The room was dim, the only light bleeding in from the grimy window, where neon fought through the dirt, casting eerie shadows across the walls. Rico sat hunched over a stained table, his fingers drumming an erratic beat as he eyed Max and Elena warily.
"I've been running numbers for Franco," Rico started, his voice a low murmur, as if afraid the walls themselves were listening. "But it wasn't just gambling debts and laundered money—it was bigger."
Max leaned forward, his elbows on the table, face set in hard lines. "Define 'bigger.'"
Rico swallowed, the sound loud in the tense silence. "Weapons. Illegal arms deals. Some of the buyers are the kind that make the news for all the wrong reasons."
Elena's breath caught audibly. "You're telling us you're mixed up with terrorists now?"
"Not by choice!" Rico's voice cracked like thin ice. "They don't exactly let you walk away from something like this."
Max's hand tightened around his coffee mug, the ceramic creaking. "How do we fit into this mess, Rico? What do you want from us?"
Rico's eyes darted toward the window, then back to Max. "Protection. And in return, I can give you information. Locations, meeting times, names."
Elena leaned back, her chair squeaking slightly. "You expect us to believe you'd turn on Franco and his crew just like that?" She snapped her fingers, the sound sharp in the small room.
"I don't have a lot of options left," Rico confessed, his eyes hollow. "You saw what happened with the fire. I'm a dead man walking either way. At least this gives me a chance to set things right."
Max studied him for a long moment, the weight of decision pressing down like the heavy air before a storm. Finally, he nodded, slow and deliberate. "Alright, Rico. We'll bite. But if you're playing us—"
"I'm not." Rico cut in, quick and urgent. "You've got my word."
Elena snorted softly. "We'll need more than your word. We'll need everything you've got. Documents, recordings—anything that can verify your story."
Rico nodded, pushing back his chair with a scrape against the concrete floor. "I'll get what I need. Give me 24 hours."
As Rico slipped out into the shadow-soaked streets, Max and Elena were left in the buzzing silence, the neon light now painting the room in a more ominous glow.
"Think he'll come through?" Elena asked, her voice tinged with doubt.
Max didn't answer immediately, watching the street where Rico had disappeared. "I don't know. But right now, he's our best shot at getting inside Franco's operations."
"And if he doesn't come back?" Elena pressed, her dark eyes searching his face.
"Then we're right back where we started," Max replied, his tone grim. "And we'll handle it, like we always do."
Outside, the city hummed with hidden dangers, each shadow a potential threat, each face possibly an enemy. But inside, Max and Elena prepared to play the game once more, driven not by trust, but by the sheer necessity of survival in the depths of Neon Shadows.