Chapter 6
Andreas stood in his apartment, the familiar creak of the worn wooden floorboards underfoot grounding him as the soft morning light filtered through the blinds. The warm sunlight barely cut through the haze that hung over the room, making the damage on the cape in his hands even more apparent. His fingers traced the bullet holes, absurd in their chaotic, almost cartoonish pattern. He tilted the fabric slightly, catching the way the light accentuated each tear, each reminder of the danger he had barely escaped the night before. It was 9 AM, but his body still felt the exhaustion of the reckless night that had unfolded.
Around him, the apartment was as cluttered as ever, though not in disarray. Posters from his younger years lined the walls, their edges curling from age and neglect. The guitar he hadn’t touched in months sat in the corner, gathering dust next to a stack of books he'd been meaning to read. His brother’s sword, a personal gift from Andreas after his first fencing tournament, lay nearby, propped against the desk in its scabbard. He hadn’t planned to use it, but when the situation turned dangerous, it had been the nearest weapon.
The desk was cluttered with a few stray bottles of liquor—two, maybe three—a significant reduction from the days when those bottles had outnumbered his resolve. His bike keys lay beside them, discarded hastily when he stumbled in the night before. Despite the soft sunlight, the room felt oppressive, as though the weight of his double life was pressing in from every corner. His mom’s voice on the phone, warm but concerned, broke through his thoughts. “You alright, mijo? Did you take the bike again?”
Andreas shifted his weight, his muscles still heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. “Yeah, I took the bike,” he said, his voice casual, though he knew his mother could always sense when something wasn’t quite right. He glanced at the keys on the desk, the same ones he had kept close ever since he and his dad built the bike together when he was just 14. Every time the engine rumbled to life, it took him back to those long afternoons in the garage, the scent of grease and oil heavy in the air, his dad’s steady hands guiding him through the process. The bike had become more than just transportation—it was a connection to his father, a piece of his past that roared to life every time he took it out. His mom’s voice crackled lightly through the phone, her tone softening with a familiar hint of teasing. “Unless it was for a girl? You wouldn’t lie to me about that, would you?” She always knew how to slip a joke into her concern, a balance that somehow kept him grounded. Andreas let out a quiet chuckle, the sound a little rough from fatigue. “No, it wasn’t a girl,” he replied, his eyes drifting to the desk where the car keys rested too, a reminder of the car he had built with Roberto when his brother was 16. That had been a project full of laughter and late nights, but now, like everything else, the memories felt heavier. A girl would’ve been easier to explain than the life he was living now.
His gaze flicked back to the car keys, resting casually beside the desk. Memories of long nights in the garage with Roberto flashed through his mind, the sound of laughter and the clinking of tools filling the space. Building that car had been one of their last projects together, something simple, something they could control. Now, every time he saw those keys, the weight of those memories came back, pulling him between the past and the life he was living now—one Roberto would never have imagined.
He shifted back to the present as his mom’s voice carried through the phone, pulling him from his thoughts. “What’s with the cape, mijo? Why are you using it again?” She was sharp, always picking up on details. Andreas ran his hand over the bullet-riddled fabric, the holes a physical reminder of just how close things had gotten last night. “A client invited me to a Halloween party this weekend,” he explained, keeping his tone casual. “I needed something quick, so I grabbed the Zorro costume.” He could hear her exhale on the other end, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, the kind that told Andreas his mom wasn’t quite finished with her questions. “And the sword? Why would you need that for a party?” Her tone was curious but laced with that unmistakable maternal suspicion. Andreas let out a slow breath, glancing across the room where the sword rested in its scabbard. He could feel the weight of it even from here. Roberto’s sword—meant to be a gift, something to be admired, not used. Last night, it hadn’t been a decoration; it had been a lifeline. “It’s part of the look,” he answered smoothly, even as his fingers curled tighter around the cape. “You know how these things go, right? The costume wouldn’t be complete without it.”
He could almost hear the gears turning in her head on the other end, but he knew she wouldn’t push further, not now. Still, he could feel the tension tugging at him. The sword was more than a prop, and he knew it. It had been his brother’s, something tied to a past that felt more distant with every passing year, yet somehow closer whenever he held it in his hands.
Andreas could tell his mom wasn’t entirely convinced, but she let it go, the silence between them hanging for a moment before she spoke again, her tone softer. “Just… be careful, mijo. You’ve got too much riding on those late-night adventures.” She didn’t know the half of it, of course. In her mind, he was still just her son—working his cases by day, occasionally getting into trouble by night. If she knew the full extent of what he was doing, what he was risking, that concern in her voice would become something heavier, something harder to shake.
He looked down at the cape in his hands again, the absurd bullet holes still glaring back at him, mocking the danger he had somehow avoided. He wondered, briefly, how long he could keep pulling this off. “I will,” he said, his voice steady but tired. He’d been dodging bullets and lies for long enough to make it sound convincing. “I’ll be careful.” But as he said the words, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the promise.
The call ended with a soft click, and the silence of the apartment settled in around him. Andreas tossed the phone onto the desk and stood there for a moment, staring at the cape draped over the back of the chair. His mom’s words still echoed in his head—be careful. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the exhaustion clinging to him, a reminder of the long night that had barely ended. He turned away from the cape and headed for the kitchen, reaching for the half-empty bottle of liquor sitting on the counter. It wasn’t much, just enough to take the edge off the morning. As he poured himself a drink, the familiar creak of the old wooden floorboards was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.
Andreas paused, glass in hand, and looked toward the door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone this early, but the knock came again, more insistent this time. He sighed, setting the glass down, and made his way to the door. When he pulled it open, there was Xavier, sitting in his wheelchair with a grin on his face. “Zorro, huh?” Xavier said, rolling himself inside with ease.
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Andreas leaned against the doorframe for a moment, crossing his arms as he watched Xavier roll himself into the room with a knowing grin. “What gave it away?” Andreas asked, though he already knew the answer. Xavier’s sharp eyes had probably spotted the cape before the door was fully open. Xavier wheeled himself toward the desk, his gaze quickly locking onto the bullet-riddled fabric draped across the chair. Without waiting for an invitation, he picked up the cape, holding it up to the light. His eyes widened, and then the laugh came—a deep, genuine laugh that echoed through the room.
“Luck? My ass, that’s divine intervention, Holmes!” Xavier said between chuckles, shaking his head as he inspected the chaotic pattern of bullet holes. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. How are you still standing after this?”Xavier’s laughter finally faded, though the grin stayed firmly in place as he lowered the cape back onto the chair. He wheeled himself around to face Andreas, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You know, hermano, I’ve had trackers on your bike and car for years now. Don’t look so surprised. This is a high-theft area, remember? It’s not like I don’t trust you, but I’d rather not see them disappear.” He gave Andreas a mock-serious look before continuing. “But here’s the kicker. I’m watching the news this morning, and there it is—a guy with a big ‘Z’ carved into his ass. The anchor almost lost it, trying to hold it together on air.”
Xavier leaned back in his chair, still smirking. “Naturally, I checked the tracker history right after that. Sure enough, I saw where the bike had been last night. And here we are—somehow, that ‘Z’ didn’t just give you away, but it practically broadcasted your whole night on the news. You’re really making it hard for me to pretend you’re living a quiet life these days.”
Andreas couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back against the desk. “I guess subtlety isn’t my strong suit,” he said, running a hand over his face. The reality of it all was sinking in now. There wasn’t any hiding what he’d done last night, at least not from Xavier. But if anyone else had put two and two together, things would’ve been much worse. “Thanks for checking up on me, though,” he added, his tone softening. He glanced at the cape and the absurd bullet holes, then back to Xavier. “I’m going to need more than luck if I keep doing this.”
Xavier’s grin faded slightly, his gaze sharpening as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, hermano, you’re not invincible. We both know that. And that cape of yours? It’s seen better days.” He gestured to the bullet holes with a knowing smirk. “You need more than a mask and a sword to survive out there.”
Andreas nodded, his eyes lingering on the cape, the bullet holes serving as a brutal reminder of how close things had come. He knew Xavier was right—just wearing the mask and wielding his brother’s sword wasn’t enough. Not anymore. “You’re not wrong,” Andreas admitted, his voice lower now, as if saying it out loud made it more real. He pushed himself off the desk and grabbed the cape, feeling the worn fabric between his fingers. “But I didn’t exactly plan for things to get this messy last night.” He tossed the cape onto the chair, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier than before.
Xavier leaned forward in his wheelchair, his expression softening but still serious. “You don’t have to do it all alone, you know. I’m here. We’ll figure this out together.” His tone was lighter now, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice. Xavier wasn’t going to let him face this on his own.
Andreas raised an eyebrow, still not entirely sure where he stood with all of this. “Who says this is going to be more than a one-time thing?” he said, though even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure he believed them. Last night had been a blur of adrenaline and instinct, and part of him wanted to pretend it was just that—a one-off, something he wouldn’t have to face again. But the other part of him, the part that had grabbed his brother’s sword without thinking, knew better.
Xavier wheeled himself closer, his expression sharpening. “Come on, man. You really think this is just a one-time deal? You’re already in it. You put that mask on, you made a choice—whether you realize it or not. So, what’s it going to be? You gonna walk away, or are you going to do this right?” His tone was steady but firm, pushing Andreas toward a decision he wasn’t sure he was ready to make.
Andreas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, running a hand through his hair as he finally spoke the truth. “It felt... right, you know? Like more than just luck or adrenaline. I didn’t think; I just moved. And some of the things I did... I have no idea how.” He glanced down at his hands, remembering the way he’d swung the sword last night, the instinct that had kicked in like it was second nature. “It wasn’t just about wearing the mask. It felt like I was meant to do it, like something inside me just knew.”
He looked up at Xavier, unsure how much to admit even now, but there was no point in lying. “It’s hard to explain, but it felt... unnaturally right, like I’ve been doing this my whole life. I don’t know what that means yet, but I can’t shake it.”
Xavier leaned forward, grabbing the Zorro hat from the desk and spinning it in his hands with a thoughtful look. “So, you’re telling me it felt natural? Then maybe you don’t need to overthink it right now.” He placed the hat on Andreas’ head with a smirk. “Treat it like an odd job for now. See where it takes you. Doesn’t have to be a whole life-altering decision today. You keep doing what feels right, and if that means putting on the mask again, then so be it.”
He wheeled himself back, crossing his arms as if the matter had already been settled. “You don’t have to decide everything in one go. Just handle it like you handle anything else—one job at a time.”Xavier picked up the hat again, turning it over in his hands with a mischievous grin. “You know,” he began, inspecting the brim, “I could make this thing like Oddjob’s from 007. Give you a little extra something to work with. Just toss it, and boom—knocks out a few guys before you even pull out the sword.” He chuckled, tossing the hat lightly back to Andreas. “What do you think? Might come in handy with the right upgrades.”
Andreas caught the whip, the weight of it familiar in his hands. He turned it over, considering Xavier’s idea with a growing sense of practicality. “A grappling hook, huh? That would’ve come in handy last night,” he admitted, thinking back to the moments where he’d needed a quick escape. The whip had always been part of his past, but now it seemed like it could have a future too. “And the interchangeable heads? I like it. Makes sense, gives me options.” He gave the whip a test crack, the sharp sound filling the room. “Alright, let’s do it. Let’s make this thing work.”
Xavier didn’t waste any time. He grabbed the whip, cape, and hat, shoving them into a paper bag he’d pulled from the side of his wheelchair. “I’ll take these and get started,” he said casually, his eyes flicking to the remaining gear. His gaze settled on the mask and the sword. Without a word, he reached for the mask and tossed it into the bag, then grabbed the sword with one hand, balancing it on his lap. “Might as well take the whole set,” Xavier added with a grin. “We’ll make sure you’re ready for whatever comes next.”
As Xavier rolled out the door, Andreas followed him to the curb where a modified VW van was parked. The van had been customized so Xavier could drive it, and Andreas couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. Carlos must have taken the Charger today, leaving Xavier with the van. Andreas paused for a moment, watching Xavier load everything inside. A thought crossed his mind—he should probably get a daily driver. It was one thing to ride the bike for fun, but putting it back on the road legally now? That would look pretty dumb, given everything that had happened last night. A low chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. Maybe it was time to grow up—at least a little.