December 26, 2025 – Chicago
19:45 PM
The Biograph Theater stood like a somber monument in the rain. Michael Hale looked at the ticket for Seat 15-B. This was where John Dillinger met his end—betrayed by a woman in red. Asher Burke chose his stages carefully; he didn't just want a meeting, he wanted to send a message about the price of betrayal.
Inside, the air smelled of stale popcorn and dust. An old black-and-white noir film flickered on the screen. Michael sat in 15-B. He found a headset and a small screen waiting for him on the armrest.
As he put them on, a voice like velvet over broken glass filled his ears.
"Welcome home, Michael. You look just like your father when he realized the cage he built for himself was too small."
Michael scanned the darkness. "Where are you, Asher?"
"I am the static in the radio, Michael. The shadow on the wall. Right now, Luca D'Angelo is in a suite across from the precinct, briefing a hit squad. Natalia Reyes is tracing your connection to Leo Cross. Your mask is cracking, Doctor. And I'm the only one with the glue."
"What do you want?" Michael's jaw tightened.
"I don't want, Michael. I negotiate. Your father rented his soul to keep you out of a cell. Now, the lease is up. Tomorrow morning, the City Council votes on the new security act. One man stands in the way: Prosecutor Marcus Thorne. Use your 'skills' to find his breaking point. Deliver him to me, and Luca D'Angelo will vanish from Chicago like a bad dream. Fail, and Elara's gala tomorrow night will be a funeral."
The screen went black. The voice vanished. As Michael walked out, a man in a trench coat handed him a dossier without saying a word.
***
22:30 – Michael's Penthouse
Michael stared at Prosecutor Thorne's file. But his mind was on the blood already on his hands. He called Natalia.
"Natalia, listen to me," his voice was low, urgent. "Don't go to the City Council tomorrow. Stay away from the bridge. Stay away from me."
"Michael, what are you into?" Natalia's voice was cold, professional. "The Leo Cross case is deepening. If you're hiding something, I can't protect you."
"Don't protect me, Natalia," Michael said, the psychologist's mask finally falling away. "Just survive."
He hung up and looked at his reflection. He took the rusted key from his pocket—the one from the bridge. He knew exactly what it opened now. His father's old ghost station near the harbor.
A place where a man could disappear. Or be born again.