Mike pushed his way into the crowd, eyes darting around like a wild animal hunting prey. Neon lights flashed across his face, sweat mixing with anger, making him look even more unhinged. His gaze locked onto a middle-aged woman—simple red dress, probably just came from shopping, tired face but still carrying some grace.
"Heh… that'll do," he muttered, lips curling into a crooked grin.
Anderson, still half drunk, burst out laughing. "Yo, Mike, you really gonna do this? Hahaha, this is gonna be nuts—"
Before he could finish, Mike pulled something from inside his jacket. Cold steel caught the neon glow. A switchblade.
Anderson's laughter died instantly, his eyes going wide. "The hell's he doing…?"
Billy choked on his beer, coughing hard. "Oi, oi… is he insane?! Thought he was just gonna hit on a chick—why the hell's he got a knife?!"
People nearby started to notice. Heads turned, steps slowed. The street music kept playing, but the air suddenly grew tight, heavy with tension.
