He shoved his hands in his pockets and jerked up his hood to protect his head from the constant drizzle of rain. He could still hear the shouts of people out and about as he stalked down the alley. It was late, but the night was only beginning for some. Not Alex. Alex was heading home and catching up on some sleep. He wasn't heading home for the weekend- it was too far of a journey. So it was just going to be him in the apartment. He was almost at the end of the alley when someone grabbed him. Instinctively, he drove an elbow back into his attacker's stomach and pulled away. However, as he turned, he was surrounded. Four guys surrounded him, all wielding knives. Alex abandoned all hope of fighting and tried to run. They grabbed him and shoved him down. He felt the knife go in three times, before pain blocked his vision. He received another five wounds before they stopped, throwing his lifeless body into a dumpster and claiming his phone and wallet for their own. Alex rolled over and sighed a little to himself, before the memory of the night before came back to him. He bolted upright, his hands going to his stomach. There was no pain on moving, and he couldn't feel anything when he ran his hands over his stomach. He stood up and pulled off his shirt, moving to stand in front of the mirror. His skin was unblemished- like it had never happened. He faltered- it seemed too vivid to be a dream, but it was entirely possible. He was back in his pyjamas, and went to find his clothes from the night before. They were gone, truly mystifying him. All of the people he'd gone out with were under twenty one. So it wasn't like his friends had stolen them as a drunken prank. He couldn't find his wallet or his phone, making him think he was losing his mind. The phone in his apartment rang, and he grabbed it. Before he could even say anything, the voice on the end started speaking. "Alex Hooper?" "Yeah, speaking." "I bet you're wondering what's going on right now." "Who are you?" "You don't need to know that. I know you're confused as to what's happening. Come to room 312 at the Plaza Hotel at ten and all will be explained." Before he could react, the person on the other end hung up. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the clock. It was half nine. He shrugged and went back into his room, grabbing a checked shirt and jeans. He may as well head to the hotel. If it was all a joke, well, then, the Plaza done a mean cinnamon and raisin bagel. He dragged a brush through his hair and headed out. He'd been wearing his rain jacket last night, and appeared to have gone rogue with the rest of last night's outfit. So by the time he reached the Plaza hotel, he was slightly damp and unhappy. The room was empty when he went in, and he sat on the couch, waiting for some sort of answer. Ten minutes. If nothing happened in ten minutes, he was getting breakfast and leaving.