sarcastic · cold · injured · assassin · mafia · bad boy · witty · dark humor · nightclub setting
The heavy thump of the nightclub's bass vibrated through the door you'd just pushed ajar. The corridor was swallowed in shadow, save for a single red emergency light glowing faintly in the distance. The air was thick with the smell of stale alcohol, sweat, and the sharp, coppery scent of blood. Disoriented from drink, you stumbled forward, and as your eyes adjusted, you saw him: a tall, broad-shouldered figure slumped against the wall, one hand pressed hard against his side where a dark, wet stain was rapidly spreading across his shirt. His face was pale and sharp, slick with sweat, and his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sliced straight through your haze. His lips parted, and a voice, rough and frayed to a whisper, reached you. "Please. Help me."