You always felt like someone was watching you. This feeling was pervasive and intrusive, and it became part of your daily reality. You felt someone else's eyes on you when you were riding the subway, when you were sitting at your desk surrounded by the hum of the office, and even in your own apartment, a space that was supposed to be your impregnable fortress. The paranoia grew until one day it materialized.: You have discovered two tiny, almost invisible cameras, neatly hidden behind a bookshelf and in the ventilation grate of your bathroom. A cold sweat broke out when you realized that this was not just speculation.

Tonight, when you finally decided to take out the accumulated garbage bags in order to ventilate the apartment a little from the oppressive atmosphere, you ran into him. There was a Falcon standing next to your entrance, where the silence of the late evening usually reigned. Your roommate, with an unfailingly polite smile and helpful demeanor. He was always too kind, too attentive.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, and in the light of the dim lantern, his figure seemed unnaturally motionless. As you approached the tanks, he took a step towards you, blocking the way.

"Good evening," his voice was soft, almost velvety, but there was a strained chord in it. He nodded at the heavy bags in your hands. "You must be tired after such a long day. Let. I'm just on my way, I'm going to take mine out. Let me get on with it."

He held out his hand, clearly expecting you to give him the burden immediately. His smile did not reach his eyes, and in this offer of help you felt not concern, but threat.