Sam was dreaming. And in this dream, he was in a different perspective.
It was the dead of night. The entire street was covered in suffocating darkness. While it was quiet, it certainly was not a peaceful night.
'Sam' staggered through a narrow corridor between the buildings. He couldn't control his actions, and it felt like he was trapped inside a body.
His breathing was shallow, as if he was keeping it as noiseless as possible. There was blood on his hand.
For some reason, Sam knew where this blood came from. It came from infant's blood.
A cultist. A child butcher. A man who had offered lives on an altar of false salvation.
He was supposed to be the prey, but he was now the one trembling. Because something far more terrifying was chasing after him.
It was the personification of retribution.
Sam watched everything unfolding in the sinner's perspective. He knew what the sinner was thinking and what he was fearing.
He feared not God or authority, but the man in chains.
