Why did the scarecrow become a successful data analyst?
Because he was outstanding in his field! 😀 @_@
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Ren lies sprawled on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His body feels like lead, exhaustion tugging at every muscle. The faint buzz of the city seeps through the closed window.
"What a damn hassle." He rubs his temples.
Dealing with Maya was like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. One wrong move, and she'd have spiraled into something irreparable.
Her breakdown, her pleas—it was too much for one night.
"She'll be fine. Probably. I need a break from her, or I'll lose my mind."
Ren pushes himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I gotta focus on important things. I was searching online for those agents. But I didn't find anything.
"Those agents…" He clenches his fists.
"If they're as good as they seem, they won't be stupid enough to leave a trail online, right. I need someone with reach—someone who knows the underbelly of this city."
A thought strikes him,
Ohh, yeah, i almost forgot about him. Ivan was it, the thug's boss. If he is runs a group, he must know some people who deal with information.
He did say he would serve me. Might as well use him now.
Ren grabs his phone and dials the number. It rings once before Ivan's voice comes through.
"Who is it?"
"Ivan," Ren says lazily, lying back down.
"Got a job for you."
His voice immediately stiffens with obedience,
"My lord, Please say, What do you need?" Ivan's voice carries a cautious eagerness, like a dog waiting for orders.
"I want to find some information. Know any groups or guys who deal in information?" Ren yawns, making no effort to sound polite.
"Information, sir?" Ivan repeats, sounding thoughtful.
"Yes, there are… a few. Small-time players, mostly. Nothing impressive. Should I send them over?"
"No," Ren cuts in.
"I'll meet them personally. Pick a place. You're taking me to them."
There's a pause on the line. Ivan clears his throat.
"Of course, sir. There's a warehouse on Crane Street. It's quiet. I'll meet you there."
Ren smirks, tossing the phone onto the bed.
"Good dog."
The warehouse is an abandoned husk of concrete and steel. Shadows dance under the flickering light.
Ren waits near the entrance, leaning casually against the rusted frame of the door. The cold bites at his skin, but he barely notices.
Footsteps echo in the distance, growing louder. Ivan steps into view, his bulk outlined by the dim light. His head is slightly bowed, his expression respectful.
"Sir." Ivan stops a few feet away, his hands tucked into his coat.
"I have the names you wanted."
Ren raises a brow.
"Took you long enough."
"I didn't want to waste your time, sir." Ivan pulls out a small notepad, flipping through pages.
"There's a group downtown. They deal in… sensitive information. They're small, but reliable. If you're looking for something specific, they can dig it up—for the right price."
"Let's go," Ren says, pushing off the wall.
Ivan hesitates for a split second before nodding.
"This way, sir."
The car ride is tense, though Ren seems unbothered. He gazes out the window, his thoughts far away. Ivan occasionally glances at him in the rearview mirror, his fingers gripping the wheel tightly.
Ren finally breaks the silence,
"How's your men doing?"
"They're… adjusting, sir," Ivan says carefully.
"Your demonstration left an impression. No one would dare disobey you."
Ren chuckles softly.
"Good. I don't like repeating myself. I would just get rid of you if you ever think of telling on me, remember that."
Ivan gulps hard. If course he wouldn't let that happen.
The office is tucked into a run-down strip of shops, the kind of place most people wouldn't look twice at.
Ivan stops the car and gestures toward the building.
"This is it."
Ren steps out, adjusting his coat. The air smells of damp concrete and mildew.
"You're coming with me."
Ivan nods quickly, falling into step behind him.
The door creaks open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with monitors, papers, and a lingering haze of cigarette smoke. A man with graying hair and sharp eyes looks up from his desk.
"Ivan. Didn't think I'd see you here again." His gaze shifts to Ren. "Who's this?"
Ren steps forward, his presence commanding.
"Your new client."
The man snorts but doesn't argue.
"What do you need?"
Ren leans on the desk, staring the man down.
"Information. Agencies, groups—anyone who deals with the unusual."
"Unusual how?" the man asks, pulling out a notepad.
"Supernatural. Classified. Call it what you want. I want names, locations, and activities."
"You believe in that stuff? Well, it's got nothing to do with me as long as I'm paid for."
The man, who introduces himself as Carl, sifts through a pile of folders and takes out a file.
"There's a government-backed agency. They focus on keeping supposed strange occurrences under wraps. Then there are private group—wealthy types who fund expeditions into the unknown. Most of their work is fluff, but they've got reach. You know how rich people always wants to find these supposed supernatural stuff."
Ren flips through the papers Carl hands him. His eyes narrow as he processes the information.
"Anything recent? Sightings? Events?"
Carl hesitates.
"Just rumors. People claim they've seen a flying man downtown, but no one credible has confirmed it."
Ren hides his smirk.
"Flying man, huh? Is that what they are calling it?"
Ren stands, tossing a thick envelope of cash onto the desk.
"Keep digging. If you find something worthwhile with proof, especially agencies who deal with the supposed supernatural, call him."
Carl nods quickly.
"Understood."
As Ren and Ivan step back out, Ivan glances at him nervously.
"Anything else, sir?"
Ren doesn't answer immediately. His mind is already working, piecing together the puzzle. Finally, he speaks.
"You'll know when I need you."
Ivan nods silently, driving off into the shadows.
Ren watches the streets blur past, his thoughts churning.
"Whoever they are out there, I'll find them. And if they're looking for me? They'll wish they hadn't. Or if i run into them, it'll be game over for them."