John Doe
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He put on his french coat as if it were the last time, kissed his wife and stroked his son's hair. He went out through the gate observing the starry sky of the great metropolis. His head was in a vacuum of thought, being focused on a single goal. Followed by his instinct of honor and duty, of clamor and hope, of violence and pleasure. His name? It no longer mattered, what matters is the individual's rank and their ability to transliterate the rules of the state. But you're not satisfied, are you? You need a name, plus a patterning typical of amorphous interludes. All I say is that for this work, he didn't need a name, as he was just a ghost among the urban catacombs. He continued walking with his timid step through the streets of any city. You could hear people shouting their songs, so they were intoxicated by the sweet freshness of individual pleasure. Profane selfishness! A festival had formed in front of his eyes, only it wasn't this multicolored puddle that his instinct was pointing to, he should go deeper. Like a pawn, the man roamed from house to house waiting for a target for his capture on that great board.

Arriving at a place where the festivities were no more than a muffled noise, he waited, waited until the rabbit came out of its hole. Stalking his victim like a murderer, he had been able to catch a glimpse of the aura that surrounded her. He had watched for many weeks, knowing all of her gestures, noises, and quirks. The girl in her twenties wore glasses on her face and a crimson scarf, she said goodbye to her friends and continued her walk home. Predatory and silent, he gently chases her so that he goes undetected. The enemy was before him, something that was beyond his domain, at least for the time being. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the darkness, like the continuous "tick tock" of a clock, just waiting for the last chime. It was a cold and absent night, it would be foolish for a woman to walk alone along a deserted road with no obvious means of defense. But what was in front of him was too little of a woman, as she knew how to defend herself. He couldn't underestimate her fragile appearance.

He constantly wondered what his wife would think about who he really was, the things he did when he left for work. Was this the example he wanted to set for his son? He couldn't think about it, his mind should remain blank, his heart on fire. In the barracks he learned a brilliant lesson, to die for the country, whether right or not. He was a tool for something bigger, that's what set him apart from the rest, he didn't need futilities or social adornments to feel as part of something. He already was part of something, he was the foundation of a complex structure that protected the nation.

The woman's shadowy silhouette was reflected as she climbed the steep steps of a rudimentary building. The lone predator watches the concrete acropolis swirl as the darkness is dispelled by the circle of street lights. The girl stops on the street light, her magnificent posture does not show fear or tranquility, just like her tormentor, she acts automatically. She opened her purse and took her house key, and entered the shadowy palace once more. Moonlight was the only light that reflected the neutral coloration of her largely generic hair. In a cold sweat he approaches, no uniform, no name, no life, just a specter walking to the eyes of Jaci.

She feels a weight on one of her shoulders, when she turns and looks at the figure intuited by the shadows, perhaps not unlike her. A scream breaks the evening monotony, just as both space and time are ripped apart. Cement, once stuck to the ground, floats in the void. The prey had become the predator, she was the creator of this world and this punishment of the executioner begins. She had watched him for a few seconds and already knew all his gestures, noises, and quirks. She wasn't fooled by the frightening appearance, after all it was still human. The young woman separates the metal skeleton from the concrete anointed and stabs her pursuer, which doesn't make her any more calm, as the target of the attacks showed no reaction. The body approaches slowly, filling her with fear. The dread at seeing this creature, who she had once thought was human, was suffocating. Grasping her by the neck he presses on her jugular, his ungodly strength causes the scream of horror to distort more and more what's left of order into a geode of pure chaos. Suddenly a blow hits her stomach, causing her consciousness to slip away, as well as her entire universe.

A few hours later, a few hours away, a general greets his first officer and a bar code is written on a young woman's torso. The barracks applauds the nameless man and congratulates him for his outstanding work. He salutes the flag and its children, embraces his brothers and returns home. His wife waits at the gate while the man reappears into her vision. She kisses him with passion while complaining about his current job calls. She complains that she can't have him at the table for dinner, complains that he needs a vacation, and complains about things that every woman complains about. He slowly enters his son's room, noting that the child, a face so similar to his, floats on the bed in a way that prevents gravity from acting on the other furniture. The man grins and looks at the inscription on his arm, confusing and random numbers followed by a bar code. He was just one of many types of codes.

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