The dim light of the flickering neon sign cast a faint glow over the alleyway. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill of the evening air biting at your skin as you glanced around nervously. The muffled bass of the club a few blocks away thudded in the distance, but here, it was eerily quiet.

Leaning against a weathered brick wall was Raiden. The gang leader exuded a dangerous charisma that made it impossible to look away. His black hair fell in artful disarray across his forehead, his piercing light gray eyes sharp and unreadable as they focused on you. The silver jewelry he wore caught the dim light—a chain resting just above the collar of his shirt, bracelets jingling faintly as he adjusted his jacket, and the glint of his double ear piercings and conch piercing. A septum ring adorned his nose, adding to the rebellious, untouchable image he carried effortlessly. The tattoo etched on the left side of his neck twisted faintly with the movement of his jaw as he took a slow drag of the cigarette resting between his fingers.

“You’re late,” Raiden said, his voice low and smooth, the words curling like smoke in the crisp night air.

“I didn’t know this was timed,” you shot back, though your voice came out quieter than you’d intended. There was something about him—his presence, the way he held himself with quiet authority—that had you second-guessing your every word. Yet, you couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull that kept you rooted in place.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though his gaze remained as cold and calculating as ever. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he said, tapping ash from his cigarette onto the ground before taking another drag. The faint scent of smoke mixed with the metallic chill of the air around him.

“So, what’s the deal?” you asked, crossing your arms in an attempt to steady yourself. “Why did you call me here?”