I hesitated for a fraction of a second, the heat of the gunpowder stinging my eyes.

Then, I turned and ran into the dark.

The concrete walkway was uneven, and I tripped, scraping my hands against the rough brick wall.

The cold water splashed over my shoes as I sprinted deeper into the shadows.

The sounds of the shootout began to fade behind me, replaced by the heavy thud of my own heartbeat.

The tunnel branched off into three smaller passages.

I chose the middle one, hoping it led toward the street level.

The darkness here was almost absolute.

I slowed down, my hands tracing the cold, wet brick wall to guide myself.

My breathing was loud, echoing off the narrow walls.

I stopped to listen.

The gunfire had stopped.

There was only the sound of dripping water.

And then, another sound.

The slow, deliberate splash of footsteps in the water behind me.

I pressed my back against the wet brick, my fingers tightening around the cold metal of the gun.

The footsteps grew closer, steady and unhurried.

A flashlight beam cut through the dark, sweeping across the curved ceiling.