The biting Liverpool wind whipped around Liam as he navigated the labyrinthine back alleys of Toxteth. Each shadow seemed to writhe, each discarded bin a potential hiding place for danger. Volkov's wrath was a tangible thing, a suffocating pressure that squeezed the air from his lungs. He knew The Butcher was coming. He could feel it in the prickling on the back of his neck, in the echoing silence that seemed to amplify every footstep, every distant siren.

He hadn't slept properly in days. Catnaps in abandoned warehouses, fuelled by stale sandwiches and the adrenaline of constant flight, were his only respite. He was a hunted animal, and The Butcher was a relentless predator.

He clutched the burner phone tighter, the one Razor had provided with a cryptic warning: "Use it wisely, lad. This'll connect you to someone who knows how to disappear." He hadn't dared to use it yet. He wasn't sure he trusted anyone, not completely. Volkov's reach was long, his tendrils wrapped around the city like a suffocating vine.

He was running out of options. He couldn't stay in Liverpool; The Butcher knew the city like the back of his hand. Every pub, every shortcut, every blind alley – they were all potential traps. But leaving Aisling, even temporarily, was a thought that clawed at his insides.

He stopped abruptly, pressing himself against a damp brick wall. A low rumble vibrated through the ground. Not a car. Something heavier. Something…purposeful.

He risked a peek. A black van, windows tinted like secrets, idled at the end of the alley. The Butcher. He recognised the vehicle, and the hulking silhouette behind the wheel was unmistakable. He was trapped.

He cursed silently. He had to think. Panic was a luxury he couldn't afford. He scanned his surroundings. The alley was narrow, hemmed in by towering warehouses on either side. A rusty fire escape snaked up the side of the building to his left. His only chance.

He sprinted towards it, the roar of the van's engine echoing behind him. He grabbed the cold metal of the fire escape, his muscles screaming in protest as he hauled himself upwards. The bottom rung was too high; he had to jump and grab, swinging his body onto the ladder.

He glanced down. The Butcher was already out of the van, his immense frame a terrifying sight. He moved with surprising speed, a predator closing in for the kill.

Liam scrambled upwards, the rusted metal groaning under his weight. The fire escape seemed to stretch on forever, each rung a testament to his dwindling strength. He reached the first landing, a precarious platform overlooking the alley.

He considered his options. He could try to climb all the way to the roof, but The Butcher was gaining on him. He needed to buy time, to slow him down.

He spotted a loose brick on the edge of the platform. He wrenched it free, testing its weight in his hand. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

The Butcher appeared on the landing below, his face a mask of cold fury. "Nowhere left to run, O'Connell," he growled, his voice a low rumble that shook the very air.

Liam didn't reply. He took aim and hurled the brick.

It struck The Butcher square in the chest, the impact muffled by his thick coat. He barely flinched.

"Is that all you've got?" he sneered, taking another step upwards.

Liam continued his ascent, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached the second landing, his lungs burning. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

He noticed a stack of discarded wooden pallets leaning against the wall. An idea sparked in his mind, desperate and risky, but it was the only one he had.

He ripped a pallet free, dragging it to the edge of the platform. It was heavy and awkward, but he managed to manoeuvre it into position.

The Butcher was almost upon him.

Liam waited until the last possible moment, then shoved the pallet off the edge.

It crashed down with a deafening roar, narrowly missing The Butcher. He stumbled backwards, momentarily disoriented.

Liam didn't wait. He scrambled up the remaining steps to the roof, his legs burning, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He reached the top, collapsing onto the rough asphalt. He was exposed, vulnerable, but he had bought himself some time.

He surveyed the rooftops, a jumbled landscape of brick and steel. He needed to get across to the next building, to disappear into the maze of the city.

He spotted a narrow gap, a perilous jump across to the adjacent roof. It was risky, but he had no choice.

He stood, gathering his strength, focusing his mind. He took a deep breath and launched himself across the gap.

He landed hard, his ankles twisting beneath him. He stumbled, but managed to regain his balance. He was safe, for now.

But he knew The Butcher wouldn't give up. He would be coming.

He needed to find a way to turn the tables, to stop running and start fighting back. He needed to use the burner phone.

He pulled it from his pocket, his hands shaking. He pressed the power button, waiting for the screen to light up.

Nothing.

He swore under his breath. The battery was dead.

He was alone.

He ran across the rooftop, his mind racing, searching for a way out. He spotted a ventilation shaft, a dark and narrow opening in the roof. It was a tight squeeze, but it was his only option.

He lowered himself into the shaft, his body scraping against the metal walls. He descended into the darkness, the air growing thick and stale.

He was moving blindly, relying on his instincts. He heard sounds below him, distant voices, the hum of machinery. He was somewhere inside the building.

He continued to descend, the shaft becoming increasingly narrow. He was claustrophobic, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt like he was being swallowed alive.

Finally, he reached the bottom. He pushed against a metal grate, forcing it open with a grunt. He tumbled out onto a dusty floor.

He was in a large, dimly lit room. He could see rows of shelves stacked with boxes, the faint glow of streetlights filtering through grimy windows. It was a storage warehouse, abandoned and forgotten.

He could hear The Butcher above him, his heavy footsteps echoing on the roof. He was close.

Liam moved silently through the warehouse, weaving between the shelves, his senses on high alert. He needed a weapon, something to defend himself.

He spotted a crowbar leaning against a wall. He grabbed it, testing its weight in his hand. It felt solid, reassuring.

He heard The Butcher enter the warehouse.

"Come out, O'Connell," he boomed, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. "It's time to settle your debts."

Liam remained hidden, his heart pounding in his chest. He waited, listening, watching.

He heard The Butcher moving closer, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He was hunting him, stalking him through the darkness.

Liam knew he couldn't stay hidden forever. He had to make a stand.

He took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the shelves, the crowbar raised in his hand.

The Butcher stopped, his eyes narrowing. He smirked. "So, you've decided to fight," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "A brave, but foolish, decision."

"I'm not afraid of you," Liam said, his voice surprisingly steady.

"You should be," The Butcher replied, his smile vanishing. "I'm going to enjoy this."

He charged, his immense frame a blur of motion. Liam braced himself, ready for the fight of his life. This wasn't the ring, it was the street, a battle for survival where there were no rules, no referee, and no one to protect him but himself.