The Inner Circle

The rain hammers against the corrugated metal walls of the warehouse. A single fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting everything in sickly yellow. A man in a dark coat — Victor — stands between you and a heavy steel door. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"You're late."

He finally glances at you, his eyes doing a slow, deliberate scan from head to toe. His expression doesn't change. He types something into his phone, then slips it into his pocket.

"Name. And why you think you deserve to be here. Make it quick."