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 palm—even 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 them—one of many—but deep down, he knew he didn’t belong there.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Because he couldn’t.
In his mind, he was just a pawn in a game.
The only source of color in this world came from the flashing advertisements—bombarding 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 Nox’s coat.
These ads are nothing more than distractions—a 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 if…
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 city’s hum fading into the background.
13:55.
“Five minutes to go.
The weirdly dressed guy always came with the bus around the corner at 13:37.
It’s do or die, baby.”
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 looked…
"How unsuspicious," he mused sarcastically.
The outfit had style, sure.
But it certainly didn’t 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 coat’s 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 screen’s reflection—clear as the ocean. His snout, barely visible beneath the coat’s collar, was rust-orange, fading to a snowy white on his chin.
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"Hopefully, I won’t get recognized."
Earlier, he had tucked his tail into the coat. He wasn’t 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 synthetic—a 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 people—pick 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 control—understanding the risks, knowing the angles. But this? This was a gamble. A deal in uncharted territory, where instincts weren’t 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
“I’m 2739, and you are”
Noxes heart stopped for a second
Then the protogen continued
“ … late.”
His voice sounded robotic, calm and Rehearsed.
“I thought you had better things to do than waste my time.”
His tone was sharp, but beneath it, a hint of curiosity—like he was assessing Nox.
The stale scent of cigarettes hung in the air.
Nox wasn’t a smoker.
He never had been.
He had always seen it as a weakness—something 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.
“The bus,” Nox said, feigning casual indifference. “It had technical issues. Sorry I’m late.”
Of course, that wasn’t 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 didn’t want him to make a scene. Chet was far too good at that.
This all was of course that the real trader couldn’t 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.
“I don’t give a damn. It’s important we meet at the same time every week. Don’t 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?”
Nox nodded quickly, his heart pounding.
“Yeah, understood. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
He kept his voice calm, controlled—despite the nervous edge.
The Protogen never even turned his head toward Nox, still holding his phone up like they weren’t having a conversation.
“We can’t have any contact outside this,” the Protogen continued.
“It’s against the rules.”
He waved his hand slightly, mimicking a casual phone conversation.
“We hold ourselves and the people we work with responsible.”
Nox remained silent.
His thoughts rushed by like a train.
I can’t 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.
“Very well. I don’t have time for mistakes.”
Nobody did.
Nox wanted to respond—something sharp, something to regain control of the conversation.
But he held his tongue.
"If you mess this up," the Protogen added, "you’ll be in over your head before you even realize it.”
No warnings.
No second chances.
The Protogen reached into his coat and pulled out a small, sleek case. He handed it over to Nox.
“You know what to do.”
Nox reached for the case, fingers brushing against the Protogen’s.
He barely held back a shiver.
The weight of the transaction settled in his palm—the 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 Protogen’s gaze lingered, watching him like a hawk.
“You have no idea what this stick is worth in the right hands”
His voice was even, a glimpse of regret shined through the stagnant voice—there was weight behind these words.
Nox didn’t dare glance back.
He knew the rules—never 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 couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
Too easy.
Too smooth.
But he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it.
This was just another job.
Just another Mission.
Slipping into the crowd, he smirked.
"Well, that wasn’t 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 didn’t pick up—so Nox texted instead
“call me back, TreeHugger. “
The weight of the transaction faded with every word he typed.
One job done.
But the next was just beginning.