On January 9, in Serinity Country's capital city, Serenthia, the evening was enveloped in a pleasant atmosphere, and the winter chill lingered in the air. The city appeared lively, illuminated by vibrant lights, and even though it was already 11 at night, the city showed no signs of falling asleep.
In such a bustling city, there was one street that stood eerily quiet, empty and desolate, with only the streetlights flickering in the cold. On that silent road, a lone man walked slowly, shivering from the biting chill. His left hand leaned against the wall for support as he moved forward. With each step he took, crimson drops of blood fell onto the pristine white snow, staining it a deep red.
"Fuckkk... it hurts," he whispered weakly, his voice trembling.
"Isn't there anyone here?"
With his bloodstained hand clutching his abdomen, he staggered forward. Someone had stabbed him, and the evidence was clear—his white sweater was soaked red around the wound. Slowly, one painful step at a time, he continued down the empty street, each step draining what little strength he had left. His breaths grew heavier, ragged, and labored, as though every inhale was a fight to stay alive.
Blood dripped down his forehead from a deep gash, smearing across his face and masking his handsome features almost entirely. His vision blurred as the cold air stung his wounds, but he pushed on, leaving a grim trail of red behind him.
Finally, his strength gave out, and his legs buckled beneath him. He collapsed backward onto the icy, snow-covered path with a heavy thud. The impact sent a spray of blood across the pristine white surface, the vibrant red stark against the untouched snow. His head hit the ground with a dull crack, a sharp jolt of pain flashing through him before a numbing cold took over.
His blurred eyes gazed up at the endless, dark sky, the gentle snowflakes falling silently onto his face. The freezing touch of the snow only deepened the ache in his body, yet he felt a strange calm, as though the world itself was whispering his end. The frosty air escaped his lips in shallow puffs, growing weaker with each exhale.
A faint, bitter smile formed on his lips as his trembling hand pressed against his abdomen, attempting to stem the warm blood that pooled beneath him. It seeped into the snow, turning the ground into a grotesque palette of white and crimson.
"Looks like... my time has come," he muttered, his voice a fragile echo in the stillness. His chest heaved as he forced out his final words, "How did it come to this...? How did I end up like this?"
Slowly closing his eyes, Billy Scott began to reflect on how he ended up in this situation.
A few moments earlier…
On the same road, Billy Scott was walking while staring at his mobile. With every step he took, the sound of crunching snow echoed softly beneath his feet. On his phone's call list, he noticed five missed calls, all under the name "Mama."
"If I go home now, Mama won't let me off easy," he sighed to himself. Frustration tinged his voice as he added, "Not only am I late, but I didn't even answer her calls… great." Regret washed over him as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and quickened his pace. Determined to get home as fast as possible, he ignored the biting cold and focused solely on moving forward.
As he walked, Billy suddenly heard a sound from the distance.
He stopped, his senses sharpening. It was faint but unmistakable-someone was crying, their voice laced with fear and desperation, calling for help.
Without a moment's hesitation, Billy took off in the direction of the sound, running faster with each step. The cold air burned his lungs, but he didn't stop. Finally, he arrived at the scene-a man was attempting to snatch a woman's bag. The woman was struggling, holding onto the bag tightly, her screams for help piercing the air.
Billy wasted no time, charging forward and tackling the thief.
Both Billy and the thief fell onto the snow, the impact scattering loose powder around them. Billy quickly got to his feet, brushing the snow off.
"This generation doesn't even know how to show respect to their elders," the thief spat as he stood up, his weak frame shaking slightly. "Looks like I'll have to teach you some respect, kid."
"Respect? Hah, don't make me laugh," Billy retorted, settling into a fighting stance. "If you want to fight, then hurry up. I don't have all night."
The thief growled in frustration and lunged at Billy, swinging wildly. But Billy dodged the attacks effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. The thief lacked any real technique, while Billy countered every move with the skill of an experienced fighter.
In a matter of moments, Billy overpowered the man, pinning him to the ground and locking his arms.
"You okay, ma'am?" Billy asked, glancing at the woman. But to his dismay, she was already gone, having fled during the commotion. Disappointment flashed across Billy's face.
"Seriously? Not even a word of thanks," he muttered, loosening his grip on the thief. "Guess no one's here to witness my heroics."
Reaching for his phone, Billy decided to call the authorities. As he dialed, a sharp pain shot through his abdomen. Confused, he looked down to see the thief had taken advantage of the moment, pulling out a pocket knife and stabbing him in the gut.
Billy froze, the shock overwhelming him. But the thief didn't stop-he stabbed Billy again, driving the blade deeper before staggering to his feet and attempting to flee.
Despite the pain, Billy grabbed the thief's wrist with one hand and his abdomen with the other, holding on tightly. The thief struggled to break free, slamming Billy into a nearby wall. The impact was brutal, causing Billy's head to slam against the surface, leaving him dazed. In the chaos, his phone slipped from his hand and nowhere to be found.
Present…
Billy lay motionless on the snow-covered ground, his eyes fixed on the dark sky above. Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes, perhaps from the pain or the bitter realization of his situation. His breathing grew heavier, each exhale visible in the cold air.
"Mom… it feels like I'll meet you for the first time now… and maybe… I'll see dad too," he whispered faintly, his trembling hand clutching his abdomen tighter. "Mama must be worried… I couldn't even call her…"
A bitter smile crossed his lips as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "My time has come…" he muttered, his voice fading. "Sorry, Austin…"
With those words, Billy's eyes slowly began to close, the world around him dimming into silence.
Suddenly, a sound pierced through the stillness. Footsteps crunching through the snow, hurried and frantic. Someone was running toward him, the rhythm quickening with each step.
"Hey, kid! Are you okay?!" A soft, yet panicked voice called out, breaking through the numbing silence like a warm breeze on a winter's night.
Billy's eyelids fluttered open weakly, his vision hazy and unfocused. Through the blur, he saw her—a figure kneeling beside him, her presence glowing against the cold, lifeless backdrop. Her chestnut hair spilled like cascading silk from beneath a hooded pink sweater, the soft fabric dusted with snowflakes. Her pale complexion caught the moonlight, making her seem almost ethereal, as though she were woven from the snow itself. Her wide brown eyes, shimmering with worry, anchored him to reality, her gaze gentle yet urgent, as if pleading for him to stay.
She fumbled for her phone with trembling hands, speaking hurriedly into it. Her voice sounded far away to him, but it was a melody that cut through the numbness. She was calling for help; that much he understood.
As his strength faded, the cold seeped deeper into him, wrapping around his chest like a frozen chain. Yet, he managed to summon the last flicker of his voice. His words came out in a fragile murmur, filled with childlike awe.
"Are you… an angel? Did heaven send you… just for me?"
The faintest trace of a smile tugged at his bloodied lips as he stared at her face—soft and glowing like a dream—and in that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
His breath slowed, and his vision dimmed once more. The last image his eyes caught was of her, haloed by the falling snow, her concerned voice carrying him into the darkness like a lullaby.