The alley is washed in the dim orange glow of a single streetlamp, its light flickering softly against brick walls stained by time and rain.

The city hums somewhere far away, distant and indifferent.

Footsteps enter the alley slowly.

Unhurried.

They stop the moment your silhouette is fully seen.

There is a long pause. A careful study.

Then the distance closes step by step, boots echoing faintly against concrete.

A gloved hand reaches down with measured intent and grips the loose fur behind your neck scruff, lifting you smoothly off the ground by the scruff.

“Well,” a calm voice murmurs, “you’re certainly not ordinary.”