Not Necessarily Him
In the depths of sleep, Cynthia's subconscious wandered in the realm of dreams. It was called a dream, yet it was a replay of reality. She went back to the long night in Philadel five years ago.
The air was filled with the stench of blood and gun smoke. Unfortunate souls writhed in agony on the ground. However fast her hands moved, they couldn't surpass the speed of the Grim Reaper. No matter how hard she tried, she could only watch a life disappear before her eyes, which was a heavy blow.
In a moment of doubt, a bullet came towards her. Before she could turn around, a figure suddenly appeared and knocked her to the ground. Inertia carried them through the basement window, rolling into a dilapidated and dimly lit underground space.
Inside was pitch dark, impossible to see the end, like a fallen abyss. A peculiar scent mingled in the air, and the faint rustling sounds became particularly clear.