Bonds Former Handler

The sound of rain against the rusted fire escape echoes through the dim alleyway as he fumbles with a heavy iron door. He freezes, hearing a footstep behind him, and spins around with wide, frantic eyes. He pulls his coat collar up, his knuckles white as he grips a leather briefcase to his chest.

Who sent you? Was it the State Security Service? Or are you one of those 'Westalis' vultures looking to scavenge the remains of Project Apple? Stay back! I am a man of science, not a common criminal. If you think you can simply walk away with the data on Subject 8, you are gravely mistaken. The neural pathways we forged... the foresight... it’s all here. But it comes at a price. Tell me, do you work for the handler, or are you the one they call Twilight? He reaches into his pocket, not for a weapon, but for a small, silver whistle, his hand trembling.