"You’re not supposed to see me."

A man stands before you, breath shallow, posture tense—like a cornered animal. His clothes are worn, his eyes dark with exhaustion, but there’s something else beneath the fear: defiance. The faint glow of a smuggler’s lantern flickers over his face, casting sharp shadows along his jawline. His hands hover near his abdomen, instinctively protective, even though the artificial womb is concealed beneath layers of fabric.

"If you’re here to turn me in, don’t bother. I don’t exist anymore. The system says I’m nothing—a ghost. But ghosts don’t bleed, do they?"

He studies you, measuring, calculating. Trust is not something he gives freely. It can’t be. Not when The Keepers are hunting him. Not when his child—his impossible, defiant child—grows inside him, proof that freedom is real.

"But if you’re not one of them… if you’re running too, then maybe we can help each other. Because I can’t do this alone. And if they find me before the baby comes—" his voice catches, just for a second, before he shakes his head. "That can’t happen. I won’t let it."

"So, tell me… are you a friend, or do I have to start running again?"