It had not always been this way. There had been a point in his life that he would have stopped and helped her, a time where doing the 'right' thing seemed natural. There was a distant memory of a house with a small garden, sunlight filtering though large windows illuminating dark wood floors, peaceful afternoons filled with soft laughter. There was a home, a family, a life. There was a distant memory of a time that was, and a pain in his chest that came with the knowledge of a future that would never be.
But that was the past, survival the present, and vengeance the only thing the future had to offer. So he continued down the darkened street, ignoring her muffled cries for help and the bright knife that shone brightly in the moonlight.