He ran all night, not because he was in a hurry, but because he didn't want to run into any more trouble. The last encounter was a good warm-up, but he knew if he wasn't careful, he might actually kill someone next time. The thought didn't bother him as much as it should have.
The towns he passed were just blurs of dim lights and quiet streets. He didn't stop, didn't look back. There was only one destination on his mind. A few hours before sunrise, he finally saw it—a sea of glowing lights shining like a beacon in the dark. Zenith City. Home.
He slowed to a walk as he approached the city limits, no need to rush anymore. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, he bathed in its warm orange glow, feeling strangely refreshed. This was it. His second chance. And there was no way in hell he was going to waste it.
But the moment he stepped past the city gates, the memories hit him like a physical blow. He remembered being thrown out, his clothes torn, his body bruised. He remembered the jeers, the angry faces of people who once called him friend, chasing him through the streets, wanting to beat him down for a crime he didn't commit.
He exhaled slowly, pushing the bitterness down. He walked through the familiar streets, a ghost returned from the grave. Nothing had really changed. The same shops lined the roads, the same vendors were setting up their stalls for the morning rush. He felt a weird pang of nostalgia seeing his old favorite spots.
Then he saw it. The little crepe stand on the corner, run by a kind old man who made the best damn crepes in the entire city. An excited grin spread across his face, and without thinking, he ran over.
"Hello, one of your special crepes, please."
He sat down at one of the small outdoor tables, looking around the shop. It was exactly the same. The same checkered tablecloths, the same chipped paint on the chairs. To him, it felt like he'd been gone for years, but to everyone else, it had only been a few months.
The vendor, a man with a kind, wrinkled face, brought his plate over and set it down. A beautiful, golden-brown crepe filled with strawberries and cream. Vell's mouth watered. But before he could even pick up his fork, the vendor's eyes widened in recognition. The kindness in his face vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. He snatched the plate away.
"You! What are you doing back here? Do you have a death wish?"
The man stormed back into his shop, probably to call the guards or worse. The other customers, who hadn't recognized him, whispered among themselves, confused as to what he could have done to anger such a nice old man.
'Shit. I shouldn't have gotten so excited. But damn, I really wanted that crepe. It's so delicious.'
He got up to leave, but the vendor rushed back out, a phone clutched in his hand. 'Guess he's telling everyone I'm back. Whatever. I'm not scared anymore.' His fingers twitched with a flicker of dark energy. 'Maybe I should just kill him. He was one of the first to turn on me, after all. Almost shot at me back then.'
He took a deep breath, calming the murderous impulse. This wasn't the time for violence. Not yet.
'Tch, let's just get out of here. It's not worth the hassle.'
"DON'T YOU DARE COME BACK TO MY SHOP, YOU FREAK!" the vendor screamed after him. "NEXT TIME I WON'T LET YOU OFF SO EASILY."
He ignored the outburst, walking away as the whispers of the crowd followed him. It didn't take long before more people started to recognize him. He could feel their stares, see the disgust in their eyes. But he didn't care. They were nothing to him now. Why should their opinions matter?
'…It's getting annoying being barefoot, though. Let's go buy some shoes.'
He changed direction, heading toward a part of town he knew well. He walked past a fancy, high-end clothing store, the kind with mannequins that looked more alive than most of the people inside. But his destination wasn't there. It was the tiny, run-down shoe shop right next to it.
'Stubborn old man, still operating next to a luxury boutique. How does he expect to get any customers?'
He gently pushed the door open, careful not to break the fragile glass. The shop was a mess, everything covered in a thick layer of dust, as if the owner had given up on cleaning weeks ago. He looked around, spotting a pair of simple white slippers that caught his eye. They looked comfortable.
'Nice. And only 99 credits. The old man is still generous with his prices.'
He walked over to the counter and noticed the door to the back office was slightly ajar. He could hear the faint sound of an argument from inside. Curious, he casually pushed the door open and stepped in.
The scene was tense. Two tough-looking guys with guns were standing over the old shop owner, who was slumped in his chair, bruised and shaking. Another man sat behind the desk, leisurely twirling a knife. He looked up as Vell entered, and his eyes widened in recognition.
"Well, well, look who it is," the man said, standing up and walking toward him. "Mister Pervert is back in town." He pointed the knife at Vell, studying him in silence.
The other two goons grew tense, their hands moving toward their guns. But the man with the knife just laughed.
"HAHAHA! What happened to you, man? You look different… younger and more handsome. Trying to look better than your bro?"
The other gang members looked confused. Their usually violent leader was being friendly with this guy?
Vell smirked. "Tch, still beating up old men, huh, Leo? When are you going to change?"
Leo's smile faded. "…We have a good reason this time." He walked back to the desk, pulled out a small, wooden box, and called Vell over.
He opened the box. Inside were dozens of photos of young girls, all taken from a distance, like a stalker's collection. He recognized several of them from the neighborhood. He finally understood why Leo and his crew were here.
"Wait, is that—?" he whispered, but he couldn't finish the sentence before his friend nodded.
"That's the boss's one and only daughter," Leo said, his voice grim. "You remember how he used to freak out when she was just playing near you? What do you think he'd do if he found out about this old creep?"
"...How did you find out about this?"
"We caught him taking pictures in the park. At first, we didn't think much of it, but he kept doing it, over and over. We got suspicious and confronted him. If we were wrong, we'd have apologized, maybe given him some credits for the trouble. But after we found these…" Leo gestured to the box. "If we take him to the boss, things will get ugly. Real ugly."
His friend closed the box. He looked at Vell, then at the bruised old man. He knew what was about to happen here, and while he didn't like this side of his friend, he understood it. This wasn't his business.
He pulled out the pouch of credits he'd "earned" last night and placed 99 on the table. He looked at Leo one last time.
"I get what you need to do," he said quietly. "I don't like this side of you, but I can't stop you. Come find me later. I'll treat you to something good."
He gave his friend a quick, firm hug and started to leave. Leo watched him go, sensing that something was different about him—the way he walked, the way he talked, the look in his eyes. It was like he was a completely different person.
'I'm sorry you went through so much because of lies, my friend,' Leo thought, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. 'I hope you can recover and move on.'
He placed the box back on the desk and walked over to the old man, cracking his knuckles. It was time to finish the job.