ɴ&ʜ || Dᴏɴ'ᴛ Sᴛᴏᴘ Bᴇʟɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ
newtsui
( ϟ — ) A radio call buzzes through his ear piece, and for the first few seconds all he hears is static. Ghosts of voices ring through his head, and Han changes course in hopes of finding the right frequency. The voices, though vague, sound urgent. Afraid. Fear is a monster Han often battles, but there is something about the desperation he catches that makes his stomach churn with a newfound discomfort. This is serious. ❝...Airport...Gunmen...Drugs...❞ He hears it clearly now. Location and direction. Three wounded at the scene, gunmen still on the loose. They believe customs has something that belongs to them, and are ready to take it back. Customs. Realization hits him, slaps him in the face hard enough to leave a mark. He halts in his tracks. The airport. Newton. A sharp intake of air, chest heaving as he takes off again. Faster, but not too fast, or he’ll miss his stop. Once arrived at the location, Han takes a brief moment to observe the situation. People are still coming out of the airport. Trembling, shaken, in panic. But out of harm’s way. After a quick assessment he realizes Newt is not one of them. He is not outside. Which means that he is still in danger. The speedster takes off again, buzzing past police and security, avoiding the souls fortunate to escape. There is blood on the floor, but victim is no longer there, the large hall is close to deserted being deserted. The gunshots sound further down the airport, and Han speeds toward the sound, only one thing on his mind. Newt.
