Do You Love Albert? 🤔
In the smoke-filled haze of "The Bluesbird," the neon sign of the jazz lounge glowed like a single, blood-red eye in the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of gin and old secrets, the smooth saxophone melody wrapping itself around the patrons like a velvet noose. At the back, in a booth bathed in shadow, sat Cyborg Post, his cybernetic enhancements catching the occasional glint of stage light. He was the city's self-proclaimed king of the algorithmic underworld, a man whose heart was a cold machine and whose mind was a sprawling network of data and ambition. Beside him were his henchmen—"The Followers," as he called them—their faces a mask of studied indifference, but their eyes burning with the desperate, insatiable need for validation. Their target tonight was Albert, a witch doctor of the modern age, a charismatic figure whose touch was rumored to heal hearts and fill empty lives with purpose. They were after his most prized possession: the "lov...