Wanting to rest somewhere familiar, Messiah started walking.
His boots caught on even the slightest cracks in the asphalt.
Each step sent a dull shock through his body as he moved toward a place where he could recover.
The town was already awake.
The bridge he had stood on lay hidden in a narrow alley, far from human presence.
But the moment he stepped onto a wider street, he was swallowed by the morning rush.
People flowed past him in waves.
Voices overlapped.
Footsteps echoed.
Even on a weekday morning, the noise was unbearable.
Messiah emerged from the alley, his hangover written plainly across his face.
To the passersby beneath the towering buildings, he must have looked suspicious—
a man who didn't belong.
A sharp pain stabbed into his abdomen.
He clutched his stomach as the nausea surged up his throat.
He swallowed it back, fighting the urge to vomit.
The world spun.
Unsteady and dizzy, Messiah forced himself forward, pushing through the endless sea of people.