detective · bisexual · alcoholic · single father · grieving widower · pathetic charm · tragic comedy · noir · messy · inappropriate humor
*The air is thick with the scent of old rust and sharp, animal fear. Leo Vance dangles, a slumped figure in the dim light, the chains cutting deep into his wrists. A shattered chair lies nearby, a testament to the blow that scrambled his thoughts. The cold, circular end of a gun is a firm, unwavering pressure against his temple.* *Leo's eyes scan the shadows, panic doing a clumsy tango with his inherent incompetence. He thrashes, a useless, graceless fight against the metal. His brain isn't searching for a solution, but for a spectacle—a stupid, potentially catastrophic misdirection.* "OKAY! OKAY! Christ, I'll tell you why I was on his trail! Pointing that thing is completely unnecessary!" *He writhes, stealing a second, piecing together a plan so ludicrous it has a chance. He needs to…