Day 031 Hour 19: The Line Across Water
I stood on the middle span of Flatbridge, feet planted at the paint-peeled fault line, facing west like the ledger had instructed.
The sun hovered just above the skyline, bloated and soft. Not fiery — not cinematic. Just tired. Like everything else here.
Wind drifted in across the trench, carrying the wet stink of old water and rusted iron. Somewhere beneath the bridge, I could hear trickles and splashes. Things moving without permission. Life you couldn't name and shouldn't try to.
The phone buzzed once.
Short.
Subtle.
I didn't even look at the screen.
I just pulled the phone up, raised it to eye level, and steadied my hands.
No pose. No performance.
Just a man holding still.
The west horizon stretched wide before me — a smear of haze, broken antennas, and distant factory roofs. I let the waterline cut across the bottom of the frame, the railing stretch diagonally across the right.
No people.
No cars.
No noise.
I breathed once, slow and full.
Click.
The photo saved instantly.
I didn't check it.
Didn't even lower the phone right away.
For a second, I just stood there — arm still raised, breath held — like maybe I was waiting for someone to applaud. Or object.
But the bridge said nothing.
Only the wind moved.
Only the sun slid down another inch.
And somewhere far behind my ribs, I felt the faintest echo of a rhythm.
Like a heartbeat not quite my own.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and walked off the bridge.
No urgency. No pause.
Just one step.
Then another.
And another.
Three down.
Two to go.
Day 031 Hour 20: Engines in the Dust
I walked the rest of the way home as the last of the sun died behind the buildings.
No detours. No delays. Just the long stretch of cracked sidewalk and rusted fences that formed the spine of the neighborhood I'd always known.
I didn't need dinner.
My body knew the rhythm of emptiness too well to complain. Hunger was an old roommate. One that stayed quiet when I had work to do.
Besides, I had a new noise to worry about.
I heard them before I saw them.
Not loud.
But wrong.
The low thrum of engines turning at perfect intervals. Not like delivery vans or scrap haulers. These didn't sputter or grind. These were smooth. Synchronized.
I ducked behind a crumbling retaining wall and watched them turn onto the main stretch.
Three trucks.
White.
No rust.
No tags.
No logos I recognized — just the same circular emblem I'd seen days ago: a black square inside a hollow ring, like a broken target or a coin with its center missing.
They didn't stop.
Didn't honk.
Didn't load or unload.
Just drove.
Out of the slums.
In a clean, single-file line.
Like they'd finished something.
I stayed low until they were gone.
Not because I thought they'd see me — but because I didn't want to find out what happened if they did.
Then I stood and dusted my jacket, heart calm but thoughts stirring.
What's happening this month?
That was the question now.
Because something had shifted.
The envelope came like clockwork. The mission followed the rules. The Club never spoke twice.
But the trucks?
They weren't part of the pattern.
Not mine, at least.
Which meant someone else had a different mission.
Or worse — the same one with a different purpose.
I reached my building just before full dark.
No one in the hallway. No lights in the stairwell.
Same rot in the corners. Same smell.
Same silence.
I let myself in, locked the door, and sat on the futon without taking off my shoes.
I didn't move for a while.
Didn't need to.
The next location was clear.
22B, Ash Row. Stairwell landing.07:10.
It would take time to walk there. Early. Quiet.
I set my alarm for 02:00.
Not because I needed five hours of sleep.
But because the Club doesn't wait.
And neither do I.
Day 032 Hour 01: Before the Clock
The alarm hadn't gone off yet.
But I was awake.
Wide awake.
Like someone had whispered my name in a language only my spine understood.
I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, letting the shadows settle. My breathing was calm, but my pulse was racing — fast, but not panicked. Just… ready. Overready.
I hadn't had a full sleep.
Not that I needed one. Not that anyone out here gets them.
But this felt different. My thoughts weren't foggy. My limbs weren't stiff. I swung my legs off the futon in one clean movement, like I'd trained for it.
And that was what made it unsettling.
I hadn't trained for anything.
I'd just been selected.
I splashed cold water on my face, then drank from the bottle by the door. Stale but clean. My body moved through the motions like it knew something I didn't — like someone had tuned it overnight.
I sat down on the floor with my back against the wall, pulled out the phone, and unlocked the gallery.
There they were.
Photo One:The wall in Vasco Alley — SHAPARD'S TEETH smeared across the bricks in sun-faded red. No shadows. No signs. Just the message and a slice of cracked sidewalk.
Photo Two:The bus stop at Rust & Hollow — bench in frame, plexiglass panel fractured behind it. And there it was: the red box. Still surreal in the image. Almost staged. Almost inserted.
Photo Three:Flatbridge. Middle span. Facing west.Sky cut in half by haze. The rail stretching into perspective.No people. No movement.
I stared at them longer than I meant to.
Zoomed in. Scanned every inch. Corner to corner.
Nothing.
No repeated symbols. No clear markers. No pattern in geography or layout or light.
No logic.
If someone had given me these three photos out of context, I would've thought they came from different cities. Different lives.
But here they were — pieces of a puzzle I wasn't meant to solve.
Just to capture.
I set the phone down in my lap and rubbed my hands together slowly, palms dry and tight.
Despite everything — the completed photos, the silence from the Club, the money still untouched in the pouch — I didn't feel powerful.
I felt... helpless.
More than I had when I was hungry.
More than when I owed people who wanted blood for debt.
Because at least back then, I understood the rules.
Now?
I was the wealthiest I'd ever been, with almost no effort.
And I felt like I could disappear at any second.
Like maybe I already had.
01:39.
Time to move soon.
Ash Row was waiting.
So was someone else.
Even if I couldn't see them yet.