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The Anti-Theory

Uknownuser_682
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Chapter 1 - Who’s That?

The night was raw—cold wind slicing through the air, rain coming down in sheets that blurred the city's sharp edges. Thunder growled somewhere overhead, a low, constant presence like a warning that wouldn't stop.

Lex walked down Main Street with his coat pulled tight against the storm. People knew him—respected him, even. He'd built something from nothing, helped clean up neighborhoods, backed local shops, handed out checks to causes most folks ignored. But tonight, he wasn't thinking about any of that. He had a meeting. Important one. Old friend. Business that couldn't wait.

He pulled out his phone, thumbed it open, and skimmed a message. Almost there.

Then—bam. A shoulder slammed into his.

Lex staggered back a step, rain dripping from his brow. The hit wasn't random. The guy had meant it.

Lex's jaw tightened. He looked the man dead in the eyes.

"Watch it, shithead," he said, his voice filled with irritation.

The man rolled his eyes and kept walking, strolling past Lex without a word. Lex didn't bother arguing—he had bigger things on his mind.

Then he noticed someone.

A figure was standing ahead, still as a statue.

He was tall—easily over six feet—but it wasn't just his height that caught Lex's attention. But instead his appearance.

He wore a dark trench coat that hung past his knees, the coat shifting slightly with the breeze. The coat was old, its edges dull—like it had been through a lot. His broad shoulders made his image even more intimidating.

A fedora sat low on his head, tilted just enough to keep his eyes hidden in shadows under the hat. The band around it was simple, unadorned. What little of his face Lex could see—just the line of a jaw and the rough hint—was enough to suggest this guy had been through some things.

One hand was tucked into a pocket, the other hidden, both covered in black gloves. His boots, shabby but solid.

Not the kind of footwear you picked for comfort.

He didn't move. Didn't glance around. He just stood there, calm and but alert, like someone who was used to watching and being watched. Like someone who knew danger wasn't a possibility—it was consistent.

Lex felt it immediately. This man wasn't just passing through. He was here for a reason—and whatever it was, it wasn't good.