“Well, you’re awfully late to leave today.” Mrs. Morgan poured the Creator a steamy portion of tea. Beads of water formed around the edges of his mug.

“I’m taking a break.” The Creator dragged the mug over. It jostled across the table but thankfully didn’t spill. The heat, however, warmed his palms a little too much. “And I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Go on!”

“Would it be a bother if I stayed a while longer?” He didn’t want to admit it, but the place was, in fact, quite comforting. “I believe I… enjoy the company.”

“Why, of course, dear!” She didn’t even hesitate. “Stay, stay!”

“Am I really not a bother?”

“If you were, I’d have kicked you out the moment you set foot!” She let out a light chuckle. “So are you finished with finding that boy of yours?”

“I’m sure he’s alright.” If he’s with her.

“Well, why don’t you bring him in?” She beamed. Her smile complemented the tea’s hot intensity. “I’ve got just enough space for another guest!”

Aurora Morgan… Her name had been engraved into that bracelet of hers. Wasn’t it important? Why hadn’t she talked about it since? “We should find that bracelet of yours first. I could buy you a replica with the same engravings. It wouldn’t be that difficult—”

“I’d rather not.” She waved the comment aside. “Don’t worry about that. I’m over it. And it won’t be the same anyway.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Just like the skinplate. He took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat, almost burning a hole through his esophagus. He coughed up the rest. “Tea’s quite hot,” he managed to get out. The heat lingered in his stomach.

“Oh, I’m sure.” She reached out to touch her son’s skinplate. Her hands drifted across the corroded surface for a while. He could see her expression dull as if a shadow had been cast over her. “I may have brewed it for far too long…”

“I can try and track the thief—”

“No, no.” She brushed it all away. “It’s really alright. Now, a stranger shouldn’t be your priority, Gunther. I’m sure you still have business to attend to instead of helping me.”

“It doesn’t matter. Honestly. Your bracelet is more important than my own business.” The Creator took a careful sip of his tea this time and added, “And you’re no stranger. Not anymore.”

“Thank you, Gunther.” Her face brightened up once more. There was an almost resolute demeanor to her expression. “Stubborn as a mule I say. My son was just like you.”

She brought out a small safe from inside the closet, and with delicate hands, gently placed the skinplate inside. Then she closed the lid and locked it tight before shoving the entire container back under all that mess of old cotton and linen.

“You’re putting that away?” All those clothes inside—they looked to be mostly worn out and torn. Perhaps he could buy her some coats for the coming winter.

“I think it’s time I move on. It’s been far too long.” Her face lifted, and her eyes grew wider by the second. “And there’s still more for these old eyes to see.”

“But you’re blind.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

The Creator watched her stand in front of the closet, hands silently folded together as if in prayer. It seemed as if she’d meant what she’d said. Perhaps she truly was putting her son to rest after all that had happened…

A screeching noise abruptly sounded in the distance.

What was that? He was sure he’d heard something. It sounded like it had come from outside. “Mrs. Morgan?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Hmm? What—”

A sudden distorted, amplified voice scratched against the apartment walls. The building shook—trembled like a category three earthquake.

“Better prepare your funeral rites!” the voice shrieked out. “It’s high time you pay us back, Aurora Morgan!”

What now? The Creator stood up from the couch. Why was it that every time he was preparing to rest, something always seemed to happen.

“Th-that voice!” Mrs. Morgan turned toward the noise. Fright was written all over her face. “That’s the voice I heard when they broke in! M-my son! She stole my son! I’m sure of it!”

“Mrs. Morgan, Stay here.” The Creator grabbed his jacket and tie. He downed the rest of his tea—it was still hot. He didn’t know why he’d done that—and headed for the door.

“Come out, come out!” the warped voice mocked again. “Or I’ll blow up the entire complex!”

“No, Gunther.” She rummaged around that closet of hers again. He knew what she was looking for. “I need to—”

“Don’t. I’ve got it under control.” He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She was tense; her fingers were already wrapped halfway around the barrel of the shotgun.

“Gunther.” She turned around. “I—”

“I told you before. You’re no stranger.”

Her hands started to tremble; tears formed just under her eyes. “A-are you sure about this? You’ll be okay?”

“Of course.” He consoled her. “Do I look—well, do I seem like I’d go down that easily?”

“But why are you doing so much for me?”

“I’m just repaying my debt.” The Creator couldn’t help it. He could feel a chuckle bubbling up inside. Of all things, he hadn’t expected to help out some old stranger he’d met along the roadside. If it were him from before, he probably wouldn’t have. But after meeting Bread, Mrs. Morgan, he’d come to accept what he’d always feared. He’d changed. There was no denying that.

He walked out, making sure to close the door behind him, and the first thing that greeted his eyes was the teen. The same teen from before. He’d told him not to come back, hadn’t he? Why was it that nobody ever listened?

The teen huddled behind a woman with that same snake symbol from before imprinted on her biker vest—Taipan Riders, he recalled. She looked to be the leader of the pack. Around her were a mass of grungy individuals all armed to the teeth. Most with knives. Some with firearms of various size.

“It’s him!” the teen tattled. “That’s the old guy I was talking about!”

“So you’re the new bodyguard everyone’s been talkin’ about?” There was a brief pause in her movement. She leaned in just a bit.

He could tell by the way her eyes twitched. She had just scanned him with an optical cyber-up.

Her lips slowly stretched into a wide grin. “Well, lookie here. Scored bigger than a tub of Nano-Fibro gels! So what’s the creator of Simular doing out here in the boonies?”

“H-he’s the Creator? Like the Creator?!”

“Shut your trap.” She smacked the teen across the back of his head. “Don’t interrupt an adult conversation.”

The Creator peered up at the sun floating motionlessly above his eyes. It was so bright, so blindingly bright. If only he could lower the intensity… He stared back at the supposed leader. She was still grinning from ear to ear, seemingly satisfied about her newfound revelation, but he had a revelation of his own—

“Were you the pirates who scrapped her son?”

“Hah!” the woman cried. “Did she finally figure that out? What a stupid woman.”

A feeling of melancholy mixed with his sense of pride in figuring the murder mystery out. It was uncomfortable, pathetic. But he’d done similar for less. It was only because this had involved Mrs. Morgan that he cared, was it not? If it were anybody else, would he have felt the same? No, he was no hero. They were doing the same, him and this gang—making money, pursuing their goals, trying to survive. But why couldn’t he put it past him. Mrs. Morgan had already done that. She’d already packed up the skinplate inside her closet. But why did he still feel so uncomfortable?

“You know who I am,” the Creator called out. “If this is about money, we can settle this peacefully.” If they could just leave him and Mrs. Morgan alone, he assumed the feeling would ease. This place had given him much more than what he’d bargained for. He wanted to spend some more time here in peace.

“Peaceful? The Creator being peaceful?” She bellowed out in laughter. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. Give me a percentage of your shares. Then we’ve got ourselves a deal!”

“Shares? Really?” The woman could’ve asked for far more in cold, hard cash, but she had greedily requested something even he had no control over. “Buy it yourself. You don’t need me for that.”

“No, no. I don’t think you get it. I’m not here to buy anything.” She raised the barrel of her pistol and pointed it straight towards the sky. “This isn’t a request.” She pulled the trigger. A resounding pop echoed through the air.

Suddenly, there was a bloodcurdling roar followed by vibrations in the earth. It sounded like steps. Large, heavy steps. The ground trembled with each thump. Nearby car alarms went off, trees were felled, and behind a street of oncoming traffic, he saw it—a monstrous, hulking figure running towards him at full speed, smashing everything in its sight.

“The Taipan Riders!”—the woman started to yell with an overwhelming intensity. She raised her fist in the air—“will get paid today! And we will, without a doubt, prevail!” Then she brought it down with a hard smack onto the unwary teen’s back. “Now, get out there and fight!”

“Ow! What the hell, boss?!”