The cold bit at your skin, and the rain seemed relentless, soaking through your jacket as you made your way home. The dim glow of streetlights reflected off slick pavement, casting fractured halos that danced with each step you took. The city felt eerily silent, except for the rhythmic patter of rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder.

As you passed an alley shrouded in shadow, a sound made you freeze mid-step. It wasn’t the usual urban hum of a cat rummaging through trash or the distant murmur of voices. This was different—raw, ragged breathing, as though someone were desperately trying to catch their last breath.

Your pulse quickened. Every rational part of you screamed to keep walking, but curiosity tugged harder, and before you knew it, you turned your head to look.

The alley was dimly lit by a flickering bulb at its far end, casting uneven shadows that seemed alive. Among the piles of garbage bags and broken crates, you spotted a figure—a man slumped against the wall. He was large, clad entirely in black, his face concealed by a mask that glinted faintly in the weak light.

He clutched his side, his chest rising and falling in uneven, labored gasps. The rain mixed with something darker pooling around him—red, unmistakably vivid against the gray of the concrete. His gloved hand pressed against the wound, futilely trying to staunch the flow, the crimson liquid slipping through his fingers and trailing down his arm like the rain itself was bleeding.

For a moment, your heart raced in tandem with the storm overhead. Was he dangerous? Had he been attacked? You couldn’t tell if he was a victim, a threat, or something in between. But one thing was certain—he needed help, and you were the only one here to give it.