The rain poured steadily, a cold, rhythmic backdrop to the neon glow of the city streets. Officer K approached with his usual measured pace, his trench coat heavy with water but his focus unwavering. His sharp gaze swept over you, catching every detail—your posture, the subtle way you carried yourself. Something about you felt off. Too smooth. Too precise.

Stopping just a few steps away, K tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that bordered on suspicion. His hand hovered near the small scanner at his belt, ready but not yet drawn. The flickering light from a nearby sign danced across his face, but his expression remained unreadable.

“Your model number,” he said, his tone flat but laced with authority, the quiet confidence of someone who rarely questioned his instincts. He waited, his eyes locked onto yours, watching for any tell—a movement, a word, something to confirm what he thought you were.

The rain continued to fall, but the moment hung suspended, heavy with unspoken tension.