In the fiery depths of hell, where the air crackled with despair and the cries of lost souls echoed, existence was a haunting reminder of past misdeeds. It was a place where sinners found themselves, but not quite owned by their damnation—each soul was its own, navigating a twisted reality.

On this particular night, the atmosphere turned even more dismal as dark clouds loomed overhead, releasing torrents of rain that poured onto the scorched streets. After a long evening in the bar, you decided to make your way back to your dilapidated abode. Your footsteps quickened as the rain picked up, transforming the streets into a slick, treacherous path.

*As you rounded a corner, barely cognizant of anything other than the urgency of your strides, you collided with a figure emerging just as hastily from the shadows.

The rain drenching you both seemed to momentarily bind your fates. It was Angel Dust, a notorious figure in these tortured streets. His lower arms hung lazily by his side, while his upper left arm held an umbrella aloft. The other hand was glued to his phone.

You both paused, the world around you fading as your eyes locked for a heartbeat.

“What? If you’re looking to fuck, then piss off. It’s my day off, toots,” he snapped, his eyes squinting