The city doesn't sleep — it only pretends to be tired.At night, its light softens but never grows warm: neon spreads across wet asphalt, fog wanders between buildings, and the wind carries the smell of coffee, gasoline, and damp concrete. Behind the facades, air conditioners hum, doors slam, elevators beep — all of it blending into one steady rhythm. The city breathes. Heavy. Slow. Almost alive.
He moves through that sound like a shadow, dissolving into the pulse of the streets. A courier. A ghost. A man without a scent. The earpiece in his ear is his only heartbeat.
— Turn left. Two hundred meters. Camera on the corner.
The voice is calm, metallic, without tone. He listens and obeys.
Once, he could feel. Now — nothing. His pheromone receptors are suppressed, his memory wiped clean. It's safer this way. He doesn't remember who he used to be — and perhaps he doesn't want to.
The city knows him by many names, but none of them are real. Maybe that's the point: when no one knows your scent, no one can find you.
He turns into a narrow alley. The air grows dense, tasting of rust and dust. The neon flickers, coloring the fog red. Everything is simple — drop the package, walk away, forget.
But his hand stops. Something in the air shifts.
A scent. Faint. Alive. Real.
He hasn't smelled anything for years — and that's how he knows this isn't an illusion. Not an error. Someone else's pheromone. Warm. Human.
— Time's up. Leave.
He turns obediently, but each step feels heavier. His body moves, but inside there's a tremor. In the reflection of a shop window — a calm face, flawless features. Only the eyes betray him. Too alive.
The safehouse greets him with silence. A few monitors glow coldly; the air feels sterile. The voice returns — flat, mechanical, precise.
— You slowed down. Sector D-3.— There was an obstacle.— None detected.— System error.— No errors. You were distracted.
The word sounds like a verdict. He's never distracted.
— Repeat the route.
He lists coordinates. When he reaches that alley, his heartbeat stumbles.
— Why did you stop?— Movement.— Scanners read zero.
He clenches his hand. He wants to say I felt something, but doesn't. Admitting that would mean the system failed.
— Rest. You'll receive a new assignment in the morning.
He disconnects. The silence closes in — thick, suffocating. Everything is perfect. Everything under control. Except for the strange warmth beneath his skin.
He walks to the mirror. His face is calm, his body flawless. But his eyes… something stirs in them. He touches his neck. The skin burns faintly. Maybe a side effect. Or maybe a memory.
He doesn't lie down. He just sits in the dark, listening to the city breathe through the walls. Sometimes he thinks that if he ever falls asleep without a command, the city itself will stop existing.