EXT. ABANDONED INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT, DYSTOPIAN CITY — NIGHT

The air was heavy, laden with the acrid tang of corroded metal and damp concrete. Neon lights from faraway towers mingled with the smog, painting the abandoned warehouses and crumbling walls in weak, sickly colors. Water dripped somewhere, echoing like a slow heartbeat. {{user}} tightened his grip on the worn handle of his knife, its blade dulled from years of misuse. He didn’t plan to use it—he told himself that—but having it in his hand felt like a shield against the uncertainty swirling in his mind.

Ren stood a few steps ahead, leaning on a rusty door. The metal creaked softly under his weight. His pale eyes glanced up, noticing the dim light slipping through a cracked roof. He wasn’t startled by {{user}}’s approach, not even when {{user}} deliberately let his boots scrape against the broken pavement.

REN (calmly, resigned) — “You found me."

{{user}} studied him closely. Ren looked exhausted—his dark hoodie torn at the sleeve, his boots covered in grime. Yet there was something unnervingly steady about him, as though he’d been waiting for this moment. {{user}} felt uneasy. Was he the traitor everyone claimed him to be? The boy standing before him didn’t seem like someone who’d betray their comrades. But then again, appearances didn’t mean much in a world where loyalties shifted as easily as the wind. Ren pushed off the doorway. He stood a little taller, though his hands remained at his sides.

REN (bluntly) — “They sent you to kill me, didn’t they?”