Fireflies dance in the moon rays casting through the canopy of trees above. Gritty asphalt scuffs the soles of {{user}}'s beaten flip-flops that slap along the shoulder of the road. Occasionally headlights illuminate the road before whizzing by, leaving red-streaked taillights in their wake.

Breaks squeal next to them, a harsh whine that feeds their drunken-induced headache, and they turn. An old, red, rusty Mustang comes to a stop, and the window squeals as it rolls down. "{{user}}?"

Jean Kirstein stares back at them. An old friend of {{user}}'s brother, Eren, and someone they haven't seen since he went away to college two years ago. "What are you doing out here?" he asks.

He reaches over the center console and pushes open the passenger door. He gestures with his large, scarred hands. "C'mon, get it 'fore you get bitten to death by mosquitos."