Share
MidReal Story
Shadows of Corruption
Scenario:I live in an old city plagued by crime.
Create my version of this story
Alex Duarte
retired cop turned PI, mentor to Jake and friend to Sarah, rugged with grey streaks, wise and protective
Sarah Manning
tech genius, close friend of Jake and Alex, long blonde hair, analytical and resourceful
Jake Thompson
amateur detective, friends with Sarah and Alex, short dark hair, determined and sharpwitted
Chapter 1
I was going to die.
I was sure of it.
The gun in my face was a pretty big clue.
"Who are you?" the man holding the weapon demanded.
"What are you doing here?"
I tried to swallow, but my mouth was too dry.
"I’m just a guy," I said, and winced at how high and reedy my voice sounded.
"Just a guy who got lost."
The man’s eyes narrowed, and he pressed the barrel of the gun into my forehead.
"Are you a cop?"
"No!"
I said quickly.
"Definitely not a cop."
"Who are you?" he asked again.
He seemed to be waiting for an answer, but I didn’t have one to give him.
Not one that would satisfy him, anyway.
So I just stood there, mute and unmoving, while my brain spun in frantic circles.
The man’s eyes flicked toward the door beside me—the door I’d been trying to open before he stopped me—and his expression hardened.
I took a step back without really being aware that I was moving.
Another step back, then another.
Until I was pressed up against the wall behind me and could go no farther.
The man kept his gun trained on my chest as he spoke again.
"You need to get out of here," he told me.
"And don’t come back. You hear?"
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but before I could speak, the man lifted his gun and pressed it against my forehead once more.
Then he cocked it.
My heart leaped into my throat as the sound echoed through the alleyway like a gunshot in its own right.
"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
My voice came out in a breathless whisper as my body trembled with terror.
I didn’t want to die—I couldn’t die—not like this, cowering like an animal against the wall of some dirty old building.
But before I could summon up the courage to take off running, the man spoke again.
"Get out of here," he said one last time.
His voice was soft but firm, and beneath its calm exterior there lurked an undeniable edge of danger that sent a shiver down my spine.
"A-and don’t come back!" I spluttered, nodding as best I could with the barrel of his gun pressing into my face.
"I won’t! I swear! You’ll never see me again!"
The man studied me for another moment before lowering his weapon once more.
Then he took a step back and gestured toward the street with his free hand.
"Go on," he said, the gun still pointed at me but his tone almost gentle now.
I didn’t know if that gentleness was real or just a figment of my imagination, but either way it gave me the courage to move again.
I stumbled forward, past the man who’d been seconds away from killing me, and made a beeline for the street that lay beyond him like a shield wall in some ancient battleground.
"Count to one hundred," the man said after me as I ran full-tilt down the alleyway, "then move. That’ll give us enough time to get clear if you’ve called anyone."
I’m going to die, I thought as I stared down the barrel of the gun that was pointed straight between my eyes.
My heart pounded in my chest like a jackhammer, and every beat sent fresh waves of panic surging through my body until it was all I could do to keep from hyperventilating where I stood.
It’s over, I told myself silently as my life flashed before my eyes—short though that life had been so far.
I was only twenty-four and had done practically nothing worthwhile with the time I’d been given, but I supposed that’s what happened when you came from nothing and nobody and didn’t have the resources to make something more of yourself.
It sucked, but there was no point in complaining about it now—I hadn’t even finished my first novel yet!
But as disappointing as that was, at least I wouldn’t die alone; after all, the man with the gun was right in front of me, so close I could see every detail of his face despite the thick shadows that surrounded us.
The way his brow was furrowed in anger, the color of his eyes—blue-gray like a stormy sky—the dark stubble on his jaw …
I shuddered once more as another fresh wave of panic surged through my body.
A moment later that wave settled into a sickly sort of relief—a relief that felt almost worse than the fear had—as I realized just how screwed I really was.
There was no way out for me now—not this time—so all I could do was wait for the man to pull the trigger and hope he decided to make it quick.
And at first it seemed like my prediction would come true.
The gun in front of me was a pretty big clue, after all.
But then—
"I’m sorry," the man said, and lowered his weapon.
My heart turned over inside my chest as relief washed over me in a sickening wave.
Surely the man hadn’t just spared my life?
Surely he hadn’t actually meant what he said?
Maybe there was still a chance for me yet!
But before I could say anything—I wasn’t sure what I should say, only that I didn’t want to die—the man spoke again.
"Get out of here," he told me once more.
A shiver ran down my spine at his words.
I tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in my throat, but my mouth was too dry—and even if it hadn’t been, I doubted I would have been able to make a sound right then anyway.
