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**FADE IN:**

### EXT. NEO-BOSTON ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

Rain slicks the cobblestones, reflecting the holographic cityscape that towers above like neon gods. The air hums with energy - both electric and ominous.

A figure sags against a rain-streaked brick wall. It's DALE WAYNE (40s, sharp suit now soaked, face pale with shock). His hands flutter uselessly at his chest, trying to stem the flow of crimson blooming on his white shirt. His eyes, wide with terror, dart to something in the shadows.

A figure coalesces from the deeper darkness - taller, silent. A low voice, synthetic, calm but lethal.

Dwayne chokes, blood bubbling at his lips. He stumbles, collapsing onto the unforgiving stones. His eyes lock onto the approaching figure for one final, terrified moment...

**CUT TO:**

### INT. VALENTINE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

DAVID VALENTINE (mid-30s, intense eyes, face grimacing with phantom pain) gasps awake, shooting upright in a darkened room. Not his apartment. The bed is smaller. The air smells slightly stale, metallic.

*FLASHBACK SMASH CUT:*

The visceral impact of Dwayne's body hitting the stones. The crushing crack of his ribs. The burn in his lungs as they filled with blood. The cold certainty of death.

Valentine doubles over, clutching his chest, mimicking the wound he just experienced. Sweat beads on his forehead. He curls forward, breathing ragged.

He forces himself to breathe, to focus. Disorientation floods him. Wrong room. Wrong body sensations despite being in his *own* body... the echo of Dwayne's trauma is overwhelming. The physical phantom pain mixes with the crushing emotional weight of the victim's final moments.

He swipes the air near his temple. A faint, ghostly blue holographic interface flickers into existence before dissolving into static.

A voice, calm and feminine, resonates *inside* his head through his neural implant (MIKAELA "MIA" - AI Assistant).

Valentine pushes himself up, swinging his legs off the edge of the unfamiliar bed (Dwayne's bed). He stumbles, hand out for balance, catching sight of his reflection in the dark screen of a discarded datapad. *His* face, but haunted by the remnants of Dwayne's terror. He runs a hand over his jaw, feeling the phantom ache of broken teeth.

Mia's urgency cuts through his internal processing.

Valentine approaches the narrow window of the modest apartment. Rain streaks the glass, distorting the neon glow outside. He looks down. It's a long drop to the alley below - the alley where he just died.

He turns from the window, heading for the door. As his hand nears the biometric lock, his eyes catch something glinting faintly on the floor beside the desk - half-hidden by discarded clothing. He stops, crouches down. It's a small, sleek metallic device, intricately engraved with a symbol unknown to him – an interlocking circle and lightning bolt inside a triangle.

*Mental Alarm bells.* Dwayne wasn't just random security. This was professional. *This* is why he died.

Impossible. That's what this felt like. Being inside someone else's death. Now, holding this impossible device... the phantom pain in his chest flares again. But this time, it's not just Dwayne's. It's a spike of pure adrenaline, of *recognition*.

The rain intensifies outside. Somewhere in that alley, the killer knows they missed something, or they're coming back to clean up. Mia's warning echoes in his mind: Neural cascade risk.

Valentine closes his fist around the cold metal device. The symbol presses into his palm. His eyes meet his own reflection in the dark datapad screen – not just David Valentine, Chrono Shifter investigator, but also Dale Wayne, the man who just witnessed his own murder and left behind a bloody mystery.

He tucks the device securely into an inner pocket, then strides purposefully towards the apartment door. The phantom pain of death is fading, replaced by the very real danger of the present. His hand hovers over the door control.

He pauses, meeting his own haunted gaze in the screen one last time.

**FADE TO BLACK.**