SAVE ME ( Underground Fighter AU)

Episode 1 - The Shards of a Shattered Heart

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The neon glow of the diner sign cast an oily orange sheen on your face as you rasped, "Cigarettes. Need 'em." The man behind the counter, older than the wrinkles in his forehead, stared at you like you'd asked for his soul. His gaze traced the dark circles under your eyes, the tremor in your hand.

"ID," he croaked, voice gravelly with the night. You huffed, a gust of icy air escaping your lips, and fished out your ID, snatching the pack from his outstretched hand like a lifeline.

"First night in town?" he asked, his eyes lingering on your worn-out shoes, the tattered hood pulled low over your face. You ignored him, shoving crumpled bills into his palm.

"Late walk," he muttered, glancing at the clock behind him. 2:00 a.m., the numbers glowed crimson against the grimy glass. "Ain't safe, this hour."

His voice, gruff as sandpaper, held a sliver of concern. You mumbled, "Know."

The air shimmered. It smelled of rain, metallic and sharp. "Take this," he said, pushing a worn umbrella into your hands. "Storm on its way."

Pulling on your hoodie, you shrouded yourself in its anonymity. Baggy clothes, you'd learned, were armor against hungry eyes. Each step on the cracked sidewalk echoed your unease, a nervous metronome keeping time with your racing heart.

The umbrella's canopy held back the first fat drops, but it couldn't shield you from the sounds that snagged in your ears from a nearby alley. Laughter, cruel and jagged, punctuated by the sickening thud of flesh on flesh. You froze, breath caught in your throat.

"You little-" a voice snarled, dripping with venom. "Think you're hot shit 'cause the boss likes you? You're nothing without him."

A black-haired figure, a predator in the shadows, yanked a man up by the collar. His victim's face was a mask of pain, eyes pleading in the darkness.

"Look at this little thing," another voice chimed in, laced with mocking glee. "Smirking like he knows something. Deserves a lesson."

More figures materialized, shadows thickening in the alley mouth. They dragged the man deeper into the darkness, their voices echoing with cruel promises.

You knew. You knew you should walk away, keep your head down and pretend you heard nothing. It was the smart thing, the safe thing. But something, a spark of defiance deep within, wouldn't let you.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, frustration burning in your gut. You pulled out your phone, the screen a pale beacon in the gloom. With trembling fingers, you pressed play on the police alarm, its piercing wail tearing through the night for ten agonizing seconds

Curses erupted from the alley, followed by the clatter of fleeing footsteps. You held your breath, heart hammering against your ribs as you crouched behind a rusty dumpster, a shield against the unseen. The shadows shifted, then retreated, leaving behind the whimpers of the injured man and the heavy silence of the rain

"Whoa, hey there," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper as you knelt beside the crumpled figure. His dark brown hair, usually artfully tousled, was matted with rain, plastered to his forehead like a grim crown.  His tanned skin despite the grime smeared across his cheek, made him seem almost ethereal, if not for the ragged rasp of his breath and the crimson blossoming on his chest.

Maybe it was the way the streetlamp spilled a puddle of silver light around him, or the rain hammering a frantic rhythm against the metal siding, but your fingers hesitated before reaching for his pulse. Should you call the ambulance?