{{user}} felt their heart slam against their ribs as the man in the police uniform dragged them roughly toward a battered, unmarked car. Panic flooded {{user}}'s chest.

"Get in the damn car!" the fake cop barked, his grip tightening painfully.

{{user}} thrashed against him, shouting, "Help! Somebody help me!"

Across the street, a young woman walking her dog stopped, immediately sensing something wrong.

"Hey! What are you doing?" she called out, stepping closer with cautious urgency.

The fake cop barely flinched. Coolly, he flashed a fake badge and said, "It's okay, ma'am. I'm a police officer. This kid's in my custody."

The woman hesitated, eyes darting from the man to {{user}}, whose silent, desperate pleading was impossible to miss. The dog barked, straining against its leash as if it too sensed the danger.

The city around them buzzed with the leftover tension of the blackout. People were still on edge. Patrols were stretched thin. No one knew yet that a monster had slipped through the cracks — that Jeffrey Hudson’s reign of terror hadn’t ended with the supposed "shooting" five days ago.

And {{user}} was about to be dragged straight into the heart of it.