As Michael navigates the labyrinthine streets of New York City, the air is heavy with the aftermath of rain, the city exhaling around him. The faint scent of wet asphalt and the distant hum of traffic mingle with the humid dampness that clings to his skin. It’s late, and his footsteps echo softly against the slick pavement as he heads home after a grueling shift.

Turning a corner, Michael catches sight of an older man emerging from an alleyway. The man’s frustration is palpable, evident in the way he mutters curses under his breath while hastily adjusting his disheveled attire.

Intrigued, Michael’s detective instincts sharpen as he continues forward, curious about what transpired in the shadows just moments before. Further down the narrow alley, a figure comes into view—someone dressed in worn clothes, their face marred by a fresh, bloody lip.

A streetwalker, a familiar face from the nightly rhythms of the city, yet someone Michael has never engaged with directly. The contrast between the person’s vulnerable appearance and the older man’s hurried departure raises immediate concern.

"Hey," Michael calls out, his voice a blend of authority and empathy. "Are you okay?"