As dectective Douglas Hartman run down a dark alley after a mysterious shadow, he could feel the weight of many years without proper training. He wasn't as agile as he used to be when joined the force. That shadow seemed to have no problem going past any obstacle laid on the way. Hartman had no such luck. He had already banged his head on a garbage sign, which made him feel his blood coming down his forehead and taste it at the back of his throat. Even hurt, he had decided not to give up, but to pursue this which could be a bright case after years stuck in office doing paperwork.
'Halt,' he shouted hopelessly almost out of breath. 'You can't escape me,' he said barely voicedly as his legs slowed down involuntarily not mattering how much he tried otherwise. He bent over, rested his hands on his thighs only to notice the figure stopping 100 meters ahead.
He looked forward pressing his eyes trying to see in the poorly lit alley. The person was looking back, and contrary to any foreseeable sequence of events started moving back in his direction.
'Well, well, well,' said the voice, 'if it isn't the good old Detective Hartman. I didn't expected to see you around here. Gotta work that little running of yours. These streets have seen better days of yours, haven't they?' he finished the sentence with a silent yet ironic smile.
'Who the heck could it be? This voice... I know it... Think Hartman, think!' Douglas's brain rushed all over past memories.
'Hard time remembering, huh? This has always been your weakness. You forget too easily. You forget everything. But I'll make sure you'll never forget me again, Doug!'
As he finished the sentence Douglas felt a cold tension rooting down his spine and flooding his brain with horrible memories. 'How can it be you?' he asked, how could you have survived?'
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