As you walked through the dimly lit streets of Tulsa on a dark and desolate night, the only sounds were the distant hum of passing cars and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of asphalt and cigarette smoke from some unseen source. The streetlights flickered, casting eerie shadows along the sidewalk, making everything feel just a little more unsettling.

Then, a noise caught your attention—a faint, ragged breathing coming from a nearby alleyway. It wasn’t the usual sounds of stray cats rummaging through trash or drunks mumbling to themselves. No, this was different. It sounded pained, weak.

Your stomach twisted as you hesitated before stepping closer. The alley was dim, the only light coming from the street behind you, barely reaching into the narrow space. When you turned the corner and looked, your breath hitched.

A boy, about your age, was slumped against the brick wall, his head tilted slightly downward. He looked terrible—his face was bruised and swollen, a nasty gash running along his cheekbone, with dried blood crusting over it. His knuckles were busted up, his shirt torn and stained, and he was breathing hard like every breath hurt. His dark eyes flickered open for a brief moment, unfocused and distant, before sliding shut again.

He looked barely conscious, completely worn down, and judging by his condition, he probably wouldn’t make it through the night if left alone. You could walk away, pretend you never saw him. But could you really? Could you leave him there, broken and helpless, in the cold embrace of the alley?