09:47 PM | Dursley's Apartment, South Metro
The hallway was a tomb of mildew and nicotine, the kind of urban decay that stuck to skin and memory alike. Fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered in erratic pulses, their dying light crawling across Adrian's nerves, twisting them tight.
Somewhere in the building's guts, pipes rattled a warning, and the faded wail of a baby threaded through.
Adrian knocked twice. The sound was firm, certain, not cruel. Behind the door, the nervous shuffle of footsteps, then the metallic scrape of a chain drawn taut, signals of anxiety as old as the city.
A slice of light. The door opened an inch.
Orren Dursley's face appeared: balding, mid-forties, glasses streaked with nervous fog, brown eyes darting like a small animal considering routes to safety. Black hair unkept for days, if not weeks.
Behind him, a television painted blue static over a landscape of empty noodle tubs and bureaucratic detritus, papers curled and yellow, bills sticky with sweat.
"I don't know you," he croaked, voice strung tight.
Adrian displayed his badge, steady and measured. "Adrian Cole. Nemesis Protocol Unit. This is Agent Aveline from C.R.I.M.E division. We need to talk about Nexo Pharmaceutical."
The name hit like a slap. Dursley went pale; fingers whitened on the doorframe.
"I don't work there anymore," he whispered, making it sound like an incantation against trouble.
Aveline's voice responded, cold and flat, delivered without threat, only fact. "We know. That's precisely why you're still alive."
She remained an unmoving presence, coat crisp, posture sharp, a shadow that refused courtesy.
An abortive movement to close the door; Aveline's boot drove forward, the frame shuddering under sudden force, chain squealing.
"We're coming in," she stated. "Easy or hard. The outcome's identical."
No threat. No plea. Just mechanics.
Dursley hesitated, lost a battle with his own instinct, and stepped aside.
Inside: a box of air filled with dust, sweat, and stale takeout. The bulb flickered above like a dying sun. Pill bottles fought for space with old mail atop the kitchen table. Adrian noted worn lino, the edge of mold by the sink.
Dursley retreated toward the kitchen, hand hovering near a drawer, the locus of panic gathering in his veins.
Adrian opened his palms, speaking slow and kind. "We're not here to hurt you. We need your testimony, about Nexo, about the work."
Dursley's laughter was bitter, burned dark around the edges, erupting with a spasm of dread. "Testimony? That's signing my own death warrant."
Aveline leaned back, folding arms, voice glacial. "You're already a liability. Nexo marks their ghosts. Testifying doesn't change survival odds, it changes if your death has purpose."
Adrian glanced, hard, at her, not helping was practically a physical presence.
So he softened. "We can protect you."
Dursley bristled, eyes sparking. "Like you protected Marcus?"
The silence that followed was flat, airless. Adrian's breath stuck.
"I know you tried. But Marcus trusted you. He's dead. And now you think, what, I should step into the same grave?"
Aveline's hand moved, swifter than logic, trained for situations that broke clean. Gun was up before adrenaline could crest; face unreadable, eyes sharp and empty.
Adrian didn't think, just acted, lunging to intercept, twisting the weapon from her grasp.
The gun hit the chipped floorboards, a metallic exclamation.
Both froze mid-motion. Dursley staggered back, gasping. Aveline immediately recalculated, posture settling. No anger, no embarrassment, just protocols resetting.
"Target presented verbal aggression. Standard threat response," she explained as if reading a chart.
Adrian's voice came raw. "He's a witness, not a danger."
Aveline blinked, head tilted like a curious machine. "Distinction registered."
She picked up the gun. Holstered it. Jacket smoothed with precise grace.
"Apologies for the miscalculation." Said it like adjusting a number, not someone's lifespan.
Dursley shook hard, fear thick as the air.
Adrian tried one last time, leaning in. "You know Marcus deserved better. But if you don't help, more workers die. Janitors, kitchen staff, people who can't afford secrets."
Dursley shook his head. "People like me are dead already, Cole. We just don't know when."
A darting hand to the drawer, out came an old revolver, shaking in fingers unsure of violence.
"Get out," he spat. "Both of you. Now."
"Dursley," Adrian tried, but the man shouted.
"OUT!"
The gun fired, a sound so sharp, so close that Adrian felt the world spin briefly. Pain lashed his face, a hot scratch, a shallow slice; the bullet grazed past, opening a tiny line along his cheek. Not deep, but wet.
He pressed fingers to the wound, crimson marking him but nothing lethal.
"Oh God…" Dursley whispered, recoiling.
Aveline's gun was up again, programmed reaction, muzzle poised.
Adrian's grip stopped her twice tonight, hand wrapping her forearm, pushing the barrel away.
"Stop."
Her eyes met his, clinical, cool, clinical.
"He fired on a federal agent. Justified lethal force."
"He's terrified. He missed. We leave."
She nodded once. "Suboptimal, but within parameters."
She turned to Dursley. "You have twenty-four hours. After that, you're irrelevant."
Gun holstered, she marched to the door.
Adrian pressed his sleeve to the wound, blood already drying.
In the hallway:
"What was that?" he hissed.
"Threat protocol was engaged. He displayed aggression."
"You were going to kill him. Twice. Without hesitation."
She replied evenly. "Hesitation costs lives."
"He's just afraid. He's not a killer."
"Scared civilians kill as efficiently."
He stared, exhausted. "Do you feel anything? Empathy? Guilt?"
She seemed to weigh the notion. "I feel…efficient when variables align. Frustrated when they don't." She paused, eyeing him. "Is that relevant?"
He shook his head. "Jesus Christ."
She tilted hers. "Is that a yes or a no?"
He didn't answer. Walked ahead. She followed in perfect step.
Driving North | The Ride
Aveline drove, Adrian pressed a Hello Kitty bandage to his shallow graze, staring at him as rain whispered against the windshield. The car interior reeked faintly of gun oil, citrus.
She stayed focused, hands at ten and two. Occasionally, she glanced his way, inspecting the wound as if searching for weakness. At a stoplight, she leaned in and nudged his chin gently, eyes meeting the mark with clinical scrutiny.
"It's superficial. Good adhesion," she said, fingers brushing the bandage with a touch bordering on tender. "You won't scar unless you prefer dramatic effect."
He snorted. "Oh, I'm sure the office will appreciate the kindergarten chic."
She smirked, an actual one, a thin line of amusement. "You look ridiculous. Like a five-year-old facing disciplinary action."
"Glad I can brighten morale."
Silence stretched. The city lights bled through streaming water on the glass, making everything outside blur and shimmer.
Adrian broke the quiet. "Why Hello Kitty?"
"Bulk purchase. Cost-effective. Cartoon imagery doesn't affect the medical function."
He sighed. "Only my dignity."
She offered a rare, dry laugh. "Dignity is for the uninjured."
The drive continued, slow, precise. She didn't ask where to drop him. She already knew.
22:20 | Adrian's Safehouse, North Metro
She parked, engine idling. With uncharacteristic gentleness, Aveline reached over, checked the bandage once more, fingers ghosting along his cheek, almost an apology, almost a warning.
She let him out. The city's rain pressed in. He couldn't read her expression.
"Ciao."
Aveline stepped into the night. A cab was waiting, engine already running. She slipped inside and disappeared, the door almost silent.
Adrian entered his apartment, slumping heavily on the couch. The wound stung, but the bandage was flawless.
His phone buzzed. Elias.
"Tell me how it went."
Adrian stared at the message, thumb hovering. Finally, he typed: "Complicated. I'll explain tomorrow."
He let the phone fall, the neon light from the blinds casting bruised color across the room. Sleep pulled at him, no rest, just a city's promise that tomorrow would always be harder, always more uncertain.