I found myself wandering through the shadowed lanes of Manhattan, straying from the familiar path that led home. Deliberately, I sought out the narrowest, darkest alleys, luring predators into the perfect hunting grounds. They say the best time to confront a predator is when it's poised for the final strike, le coup de grâce. As I walked, a nagging thought gnawed at me: who could be following? Could it be The Earl? No, impossible. He would just come directly and face me. or perhaps another entity from the hierarchy of the bourgeois? Why? I did not yet meddle in business that would imbalance the universe.

Here we stand, caught between two twisted paths, each with its own grim tale to tell. The first leads us to the realm of shadows, where a contract holder lurks in the darkness, their intentions veiled in mystery. Perhaps they are just Lucky's partner in this sinister game, or a rogue figure seeking blood, power, and doom directed towards us, me and Lucky. And yet, there's the chilling possibility of two, a sinister duo lying in wait, biding their time until exhaustion claims me.

But let us not dismiss the second path, where a mere mortal thief prowls in the night, driven by base desires to snatch what is not theirs. Though less ominous, the fear of the unknown is the most powerful fear of them all.

All I can tell ya is, if the first scenario holds true, they've only scratched the surface of what I can do. Sure, they might think I'm just some puppeteer, spinning clones like yarn, but those copies ain't invincible. Nah, they can be torn apart just like any other flesh and blood. And as for how many I can conjure up, well, that's anyone's guess. But let 'em think they've got me all figured out. That just gives me the element of surprise when I unleash the nightmares brewin' in this head of mine. It's a real thrill, this little game we're playin', even if it leaves me in the dark about their tricks.

I could've slipped away from them, executed a tactical retreat. Easy as pie. I could've traced that sneaky assassin, turned the tables in a heartbeat. But nah, not today. Feeling like a daredevil, you know? Testing my limits, my smarts, and sheer willpower. What's the worst that could happen? Getting knocked down a peg? Ha! Impossible. Losing's not in my playbook. Not even if old Leo DaVinci himself came knocking, wielding a contract and an ability. My ability's top-notch. Anxiety? I will conquer it and conquer this enemy. Kept striding forward, plotting every move, every contingency. Finally hit a narrow alley, sandwiched between skyscrapers. Isolated. Perfect setting for a showdown. Even in weariness, I felt the pull of duty, urging me toward another scene, another act in this twisted play. I dubbed this spectacle "The Lamb Feasts on the Wolf."

The hidden figure finally made their move, leaping from a towering building with only a bungee rope to tether them to the earth below. Their target? None other than Eros Hermes. But I, the protagonist of this cosmic shit show was prepared, my senses honed to a razor's edge. With lightning reflexes, I only twisted my face and hand, intercepting the attacker's blade just inches from my flesh by grabbing him by his wrist.

It was a man, young yet bearing the weight of experience in his eyes. Dressed head to toe in black, a black trench coat, a turtle neck, oversized trousers, and combat boots. He exuded an air of menace that sent chills down my spine. A Native American by appearance, his features held a certain allure, tinged with a hint of madness lurking beneath the surface. A tribal tattoo adorned his hand, a Sioux symbol woven into the fabric of his identity, a harbinger of darker intentions, the dream catcher.

He met my gaze with a stare straight out of a Kubrick flick, which is the act of looking at someone with the head tilted downward and eyes peering upward from beneath the eyebrows. It usually meant the person wearing this stare is quite deranged. That man stood before me, a smirk playing on his lips as if he knew something I didn't. I couldn't help but return the smile, albeit with a hint of caution.

"Well, ain't that a sight," I remarked, eyeing his unusual posture. "You're giving off some serious Hanged Man vibes there. As for me, they call me Fear. No need for introductions, I reckon. And you, well, you've got the look of someone carrying the weight of the world."

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. "You ain't wrong, partner. And you? You got that Magician aura about you. Always pulling strings, ain't ya?"

I nodded, noting the intricate tattoo adorning his arm. "Nice ink, by the way."

He replied, "Yeah, I know who you are, Fear. I'm Kichil Anakin, goes by Night Soldier in my neck of the woods. I hold The Hanged Man tarot card, just like you figured. I'm Lucky Blaze's partner. Gotta hand it to you, you really did a number on him. As a proud warrior, I aim to settle that score. Was planning to tail you right back to your doorstep, then give you a taste of your own medicine, nice and slow, a good Ol' torture. Figured I'd wring your contract out of you before I sent you to the underworld. But when I saw you darting around like a headless chicken, I got the picture. Knew you were onto me. So I laid low, waited for my moment to pounce."

(In my neck of the woods = native language)

With a smug grin, I sneered, "You're in a bit of a jam, aren't you? Your blade didn't even graze me, pal. Looks like your little assassination scheme just hit a dead end. Guess I'm too quick for you, or maybe you've lost your touch. Either way, it's game over for you."

He chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, you've got it all wrong, buddy. Stabbing you was never the plan. It was just a distraction. My real goal? Well, let's just say it involved getting up close and personal with you. And guess what? Mission accomplished. You touched me. WELCOME TO THE INCEPTION!"