July 31th, 2026
At Foxxy's house - 8:01 PM
The luxurious penthouse apartment of Foxxy felt more like a gilded cage than a haven to Ian.
The quiet hum of Tokyo nightlife filtered in from the tinted windows, but inside the house, silence reigned.
Ian lay on the expansive, cloud-soft couch in the living room, his fingers idly scrolling through his phone. The glow of social media posts illuminated his face, but his eyes were dull, uninterested.
Friend after friend had posted about their lives, sharing filtered images of vacations, parties, laughter, success. All things Ian had long since left behind. His old co-workers at McDizzle hadn't even texted about his sudden absence. Not even a half-assed "Where you at, bro?"
"Figures," he muttered under his breath.
He kept scrolling, searching for something to distract himself. Anything.
Then, without warning, the massive flat-screen TV flickered to life with a sharp buzz. Ian jolted upright.
He turned around to see Foxxy standing behind him, remote in hand, her expression unreadable beneath her elegant silver fox mask.
"Listen," she said simply, nodding toward the television.
Ian turned back and focused on the screen. It was the national news, broadcasting a breaking update.
"In a shocking turn of events, Tokyo police have apprehended the suspect responsible for the brutal murder of a local landlord in the Shinjuku district. The suspect, whose identity has not been revealed due to legal restrictions, reportedly matches the eyewitness description: tall, foreign-looking, and unkempt. Authorities are continuing their investigation, but sources indicate a full confession is expected."
Ian's jaw dropped. His phone slipped from his hand onto the plush carpet. Relief crashed into him like a tidal wave. His breath caught, and his heart hammered.
He turned to Foxxy, overwhelmed.
"You... you did it," he breathed. "You actually did it. Thank you... thank you so much. I don't know what to say."
"It's nothing," Foxxy replied coolly, her voice calm and detached.
But Ian didn't buy it. He squinted at her, a knot forming in his stomach.
"You say it's nothing, but... I know people like you. Nothing comes for free."
Foxxy stared at him for a moment. Then, wordlessly, she walked around the couch and sat beside him. The cushions barely moved under her weight, yet her presence was heavy. She didn't speak right away. The silence between them pulsed with anticipation.
Finally, she asked, "Do you know Ruth Tachibana? Or perhaps you know her by her married name... Ruth Tachibana-Kawasaki?"
Ian's blood froze. His body stiffened.
"What?" he whispered. "Why are you asking about her?"
"Because," Foxxy said softly, her voice slicing the air like a scalpel, "I want you to stop talking to her. Cut all ties. Distance yourself permanently."
Ian leaned back, shocked. Then, a slow, sardonic chuckle escaped him.
"You had me worried there for a second," he muttered. "I thought you were going to ask me to kill someone. That? That's easy. I haven't talked to Ruth in years. She... she isn't exactly good for my health. I'll do it." He said, comfortably and confidently.
"I hope you're a man of your word," Foxxy said.
"I am," Ian replied. "Believe me, that woman's presence is more toxic than radiation."
But the nagging curiosity returned. Ian turned toward Foxxy, narrowing his eyes.
"What's your connection to Ruth Tachibana? You clearly know a lot more than you let on. Who even are you, Foxxy?"
Before she could answer, her phone rang—a sharp, shrill buzz that cut through the tension. Foxxy didn't hesitate. She rose to her feet and, without another word, answered it.
"Excuse me," she said quietly, stepping toward the hallway.
Ian watched her disappear into the shadows of the penthouse, the sound of her heels fading into silence.
And just like that, he was alone again.
His mind was spinning. Relief, confusion, and a slow-growing dread mixed in his chest. The murder he was being hunted for was pinned on someone else now. He was safe. But why did it feel... worse?
Foxxy had done something illegal. Dangerous. He didn't need confirmation. It was in her posture, her calculated moves, and the way she made calls that changed headlines.
And now she had just one request: stay away from Ruth.
Simple, easy, sure. But the implications screamed otherwise.
Was Ruth involved in this murder somehow? Or was she part of something bigger?
Ian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He didn't feel free. He felt like a pawn being moved across a board he didn't understand.
Outside, the neon glow of Tokyo cast eerie reflections on the floor. Inside, the house was too quiet again. Ian could hear his own heart beating.
He looked at his phone again, tempted to text Ruth.
But he didn't.
He didn't want to.
But his curiosity was killing him. He wanted to ask a question. A simple, but heavy question to Ruth.