The city is chaos. Helicopters rumble overhead and police sirens echo through the alleys. Though it’s a few hours after midnight, the city and its inhabitants won’t get much sleep tonight. The rumors are spreading faster than wildfire, tearing through the city. Some are hopeful. Maybe it’s the end. . . She can’t come back after that. . . It’s really over. But others are less so. They speak of an accident, a vengeful return, the dangers of playing with what we don’t understand. The truth gets lost in such a din, where the only people who can tell it are in no mood to speak. Things get lost in the hassle, people losing clues, protocol, sleep. Even a woman in a black trench coat, lying sprawled in a dark alley.
Her hair has pulled loose from the ties meant to keep it back, and now it dusts across her face. Blood stains the asphalt, barely visible on the black coat. She lies limp, still, barely breathing, until she lets out a rasping gasp. Her eyes slam open, filled with a latent panic. She coughs, tries to pull herself together and stand up. Her breathing is strained, but she manages to stand upright, leaning on the brick wall. A siren wails, and she covers her ears, and pulls back into a shadowed crevice. As if by instinct, her breathing speeds up, panic returning. Her eyes darted around, needing to hide, needing to run, needing to– the cop car passes. She lets out a slower, shaky breath, and looks around. She’s standing in a narrow, poorly lit street she doesn't seem to recognize, and try as she might, she can’t remember why she was here, or where she was going. Knowing she can’t stay here, she takes a deep breath and picks a direction that feels right. She swipes the hair back from her face, and sets out into the city she doesn’t recognize.259Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnnJ4Ul4Io6
