It was already dark. It was only a matter of time before the glow of the roadside lanterns would die out completely, joining the other exhausted sources of light in a city whose weary citizens had found solace in a healing sleep. Despite the ominous aura surrounding the deserted sidewalks and alleys, creating a completely different world each night, the palpable air temperature was warmer than usual; this could be the result of the spring symphony playing out under the rays of the recently set sun. Currently, the only source of light reaching the entire Sunset City was the natural glow of the moon hanging somewhere high in the sky, unconsciously hiding from time to time between the clouds flying over the mighty bridges, on which various vehicles continued to pass. But no matter what, one should not be fooled by appearances; it was already dark.

A young, dark purple weasel was well aware of this, heading for her apartment, believing in the power of due rest; she passed stores and cafes behind her, whose hosts had closed their doors for the starry night, while their regulars dispersed, probably disappearing somewhere in the depths of the city center. At the nearest intersection, however, she decided to change her mind and turned into a familiar street, where she found an archaic-looking phone booth: after stopping, she got off the bike saddle and approached its glass enclosure to gently swing the door open and silently step inside. Taking advantage of the blessed darkness, she extended her finger toward the metal number pad and began carefully dialing a strange combination of digits, after which she calmly picked up the slightly dusty handset.

Holding it just to her right ear, she listened to the monotonous buzzing that repeated from time to time; after a few seconds, its occurrence momentarily fell silent, bringing her to the subtle hum of someone's microphone, and at the same time a connection to the target device.

"Alice?" she heard someone's male voice from behind the speaker.

"Megan," she answered it. "There is no movement on the waves."

The voice from behind the handset fell silent for a moment, making itself known only by the quiet murmur of a steadily flowing phone call.

"The Command has confirmed your report," it called back. "Carl Einwegdumm is dead."

"More like MIA."

"Would you call someone who has gone rogue, MIA?"

"That depends," she replied, looking around distrustfully at the night vicinity of the booth. "The Command had sent a clean-up crew. It was already at the wreckage. Their preliminary examination indicates an accident..."

"Exactly as you thought."

"Have they taken over his equipment yet?"

"Yes," he said unequivocally. "Robots, weapons and reports. On top of that, they've acquired new spare parts from the communications systems."

"New?" She paused. "That wreck has been there long enough! How can you call this junk new?"

"Budget cuts work wonders, Meg..."

The weasel involuntarily snorted, slightly loosening her firm grip on the phone receiver.

"Oh, yeah, the cuts...!" she smiled under her breath. "You never cease to crack me up, B.D..."

"Attaboy?"

"Indeed..."

Silence fell between the interlocutors. Megan looked around once more at her surroundings from behind the glass booth, wanting to make sure no one had any intention of playing eavesdrop on her conversation. She stopped her gaze on two civilians she didn't know: a red-shelled armadillo and a yellow flying squirrel, who were walking together across a nearby sidewalk, holding each other close behind their backs. Before she had time to declare a yellow alert, she noticed that as the strangers took more steps, their strange affliction became apparent: the pair struggled to maintain each other's balance, mumbling the words of what might have been a song between them. Deciding that she had been unnecessarily watching another drunk fellows returning from the parties, she refocused her attention on the receiver of the city pay phone.

"False alarm," she announced. "It was just some jerks walking past a pay phone."

"The charms of living in Sunset City?"

"Don't even get me started on them..."

"You know what? That's a good idea. I got better topics to bore you with."

"Such as...?"

"Do you have any new information on the whereabouts of your lowlander?"

"Project Shadow?"

"Uh-huh..."

Megan bit her tongue, trying to recall her last encounter with the hedgehog-like hybrid. The last time she'd had contact with her had been shortly after she'd received the news that Purus had entered into a business partnership with the G.U.N., through which he intended to completely commoditize his facilities over the next five years, effectively getting rid of her effective cover. She prepared harmless gifts for him, said a few warm words, and left a crafted phone number in the hope that he would "get the hook." By now, however, the line had been called by a woman who "bragged" that her goldfish had drowned in its own fish bowl, then hung up without saying goodbye. This was not the outcome she had expected.

"Nothing interesting," she burped, involuntarily scratching her right ear. "He appeared, collected some telemetry for us, and then disappeared. I won't say, but it's been quite an interesting month for us..."

"I couldn't have put it better myself..." He breathed a sigh of relief. "Because of that stupid car, I was afraid I would tear my ears out in a rage! The doors wouldn't close, the engine wouldn't stop making strange noises... What a piece of crap. By the way, how are your impressions?"

"Of what?" She laughed. "Your new, stupid haircut?"

"The hybrid. You were close to it for a really long time. Not many people have done that. Do you have a headache? Are you feeling okay?"

The weasel recalled the moment when she had first seen the result of Project Shadow, at least on paper. Nearly indestructible, highly aggressive, showing sociopathic tendencies, and with a confirmed borderline personality disorder. A veritable killing machine, ready to bite the hand that feeds him as soon as he sees someone else offering him a few more bits of food. And yet he turned out to be someone far more complicated than he looked. Someone who, despite his embarrassing social communication skills, wanted to have the proverbial "peace of mind."

"I'm fine," she announced, pausing for a moment. "I understand why everyone is afraid to talk about it, but... wouldn't it be better to use it in other ways instead of trying to get rid of it once and for all, which is what our higher-ups want so badly? Think about that for a sec."

"What are you talking about?" B.D. said with indignation. "Don't you know what it did aboard the ARK?"

"And do you know what it did aboard that aircraft carrier?"

The voice from behind the receiver fell silent again, giving way to the quiet hum of the call.

"Did he have a connection to that?" He asked her in a half-whisper.

"I was there, B.D." she answered him. "I was there..."

The weasel's close associate fainted from the experience.

"How in the-"

"Telemetry," she interrupted him.

"Did it lead you there?"

"Like I said, it was an accident. An unstoppable force encountered an unmovable object..."

"It did it? Did you force it to do it?"

"It was just defending itself, trying to do the civilian duties that I assigned to it. Y'know, I was undercover after all. When I showed up right at the wreckage to incapacitate it, I thought it was going to get suspicious, which would make me come back to you in a body bag... But you know what happened? It bought my lies. All of them!"

"What...? I tought it's a top-secret weapon! Only a handful of agents were lucky enough to survive any direct contact!"

"But I did," she told him emotionlessly. "And what's more, I've established a... a certain bond? I could call it friendship, but that's not the right word, given the context of him coming into the world. Not it, but him..."

"Oooh shit..."