<span style="font-style: italic">At least the rain will wash away the blood,</span>he thought to himself. He had to keep running. From what- he couldn’t remember. His head hurt, his lungs burned, and every muscle in his being screamed to stop, but he still kept going. He knew he wasn’t the type to lie down and die, not this time, not ever.<br/><br/>The rain poured over him, soaking his t-shirt and jeans, giving him some semblance of comfort, every bit of rain helping to cover his tracks in this dead of night. He didn’t know why this was important, but the wounds on his body and the 9mm Walther PPQ with suppressor in his hand gave him a clue.<br/><br/>The sky was frightening, a show of power, lighting every which way. Each crackle lit up the sky, revealing the path before him for just a second, and then another. In between, the night engulfed him, and he was praying to not trip. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he needed to get away. With his free hand he held onto his bleeding right shoulder. A hole, the bullet went straight through. That was always good as there’s nothing to fish out. There was another bullet hole in his upper left thigh, clean like the shoulder, but that one he had to ignore. His vision was blurry. He must have had a hit to the head. A baseball bat? Maybe a rock? It was something hard for sure.<br/><br/>His heart was ready to burst out of his chest, every step closer to death. Then he saw it- a single light in the distance when the sky didn’t spark. Through the trees he saw a window, with artificial light. That meant a person. Was that who he was running away from? He was certain his enemies were behind him… but one could easily get turned around in the forest.<br/><br/>His head told him he had very little time, so he had to take the chance. Everything was getting darker, even the lightning. He kept on running, but this time towards, not away. His body was giving out, and he used his hands to push and lean against the trees. As he got closer, he noticed it was a cabin. He saw movement in the window. He looked at his gun, and wondered if he should use it to threaten the person. It didn’t feel right though. That’s not the type of person who he was, he knew that much. So he took a moment and stopped. He unscrewed the silencer and put it in his pocket, and put his gun in the back of his pants. At the very least he could draw it out fast if he needed to; it wasn’t far.<br/><br/>He reached the door, and finally slammed against it hard a few times. He tried to scream for help, but only a whimper came out. No one came immediately, so he slammed the door again. His legs buckled, and he fell onto his knees. He slammed the door one more time, but everything started to blur, and his vision became two.<br/><br/>As he fell to the floor, with his last moments he said, ‘no hospital, no cops, please… they can’t know where I am’<br/><br/>Then, black-