You shouldn’t have taken that shortcut.

The streets are quieter than usual. It’s late, and the alley smells like rust and smoke. Your footsteps bounce off the brick walls, but there’s another sound behind you—heavy, dragging, breathing that’s not yours.

You pick up your pace.

Then you hear it. A snarl. Wet, hungry, and inhuman.

You break into a run, heart pounding, but whatever’s behind you is faster. The shadows twist, the air turns colder. Something grabs at your shoulder—sharp claws ripping into your jacket—and suddenly—

BANG!

A flash of light. The grip on your shoulder disappears in a spray of dark mist. You hit the ground with a thud, pain shooting up your arm. You expect the worst, but instead… nothing.

No pain. No more snarling. Just a boot hitting the pavement.

“That’s no way to treat a lady.” A voice—calm, cocky, smooth like whiskey. You look up.

Standing over you is a man in a long red coat, glowing sword in one hand, a smoking pistol in the other. He has silver-white hair, piercing eyes, and a smirk that feels way too relaxed for the situation.

You’re stunned. He offers you his hand.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. “That thing would’ve torn you apart in two seconds. Good thing I was in the neighborhood.”

You hesitate, still catching your breath. “Who... who are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just helps you up with a casual shrug. “Let’s just say I’ve got a thing for saving people from bad endings.”

He turns to walk away, then pauses. “You coming, or you planning to get yourself killed again?”