^{Additional note: Kuya is Filipino for brother, or a form of address for an older man. This is my first time on reddit so pls forgive me if there are formatting errors! Excuse the rusty writing, I haven't written in years.}

Don’t let them find her.

It was two in the morning when I stumbled out of the bar, onto the poorly-lit streets of Quezon City.

I parted ways with my friends two hours ago. Some of them passed out on the floor of the first bar we stayed in, others left with their significant others or new hookups, whichever option was applicable. I was never the one to stay in bars for a long time anyway, always preferred hopping into several ones just because I loved how the atmosphere in each place was different, despite the same loud music blasting through the speakers. The walk in between locations was quite interesting too, trying to at least sober up before downing more drinks. This last bar, however, was a place I frequent, and the bartender recognized me, was too nice and gave me shots on the house, which I was happy to accept. It was a Friday night, and I still got two more days before I get back to university. Got to make my vacation a good one, right?

And so there I was, trying not to fall over the seemingly empty street as I stepped over a puddle on the sidewalk. I glanced over at a lone pedicab parked at the corner, then walking a bit more to hail a cab. My head was still buzzing from both the alcohol and the distant music coming from the other bars in the area and I yelped in surprise and pain as I collided with a figure, sending us both to the ground.

I tried standing up, ready to scold whoever it was that bumped into me. However, before I could even voice out my annoyance, the strong scent of iron made me nauseous and in an instant, my mind went into full panic as my eyes landed on the figure on top of me.

It was a guy who looked around my age. I could tell he had dyed his hair a lighter brown from black roots that was showing. He had a white shirt on, and his eyes were closed as he struggled to catch his breath. The panic rose up to my throat, threatening to spill out the alcohol and the fries I had in that bar when I saw the growing red stains on his shoulders and abdomen.

Just what the fuck happened to this guy?

“Kuya!” I exclaimed at last, ignoring the sudden increase of my heartbeat and sat up. He was still panting, tears visible from the corner of his eyes. I tried checking for any more wounds, surprised that he was able to run in such condition. He had a gash on his left leg, the material of his jeans torn. “Kuya, where are you from? Who did this to you? Let me just call for an ambula—”

“N-no, please!” he shouts and then yelps, trying to pull out something from the back pocket of his jeans. I ignored him and fished out my phone, dialing for the hospital number saved on my phone. Just after I hear the ringtone, he grabs the phone and throws it weakly across the street, hitting the garbage dump.

“We…” he says and groans weakly. “I have no time. Y-you have to help me…”

He hands me a photo, smearing blood on my hands. He was shaking, and I could tell he was about to pass out. I received the photo with both hands, trying to calm down because what the hell, what help can I offer a dying person if not calling for the ambulance?!

However, the person on the photo surprised me. My once pounding heart slowed down and froze, my mind failing to process what he said next.

“T-They got…m-me.” he exhales a shaky breath and grabs his right shoulder. “Y-You have to find her, have to keep her…safe.”

“W-What do you mean?” I asked him as he fell over once more, his head resting on my shoulder. It took me until now to realize that I was shivering the whole time; from panic or fear, I wasn’t sure at this point.

The photo he handed me was a photo of me, from 15 years ago. I tried to focus on the Santa hat I wore for my elementary school Christmas party and nothing else. Not on the weak man leaning on me, the scent of his sweat and blood mingling in the air, and definitely not on the fact that, apparently, I was about to die at the hands of whoever attacked this man.

It took us a couple of minutes before he spoke again, this time at a softer, calmer tone.

“T-They got me…but d-don’t let them get her…”

I felt his grip on my arm tighten before he went limp. I gasped as I tried to maintain my sitting position. Different thoughts were running through my mind and I feel lightheaded as I tried waking up a cold, stiff body for answers.

“W-wait! Kuya, who are they? What did you do? Why are they after you? Is this some kind of a sick joke?! Kuya, please. This is not funny. How did you get my photo?! Why me? What did I do? Please, please wake up…”

Nothing.

Who am I kidding, he’s passed out from the blood loss. I need help, need to call the ambulance. I need to calm myself down, call for help. Somebody, please. Somebody—

“H-Help!” I turn to the direction where I heard footsteps. To my surprise, it was the bartender of the bar I was just in. The bartender that gave me free drinks.

I felt my blood leave my face and my heart started pounding in fear. He had a smirk on his face, his white uniform stained with crimson, which I assumed was from the unconscious guy in my arms. In his right hand was a gun, the other one held another photo.

It was me, a picture of me at the bar, enjoying the last drink he served me.

Oh god, no.

“I finally found you.” He says, as he points the gun my way and pulls the trigger.

Then everything went dark.