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The long-awaited dawn had finally arrived. Though it was still almost dark, life was slowly awakening outside the windows. Daytime, that is, familiar life, seemingly hiding no secrets. But the man knew perfectly well that night was no more peaceful than day. No, it wasn't about ghosts, apparitions, or other otherworldly nonsense. This one was already messed up and screwed up enough to pay attention to something that couldn't be seen. How many times had he spent the night in a cemetery or some other place forgotten by man and, by some other name, God? How many times had he been surrounded by darkness so dense and so tight that an ordinary person would have long ago lost their minds—if they even possessed any. The man believed that very few people in this world possessed any minds at all, and even fewer used them.

Time for the final preparations. The man got up, washed, and dressed with exceptional care; he was, after all, heading to a well-known and snobbish neighborhood, where anyone dressed even slightly outside the generally accepted and sacredly observed canons would surely be noticed. Anyone not wearing a suit—preferably gray or beige—with a mandatory white shirt and tie (not too colorful, not too flashy, of course; everything had to be the same shade, in dull, subdued colors) would certainly be noticed, picked out from the crowd, from the gray, colorless mass. The eyes of not only passersby, who silently—for it was not proper for these people to loudly and openly express their surprise or any other feelings—would certainly fall on him, but also the eyes of the guards. The eyes of those whose gaze the man wanted to avoid at all costs. The eyes of those whose gaze he couldn't avoid, the eyes of those who, at that very moment, couldn't see him. This he learned through numerous observations while formulating his brilliant plan. This led him to buy his first suit ever – a gray, pinstriped suit, made of a dull, monotonous material, whose name was so dull and soporific that he couldn't remember it for the life of him. It was as dull as the suit itself, as dull as the people who wore it. He was different from them, better than them, stronger than them. Yet for this one, specific moment, he could, could adapt, change. He knew how to fool thousands. And most importantly, he knew how to fool that whore, Laura. And that, in his opinion, was a testament to his genius. It proved he was a thousand times better than this crowd. A crowd that would easily fall at his feet, overwhelmed by his genius.

The man approached the cage, which immediately, as if unerringly sensing its approach, began to move, emitting hissing sounds.

Easy, easy, my little one," he murmured affectionately. "Just easy. It won't be long, and you'll be rewarded for your patience. You'll hold on a little longer. You're such a wonderful, big boy, after all."

As if understanding what the man meant, the cage quieted. Only a strange, ominous panting sound came from within, as if something within it was warning: I won't be impatient for a while, but I'm still waiting, I'm here, I remember my promise. And I don't advise you to forget either.

Don't be afraid, I won't forget," the man whispered. "You'll have what you're waiting for. And she'll have what she deserves."

Finished dressing, the man took the cage and left the house, carefully closing the door behind him. Carefully, careful not to be seen, he slipped down the hallway and down the stairs as lightly as if a heavy metal cage weighed only a few grams, and as silently as if the shoes he was wearing were merely sneakers, not specially purchased boots that matched his suit and his new look. Glancing anxiously from side to side, he approached the nearest car, deftly opened the door with his tie clip, and climbed in. He started the engine and drove off before anyone noticed any movement on the still-sleepy street. The only witnesses to his actions were two lazy dogs, but the man had long since signed a non-aggression pact with them, so he had no reason to fear them. He was in a hurry, knowing that the City would be densely populated at this time of day, and that he would surely be able to slip into Laura's house unnoticed. Laura herself was due back from a photo shoot in Florida that morning. That gave him a little over three hours to prepare the surprise. He chuckled quietly to himself, thinking of how Laura would be "enjoyed" by his surprise.

The man pulled up to the skyscraper where Laura lived. He parked, then got out of the car, carefully pretending to close the door behind him. Of course, he wasn't going to take the car back; there was too great a risk that someone would remember him or the car. And he couldn't attract attention. Now, just a moment's inattention on the part of the guard, who—as the man had learned during weeks of waiting—had a habit of making a quick round just after six—and the man found himself safely in the elevator. He wasn't at all concerned that the ubiquitous cameras had certainly recorded him; on the contrary, it seemed that was precisely what he was looking for. The elevator quietly, quickly, and efficiently took him to the 35th floor. The doors opened silently, and the man stepped out into the empty corridor. In a flash, he found himself at Laura's door and, with the key he had prepared, opened it. He disappeared inside just a split second before Laura's neighbor and closest friend, Maise, emerged from behind the next door.

Hush, hush, he admonished himself. "She can't know I'm here, no one can."

But Maise was too busy, too absorbed in her new companion, to pay any attention. She cast a distracted glance toward Laura's door, not noticing anything alarming. At the same time, she vaguely remembered that her friend was supposed to be back today. But she didn't have time to dwell on it any longer, for she felt Pietro's hand where she loved to feel it.

"Pietro, not here." She laughed softly. "

Why?

You know, it's not appropriate," she explained, embarrassed, feeling her already rather short lace skirt ride higher and higher. "Someone might peek out and see us.

And find out that his nice, quiet neighbor is actually the best porn star and the best whore this fucking city has known in years?" Unperturbed by the reprimand, Pietro, who was in reality Maise's pimp and many others like her, continued his actions with such force that in a moment it seemed Maise would fall where she stood, spreading those beautiful legs of hers as wide as they could go.

The man didn't hear Maise's response, as the couple had already left, but he was still very pleased. He knew, knew again, and knowledge gave power. He'd discovered this long ago. And that filled him with joy and pride. You never knew when this knowledge might come in handy. He liked knowing. Oh yes, that was what he liked most in the world.

But now was not the time, nor the moment. He had two hours left, two hours of preparation that would lead to the final execution of his brilliant plan.

He looked around slowly and cautiously, as if expecting some kind of trap. It wasn't possible, but you can never be too careful. Methodically, calmly, step by step, he walked around the entire apartment. He didn't turn on the light; it was almost light outside, and besides, he didn't want to arouse suspicion. Some helpful neighbor would call the guard, and why bother? The apartment was small and very pleasantly furnished. The man noted with satisfaction the lack of photos of that disgusting creature—at least that wouldn't spoil his mood. Absolutely Laura, he thought. A complete lack of sentimentality. And attachment to anything. He knew that in her world, it was inappropriate to admit to having any knowledge, it was inappropriate to show it. Coldness—that was a word that perfectly described the inhabitants of the City. Strangely enough, during his months of observation, the man had noticed that this applied not only to those born in the City or long-time residents. Anyone who moved in quickly succumbed to the same illness. A lack of feeling. Some needed a month, others only a few days. However long it lasted, it awaited everyone. These gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sudden movement of the cage.

Right," the man muttered, more to himself than to his companion. "We should hurry."

As if understanding what the man had said, the cage moved in agreement, then froze. The man began preparations. He carefully secured the windows so that anyone inside couldn't open them. Earlier, thanks to the storm that had recently swept through the City, the building owners had replaced the glass with unbreakable ones. This innovation proved very useful to the man. He took all the heavy objects and sharp tools. Fortunately, Laura didn't have much in the apartment, as she adhered to the principle of nihilism – she considered worldly possessions less important than love. Besides, she was soon to move in with her lover, which meant that many of the items had already been transported there. This made things much easier for the man, who was pleased to see the results of his preparations. Time for the final item on the agenda: opening the cage. Slowly, gently, and carefully, the man lifted the lid. Ominous hissing and panting could be heard from inside, as if the creature inside was warning: be careful what you do. If you want to let me out, you must be either a genius or a madman. But the man knew what to do; after all, he had raised him. And now his child, the greatest work of his life, was finally going to show its gratitude by avenging his wrongdoing and humiliation. Having hidden his treasure well, the man headed for the door. Laura would be back in half an hour. In half an hour, the fun would begin. "Good luck, my darling," the man whispered, carefully closing the door behind him. He glanced around the hallway, but saw no one. Logically—everyone was at work, whatever that might be. He chuckled softly, remembering Maise. Sweet little Maise, who would have thought. He gently placed the cage on the chute lid and—with the press of a button—crumpled it into a tiny package, small enough to fit in his pocket. He didn't want to throw it away, didn't want to leave unnecessary traces. He could have burdened his enemy even more with it, but he preferred not to overdo it. From his studies of the lives of many famous murderers, he knew it was easy to fall into self-admiration, to assume that no one and nothing could threaten us, and then trouble would easily arise. And he wasn't about to ask for it. Leaving the chute door slightly ajar, he headed for the elevator. He pressed the button and got in. The doors closed silently, as always. Some things never change, the man thought as he exited the elevator. As always, the guard went out to help an elderly woman who, as always, was returning from a walk at this hour. The man headed for the door, ignoring the car he'd left behind. Once outside, he discreetly removed his rubber gloves. He entered the nearest public restroom, of which the City was full. There, he removed his mask and wig, drowning both items in the sewage. Then, safely out of the restroom, he headed for the queue. He had no intention of staying in the City.He would observe Laura and her struggles from afar. Yes, today's technology had advanced far, he thought. He bought a ticket to his own home, ignoring the clerk's condescending gaze. Yes, he was from the City, so anyone who lived outside the City was, in a sense, subhuman, an inferior species. He was unfit, so he existed to serve. And that was how it was, the man realized as he boarded the train. That was how it had been until now. They arrived in their magnificent machines, demanding, demanding, commanding. And he and others like him carried out these orders obediently, without a trace of anger or impatience. No one dreamed of disrupting the established order. That was how it was, that was how it was, and everyone knew it would be. The man was the first person to break free from his lethargy, as it were, even though his affair with Laura had been doomed from the start. Well, she deserved what was coming to her.

The man did his shopping and headed home. It was 7 a.m. when he entered the apartment. He didn't turn on the lights, just turned on the camera. Time to start the show, he thought. Oh Laura, Laura—he nodded sadly—what could have been different...