Conor slid open the helicopter door, and looked back out at the road far from them. His vision zoomed in to the action below, watching Poatan tear into the criminals.
Bullets ripped through his clothes, yet failed to penetrate his skin—not due to any specific skill or ability, but simply because they couldn't harm him.
Poatan grabbed a grenade, hurling it at a hovering helicopter. The explosive sailed through the windshield, burying itself inside the pilot's skull.
The flaming helicopter hovered for a few more seconds before tilting and exploding several blocks away.
"I wanna be down there," grumbled Zheanni as she peered from behind Conor.
Poatan continued the rampage, dismembering, decapitating, and crushing with a single swipe of his hand.
Kholwa remained still, gazing ahead at the skyline as the explosion of a car below briefly bathed the helicopter's interior in an orange glow.
Another explosion shook the street, forcing the remaining gangsters to shield their eyes. Emerging from a flaming limo, Poatan seized a tall man by the ankle, mutilating his face beyond recognition; third-degree burns covered his entire body. Unfazed, Poatan flung the body, breaking two others on impact.
"Aw," Poatan sighed disappointedly, watching them all scatter, hopping over fences, jumping into cars, and fleeing as far away as possible.
Ten minutes later.
Conor walked into the hotel room, tossing the wooden box haphazardly onto the marble counter, and flopped down in the middle of the couch. "Fuck!" He yelled, slamming his phone onto the couch.
"Hey!" Zheanni snapped.
"What?" Conor asked in an exaggerated tone. "It's not like I can open it anyways."
"You can't open it?"
"That's what I said," he looked her up and down. "You got X on you?"
Zheanni smirked, "Yeah."
"Lemme get some."
"Get your own, bitch," she rolled her eyes.
"I tried; Antwan ain't picking up."
Zheanni gingerly grabbed the box, studying it for the first time.
Behind her, Autxmn lay down with his feet in the air, his toes wiggling in his socks. In front of him was a bright pink electronic keyboard. He slammed his fingers down on the keys; everyone in the room jumped at the jarring sound, but he went with it and started singing.
Zheanni looked back at the box. The wood was old and had slightly rotted. She pulled at the green-metal seam that held the chest together. The front had a small red button; if pressed, it would've released the clasp, and the lid would've popped off. No matter how hard she pushed, it didn't work—she didn't go all out in fear of accidentally breaking the box and the contents inside.
Autxmn's voice sang out from the other side of the room, "In a world of black and white, I'm a splash of color, A rainbow in the sky, not just another. I'm a quirky creature in a norm-defined zoo, Different stripes, different spots, in a world so true," Autxmn sang in a high falsetto, perfectly nailing every note. He stopped, then began mumbling to himself, "Yeah, that was good. I'm gonna write that down."
Conor tried calling Antwan once more. "Where dis dude at, bruh?"
Twenty-two years old, black, bleached hair, and covered in tattoos, the customary 'KTA' lettering scribbled his face—Draco walked into the room. "It's probably coded with energy so that only certain people can open it if it recognizes their energy."
"You know how to get it open, then?" Zheanni asked, holding it up.
"I can," a voice that Zheanni nor Conor wanted to hear. Autxmn swished his long hair from in front of his face, looking back.
"Antwan's girl isn't answering either," Conor looked up from his phone, watching the man who had just entered the room: John Doe.
"That was his girl?" Zheanni asked, "I thought that was his baby mama."
"I don't know, he's got like multiple of both."
"But which one was the one he brought?"
"I didn't see a kid with them- Bro, who cares?" Conor then glanced to Autxmn, 'What the…He really like that?' he thought, noticing his bright pink nails. "A'ight, Imma head out," he announced, getting up and leaving the room.
John Doe ran a hand through his dark red hair, taking the box from Zheanni's outstretched hand. His fingers ran along the treasure chest, feeling every dent and crevice. His right hand glowed with energy.
'His energy signature is different,' she thought. 'Like he a whole new person.' Her eyes brooded over him, but he looked the same as he always did.
The lid instantly popped open when he clicked the button. John Doe's expression never changed as he reached inside, taking the object—a small ancient piece of jewelry. A circular metal pendant that resembled a bike tire; twelve jagged spokes came from its center. It was… "Worthless," he said, dropping it into the box.
"Huh?" Zheanni looked surprised.
"It's a fake."
"How?"
"Come here."
Zheanni walked over to the counter, looking down at the object.
John Doe scraped a fingernail against the dark rust, and it flaked off, revealing a shiny metallic sheen underneath. "Way too new. The material isn't invaluable, but it's clearly a counterfeit either way."
Several minutes later.
"Yes, Dad," Zheanni sighed with annoyance. "I dunno what you want me to say! The shit was fake!" she threw her hands up.
"Where's your brother?" Paul Silvio asked from the other side of the phone.
"Bro left…I dunno what you want me to do? Okay, ya know what? How 'bout chu go ask our 'leader,' a'ight? Go bother that dude!" She slammed her phone on the counter in front of John Doe and stomped out of the room.
John Doe carefully picked up the phone and put it to his ear, "hello."
Paul sighed, "Hey, John. So, if I had to guess, the real item was already sold… recently. Sometimes they'll make replicas of rare items and will try to scam people if the sale of the original isn't known. If someone with the money to buy that will most likely be at the Stygian Tower event later, so make sure you keep an eye out for it when you're there."
Zoe walked into the room—it resembled a small lounge in an office space. A single couch, a couple of chairs, a water cooler in the corner, and a glass table, all in the small beige-colored room with grey carpet. She held a large block of paper in her hands, freshly printed; she could tell because the paper had a particular scent that only printers give off.
Bulwark handed Zoe a bag of rainbow chocolate candy bites as she walked past. She took them graciously. While she sat, listening to the others, Zoe lined up each piece of candy into columns organized by their color. She wasn't very hungry, and even if she was, she wouldn't eat them; but, moreover, Zoe just liked looking at it.
Marcello stood near the wall, peering out the window. He watched as several helicopters with mafia markings flew north. Gemo and Mitani both sat on the couch on the opposite side of the room, looking bored.
"So, what do you guys have for us?" Bulwark asked.
"I've found things on three of the minor players of KTA," Marcello said, retreating from the window. "Zoe and Mitani have information on the main two, Zheanni and Conor." The three bodyguards had spent the last several hours combing through hundreds of internet pages and court documents.
"Aren't there three more? That's only five."
"There's barely any information about the other three."
"Alright," Zoe mumbled as she stood up, walking to the middle of the room. She held the first page up, reading internally what she'd just wrote, "Zheanni. 22 years old. 5'11, and approximately around 140 pounds. Prominent tattoos are her 'KTA' lettering over her right eye…" She felt everyone's eyes on her as if waiting for her to perform something. 'I guess for all intents and purposes, I am 'performing,'' she thought. She mumbled something under her breath and paced back and forth, her eyes focused on her feet as she spoke; the recent scorch marks, the trigger on the heels that would activate the lights… "Alright," she repeated, "According to what I've found, as well as Mitani's findings, Zheanni is a prominent member of the group KTA, which is a branch of the Silvio crime family."
"KTA," Mitani stood up, "Is multiple things. Their music label, and the name of their 'gang.'"
"Back up," Gemo raised his finger. "What is KTA? Like, what does it stand for?"
"Like their morals and values?" Zoe squinted, confused. "I don't think they have a lot of moral imperatives…"
"Goodness," Gemo sighed and shook his head, "No. What does it stand for? What do the letters represent?"
"Kill Them All," Mitani said.
"That's hard," Bulwark muttered.
"Continue." Gemo hurried.
"So, uh, it seems like Conor and Zheanni are the only ones who are by blood a 'Silvio.' The boss of the family is Paul Silvio, and three of his five kids work for him. Their new song exploded in popularity, with several other artists remixing and featuring on it. The song became mainstream because of the lyrics where they make fun of several deceased members of another similar group called BTB. Specifically mentioning someone named Kami, who was shot on his sixteenth birthday. From the general online sentiment, it's believed that KTA has been involved in the murder of five of their members. Specifically, Zheanni has the most connections.
"Back in the day, the members used to be good friends. There's pictures and videos that date back almost a decade, but three years ago, there was an incident…I believe the member, Conor, had…special relations… with the BTB Leader's sister. Then, about a year ago, an altercation in New York left the BTB leader's brother paralyzed in the shootout. Though, many of their 'documented' crimes come down to internet hearsay, as anytime the law has been involved, each case has been dropped as the witnesses never appeared in court."
Bulwark raised his hand, talking once Mitani pointed at him. "I'm confused. How is this connected with the guy you were following?"
Marcello spoke, "The auction footage showed him and a boy, Culian, though we know almost nothing about him, we know he's in KTA. They're working together, so we can assume that we will run into them if you want to join me at some point. Regarding Stygian Tower, the Silvio's and anyone associating with the family are expelled from there. They never said 'why,' but the Silvios deal in drugs and have had a lot of issues at past events. A lot of the rules of the event were set because of them."
"Zheanni," Mitani said, "she's a bit more out there. Everywhere she goes, blood and fire follow. Coined 'The Demon of New York.' Uh, what else? On paper, she has a murder list of over fifteen. The last song released was one of the fastest growing-"
"Are you a fan of theirs?" Bulwark interrupted, shooting a judgmental look.
"Oh yeah. I've been listening to them for years at this point."
"Fuckin' hell," Gemo murmured.
"What about the main guy that you're looking for? John?" Bulwark asked.
"There is literally no information on him. Absolutely zilch—no digital footprint to speak of. The world doesn't know he exists."
"The only one who does is Marcello," Zoe said.
"I just know what he looks like," Marcello said.
"I get the world would probably be better off without these guys," Bulwark said. "So, why do you hate this guy? Like in particular?"
Zoe glanced up from the floor to look at Marcello. She was curious too, but she felt weird about asking. 'I feel like he would've had a good reason. Using energy to restrict yourself so tight that you can only kill one person…What could someone do to someone else to cause this much anger and hate?'
There was a pause, everyone looking at Marcello. "I'm doing this strictly for vengeance, and I'm leaving it at that."
"Are you gonna pay me?" Gemo asked after a long and loud silence filled the room.
"I can." Marcello said. "Are you willing to do as I say? Even if that means killing?"
Gemo grinned. "Sure. But if you want your little gig to override this bodyguard job, you'll have to pay more…a lot more."
Marcello nodded, glancing at the window just as a news and police helicopter flew by. "We'll see. Depends on good you are."
"How good I am," Gemo repeated under his breath, sounding annoyed.
"Well," Mitani said, grabbing two pieces of paper, holding them up for everyone to see. "These are what they all look like."
Bulwark squinted, reading the name 'Autxmn.' Based on the picture taken in a nightclub, he looked like a kid, a little shorter and lanky. One of his eyes had been tattooed a pale blue. He had long, stringy bleached hair, still with the infamous 'KTA' face tattoo with white ink against his dark skin. "So, that guy there." He pointed to his own eye, "The guy with the eye."
"His name is pronounced as 'autumn,'" Mitani corrected.
"Ah, okay."
"Poatan…I…" Zoe paused, losing her words before they could escape her mouth.
"Hm?" Bulwark said.
"Spit it out," Gemo sighed.
She pointed to the pictures. "I met him a while ago."
"What?" Mitani said, studying the picture harder than ever before. "How?"
"It was my first mission," she hollowed, thinking back to that place in Cassius—The bar that smelled like spilled beer and sweat, where the man's head exploded in front of all their eyes.
A man who looked like he was a bodybuilder grinned into the picture—two of his diamond-encrusted teeth were missing. The name 'Wyrryr' was scribbled underneath.
"How do I pronounce…"
"His name is pronounced as 'Warrior.'"
The last one, Bryck, a serious-looking man with black and gold luxury glasses and a square face. His bright white tattoos stuck out on his dark skin. His 'KTA' lettering was placed on the right side of his chin. In every picture, he wore a perfectly tailored suit.
Several more helicopters whizzed close past the window, each heading north.
"Who's the other girl? The one that kinda looks like Ms.Park?" Bulwark asked, pointing to a picture of Kholwa.
"Honestly," Mitani paused, studying the pictures in Zoe's hand. "Not sure. She always seems to hang around Zheanni, but by all accounts, she's not actually with the gang."
Gemo leaned back, clasping his hands, "Hypothetically, how would we go about, uh, getting them?" He glanced over as Bulwark's phone screamed out a harsh noise—a locational warning to those in Apris. Zoe winced.
Marcello looked at Gemo, "I'd bet my life they'll be at the Stygian tower event in a few days. It will line up perfectly since the Parks will also be there."
Bulwark raised his eyebrows, and held his phone up, "An alert. That Poatan guy you were following. He's made the news."
A deep frown crossed Marcello's face as he scrolled through Bulwark's phone. With every scroll, his breath got shorter and his grasp tighter. It got to the point that Bulwark was scared he'd crush it. "Yeah, man," he said cautiously, awkwardly reaching for his device.
"I'm really going to kill them all," Marcello muttered.
As Zoe peered at the phone screen from over his shoulder, her breath caught in her throat; a pain in her chest pulsed like her heart had skipped a beat. "Oh… that's who we were following?" Something deep inside felt like she had been spared; if she had met a member of KTA earlier, she would've been dead.
"And what about this Stygian Tower thingy," Bulwark spoke up, "There's gonna be like, rival factions there, right? Like I feel there's a pretty high chance for two opposing gangs or something to be there at the same time, ya know?
"It's not that simple," Marcello said. "There's an unspoken rule to leave all feelings outside the tower. It's sort of akin to the United Nations, how there are laws and rules for every country to follow, and if you break them, every other country will become your enemy."
"Damn, how you know that much?"
"Well," Marcello waivered, debating on wether or not he wanted to answer the question, "I was here for the last event. I needed to buy some jewelry."
The next morning.
The warm smell of pancakes wafted through the Park's hotel room. The chef they had called had just turned off the stovetop and started cleaning the counter.
"Hey, Marcello," Bulwark said, casually walking by him as he sat back in a large orange chair. He looked down at his phone screen. "One of those guys we hired to lookout saw one of 'em. It looks like Culian or maybe Poatan. Kinda hard to tell. But he says he just saw him on Orange Street, which is south and about four miles from here." He glanced behind him quickly, ensuring neither the Parks nor Ayla's friend heard their conversation.
Zoe sat in the kitchen along with Ayla and her friend, showing them a magic trick. Gemo watched out of the corner of his eye as he leaned against a window, sipping coffee.
"Okay," Marcello thought for a second. "So then he will go under that eye-sore of an arch."
"The Arc De Fantaisie?"
"Yeah. Then that's the loop? All of it?"
"That's where people have clocked him. Basically around the same time every day."
"Hm," Marcello opened up a map on his phone. Marking each landmark: The Parisian on Orange Street, The Arc De Fantaisie, Salle des rêveurs, and then by an abandoned district in the town.
"So there we have it," Bulwark said, looking down, only now noticing Marcello had been tapping his foot compulsively during the whole conversation.
"Hey!" Zheanni screamed at Conor over the thumping club music. She had glow-in-the-dark neon green contacts in her eyes. The designs on her face glowed in the UV. Rays of neon light swung freely around the dark room, briefly illuminating the bodies on the dance floor as they flew by.
Conor glanced over. He'd been talking to a woman with dyed pink hair. A ferociously attractive, very young model sporting tight, enlarged lips that curled in a smile and a pink dress with a plunging neckline. A long tribalistic tattoo sleeve covered her right arm; above that, a Cuban-link diamond chain hung off her neck. Her smile grew seeing Kholwa and Bryck behind Zheanni. The woman was fairly skinny. She had pale skin and a very obvious Brazilian-butt-lift done.
"Hey!" Zheanni screamed once more.
"Bruh, what?" Conor yelled.
"Just heard a rumor that Geo Amorew might be coming to Stygian Tower."
"Ah, okay," there was a long pause. "I dunno why you're telling me. If you wanna do somethin' about him, tell John."
"Tell me what?" John Doe said, appearing from the crowd. Though he spoke softly, his voice cut over the loud rap music.
Conor gestured to Zheanni, who turned and looked John Doe up and down before disappearing out of the VIP section and into the crowd of people without a word, not wanting to talk to him.
"Geo Amorew," Kholwa said meekly from behind John Doe.
He turned, somehow hearing her. Conor returned to talking to the woman, attempting to spark the lighter in his hand at the same time. John Doe looked down on Kholwa. He was almost a foot taller than her. Thinking momentarily before saying, "The ruler of the Amorew Dynasty? What about him?"
"We heard that he may be coming here."
"And this interests you?"
Kholwa seemed hesitant to answer. She looked around the club; Zheanni was nowhere to be found. "I was born there," she finally said. It did not shock her when she witnessed the surprised look on John Doe's face—everyone always had the same expression. But his was different; his eyes, like spotlights, scanned her face.
"Okay. That makes sense."
"How?"
He ignored the question. "I presume they didn't just let you leave."
"Zheanni rescued me. From the palace."
"Were you a maid?"
"Uh," she wiped her cheeks. The memories were always hard for her. "No, his pleasure squad."
"Were you born into it?"
She shook her head. "No, they took me from my parents and siblings." She breathed, looking around. "By pure luck, Zheanni was there one day."