Mike stumbled through the desolate and dark winding streets of Blackthorn. With only the moonlight to guide him along the muddy and uneven paths, he tried to navigate the land carefully from his memories yet found himself tripping as he ran. He exhaled continuously from his mouth, producing clouds of mist like a runaway train. His footsteps were heavy, and his heartbeat was rapid.
He had just committed murder, and it weighed heavily on his mind. Being a scumbag and slave trader was one thing, but butchering his partners in crime, his sworn brothers, was something he had never thought himself capable of accomplishing. Blood dripped down his face from the thrashing he received from Cameron. He reached up and pushed a hand through his greasy hair. He felt blood-caked strands sticking to his fingers. His hand was also painful, possibly fractured.
