Part 1, "Ruddaggen Street", new chapter coming out soon.

The wind blew my hair back behind my eyes as I accelerated through the dank alleyways that, I realized, were once my home. Memories leaked into my mind, subtly flooding my brain, like the steady drip of tap into a plugged up bath. The intense pain in my pounding head was nothing compared to the cold on my skin as the rain sent storm after storm in my direction, several times forcing me to park my motorbike and wait for it to pass, safely under whatever shelter I could find.1

Perhaps the hardest, and worst, thing for me to do right now was to drive to the hospital. But of course, that's what the police wanted to happen, really. Making themselves a little station right next to the hospital - criminals like me, beaten and injured, would be easy to nab. My hatred to those police set my face into a stone-hard frown. The wound on my neck was slowly healing, forming a thin, circular scar where my voice box should have been.2

I was lucky, really. Escaping with my life was better than not escaping, even if it took my voice... I decided that, since the wound was healing itself, perhaps the need to go to hospital was slimming, so I did a u-turn at the nearest intersection. Even if the police have nothing to me, if I'm not at my best senses, being questioned wouldn't do me any good. The wound gaped open at the change of the wind's direction. Knowing I'd already lost atleast 3 gallons of blood, I flicked my eyes away from the road to look for a cloth on my bike, something to stem the flow. I hardly had time to notice my mistake as the bright twinkling headlights of another vehicle grew closer to mine. I looked up as I heard the breaks of the car being slammed, and saw it heading straight for me. I would've swerved out of the way. Really, I could've. But in a split second, I realized that any wounds that matched the criminal I was would be overlooked as car injuries. So I didn't swerve.3

I swear, the car hadn't hit the breaks at all, since the impact was so hard. I felt my body fall off the bike, and fall to the ground with a deafening thud, and felt the hot trickle of blood drip from my neck, and my head, and my body, and anywhere else that was hit, by the car or the hard gravel of the road. I actually laughed, when it hit me. Laughed like a maniac, but started weeping as soon as the guy who'd hit me came out to look at me. I saw him dile triple-0, but saw on his face he didn't know which street he was in. I pulled out my pocket knife, or rather, pocket knife with pen accessory. "At... Rudaggen.. Street..." I managed to write on my hand, and saw him nod, then repeated my words into the cellphone. I blacked out.4

I would like to say "when I woke up", but that would be lying to you. 5

When I was revived by the paramedics, the blaring of sirens rang in my head. I wasn't myself. A little extra weight on my head disturbed me. I raised a hand to my head and tentatively brushed my hand over where I knew a wound should be. Instead, I found a rough feeling, probably of cloth. Bandages, maybe.
"You're lucky, you know," the paramedic told me. Yeah, right. Having my voice box ripped out by a guy with a knife, being hit by a car and the guy who hit me not even knowing where we were. REAL lucky.
"Even though you lost your voice box, you didn't die..." He continued. Oh, hooray.
I tried to act surprised, as though I didn't know I had lost my voice. I tried to utter a single word, but it was impossible. My mouth just formed those empty words, but no sound came, to no-ones surprise, although I acted as though it was to mine. 6

END PART 1.