Boss: Stop pushing, Kid. We run, we lose traction with the floor. Also, we'd look like pansies.
Kid: Sorry, I just keep seeing someone following us.
Boss: It's your imagination.
Kid: Tell that to my heads-up-display in my suit. It's identified our company as a human male, six-foot-two, and is telling me that based on his injuries he's got about a minute to live.