Although late at night, the entrance door of the Hero Embassy still busily creaked, followed by barely tiptoed footsteps of a person.
Michael stopped, stretching at the long, outstretched hallway before him, as if expecting a sudden pop from the darkness. There had been no two reasons he was here. If it wasn't the eery disturbance he felt creeping in him, then he probably would've been struggling to sleep by now.
He fixated a black hoodie over his head, staring intently into the long space. Someone was there. Possibly, the one who had led him here.
"What do you want?" He asked, although he wasn't the type to start conversations.
Something replied from the darkness. Footsteps, calmly headed towards him. A man stepped into the light before him, wearing a simple black top shirt that exposed his broad chest. In the bulb's reflection, his eyes seemed to glow intense purple, his hair— rough and disheveled— adapted the same color.
"Kieran Ferrante." Michael muttered.
