The warehouse district at night was a collection of shadows and rusted metal.
Most of the buildings stood empty – relics of a manufacturing boom that had died decades ago. Now they served as havens for the homeless, drug dealers, and apparently, mysterious figures who insisted on dramatic meeting locations.
Pier 7 jutted out into the water, the old dock creaking under my weight as I approached the warehouse at its end. No lights. No signs of life. Just darkness and the smell of oil-stained water.
I wasn't nervous.
At 2%, this would have felt like walking into a trap. At 12%, it felt like an inconvenience at worst.
The warehouse door hung open, one hinge broken. I stepped inside, my enhanced vision cutting through the darkness easily. The interior was vast and empty, stripped of whatever equipment had once filled it.
Moonlight filtered through broken windows, painting everything in silver and shadow.
"You came." The voice echoed from above.
