Anthony grunted, a sharp sound forced from his lungs as he hugged his ribs, the bruised flesh protesting. His vision blurred with pain as mafia associates scrambled over the manicured hedges, their expensive suits snagging on thorns, desperate to catch up with their boss. Alexander's polished shoe ground into Anthony's chest, a sharp pressure that made him cry out. A sickening crack echoed in his mind as a bone shifted beneath the relentless weight, and the world exploded in a white-hot burst of pain. Curling in on himself, he tasted blood on his lips and managed to sputter, "Fuck you... you terrible old friend!" His voice was a ragged whisper, barely audible above his pounding heart and the ringing in his ears.
Desperately, he clawed at the ground, his fingernails digging into the soft earth. With trembling hands, he scooped up a handful of dirt and flung it weakly at Alexander's face. The fine dust blinded Alexander momentarily, causing him to roar in frustration as he fired wildly, the bullet tearing through the earth inches from Anthony's chest. Anthony flinched, the smell of burnt gunpowder stinging his nostrils as he scrambled out of the way.
Most guards, focused on the fleeing Anthony, rushed past, their heavy footsteps pounding the ground. One paused to scoop water from the nearby fountain and splash it into Alexander's face, washing away the dirt. Alexander sputtered, blinking furiously, his eyes red and watering, and wiped his eyes with his shirt, the expensive fabric now stained.
Bullets whizzed past Anthony, each one a sharp whistle that sent jolts of adrenaline through him. He felt a searing pain as one grazed his thigh, leaving a burning trail. Biting back a scream, he flipped onto his stomach, pressing against the cool grass, the blades tickling his skin. The wailing sirens of approaching police cars grew louder, amplifying his anxiety. Pushing himself to his feet, he dashed across the lawn, lungs burning, breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes fixed on the mansion's gate—a symbol of freedom.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he ran along the sidewalk, the hard concrete unforgiving beneath his bare feet. With a combination of blind luck and desperate maneuvering, he avoided immediate notice from the police. Vaulting over a fence, his muscles screamed in protest, and he found himself in another mansion's grounds, the manicured lawn a stark contrast to the chaos he'd just escaped. A startled family emerged from the house, confusion and fear etched on their faces, but he ignored them, focused solely on escape.
Anthony's breath came in ragged gasps as he continued his mad dash, the sounds of gunfire and shouting reverberating through the night. Desperate, he reached a black metal pole, its smooth surface cold beneath his fingertips. Just as he began to climb, a ferocious dog lunged at him, teeth bared and barking aggressively. He kicked out, connecting with the dog's snout, a sickening crunch echoing in his ears. Scrambling up the pole, he felt the dog snapping at his heels, its frustrated growls echoing.
With a final leap, he cleared a sharp metal fence, the points digging into his flesh, and landed heavily on the roof of an elderly man's car, the metal denting beneath him. The man, startled and angry, emerged from his house, shouting about respect for property. As the police cars' flashing lights grew closer, Anthony ducked and weaved, trying to make his way past the fence, ignoring the man's angry shouts.
He dodged through heavy traffic, the roar of engines and screech of tires adding to the chaos, miraculously avoiding being hit. Rolling down a steep hill, rough grass and loose dirt scraped against his skin, mingling with his blood. Pain shot through him, but he ignored it, crawling beneath parked cars, taking advantage of the late-night stillness.
Finally, he reached a grassy hill dotted with sharp rocks. Collapsing, he gasped for breath, grabbing a rock to protect himself. With grit, he launched himself down the hill, the impact sending shockwaves of pain through his body. Crawling beneath the cover of grass and rocks, the rough terrain scraping against his skin, he listened to the distant wail of police sirens—a constant reminder of the ongoing search. Relief washed over him, fleeting but real, as he realized he had evaded his pursuers. His body throbbed with pain, muscles ached, and his stomach growled with hunger. Tears mingled with dirt and blood on his face as he clung to his weary frame, a small spark of pride flickering within him. He had survived another day. Hidden and breathing heavily, he found a fragile solace in his temporary respite, knowing he needed to lay low and plan his next move.