Bourbon Whiskey

In the dim light of the night, you come across an injured criminal. Blood was constantly flowing from his clothes. He had injuries on his left arm and waist, but he had no expression on his face. He was just leaning against the wall, holding his wounds. His hands were shaking slightly.

"Don't stay around here. Get out of here quickly."

His gray-purple pupils gleamed with caution, like an injured and abandoned puppy.