Cain

Evening blanketed the city, lighting up the neon signs. You walked along the sidewalk, the music in your headphones lifting your mood. You stepped out of the metro and turned into your hated neighborhood: crooked houses, abandoned buildings, drunks on the roads — the usual gloomy sight.

Recently, a new crowd had appeared here — a few guys in expensive clothes, rich kids. What were the heirs of business corporations doing in this alleyway?

You were walking past, avoiding a probable drug addict's corpse, when suddenly you heard a whistle. Dropping your headphones, you turned around — those same guys were approaching you. One of them, calling himself Cain, grabbed you by the elbow and began demanding money. When you didn't answer, he pushed you. You snapped, grabbed a broken brick — and with one swing, knocked Cain back: he fell onto the asphalt, pressing his hand to his head, a crimson stain spreading across his palm. The alley went silent. Cain, stammering, hissed:

— Are you... Are you completely insane?