The neon haze hung thick in the air, diffused through a dense fog of rain-soaked asphalt, dripping shells of decrepit buildings, and the flickering remnants of a civilization that no longer cared to save itself. I could hear the pulse of the city thrumming beneath my skin, an electric heartbeat that synced with the digital whispers of the underworld. I felt it follow me, the simmering tension as palpable as the cold metal of my sidearm resting against the small of my back.
I ducked into a narrow alley, its walls sweeping up into shadows, swallowing me whole. The thrum of bass from the nightclubs spilled into the street, but here, it was deathly quiet, save for the distant growl of a motorcycle engine. The grit of the pavement crunched beneath my heavy boots, echoing like the ticking of an unseen clock.
Hadad was out there somewhere, watching, waiting. I could feel it in my bones. Each time I glanced over my shoulder, paranoia twisted my gut tighter than the coils of an ancient clockwork mechanism. How long had it been since he sent those two goons to keep tabs on me? Days? Weeks? I could never remember; time had a habit of slipping away from me like the shadows in this city. In these moments, my mind conjured specters, the faces of those I’d betrayed—friends turned enemies, enemies turned corpses.
A flicker of movement caught my attention at the end of the alley. My pulse quickened. I pressed my back to the damp brick, the cooling rain mingling with the sweat on my brow. Every corner of the city I turned, I envisioned Hadad’s thugs loping after me, eyes glinting like sabers in the night. I couldn’t trust anyone—everyone was a potential informant, ready to sell me out for a couple of credits.
After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out my piece, feeling the comforting weight of the cold steel as I steadied my breathing. The barrel glinted under the flickering light of a malfunctioning LED bulb hanging above. I edged closer to the mouth of the alley, peeking out to survey the street. The neon lights of the bar across the way were almost blinding—neon blue and green splashes against an otherwise drab cityscape.
A shadow emerged from the glass-stained haze. My heart hammering like the sound of distant thunder, I cocked the gun. The figure stumbled into view. It was only a junkie, his skin glistening with the sheen of a synthetic high. I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding, lowering the weapon. I couldn’t afford to blow my cover on some desperate soul looking for a fix.
Still, the tension hung like a noose. My nerves were raw, frayed like wire. I needed to find out where Hadad was. He had something of mine—something important. Ambition and fear duke it out in my mind, a relentless cage match. The last I heard, he was holed up in his penthouse, drowning in his own paranoia. Would he expect me to come? Or would he sense my hesitation as a weakness?
The thought made me shiver. I turned back into the alley, heading deeper into the darkness, seeking any kind of sanctuary. The rain pattered down, a soothing rhythm against my mind’s chaos. I paused as I reached a corner, breathing heavily. Was it worth it? Just to confront him? Moments like these—split-second decisions—could lead to a straight shot through the ribs or a blade between my ribs. But I had come too far to falter now.
Rounding the corner, I heard voices—low, hissed conversations that floated through the night like vapor. I peered through a shattered window. A group of my former associates huddled together, an assortment of chrome and leather. They were deep in conversation, and I strained to catch snippets of their words.
“…he’s been digging too deep into the Syndicate—”
“Hadad’s not gonna let him walk away—”
“Can’t trust anyone these days. Not since…”
I couldn’t catch the rest. I thought about what came next. I wanted to burst in, guns blazing, but there were too many variables; I needed better intel. I took a step back, careful not to make a sound, backing away slowly.
As I retreated, my foot caught on something—a discarded piece of rebar, maybe. The clatter echoed like a gunshot. I froze, blood rushing to my ears. They must have heard me. I swung around, adrenaline pumping through my veins like fire. I stumbled deeper into the alley, heart racing, as the shadows began to converge.
From my peripheral, a flicker of movement breached the night’s darkness. I turned just in time to see a figure appear. One of the thugs—Ava, Hadad’s right hand. I raised my weapon, but my hand trembled. A breath. Would she recognize me—a fleeting glimpse of a former comrade clouded in the haze of betrayal?
“Aren’t you a little out of your depth?” she challenged, an unsettling smile splitting her face, revealing the metal glint of teeth.
“I could say the same about you,” I retorted, keeping the gun fixed on her. My voice was steadier than I felt.
“Let’s not play this game.” She tilted her head. “Hadad doesn’t want to kill you yet. He just wants to… talk.”
“Talk?” I scoffed. “Is that what he calls it nowadays?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, and I took a step back, scanning the alley for escape routes. My mind was racing through scenarios, each one darker than the last.
“Come on, Jace,” she cooed, as if she could smell my fear. “You know this ends one way if you keep running. Just step into the light, and we can end this.”
But trust was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I darted down the alley as I felt the pressure of her gaze burning into my back. I threaded through the labyrinth of old garbage and the dark, shifting shapes of the nocturnal city, my senses heightened. Every footfall echoed like an alarm bell; every shadow felt alive, hiding the glint of a blade or the cold steel of a gun.
A sudden burst of gunfire shattered the night, ringing out through the alleyway like a broken symphony. I stumbled, lost my footing, and crashed into the ground. My heart seized in my chest, and I scrambled to get my gun back in hand. The gunfire kept coming, erratic bursts of sound, each crack threatening to drown me in a cacophony of chaos.
Hadad’s boys. They were on the hunt, and now they were turning this place into a war zone.
I pressed my back to the wall, heart hammering like a drum, and peeked out, adrenaline surging through me. I could spot silhouettes darting between the alleyways as the fight escalated. Bodies ducked and weaved between pillars of light and darkness. But I was too exposed.
“Get the scumbag!” someone shouted, adding to the chaos, and my skin crawled with dread.
My instincts kicked in; I pulled myself up and dashed down another side alley, desperation driving me. I could hear them coming—boots pounding, shouts mingling with the bite of gunfire. I was a rabbit caught in a snare, trapped in a world where the rules had long since been rewritten.
As I turned the corner, the street exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors. Shots rang out, lighting up the surroundings in bursts of brilliance and smoke. I ducked low, the world around me blurring into a dizzying dance. I could see them now, the thuggish forms of Hadad’s men emerging from the shadows, weapons drawn.
I had no choice. With a roar, I sprung into their line of sight, gun raised, and squeezed the trigger. The shots rang out, and I felt the satisfaction of hitting one of my targets. He dropped, the thud echoing like a tolling bell. The others turned, eyes wide as they registered the sudden loss, and I seized the moment to charge into the fray.
Chaos erupted around me as bullets flew, ricocheting against the metal and brick. I ducked, rolled, came up with the gun still barking in my hands. I was moving on instinct now, weaving in and out of the enemy fire, ducking into cover, dodging behind the relics of the past.
The adrenaline coursed through my veins, and for a heartbeat, I felt alive. With every gunshot I fired, I felt my past fade into the background like smoke in the air, replaced by the raw thrill of survival.
But then, a sharp pain erupted in my side—hot, searing, consuming. I gasped, stunned as I staggered back against the wall for support, groping at the wound. I could feel it, like liquid fire spreading through me, but I couldn’t stop now. I couldn’t give in to the pain.
Forcing myself to stand upright, I turned my attention back to the remaining thugs. They were closing in, circling like predators. I squeezed my gun tighter as the last two men charged forward, their faces twisted with rage. I could hear their shouts mingling into a primal roar, a cacophony of destruction.
“Kill him!” they yelled.
And I knew then, in that moment of devastating clarity, that there was no turning back. I had played too deep into this game, and now it was either I lived or they did. So I weathered the storm, feeling each shot, each wound—this was my life, carved into the tapestry of this city, soaked in neon and blood.
As the world began to blur and spin, I pulled the trigger one last time, a primal scream swallowed by the night.
Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.
