Avoiding the cops proves to be quite the challenge as they swarm in from every direction. The street is full of patrol cars—-though that's to be expected when there's a fatal car crash.

        I keep my head low as I avoid all eye contact with everyone to avoid drawing any sort of attention to myself; after all, it's not exactly every day that you see the dead boy up walking around.

        Slowly but surely, I leave the crime scene behind, the sirens slowly fading away into the sun’s creeping descent into its grave.

          As much as I wanted to go back—-straight to Duke and Samara—-just to reassure them I was okay, I knew that was the last thing I needed to do. I knew I'd just freak the shit out of them if I just walked right up to them with a simple, “hey guys”. I needed to figure out what was going on first and foremost before I could reach out to anyone else.

        Slipping over the road and into the grass, I murmur to myself, “Focus. You died… In a way. That's not normal. People die and that's it. Nothing more. …this doesn't happen.” I swallow as a twig crunches underneath my shoe, eyes temporarily flicking to my healing palm; the message that was just there earlier was already fading away. “What the hell was that?” I grimace at the faint lines. “I shouldn't still be up walking like nothing fucking happened…” I groan weakly. “...what the hell am I?”

         No answer—-just as I thought.

         I grimace and grumble to myself, “Yeah, thanks for that.” I knew I wouldn't have the answer just like that, but it still pisses me off that I didn't.

          As the sun sinks lower and the stars flicker about once they're not obscured by the golden rays, the cold seeps down into the ground, but oddly… I don't feel a single thing.

         I move forward with an unwavering precision, my body blocking all signals of the cold flitting about in the air.

         With a few more steps, I reach a cracked sidewalk, leading downtown. I can feel my stomach grumble as I get the scents of pizzerias and delis nearby.

         At first, I expect myself to be craving something off-the-rails crazy like blood or guts given the fact I'm sort of… undead—-but oddly enough, I'm not. I want french fries.

        I reach for my wallet after spotting a nearby diner. I know I don't have shit in there, but just like an empty fridge, I check it again in hopes there's something, still bracing myself for disappointment despite that.

       An empty wallet is not what I'm greeted by though. There's about ninety dollars cash in there.

        A small piece of paper sticks out of the top, catching my eye. My gaze narrows before I take hold of it and pull it down to give it a look over.

            ‘This is for you, Niko. You'll need it. ~Vahid,’ it reads.

           I raise an eyebrow, shoving the note back inside my wallet and putting that back in my pocket. “Vahid, huh? Generous of you…” I hum to myself, making my way across the small street. “...If you're the one who marked up my arm though, then you're dead.”

        I make my way into the diner, picking a booth near the window just to watch the moon’s rising course in the sky. I'm quick to order, though I never once raise my head—-I keep it hanging the whole time. Once the waitress heads to the kitchen, I look back to the window, getting a faint glimpse of my reflection.

         My blonde hair is disheveled and dirty—-faintly matted in blood too. My once hazel eyes are now a silver that fades into a dark crimson at the bottom. The bags under my eyes are dark and haunting and my skin is ungodly pale. I must've been a horrific sigh to anyone who caught a glimpse of me.

        Soon enough, the waitress returns, placing the fries on the table. “Here you go. Just like you asked.”

        I look over to her, giving her a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

        I see her freeze, slowly backing up. She laughs nervously. “Yeah, yeah. No problem, sweetie.” She turns and makes a mad dash for the back once more.

       I exhale slowly. “Dammit.” I fidget with the edge of the plate. “Note to self: don't look at anyone… You look like a freak right now and you're only going to cause a panic if you do.”

        The bell chimes as the door opens, signalling a newcomer, though I make no effort to check.

        Footfalls echo over the tiles, coming closer and closer until finally a throat clears. “Is this seat taken?”

         I look up once more just to be met with a young man in a tattered, dark trench coat. I swallow. He saw you and didn't go running. That's something, right?, my mind echoes. “No, it's not. …go ahead.”

          The man takes the seat opposite of me in the booth. He eyes my dish before looking back at me, our gazes locking. He looks like just a normal guy to me—-messy dark curls that are attempting to be slicked back, tanned skin, and stubble taking root on his face. The off-putting thing though is the piercing, bright red eyes of his.

            “Niko?” The man begins as I start to dig into my dish.

             I pause my movement, raising an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

            “Nikolai Sidorov?” The man then says. “That's you, right?”

             I drop the fry in my hand. “How do you know that?”

             “I was sent by the Devil to find you,” he says as he leans back in his seat.

              I pick up a fry once more, eating it with a snort. “The Devil sent you to find me? Yeah, okay. And I'm Moses.”

            The man groans. “No, no. I'm serious.” His gaze flits back to my dish before he reaches for a fry, taking one for himself.

             I huff. “Sure, just don't ask beforehand. Help yourself.”

            “Mmm…” He moans. “Sometimes I forget how good human food is.” He takes another fry. And another. And another.

             I roll my eyes as he pulls the plate closer to himself. “...and there goes my dinner.” I pause before questioning him, “Who are you anyway?”

           “Hm?” He hums, mouth full.

           “You knew my name, you took my dinner… It only seems fair you tell me who the hell you are,” I say.

             He swallows and grins. “I'm Vahid.” He sticks a hand out for me to shake.

           I don't take his hand. I just blink a few times in disbelief. “You're Vahid? The one that left me the money?”

           “Yup.” Vahid smacks his lips with a nod. “Same one who carved those messages for you.”

          “What do you want from me?” I cut in. “You don't just waltz in and say you know everything about me without cause.”

           Vahid snorts with amusement. “I told you. Good ol’ Luci wants to meet you.”

          “Yeah, no. I don't care if you say the Devil wants to take me to Tokyo. I'm not going,” I reply, wryly.

              Vahid winces. “Yeah… I'm not so sure that's optional, Niko.” He stands. “It's best not to keep the big man waiting.”

            I roll my eyes, slowly rising with.

           “Don't give me that look,” Vahid says. “We'll go to Hell for a little chat. It'll be fun.”      
             
          I drop cash on the table with a groan, following Vahid—-knowing he might be my best chance for any sort of answers in this all. “‘It'll be fun’ he said…” I grunt and mutter, “Since when was the underworld ever fun?” I slip out of the diner behind Vahid and into the moonlight.