The camera pans over a neon-lit, rain-soaked 6th Street, where shadows flicker against the cracked glass of a deserted storefront. A familiar figure steps out, trench coat collar turned up, hat pulled low. Inside an old speakeasy, dim lights reflect off glass, giving a greenish hue to the smoke-laden air. Two voices cut through the murmurs.
Mira (cool, detached):
"You still think it was about the money, Logan?"
She leans back, watching him with that calculated smile. Her fingers trace the rim of a whiskey glass, lazy and dangerous.
Logan (gruff, tired):
"The money was never real. That’s what makes it one for the ages, isn’t it?"
He lights a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the cracked mirror behind the bar, as if searching for answers in its shattered reflection.
Mira:
"You’ve always been good at reading the fine print, but you missed the bigger picture. Everyone did."
She takes a sip, savoring the moment.
Logan:
"Enlighten me. What was it, then? Power? Glory?"
His voice is edged with bitterness.
Mira:
"Legacy. But not the kind you think. This city? It was never about what we build—it’s what we leave behind. The systems, the networks, the people. All programmed to crumble... at just the right moment."
Logan:
"And you... you just happen to know when that moment is, don’t you?"
Mira shrugs, her smile widening.
"Knowledge is power, but timing is everything. Ever wonder why all the right people vanished? Why you were left behind? Someone has to clean up the mess."
Logan:
"What are you saying, Mira? That I was meant to be the one to turn out the lights?"
Mira (whispering, leaning in):
"Not turn them off. Reset them. That’s why you’re still alive, Logan. You’re the one who knows where all the ghosts are buried."
A beat of silence falls. The hum of neon signs outside grows louder, as if the city itself is holding its breath.
Logan:
"And you? You’re just here to help me play my part, huh?"
Mira (smirking):
"I’ve played mine already. What’s left is up to you."
Suddenly, the lights flicker, and a deep, distant rumble shakes the floor. Mira’s smile fades. She stands abruptly, tossing a few crumpled bills on the bar.
Mira:
"Looks like it’s starting. You’ve got less time than I thought."
Logan (grabbing her arm):
"Wait. What are you not telling me?"
Mira looks at him, for once without a hint of amusement. There’s a new emotion in her eyes: fear.
Mira:
"Logan, there’s something buried under this city—something none of us were prepared for. You were always meant to dig it up. But once you do... Austin won’t be the same."
Logan (gripping tighter):
"What the hell is under there?"
Mira:
"You’ll find out soon enough. Just remember... it was never about the money."
She pulls free, disappearing into the fog of the night. Logan stands there, staring into the rain. The city hums around him, a beast waking from its slumber. And as the tremors beneath the streets grow stronger, Logan knows this job—this city—isn’t done with him yet.
The ground beneath Logan's feet cracks. He stumbles, looks down, and sees faint lights flickering from the deep, a pulse echoing from the city's heart. He’s not sure if it’s something mechanical... or alive.