Paul Ito had left his home a few hours ago, shortly after completing any school work that he had. He did this most Wednesdays, because of the Wednesday night church services his dad held. With their home attached right to the tiny church just about any noise from any activity from within the echo-y halls of the holy place bleed rather annoyingly and un-ignorably into the living area. So out he was, a bit earlier than normal even. His father managed to get a whole 10 people in the church tonight which made the hymens they particularly discordant and unbearable. 

While other kids who were getting out of the house may search for the friends to hand with, Paul tended to wander alone on nights like this. He didn't really run with any one crowed or hang with a certain clique. While Paul looked a bit like a punk, with his bleached hair and the poor attitude apparent in his posture, he was actually far from it. Both were more symptoms of rebellion against his father and done to spite the old man. Looking like trouble but not actually being trouble also gave him a pleasant middle ground in life, where punks tended to look past him or view him comically and normal people tended to regard him as amusing knowing how harmless he was. This made him the class clown, and he was more or less fine with that. He had a handful of people he'd be willing to call friends, but even then he knew they were more like mildly close aquatics. He'd never invite them over or had been invited over to their homes, rarely even invited to after school events. He was the Class clown, so much of the commodore he found was simply there, in class. 

He honestly tried not to think about it and just enjoy the night. Though that wasn't really going all that well. He felt funny, sort of off. As if he was walking by something that smelt unspeakably bad as to turn ones stomach, despite the absence of any actual smells. 

He turned the corner and froze in his tracks at what he saw. A group of people clearly ganging up on three individuals. He could count how many were in the small mob exactly with the chaos going on, but it was clearly 3 versus many and it was not going well. He frozen transfixed by the sight, He felt the sensation he had felt earlier but only more intense and stomach churning, though he figured that was the fear of being the next target for this angry mob setting in.
 
While he didn't recognize one of the 3, he could identify they were students at his high school, though know one he really knew. Mearly faces he had seen in halls or at events. His mind told him to run, or call the police, and small insane part of him told him to try and find a pipe or a piece of wood and charge the mob swinging. But something told him that none of those actions, especially the last one, would do him again good. And yet he HAD to help them. He would not call himself brave, but nor would he call himself so cruel as to turn a blind eye to people getting beaten to death, especially ones his own age. He thought hard, frantically, his heart racing and his hands tightening into fists; he had to do something and quick.

All the sudden the odd, unpleasant feeling was different in a way he could not quite explain. He felt it had a source, and that it was somehow responsible for what was happening before him. It was supernatural, vile, and malicious. It was unlike anything he had felt before, not even when he had been a 'healer' at the church as a youth where he had never sensed anything. Though somehow he didn't exactly feel as if this was him sensing this, not really. It felt more like...it was being shown to him; like someone just pointed out the hidden picture in mosaic that you didn't see before, and would likely have trouble seeing once they stopped pointing at it. And somehow he knew he must follow this lead to the source of the sensation, it was the only way he could help right now. And so he ran, letting his feet take him where he needed to go.