Zeke stood alone, dressed in his casual clothes for the first time in what felt like an eternity—a pair of faded blue jeans, a black tee, and a light gray hoodie. The fabric felt unfamiliar, foreign against his skin, as if he were stepping into the remnants of a life that no longer fit. It had been so long since he had simply been himself—not the Prowler, not a contractor, not a pawn in a greater game, but just Zeke.

He walked along the streets of District 7, forcing himself to see it as an ordinary city, trying—if only for a moment—to pretend he was just another face in the crowd. But the illusion never lasted. No matter how much he tried to blend in, he knew this place would never be home.

He longed for the outside.

For the crisp night air brushing against his skin, the endless sprawl of stars painting the sky, the humid chill after a fresh rain. Here, in the Undercity, he was nothing more than a caged beast—conditioned, restrained, unleashed only when commanded. A hunting dog who barked when told and sat when ordered.

The weight of it pressed down on him as he drifted toward the border of District 7, leaving its familiar structures behind as he entered District 3—an area overseen by none other than Fredric.

Unlike the grim, industrial nature of other districts, District 3 was built for leisure. The streets were lined with restaurants, theaters, cafés, and bars—places where workers sought solace after grueling shifts. Massive artificial parks stretched across the district, polypropylene domes towering over central plazas, enclosing lush greenhouses filled with vibrant vegetation. Trees, kept alive through artificial means, stretched their branches toward a sky that did not exist.

Inside these domes, the illusion of nature was carefully manufactured.

Squirrels, bred in captivity, were released in controlled numbers to roam freely, their movements carefully monitored to maintain the "natural" aesthetic. Insects, delicately placed along blades of grass, completed the illusion, while powerful UV lamps cast their warm glow, mimicking the light of a sun that had never touched this place.

Of all the districts, this one carried the greatest sense of allure. The streets were spotless, well-maintained, untouched by the rampant crime that plagued other areas. Here, only the bars served as gathering places for gangsters, their presence tolerated so long as they did not disrupt the fragile peace.

Zeke entered one of the domes, stepping into the artificial serenity it provided.

He found a bench beneath the shade of a towering chestnut tree and sat down, exhaling slowly. The air was crisp—filtered, conditioned, but it lacked the depth of true freshness. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself pretend, even if just for a second, that he was somewhere else.

A presence approached.

His eyes flickered open just as Hanna stepped forward, casting a slight shade over him.

“Took you long enough,” she said, crossing her arms.

“I’m on time,” Zeke said with a sigh.

“Exactly, I expected you to be early,” Hanna giggled.

Zeke looked up at Hanna, the ponytailed woman standing confidently before him. She wore a short white blouse beneath a cobalt jacket, paired with tailored gray pants that accentuated her lean figure. Soft, carefully applied makeup enhanced her slender face, though there was a certain playful gleam in her eyes. Yet behind her bright smile, Zeke felt a subtle spark of anticipation, as though something weighty lingered just beyond her gaze.

“I like it when you stare. Means I look good, don’t I?” she giggled, striking a teasing pose.

Zeke stood up.

“How should I put this?” He scratched his head. “You look ‘different’ than usual.”

“Of course I do! I tried really hard for our date,” Hanna remarked, pouting.

“Date,” Zeke squinted, “So that’s why you invited me out.”

“Why else, pretty boy?” she winked in response. “Well, shall we head out?” she asked, extending her hand.

“Where are we going?” Zeke asked.

“Where else? To see a movie.” Hanna smirked.

“Fine,” Zeke replied, taking her hand.

The pair strolled toward the nearest cinema, a neon-lit structure towering over the busy city block. Hanna was extraordinarily cheerful, even for her usual buoyant self. She took exaggerated steps, swinging their interlocked fingers back and forth, all while humming a sprightly tune that tugged at Zeke’s memories like a half-forgotten dream.

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“That song,” Zeke paused. “I think I’ve heard it before.”

“Of course you have. Every kid within Lower Babel must have heard it at some point,” Hanna remarked with a warm smile.

“It seems so close, yet so distant,” Zeke murmured, pressing a hand to his temple. “I can’t remember,” he added, his gaze clouding with despair.

“Forgetting a nursery rhyme is not something an adult should feel distressed about,” Hanna replied, gently tapping him on the forehead.

Zeke let out a small laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, swinging their joined hands in time with her humming. “So what is that song?”

“It’s a nursery rhyme that used to be on TV. A song that played as an opening theme for Henry the robot,” she explained.

“Henry the robot?” Zeke asked.

“Yeah. You know, a show where Henry runs into all sorts of problems and solves them with the help of his friends,” Hanna giggled.

“How… educational,” Zeke remarked, staring at the ground with mild embarrassment.

“Well, aren’t you sweet? Shouldn’t you be thanking me for telling you about it?” Hanna teased.

“I don’t know, should I?” Zeke asked with a faint smirk.

“You should,” Hanna replied.

Zeke cleared his throat, then stopped in the middle of the bustling street.

“My fair lady!” he shouted, drawing the startled glances of passersby. “Thank you for gracing my plebeian self with the wonderful information about Henry the robot. I officially extend my gratitude.”

Hanna shook her head, her smile breaking into uncontrollable laughter.

“Much better!” she answered, wiping tears from her eyes.

Eventually, they reached the cinema—a massive, boxy building lit by dancing projectors and plastered with shimmering LED screens blaring endless advertisements. Inside, the décor evoked a glamorous 1950s spectacle: mosaic marble floors swathed in plush red carpeting, clusters of leather sofas for casual lounging, and ornate moldings carved into the corners of the high ceilings. Despite the bright lights and the hum of voices, a faint hush lingered in the air, as if promising secrets behind every door.

“So, what do you want to watch?” Zeke asked.

“No clue,” Hanna admitted, her voice wavering slightly.

“You came here without knowing?!” Zeke’s eyebrows shot up in shock.

“Well, I did look at the list,” Hanna said, lowering her gaze. “But I thought they all sucked, so I figured you might help me pick one that doesn’t,” she laughed.

“Fuck it! Let’s eenie, meeny, miny, mo it,” Zeke replied.

“Yeah! I’m sure we’ll pick something that’s not terrible,” Hanna responded with eager enthusiasm.

The movie sucked.

Of all genres, they randomly selected a romantic tearjerker. Zeke dozed off within the first ten minutes, and Hanna, unimpressed by the subpar acting, found the film impossible to take seriously. They emerged from the theater looking thoroughly deflated.

“Well, that was a mess…” Hanna muttered, wearing a sour expression.

“What do you mean? I had a blast!” Zeke declared with exaggerated excitement.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Hanna said, eyeing him with a mix of sadness and concern. “It’s just… you seemed out of it recently. So tired and sad. I thought if I took you to the movies, maybe I could make you feel better,” she confessed, her voice laced with worry.

“Well, sleep does wonders for the weary. Now come, let me take you home,” Zeke offered, gently grasping her hand.

They walked for a while in silence, navigating the labyrinthine streets until they reached District 7. The distant neon glow flickered across their faces, painting shifting colors across the concrete walls. Just before arriving at Hanna’s apartment complex, she halted abruptly.

“That girl… Elaine, were you together?” she asked, voice trembling with uncertainty.

“I’m not sure how to answer that question,” Zeke admitted, hesitating.

“Truthfully,” Hanna pressed, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

Zeke sighed.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly.

“What the fuck?!” Hanna scoffed, tears welling in her eyes. “Does it not bother you that I hurt her, and now you’re here with me, taking me home, not her?! I got her killed! How can you not hate me!?” she cried out, voice cracking.

“I…” Zeke scratched his head and turned to face her fully. “I can’t remember much about us. Sometimes, I get glimpses, pieces of what we were. But… as it is right now, I’m not too sure what exactly the two of us meant to each other,” he said, forcing a sad smile.

“How does that make any sense?” Hanna demanded, wiping away her tears.

“The final trial was something I shouldn’t have been able to complete,” Zeke explained, his voice oddly measured. “It was supposed to be impossible. But by some miracle, I did it. The cost of that—everything I am, everything I had.”

“So, who am I talking to, then?” Hanna asked softly.

“I’m a shattered mess,” Zeke replied. “Unable to remember my own past. To be honest, I don’t even know who exactly I am. I know certain facts about myself, things I assume should matter, but for some reason I can’t bring myself to care. And then there are these damned flashes—random memories that haunt me every night.”

Hanna stepped closer and placed her hand on Zeke’s, gently uncurling his clenched fingers.

“Why are you so stuck on defining yourself?” she asked, voice calm despite her turmoil. “You are who you are. There isn’t more to be than that. Even if no words fit you, you’re still you—an indescribable mess. Now tell me, who were you before coming here?” she prodded, smiling through the pain in her eyes.

“I was a kid who killed his own mother,” Zeke replied after a small pause. “A bullied child who tried desperately to become a Contractor but failed. I was a nerd who was really into demonology.” He exhaled, voice trembling at the last confession.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve changed a fair bit since then,” Hanna said, pressing her palm gently against Zeke’s chest.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if it’s for better or worse,” he murmured, glancing up at the Trade Center’s spire, glowing against the night sky like a distant beacon.

“I think that depends on you,” Hanna remarked softly, stepping forward under the city lights.

“On me…” Zeke whispered.

“Anyway, it’s not about who you are or were,” Hanna added with a gentle laugh. “It’s about who you want to be next.”

“I think,” Zeke stumbled over his words, “I think I want to become a hero.”

Hanna looked into his eyes, struck by the earnest light shimmering there.

“I think maybe you can,” she said, offering him a tender, genuine smile.

Suddenly, a piercing blast ripped through the tranquil night, rattling the streets. A towering building right beside them burst into an inferno of smoke and debris, shattering windows and sending lethal shards spiraling in all directions. For one breathless second, the world seemed to freeze—caught between the glow of distant city lights and the roar of chaos unleashed.

image [https://i.postimg.cc/yWqf2zBN/Name-Alias-X-Species-Demon-Age-80-Height-182cm-Affiliation-Knights-Rank-Special-grade-investigator.png]