In retrospect, committing felonies against the national government in a public cafe was not my brightest move.

  To everyone else, I was just an other high school student writing for an assignment. One glance at my screen, however, might have revealed that I was looking through file systems in the terminal. A trained eye would instantly realize that the file system was owned by the CIA. And the 50% of the population that are not bumbling idiots would realize that I was a criminal.

  But the chances were pretty low—considering that the person would need to be nosy, quick to scan things, and not an idiot—I thought I was fine.

  Of course, an ego check would've been good at the moment. I believed myself untouchable. Not that I wasn't unarmed. I had a small handgun in one pocket and an emergency microchip in the other. I tried to never shoot people with the gun. It was for emergencies only.

  Things always happen, however.

  I tried not to think about those times.

  Thankfully, I was good at staying low. I had evaded the government for two years at my house and four years on the run. It couldn't be today that they finally apprehended me.

  It wasn't that I was doing anything with malicious intentions, either. A client wanted these files, and I don't care what clients do with the shit I give them. It's not my fault nor my responsibility. I worked for money and money only. Everyone needs a way to support themselves.

  And not that it was necessarily easy. I had to move constantly and use fake identities everywhere.

  Being a notorious criminal at sixteen was the worst bit. It was hard to use public transportation or just walk about in general.

  I eventually reached the file directory I needed. I quickly printed out the information and copy-pasted it onto a PDF. I then backed out of the directories and made sure that no one could figure out I was there.

  A flash of a person out of the corner of my eye demanded my attention. They wore baggy, plain clothes. There were noticeably plenty of weapons and devices concealed by their clothing. But there was another problem.

  They were staring at me.

  As soon as I glanced up, they suddenly returned to their coffee, seeming so interested in the polished wood in front of them. All those signs could only mean one thing, and if that was true...

  Shit.

  The man pressed on some bit of metal in his ear and started whispering. I need to get out of here, I thought. I slammed my computer shut and stood up, disconnecting the USB drive storing all my information. The man looked up at me. His eyes narrowed visibly. He knew that I knew who he was, and he was no longer taking any chances.

  I slipped my computer into my backpack and quickly made my way toward the door before he could do anything else. From behind me, I heard him stand, the scraping sound of his stool against the wood filling the cafe, and everything seemed to go silent. I hurried my pace, almost toward the door, when I heard a clicking sound behind me.

  "Don't move." The man hissed. I was sure some sort of large gun was pointed at my neck for a point-blank shot, due to the stunned silence of everyone around me.

  Breath in.

  Breath out.

  Each beat of my pounding heart sent a fresh pang of anxiety.

  I’m fine. I’ve gotten out of things like this before, I tried to calm myself. This wasn’t the end of my escape. This was only the beginning.

  "Turn around. Slowly." He growled. I obliged, my eyes slowly taking in the full scope of my adversary.

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  He had a worn, chiseled face. His beard consisted of small, scratchy hairs. His face was steely. This was a man that would not budge easily.

  ''Heyyyyy...'' I said awkwardly. "I'd rather you not stick weapons at my chest." The gun was small, similar to mine. It was a little longer—but a model I could not identify. But that didn’t stop me from picturing a metal bullet piercing my gut. The blood; the pain. It was there, and only a second away.

  He smirked slightly, moving it upward to my neck. "This better?"

  "Plenty." I gulped. At least he had what could be somewhat called a sense of humor. Humor leads to being less realistic. Less realistic means less in the moment. And less in the moment means escape.

  "So you're Cade. The famous hacker."

  "So you're 'officer'. The famous asshole."

  "DON'T TALK SMART TO ME!" He yelled, jabbing me with the gun.

  He paused for a moment before regaining himself. "Alright. You are going to comply with my every command, or you'll soon be screaming on the floor, begging for death." Another wave of nausea went through me. I felt the instant urge to empty my lunch upon the man in front of me.

  My dead body was not a fun thing to picture.

  "Oh, so you do mean business..." I said, trying to stall. Just. Move. The. GUN.

  "No shit." The guy growled. "You are going to come with me. Quietly."

  I realized that I was running out of time. I had one last option. But if it didn't work...

  It has to work. I wasn't ready to face the consequences of it failing. "Fine." I said. His eyebrows raised in suspicion. I could hear the unspoken question: He isn't fighting me?

  "But... you should have this." I reached down, causing him to shove the gun directly against my throat. A jolt went through me.

  "Don't try me." He snarled.

  "Jesus Christ, I was trying to cooperate!" I said, trying to sound exasperated, despite the overwhelming feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  "Really?" He asked and reached down into my pocket. I leaned slightly to the left, moving the gun farther away from me and allowing him to look. It slipped away a little more as he pulled out the microchip.

  A slight movement turned the barrel just far away enough.

  In an instant I pulled out my own pistol, pointing it at his ribs and pulling the trigger. There was a loud BANG, and red blood spurted out.

  "FUCK!" He yelled, on the ground in an instant. He flailed, dropping the microchip but keeping the gun. He reached to cover the gaping hole that was pouring out blood. Everyone around me screamed, starting to run.

  His life was fading. He muttered something that I could not understand.

  I stood triumphantly over him, and spat at his feet. I turned to move away, to walk away from this mess, to-

  BANG!

  Burning pain shot through my leg. I no longer saw shapes, just pure crimson. My head was in shambles. From what I could tell in my incoherent state, blood was pouring out from me. "You... son of a bitch." I muttered before falling to my knees beside him. My leg felt like it was ripped apart, like someone was drilling holes in it over and over again.

  This is not the end.

  I gritted my teeth and ripped off a piece of my shirt. I could barely see, but moved forward with the operation. With the other hand, I reached into the mess of blurry flesh and blood. I grasped the bullet and pulled.

  Another burst of excruciating pain hit me. Fuck drills, I was beeing stabbed with the whole power tool set. I bit down upon my tongue, repressing the scream building inside me. An iron taste filled my mouth, and I spat out the blood. I cast the bloody bullet aside and wrapped the fabric across the wound.

  The white of my t-shirt bandage reddened, soaking up the remnants of my suffering. Police would be on the way soon. I reached for my gun and microchip once more, pocketing both. The realization dawned upon me that I could no longer be seen: between my widely reported face, ripped t-shirt, and bloody clothing, I would easily be caught in a public crowd.

  I swallowed and slowly stood, putting weight on my uninjured leg. At the stinging pain, I put together the most colorful string of cussing known to mankind and shouther them. Everyone in the cafe had since fled, and I could hear the sirens wailing in the distance, getting louder and louder.

  It was time to go.

  I limped my way to the cafe counter, going towards the back. Furniture was overturned; belongings forgotten. Meals were spilled out across the floor, tables, and countertops. The emptiness made everything eerie. I eventually came to and opened the door residing just behind the counter, entering a staff room.

  The employees-only area was empty except for a fridge and some sparse furniture. The carpet was blue and moldy. Everything was coated in a layer of dust. One door went into a bathroom, the other led to an alleyway.

  I crept out into the alleys. I knew I couldn't be seen anywhere near the scene of the crime. I sighed and began to walk toward an opening. If I could get myself lost in these back alleys, there would be little chance of being found.

  But would I be able to escape?

  I paused. "Fuck it," I muttered and kept walking. Every step hurt a little, a reminder of my predicament.

  After only a few minutes of wandering, it felt like I had entered another world. The alleys were shadowed, each one dank, smelling of dirt and piss. Heaps of garbage, boxes, and sleeping humans were common.

  I slowly wandered through the darkness, viewing the amount of people decreasing slowly. My travels eventually wandered into solitude, with not a single human in sight.

  After almost an hour, I collapsed onto a heap of old, dirty fabrics, and unconsciousness took me into its welcoming arms.