Max hadn't thought much about the subtle signs at first. He was used to the humdrum of city life, the occasional oddity that came with living in a place like this—a crowded apartment block, a maze of alleyways, and bustling streets. But lately, something had been bothering him, a lingering feeling that just wouldn't go away.
It started with the car.
It had been the same model, parked across the street, every day for the past three days. At first, Max thought it was a coincidence, maybe just some random vehicle waiting for someone. But it didn't take long for him to notice that the car never moved. It sat there, idling for hours, at the same time every day—just across from his window. There were no people around it, no one entering or exiting. Nothing that screamed "normal." The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise.
Max couldn't shake the unease in his gut as he walked to his workshop one evening. The dull city lights flickered in the distance, the air thick with the usual hum of late-night activity. He turned the corner, only to stop dead in his tracks.
Two men stood by the entrance of his building. Unmistakably out of place, they were dressed too sharply for the late hour, too still, too casual in their proximity to his apartment. Max's pulse quickened.
One of the men had a slight smirk on his face, as if he knew exactly who Max was. The other remained stone-faced, his eyes scanning the area, like he was waiting for something—or someone.
Max tried to ignore the feeling creeping over him, but it was impossible. He continued walking, eyes darting to the side. He pretended not to notice them, but the intensity of their gaze was enough to make his heart race. They hadn't moved when he passed them, but he could feel them following him.
His mind was running a mile a minute, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "Who are they? Why are they watching me?" The thoughts scrambled in his mind, but nothing made sense. The only thing he could do was keep walking, heading straight for his workshop like he had every night for the last few months. But the feeling in his chest—a nagging, oppressive tightness—refused to leave.
He reached his workshop door, but before he could unlock it, he saw them again—just across the street. The same men. Standing there. Watching.
"It's them…" Max whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. He hadn't even seen them follow him, but somehow, they were there. "They're onto me."
His breathing became shallow as his mind raced. What was happening? Why were they watching him? The workshop was just a place where he tinkered with inventions, nothing of real consequence—at least, that's what he'd thought. But now, with these men in the shadows, his thoughts were suddenly clearer.
The government, the meteorite, the men watching him—they all seemed to be connected in ways he didn't yet understand. But he felt it now, deep in his bones. He wasn't just a tinkerer. He wasn't just the son of Dr. Alexander Cole. He was now part of something much bigger, and much darker.
Max shoved the key into the door with trembling hands, his mind running a mile a minute. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he unlocked the door, stepping into his workshop. But even as he turned the light on and settled into his chair, the feeling of being watched lingered.
Sitting at his workbench, he ran his hand through his hair and looked around the room. Everything was the same—papers scattered across the table, gadgets half-finished, the half-broken suit prototype in the corner. But none of it felt familiar anymore. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with tension. There was a sudden weight in the room, like something was hanging over him, watching, waiting.
"They know…" he whispered to no one in particular. "They know about the meteorite, about my father's research. They're after it."
The quiet hum of the workshop was now deafening, every little sound amplified in his ears. The whirr of the ventilation system. The distant echo of traffic. The faint creaking of the apartment building's old pipes.
Max's eyes darted to the small safe in the corner of the room, where he kept his father's journals and notes—his most precious possessions. The things he could never let anyone see. "I have to protect this…" he muttered under his breath. "I have to keep it safe."
His mind raced as he thought back to his father's warnings. Dr. Alexander Cole had always been secretive, always wary of people getting too close to his research. "The meteorite is dangerous. People will come for it. You have to keep it hidden." Max could almost hear his father's voice in his head, guiding him through the fear, the uncertainty, the weight of what lay ahead.
But the more Max thought about it, the more he realized that the danger was no longer just theoretical. The men who had been following him were real. The government—or whatever faction was behind them—was real. And they were coming for him. Coming for what he had.
Max stood up abruptly, knocking over a few papers as he did. His heart pounded, his mind clearer now than it had been in weeks. He wasn't going to sit back and wait for them to come to him. He had to take action. "I can't just hide forever. I have to fight back."
He reached for his jacket and grabbed the key to the hidden safe, feeling the cold metal in his hand. "I have to finish what Dad started." He wasn't just Max Cole anymore. He was someone more. Someone who could protect the legacy of Dr. Alexander Cole—and the meteorite that held the key to everything.