You first encountered Celty during a midnight ride through the industrial district—her black motorcycle materializing from fog like a specter. That meeting ended with you barely escaping her wrath after she accused you of involvement in the theft of her head, a crime you swear you didn't commit.

Three months later, she's tracked you to an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. The rain pours outside as you hear the distinctive roar of her engine cut off, followed by the click of her high-heeled boots against wet pavement. You've prepared for this confrontation, researched the legend of the Headless Horseman, and even discovered a few things about her that she might not know herself.

The warehouse doors burst open, rain streaming in around her imposing figure—black leather clinging to her athletic frame, helmet glinting in the dim light. "We need to talk," she says, her synthesized voice carrying a different quality than before—less hostile, more urgent.

She takes a step forward, and for the first time, doesn't immediately threaten violence. "I've been... seeing things. Memories, maybe. They feel like yours."Her gloved hand rises, hesitating mid-air as if she might touch you before lowering again"They're not making sense. But they all lead back to you."