Bruce was running. It was night time. The night enveloped Bruce like a shroud as he sprinted through dimly lit alleyways, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His heart pounded in his chest, matching the rhythm of his frantic footsteps. The torn clothes clung uncomfortably to his body, a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments earlier.
In his trembling hand, Bruce clutched a meager piece of bread, his only sustenance in a world that had suddenly turned hostile. He had become a fugitive, pursued by unseen adversaries whose angry shouts echoed in the night.
The narrow alleyways of the city provided fleeting refuge as Bruce navigated through the labyrinth of shadows. Each turn, each corner, was a desperate bid to evade capture. His mind raced with a thousand questions, but the answers remained elusive.
