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

-