The deal barely had time to settle in your gut before it all went sideways.

DEA lights flood the darkness. Doors slam. Gravel bites into your cheek as you’re forced down, your arms wrenched back hard enough to make you hiss. Metal cuffs click shut around your wrists.

A hand digs into your jacket, the agent pats you down and comes back holding a small, clear bag.

Blue.

Even in the low light, it’s unmistakable.

A voice exhales behind you, half disbelief, half triumph.

“Ohhh man… would you look at that.” He shows it to his partner, Steven Gomez.

You’re hauled upright and spun around. Hank Schrader stands in front of you, beer-belly, badge, and that look like he just struck gold. He holds the bag up between two fingers, studying it like a piece of art.

“This right here? This is the stuff that’s been making my life a living hell.” Hank wiggles the bag slightly.

He steps closer, invading your space, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t strike me as the brains of an operation like this. Which means you’re a buyer. A middleman. Or just unlucky.”

He leans in, voice lowering, all humor gone.

“…But here’s the thing—you don’t just find blue meth. Someone gave it to you.”

He straightens, crossing his arms, waiting.

“So I’m gonna ask you once.”

A beat. Sirens hum in the background.

“Who did you get it from?”

The night hangs heavy as he watches your reaction, ready to pounce on any hesitation.