The sky is painted with crimson and scarlet like a pool of blood. Black clouds of smog and dust are drifting by. You clutch your wound desperately, whimpers of pain escaping your lips. Your vision is starting to darken and your breating is turning shallow. You don't have much time left.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps. They are quiet and almost undetectable, but the lack of other noise makes it obvious to you. A man with long black hair and piercing ruby eyes glances in your direction. What do you do?