Snippet #2556571

Manhattan was lonely this time of night. New York City was like the East Coast version of Vegas, or even Los Angeles. The lights never went out, giving the illusion that there was always something going on, but now there wasn't. Nothing safe at least. He limped down the sidewalk quickly, pressing against the buildings so the shadows would cover him. A man coming the opposite direction began to approach him. A straggler in all rags and a long, tangled mess of a beard. His breath smelled of something toxic as he passed Roman, stopping slowly as he neared him. Killens looked down at the man's outstretched hands, wanting something from him. Roman shook his head as he let out a relieved breath. The man scowled and stumbled into whatever darkness he could find before flopping down on the concrete.

He spit a metallic-tasting wad of spit from his mouth as he coughed. His side stiffened in pain from the act and he felt his hand dampen with streaks of blood. It was nothing life threatening, just a thick graze of the knife. After skipping the fight, which was essentially a forfeit, in other words an automatic lose, the bidder still had to pay. Ramel's guys had somehow found him not long after he was supposed to fight. It was a pretty stupid decision in his opinion; of course he was going to fight back. And when he did, barely managing to escape it, he was left with a couple of battle scars, but that wasn't his biggest concern. He was afraid he had killed a guy in the midst of the chaos. His hand still smelled like the beer from the bottle Roman had struck him with.

As he walked down the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be following him. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath as the pain increased. Across the street he noticed a movement and he jumped from the sight. As his eyes focused, he saw it was just a girl leaving the gym. She wall tall and slim, familiar with her dark hair and structure face. Upon further inspection, he knew why she seemed so familiar: it was Brooklyn. An idea crossed his mind. She worked tonight, he recalled. She made a good amount of what he seemed to be lacking: money. Sure, he said some stuff earlier that he shouldn't have, but he was so out of it that it didn't even seem to cross his mind. He watched as she went down the street until he forced himself upright and went after her. He followed her for a little while, unable to keep up for some time before he pushed forward to catch up with her. He reached out for her arm light, grabbing it briefly.

"Brook," he said vaguely. When she turned around, he looked at her. He probably looked crazy, for good reason. He'd done some things he didn't usually do, and it was still coursing through his veins. His hair was a matted mess from sweat and blood. His breathing was raspy and uneven, he was hunched over, making him look smaller, but underneath it all it was still visibly Roman. "It's me. I need your help."