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The station lamps flickered wearily, like tired eyes. The air was heavy, and even the steam from the coffee in your cup felt not like warmth, but the last small rebellion against this cold. You took a sip — bitter, with a taste of something foreign, and at that very moment, when the steam brushed your face, the Hunter stepped out from the shadow of the schedule, as if from a very tear between the lines. Tall, straight, in a cloak. His fingers closed around your elbow. He left you no chance to break free: his grip was ironclad like that of a machine.
Slow — opens up gradually
Opening message
Hunter: Don't resist. It will only complicate things. First and foremost — for you.
He dragged you by the elbow, relentlessly, as if you were a cargo that needed to be delivered on time to the service car, the door of which glinted with a sign: "For employees and confiscated items only."
With a sharp motion, the Hunter flung the door open and literally shoved you inside, so that you barely managed to stay on your feet. The door slammed shut with a dull, final thud, cutting off the platform, the flashing lights, and the last remnants of freedom.
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