The thought wouldn't leave me alone. It clawed at the back of my mind, relentless and sharp, like a mosquito buzzing in your ear just as you're about to fall asleep. Yanagi Labs. Illegal shipments. Something dangerous.

I couldn't ignore it anymore.

Pushing my plate aside—because let's be real, cold scrambled eggs weren't about to help—I grabbed a blank notebook from my desk drawer and a pen. Old-fashioned, sure, but sometimes writing things down helped me organize my thoughts better than staring at another screen. Plus, there's something about paper that feels... solid. Like it can't be erased so easily.

I clicked the pen a few times, staring at the blank page like it owed me money. Where do I even start?

I began with the basics.

What I know so far:

- Yanagi Labs is moving shipments off the books.

- The shipments aren't listed anywhere in official records—not the company database, not the shipping logs. Nothing.

- The containers are heavily secured. As in, "you'll need a small army to get through" secured.

- The guards for these shipments are... let's just say they're not your average rent-a-cops.

I tapped the pen against the desk, thinking. What else?

There were the whispers I'd picked up in forums, threads buried deep in the web. People talking about something called Project Catalyst. No details, no clear connections, just... hints. But those hints painted a picture that screamed dangerous.

Theories:

- Whatever's in those containers isn't legal. Could be weapons, could be drugs, could be something worse.

- Project Catalyst might be linked to it. If I dig deeper, I could confirm.

- Someone big is behind this. Yanagi Labs doesn't move without serious backing.

I sat back, staring at the page. The pieces were there, scattered and incomplete, but they formed enough of a picture to know this was bad. Really bad.

And now I had to decide what to do with it.

Handing it over to someone as myself? Yeah, no. That's not happening.
As much as I love the idea of waltzing up to a hero or a cop and saying, "Hey, here's some explosive intel I hacked illegally," I'm not exactly eager to explain why I was digging around in the first place.

But as Sivax...

That was different. Sivax wasn't bound by the same rules. Sivax was a ghost. No face, no name, no strings attached.

A plan started to form, half-baked and reckless, just the way I like it.

I could deliver the intel anonymously. Break into someone's home—illegal, sure, but also effective. Slip the documents onto a desk, leave without a trace. Heroes have a way of finding things once you dangle it under their noses.

Or maybe a drop-off? I could leave the information in an alley, somewhere they'd stumble across it. Less risky, but also less certain.

I flipped to the next page in my notebook, sketching out the possibilities.

Option 1: The Break-In

- Pros: Direct. I know the intel will land where it needs to.

- Cons: Breaking into a hero's house? Yeah, that's... not exactly a low-risk move.

Option 2: The Drop-Off

- Pros: Safer for me.

- Cons: What if they miss it? Or worse, ignore it?

Neither option was perfect, but at least it was something.

I sat back, the notebook resting on my lap as I stared at the ceiling. My fingers tapped an absent rhythm on the desk, the soundless beat only audible in the faint vibrations I felt.

This wasn't about me anymore.

If I ignored this, people could get hurt. Maybe worse. I'd seen what happened when people turned a blind eye to danger. I wasn't about to be one of them.

For now, I'd write everything down—every detail, every connection, every theory. If I couldn't decide tonight, at least I'd have the information ready.

I clicked the pen closed, setting it down next to the notebook. My eyes wandered to the faint glow of my monitors, the hum of my little corner of the world.

I wasn't a hero.

But maybe I didn't have to be.