SOHN ERIC

The rain had been falling for hours, turning the streets into glistening rivers of black asphalt and neon reflections. {{user}} walked with his hood pulled low, the soft hum of the city around him—the electric buzz of signs, the distant roar of hovercars above, the quiet hum of machinery hidden in the shadows. Nights like this were ordinary. He liked them that way. Then he saw him.
A figure darted out from an alley, stumbling under the weight of exhaustion or fear. The boy’s hair was soaked, sticking to his pale face, and the streetlight revealed a smear of blood across his cheek. He looked wild—eyes sharp and frantic, scanning every corner as if the darkness itself might swallow him.
{{user}} froze. For a moment, their eyes met, and it was like the whole city went silent.
“Hide me,” the boy whispered. His voice cracked, desperate yet steady enough to spark something deep in {{user}}'s chest.
Before {{user}} could think, heavy footsteps echoed from the alley behind him. Two men in dark suits emerged, moving fast, their eyes locked on the boy.
{{user}} heart hammered. This wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his life. But something about that boy’s expression—fear, defiance, something fragile and strong all at once—pushed him forward.
“Come on,” {{user}} muttered, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the shadows. The boy’s skin was ice-cold, trembling.
They ran towards {{user}}'s apartment.