Bright sun, green grass, and clusters of houses beside the road. Every lawn danced along with the mild flow of the wind. The clear sky and lovely weather — and on a weekend, no less. People were ushered out into the public grounds.

  Aren was driving to the store. The open windows let wind glide through his hair.

  He turned to the phone. And the map showed a distance of a couple miles.

  Then his eyes rested on his revolver, covered with a white cloth, lying beside his seat. Faint traces of blue flames were blotched over it. The flames danced. But they neither burnt the cloth, nor affected the revolver.

  Aren picked up the revolver – intently touching the flames. The flames were pulling him. The soft whooshes of their dance – vivid.

  His neck snapped forward. A large truck was rushing towards him. His hand jerked, the car steered to a sharp right, and it turned off the road. Entering the lawn, it devastated the grass and skid to a halt.

  Aren’s head bumped on the steering. The horn honked.

  A man pushed the front door of the house beside the lawn. He stepped out.

  “Hey! Man, what the fuck? Are you drunk?”

  Aren sighed and stepped out too.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for this.” He pulled his wallet out, “How much?”

  “It’s not a big deal man.” The guy leaned on his leg, “I guess five hundred?”

  Aren’s brow quirked. Yet he forwarded a five hundred bill.

  The owner leaned in to take it. But Aren pulled the bill back.

  “Take it. But at least be practical about money.”

  “Tch.” The owner scrunched his nose, “You running too high on daddy’s money?”

  The man reached for his back.

  Aren leapt in. The man pulled the gun. But for a moment, it was stuck.

  In time, Aren tackled the man to the ground. The man coughed.

  Without any hesitation, Aren climbed over his stomach. The man guarded with his hands, but Aren’s punch landed heavy. It bashed the man’s head on the ground.

  The man held his head with his hand. His eyes and eyebrows twitching. Almost knocked out, he looked, by the punch.

  Aren scoffed.

  He stood up.

  Aren chuckled.

  Aren noted something familiar on his neck.

  He swiftly crouched down, and moved his chin – taking a clear look on his neck.

  There was a tattoo of a black rose.

  Aren’s lips parted.

  Aren jerked up. His eyes shivered.

  Aren looked down at the man – again, who looked unaware of everything. Questions surged, his heart began to palpitate, but Aren calmed himself.

  Aren rubbed his chin.

  He grabbed the man.

  From the struggle, the man woke up.

  “Where… aree we going?” The man slurred.

  “Where you should be.”

  Aren knocked him out cold with another punch. Then threw him into the backseat.

  He stared at the seemingly lifeless body.

  Aren seated in the car. The car moved forward – towards the familiar alleyways of downtown mart.

  Not long after, the car crossed a banner emblazoning: HOSEY ROAD.

  Aren looked out the window.

  In the cramped streets, the crowd scurried around the place like ants. Automated rifles, revolvers, shotguns, automated shotguns – they filled the closed cabinets of the open shops. Men and women alike, intentionally knocked at the car’s glass, cussing along the way.

  Aren peeked out, trying to look across the crowd.

  Aren eyed a large store of professional glint. Especially with armed guards, automated doors, and glass replacing almost all the concrete.

  Aren drove and parked at the store’s parking spot.

  He stepped out.

  “Hey,” Aren called the guard out, “Will you carry this man for me, please?”

  The guard pursed his lips.

  “There should be five hundred in his pocket. Take that.”

  Immediately, the guard nodded, and manhandled the guy out of the backseat.

  The three of them walked inside.

  A reception of speckless white furniture, and glimmering glass stood diagonally left to the entrance. The receptionist – a girl in white long sleeve shirt, grey half coat, and black pants. Her hair was pink, a piercing at her nose, and all across her ears. A tattoo of a blue hummingbird marked on her cheek.

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  “How may I help you, Sir?”

  The girl smiled. Her eyes, though, examined Aren.

  “What’s your name?” Aren smiled back, “I will be coming here often. It’d be awkward if I don’t know your name.”

  The receptionist’s smile stretched further.

  “It’s Amy, Sir.”

  “I want to meet Cera, Amy.”

  Amy’s smile faltered. But snuck back to its place quickly.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “Then–”

  “I have information about Geneva. Something important.”

  Amy paused. Her eyebrows leapt up.

  “Wait a minute, Sir.”

  She hurried to the intercom lying on the underdesk platform. Numbers were dialed, and soon the call connected.

  She inaudibly mumbled something. Periodically, glancing towards Aren.

  Aren stood there with folded arms.

  Aren mindlessly glared. Amy placed the intercom back inside the socket.

  “Sir, Please follow me.”

  She moved out of the reception desk.

  “George,” She addressed the guard, “Take this man to the basement.”

  George complied.

  Amy walked Aren to the third story, and with a right from there, and then a left.

  “You can enter, Sir. Madam Ceralius is inside.” Amy did a professional bow.

  Then she left.

  A translucent gate, leading to a cabin, was in front of Aren. He pushed and entered.

  Inside, Cera was leaning over her desk. Her hair strands falling over her face. Her specs resting on the edge of her nose. Papers scattered over her desk. White shirt and black coat hugging her chest.

  The moment Aren entered, Cera’s eyes darted up. Her head, still hanging low.

  “Are you Mr. Aren?”

  “Yes.”

  Aren moseyed to the chair in front of Cera’s desk. In the way, admiring the artwork hung on the walls, or just the sheer amount of colours painted across the room.

  He sat.

  “Geneva, Mr. Aren. What do you know about Geneva?”

  “First of all, I know that I want to find a man,” Aren took his revolver out, wrapped in the white cloth, and put it over the desk, “His fingerprints are in this. Though, a bit mixed.”

  “Done. If you really know something about Geneva.”

  Aren stared at the gun. But then he shifted his eyes back to Cera.

  “I do know a lot about Geneva. But worse is my hypothesis.”

  Cera squinted her eyes, leaning back on her chair.

  “What is that?”

  “Do you know the nineteen eighty nine’s and twenty o’ five’s gas tragedies?”

  For a moment, Cera’s eyes spaced out. Then, sharp again.

  “Yes, I do know.”

  “To those who worked in these, umm, organizations. Or publicly known as cartels. We know the real reason.”

  Cera nodded.

  “Cartels infesting the mobs. Not uncommon.”

  Aren, too, nodded.

  “I believe a similar thing is going to happen in the Burrock streets.”

  Cera’s eyes, that meandered across her desk, snapped up.

  “That is a huge thing, Mr. Aren. Are you saying that Geneva already snuck up into the mobs just beside us? That is impossible.”

  Aren shook his head.

  “It isn’t.”

  Cera scoffed.

  “Reasons, Mr. Aren.”

  “Government has involved itself with Geneva. If you are unsure, do you know how much ‘construction’ works have been going on these days?” Aren leaned in, “Does your organization check every construction worker that works around Hosey road?”

  Cera paused.

  “But why would that happen? And have you checked all of them yourself?”

  Aren stuck back to the chair again.

  “I haven’t checked them all myself. And there is no way I can do that. But your organization can. And I can help you. If you help me.”

  Cera pursed her lips.

  “I think your hypothesis is pretty weak for that to happen.”

  Aren smiled.

  “But it is also very crucial. Can you risk having Geneva running around your turf like that?”

  Cera glanced down at her papers.

  “It’d be quite the waste of time if you were speaking nonsense.”

  “If I were speaking nonsense, then I wouldn’t have found a man with a Geneva tattoo on his neck in some random suburban ride.”

  “You found what?”

  “A Genevian.”

  “The tattoo must’ve been wrong, or just made up. I told you already, a Genevian here is impossible. Around my turf.”

  “You can check it for yourself. But I have experience with Geneva. You can also just trust me.”

  “I don’t have to check things on the whims of some random young boy, do I?”

  “Again, what’s at stake is your organization. Not mine.”

  Cera slapped her hands on the desk.

  “I know damn well, how to run my organization.”

  “Then you shouldn’t shrug off even a single possibility of Geneva being near you.”

  “But Geneva isn’t near me.”

  “There is a possibility though. And I have reasons for claiming this big.”

  “What reasons?”

  “About four years ago, Geneva dissolved four of its companies that used to supply workers on the surface and underhandedly they, of course, dealt in narcotics.

  “Honestly, they should’ve never done that. They would face serious losses with their dissolution.”

  Cera interrupted.

  “I know that. And we did investigate all of that. Geneva was forced to act like that. The government had raided sixteen of their important bases. It wasn’t all over the news, but the intelligence agencies literally ransacked those places.”

  Cera tapped her fingers on the desk.

  “They, of course, had no choice.”

  “That is very naive of you.”

  “What?”

  “I just shared to you that the Government and Geneva are working together. And you are on and on about the government raiding their places.

  “That is exactly the deal. The companies that had been untouched for years and years. Literally about a century. Those companies instantly fell, all at the same time?”

  Aren chuckled.

  “They made a great plan. But even great plans have flaws. The flaw can only be in the pacing of the plan. They rushed the falls of their companies. And that is the only clue you are gonna get from Geneva as they are full of smartass geniuses.

  “Now you’d never think that Geneva, which lost all its worker-providing companies, would have any kind of contract with the Government. Especially after all this pseudo drama of ransacking their place. Ultimately, it was just a long plan.”

  Cera rubbed her forehead.

  “How do you know all this?”

  Aren sighed, taking his breath back.

  “This isn’t known. I thought about this.”

  “Then how did you think about this?”

  “Just thought. And that doesn’t matter anyway.”

  Cera clutched the edge of her desk.

  “It does. What will we do now with Geneva running on the edge of our backs? Honestly, it is pretty commonly widespread amongst us that Geneva has fallen. For the past four years, no Genevian has participated in the meetings. Even though they were very secretive. It was never to this extent.

  “All the flow has shifted away from them. And even our security has weakened, focusing more on developing the business. Both private and public businesses. It isn’t just the case with us. It is the common case with every single cartel.”

  Aren rubbed his chin.

  “They haven’t shown up in four years? Because even though the Geneva I have known is secretive. It is only secretive in hiding their cards. They are very eager to learn about the cards of their opponents.”

  Cera bit her lips.

  “You know Geneva? Who are you? And wait. That’s not important.” She squished her cheeks, resting them on her fingers. Hand propped over the desk, “What do you mean by all this? You know it is very hard to believe some random young man spouting out conspiracies.”

  “I’m not the age I look.” Aren understandingly nodded his head, “But I am definitely against Geneva. I lost something very precious, more precious than my life, some time ago. I am starting to suspect Geneva has a hand. So I’m always an ally, till we bring down Geneva.”

  “And what do you need from us?”

  “Information. That’s it. It’d be better to call it – cooperation, I say.”

  “Cooperation…” Her hollow gaze lingered on the walls, “it is quite tough to believe you.”

  “Trust can only be given at first. And with time, I will earn it.”

  “You speak very well,” Cera hunched her shoulder, leaning over her desk, “but this organization is hard work. If anything, calling it hard work would be an understatement.”

  She sighed.

  “Give me some time to think.”

  Aren nodded.

  “Of course. But at least, work on this revolver’s fingerprints. I think I already showed a lot of goodwill by sharing all this.”

  He got up from his seat.

  “I hope trust and cooperation from you.”

  “I do too.”

  Both of them shook hands.

  Then, Aren walked out of the cabin.

  Aren traced back the path Amy had brought her from.

  The elevator door opened. He boarded the elevator.

  The elevator opened again and Aren stepped out. He passed the counter, and greeted Amy with a smile. She replied back professionally. Then a worker brought his car, and he sat inside.

  Soon, he was out of the Hosey road.

  The scenery was all quiet again. Now, there were fewer people on the roads. And the wind was hot.

  He sighed again. He had lost track of how many times he had puffed out these sighs of exhaustion today.