I swing open the door to ASCLEPIUS’s room, unbothered by the synthetic cheerfulness blaring from his streaming setup. “Come on, we’re meeting in the living room. Now.” My voice leaves no room for negotiation, though I know it’ll prompt grumbling.
“Ugh, again?” ASCLEPIUS’s gripes echo behind me, not bothering to mute his mic. He says something about ‘an unexpected hiatus’ to his viewers before the stream ends with a cute, bubbly jingle.
Dragging his feet, Abhi follows me out, his eyes, lingering curiously on the eerily pristine living space. I can feel his surprise. The living room, notorious for being an utter mess, now strangely reeks of disinfectant overlaid with the waft of cheesy pizza.
“Where did all the dirt go?” Abhi questions, his eyes scanning the room, clearly searching for some remnants of its typical chaotic state.
“Shut it,” I grumble, not in the mood to discuss the unlikely cleaning spree.
“It’s all thanks to me,” HECTOR chimes in, his voice echoing some bizarre mix of pride and annoyance as he wipes his hands on a somewhat clean dishcloth. “Someone had to do it, and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be you.”
I click my tongue, not wanting to get sucked into another petty argument. We’ve had too many already.
ORPHEUS, always the soft one, bends down to Abhi’s level, offering a consoling smile. “Hey there, you alright?” He passes a pizza slice towards the child. “Here, you must be hungry.”
ASCLEPIUS emerges, still donned in his vibrant, cosplay. “My room’s the best, isn’t it?” he declares confidently, having overheard Abhi’s earlier comment.
“Yeah,” Abhi replies with a small nod, busy chewing on the pizza.
The room fills with the mundane sounds of eating and subtle shifting. It’s comfortable, in a strange, alien sort of way, considering the tension that’s been simmering under our skin.
I find myself stealing glances at the kid. Abhi. He’s just sitting there, munching away, blissfully ignorant of the plans we’ve been nurturing. It irks me, this feeling bubbling up whenever I look at him now. It’s like a splinter, nudging its way under my skin, but it’s not pain. It’s something softer, something I can’t quite place.
But I squash it down. I won’t acknowledge it, especially not with him calling ASCLEPIUS’s dump of a room the 'best.'
“The boy better not get used to this,” I mutter more to myself than to anyone else, avoiding any eye contact.
But despite my firm resolve, the atmosphere defies my internal tumult, remaining light and unexpectedly jovial as we transition from pizza to dessert. A rainbow of cakes, a little squished from being dropped onto the floor, then shoved hastily in the fridge, forms a colourful array on the table.
HECTOR, still seated beside Abhi, leans back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Gotta say, these cakes look like they’ve seen better days.”
“Blame ASCLEPIUS,” I interject swiftly. “Nearly flattened them when he crammed them into the fridge.”
“My precious cakes…” HECTOR mourns theatrically, striking a pose of genuine despair.
Abhi giggles, and I’m caught off-guard by how it lightens the room, if just a fraction. “It’s okay, they still taste good! Look!” He digs into a particularly squished slice of chocolate cake, eyes lighting up as he revels in its sweetness.
I resist the urge to scoff. “Taste is all that matters to the tiban, isn’t it?” My words are an attempt to steer myself back into the rigid emotionlessness I’m comfortable with. The boy doesn’t need my sympathy.
“I believe that the appearance of a cake communicates part of its appeal, creating a holistic experience,” ASCLEPIUS counters, scooping a piece of flattened strawberry cake, examining it with a connoisseur’s eye before taking a bite. “Mmm, the flavour profile does compensate somewhat for its lamentable presentation.”
HECTOR chuckles, ruffling Abhi’s hair playfully. “He’s right, little man. A good-looking cake makes you anticipate its taste, makes it even better when you finally get a bite.”
A subtle sigh escapes me, watching them all banter and laugh. I slice into a mangled piece of blueberry cake, bringing a forkful to my lips, and as the flavours burst on my tongue, I allow myself a second where I savour the sweetness, the unity, the peace, before the inevitable chaos ensues.
“Keep eating, kid,” I mutter, quieter than intended, pushing the plate slightly towards him, “enjoy it while you can.”
Crumbs scatter and empty plates clatter slightly as we conclude our temporary retreat into comfort food and false security. The shift is almost tangible, a dark cloud seeping into the room as we exchange sidelong glances, an unspoken agreement threading through us. It’s time.
I lift my gaze to meet Abhi’s eyes, a curious blend of innocence and wisdom lingering there. “Abhi,” I call softly, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside, “come here, would you?”
ORPHEUS, intuitive as ever, senses the shrouded tension, gently laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, Abhi, why don’t you give me a hand with these dishes first?” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker towards me with a veiled warning.
My patience thinning, I step forward, subtly nudging ORPHEUS away. “Keep your cool, ORPHEUS,” I hiss under my breath, the semblance of control stretching tight over my features.
But it’s ASCLEPIUS who acts, his arm snapping out with a swiftness that belies his laid-back demeanour, fingers coiling around Abhi’s neck, causing the child to gasp in surprise and fear. “Gotcha, kid,” he sneers, a wicked glee sparking in his eyes.
I move swiftly, handcuffs dangling from my wrist, my heart thrumming loudly in my ears. “I wish I could say it’s not personal,” I mutter as I secure his wrists, locking eyes with him for just a second. “But that would be a lie.”
It all erupts into chaos when ORPHEUS, his features twisted in rage and betrayal, makes his move. But HECTOR is there, locking arms around him, trying to contain the tempest that’s burst forth. “Calm the hell down, ORPHEUS!” he grunts.
But ORPHEUS isn’t to be easily subdued, his foot crashing down onto HECTOR’s, causing him to stumble back with a curse, releasing his hold. Swiftly, ORPHEUS lunges at ASCLEPIUS, hand locking around his throat, forcing the release of the child.
The room is awash with a symphony of clashing bodies and muted cries. As HECTOR recovers, lunging back towards ORPHEUS with a roar, his fist connecting solidly with his jaw, sending him sprawling, unconscious, to the floor.
I find myself frozen for just a second, watching as Abhi scrambles away, eyes wide with terror, the fractured alliance of our makeshift family splintering around us. The impact of our choices, masked by the façade of survival, crumbles away, leaving in its wake a bitter taste that no amount of sweet cake can dispel.
“Damn, took you long enough,” Moustache growls, his eyes narrowing as they scan the items we’re carrying. We’re standing on the rooftop of a skyscraper in the business district, the rain pelting us mercilessly, soaking our clothes as if trying to drown our determination.
“Traffic was a bitch,” I retort, deflecting so I don’t have to bring up anything about my sister.
“Do not speak poorly of my esteemed warden,” NANAYA interjects, raising his index finger menacingly. “Her bargaining skills are unmatched!”
“Shut up, NANAYA. She didn’t bargain for shit,” GON sighs, rolling her eyes.
Moustache grimaces, clearly unimpressed. “Can you explain to me how you went to look for TIAN HUO and came back with these two yakuzas?”
“TIAN HUO wasn’t thrilled that I’d bolted earlier, so he handed me these prisoners instead,” I respond with an awkward grin. “But these two are pretty strong, gotta give ’em that.”
“My face almost doesn’t hurt anymore,” NANAYA smirks proudly, touching his cheek as if to prove it’s still there.
“I only chose to get caught!” GON chimes in, defiant as ever.
Moustache’s eyes focus intently on the items I’ve brought. “Looks like you’re short one. Convenient for me, since I never signed up for a skydive.”
“Yeah, you lucked out,” I say, shrugging. “So, where’s the place?”
Moustache points to the building opposite us, its form partially obscured by the rain-smeared atmosphere. “They’re in there, holed up in the parking lot. You can’t miss it.”
I exchange glances with the odd duo, who seem astonishingly unfazed by everything. It’s like they’re seasoned pros at absurdity.
“Alright, so it’s simple,” I lay out the plan, making sure everyone’s on the same page. “We zip across, make a grand entrance, and rain down some hell. We grab Boobies and get the fuck out. Questions?”
“Nope,” says NANAYA, brimming with anticipation.
“None,” GON confirms, her eyes gleaming with a spark of recklessness.
We grab the items and secure them to our backs, their weight giving a strange sense of reassurance. I turn to NANAYA and GON, both of them appearing as ready as they’ll ever be.
I nod, tightening my grip on the controls. The machinery whirs to life, emitting a mechanical growl.
“LET’S GO!” GON shouts, suddenly hovering a meter above the ground, her voice echoing across the rooftop. “IT’S TIME FOR OUR LEGS TO REBEL AGAINST GRAVITY!”
Rising up in a steady ascent, NANAYA and I catch up to her, just in time to see Moustache’s solemn salute. “Godspeed,” he murmurs, and with that, we rocket through the torrential downpour, propelled by our jetpacks. Wind howls in my ears as we dart toward the looming silhouette of the opposing building, rain pelting us like shards of glass. Suddenly, the staccato pops of gunfire splinter through the storm, and instinctively I raise my arm to shield my face. Pain sears through my left hand, sharp and immediate, and I can’t hold back a yelp as blood instantly warms my soaked skin.
Bullets continue to whiz past, some so close I can feel their deathly whisper against my skin. Each sound, a potential end. My heart is a drum, beating hard against my ribcage as I veer, swerve, dip, anything to avoid the onslaught.
With gritted teeth, I barely register the rooftop rushing up to meet us, focusing only on the trail of blood my hand leaves in the wind. We hit the surface, rolling to absorb the impact, and I stumble slightly, disoriented from the collision and the blossoming pain in my hand. Ripping a length of fabric from my shirt, I quickly, but clumsily, bind the wound, trying to stem the rapid flow of blood.
NANAYA lunges at one of the mercenaries, his blade drawn and face set in a snarl. The mercenary reacts just in time, using his rifle as an improvised melee weapon, countering NANAYA’s swift movements with desperate parries. Sparks fly where metal clashes against metal, and grunts of exertion merge with the persistent patter of the rain.
GON, with a primal yell, ejects from her jetpack, blade drawn. Her iaito slices cleanly through the air, and with a swift, gravity-assisted descent, she bifurcates the second mercenary’s helmet—and head—with a wet, unsettling crunch. His body crumples, lifeless, to the rooftop.
“Where the hell is S1?!” I catch one of the mercenaries muttering, their voice edged with a tremor of panic, but my focus remains on binding my wound. “She’s been gone for over an hour. Do you think they got her?”
“It doesn’t matter,” another responds, terse and fearful, their eyes locked onto the bloody display unfolding before them.
The panicking mercenary’s attention snaps to me as I stagger, still trying to secure the makeshift bandage. His gun rises, pointing squarely at my chest, his hand shaking but determination glinting in his eyes.
My vision tunnels on the barrel of the mercenary’s gun, each panting breath echoing in my ears above the chaotic melee. But before the metallic taste of fear can fully register, GON, a blurred figure in the relentless rain, bolts toward him, her blade singing through the wet air.
NANAYA, dealing a ferocious swipe to his opponent, manages to break free momentarily from his own engagement, casting a brief, intense look towards GON, a silent communication passing between them in milliseconds. It’s this insane, silent dialogue that bewilders me about them—their deadly synergy, despite being seemingly at odds with one another constantly.
GON’s iaito arcs gracefully yet lethally through the dampness, catching the light of the moon and creating a silver streak in my blurred vision. The mercenary aiming at me starts to pivot towards her, but she’s quicker, her blade meeting the soft flesh of his throat with little resistance. His eyes widen in disbelief, a choked gurgle escaping him as he falls to his knees, then slumps sideways onto the rain-soaked rooftop.
Simultaneously, NANAYA has plunged his knife deep into the gut of his adversary, twisting it with a brutal efficiency. The mercenary’s eyes flash with a mixture of surprise and agony, hands clawing weakly at NANAYA’s arm before he crumples to the ground, life extinguished. The red of their blood dilutes quickly, washing away in rivulets amidst the rainfall.
GON’s eyes meet mine, a flash of concern quickly masked by her typical, carefree demeanour. She offers a hand, helping me to steady myself.
“Thanks,” I rasp out, voice hoarse, still trembling with the pain.
NANAYA cleans his blade on the sleeve of the downed mercenary, then sheaths it with a satisfying click. GON does the same.
Ignoring the pain that pulses through my wounded hand, we cautiously navigate towards the entrance to the building, bracing ourselves for what might lie ahead. The darkness inside the building seems almost suffocating after the open air, and we descend the stairwell, the echoes of our footsteps mingling with the distant sounds of rain and thunder.
