Right poked his head out the back door of Amesworth. He looked both ways, quickly motioning for Bob and Left to follow him.

  “Out here, away from the commotion!”

  The three dipped into the alleyway of Amesworth, slumping against the wall while the sound of screaming and cheering people could be heard from all directions at what seemed like endless money raining from the heavens.

  “I can’t believe our luck!” Bob said in disbelief, arm slung over Left’s quivering back “This distraction’s gotten us out of dodge!”

  “This distraction…” Right seethed at the larger man, “…is why we FAILED!”

  “Right!” Left grunted under Bib’s weight “Please, if your too loud someone may—“

  “Shut. Up!” a sinister sound came growled behind them.

  The three spun around to see Anastasia emerge from the dumpster, blood dripping from her head, eyes locked into a trance-like stare. She climbed out, falling on her hands and knees. Right’s worry quickly turned to comfort, even chuckling at the sight.

  “Well, well, well, how the mighty have fallen!” He strode up to the injured woman, a skip in his step. “You know for a so-called ‘cabinet member’ you’d think they’d be a teensy bit tougher than this. Oh but WE had to get stuck with the weak one!”

  Right put his hand on her head, slamming her face to the ground. He then stood up and straightened his suit, taking out his gun, and putting it to her head.

  “Looks like we need to rectify this!”

  “Wait, Right!” Bob exclaimed, “We can’t, she’s our superior!”

  “And?!” Right shot back. “She’s done nothing but ignore us, berate us, even tried to kill us! I’m just doing what should’ve been done a long time ago! Hell, maybe I’ll be up there at the top myself once I take out the trash—”

  In an instant, Right could see the woman’s eye look in his direction. Instinctively, he pulled the trigger just as her body became a blur of movement.

  ‘BLAM!’

  Right didn’t even have time to process the next half second; the woman’s arm viciously swiped upwards, blood flew, Left cried out in pain. By the time he’d realized what had happened he saw his own gun—being held by his severed hand—had been pointed in his face. From the corner of his eye he saw Bob and Left on the ground, a bullet wound in the latter’s shoulder.

  “Never call me weak!” her voice trembled through clenched teeth, finger pressing on the trigger.

  In that moment, someone coughed.

  Anastasia stopped dead in her tracks. A masked figure stepped into the alleyway, his cane tapping against the pavement, coughing a few more times as he made his way to the four. He looked at them with an exhausted sigh, running his hand over his slicked yet messy dark hair.

  “The meaning of this…is irrelevant to me.” He said, “Come, Anastasia, you are to debrief your failure at The Heptagon.”

  Without a word Anastasia quickly went to the man’s side. Together the two left for the end where the masked man came from.

  “Hey” Left cried out, “What about—”

  “US!” Right yelled, “What about us, Alastor?!!”

  Alastor stopped for only a moment, not bothering to turn around.

  “What about you?”

  He could hear them protest and shouting, only to be drowned out by the sound of sirens. He got into a black SUV with the Anastasia, who kept her eyes at her feet even as the car sped off.

  “Where to?” a younger man with red dyed-end braids asked at the wheel.

  “The Capitol. No stops.” Alastor replied.

  A younger Caucasian woman with a brown pony tail tapped something into the GPS, grinning from ear to ear and eyed the dark skinned driver, who returned a small smile of his own before stepping on the gas. Alastor rolled up the window in between them, leaving him alone with Anastasia.

  “Ana, are you all—”

  “Stop it!” growled through gritted teeth. “I told you to never call me that, Alastor!”

  The man sighed. “Just as I told you it’s okay to call me father. I suppose neither of us wish to listen.”

  Anastasia’s fist clenched, she couldn’t shake her last thoughts before being struck him.

  That man.

  Alastor leaned forward in his seat. “Is something on your mind?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “…” Anastasia finally looked back to him, her fist unclenched. “Are you asking me as my father, or my superior?”

  “I told you we are equals in this line of work.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “…I do not care which is which to you, either or you will treat me with respect. Now I will ask only once more…”

  Anastasia crossed her legs, looking out the window. “Negative. I’ll give my full report when we reach The Heptagon.”

  Alastor let out another sigh, this time a raspier one. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine.”

  Anastasia nodded and sat back in her seat, hand under her chin, watching the money fall from the sky. She craned her neck.

  ----__________________________________________________________________

  ‘Good morning and thank you for joining us on Big Apple morning news. Our top story today begins again with Amesworth international. The company’s CEO, Brandon Amesworth, was found dead this morning at the bottom of his building just as allegations found through video evidence about suspicious dealings with terrorists were left near the police station. At the same time, money from his private funds fell to the city causing further panic and riots. Authorities are unware who was behind the murder but evidence regarding about the former CEO’s past dealings are to remain confidential until his attorney can sort things out—’

  ‘Click’

  Xole turned his newly fixed phone off. “Of course they’d hide it. Don’t worry about it though bud you can rest easy. I’ve got things from here.”

  He stood up from Gus’s gravestone with a heavy sigh. It’d been only a few days since the incident at Amesworth and already he was saying goodbye to him again. He found himself reminiscing, too distracted to hear a man walk up beside him, clasping his hands together at his front.

  “This must be the Amesworth boy?” he asked. Xole shook himself from his thoughts, surprised by his sudden intrusion.

  “Yeah,” he said, “what’s it to you?”

  He could see the older, fair-skinned man smile from his braided beard. He took off his top hat and reached inside. “Well I happen to know some people willing to help special cases like you.” He produced a business card. “Now if you just—”

  “Thanks but I have to pass.” Xole held his hand up at the man. “But I appreciate the offer, really. Just save it for someone who needs it more than me.”

  The man scrunched his brow. “Well you seem a little on the young side and without shelter or a guardian. You know that’s a very dangerous combination these days.”

  Xole smiled. “Nah I got someone, well a couple actually. In fact looks like they’re here.”

  HONK! HONK! HOOOOOONK!

  “HEY HURRY UP!” Mr. Holdover yelled from a small RV parked outside the gate. Xole turned back to the guy, giving him a nod and jogging off.

  The man smiled himself. He walked to the opposite side of the cemetery, reaching an old green and wood colored station wagon parked in the bushes. He got in, giving the card to his companion in the passenger seat.

  “Whelp I tried. Seems like the boy’s doing his own thing now,” he adjusted the rear-view mirror, then his blue tie. “’Least I got to test my American accent!”

  Yesfir scowled, accepting it. “I suppose it’s only natural after what I’ve done. Still, it pisses me off.”

  “Well in all fairness you did blow up the house. I mean what if he didn’t make it out in time?”

  Her expression changed to a smirk, taking out a remote control from the glove compartment. “I was watching the timer with him. Even if Xole didn’t make it out the bomb would only go off by command of my remote. But I suppose the close call did make things more convincing.”

  “Ok, well how about the scenarios in which you—oh I don’t know—WON’T have a method to monitor the boy’s survival?”

  “Just who do you think I am?” Yesfir glanced downwards, revealing a hamster inside a brown paper bag. “We can use this to monitor my love’s progress and life. It is part of him now after all.”

  The bearded man shook his head. He was about to drive off when it hit him.

  “Wait, your love? I’m sorry, isn’t he about sixte—”

  “It’s a saying!” Yesfir groaned rolling her eyes. She stared off at the street where the vehicle had left. “Anyways, we stick to the plan. For them.”

  The bearded man nodded. “For them.”

  The car drove its way back into the busy highway, disappearing into the morning traffic.

  “Took you long enough,” Mr. Holdover grouched in the driver’s seat as Xole stepped into the smaller RV. It was about twenty-five feet in length complete with a small couch, table, kitchen on the opposite side, bathroom, as well as a small bedroom in the back with a door Shakar added. Mr. Holdover bought it secondhand to save money and even though it had a few dysfunctions, he claimed it reminded him of home. Xole took a seat at the table near the front, whipping out his newly fixed phone.

  “You know, Shakar, for someone who doesn’t keep a phone of their own you did a pretty good job at fixing up mine.”

  “Oh believe me I had nothing to do with it!” Shakar replied cheerfully stepping in from the back. “I just sent it to a friend I knew overseas. They excel at what I lack for now.”

  Let me guess,” Mr. Holdover said, “It was the same guy who supplied you with whatever medicine that cleaned up your injuries after that ass beating you took.”

  “Indeed!” Shakar answered. “And despite that ‘behind-beating’ I took, I still ended up the victor. That’s what I call a valuable learning experience!”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah can we just get going now? The sooner we get back to the parlor the sooner we can get the business set up.”

  “Do you even have a name for it yet?”

  “Eh…I’ll worry about it once we have more people.”

  “More?” Xole asked. “We could’ve had plenty if you’d let us take credit for Amesworth. We could’ve been heroes! People could’ve had someone to thank. Instead you claim to be just as oblivious as everyone else on the street!”

  “And what do you want to be, arrested?!” Mr. Holdover shot back. He pulled away from the cemetery. “Besides it was for our own good. You don’t want a record for anything, good or bad.”

  Xole groaned, “Really?”

  “Plus the fame will get to your head anyways.” He added, driving into the street, honking and cursing immediately at the first car that nearly collided with him. “It’s what I told Kufi back there—”

  “It’s Shakar—”

  “—we need to keep our heads out of the spotlight until we can establish the business at least.” he continued. “Just be glad over the fact that we took asshole out in the first place. Bet those elites are shitting themselves with their ‘number one’ gone, haha!”

  Xole looked at his hands. “Speaking of which, Gu—well my Talent as of now, what are we gonna do about that?”

  The RV went quiet. Mr. Holdover threw a glance at Xole, then, eyed Shakar, who didn’t say anything. He looked back to the road, “This stays between us, ok?”

  “But what if those guys in suits show up again?”

  “Oh you’re gonna learn to use it,” He told him, “Just keep it on the down low, alright? We still don’t know much about it.”

  Xole sat back as the man drove off from the cemetery back onto the city. He hesitated, then, spoke up, “Um, Mr. Holdover right?”

  “What?”

  “…Just making sure I’ve got your name down. Same with you too, Shakar!”

  Shakar simply nodded while Mr. Holdover shook his head, driving back into the city. Xole reached in his pocket, feeling his scrapbook. He clenched it tight.