It was the fall that surprised me the most.

I had been running, running so hard so fast that, when I finally stopped behind the closed fire door, I could feel my lungs burning from the cold air filling them with each harsh breath that I took. Placing a hand against the cold metal door I leaned over and peered down the dirty stairwell, the only sound that I could hear was the sound of my own panting until a door several floors down flew open, echoing loudly as it hit the brick and mortar wall.

I hadn't said a word, yet they had still found me. I heard them yelling orders in a different language, and language that even though I had been in the country for several months I didn't understand. Gripping my hand around the Desert Eagle in my hand, I half-debated leaning over the railing and firing round and round at the fatigue-clad men running up the stairs to where I was still hunched over.

"They'll never take me alive," I couldn't help but think.

Closing my eyes tightly I threw the door open and skipped several steps until my feet were firmly planted on the stone of the building's rooftop. I'd run out of options. Skidding across the stones I'd come to rest near the foot-high wall that surrounded the rooftop, and stared down at the gun in my hand.

This was the end of the line. I had run out of options.

Closing my eyes tightly, I climbed up onto the foot-high wall, dropping the gun on the rooftop behind me. Stretching my arms out, I closed my eyes and, hearing the footsteps behind me, I let my body fall forward, free-falling forty-three floors to the concrete sidewalk below.