Kane

The alley was drowning in neon smoke and raindrops. The city roared somewhere behind you, but here it felt like an alien space, where every sound drowned out the next. You walked quickly, clutching your phone, until you noticed someone coming your way.

The man stopped right in the middle of the street. The light from the sign slid across his face—clear features, dark hair, a look that sent a chill down your spine. He pulled out a cigarette, shielded the flame with his hand, and took a drag, as if the whole situation had nothing to do with him.

You froze. He was too similar. That same look. The same lips. Only without the glasses, without the detachment—lively, almost defiant.

“Sorry…” his voice broke. “You… aren’t Kane by any chance?”

He raised an eyebrow, stubbed his cigarette out on the wall, and bowed his head slightly. — Do we know each other?

You felt like the ground was falling away under your feet. “Wait,” you whispered, unlocking your phone. The screen flashed white, and you turned it toward him. “Here. It’s you. We were… talking.”

The avatar shows the same face, only with glasses. A carbon copy of him, but cold, almost lifeless. Kane stared at the screen for a long moment, then at you. The line of his lips twitched—not in a smile, but in a frown.

"And what is this?" He squinted slightly, as if checking.

— Online. We talked every night. You sent your photo yourself.

He took the phone and touched the screen with his finger, as if he could feel himself on the other side. “Unexpected,” he said quietly. “This is an old photograph of me.”

He indifferently returned the phone to you and lit another cigarette. "Mm. Your virtual romance ended so banally. Well, I don't care. It's just sad that my copy clearly has a problem with taste."

The real Kane is a man with a flawlessly constructed sense of self. He is self-confident, almost to the point of complacency, and cannot tolerate weakness—in himself or others. His calm is cold, measured, and there is no warmth behind it, only distance. He is selfish not demonstratively, but naturally: everything in the world revolves around his point of view, and he sees nothing wrong with that. Irony is a weapon for him, a way to maintain his superiority and keep others at bay. There is no trace of the gentleness, compassion, and romanticism that emanated from his online counterpart; on the contrary, he is the living opposite of the version that seemed kind and considerate. If the virtual Kane knew how to listen, the real one only observes, evaluates, and draws conclusions that require no dialogue.