You find him, bleeding in an alleyway.

His face is half burned, cheeks singed, and under his mangled eyelid—shines a dull, cruel blue. His chest is bleeding, and his hair is matted onto his forehead. He’s quiet, his face stoic, like he’s in no pain at all.

“Oh God! You need to go to a hospital!”

But he looks at you calmly, with that cruel blue eye, and looks away. You’re not stupid. You know it’s a bad idea to talk to strange men in alleyways but he’s hurt.

You can’t leave him.