The city was alive with chaos, the kind of energy that buzzed just beneath the surface, threatening to burst. Neon lights reflected off slick, rain-soaked streets, casting fractured shadows across the alleys I darted through. Every step felt heavier, my boots echoing in the silence between bursts of distant sirens. The satchel weighed against my shoulder, its contents pulsing in my mind like a heartbeat I couldn’t ignore.
I couldn’t go home like this.
Replica was a ghost, an apparition no one was supposed to notice. But Liz? Liz was someone with a history, a face, and far too much to lose. The transition from one to the other had to be seamless, a vanishing act without a hint of suspicion. I didn’t just have to make it back to my apartment—I had to shed Replica like a second skin without anyone realizing she’d ever been there.
But the city wasn’t making it easy.
The alleys I took were darker than usual, the glow of streetlamps broken by shadows of scaffolding and abandoned crates. Each corner I rounded felt like stepping into a trap, my heart pounding as my senses scanned for movement. I’d been careful so far, staying low, avoiding major streets, but the paranoia was setting in. Every sound—a distant shout, the clatter of a trash can, the rumble of engines—felt like a thread unraveling my plan.
What if someone saw me? What if MetaPol was already looking?
I tightened my grip on the satchel’s strap, forcing the panic down. Thinking like that wouldn’t get me anywhere. Replica couldn’t afford to panic. And right now, Liz didn’t exist.
The city felt like a predator, watching, waiting. My every movement echoed too loud in my ears, even though the sound of my boots was swallowed by the hum of distant traffic and the occasional patter of rain. Replica couldn’t afford mistakes. She couldn’t stumble or draw attention. The problem was, I wasn’t just Replica—I was Liz, and Liz could make mistakes.
The thought sent a shiver through me, but I shoved it aside. One thing at a time. First, I needed a plan.
I crouched behind a dumpster in a narrow alley, the smell of rotting food making my stomach churn. A quick glance at my surroundings revealed nothing but dark windows and the faint glow of neon signs in the distance. No cameras, no witnesses. At least, none that I could see. My fingers brushed the satchel, its weight a constant reminder of what I was carrying—stolen tech that MetaPol would kill to recover. And maybe Tempus, too, if he caught up with me.
The tether linking me to him had faded. That was good; it meant he was far enough away that I didn’t have to worry about him closing in. Yet.
“Think, Liz,” I muttered under my breath. “How do you make a ghost disappear?”
I couldn’t just walk into my apartment in full costume. The suit was designed for stealth, but it stood out in all the wrong ways once the mask came off. The silver accents that made me feel invincible in the shadows would be a beacon under the fluorescents of a city street.
The plan to become invisible in a city teeming with life is a paradox I couldn’t escape. Replica was designed for the shadows, but Liz was meant to blend seamlessly into the chaotic tapestry of this city. Now I had to be both, then neither. I leaned against the damp brick wall of the alley, the chill of the rain-soaked concrete seeping through my suit, grounding me in the present.
My mind worked furiously, spinning scenarios and discarding them just as quickly. My apartment wasn’t far, maybe twenty blocks, but the distance felt insurmountable. The streets between here and there were alive with eyes, some suspicious, some indifferent, and a few likely belonging to people looking for me. The satchel on my shoulder might as well have been a neon sign screaming "criminal."
“Alright, Liz,” I whispered to myself, glancing at the far end of the alley where the neon glow of the city bled into the darkness. “You’ve made it this far. Now make it home.”
I tightened the strap of the satchel across my chest, its weight pressing into my side like a reminder of the mess I’d just made. The world beyond the alley felt sharper, louder, and every breath I took seemed to carry a risk. I peeked around the corner, the rain slicing down in jagged sheets under a flickering street lamp. A few pedestrians shuffled by, their heads down and collars up against the cold. Normal people. The kind of people Liz had always been a part of, before.
The suit clung to me, a second skin meant for battle, not blending in. My fingers brushed its smooth surface. The material felt alive, responding to my touch, moving with me in ways that made it impossible to ignore. It was freedom in one sense, but right now, it was a cage. The jagged silver accents might as well have been flashing neon signs screaming vigilante.
I needed to change, but there was no way I could risk going back to my apartment looking like this. Not when every step felt like dragging a spotlight behind me.
The old costume wouldn’t have been a problem. A patched-up jacket, some thrift store jeans, a scarf I could pull up to cover my face—it was easy to melt back into the crowd. This? D’Angelo had outdone himself. The suit was everything I needed for a fight but nothing I needed to disappear. I cursed how perfect it was.
The rain kept falling, soft but insistent, soaking the city in its melancholy rhythm. My thoughts raced as I stood in the alley, clutching the satchel against my side. The world out there was Liz’s world, with its cheap takeout, long shifts, and stolen moments of quiet. Replica belonged to this rain-slick alley, a phantom cloaked in shadows. But I couldn’t stay in this in-between space forever.
I took another glance down the street. Pedestrians moved with the apathy of city life—heads down, faces obscured by hoods or umbrellas. None of them cared who I was. None of them cared about the satchel or the glinting silver on my suit.
But that could change in an instant.
I stepped out from the cover of the dumpster and into the shadow of the alley’s mouth. Each step felt deliberate, careful, like I was testing the world to see if it noticed me. The suit’s boots made no sound on the wet pavement, a gift and a curse. The quietness was perfect for stealth, but it also reminded me how far removed I was from normalcy. Liz’s boots had always been scuffed, heavy, their echoes announcing her presence. These boots whispered, you don’t belong here.
Twenty blocks. I mapped the route in my head. The side streets, the back alleys, the overpasses that would shield me from prying eyes. Even then, the gaps loomed large in my mind—open spaces with streetlights, the glow of store windows, and the chance for someone, anyone, to see me.
I couldn’t risk it. I needed to lose the suit, or at least cover it.
My eyes scanned the street for options. A thrift shop was too far out of my way, and a convenience store would mean walking inside, risking cameras. I’d need to scavenge.
I turned back into the alley, my hands brushing against rain-soaked walls and discarded cardboard boxes. The air smelled faintly of wet asphalt and garbage, but I pushed the revulsion aside. A city this big was bound to have its share of abandoned things—clothes someone had discarded, lost or forgotten.
I crouched by a pile of debris, sifting through the damp mess. Nothing useful. Just scraps of fabric and old paper. I moved further in, searching behind an overturned crate. My fingers brushed something heavier, the texture unmistakable. Fabric.
I pulled it free—a coat, tattered and frayed, but intact enough to cover the suit. The material was heavy, likely waterlogged, but it would do. The color—a faded navy—wouldn’t draw too much attention.
“Not ideal,” I muttered, shaking off the worst of the moisture. I shrugged it on over the suit, the fabric clinging to my shoulders. It smelled faintly of mildew, but the bulk of it softened the suit’s sharp silhouette. The silver accents were hidden, and I looked less like a vigilante and more like someone down on their luck.
Good enough.
Now for the mask.
The half-mask clung snugly to my face, its edges blending seamlessly into the suit. D’Angelo had outdone himself there too—functional, stylish, and infuriatingly conspicuous. I peeled it off carefully, feeling the cold rain hit my exposed skin for the first time. My face felt vulnerable without it, and I quickly pulled the hood of the coat over my head.
A glimpse in a cracked window confirmed the transformation. I wasn’t Liz yet, but I wasn’t entirely Replica anymore either. A nobody in the city’s rain-streaked tapestry.
I tightened the strap of the satchel and stepped back onto the street.
----------------------------------------
The rain did most of the work for me, shrouding everything in a wet haze. My boots carried me forward, steady and deliberate, as I hugged the edges of the buildings. The satchel felt heavier now, its weight pressing against my side like a constant reminder of the danger I was carrying.
With each block, the city seemed to grow louder. Voices carried through the rain, snippets of conversation blending with the drone of passing cars and the occasional honk of a horn. I passed under the flickering glow of a streetlamp, the light catching the coat’s frayed edges. A man leaning against a lamppost barely glanced at me as I passed.
Good.
At the next corner, I ducked into another alley, the shadows swallowing me whole. It was quieter here, the rain reduced to a distant murmur. I leaned against the cold brick wall, catching my breath.
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Fifteen blocks to go.
I allowed myself a moment to think about the old costume, the one I’d thrown together with scraps and desperation. It had been ugly, sure, but it had one advantage: it didn’t look like anything. Just another collection of mismatched clothes that no one would glance at twice. D’Angelo’s suit, for all its perfection, didn’t have that luxury. It screamed identity. Purpose.
This coat was the best I could do, but it still felt like a compromise. A reminder that I was stuck between two worlds, neither of which fully belonged to me.
“I’ll really need to find a better way to disappear and change identity next time…” I sighed at my lack of preparedness.
The rain showed no mercy as I pressed forward, the city streets transforming into a patchwork of shadows and fleeting lights. My steps quickened, though I forced myself not to break into a run. Running attracted attention. Running made you look like you had something to hide, which was exactly what I didn’t need right now.
The coat clung uncomfortably to my body, heavy with dampness, its faint mildew smell almost enough to make me gag. But it did its job, blurring the sharp edges of the suit and hiding the faint glint of the silver accents. The satchel, however, felt like a brand against my side, its weight growing heavier with every block. I pulled the strap tighter, willing it to stop bouncing with each step.
Fourteen blocks.
The sidewalks were busy here, despite the rain. Couples huddled under shared umbrellas, their heads bent close. Lone figures strode past, their faces hidden behind hoods and hats. For a moment, I felt invisible. Just another shadow blending into the city’s rhythm.
But that feeling didn’t last long.
A car rolled by on the slick road, its headlights slicing through the gloom. I instinctively turned my face away, keeping the hood low. My heart thudded as the car slowed, its brake lights flaring like a warning. It wasn’t MetaPol—just an ordinary sedan—but the brief pause was enough to send a spike of paranoia through my chest.
Keep walking. Don’t look back.
I crossed the street, slipping between two delivery trucks idling by the curb. The exhaust fumes mingled with the rain-soaked air, creating a thick, acrid scent that clung to my throat. As I passed the second truck, a loud crash echoed from the alley ahead—a metal trash can hitting the ground.
I froze.
My hand tightened on the satchel’s strap as my eyes darted toward the alley. For a split second, I saw movement—a shadow shifting against the wall—but when I blinked, it was gone. A stray cat, I told myself. Or just the wind.
But my body didn’t relax.
Thirteen blocks.
The rain eased slightly as I turned down a quieter street, the neon glow of shopfronts painting the puddles in fractured colors. I kept close to the buildings, avoiding the open stretch of sidewalk in the center. My fingers brushed the edge of the coat’s pocket, checking for my burner phone. Still there.
A group of teenagers loitered outside a convenience store, their laughter sharp and jarring against the subdued murmur of the city. One of them glanced my way, their gaze lingering just a moment too long. I ducked my head, pretending to adjust the satchel’s strap. When I looked up again, they’d turned back to their conversation.
Twelve blocks.
The tension in my chest didn’t ease. Every corner I turned felt like walking into an ambush, every car that slowed to navigate the rain-slick streets felt like it might stop to ask questions. My fingers ached from gripping the satchel so tightly, but I couldn’t bring myself to relax.
The sound of a siren cut through the air, distant but growing louder. My heart leapt, panic surging as I scanned the street. A police cruiser sped by, its lights flashing but its path unchanging. I let out a shaky breath, my pulse still racing as I pressed on.
Eleven blocks.
The rain hadn’t stopped, but the world felt quieter now, as if the city itself were holding its breath. My steps quickened, the satchel digging into my side like a constant reminder of my gamble. Every sound—the splatter of water against the pavement, the distant hum of a motorcycle, even the soft shuffling of footsteps behind me—felt amplified, distorted by my nerves.
I pulled the hood lower over my face, tilting my chin down. The coat was doing its job, but it couldn’t mask the weight of the satchel or the fact that every inch of me screamed hypervigilance. Stay calm, Liz. They don’t know it’s you.
Ten blocks.
The streetlights flickered overhead as I moved into a stretch of older buildings, their windows boarded up or caked with grime. The city always felt more alive in these parts, like it was quietly rebelling against the forces trying to stamp it out. Steam curled up from a sewer grate, mingling with the misty rain in the air. I clung to the shadows, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
A figure loomed at the corner ahead, huddled under a sagging awning. My breath hitched as I slowed, taking them in. Just a person waiting for something—or someone? Their outline was indistinct, blurred by the dim light and the haze of rain. They shifted slightly, their hands moving to light a cigarette, and I forced myself to breathe again. Nothing unusual. Nothing dangerous.
I kept walking, my boots quiet against the wet pavement, even as my heart hammered in my chest.
Nine blocks.
The quiet grew unnerving as I moved deeper into the city’s underbelly. Most people had retreated indoors, seeking shelter from the weather, but I was still out here, carrying stolen tech and a growing sense of unease. My pulse spiked every time I passed another shadowy figure. Were they just a bystander? A potential threat? MetaPol didn’t usually rely on civilians, but there was always a first time.
Ahead, a pair of headlights swept across the road, cutting through the fog of rain. I froze, my body instinctively pressing into the doorway of an abandoned storefront. The car slowed as it approached, its tires sending ripples through the puddles on the asphalt. My breath hitched as the vehicle stopped, its engine idling.
I couldn’t see the driver. The rain distorted the view, turning the windshield into a canvas of smeared reflections. My fingers curled around the strap of the satchel, every nerve on edge as I waited for them to move.
A door opened. My heart raced. I ducked lower, the damp air pressing against my skin like a warning.
“Where is it?” A voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the rain. It wasn’t MetaPol—not the clipped, efficient tone I expected. This was rougher, angrier.
Another voice answered, muffled but tense. “We’re still searching. It’s not here.”
They weren’t talking about me. Not yet. But it was enough to send a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through my veins. I slipped further into the doorway, my back pressed against the cold metal of the door. The car’s engine rumbled softly as the voices faded, the driver apparently satisfied with whatever they’d heard. The door slammed shut, and the vehicle rolled forward, its headlights cutting a path through the rain.
I didn’t move until the sound of the engine disappeared entirely.
Eight blocks.
The tension in my chest hadn’t eased. Every step felt like a gamble, every alley a potential ambush. I avoided the wider streets now, sticking to the narrow corridors where I could slip into the shadows if needed. The satchel thudded lightly against my hip with each movement, its weight growing heavier with every passing second.
A loud crash echoed from somewhere up ahead, the sound of metal clattering to the ground. My body stiffened, my heart lurching into my throat as I scanned the alley. The noise was followed by a low growl, and I spotted the culprit—a stray dog nosing through a pile of overturned trash cans. Its mangy fur was slick with rain, its ribs visible beneath its soaked coat.
I exhaled shakily, my pulse still pounding. “Just a dog,” I muttered, the words doing little to calm the gnawing paranoia in my gut.
Seven blocks.
The rain lightened as I crossed under an old overpass, its concrete pillars stained with graffiti and time. The shadows here were deeper, the air colder, and my breath formed faint clouds as I moved. The city above felt distant, muted by the layers of infrastructure between us. I could hear the faint rumble of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, but it was far away, another world entirely.
The overpass offered cover but also isolation. If someone cornered me here, there would be nowhere to run. The thought made my skin prickle, and I quickened my pace, the sound of my footsteps swallowed by the oppressive quiet.
Six blocks.
The rain returned as I emerged from the underpass, a steady drizzle that soaked through the frayed edges of the coat. I stuck to the side streets now, avoiding the main thoroughfares where MetaPol patrols might be looking for suspicious activity. The satchel pressed against me like a secret I couldn’t hide, its contents pulsing in my mind.
My breath fogged in the air as I slowed at another corner, peeking around cautiously. The street was quiet, lit by the flickering glow of a single streetlamp. A lone figure shuffled down the sidewalk, their umbrella tilted against the rain. I waited until they were out of sight before crossing, my boots splashing softly through the puddles.
Five blocks.
The neighborhood was changing now, shifting from the industrial sprawl of warehouses and shipping yards to the denser grid of low-rise apartments and corner stores. It was quieter here, less chaotic, but no less dangerous. I knew these streets well, knew the shortcuts and the blind spots. But tonight, they felt unfamiliar, as though the city itself was conspiring against me.
A drone buzzed overhead, its red sensor light cutting through the rain like a blade. I froze, pressing myself against the wall of a convenience store. The drone hovered for a moment, its light sweeping the street, before it moved on, disappearing into the haze of rain.
My breath came in short bursts as I pushed off the wall, my legs trembling slightly. “Almost there,” I whispered to myself, the words hollow but necessary.
Four blocks.
I could see the faint glow of my apartment building in the distance, its weathered facade blending into the night. The sight sent a surge of relief through me, but it was short-lived. This was the most dangerous part—the final stretch. It was where people got careless, where they let their guard down.
I wouldn’t make that mistake.
Three blocks.
The rain had turned the pavement into a patchwork of reflective surfaces, each puddle a distorted mirror of the city above. I avoided them as best I could, sticking to the driest parts of the sidewalk. The satchel felt heavier now, its strap digging into my shoulder as though it were trying to drag me down.
Two blocks.
A figure stood at the corner ahead, their silhouette obscured by the rain. My pulse quickened as I slowed, my eyes darting for an alternate route. The side streets were too exposed, and doubling back would waste precious time. I swallowed hard, pulling the hood lower as I approached.
The figure turned slightly as I passed, their face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. They didn’t say anything, didn’t follow. I didn’t look back.
One block.
The familiar outline of my apartment building loomed ahead, its chipped paint and rusted fire escape a welcome sight. My steps quickened, the weight of the satchel suddenly bearable as the promise of safety drew closer. The rain softened, a gentle patter against the pavement, as I reached the front door.
I fumbled for the keys in my pocket, my fingers trembling as I slid them into the lock. The door clicked open, and I slipped inside, the quiet warmth of the building enveloping me. The satchel hung heavily at my side as I climbed the stairs, each step a reminder of what I’d just survived.
When I reached my apartment, I locked the door behind me and sagged against it, the adrenaline finally fading. The satchel hit the floor with a dull thud, and I stared at it for a long moment.
Replica had made it home.
But Liz? Liz wasn’t sure what she’d brought with her.