Connecting Dots (2)

I'm driving back to the station, feeling something doesn't feel right. I glance in the rearview mirror and notice a black sedan a few cars behind me. It could be nothing, but my instincts are screaming otherwise.

I make a sudden turn down a side street. The black sedan follows. My heart rate picks up. I take another turn, then another. Each time, the sedan remains steadfastly behind me.

"Alright," I mutter to myself, "let's see what you're up to."

I accelerate, heading towards the outskirts of the city where the roads are less crowded. The sedan keeps pace, no longer trying to hide its pursuit. As the buildings thin out and we reach a more isolated area, I abruptly pull over to the side of the road.

The black sedan stops about twenty meters behind me. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the doors open.

Four men step out, all dressed in black, their faces obscured by caps and masks. They move with purpose, spreading out as they approach my car.