The cold steel of the apartment buzzer feels like a glacier under my fingers. I hesitate, my heart pounding so loud I half-expect the entire building to hear its frantic tempo. The mere thought of seeing her face to face again sends a chill down my spine, memories of her sneering voice and icy touch resurfacing unbidden.
I take deep breaths, in and out.
I briefly glance at my reflection in the glass next to the door. Damn. I look a mess. The rain hasn't been kind, whipping my hair into tangled fury. I can't meet her looking like this. She'll relish any sign of weakness, any opportunity to dig her claws in deeper.
Quickly, I attempt to smooth my unruly locks and straighten my jacket. Pathetic, considering the state I'm in, but I need to maintain some semblance of control.
"Why the hell am I even here?" I mutter to myself, weighing the necessity of my visit.
Flashbacks from our last encounter flit through my mind—shouts, screams, slaps. It was the day I promised myself I'd never let her hurt me again. Yet here I am, on her doorstep, ready to open old wounds.
Okay, enough stalling.
Pressing the buzzer with more force than necessary, I brace myself for the confrontation. Even before the door swings open, I can hear the familiar thud of her heavy steps approaching, each one echoing like a death knell.
The door creaks open, revealing my demoniac sister in all her venomous glory. Her glare, piercing and cold, locks onto mine. A tense silence stretches between us, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic.
“Well, well,” she drawls, her crimson lips curling into a smirk, "Look who finally crawled out of her shithole." I don’t bite, keeping my composure. "Missed me?" she taunts, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Not a chance,” I respond coolly, letting out a sigh. “Just give me what I asked for.”
With a dramatic flourish, she swings the door open even wider, motioning me in with a theatrical gesture. "After you."
I hesitantly step inside the dimly lit flat, the faint hum of an unexpected noise reminiscent of a vacuum cleaner filling the air. My brows knit in confusion. “What the hell is going on?” I blurt out, scanning the room to pinpoint the source. As my eyes adjust, I spot TOTOR, awkwardly donned in an ill-fitting apron, clumsily maneuvering a vacuum cleaner around the worn-out rug in the living room. I've never seen that thing before – when did they even get it?
TOTOR catches my gaze and cracks a lopsided smile, not pausing in his cleaning endeavors. “Oh, hey there, DIANA. Welcome back.”
“I’m not staying,” I shoot back, “but seriously, why are you cleaning now of all times?”
From the corner of my eye, I catch my sister shooting deadly glares at TOTOR, warning him to keep quiet. A pang of suspicion pricks at me, but I push it aside for now.
“Here it is,” she declares, letting the item thud loudly onto the old wooden table. “I can’t believe you’re asking for this after all this time. How cruel can you be? I gave this to you for your birthday. I bet you don’t even remember.”
She hits a nerve; she’s right, I don’t. But I’m not backing down. “You have others, right? I need more than one. I promise I’ll bring them all back.”
Her eyes flare with a mix of anger and incredulity. “You think I just produce them out of thin air? These babies cost a fortune!”
“You barely used it,” I retort, my frustration mounting. “Maybe if you spent less on frivolous things and more on necessities, like food, we wouldn't be in this mess.”
Her familiar look of disgust greets me, and with a sharp, impatient gesture, she signals TOTOR to switch off the deafening vacuum. The sudden silence is almost jarring.
“Go bring yours,” she demands of him, her voice dripping with disdain. “And tell ASCLEPIUS and ORPHEUS to bring theirs too.”
TOTOR’s eyes flit between the item on the table and my sister. He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, about that... I think I sold mine.”
My sister’s face contorts with a mix of exasperation and fury, her gaze piercing TOTOR. “You better have plans to pay me back.”
TOTOR laughs awkwardly, dodging and parrying my sister’s furious kicks and punches with surprising agility. “Wait, wait, don’t kill me, SIRONA! I’ll give you some of the money. I only have 10 or 15% right now, but-”
“You piece of shit!” my sister’s voice rises to a dangerous pitch. “Do you have any idea how much that costs in the first place?! I’ll kill you and get the money off your dead body!” Brandishing her knife, she closes the gap between them.
Rolling my eyes at their typical antics, I take a few steps back. “I’ll just pop by and say hello to ASCLE-PYON.”
They freeze mid-combat, their heads snapping in my direction. “NO!” They shout in eerie unison.
Curious, I tilt my head. “Why…?”
“ASCLEPIUS is sick!” my sister blurts out.
“He ate too much chocolate,” TOTOR adds.
“He got diarrhea,” she continues.
“He’s slowly dying,” he laments.
“He might be dead already.”
TOTOR pretends to check his silent phone. “Just got a message. He died. Rest in peace.”
Blinking at their over-the-top reactions, I decide not to press further. “What about ORPHI? Is he here?”
My sister and TOTOR exchange a loaded glance, lasting a few intense seconds. “He stepped out for a bit,” she finally says, her voice laced with caution. “He’ll be back shortly. You might bump into him.”
“Hm… okay.” I’m about to respond when a hand abruptly drops on my shoulder.
“What is going on here, my esteemed warden? Have you secured the items we need for our quest?”
“Ohhh, is this a collocation?! Sounds fun! But you guys are missing a kotatsu down here!”
Whipping around, I spot the unmistakable figures of the bespectacled boy and the dinosaur-loving girl. My sister and TOTOR, momentarily distracted by their presence, shift into defensive stances. “DIANA! Who the hell are these people?! Why are they here?!” my sister demands, her voice echoing with panic.
The quirky duo must've scaled the building despite my clear instructions to stay put. “You idiots, I told you not to come up! Relax. They're with me. They're yakuzas, but we've struck a deal with these two. It's a long story, but…”
As I try to smooth things over, the eccentric pair starts to wander. The boy offers a nonchalant explanation: “I was growing restless without your esteemed guidance, warden. Plus, you left the front door open, so it wasn’t exactly challenging to get in.”
Suddenly, the girl's voice pierces the room, her excitement palpable. “WOW, IS THAT A MANGA POSTER?!” From her vantage point in the hallway, she's zeroed in on my sister’s door. “WHICH ONE IS IT? HAVE I READ THIS ONE ALREADY?”
“How does this clueless idiot not recognize HxH?! WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE DOOR OPEN?” My sister explodes at me.
“I didn’t plan to stay long! You were just supposed to hand over the stuff and I'd leave!” I counter, my voice rising to match hers.
“I don’t owe you anything!”
“That one was mine to begin with! Just lend me the others! Nobody's using them anyway. Hell, TOTOR sold his!”
While we bicker, TOTOR, in a characteristically aloof move, reignites the roaring vacuum, drowning our voices and further escalating the tension.
As chaos reigns, the two yakuzas meander about, making cheeky comments about everything. “Do you think they eat from the same bowl or something?”
“Why the hell would they eat from the same bowl? Are you dense, Minion?”
“I swear, if you call me 'minion' one more time!” GON threatens, then has a moment of realization. “Oh wait, that’s the manga she was talking about, with the fake Gon!” Her hand smacks into her open palm, emphasizing her point.
“WHAT FAKE GON?!” My sister growls menacingly.
“C'mon! Everyone knows the real, original Gon is from the absolute classic, 'Gon, the Dinosaur',” GON says, her smug smirk revealing her delight in riling my sister up.
“I can't make heads or tails of whatever this bitch’s blabbering about!” Fuming, my sister edges closer, her intent clear.
GON chuckles, her hand resting near the hilt of her oversized iaito. “Oh? Looking for a duel? Fine, let’s cross blades, especially since you refuse to acknowledge basic truths.”
“HOLD IT, MINION!”
Swift as a shadow, NANAYA steps forward, pressing a knife against GON’s throat. “Cause any more chaos in my esteemed warden’s abode and I'll slit your throat here and now.”
GON's eyes twitch but she concedes, raising her hands in a show of surrender. “Fine by me.”
The soft thud of the front door closing draws all eyes to ORPHI, arms laden with pizza, drinks, and cakes. “Why was the door left open?” He queries, seemingly unfazed by the typical chaos before him, or by the strangers in the midst.
My face lights up with unabashed joy. “ORPHIIIII!!! I MISSED YOUUUUU!!!” Abandoning all pretense, I leap into his arms. Caught off guard, he drops the groceries, managing to toss the pizzas toward my sister just in time to catch me.
With his ever-stoic demeanor, he pats my head. “Having a good time?” he inquires with a hint of amusement.
“Hm! But ORPHI, I need your help. Boobies is in trouble.”
His usual indifference replaced by genuine concern, ORPHI's voice deepens. “What should I do?”
Leaning in close, I whisper my plea into his ear.
The sun scorches my skin, relentless and cruel. Sand slips through the gaps between my fingers. The horizon blurs, the line between earth and sky nearly indiscernible.
Children’s shouts pierce the heated air — not of carefree laughter, but disciplined calls of soldiers in formation. Gunmetal glints under the sun as rifles, far too heavy for our fragile frames, are held aloft.
Whispers of fragmented phrases float around, familiar yet distant. Commands are issued, orders bellowed. My feet move in rhythm, almost involuntarily. The parched air feels thick in my lungs, and I suppress a dry cough.
“Bashmu… Bashmu…”
Beside me, a girl, no older than I am, offers a grim smile. It doesn’t touch her eyes; there’s no joy there, only resignation. Her ethereal white hair floats in the wind. In the shimmering reflection of that distant oasis, I see myself: white-haired, stern, and weary.
“-nake… White Snake…”
In the distance, the sound of mortar fire disrupts the repetitive chants. Instinctively, we scatter, seeking shelter in the meager shadows cast by dunes and the skeletal remains of a long-forgotten town. My heart pounds, and I can feel the cold weight of the dog tags hanging around my neck.
“Everything is a weapon in the Punjab desert.”
Golden strands of hair flutter on the horizon. A discarded cigarette, its embers glowing, lands near my feet, burning the air with its acrid scent. The flames, fueled by the hot desert air, expand rapidly, threatening to consume everything in their path. Panicking, I sprint away, but the flames, voracious and unyielding, relentlessly chase me.
A sharp, piercing pain jolts through me, blurring the boundaries between memory and reality. Whispers of a familiar voice beckon me, a vision of a blue dress dancing in the mirage of the scorching desert heat.
“-ni… -ini… Gini…”
Gentle arms encircle me, their embrace warm yet comforting, a stark contrast to the desert's harshness. The face that cradles me is obscured, pixelated like a censored image. In that distorted visage, I search for a hint of recognition: is it Rohini, Ishqam, or perhaps my own mother?
The very mother I coldly shot in the head.
What had she done? Absolutely nothing.
She was innocent, but a perverse and childish curiosity drove me to it.
“Everything is a weapon in the Punjab desert.”
What did he truly mean by that?
A scorpion, seeking refuge from the sun beneath me, wriggles and emits a shrill, distressing sound.
I wonder, what does death truly feel like? Did he, with his piercing green eyes hidden behind those sunglasses, have the answers?
What about her with the lollipop dangling from her lips?
What about him with a scar marring his rugged face?
What about him with a black mask obscuring his identity?
Which one of you holds the answer?
“Snakey~!”
“Snakey…”
“White Snake. Gini…”
How did you find it? Your life, I mean.
Was it fulfilling?
I roll on the sand, my breath coming in ragged gasps under the silvery moonlight.
The scorpion has disappeared, replaced by an imposing shadow that looms over me.
A hand, sun-kissed and strong, extends towards me. A boy with a vibrant green turban helps me to my feet. “Yes.”
Was it fun?
A girl, her eyes sparkling with mischief, grabs me by the waist and hoists me up.
“Yes!”
Was it worth it?
The crew of masked scientists, their white coats shimmering break into applause.
“Yes.”
I whirl around, reaching out — to her, to him, to them, to all those who have left me behind. They all gaze back, expressions etched in clarity, their faces bathed in the soft glow of assurance. In perfect harmony, their voices rise: “Yes it was, Schwa.”
I stare back at the girl I once was, grimy and teetering on the brink of death. Yet in her reflection, I now see a mature woman, her eyes alight with newfound hope.
“Thank you.” I bow reverently, moments before the veil of this memory begins to lift.
As my eyes slowly flutter open, they're met by the gaze of a familiar silhouette.
“F-first Lieutenant Kalakuna…?” I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep.
The masked figure leans closer, signaling to someone in the distance that I’ve awakened.
A throbbing ache pulses in my temples. Shifting from my reclined position, I survey my surroundings, the dim ambiance of this laboratory eerily reminiscent of the bunker we once called home.
Raising a hand to my forehead, I'm interrupted by another masked individual, distinct from the one I recognize. With emphatic gestures, they urge me to lay back down.
But I resist, pushing them away. “Where am I?!”
Then, a deep voice, tinged with familiarity, sounds from behind: “Welcome, White Snake.”
I spin to face the voice, finding that his lone green eye still sparkles with the same intensity. A pang of sorrow hits me, mourning the one he lost.
And as the haze of my stupor begins to lift, memories of what transpired come flooding back.
