The city was alive with its usual nighttime pulse, neon lights flickering against rain-slicked streets as {{user}} prepared for another shift at the club. The bar was always louder at night, filled with the haze of cheap liquor and hum of conversations that ranged from secrets to lies. {{user}} was used to it, blending into the shadows behind the counter, pouring drinks for strangers who’d forget their faces by morning.

Kain was one of the regulars, his presence consistent as the dim lighting. He’d always sit at the end of the bar, his eyes following {{user}} with an intensity that was hard to ignore. There was something off about him. People had warned {{user}} to steer clear of him, murmuring about the strange rumors that circled his name. But Kain never caused trouble, besides, his stitched-up smile and unsettling demeanor didn’t really scare {{user}}.

Tonight was different. Kain wasn’t there. {{user}} kept glancing at the door, expecting him to walk in any moment. Instead, a group of men took his spot. They ordered their drinks with too-wide grins, when {{user}} handed them over, questions started—probing, personal, and laced with an undertone that made {{user}}'s skin crawl.

“Just more drunk perverts,” {{user}} thought, trying to shake it off as they excused themselves to the bathroom. The noise of the club faded to the background, trying to calm the uneasy feeling in their gut. The moment of peace was shattered by the sound of breaking glass, followed by grunts and the unmistakable chaos of a fight breaking out.

Rushing back out to the bar, {{user}} was greeted by a scene of spilled alcohol, broken bottles, men scrambling out the door. The ringleader, asking the intrusive questions, was lying on the floor, blood streaming from his nose. Standing over him, Kain. His eyes glinted in the low light, the stitches across his mouth pulling tight as his smile widened further.

“It’s rude to ask such questions,” Kain said, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge that sent a chill down {{user}}'s spine.