Fake Smiles

Chapter 1: Night of Thieves

"We must send a message across the world that there is no disgrace in being a survivor of sexual violence - The shame is on the aggressor."

- Angelina Jolie

Today is my first superhero mission.

Sporting a pastel pink tank top, I wore a pair of navy blue jeans and light blue Keds. My grandfather's brown trenchcoat comforted my arms.

Black fingerless gloves protected my hands as Dad's old green goggles rested above my olive-brown hair.

While Nadine and her boyfriend James are stopping a robbery, Marco and I attended an abandoned warehouse where the Triads prepare their purest cocaine.

Donning the goggles over my eyes, I glance at Marco throwing his hood over his head.

He wears a black Public Enemy #1 hoodie, khaki pants, and white NIKE sneakers. His dark hair looked a bit unkempt, but his caramel brown eyes can still see me.

Marco's nails are painted in a bluish-black color; but to my disappointment, they looked as though they have been scratched by a rabid cat.

"Geez Marco, " I moan.

He gives me a curious look. "What?"

Taking ahold of Marco's hands, I ask: "Did you at least try to paint your nails?"

Marco rolls his eyes. "Yeah, Aria. I did."

My real name is Imogen Zhang, but a lot of people call me Aria because apparently, I remind them too much of the artsy character from that TV show Pretty Little Liars.

Releasing his hands, I cross my arms. "Did you also wait for them to dry?"

My best friend frowns in embarrassment.

"You didn't, didn't you?" I guessed.

My best friend's sun-kissed face reddens.

"Shut up!" he pouted. "I had Burrito Tacos with my Tío and Abuelo."

I chuckled in reply. "Oh sure, blame the food."

Marco gasped.

"Burrito Tacos are not just food, " he snorts. "It is a corn pouch with meat, fresh cheese, lettuce, and exotic spices from Argentina."

I playfully raise my hands. "Okay, okay. I guess I can forgive you for now."

Marco smirks. "Oh please, you haven't even tried a Burrito Taco before."

My eyes glance down at the suspicious men dressed in black. Some had tattoos, whilst others tote around carrying machine arms.

They were surveying workers in surgical masks who were putting their finishing touches on the product.

While the Triads continued their work, Marco and I watched their activity through the unbolted back door.

One time, I had suggested that we should go on the roof, but Marco is petrified of heights.

Sighing, I said in a low voice, "that's because my dad and I have to work at the music store."

If you want to get an instrument or a record in a hurry, come to Zhang's Tunes where every genre of music never fades away.

After he left the music producing business, Dad opened Zhang's Tunes whilst my mom and older brothers took turns looking after me.

At first, people loved going there, but now that drugs and crime entered Manhattan everyone is afraid to go outdoors.