Let’s take it back fifteen minutes before I called Hans.

I came home from Jan’s house after losing the fight to Arson. The bugger’s efficiency surprised me. It was my first fight against a girl, and I managed to get my ankle broken by her. Jan hadn’t been angry, just disappointed. Especially after Willem told him the details.

I crashed on the couch and turned on the TV. Bridger was on there.

He always was. Sometimes a man gets tired of seeing the same old pasty face on the screen. Sometimes I wanted to reach through the screen, pull Bridger out, and throw him off the seventh story balcony.

Of course that would only break my TV.

Bridger had a big scar across his throat, another memory of how hated he was. He sat up in his bed and talked. The week and a half of rest had done him good. He talked about how despite the assassination attempt, he still wanted to work together with Japan against China and Russia. I might join Georgia in a protest against it. The Japanese are under a vile management which rapes and kills any who they deem inferior. Chinese, Filipino, Korean, Indonesian. We all suffered under their rule.

And now Bridger joins up for ‘the greater good’. My ass. Working together with the Japanese excuses everything they did, and are still doing in their colonies. I went to my fridge to drink a bit of the blood still left. I finished the blood bag in one big gulp. Next shipment would be delivered tomorrow.

I looked out of my window. I looked over the dark sky. There was no sharp sun trying to pierce my skin at this time of night. I looked at my neighbor, a dark skinned woman in a wheelchair. I was a big minority in this complex, but black people were the majority in this place. Especially people of Surinamese descent. It used to be a colony of the Netherlands in their prime. They came from Suriname to the lowlands after their country gained independence in the sixties.

They came here for work and study primarily. This apartment complex in Amsterdam was where a lot could move, and the community stayed there for a large part. Even the plane that crashed into it all that time ago couldn’t deter them.

Indonesia used to be a Dutch colony too – I shared something with these people. They see me and know this as well. So does Mrs. Boersma, who was smoking a cigarette on the balcony next to me.

“Hey Nazril.” She said with a rough smoker voice.

“Mrs. Boersma. How are you doing?”

“Like shit, but shit is normal for me now.”

I smiled at her. She liked having a young understanding man living next to her. If only she knew I was 103 years old, over fifty years older than her. This woman was born in the Netherlands, and merely booked some vacations to Suriname.

I was forced to work in a Japanese-runned labor camp from ‘42 to ‘44. I still have nightmares sometimes, although they have faded over time.

I smiled at Boersma. “I feel shitty as well. Lost a fight recently.”

“That’s too bad, boy.” Something about her accent was extremely inviting.

“Lost against a girl too.” I wanted to continue, but a sudden force knocked me through the door and into my apartment. Blood splattered onto the sliding door. I didn’t realize where it came from at first. I got knocked to the floor. My back lit up with pain. I touched my chest, there was a small hole.

My entire back had been blasted open. The pain on my back grew heavier as I smacked against the ground. I quickly rolled over on my belly and crawled under the table while groaning. I felt my back and chest –and all the internal organs– healing up. The pain faded.

I had been shot at.

That was when I called Hans to warn him. He actually was on a date with that girl, he followed my advice. I felt like a proud father.

Me, a father. Would make for some fucked up kids.

A man of medium height jumped onto the balcony from the rooftop above by rope. He rolled into my living room. He held a long thin rapier. An assault rifle was slung over his back. He wore a black French style beret–together with a gray combat vest.

I needed my knife.

I crawled to my bedroom, but he noticed the trail of blood.

“Nazril.” He talked with a French accent.

A trail of smoke moved from him to a spot in front of me. He teleported to that place a few minutes later. Just poof, with a small flash to boot.

Good news: He can only do this about five times before he needs to refill his belly with blood.

Bad news: He only needs to do it once for him to kill me.

The unfair part: Anything he touches teleports with him. I need to be naked to be fully invisible.

What bullshit.

I grabbed his ankle and yanked it from underneath him. I thought he’d fall.

He did, but he also smashed his elbow on my back when he did. He turned me around and put the rapier at my throat. I grabbed his wrist. I put my foot against his shoulder and pushed him off. I stood up, my bullet wound was fully healed.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Come on, you Frenchie. I will crunch you like a tin can.” I taunted

The teleporter scoffed and put his hand to his ear. “Only shoot when he gets the upper hand. We don’t need more damage.” He said presumably to the sniper.

I didn’t waste any time and launched my knee into his chest. His vest absorbed the impact, but I pushed him away enough to make a run for my bedroom. I jumped to my night stand as the trail of smoke was on my ass. I grabbed a small box and opened it.

In it was a small blade I inherited from my father: The karambit.

A small curved blade with a hole in the end of the handle. Small enough for someone to not notice you held it before severing their tendons. Not like those bigger western replicas. I put my index finger through the hole in a backwards grip.

I turned around quickly. I’m sure he didn’t see what I grabbed since he was busy teleporting. He tried to thrust. I moved my body aside. I knocked his arm to the side with my shoulder. He took the deflection well, he didn’t lose his balance. However, he didn’t notice the karambit in my hand.

I grabbed his wrist, pulled, then slashed up and down his arm repeatedly. The sting of the blade took him by complete surprise–he grunted. I then went to town.

His eyes were first. I took them out with a fell swipe from the blade. He had no idea what I did for the next few seconds with his eyes sliced open and filled with blood.

I cut his left bicep. He let out a scream while blindly flailing his arms. He was in complete panic. Sadly the karambit alone was not enough to kill him–it was not made for decapitating– but the injuries gave me enough time to get away.

He kicked his leg up. Thank you kindly. I caught his leg and cut the tendons at the inside of his knee. He went to the ground and screamed.

“Merde!” He screamed from the top of his lungs.

I panted and leaned against the wall. I thought about the sniper. I grabbed Frenchie by his arms and he groaned. I could see his eyes healed up already, the rest of his body struggled. If I entered the living room, I’d be shot without a doubt.

I threw Frenchie inside of the living room. A bullet hit the wall next to him. I took my chance and bolted. I ran to the balcony and dove off. I didn’t live very high –only on the second floor– but the fall still hurt. I rolled when I hit the floor.

Another bullet hit exactly next to me, causing a cloud of dirt to kick up. I undressed and turned invisible under the cover of the green trees. I had a small flip phone. Handy things, you could fold them and they easily fit in my mouth. Perfect for hiding them when you’re invisible.

That is when I ran. I ran until I was sure they lost me. I laughed at the thought of the scared Frenchie. Nobody expected the knife.

That was the power of the karambit.

My father just saved my life from beyond the grave.

I was right next to a building site. I called Hans again in a public restroom. I didn’t forget to clean my saliva off with the brittle toilet paper. I locked the door so nobody could discover me being naked.

“Where are you now?” I asked.

Hans sounded very happy. “Currently walking up to Marlene’s house. It’s very dark.”

“That is when vampires strike.” I warned.

“No, I mean the house. Very Gothic and Victorian. It is actually pretty nuts how a British queen inspired an entire aesthetic like that.”

“Uh, interesting, kid. Does it have a big gate?”

“Sure, honey-”

Wait, what did he say?

“Yeah, it’s fenced off.” Hans said a moment later.

He talked to Marlene, thank God.

“Chance is small that they’ll attack when you’re in there. They don’t like witnesses, still be careful though, especially when you head home.” I paused for a bit, looking inside of the stinking toilet bowl and wincing. “When you leave tomorrow, I want you to head to Rudy’s Bar and Grill. Take a car, walking the street would be suicide, even during the day.”

“I’ll look the place up.” Hans said.

“There is a girl there called Georgia. A head taller than me, straw colored hair. She has a bullet resistant vest with a rainbow painted on the front. On the back is a flag I have never even seen before. Pink and blueish, a bit of white too. She’s a militant so maybe she is part of some weird independent state militia and that’s their flag.”

“That is a transgender flag, but noted.” Hans uttered.

“I’m old, kid. Those flags weren’t around when I was a teenager.”

“Look into them sometime, will ya.”

“Maybe I will after this is over.”

“I need to go now, Nazril. Duty calls, you know how it is.” He mused.

“Bye kid.” I closed my phone and turned visible again.

“He’s in there.” I heard Frenchie say.

I heard a click. I ducked out of reflex.

Then bullets tore through the blue plastic of the dirty claustrophobic stall. They zoomed over my head until the wall wasn’t strong enough anymore. The stall collapsed under its own weight. The roof fell on the back of my neck.

Thankfully it’s hard to hurt someone with light plastic.

I obscured my body again and ran out onto the street. Frenchie hit my thigh and I went to the ground. My body started pushing the lead out. I crawled away, but Frenchie caught my foot and dragged me back. I tried to lunge at him with the karambit, but he caught my wrist and pinned it to the ground –it was a miracle his beret stayed on through the whole ordeal– His clothes were tattered, but his wounds healed. I revealed myself again, no reason to lose any more blood supply.

“Bong San!” He yelled and socked me in the face. “You surprised me with that blade.” He then jumped up and dropped his knee into my stomach. I gasped, but managed to grasp the back of his neck and pull him close. As long as Frenchie’s chest was against mine, he would have a hard time throwing power punches.

His head was next to mine, his forehead pressed against the concrete pavement. I locked my legs around his waist and held him even closer.

“Let me go!” Frenchie yelled. I wasn’t going to. If the sniper was in position they’d have a hard time hitting me without hitting their buddy as well.

I felt a sudden sharp pain in my side. Frenchie had a dagger on him. He had it stored in either his boot or his sleeve. Blood flowed to the concrete only to stop in a few seconds. I let go of Frenchie’s head. His face distraught, full of sweat, and his damn beret finally fell off.

He lunged towards my neck with the dagger. I smacked his wrist and knocked his arm aside–the dagger hit the floor. I then locked his arm in between my forearms. I pulled his arm to the side and pushed his body towards the same side. We rolled over and I was now on top. I made sure to throw the dagger away.

I unleashed fury on his face.

Slash with karambit, punch, another slash, another punch. It went on like this for half a minute. Blood splattered to both sides. It’s a shame a karambit blade isn’t for decapitating, else Frenchie would be dead instead of choking on his own blood.

One thing is certain–this would’ve killed a human.

The sniper fired. The concrete before Frenchie’s head shot up as the bullet hit it. I threw myself back and cloaked myself. I ran as fast as I could.

I patted the dirt and dust off my body as best as I could and ran towards Rudy’s.