"Watch out!" Max gripped the wall, his heart racing as the scaffold swayed violently. Yet Andrew stood motionless, like a man seemingly challenging death itself.
"Why gamble your life for pennies? Andrew!" Max screamed, his voice cutting deeper than any blade.
Andrew remained unfazed.
"You always ask that when we're up this high." His calm voice contrasted with Max's terror as another tremor shook the platform.
"I fear you'll die before seeing your son's future!" Max's voice dropped to a trembling whisper.
"Even if I never enjoy his success, my soul will be at peace." Andrew's inhuman smile sent chills down Max's spine.
He knew Max's crippling fear of heights since day one. At sixteen floors up, Max's trembling hands and endless questions betrayed his unpreparedness for the final floors.
Below, the city's elites floated on anti-gravity platforms while men like Andrew risked their lives on crumbling scaffolds.
A sudden gust tore Andrew's green cap away, sending it spiraling towards the distant streets where blaring horns created a symphony of urban hells.
As the cap spiraled, Andrew tried desperately to catch it, but every move required him to either jump or lean dangerously from the pillar he'd clung to.
"Hand me the brush. We're moving up after this patch." Andrew balanced precariously; only his toes gripped the narrow plank as he reached out.
"Which one—small or large?" Max whispered, shuffling the tools nervously.
"Seriously, Max? After seven years, and you still don't know?" Andrew's glare burned with barely contained rage.
Their partnership began long before Max's firstborn started school.
"I… I just wanted to hear you say it again without making it obvious." Max forced a grin, desperate to diffuse the rising tension.
Another tremor shook the scaffold as Max slapped the brush into Andrew's palm.
The peaceful streets below erupted into chaos as people scattered; some fled from the foot of the scaffold—yet both men remained focused on their deadly work.
"Tell me…" Max's voice faded like a dying breeze. "...how are you never scared? Sometimes, I think you're not human."
Andrew's eyes glowed in a golden color as the voice roared like a lion's howl. Veins bulged like roots across his temples as his voice boomed: "Are you insulting me?"
But he began to cough, cutting his fury in mid-strike.
Max dropped to his knees. "No! no… I just…" he hesitated, scrambling for words. "...wanted to understand. To have your strength when you're not around."
Andrew's silent reply fell heavier than the city smog.
In his mind, dark whispers urged violence:
Remember the gold power you received before you stopped bathing in blood?
Pluck out one of his eyes, and place it in his mouth to swallow. I'll double and activate your power as he screams.
Andrew clenched his fists—then stopped. The memory of past outburst, and the price his own brother had to pay froze him.
Instead, he watched blue-and-gold feathered birds soar past—nature's finest artistry work.
"Grab the bag—we're moving to the top floor."
Andrew's sudden calm startled Max more than his rage. "The twenty-first."
Max trembled like a leaf in a storm. "S—skipping floors?"
Sweat poured down his face.
Andrew's tsunami-like stare silenced further questions.
That terrifying gaze seemed to pluck thoughts straight from Max's mind: "I'd love to see how his family handles him."
"Starting at the top is better. I forgot to give you that tip earlier."
Andrew's voice softened unexpectedly, the tone he reserved for his son. "If you can't handle it, carry the tools instead."
Max scratched his head while Andrew climbed the ancient ladder, crafted by his great-grandfather.
The speed at which Andrew climbed the ladder stunned him so much that his mouth remained wide open.
"You asked why I keep painting when I'm sick. It's simple: to give my child the life I never had."
As Andrew revealed his motivation, he patted his pocket—a photo rested there—the only thing that always tempered his rage and realigned him with his human self.
Max had seen the boy just once. A quiet, sharp-eyed, almost like his father's very own reflection. The image unsettled him instantly.
As Andrew stepped onto the third rung, a genuine smile broke through—one that seemed carved by years of struggle.
But then, the scaffold lurched violently, sending their tool bag dropping nine stories down.
Yet, Andrew wasn't moved at all.
"Should I go for the bag?" Max whispered.
"Go for it if you want. I have every tool I need to finish the job." Andrew responded, then continued climbing.
"What kind of person is this? Ah!" Max seethed silently.
"Would he react the same if it were a person?" He couldn't contain his fury, but all he could do was keep it to himself.
"Hey Max… I think I can see my son's school from here. Come take a look. And—wait… there's something in the sky… It looks like a star to me."
Andrew raised his hand, pointing in the direction he meant as he reached the twenty-first floor.
Max, now standing on the nineteenth floor, turned towards the direction with a smile. But what he saw made him regret ever being born.
"Andrew! That's not a star—it's a plane losing balance!" Max's tension grew as he saw how fast the plane was approaching.
He knew perfectly well that if the plane didn't stabilize, they were dead.
His body jolted violently as he jerked his head, checking whether jumping would be safe.
But in their current position, it wasn't an option. Sweat poured from him more heavily than ever.
With every second, the distance shrank. The streets below erupted in screams, hands pointing up at them like branches in a storm.
Max managed to climb down to the fourteenth floor and shouted.
But before his voice reached Andrew, the plane crashed into the building, shattering it like glass and sending debris raining down.
Luckily for Max, a television pole—tumbling from above—slammed into a window, giving him an escape route from the scaffold.
But for Andrew, it was a survival fight. The plane landed just inches away from him.