I froze the moment I saw him, Detective, calm as a Sunday sermon, smirk absent, presence undeniable. My first thought: "Great. My life's official punchline is standing right in front of me. Wonderful."
Hum… pulse… thrum…
He didn't move toward me, yet the air seemed to shift anyway. "Dylan," he said, voice precise, controlled. "Do you know why you're here? Why you've survived all the incidents that should have… ended you?"
I let a dry laugh escape. "Survival? Oh, that's simple. Pure charm, impeccable taste, and apparently, the universe has a sick sense of humor."
He didn't smile. "Not luck," he corrected, voice soft but firm. "Observation, orchestration, timing. Your misfortunes have been engineered. Every failed job, every friend lost, every street you thought you were just stumbling into it was all measured. All deliberate."
My jaw hit a lock. "So… all those years of 'bad luck'? Turns out someone's been running my life like it's a spreadsheet. Fantastic. Spreadsheet of doom. I hope it's at least color-coded."
Tap… drip… thrum…
The glowing veins along the walls pulsed faintly, synchronized to the hum of some hidden machinery. I noticed them only peripherally. My mind was busy recalculating, adjusting expectations. The Syndicate wasn't just some chaotic force they were meticulous, personal, intimate. And I'd been dancing in their shadow the entire time.
He tilted his head, eyes locking onto mine. "You were never just observing the city. You were participating in a design… my design."
I let the sarcasm slip, a bitter edge creeping in. "Wonderful. I always wanted to be a pawn. Bonus points if it comes with a front-row seat to my own personal annihilation."
Snap… hiss… echo…
He smiled faintly not human, not cruel, but satisfying in its precision. "Soon, you'll understand why all of this exists. Why the city moves like veins, why the Core hums… and why you're at a crossroads. Choices await you, Dylan. Choices you can't unmake."
I clenched my fists, voice low, muttering, "Oh, I'll make choices. And sarcasm. Can't survive without sarcasm."
Pulse… hum… drip…
Somewhere beneath the disbelief, beneath the humor, a thread of tension threaded through me. The Detective's calm wasn't a flaw; it was a weapon. And now that weapon had measured me, marked me, and perhaps… decided my next move.