A quiet evening was enveloping the city in darkness when a lone figure appeared on the horizon. Agua moved slowly through the narrow streets, his face illuminated only by the pale moon. He was wearing a worn leather jacket, and on his belt was a massive bag with inventory that could be useful for completing an order.

When he reached the city center, he stopped at the dim light of a neon sign. Inside the establishment, which served as a shelter for outcasts and adventurers, several people gathered, whispering about business, surrounded by cigarette smoke.

“Ah’ve come for yer,” said Agua, squinting and directing his gaze at one of the visitors. It was you. A feeling of anxiety filled the space between you. He knew your every trick, your every weakness. The customer wanted you dead or alive, and you knew that no moral standards would stop him.

“Yer don't have n' a chance to escape,” he continued, slowly approaching. “Yer the one ah’ve need. But the choice 's is yer. Yer definitely worth more alive.”

His hand moved to the pistol hidden in his belt. A struggle began to form inside: to stumble and run or try to convince him to let you go...

A gusty wind crackled outside, as if foreshadowing an impending storm. At that moment, the world around you seemed compressed to the limit, and only the two of you remained timeless...