ROSALIA. 15 July 1996.
Twenty-five years earlier.
Rosalia was beautifully civilized but a very quiet breathing town, where sidewalks were rarely crowded and silence moved freely between streets. Known as the great city of northeast Europe, it sat at the epicenter of the land—balanced between heaven and hollow, like a drama mask frozen mid-expression. Buildings leaned into one another, most small and weathered, a few rose taller as if it dared the skyline. The city carried the faint echo of Vegas—its lights subdued. Miles from the city, high along the mountain ridges, four figures moved in silence—two men led while two boys trailed behind. The men wore some cultured attire, scarves cut through the uniformity like signatures. Behind them—the boys were shirtless, their cargo trousers hung low and safety boots caked with dirt. One cleaned his gun as he walked. The other idly played with a flip knife, he snapped it open then shut. Both boys had shaved heads. A burning star tattoo with a gun and eye symbol was inked across the chest of the boy with the gun. The other bore a ghost-shaped tattoo, with a brain and a double star symbol low on his back.
They descended into the canyon, the path narrowed as it split into dense forestry. No one spoke, only the sounds of boots trampled on rock, metal clicked softly in the boy's restless hands. Then—snap. The boy with the gun stepped into a bear trap. Before the jaws could close, the other boy lunged and—fast as lightning—tackled him sideways into the bush. They crashed hard into the undergrowth. "Zeon—stop." one of the men barked. He sighed, irritation thick in his voice. "Fucking kids. You were doing so good until just now." he complained. "Reagan." Zeon said, his eyes scanned ahead. "The town's just up ahead. Kepta and his boys are waiting for us. We can't stop now." The boy with the knife stood himself up. "You, okay?" he asked, as he reached a hand back into the bushes. "Yeah." the other groaned. "Thanks… I appreciate it, Steph."
"Don't worry about it." Stephen said, he flipped his knife open. "Let's keep moving, Max." Reagan stopped with his hands on his hips. "Ghost, son of Danny—we got an errand to run, you understand? and we need your skills. Pretty impressive a kid like you was able to beat the grand master." His gaze hardened. "So, don't waste your talent on tail that would just drag you. We're about to land a lump sum of cash, so you'd all better not fuck this up."
"The fuck are you talking about—" Max started. "Hey!" Zeon snapped. He drew his gun. But Stephen moved first—he threw it. The knife left his hand in a flash—metal struck metal. Zeon's gun flew from his grip, it skidded across the rocks. Stephen locked eyes with him. "Were you really about to shoot him?" he asked, Zeon pointed at him, fury burned in his eyes. "Stay out of this, brat. You lucky you were born into a certain family… otherwise—"
"Alright—enough." Reagan cut in sharply. "There's no need for that." He turned to Zeon. "Like you said, the town's close. Don't do anything that'll fuck this up." Then his attention snapped back to Stephen. "And you—Ghost. Behave. You nearly ruined the last job because you couldn't contain yourself." Reagan stepped up to Max, he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to like me." he said evenly. "But I'm the captain here. And what I say—goes. Capiche?" Max rolled his eyes. "Whatever." he said. Reagan checked his watch. "Alright." he said. "Let's move. Deadline's closing in." Then they resumed their march.
Merlin Dorp.
After fifteen minutes of hiking, they reached an informal settlement. Three cars sat on a gravel road, dust settled around their tires. Beyond them, mountains stretched endlessly into the horizon, the land torn open by distance. A few scattered buildings rooted to the earth. They crossed onto the road and marched to the cars. Zeon lit a cigarette while Reagan whistled a signal. Four men stepped out from the vehicles. "Wait here, kids." Reagan said, as he left—Zeon stayed behind. He met the men halfway. Words were exchanged—inaudible. Stephen watched Reagan hand over a small hard drive, in exchange the other man gave him an envelop. The deal was done. Reagan turned back… BANG! Max shot him in the head Instantaneously, Stephen moved on instinct. In one fluid motion, he disarmed a stunned Zeon, he swept his legs up and drove him into the dirt. The knife came down twice into Zeon's throat—then once more, straight through the eye. Max was already locked in. He dropped the man with the hard drive. Then—three clean shots driven through the three heads. All three men collapsed beside the cars. Stephen slipped along two vehicles, crouched low as he popped tires one by one. Rubber hissed. Five more men scrambled out. Too slow.
Stephen launched himself forward, he twisted mid-air. He locked one man's neck with his legs acrobatically while he grabbed another by the throat. Gunshots cracked—three of them. Stephen snapped the first man's neck with his legs and released, then he crushed the second man's windpipe with a precise strike. When he looked up, Max was already done. He sat casually on the hood of a car and smoke curled from the barrel of his gun, he watched Stephen finish the man off. Max sniffed the smoke from the barrel. "This is why the gun's better." he said. Stephen wiped his bloody hands against the dead man's jacket. Inside the pocket—an envelope. Jupiter's Creeper. He held it up. "You know what this means?"
"Nope." Max said. "And I don't care. As long as this hard drive gets us paid." They hopped into one of the cars. "What are you going to do about the hard drive?" Stephen asked. "I don't know—sell it on the black market." Max replied. "Sell it? Of course…" Stephen vociferated hopelessly, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, how about we take it back to Mellow Manor. Sasha is currently there—she could work out something for us." he said. "Fine Okay, but If this shit goes terribly wrong, I'll kill you myself." Max started. They both paused. "You know how to drive?" Stephen asked. Max blinked. "Sadly… no." Then—THUMP! A violent thud from the trunk, a tiny cry for help vaguely pierced through the car. Stephen and Max exchanged a look. "Trafficking?" Max muttered. They stepped out the car and went to the rear of the car. The banging grew louder and desperate, a silent scream trapped in metal. They stood there for a second. Then Max reached for the latch and pulled.
Once the trunk opened, a girl—roughly their age—sprang out. Her first move was a swift kick to Max's groin, she dropped him instantly to the gravel. She tried to flee, but Stephen was faster. He tackled her to the ground. Her scream pierced the evening. Stephen pressed a hand gently over her mouth. "Shh." he said. "It's okay… we're not going to hurt you." Max groaned from the floor, he clutched himself. "Yeah, say that for yourself." he muttered through clenched teeth. "This bitch just kicked my balls, son."
"¡Vete a la mierda, puta!" the girl spat back. "¡Cálmate! Cálmate!" Stephen urged. "Max, she's just scared, man. Walk it off."
"Man fuck this shit." Max grumbled, as he fished a cigarette from one of the bodies, then he lit it. Stephen eased back slightly, to give her space. "Hey… it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Just… tell me what happened here. Who are these guys? Where you came from?"
"Lo siento… no hablo inglés." she said, her voice trembled. Stephen exhaled slowly. "Do you know… who these men are?" he pointed at the corpse's on the gravel. "No hablo inglés." she repeated. "¿Qué ha pasado aquí?" he asked. "Sé que mi español no es bueno."
"Hombres malos." the girl said, her voice cracked. "Nos llevaron lejos de nuestro hogar… mi papá, mamá y Luis… todos me fueron arrebatados." Tears streaked her face. "You were separated from your familia?" he asked softly. "Sí." she whispered. "¿Cómo te llamas?" he asked, her gaze met his. "Adri… Adriana." she said. "Mucho gusto, Adriana." Stephen replied softly. Max wore one of the dead man's jacket. He tossed another to Stephen, but Stephen took it only to drape it over Adriana's shoulders instead. "Here." he said quietly. "You must be feeling cold." Adriana frowned, confused. "¿Qué?"
"We need to get her to a hospital." Stephen said. "Motherfucker, what?" Max snapped. "She's hurt." Stephen replied. "And not just physically."
"She's a god damn witness, you dumb twat." Max said. He nodded toward her. They both gazed at Adriana. She scanned her surroundings now—her eyes darted around and her body was rigid—until her eyes landed on the pile of bodies Max had dragged off the road. Her breath hitched. "We have to kill her, or—" Max began. "Nobody is killing anyone." Stephen cut in. Max scoffed. "Fucking Fine. I'll do it myself." He stepped closer to her. Stephen blocked his path immediately. "Ghost, move." Max warned "No." he replied. "Don't make me do this." Max said. Stephen's eyes locked on his. "Fine." Max muttered as he turned back. The second Stephen looked away, Max's hand snapped to his gun. Stephen reacted on instinct again. He kicked dirt into Max's eyes, rushed in and disarmed him, then he slammed his face—first into the gravel. The impact knocked the breath from Max's lungs. Adriana screamed. Max groaned, as he spat dust. "You're freakishly strong for a twelve-year-old." he complimented. "We're the same age." Stephen shot back. "And so is she." His voice hardened. "Since when did you get so cold-hearted?" Stephen asked. "Man, Fuck you." he cursed.Stephen twisted Max's wrist hard, a sharp crack dislocated his wrist. "AHHH!" Max screamed. "Listen." Stephen said as he pressed him down. "We're going back to Mellow Manor. We'll report everything we've seen. And we taking the girl with us." Stephen stated. "For what?" Max panted. "She's a fucking nobody. If she dies out here, nobody notices. Hell—nobody would even care." Stephen broke his index finger. "AHHH!—okay, okay!" Max begged.
"Taking her with us won't help." Max gasped. "Your father would just send her straight back here. Or worse—he'd kill her himself before you could save her." He laughed bitterly. "So tell me, genius… why bring her? And what magical plan do you have that won't involve all of us getting killed?" he asked. "I have a plan." Stephen said. "Oh yeah?" Max sneered. "And what plan is that?" Before Stephen could answer—Adriana ran. She bolted down the road, terror drove her legs as fast as they would go. "Fuck! Ghost—she's getting away!" Stephen was already in motion. He chased her down within seconds, he caught her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She screamed like she was being murdered—she thrashed, clawed and sobbed. "Hey!" Stephen shouted. "¡Cálmate! ¡Está bien!" She didn't stop. Max rushed up. "Shut the fuck up, little girl." Her screams only grew louder. "I knew this was a problem." Max muttered. "She's just scared." Stephen said. "That's all."
"She's fucked up, that's all there is to know." Max replied. "We should leave her."
"No." Stephen denied. "¡Déjenme en paz!" Adriana sobbed. "¡Por favor!" Max raised the gun and struck her across the head. Her cries cut off instantly as her body went limp. "Max—what the fuck?" Stephen yelled. "Hey, at least she's not screaming anymore." Max said flatly. Stephen stared at her unconscious form, rage boiled under his skin. "Fuck it." he muttered. "Let's just go." They returned to the car. Stephen carried Adriana carefully, he cradled her as if she might shatter. He laid her gently across the backseat. Then they hopped in. "You know, I still don't know how to drive." Max said. "It's fine." Stephen replied, "We'll have to meet up with Jason along the way… for now I'll drive." He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. Then the car drove away, they left the bodies scattered along the road—silent and forgotten.