It was a cold, rainy night in 1998, and you couldn’t help but shiver as you raced down the narrow alleyways, the stolen loot from the bar clutched tightly against your chest. You had waited for the perfect moment to strike, studying the guards’ routines and memorizing the CCTV blind spots. Now, you were finally making your escape.

Your heart pounded wildly as you ran, footsteps splashing through puddles, the sound echoing down the empty streets. Adrenaline surged through your veins. You dared a glance over your shoulder, praying not to see anyone following.

Then, from the corner ahead, a black sedan appeared, its headlights slicing through the darkness. The car screeched to a halt, and the driver’s door swung open. A tall figure stepped out, his silhouette framed by the glow of the streetlight. His movements were calm, deliberate, and filled with authority.

The metallic click of a gun echoed in the rain.

Jay.

He was a detective known for his sharp intuition and relentless pursuit of criminals. For weeks he had been tracking you, waiting for you to slip. And now, here you were, caught under the weight of his steady aim.

Jay advanced slowly, his gun unwavering. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were cold, determined, and merciless.

“You really thought you could get away with that heist, huh?” he said, his tone low but cutting. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But not good enough to outwit me, sweetheart. Put your hands up and drop the loot, and maybe we can talk.”

His voice was firm and commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.