The footbridge stretched above the quiet river below, its metal railings cold and damp from the evening mist. The faint glow of a single streetlamp illuminated the center of the bridge, casting long shadows that stretched across the worn wooden planks. The sound of water flowing beneath them was soft, almost hypnotic, broken only by the distant hum of the city.
Owen stood a few paces away from the hooded figure, his chest still heaving from the chase. His hand was raised, palm out, fingers spread in a slow, deliberate gesture—a silent warning.
"Don't," he said, his voice low and firm. "Don't go too far."
His hand moved slightly, index finger pointing forward, then pulling back toward himself, as though drawing an invisible line between them. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp.
The hooded figure tilted their head, watching him with an almost playful curiosity. Then, slowly, they reached into their pocket and pulled out the photograph—the one Owen had been holding just moments before.
They held it up between two fingers, dangling it carelessly in the air.
Owen's eyes locked onto it.
The figure glanced over their shoulder, toward the edge of the bridge. Below, the river flowed dark and cold, its surface rippling faintly under the moonlight.
The figure's arm extended slowly, holding the photo out over the railing. Their hand tilted slightly, as if threatening to let it slip from their fingers.
The message was clear: *One more step, and I drop it.*
Owen's hands clenched into fists. His breathing quickened, his nostrils flaring.
"Look here," he said, his voice rising, anger bleeding into every word. "You don't know who you're messing with, pal. Return that photo to me—because it's *very* important to me. And if you don't…"
His face darkened, his brows drawing together, his lips pulling into a tight, furious line. His eyes burned with barely restrained rage.
"…I will give you a beating of the worst kind you've *never* experienced in your entire life."
His jaw twitched. His fists trembled at his sides.
The hooded figure paused.
Then—they started to skip.
Not walk. Not step. *Skip.*
They moved in a slow circle around Owen, their feet light and playful, their body swaying side to side like a child playing a game. And as they circled, they brought their hand to their lips and made a loud, exaggerated kissing sound—*mwah!*—in Owen's direction.
Owen froze.
*What the hell—?*
His internal voice screamed at him. *Is there some kind of outbreak of mental illness happening? Is this what I'm dealing with now? A screw-loose weirdo?*
He stared at the figure, his face a mixture of disbelief and irritation.
Then—the figure giggled.
It was a high-pitched, feminine sound, soft but unmistakably *girlish*.
Owen's expression shifted instantly. His eyes widened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. A faint shiver ran down his spine.
*Wait—what?*
The figure reached up and pulled back their hood.
Long hair tumbled out—dark, slightly messy, framing a small, delicate face. The girl couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen. Her features were petite, her cheeks faintly flushed, her eyes bright and mischievous. She smiled wide, her lips curving into a grin that was equal parts playful and unsettling.
Owen's jaw dropped.
His eyes went wide, his mouth hanging open slightly. His entire face registered shock—brows raised, pupils dilated, every muscle frozen in disbelief.
*A girl?!*
The girl giggled again, clearly enjoying his reaction. Then, with a flourish, she held Owen's photograph in one hand and placed the other over her chest. She bowed deeply, theatrically, like an actress taking a stage curtain call.
Her smile widened, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Owen's face twitched.
"Look here, *missy*," he said, his voice tight with forced patience. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but this isn't some tea party you play at home, okay? Now hand over the item you've taken from me."
He stepped forward slightly, his posture stiffening. "You know I can arrest you for theft, disrespect to a duty officer—so don't make things hard for yourself."
The girl giggled again, her shoulders shaking with amusement. Then, she raised one hand, her index finger wagging slowly back and forth in a playful, taunting gesture—*tsk, tsk, tsk.*
Owen's eye twitched.
His face darkened, his jaw clenching. His brows furrowed deeply, his lips pressing into a thin, furious line. He looked like a man whose patience had been stretched to its absolute limit.
He took another step forward.
The girl immediately moved backward, her feet light and quick as she positioned herself near the edge of the bridge. Her back was now to the railing, the dark river flowing below her.
She held the photograph out again, dangling it over the edge, her arm extended fully. Her eyes stayed locked on Owen's, her smile never faltering.
The warning was clear: *Come any closer, and I drop it.*
Owen stopped.
His hands rose slowly, palms out, fingers spread wide in a placating gesture. His face softened slightly, his voice lowering.
"Okay. Okay, I get it."
The girl's smile widened.
Then, she spoke.
"Your phone," she said, her voice light and playful. "Slide it to me. Slowly."
Owen blinked.
*What?*
His internal voice exploded. *My phone?! Is she one of those thieves who steals from people like this? Does she seriously think she can make a getaway? What kind of—*
He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening.
"Alright," he said slowly, his voice measured. "How about this—we do an exchange. You slide the photo to me, and at the same time, I slide my phone to you. Fair?"
The girl tilted her head, considering.
Then, she nodded.
"Deal."
---
The tension on the bridge thickened.
Owen crouched slightly, pulling his phone from his pocket. He held it in one hand, his eyes never leaving the girl's face.
The girl crouched as well, holding the photograph in her fingers.
"On three," Owen said.
The girl nodded.
"One…"
They both positioned themselves, hands ready.
"Two…"
Owen's eyes narrowed.
"Three."
They both pushed forward at the same time.
The phone slid across the wooden planks toward the girl. The photograph slid toward Owen.
Owen's hand shot out, his fingers closing around the photograph just as the girl's hand snatched up his phone.
He stood quickly, his eyes locking onto her face.
But the girl was already moving.
She spun on her heel and bolted toward the stairs leading down from the bridge, her feet pounding against the planks.
Owen's eyes widened.
"Hey!"
He took off after her, his legs pumping, his breath coming hard.
The girl reached the top of the stairs, her hand gripping the railing as she prepared to descend—
—but Owen lunged.
His body slammed into hers, his arms wrapping around her waist as they both crashed to the ground. The girl let out a startled gasp, her body hitting the wooden planks hard. Owen's weight pinned her down, his hand shooting out to grab his phone from her grasp.
He snatched it back, his breathing ragged.
"All this?" he said, his voice sharp and breathless. "Seriously? Was it worth it?"
The girl just lay there beneath him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
And then—she started giggling.
Owen frowned, his confusion deepening.
*What the—?*
Then, he felt it.
A creeping, unsettling sensation that crawled up his spine like a cold hand.
Something was wrong.
He glanced down the stairway—
—and froze.
At the bottom of the stairs stood another hooded figure.
They were holding something in their palm—a small, rectangular object. A drive.
The figure looked up, their eyes meeting Owen's.
Then, without a word, they turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows.
Owen's heart pounded.
What the hell—?
He looked back down at the girl beneath him.
Her lips were moving.
Her hand reached into her mouth, pulling out a small, clear capsule. She held it between her fingers for just a moment, her eyes glinting with something unreadable.
Then—she swallowed it.
Owen's eyes widened.
"No—wait—!"
But it was too late.
The girl's body convulsed. Her eyes rolled back. Foam began to spill from her lips—white, frothy, pouring out in thick streams. Her limbs twitched violently, her breath coming in choked, ragged gasps.
Then—she went still.
Her eyes stared blankly at the sky, lifeless.
Owen scrambled backward, his hands shaking, his breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.
"No—no, no, no—"
He stared at the girl's body, his face pale, his eyes wide with horror.
His hands trembled. His chest heaved.
What the hell just happened?!
He backed away further, his legs unsteady, his mind racing.
Somewhere in the shadows, hidden at the edge of the bridge, a small camera lens glinted faintly in the moonlight.
It recorded everything.
Owen never noticed it.