The rain had returned, light at first, then heavier, drumming against the broken sidewalks like the city was mocking me. Boots slick, coat sticking, hair plastered to my forehead I walked with purpose, even if my purpose was mostly: don't get killed tonight.
Splash… splash…
The alley ended at a street I didn't like. Too open, too exposed. Neon flickered on puddles like tiny neon lies. I squinted. Footsteps too many, too deliberate. I wasn't alone.
Click… click…
I ducked behind a dumpster. Heart hammering, eyes straining through the shadows. My pulse threatened to betray me.
"Fantastic," I muttered. "Because nothing says fun like strangers who want to see you dead or at least scared."
I needed answers. Someone, anyone. The shopkeeper? Maybe. He knew my name, knew I was noticing. Could he help? Or was he just another piece on this messed-up chessboard?
I slipped through backstreets, keeping low, listening.
Rustle… tap… drip…
Every sound was amplified. Every shadow, a threat. Every breath, evidence that I existed.
I reached the corner shop, neon buzzing faintly, the door creaking under its own weight. Inside, it smelled like damp cardboard and coffee. Empty. Of course. Typical.
A voice behind me, low, clipped, serious:
"You shouldn't be here."
I froze. Not playful, not testing. Serious.
"You've been noticed," it continued. "Too late to walk away."
A shiver ran down my spine. Humor faltered. Real fear, subtle but sharp, hit me like a fist. I wasn't joking anymore. This wasn't about curiosity. Not about noticing.
I muttered under my breath: "Well, congratulations, genius. Welcome to the game. Not optional. No exits. Just… run forward, apparently."
Footsteps retreated into the shadows. Someone had delivered the message, made the warning clear. My chest tightened, pulse spiking.
I slumped against the counter, coat dripping. My mind reeled. Each emblem, each mark, each body it wasn't random. It was a puzzle. And I wasn't outside looking in anymore. I was a piece.
Splash… drip…
I pocketed a scrap of paper left on the counter, scribbled coordinates, barely legible. A route. Another breadcrumb. The city's secrets were laid bare if I wanted to see.
I muttered, sarcastic as ever: "Lovely. Just a normal Tuesday. Coffee, damp floors, imminent danger, and existential dread. My favorite combo."
I stepped back into the rain. Every step, every puddle, every flicker of neon was part of the path now. Walking away? Not an option. The game wasn't just about following anymore. I was in it. Fully.
Splash… splash…
And the city watched, patient, indifferent, alive.