Vance pulls out his knife, sharpened to the point of perfection. Matthias readies himself to fight. For a second, it seems like we might even win this. I lift my rifle, realizing now that it's not the right weapon for this situation. I curse under my breath. It'll have to do for now. Who's gonna make the first move? I think. My question is answered when Matthias aims his fist for one of the gangsters' heads. After that, the night explodes into a flurry of blood and shouts, the first move made.
I feel the knife slash through my stomach a second before I feel the pain, a burning sensation. I grit my teeth, continuing to fight through the pain. The fight is going badly. That's when I notice—Vance's arm is sliced open. Blood gushes out like a waterfall. Matthias is protecting him, fighting off their attackers like the beast he is. I shout to them, "Run! We can't win this!" We begin to run, and notice the gangsters are running in our direction. However, they're not running towards us. That's when we see the flash of blue and red lights, accompanied by the sound of police sirens. Vance collapses on the pavement, having lost too much blood. "Get away from here," He tells Matthias and I. "We finna get arrested. Leave me. I'll take the blame for everything." We hesitate, not wanting to leave him to the hands of the police. "Go!" He shouts, barely getting the words out. The voices of police officers echo behind us. We run.
How did it all go down this badly? I wonder, angry at myself for thinking so rashly. "If I never had asked for their help, Vance would still be here," I say, alone in the once welcoming house of Mr. Sergei. At least—I thought alone. I hear one of the floorboards creak in the kitchen and walk over to go check out the situation. Behind one of the chairs, I find a small, skinny boy—likely a little younger than me—crouching on the floor. He looks up at me, and I can see his face clearly. It's deathly pale, covered in little freckles. But the strangest part is the fact that his eyes are different colors, blue and yellow, as well as him having hair being the color of freshly fallen snow. The boy shrinks back in fear. "Who are you?" I ask. "Why are you here?" He stands up, motioning for me to come with him. "Follow me," The boy says. I comply. I mean, what do I even have to lose?