SHADOWS OF THE OAT
rp, cutting through the cold night air. The backpack slams against my back with every step, the
, and neon lights reflecting in puddles from last night's rain. I dart t
No rushing. No wasted steps. The
sh h
burning as I hit the ground hard on the other side. I twist as I land, pulling out my Glock
keep
eacts before I even think, twisting with the hit to absorb the impact. I hook my
nd use his own weight to pull him off balance. B
do
e aimed at my head. The hit numbs my entire forearm. He's fast-too fast
quic
e. We were trai
n. A fake left, a real swing right. It's predictabl
-just for a second, but that's all he needs. His boot slams into
cu
l, launching myself forward. He doesn't expect it. I s
grab him, spin him, and s
slu
. But ther
p, but I can't. I wipe blood
e government? Jul
e me. They fought with deadly precision. Their stri
to ge
the street. Cars rush past, headlight
the curb. Dark win
a t
n't
g a honking sedan, and yank t
me to react before I slam my fist into his nose
and shove him on
ight move. The SUV screeches away. In the rea
ere wa
t slow
weave through traffic, my mus
asn't
xactly wher
they fough
t tightens
he same way I was, tha
sn't just
creat
they want
-