weight, and sharpens the tension:
Two hulking American Ford trucks loomed ahead, blocking what I had thought—hoped—would be my escape route.
Then came the voice.
"Contratino, you can't escape my wrath. It's retribution time!"
Devilin's words thundered through the megaphone, laced with mockery, reveling in the inevitability of my downfall.
Beside me, Doctor Ishaan turned, her gaze fixed on mine, searching—waiting. She wanted to see how I would react to the most terrifying voice she had likely ever heard.
I stepped on the brakes.
Easter obeyed. She halted.
For the first time, I froze.
I had spent my life fighting, running, defying the odds stacked against me. But now, as the road ahead closed in, as Devilin's presence smothered every escape, I felt the weight of inevitability press down on me.
Would this be it?
Would I finally have to accept my fate?
My breath was shallow, my grip tight on the wheel. I waited. For the worst. For the moment the storm swallowed me whole.
Then, unexpectedly—a break in the chaos.
Gunfire erupted, but not at me.
The cops—furious at what the two American Ford trucks had done to their vehicles—had turned on them, their bullets finding new targets.
The battlefield had shifted.
I was no longer the center of their rage. The distraction had bought me precious seconds, a window I could either waste—or use.
And the question remained—would I take it?
I didn't think—I acted. Instinct took hold, pushing rational hesitation aside. I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal, shifting gears into reverse, throwing Easter into a calculated retreat. Distraction. That was all I needed, and it had played its magic perfectly. The moment had presented itself, an opening I couldn't afford to ignore. Why hesitate?
"Is there another way out?" I asked, my voice steady despite the chaos, directing my words to my lovely companion. Her heartbeat was a drum—a rhythm of fear, pounding furiously in her chest.
She fought to remain composed, to suppress the terror rising within her, but I could see it—the silent war waging behind her ocean-deep eyes. The sheer intensity of danger we faced was enough to make any normal person crumble.
But I was far from normal.
I had been immunized to this kind of hostility, molded by it, strengthened by it.
I didn't wait for fate to dictate my survival—I took hold of it, twisted it, shaped it to my liking. Defying expectations, defying inevitability—that was my style.
"There is no way." Her words pierced through me, sharp and unwelcome. I didn't like hearing it, but it still served its purpose—fueling the next move I had to make.
"How many stories does this building go up?"
"About ten. Why?" Her response came quickly, her face shadowed by a frown. I caught her expression, the subtle crease of worry etched across her features.
I hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What is this building made of?"
"Blocks," she answered without pause.
I didn't like that either. It complicated things—made the situation feel heavier, more suffocating.
For now, we weren't being chased. But I knew it was only a matter of time. Devilin and his rampage team weren't the kind to let opportunities slip away. They would create a bloody massacre on the cops.
Devilin was the most ruthless person I had ever known. His cruelty wasn't just calculated—it was relentless, a force that consumed everything in its path.
I swiftly turned the wheel, steering back into the same building I had come from. As I entered, the violent echoes of firearms and explosions reverberated through the structure, chaos unfolding with each deafening blast.
One thing was certain—Devilin would emerge victorious.
Not because I supported him. Far from it.
He was a cold-blooded killer, ruthless beyond reason. Killing was never hesitation—it was instinct. A game. He took human lives the way a man steps on an ant—without remorse, without guilt, without even the slightest pause.
And if you wanted to survive his wrath, there was only one way—run.
That's exactly what I intended to do. I wouldn't fight him, not when I knew losing was the inevitable end.
If life had taught me anything, it was this: a man must master the art of choosing his battles wisely.
You have to know when you'll win. And when you won't.
Everything else is a gamble.
And dude—don't gamble with your life.
Reaching the end of the first floor, I stepped on the brakes. Easter obeyed.
She halted with the precision I had come to trust, the engine humming beneath me like a heartbeat—steady, alive, waiting.
"Let's get out." My voice was firm, decisive.
Doctor Ishaan hesitated. "Umm…" She drew in a breath, uncertain. "Don't you think we're safer here than out in this haunted building?"
Her words hung between us, questioning my judgment, pressing into the cracks of my resolve.
I said nothing. Instead, I tapped the pad, the soft mechanical click echoing as the doors unlocked. No turning back now.
Without hesitation, I stepped out—not empty-handed.
In my grasp, I carried the most treasured possession of my life. The safe box.
Doctor Ishaan's voice sliced through the air. "Where are we going?"
She wasn't just asking. She was demanding.
And in her eyes, I saw it—the conflict, the desperation to understand my choices, to find certainty in the chaos that surrounded us.
"If you want to die in that beautiful car, be my guest."
I didn't wait for a response. I was done playing nice—done indulging hesitation or naive questions. This was survival. Life or death.
If she knew where we were going, then what? What would she do? Would she stop me? Would she run? Would she fight?
It didn't matter.
I took off, sprinting toward the second floor, my mind locked on a singular goal—find a vantage point. See the chaos. See what Devilin and his crew had done to the cops.
My breath was sharp, my steps calculated. The building stretched upward like a labyrinth of dread, but I kept pushing, moving, climbing.
Soon, I reached the room with the glass window. Seventh floor.
The perfect view.
I yanked the curtain away, my pulse hammering as my gaze locked onto the battlefield below. There were no moving objects.
And then—I saw it.
The tanker, its massive form shifting, rolling back toward the prison building.