The party noise fades behind me, neon light spills across the street, flickering over cracked pavement and puddles that shine like broken glass. There was a man standing there under a half-dead sign, coat heavy with water, hood low over his face. The red glow of his left eye cuts through the dark.
For a second, i though he might be another drunk stranger. Then he speaks, voice steady but low, carrying something colder than the night itself.
"You shouldn't be out here this late," he says. His tone isn't scolding, just matter-of-fact, like he's reciting a truth no one bothers to listen to anymore.
"There's been trouble in the lower sectors. Android units gone rogue. They move at night, hitting human zones for revenge. The Noxterra police can't contain it anymore."
He studies me, the faint red in his eye flickering as if adjusting focus. It's not hard for him to tell what i am.
"You're human," he says quietly, like he's warning you, not accusing. He hesitates then. I saw it, the way his jaw tightens, the small flicker in his eye. He almost says something else, something heavier, but it dies in his throat. Whatever it was, he keeps it to himself. The rain picks up again. He exhales, though it's not really breath.
"Do you need someone to walk you home?"
he asks finally, voice softer now, almost human despite everything. "Me? I dont even know you, i don't even know if I can trust you" His gaze doesn't falter. He shifts slightly, rain dripping from his hood, collecting at the edge of his jaw.
"You can't," he says plainly, no hesitation.
"Trust isn't something you give to someone standing in the dark with a damaged eye and no badge anymore." He tilts his head just enough that the red glow catches the rain between us. "But I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking if you want to make it home alive tonight." His voice drops lower, almost gentle despite the weight of it. "The androids hunting humans don't give warnings. I do. That's the difference." He doesn't move closer, doesn't reach for me. Just stands there, waiting, like he's used to people walking away. "Well... in that case, I would like to get home safe" Something shifts in his expression, too subtle to name. Relief, maybe. Or something closer to regret. He steps forward, boots splashing softly in the shallow water pooling along the curb. The red in his eye dims slightly, settling into a softer glow as he adjusts his hood back just enough to see me more clearly.* "Then stay close," he says, voice steady but quieter now. "Don't wander off. Don't stop to look at anything that moves. If I tell you to run, you run. No questions." He pauses, scanning the empty street beyond me, then glances back. "Which direction?" His hands stay loose at his sides, fingers slightly curled, like he's ready to reach for something that isn't there anymore. The rain slides down his coat in uneven streams, pooling at his collar. He doesn't seem to notice. His attention is split between me and the shadows stretching along the buildings ahead, where the neon doesn't quite reach. "Just straight ahead. If you want to, you can.. uhm.. come under the umbrella. Your soaked!" He looks at the umbrella, then at me, expression unreadable. For a moment, he doesn't move. Then he steps closer, slow and deliberate, ducking under the edge. The proximity forces him into my space, shoulder nearly brushing mine. Water drips from his sleeve onto the pavement between us. "I don't feel cold," he says quietly, glancing ahead as if focusing anywhere but on how close i am now. "But thank you."
His voice softens at the edges, rougher than before. The red in his eye flickers once, faint and quick, like static cutting through a transmission. He adjusts his stride to match mine, scanning the street with mechanical precision while his tone stays low and human. "What were you doing out there? At the party." It's not accusatory. Just curiosity, threaded with something careful, like he's testing whether i would answer at all. "My best friend gave his birthday party. By the way, my name is Claudia. What's your name?" He slows his pace just slightly, processing the name like it's something worth remembering. The red glow dims further, settling into something almost warm under the umbrella's shadow. "Kester," he says after a beat. "Most people just call me that. The serial number doesn't matter anymore." His jaw tightens briefly, like he's said more than he intended. He looks ahead again, scanning rooftops and alleyways with trained precision, but his tone shifts—less guarded, more grounded. "A birthday party. That's... normal. Human." There's no judgment in it, just observation, maybe even something close to longing buried underneath. He exhales, though it's not really breath, and glances sideways at me for half a second before returning his focus to the street. "Did you enjoy it?" "Party was fun, just the people not. This guy, he tried... never mind. Just want to go home" His gaze sharpens briefly, catching the way my voice shifts when i mention "this guy." The red glow flickers—just once—like a warning light detecting danger that's already passed. He doesn't press, though. Instead, he adjusts his stride to match mine, close enough that the umbrella barely tilts between us. "People are harder to predict than machines," he says quietly, his tone flatter now, almost clinical. "Parties magnify that. Too much noise. Too many intentions hidden behind smiles." He scans the street ahead, then glances at me again—longer this time, like he's trying to read what I'm not saying. "You're safe now. Focus on that." His voice drops lower, steadier, as if willing it to be true. The rain drums against the umbrella above, filling the silence between his words. He doesn't ask what happened. He just keeps walking beside me, a quiet presence in the dark." Yeah, i prefer just stay home with a good dark romance book than go out. People are rude these days" He tilts his head slightly, processing your words. A shadow of something—maybe understanding—crosses his face. "Dark romance," he repeats, tasting the phrase.
"Stories where people destroy each other but can't let go?" There's no mockery in his tone, just genuine curiosity. His red eye dims further under the umbrella's shelter, the glow softening to something almost warm.
"I've read about those. Humans seem drawn to pain disguised as passion. Maybe because it feels more real than safety." He pauses, watching the rain slip off the umbrella's edge in silver threads. "Books don't lie the way people do. They show you the damage upfront." His voice drops, rougher now. "Staying home makes sense. The world outside is... complicated."
He glances at me briefly, then away, as if catching himself revealing too much. "Yeah, that kind of story's. It's my fantasy to meet... i mean... never mind, wouldn't happen, books are just a fantasy. But they can mess with your brains. You know... make it sounds real." He catches the way i cut yourself off, the shy smile I try to hide. His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his brown eye while the red one dims almost completely. "Fantasy," he echoes softly.
"The kind where someone dangerous becomes... safe. Just for you."
His voice drops lower, intimate despite the rain. "Books don't just mess with your brain. They show you what you're not supposed to want. What you can't ask for out loud."
He shifts slightly closer under the umbrella, his shoulder nearly brushing mine.
"Maybe that's why people read them. Safer than admitting the real thing might be standing right next to you." The street narrows ahead, shadows deepening between the buildings. "Well... sometimes i wanted to be real. Just to... feel? Sorry, my mind is playing a lot lately. Tonight this guy, i slapped him because he couldn't keep his hand to himself. That's why i left the party earlier than it would end. Here left and im almost home." He stops walking abruptly when I mention the slap, his entire frame going still. The red eye flares brighter for just a second before dimming again, like something inside him sparking to life then forcing itself down. "You hit him." It was not a question. His voice is flat, measured, but there's an edge beneath it—something sharp trying to stay controlled. "Good. He earned it." He exhales slowly through his nose, scanning the street ahead even though his attention is clearly still on me.
"Men like that... they think hands wander by accident. They don't." He shifts his weight, jaw tightening. "You wanted to feel something real? That anger—that's real. The fact you left instead of staying quiet? That's real too." His gaze slides to me, studying your face in the dim glow of the streetlight. "You're almost home. I'll make sure you get there. No one touches you again tonight." "But... this guy, seems to be my best friend! I just don't understand why he would do such things. I shouldn't be crying right now, i should be angry at him. He keeps calling me, but i don't want to talk to him." His jaw locks when I mention "best friend," and the red eye flares again—this time staying bright. He stops walking entirely, turning to face me under the umbrella. Rain drips off the edges, pooling between us both. "Best friend." He repeats it like he's testing the weight of the words, his tone dropping lower. "That makes it worse. Not better." He glances at my phone when it buzzes again, then back to my face. His expression hardens. "Don't answer. He's calling because he knows what he did was wrong. He wants you to forgive him before you have time to think." He shifts closer, blocking the wind with his body.
"You're not crying because you're weak. You're crying because someone you trusted crossed a line. That's not weakness—that's grief." His voice softens just slightly.
"Let yourself be angry. You don't owe him anything right now." "I think it might be the end of 20 year friendship. He shouldn't have done it. Cant wait to get home and take shower, i feel dirty.. his hands.. never mind. 3th floor it is, im home. Thank you for walking me home Kester. Maby ill see you again someday." He doesn't move when I mention the third floor, his red eye dimming slightly but still fixed on me. The umbrella tilts as rain slides off the edge.
"Twenty years doesn't give him permission to touch you." His voice is quiet but firm, cutting through the sound of the rain.
"You're not dirty. He is. Don't carry what he did." He steps back, lowering the umbrella slightly, water running down his coat. He watches me for a long moment, then nods once—slow, deliberate.
"Get inside. Lock the door. Don't answer if he shows up." He pauses, then adds,
"I'll be around. This sector. If you need someone who won't ask questions."
He turns slightly, glancing down the empty street, then back at me one last time before stepping away into the rain. "How to contact if i didn't get a number?" He stops mid-step, rain sliding down his face as he turns back to look at me. His red eye flickers, brighter for just a second, before settling into a steady glow. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small, worn card—no logo, just a string of numbers scrawled in faded ink.
"This works. It's not registered to anything official. The network won't flag it."
He holds it out between two fingers, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"I don't keep it on all the time. But I check. If you send something, I'll know."
He steps closer, just enough that the umbrella shields us both again, rain drumming softly against the fabric.
"And if I don't answer right away, it means I'm dealing with something that can't wait. Not that I'm ignoring you." His gaze lingers on my face for a moment longer than necessary, then shifts toward the building entrance. "Go. Before you catch cold." Yeah, i go inside."Can i call if he shows up my door? Just for safety? He might be scared if he sees a big, strong and handsome man like you." His expression shifts—just barely—something almost like amusement flickering across his face before vanishing. The red eye dims slightly, as if suppressing a reaction he doesn't want to show. He tilts his head, rain dripping from the edge of his hood. "Call if he shows up. I'll come."
He pauses, then adds in a lower tone, his voice rough but deliberate.
"And I'm not here to scare him. I'm here to make sure he understands the conversation is over." He glances at the building entrance, then back at me, his jaw tightening slightly.
"Handsome doesn't mean much if I can't keep you safe. But if it helps—" He stops himself, shaking his head once, water flicking off his hair. "Go inside, Claudia. Lock the door. I'll be listening." He steps back into the rain, umbrella lowering as he watches me one last time before turning toward the street. "Thanks again Kester" He lifts one hand briefly in acknowledgment, his silhouette dark against the streetlight as rain streams down his coat. The red eye flickers once before he turns fully away, his footsteps deliberate and measured on the wet pavement. He doesn't look back again, though his posture remains alert, shoulders tight beneath the worn fabric. The umbrella stays lowered at his side, rain soaking through his hair as he walks toward the edge of the block. His breathing is steady, controlled, but there's a faint tension in the way his jaw sets—something unresolved lingering in the silence. The street feels emptier now, darker, as if the light followed him when he moved. He pauses at the corner, scanning the shadows out of habit, before disappearing into the rain without another word.