Chapter 10 THE MAN IN THE BACKGROUND

The city never truly slept, but by evening Blackwater looked exhausted. Rainwater still clung to the streets beneath layers of neon reflection while crowded sidewalks pushed endlessly beneath giant digital advertisements and surveillance drones. Cairos moved through the crowds carefully with his hood lowered and his eyes avoiding every public screen he passed, his face appeared often,

WANTED FOR MULTIPLE HOMICIDES, REPORT UNUSUAL BEHAVIOR IMMEDIATELY.

The words followed him across entire districts now. He stayed inside crowded areas deliberately, transit stations, open markets, public walkways, places where operatives would hesitate before starting another violent containment sweep in front of hundreds of witnesses. Even then, paranoia refused to leave him alone, every sudden movement nearby tightened his chest, and every phone camera felt dangerous.

By late afternoon, exhaustion had started dulling his thoughts again. He sat alone near the lower platform of an underground transit terminal while trains screamed through tunnels nearby. Hundreds of people moved around him without interest, nobody cared about strangers in Blackwater unless violence started.

Cairos kept his head lowered while pretending to watch the arrivals board overhead. Then he noticed the man again with same dark coat, and tired posture, standing near a vending machine across the terminal watching him, he tried not to make it seem direct, or obvious, just enough but he failed.

Cairos frowned slightly beneath the hood, the man looked ordinary at first glance. He was in mid thirties maybe, unshaven, thin with nervous eyes. He held a cheap data tablet beneath one arm while constantly scanning the terminal around him like somebody expecting trouble. He did not seem to be an operative, he was too disorganized, but he definitely watching him.

The man eventually turned and disappeared into the moving crowd. Cairos waited several seconds before standing carefully. His instincts screamed at him to leave immediately, instead, he followed. The crowd swallowed the man repeatedly as Cairos moved through the terminal after him. They went up an escalator, across a crowded pedestrian bridge, down into a lower market district packed with food stalls, hanging electrical cables, steam vents, and flickering signs. Twice, Cairos nearly lost sight of him completely. He saw the man again standing beside a newspaper kiosk pretending to read something, or he was truly was.

Cairos has had enough, he crossed the street immediately. The man noticed too late, their eyes met for half a second before the stranger turned sharply and started walking faster. "Hey!" Cairos shouted and regretted it immediately. Several pedestrians glanced briefly toward him before continuing on, Cairos and the man pushed deeper into the crowd.

Cairos followed harder now, weaving through people and market stalls while neon reflections flashed across wet pavement beneath them, anger started rising through the exhaustion. The stranger turned into a narrow alley between two old apartment buildings into a dead end, Cairos followed immediately. The man spun around at the far end of the alley so suddenly that Cairos almost collided with him. "Don't," the stranger said quickly.

Cairos froze several feet away, the man raised both hands halfway, breathing unevenly. "I am not with Directorate," he said immediately.

Confusion and relief hit Cairos but still he was still wary of the man, he knew something which could be helpful. "Who are you?" he asked sharply.

The stranger breathed hard and stared at him for a moment before answering. "Jonah," he paused before continuing, "Jonah Mercer."

Cairos's face was devoid of expression, Jonah studied his face carefully now, without fear now, but disbelief. "You really don't remember," Jonah muttered quietly.

Cairos felt irritation spike instantly. "People keep saying that," he snapped. "What the hell does it mean?" Jonah looked toward the alley entrance nervously before stepping closer. "You need to lower your voice," he said. "Why are you following me?" Cairos demanded.

Jonah hesitated before saying, "I've been tracking you for four months." There was a brief between them beneath the distant sound of traffic overhead. Cairos stared at him. "What?" he asked.

Jonah rubbed one hand across his face tiredly. "I thought you were dead until last night," he said. Cairos felt the now familiar coldness creep slowly into his stomach again. "No," he said immediately. "No, I wasn't missing." Jonah gave him a strange look. "You disappeared after Sector Twelve," he said. "Section what?" Cairos replied. "Section Twelve," Jonah answered quietly.

Cairos seemed unsettled more than than he showed. Rainwater dripped steadily through broken pipes above them while distant sirens echoed somewhere deeper in the district. Jonah slowly reached into his coat pocket. Cairos tensed instantly. "It's just a tablet," Jonah said carefully. He pulled out a thin cracked device and activated the screen. "I need you to look at something," Jonah said.

"I don't trust you," Cairos replied. "You shouldn't," Jonah answered immediately.

Cairos did not seemed surprised by questios like that any longer. Jonah turned the screen toward him, several photographs of headlines, reports, security timestamps filled the display alongside corrupted documents and surveillance stills. Every single one connected to Cairos, he stared at the screen silently. Some images showed him entering buildings he had never seen before. Others showed blurred footage of him speaking to people he did not recognize. One file displayed an official employee record listing him as inactive for nearly eleven weeks. "No," Cairos muttered.

Jonah watched him carefully. "This started months ago," he said quietly. "People online noticed inconsistencies first. Missing timestamps, duplicate movement logs, broken surveillance records." Cairos kept staring at the screen. "This can be edited," he said. "Some of it probably was," Jonah replied.

Cairos looked up sharply, Jonah continued carefully now. "But not all of it," he said. That sentence lingered heavily between them. Cairos felt anger rising again as it was easier to feel than fear. "What are you trying to say?" he asked.

Jonah hesitated before slowly opening another image file. "This was taken eight months ago," Jonah said. The photograph filled the screen, an underground maintenance tunnel somewhere beneath Blackwater, workers stood beside damaged rail equipment while emergency lights glowed red across the corridor walls. Cairos immediately recognized himself in the foreground wearing maintenance gear.

He frowned slightly. "I don't remember this," he said. "Look behind you," Jonah said quietly.

Cairos almost dismissed it at first, before his eyes shifted deeper into the image and stopped. Farther down the tunnel, partially obscured behind a support beam, stood another man, who was watching the camera, with the same height, face and eyes.

Cairos stopped breathing, the second version of himself looked directly toward the photograph like he wanted to be in it. Behind them, somewhere deeper in the city, an emergency siren suddenly began screaming through the streets.