I've got to keep running.

It was the only thought Kayne had anymore. They would catch him if he didn't.

A flash lit up the abandoned factory unit he was running through, and the expectant crash and reverberation of thunder followed.

He used the sudden moment of light to look around for a hiding place when a piercing voice cut through the heavy rain falling around him.

"You're a fucking dead man, hero." A shrill voice sounded over the horrible weather and echoed around the empty yard.

The voice came from behind and to his right, so he dove left through a large section of concrete pipe, grazing his head on the top he mentally cursed at being tall.

I should've just kept my mouth shut and walked on by.

Hunkering down, he scarpered through the grey tube and out the other side, hearing footsteps not far behind.

"I think he went through here."

He ran through the yard of old stacked metal containers and pipe sections, looking for somewhere to hide. They were close now.

Why get involved? It's not like you knew the girl.

Closing in on a white portacabin and tugging at the handle, apprehension tore through him when he found it locked.

It might have had keys inside, so he could have barred it and pretended it was sealed. He could have got away. He could be safe.

A screech of metal echoed nearby from someone opening the door to one of the containers, dissuading him from attempting to hide inside the open one he was looking at as he jogged by.

You could've been in your bed by now.

Banging came from his right, causing a surge of fear to rake his insides.

He didn't want them to catch him. He hated fighting. Not that it would be much of one if they did with five of them.

All he had to do was run and get away. He was good at running.

Running was what he knew. He was out most days keeping fit and using it as a coping mechanism to escape life for a time, and he liked to think of it as running from his problems.

Now, his troubles were real, and he wished he could outrun them also, so he powered his limbs.

"Here!"

A sudden burst of light from a phone shone in his eyes from one of his pursuers who had appeared using his phone's torch.

Bolting off like a record sprinter, his arms pumped, but no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't escape the rising dread inside.

Running through the maze-like yard, he turned corner after corner, hoping to lose the man trailing him.

The footfalls weren't far behind.

Rounding another metal container, he ran smack into another of the men, shocking them both.

Thankfully, his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height won out, sending the guy flying to the ground causing him to stagger from the sudden obstacle.

"Fucker!" The man on the ground screamed. Whether it was at him or because of the sudden pain, he didn't know or care.

Knowing he couldn't stay here, he ran, looking over his shoulder to see the man with the phone arrive, helping the other up.

Turning corners, he spotted another large section of pipe and dove through it, avoiding hitting his head this time.

More shouting and footsteps came from the other side of the stack, and he ran, turning a corner and finding a dead end.

Shit, shit, shit!

He was surrounded on all sides by stacked metal containers. Just as he was about to backtrack, he heard more voices close now and knew he was cut off.

There was one single unstacked container at the entrance to the dead end, to his left, and he ran behind it, trying to think of a way out.

A small section of stacked pipes sat on a pallet behind it, and he wondered if he could squeeze inside them when voices came from the other side of where he was hiding.

"Where'd he go?"

Fuck. Fuck.

Looking around for an escape, he looked up at the stacked containers, wondering if he could climb them somehow, when another idea struck.

Pulling his gloves off and stuffing them in his jacket pocket, he moved quickly but quietly, stepping onto the pipes and using them to pull himself up and on top of the single container, making sure to keep low.

Heaving himself up, he nearly slipped backwards when a painted section came free in his hand due to the rust.

He winced at the slight clang his steel-toed boots made on the side of the metal as he pulled himself up and over, chest first. His legs followed, and he lay in the prone position, hoping this would be enough to hide him.

"Could've sworn I just heard something." Someone with a rasping voice said, and he knew they were right underneath him.

Continuing to lie prone, he was face-first against the top of a double-stacked pair of metal containers. The men chasing him were below in the direction his feet pointed to, and he felt the hairs of his neck stand on end, knowing they were there but unable to see them.

The fear of the unknown flooded him, and he did everything he could to keep quiet and make himself small.

Light reflected to his right, and he turned to look, spotting the man with his phone shining light down into the dark area between all the containers that made up the dead end.

He knew the man would move to check near the pallet next, so he shimmied across the metal, moving to his left and looking that way when a bald head appeared.

Thankfully, the head scanned the opposite direction, so he wasn't exposed.

Noise to his right drew his attention back to the other side as heavy footsteps splashed around next to him. He saw a bearded man wearing a green hat move into view, but he was walking back towards the exit.

Just as he was about to let out a sigh of relief, the man stopped and shone his torch at a small dark shape lying on the ground.

No. Fuck.

Moving over to investigate, the man wearing a white jacket and dark green beanie hat stepped closer to the now-soaked glove.

It must have fallen out of his pocket and blown away a little during his climb.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Crouching down, the man poked it with his hand before standing back up.

He knew that this was probably the ring leader of the thugs he had run afoul of in what he now felt was his misguided attempt at helping someone in trouble.

His late shift at the local supermarket had just ended, and he was on his way home when he ran into the group that now chased him.

They were harassing a young girl they had managed to corral into a sidestreet when he had walked past.

At first, he hadn't intended to get involved, but when the young woman shouted for help, he couldn't help but stop and turn.

The men were oblivious to him being there, and he could have just walked away then and there and called the police and let them deal with it, but he didn't.

Something about how the girl had looked over at him and how the man with the green hat taunted her with harsh jibes as he pushed her had awakened something in him.

Perhaps shouting, "Oi, you fucking numpties, get the fuck off her!" wasn't the most brilliant idea he had ever devised, but it felt satisfying to shake off the apathy he had been carrying around for so long.

At least, it felt satisfying for the few moments it took the group of five to turn around and set him as their next victim, and then the fear started.

At least the girl got away.

Staring intently at the man now as he turned, he prayed that it was too dark up here when a blinding flash lit up the night as lightning struck nearby.

Cursing his luck, he closed his eyes and willed himself to be absorbed into the metal under him as seconds ticked by. The boom of thunder covered raised voices, and he got ready to try and make a break for it.

The container under him vibrated as something slammed against it, and he knew they would be on him at any moment.

His mind couldn't understand it all, and a feeling of utter powerlessness washed over him as his guts churned.

Why did he have to stop and help? He could have just walked away.

As the fear built, it reached an apex as a sudden clarity overcame him, and a sense of finality rose in the place of courage. Suddenly, it made sense.

Because it was the right thing to do.

It was as if the universe had heard his sudden comprehension and agreed as the sound he heard next felt like a headman's axe being taken away from his neck.

*Crash*

"The fucker got away!" A voice spat, and he was sure it was the leader of the thugs speaking as he took his temper out on the metal he was lying on.

"What do we do?" Another said, and he felt like it might have been the one with the bald one, but he wasn't sure.

"Split up and keep looking. Meet back at the entrance in fifteen if we find nothing." The leader said with a growl, and he watched them move off in different directions.

He checked his watch and stayed where he was but moved back over to the right to stay out of view.

The next fifteen minutes felt like fifty as his adrenaline calmed and spiked repeatedly as searchers moved past his hiding spot.

The weather only got worse, and he started to shiver with the cold winds buffeting him, but he remained exactly where he was for twenty minutes before he came down.

Taking his time, he quietly moved through the area, debating about using the entrance he had come in from but deciding against it in case they were waiting there.

Following the tall concrete wall, he found a section with a hole big enough to pop his head out of, and he was proven correct. The five men huddled together, smoking inside an abandoned bus shelter near the entrance that must have served the factory at some point.

Sighing, he followed the wall and had to climb into another unit, tearing his jeans on some barbed wire as he went over.

From there, he stumbled across a demolished building in the dark and popped out the opposite side, away from the waiting ambush, as he headed home.

Arriving on his street lit by orange lights, he deftly jogged up some stairs, arriving outside his second-floor flat door. Fishing keys from his pocket, he opened it and stepped inside.

Scooping old letters off the floor before he trampled them under a muddy foot, he stepped inside. Scanning them over, he noticed them all addressed correctly to Kayne Hazard, so he put them on the nearby sideboard as he closed the door.

As he entered through the hallway, the main room sat on the left side, where he spent most of his leisure time. This room boasted a comfortable sofa and chair, a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a desk with a computer in the corner.

Beyond the main room, a double-door partition led to his bedroom, with a small en-suite bathroom attached to the right. Alternatively, if he continued walking down the hallway, he would reach his tiny kitchen.

The flat had a simple décor, with plain magnolia paint throughout, painted long before he moved in. The only exception was the bathroom, which was fully tiled, white and blue and converted into a wet room. A walk-in shower was to the right of the door, while the toilet and sink were to the left.

To him, decorating was more hassle than it was worth. However, it was immediately apparent to anyone who walked in that a young single male lived there, with no sign of any feminine touches.

Kayne walked through the front room after taking off his shoes, moving into his bedroom and removing his dirty work clothes, leaving them on the floor as he entered the bathroom.

He was stark naked, apart from an eye-catching amulet hanging from a thin silver necklace onto his chest. It was a family heirloom of his fathers, and he had worn it ever since he was old enough and never took it off, even to shower.

Wearing it made him feel closer to his parents, who had died during childhood. He admired it in his reflection as he went over to the mirror above the sink to brush his teeth.

It was an intricately crafted piece that looked like a silver Maltese star, with the central part made up of a perfect silver octagon that held a gemstone. He wasn't sure what the material was made of as he never had it appraised, too worried it would be lost or damaged once out of sight.

His eyes moved to the centre that housed a deep purple cut gem he assumed was some kind of precious stone like an amethyst. Faint purple embossing spread out over the silver metal from the gemstone in random lines and shapes, giving the heirloom a unique look.

He eventually glanced up from the amulet. Blue eyes met blue as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes, a clear, almost pale blue, were his best feature. Although he didn't consider himself ugly, he knew he was perhaps above average at best.

His white skin was mainly unblemished, besides an old scar on his chin from the car crash that killed his parents. He tended to cover the spot with short stubble that he figured he was more suited to rather than a fuller beard.

His straight hair was relatively short and styled combed to the front, the more basic look he wore for work. However, he usually liked to have it combed over with a side parting, having got the style from a confident fictional British spy in his younger teens, although not quite the charm to match it.

Proceeding to shower, the faint hum of the extractor fan and the falling water were the only sounds around him as he stood in the shower, his head tilted down and leaning against the wall under it as he enjoyed the warmth washing over him.

As he continued to enjoy the shower, he let his mind run free. It appeared that cynical was on the menu tonight as it started to run through the earlier chase and his life as a whole.

Anger rose as he thought of the men that had chased him tonight, and he also felt a little sting of humiliation at having to run scared. His emotions were raw because of everything he had just gone through, and he couldn't stop his mind from going to places he didn't want it to: his parents.

He had grown up an orphan of sorts, having lost both of his parents at the same time. They had died in a crash with him in the rear seat, but he couldn't remember anything about it.

The crash was a freak accident in bad weather with no other vehicles involved. Because of that, he was left with a substantial life insurance payout his only family and guardian, his aunt, had put aside until he was eighteen.

She had used some of this to send him to a prestigious boarding school, where he got a good education, even if he missed a parent's love. He didn't dislike it for the most part, and he was well looked after and cared for.

Sometimes, he would see the other children getting picked up by their parents on holidays, and it hurt that he didn't have a mother or father to be there for him like that.

It took him a few years and making some friends for him not to be as affected, but it still ate away at him occasionally.

Kayne was shocked when he found out he would be getting over seven hundred thousand pounds when turning eighteen, and he didn't quite know what to do with it.

The staff at the boarding house had been a great help and had provided him with a lot of advice and assistance that, along with his savvy intellect, had ended up with him purchasing this flat that he owned outright with plenty of money to spare.

He had managed to get a good deal on it, then moved into it straight after leaving his education, getting his current job working at a nearby supermarket not long after.

It was what he had been doing for years now. It wasn't well paid, but he was better off than most people his age in England, so it was hard to complain.

He had done exceptionally well academically, leaving his education with high grades in most subjects. However, he found this had happened naturally and had never worked hard for it like some of his peers. Pursuing higher education just felt pointless, so he never did.

The money from his parent's estate made him realise that he was fortunate and had the time to figure things out at his speed, but he knew that was just an excuse.

It was the same reason he had gotten a job he could float aimlessly in: he was too washed up in self-pity.

He always felt he wasn't over the death of his parents, and because of it, he'd used it as an excuse to stall his life. Deep down, he blamed his parents for leaving him and had never forgiven them, but that was an excuse.

The truth was he was just emotionally dead inside a lot of the time, and he knew that might be from depression, but he just couldn't work out why. Nor could he be bothered with doing so.

Stepping out of the shower, he turned it off and reached for a towel.