Image: Syeda. Looks nothing like her features-wise but the pose and the mood of the picture are on point.

Frank lay on the hospital bed, breathing through a ventilator. He was looking at the heart rate monitor.

The beat was steady. His breathing was steady. He was all good.

He tried to take the contraption off of his face, and a nurse helped. Once removed, he took in some deep breaths of air, face turned upwards. They were sighs of relief.

-

The television screen blared.

"The King's bride-to-be, Mira Arheart, was spotted at Bramingham Palace, wearing a green blazer and white culottes..."

Syeda watched the woman carefully. She had these piercing hazel-brown eyes, entrancing and almond shaped. Syeda frowned. 'She looks familiar... Those features, I know them.'

"Jack, don't you think that Mira woman looks familiar? It's the brown eyes, the golden brown hair..."

"Syeda, we live in Brynnland, half the people have brown eyes and brown hair. Including me, incidentally."

Syeda shut off the tv.

"It was the features I was referring to. Just say you don't know, it's not that hard. Anyway, any news?" Her question was asked monotonously, business like.

"He's still unwell. Won't be discharged for another week."

"His dad still looking after the kids?"

"Yup. Hope he doesn't disappear. Frank says he does that."

"He won't leave his own kids alone." Syeda answered, eyes on the black screen previously on.

They were in the school Sixth Formers' library. Privileges like a tv and other electronics were visible. Other kids were sat in the lounge, on seats, or on stools, quietly studying. It was after-school time.

Jack looked uncomfortable.

"Syeda, I have a question."

Syeda mouth quirked upwards. "Go ahead."

"Do you think I'm cursed?"

Syeda turned to look at him. He was leaning back against a table, while she was sat on a sofa, a book open on her lap.

His brows were furrowed, mouth stretched in a thin line.

"Why ask?" Voice expressionless.

He took a deep breath before answering.

"Because everyone believes De Albas are cursed. Every single darn one of us."

Syeda boredly turned back to look at her book.

"Take me seriously, please." Jack whined. "I'm not joking!"

"Syeda, you know my family history right? About Ivo Blake, who-"

"Did away with the original De Albas in 1567? Fraudulently assumed their place? Yeah, I know about him."

Syeda's eyes were glued to her book.

"Your ancestors' sins aren't yours."

"My dad said we're born killers." Jack said softly.

"When did you start taking him seriously again?"

"I haven't, but... You know, most the Upper gentry don't recognise us. They never invite us to High Society engagements, especially the Royal family. Which is why,"

Jack plopped an opened letter onto the table facing Syeda.

"I'm confused about this."

He responded to Syeda's raised eyebrow. "It's an invitation to the annual Royal Crystal ball, thrown by King Gilead. Luckily he won't be there, but his brats will. What a drag."

A pause.

"They don't usually invite us to this stuff."

"How did you get it?"

Jack shrugged. "A friend still forwards me my mail from the Institute I was at."

"You know, my dad says... Apparently, not a single De Alba of the past has not taken a life."

Syeda rolled her eyes and didn't bother replying. Jack smiled grimly, gleaning some comfort from her lack of belief in the statement.

"Our dastardly reputation among Uppers means people in our family usually  marry into normal people, like Mids, or gentry from other lands. Turns out no one here likes born murderers." He grumbled glumly. "I don't blame them, we've gotten rid of countless Upper families in the last centuries, for the most insignificant reasons. They're all scared shitless of us." His shoulders were slumped and his loose fists shoved deep into his trouser pockets.

Syeda picked up the letter and pored through the elegant cursive. "You going to go then?"

Jack grinned a wolfish smile. "You crazy? Who says no to free food?"

As they began leaving the library for next lesson, Jack turned to Syeda.

"Hey, you seen my phone recently? It's gone missing, not even Slifer can find it."

Before she could reply, someone threw open the library's double doors, and sped towards one person.

"Syedauvsunthingtconfess!"

"Speak English, honey." Syeda looked mildly perturbed.

"It was me!" She blurted out, and burst into tears simultaneously.

"You what?" Syeda asked, bored.

"I..." Elyka wondered if she should confess.

"When you handed out Ms. Simmon's sweets, I took two instead of one!"

Then she ran out again.

'Weirdo.' Syeda dismissed.

"Is she okay?" Jack did a 'cuckoo' sign next to his head, twirling his finger in a circle.

"I'm going to speak to her properly soon." Syeda decided, narrowing her eyes. "Something's up."

-

Syeda was at the hospital, checking her watch. Halima was with her. Jack was soon to arrive. Receiving a nod from the nurse, both ladies walked into the ward.

On the left, the nurse pulled aside a curtain. A sorry-looking, bed-bound blonde smiled nervously at his visitors.

Halima was shocked, so naturally spoke first.

"What on earth were you kids upto?! What ha-"

"He fell." Jack said as he walked in, Syeda saying the same words at the same time, joined by Frank, who said "I fell.". Syeda gave the late Jack an affronted look, for both his tardiness and speech-clashing.

"Did your parents come to see you? Where are they?" Halima demanded.

"My stepdad's looking after my brothers. He comes most days, in the mornings." Frank replied. This bit was true, to his own surprise. He'd tell his stepdad not to come and that he was fine, but he'd turn up to see him regularly, kids in tow. Guess he did have a heart.

"Your mum?" Halima persisted. It bugged her seeing this boy, sick in hospital, all alone. From a big family herself, she remembered someone (mostly mum or dad) being at their hospital bedside every moment of the day if any of them had been unfortunate enough to be admitted.

"My mum works in another town. It's hard for her to come. She will when she's free." Frank smiled sadly.

Halima hmph-ed loudly. "Me and Syeda will sit here with you until she turns up." She declared.

Syeda said nothing. She sat at the end of the bed and pulled out a journal to peruse. Halima sat at the other end. Both stubborn women were unmovable.

Frank shot a betrayed look at Syeda that didn't mean a thing to the latter.

The scenes from yesterday were still occupying both of their minds.

The pink haired girl was staring in awe at the girl in the motorbike who'd just arrived.

Jack and Frank gaped in incredulity as well.

"Syeda? The heck-" Jack sputtered.

'Since when did Cool-And-Silent drive?' Frank thought, mouth open in shock.

Angel recovered fastest. He threw his Nyfe at Syeda. The weapon morphed into a boomerang and flew straight towards her neck.

Everything took place at lightning speed. Before either of the other boys could do a thing, Syeda had already ducked, and the weapon revolved back towards its owner before anyone could blink.

'Guess doing karate since I was six paid off. I was worrying it'd become inapplicable to modern life. Maybe Jack was right.' Syeda thought appreciatively.

"You ass-" Jack cursed as he swiftly hooked his arm around Angel's own neck and tightened his grip till the teen turned red and spluttered in pain.

"Why would you do something like that, Angel? You could have killed her!" Frank asked angrily. 'Is this the kind of person Angel was all this time?'

"Leave him alone! He wasn't actually going to let it hurt her!" Summer retorted shrilly from behind them, running at Jack with her scythe raised. Jack let go and countered with his own blade, swiftly pulled out of his pocket.

Frank watched with horror in his eyes.

Jack was... one of them too?

For a moment he stood there, stunned.

Then, before he knew it, he felt a sharp pull in his arm.

It was Syeda, pulling him towards her motorbike. "We have to go." Her steely turquoise eyes beckoned him away from the crime scene, where Jack was fending off both Angel and Summer.

"He'll take care of them. We have to find Didier."

They rushed through the hotel, the sound of clattering steps filling every room they searched. Syeda believed he was in a topmost room.

"Either on the roof or in a room very close to it."

Their hurried searches continued to the background noise of steel clashes and blade-on-blade action.

Finally, they found him. Hidden away in a darker corner of a quaint, Victorian rooftop garden, tied up and gagged with bedsheets, was Didier. His dark brown hair was drenched with sweat, eyes closed as he slept a feverish sleep, stirring restlessly as if dreaming.

Frank could have cried with joy. But just as he bent to pick up his little brother, he felt someone grab him from behind, and heard Syeda's yell of alarm.

But before he knew it, he was free again. Flying, falling, plummeting at rocket speed towards a pavement.

Frank smiled at the memory. If there really was a God, then Frank would have liked to thank him. Because where he fall, was a car, and though it did bruise him considerably on his abdomen and even internally, it had saved him from an early, rocky death.

After Angel had tossed Frank off the hotel roof (as Syeda and Jack filled him in later), the bad-bred blonde and Summer had made a quick getaway.

"You believe in God, right Syeda?" Frank mused. Syeda's green and gold eyes looked up to regard him expressionlessly. Halima listened interestedly, though in true mum fashion, tried to deny it by looking ever-more interested in her hospital magazine.

"Being quite into my philosophy, I've never bought into that theological stuff, apart from reading where it's proved wrong." He thought aloud, though softly, as if half to himself.

"But if he is there, Syeda," He abruptly continued, "If, just if, all logic is proved wrong and our theories are thrown to the winds, if he is there, can you..."

He was leaning over his bedside at this point, towards his visitors, looking into their eyes keenly.

"Could you thank him, for me?" He looked at he floor. "Thank him for letting me live."

There was silence. Syeda looked back at her book, but Frank could tell her mind was clearly not on it. Then she abruptly shut the book, and put it aside.

"It has to come from you, Francis." She replied quietly.

"Ah... But what if I'm buying into a fairy story...?" He replied, looking troubled. "I couldn't bear that."

She shrugged. "I've read some of all paths of logic, Francis. Read multitudes of troubling philosophies written by troubled minds. Nietzsche, Dawkins, I've read the lot. And in the end, it was one thing that really got me."

"What?" Frank breathed, desperate to know.

"None of the anti-theists ever seemed happy." She answered flatly. "For all their achievements and accolades, they spent their lives angrily fighting an unwinnable fight. Beasts frothing at the mouth. Yes, they don't worship God, Francis. Because they worship themselves. Their own intellect. That just struck me as all kinds of wrong."

"But when I looked at worshippers, at muslims, they looked so... peaceful. I went to mosques where no one looked like me, no one spoke like me, no one behaved like me, but they hugged me and welcomed me nevertheless. In all my conferences I attended, no one had ever done that before. Offered unconditional love."

"But what if it's cult-like..." Frank offered weakly. "Their acceptance is subjective to you accepting their doctrine. Their doctrine is written by their religious leaders-"

"Take a copy of the Qur'an from 1400 years ago. Take a copy today. Not a single letter has changed place." She replied stonily. "Believe me, I've checked."

"That's impossible." He scoffed.

"It's the truth."

"Francis." She said flatly. "I'm a brilliant human being." She said matter-of-factly. "I've always known it. But you know what? So are other people. So are you. You're a master debater, even though you're significantly holding back now to not offend me. Jack is a master martial artist. We're all geniuses in our field. I don't believe our complex, three-dimensional existence is an accident.

"I don't believe that we accidentally existed and that we'll accidentally die too, due to genetic errors that apparently need to evolve to perfection. That we're just waiting for one telomere gene mutation to allow us to live forever, like our brilliant, Creator-defying selves deserve. I don't believe that. Our lifespans are obviously deliberately limited. There's only so much this world can teach us before our existence requires something this universe can't give us anymore."

Syeda looked at the time.

"This is a long conversation, which we've barely started. You're tired, and probably emotional because of your near death experience."

She got up, picked up her bag and coat, and proceeded to leave.

"I'll let you rest." Halima followed Syeda quietly, the older woman's eyes gleaming. 'Who knew my charge had such a voice? Ah! I have raised a gem.' She told herself proudly as she followed Syeda.

Frank sat alone, by himself, feeling numb.

He'd expected Syeda to try to convert him to her way of thinking somehow, with some illogical trash, to tell him stuff that didn't make sense that he could easily refute. But... somehow, someway, she'd made some sort of crazy... sense.

Was he going crazy? Was he going to become a monk now? Syeda was right, he was probably feeling emotional.

Maybe he'd wake up tomorrow and everything would be like it should be. He'd never hear the word God again.

God, eh? Heaven and Hell... What a crazy idea.

But somehow, it made him restless.

He picked up his phone, went to the library app, and began to type. 

---

"Angel, you're in trouble." Chris said quietly, looking at the teen tied to the chair.

'I couldn't give a sh*t.' The teen thought in reply, but somehow thought it'd be best if he stayed silent

"What is our purpose, Angel Clarke?"

Angel was silent for a few minutes. Then seeing Chris wouldn't relent, he tonelessly spoke.

"We are a youth group that encourages the government's interests in other youth. We have to watch and encourage youths from non-supportive sects, like minority ethnic groups, people who are near the poverty line, and others who are vulnerable and willing, to support the Brynnish National Party." 

"Why are we enrolled in Fairville Secondary School?"

"Because the population of Fairville Secondary school did not vote for the BNP government. We must encourage fierce loyalty and support in them for us." Angel answered dully. 

"And why do we have Nyves in this peaceful aim?"

"In case we discover a highly armed rebel cause, who are very likely to exist, whom we will escort to police." Angel felt like yawning. Chris asked them these questions every morning.

"And how does you attacking Francis Montpelier, an unarmed civilian, relate to this cause?"

Angel was silent.

"Angel, you've crossed the line. With transgressions come punishment. I'm confiscating your Coccoon."

"No! You can't!" Angel's eyes widened in apprehension, teeth gritted in anger. His Nyfe was his and his only, it'd moulded to him, Chris couldn't just up and take it!

Chris bopped Angel's nose with a finger. "Yes, I can." He responded with a peaceful smile.

"Authority must be obeyed. Obedience is the law. You just broke it. You will be in solitary confinement in London's Juvenile Detention Hall for two weeks." Angel's eyebrows raised, but he said nothing. What could he say? He'd never seen Chris this serious before.

"I'll be damned if I let you leave till I've heard you've learnt some good hard manners." Chris finished coldly, before he turned to two nearby guards, also stood in the dark room on either side of the prisoner.

"Take him away."

After they took the bitter teen, Chris sat at a table and rubbed his hand over his face.

The brat had nearly ruined everything he'd worked so hard for. For something as silly as a personal vendetta against some distant cousin he hadn't met in years

His father had been deeply unhappy. It had nearly been Chris in Juvie hall, before Chris had persuaded his father he could sort things.

"How, Christopher?" His father's deep voice had rumbled, like a storm cloud brewing.

"I will find any and all rebels, father!" Chris's higher pitched voice had begged desperately. "I will root out Fairville for anyone opposing our cause!"

"I expect to meet your captured rebels before the end of December, then. If not, you're in prison for allowing grievous bodily harm to that kid who nearly died. How many years would that be, two? Three?" His father had answered before he put down the phone.