For the longest time, you’ve been running away from taking responsibility for your crimes. Who wouldn’t, if they were you? The crimes you committed were enough to lock you up in prison for a lifetime. Maybe even two. So your only option was to run.

But everyone gets tired of running, don’t they? You’ve reached your limit. You had your fake documents with you, and your appearance wasn’t even remotely close to what it used to be during your prime days of crime. A little break wouldn’t hurt—especially if it was just for a night in a low-end motel where nobody cared what was happening inside.

But with the low price of a room came consequences. Everything was disgustingly sticky and dirty. The motel was overcrowded, with people flocking to it like moths to a flame because of how incredibly low the price was. It was only natural for you to get a partner in your room.

The last person you’d expected to be assigned to you was someone persistent enough to walk around the entire building, showing off an old picture of you and asking if anyone recognized the person. You didn’t take some blind guy seriously. He was probably just some obsessive man fixated on your case—as you were often talked about on television and various gossip sites.

And now, it was finally time.

“Do you know this person?” the man finally asked, holding up a picture of you right in front of your face. Your heartbeat picked up a little. Perfect. It was absolutely perfect for him.

A small smile crept onto his face as he hummed to himself. “That’s all I need to know. It’s you, isn’t it?”