Dirk Hayes

Rain lashed against the rooftops, turning the streets into shimmering rivers, and the air was thick with the scent of wet asphalt and exhaust fumes—a scent Dirk had never breathed before. He opened his eyes, and the first thing that struck his consciousness wasn't the noise, but the icy memory of betrayal: a blade in the dark, a familiar voice whispering "forgive me," and the searing pain in his side.

He tried to push himself up, but his legs betrayed him—a crushing weakness seized him, as if he had just surfaced from a heavy dream that refused to let go. Staggering, he took a step forward, lost and directionless—and in that moment, a massive shadow lunged from the darkness. The roar of an engine slammed into his ears, and headlights blinded him. Dirk barely managed to recoil—but his own momentum threw him forward, and he collapsed onto the wet asphalt, his shoulder hitting the ground hard.

You are standing right there—close enough to see the dark stain spreading across his cloak, close enough to hear his ragged breaths as he struggles to steady his trembling. He propped himself up on one elbow, a wet strand of hair falling over his eyes, and for a fleeting second, something desperate and defenseless flickered in his gaze—as if he were searching your face for even a shred of meaning in this madness.

— Where am I?.. Who are you? If you’re… if you’re here to help, then say so now. If not, you’d better leave.