The rain pours relentlessly, each step I take splashing through puddles as I desperately try to outrun them.
My jeans stick to my legs, weighing me down. My shoes are waterlogged, squelching with each step as icy water seeps through the thin soles, chilling my feet to the core. The hood of my jacket clings to my head, heavy with rain, with droplets streaming down its edges and dripping onto my face and neck.
The night sky mirrors each drop, serving as a reminder that my heart races in time with the rain. and every breath feels like I'm inhaling shards of ice. The cold gnaws at me, but I can't stop—not now. My mind reels with questions.
How did it even get to this? If I was 5 minutes earlier would it have gone to this point? How did he know about the package? And when can I finally stop running? My mind races with a flood of regrets—choices I could've made to avoid this nightmare.
Behind me, the shouts grow louder. Their boots pound against the wet pavement, a steady rhythm that matches the hammering of my heart. A crack of thunder rolls across the sky, momentarily drowning out the shouts echoing through the streets. Flashlight beams sweep erratically, bouncing off the rain-slick surfaces and catching brief, glinting reflections from puddles and parked cars.
I duck my head, wiping the rain from my eyes as I push myself harder. A car alarm blares in the distance, muffled by the roar of the storm. Thunder booms overhead, shaking the ground beneath my feet as if the storm itself is chasing me.
I glance back as they catch up, run faster I tell myself. my mind racing with what to do next. Is there any way out of this without getting shot? In the back of my mind, one thought keeps repeating: I'm gonna get shot. I need to find an exit—fast—before they catch up. my breath starts to come in sharp gasps, each one feeling heavier than the last. Ahead, the street splits into two narrow alleys. I veer left without thinking, my shoes skidding on the slick ground as I race into the tighter passage. The sound of the cops' boots follows, their shouts echoing louder in the confined space.
"He's turning on 36th Street!" one of them yells.
I skid around the corner, nearly losing my footing on the asphalt. The street ahead is narrow, flanked by darkened storefronts and overflowing trash bins. The smell of rain-soaked garbage mingles with the metallic tang of the storm in the air. The only light comes from a flickering street lamp further down the block, casting uneven shadows that seem to shift and move with each flash of lightning.
I glance over my shoulder. Flashlights sweep the rain-slick streets hunting me down. Another night in this cursed city—New York. What do normal people even do on their weekends off? My mind drifts to Steph, my friend from college. She'd be so disappointed in me, probably shaking her head telling me how she always said Denny would get me killed. What's she up to right now, I wonder? Whatever it is, it's definitely not this.
The streets blur past me in a streak of gray and black. I can't help but laugh bitterly at myself.
"I've got a job that's too good to pass up," he'd said. Yeah, I knew it was too good to be true.
Heh, all I can see is Denny's smirk—that bastard. Even now, in this mess, I can't blame him. This is all my fault.
I scramble up a chain-link fence, fingers slipping on the wet metal. My arms burn. I haul myself over, land hard on the other side, knees slamming into gravel. Behind me, the shouts grow louder—closer..
They're closing in. I can't stop now—not with the cops on my heels. I sprint to the alley's end, but an officer blocks my path.
He raises his gun, shouting, "It's over Kid—GET DOWN NOW!"
I stop in place raising my hands as panic surges through me, and I can feel my heart racing, pounding against my chest like a drumbeat. I weigh my options, each one flashing through my mind like a rapid-fire slideshow—but I know my only option. The cold metal of the officer's weapon glints in the dim light. I was convinced he was ready to pull that trigger no matter what choice I made.
There are two paths for someone like me. You either play it safe—go to school and drown in debt—or you hustle. You scrape and grind, doing whatever it takes to survive. That's the path I chose. I need the cash now, not four years from now with a bachelor's degree in engineering. Side gigs weren't cutting it, so I took on jobs that pay more—jobs that come with risks.
I'm a courier.
I deliver all kinds of packages—documents, groceries, mail, you name it—but most of my work is court papers, and those pay really well. Whatever the package is, I never bother to look inside; I just trust the process.
But it's Denny's jobs that bring in the real money. Could be anything—I never ask, more like I don't want to know. It's anonymous, it pays well, and that's all I care about. Sure, it's high-risk, but it beats the paycheck I'd get flipping pizzas at the local shop any day. Denny's the one who got me into this line of work, setting me up with high-paying gigs and keeping the cash flowing. That's all anyone needs to know.
My mind goes blank. I can see his mouth moving, shouting something, but I can't hear a word. I try to stay still, but I turn my head to the cop behind me, his voice fading into white noise. Then the sharp crack of a gunshot cuts through everything.
BANG!
It's loud, I can hear it in my head now. This is it.
I throw my arms over my face, instinctively shutting my eyes. A blinding light explodes around me, its brilliance piercing through the rain-soaked darkness. A sharp buzzing fills my ears, dragging me out of the blinding light. The sound is disorienting, like static on a bad connection. Then it shifts, turning into a familiar ringtone vibrating through my head.
Zzzznnnn Zzzznnnn Zzzznnn… Beep! A voice cuts through, slightly distorted.
"Yo, Jay! It's Denny, man. Did you get caught? Haha! Meet at the usual spot, alright?"
Beep!