"They're All Dead. They Just Don't Know It Yet" - Eric Draven

In the dimly lit alleys of a city that never sleeps, the fog twisted and churned like spirits lost in the void. Eric Draven moved through the shadows, his every step echoing with a purpose that even the darkest corners of the city could not silence. The crow, his eternal companion, perched on his shoulder, its gaze as piercing as the memories that haunted him. The city was a graveyard, its bones hidden beneath a façade of life. To him, the living and the dead were one and the same—shadows that hadn’t realized their time was over.

With every breath, he felt the weight of vengeance on his shoulders, like a pulse that throbbed in time with his resolve. “They’re all dead. They just don’t know it yet,” he whispered to the night, a promise carried by the chill wind. He walked on, drawn toward the restless souls whose time had run out, leaving behind only the scent of rain and the fading glow of streetlights. His shadow stretched long, a harbinger of fate, a reaper in black.