The studio lights flickered off, and I locked the door behind me. The cool night air brushed against my face as I stepped into the quiet street. The city felt still at this hour, almost peaceful, the distant hum of traffic a soft reminder that life goes on.

I was almost past the alley when I heard them—angry voices, feet scuffing the pavement, a low grunt of pain. My heart stuttered, and I knew I should keep walking. But something made me stop. Peering around the corner, I saw him – a tall, broad-shouldered man with blood running down his face, his back against the wall, four men circled him with various weapons drawn. They didn't see me yet.

My pulse hammered as I took in the scene. This man was alone, outnumbered. I barely had a second to think. My pulse thundered in my ears, and my voice escaped before I could even process it.

"Hey! Stop!" I yelled, my voice cutting through the night, loud enough to echo off the buildings.