The street was quiet.
Not the peaceful kind. The wrong kind. Like something had already happened and the world hadn't caught up yet.
I was walking home with a bag of noodles in one hand and my phone in the other, scrolling through game updates. My headset was hanging around my neck, unused for once.
Then I saw her.
She was pressed against the wall of a closed store, breathing hard. Her clothes were torn, and there was fear in her eyes—the kind people try to hide and fail.
In front of her stood something that didn't belong.
A raider.
Its body was twisted, limbs bent at angles that made my eyes uncomfortable. It moved like it didn't care about balance, or pain, or being human.
The woman tried to fight back. She swung a short blade, desperate and sloppy.
It wasn't enough.
I stopped walking.
Not because I wanted to help.
Not because I believed in heroes.
I just didn't feel like stepping around it.
The raider lunged.
I moved.
No shouting. No hesitation. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. One step to the side. My hand caught its wrist. A twist. A sharp pull.
Bone snapped.
The raider crashed into the ground. I finished it before it could recover. One clean strike. Then silence.
I stepped back.
The woman stared at me like she couldn't process what she'd just seen.
"Who are you?" she asked.
I picked up my fallen noodles.
"Someone passing by."
I turned away before she could say anything else.
I didn't look back.
Later, I would learn her name was Kira Arden.
That night, she learned something else.
Some people don't save others because they care.
Some people just move when something is in their way.