My pulse ticks up in my veins until I can feel blood beating its steady pulse in my wrists — still encircled in red. Cars rush by the alley, and I peel my gaze away from the picture, away from me, to duck behind several shiny trash cans. Black bags hang over the sides, spilling their contents onto the filthy cement street. The ache in my skull deepens.

I am everywhere, on every screen, seen by every face. I'm at a loss for what to do. If I go out in public, then someone will surely recognize me. But I can't stay here forever. The next person to pass by may spot me and turn me over to the EOs. I can't quite articulate why that's a problem, but my instincts tell me that the outcome should be avoided at all costs.

I need a disguise. My eyes search the garbage dump, landing on a scratchy piece of cloth. I wrap it around my shoulders, and with it, a rancid odor encircles me. A tin bottle leaks black liquid on the ground nearby, and I lift it, inspect it. It smells like old fish, making me gag and my head swim. Still, I pinch my eyes shut, hold my breath, and dump the contents over my head. Cold streams trickle down my neck, onto my shoulders and down my arms and back. I tuck the rest of my hair into my makeshift shawl.

A puddle sits to my side, cloudy with dirt. When I angle myself just right, it shows a tiny image of me. The liquid did a spotty job of covering my hair. Silver glimmers on strands here and there, as if flicked on my hair with a silver paint brush. Hopefully, no one will look twice at it. My face is a bigger concern — very distinctively me with my sunken cheeks, angular jaw, and protruding nose. I pick my way through the dump, searching for something that might help conceal me.

I kick aside a few moth-eaten blankets to find a discarded box with a few blue masks still inside. They don't appear to have been worn, aside from the dirt dusting the exterior. I reach for a mask on the bottom and shake off a critter crawling on it. Then, I secure it around my ears. Chemicals fill my nostrils, a foul taste in my mouth. It's only temporary until I reach safety.

I poke my head out of the alley. Clusters of pedestrians walk along the sidewalk. I slink alongside the skyscrapers, sticking to the shadowed areas. No matter that I'm wearing a disguise; I still look like a freak. Best not to attract attention to myself.

Saliva collects in my mouth. My throat refuses to swallow the metallic-tasting liquid, and there's nowhere to spit. Fortunately no one talks to me. I notice people steer clear of me. Perhaps the mask leads them to assume that I'm sick. At first, I wonder if people even wear masks in public, or if it's such an anomaly that I'm drawing undo attention. But after a while, several people pass by in light-blue scrubs and masks, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

A crosswalk appears ahead, a LED pathway arching over the street. I join the scores of individuals walking over it. Some groups are slow, blocking the passage, whereas others weave their way through the crowd, bumping into shoulders and elbows.

Squeals break through the indistinct chatter and noisy street below. Children race out of nowhere, headed straight toward me. I scoot to the side, knocking into someone in a dark suit.

The metallic liquid slips down my throat. I gag at the horrible taste, the sick feeling it sparks in my stomach.

"Excuse me," I mumble before ducking through the crowd.

Need to get out of here. Must get out.

People seem to press all around me, suffocating me. I can't stand to be near so many all at once. Why do they all congregate like this? Why don't they just move across the crosswalk, move on with their lives?

I step from the bright yellow bridge onto the gray sidewalk. My pace quickens while I try not to appear too rushed. Energy seems to trickle back into my limbs, and the pain searing my nerves subsides. The crowds dwindle, making way for the cold air to wash over my skin. I jog across another few streets, picking up momentum.

At the next intersection, I glance around. To the fleeting eye, I hope it just seems like I'm looking both ways before crossing, not scoping out the buildings nearby. Teens laugh as they enter a store a few yards away, while a couple women in suits emerge from a revolving door a bit further down. In the opposite direction, a man stands beside one of the electric stands that I've seen around the city. It's about half my height and is slanted upward to display scrawling, black letters against a bright, yellowish-white backdrop. Images sometimes popped up on the other stands I passed — some showing me. I dart across the street before such a photo appears on it.

The ground slopes upward, and the glass and shiny towers begin to shrink beside me. Metal facades become duller, neon lights less lustrous. Glass shards scatter beneath cracked windows. The further I go, the darker it becomes. City noise fades to my shallow breaths and footsteps against the pavement. Ahead, three women in leather emerge from the darkness, and I duck between two, rundown brick buildings. It's the first time I've seen a structure made of something that isn't transparent or chrome.

High above, a door slams, and shoes clang on rusted stairs winding to the ground. I shrink deeper into the shadows as a man in a ripped t-shirt runs by, disappearing on the other side of the buildings. A moment later, an engine whirs to life, and a bike zooms off, hovering a couple inches off the ground.

I wait a beat or two. Another crash sounds above, but otherwise, only pumping blood and a slight hum radiating from the building. ills my ears. Even that begins to fade. I remove the mask, placing it with the cash inside my pocket. A long exhale of oxygen leaves my lungs. My head rests against the bricks. Fatigue creeps back into my limbs. I feel my shoulders slumping inward, my back slumping down, my knees buckling...

A distant pattering makes my head snap up. My muscles tense as I crane my ears to listen.

Click. Click. Click.

I swallow against my dry throat. I back up several steps until piping digs into the backs of my legs. The clicking slows as it grows louder. A man walks by, wearing a dark suit, sunglasses, and dress shoes. He doesn't quite fit in with the neighborhood, a sanded peg crammed into a jagged hole. I try to steady my breathing, but it's hard to take deep inhales when gasoline, garbage, and chemicals fuse in the air.

The cascade of footsteps halts.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The man doubles back, returning into view. My heart is a drum in my chest. I push against the pipes, unable to scoot back any further. My brain is panicking for something to do, something that will conceal me. But I'm too afraid to move in case it catches his attention.

He removes his sunglasses, squinting into the dark. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face.

"Found you."