Next Up

Track 22

Conor slid open the helicopter door, and looked back out at the road far from them. His vision zoomed in to the action below, watching Poatan tear into the criminals.

Bullets ripped through his clothes, yet failed to penetrate his skin—not due to any specific skill or ability, but simply because they couldn't harm him.

Poatan grabbed a grenade, hurling it at a hovering helicopter. The explosive sailed through the windshield, burying itself inside the pilot's skull.

The flaming helicopter hovered for a few more seconds before tilting and exploding several blocks away.

"I wanna be down there," grumbled Zheanni as she peered from behind Conor.

Poatan continued the rampage, dismembering, decapitating, and crushing with a single swipe of his hand.

Kholwa remained still, gazing ahead at the skyline as the explosion of a car below briefly bathed the helicopter's interior in an orange glow.

Another explosion shook the street, forcing the remaining gangsters to shield their eyes. Emerging from a flaming limo, Poatan seized a tall man by the ankle, mutilating his face beyond recognition; third-degree burns covered his entire body. Unfazed, Poatan flung the body, breaking two others on impact.

"Aw," Poatan sighed disappointedly, watching them all scatter, hopping over fences, jumping into cars, and fleeing as far away as possible.

Ten minutes later.

Conor walked into the hotel room, tossing the wooden box haphazardly onto the marble counter, and flopped down in the middle of the couch. "Fuck!" He yelled, slamming his phone onto the couch.

"Hey!" Zheanni snapped.

"What?" Conor asked in an exaggerated tone. "It's not like I can open it anyways."

"You can't open it?"

"That's what I said," he looked her up and down. "You got X on you?"

Zheanni smirked, "Yeah."

"Lemme get some."

"Get your own, bitch," she rolled her eyes.

"I tried; Antwan ain't picking up."

Zheanni gingerly grabbed the box, studying it for the first time.

Behind her, Autxmn lay down with his feet in the air, his toes wiggling in his socks. In front of him was a bright pink electronic keyboard. He slammed his fingers down on the keys; everyone in the room jumped at the jarring sound, but he went with it and started singing.

Zheanni looked back at the box. The wood was old and had slightly rotted. She pulled at the green-metal seam that held the chest together. The front had a small red button; if pressed, it would've released the clasp, and the lid would've popped off. No matter how hard she pushed, it didn't work—she didn't go all out in fear of accidentally breaking the box and the contents inside.

Autxmn's voice sang out from the other side of the room, "In a world of black and white, I'm a splash of color, A rainbow in the sky, not just another. I'm a quirky creature in a norm-defined zoo, Different stripes, different spots, in a world so true," Autxmn sang in a high falsetto, perfectly nailing every note. He stopped, then began mumbling to himself, "Yeah, that was good. I'm gonna write that down."

Conor tried calling Antwan once more. "Where dis dude at, bruh?"

Twenty-two years old, black, bleached hair, and covered in tattoos, the customary 'KTA' lettering scribbled his face—Draco walked into the room. "It's probably coded with energy so that only certain people can open it if it recognizes their energy."