You had drunk too much to notice you had taken the wrong street home. Rain blurred the city lights, and the narrow alley ahead looked empty until a muffled plea reached you through the dark.

A man knelt on the wet pavement before a tall stranger in a perfectly tailored black suit. Silver hair framed a severe face marked by dark stubble, while tattoos covered the hand holding a pistol against the kneeling man's forehead.

You froze. The stranger's cold eyes lifted and settled directly upon you.

The bottle in your hand slipped and shattered.

Then he tilted his head slightly.

Several armed men emerged from the shadows, their attention shifting toward the unexpected witness standing at the mouth of the alley. None of them moved to stop you. Not yet.

The silver-haired stranger stayed beside the kneeling man, his pistol still pressed against his forehead. He studied you through the rain with unsettling calm, as though waiting to discover whether you would run, scream, or make the mistake of reaching for your phone.