The World of Mercy

The construction site near the city bridge underpass was gloomy at night with the shiny concrete, so quiet as it was abandoned by any human activities. The traffic lights flickered regularly, yet with no vehicles passing by, they were muted hues. The only thing that accompanied them was the rain that was falling in a drizzle, the downpours that dropped in slow motion embraced by the sepia glow of the lampposts.

A young man in a black leather coat was leaning against his car while smoking. He seemed to be bothered by the rain and the cold of that night, and waiting for someone under those two circumstances would undeniably be the least of his favorites. His foot compulsively tapped on the damp ground as time went by, then a black sedan approached his way. It stopped in front of him and a man in a grey suit got out of the backseat.

"Mikhail Yerevan, you finally showed up," the young man called, relieved that his waiting had come to an end.