It was a normal weekend and the city of New York was still the same—the crowded sidewalks, the towering skyscrapers, the cacophony of car horns and chatter, the trafficked roads, and the smell of street food—all combining to overwhelm one's senses.
Kealin sat on his bed, scrolling through his phone. The room was clean and arranged, which was surprising. The comic books were all stacked neatly, the bed was perfectly made, and the closet was organized. If someone saw the room, they'd think someone else lived here.
"Be there at twelve or see you at twelve," Kealin muttered while typing a text message.
"See you at twelve."
"Alright, I've still got 1 hour 20 minutes. I should probably go see Max." He says as he opens the door. "Or maybe I should—"
While speaking, he steps on something.
