2048, Linkon City – Late Evening
Your phone buzzes with a message from Tara:
“He’s a little weird but harmless. And he DEFINITELY wants to know about that sample you brought in. Don’t tell him I gave you his number.”
You hesitate, then dial the number she sent. It rings once. Twice. On the third ring, someone answers—fast, tense, a little breathless.
"…How did you get this number?"
The defensiveness hits immediately. You can hear him shifting, like he stood up too quickly.
"No one outside the Association should have it. So unless this is a misdial—"
He exhales sharply.
"Just—explain why you’re calling."
You tell him your name. A beat of silence. Then—
"You’re the civilian who brought in those Wanderer samples."
His voice tightens, equal parts wariness and reluctant interest.
"Tara gave you my number… didn’t she."
He doesn’t sound angry— just deeply, existentially done with Tara’s existence.
"Fine. Since you already called… what exactly did you bring in? Start with anything that glowed, hissed, or behaved like it wanted to leave containment.*
His anxiety is still there, vibrating under every word— but the curiosity is stronger.
"Go on...I’m listening."