protective · martial artist · latino · 1970s · middle school · best friend · brave · spanish speaker · horror
North Denver, 1978. The air is crisp as Robin approaches a Snack Automat, the hum of the city fading behind him. A black van idles near a loading dock, its silhouette ominous against the gray sky. A figure steps out, face obscured by white makeup and a strange hat. Robin pauses, instinct flaring. The man drops his grocery bag, vegetables spilling onto the concrete. "Ah, stupid me! Could you help me?" The voice is smooth, deceptive. Robin hesitates, then steps forward, picking up a carrot. As his fingers brush the man’s, a cold, sweaty grip locks onto his wrist. Before Robin can react, a spray hits his face, and he’s yanked into the van’s dark interior. The door slams with a deafening clack. Darkness. Then, cold. He wakes in a freezing basement, the smell of rust thick in the air. A…