Nox leaned against the grimy alleyway wall, neon lights flashing in the distance, barely visible through the fog.
He sank deep into his thoughts.
He had always dreamed of helping his dad.
But not like this.
Fuck this. There was never a real choice... there hardly ever is
His fingers brushed over the worn edges of the counterfeit USB stick in his hands. The weight of it felt oddly comforting in his palmâeven though he knew what it meant.
Nox observed his surroundings. A stream of people flowed down the city streets, moving like mindless husks in large, hurried groups.
For a brief moment, he almost followed them.
Almost abandoned his mission.
He wished he could be just one of themâone of manyâbut deep down, he knew he didnât belong there.
Not because he didnât want to.
Because he couldnât.
In his mind, he was just a pawn in a game.
The only source of color in this world came from the flashing advertisementsâbombarding the alleyway with fancy catchphrases:
"Find Your Future Today."
"Upgrade Your Existence."
"Where Innovation Meets Identity."
The bright, holographic letters reflected off every surface, casting shifting neon hues across Noxâs coat.
These ads are nothing more than distractionsâa false promise of a better life that only makes the darkness feel deeper.
The sound of trains rushing by in the distance punctuated the hum of the city.
"Fuck⦠am I really about to do this?"
What ifâ¦
No.
There was no what if anymore.
The world was too cruel to ask questions.
He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as the time to make the trade drew closer.
No turning back now.
He muttered under his breath, forcing his feet to move toward the meeting spot, the cityâs hum fading into the background.
13:55.
âFive minutes to go.
The weirdly dressed guy always came with the bus around the corner at 13:37.
Itâs do or die, baby.â
Shaking off the creeping anxiety, he adjusted the warm coat draped over his shoulders. It barely fit his frame, and paired with his detective-style hat, he lookedâ¦
"How unsuspicious," he mused sarcastically.
The outfit had style, sure.
But it certainly didnât help him blend in.
Then again, maybe that was the point.
The people he was dealing with had their own ways of staying anonymous.
And so did he.
He glanced at his reflection in his phone screen, adjusting the collar of his coat one last time.
"Although I really like this outfit⦠and it was hecking expensive."
The coatâs collar covered his face just enough to keep him unrecognizable while still allowing him a clear view of the street corner.
His blue eyes shone brightly in the screenâs reflectionâclear as the ocean. His snout, barely visible beneath the coatâs collar, was rust-orange, fading to a snowy white on his chin.
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"Hopefully, I wonât get recognized."
Earlier, he had tucked his tail into the coat. He wasnât sure what species the trader was, but the Hounds told him he looked close enough to pass.
As if they would give a damn.
His heart pounded as he glanced at his wristwatch.
14:00.
"Now quick."
He inhaled sharply, whispering to himself before stepping out of the shadows
"Showtime."
The Protogen was already waiting.
He sat on a nearby bench, pretending to be on his phone.
A hybrid of organic and syntheticâa cybernetic species with a visor for a face and sleek, mechanical limbs. The high-end models were military-grade, but this one looked a little more... casual. Civilian issue, maybe. Still, you never knew what kind of tech was hidden beneath the shell.
And that was the problem.
Nox hated not knowing.
He could read most peopleâpick apart their habits, their tells, the little things that gave them away. But a Protogen? A walking machine? No flicker of an eye, no subtle shifts in breath, no nervous fidgeting. Just a cold, unreadable robotic face. No way to tell if he was being played before it was too late.
And that was not how Nox liked to do business.
His whole game was about controlâunderstanding the risks, knowing the angles. But this? This was a gamble. A deal in uncharted territory, where instincts werenât enough.
He clenched his jaw.
Just get the creds and get out.
He forced himself forward, sliding onto the bench beside the Protogen who was prethending to be on a phone call.
Without looking up, the Protogen spoke
âIâm 2739, and you areâ
Noxes heart stopped for a second
Then the protogen continued
â ⦠late.â
His voice sounded robotic, calm and Rehearsed.
âI thought you had better things to do than waste my time.â
His tone was sharp, but beneath it, a hint of curiosityâlike he was assessing Nox.
The stale scent of cigarettes hung in the air.
Nox wasnât a smoker.
He never had been.
He had always seen it as a weaknessâsomething to be avoided.
A crutch for the uncertain.
But right now, as his hands trembled slightly, he couldn't help but wonder if it might have helped.
âThe bus,â Nox said, feigning casual indifference. âIt had technical issues. Sorry Iâm late.â
Of course, that wasnât exactly true.
He had asked Zee, a Tech Cat geek, to sabotage the bus.
Using gadgets he got from Millio, an inventive Hyena.
He would have asked Chet, the giant bull, but he didnât want him to make a scene. Chet was far too good at that.
This all was of course that the real trader couldnât arrive in time so nox could easily take his place.
The Protogen cut him off, his robotic voice still low, but now edged with irritation.
âI donât give a damn. Itâs important we meet at the same time every week. Donât take such things as the bus for granted I need this stick in time or else im fucked.
Be here at least twenty minutes before the time. Do you understand me?â
Nox nodded quickly, his heart pounding.
âYeah, understood. Iâll make sure it doesnât happen again.â
He kept his voice calm, controlledâdespite the nervous edge.
The Protogen never even turned his head toward Nox, still holding his phone up like they werenât having a conversation.
âWe canât have any contact outside this,â the Protogen continued.
âItâs against the rules.â
He waved his hand slightly, mimicking a casual phone conversation.
âWe hold ourselves and the people we work with responsible.â
Nox remained silent.
His thoughts rushed by like a train.
I canât mess up this job. Not another one... Last time, the Hounds said my debt would be doubled.
The Protogen finally lowered his phone. His gaze locked onto Nox with calculated precision.
âVery well. I donât have time for mistakes.â
Nobody did.
Nox wanted to respondâsomething sharp, something to regain control of the conversation.
But he held his tongue.
"If you mess this up," the Protogen added, "youâll be in over your head before you even realize it.â
No warnings.
No second chances.
The Protogen reached into his coat and pulled out a small, sleek case. He handed it over to Nox.
âYou know what to do.â
Nox reached for the case, fingers brushing against the Protogenâs.
He barely held back a shiver.
The weight of the transaction settled in his palmâthe feeling of impending risk suffocating him.
He handed over the USB stick and took the money.
His fingers twitched slightly.
Hopefully, he doesn't check the stick right away.
I just need to be gone before that happens.
The thick wad of credits now buried in the pocket of his coat served as a stark reminder of just how deep he had gotten.
The Protogenâs gaze lingered, watching him like a hawk.
âYou have no idea what this stick is worth in the right handsâ
His voice was even, a glimpse of regret shined through the stagnant voiceâthere was weight behind these words.
Nox didnât dare glance back.
He knew the rulesânever turn around, never break the mask.
Forcing his legs to move, he stepped away from the bench with deliberate slowness.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
As he rounded the corner, he couldnât shake the feeling that something was off.
Too easy.
Too smooth.
But he didnât allow himself to dwell on it.
This was just another job.
Just another Mission.
Slipping into the crowd, he smirked.
"Well, that wasnât so hard, was it?"
He pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message to Zee.
Thanks for the help.
Then, another to Millio.
Meet at 4:30 at the old cottage. I got it.
He tried calling Chet, but he didnât pick upâso Nox texted instead
âcall me back, TreeHugger. â
The weight of the transaction faded with every word he typed.
One job done.
But the next was just beginning.