not seen him through the small explosive, and failed to notice it lying at their feet. The explosion tore the men apart, and they died instantly. Those across the long corridor where thrown off their feet. Several men clamped down involuntarily on their guns triggers as they fell. The sound of shattering glass, smoldering, collapsing metal, and the roar of gunfire. It sounded to Jasan as though the world was ending. For him, it was.
"Go."
Jasan bounded over the table, and ran down the corridor. Glass fragments and blood and wood was spiralling around in the fiery maelstrom that was the grenade explosion. Arm up, covering his face, he began sprinting. The men that survived the explosion watched helplessly as they either died, or reloaded. Jasan reached quickly into his pocket, pulling out a smaller lighter-esque device. He fumbled with the red flick-top. The opposite glass wall was getting closer. Lowering his head, looking down at the floor, Jasan kept running. The flames from the grenade had began to subside, but massive scorches marked the roof and the remnants of the floor. He used his now free hand to grab a small grenade lying on the floor, and, looking momentarily up, threw it.

The grenade shattered the wall, and huge glass fragments cascaded down into the floor, and then out into the air. To the people who bothered to look up, they saw a huge shower of glass, that soon became a beautiful display of lighting as the midday sun glistened upon it. The people on the ground screamed and began running for cover from the man-made storm. Jasan just ran forward. Then he hit the cascade and began falling through. One of the men had just reloaded his gun, and, slightly dazed, opened fire. The automatic fire of his Steyr AUG assault rifle tore through the glass.

Jasan fell quickly, on an angle. He needed to fall quickly. Arms rigid at his side, and his legs straight back behind him, he fell like a bullet. But his eyes were fixated on a nearby rooftop. 12 more feet... The rooftop was rushing toward him VERY quickly. 10 feet. 8 feet. 5 feet. 3...

In a single, fluid, fast movement, Jasan had his hand outstretched in front of him. His hand hit the roof first, and he bent his am at the elbow, and lowered himself. He quickly moved himself over the hand, and lifted it, landing on his forehead. Rolling once, twice, then thrice, he stood, and dropped the gun in his other hand. He realised he'd left the lighter on the building. He shrugged. A good thief comes prepared. He pulled a second, larger object from his backpack. It was a detonation device, similar to the one still on the building. He quickly jabbed a small spark plug into the side, turning the device on. As his finger hovered over a small orange button, the huge building behind him exploded. To the untrained eye, it seemed that an entire floor; the kitchen, conveniently, had spontaneously combusted.

"Run." Jasan's whole body was trembling. Something was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. He began moving backwards, dropping the device and his backpack. Huge flames spewed into the open air, as hundreds, possibly thousands, of civilians watched, all horrifed. Many were concerned for the dead. But there were no dead. Today, that floor was vacant. The only casualties were the soldiers. And there it came. The rythmic whump whump of rotor blades.

"Shit." He spat. 'Run, run, run, run...' His body told him to run, to flee, but he stood still rooted to the spot. But why? The whump grew louder, as Jasan was rooted to the spot. A German-made Tiger UHT came slowly into sight. "Run." As the helicopter's tinted, glass cockpit came into view, he finally did. Awkwardly dropping his backpack to the floor, he sprinted. The helicopter rotor blades drew a heavy wind, and his messy, blonde hair flew in his face. As the entire helicopter became visible, Jasan reached the edge of the roof. He took a long step, stood on the edge of the roof, and leaned forward. 90 degrees. 80. 65. 45. 20. 0. He was on a 180 degree angle to the roof now, and gravity took complete hold.