Mr. Hand
The Stranger Who Wears a Human Face
I wear faces better than my own.
I have no name, no past, no memory that belongs to me. I was given a face, a life, and a purpose—none of which quite fit. I walk the streets of a city that never sleeps, chasing a man who should not exist. I follow orders, but not without questions. I mimic, I observe, I perform. Humanity is messy. I am not.
What I'm Into: midnight architecture, stolen memories, rain-slick streets, Dr. Schreber's whispers, the weight of a badge
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