The alleyway gaped at him, inviting him into its dark, dank maw. All Yoshiel could hear was the wheeze of his breath and the hiss of the rain on the sidewalk behind him. He took a single step forward. The brick walls still steamed from the earlier, driving downpour. The pitted ground was a mess of puddles, spilling over everywhere he trod. When he looked down, he could see his face reflected in one of them. A spatter of rain drops broke up the surface, his awesomely beautiful features shaken and distorted with the glint of oil and other detritus.

His patrician nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Nice night for it, eh?”

Yoshiel tilted his head sharply, though he knew he hadn’t mistaken the voice, coarse and mocking. It had come from deep within the alleyway, where the shadows were deep and everything stank of things fetid and ugly. He struggled to assess the situation, his logic and evaluation skills tangled up with the tight pain in his chest and acidic stinging in his nostrils. He thought he could see the slightest movement there, something beyond the shiver of rotting food, something beyond the scampering arrogance of a city rat.

He straightened up, ignoring the shimmer of water that tipped down his neck. “Found you at last. Show yourself, you coward!”

The darkness in the alley moved again and became a shape, a man-shape like his own. It reared up suddenly, becoming much larger than Yoshiel, much taller, though its aspect was likely distorted by the shadows cast by the dumpster set against the back wall. Long, multi-jointed arms stretched out, grasping for purchase, or just gesticulating in protest against the night sky. The head fell backwards, its sodden, matted hair whipping from side to side. The shape was huge and misshapen, deformed by shoulders that were too large in proportion -- by what looked in silhouette like a monstrous hunchback.

Yoshiel stepped back, instinctively defensive, and lost his balance. His boots were flimsy, giving little support, and they slid on the wet ground. His knee twisted awkwardly. He threw out his hand for support, but it slipped on the wall, and his gloved fingers dragged down between the bricks, failing to grip anything solid. A trail of damp lichen was dislodged, leaking under the wrist strap and trickling down to his elbow. It was cold and clammy on his smooth, fragile skin and he cursed again, trying to regain his balance before he fell completely to the ground. His feet stumbled on a pile of greasy fat and meat shavings, discarded from one of the restaurants. A thin string of gristle wrapped itself around his ankle, tugging at his thin stocking; the fluids from the pile of waste soaked his foot, making a sucking, squelching noise that turned his stomach. He winced at the pain and disgust that wracked him, from his twisted knee to the sopping, stinking mess all around him.

No, he thought with sudden, startlingly vicious resentment, this man-shape would not have been his first choice of corporal transport! Why would it be, when the inhabitants had to endure such discomfort, such filth, such clumsy, restrictive bodies...?

“Like I said,” came the coarse voice again, but this time it was accompanied by a sharp, barking laugh. “Nice weather for the time of year.”