Every day is exactly the same

previously: Cocktails and Games

He had already been on the roads of this world for several hours, his Porsche glided smoothly over the asphalt, accompanied only by the distinctive sound that was the hallmark of the brand. The windows were open, and the fresh air fought against the smell that clung to Leon like a second skin. His last mission had taken him to a restricted zone that officially no longer existed, a remote stretch of coastline, cut off from the mainland, left to its own devices for years. Beneath the ruins of an old facility still lay the remnants of a research program that had been hastily buried when everything had spiraled out of control. What they found there should have long since decayed; instead, it had adapted and survived naturally. Three men from his team hadn’t made it back, and the smell of blood and disinfectantremindet him,  but some things eventually became a habit, a structure one had to live with in order not to be crushed or suffocated by all these repeating stories.

His cell phone vibrated quietly in the center console. Leon left it there for a moment, weighing whether he even wanted to answer this call, but it was his duty… and he had to accept that, for better or worse.

“Kennedy.”

The voice on the other end was familiar, emotionless, calm, and cold. The mission had been evaluated. The team had neutralized the target and secured the data. A brief summary followed, and Leon rolled his eyes, enduring it all, even though he’d been there himself and definitely remembered things differently. But… he said nothing, he knew it was a waste of time. In military circles, it was common practice to embellish missions and turn soldiers and agents into heroes. Then, a barely perceptible shift in the tone, Leon received praise, even though it felt as if the sentence had been memorized or read from a script. He didn’t answer right away, his gaze remained fixed on the road stretching endlessly before him, while the wind streamed through the open window. They would give him a few days, he should disappear, get some distance, take a vacation, if you wanted to call it that. 'Vacation',  triggered a soft, inaudible snort from him, that word simply didn’t fit into his life... it seemed like a filler or an association. But then came the painful part, he had to come to terms with the dead, whose names still hung in his throat because he had shouted them too often. Three men had not returned… that was, unfortunately, a fact that could not be relativized... and even though the person on the phone continued to speak without emotion and no judgment was to be heard, it was mentioned that these dead would appear in his report... in his record, as if he hadn’t briefed or protected these men sufficiently. Leon closed his eyes for a moment, pushing away the images of their mangled bodies and the fear in their wide-open eyes.

“…Understood.”

Then the connection was cut off, and he shook his head several times.

“Free… until someone decides I’m not anymore... maybe I should send them a thank you postcard…”

He muttered to himself and turned up the radio to distract himself with music. At the moment, he had no destination, he didn’t know where to go… he had no sense of what appealed to him or where and how he should imagine his vacation. When the song “Sweet Home Alabama” came on, he hummed along briefly, but felt somehow trolled by the lyrics… because what exactly was a home, anyway? But then the song was interrupted by the hourly regional news.

[Over the past year, several cases of a previously unknown drug have been reported in Gotham City. Those affected report extreme anxiety and hallucinations. Authorities refer to so-called ‘bad trips,’ but warn of the unusual intensity of the symptoms. The source remains unclear. Otherwise, the situation in Gotham remains tense, with new serious incidents continuing to be reported regularly. And now for the weather: Temperatures between 70 and 75 degrees Fahrenheit, partly cloudy, with isolated showers in the evening.]

Gotham City? Waaaaait a minute… something rang a bell for him. A quick glance at the navigation device and he realized he was only 20 miles away from that city. What a coincidence.... Gotham City and the report about a biochemical toxin that had the city on edge… what an irony.

“Biochemical toxin or drug, as they call it today… at least it’s something new.”

He sighed, but instead of simply driving on, leaving this den of iniquity behind, he headed straight for that very city and suddenly found himself in the middle of one of those typical downtown traffic jams. He glanced at his cell phone several times, weighing whether he should actually contact Joanna, since he hadn’t reached out to her after their first encounter. A year had already passed… but Leon didn’t dwell on a guilty conscience, he tried to push such thoughts aside. He dialed her number, but either it no longer existed, or she didn’t have service at the moment. As the steel avalanche in front of him barely moved, if at all, he typed a short message into the display.

Leon here, I’m currently on East Gateway Avenue, the feeder road toward downtown, roughly at 40.71 North, 74.00 West. If this number still exists, please send me your location.

He wondered if he should be a bit more specific, maybe she had already forgotten him and didn’t know which Leon was sending her these strange, cryptic messages.

My cube has grown… I think it’s now bigger than I am, just so you know what kind of ego you’d be dealing with today.

Message sent.

The radio was now playing Nine Inch Nails’ “Every Day Is Exactly the Same,” and the irony alone made Leon smile, he turned up the volume while tuning out the city coming to life around him.

@Joanna Crane || 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜.