The origin of Mr. Classic's name remained unknown to most, but they often waved it off, concluding that he simply led a classic, normal life. His street reflected that normalcy, with an almost perfectly balanced mix of activity: workers heading to their offices, business people striding purposefully, school kids laughing, shops opening their doors, and parks quietly awakening. Everything seemed to be moving in an orderly sequence, well, everything but Classic himself. At his door, he paused, viewing the morning activities one last time as he prepared to relocate today, leaving the past behind and hoping for a brighter future in a new city. He clutched the worn leather strap of his duffel bag, the weight of his few possessions a physical manifestation of the burdens he carried. The city behind him held nothing but ghosts, whispers of what could have been, and the bitter taste of disillusionment. What exactly had driven Classic to this point of near-desperation? He glanced at his watch. Time was a luxury he couldn't afford. Each minute spent reminiscing was a minute lost in building a new life, a life free from the suffocating grip of Azaw and its corporate overlords. He took a deep breath, the crisp morning air doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. With a final, lingering look, he stepped off the porch and into the anonymity of the bustling street, hoping to disappear into the human tapestry, unnoticed and unburdened. Where was he planning to go? What new identity would he assume?Unbeknownst to him, Mr. Kinsley was speeding down the highway, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The conversation with Classic that morning had left him deeply unsettled. Classic's resignation had been abrupt, almost desperate, and his cryptic warnings about the corporation had only fueled the unease that had been simmering within Kinsley since his sudden promotion. It was strange, Kinsley reflected, how Classic, a man he barely knew before his sudden rise to CEO, now seemed like his only confidant. Before his promotion, their interactions had been limited to polite nods in the hallway and brief exchanges during company meetings. Why was Classic now reaching out? What did he know? The unsettling feeling that had been growing since the previous night had become unbearable, and Classic was the only one he felt he could confide in, despite their previously distant relationship. He needed answers, and he needed them now. As he reached the address, Kinsley noticed the door was slightly ajar. A wave of unease washed over him, intensifying the knot in his stomach. He remembered Classic as a meticulous man, a creature of habit and order. The open door was so uncharacteristic, so out of place, that it sent a shiver down his spine. He pushed the door open further and stepped inside. The apartment was a mess. Boxes were overturned, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Papers were scattered everywhere, like fallen leaves in a forgotten autumn. Drawers were pulled open and ransacked, their contents strewn about with careless abandon.
His mind raced, conjuring up a myriad of terrifying scenarios. Had Classic been attacked? Had someone been searching for something? Or, even worse, had the pressure of the situation finally driven him mad, leading him to… No, he couldn't think that way. He refused to believe that Classic, the steady, reliable colleague he had known for years, was capable of such a thing. But the scene before him painted a grim picture, one that he couldn't ignore.He moved cautiously through the cluttered living room, his senses on high alert. The silence of the apartment was deafening, amplifying the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. He called out Classic's name, his voice a mere whisper in the oppressive stillness. "Classic? It's Kinsley! Are you here?"Silence. Only the faint hum of the city outside filled the void.He saw a shadow flicker at the end of the hallway, a fleeting movement that caught his eye. Relief flooded him, momentarily easing the tension that had gripped him. But the relief was quickly followed by apprehension. Something was not right. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, a palpable tension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He started moving, his pace quickening as he approached the hallway. What was waiting for him in the shadows?
He strained his eyes, trying to make out the source of the shadow in the dim light. Was it Classic? Or someone else? Someone dangerous? He reached the entrance to the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest.
But before he could fully process what he was seeing, before he could make out who, or what, was casting that shadow…
Loud Thud.
A few hours later, Kinsley woke up with a splitting pain in his head. The world swam around him, a blurry kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. He groaned, his body aching, his head throbbing with a persistent, agonizing pain. He was lying on a couch in a dimly lit room, the soft fabric scratching against his skin. His vision was blurry, and he felt disoriented, struggling to remember what had happened. As his eyes gradually adjusted, he made out the familiar surroundings of Classic's living room. The overturned boxes and scattered papers seemed even more chaotic in the dim light, a stark reminder of the unsettling events that had led to his current predicament.
Classic came into the room, his face etched with concern and a hint of remorse. "Kinsley! You're awake. Thank God."Kinsley groaned, trying to sit up, his head spinning. "Classic? What happened? Why am I here?"Classic rushed to his side, gently helping him sit up. "I am so sorry, Kinsley. I didn't know it was you. When I heard someone breaking in, I panicked. I thought it was an intruder." His voice was laced with regret, but Kinsley couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story, something hidden beneath the surface of his apology. Why had Classic reacted so violently? Was he truly afraid, or was there another reason?Kinsley rubbed his throbbing head, wincing in pain. "You... you knocked me out?"Classic winced, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and defensiveness. "I didn't mean to hit you so hard. I just reacted. It was a reflex. Are you alright?"Kinsley slowly nodded, still trying to piece things together, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. "Yeah, I think so. Just a massive headache." He paused, looking around the disheveled apartment, his gaze lingering on the overturned boxes and scattered papers. "What is all this? What's going on, Classic?"Classic sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with a weariness that Kinsley had never seen before. "It's a long story, Kinsley. A story I was hoping to avoid telling." What secrets was Classic hiding? And why was he suddenly willing to share them with Kinsley, a man he barely knew?Kinsley frowned, his suspicion growing with each passing moment. "Start with the ice. My head is killing me."Classic nodded apologetically, his face etched with a mixture of guilt and resignation. "Of course. Ice. Right away." He hurried off to the kitchen, leaving Kinsley to grapple with the throbbing pain in his head and the growing sense that he had stumbled into something far more complicated and dangerous than he could have ever imagined. As he waited for Classic to return, Kinsley couldn't shake the feeling that his life, and perhaps the fate of Azaw itself, had irrevocably changed. What role was he destined to play in the unfolding drama?