Rain Doesn't Wash Away Blood - A Slice of Heaven on Earth

The morning was cold and bleak, with gray clouds blanketing the sky as if suffocating the sun. Irina walked cautiously through a dark alley, her footsteps slow and hesitant. The city was eerily still, save for the relentless rain pounding against the pavement, as though it mourned alongside her, trying to wash away the sins of the night before.

She had no clear plan. The map she had found in her apartment haunted her thoughts, but one question refused to leave her mind:

"Why me? Why does everyone either want to kill me or save me? Am I just a pawn in a game far bigger than myself?"

-

She passed by a shattered glass window and caught her reflection. It looked unfamiliar. Her face was pale, dark circles shadowed her eyes as if sleep had abandoned her long ago. Her rain-soaked hair clung to her skin, and for a moment, she felt like a stranger to herself.

Irina (thinking): "Who is this woman? Is this still me, or have I become someone else entirely?"

But she had no time for such thoughts. Something inside her pushed her forward, an unseen force whispering:

"Don't stop now."

-

As she walked, the sound of footsteps behind her made her freeze. Holding her breath, she turned around slowly.

A man stood a few meters away, wearing a long coat and a hat that concealed most of his face. He was silent, yet his mere presence sent a shiver down her spine.

Unknown (calmly): "Irina..."

Her blood ran cold. How did he know her name? Who was he?

Irina (voice trembling): "Who are you? What do you want?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and tossed something toward her—a small envelope.

She hesitated before picking it up, and when she looked back up, the man had vanished into the rain, leaving her with more questions than answers.

-

With trembling hands, she opened the envelope. Inside was a single note, written in an unfamiliar, jagged handwriting:

"Trust is deadly, but doubt is the noose that strangles you slowly. Trust no one."

She felt her blood turn to ice. The words felt like an omen, yet they carried a clear warning.

Irina (thinking): "Does this mean Sergei lied to me? Or is someone manipulating me?"

-

She decided to follow the map. There were no other options left. The location marked was on the outskirts of the city, in an abandoned district long forgotten by time.

Boarding an old, barely functioning bus, she sat in the back, trying to remain unnoticed. The dim lights cast eerie shadows over the passengers, their faces unfamiliar and untrustworthy.

-

When she reached her destination, it felt like stepping into another world. The area was lined with towering trees and derelict buildings, silent witnesses to a past long gone. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and something else—fear.

She stood before an old, decayed factory, its broken windows and graffiti-covered walls whispering forgotten stories.

Irina (thinking): "Is this the place? Why does it feel like I'm walking into a trap?"

But she knew there was no turning back.

-

She stepped inside cautiously. Darkness swallowed the space, with only faint rays of light filtering through shattered windows. Dust and scattered papers covered the floor, remnants of a past life.

As she moved forward, a faint sound echoed—a low, pained groan. She froze, heart pounding.

Irina (whispering): "Is someone there?"

Silence.

-

Following the sound, she reached a room at the end of the hallway. Slowly, she pushed the door open—only to be met with a sight that made her blood run cold.

A man was tied to a chair, his body covered in wounds and bruises, his face nearly unrecognizable beneath streaks of blood. He lifted his head with great effort, eyes filled with agony and desperation.

Unknown (weakly): "Irina... run... they're coming..."

Before she could react, footsteps thundered behind her. She turned sharply to see a group of armed men entering the room, their faces void of emotion.

-

Time seemed to slow as Irina realized she was trapped. There was no way out. She had to decide—fight or surrender?

But before she could make a choice, she felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against her forehead.

A voice echoed in her mind: "Survival isn't always the best option."