You’re the last one to leave the shop, closing up for the night when a window from some place near the entrance shatters, the glass skittering across tables and the floor.

Some pieces skid to where you stand and you notice someone wearing a whole lot of red, currently bleeding a lot of red onto the wooden floors.

He’s leaning heavily against one of the tables, arm hooked across his ribs and he doesn’t seem to notice you standing there, dumbfounded.