Chapter 7 - 2.1 : A Morning That Shouldn’t Have Started So Early
Morning arrived.
The room was still dim. The tall, curtainless windows failed to block the early sunlight that began to pour into the small space. In the corner of the room—which looked more like an abandoned storage area than a bedroom—a lazy young man named Al lay sprawled out on a shaggy carpet. His hair was messy, one cheek pressed against a backpack used as a pillow, and one leg had gone completely numb.
Calm.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
GRAAARR—GRAAARR!!
A thunder-like ringtone echoed from a black phone lying on the floor beside Al. His eyes shot open in shock. He hissed through his teeth.
"...That ringtone."
He picked up the phone, and immediately, the drowsiness vanished like mist swept away by a storm. That ringtone wasn’t for just anyone. Only the most important people had been assigned that tone—people so underground, even the underworld didn’t recognize them unless they needed to know.
Al didn’t speak right away. He simply placed the phone to his ear while slowly sitting up, wincing as he tried to shake off the pins and needles in his leg. No conversation was heard—only a long, drawn-out monologue from the caller.
He listened. For a very long time.
Then, finally, he spoke briefly.