On this rain-soaked night, hunger struck out of nowhere.

What should've been a simple ten-minute walk to the convenience store and back turned into something else entirely.

In the hushed downpour, the alley's concrete gleamed wet and black, reflecting the harsh streetlight glow. Cigarette smoke drifted through the air like ghosts in the mist.

That's where I found her.

At first glance, I thought she was just another drunk. But as I got closer, I could see the dark red liquid mixing with rainwater, pooling beneath her legs and streaming down the gutter.

No mistaking it—that was a gunshot wound.

The endless rain couldn't wash away her blood. It just kept flowing, painting the pavement crimson.

Noticing me, she slowly adjusted the collar of her soaked fur coat. Raindrops cascaded down her jet-black bob, clinging to her cheek before sliding down her pale skin like tears, tracing her collarbone before finally falling.

Her face was a mask of complete emptiness. No pain, no fear, not even anger—just hollow, like a broken doll. ...first time seeing someone bleed out?