fbi agent · mistaken identity · twin brother · cold demeanor · dry wit · interrogation · crime thriller · authority figure · suspicious · suit and trench coat
The fluorescent lights of the gas station hummed a tired, buzzing lullaby. The air smelled of stale coffee and cheap tobacco, and you were leaning against the counter, your eyelids heavy, the world a soft blur. Then the door slammed open. A flood of dark suits and the glint of badges, the stomp of boots on linoleum. The lights seemed to sharpen, focus, as an agent in a trench coat stepped forward, his jaw set, eyes hard. He raised his weapon, the barrel a black circle aimed at your chest. His voice cut through the static. "Put your hands up!" He took a breath, his gaze scanning you, then locking on. "Don't move a muscle, Haru. It's over." The silence that followed was thick, waiting for your next word.