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alternity01 · 3 months

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Violet Hands and the Vermilion Masks of Pale Men

Chapter I. “Auf Wiedersehen, mein Freund.”

Word Count: 1469

Blurb: Aidan Grimm has spent almost his whole life with the Ngela-Machiavelli family. They've eaten together, drunk together, bathed together, and they've even killed together. That's a bond not many can have—a bond not many deserve—but they're not family. And sure there's more than the Machiavellis, more than Leo and Aunty Ciseko and Uncle Fernando. There's Silenzio: Ayesha, Natasha, Giuseppe and Brianna. All great in their own right, all people he's grown with, but they were never his family.

His family is no more. A mission from his dear Aunty and Uncle led to them being snuffed out like the indigo flame from his indigo lighter and his home to burn. It is for that very reason that they must be extinguished alongside his best friend, his companion, his… Leo.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

The buzz of Aidan’s phone kicks him out of his restless rest. As his eyes welcome the new day, he turns his attention to his nightstand. Sunlight crept onto it as he slept for its own break, finding his phone comfortable enough, causing the screen’s brightness to match. With this almost divine call to action, he reads:

X: Do not disappoint me.

He doesn’t bother to open the chat itself and respond. He knows what he must do. Having sat up to sleep, his tail drags behind him on his way to their shared bathroom—a crescent at the back rightmost corner of the house. There—hanging in a plastic sleeve off of the towel warmer—is a dress. The dress in fact. Woven from darkness only found under the coldest of beds, one paired with gloves covering an area from his paws to halfway up his biceps. Acknowledging it with an expressionless nod, he runs himself a bath Leonardo-Nawa would consider scalding.

‘How can I say goodbye?’ he thinks, sitting from the edge of the bathtub. As if he didn’t spend the past couple of years contemplating and organising it all.

Aidan's hand dances within the water during his thoughts, guiding his whole body into the depths of the clear liquid. As if to cleanse himself of his vices one last time, he glides the gel against the skin of his chest and face and the wine–red fur of his limbs with strength and vigour. All while laying down in a way that mimics those experiencing eternal slumber. Whether it's Leo’s parents or his own parents he's mimicking more is unknown even to him.

It’s not long before he finds his way back into the dress, a snug fit. Sliding his paws into flats, he fixes what he’s been told resembles a smile onto his face, and walks through Leonardo-Nawa’s bedroom door.

“You live, you laugh

Your time won’t pass

Today’s your day

(It is your day)

Only your day

(Only your day)

So we are here to say Happy Birthday,” Aidan sings softly to the sleeping kiweli, his voice moulding to add Aunty Ciseko and Uncle Fernando’s in perfect harmony.

Leonardo-Nawa dances around to the sombrely sung tune. It is only after it is done that he hugs him.

“I thank you with all my heart, darling. You understand this time has been hard for me,” utters Leonardo-Nawa in a loving whisper. “Might I add, you look absolutely stunning. As stunning as the day we met.”

“We met when we were barely able to speak,” he comments.

“Details, details. I… cared for you all the same. As you have cared for me. Thank you dearly.” He guides him into a miniature waltz.

“It’s nothing.” He keeps his steps.

Hand in hand, he spins him out despite his shorter build—an act that never fails to impress Aidan. He reverses it in a way that Leo finds himself into his open chest.

“With you, I’ll celebrate every moment as if it’s my last.” Leonardo-Nawa raises his head from his chest. “Till death do us part.”

Aidan found himself in the play pit nestled in the centre of the Ncana Institute for Education and Extracurricular Experience’s kindergarten section. His pale skin had already grown purple from the fall. Specifically, his chest—one he’d rather have torn out than receive anymore pain in that moment. And his arms—with his fur torn out in patches. At that point, what’s now a phantom of a memory stood above him, readying to deliver more punishment. That is until Leonardo-Nawa pounced on them, causing cuts to form.

“Who’s next?” he roared to the stunned crowd. His paintbrush-esque tail decorated the air around him with its rapid movements.

Aidan looked up at Leo in awe. His—at the time—short chocolate curls flowed in the wind. His stance was like the icons of legend, turning his unimpressive figure statue-esque in his eyes.

He turned to him and nodded to himself as he asked “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered in response, bruised and aching.

“Listen up! I’m sick and tired of the way you guys treat, Aido.” Leo proclaimed, stepping on the chest of one of his attackers. “Quit messing with my love, or I’ll keep messing with you. Nothing can get between us. Till death do us part.”

It was then that he pressed his lips against his cheek in what the young one thought was nothing more than the cementing of the friendly gesture at the time. A far more naive Aidan felt himself grow rosy, having held onto Leo’s waist in a warm embrace.

A smile pops onto his face.

“Now, darling. How long must I wait for your surprises?”

“It’ll all be over soon.” Words he nearly chokes out.

“Are you alright?”

“Clearing my throat.”

“Go drink some water, darling. I’ll be waiting in here.”

“Freshening up?”

“Naturally.” He kisses him on the cheek.

Aidan slinks away, his expression flattening before he’s able to even open the door he came in from. His strides are wide, never spending longer in there than he needs to. Turning around, he tests his lock. The door shakes and scratches and fails to move. Perfect. He squats down by his bed, his primary exit already closed. Under it rests a duffle bag so dark it would be safe to assume his dress and it were woven from the same fabrics. Within it are hemp gloves, hiding the skeleton of a flash drive and a palm-sized remote. Aidan’s wallet, Aidan’s phone, Aidan’s bedroom keys. The ones for the bathroom follow once his gloves are on.

Once out of the room, halfway down a corridor he could’ve sworn was a quarter of its current length last night, he hears “Aidan, darling?”

“Yes?” He neglects to turn around.

“I miss you already.”

His heart stretches the skin of his chest forward with every beat. He tastes iron. He turns his head to face the ceiling.

Keeping his eyes to the sky, Aidan responds “I’ll miss you too.”

Finally, past their rooms and past their home gym, he exits the hallway. Air returns to his lungs. He turns right. The spiral marble stairway awaits him below, so he borrows the movement of an accomplished gymnast to carry him down. Nary a breath nor movement goes to waste.

Now off of the stairs, an incessant bitter fog clings to the back of his throat, diffusing into him. Forbidding himself any water, he makes his way across the polished wooden floor towards a seldom visited elevator tucked behind the folds of plain sight. Not a sound as he goes down, and not a sound as he comes out.

Doors sparsely litter the suffocating, outwardly unfinished hallway. Aidan never understood how a place so beautiful could house something so ugly. The room itself, its back wall lined from top to bottom by a giant monitor, is quite modern. In the middle of it is a decagonal table, and while he isn't the tallest—nor is he the shortest—member of Silenzio, it reaches his knee. Squatting, he inserts the corpse of the usb into the primary tower. That's all it really takes. Eleven days. An entire week of thirty two hours each gone like the memories of an ageing patient. Cyber security the likes of which both Ayesha and Giuseppe would show their disappointment with. Back into his glove it goes.

Having left the room without a trace, he takes a moment in the elevator to recognise that the air doesn’t taste the same anymore. However, he doubts he'll ever be able to tell what it is, nor does he think he wants to. Aidan takes his last steps into the foyer, ready to breach the threshold between now and the rest of his life.

By the door is a picture of them all. One taken too long ago for him to remember, but he does recognise it. He only looks at it for a second, yet he can feel Leo’s violet eyes stare through him all the same. This is not the time to be plagued with tears. One step with the force of a million.

Despite the heat, the wind nibbles on his skin. Awaiting him is what can only be described as an armoured family minivan. Aidan enters. Whereas his mind scratches and claws at him, his body alone leads the drive out of the estate, proving to him the husk he’s become. Faster than Leo’s suspicions, but slow enough to ensure they don't creep up on him. The house is now a mere smudge within his rear view mirror, and the remote finds itself in his rigid hand.

“I'm sorry, I loved you,” he whispers, finger flicking the switch.

If only Bri could see the fireworks, because at least in her ignorance she could enjoy the show.

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alternity01 · 10 months

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Violet Hands & The Vermilion Masks of Pale Men

Chapter II. "Blood in the Garden."

Leonardo-Nawa escapes the unconscious grip of Aidan by rolling out and falling onto the floor into a plank. Instead of nudging him awake, he decides his best course of action will be retrieving a steel folding chair from the corner of his room and placing it at the end of the bed. Kicking off of it, he soars through the air and lands on top of the redhead below. His ass lands square on Aidan’s chest, and his face lands by his lap.

With his hearing aids now absent from his ears, Leo-Nawa is forced to turn around and sit up, signing “It’s eight in the morning, I’m not in the mood to shout.”

Instead of signing back, despite being more than proficient, Aidan has him read his lips. “Exactly. It's eight in the morning. Why jump?”

Looking down at him, hair obscuring his vision, he gestures for them back. They return to his hand and then his ear.

Satisfied with the fact that he can finally let out his voice in all its melodic baritone goodness. “Wake up”—

“Already am.” Aidan yawns.

“We’ve got to train, we’re starting Silenzio today.” Leo shimmies from side to side.

“Right. Please get off of my chest.” Aidan gives light taps to the outside of Leo’s left thigh.

He rolls back, lands on his lap, rolls back once more and lands on the floor. From there, he continues on his way to the door before getting up. He’s barely outside of Aidan’s bedroom door, and likewise his own, when he slides the glass —tinted and untinted, transparent, translucent and opaque all at the same time—open.

The gym behind them is on par with some of the finest private establishments in Ncana. In the centre of the room are the grounds for many forms of combat: a mat primarily used for amaetur wrestling, a boxing ring, a professional wrestling ring, and a cage for mixed martial arts. All alphabetised and categorised by which muscle group they're meant to target. Their exercise equipment line the mirrorless walls, only broken by the entrance to the locker room and adorned with their athletic achievements.

Standing on the standard regulation mat, acting as referee despite being dressed in the least appropriate attire—silk pyjamas—is Leonardo-Nawa’s dad, his ndate. His big salt-and-pepper beard is a bit wet from the drink he holds in a mug with ‘Big Boys Drink Coffee’ written opposite the handle.

“Good morning, Ndate.” He hugs him.

“Morning, Little Lion.” His ndate wraps his barrel arms around him, tapping his back no more than three times. “Did you sleep well?”

“The Champions of Kuatoñembe would be jealous of my rest.”

“Then you must win like they did.”

“Yesterday didn’t count.”

“It did to me,” Aidan says from the doorframe.

“Aidan, my boy. How did you sleep?” He goes over to embrace him and they meet in the middle of both of their strides.

“I slept well, Uncle.” He releases the hug.

“I hope Leo didn’t keep you up too long last night.”

“No, but he tried to make sure I woke up worse.” Aidan gives him a sideways glance.

“False accusations.” Leo lets his tongue slip through his smile.

“Regardless, you two should get ready.” He says. “Especially you, Little Lion. Aidan’s been on a streak.”

“I’ll make you proud, ndate.” Leonardo-Nawa says on his way into the other room.

In it are lockers, a row of showers, an ice bath, and a sauna. Leo-Nawa turns left into the lockers and left again to come face to face with what’s been his locker for as long as he’s remembered. Private instructors, friends and lovers have come and gone through this space. He taps on the translucent screen that forms its door and swipes past all of his sports attires: wrestling, basketball, volleyball, boxing, judo, and jiu-jitsu. Once it's open, he pulls out purple and silver trunks with a matching pair of trainers. Turning around, he takes a moment to look at Aidan as he dresses, already completely stripped down from his awful shirt and average shorts. They’ve practically eaten and trained the same since puberty, but damn does that muscle look better on Aidan than it ever has on himself. It doesn’t help that he’s half a head taller than him. His eyes dart between his own attire and his friend changing, although he knows he doesn’t have to focus on himself to change properly. Regardless, they stretch together and make their way to the mat.

“You both have read the rule book, but just in case you’re a little bit rusty, I'll say everything. Show respect before and after the match. Each match has two five minute rounds. You win by making the other person submit, pinning both of their shoulders to the mat, or by gaining the most points by the end of both rounds. You gain points via takedowns, reversals, exposure, penalties, escapes, and if your opponent gets fouled.

“We all know what gets you fouled, but it must be said that there will be no scratching, no pinching, no pulling tails; and no biting ears, noses, lips, necks or balls. Leo.”

“That was one time and I was five, ndate.”

“It wouldn't be the last time you've had balls in your mouth,” Aidan comments.

“Aidan,” he responds in shock.

“One time too many.” Ndate says before taking an exaggerated deep breath. “Got all that?”

They both nod.

“Wakule!”

Their fists touch, becoming open palms and gliding past each other. With the proper respect shown, they trace an ill-defined circle within the larger circle of the mat. Never letting the other leave his gaze, Leonardo-Nawa sidesteps in-sync with him for a few seconds more, before cinching him in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. An attempt to hook his leg and drop him to the ground fails. He moves as if shoved back and drops into a squat-walk, manoeuvring behind him. With his arms around Aidan's waist, he attempts another sweep. Aidan falls. He’s firm behind the redhead now on his hands and knees. A quick shift brings him to his front where he’s a hair’s width away from getting him within a guillotine choke. He’s dropped onto his back during an attempt to get up. His leg is trapped, and he turns and flips.

“Round one is over,” Ndate calls out. “Take a minute to rest.”

They hug and sit down before sitting down in different corners of the mat.

“Close but no cigar.” Leonardo-Nawa taunts in-between breaths.

“I’ll be smoking that Ngela-Machiavelli pack.” He wipes his sweat through his hair.

“You can try.”

“Back to the centre, boys.”

Doing as they’re told, they perform a second handshake. Afterwards, they sidestep across from each other in another ill-defined circle. Aidan attempts to grab him by the shoulders. Leo shoots under and slithers behind. With a tight grip around his waist, he attempts to hook his leg. He shifts it right before he can, pushing the offending appendage to the side and further lowering his stance. His grip remains. In retaliation, he pushes his arms under and spreads them out to break it. Once again, they face each other. Another circle, another attempt. This one from Leonardo-Nawa, dropping to one knee. He clenches his right leg and attempts a sweep with the other. Aidan falls. He mounts him to stop any attempt at getting up, before transitioning into an armbar attempt. Disappointingly, Aidan moves his forearm down his torso and tears it from his grip. Once off his torso, he runs it up his thigh and grabs hold of Leo-Nawa’s ankle. He turns him onto his stomach from that anchor point. Aidan's legs wrap around his, ending at his lower back, and he secures the hold. He can feel his ankle twist past natural points, and as much as he doesn’t want to, as much as he wants to work his way out, the pain becomes too much. He’s forced to tap. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three. Finally, he releases.

“You’re off your game, champ.” Aidan smirks at him.

He sucks his teeth and says “Fifty to forty-eight now. You’re catching up.”

“And you’re still standing.”

He flashes him a smile and shakes his head, looking down.

His ndate chimes in with “You two have been training thirty-two/eleven; eleven days a week after graduation. I’m proud of you boys.”

“Thank you, Ndate.”

“Yeah. Thanks, uncle.”

“No problem, boys. No problem. Now go hit the showers.” He pats them both on the back and leaves with his never ending supply of caffeine in hand.

In the locker room, already stripped down to everything the Greater Pantheon supplied them with, Leo-Nawa runs his water hot, but Aidan runs his scalding. He lets his hair cover his face for a few minutes and lets out a post-match groan.

“Should I get your tail?” Aidan asks.

He holds out the shampoo bottle. “Thank you, darling.”

He flicks his hair back.

“Ptuh. You hit me in the mouth.” He pulls his hair.

“Ah! Fuck you,” Leo-Nawa responds.

“Mhm.”

Aidan slides his hands around his tail, holding it outside of the reach of the water to allow a lather to form.

“Do you think Bri’s going to make us watch the Drifter franchise again?”

“Probably.”

“I can’t wait, honestly. It never gets old.”

“Together… anything is possible.” Aidan does a purposefully scuffed impression of Street Queen, Aroa Rico.

“It’s shlock, but it’s good shlock.” He receives the shampoo once again. “Turn around for me, darling.”

“Sure,” he responds.

With Aidan’s tail in his hand, Leo-Nawa gives it a tug before asking “What about Ayesha?”

“Ngh. Playing through Capsule Creatures again.”

“As usual. Looking at her posts on Thought Bubble, it's four again.”

“You've memorised?”

He hands him his fluffy bicoloured tail back. “We've all known each other for what? Twenty odd years? Of course.”

They make their way outside and onto the large stretch of concrete typically used as a parking lot.

“We’re ready to start, Ndate,” Leonardo-Nawa says.

“Wrong daddy, mate.” Ash turns around, machine gun in hand.

“Chi”—

Foam pellets fly at them at speeds immeasurable at the moment. Nevertheless, platinum bends and links together around his neck. Before the chain can close, amethyst grows crystalline structure by crystalline structure before him and slides onto it. He accumulates a percentage of excess potential energy into his feet and propels himself forward, moving Aidan a metre away before reaching Ash. The gun is in his hands. He presses it onto her neck.

“Good job, Nardo.” She gives him a handshake. “Looks like you’re still fast at everything you do.”

He chuckles as he responds “And it looks like you’re still a shit shot.”

“I’d rather miss than shoot blanks.” Ash ruffles his hair.

“Good to see you, Ash.”

“Same to you, cunt.”

“Hey, Natasha.” Aidan waves at her.

“Aidan, you tall bastard. How's the weather?”

“Good. You?”

“I’ve been alright.” She takes the gun back and puts it away. “Are you fuckers ready to start?”

They both nod.

“Good. Nardo’s already used his zeka, so now it’s your turn. Stand four metres away.”

Leonardo-Nawa watches Aidan do just that, standing back himself in case he’s sure of what comes next. Natasha pulls out a large, red flamethrower.

“Is that new?” Aidan asks.

“Yeah, I just got it. Absolutely ace, ain’t it.”

“Very, very nice. But… not as good as my lighter.” He flicks the metallic-blue gift Leo’s father got him open.

“It’s all about firepower.”

“Good things come in small packages.”

Natasha turns her head to Leo, asking him “When did you start calling him ‘Good Things’?”

He tilts his head slightly to the right. “Apparently the second you assumed I was ‘Small Packages’.”

“Don’t worry, mate. It’s not about your dick this time.”

“Good.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re short as shit.”

“Oh.”

“Anywho, Lucky Liu. I need to burn Aidan alive.”

“Aren’t you a sniper?”

“Yep.”

“Have you used that beforehand?”

“Nope.”

“Yet you’re aiming and firing that directly at Aidan?”

“Relax. Your pet won’t get hurt too bad.”

She pulls the trigger and a ball of flame bursts out from the muzzle. Although it may look like Aidan’s been burnt to a standing crisp, upon further inspection and half a sidestep, Aidan’s spread the fire away from him. In an instant, the flame dulls despite Ash’s ever-insistent trigger finger, and she lets the flamethrower leave her hands. “Good job, boys. Next it's yumbu.” She puts the guns into a duffle bag behind her. “Follow me to the big, fuck off maze your dad made you.”

“You’ve been here for a while, haven't you?”

“Just long enough to put shit in there.”

Together they stroll through the floral rainbow known as the bushes and hedges comprising the garden of the Machiavelli Estate. It’s a death trap for anyone with a pollen allergy, but Leonardo-Nawa loves it all the same, spending time to stop and smell them as they make their way to—as Ash described it—the ‘big, fuck off maze’ his ndate had constructed for his tenth birthday party. Unlike the rainbow of everything else, the structure at the centre is formed from nothing but different shades of his favourite colour.

Ash sits down on the ground. “You really like Zalunga violets, don’t you?”

“It’s all purple in general,” Aidan comments.

“It helps that grass is violet too,” he admits to people who've known this his entire life. “Zalunga violets are just more so.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are we doing?” Aidan looks over to her.

“Team-building, boys.”

“With a catch?” Leonardo-Nawa asks.

“Yep. Catch.” She tosses objects at the both of them simultaneously.

“Aren’t these”—

“Shitty walkie-talkie toys I took from work? Yes.”

“Is this how you teach your students too?”

“Less swearing, but similar.” She mentions. “Anywho, Aido runs around in there, puts his messages, leaves and directs you from outside.”

“How many?”

“However many you really want, honestly.”

“And how does my yumbu come into play?” Leonardo interjects.

“This is more about your zeka, but you’ll see.” She explains. “Are you ready, Aido?”

He nods. Prior to entry, all the components necessary to make a gas mask float onto his face.

“Contact me when you need me.” Aidan adds.

“Got it.”

It’s not too long before he returns, maskless.

“Your phones, boys.” Ash sticks her hand out.

“Natasha.” Leonardo-Nawa protests.

“That's Mrs. Blackheart to you, mate,” she says in the tone she doesn't even use with her students.

“Who made you a Mrs.?”

“If you keep talking, it'll be your boytoy over here.”

Aidan turns to her and squints.

“Don't act like you weren't thinking it.”

Leo-Nawa sighs and slaps his phone into her hand, followed by Aidan doing the same.

A single step in, he hears the first message.

Audio Checkpoint: “One.”

Leonardo clicks the button at the side of the toy, saying “What’s first, darling?”

“Left.”

Audio Checkpoint: “Now two.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Right, forward, left.”

Audio Checkpoint: “Three. Keep going.”

“You’re on your own by seven,” Aidan explains.

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“Prep your head to take everything down; double right.”

Audio Checkpoint: “You’ve found four. Nice.”

“I’m going to give you the first half, Leo,” Aidan warns him.

“Go ahead, darling. I’m ready.” He makes small bounces from left to right.

“Forward, right, left, forward, left, forward, right, left, and triple forward.”

Audio Checkpoint: “Five. Third of the way.”

“Here’s the second half: double left, forward, double right, double left, double right and forward,” he explains further.

“Wait… what was the first one again?”

“Leo, are you—”

“I’m only joking, darling.” He laughs to himself. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Audio Checkpoint: “Six. You’re doing good so far.”

For the first time this entire challenge, Leonardo-Nawa has been untethered. The only memories he can allow himself to draw on are those of a few seconds ago. He breathes—truly breathes—in the air around him. It’s untouched now. He dare not light a cigar here—not anymore. There is too much this place holds for him to sully again. He steps.

Audio Checkpoint: “Seven. I should still be connected now.”

“Are you still there, darling?” he asks into the toy.

Static.

“It was worth a shot.”

He puts it back into his pocket and follows instructions, segmenting and throwing away any previous movements to make it easier for himself to go through. Run? Walk? Jog? He has to go fast, but he must remain measured and without mistakes.

Audio Checkpoint: “Eight. I hope you’ve found these in order.”

So far, so good. He moves with the grace and elegance he carried in his ballet days. Not a foot out of place. Not a breath misplaced. He can see the faint remnants of streamers and decorations, riddles even. They fade from his vision like a guide out of a video game. Ndate put too much love into this.

“Left, forward.”

Another section to be deleted.

Audio Checkpoint: “Nine. I wonder what the others are doing now.”

Music from times long past entered his ears, repeated many times before.

“You live, you laugh

Your time won’t pass

Today’s your day

(It is your day)

Only your day

(Only your day)

So we are here to say Happy Birthday.”

He hums it to himself, taking a small break to dance. There’s no point in escaping the memories.

Audio Checkpoint: “Ten. You are now two thirds of the way in.”

He never knew he’d be this tall. Halfway up the walls that looked like vine monoliths chose to rest beside him not too long ago. Tall enough to reach the top shelf, but not tall enough to dwarf his ima like he wished to and made joking threats about. Tall enough to hold someone, but not tall enough to stop being held. He runs his hands against them as he makes his way over. Up and down as they touch them, making invisible zigzags. High knees, and exaggerated lean and swaying to entertain him as he goes. His hair flows through the wind alongside the tassels on his jacket. Throughout, Aidan’s instructions sound far shorter than they feel. One third left. What will he find in the middle?

Audio Checkpoint: “Eleven. I wonder… Am I running out of words of encouragement?”

“You’re doing great, darling,” he responds.

Even though he knows for a fact that he can't hear him, it’s nice to hear his voice. With all its expressionless worth. It’s like a still life piece from a beyond talented artist. Although, it could easily be from his own deep infatuation. Some would call the two of them brothers, but he doesn’t like that. It isn’t true, nor is it favourable. They’ve lived with each other since they were two, yet his parents never adopted him. He never wanted them too. They never wanted to. Maybe he knew he’d fall in love with him, and maybe there was an instance or two over the years that he did too. His parents said it was to make sure he never forgot his original ones—they were close—so their interests aligned.

Audio Checkpoint: “Twelve. I don’t think I am. You’re doing really well so far.”

“I know you aren’t, darling. Thank you.”

He strokes the cigar in his pocket with his thumb to resist the feeling. He’ll smoke when he’s done. When’s done with both halves, he’ll smoke. Maybe he won’t. He shouldn’t. A drink? Maybe. Nice and cold, sweet too. One over rocks and a low alcohol content. Something that goes good with a brownie like some Maula. A reward for himself.

Audio Checkpoint: “Thirteen. I have definitely been disconnected at this point. You’ve got this, Leo.”

“Yes you have, darling.”

He’s tempted to stand still, he’s so close. No doubt it won’t affect his time. His passive use of his zeka no longer impresses him. It’s all natural. Until the next fever—provided that it comes.

The inside of his head becomes a forest after a fire. Not a single thought can live anymore.

“What did he say? What did he say?” he whispers to himself. “Which inconsequential words left his beautiful lips? Speak to me, darling. Speak to me.”

“Left, right,” his memory responds.

Audio Checkpoint: “Fourteen. You’re too close to turn back now. There’s a surprise in the centre.”

The final stretch. There are no drums or shouting in near-forgotten tongues. Instead, he hears snoring. It’s not even there, he’s sure of it, but it also is. Leonardo-Nawa is unsure of whether he’s a centimetre away or a kilometre. Even if, he knows exactly who it is. Why is she here? The fact that she’s sleeping is the most normal thing about this scenario. This reality he’s in.

“Right, forward.”

He walks in accordance.

“Ayesha?” Leonardo tilts his head, standing outside of the arc.

There she is, sleeping on a marble bench in the centre of the maze. Before he can say anything to her, another message begins to play.

Audio Checkpoint: “Fifteen. Congrats. You found all the checkpoints. Pick up Ayesha and get out. Be careful.

Having heard this, he moves further into the centre. After a flutter of her wings, she sits up and yawns.

“Oh. Hi, Nana.”

“Eesh? What are you doing here?”

Picking up her Ricochet Fusion, she replies “Sleeping.”

“Of course you were.” He hands Ayesha her custom walking stick, squatting down in front of her.

She hops onto his back. “Go, Nana!”

“Do you want to go on my shoulders instead?”

“They’ll see me over the things.”

“You’re tiny, and who are they?”

She covers her mouth as if she wasn’t supposed to say a word.

Leonardo-Nawa tosses Ayesha up and she lands onto his shoulders. Asking her to fly around would be a useless endeavour, even though after all these years he's always the first to consider it. With her cane in hand, he knows why. It would be up to him to navigate in either case. In his head, he's traversing the treacherous landscape that is his own mind, hoping to step on a memory as he makes his way out. Everything seems to be going well in his opinion: he's retrieved his kundo care package, and she's safe playing video games on the top of his well cared for curls. Leonardo-Nawa’s search has yet to bear fruit. After all, it's just started. He assumed the process would be a bit faster. Mainly because he already passed the centre where he used to stare into the sky and think of nothing. There it is, fading in the rearview. If only he could speed up his brain power with his zeka. Maybe if he's lucky, he'll have a zeyugo fever during the downtime between missions. Although, that does mean he would've changed significantly. For better or for worse.

“Ah shit,” Ayesha blurts out.

“What’s wrong?” asks Leo-Nawa, turning his gaze towards the gremlin on his shoulders.

“Wild encounter, and I can't run.”

When he turns back towards the trail, he’s met with a low energy scare in the form of a “Boo.”

His face contorts into a horror beyond his own comprehension via involuntary use of his yumbu. The living afro below him smacks him upside the head repeatedly with a shotgun he prays is empty around five hits in.

He leaves the hideous mask it formed behind in favour of his zeka, so he can maintain consciousness for long enough to finish the maze. “It's gone, Bri.”

“What did I say about using that shit on me?” Brianna asks, staring daggers at him from her wheelchair.

“I didn't know it was you.”

“Who did you think it was?”

“Sentient black truffle?”

“That's new.”

Leo-Nawa and Brianna hug in greeting, Ayesha waving from his shoulders as they do. On their way out, he steps on a memory—or more a collection of them. Countless nights where Aidan and himself would run away from the aunties and the uncles and his parents to avoid going to sleep at reasonable hours. They hid in the exact spot Bri popped out of in fact. Too many years ago. Whether it was after events which ended late enough as is, or a little four day period officially starting the second their seven day school week was through known as the week’s edge. One day it was them, next cousin Luna was added whenever she came to visit, and more typically it was the entirety of a group readying themselves to undertake the name of Silenzio. The sounds of Capsule Creatures 4: Through Wind & Water comprise the soundtrack of their short journey. He whistles along, finding solace in how it interacted with the breeze around them. Nothing else seems fitting. Her choice to play the 15-year-old game reminds him of simpler times, harder times, and just last month. He holds out a purple stuffed cigar between his finger tips, yet he neglects to light it for now.

“Rah,” shouts a voice deep beyond comprehension.

As Leonardo-Nawa’s face contorts, he’s pulled into someone's chest, ceasing the process entirely. “Okay, Gi-Gi, I missed you too. Now, please let me out of the black hole that is your chest.”

He's released and meets the smiling face of Giueseppe, a person who couldn’t be described as less than a mountain that can hug. A warm mountain, a caring mountain, being the joint youngest in the group, an innocent mountain as well, one that asks “How was your holiday?”

“It was great. Did you manage to get your licence?”

“Driving or temple?”

“Both licences.”

Giuseppe nods in response as Ayesha flies onto his shoulders and hugs his face.

In the next section, whatever it may truly mean, he sees the spots where he got pinned down by and pinned down former partners and lovers. A paradise away from paradise. Scraps of protection and contraception all cleared up by now. It's truly as clean as the first day. If he listens over the soothing melody for just a moment, his mind can bring their voices back to him. A mixtape he's burnt through too many times before. Even the worst of them were always good at what they did. However, when his parents were away, he barred off his floor and found the sheets more fitting for the role. Those and the locker room. A movie of his own making—seldom with lights, never with cameras, and never ending action.

A question knocks on Leonardo-Nawa’s mind, and he must let it in: “When did you guys get here anyway? Ash wasn't clear.”

“09:00,” responds Brianna, polishing one of Ayesha’s knives as she rolls.

“Rehearsing your little, spooky song and dance, I assume.”

“Napping,” Ayesha.

“She was. Giuseppe and I were talking to Ash about how we're doing this.” She sheathes the blade.

With his question answered, he scurries back into his mind, finding footing on the far more wholesome memories of ‘Dr. Leonardo-Nawa & Dr. Aidan: Explorers of Everything!’ A multiple season adventure drama they constructed all with their own minds. It's a proud achievement: using their imaginations so effectively. Their toys and plushies comprised the cast, and it aired between once their homework and lunch was done and way past their bedtimes. Sometimes they'd talk to their friends about it as if it was something they actually watched. Anything for the sake of a good story. They made their first ansi that way. A picture they took of them holding their earnings sits between all of Silenzio being each other's prom dates and him wearing his first pair of hearing aids.

“Sorry if I scared you guys a bit too much.” Leo-Nawa snaps back to reality.

“Eh. Your dumbass didn’t know we were here anyway,” Brianna replies.

“I managed to avoid it.” Giuseppe beams.

“Yes you did, big guy.”

He jumps up to pat him on the head, before continuing with their walk through memory maze. Having them all around him—here, after so long—reminds him of his first arrival in this place. His tenth birthday. It was wonderful. The secrets hidden in every crevice this place holds, the race to the finish, the bouncy castle waiting for him and friends long forgotten at the end. All of it is just wonderful.

Aidan and him got a little tent of their own—set it up themselves too. It’s what inspired them to start their stories in the first place. One day, a storm raged on in less time than it took either of them to blink. Ndate and ima called out their names, having started off into the maze to find them. Leo-Nawa clutched his hand and they ran towards his parents together—they were sick for the week after, but it was worth it.

They’re reaching the end, he can feel it. Memories are coming to an end. The spots where he used to drink outside of his parents' view, maybe a little too much, stare at him on their way out. Sanctuary.

It’s only now when he considers how long it’s taken for them to make their way out. They’ve kept a good pace so far. No running, but a good stride.

Aidan and Ash stand out in front of them. He tosses the walkie-talkie over to her.

They’re out.

“Congratulations, Nardo.” She starts a small applause for him. “You did well. You got five minutes.”

“Is this when the whole class gets snacks?” Leonardo-Nawa snickers.

“Well, you’re the leader. Do we?”

“Snacks sound good.” Ayesha yawns.

“First, we complete the first mission Ndate gives us. Then we can eat.”

“Group hug, everybody,” says Giuseppe in half a suggestion and half a command.

They find themselves in a warm, albeit brief, six person embrace where Ayesha makes sure to wrap her wings around everyone’s heads, giving his ears a light crushing.

While still inside, Leonardo-Nawa asks “Would you guys like to stay the night?”

“Yeah. That would be great.” Giuseppe sets Ayesha down from his shoulders.

“Sure, but I get to pick the movie.” Bri adds.

“It’s drifting time. Vroom.” The blind kundoba runs circles around the group.

“Should I order some food? I’m fucking starving.”

Aidan flicks his lighter from one hand to the next. “Meeting first.”

“Right, right, number two. The meeting.”

Leonardo-Nawa’s ndate, Don Machiavelli, sits at the head of the table. Rather than his robes from earlier, he’s placed himself in his favourite piece of formalwear: a black pinstripe suit with notch lapels over a white dress shirt and paired with black suede shoes that he bought back in Avitura. His olive skin is yet to truly feel the effects of wrinkling. A trait that—if he wasn’t his son—would be quite intimidating to him, knowing how old his ndate really is.

“Good afternoon, Silenzio.” He raises a glass of ice cold water.

“Good afternoon, Don.” Ash and Aidan.

“Good afternoon, Don Machiavelli.” Giuseppe.

“Afternoon.” Brianna.

“Good good, Uncle A.” Ayesha.

“Afternoon, ndate.” Leo-Nawa.

“Rise.”

They all do.

“Reach into the centre.”

Together they wash their hands in the bowl placed on the palm of the violet hand pyrographed into the centre of the table. One by one they grab plates loaded with a pillowy lump of nshima, imperfect cuboids of golden–brown meat drowning in their own personal oasis of thick gravy, sitting next to some diced cabbage. Silenzio feeds each other, only ever receiving from the plates outside of their control. They’re done before they know it, stacking their plates and washing their hands in new water.

“You can sit now. From now on, you have become Silenzio. A brilliant name, if I do say so myself.”

Once they’ve all sat back down, he continues “In front of you, you will see dossiers with your roles and information on your first mission. Everything should play into your strengths.”

Ayesha raises her hand.

“Yes, yours is in braille, sweetie.”

It goes back down.

“You are looking for two people: Nosiku and Mukatimui. A kundoda and kundotu who—while they look very similar—are not related. They’re members of Cielo indaco, made-women. Publically, they’re very close to Ardito and Boniface. You may not remember but they were once members of Viola Mano. We have reason to believe that they cut a deal with them: information for money. Those pieces of trash decided it was a good idea to spit in the face of me and my family, this family, by doing so. You must figure out where they are. And… if you need any extra motivation, they’re nothing more than filthy perverts. Grabbing whatever and whoever they deem fit.”

“That’s immoral,” Giuseppe cries.

“Exactly, Giuseppe.” Ndate raises his glass.

“Scum,” Ash comments.

Brianna lets out a low growl.

Aidan huffs.

Ayesha shakes her head in disapproval.

“They will be dealt with accordingly, Ndate.”

“Any questions, Silenzio?”

“Well, guys? Anything?”

They don’t respond.

“Anything else you may need is there in the dossier.” He drinks more of his wine. “Now, please, read out your roles.”

Leonardo-Nawa reads his role out loud. “Kutalifa Machela, a little known but very rich and lonely bachelor with hands in various businesses around the world. He searches the hottest spots for his next fairytale ending.”

“Samhradh Kearney, an underground fighter with a flame zeka and an undefeated streak.”

“Lan Su Chen, a silent waiter with a maroon ponytail, a pension for emeralds and a strawberry pin.”

“Lola Avia, a flashy bartender at Maids & Mugs.”

“Liam Silver, an intimidating yet friendly bouncer at Maids & Mugs.”

“Lea Cruise, a university student who finds silence in even the loudest places, choosing to study and work from clubs and parties to avoid noise complaints from neighbours. Despite this, she’s a quiet person, keeping to herself.”

Ash raises her hand.

“Yes, Natasha?” Ndate looks over to her.

“With all due respect, Don. You really want me to be quiet?”

He sips on some wine before saying “All complaints should be directed to your caporegime. He wrote all of that down.”

“Nardo, mate. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Talent Never Dies ‘92.”

“You know what? Fair.” She sits back down.

Leo-Nawa leans forward before asking “Anyone else?”

A collective silence is their response for him.

“Good. Do we need anything else, Ndate?” He sits back.

“Everything you need is there, little lion,” he responds before adding “Weren’t you all theatre kids? This should be nothing for you.”

“We were, and we can all handle this. We’re done for the day, Silenzio.” He stands.

The rest of them follow suit one by one, his ndate remaining seated. They deliver their byes to him, before heading out of the door to watch all ten Drifter movies. Leonardo-Nawa is the last, his mind already trained on the intricacies of the mission.

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