James woke at three in the morning, his chest heavy, drenched in the residue of a nightmare. The memory of his sister's body swaying from the rope struck him with the same brutality as the night it happened. He sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, hands clawing into the sheets as though he could tear the image out of his mind. Memories surged in fragments, her laughter, the day she vanished, the silence that followed. Tears slid down his face, sudden and unrelenting. He had not cried since her death, not once, not when they buried her, not when the house went quiet. But now, alone, the grief broke him open.
He needed escape. He reached for the new car keys, pulled on heavy clothes against the night chill, and slipped out. The streets of Zurrac stretched before him, a city small enough to be forgotten, yet large enough to hide suffering in plain sight. It was nothing like the capital, Leazing City, with its towers of glass and noise that never ended. Zurrac was quieter, darker, its veins filled with people who worked themselves to bone and still could not climb free.
As he drove, he noticed what I had noticed earlier, the unfortunate scattered in alleyways, curled beneath torn blankets, struggling to hold on to warmth or dignity. Their faces were gray, eyes hollow, barely shadows of the lives they might have lived. Neon lights flickered above shuttered shops, their glow half-dead, casting everything in a sickly hue. Trash swirled in the wind, plastic bags clinging to fences like desperate hands. The city seemed to breathe with a broken rhythm, quieter than the capital, yet heavy with its own despair.
James pressed the accelerator harder, as though speed could drown memory. He stopped at a liquor store, the buzzing fluorescent light above the entrance cutting into the darkness. Inside, the shelves were lined with bottles that promised numbness, and he bought the strongest liquor he could find. He staggered back to the car, opened the bottle, and drank until the edges of reality blurred. His tears dried into silence as his body grew heavy. Slumped in the driver's seat, surrounded by empty streets and the faint hum of a dying city, he drank himself into sleep.
Investigations into the robbery sequences went nowhere, every witness was either unconscious or claimed no memory of what happened, each one waking on the floor of the store as if time had been erased. Nearly three hundred thousand vanished from one location, while the others reported tens of thousands of loss with no trace of forced being use, no cameras working, nothing left behind. A few bystanders swore they had seen two men in black fleeing into the night, yet none could identify them, their descriptions vague and conflicting.
The trail briefly pointed to a rented car, but Ducce and Joel had already buried the evidence when they rented it, records wiped clean, documents erased, and the car itself submerged in a lake. With no leads, the authorities closed the case, the media feeding the public with wild speculation, labeling it supernatural, as if no human hand could account for such vanishing. When the noise finally cooled, Ducce and Joel resurfaced in the capital with new faces and different lives, splitting the money three ways, one share each, and one locked for the mission. They disappeared into high-end hotels under different identity, bought cars of their own, and only crossed paths when necessity forced them back into the same room.
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Back in Duracc.
At four in the afternoon the city moved with its usual rhythm, a restaurant half-filled with workers finishing late lunches while cutlery clinked faintly against plates, a waitress refilled glasses without thought, outside traffic rolled steadily with the occasional horn, office employees loosened their ties as they spilled onto the streets, children tugged at their mothers' arms for snacks from a street vendor, and the air carried the dull weight of fried food and exhaust, though the air in the restaurant was tense now, thick with unspoken anger, and every glance felt like a spark ready to ignite.
James: Why do you keep disrespecting me like this in public?
Sasha (James' girlfriend): What do you mean?
James: You know exactly what I mean. What's that all about?
Sasha: Sorry?
James: Now you're acting dumb.
Sasha: I don't know what you're on about. See, James, this is your problem, you're always so insecure and controlling.
James: Seriously??? How else am I supposed to react when you go out there staring, smiling, literally chasing that boy?
Sasha: Oh my God, seriously? I was just walking past him and it just so happened we made eye contact.
James: Hahaha… that's what you've been saying for five months now. You always "just happen" to create intimate moments with other boys, completely forgetting I even exist.
Sasha: Look, James, it's all in your head.
James: All in my head? Hmmm… but coincidentally, you just followed that guy you've been chasing for two months now.
Sasha: It's just a follow… you're going crazy.
James: So… you followed him by mistake as well?
Sasha: It doesn't matter. No way you're crying over an Instagram follow.
James: And didn't you just post that meme? "Forget about that little long term relationship, playing house with that ugly loser. It was just a prank, guys."
Sasha: It was just a meme, I found it funny so I posted it.
James: What if I posted something along the lines of, "It was my mistake to fall in love with a hoe"?
Sasha froze. Her eyes widened. Tears started forming, and her voice trembled.
Sasha: IS THAT WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF ME THIS WHOLE TIME?!
James didn't respond. He just looked at her, a mixture of exhaustion and hurt written across his face.
Sasha couldn't hold it anymore. She began crying uncontrollably, her wails cutting through the low hum of the restaurant. People turned, curious stares fixated on them. Her body shook violently, her voice cracking with every word.
James: I'm sorry… let's go. People are looking.
Sasha: No–no, I'm done with you.
James: I'm sorry… let's fix this.
Sasha: No. Go away. I'm breaking up with you.
James: Okay.
He walked away, controlling his composure as long as he could. The moment he closed the door to his apartment and locked it behind him, everything shattered. He collapsed onto his bed, tears streaming down his face like a flood, silent sobs wracking his body. Hours passed, four long hours of crying and trembling. Exhaustion eventually claimed him, but the emptiness, the void, remained.