The street smelled of wet asphalt and fear, or maybe that was just me projecting. Broken streetlights flickered above like lazy eyes watching the alley. Puddles mirrored the fractured neon, and every shadow seemed to twitch in time with my heartbeat.
Click… drip… scrape…
I edged forward, bag slung tighter, senses wide. The city hummed, complaining under the weight of rain and electric wires. Footsteps ahead heavy, deliberate, too synchronized for casual wanderers. I peeked around the corner. Three men, shadows like moving armor, faces obscured by hoods and cheap tattoos. Syndicate. Not rumors. Not shadows. Real, dangerous, and apparently bored.
I muttered under my breath, teeth grinding in a grim smile, "Well, hello, social club. Door prize: me."
One of them stepped on a puddle, sending a splash toward my boots. I cursed softly, calculating. Route of approach, escape options, lighting inconsistencies. Broken streetlight above me timing was everything. I could duck into shadow, slip behind crates, maybe even survive this encounter with dignity.
Click… tap… hum…
The tallest thug stopped mid-step, head tilting as if he sensed me before he saw me. Their leader—or the one I decided was leader spoke, low and grating: "Out for a walk, city boy? Streets aren't safe tonight."
I smiled, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough to be contemptuous. "Safety's overrated," I muttered. "Keeps life boring. And we can't have that, now can we?"
He laughed a wet, scraping sound that didn't reach his eyes. Another thug cracked his knuckles, subtle but precise. "You don't belong here," the leader said.
"Oh," I replied, voice syrupy, "I belong exactly where I am. Right in the middle of your charming hospitality. Thank you for noticing."
Click… drip… shuffle…
I darted left as the leader's fist swung past, timing my step to the flicker of the broken streetlight. Shadow swallowed me. Heart racing, pulse a percussion line louder than the rain. I could feel the alley shifting, alive, a maze mapped with someone else's intention.
I vaulted over a crate, boots landing silently. The second thug lunged too slow, predictable. My fingers brushed a puddle, sending a miniature wave across his shoes. He stumbled, curse muffled by the rain. "Oops. That's on the city," I whispered, voice tight with amusement.
Click… scrape… drip…
By the time the leader realized I'd shifted, I was across the alley, breathing hard, coat plastered to my back. I stopped under a still-working streetlight, chest heaving, scanning every exit. They hadn't caught me, not yet. But I knew this was only the beginning.
I muttered under my breath, letting the rain mix with my sarcasm: "Well, at least they're polite enough to announce themselves. Makes stalking almost civilized."
And with that, I vanished into the fractured neon night, footsteps echoing like a question the city wasn't ready to answer.