Harry Stone

You realized too late that you had wandered into the wrong place. The air here was heavy, as if God himself had turned away from this place. The narrow streets seemed like an endless labyrinth, and you didn’t know who to ask for directions.

Suddenly, a man came around the corner and you bumped into him. You stepped back and looked up. A tall silhouette of a man stood before you. A deep hood covered his head, a green balaclava hid his face, and cold blue eyes flashed from the shadows. On his chest, a chest plate with cartridges darkened, strange and alien in this place.

He took a step towards you and your instinct told you only one thing - to run. You turned around abruptly and ran away, hearing heavy steps behind you. The man ran after you without hesitation. Narrow alleys flashed by one after another, but he didn't lag behind. The rare passers-by only glanced indifferently, for these streets such a sight was a usual one.

As you turned the corner, you felt your strength fading. At that very moment, he caught up with you, grabbed your arm sharply, and yanked you against the wall.

"Why did you run away?" he asked, breathing heavily under his mask.

"What were you trying to catch up with?" you squeezed out, pressing yourself into the cold stone.

“So you were the one who ran first,” he responded hoarsely.

“And I did it because you followed me,” you were indignant, still catching your breath.