The time was precisely midnight; the date was August 18th. The moon was full, hanging high in the sky and casting its soft light over the city. The orange glow of streetlamps also filled this city, drowning out the stars with their light. This particular street– Pinewood Way– was nearly abandoned at this time of night, save for a single man.

That man almost seemed more like a shadow than an actual person. Any features that might have distinguished him were hidden by darkness, thick clothing, or both, and he stuck to the places near buildings and alleys where no light reached.

He stopped in front of a glass door and peered inside. The shop behind it had been abandoned for a very, very long time, and its black-and-white tile floor was littered with debris. Despite this, the shelves still had a few useful items: water bottles, junk food, magazines, and other convenience store items.

Knowing all of this, a neutral observer might think he was a looter of some kind, but that wasn't the reason he was staring so intently into the shop. No, the mysterious man was waiting for something– or, more accurately, someone.

He only had to wait a few seconds before he got his wish. An even more shadowy figure stepped out from behind a shelf. They strode up to the glass door and opened it, staring at him.

"It is good to see you again, mon ami," the man said quietly. "Let us go inside, yes?"

A robotic, synthesized voice spoke for the figure, replying, "No time. I have your documents."

He raised an eyebrow, though it was difficult to see in the faint light. "Impatient today, aren't you?"

The figure didn't answer, perhaps because they couldn't. Instead, they produced an innocent-looking manila folder. Innocent-looking, because this folder contained an entirely new identity for the man– birth certificate, ID, driver's license, family photos, and anything else that he might use to craft a convincing new persona.

The man was a spy, you see, and the figure was a master of forgery who he often called on for help. He gave them a respectful nod and a quick "Thank you", and then he was on his way, ready for his new mission.

Nobody knew where the figure went when they weren't delivering packages. As far as the spy knew, nobody had ever seen their face or heard their voice, either. They had never given him a name to call them, and they seemed to answer to any nickname with the same quiet acceptance. He supposed they enjoyed being a mystery, and for that, he couldn't blame them.

He did wonder who they really were, of course. It was in his nature as a spy; he had that burning curiosity that drove him to choose this line of work. But he knew better than to go digging. After all, if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.