"Damn it, stop right there!" the cop shouted behind him.
He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The thunderous echo of gunshots filled the corridor; bullets hissed dangerously close as they flew past him and burst into dust and splinters when they struck the wall ahead. The stench of burnt powder hung in the stale air. He skidded sharply into the next passage, his heart pounding in his chest like a sledgehammer.
Was that insane bastard really shooting at him?!
Adrenaline surged through his veins, his breath burning in his throat. Had he been hit?
No—apparently not. At least, he didn't feel any pain.
Feverishly, he tried to recall the building's layout. Where was the next exit again? Annoyed, he clenched his teeth. That was why he hated Plan B. Plan B meant everything that could go wrong already had. Plan B meant the shit had truly hit the fan, and he wouldn't be slipping out of this situation with his usual elegance.
His safe escape route was cut off.
All that remained was the damn emergency exit.
Outside, he could hear loud cheering, animalistic roars, helicopters, sirens, and police officers bellowing into their megaphones.
At least the distraction was still working.
With a tap of his finger, he activated his in-ear. A monotonous hiss flooded his ear.
"Ember?" he asked, breathless. "Can you hear me? Please respond!"
Nothing. No crackle, no signal—just cold, steady static.
He cursed under his breath, clenched his teeth, and pressed on. Of course everything had to go wrong today. He shouldn't have gotten out of bed in the first place. He was still battered from his last job, the bruises serving as a vivid reminder of where he'd been hit.
And who was responsible.
It wasn't the first time he'd fought this cop. But the cop had never fired this much before. Not that he hadn't been shot by him already—but never had he unleashed so many bullets at him as he had tonight.
Someone's losing their patience, he thought bitterly.
Maybe this time the cop really wanted him dead.
At least he had gotten his hands on what he'd come for. Around his neck, he felt the weight of the diamond from "Eclis sun," the engagement ring of Veronica Eclis, the second princess of the Sun Kingdom, which had fallen roughly a thousand years ago.
The stone was flawless—polished, well cared for, glowing with every refraction of light. A piece of history, of incalculable value. Fortunately for him, his prize this time was light and very small. He was glad he hadn't had to steal a painting; that would have made a successful escape considerably more difficult.
It almost hurt to have to weave the ring into his chain. On the other hand, he would have lost it already otherwise. Well—there was nothing he could change about that now. Special situations called for special measures.
Another bullet slammed into a statue beside him. The stone shattered, fragments crashing loudly to the floor. Once again, that damned philistine had destroyed a work of art. It made him furious to witness, yet again, someone desecrating art. These works simply didn't deserve that.
That lunatic cop must have had his last remaining brain cell burn out by now!
He didn't even want to imagine what the man's accuracy would be like if it weren't so dark.
Then another shot rang out—this time accompanied by a searing pain that shot through his right leg. His thigh burned as if molten iron had been driven into it. A scream caught in his throat; he stumbled and hit the ground hard.
He lay there gasping while the noise outside continued to rage. So neither Ember nor Ink Phantom would hear what was happening in here.
Without communication, they would come looking for him. He absolutely could not allow that! He clenched his teeth and hauled himself up. If he wasn't mistaken, he was just about to reach the exit.
He quickly checked the gunshot wound.
A grazing shot! At least he'd had a bit of luck in all this mess after all. It hurt, the wound was bleeding, and everything inside him screamed to finally get out of here. But he would be able to run—and that was all that mattered right now.
He took a deep breath and stood up, teeth clenched.
He had to get away before the cop caught up with him. But before he could take even a single step forward, he was roughly kicked in the back. He slammed to the ground. So the cop had caught up with him because of the graze. So much for luck.
Behind him, the cop calmly changed the magazine of his pistol.
"I told you to stop, you miserable bastard!" the cop growled, out of breath. "You've made a fool of me long enough. Your lucky streak ends today."
"Stand still while you wave that damn gun around? No thanks—I'm rather attached to my life," he shot back irritably. His voice was slightly muffled by the mask.
Nothing is going according to plan today…
With a precise kick, he lashed backward, straight into the cop's knee. The cop let out a short groan—and then landed a right hook square under his chin. Gun and all.
God, how he hated this guy! Always aggressive like a damn pit bull. Once he latched on, it was hard to shake him off. This cop, strictly speaking, knew only two states of mind: the exhaustion before his sixth coffee—and his adrenaline-charged self on the job.
He felt the anger boil up inside him—the blow had hurt like hell! Before he knew it, he had disarmed the cop and was straddling him. He pinned the man's arms by trapping his armpits with his knees, then repaid the uppercut with a punch straight to the face. He followed up with another blow and was just about to strike a third time when the cop suddenly moved differently. He wrapped his leg around his neck and forced him down to the floor.
Breathing became difficult; the cop was cutting off his air with his thigh pressed against his throat. The cop spat— in the darkness he could just make out that he was spitting blood. He hoped he'd knocked a damn tooth out of the bastard.
"Let's see who's hiding behind the mask of the great phantom thief Moonshadow," the cop said triumphantly. His hand reached for the mask.
There was no way he was going to let the cop learn his identity!
He fought back with everything he had and finally broke free, scrambling to his feet. The cop got up as well. They faced each other, barely able to make one another out by the light spilling in from outside.
He was just about to charge the cop and end this once and for all when a soft crackle sounded in his earpiece.
"…dow. Can you hear me?" a distorted female voice cut through the static.
He tapped the earpiece, never taking his eyes off the cop.
"Bad timing, Ember," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"Who are you talking to?!" the cop demanded sharply.
"You need to get out of there—now!" Ember urged. Her voice sounded panicked, almost pleading. "There's trouble!"
He could hear the desperation in her voice. Outside, there was barely any noise left; he saw the blue lights of police cars and heard helicopters overhead. But the cheers of the crowd were gone, and so were all other sounds. Whatever had happened—if Ember was panicking, it couldn't possibly be good.
"On my way," he said.
"Hurry."
The cop lunged at him; he narrowly dodged the punch.
"Sorry," he called tersely. "But we'll have to postpone this. I've got more important things to do."
He landed a brutal uppercut, sending the cop crashing to the floor. Then he turned toward the window, ignored the pain from the grazing shot, and sprinted straight for the emergency exit. He had to get out of here before anything else could happen. If he didn't make it out, the job would be a failure—and he didn't even want to imagine what the boss would think of that.
"I didn't give you permission to leave! Stop right there—or I'll shoot!" the cop roared.
But he didn't stop. He couldn't afford to be distracted by the cop any longer. Ember wanted him to get out as fast as possible, and the distraction was clearly no longer in effect. He was only a few steps away from the emergency exit—he just had to reach out his hand and he'd be outside.
"Damn it, you asked for this!" the cop shouted.
A shot rang out, and pain exploded in his left shoulder. Another shot slammed into his right flank. He collapsed to the floor. His vision blurred; he wanted to scream, but the cry seemed to stick in his throat. It hurt—so unimaginably much, worse than any pain he had ever known. It stole his breath, and a creeping cold spread through him as the blood slowly but surely seeped from his body.
With his last strength, he crawled toward the exit. His fingers scraped across the floor; every inch was an endless struggle.
I have to make it. I can't now—
A grip yanked him back. He was roughly flipped onto his back, the earpiece brutally torn from his ear. Seconds later he heard the crack as the cop crushed it.
"…asshole…" he breathed hoarsely.
"You brought this on yourself," the cop growled. His hands grabbed his top and yanked it up with a jerk. They moved over his stomach and flank; he cursed softly. "Damn it. You need to get to a hospital before I turn you in."
He didn't answer. His vision swam. He had lost. It was over. Moonlight streamed through the shattered window and settled like a cold glow over the cop. Blood gleamed on the cop's chest, high on the right side.
"…you're hurt…" he heard himself say. His own voice sounded strange, distant.
The cop snorted irritably. "Don't play innocent. You shot at me, after all."
He shot the cop? He hadn't even been carrying a gun. Just as he was about to protest, the cop began to bandage his wounds, and he could no longer suppress a scream.
Weakly, he tried to push the cop's hands away, but he had no strength left. He couldn't do it. Everything burned; the pain seemed to be everywhere, and he was cold.
So cold…
"…stop…" he whimpered. His arms fell limply at his sides, his eyelids so heavy it felt as if weights were hanging from his lashes—or as if gravity itself had decided his eyes were no longer allowed to stay open.
He wanted to give in.
He wanted to sleep.
He was suddenly so tired.
"No chance. I need you alive," the cop hissed. Cold air brushed his face as the cop tore the mask from his head. Silence. The cop's expression changed; his eyes widened, disbelief reflected in them. "Isaac…?"
Isaac blinked, tried to form an answer, but his thoughts fell apart in the blackness rolling over him.
Game over.
"No! Hey—stay with me!" the cop's voice suddenly sounded panicked. "Damn it, Isaac! Stay awake!"
But the darkness was stronger.