The Runaways

Chapter 1 (Part 1) - Run for Your Lives... Literally: Jack

(I'm really sorry I keep changing the titles i swear this is the last time)

Chapter 1 - Run for Your Lives, Literally... Jack

It's almost midnight in the foggy town of Brooklyn, NY. The streets outside are pitch black. Shadows cover everything in sight, engulfing the world in darkness. My shadow is projected onto the sidewalk, tall and skinny with scraps of muscle underneath my baggy clothes. I roam the dark alleyways, my long black hair blowing in the gusty wind. The front of my black t-shirt presses up against my stomach. My baggy worn out jeans blow around my knees and ankles. My shoes are untied, and I know I must look absurd and messy, but I don't have time to focus on my appearance.

I walk along the side of the road, trying to balance on the curb, lost in my own thoughts like usual. Imagining what it would be like to be one of them, sleeping soundlessly in my cozy bed, waking up and starting my job somewhere, coming home to my family even if none of it was my choice. And that's when the sirens sound. I start to sprint as fast as my legs will take me, but its not fast enough. My heart is pumping, and my mind is filled with fright and panic. I know I cannot outrun the police, but I have to try. The sirens get louder and louder, and my head starts to pound. I need to keep going, I think. If I don't, they will kill me.

I try to run faster, but the sirens are getting closer. I no longer feel the burning sensation in my legs, just numbness. I breathe hard and heavy, sweat already pouring down my face. Panic overwhelms my head, and I can't think. The sirens are too close. I look behind me and see a police car. I hear one of the cars screech to a halt, and footsteps add to the sirens, but I keep running. I hear a gunshot, and my ears start to ring. Adrenaline rushes through me, making the whole scene feel unreal. Another gunshot that ricochets off the wall and panic consumes my thoughts. I can't die, not today. Please don't hit me, please don't hit me, I plead desperately. I sprint as fast as possible, but I can't go forever, and it's getting harder by the second. Then something hard and painful hits me in the shoulder, and my legs give out. My entire arm screams with agony, shocking my whole body, making my vision go blurry with pain. Nausea jolts the world out from under me, tipping it to one side making my head spin. I haven't been shot in a while, and I forgot how bad it hurts. I don't have time to look before I feel a sharp pain in my nose. The gross metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I swing my legs and kick where I thought the kick had come from. My foot hits something hard and I hear a groan. That was a bad decision. I feel a hard pain in my side where someone must have kicked me. Then two strong hands clasp around my arms. I can't see the men that are guiding me, because of how dark it is and one of them gave me a black eye when he most likely broke my nose.

"Ugh!!! Let me go!!" I yell, as loud as I can. But there is no response. In fact, the hands clench harder. No matter how hard I squirm, they are stronger. I will die, I think. No, I can't. But I will.

"HELP!!!!!! SOMEONE, ANYONE, PLEASE. HELP!!!!!" I scream. A hand clasps over my mouth. I bite hard on the flesh, and the warm taste of blood fills my mouth once again. I hear a yelp of pain from one of the men, but the hand does not come loose. Panic fills my bones. I have to get away, If I don't, I am going to die. One of the guards shoves my head down and I know where I am almost immediately. I sit down on the seat of the police car and hear the door close before I can even move. A feeling of desperation fills me. I need to escape. The feeling of being trapped in a car makes me feel small, like all my terrible thoughts and emotions are trapped with me. I know that there is nowhere to go, but I must escape. I ball my hands into fists and pound on the window.

"HELP," I scream. "HELP, PLEASE. ANYONE, PLEASE!" I know where there taking me. They're taking me to the mayor's office. The mayors are worse than just evil, they're despicable. They have brain washed the whole city into thinking that they can't think for themselves. They control everyone, telling them not only what to do, but what to think at this point. What I've never understood, is why people who are barely even chosen to rule, can change the lives of a million other people. I find it crazy. Their names are Luna and Opal, also known as 'the devil twins' according to my twin sister, Lily. And if I ever get a chance, I will murder them both. No hesitation. Don't get me wrong, I scare myself even when I think things like that, but hey, it's a "eat or be eaten" world, and I definitely don't want to be eaten. However, I am more fortunate than the other gangs of runaways, in the Bronx, Queens, Manhattan and Staten and Coney Islands. their gangs have been split up, killed, starved, and generally been treated harsher than we have. It's because Brooklyn's for the rich kids, the hipsters and the middle and upper class. This means less gang violence, and less gang violence, less police, and less police means more freedom. At least for runaways like me. We're more off the charts, runners. The government has a harder time tracking us because we provoke less violence. In other words we don't go around the city shooting guns into the air screaming "come at me bro", or whatever. We're smart. We lay low, and when we strike, we do it hard and suddenly. It's how we've gotten this far. But our situation is getting worse by the day. The mayors of New York decided to crank it up a couple notches. They hired professional bounty hunters, or as my sister likes to call them, 'blood hounds', that are being payed $500,000,000 to find us and bring us all to them, dead or alive. That's right, 500 MILLION dollars. A 5 with 8 whole zeros, just for a couple stupid kids. Who would pay 5 mil for some us, I have no Idea, but trust me, when there professionally trained stalkers who are being payed a LOT of money to capture you, even if it means killing you, it's hard to hide or run. Our gang used to be 50 people, when my parents died we came down to 35. now there's 15 of us, but at least there are still 15. And we have about 10 others who aren't dead. Just in prison and being tortured but still alive.