*Charlie's P.O.V*

The first thought that runs through my head is why I can't remember a thing, followed by utter pain in my back. I turn to the siblings and then touch my face. The fake nose is off. Everything is off.

Oh God.

Panic hits me like a wrecking ball. I retch, sit up, and, on second thought, lie again, shutting my eyes in hopes of this being a nightmare.

Movement begins. The siblings untangle themselves and fix my disguise. Carrying me to my room afterwards, Mastro asks his sister to pick my clothes. They dress and tuck me into bed. They leave.

I want to leave.

I start praying. When a maid interrupts to tell me breakfast is ready, I take the longest bath in history to get to the table where the siblings laugh with their father like nothing happened. Again, their pretentiousness marvels me.

I greet and eat quietly, hoping to be left alone. It's too bad their father can't get the hint.

"So, Judas, I hear you are one to look out for."

"Pardon me, Sir?"

"I said," the older, raggier drug lord rasps, "I hear you want to start something on your own. That's laudable. "
"Thank you, Sir."

"But you shouldn't start risky. Unless you are certain of the future gains, which might be angry clients."

I smile at that. "They won't be able to sue me, at least." But you are right. It's bad business, but I'm ok with taking that risk -"

"Sell them to me instead. You would have better from your bosses -"

"That's the issue, Dad," Mastro cuts in, "his bosses would pull him back or cheat him or outright kill him so he doesn't become their competitor." Then he turns to me. "Isn't that right?"

I nod. Our sights latch onto each other imperceptibly before he reverts to his father. Glimpsing our exchange, Alexis clears her throat.

"Dad, I think you should get him more. More girls equals more money to buy better girls."

"That's not how these things work -"

A scowl cuts Mastro's rebuttal. Rising, the scowler of a father pats my back, urging me to stand, too.

"Dad." Mastro grimaces, whereas I start, "Please, I stand to be corrected, but perhaps Alexis has a point given - AGH!"

A chair flies, banging my back. Pain jolts me into a crouch as Alexis and her father gasp. Mastro heaves, vile hands clenched.

"What's wrong with you?!" Alexis shoots him a stern eye while she reaches for me.

I swat her arm away, my agony soaring with every inhale. I have to breathe slowly.

Slower. Ok.

There is no explanation or apology. Maids come in to help me to my room as everyone else watches.

In my room, they gradually take off my shirt, exposing no cuts and a swell that looks like a rib popped from its cage.

It can't be that bad, though. Hissing through agony, I lay on my tummy for the maids to rub medicine and whatever they will help. They leave me be, thinking I've dozed when Mastro enters. Mastro doesn't make much noise either, just lingering by the door. A clock tick supersedes speech.

Any more quiet breathing from him, and I will scream.

"How are you?" He asks, "Does it hurt?"

"Mhm."

"You'll be fine," he dismisses my reply, " Dad will get you more girls. They are transporting them to the hangar as we speak. Per your condition, though -"

"I am leaving today," I bite back, looking him in the eye. Turning hurts, so my gaze stays lateral. It resets our dynamic - his eyes desperate for an escape, mine stolid. Where is that fire he used to throw a chair at me?

Once he walks out, I drape the covers over myself. False darkness is my refuge in lieu of the rest suggested by one petrified maid.

That maid takes Mastro's place. An hour passes with her crocheting at a corner. Frustrated, I implore her to let me partake, much to her surprise. Apprehension drops her expression as she hands some yarn, or so I think.

We've been at it for twelve minutes when she speaks. "How is your back, Sir?"

"Don't call me that." I smile a little.

She pinches her nose and asks, "I am sorry."

"It's alright."

She hesitates. "No. I am sorry."

At this point, the vision of my making is clear - a crocheted blouse. I admire my work so far and look up to repeat that it's alright, only - it isn't.

"Wha...what are you sorry for?"

She doesn't respond. I rise, and she gasps in rhythm with the jolt of pain along my spine. Brushing it to the back of my mind, I grab the maid's hands and croak, "What di-did they do to me?"

"I don't know what you are talking about, Sir -"

"Liar." My throat quakes. My body thrashes itself onto the floor, frightening the maid, who attempts to pull me up to no avail.

I vomit. All the breakfast and medication, all of it spread in a colourful caricature slimed by saliva. By now, someone should have come in, but no, it's just me and the maid. She runs for toilet paper. I crawl to her bag. Finding a phone, I dial 911. She is about to stop when I aim the crochet needle at my eye daringly. Rapping out the hangar's location where the girls may be, I only hang up at the sound of footsteps. Quickly, the maid snatches her phone and guides me to bed before going to whoever it is. When she returns, she warns me to stay put.

I oblige. No word is shared between us again. Just nerves connect us for hours.

Then she gets up to leave, locking the door after herself. Of course, she took her phone and everything except the crocheting materials away. I'm glad to have them, at least.

By noon, my hands tire. I pause and crawl to the door, only to find it still locked. Hissing back to bed, I pray the police find the captive girls.

Then, I hear it. Screaming. I sit up simultaneously. Forget the back pain. What was that?!

As if to answer me, the door bangs wide. Mastro strolls in with a wheelchair. In a blink, he's wheeling me into the living area, where the maid kneels before the rest of the family. Mastro's mother excuses herself, giving her children a disgusted look on her way out. The father stays put, glaring at the maid.

"What happened?" I turn to Alexis, but before she responds, her father yells, "You called the fucking police on us?! Do you know much he has lost because of you?!"

Then he yanks a fistful of her hair, pushing her to my feet. To think I was at her feet threatening to stab my eye this very day. Things move fast.

"Sir," she sobs, saying, "sorry. sorry."

"She didn't call them. I did," I say calmly.

Her head snaps up and shakes ferociously. Mastro sighs. Alexis facepalms.

*

They send me to their garden. I find it interesting that their guards will dig the Earth up, leaving a hole good enough for a burial. When they bring the coffin, I smile because it's pretty heavy. They should suffer a little to dispose of me.

"Dig," the father instructs his son instead

Giving the latter a pout, I cross my legs.

Suffer to kill me, Mastro.

His fingers trace the handle of my wheelchair. I focus on them, drawn to a familiar unease in the pit of my abdomen. My body reacts before my mind does, reaching for that hand. I pat it, realising that I shouldn't store hatred towards him.

Hatred is blinding. I want to see and be light.

He accepts a shovel and starts fiddling with the soil. He has no idea where to start. Before we know it, half an hour has passed with him creating mounds and tiny dales of failure. Alexis, the guards and I watch. His disappointed father bailed out after three minutes.

The more Mastro digs, the less Alexis deigns to look at me.

"Alexis, can you kindly go for my yarn and needle? In my room."

She nods, though, perplexed by my request. I smile.

Almost two decades of Krypton Charlie Hunt. A life well lived, I think, considering that the police did find the girls and Mastro's father was angry about losing his captives to the raid - how dumb do this family think I am to claim to care for my interest?!

Relax, Charlie. No hatred. Be positive. You are going to die with a smile. Be grateful for the gift of life so far. For your friends and family. Lord, I thank you;

For being born. For having a mother who didn't like me calling her mom because she felt inadequate in her career and home. Thank you for helping me raise Sil while my parents fought.

Thank you for blessing my mother with genes so beautiful that she could attract any man after the divorce, yet she chose Berry. She asked him out. He told me so when we went to the planetarium, which reminds me -

*
*

*UK*

Leo wasn't okay. He didn't like that I promised to return and hadn't yet.

He shut out the voice telling him to worry. He toned it down to bring his A-game on for his next shoot. His concentration, however, foiled once he got a call from Mia.

"Hi, can you tell Charlie that I sent him the boxes, so if he can bring them -"

"Isn't he with you?" Leo interrupted her, confused. He suspected that my arrival was overdue because I was with her.

"Nope. Haven't even heard from him. Every time I call, his sister says he's busy."

Leo arched a brow and promised to keep Mia updated about my return, though the worry was bearing prominence in his diaphragm. Eventually, he closed early and drove to the accounting office. I would have been working if not awaiting my death. Leo guessed the former option, only to be disappointed by his inability to enter without a specific card. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he prepped to wait just as Jackson got out for lunch.

Leo saw him. Jackson was in too much of a hurry. As my friend scrunched his eyes at the sight of Jackson leaving, something ticked. Leo pounded numbers onto his phone suddenly.

Harry picked up. Leo instructed him to check the drawer in our room for any corporate files. A few minutes later, Harry sent him a picture of its contents, pages upon pages of information about Jackson.

Leo gasped. He stole the file while I rushed to the airport. He knew who Jackson was, alright. He just hadn't realised how close I had gotten to him until now.

"Leo, is everything okay?" Harry asked, frightened.

"Ya," Leo replied, ending the call.

*

*

Leo followed Jackson. He used his camera to zoom in on the code to enter the man's house. He waited for Jackson to head upstairs before revealing himself from the woods. He knew how to pass around and go unnoticed. It helped that the porch light was faulty, enabling him to reach there. Before he could move, however, a hand pinched his shirt.

"Bro, what are you doing?!"

"Huh?" Leo turned to the speaker. Then he exhaled. "Harry."

"This is trespassing!" Harry scowled.

"Charlie could be in there." Leo retorted, making Harry's frown worsen as he (Leo) climbed onto a balcony. Again, he waited.

He waited for Jackson's head to hit the hay before beginning his search. He even made it to the basement when eventually Jackson caught up with the inconspicuous movement. Without hesitation, Leo pinned him to the wall and yelled, "Where is Charlie?!"

"The fuck will I know -"

"Don't lie! Where is he?! What did you do to him -" Jackson's elbow collided with Leo's cheek, causing him to bite his tongue. Tasting blood, he couldn't recover enough to evade Jackson's punch. Another blow sent Leo backwards so Jackson could turn.

Jackson laughed. "Oh, son of the devil. Let's see what your daddy taught you."

He was right; Leo's father was a devil. He was wrong; Leo's father taught him nothing.

All the combat, the karate, the taekwondo, the boxing he knew, all of it was him. Leo could remember his childhood days when he attended a school where teachers expected him to excel at math. The Asian powers hadn't developed yet, he would say, to amuse them. They didn't find it amusing. They thought him to be crass. So he acted crass, so crass that one teacher suggested he put all that rage into karate or something.

Funnily, that advice set him on a path his father never could - stardom. He learned discipline and applied it so that he excelled holistically. He won awards, which unnerved his father a little. How would a hitman sit among other parents and cheer for his son while someone's blood stuck to his nails? Too risky.

Then, Leo didn't even know a thing, so he took his father's unimpressed stare to mean he could do better - he could hit harder.

So he did. Won no look of pride from his father.

So he did. Won the look of horror on Jackson's face.

The man clutched his shins, shielding it from another kick. His humour left the chat, as my generation would say, replaced by an urgent need to catch Leo. My friend was fast at scrambling away from every strike Jackson attempted. Their tussle travelled to the corridors, and then, crescendoing near the stairs, Leo jammed his knee into Jackson again.

In retaliation, Jackson swooped underneath him so Leo was backed against the stairs' railing. Not missing the chance, Jackson reached out to push Leo off.