[Johan's POV]
It was dark.
Dried twigs crackled under his wounded bare feet as he raced through the forest. Johan huffed, eyes darting from one tree to another. Sweat and grime smeared all over his exposed torso; his black cycling shorts—the only article of clothing he wore—clung to his aching thighs.
Gunshots sliced through the thick fog that followed him everywhere, accompanied by a deafening roar. "Fernandez! You can't get away from me!"
Johan didn't look back and continued running, grabbing a dried bamboo pole along the way. Every rustling of bushes fucked his mind, heart thrashing his bones like a punching bag. "Fuck! Fuck! Where's the fucking path? I can't find a way out!"
"Fernandez!"
Johan gritted his teeth as the voice boomed closer. As a hand clamped on his shoulder, he pivoted almost instinctively and swung the bamboo, aiming for the left temple of his pursuer.
