by Isaac Nasri
“We know him, tio!” Gabriel placates. The controller remains in one hand of his. “Keep it easy.”
Obstinate, the uncle leaves the boxes tumbling from the stand as he whips a long anomalous baton in his grasp. Sweat builds on the human’s forehead. Flashes break in Troy’s head, souring his face. His heart accelerates. Soon as he takes another step, looking down at the bullets jiggling in his bag, Troy jerks to Alana, grasping his hand. The wraps in his palm dangle.
“Por favor,” Alana blurts out randomly to a peeved Troy. She shoots a gaze at her paranoid uncle, shaking her head in askance. “Naw tío. No vas a hacer eso.”
“Get away from my niece! Get away from her, now!” Ricardo vituperates at Troy, ignoring Alana’s pleas. He holds his baton to the side as if he is in the field wielding a bat and his legs quiver. The diamond tip sparkles and Troy’s nose stings to the vapor. Meanwhile, the cyborg stood, maintaining his stance. Troy couldn’t figure this man to be sane enough. Who knew that having such oblivion to Alana’s uncle would’ve been so beneficial to Troy this whole time? His years extended since being at bond with the Torres, and this anomaly was something unique to him. Maybe he was wrong. He may not know Ricardo, but the maddening jaundice that disseminated Troy’s world made it simpler for him to make the classification.
“I’m warning you—”
“¡Tio! ¡Él amigo de la familia!” She hollers. Alana steps close in front of Troy, signaling a hand outright toward her uncle. “¡Papi incluso sabe! ¡DEJA ESA MIERDA! Y ESCUCHAME!”
Ricardo clenches his teeth, still locked in his phase. That only can last when he looks into the water running in his niece’s eyes, and he stares down. Troy watches the veins in the blind man’s biceps diminish. The air between them cools. Nevertheless, the cyborg keeps on edge, clutching to the zipper in his bag.
“Now, uncle, it’s okay,” Gabriel encourages softly. He sets aside the controller, gesturing his hands. “He’s not bad. Alana’s right. He…he and my big sister went to the same college.”
Ricardo glances at his nephew sideways. No word was said as he looked down at the deactivated baton in his hand. His eyes sag behind the lens, leaving Troy to slide his fingers from the bag’s zipper. Troy looks down at his left hand, which is still held by Alana. The shadows looming around his eyes dissipate upon retaining a view of her.
“Give him a chance.” Alana entreats. She sets a hand to her chest and heaves. “I knew him for over a decade before he even became like this. He has been through a lot, so…I just want to make him feel at home.”
“What’s going on here?” a neighbor questions aloud. “Kids are trying to watch—
Troy pulls inside the unit before the situation can escalate. He closes and locks the door immediately. Ricardo lets the baton roll from his hand. Alana looks over at Troy, coming over to him and ushering him toward her uncle.
“The name’s Troy Levi,” Troy says reluctantly. “Not here to start trouble.” His voice deepened, and his sullen expression remained intact as he walked past the blind man.
Ricardo glosses at the Virtual and transitions his gaze toward the ground. His lips lock tight. His feet barely motion, as if drowned in his guilt after being possessed by a diabolical spirit. Troy draws the bandages out of his head, giving breath to his facial skin. The quietude, minus the “Monster Combo” announced on the screen, settles its hands over Troy’s shoulders. Part of Troy wanted to see reason in Ricardo, but reluctance held the former back for whatever valuable reason. Alana meant well at least.
Troy scans the room, and the Afro-oriented architects posed liked totems against the walls. Sunlight reflecting from the balcony’s curtains glint at his shirt’s fabric. He locates a large rocking chair behind the balcony’s curtain, sitting comfortably at it. Alana can be seen setting her purse on the reclining chair and shopping bags by the chair Troy’s sitting at. She looks down at her windbreaker, which was zipped to the midline.
“Try to drink some cold water,” she advises Ricardo warily. Alana removes her jacket, taking it into the closet near the door. The beads on her belt spark, and her silver seamless cami is tucked underneath her pants. When Troy unzips his bag and retrieves the tablet, he scratches his eyebrow to the alluring, angelic design dazzling at the lateral side of her back. The tune notes circulate around the deity-like foggy clouds censoring her nude form.
Troy grimaces to Ricardo taking his step, observing the refrigerator over the kitchen counter. The uncle only grunts.
“I’ll be right back, Alana,” Ricardo mentions dully.
Troy sees the uncle turn his back, aiming his direction toward the closet. Ricardo nears a hand to the doorknob but halts immediately, as if facing second thoughts, and slings his hand down. He reverts direction toward the door. Not one glance Ricardo makes as he pulls the locks, closing the door. The cyborg seals his knuckles, leaning his chin against it. Not once, his eyes bulge as Troy stares afar at one of the totems. The beaked bird remains still, glimpsing the visitor with its deadpan eyes. For a particular reason, the head wanted to exchange something with the Virtual, something contemplative, but Troy couldn’t interpret.
“You good, Gabriel?” Troy hears Alana ask.
Gabriel offers a thumb up while his direction remains on the gameplay. Alana then faces Troy, and the color rushes on her cheeks.
“My definite fault, Troy,” Alana apologizes. She storms toward him, caressing Troy’s head before he can turn on his SMART tablet. His brain pulses to the cherry balm flowing in her presence as his temple slouches on her hip. Troy had to give his gratitude, regardless of the outcome displayed. Despite how foolhardy Alana may have been, Troy knew not many would have pushed far to open the doors on his behalf.
“I’ll be fine,” Troy says. He pulls away from his head, activating the panel with his thumb. Alana’s hands still keep in place. “But thanks.”
“I'm fixing dessert.”
She undoes the wraps out of his arms before leaving his side, bending to seize the baton on the ground. Her cleavage dances slightly as she stalks, and Alana looks over at the door, rubbing her shoulder as she buries the arsenal inside one of the boxes. While she removes the boxes elsewhere, Troy returns focus toward his panel. He grimaces to the titled territory, Bronx, plastered on top of the coordinates. A multitude of stores and clinics surround the boxed map, followed by the pending triangles.
So territory alters wherever I go. I see.
“Step foot. Close away the void. Be at tune to the petals grazing in the grass. Cast your doubts,” he recites quietly. He continues to mention the last lines under his breath while “Combo Breaker” barks out of the television. Flakes descend, dying away from the tension in his blood. Troy leans his back and lets the chair rock him as his finger shakes toward a star alarming at a triangular diagram toward his right.
He halts to Alana’s footsteps. Now in her purple slippers, she storms with a small table at hand, setting it in front of Troy.
“Ice cream sundae, y’all!” she alerts. Alana sets a cup into one of the desserts. The three sets of flavored ice cream rest on top of the main steely living room table. Troy’s tongue salivates to the damp cherry that rests on top of the desserts, and the sprinkles sink into the cream.
Well, this sounds appetizing.
“You can keep mine in the refrigerator,” Gabriel says aloud. He glances halfway as his arms rattle on the controller. “I’ll be up soon.”
Alana looks over and presses her lips. Nevertheless, she opens the refrigerator and sets the third ice cream inside of it. Troy skids on his seat as Alana approaches with the two bowls in her hands. She arches her shoulders until prevailing and setting down the sundaes on the table. He takes the ice cream, setting it in between his legs while observing the star on screen. Then the weight of the chair shakes once Alana seats, skidding close enough to where her thigh abutted to his. The ambience between the two becomes torrid.
“So what you’s up to there?” Alana asks. She grabs her spoon, eating a pie
ce of the ice cream and a whiting line brands on her upper lip.
Troy presses a finger onto the star, drawing the Virtuals toward the triangular area before digging his cup into the sundae. He opens his mouth, and his eyes harden as the savor pierces the cyborg’s mouth. Thermal vapor snakes from his nostrils. Looking into Alana’s eyes, Troy explains the concept of Project Harmony to her. Once that was said, Troy catches her gaze level down at the diagram in his hand, like a hiker enamored by the stars dazzling in the sky.
“So you’s like their guidance,” Alana mentions.
His lips twist to a smile. Troy leans, dabbing a bionic finger to her chin and taking her sundae’s cherry by the tail. Alana chortles upon the Virtual signaling her, and she opens her mouth fruitfully as Troy inserts the cherry. Troy surmised that with Alana involved, he wouldn’t be the only one making significance for these cyborgs. The notion of it was a wholesome view to him, and Alana needed it as much as Troy.
“I like that.” She blushes upon swallowing the fruit. “But do this only be applying to—”
“Come on,” Troy encourages. “I’ll show you.”
The chair shifts as the two get comfortable. The cyborg sets the tablet onto her lap, guiding his hands on the platform. In a banter, Alana presses a scoop of his ice cream toward his lip, and he devours it ravenously. The minute he swallows the caramel, Troy falls into a moment of reminiscence inside Alana’s condominium. Alana raises the spoon, littered with an ounce of steaming rice, and Troy’s guts tickle as he seals his lips to the heart beating in his mouth.
Troy taps a finger to where the star resided, drawing the Virtuals to the sight. Alana eats a chunk of her ice cream, tilting her head at him with a spark in her eye.
“Not too complex as it seems once you get it,” Troy advises.
The whipped cream on his sundae melts on his bowl. Gabriel moans over Troy as the latter examines another star on a small cubic spot below the diagram. The digital wave showers downward as two scattered triangles loom above the street area. However, he raises an eye to anomalous crescent icons five feet away from the friendly ones. A spike arches in his chest.
That doesn’t sound good.
“Those triangle dots, though,” Alana mentions obliviously. She points to where the triangles were storming until she draws her finger to the non-friendly icons. It nears the screen. “Where’s they—”
Troy catches Alana’s hand before she can touch the icons. The mien in the living room cracks. Alana’s eyes lock at his, and her glance never breaks away. Though the Virtual didn’t motion, the steel of his cyber palm parches on her gentle own. The curtains bloom behind the two as they sat in their silence. The surprise on her face breaks as Alana looks down at his fingers lacing on top of her hand, and Troy catches the red, brightening her cheeks. Despite the solemnity taped like a mask on his face, the Virtual’s heart pounds like a basketball drumming on the court as he guides Alana’s trembling finger, aiming it toward the star below.
The illuminating synergy’s thrashed as Troy rotates and freezes his gaze to Gabriel. The latter, putting down his controller, keeps his glance chained at the cyborg, and the human reaches a hand to the back of his neck, scratching it skeptically. Troy’s hands slide from Alana, unable to stop the ice crystallizing in his stomach. While Troy sets the tablet on Alana’s lap to divert focus, the latter, pulling her hair back, offers a brief smile to her brother. She gestures him to the refrigerator as if he were a tourist vacillating in which direction he’s supposed to venture towards to locate his flight.
Once Gabriel departs to where his dessert was kept, Troy and Alana return to face each other, astonished. The fresh grin on his lips held tight, and his cheeks blistered. The same couldn’t be said for Alana, who, after chuckling softly, continues to eat her sundae. After a few minutes having exchanged the last pieces of the ice cream with her, Troy looks over at the panel only to frown at the crescents vanishing like ephemeral spirits dissipating in the antic once footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Okay?
He puts aside the SMART panel, spotting Alana raise the shopping bags to her left. One of them was branded with the name “Gabriel” on it.
“Take time off from the games Gabriel,” Alana informs her brother from afar.
“Uh…cool,” he agrees reluctantly. Gabriel yawns. “I’m already eating.”
“Got a little showcase for you,” she entails to Troy.
Alana opens the bag, gathering a rolled piece in which she releases the rubber brand and the outfit releases, exposing a long-sleeved sports shirt. She sets it in Troy’s hand, leaving him stroking his lip to the blue byzantine prints resembling that of an archaic Mayan structure. His index finger trails curiously at the notched cut on the shirt’s neckline. She always told him her penchant for Aztec and Mayan designs went back to when she was a child, where she would impress her art teacher about the work she painted on the board.
“There are plenty of active clothes inside,” she compliments. Alana dabs at the shirt’s fabric. “I got you that since you wasn’t able to find the other, I got for you long ago. I do bet you fit in that though.”
The refrigerator opens to Gabriel grabbing his ice cream sundae, still frigid and fresh to the cooling temperature, and advances to the kitchen table. Through her bundle of byzantine sports bras clipped in a small hanger, Alana puts aside a single orange tee of hers and exposes a bra and legging set whose texture holds tantamount to what’s structured on Troy’s shirt. The cyborg looks over in parallel to what he and Alana have on her lap, and he glosses quizzically at her. Alana hums with interest at his expression.
Now I see where this is going.
“What you think?” Alana asks.
Troy examines the designs. “See, you had that in mind when I was in the car.”
She nudges his cheek, beaming. “Don’t be tripping, Troy. I kill to see it on you.”
The doorknob wiggles, and Troy and Alana zip their mouths to the door sliding open gently. A biting sensation grasps onto Troy’s ankles, icing his muscles as Ricardo steps foot into the room. The uncle’s hollow shades peer at the visitor, frozen in place as he stalked coolly. Whatever threat or apprehension that reared its head minutes ago on the short man’s face has been diminished into a somewhat vanquished expression, like a militant that’s yielded his weapons to the invaders after the devastation to his land. Troy’s lips quiver, vacillating whether to express a reassuring smile or not. Gabriel waves over the table.
Pinching up the spaghetti straps on her shoulder, Alana rises. She obliterates the stillness as she says, “Aye tío. Got some plans out for us all here.” She looks over at Troy behind her. “You might learn some things.”
Chapter 23
“It was never meant to be the case,” Troy says to Ricardo, folding his arms. His blood cools. He explains the mission in brief detail while Ricardo nods in approbation. His bones stood firm as solid rock as Troy looked keenly at Ricardo’s small eyes behind the shades.
Troy leaned his rear on the kitchen table, observing the afternoon light gleaming pass the curtains. As he waited for Alana, the honks cease, and the scorching sun descends, giving way to the dark. The Virtual’s pants fold up to his ankles and his prosthetic foot tweaks on the ground.
“Now Ricardo, I can’t change what happened then,” he continues. “I can’t speak for the Jaguars of Apollo’s actions today. But that anger…it’s a toxic hive mind. It’s there because the Cartel conditioned you people to feel otherwise about us Virtuals long ago. Some of us—not me, even had…you know, families that were trapped in that dark bubble and wanted them out.” He beckons his hands, taming whatever censure that was bound to settle. “No means to snub the damage done to your homes.”
Troy’s words ring like a bell rocking on top of the tower. Ricardo rubs his greying mustache, and he stands still. The greasing on his face offers a calming to a man who may have been seemingly unhinged. The air swims freshly in the room. Smiling with reassurance, Gabriel sets a
hand to his uncle’s shoulder, and Ricardo looks over empathically to his nephew. His lips transition to a transitory beam. Troy may not have been verbose in his words, but he was content knowing that alone would be a stepping stone for him to dispel this jaundice. Apologies couldn’t redress the affliction. Neither would it reverse the anathema so many humans in Ricardo’s ethnic community held for the cyborgs. He was only one Virtual.
“For your niece,” Troy continues. “She’s been a good one.”
“Aye I’m back.”
The three men look over to see Alana stepping forward from where the bedroom resided. A red timer swings around her neck, and her earrings dance. The slippers remain absent on her feet, exposing the jadish glint painted on her toenails.
“So we're going a be starting,” she dictates. Alana stands near Troy, pointing toward the two family members. “Troy versus y’all two. I be the counter. Here how it goes…twenty-eight push-ups done in a minute and five seconds. Anybody reaching the mark gets a point. No breaks.”
This should be simple.
Ricardo scoffs. “Oh. Crazy standard niece.”
Paying her uncle’s remarks no mind, Alana turns toward her brother, ticking her finger at the time.
“I repeat that. No breaks, Gabriel.”
Alana takes a step back as Troy positions himself from the table and to the room’s open space. The cyborg lowers in unison with the two humans, setting his hands flat on the floor. His fingers massage on the wooden tiles and beads of dust accumulate on the plates of his bionic fingers. Ricardo looks directly at his opponent, smiling respectfully. Meanwhile, Alana stalks from behind, moving aside the chairs as she sets her phone to where its cam faces the three. Troy’s spine bumps to a familiar but catchy dancing beat rocking in his ears. His interface buzzes.