The night sky seemed utterly merciless.
The rain poured in a terrifying deluge, washing away the remnants of filth in a narrow alleyway wedged between dull concrete walls.
In the distance, the neon glow of a sleek, sophisticated city center refracted a kaleidoscope of colors against the heavy clouds, creating a painful contrast the shimmering civilization above, and the rotting carcass of a city down below.
In the darkest corner of that alley, amidst piles of trash emitting a rusty, metallic stench, a cardboard box began to succumb to the water.
The sound of the crying was faint.
Hoarse.
Choked by a cold that bit deep into the bone. A baby, wrapped in tattered rags no longer fit to be called clothes, shivered violently. He did not know why he was there.
He did not know that his parents had just hurried away, carrying a burden of guilt that felt lighter than the hunger gnawing at their stomachs.
This world had no room for another mouth to feed. In this place, a life was nothing more than a meaningless statistic.
The baby had no provisions, no protector, not even an identity. He was merely a lump of flesh discarded before he could ever know the light.
BOOM!
Thunder roared, tearing through the sky and drowning out that tiny cry.
Water began to flood the bottom of the cardboard box.
Death stood very close now, poised to claim that innocent, tiny life.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps splashed through the puddles.
Splash. Splash.
A tall shadow loomed over the nearly destroyed box.
A man in a coat torn in several places looked down. His face was hard, etched with the lines of bitter experiences carved into his dull skin. His cold eyes stared at the baby, who could now manage only weak, muffled sobs.
The man remained silent.
He stared at the nameless infant as if seeing a reflection of his own past fate.
"The world is indeed rotten," he murmured softly. His voice was heavy and gravelly, nearly swallowed by the roar of the rain.
The man's hand rough, calloused, and seemingly a stranger to tenderness reached forward.
With a stiff movement that nonetheless felt protective, he lifted the tiny body into his embrace.
He did not offer a smile.
He did not offer sweet, soothing words.
The man simply tucked the baby into the warm folds of his coat, shielding him from the relentless onslaught of the falling sky.
Without a backward glance at the foul alley, he turned away.
His footsteps led them away from the death that had nearly claimed them.
That night, amidst the raging storm, a new destiny began to turn behind the warmth of a tattered coat.