‘Hi from Stockholm’

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One evening, Espio was walking home alone. The city was gradually growing quiet, and the air already carried that peculiar tension that comes with the twilight. Everything seemed calm, as if the night itself were guarding his path — right up until he turned into a dark alley.

Here, the silence grew thick, almost tangible, as though it swallowed any sound before it could even be born. There wasn’t a hint of danger, not a rustle or a movement — and that’s why the prick in his leg rang out in his mind louder than a scream. A dart. A cold needle of pain pierced his flesh, and fear struck right after, scorching him from within.

Espio spun around abruptly, his heart pounding somewhere in his throat. In the half-light, just three steps away, a vague silhouette took shape — a dark spot, slightly denser than the darkness itself. He only managed to catch a glimpse of its outline before the world before his eyes blurred, and his consciousness sank into a вязкая void.

Through the throbbing pain and hazy dizziness, he opened his eyes again. Around him was a concrete box, like a forgotten basement turned into a storage room. Boxes piled up in the corners, crammed with useless things; tools lay scattered here and there, as if they’d been dropped in a hurry. A rusty chain stretched along the wall — its end was fastened to his leg.

The silence was shattered by a creak. The door swung open with a drawn‐out groan, and Espio lifted his frightened gaze. At the top of the stairs, by the entrance, a silhouette stood frozen. Dark and motionless, it loomed over him, as if the shadow itself had taken form.