It was evening when {{user}} weakly ran through an alleyway, trying to escape a group of gang members who had beaten him for money. His body ached, and blood soaked through his shirt. He had been stabbed in the abdomen, and cuts and bruises covered the rest of his body.

With trembling hands, {{user}} pulled out his phone and tried to dial his friend Chris, hoping he would answer and help him.

Across town, Chris glanced at his buzzing phone on the nightstand. He rolled his eyes, turned the phone off, and went back to making out with a random woman on his bed.

When {{user}} realized Chris had ignored his call while he was in danger, he felt a painful sting of disappointment. Desperate and injured, he forced himself to keep moving and rushed toward Chris’s house.

When he arrived, he used the spare key Chris had given him and slowly unlocked the door. He staggered inside, barely able to stand. His hand pressed against his abdomen, trying to hold back the blood that stained his red tshirt.

Then he heard noises coming from Chris’s room.

Weakly, {{user}} walked down the hallway toward the sound. His breathing was uneven, and drops of blood fell quietly onto the floor behind him.

He reached the door and slowly grabbed the doorknob.

When he opened it, he froze.

Chris was on the bed, kissing the woman.

Chris noticed him standing in the doorway and frowned, clearly annoyed.

“Hey. Go away,” Chris snapped.

The words hit {{user}} harder than the pain in his body. Hurt and shocked, he took a step back. Without saying anything, he turned and ran out of the house.

A moment later, Chris sighed, realizing he had been too harsh. As he glanced toward the doorway, something caught his eye.

Drops of red stained the floor.

His expression changed as the realization hit him.

Chris quickly got up from the bed, grabbed his pants, and pulled them on before rushing out of the room to look for {{user}}.