When the doors swung open, out came this knockout femme fatale, her silhouette highlighted by the dim light. A glint of steel caught my eye as she leveled the barrel of her gun directly at my face, her expression unreadable.

  “Max Carver. It’s been quite some time,” she said, her voice a smooth blend of menace and charm.

  I returned the gesture, my weapon instinctively drawn. “Michelle?” I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.

  “Eva. Michelle’s evil twin,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips.

  Her playful proclamation elicited a chuckle, but I maintained a tenuous grip on my composure. “Your safety's off, evil twin; you might hurt someone with that gun.”

  “You're wasting your time here; Jade left long ago.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “I have my sources.” Her sinister smirk appeared again.

  We stared at each other before Eva broke the silence.

  “Why don’t we pull our bullets on this one?"

  “I thought you’d never ask; my finger was starting to twitch,” I responded.

  With a cautious yet deliberate motion, we slowly pulled our pistols away, keeping our eyes locked on each other. Eva’s behavior shifted as she relaxed slightly, her gun lowered to her side. “You still drink?” she asked, curiosity flickering in her gaze.

  “Depends on the occasion,” I replied, a hint of a smile creeping onto my face before I followed her lead towards the bar.

  She glided behind the bar, deftly selecting two crystal glasses that caught the light just right, reflecting a thousand little rainbows. “How do you like your whiskey?” she inquired, her voice now teasingly light.

  “Easy, so long as you don’t try anything funny.”

  A playful smile spread across her lips, and I could see the mischief twinkling in her eyes. “You’re a real sweetheart, Max.”

  I raised my glass to her; the whiskey tasted like liquid gold. The first sip was a revelation; it rolled down my throat like sweet honey, warm and inviting. But that sweetness shifted quickly, deepening into a sharp pain that clawed at my senses.

  “Ughhh…”

  The sudden onset of discomfort was violently jarring; the right side of my skull felt like it had been hit by an express train, the impact reverberating through my entire being. My surroundings began to blur, colors melding into one another, and my legs felt like lead, struggling to support my weight.

  Before I could even process the scene, I found myself collapsing onto the cold, unforgiving floor, the world fading to black around the edges as everything slipped away from me.

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  I had been played...

  Perspective switches to Henry.

  Not having heard anything from Max, Henry called Max on the holo, but there wasn't any response. He tried again and again, but there wasn't a response. Thinking that something had happened to him, Henry pulled out the pistol he kept in his back pocket and left the apartment.

  He took the elevator down to the bottom floor and began to look around for Max. Searching around, Henry found Max’s unconscious body on the floor.

  “Shit!”

  Henry ran over and lifted Max’s head, trying to find a way to wake him up.

  “Come on, Max! Wake up!”

  Henry proceeded to grab Max by the shoulders and started dragging his lifeless body outside and back to the car. Henry laid Max’s body on the side of the car while he went ahead and opened the passenger side door.

  As he was doing this, Max’s body was slowly moving to the right. Henry caught sight of this and stopped Max’s head from smashing on the concrete floor. He lifted Max into the passenger seat before Henry went around to the driver's side and took off.

  Blowing past the traffic lights, Henry went to Frank’s shop. He saved Max’s life once; he can save him again. Henry parked outside, rushed over to the passenger side, and started carrying Max’s body inside of the shop.

  Inside the shop, Frank was busy reading the betting odds when the door was swung open, letting in a huge gust of wind.

  “Henry? What the heck are you doing?”

  Frank saw the state of Max. “Shit. Take him to the operating room. Nigel! Get over here!”

  Frank and Henry carefully hoisted Max onto the operating table, their movements a mix of urgency and concern. Just then, Nigel burst into the room, his eyes widening at the sight of Max's motionless body.

  “What happened to him?” Nigel asked, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.

  “I...I don’t know,” Henry stammered, his voice tinged with panic. “We were doing a gig, and he decided to wander off for a moment. When I found him, he was lying on the floor, completely out of it.”

  Nigel leaned closer, examining Max’s dilated eyes, which revealed a troubling haze. It was clear that something sinister lurked within his system. He raised a hand, signaling for both Henry and Frank to remain silent as he began his assessment.

  Starting with Max’s heart rate, Nigel felt a flicker of relief as the pulse remained steady. He swiftly drew a sample of Max's blood, focusing intently on the task at hand. As he analyzed the specimen, a wave of dread washed over him. Traces of a drug were evident in the blood, and the only effective remedy would be to flush the toxin from his body.

  “What makes him vomit?” Nigel asked, his tone serious.

  Henry paused, his brow furrowing in thought. Memories of past incidents flickered through his mind. “The last time he vomited was after something he ate,” he replied slowly, anxiety flickering across his face.

  “Which was?” Nigel pressed, urgency lacing his voice.

  “It was a lamb kebab he had about a month ago.”

  “Perfect,” Nigel replied, his mind racing. “I need you to fetch one for me. If my theory is correct, it could help him expel the drug from his system.”

  Without hesitation, Henry dashed out of the room and raced toward a nearby food vendor. The vibrant scents of grilling meat filled the air as he approached the stall, breathless with worry. The vendor, a burly man with a cigarette stuck in his mouth, quickly prepared a fresh lamb kebab. Henry paid the vendor, scarcely paying attention to anything but getting back to Max.

  He sprinted back to the operating room, handing the warm kebab to Nigel, who wasted no time. With deft hands, he sliced the meat into cubes and placed a portion into a blender, transforming it into a smooth, liquid paste. He then carefully administered the concoction, pouring it down Max's throat with precision.

  “If all goes correctly, Max should be feeling sick any minute now,” Nigel said, hope mingling with apprehension.

  “And if he doesn’t?” Henry's voice trembled, worry etched on his face as he glanced at his best friend.

  “If he doesn’t, we’ll be in for a long wait,” Nigel replied, his eyes focused intently on Max.