There's a contest on Deviantart that I want to enter. But stories have to be where one of the characters - a male is in distress. The prompt was in the enemy's hands. Do you think this is dark enough for the contest or fitting? Please, I really need feedback.

The city was huge. A young man stared at it with wide violet eyes. Terror lined his features despite his best attempts to reel it in. His long blond hair was sleeked with mud and water droplets, making him look like a drowned rat as he stood there in the rain. His clothes were more like rags and were as well worn as his features. He was pale as moonlight and shaking as the rain poured down. He stood there as people walked past him, ignoring him. He had been in several cities before but this one was something else completely. The man knew he had to stop paying attention to it though – he had been walking with his head craned up, staring at the buildings that hovered above it. He looked around nervously. He was still being chased, even in the large crowd. They'd find him, killing anyone who got in their way – regardless of whether or not they were involved in the struggle or not.

The people here, they didn't move out of your way like in other towns that he had run through before. Here they bumped into you and then yelled at you, like it was somehow your fault, for their carelessness. They liked to pass the blame, taking it out on others. They knew they wouldn't be able to bear it so they passed the buck along. The young man kept his head down, not wanting anyone to see the fear or redness of his eyes. Somehow he knew showing weakness would be a bad idea in this kind of place. Others would merely exploit him for it.

"You can run but you can't hide my little psychic…" A voice from the shadows whispered.

He turned, his eyes widen with fear, shaking as he heard the voice. Fear gripped his insides as he stared back into the dark eyes of the man trying to capture him. He staggered back, unsure of what to do. But when the man took one step towards him the choice was made for him. He had to run. He had to get away, no matter what. Tears began welling up in his eyes as he turned and ran as fast as he could the opposite way. People yelled and shoved him when he bumped into them as he ran. He didn't even have the breath to apologize. His head was ducked as he ran in a blind panic. He didn't realize anyone was watching him besides his pursuer. In fact, he collided into a person, bowling both of them to the cold cement in an ungraceful heap. He looked up, staring back into their eyes.

The man heard his cry in terrified frustration as he realized what has happened. He tried to take the Matthew's free hand to try and placate him, but Matthew pulled away from him with such force that his tiny worn glove remained with the stranger who had tried to help him. He recoiled, trying to get as much distance as he can from him. The stranger got to his feet and walked towards Matthew, doing it slowly. He was trying not to be too threatening as his reaction increasingly concerned him. It was obvious to see he was terrified. He'd hurt himself if he wasn't too careful.

"Are you okay?" the man asked.

Matthew looked over his shoulder, frightened of something that wasn't the stranger in front of him. And the stranger noticed this action. Quickly Matthew got back to his feet, ignoring the burning in his scraped palm and the ache of his bruised knees. The young man bit his lip. His eyes were whipping around wildly as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The man watched the boy as he ran away from him. His curiosity was perked as he watched the fleeing figure. Was the boy homeless? He stared in surprise as someone flew past him in a rush, chasing after the young man who had bumped into him. Now he knew why Matthew was so afraid. He was being hunted. If he looked closer he would have seen that the man who was chasing the boy was smirking darkly as he ran. This was just a game to him and the Matthew was prey, weak and vulnerable for the hunt.

By the time the Matthew started to slow down they were outside the slums. He collapsed outside of an abandoned church. The man chasing Matthew smirked darkly as Matthew paled. There was nowhere to run now. Slowly the blond haired boy turned back with his fists raised to fight his pursuer. He was shaking like a leaf as he faced him. Mud had been smeared across his face, making him appear darker. His eyes seemed to blaze as he faced the man who had chased him. He knew that this could be the end. He would be caught once and for all and there was nothing he would be able to do to stop it.

"You can't run forever, Matthew," his pursuer told him.

"I can try," he responded.

He curled his hand into a tight fist. Running forward he put as much power as he could muster into his arm. He lunged at his pursuer with his fist and he aimed his punch at the other man's face. Matthew's knuckles barely caught the other man's jaw but it did have enough power behind it to sending him flying back a little. He then proceeded to use his free leg to kick his attacker onto the floor when he tried to stand back up again. The man stood back up almost immediately and spat his blood to the ground. There was a very dangerous look in his eyes. It screamed for blood, Matthew's blood to be precise and he was terrified.

Without waiting to give him time to attack he charged forward, throwing out a left straight punch, only to watch as his opponent simply swerved his body to the left. He threw another punch, only to have him duck under the right hook. The assailant quickly moved his left arm around to capture Matthew's left arm by the elbow in a circular motion in the middle of a haymaker before he flipped the smaller blond off the ground. Matthew groaned as he hit the ground. His eyes darkened as he caught sight of his reflection in a puddle. That was right. He was fighting for himself now. His entire family had been killed because he was physic.

With an angered cry Matthew aimed a kick at the man's legs. The non-psychic man jumped over the sweep of the kick as soon as he landed on the ground. He then moved on in, and performed a roundhouse kick with his right leg that Matthew ducked under, followed by a backwards hook kick from his left leg and then a straight kick aimed at his assailant's stomach. The hunter swerved to the right, and then dodged three rapid punches aimed at his face with a back flip and landing on both of his feet.

Before he could move, let alone react he lunged at Matthew, growling and snarling. He took on step back only to trip over a piece of rubble. The man landed on Matthew's stomach. His leather gloved hands wrapped around Matthew's thin pale neck. Panic settled in as he tried weakly to pry his hands off. Instead, the hunter pressed down harder. He was trying to suffocate him, or at least make Matthew lose consciousness and it was working. Gasping he clawed as his hands and fingers, struggling to breath. The rasping noise coming from his chest only scared him even more. He could die. The corpse of a psychic was worth just as much as the living psychics were. Matthew tried to focus on using his power but a stabbing pain went through his entire body. Of course, the man chasing him was psychic too. He worked for the government in return for his own skin.

"Matthew, Matthew, Matthew," the man scolded, "What have we told you about running?"

Matthew struggled to sit up. His entire chest felt like it was on fire but he knew he couldn't allow it to slow him down. He was shaking as he looked at the man – the man who had such a familiar face – the man who was his brother - Alfred. He sneered at him, frowning upon Matthew's weakness. He couldn't help it. He had been running for as long as he could remember. He was tired and after sleeping in a ditch the night before – even though he was awake most of the night – he was bone weary. His breathing was labored and he shook as he looked at the man. But then he caught sight of the weapon in Alfred's hand.

"No!" he cried.