The dealer woke up lethargically.
His eyes were heavy, and even the familiar beam of light that had always punctually arrived to wake him was unwanted. The night before had been a long one—filled with multiple heists. In all honesty, the dealer was shocked that he had been able to pull off so many.
Fourteen.
Last night, the dealer had attempted and succeeded in fourteen different heists. That shouldn't have been anywhere near possible. Well—impossible for a normal person. The dealer wasn't normal, and he wasn't even sure if he was a person at all.
Slowly, the dealer raised himself out of his soft bed and scanned his room. The slip in his door seemed intact—almost exactly how he had left it.
Almost.
A bend could be seen in the slip, and at that, the dealer froze.
His heartbeat gradually began to quicken. At first, it was slow and rhythmic, like always. Now, however, it had lost its graceful rhythm, replacing it with a wild, erratic, almost desperate-sounding beat.
Soon, the dealer was tearing apart his room, trying to find out if someone was hiding with him.
Details passed through his head: October 23rd. Stain on the walls. Patterns on the door. Calendar slightly crooked.
All those things were the same. Maybe the slip had bent when he shut the door?
Maybe it had. But the dealer would never make such a pitiful mistake, and deep down, he knew he hadn't.
Trying to quell his nerves, he began performing. His "performance" was a daily ritual—a performance of humanity. Humans often clung to routine when they felt scared; today, the dealer felt the urge more than ever to be human.
So, he gave in to that urge. Slipping into routine, he immediately walked toward his bathroom.
It was only a few steps away, but every step felt strange. The shadows behind him seemed to intensify, and the echo of his steps felt ever so slightly delayed.
Those details were enough to make the dealer abandon his attempt at being human for the day. Above all things, humans were vulnerable—and the dealer didn't want to be vulnerable now.
For the first time in years, the dealer was too… afraid to follow his routine. That alone should have terrified him, but it didn't. Maybe it was the overstimulation from the night before, the grogginess of the morning, or maybe the pure absurdity of the situation. All the dealer knew was that he should be afraid—and for some reason, he only slightly was.
Today, he skipped breakfast; he skipped everything. The bent paper still weighed heavily on his mind. The fact that nothing had happened yet made the paper feel more like a warning than a threat.
The sun now began to fall, though it was only in the earliest stages of its decline. Today had been odd, and since the incident with the bent paper, nothing else had happened. His threat theory had been right—and honestly, it enraged him.
[The Dealer] "If you wanted to threaten me, at least make good on it."
While walking, the dealer had spat those words.
There was no client today, which relieved him, but he still walked. Why? Because his shadow still felt heavier, and his footsteps were still delayed. So he kept walking—to run from whatever was chasing him.
Whenever he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing there. That should have been enough to satiate his paranoia, but it wasn't. Paranoia was the reason he had survived as a dealer, so it would be the reason for his survival today.
Soon, the dealer turned around and walked backward. Then, he reached into his pocket to grab his phone.
The sound of a number being input, followed by a ringtone, rang through the partially dead streets of the alley.
[The Dealer] "Hey… Yeah, I know. Could I crash over for a bit?"
The person he called—or rather, the girl he called—was named Clara, a woman he knew from his past.
He kept walking, this time toward her house. As he did, he could swear that the shadows began to lift, their oppressive depth lessening.
Well, some shadows stayed—but he could tell, in the way the delay between his footsteps expanded, that they were slowing down. Even the most painfully oblivious fool would have realized the truth of their situation by now.
The streetlights flickered with every offbeat step, further emphasizing how unnatural the moment felt.
[The Dealer] "Claire…"
She was… an interesting character, to say the least. When the dealer first met her, she had smiled, sighed, and laughed in relief. Her rejoicing had been strange, but she later explained that it was because she had been looking for a reliable memory dealer for a while.
She didn't seem to be from around the alleys, and she was plenty rich enough to move out—but she didn't. The reason why was never known to the dealer, and that question had followed him every time he spoke with her.
There was also the fact that she was far too joyous to be a resident of the alleys; such people simply weren't suited to live there.
Except for Claire.
He always called her a good luck charm—because sometimes, she literally was. For some reason, her bright ignorance seemed to serve as protection against bad luck, as if she blessed those around her.
Her entire existence was odd and out of place, so naturally, she was the first person he thought of when he needed help with something odd and out of place.
So he kept walking, knowing his salvation lay only a few miles away. If there was one person he could count on, it would be her.
Those thoughts drove him to start jogging—and eventually running. Every step made the space behind him feel slightly lighter, and he didn't intend to stop until it was fully gone.
The dealer was greedy.
He kept running, feeling his chest rise and fall, his breathing quickening, his mind racing. Was this fear?
It was impossible—the dealer didn't feel fear.
No matter what he told himself, though, it didn't change the fact that he was running as fast as he could, sprinting through the dead streets.
The sun had fully fallen by now; if it weren't for his experience as a dealer, he wouldn't have known his way.
That was a lie. His experience had nothing to do with it. Even without being able to see, it felt like he was being pulled toward her apartment—as if he instinctively knew the way. The thought was crazy, but it only intensified as he found himself at her door.
As he reached out to knock, the door opened.
He was greeted by a soft expression—one that made him want to melt. Her golden hair flowed down below her shoulders.
[Claire] "Come in."
After hearing those words, he came to one conclusion
The dealer was greedy.