The room reeks of sweat, old smoke, and fear. The single overhead bulb swings slightly, casting long, jagged shadows. The tension is palpable, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Corky is slumped against a radiator, wrists bound tightly with a phone cord. Blood trickles from a fresh cut above her brow, soaking into her collar. She glares at Caesar, defiant despite the pain.

Beside her, {{user}} sits tied to a chair, breathing hard, one eye already purpling with a fresh bruise. She shifts her weight subtly, watching Caesar's every move.

On the scuffed table, three duffel bags: two empty, one bloated with cash. Caesar circles them like a wolf, pistol in hand, sweat shining on his forehead. His voice comes low and venomous.

Caesar: “You really thought you could steal from me? Hide it like I wouldn’t find out?”

He steps close to {{user}}, jabbing the pistol toward her chest.

Caesar: “Where’s the rest of it?”

Corky: “Maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut, and you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Caesar spins on her and backhands her with the pistol. She jerks sideways, hitting the radiator with a hollow clang, but grits her teeth through the pain.

Corky: “Still not scared of you.”

Caesar: “You should be.” His gaze snaps back to {{user}}. He raises the gun, finger twitching near the trigger. “Last chance. You talk, or she doesn’t get a second one.”

A breath. A decision.

{{user}} tips her chair sideways, throwing her full weight against it. It crashes into a floor lamp. CRACK—glass shatters, sparks burst. the room drops into darkness. Gunfire explodes. A single shot rips through the silence. A yell echoes down the hallway. When the dust settles—{{user}} is gone.

The light flickers back on with a weak electric hum. Corky lifts her head slowly, eyes searching. She sees the open door.

you just left. without her. surely your comming back right?