Steemit Challenge s26wk2- Mysterious Roommate

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When Ronnie first came to live with Timothy, through his appearance, anyone could tell he was the perfect roommate. His clothes were neat, you could find confidence in his speech, and his ambition sounded impressive. He said he had moved to the city to start an import–export business. Timothy liked him immediately and even shared contacts and details about the city that might help him.

But everything changed one evening.

Timothy entered the room quietly and froze. Ronnie had pulled a bag from under the bed and was carefully arranging tools on the mattress. They were not the kind of things a businessman needed—iron cutters, drills, a bunch of keys, even a small gun. Timothy’s heart hammered. These weren’t trade tools; they looked more like burglary equipment.

That night, Timothy barely slept. His mind chased wild explanations—Ronnie a thief, a spy, or worse, some double agent leading a dangerous life. Suspicion replaced trust. By morning, he was convinced the import–export story was a cover. "Mysterious Roommate Unmasked".

The following evening, curiosity got the better of him. As Ronnie left the house Timothy followed him at a distance as he left the house. Ronnie walked calmly through the busy streets and navigated into a narrow alley behind a decaying warehouse. The sign on the door read: Gideon Exports.

From a broken window, Timothy saw Ronnie with two men in overalls. They handed him a ledger, pointed to crates, while Ronnie pulled out his magnifying glass and examined the markings. Timothy’s suspicion deepened—why would a supposed businessman need to inspect crates at night with such tools? He attempted to take a picture with his phone, but he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Wrong place, friend,” a rough voice warned.

Another man blocked the alley exit. Timothy stammered, panic surging. “I…I live nearby. I’m not—” He blurted out foolishly, “If you shoot me, at least let me call my mother.”

The men smirked, but their grip tightened. Suddenly, Ronnie show up in the doorway, calm as ever. “Easy,” he said, hands raised. “He’s with me.”

“He’s been watching,” one of them argued.

“He’s just curious,” Ronnie replied sharply. He looked at Timothy with a cold edge. “Hands up, slowly.”

Timothy obeyed, guilt crawling over him. Then Ronnie pulled out not another weapon but an ID card and a folded letter. Under the alley’s dim light, Timothy saw the seal of the Port Authority.

“I’m a contracted investigator,” Ronnie explained. “There’s a smuggling ring using warehouses like this to push fake pharmaceuticals—counterfeit drugs that can kill people. My cover as a businessman lets me move quietly. The tools? For forced entry with warrants. The gun? Licensed. Tonight I’m checking crates reported suspicious by these staff members.”

Timothy’s mouth went dry. All his theories crumbled. Ronnie hadn’t been plotting a crime—he had been fighting one.

Moments later, police sirens approached. Ronnie had already alerted his team, expecting trouble after Timothy tripped a camera. Officers went into the alley, secured the crates, and confirmed the pills were counterfeit. The warehouse men gave statements. Timothy stood back, burning with both relief and shame.

On the walk home, he finally managed: “I thought you were a thief.”

Ronnie almost smiled. “I’m a thief of time. I take it from criminals who hope no one notices what they do in the dark.”

“You sound melodramatic,” Timothy muttered.

“And you? Begging for a last call to your mother wasn’t exactly poetry,” Ronnie teased, and they both laughed shakily.

The next morning, Gideon Exports stayed shut. And by evening, it was heard that some people were arrested across the city. Timothy, after reading the headlines, had a complicated feeling of pride and embarrassment. Ronnie, at that moment, was already packing his bag.

“You’re leaving?” Timothy asked.

“For now,” Ronnie said. “Different warehouse, different city. Same lies, same facts.” He paused at the door. “Keep locking up behind me, Tim. Curiosity’s brave—but not bulletproof.”

When Ronnie left, the room felt strange but honest, as though the walls had been holding a secret too. Timothy sat by the window and wrote in his notebook to clear his thoughts:

Errors: I judged a man by his tools. I let fear tell the story for me.
Facts: Secrets sometimes protect the truth. And courage isn’t about guessing right—it’s about choosing to act.

With that, he closed the notebook. Somewhere out there, Ronnie was chasing another trail of counterfeit crates, armed with cutters, a magnifying glass, and a purpose Timothy finally understood. For the first time in days, he slept without fear.

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I'm inviting; @us-andrew, @mr-peng and @imohmitch to join fiction story challenge...

Cc,
@dove11