The last sliver of light faded from the sky as I made my way between the buildings. Just a few blocks from home, goosebumps began to form along my arm and the hair on the back of my neck stiffened. I didn't feel alone any longer. I glanced around, not sure what brought along this strange feeling. Self-conscious of my nerves, I fought the urge to run. It was odd; I make this trip home every week, but I've never been this frightened, especially without any real reason to be.

Shrugging off the goosebumps, I attempted to carry on casually. Out of a shadow maybe five yards ahead, a man appeared, tall and looming. I suppressed a gasp, debating whether or not I should walk around him or run in the opposite direction. I peered over my shoulder to find another man, just as close and closing in on me quickly. Feeling trapped, I told myself they were not after me and walked more briskly now, across the street, hoping to avoid either man. Unfortunately, out of an alley on the opposite side of the road, came a third.

The first two men had followed me across the street. I panicked as they formed a triangle around me. I knew better than to scream. If they had a gun or knife, they'd end it quickly and I would have no chance of escape. Cursing under my breath, I made a break for it, sprinting to the space between two of the men. They closed the gap faster than I could comprehend.

Clasping firmly onto my upper arm, the two men held me with ease. My heart raced as I struggled to break free. I was spun around and pushed up against the brick wall of the alley. Giving up, I shouted.

"Help!" but the sound that escaped my lips was hoarse and pathetic.

The men, unfazed, surrounded me. They looked like stereotypical street punks. One wore a leather trench coat and military boots. His long blonde hair was messy, and hung in his face. The next man dressed similarly, in a leather jacket and biker gloves, hair shaved close in a buzzcut. The final figure had green hair, fashioned into a mohawk to compliment his sleeveless black shirt and torn up jeans. His bare arms allowed you to view the tattoos that blanketed his skin, from his fists to his neck. All three loomed closer, all three were pale white, and lastly, all three had... red eyes?

'Creepy contacts,' I thought to myself. But something gave me the feeling that they weren't at all wearing colored corrective lenses. I was pinned, with no hope of escape.