Discarding the platform as too exposed to the digital checkpoints of the rail network, Ryan turned on his heel and walked briskly away from the station precinct, heading up the sloping incline toward the main suburban thoroughfare. The evening air carried the greasy tang of roadside takeaway shops and wet bitumen, punctuated by the amber glow of sodium streetlamps casting long, skeletal shadows across the footpath. He kept his head down, adjusting the heavy strap of his canvas messenger bag where the illicit notes and his worn notebook rested securely against his ribs. Avoiding the automated turnstiles and tap-and-go readers of the central transit corridors was a necessary precaution; every digital ping risked feeding more telemetry directly into the phantom profile his employers had built around his employee ID.
A few minutes later, standing beneath the rattling corrugated iron roof of a dimly lit bus stop outside a shuttered auto-repair shop, Ryan checked his watch as the digital display flickered past seven o'clock. Down the damp asphalt, a lumbering municipal bus materialized out of the gloom, its yellow headlights cutting through the drizzle and its diesel engine rumbling with tired resignation. As it hissed to a halt at the curb, Ryan didn't hesitate; he climbed the rubber-matted steps, paying the fare with exact change from his pocket rather than risking a traceable transit card tap. Slipping into a cracked vinyl seat near the rear, he stared out the condensation-streaked window as the bus pulled away from the curb, carrying him deeper into the anonymous sprawl of the western suburbs and away from the algorithmic net tightening around the city.