by Ted L C
“Derek?” Alyssa’s voice rings inside of his ears. “Is the food truly orgasmic?”
“What?” the illustrations vanish. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“You’re crying,” Alyssa stuffs a fork coated with leaves into her mouth. “Are you OK?”
“Y-yeah” the droplets evaporate into steam. “Do you wanna dive into some of this food?”
“No thanks,” she narrows her eyelids while drifting her face closer to his. “It doesn’t make you a pussy when you vent; you know.”
“What?”
“No matter what creepy past you have locked behind the vault of your mind, sometimes you need to vent to someone about it. Let it all out—”
“Why should I tell someone about my problems when most people don’t care?”
“Most only care about themselves—their own interests. Yet, sometimes one might spout something that’ll grab another person’s attention. Possibly even giving them knowledge.”
“So are you just trying to mine knowledge off me?”
“If you were a client,” Alyssa rests the bamboo fork against her bowl. “That would be the case. You’re not a client, though. You’re someone who’s had a rough week—Derek, did it often rain in Matoma?
“So, bubble tea surfaces memories of Rainy, huh?” Alyssa’s fingers grip the pearl tea and pull the straw to her lips. The taste of lychee flows through her throat. “Lychee. Seems to be the new fad for white girls these days—I’m sorry, Derek. We will find her, though.”
“Alyssa—”
“What up, hun?”
“Off-topic, but who do you think hacked that android?”
“Her name is Emma I Kuklinski,” a burst of warm air pushes through her pursed lips. “Nickname is Daisy. Born June sixteenth 1,000 A.D. One of her emphasized trades is being a former freelance assassin with 3,250 recorded lives taken.
“Her founded prey was covered in infected stab wounds with high doses of the paralytic poison. Security footage showed her in stolen vehicles, along with an impressive display of martial arts. And she’s blood type A. However, her abilities are unknown—”
“Why does blood type matter?” Derek’s fingers weave into a pile of fries. “You said she was born in 1,000 A.D?”
“Haven’t you heard of blood type personalities? Whatever your blood type is, it depicts what personality you will have. For instance, since Daisy is an A-type, she likely has a calm demeanor. However, on the inside, she is a perfectionist. Which explains her methods.”
“What makes you believe she took it?”
“What do you think I was doing with my phone while you were stuffing your fat ass with food?” Alyssa’s fingers pinch a fry and drag it toward her lips. “Looking through the bounty boards to see if there are any gigs to retrieve information. Five days ago, an order was filled with an I.P. address I couldn’t track.
“Though Daisy’s a perfectionist, she is not tech-savvy. Therefore, I was able to track her I.P. as the hunter who accepted the bounty. Furthermore, I’ve known about the aforementioned gig for about a month. Every Normie and HESTEK doing these missions before were executed, so everyone else pussied out—”
“If she could hack an android owned by Reivscere,” chunks of mashed fries push through Derek’s lips. “Why would her I.P. address be so easy to find?”
“Perhaps getting caught was apart of her plan,” Alyssa’s hand shields her eyes. “Or the hacker I hired happened to be better than her—
“Boy, that’s disgusting. Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Derek slams a hand against his chest as a symphony of coughs project from his mouth.
“You shouldn’t stuff your mouth,” Alyssa positions her phone between three plates of spaghetti. “No wonder why you have acid reflux—”
“I actually got it in ’Nam—”
“Anyway,” a hologram containing numerous words materializes over Alyssa’s phone. According to the S.M.S. she sent, Daisy is going to be meeting a client. At the restaurant Romantique in Paris, France at approximately eighteen hundred today. This meeting entails a discussion of a transfer of goods.”
“Do you know what she looks like?”
“Reivscere has a lot of info. on this girl. But, imagine a brunette model with a Texan accent. Also from what these pictures show, she likes to wear hot pink or electric crimson glitter skirts. She must also partake in stripping during her free time.”
“Strippers and French food?” Derek pulls a chocolate-coated Crêpe toward his lips. “Can we go now?”
Alyssa’s hands pull the phone toward her.
* * *
“Hey Alyssa,” a breeze brushes Derek’s face. His glistening stare darts across a collective of flowers and other exotic plants.
“Hey what?”
“Somethin’ I’ve been meaning to get off my mind.”
“Go ahead, hun,” the thorns on Alyssa’s tattoo shrink. Tattoo now with the appearance of a series of squiggles.
“What’s the story behind what happened to your parents?”
“Never told anyone; you know,” she mumbles. “However, I need to practice what I preach. My momma never told me anything about what happened to my dad or who he was. On my fifth birthday, she gave me a silver heart necklace I wear to this day.
“After opening that gift, my friends went home. A Fjord Prefect sped through the icy roads and up the driveway, plowing into the garage.
“A towering man with blonde bangs, blue eyes, and a swastika tattoo on his right arm walked up to the house. He threw his fist through the window, flashed a Walter pee-thirty-eight pistol, and—unloaded it into momma’s head.
“I burst into tears. I ran through the house, searching for a hiding spot until I found the closet under the stairs. A while later, I heard his footsteps stop, the doorknob of the closet began to jingle. I hid in the corner and threw some blankets over myself. When the door opened—
“The person yanked the covers off me and rested the chilled barrel against the bottom of my jaw. As his finger slowly pulled against the trigger, a maniacal grin appeared on his face. Fumes with the aroma of rum erupted into my face—
“A figure wearing a black cloak rushed into the house and cut the assassin’s hand off with a machete. Afterward, he proceeded to beat the crap out of him until he ran away.
“The figure carried me out of the house, through a blizzard into his car. As we were walking toward a blue car, I asked the person who they were. He said, ‘I am Alexander, your guardian’.”
“Liam’s dad, Alexander?” Derek’s eyes magnetize to mist sprinkling from metal circles attached to the ceiling. “Didn’t you demonize him earlier?”
“Correct, the Mad King,” Alyssa crouches and brushes her fingers against the petals of a violet chrysanthemum. “As with all living beings, everyone isn’t evil the entirety of their lives.
“I don’t know how his timeline went. In the peak of the Greek empire, he was a conqueror. After that, his history was unrecorded by theorists until World War Two, where he was a hero of the allies. Apparently, there’s an Holo-Flick of his perspective in the invasion of Normandy—
“Afterward, it was unrecorded until the Deity War, where he hunted over a hundred HESTEKS.
“Did people actually see him hunt HESTEKS?”
“One theorist claims she did during the battle for Seattle.
“American and Russian battalions found camps in abandoned towns surrounding the key spaceports. In these camps, they found dissected subjects—excessive amounts of blood stored in freezers—piles of maggot-ridden corpses.
“They say whenever a HESTEK hears a faint jingle, their freedom; moreover, their lives would cease to exist in less than five hours.”
“I—I—” The vision of the towering armored figure armed with a scythe materializes within Derek’s mind. “That—that could’ve been us—the bodies—”
“Derek,” Alyssa’s eyes shift to her phone as it emits a symphony of chirps. “It’s sixteen hu
ndred, now. We need to get dressed.”
* * *
Consuming
“Quit being such a pussy,” Alyssa jerks Derek’s wrist, hugging it against her waist. “We need to become our personas.”
“I already forgot what they were,” the waterfront seizes his gaze. The lad’s forearm slithers from the girl’s midriff.
“We’re a married couple from Portland, Oregon in the U.S. On a three-day vacation in Paris. Staying at a five-star hotel along the pier named, The Peninsula,” a breeze caresses the webs between Alyssa’s fingers. “Your name is Theodore. Mine is Cynthia. Theodore’s a crypto trader who made his first fortune by betting on Reivs in the beginning—”
“How does that make me a lot of money?”
“Sekhemet—” Alyssa tugs the boy to the direction of a man garbed with an ashen suit. She sets her gaze upon his receding hairline.
“Do you have a reservation?” a suited figure says in French.
The boy’s nails slide a phone through his pocket as he brushes an appendage against the side. The upper back hatch of the device ejects rubber balls lined with microscopic holes.
Derek slides them into his ears, “Playback.”
“Do you have a reservation?” the small speaker emits the voice of a middle-aged woman.
The man arcs a brow while contracting his stomach—
“I called earlier, and the lady said I didn’t need to make reservations,” the lad flattens the device against his lips.
“J’ai appelé plus tôt et la dame m’a dit que je n’avais pas besoin de faire des réservations,” the A.I. says.
“I speak English, young man,” the figure faces a palm at the duo. “According to your reservation, your group has opted for the ess-tier. An excellent choice!
“Please enter. I will escort the V.I.P. whilst presenting a tour through our preparation halls.”
He leads them through a pearl archway.
The boy rolls his eyes. They drift across the multi-colored lights glimmering throughout water fountains. Koi fish within the pond dance in unison. Dimmed bulbs unveil walls garbed with paintings and scrolls of modern-day pastel drawings depicting concrete jungles.
They enter an ivory hallway lined with windows on each side. The left reveals a series of tables housing couples who occupy them. Seagulls chattering from the distance overwhelms the silence. Some patrons’ lips flap. Others flatten glasses against the brims of their mouths.
Numerous figures throughout the rooms toss a myriad of tiny leaves into the foods. Others hack through slabs of meat and withdraw pans of sizzling food from massive machines.
“I see this is an establishment that doesn’t use lab-grown meat,” the lass’ eyes follow the blades tearing through the raw flesh.
“Of course, madame,” the man fingers aim at a slab of meat. “Lab-grown and traditional meats share one hundred percent identical traits. Yet, most guests feel more of an authentic experience from partaking of flesh from the source. Rather than a laboratory.”
Savages.
“Ah,” Alyssa’s tattoo swivels underneath the upper section of her dress. “interesting.”
The three make their way through an archway; departing from the halls.
Over the granite pillar rails, a view of the sun setting behind a body of water appears. A table facing them beckons Derek’s gaze.
“The fabric of this tabletop is acceptable,” his fingers caress the pallid silk of the tablecloth
We’re going to get caught within minutes. Alyssa’s eyes drift toward the man. He shifts an eyebrow upward while staring at the boy’s skeletal feelers.
“I apologize for my husband,” she rests a hand against the lad’s shoulder. “He partook of some scotch earlier today.”
“It is OK, madame,” the figure faces her and arcs his upper body downward. “Please do enjoy your view. It is twenty-one degrees with winds at five kilometers per hour.”
Derek grips his fingers into a memory foam padded chair and tugs outwards. Alyssa lowers and adjusts herself.
“You’re such an astounding gentleman.” the girl’s lips curve up to the hills of her cheeks. Alyssandra’s rear dances with the cushion upon impact.
A person comes into sight. They position a flickering candle in the center of the table.
“Welcome monsieur and madame,” a hologram with images of different tinted flames materializes from his wrist. “Might I interest the V.I.P. in a choice of scented flames for your candles?”
“No thank you,” the duo utter in unison.
“Might I offer our signature wine of the night, Speyer?” the wax cylinder crumbles. An armada of black specs skitters toward the edge of the table and dissolve. “Originated in 325 A.D. Students in Japan were able to replicate the wine keeping maintaining its quality and taste.
“May I offer a sample?”
“It sounds tempting,” clear fluids leak from Alyssa’s lips. “We will take a bottle.”
“Madame,” the man’s auburn gaze widens. “One bottle is valued at two Reivs—”
“I appreciate the concern; however, I am quite fluent with the market value for Speyer.”
“Apologies, madame,” the waiter’s Nanos emerge, forming a tiny sphere occupying the table’s midsection. “I will fetch a bottle at once.
“I am new to this position, explaining my ignorance. Thus, I will also fetch a bottle of aged Thede’s Glory—free of charge.
“Whenever the V.I.P are ready to order, make a selection. Please have an exquisite experience at Romantique!”
As the waiter arcs his upper body downward. Alyssa’s fingers shuffle through the holograms emitting from the circle.
“Theodore,” whenever one of the woman’s appendages pats a fish projection, it scurries to the rightmost side of the display. “Have you yet seen a hologram menu such as this?”
“Uh,” Derek’s finger jams into the cow. The creature exudes a muffled sound. “This is pretty dope—tickles my fancy.”
Alyssa’s presses her pointer into an orb on the menu. A gargantuan translucent ball envelope the two and their table. “For fuck’s sake, you’re going to get us offed, Derek.”
“You’re breaking character,” the boy pokes his nail into the orb—the inner surface ripples upon contact.
“This is a soundproof sphere,” Alyssa straightens her spine. “Don’t make any off-putting body language when within one of these—people will see it as suspicious.”
“Isn’t it already suspicious enough we’re inside of one of these?”
“Only we can see the ripples surrounding us. The tables on the outside are absorbed into their conversations about how much dick they’ve sucked. Perhaps they consist of the amount of money they’ve earned through dishonest means—”
“How are you going to afford this?”
“There’s a lot we need to learn about one another, Derek.” Alyssa plants her palms against the center of the Agarwood surface. “Did Liam not tell you I’m one of the wealthiest HESTEK’s in the known universe?
“To me, that bottle is like spending micro digits. It makes no dent in my wallet. Don’t worry, this entire meal will be covered by me, so order whatever you want—”
“Before our misadventure happened—” a deep haze consumes Derek’s crystalline eyes. “Before my par—caretaker was murdered—I worked at a miniature golf course and did freelancing work. A lot of people found teleportation handy. From instantly getting goods from one country to another, to deliver pizza, etcetera. It had OK pay.
“However, I’ve never been good at saving my money. Between giving Rain money to go to college. Paying for my Dad’s stem cell injections. Microtransactions in games. Being scammed by so-called friends, cigarettes, and more.
“Eating in a place like this reminds me of how pathetic I actually am. I can’t even afford a glass of water here—it’s point quad-zero 656 Reivs. Why is it point quad-zero 656 Reivs?”
“To segregate the rich and poor,” a radiant white light for
ms within Alyssa’s eyes. “You should’ve made more money from those people you’ve been teleporting stuff for—”
“I’m a pushover if you can’t tell, already,” Derek’s face exudes a coral hue. “My whole life, I’ve let people walk all over me—scam me—abuse my abilities.
“You know what? That’s the worst part—letting people abuse my abilities,” the boy folds a napkin and lays it upon his upper legs. “Do you know how painful teleportation is?
“My body literally disintegrates from the inside out—every time it—”
“I understand,” Alyssa utters. “I’m sorry to hear about that; however, that is the past version of yourself. I have an acronym I live by of what to avoid, R.R.D.
“Revenge, it accomplishes nothing—it only ignites more fires and causes more pain.
“Regret—living in your past—it’ll turn you into a sob who’s trapped in a neverending cycle. Only thinking about what you could’ve done, rather than the present and future.
“Dogmatism, being unable to open your mind to new experiences. Or empathize with others’ perspectives will only create a stagnant life.
“Yes, you had a bad past; moreover. You let people take advantage of you. Let others inflict pain upon you emotionally and physically, but you’re a new man now, Derek. You aren’t in the past, anymore. You’re in the present. Don’t let your mistakes intimidate you. All you can go from this point is up.
“You radiate potential, hun. Though you’re trapped in a vortex of your past, it’s not impossible to get out. Share what you must with me—I will use my knowledge to help you—guide you on the right path.”
“Madame and Monsieur,” the waiter’s voice flows through their ears. “If I may interrupt, I have your wine.”
“The interruption is acceptable. Much obliged,” Alyssa’s jaw pushes her lips upwards, forming a smile. The man positions the bottle within the center of the table.
“Do the two of you require any more time?” the man’s head nudges through the clear bubble.
“I—” Derek’s hand raises.
“As a starter, the Caviar Golden. My husband must partake of a Freshly Caught Sole with a Black truffle and winter roots. I will have the Eggplant Braciole with Sicilian Salsa Verde.”