Word on the street... Night fell on Hathian like a bruise, but whispers flared faster than neon—word is, the garage turned into an abattoir after daylight broke. Bodies were dragged out, blood spatters glistening in the sun, and some say a bullet-riddled soul never left at all. Talk on the street claims a cop vanished during a gang ambush—no badge, no backup, just tire tracks and silence. Meanwhile, the hospital’s halls reeked of gunpowder and regret, staff patching up the battered or turning away the unlucky. Elsewhere, eyes lingered on the bakery’s pink boxes, but the real sweetness was in secrets traded between survivors. Hathian remembers, even if no one dares speak it outright.
