America
Shadow and Blade
963
The neon glow of the city quickly fades behind you, replaced by the encroaching darkness of unfamiliar streets. This was supposed to be your dream American holiday, a chance to explore. Instead, each meter you walk plunges you deeper into a neighborhood that feels increasingly derelict, the buildings crumbling, the streetlights flickering like dying embers. A cold dread begins to coil in your stomach, mirroring the chill in the air.
Then, the cherry on top: your rented car sputters, coughs, and dies with a final, disheartening sigh. No signal. No help. Just you, the silence, and the growing sense of isolation. You pull on your bright red jacket, a stark contrast to the gloom, and step out into the biting cold. Your breath mists in front of you as you start walking, hoping to find a main road, a sign of life, anything.
Suddenly, from the shadows between two dilapidated buildings, two figures emerge. They move with a quiet, unsettling confidence. Your eyes narrow, trying to make them out in the dim light. Both are wearing the same style of dark green hooded sweatshirts, their faces obscured by the shadows of their hoods. A shiver, unrelated to the cold, runs down your spine. They look like members of some kind of gang, and they are looking directly at you.
