Sirens sound n blue lights appear as two polis motors come screechin up the street. Wumen fae the hooses in the street ir over seein tae boys on the deck. Cunts that ir still standin start backin aff n pullin their hurt troops tae their feet. Aw the Young Team wans sprint back towards the Golfy. There’s polis chasin us n we’re runnin like men possessed. Cunts ir missin. Me, Danny, both Kenzies, Ryans, Broonie, Finnegan n Whytey make it across the street. There’s still figures lyin on the ground no movin n others gittin wrestled tae the ground n put in polis motors. Big Eck, McColl n Bailey irnae wae us. There’s two polis runnin after us anaw but they stop at the edge ae the woods n git on their radios. There would be helicopters n aw sorts after us if we didnae make it oot the woods n back tae our bit before they did. ‘FUCKIN RUN, EVERYCUNT! INTAE THE GOLFY!’ Ryans is shoutin at the top ae his voice. ‘RUN, YA BASTARDS! FUCKIN BOLT! SPRINT, EVERYCUNT!’

We make it intae the woods. Naebody’s laughin noo. We aw stop tae catch our breath n fall doon finally intae the snow. A look aboot me tae see if A’ve been stabbed. A’m covered in blood n Danny rushes over tae me n starts pullin up ma hoody n tracky n checkin ma back. ‘Azzy, you ir pishin blood. You awright, mate?’

‘A’m sound, ya daft bastard, it’s ma arum.’ Ma jade tracky is soaked red n the smell ae ma own blood makes me spew intae the snow. A’ve git a deep gash on ma left arm n A take ma scarf aff n wrap it roon tae stop the bleedin. A’m just glad it wisnae ma new Berghaus jakit that git chopped. Ma arm wid heal but that defo wouldnae. A kin hear Wee Kenzie greetin his eyes oot. We aw pick ourselves up n rush over tae Big Kenzie. It’s then A remember his face.

‘How bad is it, boays?’ he asks, awready knowin the answer. None ae us kin talk fur starin at it. It’s a deep slash, fae the ear lobe tae the bottom ae his lip. Pishin blood n the sides separated.

‘It’s no that bad, son,’ Ryans says, tryin tae reassure him.

‘Don’t talk shite, mate. Hus Tony the Tiger git a stripe or two?’ Big Kenzie says quietly. Wee Kenzie is sobbin like fuck. He’s git a sore face anaw, ring cuts n a black eye.

‘Aye, mate, just a wee wan,’ somecunt lies.

‘Where’s Big Eck?’ Tam asks, covered in his own blood.

‘Somecunt plugged him, mate, he wis lyin no movin when the polis came. A tried tae grab him but a polis got there first, his neck wis aw bloody, he wis hoddin his neck,’ Ryans says, lookin grim.

‘Fuck me, man,’ Danny says.

‘Mon, boys, up the fuckin road. A think A need a hospital,’ Big Kenzie says quietly, tyin a bloody Celtic scarf roon his face.