"Right on clock, I see," Roxy said as Paul approached, wearing the same clothes as when they first met.
"Guess so," Paul muttered. His eyes drifted up... sky already dark, twinkling stars and the moon uncle staring down like they always did, eagerly waiting for his next adventure.
But the street pulled him back. The ground he stood on. Cold. Real. What comes now?
After leaving the office, he'd run into Sara. Julian was already gone ahead.
She asked him what happened. He knew what the question meant.
No matter how tight he pulled the mask, it cracked too easy. One dent, gone. Shattered.
He wanted to shrug it off. But she deserved an answer, didn't she? She always gave me pieces of her, so – yeah.
So he said it. He wanted him out. Of everything. Done.
And of course she didn't press. She never would. Who would ever doubt him? If he said it, it was right. There had to be a reason. Even Paul believed that.
But then... what about me?
It was about me. The whole stage, all eyes,
everything pointing to me, and I'm not allowed to stand there? Just walk away?
Could you? Tell me. Could you!!!
If someone told you; go back to class, finish your fucking homework, sit down and write your exams like a good student. While out here people are killing, people are dying—would you? Could you live with that?
Because I can't. I can't!!!
I sit in those classrooms and all I hear is noise. Chalk against the board, voicesspelling out equations, history dates, meaningless literature quotes that aren't worth shit when the blood is still fresh in the floor. How am I supposed to pretend any of that matters?
If something happens – if anyone dies –and you weren't there, because you were too busy writing notes on some useless page—will you take that blame?
You wouldn't. You would not!!!!!!!!
Because it was mine to begin with. I'll be the one to blame…. Of everything.
But I could smooth things better than anyone. I know I could.
But he doesn't believe me. And looking at you—
"Let's hop in." Roxy said. When he saw Paul dazed. Eyes fixed on the streets below.
"Yeah." Paul response was quick. "But where though?"
"You'll know."
Hearing Roxy's short answer, Paul couldn't but help wonder. As he went around the taxi, which had arrived here for how long he doesn't know.
Paul opened the door and adjusted himself. Roxy looked at him for a second and said, "Red plaza." To the driver. The driver nodded slightly and pressed the accelerator.
Paul recalled the name very clearly. The place was not even 10 minutes of drive form here. But Red plaza is name of the cinema hall.
Roxy leaned in the seat, his back lightly pressed. An unsettling silence started to wonder between them. Roxy was a extrovert person, but.... sometimes in a time like this, when you don't know a thing about the person sitting there. It was normal.
"Hey budd" Roxy still poked Paul. When he couldn't able to handle the silence anymore, "you look kinda down."
"hm." Paul shifted his gaze from the outside street to Roxy for a second, and replied, "no. Not really…. it's just."
Roxy tilted her head, a teasing grin on her face. "Did your girl dump you or somethin'?"
Paul shifted his gaze between Roxy and the streets upfront, fumbling for words. "Yea–no… not exactly dumped me, but… something like that. You know, girly things."
"Ooh." Roxy dragged the sound, her brows lifting in mock wonder. "Ain't you been here, like, only two weeks?"
Paul let out a short breath, shoulders sinking. "Yeah…" he muttered. "She's from where I was living before I came here."
Roxy smirked, leaning back. "So what's she like ? Blondie ? Curly hair? Or one of those shy girls that go quiet if you don't text back?"
Paul have a small laugh, shaking his head. "Nah— no. I ain't telling ya fam. Just think as we're worlds apart."
"Mm." Roxy dragged the sound out. "So she real, huh? I was starting to think you makin' her up just to look tragic."
Paul shot her a sideways look. "I don't gotta make things up."
"Fair, fair." Roxy grinned, then flicked her chin toward the street. "Either way, forget her for tonight. We got better things lined up than heartbreak therapy."
"Yeah I'm all in."
"That's what am sayin'.
Minutes later, the taxi rolled to a stop. Paul and Roxy stepped out, shutting the doors in near unison. Red Plaza loomed beside them, its Christmas lights blinking against the night like a cheap disguise for the city's rot underneath.
But the real Christmas was long way from now on.
Paul glanced at Roxy – silent question, where to? Roxy answered with a small tilt of his head and started forward. Paul fell into step behind him.
They crossed the main street. The city noise still pressed in – horns blaring, tires hissing over wet asphalt, commercials blasting from a massive screen above. But with each turn, the neon glow weakened, like they were walking out of the world everyone else saw.
Roxy cut left, and the alley opened up before them.
It wasn't narrow, not the kind that squeezed you in. Wide enough for a four-wheeler to slip through. But it carried the kind of silence that swallows a man whole. The walls leaned in with age, bricks cracked, paint peeled into strips.
Puddles sat still and black, reflecting slivers of broken streetlights overhead. The air had a weight, damp and chemical, like the alley had been soaking up the city's waste for years.
Paul scanned as he walked. He noted the long stretch that ended in a dead wall, and the narrow side path branching right—an escape route, or a trap. His boots crunched against scattered glass, the only sound between them.
The alley felt less like a street and more like a throat, he thought, and they were walking straight into its stomach.
Roxy's steps slowed. He stopped. Paul followed his gaze. There, tucked into shadow, barely visible until you were on top of it—a brown metal door.
Roxy straightened his jacket, drew in a quiet breath, and knocked.
A second later, a small slot scraped open. A pair of eyes blinked out from the dark, scanning them in silence. No words. Just a stare long enough to measure intent. Then the slot slid shut, the hinges groaned, and the door pulled inward.
Roxy stepped first. Paul followed.
Inside was something Paul hadn't expected: a wide room, wooden floor beneath his feet. Yellow light spilled from cheap bulbs, covering the whole space. A refrigerator rested just beside him. Cardboard boxes were stacked neatly against the left wall, next to a metal grill gate.
To the side, a pile of folded empty boxes leaned against the wall. A wooden door stood there too, leading deeper inside—like an entry into the abyss. On the front wall hung a map of Corsalis and a few cheap posters of naked women.
At the center sat a wooden table with two chairs on either side. One was already occupied by a man holding a deck of cards. Another man stood a few steps ahead, watching Paul carefully.
"Sup," Roxy broke the silence, casual as ever. "How's everything?"
The man in the leather jacket didn't answer right away. He had his dark hair tied back into a thin ponytail, eyes half-lidded like he'd seen this dance a hundred times. When he did speak, his voice was rough around the edges. "Same old. Nothing new. You though? You dropped off the map for weeks. Thought you turned up dead somewhere."
"You kidding?" Roxy smirked, tossing it off. "Just got busy. That's all."
The man's eyes flicked toward Paul, narrowing slightly. "And who's this champ?"
"Oh, him?" Roxy said like it was nothing. "My new mate. Paul."
Paul dipped his chin in a small nod.
"He's new in town," Roxy went on. "Figured I'd show him the ropes. This here's Mark— he keeps watch. And the guy over there with the cards? That's Nice."
The card player lifted a hand lazily in greeting. Roxy grinned. "Don't let the name fool you. That mofo ain't nice at all."
Mark finally moved. He strolled toward the fridge, picked up a battered notebook and pen from the top, and held them out.
Paul's brow furrowed. He shot a look at Roxy, but before either of them could speak, Mark cut in. "Formalities. Nothing more. Don't like it, don't do it."
Paul hesitated, then took the pen. "It's fine."
He wrote his name in sharp strokes:
PAUL VAXLAR.
As he handed it back, he let his eyes skim the pages, catching a list of names scrawled in different hands. None he recognized.
Shit. Did I really just write my real name down?
Mark put the notebook back on top of the fridge and gave a half-shrug, like a shopkeeper stamping a receipt. "Alright. You're in. Just don't stir up any ruckus."
Roxy turned, legs moving like clockwork, and tipped his chin toward the far wall. "Shall we?"
Paul followed him to the wooden door. Roxy opened it and stepped through first. Paul lingered for half a beat, feeling the room watch him, before crossing the threshold. The door shut behind them without a sound.
Back at the table, Mark sat down again, cards in hand. He turned them over slowly, mouth twitching.
"Hey, Nice."
"Whaaat," Nice drawled without looking up.
"Does nice also mean good?"
"Huh?" Nice's eyes flicked up, annoyed. "The fuck should I know?"
"Right."