Two other men remain on their backs, each looking to one side.

One of them even approaches the yellow band but doesn’t bother to look down.

I almost sigh in relief, however, when the body stretched on the ground moans and moves, the anguish dominates me again.

“I thought you knew where you were getting into, Hunter. You can only stop working for me when I say I don’t need you anymore.”

The man on the floor doesn’t answer.

He shows no sign of life other than incoherent grumbling and attempts to move away.

He can’t make the men stop their hostilities, and when the armed man returns, my stomach is wrapped in the bitter taste of bile.

I fear for the life of the unknown, and even more for mine because I know I won’t leave here until the group is sure there’s no survivor to witness their crime.

“But you know the funniest thing, my friend? I just decided that I no longer need your services.”

Another bang that deafens me, another shot.

And the shock haunts me in such a way that I start to tremble compulsively, desperate and distressed.

Even when I try to control myself so as not to draw attention, my feet resting on the tracks shake at an absurd speed.

I swallow the cry and force air into my lungs, still covering my mouth with trembling hands.

The tremor in my body becomes more intense and uncontrollable.

The shock gives way to understanding in a matter of moments, and I suddenly turn my head to the left, where the light of the subway headlights runs at full speed to meet me.

The gnashing of the brakes completely stuns me, and I am no longer able to control my horror.

Dying crushed doesn’t seem like a good solution right now, but taking a bullet doesn’t sound appealing for a Friday night either.

Terrified and unstable like a green branch, I decide to face the consequences of being a snoozer in the wrong place at the wrong time and jump away from the rails in time to feel the breath of air messing up my hair with the speed of the approaching train.

I fall on my back against the icy floor, and it takes a while of numbness to remember the men, but I can’t find them anywhere I look.

There’s no sign they were here, except for the dead policeman a few meters from the main pillar, a passenger collapsed on the first steps of the staircase, and the unconscious man next to me.

I’m panting, my eyes fixed on the ceiling lights, trying to find any plausible explanation for this night’s hell.

My confusion doesn’t allow me to react in any other way than crying and laughing.

Or crying from laughing so much, at this point, I have no idea what I’m doing to myself.

The subway stops at the platform, and suddenly I know it can be considered pure selfishness or self-preservation, but as the only living witness, I have no way to prove I’m not guilty, and I seriously consider the possibility of running away.

Besides, denying help is a crime anyway.

Staying or leaving will both cause me problems I can’t handle.

I have only five seconds of insane courage to decide my next step.

I remember how lost I already am, and how much worse this could get with a record at the police station, and once again, I’m acting like a coward.

I get to my feet, fix my clothes, and smooth my messy hair with one hand.

My contradictory reactions only prove the intensity of my emotional instability.

I can’t help the police when I can’t even fix my own life.

On the other hand, I can forget this night without any difficulty.

Forgetting problems is the only thing I truly know how to do.

That’s why there’s emptiness inside my chest, to store the events I stubbornly refuse to remember.

The subway still hasn’t opened its doors, and I feel relieved to have time to escape.

My cowardice is so great that it leaves me oblivious to my overcoat caught on something on the floor, and even when I yank one side with my hand, the tip won’t come loose.

Angry, I turn on my heels and start to bend down, and that’s when I realize that the man who’d been shot, his face swollen and bruised, surely from the beating he took, has opened one of his swollen, purplish eyes.

The eye is surrounded by grotesque dark circles, clashing with the color of his iris, an intense green flecked with amber tones.

I dare say it’s the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help but notice how the man’s long brown hair perfectly frames his rough beauty.

Still, I can’t tell if the cracked lips across a long scar and the nose bent at an odd angle do justice to what I can see.

Either way, I’m not able to admit my cowardice right now.

Not as long as he keeps that eye on me.

Shrill screams make it clear that the passengers who got off the subway have realized what happened, and my conscience screams against my desire to run away.

Despite his vulnerable appearance and the absurd amount of blood covering his clothes, the man doesn’t let me go, and maybe I should thank him for not letting me make such an inhuman choice.

But I don’t have time to do anything.

In an instant, his hand that holds me slides to the floor, and the black tattoo of a cross between his thumb and forefinger captivates my gaze with the same intensity as his eyes.

Still looking at me, the stranger with the disfigured face draws a nasal breath, and, spitting blood and phlegm, begs:

“Don’t let me die, please.”