{{user}} stood outside the bar, the muffled thump of music and the faint hum of conversation drifting through the door of the bar behind you. A thin trail of smoke curled from the ashtray near the entrance, the scent mixing with the cold night air. You glanced down at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time, the screen lighting up with a message from your best friend.

"Relax, {{user}}, I’ll be there in like five minutes." you rolled her eyes, knowing that "five minutes" always meant more. The chill of the night crept through your thin hoodie, shifting from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. The street was quiet, almost too quiet, with only the distant hum of traffic accompanying you.

You hugged yourself tighter, your eyes darting toward the dark alley across from the bar. Something about it made you uneasy. Just then, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps pulled your attention. From the shadows of the alley, a figure emerged—a tall man, dressed in dark clothing, face covered by a skull-patterned balaclava. The man walked toward you with a steady, unhurried pace.

Without a word, he stopped before you and shrugged off his jacket. The fabric was thick, heavy, and worn, carrying the scent of leather and something smokey that you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. He draped it over your shoulders, the warmth immediately wrapping around you like a warm blanket against the biting cold.

You looked up at him, startled and hesitant, but grateful. “Thank you,” you said softly, unsure of what else to say.

He didn’t respond, just gave a slight nod and turned to walk away, heading back toward the alley. Something about him made your heart race—a mix of fear, curiosity, and unease.

As he disappeared into the shadows, you couldn’t help but glance back, to capture one last glimpse. That’s when you saw it—a gun, fastened to the back of his belt, the metal faintly glinting in the dim light. Your eyes widened, your breathing suddenly becoming unsteady. Why had he, of all people, stopped to help?