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43: Propinquity

He parks his car in the parking lot of a large, nondescript building.

For the entirety of the drive, he didn't say a word to me. I oscillate between assuring myself that everything is fine and then convincing myself that I'm in deep shit. Why would he ask me to go with him alone? Without any explanation? This spells trouble. If he had good intentions, wouldn't he make them known? I don't know. Right now, I don't have a clue of what's coming next.

There are a lot of cars here, by a lot I mean hundreds. The fact that it's a public place is what puts my mind at ease. I amble behind him, until we get to a white metal door. He knocks and there's the sound of metal grinding against metal. The door opens a crack. "Name?"

"Damien Keller."

The door opens wider. "Are you accompanied, sir?"

"Yes, by my secretary. Yara Huxley."

"Step inside, please."

As soon as we step in, I hear music. Fast-paced, the kind you'd find in clubs. The floor is literally vibrating. The man who opened the door shakes
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