We emerged from the Lahore tunnels looking unrecognizable. I was in a yellow scarf, and Zabdi, in his wisdom, wore a butt-length wig. I knew letting him into my wig collection was a bad idea, but I let him take what he wanted against my better judgment.
The photographers were everywhere in the city, looking for a photo of me in any compromising position.
Ilyaas just told me to wear a disguise and keep a tracker. He thought I was with one of the twenty-nine he actually approved of. He'd chew me out if he knew who I was with, yet again.
I was meant to shed the outfit when I was close enough to the station where the train awaited. The guards there needed to recognize me still, so I had to change when we got closer.
"Hold tight!" Zabdi grabbed my arms and wrapped them around his waist.
I hated the bike. I hated the bike. I hated the bike.
I didn't like the air whipping at my arms, or the sheer openness of it all, or the fact that I couldn't even balance on a bicycle, much less a motorcycle the age of my grandfather.
But the roads in this side of Pakistan weren't big enough for runners or cars. Carts of the most colorful things made it impossible. The local economy was booming, all the people looked either busy, pissed, or gloriously happy. But this also meant crowded streets.
Everyone just had to walk or go up a few feet in altitude to get where they wanted to go. But all my runners bore my emblem and I wanted to be under the cover of night. I didn't need anyone following us and seeing us play with fireballs.
The helmets were so stinky. We got them from a shady store beside a small road in the outskirts of the city, and we had to give them back. But I took a mental note to clean them before we did... Just a tiny favor for the shop owners.
"Are we there yet?" I asked, my eyes closed again his back. I hated the sound of the rattling engine. I felt like I was going to die any moment then.
The station was a little way's away from the Lahore, but we would get there soon with Zabdi's speed, which was a contradiction for my heart. I wanted solid ground, yes, but it was as if he was determined to crash us. "Almost."
He stopped two blocks from the station, the engine sputtering to a halt. There, behind the shadows of skyscraper, in an alley home to only rats, we changed our clothes. I shed the scarf and put on a loose white shirt.
Zabdi literally kissed his wig goodbye and donned a new jacket, stuffing all our clothes in a backpack. We changed our shoes as well and started walking the motorcycle down the small street. I wondered how long it would take until-
It took the only a few minutes before the flashes descended.
I kept my head down as the drones swarmed. Zabdi kept his eyes level. My heartbeat started racing as I saw the photographers start running to us from afar.
"THERE!" They shouted.
Don't run. I heard his voice in my head. It will get worse.
The photographers were now getting closer, the drones now mere feet from my head. My pulse quickened, with every intention to speed out of the corner they were starting to blockade us in.
The handout said not to run. His voice echoed in my cranium.
"Zabdi-" I tugged on his sleeve.
He saw the photographers running in the rearview mirror. They were already screaming profanities at him to get a reaction. Insults on his country, his father, his mother-
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Science FictionLizaveta has always looked like the enemy, but her blood has always been of the throne. After leaving her life on a choice she made with a letter opener above a king's throat, a friend reveals that she has gained a continent. The last heir from a l...
