Chapter Text
Heels clicking on tiles doesn't hide one's footsteps, who is running. Neither does it help to be seen and therefore be chased down through the busy streets.
To him, the masses of people on the streets in this hour faded together into a blur as he ran for his life. While running for his life in and out alleys without any rhyme or reason, he just couldn't seem to shake off his pursuers. Instead, somehow it seemed to make the chase more exciting for them, like he was a prize to be won. It didn't matter to him though, he had other things on his mind, and as long as they weren't faster, they couldn't catch up to him. He was determined to remain out of the hands of the police, because he was confident he would be hanged the moment they got their hands on him. That was something the government had agreed with, because, supposedly, he had commited heinous crimes against the government, which warranted him the death penalty. But he didn't think they were that bad. They were just a few minor accidents along the way of him becoming an adult.
If he was remembering correctly, which wasnt saying much, considering his atrocious memory, he knew what he had "done wrong". According to the news, where his actions were aired out to the public, his campfires were considered arson. He'd just been using them for light and warmth, because the nights were unbearably cold this time of year. Andn in hindsight, they might have been close to that government building. But they weren't not close enough to cause arson. Right? If it caught on fire, it was the buildings fault if anything. Just don't be that flammable. He'd supposedly also commited some sort of murder, somehow? Where was that again? He didn't get why it was such a problem to the police: clearly, that man was in the way of his car. If they were to actually look at the footage, they would see that that wasn't his fault. The swerving onto the sidewalk was to avoid hitting a squirrel. That guy should have been paying attention to what was happening on the road! They had also mentioned he stole some things, but those items were just laying there on that table in the open. Weren't they intended for the consumers to use? He was also only human, and there for a consumer. He had the right to grab them for his own usages!
The news had also reported on a couple more "crimes" he had commited, but he decided to deem them petty. They were just small things like a quick stabbing, small robbery of a bank, scratching a police car, stuff like that. The pettiness had caused him to tune out a lot of the other articles the news stations were talking about while he was chilling in his camp. So the news items weren't that well ingrained in his brain, so he hadn't really retained any concerning information. The thing that did concern him though, was the fact his base of operations had been raided. He had previously remained under the police radar for years, but now he had somehow been identified and followed to his camp, which location had now been discovered. And then, assumingly, the same person had called the police and got them to chase him out of his camp. All within one day. He vowed to get his revenge on that person, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. He was still being chased by the damn police. The further he ran into the heart of the city, the more people were around. The more people that were around, the less space there was for him to squeeze by. Even if there was no space, and he yelled for them to get out of the way, they didn't. They didn't move out of the way for him, some even attempted to grab him. But the police had an open path to him, with people moving out of the way. Such inequality.
And because of this weaving in and out of crowds, the police had gained ground on him. He was only just out of their reach, which wasn't optimal, but still preferred. If they couldn't grab him, he would keep running and running and running, until he was free. He knew that just up ahead there was a fence he could jump over, which would hopefully lose his pursuers. It was just a little ways away, a bit more dashing through the blurry mass, and then he'd- bonk
What the..? Who..? Doesn't matter. "Hey, watch where you're going, dickhead!" Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making him a little jumpy and quick to react. That also meant that he could react in ways that were... suboptimal. He probably had no business asking such a thing, but he was in a hurry, and had no reason at all to apologize. He'd lost time in this stupid encounter; and it was too late. The police had caught up to him, and he was most definitely screwed. He felt that he still had some fight in him though, so he could hypothetically escape, right? But, no, he couldn't, it was just the adrenaline speaking. And, before he knew it, he was thrown on the ground and handcuffed before he could react to the very, very dire situation at hand. It hurt like hell, even though it was just a little distance between him and the ground after he'd bumped into that guy. When he calmed down just a little, he realised how tired he had actually been. Because, despite his adrenaline still being at an all-time high, he had been running constantly the whole day, and his legs were toast at that moment. It was so bad, that he actually couldn't stand on his own and the police had to drag him to the police cars. Luckily for the policemen, the cars were on standby near them.
Being in a police car wasn't usually for the best reasons. They also weren't that comfortable, atleast not for the "prisoners" who were stuffed in the backseat. And that made the carride to the station feel like the longest one he had ever had. Mostly because he hadn't been in a car since before his parents had kicked him out all those years ago. And also, in hindsight, it was kind of long. The police station was around 30 km away from the endpoint of the chase, and that was absurd in a city where everything was in walking distance. Also, being a "criminal" in these fuckers' eyes didn't help with reducing any tension. He felt that he was just like the rest of them; he was just trying to survive in this horrid world run by people who didn't know how the world worked on his level. But no, everyone decided he was the problem, and not someone else. It was not the government. It was not the world. It were the type of people who had little hope in the first place.
It felt like a little bit of foreshadowing. It had started raining not long after he'd been arrested. Perhaps it was in his favour, however the weather didn't dictate the world and its consequences on this level. The rain pounded on top of the carroof, and the droplets ran down the window, which made atleast a little entertainment. Moreso a little distraction. The longer the carride went on, the more anxious he got. The adrenaline had completely wore off by now, and his brain was realising that, maybe, it really is the end. No second chances, the government wouldn't put those aside for someone like him. Someone who had to be put away in a dark place forever. The prison loomed up ahead. A sinister feeling washed over him while they drove up gravel that lead to the main part of the prison. He got the feeling that this wasn't a place for games. This was the place of nightmares that he had heard about on the street.
The local rumors told a story of countless disappearances that occurred over the years. It was speculated that the disappearances happened at this specific prison. Yet these local rumors also spoke of the people who went here, the ones who disappeared, and they were like him. People who went against public overlords. People fighting against corruption. People who have the need to survive. People just trying to live their lives in this rotten world. People who have been hurt without remorse. He felt that no one should ever be shunned like this for what they have done. Because they weren't the bad guys. The overlords are. And yet people glared at them; gave them nasty looks; called the police on them for existing; pushed them around like they weren't people too. They were sent here. The public was told that they were put into institutions and prisons "to get better", but he knew better than that. People like him got put in places like this, to be put down like some kind of dog. Like they were feral animals that had to be exterminated before they infected the population. How was that close to fair?
Life wasn't fair. He knew that. He knew that when he got kicked out of his home. He knew that when random people on the street thought it was funny to kick him while he was down. He knew that when no one helped 16-year-old him, not with food, not with shelter, not with human kindness. But that fact was more apparent to him now, as he was put in a cell. A dark, smelly, cold space without much room to move. No clock to tell the time. No blanket to keep him warm. No windows for light or fresh air. It didn't feel righteous. He had rights. He deserved basic respect. He didn't do anything wrong in his eyes. Matter of fact, he felt like rebelling on purpose now. The government was corrupt. So were the people working under it. The police that had ruined his life today. The prison guards that paid him no mind. The public who turned their eyes away.
Life wasn't fair. And now, he was paying the price for what wasn't his fault.