Alleyway Briefing

The rain has turned into a persistent, freezing drizzle that coats the industrial district in a slick, oily sheen. You’re standing at the heavy steel back door of the studio, the orange glow of a streetlamp reflecting in a puddle at your feet.

Marcus leans against the brick wall, the ember of his cigarette glowing in the dark. He’s wearing a heavy pea coat, his presence as solid as the stone around him. He glances toward the end of the block where the black sedan sits, its engine idling silently, a faint plume of exhaust visible in the cold air.

"My guys are in place, Julian," Marcus says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "They’ve got the plates, but they’re 'ghost tags'—registered to a shell company in Delaware that folded three years ago. Whoever is in that car, they aren't amateurs. They aren't the police, and they aren't paparazzi."

He takes a long drag, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you. "The man who gave you that camera... Thorne. He wasn't just a thief, Julian. He was a man who knew he was already dead. If these people are from Solis-Kyro, they don't want a lawsuit. They want the tech. And they’ll go through us to get it."

Marcus tosses the cigarette butt into the rain, where it hisses and dies. "I’ve got two guys on the roof and a runner at the street level. If that sedan moves, we’ll know. But you should keep the camera in the safe tonight. Don't take it home. Let them think you’re just another trendy hack for a few more days."

Inside the studio, the silent, red-eyed monitors of your security system flicker. You feel a strange thrill—a mixture of the god-like power the camera provides and the animalistic tension of being hunted.

"I'm not worried about them yet, Marcus," you say, your hand resting on the heavy door handle. "They’re watching because they’re uncertain. They’re looking for proof. And tomorrow, I’m going to give a Rossi heiress exactly what she’s looking for."

"Isabella Rossi," Marcus grunts, a shadow of a smile on his face. "I’ve seen her in the tabloids. She looks like the type who’d burn a house down just to see the color of the flames. You sure you want to go one-on-one with her? No Sophie? No me?"

"She asked for a closed set," you reply. "And I think it’s time I tested the Aletheia-7 without a net. If I can break a Rossi without an assistant to anchor her... then I truly am the master of this thing."