A War You Can't Win

Chapter 1: On the Run

Sweat trickled down his burning face, ignorant to the freezing cold weather that tightly encased the dark city. His bangs were sticky against his pounding forehead. He was breathing heavily; his lungs struggled to work properly as the frigid air constricted them. He felt as if he smoked cigarettes every second of every day since his birth. His whole body hurt like it'd been crushed by a steam roller. Twice.

The group of guys yelling relentless taunts were distant, but getting closer with each passing second. His pursuers were a few of the toughest members of the city's most influential gang. He himself was a member of the city's newest gang addition. He quickly joined up donning the name Kid, the only name most people knew him by anyway, and simply threw his birth name away like it was last week's overdue garbage.

The people hunting him were seeking revenge. Kid had been tasked with killing the other gang's leader, in an effort to make them stand above the rest, and show everyone that they were here to stay. This top gang, The Harbingers, had the strongest and most respected leader in the city's history: Kiway Antrim. Kiway was strong by every definition of the word from what Kid had always heard. His sudden death wasn't even Kid's fault, but the gang members couldn't care less to let him stay alive long enough to hear his side of the story.

At 15-years-old, a bounty the size of an old west outlaw's was already placed firmly upon his head, assuming, of course, The Harbingers somehow didn't catch him first. It was an annoying misunderstanding either way. Sure, he wasn't the best person around by far, but he only joined the gang for recognition, not for murder and being hunted like a wild animal. He'd always figured he could leave that dirty work to the other members of the gang he belonged to, The Angels of Demise.

His fellow Angels probably assumed he was dead by now, or they didn't even care, which was the more likely scenario. After all, Kid was a pawn. He knew it from the start, but didn't really care. People needed him and he loved the feeling, regardless of how desperate it sounded.

Kid was crouched behind two smashed up trash cans in an alley sandwiched between a discount clothes store, and some sort of mini-mart. He was roughly a mile away from where Kiway was murdered. He had managed to get away from most of the Harbingers, but some of them were a lot more relentless than the others. They had chased him through what felt like hundreds of alleys and backyards. Luckily, he moved a little quicker, granting him some time to rest as he took in the darkness, embracing it as it protected him from the rest of the world.

He was weaponless, and had no real viable means of defense. He had dropped the pistol his boss had given him when he ran away from the scene of the assassination. His home turf was at least five or six hours away on foot, at best, he estimated, and when he got back--if he got back--he was going to leave this all behind. Far behind.

The group of Harbingers were finally moving on to the next alley, not even coming close to halting their search. Kid was wearing his hoodie with the Angels' insignia embroidered on the back. He knew with it on, Harbingers, and any other gang members for that matter, would be able to identify him miles away. He also knew that if he took it off, he'd freeze in the cold that was still ravaging the city.

The dead end alleyway he'd been hiding in was all clear. Kid could hear his stalkers in the next alley over, their words laced with pure hatred. He began frantically looking for a way out, any way out. The wall behind him wasn't actually very tall now that he got a good look at it. A crate made of partially rotten wood nestled in a pile of decade old newspapers beside him caught his eye. Letting his brain take control of his aching body, he grabbed the crate and propped it against the wall.

Kid backed up a bit before releasing a deep, exhausted breath. He sprinted up the crate and gripped the top of the wall. He had to use all of his strength to hold on as he scraped the soles of his worn boots on the bricks to climb the rest of the way up. The wall cast a bigger shadow on the other side than he was expecting. He dropped down into the dark, falling to his side when his feet met the ground. Fortunately, none of his followers seemed to hear it, as they were too busy arguing amongst themselves about trying to find him.