Palmborough. 8:17 am.
26 Benny St.
Antonio slouched on the couch in his dark, secluded apartment. Every blind was shut tight; the only light came from the burner phone in his hand—its screen casted a cold glow across his face. He stared at the contact's name, KOJO. Not a friend nor an ally. A last resort. He inhaled sharply. "The kind of number that ruins a man… or turns him into something else." Antonio muttered. His thumb hesitated—then he pressed call. the line rang once, twice, then… "Aye, Antonio Gonzalez." Kojo's voice echoed through the speaker. "Kojo, long time." Antonio greeted. "Yes… a long time indeed." Kojo replied. "So why the call all of a sudden? Not that I need to guess or anything… But you're probably up to no good again."
"Well… I do need your help." Antonio said. For a moment, the line was still. Then Kojo's malicious laugh sounded through the phone. "No, you don't." Kojo said. "What you need is Jesus—because for you to call me at this hour, you're clearly up to no good. Again." Antonio's hand rubbed through his hair of frustration. "It's… really bad, Kojo. I—I'm in a corner, and I need ten million." he admitted. Silence stretched across the line. Then Kojo laughed so loud, Antonio had to pull the phone away from his ear. "Ten million?!" Kojo cackled. "Bro… that's not 'help'—that's resurrection." he added. "Kojo… I wouldn't ask if I had a plan, you're my only hope right now—and remember you owe me." Antonio replied. "You wouldn't ask if you had pride." Kojo said. "But pride won't save your stupidity, right? So… what happened?"
Antonio didn't answer. He couldn't answer. the faint click of a lighter echoed through the line. "Fine. Don't talk—just listen." Kojo said. "There's a way." he continued, "Dirty as hell. Loud. Stupid. Entertaining. The kinda thing your father was interested in."
Desperation edged Antonio's voice "What is it?" he asked. "Ever heard of the Golden Dice Royale?" Kojo asked. Antonio frowned, a hint of confusion and curiosity—crossed his face. "No, shit sounds like a setup… but I'm listening.", Antonio said. "Oh—but it's legit, it's underground, it's Kayland. Buy in two million bucks, the winning pot ranges anywhere from ten to thirty million. One night. One room. One table." Kojo said—his voice smooth and confident. Antonio froze. His eyes shot wide "Kojo, where am I supposed to get two million just to buy in?" Antonio asked. "Oh, don't worry." Kojo said. "I'll cover your buy-in." Antonio blinked. "Why? what's the catch?" he asked, his voice edged with suspicion. "Catch is—if you lose… you owe me." Kojo said, "And if you win? You cover your debt and I get twenty percent." Antonio swallowed hard, "And if the other players find out you rigged my buy in?" he asked.
Kojo scoffed softly. "Toni, if the other players find out anything, we're already dead. Everyone in that room is dangerous… politicians' sons, musicians, drug lords… guys with bodyguards who've got bodyguards." Antonio let out a desperate sigh, "Okay, I'm interested. What's the game?" he asked. "Dice." Kojo said, "Loud dice. Violent dice—the kind that make a grown man scream."
Kojo coughed. "But I warn you… the event gets insane. Cheating is normal. Fights break out every round. Everyone thinks you're a nobody… until you roll something crazy." Antonio nodded slowly. "And you're sure I can win?" he asked. "Nope." Kojo replied honestly. "But if you can replicate you father's hands… you've got a slim shot." Antonio looked up at his ceiling.
"Alright. When?" he asked. "Tonight." Kojo said. "Kayland. Basement under the old fire station. Dress clean. Don't talk. Don't joke. And don't look anyone in the eyes for too long."
"Hey, I know…I'm not a little kid anymore. What about you? You'll be there?" he asked. "I'll be in the back. Watching." Kojo said. "Oh, and Antonio. Once you step inside, you're not in San El Zorro anymore. You're in my kingdom. Your father and I go a long way, may God rest his soul, I've known you for years now, and the world you're about to step in—is the same world your father wanted to leave. I got nothing but respect for you and your father, but I can't guarantee safety. You ready for that?" Antonio closed his eyes for a beat. "I don't have a choice." he said. Kojo chortled. "That's what makes it fun." Then suddenly 'click' the line went dead. Antonio sat in silence; the distant hum of cars drifted through the streets. Twelve hours. Twelve hours to prepare before he stepped into Kayland's wildest den—gambling his life to earn it back from Max.
Downtown San El Zorro. 8:45 am.
Justice Arcade—420 DuPont Rd.
Michael and Marcel stood tall in the crowded city bus as it stopped outside Justice Arcade. The massive complex sat along the busiest street in the district, towered by surrounded commercial buildings that plastered long shadows over the agile crowds below. The doors hissed open and the two hopped off the bus. Michael adjusted his earbuds, music pulsed faintly from them, while Marcel took a slow pull from his vape, the mist curled lazily into the morning air. "You ready to die?" Michael asked. Marcel coughed through a cloud of smoke. "Hell Nah… I should be asking you that." he said—as they headed for the entrance of Justice Arcade. Michael tittered. "Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?" he said with a crooked smirk. "It means I'm bout' to beat your ass son. Must I remind you—I've never lost at laser tag." Marcel said. They walked through the sliding doors and into the dimly lit domain of Justice Arcade. The place opened up like a neon universe. Basketball hoops flashed like giant adverts, motor and race games growled from every corner, and a bumper-car arena, big enough to fit a full basketball court—commanded the center of the floor. An ice rink shimmered beside it, frosted and glowed under cold blue lights.
They both walked down the main alley. "Once I'm done whipping your ass, let's come back her to try out a few games." Marcel said. Michael glanced at his phone. "Actually, I'd rather hit the casino on the second floor—maybe play a game of blackjack." he said. "Alright young boomer." Marcel said cracking out a laugh. They cut a left, headed down a wide hallway washed in neon signs and posters. Action-figure animations played across the TVs overhead; bright colors shone over the crowd. A few players went in and out of the entrance to 'Don-Don Tag' some still hyped, others argued about who cheated who. Marcel fumbled around in his pockets "You brought Zak' too, right?" he asked.
Michael fanned out a stack of notes. "Right here, broke boy." he said with a smirk. "Damn… why you got to flex like that?" Marcel asked as they reached the entrance, ready to buy tickets. They joined a short line, where a worker leaned casually against it, he looked like some kind of guru. "Morning. That'll be three hundred bucks." the man greeted in a lazy drawl. Marcel squinted his eyes "What's up, man? Your eyes look red." he asked. "Huh? They are? Never noticed. So, you paying or not? My boss hates it when I drag my feet." the man drawled.
"Yeah." Michael dropped some bills on the counter. "Yo… what's your name, man?" Marcel added. The man stuffed the cash into the register. "Yanoah." he replied. "Ya-Noah?" Marcel repeated. Yanoah handed them their gamer tags "Yeah, like that." he replied. "Go right down the hallway and take a left—you'll hit the playground. But before you get there, make sure to stop by the inventory room to gear up. You can customize your weapons and drip…pretty cool, right?" Yanoah said lazily. "Pretty extra, if you ask me." Michael said. "Wow, someone's fun at parties." Yanoah shot back. Marcel chuckled quietly. "Anyways… have a wonderful adventure, like Don Don!" Yanoah performed. Silence hung for a beat. "Don't ask—my boss says I have to 'set the mood.' otherwise I'm fired… Just… enjoy the session." he said. "Cool—no problem." Michael muttered. They slipped through the hallway, the fluorescent lights flickered above, as they strolled for the inventory room. "You're not ready for this, son." Marcel exaggerated, "Not even in your wildest dreams. After this, you gonna be calling me Papa." Michael responded, they entered the inventory room and fanned out, weapons hung along the walls, armor and helmets gleamed. Gunfire was moments away here—but elsewhere, another battle had already begun.
Revelation House of the Lord. 10:11 am
Crystal Avenue. Pinpoint Center.
Kathrine and Tokyo waited outside the church with Mila and Akira; they spoke with some of the neighborhood residents. Laughter and chatter drifted through the air as cars crowded the parking lot—some arrived, some left. Inside, the church was nearly empty. A pair of people knelt in prayer while, sisters moved briskly through the aisles, attended to their tasks, while the choir packed up their equipment on the stage. A lone man played the piano, that filled the building with solemn notes. Stephen sat in the confession booth; he stared at the tiny holes in the door as shafts of light cut through. His hands were clasped tightly in desperation. He prayed silently and mindfully. After a long moment, the door of the neighboring booth creaked open. Stephen ended his prayer with the sign of the Trinity, "Amen." he muttered. Slowly, the little window connecting the two booths began to slide open. "Good morning, my child." the priest greeted, his deep voice resonated through the quiet booth. "Good morning, Father." Stephen replied. "How are you feeling today, Stephen?" The priest asked. "To be honest… I don't know, Father." Stephen whispered. "Speak from your heart, my child, He already understands." the priest said, "Our Father who art in heaven heals those who seek Him."
"I seek forgiveness." Stephen murmured. "Seek no more." the priest responded, "Our Father has already forgiven thee." Stephen exhaled softly. "But… it doesn't feel like it." he admitted.
"It might not feel like it because you are not willing to give him a chance… don't lean on your own understanding— trust in Him, depend on Him face all your knowledge to Him, and He shall cleanse it." the priest stated, "Open yourself to Him. Let Him move through you, for we are made in His image, my child."
"Father, I wish to confess." Stephen murmured, the words echoed softly. "Speak freely—for He already knows what you've been longing for in your heart, my child." the priest said. "Do not leave your heart unheard. Let our Father feel it with you, for only His glory shall prevail."
"I feel like I don't belong… not where I'm supposed to be." Stephen confessed, "And yet… a sudden rush of excitement stirs within me. It's like being lost, but the lamp of my heart burns with a flame I know too well."
"What you're feeling." the priest began, "is an indecisive tug between conflicting emotions… a state of being stagnant, unsure which to long for. Think of it as heaven and hell; one, a spiritual reunion—a feeling beyond the understanding of mere emotions; and two, the craving for more. The flesh is a man's weakness. It desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit longs for what is contrary to the flesh." Stephen remained still, the silence suffocated around him as he listened intently. "But those who live in the flesh cannot please God." the priest continued. "The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind guided by the Holy Spirit is everlasting life and peace." He paused, "Repent… and serve, my child."
"Thank you, Father." Stephen replied, his voice quiet but heartfelt. "Let us pray." the priest said. "Heavenly Father, you gave us Your Son, the light of the world. Give me courage, give me strength to follow Him unconditionally, through trials and temptations. I want to walk with Him. I want to know Him personally. Let Jesus be the one thing I seek above all else. In Jesus' name, Amen." the priest murmured. "Amen." Stephen repeated. "His grace is enough, my child." the priest said. Stephen exhaled softly. "I am forever grateful. I think… I finally understand."
"Great my child." the priest replied. "Can we do this again next week?" Stephen asked, his voice hopeful. "You are welcome here anytime." the priest said gently. "Our Father's house is open to all… There's a saying 'come as you are'."
"Wonderful… thanks again Father, for the word." Stephen said, "You're welcome, my child." the priest waved him off, "Go forth with a blessed day." Stephen fixed his hair. "You too, Father." he murmured. "Goodbye, Father." he added as slowly left the booth. "Goodbye, my child." the priest said. Stephen lingered outside the confession booth, then he backed away. He descended the sloped staircase, Across the courtyard, he spotted his wife and children, their faces radiant. He went over to them. Katherine's gaze locked on to his "You feel better, honey?" she asked. Stephen's face lit up with a serene smile "Yeah." he replied. "Thank God… can we go home already? I'm hungry." Tokyo said, irritation clear in her tone. "Yes, let's go home." he said. They walked to the parking lot, side by side, a family whole once more—prayers answered and destinies quietly took shape.
Route 67. 10:27.
Grasslands.
The field stretched endlessly, far from San El Zorro—silent and empty. A black sedan sat abandoned—no road in sight. Max and Tyler faced two men; naked, potato sacks covered their heads as they trembled with fear. Two bodyguards dressed in maroon suits, stood nearby, sub machine guns trapped to their body. Max slid off the hood of the sedan, each step toward the terrified men echoed in the stillness of the grassland. Max let out a crooked laugh. "Idiots." he said, his finger rose slowly. A man in a maroon suit yanked the potato sack off one of the captives. Blood streaked his face, recent scars marred his skin, and one eye was gone. Max leveled his gaze at the terrified man, "Tell me… who is the syndicate?"
"I don't know—" BANG!
his words never finish. A sharp crack rang out, and the man's body went limp, blood seeping from a fatal wound in his forehead. Max's .45 Magnum held in his hand. The other man's scream tore through the empty grasslands. "OH GOD! PLEASE… SPARE ME!" He collapsed to his knees and shook uncontrollably; terror etched into every line of his face. Max's finger brushed the hammer of the Magnum, it snapped with a sharp, ominous sound. "I'll ask one more time." he said slowly. "Who is the syndicate?"
"I SWEAR! WE DON'T KNOW—" he shrieked. BANG!
A single shot cut him off. His body collapsed, slumped against the grass, he joined the lifeless corpse of his companion. Max tucked the Magnum back into his blazer with ease "Fuck… what a waste of time." he said. "Alright. Let's roll." The men hopped into the sedan behind Max. One man lingered with a shovel in his hand, he stood silently in the empty grasslands as the car drove off, only the dust and quiet left in its wake.