The Mafia's Shadow

"Stop there" a voice rang out in the air. Sounds of hurried footsteps pounded on the ground. He ran, barefoot, with torn bloodstained clothes. Ragged pants followed him as he ran as fast as he could. Tears built up in his eyes, but he knew he couldn't afford to be weak now, he quickly wiped the tears that threatened to pour. His heartbeat served as a reminder that he was running. He had been running and running and he had no idea who he was, who they were and why they were chasing him, but all he knew was that he had to run if he wanted to live and he desperately wanted to live. He knew nothing— no name, past, family or reason why these people hunted him but instinct has taken over and his feet could only run before his mind could catch up. Knowing fully well that he was in no way affiliated to this people, he clung to the hope that soon the people after him would give up. Seeing a dark alley, he swiftly turned to that direction and hid behind a big table placed in the alley. He gripped his mouth tightly, as his eyes surveyed the surroundings and his ears straining to locate the kidnappers and know if they found him or not. He could only hear their heavy footsteps pounding against the ground. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 There were seven people after him and he knew they were skilled soldiers. For a moment, there was silence. Then, the mercenaries' voices were heard, their tone unmistakable. "Where'd he go?" One of them shouted. "He's wounded and exhausted" another replied "He couldn't have gotten far." He instinctively squeezed his knees close to himself and held his breath. There was a long pause before the sound of their footsteps trailed away. After what felt like hours, he let go of the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. He tried to stand up and make a run for it, as he knew he couldn't stay hidden for long, but then a sharp pain hit him. He looked towards the source of the pain and he realized that his waist was red and swelling. Gripping his side where the pain still lingered from an earlier injury, he stood up and walked slowly to the starting point of the alley, he scanned the area slowly. With no sign of anyone, he came out and walked down the path he ran from before. Just as he was about to reach the residential unit of the area, a flash of movement above caught his eye. Panic flared through him as he realized that he just barely avoided a knife that was aimed for his head. With fear coursing through his veins, he spun around, his eyes scanning the area for an escape route. But it was too late. The mercenaries had surrounded him and they had guns drawn. Reality dawned on him, he knew that with just one click of the gun, his life would be taken away from him, he knew he had to run, all he needed to do was to find an opening. Before he could figure out what to do, a boot slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing into a stack of crates on the road. The sudden attack had him gasping for breath, the impact of the throw had definitely left him with some broken ribs. Slowly, he looked towards the assailant and spat the metallic liquid in his mouth out. His eyes filled with disdain. He scanned the people in front of him again and realized that they had let down their guard. Realizing this, he grabbed a bottle from the crate slowly and stood up haggardly, hiding the bottle. He staggered towards them, using only will-power to move, he headed towards the one that delivered the kick. Watching the man approaching, the mercenary broke into a grin. "Does the great Mafia want to beg me to survive, huh?" "Ple..please, don't kill me" the man begged. They all burst into laughter at the sight of him begging for survival. The same mercenary replied condescendingly, "If you want to live, kneel down in front of me and beg me and my entire crew." The man took a deep breath when he was at a safe distance from the man, he slowly bent down to get on his knees. Realizing that the mercenary had completely let his guard down, he used his remaining strength to launch from the ground and smashed the bottle on his head. He immediately backed away fast to avoid the shards of the bottle. Knowing fully well the gravity of his actions, he looked at the other mercenaries and tried to gauge their reactions to it. They just looked shocked, but there was no movement from them. His gaze finally landed on the victim's head. He saw the blood pool down his face, but the mercenary didn't seem to show any sign of pain or discomfort. The man's eyes widened in terror and astonishment. He had hit a bottle on the mercenary's head and he was sure that he should be immobile but the mercenary still stood tall, even with the blood oozing out from his head. He realized that these people were not ordinary mercenaries. 'So, who would spend so much money to get these people to kill him?' he thought. 'Was he really that special?' While he was deep in thought, a hand reached out from nowhere, grasped his shoulder and spun him around. The man's eyes widened as he saw the glint of steel in the faint moonlight, he tried to dodge the incoming object but he was held down with so much force. A dagger flashed in an arc, its blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The man tried to raise his arms to defend himself, but it was too late. The dagger bit deep into his side, just below his ribcage. He felt a searing pain as the blade tore through his flesh, and his vision began to blur. The attacker's face had a twisted mask of hatred. Hate directed at him personally and hatred for attacking his companion. No, it wasn't attacking, it was defending oneself, so hate for fighting back. They yanked the dagger free, and the man felt his legs buckle beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, his vision fading to black. He couldn't believe it, he was going to die without reason, a reason that he couldn't even justify as a reason. He succumbed into the darkness as the pain was too unbearable for him.