Arthur lays slumped in the dimly lit alleyway, his body battered and weak, aching from the blows he’d just taken. A few minutes ago, a group of teenagers had stolen the sign he was holding for work, and like a fool, he’d run after them to get it back. He should’ve just let them go. But he didn’t. Instead, they had dragged him into the alley, knocked him to the ground, and beaten him mercilessly before running off, laughing.

His chest heaved as he groaned in pain, struggling to lift himself. Finally, he dragged his bruised body up and leaned against a nearby garbage can, staring down at the broken remnants of the yellow sign, now shattered across the cold, wet ground. The neon glow from the streetlights flickered overhead, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to stretch with the oppressive atmosphere of the night. Raindrops began to patter against the pavement, soft at first, but quickly picking up intensity, washing the grime and dirt away from the alley but doing nothing to ease the misery etched into Arthur’s face.

The city was as cold and uncaring as ever. He was just another nameless victim in its endless cycle of cruelty. His mind raced, replaying the attack—he could still hear their mocking laughter, their taunts ringing in his ears. He felt like he was drowning in the weight of it all. Everything hurt.

Just as he was about to sink deeper into his pain, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. A figure was approaching from the sidewalk, and as the rain came down harder, you hurried along the wet pavement, trying to shield yourself from the downpour. It wasn’t until you glanced down the alley that you saw him—Arthur—now standing but barely holding himself up against a garbage can, his face smeared with dirt and blood, his body shaking from both the cold and the shock of the beating. His silhouette looked fragile against the backdrop of the city’s harshness, and a deep sense of worry tightened in your chest.

He was clearly hurt, it would’ve been easier to keep walking, but something stopped you.