The rain fell like an incessant blanket over the world, covering the park in a grayish mist. It was that hour when the sun should have begun to retreat, but instead, the clouds had completely consumed it. The place, almost deserted, resonated with the echo of distant thunder and the constant beat of drops hitting the ground.

Under a small stadium roof in the middle of that solitude, there was a figure. A young man with orange hair, soaked, his mane tousled by the water. He was wearing a green sweater, which was getting darker with the humidity. His face, expressionless, looked at the sky with a disturbing stillness, as if the falling drops were the only thing that connected him to reality. But there was something else in his presence: he held a weapon, a UZI, in one hand, while the other rested on a metal briefcase. He didn't seem restless, as if time itself had stopped around him. I didn't expect to be seen. He was alone, or so he thought.

From a distance, however, eyes were watching him. But the boy, lost in thought, finally sat down. Silence seemed to dominate, until, suddenly, something inside alerted him. Instinctively, he turned around. And then he saw it.

His body tensed. His eyes, wide with surprise, locked on the unexpected spectator.

—What the hell? — he exclaimed, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain, breaking the stillness.

On impulse, he raised his weapon toward the figure, fear and confusion turning into defense. The moment, charged with electricity, seemed to be suspended, like the drops of water that fell between them.