OUTLAWS: Who Am I?

O³.

Ollie's footsteps echoed through the dimly lit nightclub, the bass of the music thrumming through his chest like a heartbeat. The room was a tangled mess of flashing lights and swirling bodies, each patron lost in their own world of inebriation and indulgence. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, smoke, and cheap cologne, mingling into a heady cocktail that stung Ollie's nostrils. He moved through the crowd with purpose, his eyes scanning the sea of faces for any sign of the man he sought. The club's neon lights painted everything in hues of purple and blue, casting long, shifting shadows that seemed to dance along with the patrons. He slipped past the bar, the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations barely registering in his focus. The oppressive heat and noise of the club seemed to shrink as he honed in on his objective, his mind braced for what lay ahead.

His search led him to a secluded corner of the club, where a VIP area was cordoned off with velvet ropes and guarded by a surly bouncer. The bouncer eyed him with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, his beefy arms crossed over his chest as he blocked Ollie's path. "You're not on the list," the bouncer growled, his voice barely audible over the blaring music. Ollie's gaze remained steady, a flicker of determination in his eyes as he pulled out a crumpled photograph of his parents. "I'm looking for someone who frequents this place," Ollie said, his voice firm and unwavering. The bouncer hesitated, his eyes flicking to the photo before nodding reluctantly. "Fine, but you're on your own," he muttered, stepping aside with a begrudging sigh.

Once inside the VIP area, Ollie's senses were assaulted by an even more intense mix of noise and decadence. The room was filled with the elite of Calder City, their laughter and chatter mingling with the heavy thrum of the club's music. He wove his way through the crowd, his focus narrowing as he approached a small table where a well-dressed man sat, his demeanor exuding an air of arrogance and wealth. The man was engaged in conversation with a few others, his gestures animated and his laughter loud. Ollie recognized him from the description he had received—a known associate of the very killer he was hunting. With a deep breath, Ollie's hand moved to his side, where his phone vibrated with a new message, the text providing the final clue he needed.

Ollie approached the table, his heart pounding with the adrenaline of the hunt. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice cool and controlled despite the chaos around him. The man looked up, his expression shifting from surprise to recognition as he took in Ollie's determined gaze. "You're brave, I'll give you that," the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you're not going to find what you're looking for here." Ollie's eyes narrowed, his resolve hardening as he leaned closer. "We'll see about that," he replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The man's demeanor shifted as he realized Ollie was not to be easily deterred. "Alright, I'll tell you what I know," he said, his voice now tinged with unease. He glanced around the room, his gaze darting to the other patrons before settling back on Ollie. "But you'd better be prepared for what you might find." With that, he began to divulge information that hinted at deeper connections within the criminal underworld, clues that pointed toward a network far more complex than Ollie had anticipated. The revelation was both a breakthrough and a new layer of complication in his search for his parents' killer.

As the man spoke, Ollie's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information like a jigsaw puzzle. The details were murky, shrouded in secrecy and deceit, but they provided a direction—an address, a name, a place where he might finally find answers. The conversation ended abruptly as the man's phone buzzed, signaling the end of their meeting. Ollie nodded, his expression resolute as he prepared to leave the club and follow the new leads. The night outside was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the club, and as he stepped into the darkness, he felt a renewed sense of purpose.