The security officer, Rayn, had been watching the scanner in a bored haze, his shift uneventful as always.
Until now.
The buzz of an error shattered the monotony, the screen flashing UNIDENTIFIED. His brow furrowed. Impossible. Everyone born in this world had a traceable identity logged at birth—an unbroken record tied to their existence.
Beggar or billionaire, orphan or royal, it didn't matter. The system didn't make mistakes. So, for it to display an error?
He reached for his radio, his hand trembling with both confusion and a creeping sense of urgency. "Control, this is Bank Alpha. Code 101 at the main entrance. Subject flagged as unidentified—no ID match on record. Awaiting further instructions, over."
Rayn glanced up toward the entrance, scanning for the anomaly. The man, disheveled and rain-soaked, was already gone, vanished into the crowd outside the bank.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face. How had someone like that disappeared so fast?
"Control, this is Bank Alpha," he barked, his voice sharper now. "Code 101 escalated. Subject has fled the scene. Male, mid-twenties; appearance suggests transient or vagrant. Requesting immediate assistance or further instructions, over."
The response was immediate, crisp with authority. "Bank Alpha, this is Control. Understood. Dispatching local units to your location for area surveillance and identification sweep. Maintain security protocol. Over."
Within minutes, the wail of sirens announced the arrival of a squad car, its lights cutting through the rain-streaked gloom.
Two officers stepped out, their movements brisk, purposeful. One adjusted their radio, their sharp eyes locking onto Rayn as he waved them over.
"You're Bank Alpha security?" the lead officer asked.
Rayn nodded and gestured to the scanner, quickly pulling up the footage of the man. The lead officer studied it with a calculating expression.
"Subject flagged as unidentified. No ID match," Rayn explained. "When I approached the anomaly, he bolted. Last seen heading south down the main street."
The officer turned to their partner. "Notify Control we're expanding the search perimeter. Subject could be a fugitive or…" He trailed off, but the unspoken words lingered—something worse.
The other officer nodde and pressed his shoulder radio. "Control, this is Unit Delta-4. Subject flagged unidentified. Requesting additional units for perimeter sweep and drone support. Over."
The static-filled response came quickly. "Copy that, Delta-4. Additional units en route. Proceed with caution."
The officers dispersed, one staying behind to review more footage while the other interrogated nearby witnesses.
Reports came in through their radios, from all the units disperched, piecing together fragments of sightings: Male, mid-twenties, wet torn clothes, heading east.
...............
Meanwhile, Ethan darted through the labyrinthine streets, his every instinct screaming survival.
He didn't know why, but the thought of capture filled him with a primal dread, an overwhelming certainty that he could not let it happen.
His pulse pounded in his ears as he ducked into a narrow alley, the shadows wrapping around him like a second skin.
As he ducked into the shadows, a flash of light pierced his eyes from the street—and in his mind, a bright light shined. Then low murmers. Then running through a forest. Shouts from behind.
The memory was there and gone in an instant, leaving an ache in his chest and a shadow of something he couldn't name.
He pressed his back against the damp, crumbling wall, gasping for air. Unidentified. The word replayed in his head, growing heavier with every repetition. What did it mean? Who was he to warrant such a response from the system?
The distant wail of sirens jolted him from his thoughts. He peeked out from the alley's edge, catching glimpses of officers combing the area, their radios crackling with coordination.
They moved with precision, their eyes scanning the faces in the crowd, their intent unmistakable. They were hunting him.
Ethan pulled back, his mind racing. He needed to blend in, to become invisible, but his current appearance screamed outsider. His torn, filthy clothes were a beacon, drawing attention he couldn't afford.
He scanned his surroundings desperately. Across the street, a shop displayed polished mannequins in neatly tailored suits—a mocking contrast to his state.
Closer, an old man emerged from a nearby alley, wheeling a bin of discarded items. Ethan's eyes locked onto the bin, his decision made in an instant.
He darted across the alley, his movements swift and silent, and rummaged through the pile. A tattered hoodie and a grimy cap surfaced from the mess. They smelled faintly of mold, but he didn't care.
He yanked the hoodie over his head and pulled the cap low, glancing at a cracked windowpane to assess his disguise.
But as he glanced at the reflection in the rain-streaked window, a mark on his neck caught his eye—a faint, geometric tattoo.
It triggered something deep inside him, an echo of someone screaming his name, but the memory slipped away like smoke.
Any way, the disguise wasn't perfect, but it might buy him a few precious moments.
Steeling himself, Ethan stepped back into the flow of pedestrians. He kept his head down, his shoulders hunched, doing everything he could to look ordinary.
The city bustled around him, its neon signs and rain-slicked streets a chaotic blur. He let the crowd carry him, moving with them as though he belonged.
But the feeling of safety was fleeting.
The city pressed in on Ethan, its neon lights reflecting off rain-slicked pavement in sharp, shifting patterns.
The air was thick with exhaust and the scent of wet asphalt, the faceless crowd moving like a machine. Surveillance cameras blinked coldly, their red lights tracking every move.
And at this time, the low hum of a drone reached his ears, subtle yet unmistakable. His muscles tensed as the sound grew louder.
Ethan's breath caught as the drone's hum closed in, his chest tightening like a vice. Why did every nerve scream to run?
Why did the word "unidentified" twist in his gut like a curse? His mind clawed for answers, but only panic and fragments of nothingness answered back.
The drone zipped past him, its mechanical hum fading into the distance. Ethan exhaled shakily, relief momentarily loosening the knot in his chest.
But just as he began to step forward, the sound returned—sharper, closer. He froze as the drone hovered directly above him, its lens locking onto him like a predator preparing to strike.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his pulse spiking.