In the neon-lit labyrinth of the city, my instincts screamed at me to escape. My parents' relentless teachings echoed in my mind: "Always stay ten steps ahead of what hunts you." But right now, with the chopper's blades cutting through the air above, its searchlight fixated on me, I had flouted that crucial rule.

I cursed inwardly, scanning for an escape route, desperation pounding in my chest. The alleyway, a sliver of hope, seemed impossibly narrow, but it was my only chance. "Keep moving," my inner voice urged as I hurtled towards it, nearly throwing myself into the tight space between two looming structures.

My chest heaved, straining against the confined walls, while the helicopter hovered briefly before fading away. The police sirens persisted, urging me to hurry. I emerged, relieved, to an unlit street, yet I knew the respite was short-lived. I needed to move faster.

The city streets were my playground, but now I was in unfamiliar territory, far from home. I hesitated, torn between the riskier but less patrolled slums and the safer yet perilous wealthy district. I chose the slums, recalling the tragic loss of my family, the memories that propelled me forward.

The slums were a paradox—a place of hardship, yet a home to many discarded by society. Rage boiled within me at the media's portrayal of these people. I navigated the dimly lit streets, knowing a friend in this area could provide refuge until morning.

Breathless, I reached Anthony's place, seeking sanctuary. His eyes widened at my disheveled state, offering no words but swiftly ushering me in and securing the door. His home, a refuge in the destitution, welcomed me, a patchwork of abandoned furniture and makeshift comfort.

Seated on the couch, I recounted my narrow escape from the Leeches, the enigmatic pursuers that haunted our world. Anthony's expression mirrored my fear as he realized the severity of the situation. The Leeches finding me meant an unrelenting pursuit.

Anxiety riddled my every thought. I trusted no one, not even the databases in this city. The sudden chase, the hovering threat—something had gone terribly wrong.

"This is bad, Edrei," Anthony muttered, his concern palpable. "They won't let up."

"I can't leave," I admitted. "I'd never make it beyond the cityscape."

But instead of turning me out in his fear, Anthony, my steadfast friend, handed me a pillow and a blanket. His kindness was a temporary shield against the imminent danger lurking outside.

As he retreated, my senses tingled, and before I could react, a knife hurtled towards me. Time seemed to halt as the blade hung mid-air, my instinctive response stopping it inches from my face.

Anthony grinned, relief and reassurance sparkling in his eyes. "Had to make sure you were still all Cerebro," he said with a wink.

With the weight of exhaustion tugging at my eyelids, I murmured a thanks. But as I settled in, the glint of the knife at my feet served as a chilling reminder—the danger was far from over.