Palmborough. 8:17 am.
26 Benny St.
Antonio slouched on the couch in the dark. Every blind was shut tight; he stared at the contacts on his cellphone. "The kind of number that ruins a man… or turns him into something else." he said. He pressed call, the line rang, then… "Aye, Antonio Gonzalez." the man answered. "Kojo, long time." Antonio greeted. "Yes… a long time indeed. 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." Kojo assumed. "Well… I do need your help." Antonio said. Then Kojo's malicious laugh blasted through the phone. "No, you don't. What you need is Jesus—because for you to call me at this hour, you're clearly up to no good. Again." he said. "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 loudly. "Ten million?! Bro… that's not 'help'—that's resurrection." Kojo snickered. "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. But pride won't save your stupidity, right? So… what happened?" Kojo mocked. Antonio didn't answer. "Fine. Don't talk, just listen. There's a way. Dirty as hell. Loud. Stupid. Entertaining. The kinda thing your father was interested in." Kojo stated. "What is it?" he asked. "Ever heard of the Golden Dice Royale?" Kojo asked. "No, shit sounds like a setup… but I'm listening." Antonio said. "Oh—but it's legit, it's Kayland. Buy-in is about three hundred thousand; the winning pot ranges from two to thirty million, on a good night. One night. One room. One table." Kojo said. "Kojo, where am I supposed to get two million just to buy in?" Antonio asked. "Oh, don't worry. I'll cover your buy-in." he assured. "Why? What's the catch?" Antonio felt suspicious. "Catch is—if you lose… You owe me. And if you win? You cover your debt, and I get twenty percent." Kojo declared. "And if the other players find out you rigged my buy-in?" he asked.
Kojo scoffed. "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." he said. "Okay, I'm interested. What's the game about?" he asked. "Dice. Loud dice—the kind that make a grown man scream. But I do want to 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." Kojo said. "And you're sure I can win?" he asked. "Nope." Kojo replied honestly. "But if you can replicate your father's hands… you've got a slim shot."
"Alright. When?" he asked. "Tonight. In Kayland. The 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." Kojo informed. "Hey, I know…I'm not a little kid anymore. What about you? You'll be there?" Antonio asked. "I'll be watching. 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 into 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?" he said. "I don't have a choice." Antonio replied. "That's what makes it fun." Kojo chortled. Then, the line went dead. Antonio sat in silence.
Downtown San El Zorro. 8:45 am.
Justice Arcade—420 DuPont Rd.
Michael and Marcel stood tall in the crowded city bus, outside Justice Arcade. The massive complex sat along the busiest street in the district, towered by commercial buildings. The two hopped off the bus. Michael listened to music, and Marcel took a slow pull from his vape. "You ready to die?" Michael asked. "Hell Nah… I should be asking you that, bitch." he said—as they entered the Justice Arcade. "Oh? And what is that supposed to mean?" Michael tittered. "It means I'm bout' to beat your ass, son. Must I remind you—I've never lost at laser tag." Marcel claimed.
The place was like a neon universe. Basketball hoops flashed as giant adverts, motor and race games growled from every corner, while a bumper-car arena commanded the center of the floor. An ice rink shimmered beside it. They walked down the main alley. "Once I'm done whipping your ass, let's come back here to try out a few games." he said. "Actually, I'd rather hit the casino on the second floor—maybe play a game of blackjack." Michael replied. "Alright, young boomer." Marcel laughed. They cut left, headed down a wide hallway. Action-figure animations played across the TVs overhead. A few players went in and out of Don-Don Tag; some were still hyped, others argued about who cheated whom. Marcel fumbled around in his pockets. "Dang. You brought Zak', right?" he asked. Michael effortlessly fanned out a stack of notes. "Right here, broke boy." he smirked. "Damn… why you got to flex like that?" Marcel asked. They joined a short line. "Morning. That'll be three hundred bucks." the man drawled. "What's up, man? Your eyes look red as fuck." Marcel squinted his eyes. "Huh? They are? Never noticed. So, you paying or not? My boss hates it when I drag my feet." he drawled. "Yeah." Michael dropped bills on the counter. "Yo… what's your name, man?" Marcel asked. "Yanoah." he replied. "Ya-Noah?" Marcel repeated. Yanoah handed them their gamer tags. "Yeah, just like that. 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 drawled. "Pretty extra, if you ask me." Michael said. "Wow, someone's fun at parties." Yanoah mocked. "Anyways… have a wonderful adventure, like Don Don!" Yanoah performed. Silence hung for a moment. "Don't ask—my boss says I have to 'set the mood.' otherwise I'm fired… Just… enjoy the session." he drawled. "Cool—no problem." Michael murmured. Finally, they marched through the hallway. "You're not ready for this, son." Marcel exaggerated, "Not even in your wildest dreams. After this, you're gonna be calling me Papa." Michael responded, they entered the inventory room, weapons hung along the walls, armor and helmets gleamed.
Revelation House of the Lord. 10:11 am
Crystal Avenue. Pinpoint Center.
Kathrine and Tokyo waited outside the church with the kids as they spoke with some of the neighborhood residents. Inside, the church was empty. A pair of people knelt in prayer while sisters moved briskly through the aisles, and the choir packed up their equipment on the stage. A pianist played a few 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. Eventually, the neighboring booth creaked open. Stephen ended his prayer with the sign of the Trinity, "Amen." he muttered. Slowly, the little window slid open. "Good morning, my child." the priest greeted. "Good morning, Father." he 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. Our Father who art in heaven heals those who seek Him." the priest preached. "I seek forgiveness, Father." Stephen murmured. "Seek no more. For our Father had already forgiven thee." Stephen exhaled softly. "But… it doesn't feel like it, or rather I seek to forgive myself, knowing that impossible." 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, focus all your knowledge on Him, and He shall cleanse it. Open yourself to Him. Let Him move through you, for we are made in His image, my child." the priest preached. "Father, I wish to confess." Stephen murmured. "Speak freely—for He already knows what your true desire is in your heart, my child. Do not leave your heart unheard. Let our Father feel it with you, for only His glory shall prevail." the priest said. "I feel like I'm not supposed to be here. 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." Stephen confessed. "What you're feeling. 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." The silence suffocated around Stephen as he listened intently. "But those who live in the flesh cannot please God. The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind guided by the Holy Spirit is everlasting life and peace. Repent… and form a relationship with the word of God, my child." the priest advised.
"Thank you, Father." Stephen replied. "Let us pray." the priest said. "Heavenly Father, you gave us Your Son, the light of the world. Forgive us of our sins and give us the courage, give us the strength to follow Him unconditionally, through trials and temptations. We want to walk with Him, and we want to know Him personally, Lord. Let Jesus be the one thing I seek above all else. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen." The priest concluded. "Amen." Stephen repeated. "His mercy is more than enough, my child." the priest said. "I am forever grateful." Stephen said. "Great, my child." the priest replied. "Can we do this again next week?" Stephen asked. "You are welcome here anytime. Our Father's house is open to all… There's a saying 'come as you are'." the priest answered. "Thanks again Father, for the word." Stephen said, "You're welcome, my child. Go forth with a blessed day." The priest waved him off. "You too, Goodbye, Father." he murmured on his way out. "Goodbye, my child." the priest said. Stephen descended the sloped staircase. Across the courtyard, he saw his wife and children. He strolled to them. "You feel better, honey?" she asked. "Yeah." he smiled. "Thank God… can we go home already? I'm hungry." Tokyo moaned. "Yes, let's go home." he said. They walked to the parking lot, side by side, a family whole once more.
Route 67. 10:27.
Grasslands.
The field stretched endlessly, far outside San El Zorro. A black sedan was parked in the field. Two naked men, with potato sacks covering their heads, as they trembled in fear. Two bodyguards dressed in maroon suits stood with submachine guns strapped to their bodies. Max slid off the bonnet of the car; each step toward the terrified men echoed. "Idiots." he chuckled. 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 missing. "Tell me… Where is the pupil link?" Max asked "I don't know—" BANG! His words were cut short. The man's body went limp, and blood seeped from a fatal wound in his forehead. Max held his .45 Magnum in his hand. The other man's scream tore through the empty grasslands. "AH! OH, GOD! PLEASE… SPARE ME!" He collapsed to his knees and shook uncontrollably. Max's finger brushed the hammer of the Magnum. "I'll ask one more time." he said slowly. "Where is the pupil link?"
"I SWEAR! WE DON'T KNOW." he shrieked. BANG! His body collapsed, slumped against the lifeless corpse of his companion. Max tucked his Magnum back in his blazer."Fuck… what a fucking waste of time." he said. "Alright. Let's roll." The men hopped into the sedan behind Max. One man stayed with a shovel in his hand, and he began digging in the empty grasslands as the car drove off.