[Midtown] Oblivion

Empire City, The City of Dreams, The City That Never Sleeps, The Big Apple. So many names, so many brochures; New York City. In many ways it was much like Tokyo and Shanghai, a sprawling cityscape beautifully lit with a lively nightlife, but there was something more to it. Something distinctly New York. So many cultures on display for all to enjoy, even an authentic taste of Nihon to soothe a young homesick woman. While much of what she wanted to do would have to wait for day, she was perfectly happy wandering the neon lit streets and enjoying the sights. Though, for whatever reason, the neon signs did seem to be getting rather salacious in this direction.

- “Fuck” - A pained echo from the alleyway to the her left, almost too faint to hear. Halting in her tracks, concern drew the young woman's attention. In the distance a figure, black, a shadow against the sparse lighting within and neon signage afar. Hobbling, heavily. On the ground near the entryway, spattering of a dark liquid. Blood? Blood, not good. Without hesitation, the young woman jogged into the alleyway. ”ください- Please wait!” ((Kudasai - Please)) She’d shout ahead to the shadowy figure, a voice youthful, feminine, and full of concern; correcting herself mid sentence. ”I can help!” She’d quickly follow up.

For whatever reason this person seemed to want to avoid being noticed or getting help, unless there was a clinic just around the corner she was unaware of. As much as she wanted to simply rush up and lend a hand, the circumstance called for a little caution. If the figure were to look back for the source of this voice they would find a lithe young woman, no older than twenty five, no taller than five and a half feet, looking to weigh no more than a hundred-twenty pounds with long black hair and pale skin; closing in on them with the swiftness of a professional runner. The bright clothing she wore was a stark contrast to the wounded stranger, garbed in a simple loose fitting long sleeve tee, white as snow; form fitting jeans, sky blue and naturally faded; and a pair of well worn cherry blossom pink and white sneakers.

She would slow as she neared, where a keen eye might spot her distinctly far eastern features in the dim light, as a keen ear might have recognized her linguistic mixup as Japanese. ”I don’t want to get you in trouble.” She’d say, tone sincere and worried, after stopping a few paces from the stranger and taking note of their suspiciously fully blacked out attire. Her hands held out empty in a disarming manner. ”I know how to treat injury, please.” She’d finish, tone almost pleading, her face betraying a great deal of concern, especially for the wound the stranger was clutching their abdomen over.