I present for your viewing pleasure: a preview of the most recent chapter of my novel-in-progress! I’m inching closer to becoming comfortable letting the public have the full preview (and by full, I mean what I have so far). Comments and critiques welcome!
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VoS i22-32 Chapter 21: Apparition to Liberty {
There’s not even a fade to black, only a simple apparition. Suddenly we’re in Division HQ, in an office near the top of the tower.
Terrence exclaims, “HOLY—”
Immediately, he’s met by various hisses of “Shut up! – Shhh!!! – Hush! – Shut the hell up!” from the group. I stay silent, rolling my eyes with a tense, irritated sigh. You’d think for as long as T has been a CHM member, he’d have learned how this shit goes by now.
The last time he and I apparated together, it was via somebody we knew, and admittedly, it wasn’t nearly as instant as what we just felt. But that doesn’t mean we let him off the hook so easily. And I know damn well I don’t have to explain.
“That stupid little exclamation of surprise you let out just now,” I let out through strained teeth, “very well may have cost us this mission and our lives.” I put a hand on my Uzi, strapped to my hip and eye him wide, shaking my head slowly and speaking deliberately. “As the weapons and tactical hand-to-hand combat specialist of Coaxie’s set, you just now put your stupidity and impulsivity on display in that very, very stupid move you just made. You’ve got stakes in this; you know mine. Another stunt like that,” I whisper to him, “and we’ll leave your brains on the ceiling and your carcass up here on this floor, capisce?”
He goes ashen and nods, eyes darting around the room as if expecting someone to smack him. “I—” He begins in a whisper. “Yes, sir. Won’t happen again. You can count on me; and that’s a warrior’s promise.”
“A promise from a warrior is only as good as his intellect,” interjects Deeds with a drone, incrementally drawing closer and closer to his face, likely until she eclipses everything else. “And right now, young man, you’re showing us the lights are on but nobody’s home. What are you gonna say? ‘I’m sorry’? Your apology, verbalized or not, is meaningless right now and is costing us valuable seconds we cannot get back. We are committing an act of treason, and if you’re caught, the penalty for that is, you’ll be shot or hung by the neck until you’re dead.”
His pupils shrink to the size of pinpoints, the boy’s hands visibly trembles, but he remains upright, looking her dead in the eye and showing no fear at all.
“Precisely,” so I finish, “meaning about five minutes ago was the time you should have been on the same fucking planet as the rest of us.”
His nostril, the one closest to me, visibly trembles. He shoots me what I swear is a dirty look. “Hey, don’t gimme that attitude, alright? I’m doing this all for you.”
Behind him out of his line of sight, my dad pulls out a black set of iron handcuffs and latches one to Terrence’s right wrist. “Done.” He looks back, instinct instructing insubordinate arrest insurrection; but as he tries to snatch away, Deeds is on him, timing it just right. Her forearm pins him to a wall sideways by the throat; he lets out a sharp gasp, and my father finishes restraining him around a narrow support beam.
“You’re fucking joking me, right?” Not even bothering to whisper anymore, he looks at him, at Deeds, then at me. “You’re fucking joking me, right?! You’re sentencing me to life in prison, do you know that?”
I rack my .99, a hollowpoint filling the chamber, then place it back in my strap at my shoulder. “Uncuff him,” I command softly.
Dad and Deeds just look at me, then exchange looks.
“Oh, I’m not speaking fucking English? I said…uncuff him.”
Dad licks his teeth, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. He inserts the smallest one into the lock mechanism and frees him by the left wrist first. And when they finish, I approach him, standing so close I could kiss him. But now’s no time for jokes.
I may as well breathe this next line into his ear. “Gimme a fucking reason, you fucking pussy.” He says nothing, doesn’t even move. “Something wrong with your eye, boy? I’m not sure I like the look of it.”
He scowls at me, briefly, then scowls at the floor, where his gaze stays. “No. Of course not. Nothing wrong.” But his hands are still clenched in fists, a proverbial ‘fight me.’
“Then keep your glares off me before I put a heel in it. Get in line and do your fuckin’ job.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies in a whisper. “It’s just that I deserve respect too. We all do.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me about respect right now. Get your head in the game.”
He reaches inside one pants pocket, his aura surging violently. “You want me to be on your team, right? Because I’m growing sick—ah!” He lets out a sharp gasp as, behind him, my father places his gun against the teenager’s neck, likely cold as ice, simultaneously drawing back the hammer with an audible click and seizing the boy’s wrist before it even leaves his pocket. Terrence freezes.
“Take your hand…out of your pocket, slowly, empty.” Terrence breathes shakily. “Go on, release it… There ya go.” Terrence complies. “Good boy. Are you calm?”
“…Yes.”
I catch the hint immediately, drawing from the memory of an attempted home robbery 11 years ago. “Look at me,” I order him. He looks at me, anger replaced by silent fear masquerading as solemnity. “Blink if you’re calm.” He blinks once. “Blink if you’re going to remain calm.” He blinks a second time, his eyes filling with quiet resolve. Just where it ought to be.
“He blink?” Dad asks me, voice and eyes of bloodlust.
I nod. “He blinked.” I step one foot closer to Terrence. “Don’t…make me regret this choice. You rely on me for your life tonight, just as I rely on you for mine. I have nothing personal against you – do you understand that? This isn’t personal, so you should stop taking it personally. Yes?”
“Yes,” T lets out through strained teeth.
“Threaten my son again…at your peril,” Dad whispers in his ear, taking a step back then orbiting around him behind Deeds.
“Jesus,” the teenager breathes, placing a hand on the back of his neck where my father’s gun’s nose had been.
“Ready for this?” My dad asks Chrys, approaching her. She turns her back, wrists together without a word, and he sighs and latches them onto her. His face looks careworn and worrisome, maybe with a twinge of guilt.
I blink, unaffected. They need to hurry the hell up.
She turns toward Kira, who eyes the rest of us. For a split second, my sister’s pupils start Flashing very quickly, before her outward appearance begins to fade into something I’ve never seen before. Her outline goes hazy before her characteristically curly hair seems to straighten, her shape becoming more buxom and more athletic-looking, before she comes back into view as a brunette clad in all black, including the signature-style BDUs, combat boots, and impenetrably black Division-issue HUD shades. The shape of her face has changed, and her eyes have turned hazel. She eyes me; my heart vaporizes. I hate it. It’s so good, I absolutely hate it.
Heading for and completely opening the office’s door, ever the vigilant sentinel, Dad looks out, looking left and right. He waves us forward in silence as he enters the hallway.
Adela and Terrence sigh nearly in unison, quickly on his coattails. Kira and I get in line, followed by Chrys and the twins, Deeds silently stalking behind them.
I eye Terrence on his exit, just in case his face reads of his imminent betrayal, but when I look back, he disappears into my father’s Shadow. I look forward, and Kira’s taken Chrys—who hasn’t been Shaded—by one forearm, leading the group down the hallway. My dad, along with Deeds and the twins, are completely out of sight, except for their masked auras which are now colorless and very hard to distinguish from the static ambient electricity all around us.
God in Heaven, this is uncomfortable.
Kira’s voice sounds off in my head as if she’d been listening particularly closely to my thoughts. Just follow in queue. I gotcha.
Following in queue, I echo back. I can’t see you guys though. That’s not a problem, is it?
We pass a trio of agents on the left-hand side, one of whom I recognize, going in the opposite direction. I feel him eye me for an instant before he decides I’m nothing much. But why do I know him? One of them feels him turn around, a Brasilistani woman with medium-length wavy brown hair in a ponytail and olive skin, and she nearly turns her head all the way around like the main deuteragonist of an exorcist movie to inspect him.
“Interesting,” the man says.
“Daese,” the woman hisses, attracting his attention. “Eyes on the prize, luv.”
Aha.
The sound of Kira pressing a button on the wall breaks the silence, and the doors to an empty elevator slide open before us. Chrys struggles against Kira’s grip, her frustration evident in the colorful stream of curses that flies from her mouth. I follow them into the elevator, positioning myself in the back left corner as usual.
As the doors close behind us, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. The faint outlines of my teammates’ auras are barely perceptible in the dim light of the elevator, adding to the sense of foreboding that hangs in the air.
The doors close, and Kira presses a button at the bottom of the elevator’s menu.
“Fuck,” giggles Chrys nervously. “Break my arm in two places, why don’tcha.”
Kira’s response is calm and measured, her voice taking on a deeper, more authoritative tone as she assesses the situation. “Yeah, well…” Her voice is different, deeper, thicker.
At the same time, a sound that shouldn’t be there makes my stomach acid boil. Suddenly, the whirring of the elevator’s security camera draws my attention, its erratic movements sending a shiver down my spine. The spark it emits sets my nerves on edge, a tangible reminder of the dangers that lurk within Division HQ.
“Well done, T,” Kira commentates.
“Oh, my pleasure,” he breathes from the back right corner.
I can’t help but feel a sense of admiration for their composure in the face of uncertainty.
As the elevator descends smoothly, a tense silence fills the confined space, broken only by the soft hum of machinery. The air feels heavy with anticipation, each member of our group lost in their own thoughts and preparations for what lies ahead.
Chrys shoots a nervous glance at Kira, her flexi-cuffs serving as a constant reminder of the danger they face. Kira meets her gaze with a reassuring nod, her expression calm and determined despite the gravity of the situation.
I adjust the strap of my Uzi, feeling the weight of the weapon against my hip. Every muscle in my body is tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Beside me, Dad’s jaw is set in a firm line, his eyes flickering with a fierce determination as he mentally maps out our next moves.
Deeds stands at the back of the elevator, her presence a comforting reassurance amidst the uncertainty. She meets my gaze with a silent nod, her expression unreadable but her resolve unmistakable.
The twins exchange a silent glance, their telepathic connection serving as a constant source of support and coordination. Adela’s hands are steady at her sides, her Stitcher abilities poised and ready for whatever challenges lie ahead.
My radar senses are on high alert, senses attuned to the slightest hint of danger. My gaze sweeps over each member of our group as I serve as a silent sentinel guarding against unseen threats.
As the elevator continues its descent, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, each heartbeat echoing loudly in the confined space. We stand united, a formidable force prepared to face whatever obstacles come our way in our mission to liberate my mother. I said we’d do it. Now we’re doing it.
As we tread down the labyrinthine corridors of the Division headquarters, the air thickens with tension, each step a silent prayer for stealth and luck. Kira leads the way, her illusion weaving seamlessly around us, disguising our true identities from the watchful eyes of any passing agents. Chrys walks beside her, her features altered to blend into the background, a shadow among shadows. Their abilities, honed through years of training and practice, are our shield and sword in this treacherous game.
The corridors are a maze of shadows and half-truths, every twist and turn a potential trap waiting to ensnare us. We move with purpose but caution, the weight of our mission heavy on our shoulders. The soft hum of conversation drifts from nearby hallways and cells, a reminder of the ever-present danger that lurks around every corner.
At each cell we’ve searched, hope has flared and faded like a candle in the wind. Twice now. The disappointment weighs heavy in my chest with each empty room we encounter, the fear of failure clawing at the edges of my mind. I have no idea where my father is leading us, making each additional empty cell even harder to stomach. And what I mean by that is, I’m getting kind of fed up with this shit. But still, we press on, driven by the unshakeable determination to find her. That’s the goal, the mission at hand. Find her and bring her to safety.
The minutes stretch into an hour as we search, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of clothing or whispered exchange between us. The air grows thick with anticipation, each passing moment a testament to our resolve and resilience.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, we reach the cell we’ve been searching for. My heart leaps into my throat as Dad unlocks the door, anticipation mingling with fear as we prepare to face whatever lies beyond.
He exhales. “Alright now, Lady Luck, daddy needs a new pair of shoes.”
As the door swings open, a rush of relief washes over me. There, she sits on her bed, bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lights, her eyes shimmering. Yet she throws out a tearful “Took y’all long enough.”
Dad embraces her, tears falling down her face; he grabs her by the back of the neck and kisses her. “I love you,” he breathes to her, before letting her go and unshackling her from her bed.
“Mom,” I breathe in the meanwhile, the word a prayer on my lips. In that moment, surrounded by the ones I love most in the world, I know that no matter what trials lie ahead, we will face them together, united in purpose and strength.
“Hey, my love,” she breathes, her gaze gentle as it meets mine.
“We can’t linger,” Dad says. “We’ve gotta get out of here before they find out she’s gone. It’ll take them only a little bit to figure it out, but thankfully we’ll be long gone by then. Lock and load.”
Everyone’s heard that quite a few times; nearly at the same time, all of us place a magazine from a pocket into our weapons, smack it once, and rack it back.
From down the hallway in the direction we just came from, a chilling laugh echoes off the walls, and we all freeze, then look to see what psycho made that sound, but there’s nobody there.
Kira turns to me, visibly shaken. “What the hell? Who was that?”
I blink a few times, but any aura down that way could be a mass of spiritual energy for all I know. Usually, living objects move. I shrug at her.
“…Hell no,” Dad growls from within the cell. He takes Mom by the forearm and leads her out of the cell rather abruptly.
“Nothing we’ve not done before, my love,” Mom says. “Get the restraints.” And before she’s finished that request, Deeds suddenly materializes behind her and quickly unlocks her, throwing the wrist restraints down.
“There.” Deeds pockets the key.
“Listen closely,” Dad says as Mom stretches behind him. “No firearms if you can help it. Not unless they fire first. We’re getting the hell outta here.”
“Leaving so soon?” The voice that laughed suddenly fades into view: Captain Martin Daese’s voice cuts through the air like a whip, freezing us in place.
My heart drops into my stomach.
With a flicker of bending light, Daese’s Lieutenant drops her Shade, and as she does, the gravity increases and the air gets palpably thinner, making my skin clammy with nervous sweat. “I wouldn’t hear of it.” With a deranged smirk, Daese strikes a three battles stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground with a wide stance, his weight evenly distributed. With lethal intent, his hands rise in front of him, palms open and fingers spread, ready to unleash telekinetic attacks with precision and force. His body tenses, muscles coiled like a spring, as he begins to breathe deeper, deeper, deeper, and focuses his psychic energy, emanating an aura of power and determination. “Beasley. Sheffield. Apprehend.”
I fall back into a bow stance, ready.
“Yes, Captain,” the two women say in unison.
With a sharp inhale, he locks eyes with Seth, his gaze unwavering, signaling his readiness to engage in combat with a menacing stomp with his forward foot.
And with that, his Lieutenant’s ponytail begins to flutter as she prances forward ahead of him alongside his Adjutant, who’s lagged for just half a moment behind her, the two coordinating their moves in precise unison. On his right, his Lieu places a wide sideways horse stance and raises her arms square, her right arm at 90 degrees with a closed fist clenched at her chin, her left arm bowed and featuring a left half-closed fist by her ribs. Her ID card identifying her flashes itself across the fore of my mind.
Beasley, his Adjutant, and Sheffield, his Lieutenant, stand before a nearly majestic presence of their Captain, all three in battle stances in a triangle formation, with Captain Daese in the back. I don’t even have time to process the placement of their hands, their feet, or even their facial expressions—Beasley inhales through her nose and chops the air laterally, no, diagonally, and in an instant, friction rubs against itself and her aura, the waves seemingly visible only to me, and where it does, fire erupts in a blue plasma, cutting through the air towards us like two whips cracked in simultaneity. I dive for a roof-supporting pillar!
A rainbow-colored sphere fades into reality out of nowhere, wall to wall and bulging out towards our adversaries. I look over at the others, and Chrys’ hair flutters as if outside in the wind, her eyes glowing bright off-pink-white, identifying this shield as hers. Kira and Adela have ducked behind Brenden and Chance. One of them roars and rises from his horse stance with his hands racing above his head, and an entire rectangular section of floor bows at his yoke; meanwhile, his brother puts his hands together like Buddha praying, and around them, water droplets form and grow as they amalgamate together in a curtain, just as the fire reaches them, colliding with this shield with a roaring crack and the loud hiss of steam.
Ahead of them and out of their line of sight, Sheffield twists once with a grunt of effort, and a two square feet of linoleum and granite flooring cracks and wrenches itself from its place and hurls itself at them.
I yell, “Heads!”
It collides, rock versus rock, sending shards, pebbles, rocks, and pieces of metal and flooring everywhere, the twins’ earthen shield shattering into hundreds of thousands of fragments; but a moment later, in a bubble around the four, much of the earthen dust that was launched into the air freezes, suspended in midair, then consolidates into an earthen barrier larger than the last, and larger satellite bodies, that then all rocket at Beasley and her Lieutenant.
Both agents barrel-roll out of the way, but not without incurring injuries, evident by their sharp cries of pain.
But I can feel Beasley get to one knee, her mind instantly on me behind this pillar. She roars in fury, and blue fire erupts from around the pillar I’m behind, making it not so conveniently placed after all. “God in Heaven!!” I shriek, cowering into my knees, trying to make myself as small as possible; blue flames tipped in red lick at me.
Suddenly, the room darkens and a gunshot goes off—CRACK!!!—but something’s different about it. The room darkens for half a second before it’s suddenly brighter than the sun, then dark again, before the lighting goes back to normal, an electrostatic smell in the atmosphere where I expected gunpowder.
Two thuds sound off behind me, so I tentatively look around the pillar to find that Beasley and Sheffield have been floored, electrocuted. I look over at my friends, and Terrence lowers a front stance from a straight-fingered jab of absolute precision then forms another in a three-battles stance, at the ready.
The instant I finally find my dad, my body arresting me in place, he draws his sword. The man disappears the very moment I blink, with a loud metal-on-metal clang up the hallway.
“Gabriel!” Mom calls to me near her cell, behind the crumpled mass of bent flooring. “Bo haken miad!”
I hesitate. If I move from here and get hit or shot, this mission is over. Then again, if this pillar falls on me, I’m gonna be dead…and pissed. I breathe and couple times, then race over to her. Meanwhile, Terrence and Cephas draw their submachine guns from their Gido straps and walk over to the agents. I peer around the edge of the earthen-metal shield, and as it flakes a bit off the sides, beyond it, the two young men each put a three-shot burst into Beasley, who shrieks out in pain, rolling over as if to shield herself. Her aura then becomes muddled, starting to lose its color.
Suddenly, Daese appears behind them, but he’s not on them—he turns around and raises his sword just in time, and my dad appears right behind him with a downstroke so quick I don’t even see it until the sound of the swordfight rings in my ears – and then they’re suddenly gone. Another clang sounds off like a bomb a short distance up the hallway and around a corner; then another even further out, before another three-shot burst scares the abject shit outta me.
I turn, my heart racing and my skin taut, to find Cephas has executed Agent Sheffield.
“It’s alright, kid,” Mom says, rubbing my back. “Just give it a few seconds. Breathe.”
I take a slow, deep breath or three, and Cephas and Terrence begin their walk back to us, the Ross twins converging on us as they arrive.
Chance clears his throat. “Alright, what now?”
I shrug my shoulders, speechless for once.
Ma jumps right on it, murmuring to them. “Just a moment or two. Keep an eye out. Last thing we need is an alarm. So far so good, but that doesn’t really mean anything worthwhile. So, we’re just being patient, watching our backs.”
Kira and Adela lean against the wall behind me, eyebrows knowingly raised.
The twins nod once at my mother in affirmation.
Cephas sighs out in his smoker’s tenor, “I guess then we’ll have to—” before a sharp metallic clang and a vociferous, furious roar echo down the hallway, cutting him off.
And for a second time, Daese appears behind us, turning just in time to block my dad’s blade with his own. CLANG!!! The sound gets to my ears before the sight of my dad gets to my eyes. And then, Daese vanishes.
Chrys gasps sharply. My head snaps in her direction, come to find the Captain in his grace holding her against the wall with the threat of his blade.
A heavy aura amasses behind me; and I know exactly who it is. “Low,” Dad says behind me, “even for you.”
“Ah-ah-ah…” Daese says in singsong. “Would want a casualty…right?”
I take a pace or two to the left, orbiting around them before putting some distance in between me and them before raising my gun, Daese’s head in my sights. When they see me do it, my friends are all on board: each aim their guns at the bastard, save for Chrys herself. Chrys just looks at me then smiles, her eyes starting to glow again; and Daese just freezes like he’s gone completely offline. And Dad hops on the opportunity: faster than a man can blink, his blade pierces Daese, bisecting him at the midsection out, then stabbing him in the neck like a rare hen. When he disappears, Chrys bows out ever so gracefully, before Daese recovers with a deep gasp, crumpling to the floor and vomiting up blood.
“I told you eleven years ago,” Dad says behind me, as if the man who stabbed Daese right in front of me was a phantom, “you fuck with my family, I’ll put you six feet under. Nighty-night.”
Daese scowls at him, then hits the deck with his last breath as, behind us, Deeds materializes.
“Alert system suspended, Captain.”
“Perfect. As for you kids…” Dad begins.
And then it all fades to black, and we’re somewhere else. And I would know the sights and the sounds immediately, if I weren’t taken completely aback. The Coaxie Building? No. The Dixie Building. CHM members pass us with casual discussion, some drinking sodas, some smoking vapes, some smoking dab pens, some in groups, some alone. Whoa. What the hell? I look around, and it’s just Kira, Adela, and me.
“What…just happened?” Adela takes her hand off her scabbard. “How the hell did we end up here?”
I look around at the sights of the sky lobby. The sky lobby stretches out before me, a vast expanse of polished marble floors reflecting the soft glow of overhead lights. Towering columns rise up to meet the high ceiling, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings and motifs that speak of a bygone era of opulence and grandeur.
At the center of the lobby stands a magnificent fountain, its waters cascading down in a shimmering curtain of liquid crystal. The gentle sound of trickling water fills the air, soothing and tranquil amidst the hustle and bustle of the surrounding crowds.
Around me, people move with purpose and determination, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors as they go about their daily routines. Businessmen in sharp suits hurry past, briefcases clutched tightly in hand, while tourists and CHM members gaze in wonder at the grandeur of their surroundings, cameras clicking incessantly to capture the moment, laughing amongst themselves, some eating, some drinking soda, some smoking, some not.
Sunlight streams in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the lobby floor and bathing everything in a warm, golden hue. Outside, skyscrapers stretch up towards the heavens, their gleaming glass facades reflecting the endless expanse of blue sky above.
In the distance, I catch a glimpse of the city skyline, a breathtaking panorama of towering buildings and shimmering lights that seem to stretch on forever. It’s a sight that never fails to inspire awe and wonder, a testament to the ingenuity and ambition of humanity.
As I take in the sights and sounds of the sky lobby, I can’t help but feel a sense of reverence for the beauty and majesty of the world around me. “It’s a much needed moment of peace and serenity amidst the chaos of this life, a reminder that sometimes,…sometimes amidst the hustle and bustle and battles of life, it’s important to stop and appreciate the simple beauty of the world around us.” I look over at her with a smile. “We fuckin’ did it.”
“WE DID IT!!” Kira bellows! “WAHOO!!!” People stare at her as they walk by, the short menace beginning a victory dance, gun in hand. “We did it! We did it! Yeah!!! Take that, Goddard, ya lanky fuckin’ bastard!”
“Hey,” I shout over to her, “genug already. If you think we’re done, you’ve got another thing coming. We still gotta get to Hikari Hiroba. Meaning we probably should find a Porter.” She blinks at me. I smile back. “What did you think, they were gonna fight Goddard by themselves? He’s gonna pursue us very soon, you know; we don’t have long to get ready.”
“Oh, that’s why we’re here?” Adela says behind her. “Gotcha.”
I shake my head. “I swear. It’s like I’m the only one who remembers the plan anymore.”
“Uh,” Kira says sheepishly, “you are the only one who remembers the plan anymore.”
“… And how hard should I slap the both of you?”
The atmosphere immediately around us gets heavier, someone at our six walking up to us in a hurry. I quickly turn and aim at the idiot who’s followed us here, ready to pop him, but stop short as Chrys comes into focus. Oh, shit. I lower my aim. “Sorry,” I say hesitantly as she passes me, “…or not?”
“Follow,” she orders.
Kira and I just look at each other then start off behind her, Adela silently in tow.
Chrys leads us outside to the front of the building, the lot of us emerging underneath an expansive awning that stretches from the building’s façade. This awning has routinely provided a much-welcome shield for the bustling activity of the city streets, sheltering its pedestrians from sidewalk to entrance from any occasional drizzle. The flow of vehicles and pedestrians is constant, forcing us to use a side door to the main entrance past some rectangular floor-to-ceiling windows; but despite this, our hearts bleeding for this to be over, going through a turnstile and a revolving door gives us a tiny reprieve as the crowd instantly thins.
CHM members and people who work or live in the building swarm like bees, the building their hive.
Our ride awaits just beyond the edge of the awning, parked discreetly along the curb of the drop-off area. It looks like he’s angled himself just right so that we can have a quick getaway without automatically drawing attention – his SUV is parked just out of the line of sight of the main road and sidewalk behind a brick wall serving as a fence. The sleek ride catches my eyes immediately—its dark wine-red exterior blends seamlessly into to the shadows of the surrounding buildings, exuding an air of understated sophistication. Its windows, tinted rose red, offer only a glimpse inside, even as Chrys leads us closer.
When we get into spitting range, the driver lowers the windows. “Li. Y’all ready to go?”
I look around at the interior of his vehicle, taking in the refined elegance of its design and customizations like bad news: rich, supple leather upholstery complement polished dark-brown wooden accents that add a touch of warmth to modern aesthetics. Its interior ambient lights turn on, illuminating the cabin from LEDs embedded in the panels around the doors and connected by a bar at the top outlining the roof in dim red. A chubby light-skinned man wearing a blue baseball cap and the gang’s signature colors under a golden Jesus piece smiles at us. “Good Lord,” I say to him over his subwoofers that thud loudly and percussively despite the volume being turned down low. “Nice car, og.”
“Point A to point B,” he says in a thick Pyuyamish accent. “So you guys getting in, or…?”
I waste no time at all, waving my hand in front of a panel that ever so slightly glows around its borders, and the door unlatches as if being slowly pushed ajar, opening the back passenger-side door nearly soundlessly. I pick my jaw up off the ground and look over at Chrys, who’s just laughing at me under her breath before she waves her hand in front of the front passenger-side door. As it pops open, she takes it and opens it manually by an edge, has a seat, then closes the door ever so gently.
I claim my seat. The soft leather instantly catches me off-guard, having been warmed up. “Hey, ass warmers,” I remark, feeling the plushy leather with both thumbs without even thinking about it or looking at what I’m doing. “Nice!” I smile at the driver. He’s gotta be at least ten years our senior.
“Alright there, young buck,” he chuckles back to me, looking at me through his glasses and by my reflection in the rearview mirror. “No aneurysms in my car, ah?”
The driver’s side back door opens, and Adela and Kira file in. Kira shuts the door with notably more force than we had.
“Hey!” he snaps at her, retaining his smile. “Don’t you slam my door, girl!” Kira instantly puts her hands in her lap, eyes huge, the poor devil in shock. After a second, he snickers at her. Chrys looks back at her knowingly as he lets out a, “I’m just playing – I’m just playing. Hikari Hiroba Station, right?”
Chrys nods at him once with a fervent affirmative grunt.
“Let’s go whoop some majestic ass.” He puts a photochromic clip on his glasses, slightly darkening his face and hits a trigger button on his dashboard that extinguishes the red lights: they quickly fade to black, and the driver throws it in gear and turns on his left blinker.
Maybe a little paranoid, I shake my head and drone, “Yes, let’s,” then stare out the window as all four of them start to roll up, and I note, perhaps not as impressed as I should be, the silence of their gears. Interesting.
“What’s the matter?” the driver calls to me, pulling out into the lane of traffic behind a taxi that’s waiting for traffic to clear. “Not excited for this?”
I don’t respond. I just…stare out the window.
“He’s not in the mood,” Chrys tells him.
“…No disrespect,” I say without moving, “but…shut the hell up. All of you. Let’s just get the hell out of here. This isn’t the time for bullshit witty, playful banter.”
He just nods at me. “None taken. Charlie-Charlie.” Charlie-Charlie means he’ll comply.
Finally, the taxi in front of him takes off, turning left. Our driver turns on his right blinker with a sigh. I’ll betcha 30,000 ruices I can tell you what he’s thinking. ‘Poor guy.’ That’s nice and all, but I need help, not stupid meaningless platitudes; all they are is insulting.
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submitted by /u/kimuyukix
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