The silence inside the building was almost hypnotic. The space filled with offices was empty. Old documents, forgotten pens, and a few cups with the remains of long-cold coffee lay on the tables. However, there was not a single person, not even the walls showed any traces of human presence. Dust rose slowly with each step she took, creating the feeling that no one had been here for a long time.
The building looked like an abandoned office area, too much trash, scraps of furniture, but at the same time it felt like it had been abandoned suddenly, without warning. Nothing was damaged enough to indicate some kind of cataclysm. She walked down a long hallway, past closed office doors, each with a paper clutter strewn about. It didn't look like people had ever worked here. Everything was frozen in time.
Walking from one office to another, Delia Asia Vieira noticed several broken computers, smashed monitors, empty plastic chairs. Clearly, no one had worked here for a long time. Even the strange noises from outside – from the sounds of work machines and the rumble of the construction site – did not penetrate this quiet, abandoned place.
She continued to move forward, her steps becoming more cautious. She sensed that something was wrong. Not just the absence of people, but something deeper, something wrong with the very atmosphere of this place. Every step she took raised dust, and the sound of her footsteps echoing off the cold walls seemed unusually loud in this empty world.
In one of the offices, she noticed several interesting things. On a table were old magazines and reports, the writing on which could still be discerned, but they were covered in a layer of dust, as if no one had touched them for years. In the corner, on a shelf, were old plastic boxes that had apparently contained documents, now all bent and broken with age. In the most prominent place was a statuette - a small figurine of a person, which clearly did not belong in an office environment.
Delia Asia Vieira climbed the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the empty building that, despite its apparent abandonment, still held secrets. The top floor was silent, only the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath her feet disturbed the eerie calm. The dim lamps barely illuminated the space, and everything around was covered in a layer of dust - the feeling that no one had been here for a long time. But one room caught her attention, the door of which was slightly open. She pushed it, and before her eyes opened a scene similar to a strange museum from the past.
In the center of the room stood an old desk with a computer turned on. Next to it were two large boxes, one black, with illegible traces of time, the other white, as if it had just been brought in. Their surfaces were covered with a layer of dust, but something about these objects caught her attention. Maybe it was the unusually neat arrangement of the things, or the strange contrast between the old and the new. But Delia Asia Vieira did not have time to think about it for long - her gaze, sliding around the room, suddenly caught on a figure near the wall.
A young man, about twenty years old, stood motionless, as if waiting. He did not move, but only stared at her. Delia Asia Vieira froze for a moment, feeling her heart begin to beat faster. The boy seemed to be her complete opposite - his bright eyes and calm face did not express fear, only a certain wariness, as if he was sure that she should be here.
"You... who are you?" she asked, trying to remain calm, but her voice sounded slightly shaky.
The guy stepped forward, and she noticed that he was holding an old photograph. He looked at her, and finally spoke.
– I am Alexander York. And I am your brother. It turns out that you and I are more than just relatives. You are my fiancée.
Delia Asia Vieira froze. She felt all the thoughts and memories of her life begin to mix into one incomprehensible mass. It was impossible. She couldn't imagine that this young man was her brother, and that he was claiming that she was his fiancée. Those words didn't make sense. He was clearly saying something that wasn't true, or trying to make her believe something strange.
"What did you say?" she managed to say, feeling something cold and unpleasant begin to squeeze her throat. "You can't be my brother. You... you're getting something mixed up."
Alexander didn't back down. He came closer, his face serious and his gaze full of confidence.
"You don't remember?" His voice was quiet, but there was a strange urgency to it. "It was part of a plan that you and I were supposed to carry out. You're my fiancée. And together, we... we have to do something. You need to remember."
His words hung in the air like a fog that could not be dispelled. Delia Asia Vieira felt her mind begin to fill with doubts. What if it was true? But what if this was another game, another attempt to manipulate her?
"I... I don't remember anything," she whispered, her voice unsure, but her mind was filled with images she couldn't understand. "It's impossible."
"You must not doubt," he said, his voice almost gentle. "We are family, and together we can bring back all that was lost."
But Delia Asia Vieira couldn't understand Alexander. His confidence in his words and the way he looked at her were so strong that she felt something cold begin to squeeze her insides. He was sure that it wasn't just her standing in front of him - he was sure that she was someone else.
"Isn't this Delia York, daughter of Damien Thorn?" he asked, his voice urgent, almost demanding.
Everything clicked into place in her mind. This boy, this young man standing before her, had mistaken her for someone else. And it wasn't just a glitch. It was a mistake she couldn't explain. He'd mistaken her for a girl named Delia York—Damien Thorn's real-life daughter. The thought flashed through her that she should have laughed happily, or told him he'd made a mistake. But instead, she felt her pulse quicken, her mind racing.
She tried to hide her confusion and took a deep breath to regain control of herself.
"You're mistaken, Alexander," she said, trying to remain calm, although there was still a slight note of alarm in her voice. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's just a coincidence. We don't know each other."
But Alexander did not back down. He continued to look at her, not believing a single word she said. His eyes showed persistence and confidence that this was not just a random girl, but some kind of mystery to whom he had to reveal his truth.
"Are you sure?" His question was a little doubtful, but even more so, a little surprised. "Isn't that you? You're not Delia York? You're not Damien Thorn's daughter? Don't you know who you really are?"
Robotess took another step back, trying to make sense of the situation. She knew she had been mistaken for someone else. But she couldn't and wouldn't reveal her true nature. She had to convince him that this was all just a mistake.
"No," she said, her voice a little firmer than before. "I don't know who Delia York is. I don't owe anyone anything else. It's all just a coincidence, nothing more."
But Alexander continued to stand in front of her, his gaze never leaving her, and she felt how her words did not convince him. He was sure that she was still who he expected to see.
"You can't deny it," he said, his voice growing more confident, even menacing. "You have to be her. You know who you really are, you're just hiding it from yourself. And if you think it's just a coincidence, then I'll show you who you really are."
He took a step towards her and she felt the tension building. She knew he wouldn't rest until he got what he wanted from her. And he was willing to do anything to achieve his goal.
"You will come with me," he said, as if commanding. "We will not waste time on these games. You and I, we will marry. This is our destiny.
She felt his words like knives piercing her mind. No matter how much she tried to resist it, no matter how much she tried to dissuade him, he was not going to back down.
She could tell him the truth now. She could explain to him that she wasn't human, that she was a robot, that this was all a mistake. But what if all of this led her to even more dangerous consequences? What if Alexander knew something important that only she could understand? And what if she was not just a hostage to the situation, but someone much more important?
But she was probably wrong. And she realized that this game could be much more complicated than she had assumed.
Instead of accepting her nature, she decided to take a different path.
"You're confused," she said, trying to hide her confusion behind a stern tone. "I can't go with you. Please stop insisting."
But Alexander was not going to give up. His eyes were full of determination.
"You will not leave until I do this," he said with cold determination. "You and I are together. We have a duty to do."
Delia Asia Vieira stood before Alexander, trying to remain calm despite the strange pressure he exerted with his insistent presence. He looked at her with such determination in his eyes that even her strongest intentions began to crumble like sand in the wind.
She was about to respond with a rude refusal, intending to brush off his insistent words. But suddenly, when he looked at her with his bright blue eyes, she felt her inner resistance melt away. Those eyes were filled with something magnetic, something in them made her heart beat faster and her thoughts blur. It was more than just the confidence in his words. It was like an invisible force that seemed to penetrate her consciousness and make her follow him, no matter what.
Her body obeyed, even though her mind screamed at her to resist. He held out his hand, and she, without any control, allowed him to take it. Alexander's slender fingers were on her wrist, and his touch seemed to bind her will. She could not explain what was happening, but her whole being was given over to him. She submitted to this strange influence, as if all her previous determination had disappeared, dissolved in his gaze.
"Let's go," he said, softly but confidently, and she couldn't refuse.
He began to lead her down the stairs. Each step echoed in her body like a command. She did not dare to ask questions or resist. Instead, she felt her feet following him, following his movements precisely. It was like a dream, but in this dream her actions seemed precise and correct. He led her, and she followed, as if she knew that this was the only thing she had to do.
The stairs seemed endless. Every turn, every step as they descended, getting closer to the building's exit, became even more blurred, as if the reality itself around them was losing its clarity. She had the strange feeling that she was simply part of a plan, part of something bigger, and she couldn't choose another path even if she wanted to.
Eventually, they reached the door. Alexander opened it without turning around, and they stepped out into the street, where they were greeted by a whirlwind, as if someone invisible had turned on a giant fan. Sand flew into his face, showering his hair and skin with unpleasant, prickly grains. It was such a powerful wind that even in the light jacket that would normally protect him from the cold, Alexander felt uneasy. He let go of Delia's hand, and she immediately felt his attention leaving. He looked around, trying to catch a taxi or at least a ride, but it seemed that there was not a single vehicle around. The wind only grew stronger, and the sand continued to fill the air, turning the street into something resembling a desert.
He took a deep breath, deciding that they should move somewhere to find shelter. But at that moment, his phone suddenly rang. Alexander pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. The number was familiar, and his expression changed to a more serious one. He picked up the phone and, not hiding his concern, said:
"Hello."
There was a voice on the other end of the line, deep and commanding, with a barely perceptible American accent that betrayed a certain formality that was only inherent in high-ranking military officers. General Paul Buher, as expected, immediately entered the conversation:
"Alexander, where are you? This is Buher. We need to urgently discuss the situation in Portland."
Alexander froze, his eyes darting around the empty street, then back to Delia, who stood there, a little taken aback by the sudden change in atmosphere. He stepped aside so as not to disturb her with conversation.
"Portland?" he said, his voice strained. "Are you serious? Everything is fine. Things are going according to plan."
On the other end of the line, the general was not pleased with such a superficial answer.
"No, not according to plan," said Buher, his voice becoming stern. "I want precise reports, Alexander. I cannot tolerate these delays. We have removed the last Jewish truck, with the cargo of the last mayor, along with the latest model bus. Is this your plan? You explain to me what is happening in the city!"
Delia Asia Vieira stood on the sidewalk, watching Alexander grow impatient as he engaged in conversation with General Paul Buher. The phone call was tense, and her intuition told her that this was the perfect moment to slip away. She glanced back at the street, where until recently there had been an atmosphere of a deserted, bustling city. But now, as always, everything seemed strange and precarious.
Her gaze fell on the truck stop, hidden around the corner of the building. It seemed like a normal place for trucks and large vehicles, but something about its seclusion caught her attention. At that moment, Alexander raised his voice again, his words became sharp, and Delia Asia Vieira did not hesitate for a second. She quickly turned around and walked towards the stop, feeling the cold wind blowing on her face.
She quickened her pace, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Suddenly, her gaze fell on a car parked to the side, a luxurious sea-green Porsche, unmarked, as if it had just been parked there for her. Delia Asia Vieira approached the car, looking around to make sure no one was watching her. The car door was open. She got in, immediately feeling the comfort of the seat and the soft, soft textures.
Instantly her hand slid to the ignition key and the engine started. The car rolled smoothly, almost silently, down the empty street, smoothly picking up speed. Delia Asia Vieira did not turn around. She leaned back in the seat, feeling her muscles relax after the tense moment. The car glided along the evening streets, and with every kilometer she felt herself moving away from everything she had left behind. The city was quickly slipping out of her field of vision, and although she tried to concentrate on the road, her thoughts did not give her rest.
And then, a few blocks later, her phone suddenly vibrated. Delia glanced at the screen, and her gaze lingered on the name written in large letters: "Paul Buher." She felt something inside her clench. It seemed she had had bad luck with this man from the very beginning. She quickly hung up, but a few minutes later the phone came back to life, forcing her to look at the screen again. It was the same number. Paul Buher was not going to leave her alone.
She pressed the answer button with irritation, and the general's voice came from the other end of the line as soon as she picked up the receiver.
"Are you kidding me?" His voice was full of fury. "Couldn't you at least try to act like Alexander York's fiancée?! You're not just his fiancée, you represent the interests of the entire city now! And here you are walking around the streets like a complete buffoon, not realizing that you've been entrusted with an important task!"
Delia Asia Vieira sighed, knowing that this conversation would not be easy. She tried to justify herself, but Buher did not let her get a word in edgewise.
"Do you even understand who you're dealing with? These aren't just some local rules, this is discipline! This is the army, damn it! I can't allow you to be perceived as a simple toy in the hands of some boy!"
Delia Asia Vieira bit her lip, feeling her patience begin to wear thin. She hadn't even managed to say that she wasn't Alexander York's fiancée at all, that he had simply confused her with someone else. But the general clearly wasn't interested in her explanations. He wasn't happy with the idea that someone could break the established rules. Her words apparently didn't matter.
"I don't want to hear any more about your lack of discipline," Buher continued, oblivious to her confusion. "Listen to me carefully: you have a meeting with important people. You need to be there in two hours. Know your place. And if I hear again that you've gotten into any trouble, I will punish you personally."
The phone call ended as soon as the general finished his speech. Delia Asia Vieira put the phone aside, lost in thought. A strange feeling of unpleasant horror gripped her, but at the same time, irritation - so hostile that she could hardly restrain herself from throwing him out of the window. Too much had happened in her life in the last few days, and she could not figure out who was her friend and who was her enemy.
She sighed, looking down at the steering wheel as she parked the car in the lot next to Scallop's. She leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes and breathing in the cool evening air. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours... her thoughts were spinning like a whirlpool, but she knew she couldn't stop. She had to keep going. But where to next? And what did all these strange encounters and new acquaintances mean anyway?
Standing up, she glanced at the restaurant sign for a moment, then headed for the doors. It was cozy inside, dimly lit and smelled of something delicious. In the corner of the restaurant, at a round table, sat a group of five people, wearing Guy Fawkes masks, as per the script. They looked anonymous, whispering something to each other, occasionally laughing and glancing at those around them. It was both sinister and slightly absurd, like in some strange movie.
Delia Asia Vieira paused at the counter and looked at the menu. Too many faces, too much attention. She didn't care about the conversations or the mysterious looks, but her intuition told her that maybe she should be more careful than usual.
She took the menu, slowly walked to a free table in the corner, by the window, and sat down. She quietly called the waiter, her voice did not betray anxiety, but in her soul she felt the tension growing. She was terribly tired of all this. Everything was so unexpected and unpredictable.
"I'll have the Asian scallops with sauce, please," she ordered, without looking up from the menu. "And for all these..." she waved toward the anonymous people, who were still discussing something among themselves, "a glass of beer and cola."
The waiter nodded and left, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Delia Asia Vieira leaned back in her chair, watching the group. These masked men, whispering to each other, seemed strangely familiar to her. She couldn't figure out where it was coming from, but something inside her was tense with apprehension. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling that every moment of her life was now connected to some terrible incident.
She looked at her reflection in the glass. There was a blank look in her eyes, as if she was trying to figure out who she really was. Was that person sitting at that table her? Or the one whose name kept popping up in all sorts of contexts, but she wasn't even sure who was around her?
When the waiter returned with the order, he placed Delia Asia Vieira's plate of scallops in front of her, and glasses of beer and cola in front of the others at the table. It took her a moment to notice that one of the anonymous men in the Guy Fawkes mask was someone she recognized. All five of them were sitting at a round table, their masks covering their faces, but the familiar feeling that something was wrong filled her soul again. It was like a premonition of something important that was about to happen.
Delia Asia Vieira pretended that everything was fine and began to eat carefully, trying to concentrate on her dish. However, her gaze involuntarily slid to the anonymous person sitting opposite her. He was older, with a familiar posture, but when she met his eyes, they were familiar. Those eyes. She could not be mistaken. It was Gene York, her former employer, with whom she worked in the family as a governess for his daughter, the same Delia York.
For a moment, everything around her disappeared. The noise of the restaurant, the conversations of the anonymous, the taste of the food - everything seemed to fade into dull shades. Robotess's heart began to pound. Gene, like everyone else, hid his face behind a mask, but his eyes gave him away. They were cunning, insightful, and although he tried to pretend not to notice her, Delia Asia Vieira could feel that he understood everything perfectly.
She continued to eat, but her thoughts took her far from ordinary things. Why was Gene York here, among these strange people? What did he want with her, and why was he keeping her a secret from the rest of the Anonymous?
The moment their eyes met was crucial. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, a hint. Delia Asia Vieira knew he needed to speak to her alone, and he clearly intended to do so as soon as everyone else had left. But why couldn't he do it now? Why was he hiding his identity? And what did he even know about her and what was happening to her?
Time dragged on in the restaurant. The anonymous people continued to talk among themselves as if nothing was happening, but Delia Asia Vieira felt the tension growing. Gene York was there for a reason. He was part of something bigger, something that continued to turn around her like a labyrinth that she couldn't quite comprehend.
Her attention shifted back to Gene's mask. This was all strange, too strange, and her gut instinct told her that the conversation they were about to have would not be easy. And something inside her told her that this conversation would be a turning point, perhaps revealing answers to many of the questions that had been plaguing her since the beginning.
As the dinner drew to a close and the table was almost empty, Delia Asia Vieira could not shake off the feeling of anxiety that was growing with each passing moment. She felt that this conversation with Gene York was inevitable, but she did not want to go to the meeting at all. She had already realized that this man from her past was not here by chance, among these mysterious anonymous people in Guy Fawkes masks. And now she had no choice but to meet him face to face, although everything inside her was screaming at the need to run away.
Gene York seemed to sense her doubts and resistance perfectly. He watched her carefully, his eyes piercing her like sharp knives. When she tried to distract herself from his gaze once again, he said quietly but confidently:
"I see that you don't want to go to the meeting with me," his voice was good-natured, but insistent. "But we need to talk. I think you understand that it's important."
Delia Asia Vieira sighed, her fingers involuntarily tightening around the stem of her glass until she let go. She was ready to refuse his offer, but she knew she couldn't leave with a sense of closure until she knew what he wanted.
"I don't want anyone to know about our conversation," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly and lowering her voice. "If you promise not to tell any of your anonymous people that we talked, I'll agree."
Gene didn't seem to expect this condition. He chuckled, his face softened, and he raised his hand in a gesture of apology.
"Oh, you think too much," he said with a slight chuckle. "These four? They were just figures. I invited them so that their appearance would disconcert you. It was my little trick to make you feel out of place."
Delia Asia Vieira froze, surprised by his frankness. She tried to understand what exactly he wanted from her, and why he did not want others to know about their conversation.
"Fake?" she asked, puzzled. "Then why did you do all this? Why would you mislead me?"
Gene leaned back in his chair with a smile and picked up his glass of drink.
"It doesn't matter." His answer was calm, as if he were deciding something simple and ordinary. "It was necessary for you to come here and be alone with me. I knew you would be interested in knowing why I was here, why I didn't leave your life.
Delia Asia Vieira felt her nerves stretch to the limit. She couldn't sit at this table any longer, but she was too intrigued to just get up and leave. There was something in his words that piqued her curiosity, but at the same time, his presence frightened her.
"Okay," she finally said, rising from her seat. "We can talk. But only if you promise to keep this conversation between us."
Gene stood up after him, a smile on his lips.
"I promise. We can go to the bar on the corner of the street, no one will bother us there. I'll explain everything to you there."
They left the restaurant, and Delia Asia Vieira felt herself being pulled into this story, like an invisible thread that connected their destinies at that moment. The bar was only a few steps away, and Delia Asia Vieira could have left if she wanted, but something held her back. Maybe it was her desire to understand what happened that day when she first met Gene York.
As they entered the dark corner of the bar, Gene York and Delia Asia Vieira settled down at one of the corner tables. He ordered two beers, and as the waiter went to bring the drinks, Gene looked at his companion, about to reveal something important to her. His face was serious, and there was a shadow of grief in his eyes, as if memories of the distant past were returning to his mind over and over again.
He took a sip of beer and began his story:
"It all started ten years ago," he said, lowering his glass and looking into the distance, as if trying to see events that had happened long ago. "My wife Karen and I were walking down the road, returning from work, when we found a baby on the side of the road. Abandoned, defenseless... Karen and I immediately took her in, gave her a name - Delia York.
He paused for a second, as if deciding whether to continue. Delia Asia Vieira, sitting opposite him, was silent, listening attentively.
"We raised her as our own daughter," Gene continued, his voice growing quieter. "Ten years passed quickly, but so painfully... Everything changed two years ago, when Karen got sick. We tried to find a cure, but the disease was too strong. And within a few months, she was gone. I was left alone with Delia, and I didn't know how to go on.
Gene closed his eyes, as if trying to swallow the bitterness of the memories. Then he opened them again and continued:
"Delia wasn't easy to console, but one day she suggested going to a resort town, to relax a bit, to change the scenery. I didn't want to, but she convinced me. We packed our things, got in the car and drove off... But what happened next changed everything."
He paused for a moment, looked at Delia Asia Vieira, and saw how she was listening intently. There was curiosity in her eyes, and something else, perhaps understanding. Gene continued again:
"We had engine trouble driving into town late at night. We were stuck on the road and had to walk. And then, as I was driving with Delia in the car, I saw it... The ghost of Damien Thorn. I didn't know what it was, but it was something scary. I tried to turn, but I lost control, and the car went down the hill."
Gene sighed, as if reliving the moment all over again. His hand tightened around his glass, and his gaze became invisible, as if he was seeing something beyond the bar room.
"When I woke up, I was in the city. But Delia was missing. I looked for her, but I couldn't find her. I was completely confused. And then I put on a Guy Fawkes mask to hide from the world and not attract attention. I went into that restaurant, where I saw you a couple of minutes ago."
Silence fell between them as Gene finished his story. He lowered his head, and it seemed as if he was waiting for her to say something. But Delia Asia Vieira remained silent. She was trying to process what she had just heard and how it all related to her own existence.
"Do you believe me?" Gene finally asked, looking at her with a slightly worried expression.
Delia Asia Vieira was silent for another minute. Two worlds merged in her head - the one she knew and this one that suddenly became reality for her. None of this could be a coincidence.
"This all sounds like a bunch of coincidences," she began, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. "You think that just because I might resemble your daughter, I owe you something? You think you can use my past to control me? Like I'm just another toy in your story?"
Gene, as if not noticing her emotions, continued to sit, calmly looking in her direction. He seemed absorbed in his thoughts, his gaze was distant, and his face was calm.
"You don't understand," he began, his voice almost soundless and ingratiating in the room. "You put yourself in this situation. I found you because you are my daughter. You were not born by chance. My life and yours are intertwined. I offer you a way out. A chance to be with me.
Delia Asia Vieira couldn't take it anymore. She stood up, her breathing quickened, and a stormy stream of thoughts bubbled inside her. She couldn't believe that Gene was saying all this so calmly, as if he really was her father, and not some stranger who was using her for his own purposes.
"You can't treat me like this!" she said with fury in her voice. "You have no right to decide for me who I should be, how I should live. You think that my feelings don't matter, that I'm just a continuation of some old story of yours, but I'm not your daughter, Gene. I'm my own boss!"
Gene didn't say a word, but his face tightened slightly. He looked at her carefully and seemed even slightly wary, as if he didn't understand why she was reacting that way. After a moment of silence, he finally said:
"You're not going to stay alone all your life. You have me. You and I should be a family. You and I can be happy. I'll marry you."
His words were clear, direct, and without a shadow of doubt. He extended his hand, waiting for her answer.
There was a moment of silence in the air. Delia Asia Vieira, standing across from him, was still furious. However, her anger was now mixed with something else – with bewilderment, with confusion. How could he decide for her so easily? How could he think that she would accept his proposal as if he were her destiny?
"Are you serious?" she said, not believing her ears. "You think I should be your wife just because you found me and want to make me your property?"
Gene, not understanding the depth of her objections, shrugged.
"You know this is best for both of us," he said, as if it were a given. "You want me to take care of you. You need me."
Delia Asia Vieira, feeling her heart beat faster with excitement, took a step back. Her voice was firm and her expression was determined:
"I'm a feminist, Gene. I don't need to be someone's wife to feel important. I won't depend on you as some kind of savior. I can make my own decisions, and this isn't one of them."
She turned away, not giving him a chance for further conversation, and walked out of the bar without looking back once. She could not and did not want to be part of his world. In that moment she felt liberated - liberated from the pressure of his demands, from the anxiety of his gaze.
Meanwhile, at the bar, Gene York sat in tears. Tears rolled down his face like a vast sea, rolling in waves over his soul. He wasn't just devastated – he was broken. His world, which had seemed so meaningful just a few hours ago, had been turned upside down, collapsed, and destroyed. Delia Asia Vieira, who had seemed like his salvation, was now disappearing from his life like a ghost. And all he could do was sob like a child, with no idea what to do next.
He didn't notice one of the customers approaching him, clearly ready to offer help. The man, with his shoulders stretched out and his gait casual, sat down next to Gene and looked at him sideways.
"Hey, man, what's wrong with you?" he asked, looking at Gene, who continued to stare at the table, oblivious to the world around him.
Gene sobbed and exhaled heavily, trying to hide his despair. He couldn't believe he had lost her. Lost not just a woman, but all his hope.
"I just lost my love..." he said, barely holding back tears. "She's gone... and now I'm alone again."
The bar patron paused for a moment, as if assessing the situation, and then grinned.
"Oh, don't cry! We have a better place here. You're not alone - there are a lot of hot chicks at Pierre Terlouze's. You'll definitely feel better there! Come on, I'll treat you. Don't worry, everything will be fine!"
But Gene was furious. He didn't seek comfort in other women, he didn't want to escape his pain into the arms of someone else. All he felt was the bitterness of loss. His soul was empty.
"Shut up! What do you even understand? Do you think that in this state I'm just going to go and have fun with someone else?" His voice was becoming more and more aggressive. He grabbed the man by the chest, ready for a fight. "I lost my family, my love, and here you are telling me about "chicks"!"
The answer was a sharp push, and the man, apparently not wanting to deepen the conflict, pushed him away from himself.
"Okay, okay, let's not sort it out here. But if you're so proud, then sort it out yourself!" he said, retreating.
Gene, however, was not about to let him go. His eyes flared with anger, and in a fit of rage, he lunged at the man again. The fight would have been short if the bouncer had not intervened. A large, powerful security guard, hearing the noise and noticing how they were starting to fight, walked up to them and grabbed them both, easily throwing them out of the bar like unwanted bags of trash.
Both men found themselves on the street, lying on the asphalt, surrounded by the darkness and loneliness of the night city.
Gene stood up first, breathing heavily, his hands bloody from the fight, but the pain was almost imperceptible. He looked at the darkened sky, where there was no star, no moon, only dark clouds gathered in the distance.
He felt his loneliness become even more palpable. This whole world suddenly became alien to him. And although he had just been given the opportunity to move on, he had nowhere to go.