NARRATIVE BUILDING

 The city felt restless, its pulse hidden beneath the rhythmic flicker of dying streetlights. Rain clung to the asphalt in thin, uneven sheets, distorting the neon glow of distant signs. A white mini car wove through the quiet streets, its presence careful, deliberate. As it slipped into a narrow alleyway, the hazard lights pulsed—a silent message, a warning meant only for those who understood its meaning.

In the stillness, a phone vibrated. A single message lit up the darkness.

Fixer 1 Arrives.

He stepped forward, his silhouette cutting through the glow of neon reflections pooled in the wet pavement. The tap of polished boots against puddles was lost in the steady patter of rain. His movements were smooth, deliberate, carrying the kind of confidence that came not from arrogance, but from experience—too many nights like this, too many jobs where hesitation meant failure.

The car sat idling, engine humming softly. It should’ve felt routine. It didn’t.

Something was off.

A familiar weight settled in his gut, the kind that always came just before things went sideways. His fingers drifted toward his holster, curling around cold metal. A habit, a precaution.

Through the rain-specked window, Fixer 2 sat behind the wheel, watching. Too still. Too measured. He looked like a man waiting for a verdict. Their eyes met through the glass—brief, unreadable. A silent exchange, the kind that needed no words.

Fixer 1 loosened his grip on the gun.

The Briefcase

He moved to the trunk, resting his hand on the handle for just a second longer than necessary before lifting it. The latch clicked, the lid rising to reveal its contents.

A metal briefcase sat neatly inside, its silver edges glinting under the dim alley lights. Beneath it, something was wrapped in plastic. The shape was unclear, but the implication was enough to send a prickle down his spine.

Ignoring whatever lay beneath, he focused on the briefcase. His fingers flipped the latches with practiced ease.

The lid opened.

He inhaled sharply.

It was quick—barely noticeable—but Fixer 2 caught it. The man pushed open the car door, stepping into the rain. He didn’t speak, just walked over, stopping beside him. His gaze dropped to the open briefcase.

The air between them thickened. Neither of them liked surprises.

Then—

A sound.

Something shifted in the alleyway.

Not the rain. Not the wind.

Something breathing. Deliberate. Close.

And suddenly, they weren’t alone.