The chase tore through the outskirts of the city, where the gleaming high-rises and bustling streets had given way to the weathered, crumbling neighborhoods of the poor zone. Here, the roads were narrower, riddled with potholes and cracks that jostled both the fleeing vehicle and the pursuing squad cars. Rusted streetlights flickered dimly, casting uneven pools of orange light on the asphalt below, their weak glow swallowed by the looming shadows of dilapidated buildings.
Abandoned cars and debris littered the curbs, forcing the police and robbers alike to swerve unpredictably as the chase pressed on. The graffiti-stained walls of derelict tenements whizzed past in a blur, the colorful scrawls a stark contrast to the grayed-out, crumbling brick and concrete.
Children's toys and discarded furniture spilled onto the sidewalk from overflowing dumpsters, the remnants of lives lived on the edge of survival. The occasional figure darted into a doorway or hid behind a makeshift barricade, drawn out by the chaos of sirens and gunfire but too fearful to linger.
Inside the police cruiser, Officer Alvarez scanned the dimly lit surroundings, his sharp eyes noting the shift in terrain. "We're moving into a tighter zone," he muttered to his partner, his voice steady but tense. "Road's getting narrower. Watch for obstacles."
Riley nodded wordlessly, his grip on the wheel tightening as he swerved to avoid a rusted shopping cart abandoned in the middle of the road. "They're trying to lose us in this rat maze," he grunted, his eyes fixed on the tail of the robbers' car. "Smart bastards. They'll hit open roads soon if we don't block them ahead."
The lead car of the robbers skidded around a corner, its tires throwing up bits of loose gravel and dust. A pile of broken cinderblocks shattered under their wheels, sending shards scattering across the pavement like shrapnel. The police cruiser followed close behind, its own tires crunching over the debris as Riley maneuvered deftly to keep up.
"They're running out of room," Alvarez said, gripping the door handle as their cruiser bounced over a deep crack in the road. The gap between the buildings had shrunk, narrowing the street to little more than a single lane. "They can't keep this up much longer."
Suddenly the robber's car jerked left and right, veering as if the driver had lost control for a moment. The rear windshield of the fleeing vehicle exploded in a grotesque spray of red matter—thick, wet, and unmistakably blood.
"What the fuck?" Alvarez muttered, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward to get a better look.
Before he could process what had just happened, the driver's door of the robber's car snapped open mid-chase. A dark figure was ejected from the vehicle with violent force, tumbling out like a ragdoll.
The body hit the ground with a sickening thud, rolling uncontrollably across the asphalt. Limbs flailed as it bounced and slid, leaving a smeared trail of blood and torn clothing behind. The momentum carried the figure directly into the path of Alvarez and Riley's car.
"Oh shit!" Riley screamed, his knuckles tightening around the wheel as his eyes widened in horror.
"Watch out!" Alvarez shouted, gripping the dashboard for dear life.
The lifeless body slammed into their windshield with a bone-jarring impact, cracking the glass in a spiderweb pattern and spraying it with a mix of blood and shattered remains of the figure's skull. The man's head twisted at an unnatural angle, the neck clearly broken, as it rolled off the hood and onto the street.
Riley reacted instinctively, yanking the wheel hard to the right. The cruiser swerved violently, the tires screeching against the pavement as it spun out of control. The world blurred around them, a chaotic mix of lights and motion, before the car finally skidded to a halt just inches from the mouth of a narrow alley.
Panting, Riley slammed the gear into park, his hands trembling as he gripped the wheel. "Holy fuck! What the hell was that?"
Alvarez's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. He glanced back through the bullet-riddled windshield, now barely see-through thanks to the blood and cracks obscuring the view. "Was that… was that one of theirs? Did they throw their own guy out?"
Before either could get their bearings, the robber's car barreled straight through the alley ahead, narrowly squeezing between the tight brick walls and disappearing from view. The thunderous roar of its engine echoed as it vanished into the distance.
Behind them, the screeching of brakes and the crunch of metal erupted in quick succession. Alvarez whipped his head around to see the trailing police cars struggling to stop. Some managed to skid to a halt just in time, but others weren't so lucky.
The first cruiser slammed into the back of Alvarez and Riley's car with a bone-rattling crash, jolting both men forward against their seatbelts. Another squad car careened into the pileup, its hood crumpling like paper as it collided with the vehicle in front of it.
"Shit!" Alvarez growled, his hands braced against the dashboard as chaos unfolded behind them. Sirens warbled and died as engines stalled, the cacophony of shouting officers and blaring horns filling the air.
Riley ran a hand through his hair, his face pale as he glanced at the cracked windshield and the bloody smears now smeared across the hood. "We're blocked in," he said, his voice laced with frustration.
"No kidding," Alvarez snapped, already grabbing the radio to inform dispatch of the clusterfuck. His thumb pressed down on the button as his gaze lingered on the alley the robbers had disappeared into. "Dispatch, this is Unit 5-7. We've had a collision. Pursuit interrupted at Franklin Drive and State. Suspects have entered a narrow alley leading eastbound. Requesting units to intercept on the other side. Over."
The static-filled reply crackled back almost immediately. "Unit 5-7, understood. Additional units en route to intercept. Air support will have visual shortly. Hold position until further orders."
Alvarez cursed under his breath, slamming the radio back into its holder. He turned to Riley, whose grip on the wheel hadn't relaxed. "We gotta get moving. They're going to lose them in the maze of alleys up there if we don't get eyes on them."
Riley nodded but didn't move, his wide eyes still locked on the bloody streak across the windshield. "What the hell kind of people are we dealing with, man?"
Alvarez didn't answer. He didn't have one.
The ambulance's siren wailed faintly in the background, muffled inside the cramped, brightly lit vehicle. Helena sat on the hard bench near the back doors, her body stiff and trembling as she clutched the edges of her blood-streaked blouse. Her eyes were red and swollen, staring vacantly at the stretchers in front of her. Keith's body lay on one, wrapped tightly in a white blanket now dyed a sickening shade of red. His face was covered, only his still form beneath the blanket visible, haunting in its finality.
Beside Keith was Tommy, lying unconscious on another stretcher. His small chest rose and fell shallowly, an oxygen mask strapped to his pale face. A medic hovered over him, moving quickly but methodically. The man adjusted the IV drip attached to Tommy's arm, his gloved hands steady despite the bumpy ride of the ambulance. A heart monitor beeped softly, its steady rhythm the only reassurance that the boy was still clinging to life. Blood-stained bandages covered the wounds on Tommy's side, and his legs were immobilized by temporary braces.
Helena's gaze flicked between her son and her husband. Her fingers trembled as they traced the dried blood on her hands. It wasn't her blood—it was Keith's, Tommy's, mixed together in a macabre tapestry that clung to her like a cruel reminder. The grief weighed on her chest like an anvil, each breath a laborious effort to keep from falling apart entirely.
Across from her, Simon sat on the opposite bench, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed. He held his radio loosely in one hand, his fingers tapping it nervously. The guilt on his face was palpable, etched into the tight line of his jaw and the distant look in his storm-gray eyes.
"I'm sorry," Simon said quietly, his voice low and rough.
Helena didn't respond, her eyes still fixed on Tommy's tiny, fragile form.
Simon shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short, disheveled hair. "I should've handled it better. I should've seen it coming. If I'd acted faster—maybe—" He stopped, his voice breaking slightly before he composed himself. "He shouldn't have had to—"
"Don't," Helena whispered, cutting him off. Her voice was barely audible, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. She didn't look at Simon, her eyes still locked on her son.
Simon's jaw tightened, and he exhaled slowly. "I don't expect you to forgive me," he said after a pause. "But I promise you—I'll make this right. I'll do everything I can to bring those bastards to justice. For him. For the boy."
Helena still didn't respond. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she made no effort to wipe it away. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the hum of the ambulance engine and the steady beep of Tommy's heart monitor.
Simon leaned back against the cold metal wall of the ambulance, staring at the ceiling as if searching for answers. His radio suddenly crackled to life, shattering the uneasy quiet.
"5-7 to all units," the dispatch operator's voice crackled through Simon's radio, grim and clipped. "Suspects have abandoned their vehicle and vanished into the alleyways of the poor zone. Pursuing units report no visual contact. Suspects' current location is unknown—they've disappeared. Air support is being redirected to expand the search grid. Over."
Simon's hand instinctively moved to his radio, his fingers tightening around it as he listened. He glanced toward Helena, whose vacant stare remained fixed on Tommy's still form. Then he caught a glimpse of the boy's legs, immobilized by braces, as if they were a fragile porcelain doll's limbs.
Simon hesitated, his thumb hovering over the radio's button. But he didn't press it. What could he say? The robbers were gone, and Keith—his guilt twisted at the thought—was dead. He had failed to protect them.
His shoulders slumped, and he slowly lowered the radio, resting his elbows on his knees. He clenched his fists, the frustration of the situation boiling beneath the surface, his breath uneven.
Helena finally turned her head slightly, her eyes dull but piercing as they briefly met his. Simon held her gaze, searching for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but found only the raw, hollow depths of her grief. She said nothing, and the ambulance continued its steady journey through the dark streets.