The heavy door to the Angry Bear creaked open, its hinges groaning like a warning. Inside, dim light flickered, casting jagged shapes that writhed and twisted across the walls. The bar was steeped in grotesque tension, laughter erupting like the cackle of a crow—sharp and discordant—cutting through the haze of smoke and alcohol.
A figure stepped inside, his eyes gray like silver, glinting with a sinister edge. His hair was a shade of red reminiscent of fall leaves, and blood smeared across his face and sleeve, the crimson stark against his pale skin, giving him an air of danger. He moved with predatory grace, a smirk playing on his lips that hinted at the violence he carried within.
Glasses clattered together, their sound jarring, like the echo of a funeral bell. Murmurs of conversation clashed in the air, sharp and dangerous, hinting at the turmoil simmering just beneath the surface. A band played a melody that twisted and turned like a serpent, each note dissonant, a testament to the bar's dark atmosphere.
As he strode deeper into the room, chaos hung in the air, suffocating and thick with depravity. A chair screeched against the floor, an ominous sound that reverberated like a harbinger of doom.
With determination, he approached the counter and slammed a card onto the bar, slicing through the noise like a knife. "Where is he?" he asked, his voice steady and slow, as if he didn't care who heard.
The barkeep looked at the young man in front of him, terror evident in his eyes. He tore his gaze away from his blood-soaked wrist, forcing himself to put on a brave front. "Who wants to know?" he managed, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.
Maple regarded him for a moment, as if assessing the performance of a pet dog. Then, with a sudden shift in demeanor, his lips cracked into a wide grin, and he let out a loud, hearty laugh. "His dear friend, Maple."
The barkeep's expression shifted from fear to confusion, but before he could respond, he turned toward the kitchen, nodding. "I'll be right back," he muttered, slipping through a door behind the bar. A young boy darted out moments later, glancing around nervously before sprinting past Maple and out the door.
Maple's suspicion flared. He leaned closer to the bar, lowering his voice, a threat lacing his words. "You're not sending him to fetch someone to deal with me, are you?" His smile remained, but it no longer reached his eyes, each word dripping with paranoia. The barkeep's hands trembled as he wiped a rag across the counter, each pass seeming to draw him closer to a breaking point.
Just as the tension thickened, and it seemed like the barkeep might crumble under Maple's steady gaze, the door swung open again. An officer stepped inside, ushering the young boy back in with a firm but gentle hand.
Maple turned and saw a man of average height, with a tired expression that spoke of long nights and hard days. His balding head was framed by strands of gray sprinkled throughout his otherwise black hair. Dressed in a suit and trench coat, he exuded a weary authority.
"Caspian?"
The name echoed in the heavy silence, and in an instant, the world shifted. The bar, the laughter, the darkness—it all faded away.
---
Caspian straightened, shaking off the haze of his earlier thoughts. "Hello, Officer. We meet again?" he asked, the gravity of the moment grounding him. The atmosphere of impending disaster dissipated, the laughter and discordant music fading into obscurity.
The officer stepped closer, his expression hardening as he took in the sight of Caspian, blood smeared across his clothes and face. "What happened?" he asked, his voice edged with concern.
Caspian felt the knot in his stomach tighten. "Not here," he replied sharply, glancing at the barkeep, whose eyes were wide with fear, his face pale as he waited for the unfolding drama.
The officer nodded and gazed over at the barkeep for a moment. "Alright, come with me."
The barkeep, still reeling from the violent change in Maple's demeanor, stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. "Who… who's Caspian?" he muttered under his breath, trying to comprehend the shift from the blood-soaked figure to the young man before him.
Caspian followed the officer out of the bar and into the dimly lit street. Their footsteps echoed against the cobblestones as they wound through the maze of narrow streets, the chill of the night biting at Caspian's skin. After several minutes, they stopped in front of a small building with a sign swaying gently above the door: Blackstone Solutions.
The officer pulled open the door without a word and led Caspian inside. The warmth of the interior was a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. As they moved past the reception desk, Caspian's gaze briefly caught on the receptionist. She was young, with blonde hair neatly tied back, her bright blue eyes reflecting the lamplight. He couldn't help but think she was pretty, and the thought made him uncomfortable. He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on the officer ahead.
"Back so soon, Captain?" she asked, her voice light but edged with curiosity.
"Yes," the officer responded, glancing briefly at Caspian before turning his focus back to the woman. "Get Jack to come to my office. I need his help locking up a case."
The receptionist's smile faltered ever so slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her face. She stood, nodding. "Right away," she said, her tone forced calm, as she walked down a hallway behind her desk.
Caspian kept his head down, his mind still briefly caught on the image of the receptionist, but he pushed the thought away. He followed the officer further into the building. They walked down a narrow hallway, the floor creaking beneath their feet. At the end of the hallway, the officer opened the door to a plain office. Sparse furniture filled the room—a desk, two chairs, and a lamp casting a dull, yellow glow.
The officer took his seat behind the desk and motioned for Caspian to sit across from him.
Caspian took a seat, the chair creaking under his weight. The officer's eyes scrutinized him, piercing through the veneer of calm he tried to maintain. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them, thick with unspoken questions.
"Caspian, I need you to be honest with me," the officer began, his tone shifting from stern to something more subdued. "What happened back there? You're covered in blood."
Caspian shifted in his seat, the memories of the chaos flooding back, but he struggled to form the words. "I—" he started, but the officer's sudden intensity made him hesitate.
"Were you involved in a fight? Did you hurt someone?" The officer leaned forward, his expression grave, demanding answers.
"No! Not like that." Caspian's voice came out sharper than intended, a mix of frustration and fear. "It's not what you think. I was just trying to—"
"Just trying to what?" the officer pressed, the weight of authority returning to his voice. "You can't just walk into a bar like that and expect people to believe you're innocent, not with that much blood on you."
Caspian opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as the door swung open. Jack stepped in, his demeanor serious and focused. Without a word, he moved directly toward Caspian.
Caspian's heart raced. "Wait, what's going on?" he asked, panic rising in his chest as he realized Jack's intent.
Jack advanced on him, his expression resolute. "Just stay calm. We won't hurt you," he said, his voice calm but firm.
"What? Why?" Caspian's voice wavered, confusion and fear battling within him.
The officer stood, his gaze hardening. "You're under suspicion for involvement in a violent incident. We need to ask you some questions at the station."
Caspian's breath quickened as he took a step back, his mind racing. "You can't be serious. I didn't do anything wrong!"
Before he could argue further, Jack reached for a pair of handcuffs resting on the desk. The metal clinked ominously as he advanced, determination etched on his face. "Caspian, I don't want this to get ugly. Just cooperate."
Caspian's pulse quickened, fear gripping him. "No, wait—"
But it was too late. Jack snapped the cuffs around Caspian's wrists, the cold steel biting into his skin as despair washed over him.