I dart around a corner, pressing myself up against the closest wall beyond it, seeking refuge to catch my breath. To rest.

My breathing is labored, my throat burns. Dizziness from both over-stressing my physical limit and the wound I sustained is present; I struggle to focus.

A gash in my side, from the graze of a bullet, sends ripples of tormenting pain through my sweating body; I can feel the blood oozing out from it, soaking my shirt, turning the once green fabric crimson red.

My hair is a matted, sweaty mess. My hands shake with stress, my heart pounds with fear.

Cold beads of sweat enter my mouth as I gasp for air. I try to slow my breathing, control it, but to no avail.

“Please stop running,” A calm, beautiful female voice suddenly rings out, sending a shock of fear through me; paralyzing me where I sit, leaned up against the wall. I know that voice; I know who it belongs to. “I only want to protect you, to help you.”

The voice is emanating from the hallway I had just recently exited. She’s coming for me, hunting me, and her soldiers are undoubtedly not far behind.

I shakily grip the auto-pistol that was stuffed into my right pocket, slowly pulling it partway out. It is stained with blood; my blood.

The gash in my side will eventually lead to my bleeding to death, and it won’t matter if she catches me. I need to stop it, but I first need to escape.

“I know you are wounded, and I want to help you. If you come with me, we can save your life.” She says,  her voice closer than before. She’s coming nearer, closer to finding me.

I grip the pistol tighter, my pointer finger now on the trigger; prepared to pull it if so necessary.

I can feel the strength slowly leaving my weakening body, more blood leaving my vanes every second. Every moment that goes by, is one moment closer to death.

I have to act, use what strength I have left to escape and find help. She isn’t an option. It was because of one of her soldiers I now have this wound, the wound that is slowly killing me.

“I don’t want you to die; you are too valuable for that. Please, show yourself, let me help you.” She continues to coax calmly, her voice indicating that she is almost to me. About to reach me.

My heart beats quicker than I thought possible, I feel more fear than I have ever experienced.

I hear her footsteps mere feet away. She will find me in moments.

My probability of escaping is extremely slim, and it continues to diminish with every passing moment, my life going with it.

I hear her footsteps stop. My heart stops with them.

She is just beyond the area in which she would be able to spot me. Just inches from it.

I hold my breath, cold beads of sweat drip from my face. Both my hands now have a death-grip on the blood-stained auto-pistol, which is now completely out of my pocket.

I can stay here, motionless, and hope that she does not move any closer; or I can act, use the weapon entrusted to me and attempt escape.

I am wounded, dying, and there is no one I know of who can assist me for miles. Hope is slipping farther and farther away…

Do I have anything to lose at this point?