this is a mess of ideas, but for now just go with it aha. it probably won't make much sense until a few updates in, but i haven't wrote in forever and oops. this is sort of like an introduction/prologue. next part will be better n longer, as i wrote this way too late n it doesn't really flow. it doesn't make sense and it kinda vague n just v bad in general but the next part should be better. (hopefully ) ••• It'd been a long five hours before the tedious meal had ended — workers Christmas dinner, fun when everyone hated everyone (and themselves) — and the young adult was grateful for the early arrival of her taxi. Warily, she had slipped out of the diner's back exit, departing in a rushed haze. Would anyone notice her sudden disappearance? Slim shoulders shrugged. It was unlikely, to say the least. The boss had been unable to replicate a straight line for hours. The text message had been vague, but she was glad at least for the excuse to leave, despite the unfamiliar number. The woman rested her head against the steamed taxi window; her porcelain skin coated in multiple layers of cheap make up. Fingers, thin and almost skeleton-like, reached up to rub her eyes, wincing slightly as she did so. Gently piercing her lower lip, she returned her hand to her poorly stitched pocket and closed her eyes. With a low, animal-like grumble, the hesitant engine revved to life, the New York taxi beginning to move at a pacy crawl. Bloodshot eyes — still closed — were oblivious to the notion that the concealed driver had yet to receive her planned destination. Alcohol lulled her senses, a snore soon echoing throughout the blacked out cab. ••• "Is she awake yet?" A bemused grunt was heard soon following. "Eh." A shake of head proceeded, beard swaying. She could hear a heavy sigh in response, but the continuous pounding in her head refrained the young woman from commenting and even questioning her whereabouts. It felt as though a large, monstrous even, drill was trying to escape her head, clearly not succeeding. "Mark, er, how many did you give her?" A gruff voice responded after giving a second grunt, "ah three? Four maybe? Don't know." He sounded slightly puzzled, and the other man couldn't help wishing he'd been given a different, perhaps more intelligent, partner before he himself began to panic. "You don't know? Mark, she wasn't even meant to have more than two! She was meant to be up by now. Ben dropped her off at twelve, exactly. On the dot, twelve with two zeroes. Man the boss is gonna be here any minute and... And fuck, oh man, should we go? Damnit," the man, much younger than his partner Mark, ranted. The sound of footsteps, deafening to the woman's damaged head, indicated he was pacing frantically. The noise subsided for a moment and the woman began to panic as she realised she had no recollection of the previous 24 hours. The last thing that wasn't jumbled and vague in her memory was getting ready for her firms' party, beyond that the blonde was clueless. Goosebumps prickled, washing over her entire body. She didn't dare swallow, afraid of what would happen if they realised she was awake. The pacing man's voice felt as though it triggered a memory, but she couldn't put a name to the masculine tone. Still, the familiarity gave her no sense of comfort, if anything it put her more on edge. The woman could feel a rough material gripping her hands, carving into her wrists, but she was unable to focus on it. The pounding in her head had briefly ceased and her mind swam back into unconsciousness. She was once again oblivious to the mens' anxious whispers, and to the sound of three heavy knocks. --- A boy, no older than sixteen, appeared along the illuminated cross road. His pace was fast: urgent footsteps. Black shoes chipped against the gravel beneath, their path unclear. Fear gripped his wide eyes, anxiety radiating from the frail body. He stumbled once, then again, thin arms flailing desperately. Yet his pace remained clear, refusing to falter, refusing to look back. Shadows chased behind him, jagged trees with outstretched arms. Lunging, trying to latch onto the fleeing boy in vain. The moon - full - seemed to cast a gleam upon him, acting as a searchlight for the creatures the darkness concealed. His face was pale and drawn, stitches tugging at his mouth, a small scar where a nose should be. His feet continued to pound against the floor beneath until it felt as though he couldn't run any more, loud pants filling the suffocating silence. A pull, an unknown force, seemed to be dragging him towards the ground. Slowly, reluctantly, he sunk; dark jeans clattering to the ground, jutted bones here and there. Fingernails, long and grimy, tried to claw their way into resurrection but it wasn't long before infamous shadows soon engulfed the fugitive. A black stained shoe remained sprawled across the continuous path, the only evidence of the frantic boy falling seconds before and his worries.