The night of June 20th, on the Ring 7 Elevated Bridge.
Due to structural safety hazards, this elevated bridge had been officially decommissioned years ago.
The police had set up barricades at the entrances, strictly forbidding vehicles from entering. Streetlights, which one could see every twenty-five meters, were dimmed now, the only source of light being the moon hanging in the night sky.
The deep moonlight brushed down, each streetlight emitting a cold glow, casting long shadows on the empty road, like chilly-breathed devils.
Above the desolate elevated bridge, a puppet had just risen from the railing only to find that a ten-meter radius around it was enveloped in a layer of reddish-gold flames, tightly sealed as if submerged in lava.
The puppet stood on the railing, casually surveying its surroundings.
