Each of us goes on our different paths.

  Prior to now, Melissa drew a map for everyone to find themselves around the area of the incident.

  I was assigned to the southwest district.

  As far as I remember, the whole neighborhood has been evacuated. How can she be sure about the positions to find them? But as they say, desperate moments call for desperate measures.

  I jump on top of a house, running on the rooftops.

  The sky keeps darkening. I look down at the crowd below. I see a motel placement. 'Sharam' is written on their board in faded lettering that catches the last rays of dying sunlight.

  I stop at a point where I can see it from the rooftop. The late-night crowd begins to form, people moving like shadows between the buildings. The air carries the scent of cooking food and distant conversation.

  I picture the place in my mind before moving to observe the other areas.

  After all, I don't know if soldiers might be disguised. They can recognize us, but we can't do the same if they don't have their armor. Any face in the crowd could be a threat. Any person walking past could be watching me right now.

  I jump to another area of the district. The tiles beneath my feet are uneven, some loose enough to shift under my weight. I stop to look at an intersection on the street below. A library and a rental building face each other across the cobblestone road. The library's windows are dark, the rental's curtains drawn. I picture the area, committing the layout to memory, then leave the place.

  I run to another area of the district. This time the houses diminish in number. I see more mansions rising up from manicured grounds. I descend from the rooftop of the last house. Once down, I run through the streets between the mansions.

  The lack of presence is unnerving. My heart keeps pounding at the thought that someone might emerge from nowhere and take hold of me. The mansions loom on either side like sleeping giants. Their gates are shot but the light behind the windows above their fences gives the impression my movements are been watched.

  But I have no other choice. This is the only way to make it to the final spot.

  I decided to make the mission in reverse in order to decrease the risk of forgetting my way back or getting caught early.

  It sounded like a good idea in my mind, but when thinking about it in practice, it's very weak. Still, I committed to it, so I press forward.

  As I run through the street of mansions with fences giving the impression of protection, the presence of a fenceless mansion disrupts the monotony of the place.

  The appearance of the fenceless mansion makes me stop. I stand there in the middle of the empty street, breathing hard.

  The mansion is far from the street, set back behind an expanse of open ground, but the segmentation of its territory is pretty clear. Even without a physical barrier, I can sense where the property begins. The presence of the lion statues flanking the entrance path lining up the path, the mansion itself gives the impression of having its own will, its own aura.

  For a moment, I think about going there just to see what's inside. My mind keeps telling me to go back to my mission, to focus on what I came here to do. But it's just like I'm being dared to try and step in. Like the mansion itself is challenging me.

  My body fears to step in. My soul screams to run. But looking at that mansion, it has nothing special besides not having a fence along the limited area. It's just a building. Yet I can't shake the feeling that crossing that invisible boundary would be a mistake I wouldn't walk away from.

  "Agh…"

  I almost forgot to breathe. The air rushes into my lungs in a sudden gasp.

  I should really get back to the mission.

  After getting my mind back under control, I race to the next point. My legs carry me forward on instinct. The following street also has a rental house. Unlike the other rentals in the city, this one's lights are off. Completely dark. No glow from candles or lanterns in any window.

  I get close to it, my footsteps slowing as I approach.

  A house made of first-quality wood. I step onto the veranda, the boards creaking softly under my weight. I lean close to look through the square windows. Because of the dark, I'm unable to see anything inside. Just blackness pressing against the glass.

  My fingers sweep across the glass of the window. A slight dust particle is wiped away, leaving a clean streak on the otherwise grimy surface.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  This place is most definitely occupied. The dust is fresh.

  In total, there are three rentals in the district. Bazef is indeed a big city.

  I pull out the handmade letter from my pocket. The paper is rough against my fingers.

  The letter has been written by Melissa before we left the gathering. Her handwriting is surprisingly elegant compared to the image I have of her.

  I leave the letter on the doorstep, tucking it partially under the door so it won't blow away, then begin retracing the path I took. But this time I take another alternative route to avoid the path of the fenceless mansion.

  I both fear and yearn to enter that place, but I don't want to delay anything at this point. I've not been of great help so far. The least I can do is complete this simple task without getting distracted.

  Even in the way similar people live, there is still a way to stand out. That mansion stands out. It calls to me. But I force myself to keep walking.

  After leaving the area, I get to the intersection with the rental building.

  As the darkness prevails, the question of being identified gets out of my mind. The shadows are deep enough now that even if soldiers are watching, they won't be able to make out my face clearly. So I drop the letter at the rental's entrance, placing it carefully where it will be found.

  I continue my journey, this time to the motel. I descend from the rooftops and begin walking, blending into the crowd. The people around me are finishing their daily business, heading home or to taverns for the evening. No one pays me any attention. I'm just another face in the mass of bodies.

  I finally make it to my destination. The Sharam motel stands before me, its sign creaking slightly in the evening breeze.

  There I drop a letter too, slipping it under the front door where the proprietor will find it first thing.

  With that, my mission is over.

  I look at the crowd, thoughtful.

  Now all I can do is wait.

  I clench my fist at my side.

  Really, all I can do. Is that really all I'm capable of?

  I walk with no hastiness, just like the citizens in the crowd.

  The candle lights and lanterns start to ignite even stronger as full darkness settles over the city. The light makes me look up at the elevated rail system that runs above the streets like a river.

  After all this time, I've almost forgotten about the train trip I promised Martin. I was really expecting to get through the recruitment. Looking upon what Melissa said, if we manage to succeed, I can expect something in return.

  Seeing the rail so high above me, I wonder if it were to break, what would happen? Would the trains come crashing down into the streets below? How many would die?

  After all, an incident happened, and not much has been done despite an evacuation taking place. The authorities move slowly when they move at all.

  If an event like that were ever to happen, how much damage would it cause to the people of this place? How many lives would be lost? How many homes destroyed?

  Would they reconstruct everything from scratch? Or would they just abandon this part of the city entirely, let it become a ruin?

  My random thoughts are really parasitic, growing and spreading in my mind like weeds. I haven't been here when it was built, so why am I thinking about its fall?

  I fall to the ground, pushed by a strong force. Someone wearing a red hood bumps into me hard enough to knock me off my feet. The impact drives the air from my lungs.

  I take time making sense of the moment, my thoughts scrambling to catch up with what just happened. They disappear into the crowd before I can even turn my head to look. An elderly man stops to help me up, lending me a weathered hand.

  "People these days, they don't even know how to respect others." The elderly man's voice is kind despite his words. "Are you alright, son?"

  "Yes, sir. Thanks for the hand." I take his offered help and pull myself up, then tap the dirt from my clothes. My heart is starting to race for reasons that have nothing to do with the fall.

  "And that red hood. Who even dresses like that these days?"

  The words of the old man bring me back to reality with the force of a slap. The red hood.

  I grab the old man frantically, my fingers clutching at his sleeve. "Sir, did they have a black attire? the hooded person, were they wearing black?"

  The old man shivers under my palm, clearly startled by my sudden intensity. "Uh-uhmm…" He thinks for a bit, his brow furrowing. "Now that you mention it, it seems so. Yes, black dress, I think."

  "Crap." My hands leave the elder's arm abruptly. "Sorry, I have to go."

  I run in the direction where the figure disappeared into the crowd.

  No, wait. I should go to the meeting spot. If it's really our target, he'll be there.

  I pivot sharply in the direction of the incident area, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a basket.

  It's my fault. If we miss him, it'll totally be my fault. I was careless. I wasn't paying attention.

  I grit my teeth, running as fast as I can toward the place. My legs pump beneath me. My lungs burn with the effort.

  The people slowly disappear from the streets as I get closer to the evacuated zone. Gravel crunches under my feet. Broken houses loom on either side, their walls cracked and collapsed. Some are missing entire sections, exposing the rooms inside like opened wounds.

  This scene is definitely different from what we saw after coming here with Filip this morning.

  I can only think of the worst possibilities now. What if someone got there before me? What if they're hurt? What if I'm too late?

  After running to the alley, I start walking, forcing myself to slow down.

  A way to delay my worst thoughts. To give myself time to prepare for what I might find.

  I make it to the incident site, lit by the light of the moon overhead. The silver glow makes everything look unreal, like a painting or a dream.

  In front of me, Dalia is being choked on the ground inside a small crater. Her face is turning purple. Her hands claw uselessly at the arm around her throat. The bodies of two other men are smashed on the ground nearby, painting the area with their blood. The dark liquid pools around them, reflecting the moonlight like black mirrors.

  There's saliva foaming from Dalia's mouth as she struggles to breathe.

  The red-hooded man keeps forcing through, his grip tightening. He doesn't even seem to notice me.

  I run without thinking, lunging at him with everything I have. He looks in my direction at the last second. Our eyes enter into contact.

  Then I'm flying away from him, launched backward by a force I didn't see coming. I hit the ground hard, my body scraping across the rough surface. Pain explodes through my back and shoulders.

  My vision begins to blur at the edges. Blood trickles into my eye from a cut on my forehead.

  I look up at him approaching me with slow, deliberate steps. He's released Dalia, at least. She's gasping for air behind him.

  He left Dalia at least. But I'm scared. This time I'll die.