I ran.

With each step I took, I received a blow. A bat to the gut. A fist to the face. A shot to the arm. All non-lethal in small doses. But a tunnel full of them could potentially kill me.

From what I gathered, people had three or four options to choose from to torture me with. They could use a wooden bat. Those who did usually aimed for my back or gut. They could choose boxing gloves or bare fists. Those who did usually landed a blow to my temple. They could also choose a gun. Those who did had only one rubber bullet inside and aimed for my arms and legs.

The worst wasn't the rubber bullets coming from the revolvers. I noticed that those who selected that as their weapon also wore the olive badges of the LSD protection force; and even then, few had them. Why shoot one bullet when you could smack a person in the head three to five times?

The fifth stage was a classic gang initiation—a beat-in. Members were beaten to a pulp and if they somehow managed to survive, they were a part of the gang. The only thing was, this was just stage five of the initiation.

As bats to my stomach made it difficult to stand straight, shots to the leg made it impossible to run, and blows to my temple made it difficult to see or think straight, I finally realized why Ash was so scared for me.

In stage four, a member you love risks death. In stage five, you risked death. I imagined many members enduring the first four stages and dying on the fifth one because they only made it half-way through the Tunnel of Punishment.

I barely was a quarter of a mile in and I was already about to cave. My legs couldn't support my weight or stay balanced as I kept slipping on my blood. My stomach felt like I was bleeding internally. My head was probably concussed. I didn't think anyone could make it through this tunnel alive.

Then I saw a blob of red strike me in the face. I fell backwards onto the ground. The source of the punch was a young kid who looked nine. His dark skin and curly hair morphed into the light-skinned boy I leveled the barrel of my silenced gun at during the night Noa died.

"Zay."

As a bat planted itself in my chest, I saw a Latino woman with a burn mark across her face shedding a tear. Her olive clothing and face morphed to the Mexican woman dressed in a cleaning scrub, waiting for the bus home after her shift in a local neighborhood who ended up at the front of the bus in the wrong way that night.

"Zay."

When a bullet exploded from the barrel of a Russian LSD officer, his olive uniform morphed to the blue and black of a Chicago PD officer who lost in a game of Russian Roulette.

"Zay."

All the faces around me morphed to the shadowed faces of those who I had murdered. They were getting their revenge.

And I deserved it.

"Zay you have to get up and run!"

"Ash?" I muttered as the world spun around me and the taste of blood was the last thing I felt in my mouth before that had gone numb as well.

"Get up Zay. You promised!"

I shouldn't get up. I deserved to die. I killed so many people. This was the ultimate form of karma. There was no way to escape this tunnel alive, but Auntie and Ash gave me hope that it was possible.

This was my own option 3. And as the queen of crushing hope, I knew this was fruitless.

As the blows continued, I saw the legs of someone walking down the tunnel. He wore dress shoes that reflected the light piercing through the canopy of bodies. He wore slacks that were ironed to a crisp. From the waist, I could spot his jacket.

"Daddy?"

I couldn't see his face as he approached. "Za-Za, do you now see why I fight to end these savages? How quick they are to turn on their own and beat them to a pulp? And for what? To join a cult that worships depravity and poverty?"

He bent down towards me and handed me the handle of a blade. His face looked like he had little concern for the beating of his daughter. Bats, fists, and bullets went through his body and struck me. He was here, but he wasn't shielding me one bit.

"Rise up Za-Za. Do what you were born to do. Help me finish them."

Then the unexpected happened. I heard a loud bang. My father dropped the blade. He clutched his chest as a hole appeared. Then he dissolved into ash.

Standing at the end of the tunnel was another figure in skinny jeans and a t-shirt holding a pistol that was smoking. He walked down the tunnel, but unlike my father, those in the back were striking him. It was Noa, and he was receiving the same beating I was.

"You know Zay," he smiled. "There were times when I felt like I needed to just lie down and die because of what I've done."

A bat swung for his chest. I saw the vibration force a grimace across his face. "Remember dad's Bentley? The white one with the retractable roof? Remember how it disappeared when you were eight?"

Memories weren't exactly functioning correctly at that point. My father had many cars, but I did remember him liking that one the most. That's all I recalled.

"I strapped myself inside and drove it into Lake Michigan," Noa said as he received a blow from a meaty fist to his cheek, probably realigning his jaw. Yet, his voice stood the same—calm, unaffected by the pain being dealt to him.

"He wondered if someone stole his car. He threw a big fit, even murdered some of the guards. Meanwhile, while the water filled the cabin of the car, I realized that my death would solve nothing. Dad would continue killing. The Reapers would continue seeding chaos."

A rubber bullet from a gun bounced off his leg. He stumbled but caught himself as his mouth twisted in pain. "My death would mean nothing if the evil I fought for continued to exist."

By now, he had taken enough blows to be bleeding in various parts of the body. Yet he kept on walking towards me, enduring my Tunnel of Punishment with me. "Zay, those in powerful organizations that take advantage of the weakest amongst us must be the ones not to leave it, but to stay inside and be a force for change from within. We must use our positions of power for good, no matter how much evil we have committed. It's never too late to change and do good."

Noa was reaching closer to me. I reached out my hand sluggishly. I wanted to hug him. I wanted his help to shield me from the pain. I wanted to erase my past and bring back those I ended.

Yet it was also time I took responsibility for my actions. I couldn't blame my family for everything. Although there was no way of escaping my assassin's life, I could've chosen death a long time ago.

But there'll always be another to fill evil's void.

Noa reached me and knelt down before me. "Zay, rise up with me and fight evil from within."

Then Noa covered me like a sturdy blanket, shielding me from the blows. He hugged me like the old days when he was excited for my accomplishments at school or comforting me whenever I injured myself during training. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be taken by him to whatever afterlife awaited me.

Then I felt a hot drop of liquid land on my forehead.

"Zay."

I opened my eyes. The world was dark and blurry. I was stuck inside a black hole with no light to illuminate a path to exist outside the darkness.

"Zay," I heard the voice mutter in pain. "I'm here Zay."

"Ash?" I whispered with what little breath I could muster.

Then I felt myself being lifted up. I was cradled in his arms. His body shielded me from further blows. I heard shouting and felt his chest heave as he clutched me close to his heart.

"We're almost there Zay," he gritted as those hot drops coated my face. "Run with me."

I couldn't move, much less run. But I promised him I'd run. So I kept my heart running. I fought the pain and Death's seductive whisper alluring me to a place where the pain would stop, even if it was only temporarily before it resumed again in Hell.

We broke through the shadows of the dark tunnel. Ash collapsed to his knees and cradled me in his arms. "Zay, we made it."

I heard a woman's voice warping over me. "Boy are you insane! You could've gotten yourself killed. And for what? For this psychotic white girl?"

"Doctor," Ash mumbled. "Doctor."

Then he collapsed besides me on the ground. But if we were both going to die, then at least I would die holding the hand of my best friend.