Daryl had heard more bank, house and car alarms than anyone. It was like music to his ears. He started stealing cars when he was old enough to reach the pedals. For every crime he committed, he served no time nor punishment; he got away with everything. He was a ghost. No one but his parents knew his name, not even his friends. Everyone just called him D. He retired from his days of crime when he was twenty-seven. After that, he left it all behind.
On the 6th of October, twelve years later, mysterious things started happening. He started seeing police outside taking pictures of his house; people would intentionally look away from him if he made eye contact with them; mums would cover their children’s eyes when he walked past them. People started to recognise him, On his way home, a police officer stared into him and went onto his phone without breaking the gaze.
People were onto him. Everything he’d done wrong, every crime he’d committed was catching up to him. He was being followed by his own past, he started existing to the outside world. When he got in his house, he turned on the TV and saw his face and full name on the screen. He got up, unlocked a dusty, manky trap door and marched down the uneven set of stairs going down to a basement. It was this basement in which he kept his firearms, blades and anything he could efficiently use to kill. He flipped a switch and a dozen synced up screens all turned on, each to a different news channel, all saying the same name, but accused of a different crime. He picked up a mask and two handguns. His house was surrounded. He lit a match and threw it onto a puddle of oil and left through a hidden exit behind a poster.
The whole house became engulfed in flames. He continued to crawl. He slid down a slope into the sewers. He got up and climbed a ladder to the surface. Down at the end of the road, he saw a man, in all black on a motorbike with his face covered and a sword drawn. The engine reved, he heard sirens behind him and his phone began to ring…