End of the Line

I paced back and forth, back and forth, down the length of the carriage of the train that pulled me through the subway towards my fate. Up until now, I'd had no issues with living my life of secrets, hiding in the shadows. You don't know what the term "on the run" means until you've been through what I have. I was wanted by every policeman in the whole damn nation, and right now, as I paced through the subway train, they waited greedily for me at the end of the line, like a pack of ravenous wolves waiting for the opportune moment to lash out at my throat. I'd back myself into a corner, they'd beat me, cuff me, and drag my limp body into a maximum security cell at the state penitentiary. I'd try to escape, I'd receive regular physical abuse by both guards and inmates alike.

There was no way I'd just sit back and let that happen. Sure, I could try to fight, but what good would it do? I had to get off the train. It was terribly fortunate that I was on this train by myself. All throughout my years on the run, I had made many friends and allies, thugs, criminals, you know, the underworld type. Well I didn't stand much of a chance on my own, there were too many armed officers escorting me through the city, a public humiliation. The man that had evaded them for so long had finally got his just desserts. From what I had overheard, they had been given instructions to hand deliver me to prison themselves. So they took me to the subway, and that's where a small window of opportunity opened up.

My friends and allies had caught wind of what had happened, it really surprised me how many of them managed to gather themselves in the subway earlier this evening. They had followed me down to the subway, and took the opportunity to attack the police. There was gunfire, fists and blood. There were casualties, to both parties, but the police officers had an air of panic about themselves, and while some men showed great focus and skill, others fell whilst still fumbling for their weapons. There was a moment there when I believed that I would get out, my handcuffs were unlocked, and I was about to make a dash for the exit before I was dragged through the open doors of the train.

Everyone there knew what they were getting into. It was tragic, yes, but such is my life that these things no longer surprise me. From what I gathered, the officer in the train with me was the only one still fighting. He had his strong hands tight around my neck, and I believed that I would have died there and then, but there was a loud bang and his hands fell slack, he was dead. A mysterious survivor had walked onto the train and shot my attacker square in the head. By the time I had realized this, they were off the train, the doors had closed, and the train had begun to roll towards the end.

So here I was, pacing the train, looking for a means to escape, taking particular attention to step over the body of the dead officer each time I made my way past him. If I did manage to get off the train, there was just a long, dark passage. All I could do was follow the tracks back to where I had come. With my intricate knowledge of the police system, there'd be more officers searching for me back in the subway station. I couldn't keep going, I couldn't go back. Was the inevitable end finally here?

There were only two doors in the whole carriage, and they were both pressure sealed, that was a no-go right there. The windows, they had taken their fair share of abuse over the years, they had been built to last. Graffiti was etched into the glass, and there were a few cracks here and there, but it was easy to see that the glass was a solid 2, maybe 3 inches thick. I couldn't help but think of those hammers with signs saying something like "break glass in case of emergency", one of those would be handy right about now...

I knew I couldn't be too far away from the end of the line, and so I was becoming more irritated, frustrated, and I kept on going back to the doors and trying to open them, despite knowing that they definitely wouldn't open merely thirty seconds ago. This turned from frustration and annoyance to destructive aggression. I tried ripping the seats from the walls, but most of them seemed to be fastened much better than I had expected. I did manage to rip off a few back rests. It relieved some stress to bash them against the window. It relieved even more stress to beat them forcefully into the dead cop on the floor. There was no way out, might as well make the most of what little free time I have left.

I gave him one last swift kick. He truly was beaten to a pulp. I tried the doors a half a dozen more times, until I had completely exhausted myself. I finally took a seat, there was nothing left but to wallow in self-pity and despair. But I would get what I deserved, after all, I was as broken and devastated as the officer on the floor. Yeah, so much for the plan of going out in a blazing glory. So much for becoming a hero amongst the criminals. When those doors open, they're going to take you and lock you up, and you're not going to put up a fight, yeah, I bet they'll hate that.

But the doors didn't open. There was only the voice of the driver over the PA system, "Die motherfucker", and a crash. They found me at the end of the line in pieces...