Nero hated the metro.
He hated the people on it.
He also had no choice but to take the metro because he brought only his burner phones, was exhausted, and didn’t know the driver’s phone number.
So he took the metro to get to Rosaline’s house, fell asleep, missed the stop, and had to ride the same circuit again, with people trying to avoid his gaze.
Nero couldn’t blame them. He felt like he was homeless again, wandering the streets of Atlaan. His clothes were ripped, there was blood under his fingernails and on his hands, he had only slept around six hours, he was hungry, and he smelled like ash, cigarettes, and blood.
His bones ached and he felt like someone was pulling on his arms, and every time he moved, it was like someone else was moving him, a puppeteer, his body a marionette. After getting off the metro and getting lost, he finally found his way to Rosaline’s house and rang the doorbell.
Rosaline looked through her window to see who it was and was not pleased.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “He’s here to kill me.”
Nero looked like he had been through hell and back, and Rosaline was not sure what to do about him. He couldn’t stand in front of the door and attract the neighbors’ attention, but she couldn’t call the police after years of knowing about Nero and Alto’s illegal activities.
So she did the only thing she could do, greeting him at the door and trying to act natural.
“Are you okay," she asked.
“Yeah," said Nero. “I’m fine. I came to drop something off. Can I come inside?"
Rosaline wasn’t sure. Nero looked like he had been dragged through a hospital operating floor but he was calm. If he was panicking it would have been more normal than his current demeanor.
“Sure?"
Nero came inside and put his reliable orange backpack on the kitchen counter. “I brought you a gift," said Nero. “Just let me take some stuff out first.”
Nero took out a phone.
And then another.
And another.
Rosaline watched in confusion as Nero pulled twenty-seven phones out of his backpack and two guns. It wasn’t the only thing strange about him. She swore that they were around the same height, but somehow he looked bigger than before.
“Is that for me," she asked.
“Oh no, no, your stuff is in the bag. See ya."
Nero tried to hold all the phones in his arms but decided against it. He took whichever he deemed important and threw the rest in the trash.
Then the screaming began.
Rosaline watched in horror as Nero screamed in her kitchen. She started screaming, the baby sleeping upstairs started screaming, and the world was screaming.
And then he was gone.
Her heart was practically trying to jump out of her chest, afraid of what he left in the backpack, thanks to his strange entrance and terrifying exit. Warily, she opened up the zipper, and inside she saw money.
Lots of it.
Rosaline couldn’t piece together what law he had broken now.
After getting Amos back to sleep Rosaline counted all the bills in the bag, five thousand in total. That was enough for her bills for two months. She worried that Nero stole the money from a bank or his husband.
She decided after some time it didn’t matter, and she could feign ignorance if someone asked.
Nero was back at Alto’s estate, in the family room, draped all over the chaise in his bathrobe drinking wine and getting day drunk like a proper mob wife.
He chugged the wine straight from the box, shamelessly and grumbled about nothing. He rubbed his calves and ankles, and his arms were in intense pain. He didn’t understand why it was hard to walk, and why he kept missing objects he tried to pick up.
His internal grumbling and groaning in an opulent lifestyle were interrupted by his husband and sister-in-law who burst into the family room, absolutely livid.
“I saw you on TV, Nero," said Alto. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Can we not do this? I am exhausted. I had a very long night, and I only took a nap for like three hours last night.”
“I don’t give a shit, you never told me you were doing this! You told me about your other plans but not burning a stadium to the ground."
Nero stood up, wobbly and unbalanced from the aching legs and fruity wine, more askew than earlier.
“I didn’t know that woman had that sort of strength! I fought back or else I’d be dead! She- ”
Nero suddenly stopped yelling because Alto and Azara were looking at him very strangely.
“What," he asked. “What is it?"
Alto walked right up to Nero and checked his body. He lifted his arms and compared their heights.
“You grew. You grew overnight," Alto said in awe.
Nero looked at Alto and Azara and he realized they were right. He barely came up to their chests, but now he was looking at Alto, only about an inch shorter than him. For the first time, he wasn’t looking up at him. It was overwhelming.
“This is amazing," said Azara. “Maybe you’re one of those people who learn they have secondary abilities later in life."
“No more fires, please,” Alto begged. “This is enough.”
Nero stumbled into the bathroom down the hallway clutching the walls and nearby furniture. He wasn’t sure if he was unbalanced because of his new height or the wine. He inspected himself in the bathroom’s body mirror and marveled at his new body.
His tattoos stretched out from the sudden height increase and his hips were narrower. His hands and feet were bigger, his jaw looked stronger, and even that was bigger.
“Holy shit."
Nero returned to the family room, wobbling like a newborn giraffe.
“A miracle has happened," moaned Nero. “Goddess Solara has done the impossible, making me even more handsome than before."
“Nah," said Azara. “You're still a sissy."
“Don’t be jealous of my new ability."
“It's not a new ability," replied Alto. “I searched it up on my phone while you were in the bathroom, probably touching yourself.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled.
“Apparently people who expand their abilities after not using them for quite some time grow," said Alto. “The part of the brain that controls your ability is next to the pituitary gland. The Numen gland."
Nero didn’t know what a pituitary gland or a Numen was but pretended to know.
“Ah yes," he mused. “Of course."
He felt that something changed him last night. He never made an actual physical tunnel using his ability. Before he was the only one who could see or use them. The possibilities were now endless if only the watch weren’t attached to him.
It squeezed tighter on his wrist, now that everything was bigger, and he knew it would be time that it would eventually come off. He could use his abilities if he fought through the pain, but he was considering becoming a masochist to deal with it or cutting his hand off if the watch never fell off on its own.
“Anyway, that doesn’t matter," yelled Alto. “I’m still pissed! Our bosses are gonna kill us!”
“I don’t see why our bosses would care if I burned down Sky Stadium,” said Nero. “Unless they really like concerts?"
“Ohmigodyou’resodumb," said Azara, in one full breath. “You’re ON TV. IT'S EVERYWHERE."
Azara turned on the TV and footage of the night played in Hi-Def. The concert’s cameras caught everything.
“Rikka White is being hailed as a hero, again," said Azara. “You attacked the seventh realm’s favorite celebrity. People really liked her 'cause she fought a bunch of terrorists like two years ago?”
“First the cops were looking for Enemy after you killed all those perverts at Tony," she continued. “But now, they’re looking for us! It was easy to believe Enemy did it with that idiot we tricked, but with the same person at both scenes no one believes it now!”
“We burned down Tony for nothing," Alto said. "It was the perfect place to launder money too, since the tips were always cash..."
“Our power intimidates them,” said the sword. “They fear what they don’t understand.”
The sword sat on the coffee table next to a chair. It shone beautifully under the day lamp. No longer did it look dull and rusting away, new life born in both of them last night.
The celestial object was starting to warp his mind, making him trust it more than everyone else, and he knew, Nero knew that everyone was jealous of him because he was better than them.
“You’re just intimidated by me 'cause I’m bigger than you now," Nero said smugly. He felt proud using that new word. Intimidate. Alto bared his fangs, and got up from his chair, making it known that he needed to be put in place.
“I’m in charge here," he yelled. “Nothing has changed."
Azara rolled her eyes and turned back to the television. Daily she marveled at how they were still together, their codependency obvious to everyone except themselves.
“No one is in charge Alto. I’m your husband. We work together."
Alto tried to calm down, and he assured himself that there was nothing to be afraid of. Nero would never leave him. He couldn’t. Nero still couldn’t read, and Alto thought that nothing would change as long as that stayed. Alto knew that he could control him, making him kill more people, and be useful, as long as he kept playing house.
“Do you think you’re in charge of me,” Nero asked.
Alto saw the sword in the corner, and he was forced to understand that something had changed in their dynamic, and he wasn't ready to face.
“Shush," said Azara. “You can fight later; they’re talking about it on the news!"
Nero wobbled over to the couch farthest away from Alto. He didn’t want to be near him, and he didn’t want to even look at him. Instead, he watched the television, and his body went cold as a familiar face popped up on the screen.
The former Chief of Police, Alabaster Almuz, was asked his thoughts on the recent turmoil in Atlaan, and he had plenty of sway in public opinion. He was caught walking down the street with a young socialite, and he smiled, his eyes sparkling like diamonds.
“It's a shame I’m not with the APD anymore under the circumstances,” Almuz lamented. “It seems under new leadership they’re off the beaten path.”
The reporter asked him what he thought should be done about the arsonist, and without blinking he replied that he should be hanged.
“It’s a shame Paradis has removed the death penalty. There’s no room for terrorists in our town.”
Nero’s aching bones went stiff, his chest hurt, and his eyes flickered black, as the interview went on. The longer it went, the hotter his chest became. Almuz's magnetic smile was tinder for his anger, igniting it for years.
Nero had never known his captor's name, and here he was, in front of him, walking around, hiding in plain sight, while Nero was wondering if he would ever find him, a man hard to track if you never knew his name. His anger boiled over, bubbling, and then it spilled out as hot and heavy tears.
Alto said several words, many things, but Nero could not hear him, he couldn’t hear anyone. He was not there, goodbye, write a note, leave a message at the tone, because he would be out for some time, and he wasn’t sure when he would return.
There was no one home, only fear, an inescapable feeling. It didn’t matter how much money Nero had. It didn’t matter how many people he killed. It didn’t matter how strong he had become.
The mysterious man would always find him.
When he returned from his trip somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, he was still sobbing, drunk a wet mess, in his bedroom, unaware as to how he got there. Alto had brought him upstairs, and all he felt was disappointment that after two years Nero had shown little to no improvement.
When Nero came to live with Alto, some nights Nero would wake up and cry, others he would scream. Many nights he would wake up and stare at the ceiling in silence from another night of terror.
Nero had escaped the mysterious man, but he could never escape him in his dreams.
Alto rubbed his back and tried to soothe him. After some time, Nero finally stopped sobbing. His body heaved and quiet sniffles came out.
“Let's take a shower and get dressed, okay," said Alto.
He tried to take Nero’s bathrobe off, but Nero punched him right in the throat.
“Don’t touch me," screamed Nero. “I won’t let anybody ever touch me again!"
“What the fuck is your problem," yelled Alto. “I’m just trying to help you! All I ever do is try to help you!”
Nero started crying again, and Alto was tired of his daily tears.
“I can’t take this anymore," shouted Alto.
He was tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally tired.
“I am so tired of being your dad! I am so tired of never being allowed to get angry, or sad, or frustrated."
“You’re so mean," whined Nero.
“I’m mean,” Alto asked. His voice raised higher and higher. He started throwing stuff out the balcony. Anything he could get his hands on would be better than hitting Nero.
“You are allowed to cry all you want whenever you want.”
Out went a vase, through the open patio door, and into the pool.
Alto picked up their wedding picture, decorated by its ornate frame. It was a picture of them smiling and exhausted, clothes torn and covered in ash. It was the only picture they had of that night. Nero decided to take a picture of them with his phone so they would at least have something from that day.
He slammed it to the ground and the pieces of the frame skipped across the floor.
Nero started shrieking, louder and louder. He pushed himself up against the bed as far as he could to avoid stray flying glass and ceramic.
“Don’t kill me,” Nero screamed. “Stop!”
“You get to leave and go whenever you want and never tell me where you’re going!”
Alto punched a hole in the wall and Nero continued to scream. Alto opened all the drawers from the dressers and began to throw all of Nero’s clothes on the ground.
“Stop," screamed Nero. “Please stop."
Alto continued until he could find every shirt, every skirt, every pair of pants Nero owned. Once the dresser was empty, he pushed it onto the ground, and Nero let out another shriek.
“You get to spend all my fucking money without contributing a single damn thing.”
Nero screamed and sobbed as Alto continued to break and shatter more objects in the room. With one swipe of his arm, more of their pictures fell to the ground.
Vacations.
Parties.
Honeymoon.
All to the ground they fell, shattering into millions of pieces. Alto grabbed a clock off the wall and threw it across the room, sending more glass flying.
It was a housewarming gift from Adonis after they moved in together.
“You get to fuck that bitch, you get to have a son, and I get nothing. I get nothing.”
And then Alto looked like he was about to cry.
Nero stopped screaming and couldn’t process Alto crying. There couldn’t be two unstable people, one of them had to be strong for the other. That’s not how it worked for him, he needed someone else, not the other way around.
Nero didn’t know what to say. He and Alto had fought plenty of times but he never felt scared. He never thought that Alto would do this to him.
How dare he have emotional needs?
“When I say I’m in charge it's not because I like it, it's because it's true. I don’t want to be your dad anymore."
Nero didn’t like what he was hearing. He didn’t like to be confronted with his issues, and he never liked to be told no. He didn’t want to face the truth that maybe his marriage wasn’t working out because of Rosaline, but because of him.
“Why aren’t you saying anything," yelled Alto. “Say something!”
Slowly Nero got up from the bed and tried to stand on the floor, avoiding broken pieces of ceramic and glass. Alto watched him as he wobbled across the room, drunk and pale.
“Where are you going," yelled Alto.
Nero continued his way across the room and leaned on the remaining dresser next to the door. He took off his rings and left them on the dresser. He walked right out of the room and never looked back.
