End of the Line

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...