Realistic or Modern 𝘊𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

[deadly king]

Ivan regarded Ori's sly grin with a mix of irritation and fascination. The leather glove continued to tighten around the phone shivers rippling down his spine, a sensation he had never grown accustomed to during their twisted cat-and-mouse game. Ori seemed to derive immense pleasure from making him squirm, and Ivan couldn't deny that they were remarkably skilled at it.

Ori's hypothetical scenario unfolded, describing an uncomfortable coffee shop encounter, where invasive questions intruded upon the facade of daily life. They painted a vivid image of discomfort and awkwardness, their laughter mingling with the curling smoke in the room. It was a game to them, an art form designed to unsettle their prey. As their voice grew softer, the tension in the room deepened. They questioned his resolve, his composure, and his very identity. Ivan remained silent, a fortress of secrets, but the mechanic's insinuations struck their mark. Brute force would not yield the answers he sought, only deepening the layers of paranoia.

"If a cup of coffee is enough to send him bouncing off the walls, I am not hoping to see what a blunt would do."

A cup of coffee and a gram of marijuana might be different substances, but the effects on Isaac's already fragile psyche would likely be similar—a swirl of paranoia and unease.

Ori's tone shifted, momentarily gentle, as they offered advice. Ivan couldn't deny the wisdom in their words. The world he was entering was a stark departure from the gritty realm he was accustomed to. It was a world of white collars and suits, a place where he needed to recalibrate his methods, to dance with shadows rather than confront them head-on.

"None of them will shoot me, but I believe they would call the police,"

Which was worse? Ivan contemplated the consequences of his actions, weighing the risks of feeling the burning, piercing, near-endless pain of a bullet again, or the constant headaches of legal troubles and financial shuffling. Sighing, the man's hand pressed against his face, rubbing his eyes as he fell into a short silence. Ori had a way of getting under his skin, and it frustrated him to no end, but he couldn't deny the truth in their words. If Isaac already believed he was a target then breaking down his walls would require a surgeon's hand, not a sledgehammer.

God, why couldn't he take a stack of cash in exchange for his projects and work? Ivan was sure if he made the offer to anyone else in the laboratory, they would take it in a heartbeat.

Ivan's frustration seeped through as he pondered the meaning of "normalcy."

"It's strange. Weirdly different." Is this what normal life looked like? "Do people really live like this?" A thought that escaped his bouncing mind. Shaking his head again, his hand slowly came down, revealing the windows and the bleak cityscape before him.

"How do you suggest I do this then? Should I . . . take him out?" A silly idea that looped back to the mechanic's awkward hypothetical. However, if it was anything like that, such a direct approach would only make him appear as a bumbling amateur in this delicate game. "I can't keep this -- шарада -- this," stumbling he sighed in deep annoyance. "I cannot do this forever. How do I get him to trust me? You need to have an answer for that."

 

[simulationanomaly]

The smile Ori wore as Ivan audibly stumbled through their psychological minefield was nothing short of mischievous contentment. It was the sort of smile worn by a game master whose contestants had just stumbled into a well-laid trap. Backed with bloodshot eyes and slackened shoulders, they had gone beyond just toying with Ivan and had simply settled on idly watching the consequences of their words unfold. He wasn't floundering by any means—not nearly as badly as when they'd first met—but it was pretty clear from the short annoyance in his tone that they had caught him a few hours and a few grams short of a clean dance.

They did find themself missing over the thought of a possible arrest though, their expression losing some of that carefree calm. The concept of police involvement had crossed their mind—possibly more often than it had with Ivan and under a wider variety of scenarios. There were many reasons why the info dealer wanted to keep the police as far away as possible, both obvious and less obvious. However, with how deep they were entering into white-collar territory, they knew the threat was higher than normal. It was something they could only hope Ivan would wise up enough to avoid.

As they contemplated the logistics of whether or not it would be more effective, Ivan decided to hit them with a verbal brick to the face.

Ori pushed themself off the wall, staring with a dumbfounded smile as Ivan proposed his master plan: date the target. They forced themself to take a hit to stifle the laughter that threatened to burst out of them, their body quivering with the sheer whimsy of the situation. Was that really where the Russian's mind went? Was that really his first plan of action? The mechanic had figured for a while that there were things about him that even he wasn't aware of, but this...

As hilarious as it was, it had a chance of working. And if it didn't, it would make for a great memory.

"Hold on, hold on, you," Ori wheezed, coughing and clearing their throat as they tried to force out the amusement. "Ivan, you might be onto something. Listen... You're going to need to gain his trust a little more before you do that, but I don't think asking to see him outside of work is a bad idea. It could get him out of that professional state of mind a bit, and that might leave an opening for you to pry into."

Some rustlingbcould be heard over the line as they propped the phone between their shoulder and head. They put the blunt out on the wall behind them and pulled a crumpled Ziploc bag out of their pocket, tossing the half-smoked roll in and closing it up. "You can't brute-force trust, but step one to getting a guy to trust you is to just... Make yourself normal. You've only been in there for two days. Give him the rest of the workweek to get used to you and—this is the hard part—be as gentle as possible with him. After that... Yeah, ask him out somewhere after work. After.all, the worst he can say is no, yeah?"

---

"I... I'm sorry, what?"

Issac seemed almost taken aback by the question he'd been asked, freezing in the middle of putting some blueprints away and nearly fumbling the whole stack as it was posed. His cheeks had lit up a bright red, the rush of blood nearly drowning out the freckles above. He had known Ivan for all of a week—and as an intern no less—and he was asking him to... Go out with him?

As he set the papers down, the engineer wasn't sure whether to be afraid or flattered. On one hand, a large part of him threw up those familiar red flags. Missing person,.missing person, this is how those cases are made. On the other hand, he knew that wasn't right. He knew this was just his sick mind looking for excuses to see the worst in others. He knew he hadn't meant to cause any problems or fear. That wasn't his place to elicit.

Shit had he done that?

"I'm sorry, I just," he stammered, trying to backpedal as he fidgeted with his sleeves. "I didn't mean to sound so harsh. I'm just... Surprised? Y... Yeah. No one's ever, um... Made that sort of offer..."

 

[deadly king]

Ivan took in Ori's advice with a thoughtful nod, the haze of smoke lingering around him as he considered the mechanics of gaining trust. The idea of seeing Isaac outside of the professional setting struck him as both plausible and challenging. His mind was a battlefield, grappling with the intricacies of normalcy and the calculated steps required to dismantle Isaac's guarded demeanor. Any misstep could trigger Isaac's strong paranoia and have the entire plan crumble before his own eyes. As the week continued, the shifts at the lab felt progressively longer, as if time itself purposefully stalled.

"No need to apologize," Ivan responded, "It can be casual. I thought maybe it would be nice," shaking his head after, "No pressure."

Turning away, Ivan concealed the layers of his intent, his mind already plotting the next moves. The offer lingered in the air. Ivan knew building trust was a gradual process, a symphony of subtle actions and careful words. It was a dance he had mastered in the shadows of this world, and now, he adapted those skills to the peculiar stage of office dynamics.

"But," he whipped back to stare at the engineer, leaning back in the creaking office chair, "I -- eh, the place I get coffee, it's good," Ivan stammered out, resting his hands upon his stretched torso. "It has more than coffee if you are worried." He had seen the adverse side-effects on the man first hand and he was sure Isaac wouldn't want to experience the heightened senses and palpitating heartbeat once more. "And sandwiches -- bacon, egg and cheese," the most popular among their customers, "And bagels," nodding along, the man hoped it was sort of enticing. "Or ehh," scratching his dark messy locks, he spurred up another idea, "What about lunchtime? We should have time to go and come back,"

Admittedly, in the week the Russian had been working there, he immediately noted the separation in the office during lunchtime, not only among the departments but the employees themselves. Some stayed in their designated areas, some in the lunch area, and then those who completely disappeared for an hour -- an hour and a half, arguably. But, Isaac? He was always alone, no matter where he wandered off to. Did everyone around him purposefully ignore his presence or was he too off put by everyone else to willingly engage?

As icey eyes patiently stared on, would Isaac indulge his idea?

 

[simulationanomaly]

It felt like bait.

No matter how hard he tried to shake the feeling, he felt like a helpless fish in life's pond, contemplating whether the worm before him was food or a lure. Literally in this case—Ivan was offering to take him to a cafe. A nice one too from the sounds of it. With how many meals he'd been missing due to the stress of the new environment and everything in it, such an offer may have been worth the risk. Not to mention the time being suggested clashed hard with any potential for malicious intent. Lunchtime? Sure, in the confines of the office, he avoided eating around others like the plague. If they weren't planning on poisoning his food, surely they would poison him with words instead. The thought of striking up a lunchtime conversation with another scientist was enough to put his hair on end.

However, in a space like a public cafe during lunchtime? If Ivan really wanted to drug his food or snake his way into his mind, wouldn't he have chosen a less busy time? Something after dark, perhaps?

Nervous fingers laced together in something between a prayer and a fidget as the engineer quickly glanced over at his charge. The intern seemed incredibly relaxed—a slight breeze of relief cooling the ginger's soul as he realized that the man was no longer anxious in his presence. He had made himself at home in the facility, it seemed. Perhaps that was all part of his plan. Who knew how many eyes were hidden beneath those sleeves? Who knew what that composure hid? Yet, all the same... It was almost too playful to be malicious. He was leaning back in his chair with one hand folded over his chest and the other knotted in his dark, messy curls as he stammered out plans and food items in a scattershot ramble.

Though the scientist couldn't bear to make eye contact for longer than a split second, he could feel those steely blue eyes pleading for an answer.

Issac took a deep breath as he tried to fix his composure, unlacing his fingers and smoothing his sleeves. 1 John, 4:1—"Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world." Though in his heart he couldn't believe that Ivan would be above harming him—as much as the guilt for such baseless suspicion weighed heavy on his mind—he could at least give him a chance. A test. A scenario like this had a very low probability of Ivan being able to get away with any evil he may have planned to commit. In fact, Issac had run the math in his head: it was less than 10%. Not to mention the offer of food and drink was inviting. Though he definitely wasn't about to try again with the caffeine, part of him did long for the taste of coffee again.

"Alright," he said with a nod, trying his best to force the uncertainty from his smile. "Lunchtime would be fantastic. I could stand to—um—to become more familiar with the city, anyways. I-I don't exactly have time to do that with my schedule. The hours are pretty long most days... N-Not that I mind! It just doesn't exactly... Leave much room for anything else. It's the—you know, the simple facts of the situation, unfortunately."

The nerves escaped him in a small, quiet laugh as he recoiled slightly from his own social fumbling. He desperately needed to learn when to shut up. God himself demanded it, yet here he was, tripping and fumbling over unnecessary words again.

Hopefully that wasn't enough to make him reconsider.