Rain fell in relentless sheets, turning NY City into a blur of neon lights and shifting shadows.
Victor's coat now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through and heavy. He had half a mind to abandon it, but there was no time for that. He had to keep up the pace, every footstep sent up splashes from the slick pavement as he sprinted down the narrow alley, his breath tearing from his lungs in jagged bursts.
They were close. Too close.
The alley twisted and turned, framed by high brick walls dripping with grime they just blurred in his vision.
He darted around a corner, nearly slipping on the slippery concrete. His shoulder slammed against a dumpster with a hollow clang, with pain radiating down his arm. Behind him, two shadows moved in perfect sync—hooded, masculine figures.
Victor's mind raced. He had no idea why they were chasing him. He wasn't a criminal, he wasn't carrying anything valuable—except maybe the company laptop, and even that was encrypted.
Maybe it was random.
Maybe he was mistaken.
But deep down, he knew better. The way they moved, the way they followed, it was deliberate.
Coordinated. Calculated.
His boots pounded against the asphalt, his heart racing faster than his legs could carry him. He ducked into another alley, the world reduced to shapes and shadows, his mind focused on getting out of this situation.
A voice echoed behind him, cutting through the rain.
"There you are."
Victor spun, skidding to a halt. One of the men stood in the alley's mouth, face partially hidden beneath his hood, but what he could see was unmistakable: a smirk, half smug, half hungry.
"Give it here. The bag."
Victor's grip on his briefcase tightened. "I-It's just work stuff," he stammered. "Data. Spreadsheets. Not worth anything."
The man let out a low chuckle.
"You think we don't know who you are? Analyst boy with secrets. The ones you see. The things you shouldn't."
That stopped Victor in his tracks.
His breath caught.
What did that even mean
What did they know?
He didn't have time to ask.
The second man emerged from the shadows and lunged.
Victor dropped, the knife slicing just above his shoulder as he twisted away. His briefcase flew from his hand and struck the attacker's knee. The man stumbled with a grunt. Victor didn't wait—he ran again, rounding the corner.
But the first man was faster.
He stepped into Victor's
path, leveling a pistol.
"No! You don't have to do this." Victor shouted, raising his arms.
"Then hand over the bag and stop being such a pain in the ass."
Victor's mind raced, as he thought of ways to get out of the situation, he didn't notice that it never crossed his mind to just hand over the bag . No—maybe he did but he subconsciously dismissed it, because as silly as it may sound, amidst the swirl of emotions of fear and anxiety there was sliver of something else…
Victor never considered himself brave. Not really. He was smart, cautious, someone who planned ahead. Yet something in him refused to surrender. Maybe it was arrogance, pride or— maybe just instinct. But whatever it was, it pushed him to act. Even if it meant dying.
'Did he just smile'. The man thought with shock. And then all of a sudden Victor's
free hand lunged for his gun and he instinctively pulled the trigger.
BANG!!!
A crack split the night.
Pain exploded in Victor's
skull.
And then—nothing