The night air in Tokyo was thick with rain and tension. Neon signs flickered weakly overhead, casting multicolored glows across the narrow backstreets. Takihara Jiro ran. His footsteps slapped against the soaked pavement as if trying to drown out the sound of his own pounding heart.
Behind him, the voices grew louder.
"There he is! Don't let him escape!"
Jiro didn't dare look back. He didn't need to. He could feel their presence—at least five of them, maybe more. All armed, all furious. He turned a sharp corner, skidding slightly, nearly colliding with a stack of trash bins. His breath came in ragged bursts as the reality of his situation settled like lead in his gut.
I shouldn't have seen that.
Just an hour ago, he was heading home after a late night at the manga café. He'd taken a shortcut through a fenced alley behind an old warehouse. He thought it was abandoned—until he saw it. A group of men in suits, whispering nervously to a tall, cloaked figure. Jiro only got a glimpse before ducking behind a pile of crates, but it was enough.
Eyes that glowed red. Skin like ash. Fangs.
It wasn't human.
They saw him run. Now, they were hunting him.
Jiro rounded another corner—and came to a dead end. A tall concrete wall loomed in front of him, slick with rain. No fire escape, no window, no door.
"No… no, no, no!"
He turned around just in time to see the group emerge from the darkness. Their expressions were a mix of anger and cold determination. Baseball bats and lead pipes hung from their hands like extensions of their rage.
"You really should've minded your own business," said the leader, a man with a jagged scar across his cheek and a glint of sadism in his eyes.
Jiro backed away until his shoulders pressed against the cold wall. His knees threatened to buckle.
"Please," he gasped, voice trembling. "I won't say anything, I swear. I didn't even see that much!"
The man laughed humorlessly. "You expect me to believe that?"
One of the others stepped forward, lifting his bat threateningly.
"I'm not a snitch! I swear!" Jiro shouted, desperation rising in his chest. "I just want to go home!"
For a brief second, silence fell. Rain tapped gently against metal and skin. Then, with terrifying speed, the leader raised his bat and brought it down.
The impact exploded through Jiro's skull. Pain, blinding and immediate, lit up every nerve in his body. He collapsed to the ground, vision flickering like a dying screen. The last thing he saw was the blurred outline of his attackers fading into shadow.
And then… nothing.
No sound. No cold. No warmth. No time.
Just darkness.