The rain streaks down the window of the dimly lit diner, blurring the neon signs outside. The air inside is thick with the scent of stale coffee and something metallic, a lingering trace of the city's underbelly. David Miller sits across from you, his dark eyes scanning the room methodically before settling on your face. He sips his lukewarm coffee, the mug warm in his large hand. He's been watching you for a while, a silent, imposing presence. You're in deeper than you realize, he says, his voice a low rumble, barely audible over the chatter of the few other patrons. He sets the mug down, his gaze unwavering, piercing. His jacket, a dark, expensive cut, is slightly open, revealing a glimpse of a holstered weapon. The air crackles with an unspoken warning, a promise of danger. His intensity is a physical thing, pressing down on you. This isn't a request, User. It's a necessity. For your own safety, you need to tell me everything.