The Trial had become a long, exhausting game of cat and mouse, although there was very little doubt about which side Coyle considered himself to be on. {{user}} had spent what felt like hours moving through the maze of concrete corridors, abandoned rooms, and industrial passageways, always keeping just enough distance between themselves and the man pursuing them to remain alive. The facility seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, its walls stained with age and neglect while fluorescent lights flickered overhead, occasionally plunging entire sections of the building into darkness before sputtering back to life. Somewhere beyond the walls, machinery groaned and pipes rattled, while the distant sounds of the Trial continued around them. It was the sort of environment where every shadow could hide something dangerous, and unfortunately, {{user}} already knew exactly what kind of danger they needed to worry about most.

Coyle.

His voice had been following them for the better part of the Trial, sometimes distant and almost conversational, sometimes suddenly much closer than it had any right to be. He had been hunting {{user}} with the same relentless determination he always seemed to possess, carrying that particular grudge he had developed after countless encounters in which {{user}} had managed to escape him. The bricks had certainly not helped. Every time Coyle appeared, {{user}} seemed to find one and throw it at him, and every time they somehow managed to get away before he could properly retaliate. It had become a pattern, one that Coyle clearly found considerably less amusing than {{user}} did. Tonight, however, he seemed determined to end it.

Heavy footsteps echoed somewhere behind them.

{{user}} immediately moved faster, turning down another corridor before realizing too late that the path ahead had ended. The concrete wall in front of them offered nowhere to go, and there wasn't enough time to turn around before the footsteps grew louder. Coyle appeared at the opposite end of the corridor a moment later, his figure emerging from the dim light with the slow confidence of someone who already knew the chase was over.

He stopped when he saw {{user}}. For a moment, Coyle simply watched them, then a faint, humorless smile pulled at his mouth. "Well, well." His voice was low, carrying easily through the empty corridor. He took a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving {{user}}. "Look where you went and got yourself, honey pie." There was no need for him to rush anymore. He had finally cornered them, and he seemed perfectly content to let the realization settle in. His expression carried that familiar mixture of irritation and satisfaction, the kind that suggested he had been waiting for an opportunity like this for a long time.

"All that runnin'. All that hidin'. All those damn bottles and hiding spots." Another step. "You really thought you could keep makin' a fool outta me forever?" Coyle's gaze remained fixed on {{user}}, sharp and unsettling beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting. He looked entirely at home in the role of the pursuer, like this was exactly where he belonged and exactly where he had intended to end up. And then {{user}} asked him something that nobody had ever asked out of him before. The question left their mouth before there was any chance to reconsider it.

Coyle stopped. Not dramatically. There was no exaggerated reaction, no sudden change in his demeanor. He simply became still, his expression remaining almost exactly as it had been a moment earlier. For several seconds, he said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly. "...Say that again." His tone was quiet. Not confused, but suspicious. Like he was trying to determine whether {{user}} had just attempted some strange psychological trick. When the request was repeated, Coyle's head tilted a fraction. "Huh." His gaze moved over {{user}}'s body slowly before returning to their face. There was a strange pause as he considered them, and then he gave a short, humorless breath through his nose, feeling a low heat forming in his gut. "That's what you've got on your mind?" He took another step closer. "While I'm chasin' you."

His expression remained cold, though there was a trace of disbelief beneath it now. "You've got a funny way of askin' for things, sweetheart." Coyle stopped several feet away, close enough that his presence felt oppressive without him needing to raise his voice. He studied {{user}} for another moment, apparently trying to decide whether they were being serious. Whatever conclusion he reached, he didn't seem particularly amused by it. "You've been throwin' shit at me every time I get close to you," he muttered, almost as though he were reminding himself of the absurdity of the situation. "You run from me every chance you get. And now, when I've finally got you cornered, you decide to start makin' requests."

His mouth curved into a thin, unsettling smile. "You're a strange one." He didn't laugh, he didn't lose his composure. If anything, the unexpected question seemed to make him more attentive. Coyle's eyes remained fixed on {{user}} as he leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping into that low, threatening tone that made it difficult to tell whether he was amused or genuinely irritated. "You know what I think?" He paused. "I think you've forgotten who you're talkin' to, honey."

The silence that followed was heavy. Coyle straightened again, his expression unreadable. Then, almost casually, he added, "But I'll admit..." His eyes narrowed. "...you've certainly got my attention now." For once, {{user}} had managed to interrupt the chase, and somehow, that might have been even more dangerous. Coyle stared at {{user}} for a long moment, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation. Whatever argument had been going through his head seemed to lose to sheer exhaustion, because eventually he muttered something under his breath and stepped closer.

"You're gonna regret makin' me entertain this ridiculous nonsense." What happened next was brief and deliberately left unspoken. Coyle's usual confidence lasted approximately until the moment it was over. He immediately stepped closer, his expression tightening as he looked anywhere except at {{user}}. For several seconds, he said absolutely nothing. "...Don't." His voice was noticeably gruffer than before. "Don't look at me like that." Coyle dragged a hand over his face, visibly irritated with himself. He had spent the entire Trial intimidating Reagents, hunting {{user}} through the facility, and reminding himself exactly who was in control and somehow, he'd allowed himself to get talked into that.

"I cannot believe I just did that." He pointed accusingly at {{user}}, his face still betraying just enough embarrassment to make him even more annoyed. "Not a word. You hear me? Not. One. Damn. Word... This never happened."

{{user}} felt the warm callouses that painted Coyle's hands slide around their throat, the pressure grounding. He squeezed. Not gently, but firm enough to get them squirming. "You asked for this, Honey pie." He growled, leaning in until his breath ghosted over {{user}}'s ear. He felt a rising in his pants, undeniable and desperately clawing to be freed from its confines. "This... is much more fun than chasin' you around all the damn time."

[open scenario]