Sounds of the early morning emanate around me. I glance down at a tattered wet newspaper sitting on my lap after finding it glued to the ground, wet from the snow some time this morning. I was in a cafe. My shirt and pants were torn. My hair was disheveled and unnaturally long, and my nails were covered with dirt. I very clearly stood out amongst all the morning commuters whom were hoping to grab a cup of coffee before their workdays started. Since I looked like a homeless person, people made sure to stay a clear distance away from me, but to be fair, I am homeless. I'm pretty surprised I haven't been politely asked to leave yet.
As I read the newspaper, I hone in on a particular group of text.
An art exhibition… Hmm, hmm, pretty cool, sounds like fun. I then take a moment to stretch my arms and legs, flexing my palms and wrists, shaking off that morning stiffness, in preparation.
"Excuse me! May I order?" I raise my voice at a waitress passing by; she jumps in surprise. Probably thought I was here just to loiter around until I got kicked out.
"Um, uh, Yes! What can I get y-you today?" She stammers for a bit.
"I would appreciate a small cup of… hot chocolate." I brush the hair out of my face and took four quarters out of my pocket, those four quarters being the only money I had left.
"Will that be all?" She looked relieved, knowing that I wasn't trying to cause any trouble.
"Yep, thank you very much."
I watch as she walks away in a hurry. She looked flustered for some reason. I look down at the ground but observe her for a little longer with my peripheral vision. She quickly glances back at me and then disappears into the kitchen. She looked pretty young, probably high school and inexperienced. Still, it's not like I could really comment on that since I'm just as young as her…
I think.
I quickly glance around; an idea pops into my head.
Now, how am I going to go about this? I check my pockets; the quarters were still there, other than that, they were empty… I had my mask, not very useful right now… I should probably get more of that string... Well, I could always conjure up a plan on the go, it'll be more fun that way.
Less than 20 seconds later, the waitress comes out of the kitchen door with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, just as I ordered. She comes to my table with a reserved smile on her face and sets it at my side.
"Did you hear about the exhibition at that art museum tomorrow?" I grin as I attempt to strike up a conversation. I figured that it was an incredible boring conversation starter though; although, the more niche a hobby a person has, the more excited they would be to find out that somebody else shares the same hobby.
"Oh, interesting! I didn't know about that. What's going on there?" She says, clearly uninterested in the subject.
"Ah, I just saw it in the news, nothing much." I say with a fake smile.
"I see." An awkward silence fills the air. The waitress hurriedly takes the quarters into her pocket and steps away without saying a word.
...Well, the main purpose wasn't to have a friendly chat with the waitress anyway. In one swift moment, I jerk my hand up, the quarters come flying out of her back pocket, and I snatch them out of midair. I open my fist, revealing hidden fishing wires attached to the quarters. I put them back in my pockets and start sipping on the hot chocolate slowly.
After about ten minutes, I stand up to leave when a slightly chubby middle-aged man approaches me. "I overheard you were talking to that girl about the exhibition. Mind if I sit down for a bit?"
I smile internally. "Sure, Sure! Sit right down here!" I pad the seat right next to me as I sit back down.
"I didn't think a young guy like you would even know about the exhibition tomorrow. Are you planning to go?" The man said as he sat down.
"Nah not really, I mean… come on, look at me, do you really think someone like me can afford to be interested in old expensive paintings?"
"Son, all you need is to be able to look at it in order to appreciate the art. No need for all the pricey stuff." The man replies. "Tell you what, I'll pay entry for the both of us later today to walk around the museum, I'll throw in some lunch and dinner as well how about it?"
Huh, what an unusually nice person. I wave my hand off. "I wouldn't go if I were you actually. There's been rumors floating around that the magician has his eyes set on this event."
The man broods quietly for a couple of seconds. "My my, that's a shame for the magician, it's impossible to get past all the security that'll be set up over there."
"I don't know about that, he's done a lot of seemingly impossible things before." I say casually.
"Mind telling me where and when you heard that rumor?" The man says.
"I was sleeping out underneath high bridge this morning, a couple of strange looking people in suits were standing next to me ignoring me while discussing something, and I managed to catch what they were saying. Don't really know who they were though."
"I'll keep it in mind." The man says curtly before stepping away. He steps into the bathroom, grabbing his phone out of his pocket.
"Alright!" I step out of my chair and leave the cafe. That man right there, I recognized him; he was in the newspaper a year ago, a newly appointed chief of the NYPD. Of course, he also had a pretty niche hobby.
I stand up to leave. He might believe me, he might not. It's not the only plan I have in mind anyway.
As I leave the cafe, I inhale deeply in response to the sudden cold shock. My breath comes out as white vapor. Crowds of people walk across the streets, their shoulders curled up high, their heads down, their hands in their coat pockets, in an attempt to stave off the cold.
Then, I start running, slipping through the New York crowd with the agility of a cat, catching some angry glances and shouts.
"Let's see, let's see," I murmur to myself; I scour through the crowds of people looking for something.
There. A man was walking out of a building in front of me, putting on a large black trenchcoat. I continue running full speed ahead, slamming my shoulder into the man's arm, tearing his grip off of the trenchcoat without losing any momentum. I made sure to orient my face away from the man just in case he had a good memory. While putting on the trenchcoat, I melt back into the crowd, maintaining a low profile. A faded shout comes from somewhere behind me; I continue running.
I come up to a gravel lot. As I fly by, I swipe a handful of decently sized rocks and stuff them into the trench coat's deep pockets.
I'm also coming up on a worker unloading from the back of a truck what looks to be small flour bags. I pause and make a detour, glancing behind a corner until the worker goes inside a building with a pushcart full of flour. I quietly dash to the truck, my footsteps mute, I grab a bag and push it inside my coat.
I continue running with great speed, my eyes alert, glancing from one side to the next. Looking for one particular item… Should be pretty common among the New Yorkers around here…
There. A man brings a cigarette to his mouth and pulls out a lighter. I rush up near him, hidden by the crowd, and slap the lighter out of his hand. I put it in my pocket. A powder like flour combined with fire can make for something pretty interesting.
I'm getting close to my destination. I have a trench coat, a lighter, some flour, some rocks, the two quarters with the fishing wire attached to them, and the mask. I feel a stab of cold on my cheeks. I look up. Flecks of snow start to drizzle down from the stormy light gray sky. I need a vantage point; time is running out, I won't be able to catch it if I just run.
I veer sharply into an alleyway. There are various boxes, trash, dumpsters, and a fire escape leading up to the building's roof. I jump off a box onto the dumpster, then retaining my momentum, kick off the brick wall onto a fire escape ladder. I quickly make my way to the roof and look out into the city.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the place where all the paintings are held, envelopes my view. I scan around the building frantically. Did my plan pay off? Did it work? Is it going to be there? I hold my breath.
And then I see it—an armored truck, with 2 police cars on each side, leaving the museum.
I smile and then look down at my mask. Pure white and completely featureless, just a smoothly curved half-oval, there were two curved slits acting as eyeholes. No nose, yet it fit snugly on my face. No mouth, yet my voice wasn't muffled in the slightest. No strings yet it had never been knocked off my face, as if it were a magnet.
I don the mask. An unearthly energy begins coursing through my body, my muscles, my ears, my eyes, my heart. My senses hone into their utter maximum, jitters arise all over my limbs. Excitement and euphoria start welling up in my chest. Goosebumps sprout up all over my body.
The magician, huh? It was the name of a notorious criminal that has been terrorizing the city for the past 5 years. I've never liked that name. A magician puts on flashy shows, always in the center of attention, and aspires to entertain people. I'm not like that. I'm just a thief.
I kick off my heels into an explosive velocity, the concrete underneath my feet cracks under the force. I fly off the rooftop, the icy wind roaring against my body. I hit the next rooftop and continue running. As I run, I hone in on the sight of the armored truck. I see every single driver, every single passenger individually, each one of them, checking every alleyway, every window, and every rooftop for potential signs of trouble.
I time my jumps, avoiding their gazes while matching the vehicles' pace, making sure to maintain my distance away while slowly edging closer and closer. My long hair flaps wildly as I propel myself from one rooftop to the next.
However, even with this supernatural strength, it would be tricky to get into the armored truck through brute force alone. I have to trick them into opening the doors.
I accelerate abruptly, tearing far ahead of the vehicles. I then find a shadowy, relatively concealed alleyway where I dive off of the rooftop into. I land in a roll, crouching on the ground. I let out a deep breath, close my eyes, and focus.
5... 4... 3... 2... 1... I start running towards the street, not at the breathtaking speeds achievable by the mask—just an ordinary sprint.
I turn my head to the right and then run onto the street, directly in the headlights of the oncoming traffic.
I hear the blare of a horn and the shrill screech of tires. I fly through the air like a ragdoll and land facedown on the pavement.
A woman screams. Chaos breaks out across the street as people either run away or frantically take out their phones to call 911. I've just been hit by a car. More specifically, the armored truck containing the paintings just hit me.
One of the police officers jumps out of the armored truck and runs up to me in a panic.
The police cars make a circle around the incident site to immediately fences off the bystanders.
The officer runs to my side and carefully lifts me up to flip me on my back. At the same time, I hear the click of a door opening, the door to the armored truck opening as one of the security guards steps off the vehicle. "Hey! Hey! Are you still alive! Stay with-" The officer gasps and jumps away.
"Yep, I'm feeling pretty good, actually," I casually pick myself off the ground. The officer hastily tries to grab the gun out of his holster, but I'm on him in a flash. With my left hand, I grab his wrist, pull it up, and gyrate it until his grip loosens and he drops the gun. Simultaneously, with my right hand, as the security guard attempts to jump back into the armored truck and close the door, I take one of my rocks out of my pocket and launch it towards his skull. The security guard collapses unconscious.
I grab the gun as it's falling, stuff it in my pants pocket, and then bolt towards the door. Shouts emanate around me as the police officers realize the situation. I tear open the bag of flour and grab the lighter out of my pocket. Never tried this, but what could go wrong?
I scatter the flour around the interior of the vehicle then hop in. The driver was still inside, coughing from all the flour swirling around.
Ah shit… I may be reprehensible, but I won't kill anyone. I grab the driver by the shirt and haul him out of the driver's seat and onto the street. A second later, a fireball lights up from the inside of the truck, accompanied by a sharp crack. It was a dust explosion, from when a flammable powder suspended in the air ignites, quickly consuming all the oxygen present in the area, creating a massive explosion.
I fly out of the door propelled by the blast, roll, and land face to face with the barrel of a gun trained on my forehead. By instinct, I rip the black trenchcoat off my body and spread it out like a canvas to obscure the officer's vision. Bullets tear through the coat, missing me by inches, but I manage to slip back inside the truck. To the officer, it would look like I just disappeared behind the coat.
The armored truck's interior was destroyed entirely, but there was a gaping hole leading straight into where all the valuables were being stored. I made my way through it, and there they were, the paintings, filled with abstract colors and designs I couldn't comprehend the value of. A couple of them had been caught in the blast and had been half destroyed. I chuckle, the thought of this truck being a decoy had popped up in my mind but I guess I got lucky.
Did I have a particular interest in art? No, not really. Was I hoping to sell the paintings to some corrupt millionaire who just wanted to waste some money? If I wanted that, I sure as hell wouldn't be homeless right now. In the end, I just wish to have some fun. I smile and leave the paintings where they were, completely untouched.
That's a bit of a cheat isn't it? A voice inside my head says to me. Too scared of the challenge? I ignore the voice and think.
Let's see how am I going to get out of here? The officers have probably surrounded the truck, their guns drawn. Many more police cars are going to be on their way in no time at all. I take one glance at the driver's seat. Hijacking the car and mowing my way out of here is probably out of the question.
Hmm... I tap my toes in impatience. I take the two quarters with the string attached to them out of my pocket and then wrapped the cord around my right and left index fingers. It's a very high-grade fishing line capable of getting fish of up to 300lb, at least that's what it said on the box.
I wish I had something a little better than this, but this will do for now. Now, should I go the way I came from? Or should I go through the back door? Both ways are probably fine but… I'm feeling the back door today.
And uhh… I look at the painting behind me.
Alright, just for the sake of pride.
A couple seconds later, I brace my shoulder. This armored truck is designed to prevent things from the outside from getting inside, not things from the inside getting outside.
I close my eyes and focus. The unearthly energy leaves my arms, my chest, my eyes, and ears, all of it gathering in my right shoulder and legs. I crouch, my legs like a spring getting compressed further and further. Over the years, I've learned how to manipulate this energy. At its base, it floods my entire body, distributing the power throughout my body equally. But I can sharpen it, concentrate it, make one part of my body extraordinary.
I explode. The door shatters off the truck, I fly right behind it, using it as a shield. Then at that very instant, I immediately redistribute all of the energy into my eyes. Time trickles to a crawl. I see four policemen gathered around the back, fingers tensing up as they prepare to shoot—two to the left, one on the right, and one in the middle.
Crack, crack, crack, crack, four shots ring out in succession. However, they harmlessly bounce off the armored door. I then pivot my body to the left and throw the two quarters out, still attached to my middle finger with the fishing wire.
I slam the door into the middle policeman, at the same time throwing out my leg, delivering a vicious kick to the head to the left policeman. As this happens, the two string attached quarters fly out in both directions, wrapping around the right policeman and the far left policeman. I jerk my hand downwards, and the policemen are thrown down towards the ground headfirst.
As all four policemen go down simultaneously, I let go of the string and dash onto the crowded sidewalk. I feel resistance on my string as the flat wooden board comes flying out of the truck, attached by the string punched through a small hole I made with my thumb.
The three other policemen that were watching the other door to the armored truck immediately notice me and tried to give chase. However, they slow down once they realized the futility of doing so. I was already long gone, out of their sight. Once I'm free to run around like this, it's impossible to even dream of catching me.
I begin laughing as I rush off into the city, disappearing into the haze created by the steadily increasing snow that began falling. The cold bites at my face, and despite the small eye holes, I still had my peripheral vision. It was as if the mask just disappeared when I put it on my face.
I take off my mask in a deserted parking lot after running for a fair distance and then let out a loud whoop, setting the painting right on the ground.
"Damn it that was fun!"
They will definitely try to analyze the fingerprints I've left. Carefully examine the black trenchcoat I threw around and inevitably track it back to the guy I stole it from, yet they will find nothing. The fingerprints will lead to nobody. The guy won't remember what my face looks like. Because I don't even know who I am! I don't have a name! I don't have a home, family! I don't even exist! I continue laughing, but this time it was a much more derisive laugh.
Ten years ago, I just popped out of nowhere, in someplace I don't even remember anymore. In my hand was this mask, This creepy, strange flat mask that shouldn't of even fit on my face, but it did anyway. That was my earliest memory. I cannot remember a single thing before then. Every day I would wander around aimlessly, slowly dying as I grew hungrier and hungrier.
One day I found a street vendor, he was selling some delicious hot steaming bowls full of rice and shredded meat. At that time I didn't know about currency and money, and thought I could just go up to the stall and grab some for free. He roughly grabbed me by the arm and tried to call out for my parents. But nobody responded, after all, I don't have any parents.
So, he yelled at me not to take his food and shoved me away. Looking back on it, I was definitely just unlucky with who I encountered as most of the vendors I found afterwards at the sent me off with a hot meal and a smile. At least, until I grew up and stopped looking like an innocent little preteen. Then they began running at me with a stick.
But I was mad. Why did he have food and I didn't? What did he do to deserve it, and what did I do to not deserve it?
So, about an hour later, I returned to that street vendor. Snuck behind his back and then took a handful of food. It was hot; I burned my hand. The street vendor chased me down, but I was too quick for him. I managed to escape and then gobbled down the juicy food right after.
And it was fun, so I continued to steal, stealing things I didn't even need to steal, escalating the severity of it every time. At one point, I stopped doing it to survive. I was doing it just to have some fun. I started using the mask to aid me whenever I stole something. Before then, I've tried to throw it away hundreds of times, but it always appeared right in front of me after a couple of hours. It washes up by the river. It falls out of the sky. Stray animals pick it up and leave it right next to me. It always coincidentally appears by my side, as if fate won't allow me to get rid of it.
I zone out at the sky for a couple minutes. Ah, I should probably get some new clothes before the police locate me through my appearance. My stomach growls. And some grub. That reminds me, I take the gun that I snatched from the policeman out of my pocket. What should I do with this? I didn't end up needing it, but I took it just in case. I twirl it around while I'm thinking, but then I notice something. There's a little box below the magazine. I've been put in this situation multiple times, where I stole a gun from the police, but this box has never been here before. Curious, I pick at the box until something falls out onto the ground. It was a tiny chip engraved with some wires and electronics.
I look down at the floor. "Oh, that's not good." As what fell out of the gun was, without a doubt in my mind, a tracking device.
I immediately move to put my mask back on, but as I do so, I hear a sharp crack resonate through the air—jolts of pain shoot through my left shoulder. My vision darkens, dozens of police officers come out from seemingly nowhere as the mask slips out of my dangling arm. In desperation, I throw my foot out and kick it into the air. Crack, crack, I feel my other arm fall down. I can't tell where the third shot went. How did I not hear any of this? Did I really zone out that badly?
Crack, I fall to my knees, all of my limbs useless. In my heart, I knew that even if I get the mask on at this point, I was going to die right here. I look towards the sky, the stormy gray sky—the delicate snow flitters down the windless air. It was oddly relaxing.
The mask spins once as it soars in the air. Ah man, this might be for the best. Whoever up there that's in charge of fate, I hate you. I don't know my purpose. I don't know who I am. I don't know anything about myself, and you won't tell me. At least now I can finally escape.
The mask spins once more, then lands square on my face.
At that very moment, time stops. Snowflakes lay suspended in the air unmoving; I can no longer feel the bitterly cold air, nor the numbness in my limbs. The world grinds to a complete stop.
"Alright, it looks like its time." The voice was neither male nor female, speaking no language that I knew of, but I could instinctually understand what it was talking about. I yell out, but my voice doesn't come out.
"Taiga, that's the name that was given to you, but before I tell you anything else. Do you want to bleed out on the pavement and die right here. Or do you want to survive this situation and do me one little favor?" The voice echos deeply within my head, reverberating around, filling up my head like air in a balloon.
Wha- what did he just say? Taiga? Is he talking about me? Just then, something deep inside of me stirs. Taiga. Taiga. Taiga, Taiga, Taiga, Taiga Taiga Taiga TaigaTaigaTaigaTaiga! Just then, I instinctually knew that that was my real name. Overwhelming waves of emotions ripple through my chest. Taiga, I'm Taiga. That's who I am! That's me!
Who are you? I try asking; however my voice doesn't come out.
"Who am I? I can't answer that unless you tell me your decision. Do you want to live or die right now? Either way would be fine for me." The voice responds as if it read what I tried to say.
Jumbled emotions ran through my mind, but they all converged on one answer. I just learned my name; a tiny piece of the puzzle was finally unlocked after ten years of aimlessly searching around. My name is Taiga. Whatever this thing is, it can lead me to the truth. I calm down and collect myself.
Do with me what you will. Give me another chance. Yea. I've finally found a reason to live.