Rain splashed in irregular rhythms, hammering the streets, bouncing off puddles, dripping from fire escapes. The city felt alive tonight, watching me, whispering. I pulled my coat tighter, boots squelching with every step.
Splash… splash… drip…
"Fantastic," I muttered. "Nothing like a rainstorm to make you feel like a noir protagonist. Except… you know… terrified."
A shadow shifted across the street ahead. Too deliberate. My pulse kicked. Footsteps approached from an alley I didn't remember seeing before.
Rustle… click…
I froze. Not because I was scared well, maybe a little but because curiosity had me in its vice grip. Of course.
A voice, low and clipped, barely audible over the rain, whispered from the darkness:
"You follow too closely."
I froze. Heart hammering. "Yeah… well, my hobbies include being nosy and mildly suicidal," I muttered under my breath. No answer, just the rain.
"Look closer," the voice continued, teasing, deliberate. "Or stay away. Your choice."
Choice. Ha. As if this city gave me one.
I crouched behind a dumpster, eyes narrowing, scanning. There. A metallic glint near the corner. Breadcrumb. Test. Invitation. Or trap. Probably all three.
Click… tap… the faintest scrape of something sliding against concrete.
I whispered, sarcastic as ever: "Oh, brilliant. Let's play hide and seek with knives. My favorite."
Stepping out, careful, deliberate, I followed the faint trail of emblems and marks. Every puddle reflected fractured neon. Every shadow seemed to breathe. Every sound was a signal.
Splash… splash… drip…
"You're predictable," the voice said again, closer this time. No face. Just presence. Awareness. Control.
I stopped, rain dripping from my hair. My chest tightened. "Predictable, huh? Okay… fine. You want me to play? I'll play."
A movement to the left. A figure, tall, deliberate, faceless in the neon drizzle. Not threatening yet. Just watching. Testing. Waiting.
I muttered to myself: "Well… that's new. Actual human interaction. And by human, I mean someone who wants to make me very, very uncomfortable."
The figure left a small token at my feet a scrap of paper, a metallic emblem, something cold and precise. Another breadcrumb. Another test.
Rustle… click… splash…
I picked it up, studying it. Instructions? Or just another tease? Didn't matter. My stubbornness wouldn't let me walk away. The path was clear: follow. Engage. Survive.
And so I did, stepping deeper into the rain-soaked streets, every sense sharp, every thought sarcastic, every heartbeat a drumbeat in the game I never asked to join.
Splash… drip… hum…
The watchers were real. The game was personal. And tonight, I realized: this wasn't about noticing anymore. It was about responding.