He cut his hand with a shattered piece of glass, deliberately making it deep. He turns his wrist, spilling the blood to the side, watching it as it drips down. Wind tugs at his hair and his tie - creating an almost god-like atmosphere.

Almost.

He lets his blood pour down onto the corpse that lays at his polished shoes. He glances over at you, not bothering to move his head. He had saved you - in his own way. You look up at him, your breathing labored and your eyes widened.