Blood, Whiskey, and a Smile

Alberto adjusted the collar of his black leather jacket, the cool material brushing against his skin. The streets pulsed with life—engines growling, pedestrians chattering, neon lights flickering like electric veins running through the city.

He pulled the hood over his head, shadowing his face. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling meat, spices, and the lingering tang of grease. Vendors lined the sidewalks, their voices sharp as they hawked their food, their stalls glowing under garish lights.

His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. Hunger wasn't important right now. His eyes flicked over the crowd, scanning faces, reading movements.

Then, he slipped into a narrow alley.

The noise of the street faded into a murmur behind him, replaced by the steady drip of water and the rustle of something scurrying—rats, most likely. This was a different world. Darker. Sharper. And far more dangerous.