He couldn't stop running, it was out of the question to even think about stopping, for if he stopped at all, it would mean certain death.
He couldn't die now, as he had found out about something that would shake the nation, to the possibility of war breaking out between the regions, in a fight to obtain the sacred object that could give them power of something far greater than any legendary pokemon in existance.
If this secret was to be found out, all hell would break loose.
He kept on running. The dogs kept barking. The sound of them was not too far in the distance, despite the wuthering winds blowing in the air, distorting any sound emitted from anything, from the crackling leaves of the October trees to the footsteps of the man running for his life.
It was inevitable. This secret was his to keep. The lives of the people of Kanto, and perhaps the entire world, depended on it. A hill appeared, if he could run fast enough, he could be out of sight by the time the grunts and their dogs got to the hill. And if he could do just that, he'd, hopefully, be in the clear, free to get away, safe for another day.
His belt, which had only three pokeballs attached to it, were left alone. For where he was going, there wouldn't be a pokemon center for miles, and he wanted to save their strength. He was at the top of the hill, this was his chance to make his escape.
He ran like hell, like a man on fire, like he was running from a madman with a chainsaw in the middle of nowhere. The barking ceased, but the man didn't know if it was because of the gusty winds or if he actually got away. He kept on running.
Even if he got away, he was sure the bastards would send more than two grunts and their mangy mutts to try and actually kill him. The man was now running into the forest, maybe he could find shelter here for a short time to pass the time until the men and their dogs were called off for the night.
After running for god knows how, he was out of the forest, his legs aching from his long trek of what he called "The walk between heaven and hell."
He was now on a path, and the sun had finally gone down. How long was he running and how long was he forced from his peaceful home?
A hour? Maybe only a few minutes? Possibly a day!
Houses rose over the horizon of the path, and with that sight, the man just began to casually walk toward one that had lights on.
"For the love of god, after all I've been through, this house better not have a gun-toting jackass ready to shoot me up just because I look like some deranged freak who escaped from an asylum..." The man wished.
He knocked on the door, wheezing lightly.
He was obviously exhausted, maybe the person who lives here, if they let him in, will let him stay for the night?
A young woman opened the door, curiously looking at the man in front of her, who had sweat covering his face, sliding down into his shirt, which was drenched by a mixture of water, sweat, and blood.
"Why is this man covered in blood? What happened to cause this man to appear like this?" The woman thought to herself.
The man simply asked: "Please. Help me, I can't carry myself much longer..."
Before the young woman could even react, the man before her collapsed, breathing heavily. He needed help and he needed it fast.
"Sir, are you alright? Please, do get up!" The woman pleaded to the unconcious man, before going to get help from whoever was in the house that night...
In the man's subconsious, he knew the secret he now had the burden of keeping, was safe.
He was sure he could trust the woman, that is if she didn't leave him in the streets.
"Those sons of bitches, they will pay for their crimes, and by god as my witness, when I get my hands on you, don't expect to come out alive. If I find you, you will feel my wrath."
They would feel his wrath alright. They'd get what was coming to them soon enough. Every single one of them. One by one.
Inside and Out.