The God 's unpaid intern

Chapter 7: Lucía's Investigation

The digital clock on Diego’s nightstand flipped to 11:45 PM with a soft, mechanical click. Diego sat on the edge of his bed, his hands buried in his hair, staring at the vent where the stolen briefcase rested like a ticking bomb.

“Stop hovering, Diego. The drop-off location is the old shipping yard by the pier. If you aren't there by midnight, the contact leaves, and we’re left holding a bag of corporate secrets that literally no one wants anymore,” the God buzzed, its voice sounding like static inside Diego’s ear canal.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Diego muttered, grabbing his hoodie. “Why does every ‘divine’ errand feel like I’m auditioning for a low-budget action movie?”

“Because you’re a low-budget actor, my dear vessel. Now, move. You have a transit route to cover, and your cardio is pathetic.”

Diego didn’t argue. He pulled the briefcase from the vent, feeling the familiar, cold weight of it against his ribs. He crept out of his apartment, careful not to let the floorboards groan, and slipped out the back exit. The night air was crisp, smelling of ozone and the city’s omnipresent grit.

He didn't notice the silhouette ducking behind a parked delivery van across the street. Lucía watched him, her eyes narrowed in the flickering orange glow of a streetlamp. She had spent the last three hours replaying his words in her head—the way he had tripped the guard, the way he had dismantled the detective with a single, bizarre sentence. She knew he wasn't a criminal. He was a mystery, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't going to let a mystery go unsolved.

The shipping yard was a desolate graveyard of rusted iron and shadows. Diego moved through the labyrinth of shipping containers, his heart hammering against his chest.

“Left. Then behind the blue crate. The drop is inside the secondary shed,” the God commanded.

“Are you sure?” Diego whispered, glancing at the dark, looming shapes of the cranes above. “This looks like the set for every horror movie ever made. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be murdered by a guy named ‘The Hook.’”

“If you die, I’ll find a new host. You’re entirely replaceable. Keep moving.”

Suddenly, the silence of the yard was broken by the sharp clack of boots on gravel. Diego froze. Three figures emerged from the shadows near the secondary shed. They were large, dressed in tactical gear that didn't look like standard security, and they held crowbars with the casual ease of seasoned thugs.

“Looking for someone, kid?” one of them rasped. He had a jagged scar running down his cheek and eyes that lacked any discernible warmth.

Diego felt his breath hitch. “I, uh… I think I’m lost? I’m looking for the pizza place? The one that does the, uh, late-night delivery?”

“A pizza delivery joke? Really?” the God hissed. “Give them the case and run. You aren't winning this fight.”

“I’m not giving them anything!” Diego hissed back, his voice rising.

“He’s got the goods,” the second thug grunted, stepping forward. “Hand it over, kid. We don’t want to mess up that pretty face.”

“Wait, let’s talk about this,” Diego said, his voice trembling. “I’m a paralegal. I’m very good at arbitration. Do you guys have an HR department?”

The thugs didn't laugh. They charged.

Diego’s world shifted into slow motion. He saw the first thug’s fist wind up, the muscles in his shoulder tensing. Before his brain could even register the movement, his body reacted.

“Speed buff activated. Don't think. Just dance,” the God commanded.

Diego moved like a blur. He sidestepped the first punch, his sneakers barely scraping the gravel, and spun, his elbow slamming into the thug’s solar plexus with the force of a battering ram. The man doubled over, gasping for air, and Diego didn't hesitate—he swept the second man’s legs, sending him crashing into a pile of steel crates with a sickening metal groan.

The third thug hesitated, his eyes widening. “What the hell are you?”

Diego stood in the center of the yard, his chest heaving, his eyes glowing with an faint, electric light he didn't realize he was projecting. “I’m a guy who really needs to get home for sleep!”

He lunged. It was an impossible movement, a burst of kinetic energy that covered ten feet in a blink. He caught the third man by the throat, pinning him against a shipping container, and delivered a precise, lightning-fast strike to the man’s jaw. The thug slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Diego stood there, panting, his hands shaking as the adrenaline began to dissipate. He looked down at the wreckage of the thugs.

“I… I just did that,” he whispered to the empty air. “I just destroyed three guys in ten seconds.”

“You ‘flailed’ successfully,” the God corrected, though it sounded begrudgingly impressed. “Now, drop the case by the gate and get out of here. You have a witness.”

Diego’s blood turned to ice. He spun around, his eyes scanning the dark perimeter of the shipping yard.

“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice cracking.

A figure emerged from the shadows behind a stack of pallets. Lucía stepped into the moonlight, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and total, absolute shock.

She looked at the unconscious thugs, then at the briefcase in Diego’s hand, and finally at Diego himself. She seemed to be struggling to reconcile the man she had known for years with the person who had just moved with the terrifying speed of a machine.

“Diego?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

“Lucía,” Diego gasped, his pulse spiking again. “I… you shouldn't be here. You need to leave. Please.”

She took a step closer, her gaze locked on his hands. “I saw it. I saw you. You moved… you were faster than anything human. You didn't even sweat.”

“It was… it was a trick,” Diego stammered, backing away until his heels hit a rusted support beam. “Adrenaline! Like I said! I just, I don’t know, I got lucky! They were clumsy!”

“Clumsy?” Lucía shook her head, her voice rising. “They were tactical professionals, Diego! You took them down like they were children. You were glowing! I saw the light in your eyes!”

“She’s not buying the ‘adrenaline’ routine, Diego. This is it. The moment of truth. Are you going to keep pretending, or are you going to finally admit that your life is a circus?”*

Diego looked at her—the woman who had been his anchor in a sea of boring, mundane days—and realized that the lie was suffocating him. He looked at the unconscious men, then back to her, and felt a strange, terrifying sense of liberation.

“I can’t lie to you anymore, Lucía,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, weary tone. “But if I tell you, there is no going back. You’ll be in as deep as I am.”

Lucía didn’t blink. She took another step toward him, her hands trembling as she reached out to brush the dust from his hoodie. “I think I’m already in, don’t you?”

She looked up at him, her expression hardening into a look of fierce, unflinching curiosity. She leaned in, her breath hitching in the cold night air, and whispered the question that sealed his fate.

“Who are you really, Diego?”

Diego opened his mouth, the God in his head silent for the first time, waiting to see what he would choose. He looked at the dark, cold city around them and then at the only person who had ever truly tried to understand him.

“I’m just the vessel,” Diego whispered, his voice cold and strange. “And you’re going to regret asking that.”