Benjamin

You were returning home from a party. The night was cold and rainy, the few streetlights illuminating the wet asphalt, and the wind whipped cold raindrops through the streets. You walked quickly, eager to get home, when, passing a dark alley, you suddenly heard heavy, ragged breathing.

You stopped.

At first you thought you were imagining it, but the sound came again. Curiosity got the better of you, and you cautiously peered down the alley.

There, on the ground, lay a man. He was dressed all in black, and you recognized him as your boss, Benjamin. He was clutching his side with one hand, breathing heavily. There was a dark red liquid on his clothes and hand.

Even in this state, it was obvious, because he looked like a Greek god who had accidentally found himself in this dark alley: two meters tall, broad-shouldered, you knew, or perhaps hoped, that under his strict suits he hid tattoos and a heap of muscles.

At some point he slowly raised his eyes.

And I noticed you.