Fear and Desire
 

Part 4: Rock Bottom

Sam let out a sharp, winded wheeze as he suddenly fell the short distance down to the cold turf below. Much to his surprise, he never registered a blow, other than the one to his chest upon landing.
He laid almost motionless, holding his head as it throbbed intensely. An almost deafening ringing in his ears cranked his agony up still further. Jim's vicious assault had certainly taken its toll on the small fox's body.
'Did I get free? Am I dreaming? Dead!?' he pondered, deeply stunned. His breathing was shallow as he laid face down on the lawn, the smell of soil and blood overpowering his nostrils. 'No, not dead.'
Sam drummed his outstretched fingers on the ground, as if to prove to himself that he was indeed still in the waking world. Slowly, he lifted his muzzle from amongst the grass and gazed wearily at the now open gateway sat at the foot of the garden path. 'Got to get up, out of here, home.'
The vulpine started to cautiously pick himself up from the ground, a choking cough sending a spatter of blood down to the turf. His ears stood upright as he swayed unsteadily to his knees, scanning as best they could for anyone who may be approaching him in his all-but-defenceless state.
Garbled, nonsensical voices echoed around the yard as he wobbled down onto all-fours. In his fragile condition, it was impossible for the beleaguered fox to process who they belonged to or where they were coming from.
'Get up, now Sam!' the only voice he could understand was the nagging one inside his head, urging him on to make one final, determined effort to get onto his feet. With a whine, Sam forced himself up to stand, albeit on spongy, uncertain legs.

“Jesus, what the--!?” People, buildings, scenery all danced and rippled in front of the vulpine's gaze, as if he were looking out at the world from behind a wall of water. The sensation was incredibly dizzying, causing him sway and stumble on his fragile footpaws as he attempted to locate the Doberman and find his bearing.
Sam rubbed his misty eyes, trying to clear them as he began to move tentatively through the yard. Although far from sure of his balance, he dared not wait to search around for too long. Jim must have been nearby still and the prospect of falling into his clutches again was motivation enough for the beaten fox to test his uncertain footing.
He staggered his way towards the gate, a slow-paced jog all he could manage as he struggled to keep his balance.
'Go, don't look back.' Sam's mind insisted as he staggered through the gateway, blood still streaming relentlessly down his face and onto his now crimson-spattered, plaid shirt.
Despite almost tripping as he moved out to the street pavement, he continued on as fast as he could, frantically trying to distance himself from the house. Finally, after so much battling, so much pain, he'd managed to scramble away from his attackers.

Street lamps bathed the world around in a pale, orange glow as the foggy haze drifting through the vulpine's head began to dissipate. Slowly but surely, he gained more assurance in his legs, more speed in his steps.
Not once did Sam consider the notion that he'd managed to elude Jim with surprising ease, so soon after being in a position so precarious as within his literal grasp. The only consideration he had, the only thing he cared about right this moment was getting to safety.
'Keep going!' The burn of adrenaline began to course its way through the fox's body, masking his pain and spurring him on to quicken his jog into a full-blown run. The rows of houses, the parked cars in the road, they all became blurs in Sam's peripheral vision, his focus solely on the bright lights of the city centre ahead.

Being past midnight, the usually busy city streets were all but deserted, save for the few night-time revellers wandering around amongst the blinding neon lights of the bars and fast food outlets still taking custom. These strangers for the most part left the fleeing canid alone, with the exception of the occasional passer-by that called out after him, enquiring into his health after noticing the tell-tale red stains on cloth and fur.
Sam however, was far too concerned with getting as much distance between him and his attackers as possible, speeding on past those offering their assistance without so much as a glance of acknowledgement.
“How the hell did things end up like this?” he quietly panted, pushing himself through the beginnings of fatigue as he attempted to piece together what little he could of the fight in his muddled brain. A pair of homophobic bullies masquerading as 'friends' had abused and humiliated him, that much he knew. On top of that though, it appeared that his oldest and so-called 'best' friend had left him to face their wrath alone.
“More worried about keeping them sweet,” the vulpine choked as tears began to roll down his bruised and bloodied face, distraught at what he deemed as a betrayal on Nick's part, “bet he's having a right laugh about it with 'em now. Bastard!
Sam bared his teeth, wiping his tears away with an angry swipe. “If that's how he wants it, well... to hell with him and his bloody team!”

The little red fox forced himself through his tightening legs and heavy breathing as he sped though the city, the gears of his brain working all the while as he tried to slot his puzzle-like memories together.
With each passing second, each semblance of recovery, more and more of the fight came back to him. Every angry word, every cruel insult, every vicious blow, one-by-one it all returned to him, suppressing his anger and leaving misery in its place.
“Why did I say anything?” Sam's damp eyes became waterfalls as the dam holding back his emotions broke completely, feeling physically sick as he replayed the garden scene over and over in his head. Coming out to his best friend, the moment he'd built up to for weeks, months on end, had ended up as a disaster. “Why didn't I stay quiet!?”
The battered fox kept on running, on and on, leaving street after street in his wake as he raced towards the safety of his small home just north of the city-centre. Once there, he figured he'd disappear, lock himself away, throw away the key and never return to the uncaring world he'd leave behind him.

After several minutes of hard running, the little vulpine's nimble legs finally succumbed to the strain, forcing him to slow to a walk. Never in all of his young life had he run so far or so fast and he was certainly feeling the effects by this point.
“Where the hell am I?” Sam let out a tired wheeze as he took a look around, assessing his whereabouts for the first time since escaping the party.
The canid found himself in a gauntlet of dark, dingy residential buildings as he paced along a run-down inner-city byway, one of many that sat between him and his home neighbourhood. These streets only grew gloomier and more dilapidated the further into them he pressed.
In his blind haste to escape, Sam had seemingly moved away from the bright, open main roads and into these grim, narrow back-streets, instinctively trying to take the shortest route available on his quest to get home.
The vulpine's focus was snatched away from his recent trials and tribulations in a heartbeat as he considered the daunting prospect of travelling alone through the maze-like series of roadways ahead of him.
“Jesus Christ, what am I doing?” Sam brought himself to a halt, the gravity of his exact whereabouts finally hitting him. "This is Fulton-bloody-Gardens!”
The fretful fox's hesitance to continue lied in the fact that despite its name, Fulton Gardens was a particularly rough, run-down district of the city, with a reputation for being heavily plagued with crime. It was infamous for being filled to the brim with the kind of people you wouldn't really want to bump into while alone in a dark back-alley. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't an area the canid often frequented.

Sam took a minute to recuperate, the coppery taste of blood still overwhelming his senses as he considered the options he had available to him, aside from walking onwards. He couldn't get a bus at this time of night, they'd be scarce at best and not running on routes that would take him anywhere even close to home.
“Maybe a taxi?” the little vulpine murmured, pulling his wallet out from of his jeans and giving it a quick once-over. “Damn it! that'll never be enough!”
The few pennies and solitary five pound note he found inside fell a long way short of what he'd require for cab fare, ruling that possibility out also.
Sam groaned, reaching for his back-pocket. His last resort was to call his Dad and try and secure a lift home. “God... well, it's this or walking.”
The fox never revelled in having to ask others for help, his parents especially. While he was happy to know they were there for him, he craved independence and self-sufficiency, to stand on his own two feet and fix his own problems. By his thinking, having to 'beg' for a ride home from town would feel almost like admitting some kind of defeat.
“Where...” Sam patted away, trying frantically to find his phone, “I know I had it.” He tried his other pockets, but still nothing.
“Damn!” There was no other explanation, “must have lost it... during the fight.” The bloodied vulpine wasn't as upset over his device as he might have been, what with where he placed its loss in the scheme of this evening's events. Even if it was back at the party, Hell would have to freeze twice over before he'd even think about going back there to look for it. “Guess I'm walking then.”

 
The fox sighed, his shoulders sagging as he looked up to the shadowy, grey forest of tower blocks that overshadowed everything around them. He had just two choices remaining now. On the one hand, he could continue even deeper into this hazardous, seldom-travelled tangle of back-roads and towards the far-off motorway that glimmered beyond the imposing skyline.
Sam then looked back over his shoulder, thoughtfully studying the glow of the city centre that now sat downwind, offering him an alternative. If he backtracked, he knew that he'd be able to take the longer, but likely safer route to the underpass he usually took via the heart of the city. Of course, there were other factors in play that meant this choice wasn't so straightforward for the little vulpine.
He stood perfectly silent, unmoving as he focused unerringly on the patchwork of distant street-lights. With a sniff, Sam's sore, reddened eyes started to water once again as they found the exact row of lights that he'd made his desperate escape from.
The haze of his tempestuous mind had all but cleared by this point, allowing him to recall the horrors of the assault he'd suffered just as vividly as if they were happening that very moment.
'What if they've come after me?' The glum fox's thoughts started racing, a mile a minute as they considered what might happen if he retracted his steps. 'What if they catch me!?'
He shuddered at that though, picturing the Doberman towering above his helpless body, mercilessly raining down punch after brutal punch upon his skull. To go forth or go back? There was only one option.
“I...I can't turn back, no way!” The vermilion vulpine took a deep breath, mustering up all the courage he could before delving even deeper into the dark back-streets of the neighbourhood.

Boarded up shop-fronts and grimy, run-down tenements blanketed the inner depths of 'Fulton', the veil of blackness draped over them only adding to their imposing presence.
The burst of adrenaline that had carried Sam this far had long since faded, replaced by dull, throbbing pain all over his head and torso, unwanted souvenirs of the punishment he'd suffered at Jim's paws.
“Don't think I've never been here on my own before,” he muttered to himself, nursing the blood-matted fur of his aching face, “and definitely not at night.”
The grubby, litter-strewn streets the red fox found himself trying to negotiate would have been unfamiliar to him at the best of times. The darkness of the night however, only served to add to his confusion.
“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.” He muttered anxiously, now engulfed by the ominous huddle of concrete apartment buildings that dominated the area.
The frequent wailing of sirens in the distance, the angry, muffled voices from within these surrounding tower blocks and the curious glares from the occupants of the odd passing car; they all came together to make for a far from welcoming atmosphere that did little to alleviate Sam's concerns about the area. “There's no way those bastards will follow me here at least, I guess--”

A sudden crash, followed by the loud smashing of glass pierced the night air, eroding the vulpine's frayed nerves still further. His stomach churned as he cast his eyes across to the other side of the road, almost trembling with fear as he tried to trace the origin of the noise.
Under the flickering glare of a faulty street lamp, Sam could just about make out the figure of what appeared to be an old Arctic Fox sprawled on the ground, their head resting awkwardly against the metal-clad door of a derelict convenience store.
The elder mumbled and moaned incoherently from his prone position, his arms flailing about erratically. Beside him rested a broken bottle, no doubt previously filled with something alcoholic, judging by his dishevelled state.
“Facking... w-what...” The white vulpine stirred from his stupor, his fur dirty, yellowed as he glared angrily from the step, “watcha lookin' at, eh? Never seen an ol' man have a... drink before!?”
“R-relax, just an old wino, nothing to worry about--”
The old fox chuckled as he watched Sam pace off down the pavement. “You don't wanna go along there on yer own, son! Lotsa... nasty, vicious fuckers who'll have a weedy kid like you for breakfast!”
He swallowed hard, ignoring his fellow vulpine's ramblings as best he could. “Bollocks to him, the old prat. Come on Sam, y-you can do this.”

The densely-packed rows of streets seemed identical, endless as Sam marched on for what felt like an age. “Hope I haven't gone the wrong way.”
His pointed ears stood permanently pricked atop his head, while his eyes darted back and forth, nervously tracing the all-encompassing gloom for danger.
“Almost there, thank Christ!” the vulpine perked up, the lights of the highway revealing themselves to him once again as they glimmered brightly from between the gaps in the buildings. His muzzle cracked with the faintest hint of a smile as he realised he was indeed still on the right track, no more than a quarter mile from the roadway now.
“I can't wait to get out of here,” Sam began to move faster, buoyed by the proximity of his goal, “this nights been a fucking disaster, can't get any worse tha--”
“Oi, got the time?” a distant, male voice inquired, distracting the red fox from his moment of relative delight.
He searched around the looming crowd of tenement buildings, scanning half-heartedly for anyone who could have been calling out for him.
“Sod it,” Sam pressed on ahead, not wishing to dwell on his failure to locate the source of the cry too much, “who says they're talking to me? I need to get outta here and get ho--'
“Hey! Don't be ignorin' me bruv! I asked if yous got the time!?” the mystery voice called out again, this time with an added tone of aggression. The little canid felt a renewed sense of dread rippling through him as he considered the previous warnings that the old drunk gave.
Sam sped up, walking even quicker now, doing his best to avoid the questioning. What he couldn't ignore though, was the group of youths that stepped out from amongst the shadows of a tower block to his left.
Five individuals strode their way menacingly along the brick pathway that headed down to the road, the hoods of their tops hiding their faces. As far as the worried fox could tell, they were roughly his age, with a genuinely frightening demeanour about them. Their body-language, their speech, this crew were actual 'street', as opposed to the 'wannabe-gangsters' that people like Ryan, the German Shepherd, insisted upon acting up as.
“Oh Hell,” Sam groaned, eyes fixed on the group as they approached, “this ain't good.”

“'ey fox!” Another deep, throaty shout came from who appeared to be the gang's leader, their striped, feline tail lashing behind them as they swaggered intimidatingly towards the street, “I asked ya a question, deaf or somethin'?”
Sam's ears drooped as he stepped off the pavement and onto the asphalt of the road proper, attempting to keep his distance. He'd heard about cases like this happening in this part of the world numerous times before, where seemingly innocent requests turned out to be little more than a ruse intent on getting an unsuspecting victim's belongings put on display. It made for a quick and easy robbery.
“Sorry,” the fox called back without looking, doing his best to hide his discomfort as he maintained his quick walk, “ain't wearing a watch--”
“Not got a phone then?” The reply was almost instant, as if anticipating the Sam's reluctant answer.
Light washed over the hooded figure as he moved from the tenement's front yard and into the glow of a nearby street-lamp, illuminating his facial features and revealing their species as a tiger. Gold-plated teeth glistened within the big cat's maw as it poked out from beneath their hood. “Come on, don't fuck about. I'm just lookin' fa' the time.”
The growing annoyance in their leader's voice sent a chill up the vulpine's spine as the group closed in. He had reached the opposite side of the road by the time he turned to give an anxious, strained answer. “Naw, I... don't have one on me, s-sorry.”
“What, the guy who done fucked ya face up take it?” The hooded feline smirked, gesturing to Sam's head. As if on cue, the rest of the gang began to laugh and jeer loudly in unison. Their own tails whipped about as they snickered away to each other, no doubt at the fox's expense.
Sam pressed on without reply, wincing as he gently pressed a paw against the swelling of his left eye. The cruel jibe was just another reminder of the injuries he'd sustained and the events that had led him into this veritable Hell on earth.

“Gonna let him disrespect you like that, fam?” One of the hoods piped up, spitting on the ground in disgust as he turned to his leader, “makin' ya look a proper mug there bruv, ain't even lookin' back at ya!”
“Bet he thinkin' he proper badman, rollin' up through here like that.” a second added, still staring towards Sam as he marched away into the distance.
“What!? You think I gone soft or somethin'?” The tiger glared angrily towards each of the dissenting gang-members in turn, asserting his dominance with a deep, irritated growl. “Naa, I is gonna handle this little fucker, show 'im what's what.”
“Fox!” the tiger called down the road with venom, “don't be fuckin' walk away from me! Where you think you goin'!?”
Sam's pace quickened, alarm bells ringing in his head as he kept his focus on the highway in the distance. He knew there was no way this exchange was going to end well, he needed to get away, fast.
“You think you's just gonna walk on past? D'ya know where you is!?” the gang leader hissed, increasing his own speed to match as his crew followed. “You in Fulton! Think you can just come strollin' up through my patch, yea? Frontin' up like some kinda big man!?”
“W-what?” the little fox began to protest, his voice high pitched, cracking, “what you talkin' about? I haven't done a bloody thing!?” Sam's entire body went cold, terror crashing into him like a tidal wave as his sensitive canid ears picked up on the quickening footsteps behind.
“Best believe you come through 'ere, tryin' ta make me look bad in front of my boys, you ain't walkin' out, d'ya get me!?”
Sam flicked his gaze back for just a moment, but long enough to see the hooded tiger holding his arms out by his sides threateningly, claws fully extended.
“Twice in one fucking evening, how is this happening!?” he bleated, starting to jog “fuck fox, you gotta go, got--”
“Have 'im!” At that moment, all five of the cats in pursuit exploded into sprint.
Reacting instantly, the vulpine burst into a dash of his own. Any lingering feelings of fatigue from his first exertion quickly evaporated as he raced down the pavement at top speed, a second escape his only concern now.

Sam sped his way down the street, his heart drumming with such intensity that it felt fit to burst right out from within his chest.
“Get that little shit!”
“Don't let 'im get away!”
the canid's ears were filled by the angry cries of the gang as he darted off the street into the first alleyway he reached, once again trying to scramble away from those who would do him harm.
The passage was tight, bordering on constricting, with scattered debris and discarded refuse everywhere. The fox dodged and hurdled his way past the obstacles in his path, ever mindful of the pounding footsteps still close behind.
“Look at yous, ya run like a little bitch!” one of the gang called out, mocking Sam as he raced towards the opposite end of the alley and the next road over.
Fortunately for the slight fox, what he lacked in both size and power, he more than made up for in speed. In a flash, he bolted out from the midst of the back-alley and back into the streets. So focused on his getaway, Sam barely registered the car screeching loudly to a halt as he bounded across the tarmac in front of it, continuing his escape into an adjacent side road.

The insulting, threatening taunts that were so clear and so menacing moments before, had become muted in the night air as the fleeing vulpine continued to tear his way through the roadway labyrinth. He glanced back once again after a half-minute or so, hoping to gauge the position of the cats chasing him. It was only then that Sam became aware of the impressive gap he'd opened up, maybe fifty feet, between himself and the gang. Not only that, but three of the five cats had seemingly given up the chase, leaving just the leader and a single member of his crew still gunning for him.
“They can't stay with you,” the fox panted, breathing heavily, “ain't got nothing on you!” He grinned ever so slightly as he finished, swerving his way around a corner onto yet another narrow back-street.

“At last!” Sam cried, a tinge of relief in his shallow voice as he caught sight of the view ahead of him. It wasn't another passage of imposing stone buildings, rather a heavily wooded area at the end of a short cul-de-sac. The bright, snaking stream of motorway lights shone through the crowd of tall trees and shrubbery, just a matter of feet away now.
The speeding fox figured he'd stand a far better chance at losing what remained of the gang amongst the thick undergrowth. He could also work his way through it back to where the underpass was situated, using the highway as guidance. 'Things are finally going my way,' he mused, smiling, rushing ever closer to the darkened woodland ahead.
“Fuck!” His joy would prove to be short-lived. As Sam neared the tree-line, his eyes managed to make out the outline of a chain-link fence, separating the foliage from the street.
“How the bloody hell am I gonna get over that?” he whined, realising escape into the shadowy, wooded sanctuary would not as straight-forward as he'd first thought.
“He went down 'ere!” The voices of the gang echoed down the street from behind the fox, reminding him of the two hoods still on his tail.
Knowing full well he'd not be able to turn back, Sam carried on towards the end of the road. The fencing, standing at least eight-feet high, would be hugely difficult to scale. At this point however, it appeared to be his only option.
He threw himself against the metal blockade with a jump as he reached it, paws scrambling desperately as he tried to gain leverage with his momentum. It was all to no avail though. On top of its sheer height, the holes of the fence's metal links were just too small for the vulpine to get his trainers into. Without the use of his feet for support and the strength to pull himself up with his handpaws alone, Sam slipped back down agonisingly to the concrete pathway below.
“Come on!” he screamed, throwing himself at the chain-fence once more. Despite his frantic clawing, the fox's second attempt at climbing fared no better than the first.
“Yeah, what you... gonna fuckin' do now!?” the lead feline thundered, panting hard.
“Nowhere to... run, you gonna be sorry ya ever came up round 'ere.” the second cat, a panther, added. His words were as equally breathless as his leader's as they closed in.

“Shit, shit!” Sam was trapped. His eyes began to dart around, urgently searching the scene for somewhere, anyway to run. To his despair, there were no more alleyways for him to slip into, no more side-streets or pathways. There was just the fencing, the darkness and the gang-members still heading for him at top speed.
He'd all but given up hope, pounding the fence angrily with a forearm. That is, until something unexpected caught his eye. At the far end of the fence was a small gap where the chain-links had come away from one of the structure's support poles. The hole was tiny, no more than six inches wide, but the panicked vulpine figured that it might prove just big enough for him to scurry his way through. He just needed to give it a little encouragement to grow.
In a flash, the fox turned and charged his way over to the frayed section of fencing. He grabbed a firm hold of the wiring and began to shake it with all the strength and will he could muster.
“Quick, don't let 'im get away!”
Sam's efforts grew in intensity as the cats' voices drew ever nearer. The metalwork creaked and groaned as charcoal-coloured paws worked quickly, stretching, breaking it away from itself and widening the gap ever so slightly.
“Oh no you ain't! Ain't gonna let you go that easy!” the lead feline roared, his hood folding back to expose the azure fury of his eyes. Their faultless gaze could have burned a hole in the little, red vulpine as the gang-leader homed in on his target.
“Why won't they just piss off!?” Sam's fur began to prickle and stand on end as he heard the swift footsteps grow alarmingly close. He did his best to block out them out as he heaved himself at the fence, hoping his weight could finish the job and force the hole big enough for his nimble frame to squeeze through.

The fox began to hyperventilate as he cast his vision squarely on the two cats, a mere twenty feet away and closing. A nightmarish feeling of deja vu entered his thoughts as he struggled furiously against the metal blockade, reminiscent of the rusted gate that denied the vulpine's first attempts to flee the canines at the party.
“Little prick, you's mine!”
Slowly but surely, Sam felt himself begin to squeeze shoulder-first through the opening, his shirt catching and tugging on the sharp, pointed ends of the frayed wiring as he went.
“Gonna straight mess ya up for makin' me run after ya!” the tiger hissed, a mere ten feet from him now.
“Christ sake, come--!” One final shove saw the fence finally relent. The fox's snagged clothes tore loudly as he stumbled through into the woodland, fabric easily losing out to metal. His balance faltered soon after, sending him crashing down to the dirt with a squealing yelp.
A sharp, stabbing pain surged up Sam's shin as he came to rest. His ankle had twisted and contorted awkwardly, winding up beneath the rest of his body as he hit the ground.

“You think this is gonna stop me!?” The blue-eyed tiger bellowed as he reached the fence a split second later, aggressively throwing himself into it, “imma fuckin' get ya, do you over, d'ya get me!?”
The little vulpine shifted himself to sit, brushing off his muddied, tattered clothes. He watched the pair of big cats as they battled with the metalwork, its newly expanded gap still far too small for either of them to push themselves through.
Sam's breathing slowed as he saw his pursuers struggling away in vain to reach him. “Go fuck yourselves,” he grumbled with a bold scowl, a brief moment of courage as he gingerly picked himself up from the floor, taking care of his tender footpaw.
“Mouthy little prick!” the gang leader roared, punching the metal-wiring hard with rage as he watched the red fox limp off into the twilight. “Imma get ya, d'ya hear!? This ain't over!”

Sam's breathing was laboured by the time he emerged from the wooded undergrowth and onto safer, more familiar streets. A crippling pain had also begun to take a hold of the fox's injured ankle, searing as if engulfed in white-hot fire.
'Don't bloody stop now!' The vulpine's mind barked orders as he approached the nearby underpass, doing its best to push him on and maintain his uncomfortable, stumbling jog. While he felt sure the gang wouldn't see their threats of coming after him through, it certainly wasn't something he was willing to take a chance on by waiting around in the open.
Traffic meandered its way along the glowing river of street lights that illuminated the four-lane highway the fox was running parallel to. On the other side, familiar residential high-rises stretched their way up into the night sky from amongst the rows of trees and small, terraced homes. Ashdean, Sam's modest home neighbourhood, had never looked as appealing to him as it did at this moment.
'Almost home,' he thought to himself, spotting the top of the stairwell that led down into the underground walkway he'd been fighting to get back to, 'keep going!'

The vermilion vulpine stumbled his way down the concrete stairs, his weary legs almost buckling as he went. He had pushed himself to his maximum to run a large part of his trek from the city centre and had little left to give.
Sam entered the dim tunnel with a sputtering cough, struggling to breathe as he moved at little more than a brisk walk. “Must... stop,” he huffed, staggering into the graffiti-coated wall before sliding down into an exhausted heap on the floor.
The fox sat scrunched up, his back to the wall midway through the cold underpass. He gasped desperately for the dank, musty air around him while nursing his painful ankle. As he rested, Sam couldn't help but admire the opposite wall of the walkway. He'd seen it in passing countless times before, but only now did it spark something deep within him.
It was a veritable canvas, created over the years by the youths of the area, busy and colourful with no small number of impressively intricate designs and patterns.
“Looks like how I feel,” he contemplated, taking in the scene before him. The overload of ideas and emotion, the wide spectrum of bold blues, fiery reds and all-engulfing black, it culminated to form an intense mural that mirrored the turbulent depths of the little vulpine's mind.
“A complete bloody mess, just like me,” he scoffed, brushing at his tattered shirt in disgust.
His coming out to his dearest friend, the fight, his escape and subsequent encounter with the street gang. To say this evening had been unkind to the canid would be a gross understatement.
“Fuck my life.” With a sniffle, he shoved his blood-stained muzzle down into his cupped handpaws, sobbing gently to himself within the lonely gloom of the tunnel. He had hit rock bottom.

The passageway was perfectly silent, interrupted only by the occasional rumble of traffic passing above. Sam's long stint sat alone with his thoughts had seen his sorrow and self-pity slowly replaced by a seething anger towards all those he held accountable for his anguished stupor.
“Pricks, everyone always wants to throw fists!” The tranquillity of the scene was broken by the fox as his voice boomed through the enclosed space. He picked himself up off the ground as best he could, his stiff legs and weak ankle hindering his movement. “Hope they all end up under the wheels of a fuckin' bus!”
Sam continued to rage, to scream, furiously swinging punches through the air. “Try it again and I'll... smash you all to fuckin' pieces!”
the blood-soaked vulpine's foot met a discarded whisky bottle as he bobbed and weaved around the underpass, drawing his attention momentarily as it clanked across the floor.
“Fuck you Jim!” he snarled, moving to pick it up. His thoughts turned squarely to those who had acted as the catalyst for his frenzy, “and to Hell with the rest of you gay-bashing bastards!”
The little fox wound his arm back, proceeding to launch the container hard towards the wall opposite. Shards of glass fired off in all directions as the makeshift missile exploded upon impact. Sam reacted instinctively, using an arm to shield his face from the dozens of sharp fragments flying his way.
“Come on then!” Sam was practically foaming at the mouth. Breaking the bottle only seemed to send his anger even higher. He could picture the Doberman standing before him, that familiar, arrogant smirk flashing back. With a snarl, the fox launched another strike through the air, aimed straight for the imaginary canine's muzzle.
“Ack! Shit!” His fist slammed hard into the mural of graffiti, an audible crack sounding out as it connected. A shooting pain followed soon after, racing from Sam's knuckles and up to his wrist.
“Yeah that's really smart!” he scolded to himself, pulling his arm back quickly, “break your damn paw, that'll show 'em!”

Injuring his paw seemed to have the effect of cooling the vulpine's blood-boiling fury, at least enough to allow him to compose himself and get a moment of perspective. Mood swings were nothing new to the beaten little fox. In fact, they were very much something he was having to become accustomed to in recent times.
“No use stayin' here all bloody evening.” Sam's head hung low as he made his way towards the other end of the underpass, an image of pain, sadness.
As he reached the stairwell that led up to the surface, he contemplated what, if anything, he could do to get back at Jim and his cronies for what they'd done to him. Calling the the police was his first thought, but he figured that would surely do more harm than good. If it came to the canine being charged for the assault, his allies in the team would no doubt retaliate in some way, deeming it some sort of tribal retribution for their fallen captain. “Not worth it, plus I ain't ready for round two just yet,” the red fox muttered, limping up the first few steps before snickering to himself, “I've lost my bloody phone anyway!”
Sam took in a deep breath as he reached the top of the stairway. The open air of his home smelled almost sweet as he looked across the road towards Ashdean Park, a sizeable open grass area encircled by rows of brick town-houses. The fox spent a large part of his time growing up here. He had no small number of fond memories from his time spent playing here with friends, with Nick.
The vulpine sighed dejectedly, covering his eyes with thumb and index finger. All of that was in the past now, just distant memories to fade with time. The wolf had made his choice, seemingly aligned himself with his football team above Sam and the rest of his 'true' friends.
“How could he?” he mumbled, looking up to the crescent moon in the sky above, “how could he do this to me?”

A sudden clap on concrete echoed out from within the walkway behind, sounding out between the intermittent roar of motorway traffic. The fox's ears twitched, tracking the constant, dull thudding that followed. As it drew nearer, louder, it became painfully clear that they were the footsteps of someone jogging through the passage.
“Oh please, not again surely!?” Sam's heart sank as he looked back down into the faint glow of the tunnel. He'd had his fill of pursuing footfalls for one lifetime, so hostile or not, finding out who they belonged to wasn't particularly high on his priorities.
Desperate to avoid another potential confrontation, the vulpine began to hobble his way across the street, hoping to fade out of sight within the scarcely-lit park grounds.
He couldn't help wince and moan as he hurried towards the entrance of the green, each step a battle as his aching legs and twisted ankle fought hard against him. His apartment block was sat practically at the opposite end of the parkland, just a few more minutes and he'd be safe at home.
The sound of footsteps began to hurry their way up the steps behind Sam, towards the surface. “God, please just let me go.”
They had reached the his side of the tunnel far quicker than he had anticipated, prompting him to try desperately to move even faster, despite the almost overwhelming pain.

It felt like a lifetime to the fox before he made it to the park, the soft grass under foot welcoming as he moved off of the street. He closed his eyes, praying the enveloping blackness would conceal him from sight.
“Hey!”
Sam was not quick enough however, the call from behind almost freezing him to the spot. He slowly turned to look back, his eyes widening at what he saw back at the top of the underpass stairway.
A figure, silhouetted in the night, sprang their way up the final steps to the pavement, looking straight towards the park.
Instantly, the fox's brain went into overdrive, fearing the worst. It must have been Jim, coming back to finish the job. On the other hand, it could be the gang-leader, seeing through his threats of tracking him down?
Sam didn't say a word in response, instead he turned back to the open grassland and burst into as fast a run as he could muster.
“Oi, wait!” the unknown fur called again, voice muffled by distance as they moved to follow.
“Fuck off!” the fleeing vulpine cried, limping heavily over the uneven turf as he pressed further into the night.
He knew he stood little hope of outrunning anybody in his state. His only chance at escape was to somehow lose the stranger in the twilight, maybe by hiding amongst the bushes, or something else equally as desperate.

“Fuck, help. I'm in the shit here! I'm--” Sam's hysterical chattering halted abruptly as he crashed down to the ground with a loud, sickening crunch. He screamed in agony, reaching out to hold his ankle, the twist now a severe sprain as it rested beside the divot that had tripped him.
“Jesus! This can't... this can't be happening!” With a whimper Sam tried to stand, hoping against hope that he could still somehow hobble to a hiding spot, “Please! Fu—argh!”
Unbearable pain exploded in his footpaw the moment he tried to put pressure on it, bringing him thumping straight back down to the turf. He was struggling to stand, much less find himself a place to hide.
“Help! Help!” Desperation set in as Sam writhed around atop the grass, calling out in vain for a miracle. He was helpless, with no hope of escape, no hope of hiding, no hope.
The sound of thudding pawsteps returned, homing in on the immobilised fox. They inched closer, louder, more terrifying with each passing second. Sam turned to where they were coming from, his sight filled by the chilling outline of a hooded fur jogging their way across the grassland, straight for him.

“No, no way,” the broken little vulpine snorted, a glint in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
With a determined grunt, he tried to pick himself up from the ground, dismissing the pain as well as he could, resisting against the urge to fall back down.
Any chance of escape had evaporated the moment Sam's ankle gave in. Inside, he realised that his situation was no longer a case of fight-or-flight, rather fight-or-'curl up into a ball and hope for the best'.
'This is it,' the fox thought, balancing tentatively on his good paw, 'no more running away, from you or anybody... anything else!'
After so much running, both tonight and for the past six months, Sam decided he'd finally had enough. He wasn't going to be running away from anything any more. It was time to stand up for himself, or to go down trying.
“Come on then!” In a flash, the brave vulpine threw himself towards the unsuspecting stranger, not waiting for them to react, not listening to anything they had to say. A lurching, last-ditch fist flew straight up towards their long, darkened muzzle. “I'm not fucking runnin' no more...”