Page 99 of Fatality

At some point, I start asking people if they know anyone named Evren.

But every time I say his name, people either turn away, pretend they didn't hear me, or outright tell me to fuck off.

It's perfectly normal that everyone avoids him like the plague.

The real question is...

Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to pick a fight with a gang boss twice my size?

I know I can't take him one-on-one. He'd crush me like a fucking pancake.

I have to be smarter, I have to hit him where it hurts, just not physically.

I keep exploring the Lower Layers.

I didn't expect them to be this clean, the place is still a dump but the people, the neon lights, the tangled wires have a certain authentic charm that I kind of like.

I scoff at myself.

“What the fuck are you thinking, Riven?” I mutter. “Focus.”

Apparently loud enough for a few heads to turn toward me.

They stare at me like I'm some crazy bitch who belongs in a psychiatric ward.

I don't even blame them, I probably look like I belong there.

I stop at a food stand, I shouldn't but I'm starving, and whatever they're selling smells amazing.

I order a slice of pizza with extra spice.

I keep walking, eating, until I stop dead in my tracks. I frown and tilt my head, finishing my slice.

A bright red neon sign hangs above it, bearing the initials C.V.

The letters glow against the darkness, sharp with a gothic font.

I like it, it's bold.

It has a clear visual identity.

Even if this isn't the time, I can't help studying it—I always absorb art wherever I find it, no matter the form.

Even if it's just a sign.

I duck behind a dumpster.

The smell hits me instantly. I wrinkle my nose and pull the sleeve of my hoodie over it.

This has to be a biohazard. Is there a corpse in there or what?

My eyes widen at the thought, I glance down.

Hell no, I'm not checking.

I shake my head and force myself to focus on what's in front of me.

There's a garage.