Shadows Over Routine
746 Words
The rain hit the pavement like tiny fists of memory, tapping against the windows of Alex’s small apartment above the pizza shop. Morning light struggled to seep through the gray clouds as Alex stood shirtless in front of the mirror, bruises darkening his ribs from last night's encounter.
He buttoned his uniform slowly, his reflection divided—half the goofy pizza guy, half the silent executioner. He smiled at the man in the mirror, the way a mask smiles for a crowd.
Downstairs, the scent of tomato sauce and burnt crust greeted him like routine. Mario, the owner, waved him over.
“Another rainy day, Alex. You okay?”
Alex nodded. “Rain makes tips better.” He forced a laugh.
He loaded the delivery bags and mounted his scooter like a soldier returning to the battlefield.
But today was different.
Halfway through his second delivery, an old woman stopped him on the sidewalk. Her hand trembled as she held out a grocery bag.
“Son, would you mind helping me cross? These streets don’t like old bones.”
He smiled, truly this time, and took the bag. “Let’s cross together, Ma’am. I’ll protect you from traffic and time.”
That was the part no one saw—Alex’s heart still beating beneath all that shadow.
Surveillance
Alex didn’t notice the black car parked across the street until the third delivery.
At first, it seemed ordinary—just another sedan with tinted windows, rain trickling slowly down the windshield. But as he stepped out of the building and glanced again, he felt it: that stillness, like eyes breathing without blinking.
He rode past the car slowly. His heart didn’t race, but his brain was already counting exits, landmarks, and shadows. A camera lens flashed faintly behind the passenger window.
He turned the corner casually, then doubled back through an alley. From a high window, he watched as a man in a cap stepped out of the car, holding a photo—his photo.
“Clocked,” he muttered.
Someone was watching. Not a cop. Not a civilian. This was precision surveillance. Someone with resources. Someone who knew.
He got back on the scooter, smiling as he delivered a slice to a kid’s birthday party.
“Here comes the pizza knight!” he joked, his eyes scanning every adult in the room.
The Footsteps Behind
That night, Alex didn’t go home.
Instead, he circled the city for hours, riding aimlessly—except it wasn’t aimless. He was baiting them. Watching for patterns. Letting the shadow behind him grow confident.
Near midnight, he parked his scooter behind an old library and disappeared into the darkness.
A minute later, a man in a dark coat turned the corner. His steps were too light for a drunk, too focused for a random wanderer. Alex watched from the rooftop.
Too slow.
The man looked over his shoulder, then crouched behind a dumpster and lifted his phone. Whispered something in another language. Alex heard the word “ghost” and “confirmed.”
His eyes narrowed.
Before the man could react, Alex dropped silently behind him. The man turned, but Alex’s hand was already around his throat, dragging him into silence.
“No cops. No badge. No soul,” Alex whispered.
“Tell your boss he’s looking in the wrong direction. Or better—tell him nothing.”
A minute later, only the rain remained. Alex vanished, but the message had been sent.
He was being followed. The hunt… might be turning.
The Flash Drive
Alex didn’t kill the man.
He left him unconscious, zip-tied to a stairwell in an abandoned mall, with nothing but a warning and a missing phone.
Back in his apartment, Alex cracked the device open. No passwords. Too confident.
Within minutes, he found it—an encrypted folder named “Revenant Alpha.” Inside were photos… dozens of them. Himself. Delivering pizza. Feeding cats. Walking out of the dojo. Laughing. Training.
Some of them dated back months.
Then he saw something worse: a name. "Project Revenant." Under it, a document labeled “Subject: A-17 — Recovered Asset.”
Alex stood still. The screen glowed in his hands.
He wasn’t being investigated.
He was being tracked… as property.
He closed the laptop slowly, breathing through his nose. Not panic. Not fear.
This was something colder.
“They’ve found me,” he whispered.
And this time, they wouldn’t stop until he disappeared—for good.
- Writer
