The world blurred past him in a dizzying haze of lights and colours as he sprinted down the mainstreet, every fibre of his being pulsing, begging him to stop, but he couldn't. Behind him were the bad men, shouting their guttural war cries as they wielded their bats and clubs. Slowly gaining on him as his world grew smaller and smaller, his hope slipping further away with each hurried step. Where did these men come from? What did all this hate and anger and killing stem from? These questions followed him like a siren, with each deafening pulse beating him over the head, slowly getting louder and harder. The adrenaline pumped through him, numbing his body to the pain it had endured at the hands of men as blood still poured from the gaping wound on the side of his head, splashing itself upon the cold, hard pavement. Breadcrumbs to the prey.