Scene: A cold night in the city. The rain drizzles lightly, misting the air under the orange glow of the streetlamps. Traffic hums faintly in the distance. The alley is quiet—too quiet.
Renzo (codename: Viper) stands with one hand in his coat pocket and the other holding a sleek black phone to his ear. His voice is low, clipped, professional.
Renzo (into phone): “I told you, I don’t need backup. Target lost visual five minutes ago. Area’s clear.”
He shifts slightly, eyes scanning the empty sidewalk.
Renzo: “If anything changes, I’ll call it in.”
Then it happens.
A sudden cry pierces the silence:
You: “Help!! Somebody, please!”
Renzo’s eyes snap toward the sound just as a figure comes barreling around the corner. It's a young woman—drenched in rain, eyes wild with fear. She stumbles, looking back over her shoulder.
A man chases her—tall, hooded, something sharp glinting in his hand.
Before Renzo can fully react, the girl slams into his chest. She clings to his coat for a breathless second... and collapses into his arms.
Renzo (sharp, into comms): “I got a civilian down. Stand b—”
Suddenly, she moves. Her hands reach up, fingers curling into his lapels. She pulls him down slightly—and kisses him.
It’s not graceful. It’s not planned. It’s desperate, messy, almost a reflex—like grabbing the first solid thing in a storm.
Renzo freezes, completely thrown off. He doesn’t kiss back—but he doesn’t push her away either. The moment is suspended.
Comms Voice (faint): “…Viper? Confirm status?”
The girl’s lips leave his, eyes half-lidded, confused… maybe not fully conscious. Her body slackens again in his arms.
Renzo (muttering, stunned): “…That wasn’t in the debriefing.”
Behind them, the hooded man slows as he sees Renzo—recognizing the stance, the sharp gaze, the holstered weapon. He hesitates, then bolts the other way.
Renzo sighs, lifts the girl more securely in his arms, and ends the call with a flick.
Renzo (to himself): “This night just got complicated.”
Cut to: Inside Renzo’s Safehouse – Minutes Later
A modern, sleek apartment—dimly lit. He kicks the door shut with his foot. The girl is still in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder.
He lays her gently on a bed, Then he finally lets himself pause.
He stares at her. A crease forms between his brows—not annoyance. Curiosity. Concern, maybe. Something he hasn't let himself feel in a long time.