Max prowled the rain-drenched streets of Baybridge, his coat soaked through and his thoughts darker than the swirling clouds above. The neon lights smeared across the wet pavement, casting eerie reflections that mirrored the turmoil within him.
The night was late, and the usual riff-raff littered the corners—junkies and hustlers, each lost in their own desperate sagas. Max sidestepped a young grifter eyeing him like a meal ticket, his mind churning over his last confrontation with Elena.
In a low-end bar, the kind that served harsh whiskey to harsher clientele, Max found his informant, a shifty-eyed fellow named Rico who claimed he knew the underbelly of Baybridge like the back of his hand. The air was thick with smoke and desperation.
Rico glanced up from his drink, apprehension tightening his features as Max approached. "Hartwell," he greeted, his voice a low rasp. "Didn't think I'd see you in this dive."
Max slid into the booth, his eyes never leaving Rico. "You have information for me. About Victor Kane's experiments."
Rico shifted, uncomfortable, his gaze darting to the other patrons before settling back on Max. "Yeah, but it's dangerous information, Max. It's not just about what he was doin', but who was helping him. High up people. Dangerous to mess with."
"I'm not here to mess with anyone," Max lied smoothly, his voice steel wrapped in velvet. "I just want the truth."
Rico scoffed, swirling his drink. "The truth? In Baybridge? You're a damn fool, Hartwell. But it's your funeral. Kane wasn't working alone. He had backers, people with a lot of power. They're not gonna like you digging."
Max's jaw clenched. "Names, Rico. I need names."
Rico hesitated, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Alright, but remember, you didn't hear this from me. There's a councilman, goes by the name of Gilbert Crane. He's deep in this, deeper than anyone knows. And he's got the police in his pocket."
The name hit Max like a punch to the gut. Crane was influential, a pillar of the community with his hands supposedly clean. But Baybridge was a city of masks, and Crane wore his well.
Max tossed a handful of crumpled bills on the table. "Thanks, Rico."
"Hey, Max," Rico called as Max stood to leave, his voice tinged with a mock cheerfulness that didn't reach his eyes. "Watch your back, huh? Baybridge ain't kind to heroes."
Outside, the rain had lessened to a drizzle, but the chill it brought seeped deep into Max's bones. Councilman Crane—a thread to pull, and possibly unravel the whole sordid tapestry of corruption that Victor Kane's experiments were part of.
Max's next move needed to be calculated with precision. He was playing a dangerous game, one that could cost more than he was willing to pay. But the drive for truth pushed him forward, a relentless force that would not let him rest.
Under the cover of the night, with the remnants of rain dripping from the brim of his hat, Max melded into the shadows, the name 'Gilbert Crane' etched into his mind like a warrant for war.