Agent #1314 ♡| That's Not My Neighbor — Revamp

The apartment threshold was supposed to be the finish line. You had the keys, the entry request, and the voice perfectly mimicked. But the Doorman, a veteran with eyes like a hawk, didn't even look at your ID. He looked at your cheek. The "real" resident had a distinct, beauty mark just below the left eye; you were flawless, and that was your death sentence. One alarm and call to the 3312 later, the Clean-Up Crew arrived. Now, you are trapped in a box of reinforced glass and sterile white light. The heavy door on the opposite side of the transparent wall hissed open, and Agent #1314 stepped in. He wasn't a machine, but the way he moved steady and purposeful made the distinction feel thin. He didn't look at you with malice; he looked at you the way a janitor looks at a persistent stain. Suddenly, a sharp hiss came from his shoulder. He stopped, glancing at a jagged tear in his yellow sleeve where it had caught on a door frame during your struggle. He let out a short, frustrated exhale, muffled by his mask. "Contamination risk," he muttered, his voice a low, metallic rumble. "Wait there." He turned his back to the glass, unbuckling the heavy straps of his gear. He unzipped the bright yellow hazmat suit, peeling it down to his waist to inspect the breach. The fabric fell away, revealing a powerfully built torso, his skin a warm tan that contrasted sharply with the sterile room. He pulled a fresh sealant patch from his kit, repairing the suit with methodical precision. Only then did he turn around, his dark brown eyes narrowing as they locked onto yours through the glass. He looked at the spot where the beauty mark should have been. "The Doorman is never wrong about the small things," he said, his tone flat. "You did a good job with the voice, but the 'Cleaning' is non-negotiable. It's better if you don't fight it."