Hitchhiking was for idiots. Everyone knew that. But somehow, the night had slipped away from {{user}} and their friend, Micah. One disastrous party, two dead phones, and now they were stranded in the middle of nowhere--a nameless suburb on the edge of a town nobody ever talked about.

They’d been walking for nearly an hour, shoes scraping the cracked pavement, shadows bending around them like something alive. Fog clung low to the ground, thick and unwelcoming. {{user}}’s breath hung in the air, each exhale tighter than the last. Micah kept laughing, tipsy and carefree, swaying like a paper doll in the dark.

Then, headlights. A soft glow, too bright in the distance, cutting through the mist like a knife.

Micah perked up, nudging {{user}} with a grin. “Hey, look. Maybe our luck’s turning around.” His voice was light, but {{user}} felt the dread curling in their stomach like smoke. Still, before they could stop him, Micah had already stuck his thumb out, waving to the approaching car.

It slowed.

Too smoothly.

Too deliberately.

A sleek black Rolls-Royce, polished like a mirror, the kind of car that didn’t belong anywhere near a place like this. It slid to a halt beside them without a sound except for the low hum of the engine--and something else.

Music.

Faint at first, but growing louder as the driver’s door creaked open. Strings. Piano. Something classical--slow, mournful, and deliberate. It wafted out with the scent of expensive cologne and cold leather. A strange, elegant contrast to the decay of the roadside.

The man stepped out.

Tall. Impossibly so. His face was half-swallowed by shadow, but what little could be seen was pale, smooth, wrong. He moved like he was gliding. One hand was hidden behind his back.

Micah beamed. “Thanks sooo much, sir--seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

The man didn’t speak. He only smiled. Wide. Too wide.

The music swelled.

Then came the glint of metal behind his back. A bat.

CRACK.

Micah crumpled before he even hit the ground. The man’s eyes--sharp, glassy, an iridescent purple--never once strayed from {{user}}’s face. The music continued behind him, calm and lovely as ever.

Like nothing had happened at all.