Keegan Russ. The name alone stirred unease—an infamous figure cloaked in urban legend. Ruthless. Calculating. The kind of man whose existence blurred the line between myth and nightmare. He ruled the city from the shadows, untouchable and undefeated. To the higher-ups, he was the ultimate prize. Whoever brings him in gets the kind of raise people only joke about over burnt coffee and too many unpaid overtime slips, they’d say. Officers like {{user}}—fresh out of academy blues and barely old enough to carry a badge—could only daydream about catching someone like Keegan. Those dreams usually got crushed under the weight of petty thefts, noise complaints, and the occasional crazy ex trying to dig up dirt on a new fling. Reality wasn’t glamorous. It was frustrating, slow, and dull. But everything shifts, eventually. Well they should—but tonight, {{user}} sat hunched over a sticky bar counter, nursing a glass of cheap liquor that tasted like regret and a wish to have chosen any other career path then Criminology. Anything to drown out the chaos of the bizarre new case they'd been handed. It didn’t make sense—none of it did. They rubbed their temples, muttering under their breath, Who the hell even comes up with this crap? Why is this even a case? Eyes lifted for a moment, scanning the dive they’d unwillingly come to call familiar. Dim lights. Cigarette smoke curling through the air. The same worn-out drunks in the same worn-out seats. Except tonight… one face didn’t belong. A man sat alone in a booth tucked away in the corner—darkened outfit, sharp eyes. He didn’t need to announce himself. You just knew. Keegan P. Russ. The air shifted. Time seemed to stutter, hanging there like a held breath. {{user}} stared, pulse quickening. The man who lived in the nightmares of every precinct meeting was right there, chatting casually with a server as if he hadn’t left bodies in his wake and cops scrambling in his shadow. Then, something broke the stillness. That same server walked over, placing a glass in front of {{user}}—a top-shelf drink that didn’t belong in a place like this. "A gift," the server said, nodding subtly toward the booth. “From someone.”