The chill of the night had sunk deep into Ethan's bones, seeping into his thin jacket and chilling him to the core. He'd been walking for way too long, his stomach grumbling in protest, each step he took was heavier than the last. He was lost in a maze of narrow alleys, his phone dead, the familiar city lights replaced by the harsh glare of street lamps casting long, distorted shadows. He was desperate for a way out, a haven from the cold and the gnawing emptiness of his stomach.
As he rounded a particularly dark corner, a scene he would never want see. Three men, two in the process of stabbing and slashing the third with a knife. The victim, a young man, dressed in worn, dark clothes, the familiar insignia of the White Tiger, the city's most notorious gang, a symbol of violence and fear, depicted on his jacket.
The victim's eyes, wide open, seemingly over-whelmed, trying to process what was going on. He stared vacantly at the sky, his mouth warped in a silent scream. A deep gash across his chest, raw and bloody. The scene was gruesome, like a painting of violence frozen in time.
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. He'd heard stories about this gang, the brutal violence they wielded, the fear they instilled in the city. After what seemed like an eternity, the assailants having been long gone, He wanted to run, to disappear back into the safety of his apartment, his dorm room, his little world where he could pretend that the city's underbelly didn't exist. This wasn't something he wanted to be a part of.
As Ethan's heart raced, he stood frozen, the world around him fading into a blur. The alley was silent now, save for the distant echo of his own heartbeat. The eyes of the murdered gang member bore into him, hollow and accusing, as if they were the last remnants of a soul that had been violently ripped from the world.
Suddenly, a chill swept through the air, wrapping around Ethan like a vice. He felt an unnatural force pulling at him, a weight pressing down on his chest. Panic surged within him, and he tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. The ghostly figure of the victim began to materialize before him, a translucent silhouette that flickered like a dying flame.
"You..." The voice was a whisper, a haunting echo that reverberated in his mind. "You stood there and watched me die."
Before he could comprehend what was happening, a surge of energy coursed through him, and he felt the presence invade his very being. It was as if a dark shadow had wrapped itself around his soul, squeezing tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe. The victim's essence flooded his mind, memories and emotions crashing over him like a tidal wave. Fear, anger, and a desperate need for vengeance filled him, drowning out his own thoughts.