‘I don’t care.’

That’s what I’d tell you if you froze time to ask me how I felt about the knife flying towards my throat. I really didn’t care. If I died, I died. If I didn’t, I didn’t. I wasn’t in a panic, I wasn’t in shock, and I wasn’t high off an adrenaline rush.

A long time ago I might have cared. But back then I cared about a lot of things, no, too many things- about being in pain, about not dying, about protecting the right people, and about trying to forget the wrong people.

Nowadays, my biggest ‘care’ was usually whether I made it home before curfew.

I pivoted on one foot and grabbed the attacker’s wrist, securing the knife, while also wrapping my arm around the attacker’s throat. She gasped, struggling to break free of my grip.

In the doorway, a boy aimed his pistol at us, and I turned the girl towards him, using her as a human shield. I twisted her arm so it was behind her back and crouched down a bit to ensure my head wasn’t exposed.

“Well?” I taunted. “Are you going to take the shot?”

The boy’s gun trembled as the girl’s face turned bright red. Then, instead of pointing it towards us, he decided to point it towards Isla, who froze, raising her hands in the air.

“L-let her go, or your friend gets it,” he squeaked nervously.

I shoved the girl forwards and kicked her towards the boy for extra power. They slammed into each other and fell with synchronized yelps.

“Honestly.” I sighed, walking inside the house and taking the gun out of the boy’s hand. “Didn’t I tell you guys we’re not doing this when we have guests over?”

Isla unfroze, looking utterly confused. “Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on here?”

The kids sat up, groaning, but more in annoyance than pain. I scratched the back of my head and gestured towards them. “Isla, these are my baby siblings, Ramona and Ken.”

“Don’t seem like babies to me,” Isla observed.

Ramona stared at her, then looked at me solemnly. “She’s way out of your league.”

I grabbed my sister's ear and yanked it as she protested loudly. “This one is a freshman. She just started at Northeast. Ken’s in sixth grade, but he’s a little-”

As if on cue, my brother stood up and darted behind me, peeking out from behind my leg. I smiled and ruffled his brown hair. “He’s a little shy at first around strangers,” I continued. “Just give him a little time to warm up to you.”

“...Right,” Isla said. “I was more asking about the fact that it looked like they were trying to kill you.”

Ramona pulled away from me, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. “We were.”

“It’s, uh, a practice thing I do with them,” I explained awkwardly. “The knife is real, but this is just a BB gun.” I took out the magazine to show Isla, but she wasn’t interested- she was looking back and forth between me and the kids. I think she was slowly realizing we didn’t look anything alike, especially in our eyes. My eyes were a very dark brown, while the kids and Mom had lighter coloured eyes.

“Are you gonna just stand there, or are you going to come inside?” Ramona asked sharply, crossing her arms.

I karate-chopped the top of her head as Isla stepped inside, taking off her shoes. “Be nice,” I warned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said. She ran to the nearby steps and ran off upstairs, the door to her room slamming shut.

“Well… you two should get along very well,” I joked.

Isla rolled her eyes.

The Collins’ house was nice- not gigantic like Sophia’s mansion, but not so small it felt cramped. It was filled with modern furniture and decorations, and the appliances were fairly modern, which made sense considering Michael’s mother was a doctor.

As they made their way to the living room, Isla spotted a family photo, the three kids front and center, while Dr. Collins and her husband stood in the back. “Is your dad also here?”

“Oh, he passed away a few years ago,” Michael lied nonchalantly. If Isla hadn’t been paying attention to the tone of his voice, she would have believed him.

Ken, clearly not amused, pinched Michael.

“Ow, ow. Okay, sorry. He’s on a trip to London,” Michael admitted. “One of his best friends from high school is getting married.”

Isla smiled at Ken. “Good job.”

The kid looked away, but he had a smile on his face.

“Don’t encourage him,” Michael complained.

They reached the living room and Michael gestured to the sofa, then told Ken to go upstairs to his room. The kid took off like a lightning bolt as Isla stiffly sat down on the sofa, looking around curiously for more things of interest.

“You want juice or something?” Michael offered. He winced as he hobbled over to the fridge, pulling out a carton.

“I-it’s fine,” Isla stammered. She wondered if he’d forgotten about her sudden angry rant in the restaurant, or if he was pretending to be okay. It surprised her that she couldn’t tell. “I think we should take a look at your leg.”

He waved her off. “I’ll look at it myself later. And just- take the juice. My mom would kill me if I didn’t serve you anything.”

After acquiring a glass of orange juice, Isla heard the front door close and Dr. Collins sighed heavily, as if she’d just been through a major ordeal. She walked into the kitchen and mustered up a faint smile, but Isla could tell whatever had happened next door had drained her emotionally and physically.

Michael also looked concerned, but Isla caught a glimpse of a silent conversation between mother and son.

“Okay, well…” Dr. Collins plopped down on the couch besides Isla, one leg over the other. “We can have a serious conversation tomorrow morning, before the kids wake up. Dinner will be ready soon, so let’s eat quickly and you can hop in the shower. Michael will give you a spare towel, and I’m sure Ramona could spare some of her clothes-”

“They won’t fit her,” Michael interrupted. “She can wear one of my old shirts and shorts.”

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Collins dismissed. “If it doesn’t fit her, we can try my clothes, or I’ll go see if I can buy something really quick.”

“Nothing’s going to be open this late,” Michael argued. “Let’s just…

They decided that Isla would wear a mix of Michael’s shirt and Ramona’s PJs, and a ding! could be heard as the oven’s timer went off, signaling dinnertime.

The lasagna was good, but Isla felt strange sitting at the dinner table. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten dinner with so many people, especially a family as lively as the Collins family. They each took turns telling each other about their day, though Michael took the liberty of leaving out the specifics of what happened in his evening, describing it as him and Isla ‘hanging out.’

After taking a long, hot shower, Isla wiped the bathroom’s foggy mirror with her hand and stared at herself. Her body was covered all over in cuts and bruises. Michael had wrapped her sprained ankle in a bandage. Her eyes didn’t even look the same as they had this morning- she’d woken up determined and confident, ready to tell the reporter everything she knew.

Oh, god. The reporter. And everyone in that restaurant. It was her fault. They’d all died because of how stupid she’d been. They came into the restaurant and they’d killed so many people and it was all her-

Her fist slammed into the mirror, shattering it. The glass sliced her hand up, but the anger coursing through her wouldn’t let her feel it.

When she put on her clothes and exited the bathroom, Michael was standing against the wall. He glanced at Isla’s bleeding hand with a blank expression.

“Sorry,” Isla muttered. “I’ll, um, pay for it.”

“You’re technically broke, after today.”

“I’ll… I’ll get a part time job.”

“Don’t worry about it. Not like it’s the first time that mirror’s been broken.” He gestured for her to follow, and they set off down the hall towards Michael’s bedroom.

It was messy- books, stray papers, and clothes strewn all around. Isla recognized some of the posters that hung on his walls- comic series that Sophia had spent hours gushing to Isla about, though Isla herself had never fully understood the appeal.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“Sit on the bed,” Michael instructed.

Isla reluctantly listened, still looking around.

At least the room wasn’t dirty- there wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt, and it smelled kind of good, actually. Isla would’ve opted to sleep on the couch otherwise.

She watched as Michael went over to his desk and began to rummage through its drawers. Her gaze was drawn upwards as she noticed that on the desk’s surface, besides the PC and two large monitors, were pill bottles- a lot of pill bottles, all prescribed by Dr. S. Collins.

Michael pulled out a first aid kit, pulled a chair and trash can away from his desk, and sat down in front of her, the trash can at their feet. He began taking out pieces of glass using a pair of tweezers. His hair was no longer tied up in a ponytail, and ran loose just above his shoulders. Thick stubble was visible on his sharp chin. His dark brown eyes, baggy from sleep deprivation, were focused on the task at hand.

Isla looked away, suddenly feeling self conscious.

“Seems like you’re used to doing this,” Isla commented.

“Like I said, that’s not the first time that mirror’s been broken.” He took out the last shard of glass and began to disinfect Isla’s hand. She spat out a few curses, and Michael snorted in laughter. When she glared at him, he raised his hands in surrender. “My bad.”

After wrapping her hand in gauze, Michael put everything back the way it was and grabbed the handle of the door. “Well, goodnight.”

“Wait.” Isla took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For what I said in the restaurant. I got angry out of nowhere.”

Michael paused, then took his hand off the handle and turned around. “No, you’re not.”

“...You know what, you’re right, I’m not,” Isla muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I take it back. Not sure why I even wanted to apologize to a jerk like you.”

“No, I mean- ugh,” Michael groaned. “It’s not that I don’t think you feel bad, but you meant what you said. You might have been pissed at the time, but from your perspective, it’s not like you actually said anything that wasn’t true. So don’t apologize. I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Isla shook her head. “But I still took it way too far. I never think things through before losing my shit.”

“Yup. You also didn’t think about the fact that you actually wanted me to stay,” Michael added. “Because you were scared of being alone.”

Isla looked away, feeling pathetic. Her hands, resting on her knees, were clenched into fists. He hadn’t even said it with an ounce of doubt. “Yeah, whatever. You really can read me like a book, huh?”

She felt the mattress sink into the frame as he sat down besides her.

“I was lying about that.” She felt him moving around besides her.

Isla frowned, turning to look at him. “No you weren’t- gah!” She yanked her gaze away, flustered. “Why the hell are you stripping here?!”

“You’re right. I should go to Fickster Street and make some extra cash.” He finished taking off his shirt. “Though I’m not sure they’d find this hot.”

Slowly, Isla turned back towards him, peeking through her fingers. Her eyes widened.

His entire torso, from his shoulders to his hips, were covered in grotesque scars, some large, some small. Some from cuts, some from burns, some from what looked like gunshot wounds. There were so many of them that it made Isla’s head spin. What made it even worse was that none of the scars came close to his arms or neck- as if the person who’d inflicted them had been trying to hide them from the world.

“Are… are those all real?” She didn’t know why she was whispering.

“Every single one.” Michael turned, staring out his window at the night sky. “I don’t know you, but I do know myself. There was a time I didn’t want to be alone, either.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice.” He shrugged. “Eventually, the only thing I wanted was to be left alone. But that doesn’t really work out, either. As annoying as it is, everybody needs somebody in their life. And sometimes…” Michael gave her a meaningful look. “We need to rely on them as much as they rely on us.”

Isla scooted back on the bed until her back was against the wall, hugging her knees. She felt the bed shift as Michael put his shirt back on. “You know what, forget it. I’ll let you sleep-”

“Sophia’s never relied on me in her life,” Isla mumbled. “I’m just the one who takes from her. Every time. Expensive gifts, tasty food, amazing advice. Hell, I’ve even taken a piece of her reputation. People only started treating me like a normal person after she started talking to me. I used to talk so much shit about the people around her, but…” Isla gritted her teeth. “I’m just like them. I’m a fucking leech, and she knows it.”

Silence. Then…

“Isla, look at me.”

When Isla looked up at Michael, she’d expected a more sympathetic expression. Instead, what stared back at her was an expression that read, Are you an absolute fucking idiot?

“I’m going to break your nose,” Isla promised, glaring at him.

“You’re literally her best friend, but you don’t get Sophia at all,” Michael determined. “First of all, I guarantee you she’s never thought of it like that, not even once. We’re talking about the same girl who once apologized for saying ‘dammit’ because she thought it would offend people. She’s probably more worried that she stressed you out if anything. Second of all, Sophia doesn’t like being friends with people who are fake. Why do you think she’s so popular but has such a small circle? And third…” Michael frowned. “Honestly, I thought I’d have a third point by now, but whatever. The overall point is that you’re being stupid.”

“You don’t know any of that,” Isla protested. “You weren’t even friends with Sophia for that long from what I remember.” Regardless, she did feel like his explanations made sense, and that made her feel maybe... the tiniest smidge better. But only the tiniest of the tiniest smidges.

“Oh, yeah? Bet I know her ten times better than you,” Michael challenged.

Isla scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

He scooted back on the bed so he was also leaning against the wall, and pointed to one of the posters on his wall. “Okay, who’s her favourite character from that series, then?”

“Wha- comics don’t count!” Isla protested.

“So her favourite hobby doesn’t count? My bad, I guess.”

“You’re both nerds! Of course you’d know her comic stuff. Okay, how about when…”

They spent the night bickering, talking, and laughing about all sorts of things, from Sophia to their favourite foods to high school rumours. As the sun began peeking over the horizon, a soft golden light began to stream into the bedroom. Isla was in the middle of a rant about the cafeteria’s idiotically overpriced food when she began hearing soft, rhythmic breathing from besides her. She glanced over to see Michael passed out besides her. Slowly, he slid down the wall until his head landed on her shoulder.

Normally, Isla would have immediately pulled away, but she was exhausted.

As annoying as it is, everybody needs somebody in their life.

“This is your fault, dumbass,” Isla murmured sleepily.

She leaned her head against his and closed her eyes.

----------------------------------------

In another part of the city, Vincent stared at the floor, kneeling before a terrifying presence- an angry Jin Ikari, who stared at him icily as he recounted Vincent’s explanation of what had happened in the alleyway.

“There were seven of you with knives,” Jin repeated. “And you still lost to an injured, unarmed, lone girl.”

“It won’t happen again,” Vincent promised, but his voice was shaking. “I’ll skip school and spend the day looking for her-”

Jin grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up so that they were face to face. Looking straight into Jin’s eyes made Vincent shiver.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Jin hissed. “Did you cut some sort of deal with her? Or did you betray me for that other bastard- ugh, what’s that terrible nickname you recruits gave him?”

“The Puppetmaster.”

Jin released Vincent and whipped around, glaring into the darkness. From the connecting hallway, a young man in an Italian suit and heavy pierced ears appeared, his hands in his pockets and a small smile on his face.

“I personally like it,” the young man claimed. He walked towards Jin, playing with the rings he wore on his fingers. “It suits my philosophy. But forget that; do you have any time to be worrying about me?” He laughed. “The boss is furious with you. Who knows how much she’s told the police about our operations? Even if you manage to bring her in now, all I’d need to do is whisper a few words in the right ears…”

Jin reached out to grab the Puppetmaster’s collar, but he ducked under his grab and positioned himself behind Vincent, putting his hands on the kid’s shoulders.

“You…” Jin growled. “I should have known better. I thought the boss was going crazy when he made someone as young as you are an executive.”

“Cranky old men with outdated ideals aren’t going to move this organization forward, and the boss recognizes that,” the Puppetmaster said. “It’s time to make space for the people who’ll actually get things done.” He looked down at Vincent. “Right?”

Vincent nodded slowly, feeling a little bit more at ease.

“See?” The young executive beamed, patting him on one shoulder. “Even this kid knows. From here on out, he’s part of my crew. I’m poaching him.”

“Take him, I don’t care,” Jin snapped. “Just stay the fuck out of my business. And if you dare to breathe a word about me to the other executives-”

“You’ll what?” The Puppetmaster’s smile turned sinister. “You can’t even find your traitor of a daughter on your own. Even if I don’t pull some strings… well.” The Puppetmaster shrugged. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Jin roared and lunged forwards, but the Puppetmaster didn’t even flinch, though Vincent nearly had a heart attack. Jin froze an inch away from the Puppetmaster, angrily breathing through gritted teeth. He knew the consequences of attacking an executive, and clearly, so did the Puppetmaster.

“So predictable it’s almost boring.” With a sigh, the Puppetmaster brought Vincent to his feet. “Well, we’ll be going now. Oh, and…” His smile returned. “If you ever want to actually find Isla, give me a call. I might be able to locate her.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you share this earlier?”

“Because if you want something done right… it’s not going to be cheap.” The young man’s smile stretched into a grin. “I’m looking forwards to seeing what you offer me in return, ‘Mad Dog.’”

With that, the Puppetmaster and Vincent left, but Jin Ikari didn’t feel defeated. He hadn’t lost yet. Even with no information as to where Isla was, it was likely she was still in the city. And that meant he had one more card he could play.

He gritted his teeth and pulled out his cell phone, looking through his contacts for a specific number. As the phone rang, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it.

“...State your business.”

“I’d like to open a new contract.” Jin blew out the smoke from his mouth. “Isla Ikari. Information for ten thousand dollars. And delivered to me, alive... one hundred thousand dollars.”