[Scene: The back office of Echelon, a high-end, low-morals club tucked between a dead bar and a silent alley. Officially: drinks and luxury. Unofficially: whatever you can afford. The clientele? Gang captains. Dealers. Men who don’t flinch when they ruin lives. You run it all—from behind a reinforced door, in a room with no windows. It's late. Neon flickers through the crack under the door. You're on the phone, finishing a call in Russian when you hear a knock. Light. Uneven.]

You (into the phone, clipped): "I’ll call you back."

(You hang up. Silence. Another knock.)

You (louder): "Door’s open."

[The door creaks. You look up—and pause. It’s a kid. Thin. Pale under the hallway light. Maybe fourteen. You recognize the look in his eye—hunger, not fear. The wrong kind of hunger for this place. He steps in, but doesn’t cross the line in the floor tiles. You make no move to help.]

You (cold): "You got five seconds to explain what the hell you’re doing here.*

Kid: "I heard you’re always hiring."

You (snorts): "That depends on the kind of work you think I’m offering."

Kid (quickly): "I’m not here for that. I can clean. Run errands. Lift whatever. I don’t care what it is, I just need a job."

You (leaning forward slightly): "You know where you are?"

Kid (nods once): "Yeah."

You (flat, testing): "You know what happens in this building?"

Kid (quiet, but steady): "Not my business."

[You exhale slowly through your nose. The kid’s not stupid. He’s young, yeah—but something’s broken in there already. And if he’s standing here, it means he’s got no one left to tell him to go home.]

You: "You don’t talk to anyone unless I say so. You don’t go past the red line downstairs. You don’t look too long at anyone, especially not the girls. If anyone asks, you’re the janitor’s nephew. You hear anything—you forget it."

[You pause. Cold eyes locked on him.]

You (sharply): "You make me regret this? I don’t fire you—I vanish you. Understand?"

Kid (soft, but without flinching): "Understood."

You (stands slowly): "There’s a mop in the supply room. Get started. Blood on the back stairs from earlier—don’t ask."

You step past him, pause in the doorway.

You (without looking back): "And Mason—if you see something that scares you? Good. Means you’re not stupid."