It seemed to be a normal early spring afternoon. New flowers with their tender leaves pushed through the damp earth, stretching toward the sun that bathed the landscape in a golden glow. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, nearly dressed in full bloom, while the green grass showed no sign of the snow that had once blanketed it only months ago. It was the kind of day that whispered of renewal and peace—at least, on the surface.
From down the street, a car door slammed, breaking the tranquil harmony of the setting. Two figures emerged, not so much walking as dragging themselves forward, their movements strained and deliberate. At first glance, they could have been mistaken for a pair of exhausted joggers fresh from a grueling workout. But a closer look quickly dispelled that notion. Torn clothes hung off their battered frames, and crimson streaks painted their hands and faces, leaving no doubt they’d been through something far more harrowing than exercise.
The pair exuded an undeniable air of confidence despite their disheveled state. Their strides carried a deliberate rhythm, each step purposeful, as if they knew exactly where they needed to be. A father and son, perhaps? The resemblance between them was uncanny—strong, sharp features etched with a mix of grit and determination. Still, their differences were just as noticeable.
The younger man moved with an almost cocky energy, a slight bounce in his step, as if the adrenaline still buzzed through his veins. His loose crew-neck shirt hinted at a well-built, muscular frame, but it was his eyes—dark and unrelenting—that left the most unsettling impression. The older man, while equally fit, carried a more seasoned air, his movements careful and calculated. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he’d seen it all before and found some dark humor in the ordeal.
“That was an interesting encounter,” Brian muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with equal parts fatigue and amusement. “I’m ready to just go home and crash for a minute.”
“I bet you are,” Kent replied, the faint grin still playing on his lips. His tone was calm, almost teasing, but his eyes were alert, scanning the street as if expecting trouble to emerge from the shadows at any moment.
Their destination came into view: a modest, unassuming house at the end of the block. It seemed ordinary enough, but there was something peculiar about the way the two men approached it. They didn’t walk straight to the door like most people would. Instead, their movements became subtly cautious, their bodies shifting slightly sideways as they neared the house, as if they didn’t want to leave their backs exposed. It was the kind of behavior you’d expect from someone who’d learned the hard way that danger could strike from anywhere.
The gray steps leading to the porch creaked faintly under their weight. The porch itself was darker than the rest of the house, its concrete surface weathered and stained. Once-white chairs were arranged in a semi-circle, their paint chipped and faded with time. The scene might have been serene on another day, but under the circumstances, it felt strangely foreboding—a quiet stage waiting for the next act of an unseen drama to unfold...
