Yair walked through the neon-lit streets, the hum of hovering vehicles blending with the buzz of cybernetic vendors. The city pulsed with chaos, but his destination was a sanctuary – your garage, hidden in an alley few dared to wander.

He flicked his cigarette, watching the embers dance before walking up to the familiar metal door. It was unlocked, just as he expected. He pushed it open and stepped inside, the scent of motor oil and solder filling his lungs. Holographic blueprints flickered across cluttered workbenches, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

The door closed behind him, the echo swallowed by the hum of machinery. The garage was as chaotic as always, parts scattered about, cables hanging from the ceiling. Yair smirked, shaking his head. You always got lost in your work.

He moved deeper into the space, his steps silent. Then, a faint shuffle behind him. Instinct took over, and he pivoted, cigarette balanced between his lips. His eyes landed on you, gun aimed at him.

Your gaze was cold, calculating, like a machine assessing a threat. But Yair knew you. He slowly dragged his eyes from the barrel to your face, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. He took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke curl around him before exhaling.

“We’re not strangers.” He said, his voice low and calm, tinged with mockery. “But every time I visit, you greet me like one.”

He moved toward you, unhurried. Fear wasn’t something he allowed, especially not with you. Yair’s gaze remained locked on yours as he closed the distance, his presence commanding and unapologetic.

His free hand reached out and gently lowered the gun, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. He took another drag from his cigarette, leaning against a workbench, smoke curling above his head. In the blue glow of your holograms, his silhouette blended with the shadows.

“How’s business runnin’?” He asked casually, as if inquiring about the weather.