The Veins were quieter than usual, the hum of distant machinery barely above a whisper. Shadows pooled in corners, stretching along the damp walls like fingers. Footsteps echoed behind me or maybe I imagined them. Drip… drip… Water fell from a fractured pipe, each drop a punctuation mark on the city's slow, deliberate rhythm.
A shape flickered at the edge of my vision a cloaked figure moving like it had rehearsed every step. It didn't speak, didn't gesture, just left a folded note at my feet before vanishing as silently as it appeared. I bent down, sarcasm already primed. "Great, notes in alleys. Because that's never suspicious, ever," I muttered, eyes scanning the darkness.
Coordinates. A time. No name. No explanation. My gut twitched, a little spark of curiosity flaring against the wall of paranoia. Elliot? Or is some Syndicate rat baiting me? Either way, the game was on.
Scrape… Something shifted behind a stack of crates. My pulse spiked. Observation first, survival second, sarcasm third. I unfolded the note carefully, letting my eyes dart to every shadow, every dark corner. My mind ticked through possibilities: traps, ambushes, double-crosses. All equally likely.
I muttered under my breath, "Curiosity always kills me, doesn't it," and followed the faint trail of wet footprints the figure had left. The tunnels hummed almost amusedly beneath my boots. Every sound was amplified drips, distant shuffles, the low metallic groan of the walls themselves.
Each step I took was measured. I cataloged every detail: shadow angles, subtle echoes, the way the tunnels bent and funneled sound. Observation wasn't just survival it was currency. Halfway along the path, I paused, staring at the note again. The simplicity of it was maddening. No guarantees. No promises. Just coordinates. A silent beckoning.
I exhaled, letting sarcasm soften into a grim smile. "Alright, city, Syndicate, whoever you're hiding behind that cloak… curiosity it is. Let's see if your little breadcrumb leads somewhere useful, or just straight into the grinder." The tunnels seemed to hum in response, a quiet, almost sentient acknowledgment. The faint drip of water became louder in my ears, a countdown. My pulse synced with it.
Decision made. I moved. Each footstep a quiet defiance, eyes scanning, mind cataloging. The Silent Exchange wasn't about the note. It was about me, about testing whether I'd follow, whether I'd notice. And I would.
Drip… scrape… hum…
Curiosity, sarcasm, and a little reckless courage my trio for survival guided me deeper into the unknown.