Act -01
Sridgeway City always smelled like rust after the rain. Rust was in the sidewalks, in the rotting metal pipes and in the thin trickle of water that crept along the curbs. Even the apartment windows sweated with rust, like the buildings themselves were bleeding quietly in the night.
Aiden Vale had grown used to it. Or maybe "used to it" wasn't the right phrase. It was simply what life was: a damp, rusting thing slowly wearing itself down.
Aiden sat on the edge of his narrow bed, a pen in one hand, a battered notebook in the other.
The notebook's spine was nearly broken from overuse, its pages warped by moisture, smudged by months of hurried ink. Its cover bore only three words, written in his careful hand:
"Notes on Dust"
He wrote in fragments, rarely in full sentences. It wasn't really a journal. It wasn't for anyone else to read, either. It was more like a container for whatever his mind wouldn't let go of.
"People pretend the world cares. Pretend justice matters. Pretend morality is something more than a story we tell ourselves to fall asleep at night. But when I close my eyes, I don't see justice or truth… I see dust settling on graves, on money, on holy books, on all the things we swore were permanent. Dust doesn't care who it buries."
He paused, staring at the words. He had written variations of this same thought dozens of times before, each iteration more polished but just as hollow.
He wondered sometimes if writing them changed anything at all.
The room was a box: four stained walls, one flickering light, and a bed too small for a man who'd grown too tall in his silence.
The only window looked out at a row of gray tenements, so close that when his neighbor smoked, the smell crept into his room uninvited.
Aiden lived on the fifth floor. Not high enough to feel above it all, but high enough to look down on the city and imagine what it would be like to disappear into it.
He glanced at his hand clock
7:02 a.m.
Another day to attend lectures.
The university he studied at was a crumbling Gothic structure that had seen better centuries.
By the time he reached the lecture hall, the class had already started. Aiden hesitated at the back door, hand on the handle. Calloway hated interruptions.
He pushed it open anyway.
"...and what I am telling you," Professor Calloway was saying, "is that morality is a construct. A beautiful one, perhaps, but still fabricated. An agreement we make to survive one another."
Calloway, mid-sentence, stopped. His eyes landed on Aiden immediately. "Mr. Vale," he said, voice as sharp as chalk on a blackboard. "How nice of you to join us."
Aiden slid into an empty seat, feeling twenty pairs of eyes follow him.
"Since you're already disrupting my lecture," Calloway continued, "you can answer my question."
Of course.
"Mr. Vale," Calloway said, pacing in front of the chalkboard, "is morality inherent to human nature, or is it, as some of your fellow philosophers would argue, a social construct born of convenience?"
Aiden leaned back in his chair, still catching his breath. He could feel the weight of the room pressing him for an answer.
"It's convenient," he said flatly. "It works until it doesn't. Then people replace it with whatever keeps them alive."
A murmur passed through the room. Calloway tilted his head, smirking slightly. "So you're saying morality isn't real, Mr. Vale? That it's… flexible?"
"I'm saying people treat it like it's real until it stops being useful."
"Cynicism is easy," Calloway replied. "Living by it is harder. Perhaps you'll enlighten us one day on how that works out for you."
Some of the class laughed nervously. Aiden stared at his desk, unbothered. Calloway had that effect turning students into exhibits for his lectures.
He usually had this type of conversation with Calloway, even tho Calloway loved it but Aiden didnt love it as much. Calloway sometimes intentionally tries to talk to him about things like this outside the educational way because Calloway is a friend of his father and by this Calloway knows Aiden better.
Aiden said nothing. He didn't need to. Calloway's words would gnaw at him later, long after the lecture ended.
By noon, Aiden was back at the diner across from campus, a place that smelled of burnt coffee and overcooked bacon.
The diner was quieter than usual. Aiden liked that. He picked the same corner booth he always did, ordered coffee, and opened his notebook.
The words didn't come. They rarely did when he wanted them to.
He looked up and noticed someone at the far end of the counter, a woman maybe a little older than him, maybe not ;arguing with the cashier firmly, as if she'd done it before.
Her jacket was frayed at the sleeves, her boots scuffed and muddy. A traveler's kind of wear.
She caught him staring. Most people would look away. She didn't, and neither did he. Their eyes met for a few seconds before she glanced behind herself, as if checking for something, and he finally looked away, awkwardly turning back to his notebook. She glanced back at him once more, saw he was now focused on writing, then turned her attention back to the cashier.
When she got her change, she glanced around for a place to sit. The diner was nearly empty. Yet, after a brief scan, her eyes returned to him. Without hesitation, she started walking toward his booth.
Great.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked, already halfway sliding into the seat opposite him.
Aiden closed his notebook. "You could sit literally anywhere else."
"Yeah, but you look less boring."
She flagged down the waitress for coffee. Aiden watched her—the way she tapped her fingers against the table, restless, like someone who wasn't used to stillness.
"I'm Lena," she said, as if that explained why she was here.
He didn't answer.
"You don't talk much, do you?"
"Not if I don't have to."
"Good. Less talking, less lying."
She glanced at his notebook. "What's that? Homework?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"Notes."
She leaned forward. "On what?"
He hesitated. "…Dust."
She smiled like she'd just been handed a puzzle. "Dust. That's bleak. You always think like that?"
"Mostly."
"I like that." She laughed….a short, unpolished sound. "Dust. That's new. You're one of those existential types who thinks everything's meaningless?"
"Something like that."
"Good. I can work with that."
He frowned. "Work with?"
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Anyway," she said, fishing a folded envelope from her jacket, "I'm looking for someone who notices things and doesn't scare easily. You seem like that type."
"Who the hell are you, and what kind of person wants to take a stranger into… whatever this is? I didn't say I wanted to work with you."
"You didn't say you didn't."
He frowned. "What makes you think I'd help you with anything?"
She pushed the envelope toward him. "Because you're bored. And this isn't boring."
Inside were photographs. Blurry shots of men in suits exchanging envelopes in a dimly lit room. He looked up at her.
"What is this?"
She smiled, sipping her coffee. "A story worth chasing. If you're not too busy writing about dust."
"I think I've asked what this is."
"Proof. Or the start of it."
"Of what?"
She smiled, sharp and conspiratorial. "The kind of thing that gets people killed."
He was shocked but showed no sign of it. "Killed? What do you mean?"
She extended her hand. "What's your name again?"
He hesitated. "Aiden… Aiden Vale." They shook hands, though he didn't know why.
"Pleasure doing business with you," she said.
"What?"
That night, Aiden sat on his bed, staring at the photos.
He thought of Calloway's lecture. Of morality as survival.
He thought of Lena who was chaotic, alive, unafraid.
He thought of himself who felt stagnant, safe, suffocating.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt something that wasn't emptiness. For the first time in a long time, his chest felt less hollow. Aiden didn't sleep much that night.
He'd left the photos spread across his bed, staring at them like they might explain themselves if he kept looking long enough. Men in suits. Envelopes. A dim room with no clocks, no windows. Whatever was happening in those pictures wasn't meant for anyone outside that room to see.
He told himself it wasn't his problem. He told himself he didn't care.
But his mind didn't listen.
By morning, he'd convinced himself to throw them away. By the time he left for class, they were folded neatly inside his notebook.
Next day -
Lena was waiting for him outside the diner.
He spotted her before she saw him… leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, her jacket collar pulled up against the wind. She looked like someone who could wait all day without flinching.
"You really need a hobby," Aiden said, brushing past her.
She fell into step beside him. "Says the guy who writes essays about dust."
"I didn't agree to whatever this is."
"You didn't say no."
"I didn't say yes."
"Which means you're curious." She blew smoke into the cold air. "That's all I need."
Aiden kept walking. He hated how easily she read him.
They ended up at the same booth in the diner. Aiden didn't remember deciding to sit with her, but there he was.
"You looked at the photos," Lena said, sliding into the seat opposite him.
He didn't answer.
"Of course you did," she continued. "You seem like the type who can't leave things alone once they get stuck in your head."
"Who are they?" he asked.
She smiled, sipping the coffee the waitress brought her like she'd been coming here for years. "People who don't want you asking that question."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give right now."
Aiden tapped the edge of his notebook. "You're a journalist or something?"
"Or something."
"That doesn't narrow it down."
"Good. I don't want it narrowed down yet."
There was a rhythm to the way she spoke… withholding just enough to keep him leaning in. He hated that it was working.
"Why me?" he asked finally.
Lena tilted her head. "You don't ask for small talk. You don't fill the silence just because you can't stand it. You see things."
"You don't know me."
"I know enough."
He stared at her, trying to figure out what she was really after. She didn't look like someone who cared about strangers.
"What exactly are you chasing?" he asked.
"Something rotten," she said. "Bigger than the university. Bigger than this city. The kind of thing people pretend doesn't exist so they can sleep at night."
"Sounds like paranoia."
"Paranoia," she said, leaning in, "is just paying attention."
She slid another photo across the table. This one was clearer than the rest. It was a face in focus. A man in his fifties, clean cut, in an expensive suit.
Aiden didn't recognize him.
"Who is he?"
"Someone with a lot of friends in high places."
"And you want me to… what? Be your sidekick?"
Lena smirked. "Sidekick? No. Call it… backup."
He stared at the photo again. Something in Lena's voice made it feel heavier than just "backup."
The waitress came by to refill their coffees. Lena leaned back, letting the silence stretch.
"You can walk away," she said finally. "Pretend this never happened. I won't bother you again."
Aiden didn't move.
"Or," she continued, "you can stay curious. But if you do, you don't get to complain when it gets messy."
He thought of Calloway's words from yesterday: Cynicism is easy. Living by it is harder.
He thought of how quiet his apartment felt. How suffocatingly safe his life had been.
"Messy," he said. "What does messy mean?"
Lena smiled like she'd been waiting for that question.
"It means," she said, "you start learning what people are really willing to do to stay untouchable."
When they left the diner, the wind had picked up, tossing scraps of newspaper along the sidewalk. Lena lit another cigarette.
"You have my number now," she said.
"I didn't ask for it."
"You'll call anyway."
She walked away before he could reply.
Aiden stood there for a long time, the scrap of paper with her number burning in his pocket.
That night, he wrote in his notebook:
"I told myself I wouldn't get involved. That curiosity is a leash, and I don't like being dragged. But maybe that's a lie. Maybe I want to be dragged somewhere I can't walk away from."
He closed the notebook, but the thought didn't leave him. The photos wouldn't leave his head at all.
Even in the middle of Professor Calloway's next lecture something about Rousseau and the "state of nature" Aiden kept seeing the man's face from Lena's envelope. He'd never seen him before, but there was something about that look: the stiff smile, the way his shoulders squared for the camera like he was untouchable.
Aiden barely heard Calloway call his name until the third time.
"Mr. Vale," the professor said. "If you're going to stare out the window like you're in a different world entirely, I'd at least like you to share it with the rest of us."
A few chuckles from the class.
Aiden shifted in his seat. "You were talking about how society corrupts natural goodness," he said flatly. "But maybe it's the other way around. Maybe people use society to hide what they really are."
Calloway raised an eyebrow. "And what are they really?"
Aiden shrugged. "Whatever gets them what they want."
The professor stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Dangerously close to Hobbes. But you might be onto something."
The class laughed again. Aiden didn't.
He found Lena later that afternoon, as if by accident though he knew, deep down, he'd been looking for her.
She was sitting on a low brick wall outside the diner, cigarette dangling from her fingers. When she saw him, she smirked like she'd been expecting him all along.
"You lasted longer than I thought before coming back," she said.
"I'm not here for you," he replied.
"Sure you aren't."
She flicked the cigarette away, patting the wall beside her. "Sit. I want to show you something."
He hesitated. Then he sat.
Lena dug in her jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She held it out to him.
"What's this?"
"A name," she said. "The man in that photo. Senator Harold Dunn. He's running half this city from behind closed doors."
Aiden unfolded the paper. It was a grainy printout of an article some generic political puff piece about "urban development initiatives." It didn't look like the face of someone dangerous.
"You're telling me a senator trades envelopes in the dark for fun?"
Lena leaned in, lowering her voice. "You don't trade that much cash for fun. You do it to keep people quiet."
Aiden scanned the article. "You realize how paranoid that sounds, right?"
She smirked. "Paranoid people live longer."
He handed the paper back. "And what? You want me to help you bring down a senator?"
"I want you to help me watch," Lena said. "No one does their dirty work in daylight. You keep your head down, people don't notice you. I could use that."
He frowned. "You want me to spy on people who could have me killed."
"Not people," she said. "One man. And whoever's dumb enough to meet with him."
Aiden looked at her, trying to figure out if she was insane or just fearless.
"And if you're wrong?" he asked.
"Then we find out I'm wrong," she said simply. "But if I'm right…" Her voice trailed off. She didn't need to finish the sentence.
They sat in silence for a moment. Aiden watched the smoke curl upward from her abandoned cigarette.
"You're serious about this," he said finally.
"Dead serious."
"And you're dragging me into it because…?"
"Because you're too smart to waste your life writing about dust."
The way she said it made his chest tighten. He hated how easily she cut through him.
That night, Aiden didn't go home right away.
Instead, he found himself walking the streets near City Hall, the senator's name echoing in his head. He didn't even know what he was looking for a sign, maybe. Proof that Lena wasn't just spinning a story.
He passed shuttered shops and flickering streetlights, the city breathing in that uneasy way it did after dark. For the first time in months, he felt alert. Alive.
When he finally returned to his apartment, it felt smaller than ever.
He opened his notebook.
"I keep telling myself I'm not part of this. That I'm just… curious. But maybe that's how it starts for everyone. Curiosity. Then you look up one day and realize you can't get out."
He closed the notebook and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure if he wanted to get out at all.
Few days later Lena called, she didn't ask if Aiden was busy.
"Meet me by the corner of Ninth and Green," she said. "Ten minutes."
"What's there?"
"Curiosity," she said, and hung up.
It was colder than he expected. The kind of night where the air felt metallic in his lungs. Aiden pulled his hood up as he walked, the city buzzing quietly in the distance.
Lena was leaning against a lamppost when he arrived, smoking like she'd been carved there hours ago.
"You're late," she said.
"You said ten minutes ago. It's been eight."
"Late enough."
She started walking without waiting for him to catch up.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Stakeout."
"Stakeout," he repeated. "That's… not ominous at all."
She grinned. "Don't worry. We're just watching."
They ended up a block away from a low-lit restaurant with frosted windows and a valet out front. The kind of place where money met in whispers. Lena crouched near a row of parked cars, gesturing for him to follow.
"This is where Dunn likes to meet his friends," she said. "The ones who don't want to be seen with him."
"And you want to… watch?"
"For now."
Aiden glanced around nervously. "You know this is illegal, right?"
"Breathing feels illegal if you're scared enough," she said.
They waited.
The minutes dragged. Cars pulled up, people went inside… mostly men in tailored suits who didn't look like they'd set foot in this part of the city otherwise.
Aiden leaned against a car, hands stuffed in his pockets. "So this is it? We just stand here and hope for… what?"
Lena didn't look away from the restaurant. "You'll know when you see it."
After a while, she lit another cigarette. Aiden watched the smoke curl out of her mouth, silver against the dark.
"Why do you smoke so much?" he asked.
"Because I like it."
"That's it?"
"That's it." She took another drag. "And because I can quit whenever I want."
"That's what everyone says."
She grinned. "You sound like someone who's never tried."
"Never saw the point of it."
Lena held out the cigarette to him. "Now's your chance."
He stared at it.
"Oh, come on," she said. "One drag. Live a little."
Aiden hesitated. Then, against his better judgment, he took it.
The first inhale burned. He coughed, eyes watering, while Lena laughed.
"You're supposed to breathe it in, not choke on it."
"I don't think my lungs got that memo," he muttered, handing it back.
"Not bad for a first try," she said, taking another drag.
"Not good either."
"You'll get used to it."
"I'm not planning to."
She smirked. "That's what everyone says."
Silence stretched between them. It wasn't awkward. More like a quiet truce.
"Why are you doing this?" Aiden asked suddenly.
Lena exhaled smoke, watching it disappear into the night. "Because someone has to."
"That's not an answer."
She glanced at him, the streetlight catching the faintest scar near her temple one he hadn't noticed before.
"Do you know what it's like," she said slowly, "to watch people with power get away with anything they want? To know they can crush anyone who gets in their way, and nobody will stop them? Not the cops. Not the courts. Nobody."
Aiden didn't reply.
"I used to think if you screamed loud enough, someone would help," she continued. "Turns out all you get is a sore throat."
She flicked the cigarette away. "So I stopped screaming. Now I watch. And I wait. And when the time comes, I do something about it."
Her voice wasn't angry. That almost made it worse.
Headlights swept across them. A black sedan pulled up to the restaurant.
Lena tensed. "That's him."
Aiden followed her gaze.
Senator Harold Dunn stepped out of the car, flanked by two men who looked like they'd break bones for a living. He was shorter than Aiden imagined, but carried himself like a man who owned every inch of ground he walked on.
Lena raised a small camera and snapped a photo.
"What's the point?" Aiden whispered. "Everyone knows politicians take bribes. This isn't new."
"Not like this," Lena said. "These meetings aren't on his books. And those guys aren't lobbyists."
"Then who…"
The restaurant door opened. Another man stepped out.
Even from this distance, Aiden could tell he didn't belong not in that suit, not in that company. He moved differently. Like someone who knew how to vanish if he needed to.
Lena swore under her breath. "Well, that complicates things."
"Who is he?"
She lowered the camera. "Someone who makes people disappear."
Aiden felt his pulse quicken.
"You said we were just watching," he whispered.
"We are."
"Then why does it feel like we're next?"
Lena smiled faintly, though her eyes stayed fixed on the men. "Welcome to the fun part."
They stayed until Dunn and his companions disappeared inside, then slipped away into the night, hearts racing.
By the time they were back near campus, Aiden's nerves were buzzing.
"That guy with Dunn," he said. "The one you didn't like. Who was he?"
"His name doesn't matter yet," Lena replied. "What matters is he doesn't show up unless something's about to happen."
"And what's about to happen?"
She didn't answer.
.
.
.
Two days later, It was past midnight when Lena called again.
Aiden almost didn't answer.
But then he did.
"Get dressed," she said. "We need to move."
"Move where?"
"Dunn's people are meeting again. Smaller group. Different location."
Aiden rubbed his eyes. "Why do I feel like this isn't 'just watching' anymore?"
"Because it isn't," Lena said. "I'll be outside in five."
She hung up before he could argue.
They drove in silence, the city thinning out around them as Lena steered her beat-up sedan into an industrial district Aiden barely recognized. The streets were empty except for the occasional truck rumbling by, the smell of oil and iron hanging in the cold night air.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Old shipping yard. Nobody comes here at night unless they're up to something."
"Fantastic."
"Don't worry," she said. "If we're lucky, they won't even know we're here."
He glanced at her. "You really suck at reassuring people."
They parked a block away from a warehouse, its windows blacked out, a single SUV sitting out front.
"That's them," Lena said, killing the engine.
"Who's 'them'?"
"Dunn. Or his friends. Either way, not the kind of people you want knowing your name."
Aiden's stomach turned. "And you're sure they won't notice us?"
"No one notices the boring couple making out in their car."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
She smirked. "Relax. We just need to look like we don't belong here for the right reasons. You know, young and stupid. Which shouldn't be hard."
"Great," he muttered. "Glad to be typecast."
They slid lower in their seats as a black car pulled up to the warehouse. A man stepped out ( the same one from the restaurant). The one Lena had called "someone who makes people disappear."
Aiden felt a chill. "Him again."
"Yeah," Lena said quietly. "And if he's here, something serious is happening."
The warehouse door creaked open. Two more men emerged, dragging someone between them blindfolded, hands tied.
Aiden's breath caught.
"What the hell…" he whispered. "They're…"
"Quiet," Lena hissed.
They shoved the captive inside. The door slammed.
Aiden turned to Lena. "This isn't politics. This is…"
"This is what power looks like," she said flatly. "And now you understand why I do this."
His hands were sweating. "We need to call someone."
"Who? The cops? You think they don't already know?"
He hated that she was probably right.
The warehouse door opened again.
This time, the tall enforcer, the one Lena hated, stepped out, scanning the lot.
And then his gaze stopped.
Right on their car.
Aiden froze.
"Lena," he said under his breath.
"I see him."
The man started walking toward them.
"Tell me you have a plan," Aiden whispered.
" You talk too much…I do," Lena said.
"Which is.."
"Run."
The engine roared to life. Lena slammed the car into reverse as the man broke into a sprint.
"Go, go, go…" Aiden's voice cracked as Lena spun the wheel, tires screeching.
A shot rang out. The rear window exploded, glass raining down on them.
"Are you insane?!" Aiden shouted, ducking.
"Would you rather die quietly?" Lena barked, flooring it.
The SUV peeled out behind them.
The chase blurred headlights in the mirror, the hum of adrenaline so loud Aiden could barely think. Lena cut through alleys like she knew them by heart, every turn sharper than the last.
When they finally lost the tail or maybe just outran it she didn't stop driving for another ten minutes.
Only when the city skyline reappeared did she pull over, breathing hard.
Aiden sat there, shaking, glass crunching under his shoes. "They were going to kill us."
"Not if we kept moving," she said.
"That's your takeaway?!"
She looked at him then really looked at him. "If you're scared, walk away. No shame in that. But if you stay…" Her voice softened. "You can't half-live in this. It'll eat you alive."
He stared at her, the streetlight painting half her face in gold, the other half in shadow. She looked tired. Younger than she'd seemed before.
"I don't even know why I'm here," he admitted.
"Yes, you do."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"You wanted to feel something," she said quietly. "Now you do."
She wasn't wrong.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The city hummed softly in the distance.
"Give me a cigarette," Aiden said finally.
Lena blinked, then smirked. "I thought you weren't planning to make it a habit."
"Guess I changed my mind."
She handed him one and lit it for him. This time, he didn't cough.
They drove back in silence.
But Aiden knew….whatever line they'd crossed tonight, there was no uncrossing it.
That night, his notebook stayed blank.
He didn't need to write it down to know it: He wasn't just curious anymore. He was now involved.