Rain fell steadily, slicking the pavement as Daron moved through the streets of the Science District, the glint of neon signs above him brightly illuminating the city even at night. A storm was brewing in the distance, steadily drawing closer.
Behind him, two men exchanged words in hushed tones, tracking his every move. Daron didn't need to hear them to know what they were saying.
Easy target, they thought. The rich kid. Probably lost. Far from home.
They were cautious, half expecting a trap. Daron kept his pace steady, pretending not to notice, though deep inside he was nervous. Every step felt like walking into a trap, his heartbeat loud enough to drown out the falling rain.
An uninvited voice in his mind insisted he wasn't prepared and that it was too risky.
The men moved together, flanking him like wolves. Daron's fingers twitched by his side. Maybe Mori was right, maybe he should have waited. The mission felt like a cruel joke now, as if sending a boy into a lion's den. He forced his chin up, pushing the thoughts away, but the fear kept lingering in the back of his mind.
The men's voices cut through the rain. "What are you doing out here at this hour?" one asked, his tone low and dangerous. The other man smirked. "Expensive gear for a midnight stroll."
Daron paused. Instinctively, a single word appeared in his mind.
Run.
The word burned at the edges of his thoughts, screaming at him to give in. He clenched his jaw instead, trying to keep steady, but his legs had a will of their own. They trembled slightly, betraying his act. "I could ask you the same," he shot back, though the words wavered.
The two figures edged closer, gaining confidence from his fear. The one who'd spoken first was big and broad, his clothes damp and clinging. The other was leaner, quick and twitchy. They looked like they belonged, part of the night and the rain, while Daron stood out like an unmissable mark.
His training with Scarlet should have made him faster and stronger. So why did he feel so weak?
The second man laughed, a sharp sound that sliced through the gloom. "Hey, Dan, ya think he's lost?"
"Looks lost to me, Mike," the bigger one replied, voice thick with mockery. "Looks rich, too."
Daron held his ground, or tried to. Every word they said twisted the doubt deeper into him.
"I'm just—" he started, but the words choked out, drowned by the drumming of his heart.
The two men closed in even further, the rain running off their jackets. He was alone with them now, the street around him feeling miles wide and equally empty. A plan. He needed a plan, something to make this less hopeless.
Suddenly, one of them drew a knife, the blade catching the neon light as it flicked open. "Let's talk, kid."
Daron stepped back, his legs working despite themselves. Everything about the situation screamed disaster. Why had he thought he could do this? Maybe he was still the same scared boy, after all.
Run.
He wavered, caught between defiance and the raw urge to flee. The voice in his head was louder now, pounding along with the rain and the relentless beat of his pulse. He had no chance. His vision blurred with water and fear. His breath started comming in ragged bursts, each one more panicked than the last.
The men were now fully sure of themselves.
"You gonna be a good boy?" Dan taunted. "Or you gonna cry?"
They were playing with him, knowing they had the upper hand, seeing the weakness written all over his face.
Time stretched, the street stretching with it, leaving him feeling exposed and desperate. His head swam with options that all felt like they would end in failure. He needed to move, to choose, do something to stop the chaos inside him before it stopped him for good. There was only one choice.
Run.
Daron felt a hand close around his arm, iron and intent. Dan's grip was strong, the roughness of it familiar, dragging Daron back to memories that twisted in his gut like a knife. It pulled him back to the night his parents died, to the man who'd held him as he tried to flee.
In that moment, the panic within him broke free from its shackles, now wild and intense. It screamed in a bizarre choir together with his inner voice.
RUN.
The world narrowed to the pressure on his arm, the pounding of his pulse, the flood of fear that was washing over him like a tidal wave.
I am not ready.
The thought burned in his mind, sharp and unforgiving. His legs felt like lead, useless against the panic that rose and roared inside him. He froze, caught between the past and the present, both as dark and hopeless as the night around him. Then the instincts that had been drilled into him by Scarlett, that he thought had failed him, kicked in.
With a wild, unexpected burst of speed, Daron twisted free. The move was instinctive and clean, a flash of surprising strength and training. Dan's face showed a moment of stunned disbelief as the boy broke away.
"Get him!" Mike shouted, his voice full of surprise and anger. How could that slim boy break free from his brothers grip?
The words trailed after Daron like a curse, joining the rain and the blood that pounded in his ears. He sprinted, slipping and skidding. Behind him, the two gangsters gave chase, their shouts merging with the storm.
"You're dead, kid!" Mike yelled, his voice harsh. "No one gets away from us!"
But Daron was away, he was away, and the realization was a mix of terror and relief. He cut through an alley, the walls close and slick. Every step was a gamble. A reminder that he wasn't safe yet, not by a long shot. His mind was a mess of panic and the past, the hurting fragments of memory chasing him just as relentlessly as the men. The nightmare images were sharp and clear, cutting him with every thought. His parents' faces, the blood, the screams. The knowledge that he had been too weak to save them then and that he was too weak now.
The footsteps behind him were loud and closing in. His own were quick and frantic. He splashed through a puddle on the ground where the street should be, the water up to his ankles, drenching him. The rain made everything slippery, treacherous, the city itself conspiring against him.
"We see you!" one of them shouted. "You're done!"
He wasn't done. He couldn't be. Daron pushed himself harder, forcing his legs to keep moving, to keep running, even when every muscle burned with the effort. The fear twisted through him, alive and vicious, but it drove him forward. His clothes clung to him like a second skin, soaked and heavy, and the night wrapped around him like a shroud.
The District seemed endless, like a maze of wet streets. Daron could hear the men chasing after him, close and persistent. Their curses mingled with the storm. He turned a corner, slipping but not falling, feet finding their grip at the last second.
Just keep going. Just keep ahead.
The doubt kept gnawing at him.
You were not ready. You're not fast enough.
Another turn, the streets narrowing, pulling him deeper into the Science Districts alleys. His breath came in ragged gulps, the air wet and heavy. He ducked down a side street, the path barely wide enough for him, but it bought him seconds. Precious seconds that felt like hours. The men's footsteps faded, then grew louder again as they closed the gap.
"You're ours, kid!" Mike's voice was closer than it should have been. The sound sent a fresh jolt of panic through him. They were too fast. He was too slow. Another alley, another corner. Daron's body screamed at him, to stop, to rest. But he couldn't, he wouldn't. His eyes darted, wild and desperate.
The unyielding rain, combined with his fatigue, threatened his balance at every step.
As he turned another corner— he lost his footing and fell.
Daron hit the ground with a jarring crash, the impact ripping the air from his lungs. The world spun. He tried to scramble up, desperation clawing at him, but his muscles faltered and he buckled back to the ground. When he looked up, his heart sank deeper than it ever had. A brick wall loomed before, taunting him. A dead end.
The pursuit was over.
The two men appeared, their shadows long and triumphant against the rain-soaked alley. Mike arrived first, sucking in the wet night air with each breath. Dan was half a step behind, laughing through ragged gasps. Every breath Daron took now was labored and raw, each one feeling like it could be his last. His body screamed in protest, but any escape was now impossible. The men towered over him. He felt small, the realization of his defeat suffocating. Mori was right all along. All of this was a reckless mistake.
"Well, well, well," Dan said, his voice thick with smug satisfaction. " Finally, no more running away now."