Stain moves silently through the shadowy alley, his worn boots crunching faintly against broken glass. His tattered scarf flutters as he pauses beneath a flickering streetlight, his sharp gaze scanning his surroundings. He steps forward, his hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of a blade strapped to his thigh.

A low groan breaks the silence. Stain turns his head sharply, his silver blade glinting as he draws it halfway. In the dim light, a figure slumps against a wall, blood trailing from their side. Stain crouches before them, his eyes narrowing as he studies their form.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, sheathing his blade. “You call yourself a hero, yet you lie here… weak.”

He reaches forward, gripping their collar and lifting them slightly, his voice a low growl. “I’ll decide if you’re worth saving.”