Eyes in the shadows

[Chance] POV:

---

The screen flickered.For hours.Tab upon tab.Forums, underground servers, old chat logs, archived game names - all full of gaps, empty profiles, deleted traces.

"ITrapped"

No face. No origin.Just the name - cold, neutral, somehow toxic.

I rubbed my temples, but the pressure didn't let up.The clock read 3:27.It was quiet outside.Too quiet.

I opened yet another forum.An old post - barely a sentence - mentioned the name fleetingly, in a thread about cheating in an old tournament.But no profile. No picture.

Nothing tangible. Just smoke.

I leaned back, the chair creaked softly.And then I felt it.

Not fear.Not anger.

Observation.

A look too heavy for coincidence.Too familiar to be anonymous.

I looked at the door.Nothing.

But I knew.

Mafia was there.Not physically, perhaps - but... there.Like a shadow stealing into the room, through the cracks of memory.

Why? Why do I feel him when I think of "ITrapped"?Was it coincidence?Or... did he know all along?

I went to the window and opened it slowly.The street was empty.

But somewhere... in the distance... a cigarette smoldered briefly before disappearing into the darkness.

I stared out.

What if I'm looking for someone who found me long ago?

---

Perfect - a shift in perspective to Mafia brings depth, unease, and a touch of melancholy to the story. Especially if he's watching Red not just out of suspicion... but also because he misses him. Or maybe even... hoping that something of Chance still remains.

Here's the scene from Mafioso's perspective:

---

[Mafioso] POV:

The night was quiet.So quiet that even my own thoughts were loud.Cigarettes didn't taste like they used to-more like duty.

I stood in the shadow of a building, barely ten meters from his apartment.The window slit flickered faintly.Blue light. Research.

He was on the hunt again.But this time... not for money. Not for a way out.But for himself.

Red.

Or-as he used to be called: Chance.

I knew it even before he realized it.The way he walked. The way he looked when he thought no one was watching.A small twitch in the left corner of his mouth when he lost.That wasn't an accident.

He's back.But not quite.

I took a drag on my cigarette. The embers reflected in the window.He didn't look out. Not yet.

He's looking for ITrapped.

Damn it, of course he is.

I could have told him.Yesterday. Or last week.But... I kept quiet.Because words sometimes kill before bullets do.

Chance wanted justice.Red seeks truth.And me?

I'm the one in between.The one who stayed behind.

---

I see him running his hand through his hair, annoyed, tired.How he leans against the chair and looks away-almost as if he can sense me.

You were never just a player.You were my mistake.My luck.And maybe... my last human.

I throw the cigarette butt down the drain. The wind carries my coat like a shadow across the pavement.

I turn around.Get out of here before he really sees me.

Not yet, Red.Not yet.

---

Third Person:

The air in the kitchen smelled of stale coffee.It was one of those nights when no one could sleep,but no one dared to say it out loud.

Red sat on the windowsill.Mafioso stood at the stove, absentmindedly stirring a pot of beans no one would eat.

Then Red broke the silence.

"Mafioso... do you know someone named ITrapped?"

A soft click.The spoon stopped moving.Mafioso stood with his back to him.

"ITrapped?"The voice was calm. Maybe too calm.

"Yes. The name is in my notes. The only one highlighted in red."

Mafioso turned slowly.A shadow lay on his face, not of light-of memory.

"He's dead."

Red blinked.

"What?"

"For months. Supposedly because of Russian Roulette. I don't have any details... just a rumor that came along at some point and no one checked out.""Chance... never talked to me about it."

That hit home.

Red looked down.He'd hoped for more. A face, a connection, something that would make the vague feeling from the past tangible.

"You don't know anything about him?"

Mafioso shrugged-but it wasn't indifference.It was something else.Almost... regret.

"Chance was a secretive idiot when it came to things. Covered everything up with cards, even his guilt."

Silence.

"Did you love him?"

The question came out of nowhere.Red didn't even know why he'd asked it.Perhaps because the pain in Mafioso's gaze was greater than his silence.

Mafioso remained silent.

Then he turned back to the pot.

"Eat something before you lose yourself in ghosts again."

---

[Chance] POV:

So ITrapped was dead.And with him... perhaps the answers.

But why didn't that feel like an end?But like a beginning?

Timeskip hehe

[Chance] POV:

---

The screen flickered.For hours.Tab upon tab.Forums, underground servers, old chat logs, archived game names - all full of gaps, empty profiles, deleted traces.

"ITrapped"

No face. No origin.Just the name - cold, neutral, somehow toxic.

I rubbed my temples, but the pressure didn't let up.The clock reads 3:27.It was quiet outside.Too quiet.

I opened yet another forum.An old post - barely a sentence - mentioned the name fleetingly, in a thread about cheating in an old tournament.But no profile. No picture.

Nothing tangible. Just smoke.

I leaned back, the chair creaked softly.And then I felt it.

Not afraid.Not angry.

Observation.

A look too heavy for coincidence.Too familiar to be anonymous.

I looked at the door.Nothing.

But I knew.

Mafia was there.Not physically, perhaps - but... there.Like a shadow stealing into the room, through the cracks of memory.

Why? Why do I feel him when I think of "ITrapped"?What is coincidence?Or...did he know all along?

I went to the window and opened it slowly.The street was empty.

But somewhere... in the distance... a cigarette smoldered briefly before disappearing into the darkness.

I stared out.

What if I'm looking for someone who found me long ago?

---

Perfect - a shift in perspective to Mafia brings depth, unease, and a touch of melancholy to the story. Especially if he's watching Red not just out of suspicion... but also because he misses him. Or maybe even... hoping that something of Chance still remains.

Here's the scene from Mafioso's perspective:

---

[Mafioso] POV:

The night was quiet.So quiet that even my own thoughts were loud.Cigarettes didn't taste like they used to-more like duty.

I stood in the shadow of a building, barely ten meters from his apartment.The window slit flickered faintly.Blue light. Research.

He was on the hunt again.But this time... not for money. Not for a way out.But for himself.

Red.

Or-as he used to be called: Chance.

I knew it even before he realized it.The way he walked. The way he looked when he thought no one was watching.A small twitch in the left corner of his mouth when he loses.That wasn't an accident.

He's back.But not quite.

I took a drag on my cigarette. The embers reflected in the window.He didn't look out. Not yet.

He's looking for ITrapped.

Damn it, of course he is.

I could have told him.Yesterday. Or last week.But... I kept quiet.Because words sometimes kill before bullets do.

Chance wanted justice.Red seeks truth.And me?

I'm the one in between.The one who stayed behind.

---

I see him running his hand through his hair, annoyed, tired.How he leans against the chair and looks away-almost as if he can sense me.

You were never just a player.You were my mistake.My luck.And maybe... my last human.

I throw the cigarette butt down the drain. The wind carries my coat like a shadow across the pavement.

I turn around.Get out of here before he really sees me.

Not yet, editor.Not yet.

---

Third person:

The air in the kitchen smelled of stale coffee.It was one of those nights when no one could sleep,but no one dared to say it out loud.

Red sat on the windowsill.Mafioso stood at the stove, absentmindedly stirring a pot of beans no one would eat.

Then Red broke the silence.

"Mafioso...do you know someone named ITrapped?"

A soft click.The spoon stopped moving.Mafioso stood with his back to him.

"ITrapped?"The voice was calm. Maybe too calm.

"Yes. The name is in my notes. The only one highlighted in red."

Mafioso turned slowly.A shadow lay on his face, not of light-of memory.

"He's dead."

Red blinked.

"What?"

"For months. Supposedly because of Russian Roulette. I don't have any details... just a rumor that came along at some point and no one checked out.""Chance... never talked to me about it."

That hit home.

Red looked down.He'd hope for more. A face, a connection, something that would make the vague feeling from the past tangible.

"You don't know anything about him?"

Mafioso shrugged-but it wasn't indifference.It was something else.Almost...regret.

"Chance was a secretive idiot when it came to things. Covered everything up with cards, even his guilt."

Silence.

"Did you love him?"

The question came out of nowhere.Red didn't even know why he'd asked it.Perhaps because the pain in Mafioso's gaze was greater than his silence.

Mafioso remained silent.

Then he turned back to the pot.

"Eat something before you lose yourself in ghosts again."

---

[Chance] POV:

So ITrapped was dead.And with him... perhaps the answers.

But why didn't that feel like an end?But like a beginning?

Timeskip hehe

Third Person:

Night had come again.And with it: the voices.

Not loud.Not clear.Just... flickering.Like an old recording that won't let go.

He sat on his bed, holding the crumpled piece of paper in his hand.Chance's handwriting.A warning-but also a reminder.

He whispered softly:

> "ITrapped... who were you really?"

And then it broke open.

---

[Flashback]

The room was dark. Only the light from a single lamp fell on the round table.

Russian roulette.A game for fools-or people with nothing to lose.

> "Come on, one of us wins. Like old times. Like brothers."

ITrapped grinned.Teeth like knives, eyes like lies.

Chance laughed along-nervously.The gun spun slowly on the table.

Click.Click.Pause.

> "Your move."

He started.Click.

Nothing.

Laughter. Relief.

> "Told you I'm lucky."

But then...the knife came.

Abruptly.Deep.In the side.

Chance fell back, coughing up blood.

> "...Why?"

ITrapped looked at him as if doing him one last favor.

>"Because you were no longer useful."

Footsteps.Then darkness.

---

[Red - Back to the present]

He opened his eyes wide, sweating, shaking.

"He killed me... but I didn't die."

The pain in his side burned again.Not physically-but like an echo.

The betrayal.The friendship.The knife.

ITrapped didn't just betray Chance.He ended him.Or... tried to.

Red slowly stood up.His gaze clearer than ever.

"I know now why I hated him."

And maybe...there was someone else out there who knew more.

---

Mafioso POV:

He was sitting there again.

In the room where shadows flickered and memories clung to the walls like flies.Ed.And something inside him was... different.

I stood in the hallway. The door was ajar.Not open. Not closed.Like his gaze.

I couldn't see exactly what he was holding.A piece of paper, maybe. Or a knife.

His back was straight.His breathing was shallow.He was staring at nothing-or at everything.At a past that was just welcoming him back with open arms.

You found something, right?

I leaned against the doorframe.Quiet. Like always.Only my heart was beating too loudly.

I know that look.Damn, I've seen it before.Years ago.With him.Back when he was still Chance.Just before everything went up in smoke.

I wanted to say something.I wanted to ask him what he remembered.I wanted to tell him I wasn't surprised.That I suspected it, felt it, hoped it would.

But I said nothing.Because sometimes...silence is the last thing that allows us to be human.

---

He didn't move.But I knew:An entire casino was burning inside his head.

Do you really want to go back, Red?There's no happiness there.Only ashes. And lies. And a mirror in which you no longer recognize yourself.

I stepped back quietly.Left the door as it was.Half-open.

Maybe he would call me.Maybe not.

But I stayed.As always.In the shadows.His last spectator.

---

To be continued