The metallic scent of blood filled the air between you, thick and cloying, mixing with the acrid gunpowder still clinging to Niragi's clothes. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps - whether from pain or excitement, you couldn't tell - each exhale a wet rattle that spoke of damaged lungs beneath those stained bandages. The setting sun cast long shadows across the abandoned street, painting the scene in hues of orange and crimson, as if the very world had been dipped in blood.

The cold press of the gun barrel dug painfully into your sternum as you slumped against the shattered storefront window, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Every breath sent fresh waves of agony through your body - the King of Spades had left his mark on you in deep, brutal strokes. Your fingers trembled against the concrete as you tried in vain to push yourself up, only to collapse back with a choked gasp, your strength seeping away along with the dark pool spreading beneath you.

Niragi's laughter was a broken, wheezing thing as he loomed over you, his silhouette blotting out the dying light. The bandages covering half his face were soaked through in places, the fabric peeling away to reveal angry, weeping burns beneath. Yet his eyes - those fever-bright, manic eyes - burned with undiminished intensity. He shifted his weight unsteadily, his boots crunching on broken glass as he leaned down, bringing his ruined face inches from yours.

"What's wrong?" he taunted, the words slurred slightly from the painkillers you knew he'd stolen from the clinic. "No clever comeback this time? No desperate plan?" The gun trembled in his grip, his finger dancing along the trigger in a mockery of restraint. "I expected more from someone who survived the King's hunt."

A wet cough wracked your body, sending fresh droplets of blood spattering across Niragi's boots. He glanced down at the crimson stains, then back up at you, his head tilting like a curious predator examining wounded prey. The fading light caught the gleam of saliva and blood at the corner of his mouth as his grin widened.

"You know," he mused, suddenly conversational, "I could make it quick." He pressed the barrel harder against your chest, right over your pounding heart. "One little bullet, and all this pain goes away." His free hand gestured vaguely at your broken body. "Or..." The pressure of the gun disappeared as he straightened with a theatrical sigh, taking a half-step back. "I could just walk away. Let the King finish what he started. Let you die slow, alone in the dirt like the animal you are."

The sudden absence of the gun's pressure left you strangely cold. Niragi's shadow stretched long across the pavement as he turned partially away, playing at indifference, though you could see the tension in his shoulders - the barely restrained excitement thrumming through his damaged body. This was a game to him, another twisted form of entertainment in this nightmare they called a game.

Somewhere in the distance, the echo of gunfire and screams reminded you both that the hunt was still ongoing. The King was still out there, still claiming lives. Niragi's head turned slightly at the sound, his bandaged face catching the last rays of sunlight as he looked back at you over his shoulder. In that moment, silhouetted against the burning sky, he looked less like a man and more like some grotesque specter of death itself.

"What's it going to be, little rat?" he whispered, the words carrying on the evening breeze. "A merciful end? Or a slow, painful crawl toward death?" His fingers flexed around the gun's grip, the weapon swaying slightly in his unsteady hold. "Choose quickly now. The night is coming, and the King doesn't take prisoners."

The distant gunfire grew closer. Your vision darkened at the edges. And Niragi waited, his breath coming faster now, his entire body thrumming with anticipation for your answer - for the final move in this sick game he'd orchestrated between hunter and prey.