Disclaimer: This is fanwork, original idea and character are property of Universal pictures, director John Woo.

(Setting some hours after the movie ending)

=== Somewhere in the outback of New Orleans ===

My name is Pik van Cleaf. I am a hunter. But on this day, I nearly met my master…

I woke up from a hell of a pain, drilling, punching, and ripping through my body. So, I'm not dead… a sarcastically voice whispered in my throbbing head. No, definitely not.
I lifted my head. Tarnished metal bars, broken windows, and all sorts of half-burned debris made the little world surrounding me look like a post apocalyptic scenario. Apocalypse? I had mine, thank you! I tried to sit up – more pain – and immediately blacked out.

Eventually, the noise of some doves up in the old hall called me back. It was nearly dark outside now. I seemed to be alone. Were the others dead or had they left, running for their miserable lives? It did not matter… Not daring to move all too quickly I raised my head again and stared down on me. Goddamned shit! All my clothing was soaked in blood, and surely my own. Son of a bitch! Has fired his whole ammo on me… What a soldier are you, eh? Need so much to kill a man standing right in front of you?
It looked bad, really bad. No, it did not only look – it WAS. Despite the bulletproof vest, I always wore during the hunting parties. Emile had made jokes about my 'sense of security'… Well, I'm a professional hunter, not some suicide teen… O fuck…
Tearing the vest apart, I could finally inspect the inflicted damage. Under direct fire from such a short distance, no armor could provide enough protection. At least two bullets stuck in my body, one beneath the right rib case and the other below the shoulder. Others had wounded me as well, leaving gapes of flesh and dripping blood. It hurt like hell. However, the only reason I was still conscious was certainly the shock, sparing me the fatal amount of pain. But for how long?

I don't want to die like a rat… in this shithole…
I tried to cry for help; a pathetic gesture indeed, and a gesture it stayed. I coughed and spat blood. Not such a great idea, obviously… I lay my head back in the uncomfortable position it was before, on some junk. I was tired… I was so tired…
No, you cannot fall asleep, dammit! If you do so, you are dead!
I tried to speak once more and managed a faint sound resembling a squeezed bag full of air. This won't get me nothing. I had to get up, somehow… I had to get out, somehow… I had to concentrate on that purpose! I was not dead yet, and I did not want to have this bastard the joy of killing me!

With my right hand I could grab something; a metal grid it seemed. I tried to drag me up but failed. Everything began spinning around me. I let go and sank back.
I don't want to die like this… lying on my back and waiting for the end…
I had been a hunter all of my life, since I shoot my first animal on a little private safari back there in Africa with my father. I liked the tracking, the pursuit of the prey, the psychology of flight and fight, of catch and run. The more dangerous, the better; it had to be match of speed and intelligence. It was a strategy, a thrilling game, a war I was set to win every time – and when I had, I always felt the calm joy of domination. I did not need drugs, alcohol, or women. This was all nothing compared to hunt down a prey… until some day boredom began settling over me. I had become too good, there was no challenge anymore, no thrill. Eventually, I was hired as a sharpshooter, an assassin for some gangster boss. But this was even less challenging. The prey had no chance. I knew the exact time and place and I had to kill efficiently and silent. There was no hunt at all. It was disgusting… a downgrade of my skills, and therefore, I quit, giving my boss a last taste of his favorite sharpshooter.

Now I was the prey, and on my tracks I had the most relentless hunter of the world: death. I was not willing to give him an easy task! Not able to get on my feet I moved forward on my knees, pausing again after what seemed half a mile and yet was only a couple of feet. I rested, crouched to the ground, and focused on the pain to fight the overwhelming need for sleep. It took a while before I had gathered enough strength to crawl further. A body came into my viewing range, heavily burnt and twisted awkwardly between the debris of an explosion. By the watch on his wrist, I recognized Emile, my partner. I felt no pity. On the one hand, because I had no strength for such superfluous emotions right now. On the other, because it was his own fault. I had told him to back off; this scum had not been worth the risk. Nevertheless, he let his anger prevail and blind him. And now we pay the price both of us…
My fingers touched something liquid and stinking, oil probably. A moment later I slipped and landed on my belly. Moaning was all I still could do. Then I was out again; don't know for how long.
This time, the increasing coldness hindered me from drowning in the final oblivion. I shivered and trembled as if I had been confined naked into a cooling unit. The thought made me laugh. At least, in my mind. In fact, my chattering teeth were the only sound escaping my mouth. It became more and more difficult to focus on moving. My mind started to wander like a careless little child. And I was so tired… If only I could rest again for some minutes… until sunrise… Yes…

Caught in the haze of my blurred thoughts I hit something. The door jamb! I was at the entrance! I squeezed my eyes, blinked and tried to focus again. Yes, there were the dark shadows of the tree crowns. I gasped in excitement. My hunter had nearly lured me into his trap… but I had escaped! Clawing my fingers into the dust and the grass outside I crept forward again. There was one big shady thing not far from me… I could not see much in the darkness; however it seemed to be… Yes, a car! Now a faint moon ray lit the front…
I do not know how I finally reached the damned car. My memory only came back as I crouched besides its front door. The sky was getting lighter. I reached out to open the door, a nearly impossible task.
What the fuck are you trying to do? You can't even open a damned car anymore!!! After the umpteenth attempt, with my really last effort I could grab the pull. Then I let me fall back, using the momentum to open the door. It worked. In my mind I saw me grinning, in reality my face was a mask distorted by pain and concentration. Eventually, I climbed up into the seat. It was Randolph's car, I recognized now.
Randolph… he always had…
I fumbled trough the items in the glove compartment. All kind of shit. Ah yes, there they were! A box full of Amphetamines! God knows for what purpose this idiot threw the stuff into his stomach…. But I need it now…

I swallowed the rest of Randolph's pills and felt immediately like throwing up. However, I managed keeping the stuff down. A little victory for me, a lost run for my deadly hunter! This time, at least… Leaning back into the seat, I waited for the effect of the Amphetamines. It was illegal stuff, of course.
Randolph, this idiot… always filled up with drugs before going on a hunt… barbarian…
I sensed the drugs kicking in very soon. My heart and pulse raced, the overall-pain gave place to a strange numb feeling, while all my visual senses heightened. I felt non-corporeal and thus invincible. But I knew this was only an illusion! I could only hope my body would handle the surplus stress, until… Yes, until what? Until I reach a hospital?
This wasn't exactly an option. If I showed up like this, they would connect me to the events last night without question. Perhaps the medics would save my life – but only for the death sentence. And what then? There was no fooling myself; I could not get very far with these injuries. The discussion with Emile I had yesterday, dropped into my mind again. 'We are only five hours away from Mexico'… five hours. It could well have been 50 hours; I would not make it.
I don't wanna die… not like this…

I had never feared death, never once. This was weakness. I preferred looking the inevitable in the eye. And perhaps… scare it away. I had done well so far. Until now.
Still trembling, I searched for the medic-box. I found the damned thing under the seat, next to a half empty bottle of cheap Whiskey. The movement was too much, and this time I did throw up. Shit! All over the seat… and blood… Had I even a chance after all?
Stop thinking about chances, your hunter might hear you and mock you…

I cleaned my hands and the minor wounds with the alcohol and then stuffed all available bandage material under my shirt, before carefully closing the vest again. With luck, this would slower the bleeding; I had lost far too much blood already.
After that, I poured the rest of the booze over the soiled seat and kicked the bottle out of the car. Now it smells like in a downtown pub... The first sunrays painted the sky, it promised to become a lovely September morning.
A beautiful day to die, isn't it, Boudreaux, you sneaky bastard? But you won't get me! I don't give you this victory… I DON'T ! I did not notice that the silent cry in my mind sounded very angry by now. Anger and thirst for revenge was something unprofessional. No hunter should afford that. However now, I am the prey… and perhaps a little anger provids just enough fuel to keep me running… I started the engine.

=== Meanwhile / A cheap apartment in the suburb of Galveston ===

The woman was about to undress her 'working gear'. Throwing her black leather jacket down, she let herself fall on the only chair in the room and applied herself to her boots: high heel – black monsters. She hated them, but HE loved them and insisted in her wearing them. She felt tired and hungry, but most of all frightened. It was pay day! Again. And she had not raised enough money. Again. Finally disposed of her boots, the woman went over to her closet to take something more comfortable than the revealing body suit she wore now. At the same moment, she heard the heavy footsteps on the staircase and sighed. He was early. Meant, he had a bad night, and therefore was surely in even more nasty mood than usual.

Before she could take any of her clothing, the door burst open and a bulky man stormed in. Her lover once – too long ago -, now her pimp and nightmare. Some day two years ago, after a piss-up, he stumbled over the glorious idea how much money they could make with her selling her body. Of course, she had argued, wanted to leave him and run – but whereto? She had nothing, and worst of all, HE hid her precious green card. Without it, she was just another illegal from Puerto Rico.
"The money!" he demanded immediately and accompanied the words with a hit, as usual.
She handed him everything over.
"This is all, you lazy bitch? What are you doing all night long, eh? Sitting around on your ass?! He, I talk to you!" He grabbed her hair and pushed her against the wall.

It did not interest him that she could earn nothing if he beat her too hard – the more she would have to work next week…
This time everything changed. Desperately trying to get free from her torturer, the woman grabbed her teapot, standing there on top of a whole basket with dishes ready to wash and smashed it over the man's head. Grunting and groaning, he went down.
The woman stared at him in shock, but only for a second. Then she seized her purse with the money, her jacket and fled.