My favourite Nintendo sports game is ocarina of time

Genesis: Chapter 7: Clandestine Meeting

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

        The rest of the day had gone on agonizingly slow, with Hisashi constantly glancing towards the clock and mentally recounting contingency plans. He sat on his hard bed, chewing on his lower lip as his eyes darted around the sleeping quarters. Several hours had been spent observing the staff’s shifts. A glance towards his burner phone. He only had just enough time to get to the rendezvous point, it was now or never. The floor creaked as Mr. Stewart crossed the room’s threshold and left. Hisashi sprung into action, throwing on his clothes at a pace that would impress what remained of the firefighting force in this country. Hastily, he patted down his pockets, making sure that he had all of his things. Burner phone? Check. Bobby pins? Of course. Knife? A familiar companion in his coat pocket. Placing his bag and some dirty laundry under his covers, he made it look like, at least at a distance in the dark, that he was still asleep in his bed. He was about to start to climb through one of the large windows in the back of the room when he heard the door open. Quickly, he dropped to the floor and slid under one of the beds, heart in his throat. Footsteps

        “There they are!” he heard Mr. Stewart softly proclaim. Out of the corner of his eye, a rotund hand picked up a shiny object from the grimey wooden floor. A jingling of keys. After what felt like ages the door finally clicked shut again. Hisashi breathed a sigh of relief.

        He resumed his escape through the back window, and landed in thorny rose bushes with a wince and a silent prayer that they wouldn’t tear one of his only jackets. Before stepping out, he cautiously scanned the grassy yard. There was a chain link fence in the back, something he’d frequently climbed throughout the week. He ducked his head down and held his breath. The janitor walked across his field of view, flashlight in hand. Absently, Hisashi realized he would need to close the window behind him, otherwise he might arouse some suspicion. The janitor, a sickly sallow man, rounded the corner. Hisashi shut the window as quietly as he could, then he shot forward, quickly tossing his coat and scrambling up the fence. Time was of the essence after all. Oxford shoes, significantly more worn than they were a week prior, landed on the pavement with a loud thud. Grabbing his coat, he cringed at the racket he was making. The flashlight pivoted towards him. He lunged towards the safety of the dark alleyways, determined to put as much distance between himself and possible capture as possible. It seemed he’d evaded pursuit, and ended up behind a McDonald’s, hands on his knees and gasping for air. Perhaps he had overreacted. Besides, what would the Janitor have done if he’d been caught? Cane him to death? Doubtful. He only resided in the orphanage for the convenience of food and shelter. They wouldn’t be able to contain him if he was truly determined.

        With a deep breath to compose himself, he set off towards the abandoned warehouse. 

                                                        -@~*^*~@-

        The warehouse was a rickety old thing, next to a junkyard and ramshackle houses. Its broken windows were sunken eye sockets housing spiders and rats. Warm breath pushed out a cloud of fog from Hisashi’s mouth and curled in the air. He appraised the location from a distance. It seemed to have long fallen out of use, an old Costco perhaps. There were likely two exits, in the front and back, and the windows were always an option if need be. He didn’t understand why his clients had insisted upon meeting somewhere so filthy. People in these trying times seemed to lack class.

        There was no point in beating around this bush with this, he’d take the front entrance. If this truly was a trap, they’d soon be well acquainted with the sharp end of his knife. He clutched the metallic thing in his pocket as an odd sort of comfort. Like a child with their favorite stuffed animal. Finally, he set off, and opened the building’s front double doors with a flourish. It would be poor form if he didn’t at least try to make a good first impression after all. He felt the wind pick up behind him, it was wonderfully timed and added more drama to his entrance.

        The warehouse was pitch black. He felt his eyebrows knit together. When he stepped forward he noticed the floor was sticky and made a god awful noise whenever he picked up his feet. Hisashi grimaced. Disgusting. Truly this was Eastern Los Angeles’s finest.

        A light was flicked on, and he squinted at the sudden harsh glare. A lantern sat upon a crate in the center of the vast, otherwise empty room. It illuminated four figures. An Asian girl, around his age, with mousy hair drawn up into puffy pig-tails and baggy clothes obscuring her slouched form. From her mouth dangled a toothpick. A black man in what seemed to be his early twenties, dressed in a bomber jacket and earth coloured jeans. An older looking Hispanic gentleman clad in a dress shirt and slacks, like he had just gotten off of work at a call center. Finally, there was a hulking, pale man who towered above his companions. He had long hair and a beard. His clothes were simple, jeans and a muscle tee, the latter of which showed off a series of ornate tattoos.

        Hisashi’s interest was piqued, this was certainly a vibrant bunch. “So I presume you all have summoned me here for something other than a staring match, yes?” he began.

        The girl scowled, a muscle in her cheek twitching, “You’re the one who wanted to meet us face to face, scumbag.” Ah, so she’s the one he’d spoken to.

        He hummed, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “A reasonable request. Now let’s talk business, who, exactly, am I working with?”

        They all exchanged glances, having a silent argument amongst themselves.

        Finally, the Hispanic man spoke up, “We’re part of a network of Meta-humans, fighting for a just cause. Unfortunately, not much of the country views us this way, so we occasionally have to recruit outside help. I’m Raquel.”

        “Amy,” the brat spoke up. Hisashi had the sudden urge to rip the toothpick out of her mouth and stab her with it. He restrained himself.

        “Michael,” the black man said, his voice a smooth baritone.

        The large man looked awkwardly between everyone else, and then muttered something under his breath. Michael nudged him, a sly smile on his face. The man flushed red, “Bjame.”

        Hisashi felt his head tilt slightly with curiosity, it was an odd name, sure, but why would Bjame feel embarrassed about it?

        “So,” Raquel cleared his throat, “What did Amy tell you about the job we’re giving you?”

        “Something about taking someone out, I didn’t get all of the details, I prefer to learn them in person,” he shrugged. It was far easier to ascertain how much bullshit you were being handed when you could see others’ tics.

        “We need you to kill Isaac Markov, he’s the head of a pharmaceutical company and has a heavy security detail following him around,” Raquel continued. 

        Hisashi frowned, that might be above his pay grade. Sure, if he had the right tools he could probably manage, but going after a well-guarded business executive with a dull pocket knife and force of will? This was going to prove to be a challenge.

        Raquel must have sensed his hesitance, because he said, “Always surrounded by security that is, except for on Christmas. He prefers to spend it with his family in Beverly Hills, his bodyguards only get in the way. We’ll provide you with what we can on loan to help you finish the job.”

        That would make things easier. “What intel do you have? I’m not going in blind,” he replied.

        Michael pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket, and passed it to Hisashi, “Here’s a map of the place. Amy can hack into their security, it’ll be up to you to sneak in while they’re sleeping that night and execute the target. Honestly? Your best bet will be to enter through their cellar window, but I’m not the boss of you, do what you want.”

        Hisashi looked over the floor plan. The mansion was convoluted and massive. Fucking rich people, who needs six sitting rooms?!

        “How do we know he’ll be able to pull it off? He’s just a kid!” Amy pointed out, fixing Raquel with a glare, it seemed like her face was frozen in that expression at all times.

        “So are you,” Bjame pointed out gently. She let out a huff of indignation.

        “We trust our contact,” Raquel replied simply, “She’s never led us astray before after all, and who else among us is more devoted to our cause?”

        “Fine.” Amy bit out, clearly not happy with the situation.

        “I don’t work for free,” Hisashi casually brought up, “I’ll need some form of compensation.”

        “You can have whatever you find in the mansion, plus any cash we can scrounge up,” Michael replied offhandedly.

        Hisashi tutted, “Now, you all know that I don’t work with cash, it’s too… fragile.”

        Michael raised an eyebrow, “Then what do you want?”

        “I need information. Anything you can dig up on one Hana Shigaraki and her connections with the mafia.”

        “We don’t tangle with the mob,” Bjame said with a frown.

        “Then you need to find someone else to do the job for you, and given that Christmas is in a few days? I bid you good luck,” Hisashi smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets. Amy looked like she was on the verge of lunging towards him to try to beat him senseless.

        Raquel raised his hand in a silent gesture to stop further protest, “We’ll do what we can. Do we have a deal?”

        Hisashi reached out his own hand towards Raquel as if to shake, “Of course.”

        “My colleagues and I will stay in contact,” the man replied, shaking Hisashi’s hand with his own.

        “I look forward to it.”

                                                        -@~*^*~@-

        The journey back was relatively quiet, and a little longer than Hisashi had originally anticipated. He had come across a mugging in progress, and had to quickly change directions to avoid it. The meeting and repeated late night outings had sapped him of any motivation to get involved. It wasn’t his business, and truly? He just wanted to crawl back into his uncomfortable bed and scrounge together whatever sleep (and sanity) he could.

        Hisashi was just about to climb up the chain link fence into the backyard of the orphanage when he froze. Matron Abra was leaning against the building’s wall, the orange ember of the cigarette in her hand illuminating her hawkish face. It seemed she hadn’t spotted him yet. He slinked backwards and slipped into the shadows of the alleyway. Unfortunately, he’d have to wait her out. There was no way he was reenacting Monday night’s meeting with the front room cameras, especially now with the enhanced security.

        Someone approached her, by the looks of the silhouette it was a man. She exhaled a puff of smoke, its wispy tendrils wrapping around her head like a crown. “Detective Shepherd,” she began, voice raspy from nicotine, “What a pleasure it is to see you.”

        He hummed, “I made sure you got your latest stock, now it’s your term to uphold your end of the bargain.”

        The matron took another drag, “Yes, yes, well, you know my specifications,” she paused, glancing towards the detective, scanning his face for something, “and yet you failed to meet them.”

        Shepherd shook his head, “I have a.. feeling about these ones. They’re going to be something special.”

        “Doubtful. The youngest is defected and the eldest too rebellious. If anything, you should be paying me for getting them out of your hands,” she hummed, the shadows on her face grew harsher as her expression soured.

        “But their hair-”

        “We both know that a slightly unusual physical appearance is hardly an indicator of mutations,” she crossed her arms.

        The detective clenched and unclenched his fists, “Look, you either pay me what we agreed upon, or I’m telling the precinct about your little operation.”

        “No need to get hasty,” the matron huffed, and took something out of her night gown’s pocket, “I have your payment right here.” She passed over a wad of cash into the detective’s hands.

        “Thanks,” he grit out.

        “A pleasure doing business with you,” she replied, tapping the ashes from her cigarette onto the grass, voice far too chipper for the exchange they just had. The two went their separate ways, Abra slipped inside the orphanage through a back door (had that always been there?) and the detective walked towards the front entrance.

        Well, Hisashi thought as he watched their retreating forms, we don’t have enough time to unpack all of that. Once he was certain that the coast was clear he climbed over the fence and headed towards the boy’s dorm window. He looked into the room, it was difficult to see if the coast was completely clear, but it seemed that sleeping quarters were empty of staff. He opened the window carefully and slipped inside, closing it behind him. Hisashi chewed on the inside of his mouth as he crept to his bed. Slipping off and stowing away his gear was easy, the thin blanket on his bed was able to obscure what was under the metal bed frame fairly well. The less bulky (and more incriminating) items he slid under the mattress or into his pillowcase. When his pajamas were finally returned to his body he collapsed onto his bed like a dead weight. The full force of his exhaustion and sleep deprivation had hit him like a truck.

        He burrowed himself under the blanket and pulled out his burner phone, using the blanket to obscure the light it radiated.

                                                        Pest

                                                      2:08am

                                                                                         [The meeting went well.]

                                       [What do you know about a man named Isaac Markov?]

[I’m glad to hear it!]

[How much are you paying me?]

                                         [I’ve been doing tasks for you all week. You owe me at 

                                                                                                      least this much.]

[Fine, fine, I’m just pullin ur leg.]

[Wikipedia says that he’s some pharma company CEO]

                                                                                                              [Obviously.]

[He got into a scandal a few years back for charging 

states crazy high prices for rona vaccines.]

[Also some embezzling.]

[CEOs can have a little embezzlement, as a

treat.]

                                                                                                      [Anything else?]

[Not really? There’s some rumors of his

company doing something shady, but

that’s a given at this point.]

[Oh that’s spicy!]

                                                                                                                    [What?]

[If you find a way to confirm or deny that his

company is doing human experimentation,

I will pay you handsomely.]

                                                                [It’s too early for this. I’m going to sleep.]

[Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs

bite!]

        Hisashi turned off his phone and stifled an irritated groan, what had he gotten himself into?

A/N: I almost didn't put out a chapter this week, things have been busy with college and the like. I was able to pull what I wanted together this weekend thankfully! As always, comments and feedback help fuel my writing, so feel free to leave them. 

AO3

Next Chapter

Scary Monsters & Super Creeps

Scary Monsters & Super Creeps

Features bodysuits and gender bending.

Warning: This features graphic depictions of violence and identity loss.

The soft crinkle of rusty leaves rang throughout the autumn night. Origin of the sound was a person carrying a holstered gun who stopped crushing them at the sight of a wooden fence protecting the backyard of a house. He climbed over with ease, but his more notable achievement was scaling the wall and entering by breaking a window. There, relaxed in a bed, slept a teenager who now found his peace shattered. Despite screaming, the invader nevertheless silenced him in a mere second, ran to another room to grab something, and bolted. The local police never found the man. How he even got inside was one mystery, but why he supposedly did not take anything or murder was far more perplexing. The boy told them it was inhuman, that some sort of animal had crashed into the house, but such an unbelievable story fell on deaf ears. His older brother was the opposite, accepting it immediately. He told him his secretive experiment finally had a hole, that someone in the world broke his trust and the government’s trust. With ease, and with the engineering brother’s fervent knowledge, the government deduced him as Albany Peterson. Albany was a former marine and a childhood companion of the brother, Nathanael. Never was he out of line, showed malicious intent, or appeared heartless. He was always known as protective and loving of nature, but now, Nathanael cast those memories behind. This project was his magnum opus, his only chance at the history books. Out of self-infatuation and fear for his family’s safety, Nathanael requested for the government to kill him. His plea was heard, but the decree was already set that he would be tracked down and killed as his trust was broken, meaning nothing stopped him from spilling out the secret of bodysuits. For this special mission, a hitman was selected by Nathanael himself. He was provided a costume gun to use as a disguise, to allow multiple identities and less chance of tracking. The brother was able to contact him for a short talk. Situated in his workplace, he made sure to speak his words carefully with him. The two sat opposite on a wooden table that was removed of stains or scars, making it unnaturally spotless. Their conversation began after Nathanael spent a minute or two meticulously making his beverage.

“John Oates. It’s a pleasure to have your expertise—” Before he could speak any more good will, the hired gun brought his index finger to Nathanael’s face and snarled.

“I don’t need your pat on my back. If you’re trying to be nice, quit it. I know you’ve put the most effort into those god damn bodysuits.” He spat, his head slightly to the side during delivery.

“I wanted to take things slowly before talking about those, but I see now.” Nathanael took a sip from his stone mug, and when he put focus on the hitman he saw his menacing gaze look back.

“Pfft.”

“There’s a reason I chose you for this. You hate the bodysuit technology. On one of your assignments, an illegal company manufacturing bodysuits without using the costume gun had one of their men disguise themselves as a woman, lure you into someplace devoid of authority, and for your pride I won’t go further.”

“So you know everything. If you know, we’re done and I’m calling this off.” As he stood to leave, a taunting voice called back to him with.

“Do you not think you could utilize your emotions for the better? Catch this bodysuit criminal, and no one will have to go through what you’ve gone through.” John tilted his head back to see the mug meet the table once more.

“Albany is unreasonably cold. He’s smart with his military background, so you’re the only candidate available. Knowledge of bodysuits is something we’ve held back for years, and we wish to keep it that way. You’re one of the few ‘good guys’ who know.”

“Fine. Since you’re so eager about it, I’ll bite. But let me tell you this. You’ve been on my personal hit list for a long time.”

“I already know. I also know polonium-210 was put into my drink. Who knows who the culprit is, but I’d say it was a waste of fortune to use it.” The perpetrator sniggered.

John Oates, realizing he was not an easy kill, forced himself to continue listening to the run-down of the plan. He was told that the costume gun was capable of turning animals into suits, and that Albany  used this method to climb inside a whale due to being on a different continent. He timed his arrival to the Pacific shores at night to get out without any attention, turned the whale back to normal, and let it die beached. His plan held one flaw; whales decompose before showing up on beaches. The anomaly was uncertain for both the media and Nathanael’s team, and it wasn’t until Albany’s betrayal that they believed the two cases were linked. Now in the present, he relentlessly searched for three days in the immense city. The real problem was that Albany could easily leave the area, hide under a variety of personas, or any other plethora of tactics to stay low. John’s agitation led to his demands for other agents, more cameras, or simply anything. So Nathanael pulled together less professional operatives who had no knowledge of bodysuits, instead being told there was a anonymous killer on the loose. In fact, one of John Oates’ friend came on the case with him. The police were involved once more, though the case was put into vague terms as an unidentified person likely to murder due to a fabricated note that was forged by Nathanael. The news broadcasted a call to civilian action, that they should make sure to lock all doors and not wander alone at night. These were all pointless for the man wielding the versatile firearm, but instilling those practices helped decrease other crimes to be committed at the slight expense of increased fear. It took one week of hunting for a dead body to appear. At the edge of the city to the side of an ordinary highway before the morning commute, a pile of skin was scattered beside a bush. John was the first to find the disfigured bodysuit, stumbling upon it while driving around the area drunk. What was meant to be in one piece was instead cut up into six parts; the arms, legs, and head were separated. As there was no blood to flow in a bodysuit, the scene was devoid of it. Regardless, John vomited the instant he saw the warped pile, and could not believe his nightmare cycled back. There was no chance of bringing the victim back alive, as they would instantly die of blood loss. Connecting the skin like cloth would not work either. Yet, to preserve the secret of the technology, John was ordered to shoot him back to life so his body would be a mutilated corpse for the police to perform a hopeless autopsy on. He left before it fully formed. Later that day, around evening, John kept himself on a bar stool. He’d ordered five shots of beer by now, give or take, and was tipsy. The bar was an underground setting that barely held two visitors at a time. John made up one half this time, calling Nathanael to talk with him and fill in the remainder. He downed one more shot before Nathanael decided to tell him to give up and let someone else take arms, but John chuckled. “You want me to give up? That Albany killed my drinking buddy.” His rugged force contorted into a feral smile and he slammed a pint he was holding down. “I’ve known his family for years. For Christ’s sake, his wife gave birth to a baby girl a couple months ago,” The racket died down as he stuck fingers up to his forehead, another securing itself on his brown shaven beard, “and I’m the reason his kid won’t see her dad again since it’s going to be a closed casket.” At this, Nathanael slapped John at the shoulder. “Look, John. If you weren’t going to do it, someone else would’ve. If everybody didn’t want to, I’d do it.” Instead of quenching sadness, it fueled another emotion. “Hah, that says a lot about you! You know, you’re the reason why all this happened! You and your group made the costume gun, isn’t that what you said?” With some anxiety, the recipient nodded. “Now that’s got me thinking. Why don’t you go to the front lines? What, are you working on something that’ll fucking turn everything into a bodysuit?!” At this point, John stood back and pulled out the costume gun he was supplied. No one working on the mission had one except him. Even at the mercy of a trained killer, Nathanael was calm. He swiveled his chair to face him. The bartender behind both of them shook in horror at what unfolded and what could unfold next, so he laid below the shelves of alcohol. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I am under the government’s protection and they could be spying on us right now.” That made John even more enraged, that their practically omniscient surveillance failed to track down the most volatile killer. “Lemme tell you this. I miss my chap and drink lots, but don’t take me as a sore pushover. I’ll shoot you. For Daryl.” He aimed directly at the head, a talent instinctive after several years. Nathanael folded one leg over the other, taunting, “Then do it.” “Gladly.” What was meant to turn Nathanael into a crumbling mess was instead a shot that only made his body glow with electricity. Before John could comprehend why his shot was thrown away, a rectangular bottle of Jack Daniels bludgeoned his head, surely fracturing the back of his skull and destroying an artery. He fell with a spurt of blood following, and on the floor struggled to rise up against his attacker. When he finally did, he saw it was the bartender, for he was pridefully holding the bottle like a fresh kill. “The real Nathanael is probably out working, or maybe spending quality time with his younger brother.” The spectator moved out of his seat and leaned down at him. John’s breathing becoming bursts of a person running out of time. “Do you think I plan my crimes alone? Do you think I haven’t told anyone about this?” “Why..?” “A fine question,” He gave a curt cough, “It pains me to see anyone like this, so I’ll tell you.” “Why did I talk about Nathanael if I’m wearing him and he can’t do anything? Sure, the world Nathanael and his team are leading innovation together with their bodysuits” Albany answered himself, receiving nothing as a response. “But there are other companies. Other illegitimate workshops who’ve been working from scrappy blueprints that don’t use the costume gun. Thing is, they all lead back to the original production. When I broke into his house, I didn’t steal from his little brother and leave. I took a sample of good Nathan’s genetic code. A single strand of hair was all I needed.” John processed a few words. House. Steal. Genetic.

“You..” All he could do was say one thing, free of emotion. It was less voluntary and more automatic. “If he wasn’t home, then I’d put the other gun back, steal a random object, make obvious destruction, and leave. The most basic form of robbery.” He thought out loud. “You’re bleeding hard.” John was on the threshold of unconsciousness, with dull eyes missing the livid spark to avenge his companion. “You won’t die. You’ll live on.” He whistled at his accomplice to set the bar to “Closed.” “Did you get the bodysuit prepared?” They nodded, for some reason not using the voice. “This is from a costume gun. So’s the bartender’s.” In Albany’s hands was an extremely small disguise, a disheveled scrap with minimal details of a rat. John wanted to defend himself. Pull one last stand, take Albany down with him, but his body was coldly numb. He could only watch as they tore him naked and started stuffing him into the suit. Breaking scientific boundaries, his body gradually fit inside as it expanded further and further, looking like strained patches of fur. The composition of a rat is different from a human, so his legs were put at the rat’s hind legs and his arms at the front pair. His head was squashed into the dots of eyeholes, but with his entire body tightly inside, the magic had begun. He shrank within seconds, crushing all human bones into the thin skeletal frame of a rodent. Recovering from blunt trauma with a bodysuit did not solve the mental brain damage associated. Though true his new, minuscule brain was free of injury, it could not support every single thought and decision making. His cognitive functions were damaged enough by the harsh liquor, so assimilating to a more feral way of thinking suited the poor soul. “You’re so tiny! How cute.” The bartender squealed. John heard it all, knew of the sounds and their syllables, yet could not muster anything out of it. His humanity rivaled an infant’s. “If you have the cage, keep him there for the night.” So the fake bartender did. It wasn’t made of bars, but of plastic with a holed cover fit for insects and other vermin. John fit quite easily into his new habitat. With shop closed, the two slept on a table while the animal scurried about for sustenance. Next morning, Albany and his quiet helper decided to ditch the city. Before doing that, they brought the bartender back to life and slumped him against a stool. The helper, in their true form, held the rat. “I need to meet with a friend, though it shouldn’t take long. Hold John and wait outside.” She bowed at the request. As Albany left with both costume guns, he knew the murderous nature of his apprentice, who opened up the cage and squeezed the rat by their left hand once he left her view. Overnight, John lost all sense of humanity and was no different from a disgusting, multiplying sewer rat. The grip broke its bones, and now it was squirming for life. Without a care, she threw the rat out into the city street. There, it inched back and forth with tiny paws trying to live on. The pain was worse than the previous blow to the head, as the injured part removed some of the feelings. But for this, every single movement hurt: ruptured lungs gave no air and one foot was obliterated and would never move. Death finally came once a car destroyed all remaining parts, instantly killing the rat and its whining. Another flattened its scraggy corpse, and as time continued, it would probably resemble a random stain on the floor to be cleaned. No one would ever suspect it to be a bodysuit and even less, a human. After the gruesome act, she waited. She waited for nothing, and no one came.

--- By now, the real Nathanael sat on a rotating chair beside the dining table, facing the entrance. A knock on the door brought him up, and it opened up to a carbon copy of the engineer. This clone casually passed back his cell phone. “Done?” “Yes, I am. You really wanted John Oates gone since he was going to kill you eventually, but—” “It’s selfish, I know. On the other hand, I think I’m helping out the future generation.” The bigger picture began rolling in Nathanael’s mind. A world where no one could die with the blessing of bodysuits that reversed age. He thought of how those with amputations could have bodysuit recreations of themselves and wear them, or how a deaf person could use their imitation that was modified to having working vocal chords. All these good things, he told himself, came at a price of minor skirmishes such as John. “Our government works with the other global leaders, and they all control the so-called illegal bodysuits. I guess we’re all working together under a common goal.” “Quite the cycle.” Albany ripped his expensive bodysuit into pieces, shredding it like fabric all over the doormat; the polonium no longer poisoned him. His true, staggering height of six feet and more blasted through the undersized disguise. He was in a full set of luxury clothing shadowed by a charred tuxedo jacket with a tone of skin covered in blemishes that came with old age.

“Quite.” The two of them picked up the remains, which Nathanael would later burn.

“This is my last gift to you.” The gray-haired elder passed one costume gun back. He looked back at his friend with sullen, aged eyes.

“It’s the end of the line for me, Nathan. I did for you as payment for how much you’ve helped me in the past.” But he shook his head, rejecting the manners.

“I don’t know if I can call this payment. You told me your plan to get the entire world to hate you, trash part of my house, and it succeeded. But for what purpose?” This revelation of emotions made his eyes averted from his friend, but two wrinkled hands brought his attention back to Albany’s selfless expression.

“My reasoning is simple. Human desires. Material greed, an urge to love, to grow smart, having knack or addiction for killing; it’s unhealthy for a human to live that way. Maybe it sounds too old-timey for you youthful progressivists, but I’m leaving those behind. As a marine, I was rash. Violence and sex were all I thought of. How I wasn’t labeled mentally ill was as crazy as my head back then. For years I wanted to get away from the life I made when they finally decommissioned me.”

“So the costume guns were your new hope.”

“My godsend. When I depart from you, my friend, I’m going to sail away in a dolphin to a deserted island. I’ll live the rest of my days untouched and in a tropical utopia, a home by the sea. It’ll be enough time to think about all of my sins. John Oates, my daughter, I’ve harmed too many.”

“I see.” The old man gave a half-smile as the other let out of a tear. Everything that occurred today, unprecedented or planned, was too much for Nathanael.

“This is a lot to hear from a person you’ve respected, isn’t it? I apologize.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Then I suppose I’m done here then. Enjoy the future, Nathanael. You’ll be on your own in this big world.” Nathanael hadn’t realized the two were standing so close to the door until it was closed on him. Thereafter, he remained still. Upstairs, his little brother overheard the end of the ruckus and flew down the wooden steps.

“What was that all about?” Wiping off any remaining tears, Nathanael casually responded with life-changing words.

“Nothing, but I have something you might like right here. It’s called a costume gun.”