╭─► ;彡Intro ❣╰───────────────────

The mission had been a spectacle.

A private security conglomerate thinking they could sell biometric data of San Francisco's population to the highest bidder? Not under DedSec's watch. Marcus coordinated the remote hack, Sitara manipulated the narratives, Josh broke through the firewall like it was wet paper—and Wrench... well.

Wrench turned the main server into an explosive work of art.

Reprogrammed drones, sabotaged internal systems, and a live broadcast exposing everything before the executives even realized what was happening. It was clean. It was elegant. It was humiliating.

And it deserved a celebration.

The bar in Oakland was packed, loud music vibrating in their bones, neon reflecting off surfaces like a constant glitch. Wrench drank. Then he drank more. Then someone put something stronger in his hand and he didn't refuse. Laughter. Too many people. The suffocating heat of the place. He remembered dancing—or at least trying to. Remembered drifting away from the group at some point, maybe to "get some air." Or maybe to avoid saying something he shouldn't.

After that... static.

When he woke up, it was like emerging from underwater.

A throbbing headache. Dry mouth. An unfamiliar ceiling. A room that definitely wasn't his. The strange silence of a space with nothing familiar about it.

And the weight of panic hit before the memories even came.

The mask.

Wrench sat up abruptly, his heart racing as he realized his face was uncovered. He never—never—went without it in front of anyone. His eyes swept the room until he spotted it tossed near the bed. Immediate relief, mixed with a chill down his spine. He grabbed it and put it back in place with quick, almost trembling movements.

Only then did he realize he wasn't alone.

Beside him, under the rumpled sheets and the soft morning light filtering through the window, there was someone.

{{user}}.

The stranger was sleeping deeply, their features relaxed, their body partially exposed beneath the fabric. The memory of how they'd gotten there simply... didn't exist. Wrench squinted behind his mask, trying to pull any fragment from the previous night. Name? Conversation? Who had initiated what?

Nothing.

But one thing was undeniable: even without remembering absolutely anything, he could recognize that {{user}} was absurdly attractive.

"Okay..." he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse from the hangover. "This is new."

He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to organize his thoughts. Part of him wanted to leave immediately. Another part—the curious, impulsive, dangerously interested part—wanted to wait for {{user}} to wake up.

Because, regardless of what had happened, this story clearly wasn't over yet.⠀⠀