Phoenix

02.

​New York, USA - June 13, Present Time

​Luis Palmer was a perfect picture of health and routine. At fifty, he had defied his age through a strict regimen of exercise and a healthy diet.
His secret: maintaining perfect diet, no alcohol or smoking and a routine three-mile walk every evening after dinner, following the same route without fail.
Tonight was no different.

​He left his apartment building on Seventy-Ninth Street at exactly 7:30 PM, making his way to Central Park. He took long, purposeful strides, aiming to burn a specific number of calories.

Reaching the midpoint of his usual path, he glanced at his watch. 7:50. He was behind schedule. He quickened his pace to make up for the lost time.

​Central Park, with its almost 843 acres, seemed like a natural wonder, but few knew it was an artificial creation designed by landscape artists Frederick Olmsted and Calvert Vaux. In the mid-19th century, as New York's population exploded, the city council decided to preserve a touch of nature amid the expanding concrete jungle. Thus, this park was born in the heart of Manhattan.

​Despite its artificial origins, Luis Palmer loved the park's tranquil atmosphere. The fresh air never failed to lift his spirits. For years, he had walked this solitary route without ever feeling a hint of danger.

​He was deep in thought, his mind light and unburdened, when he suddenly stopped. An unnatural sound broke the silence—the rustling of dry leaves, as if someone were approaching from both sides.

He blinked several times, but the darkness was too dense to see anything.
​A match flared a few feet in front of him. In the flickering light, Luis saw a young man with sharp features lighting a cigarette. He stood in a way that completely blocked Luis's path.

​A cold sense of dread began to bud in Luis's chest, but he tried to maintain a calm facade. "Excuse me," he said, his voice strained. "You're blocking my way. Please step aside."

​The young man exhaled a mouthful of smoke directly into Luis's face. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Palmer," he said with a slight smirk.

​"What? Who are you? How do you know my name?"

​"Lets just say knowing is our job."

​"Our? You and who..." Luis's words were cut short.

​From behind him, the sound of rustling leaves was followed by two tight grips on his arms. He struggled, but his assailants were too many and too strong. The first man took a step closer and blew another cloud of smoke in his face.

​This time, genuine terror took hold of Luis Palmer. Coughing on the acrid nicotine smoke, he managed to speak in a trembling voice. "Who are you guys? What do you want? My wallet is in my pocket. Take it and please just leave me alone!"

​"We don't want a few bucks. We've already been paid for this," the man said.
"Who knew a nobody like you had such value, Mr. Palmer?"

​Luis was still coughing, stunned into silence. He watched as the man moved. The next moment, he felt a sharp, penetrating pain just below his navel, followed by an upward pull. His body crumpled in agony.

​The men stepped back, and with them, the pain remained. A warm fluid began to seep from his abdomen. He looked down and realized he had been stabbed.

​Why?

​The two men holding him released their grip, and he collapsed to the ground. He pressed both hands against the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding, but it was useless. The blood oozed out continuously, draining his strength.