"Shadow Mask…"
"Tell me… how will you walk out of this alive?"
The warehouse seemed to hold its breath.
Every Enforcer's weapon remained trained on Enark. The air was thick with dust, gun oil, and the lingering pressure of Prime Energy that hadn't yet fully dispersed.
Enark stood frozen. Shock had already settled into his bones.
His blindfold stained dark with blood. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven pulls.
Across from him, Detective Landon's finger hovered tight against the trigger.
"Surrender," Landon commanded again, voice sharp with authority and fear. "Now."
Enark didn't move.
Behind the Enforcer line, the boss stood relaxed—a mocking picture of cooperation. His eyes glimmered with insanity and delight.
"He's enjoying this…" Enark realized. "He was a step ahead. Nothing I say will change their minds."
He scanned the warehouse with every sense—pressure, sound, instinct.
"There's a door that leads outside... right through that room to my left, but as it stands now..."
"...Escape is suicide."
Enark's body started to tremble as pain flared through his head and limbs again.
"This is bad... my power's fading and I'm beginning to feel nauseous..."
Enark focused on Landon in front of him and Kirsty behind him. A look of defeat was painted on her face as the boss loomed just inches from her.
"Sorry, Kirsty…" he thought.
"I couldn't save you after all..."
Slowly, he raised his arms, turning his back to the Enforcers.
Three Enforcers stepped forward. One produced a pair of deep crimson handcuffs—crafted from the conduit 'Silencita,' a rare material designed to scatter or suppress Prime Energy.
"This is it… game over…" he thought.
The cuffs were almost locked around his wrists.
Then—
"Run."
The word was barely audible.
Time seemed to stretch.
Not a single Enforcer heard it. Not Landon. Not the boss.
Enark did.
It was Kirsty.
The world tilted. His despair wavered as her voice—her single word—rekindled a spark of hope. A grin forced its way across his lips, teeth clenched against pain.
"…Here I go."
He spun with a backhand, catching the jaw of the Enforcer holding the handcuff—and the cuffs along with it. His feet slammed into the concrete, cracking it, and he launched sideways as the first gunshot roared through the warehouse.
*BANG!*
Concrete exploded where his head had been a moment earlier.
"OPEN FIRE—!"
The command was swallowed by chaos.
Enark crashed into a stack of rusted crates, tearing through them in a shower of metal and splinters. Pain screamed through his spine as he rolled, barely catching himself before another volley ripped through the air.
Bullets shredded the darkness behind him.
He didn't think. Didn't plan.
He ran.
Enark vaulted over debris, slid under a collapsing beam, and smashed through a side door in a burst of splintered wood and glass. Cold night air pierced him like a blade.
Sirens screamed instantly.
"HE'S MOVING—GO, GO, GO!"
Boots thundered in pursuit.
Enark staggered into the street, nearly collapsing as his foot hit uneven pavement. He forced himself upright, legs screaming, lungs burning like fire.
"Don't stop!"
A bullet clipped his shoulder, spinning him sideways into a parked carriage.
"GRRNNHHH!" He roared in pain before pushing off and running again.
The city became a blur—as Enark climbed up nearby scaffolding, however, the Enforcers fired up at him, piercing his thigh, and another pierced his ankle. He continued to climb through the pain, reaching the rooftops. Enark made headway crossing over the sea of roofs until-
A gap.
A huge gap opposed him.
He knew he couldn't make it, not in his current state. Yet he grit his teeth and gave himself a running start and dashed towards it.
Then—
That sensation—the one from the fight with the Bat-man. Warning him of danger.
A figure to his right.
The boss. On a neighboring roof. Gun aimed directly at him.
"See ya later, Shadow Mask," the man whispered.
*BANG!*
The bullet tore through his right lung midair, sending him crashing into a vendor's stall, tearing screams through the street. Motionless for a heartbeat as pain wracked his body.
He forced himself up, staggering through the crowd.
A grappling line whistled past his head, embedding into brick. An Enforcer swung after him, boots skidding. Enark dove into a narrow alley and vanished into darkness.
"Split up!"
"Cut him off!"
"Don't let him reach the main road!"
Enark stumbled, nearly falling as his 'vision' tunneled. Blood soaked his side, his leg, his hands. Every breath felt borrowed.
"Just… a little farther…"
He turned sharply into an alley—and collapsed.
His body hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the last strength from his limbs.
He tried to move.
Nothing responded.
Sirens screamed closer. Footsteps echoed nearby.
Then—
They passed.
Enark lay there, chest barely rising, the city's noise bleeding into a distant hum. The night air pressed cold against his skin as his consciousness began to slip through his fingers. Darkness beginning to creep in.
Footsteps returned.
Slower this time.
A gasp.
"Oh—oh my God…" A woman's voice.
"Jackson—Jackson, don't touch him!" Small hands tugged at his sleeve. "Mom," a boy whispered. "It's him."
"The one from before," the boy said. "The man in black."
Silence stretched.
The woman swallowed. Enark felt her kneel beside him, hesitation warring with something stronger.
"…Help me," she said finally. "We can't leave him here."
They dragged him deeper into the shadows, away from streetlights.
The boy hovered near his face.
"Hey…" he whispered. "Mister?"
"Mister? Who are you?"
The question echoed faintly inside Enark's fading mind.
He has a name.
But the one who bore it… and the one lying here now…
They were connected, yet not the same.
Like a man and his shadow.
His lips parted.
But no answer came.
And he vanished into darkness, carried not by might but mercy. And in its blindness, the city condemned the shadow and bore against him...
..a false witness.