“M-my bracelet. Oh, Gunther. They stole my bracelet!”

“Mrs. Morgan. Please, calm down and tell me what happened.” The Creator had come back to a disaster of a situation. He’d heard the gist of it—yet another break-in. How was that even possible? He’d checked all the other apartments nearby, and none of them had been broken into. It was only here.

“They stole it! My son’s—oh, but why?” She grabbed onto the skinplate and pulled it closer to her chest. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, deary.”

“Why don’t you get replacements? For your eyes?” Optical tech was on the rise. It wasn’t at all difficult to replace them. “I can also help set up a few security measures so that this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.”

“No, it doesn’t matter anymore! The bracelet’s gone!” She went ominously silent, nodding to herself as if she were making up her mind on something important. Then she limped her way to her closet. Her leg still hadn’t fully healed.

“Mrs. Morgan?” Perhaps first on the list was a visit to the doctor’s. “I can help—”

She pulled something out from the depths. “No, I’ll find that thief myself! I’ll make them regret stealing from me!”

A shotgun? Where did she even… Wasn’t she blind? How was she going to aim the thing? Or better yet find a runaway thief? It was the worst idea he’d heard today. “Wait, perhaps you should reconsider—”

There was a loud knock at the front.

“Oh, just what I needed.” She knocked over a bunch of objects, trying to make her way to the front door. “Another reason to leave the house.”

“Where are you even going? Stop.” The Creator guided her back to the couch and sat her down. “You’re being too rash.”

“No, no, I’m not. You don’t know how it feels!” She started to get back up. “I’ve lost something that can’t be bought back!”

“Listen.” He held her down. “I do know how that feels.”

“You’re lying, dear. You don’t have to—”

“Mrs. Morgan,” he continued. “I can’t tell you everything, but the boy I’m trying to find is someone important to my late mother.”

“Your mother…?” She started to visibly calm down. Her arms fell to her side. “Is that really true?”

“Yes, I’ve lost something—no, someone I can never get back, so I’d like to believe that I do know.” He took a seat beside her. “You’ve given me a place to stay, and you’ve helped me express my annoyances throughout all this. This time, let me help—”

There was another loud knock at the door.

“Gunther, I… I want to hear more of this, but, well, maybe I should at least open the door? We can talk after that—”

“No, I’ll get that. Just rest. You’ve already gone through enough today.” He pushed himself off the comfort of the couch and grudgingly made his way to the door. Whoever it was had better have a good reason for all this. He half expected the bracelet thief when he opened the door, but instead—

Some bratty looking kid stood outside the apartment. He had graffiti-like tattoos and weird body modifications all over his arms and legs. There was a shotgun—by the looks, a crude-quality M5-Destroya—shoved halfway into his pants and an oversized, bloody cleaver held in his grip like he was cosplaying some kind of part-time butcher at a local meat packing plant.

He couldn’t help but shake his head. What was this for? Halloween? Of all the possibilities, he had to waste time on this.

“Huh? Who’re you? Where’s the granny?”

“Sorry, wrong place.” He started to close the door, but stopped. “Actually, you didn’t perhaps—no, what am I saying? Of course you didn’t steal that. Not looking like that.” He slammed the door shut.

“Who was it, Gunther?”

“Just some nobody.”

“Are you sure—”

Several more angry knocks.

Mrs. Morgan got up. “Maybe I should take the door after all.”

“No, just sit down. Please. I’ve got it under control.” What now? What did this prepubescent kid want from him now? No, that’s not right. He looked a bit older than that. Perhaps in his teens? “I’ll be right back.”

She sighed. “If you insist, dear.”

The Creator swung open the door. His patience was wearing thinner by the second. “What do you want? Just tell me what you’re after.”

“Tell you what I’m after?” He looked baffled. “You just shat on my drip, old man! What do you think I’m after?”

“Old… man?” His nose twitched. Not enough for anyone to notice. Old man… This was the second time this week that someone had called him old. Why? He had a dedicated skincare routine as much as most people wouldn’t have expected it. He looked far younger than his age, and that was an objective fact.

Is it the suit?

The Creator loosened his tie a smidge and stepped outside, making sure to close the door behind him. Whatever happened after this moment, he didn’t want to involve Mrs. Morgan in it.

He looked the teen over—red laser sight implants, low quality endurance amplifiers, roughly screwed on semi-mid grade tension bars. Even from a basic examination, he wasn’t much of a threat, but the important thing was that this teenager somehow knew about Mrs. Morgan.

Why?

“Whatever, old man. That’s past shit. Where’s the granny? You the new bouncer or something?”

“You’d do well to watch your tone.”

The teen looked him down once and snickered. “A nouveau like you? What you gonna do? Report me to the cops?” He leaned in a little, tightening his grip on his cleaver. His smirk never left his face. “Are you threatening me, old man? With what? Your business cards?”

The Creator took a step closer.

The teen steadied his cleaver in front of him. “What’re you doing, old man? Back off. Don’t try anything funny.”

He already knew the teen wouldn’t win against him in a physical brawl. He had defense systems implanted all over his body that would activate autonomously when detecting a threat. There would be no evidence left if that ever happened. No blood, nothing. Everything would be gone, incinerated without a trace. It would be so easy and stress free…

No, he wouldn’t do it.

“You deaf, old man? Move back!”

But one more casualty wouldn’t make a difference, would it? He’d experienced plenty before. What was stopping him now?

No, he couldn’t. He was weak; he couldn’t bring himself to do it anymore. Emotions continued getting in the way. The image of Mother haunted him, telling him how much of a monster he was. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t harm. Not anymore…

Back when he was younger, he’d always admired certain infamous individuals—those who had crossed the line. Those who had practiced unethical procedures without worry of punishment. He’d admired them with all his heart.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

If not for laws and regulations, medical practices would’ve advanced so much further along. That was what he’d always believed. Instead of using animals as replacements, instead of banning the procedures of human cloning, instead banning any harm to individuals, if it were possible to freely practice on people, in the long run, it would’ve saved more lives at the cost of a select few. And this had already been proven to work throughout history. It was fact. But most never seemed to acknowledge it. They didn’t want to. To them, it was far too cruel of a moment in history.

To him, for creating a new life for Mother to live, it was far too perfect. Perfect for creating his world—a place where all the senses came to life, where nobody could tell the difference between fantasy and reality. A place he’d eventually come to call, Simular.

So he’d done just that. He’d started toying with life—what ignorant fools had always called, precious.

The easy part had been doing it all in secret. With enough bribery, connections, and monetary force, there was nothing that could’ve stopped him from achieving what he’d set out to do. And eventually, he’d gained access to an illegal network of humans. From then on, he’d conducted numerous tests ranging from simple confirmation of already known neuroscientific research to what many called inhumane acts of brutality.

Of course, word had gotten out somehow. Rumors flew; it was inevitable. But humans—they were such contemptible, unrespectable beings. They couldn’t even uphold what they’d deemed immoral once they had seen the results of his labor.

The moment he’d successfully created Simular, suddenly, nobody seemed to care anymore about these rumors of his. Suddenly, he was the renowned, award-winning, famous Creator that everyone knew. And he’d have continued with his research if it weren’t for Mother.

Mother had been the only one to uphold her beliefs. She had been the only one to die for it. The one person he’d wished to save had died the one way he couldn’t predict…

She’d been right. He was despicable. He’d thought he’d been completely desensitized to it all, but it didn’t seem like it was so. He was weak now. Emotionally volatile, out of control, confused—weak. He couldn’t even bring himself to do anything to this worthless thug in front of him. How far he’d fallen…

“Is something the matter, Gunther?” A muffled voice called from inside the apartment. “Should I come out too?”

“No! Stay inside,” the Creator yelled through the walls. He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter what he felt now. He’d already lost Bread, he’d half given up on his goals, but one thing he’d decided to do was repay the kindness he’d been given. It was calming, this place. He didn’t expect such a decrepit apartment complex to feel so welcoming, but if it was with Mrs. Morgan…

He wasn’t going to let any harm get to her.

“Oh?” the teen responded. “So she is here. Get out of my way!” The teen tried to push his way through, but the Creator easily held him back. “What’s your problem, man? Why’re you stoppin’ me?”

“What do you want?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I can call the authorities.”

The teen laughed. “Try it. I dare you. They won’t come. They know better than to mess with us.”

With us? It wasn’t just the boy? Was he a part of some gang? There was a unique engraving on the boy’s metal-plated chest—some kind of reptile on a hoverbike. Where had he seen that before…

“Get out of my way.” The teen tried to push through again.

The Creator grabbed the boy’s arm and held tightly. He wasn’t going to let chaos fall on the one place in the real world he could finally relax.

“Let go!” The teen squirmed. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“What do you want from her?”

“You’re not the boss of me!” He pulled at his arm with all his might, but the grip held in place. The look on his face made it clear that he was starting to realize the gravity of the situation. “I-it’s just money, okay? She owes us some coin, that’s all!”

The Creator finally let him go. “The reason. What is it?”

“Who cares, man?” The teen pulled himself away, massaging his wrists. “Just ask her yourself.”

“Tell me why.” He grabbed the boy’s arm again and squeezed.

“Ow! Alright, I get it! I’ll tell you!” The teen pulled away. “Geez. She just needs to pay up for hiring us. Happy?”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

He pointed to the engraving on his chest. “Taipan Riders.” He grinned. “Heard of us? We’re pretty famous nowadays.”

Taipan Riders. He knew he’d seen that engraving before. They were one of the more prominent gangs in the city. From local news—mostly for small robberies and the occasional ruckus. But what wasn’t public information was the fact that they were one of the largest drug traffickers of the Lokris Underground. Experimental serums, neural stimulants, even illegal performance enhancers to name a few. They were the distributors of the most sought after black market deals available. He only knew this because he’d dealt with the lot during his time trying to find connections for his experiments. They weren’t to be messed with by common folk. Especially not someone like Mrs. Morgan.

“Why’d she hire the Taipan Riders?” the Creator asked. This entire situation was getting out of hand. Why did Mrs. Morgan have connections with the black market?

“I don’t know. I just joined!”

“Wait here.” He hurried back inside, making sure to close the door behind him. “Mrs. Morgan?” She was on the couch, fidgeting with the skinplate in her hands. “Did you hire a gang for something?”

“What? Heavens no!”

“Apparently, you owe money for hiring them?”

“Oh, those boys are back!” She started rummaging through a cabinet. “Oh, no. What do I do, Gunther? I-I don’t have enough for this month.”

“I don’t care about that.” He didn’t understand. Why them? Police were incompetent. He knew that, but why them? “What did you hire them for?”

“Oh! Why, they’re the ones who found me this!” She held up her son’s skinplate in the air like some sort of prized possession. “And they found it for me within hours! Even the police couldn’t—”

“Why?!” The Creator slammed his fist on the wall. It shook just enough for the room to go quiet. “Why did you hire them?”

“W-what’s the matter, dear?”

“Do you not have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into? Do you walk around town being friendly with every single human you come into contact with?” He couldn’t believe it. It was like she’d been using her blindness like it was some sort of excuse to be making all these bad decisions. “They’re dangerous, Mrs. Morgan! I’m dangerous!”

“What? N-no.” She stammered. “No, you’re not—”

“I killed people! Just like what those idiots out there have been doing!”

She went silent.

“Do you not understand the gravity of this situation? Are you sure that skinplate is even your son—”

“It is!” she cried. “I-I’m sure of it! I know! It’s just… I thought I’d know…”

“Do you”—his voice grew softer—“even know for certain if they weren’t the same group who stole your son in the first place?” The skinplate was the cheapest part of a mod doll. By using Mrs. Morgan’s grief against her, the same scrap pirates would’ve earned even more through being hired to find her son. Why couldn’t she see that? If they’d known about her blindness prior, then it was such an obvious scam.

“N-no. They were different people…”

“How do you know that?” He didn’t know why he felt so frustrated—why every word she’d uttered made him so tense with all these negative emotions. “You can’t even see!”

“Gunther, I—”

“How do you even know if they weren’t the ones who stole your bracelet this morning?” The incompetence of this woman—it wasn’t like she was any different. She was like every other individual living in Novus Lokris. Why did he care so much about all this? Why now?

He was so weak.

“Gunther,” she called. “W-who… did you kill?”

“What?” Of all the things, she’d focused on that. “I won’t kill you, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She breathed in deep before continuing, “I don’t regret my decisions, Gunther. I’ll keep paying them. It’s my responsibility I do that. Even if they were the ones to…”

He could tell she was holding back her tears. “You don’t have to try so hard—”

“I’m okay,” she interrupted. “But you. You’re… not okay. I can tell. Why did you kill them, Gunther?”

Why was she asking these questions?

“Gunther—”

“Hey!” The teen slammed at the door. The annoying voice only added more fuel to his frustrations. “How long are you gonna be in there? I don’t got all day!”

The Creator stomped out, slammed the door behind him again. He grabbed the teen by the collar and pulled him off the ground.

“Fuck! Let go, man!” The teen’s feet dangled. He tried to squirm out but the hold was tight. He swung his cleaver down at the Creator’s arm only for the metal to snap in two. His eyes grew wide. He scrambled to pull out his gun. With shaking hands, he shot at the Creator’s chest. The pellets bounced off like rubber balls. “W-what? What the hell are you?!”

He brought the young boy closer.

“Fuck!” The teen dropped his weapons. “W-wait! Don’t kill me! If you kill me, they’ll all come. How ‘bout we make a deal? I’ll tell them not to mess with you! I-I promise! Just—just let me go!”

Mother, Bread, and now this. Whatever was happening to his life, he didn’t like it. It felt like everything was getting out of hand. Like he was losing control over the life he’d always thought he had under control. All these emotions getting in his way, making him weaker and weaker. All these problems that started flying around him like flies…

“Whatever she owes”—the Creator motioned towards apartment number 109—“it better be zero.” He finally dropped the boy. “Don’t come back.”

“Yeah, got it!” The teen scrambled to his feet and ran out into the rural streets. And he kept running without a single glance back.

For once, he wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted to give up, observe the skies, watch the summer sun blind his eyes for a while longer before heading back to his routine—to Simular, to life prior to all this.

For once, he just wanted the world to leave him alone.