What's happening to me?
What's happening to my arm?
I can't get it off.
The katana—that stupid cursed katana—melts into my skin like molten tar. Sinks into the meat of me. Fuses bone and steel like some nightmare blacksmith is hammering me from the inside.
I scream, but it comes out like static. My legs buckle, then sprint without asking. I'm not sure if I'm running toward anything or just trying to outrun the pain.
I can't.
My feet carry me somewhere deeper in the Board than I've ever dared to go. Past the vendor alleys. Past the flickering neon signs. Past the line where the city's grid turns grainy like corrupted data.
So yeah. I guess it shouldn't surprise me when a couple of guys step out of a broken-down storefront, all smiles and shadows.
(for the scene in the alleyway below, change the characters into thugs that is preying on people on night to rob)
"Well, look what wandered in," says one, his grin too wide to be friendly. "We got ourselves a little stray."
