The mall buzzed with energy, neon lights bouncing off the glossy floors, filling the space with an electric hum. Zaid led the way, earbuds in, nodding to the beat of some synthcore remix that only he could hear. His steps were light, almost carefree, as they weaved through the crowds of families, teenagers, and couples. It was a Friday night, and the place was packed with the usual mall-goers—joyous, oblivious, living their lives as though nothing sinister lurked beyond the glass walls.
Zughaib, walking next to his brother, felt a strange, lingering unease. The sight of so many people, families laughing, kids running from store to store, all without a care in the world—it was jarring. Like stepping into a world where none of the darkness he had known could touch these people. A world that felt so foreign to him now. The echo of violence and chaos that had defined his recent days was a stark contrast to this bubble of normality.
He clenched his fists inside his pockets, trying to shake the feeling, but it wouldn't leave. His instincts, sharpened by years of combat and survival, kept telling him to stay alert, that peace was always temporary. Even here, in the bright glow of a mall arcade, he couldn't relax. He never could.
Zaid, always sensitive to his brother's mood despite his distractions, tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Hey, bro. You alright?" Zaid asked, pulling out one earbud. "You've been quiet."
Zughaib shrugged. Zaid gave him a sympathetic smile. "Come on, let's do something fun. Let's hit the arcade. Might help you chill out a bit."
Zughaib sighed but nodded. Zaid was trying, and it was hard to say no to him. He followed his brother down the escalator to the arcade section in the basement floor, the noise from above fading as the neon glow of the arcade washed over them. The corridor was alive with flashing signs, the chaotic sound of video games, pinball machines clanging, and kids shouting in excitement as they chased high scores.
The entrance to the arcade had a retro vibe, neon signs and 80s-style artwork lining the walls, and despite himself, Zughaib felt a brief flash of nostalgia. He hadn't been to a place like this in years—decades even. The feeling of being young and carefree felt distant, almost like a dream he couldn't quite recall.
"Come on, this way!" Zaid grinned, pointing to the token counter where a handful of teenagers were exchanging bills for little plastic tokens. Zughaib followed, watching as his brother handed over some cash and received a small bucket full of tokens in return. Zaid passed half of them to Zughaib, his excitement palpable.
"Let's see if you've still got those old skills," Zaid teased, nudging Zughaib as they approached a row of arcade machines.
Zughaib took a deep breath, slipping a token into the first game—a classic shooting gallery with pixelated graphics and a plastic gun bolted to the machine. The first few shots felt awkward, his fingers stiff as they gripped the fake weapon, but after a few rounds, something kicked in. His aim sharpened, his reflexes honed by years of real combat. It became less about fun and more about precision. Every target hit perfectly, every shot deliberate. The score climbed higher and higher, and soon he realized people had started watching him.
Zaid, who was busy playing a racing game next to him, looked over and laughed. "Bro, you're killing it! I knew you'd be good at this."
Zughaib allowed himself a small smile, the tension in his body easing just a little. Maybe Zaid had been right—this was a brief distraction, a moment to step away from everything. For a while, they played different games—basketball, air hockey, a bizarre claw machine that spat out random stuffed animals. Every game Zughaib touched, he mastered. It wasn't even about winning prizes. It was about the sense of control, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
When their tokens finally ran out, they headed over to the ticket counter. Zaid, grinning like a kid, traded in his winnings for a small handheld gaming console. Zughaib, on the other hand, chose something practical—a utility watch. It was a small thing, but something useful, something to keep him grounded in the reality that always waited just outside.
"Not bad, right?" Zaid beamed, holding up his new gaming console. "Could've done worse."
Zughaib nodded in agreement, checking his new watch and adjusting the strap. It wasn't a weapon, but at least it was a tool. That felt right.
They moved on from the arcade, wandering past the neon-lit games area into the quieter part of the basement—a kiddie zone filled with soft play areas and a few restaurants. Zaid's eyes lit up when he saw a familiar sign.
"Let's grab some food," Zaid said, steering them toward a fast-food joint 'Broasters', its sign flickering with cheesy graphics of fried chicken and soda cups. "You won't believe how cheap their fried chicken is."
Zughaib followed him inside, the smell of grease and fried food hitting him immediately. He wasn't particularly hungry, but Zaid's enthusiasm was contagious. They found a booth and ordered a couple of meals, the trays piled high with crispy chicken, fries, and large sodas.
As they ate, Zaid rambled on about his work, the story of the coworker who had eaten the laced sandwich resurfacing. "Luis was so out of it, man..." Zaid laughed between bites. "He just sat there for hours, like he couldn't even remember his own name. I swear, some people are wild with that stuff."
Zughaib listened, half-focused on the conversation while scanning the room out of habit. He couldn't help it. The years of keeping his back to the wall, watching for threats, had ingrained certain behaviors in him. The diner was filled with the usual crowd—families, groups of teens, a few couples. It seemed harmless enough, but Zughaib's eyes never stopped moving, scanning for anything out of place.
Just then, a thin, sharp-featured man approached their booth, a grin stretching across his face.
"Zaid! My man, I didn't expect to see you here!" The man slid into the booth beside Zaid, giving him a quick clap on the back.
"Alzees!" Zaid laughed, obviously pleased to see him. He gestured to Zughaib. "This is my brother, Zughaib. Zughaib, this is Alzees, one of my good buddies from the flea market."
Alzees nodded, extending his hand toward Zughaib. "Nice to meet you, man. Zaid's talked a lot about you. He doesn't shut up about family."
Zughaib shook his hand, his grip firm but brief.
Alzees was a wiry guy, dressed in a hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. He seemed charming enough, his smile easy and quick, but there was something about him that didn't sit right with Zughaib. Maybe it was just that everyone in this city seemed to have a hidden agenda. Or maybe Zughaib had simply forgotten how to trust anyone new.
Alzees and Zaid fell into conversation easily, talking about some work drama and making jokes about their boss at the flea market. Zughaib listened in silence, letting them talk, his mind elsewhere. Just as he was starting to relax a little, his pager buzzed.
He pulled it from his jacket, glancing at the screen. It was a memo from the Cleaner.
'Errand. Meet at the usual spot.'
Zughaib sighed, feeling the weight of reality pressing back down on him. Whatever brief respite he had found in the arcade, in the mall, with his brother—it was over. The Cleaner's world was calling again.
Zaid, noticing his brother's shift in mood, paused mid-conversation. "What's up? Everything alright?"
Zughaib pocketed the pager, his face gave a fine smile.
Alzees, sensing the shift in tone, looked between the brothers but stayed silent, his easy grin faltering slightly.
Zaid frowned, but he didn't push. "Alright, just... don't disappear on me again, okay?"
Zughaib gave him a faint smile.
As they finished their meal, Zughaib couldn't shake the sense of foreboding. The mall, with all its lights and distractions, had given him a brief reprieve from the life he had built—but it was just that. A reprieve. The darkness was still waiting, and now it was calling him back.
And whatever the Cleaner had in store for him next, Zughaib knew it wouldn't be as simple as counting tokens or winning tickets.