"The look of despair people make… right when they realize what they're actually going through—that helpless, hollow stare—it's one of the best sights there is, don't you think?"
The man's voice was calm and amused. A soft chuckle followed, echoing through the narrow tunnel beneath the bridge.
It was the middle of the night. The road above was empty, forgotten. Down here, only two of the ceiling lights still worked, flickering weakly against the damp walls. Shadows swayed with every pulse of that dying light, leaving most of the tunnel drowned in darkness.
A faint click broke the silence—then a burst of orange flame from a lighter. The man spun it between his fingers, letting the small fire bloom and fade as it caught on his cigarette. The glow brushed against his face, outlining the rough stubble on his jaw and the black patch that covered his right eye.
He sat slouched against the wall, legs stretched out, looking at the broken figure across from him.
