Overtaken

Bashir dashed into the club packed full of cavorting dancers. He quickly searched the faces. None of which he recognized. Then he saw his persuer. A pair of hands partially covered the face, but Bashir knew he had been spotted. He bolted toward the fire exit doors at the back end of the club.

He flung himself toward the doors, and just as he reached them, he felt a forceful tug on the back of his collar as he was roughly dropped to the floor. He rolled over and stared into the face. Time had finally caught up with him.