Anastasia white-knuckled the steering wheel as she navigated through Manhattan traffic. She wasn’t much of a driver these days, so every lane change and merge had her on edge.

Once she hit the outskirts heading toward the industrial district, the chaos finally died down. Thank God—fewer cars, fewer people weaving between; traffic like maniacs.

That’s when she heard it.

A weak, terrified voice cut through the hum of her engine: “Help… please… someone help me…”

Anastasia’s brow furrowed. Am I hearing things? But as she crept forward, she spotted them—two guys near a cluster of trees off the road, and what looked like a girl sprawled on the ground.

Her foot lifted off the gas. Every instinct told her to keep driving, stay out of it. She was one woman against two men—young punks, probably early twenties, but still guys who could easily overpower her.

But that girl’s desperate cries… Anastasia couldn’t just drive past.

Her pulse kicked up as she checked her mirrors. Empty road. She pulled over, hands shaking slightly.

The girl’s voice was getting weaker. The two assholes—one with bleached hair, the other covered in piercings—were dragging her toward the trees by her arms.

Anastasia fumbled for her phone and dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m on Route 9 heading toward the industrial park,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Two guys are attacking a girl by the trees. You need to send someone now!”

She hung up and bit her lip. The cops would take forever to get out here, and this girl didn’t have forever.

Her eyes darted to her trunk. Emergency kit. Tire iron.

This is insane, she thought, but she was already moving. She grabbed the tire iron, hid it behind her back, and forced herself to walk toward them like she had every right to be there.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, putting as much authority in her voice as she could muster.

Her heart was hammering. This was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done. She could get herself killed and still not save this girl. But she couldn’t live with herself if she just drove away.

Both guys whipped around, clearly not expecting company. The redhead’s face twisted into a sneer: “Back off, bitch! This ain’t your problem!”

The girl on the ground lifted her head, hope flickering in her eyes. “Please… help me…” she gasped.

Anastasia gripped the tire iron tighter, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I already called the cops. They’re on their way. Let her go and maybe you can still walk away from this.”

The guys looked at each other. Red-hair spat in the dirt: “Bullshit! Cops won’t make it out here for like, what, thirty minutes?”

His buddy—the one with all the piercings—looked nervous, tugging at his friend’s jacket. “Dude, maybe we should just bail. This is getting messy…”

But Red-hair shoved him off and stepped toward Anastasia: “You wanna play hero, lady? Fine. We’ll handle you too.”

Anastasia backed up, raising the tire iron: “Don’t even think about it! I’m not kidding around here!”