Prologue (1/2)

Prologue

At the summit of an imposing iron tower quietly stood a man of unimposing stature, his clothes comprising of nothing more than a sleeveless s.h.i.+rt, a pair of shorts and a pair of flip flops. A bag with red and blue lines in a pattern dangled from his shoulders, and he held a nearly extinguished cigarette b.u.t.t between his fingers.

As he gazed at the picturesque scene of the city lights, scintillating in the distance, he slowly exhaled a puff of smoke. A trace of melancholy flashed through his placid and composed face. A light flick of his fingers launched the cigarette b.u.t.t into the sky. The object traced a desolate arc, flickering for a brief moment under the nightly sky before what remained of it was claimed by the cold wind.

The man dropped the knit bag from his shoulder into his hand. Lifting his flip-flop adorned right foot, he took a step off the edge of the hundred meter tall tower, into the night sky immersed in the howlings of frigid wind. In the midst of his fall, a distortion surrounded his descending figure, and he reappeared standing at the bottom of the iron tower the next instant.

The irregular cadence of his flip-flops reverberated as he strolled. Between his steps, he brought out an empty plastic bottle and unhurriedly raised it to the side.

Plop!

Something fell out of the darkness, into the thin neck of the bottle with a barely audible noise  — the cigarette b.u.t.t that the man had thrown earlier. With a smooth movement, the man rather carelessly tossed the plastic bottle containing the litter into a garbage can by the sidewalk. He marched until his silhouette vanished into the curtain of the night.

Meanwhile, inside a secret room within the city.

The top of an expensive round marble table reflected the dim lamplight. A middle-aged man dressed in an expensive suit furrowed his brows as he tapped rhythmically on the table with his fingertips.

”Why is he here?” The middle-aged man muttered to himself and the empty s.p.a.ce around him. He lifted his hand, picked up the bottle of whiskey that was on the table and filled his gla.s.s halfway. As the man agitated the gla.s.s, the amber liquid swirled evenly within it, and a thin layer of condensation slowly climbed up the drinking gla.s.s as the warmth around it was siphoned away. The man finished off his gla.s.s of whiskey in a single gulp and s.h.i.+fted his attention to an empty chair in front of the table.

”He's not here for us. Otherwise, with his temper, he would have been here long ago.” An unexpected answer to the man's question came from a vacant chair. It was a soft voice, charming and indolent like a moan. Another glance at the chair showed it to be completely empty.

”Even if he was merely pa.s.sing by, two days has pa.s.sed already. Could it be that there's something keeping him here?” asked the the middle-aged man, who was not surprised in the slightest by the strange situation, and continued to voice his doubt.

”Whatever's on his mind, we can only guess,” answered the the feminine voice without much intonation.