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KOOPALINGS : THE TEENAGE YEARS

by Foxy Boy

CHAPTER III: REVELATIONS

From Koopa castle's highest pillar, a permanent guard might fancy his job among the best to be found. The view of Grand Koopa City stood unmatched, and the workload - merely keeping a sharp eye for threats of siege - was anything but back-breaking.

On occasion this proved a secondary objective, though, taking a back seat to other plans the King might craft with the direct or indirect need of spying.

As twilight set over the far hill, this very occasion was forged. Unbeknownst, Roy'd been shadowed by the local papparazzi to within blocks of his earlier exchange; and also nonevident, his behavior driving away had been photographed. While news rushed back through the castle's own grapevine of loyals, it exploded into a swarm of questions, and Bowser quickly sent out the most elite of sentries on finding Roy, and ushering him back as fast as possible. Whatsoever hole he'd dug for himself this time, it would quickly be addressed and even more swiftly stemmed.

Should he not turn up at one of the guest houses, Paratroopas were at the ready for reconnaisance. One way or another, the King had every necessity for exerting his will, from every nook and crannie of ever-expanding domain.

Even so, it was very possible that someone they were all trained to instantly identify should slip by unnoticed, and make his way to an unlikely meeting with no way to prepare for what awaited him.

*******************************************

Weighed down by hefty bags, Wendy's arms felt close to snapping like rotted twigs. The day of browsing had been fruitful, and her eyes were no smaller than the size of her budget. She stumbled - not too gracefully - along the concourse ahead of Larry and Lemmy, who kept a few feet behind, as Lemmy performed all sorts of board tricks and shot the breeze about things she hardly cared to overhear. Neither of the boys had purchased anything, and pride wouldn't allow that she ask them to shoulder her bounty, so she was left to struggle in silence while they made for the exit. Closing time was upon them, and if they dared to defy the strike of ten, all the recognition in the world wouldn't keep the doors from automatically locking.

Through the course of the day, as she'd loaded up with dresses, shirts, makeup, belts and all manner of other discounted goods, she watched her disinterested companions walk out of each store without so much as a stick of gum. The day was purely bonding between them, as she'd understood, and she took no issue with the idea; simply refreshed to see them connect, but also having this much better for the feminine image than going alone. Dumb luck she should find out all her normal "shopping posse" were either busy or out-of-town; the present company made convenient stand-ins. No matter how little they cared for the 'event', her confidence upheld.

A pair of new pink sneakers loudly squeaked against the tough terrazzo tiles lining every square inch of floor, garbling the echoes of her brothers' speech, which now seemed to be growing fainter. She glanced awkwardly over one shoulder to see if they were still close behind, and found them fifty yards back, mesmerized by a widescreen monitor hung from a support column. As her arms weren't getting any emptier, she was none too patient.

"Come on, dumbos, I'm done and I doubt you'd like to stay here overnight!"

Neither answered, or even glanced in her direction. Soon the concern in their faces wore obvious, and she realized whatever held them wasn't merely some random tidbit. Carefully, she set down the bags and jogged over to see the cause.

"What is it? Something happen in the city? Come on, answer-"

By then she'd reached them and caught sight of the screen, now also transfixed. It was one of many news networks, and on screen front-and-center was none other than public-enemy-plumber-number-one, his likeness in footage apparently shot from the Deerfield Heights area; a former meadow preserve, now a slum-laden 'business district' housing bars, seedy strip clubs and all makes of shady commercial presence. It was here Larry had been one day prior at his run-in with the little boy and the barkeep; also the side of town with most of Roy's usual hangouts. All three of them were well-aware, when Roy ducked out hours earlier, there was no mystery where he'd wind up.

Larry shattered their silence. "You don't think they could possibly..."

"Fat chance", Lemmy interrupted, loud to drown his own doubts. "It's a maze of streets and alleys. They'd never run into each other."

Wendy's gaze refocused from the TV to her skater sibling. "Well I'm not gonna rationalize away and hope all hell won't break loose. You should know better than to think it just couldn't."

She spun on her heel in the direction of her bags. The two brothers hesitated only to exchange brief eye contact, then ran after her. "Sis, this is beyond a situation.", Larry put forward. "I mean, if Dad finds out-"

"-Don't worry, he will.", Lemmy un-assured. "If he hasn't already. It's all over the effin' news, bro, how could it not get to him?"

"All I know", Wendy continued, "Is our brother's in the middle of the goddamn ghetto likely twisted on half the unmentionables known to science, and in THAT state this over-achieving little greaseball can make mincemeat out of him before he even knows where to guard."

Neither bro had a fitting comeback, as she picked up the sacks and shoved through the doors for the parking deck.

"Sis", Larry managed to say as he zipped up his jacket for the inclement weather, "I haven't heard you swear in years."

"I'm aware of that", she came back flatly. "Even a lady can have it appropo." As they neared the Trans Am she all-but-threw down one sack to use her remote and pop the trunk, and every burgeoning bag along with Lemmy's board were tossed in. No time to dawdle, and as they practically leaped Dukes-of-Hazzard-style in the seats Wendy peeled out with a speed and recklessness uncharacteristic. A swear would only be the beginning.

********************************************

Morton cursed the low annoying buzz in constant pour from the fluorescent kitchen sink light. It 'pierced' him from as much as fifteen feet away in the living room, where minutes before he'd curled up on the couch with his copy of "True Crimes". Many who knew him might never guess he enjoyed a good book, but if Tom wasn't around, he could often be found in that spot attempting to feed his mind.

His lover was out for groceries, essentials to last them through the week, but he declined the invite to go, only lying that he didn't feel up to it. The reality: depression, due to not one sibling extending their invitations like he'd expected. Of course, it wasn't fair to just assume they'd arrange it all, do the work to carry the bonds Larry renewed and guide while he lay sedentary, but for him it stayed a tall order to make the first move. Old habits, as they are, die hard.

Going thirsty, he set the book down cover-up to preserve his place, and shuffled to the fridge for a soda. As his fingers curled around a can of grape he was startled by two large arms, wrapping his stomach. He smiled, knowing to whom they belonged.

"Didn't hear you come in", he cooed, not bothering to turn around. "You're getting sneakier."

"Good," Tom prodded. "It always gets a rise out of you."

"Okay, score one for the big guy. But where are the groceries, then, since I know I would've heard you set them down?"

Tom softly stroked the top of a bald head with his left hand. "Out in the car. There's no rush, nothing's perishable. I picked up some queso, thought we might enjoy tacos tonight."

"No, I would enjoy tacos by myself, unless you plan to sleep on the couch."

Tom gave a sarcastic laugh. "You're brutal."

The lovestruck prince leaned up, gave a peck on Tom's cheek. "I was tryin' to locate a good movie by the time you got back, but my nose got buried in that book. Lost track of myself and time."

"It's all good, I had something else on my mind. You said your brother - one of them I mean - dragged you back to the castle and tried to rekindle family ties?"

Morton's smile faded, as he realized things weren't heading where he'd first assumed. "Well, yeah... I mean basically. It's a long story and most of it won't concern us."

"Well that doesn't matter to me. Why don't you get in touch with him, we could do a family trip. Midnight bowling, a park in the hills, I mean we don't have any plans and I'm sure he'd welcome-"

"-I appreciate you, but I don't think that's such a grand idea,", He hastily interrupted. " And I... Really just want to stay home tonight."

The hopeful glimmer in Tom's face changed to solemn recognition. "You still can't face him with me in tow, can you?"

Morton cast eyes at the threadbare carpet, shaking his head. "I wish I could sketch out why. I just don't think I have the words to make it... Translate. Not all of it."

"Heeyyyy", Tom replied, making his love face him again. "No bro' should have the power to scare you into silence. He'd understand, and if not, he's just one out of five-and-a-half."

Morton smiled wryly. "And you call me brutal... I'm sorry, but it's no, and nothing you say could change the reasons."

Knowing little else to do, Tom swapped kisses while they walked to the couch together, lowering to spoon.

Neither disrespected the wordless, only moving when a leg or arm threatened to fall asleep. After some time Morton's eyes opened wide and he sprang up sand-warning... Tom was shook rough from near-hypnotic repose.

"What-" is all he got out before his eyes adjusted to see Morton at the fridge, taking a can of craft ale. He could only grunt in frustration, watching the prince return with a deep chug.

"You'll be the death of me. You know that, right?", He scolded as Morton sat with care beside him.

He sat unfazed by the idle prod. "One good malt never killed a guy without a steering wheel or a weapon. Twenty or thirty might do the trick."

Tom crossed his arms and looked away detachedly. "Awful, head to toe." Morton just laughed.

This drew a deep sigh from the very bottom of his partner's chest. Sensing real concern, Morton ceased laughing and sat the can on the end-table nearby.

"I wouldn't want to do anything that might get you pissed at me", he halfheartedly apologized. "There's just a handful of things in this world that help me forget, and that's one of them."

"Yeah, well, you don't need to pass out every weekend. And don't dare deny it, I have pics of you at my only bro's 30th birthday downing straight Remy while he blew out the candles on his cake."

Morton seemed perturbed at the convenient mention, turning away. But feeling an epiphany, he glanced back at the worried features. "I'm not about to treat facts like they're something else. If it relieves you, I hereby swear it off for a month."

Tom returned his gaze with one of sly acceptance. "It's a start. Or you'd have to swallow your pride and move back home. Good luck reconciling with the asshead, I'm sure he'd be happy as a clam to learn how you've done your lineage justice."

"Psh", Morton spewed confirmingly. "That's barely a crumb of the bull I'd be in for."

Tom wanted to laugh, if it could lift the mood hanging over them, but had to shake his head. "Mort, I really wish you would call him, see if we could find common ground. Your dad doesn't have to be there, and I... I need out of this house. I don't hide my folks from you and I don't think you're tryin' too hard to see the effects. Does my support not make a difference?"

Morton started to plot out an excuse, but curbed it with a brief sigh. "Fine, hand me the phone. If worse comes to worst I guess I'll say you're my roomie."

"Thanks. It means a load to me," Tom sincerely lit up, reaching for the cordless unit opposite the couch from their pose. Morton grabbed it and gave him an extended smooch, before dialing Larry's cell. "Just remember, how it goes is on your head."

********************************

"Ohhh... Man..."

Iggy was aware of sharp pains in his back long before his weak eyes could unblur and let him learn where he'd fallen asleep. He was on the sofa in front of the den's plasma widescreen, where he'd waited for Larry, Lemmy and Wendy's return, intending to coax them into another movie. This would explain the back pain, he thought, and Who Framed Roger Rabbit is still playing, so I couldn't have slumbered more than an hour.

Slowly, he lifted spine from the cushions, feeling every painful move on the way up. He was accustomed to supportive, extra-soft mattresses he and his line enjoyed, and an old, broken-in couch was a far cry from that level. The only reason it even remained for years was sentimental; the place where Wendy entered the world when a blizzard basically closed down all roads to the hospital. Bowser didn't plan to let them in on the truth, however, that Wendy wasn't just born on it but also conceived.

As he carefully stood to search for a missing remote, the pain dulled slow but steadily. Muscles would reacclimate, and he silently thanked that he wouldn't have to live it down the rest of the day. He'd at least owned the presence of mind to lay his glasses atop the TV, and while retrieving them he spotted an unfamiliar face; across the room and before the door leading to the main hall. It was a lone castle guard, and by her presence she proved ignorant of assigned space.

The scientific prince did his best rendition of what to say in this instance. "What are you doing here?", he sternly intoned, adjusting his spectacles. "Your place is out in the main vestibule with the other armed help." His propensity for less 'stuffed-shirt' tactics than the others was somewhat well-known, using terms like "help" instead of "subjects". But from this basic-though-innocent invasion, it was doubtful she'd know nor appreciate.

Clearly unnerved from learning of her faux-pas, she gave a bow so low her helmet nearly slammed the ground. "I r-realize that, your highness, but your father the king sent me to request your presence at the overlook."

"I know who my father is, but thank you," Iggy mouthed, more put off by the guard's amateur formality. "I'm ready, take me up to him."

Once again the bow was near-cartoonish, and Iggy followed her lead out the door, to the hall and down stairs that opened to all floors of the castle, even up to Ludwig and Esmerelda's marital penthouse. After that it was a tiring walk up past several landings to the one for the overlook... By the time they traversed that floor's atrium and met the figure standing quietly before the viewing area, both were a tad short of breath. The wistful king slowly, non-emotionally, glanced back at his son, then returned to the expanse of land low and distant. The guard stuck around, unsure if automatically dismissed. Iggy noticed that on his father's shoulders, in lieu of the common red cape, draped one black and silken; rare and ominous. All he'd ever seen of it were it times of trouble or mourning. Something wasn't right, long before his majesty relayed this.

"Son", he muttered, with wee shivers in the night's breeze that toyed with his cape, "I'm glad you're available. I'd hoped for a chance to speak with you before it happens."

"What happens?" Iggy asked, gaze darting in the direction his father's appeared to seek. "What are you saying?"

His baritone sigh punctuated the placing of large hands on a polished stone handrail. "Your brother's antics - you'll know soon enough which one - may have helped unleash the unthinkable on us. He's been missing since some hours ago, and after I found him unreachable, I commanded the guards begin a thorough search. I admit my method was... Shortsighted. To do so required that they leave many posts, blind to infiltrators, insurgents, the other usual suspects..." He paused to pull the cape tighter, denying a wind that almost seemed to know the dilemma. "... And I fear it's a costly mistake."

Another pause, dramatic, clearly begging that Iggy ask. "...Just what brings you to that?", he conceded, now certain it could only be drastic.

The troubled monarch complied, never breaking gaze from the vast, starlit expanse beyond them. "Mario slipped inside our borders. Past our weakened measures. He went unnoticed at first, but a pack of soldiers happened by and engaged pursuit. I don't doubt they'll eventually capture him, but I'm not convinced they have the numbers to do away with him. Not without my diverting more precious leagues to ground-zero. By the latest reports, he's in an area Roy frequents while he's using and wants far away from my influence."

The gifted prince couldn't help his audible gasp. "Oh my God, Dad, if I'd known I'd have been out and retaining him hours ag-"

Bowser held out his hand, cementing the need for a quiet, obedient listen. "-Your will is ackowledged, but I doubt it's so preventable. If Roy's in his right mind - as right as he gets - he'll have the wits to go unscathed. If not, our best scenario is a simple triage bill. Either case, or any other, my concerns are my subjects - the ones undoubtedly in the line of fire." With his only other glance away from the sleeping paupers, he looked into Iggy's wide, helpless eyes. "As that... Plumber plows his way through the city, there will be damage, casualties. It never happens any other way where he's concerned." A shiver and a shudder. "Even if I were blessed to corner him, string him up for all my people to gloat over, there's great multitudes heaping blame square on me for how he terrorized in the first place. In the best of times I'm second-guessed. Worse, and they make effigies they can set ablaze."

Inside Iggy was conflicted; deeply frightened by the imminent calamity, plus how his father's experience he couldn't just argue down, yet also hurt by the lack of worry over Roy's end of this. With deep inhale he painted his tone with as much importance as he knew how.

"Dad, I understand what you imply, no less about the political side here, but we also know this family. You jabbed at it yourself, there's no way Roy could be sober right now; not the way you or I define it. Mario will pound the life from him if something isn't done, and my heart tells me-"

Once again he was cut short, by a father growing irritated. "-I can tell you don't understand all I conveyed. Come hell or high water, Roy will get what's coming to him. Don't forget I know you all far better than you know yourselves nor each other. We can agree that he desperately necessitates a wake-up call, and by the chain of events already in motion, it serves that need to perfection. I ask that you be my insulation, for when your other siblings return. Let them know the purpose of my choice, before a foolish guard or gossip-monguerer can blab and strike their temper. They will hinge on you before me, no matter how it's insubordinate."

Bowser saw that Iggy's nominal defiance suspended itself, so his irritation left again, back to thoughtful demeanor. His eyes grazed over to the outer darkness, regal more than scared. "And don't neglect to mention I have a force of the greatest skill at my disposal, they could head Mario off and put an end to this at a moment's notice. I won't allow Roy to be massacred if you must feel secure, but I will not prevent this meeting. You know the good it holds for him, and think widely: occupied with him means diverted from the populace. I must ensure the impact on our subjects, whether real or perceived, is contained."

As Iggy marveled at how unfazed, how... Premeditated it all sounded, his reborn anger grew to overload. "Dad, how can you be so blasé over something like this!? The best thing for Roy is detox or intervention, not getting mauled by the strongest threat we've ever known!!"

"THAT WILL BE QUITE ENOUGH, IGGY!!!" The lesser koopa's roars could never match his father's, and Bowser knew a single breath in that tone would suffice. "The decision is ultimately mine, however you're affected. If you were any sort of man, you'd know to trust my wisdom."

Iggy did know to cut his protest immediately, as any more would only fuel a fiery bickering. Without another word, he turned promptly to march through the hall, down the stairs, back to their den. Bowser, in his bluster, was 110% right. There was nothing he could do to prevent this, and the only option was obeying and to hope Roy's "wake-up call" would be something more high-brow than a beatdown.

Once Iggy stormed out, the all-powerful ruler lifted his hand, snapped his fingers. Called to his side was a dark silhouette in pointed hood. As it spoke, the voice was raspy, quite familiar to his ear.

"My lord, what would you have of me?"

Bowser still hadn't shifted gaze from the trees and buildings, nor changed his state of mind from how Iggy left it. "You've always been my most trusted advisor, and I know no other time when I've more needed your ears."

"It would be an honour to assist, as ever, O' king."

Bowser yanked the cape tight, this time in exasperation. "I have no answer for where I went wrong, and in this I'd permit you to speak freely that I did. I tried everything to raise them, to imprint the strength and knowledge to carry their adulthood. Now they've finally reached that point, and forsaken every shred of it. Wendy and Morton would just throw away the life of priveledge I've toiled all these years to guarantee them, moving out or taking thankless, streetside jobs that can't support a future. Lemmy and Iggy show not the slightest interest in affairs of my kingdom, and focus on their own idle hobbies. Roy... As if his infamy weren't a stain of its own, he tried all he could to drag Larry down with him. Had I not learned from you yourself that my youngest is getting back on track, I would never have known, because he clearly doesn't care for my concerns enough to even tell me he's quit his tailspin. But the icing on the cake is his wish to reunify them, in all honesty I have no idea what to think of that. If my heritage and the rule of this realm mean Goomba shit to the lot of them, then together they have multiplied openings for things FAR worse and more disastrous than Roy's brand could ever touch. Troublemakers, just as they've been since the first day they each could walk, and it's painfully clear I have no power to repair. It wouldn't bother me if put to good use; after all you know I was some kind of impish myself in youth. But they don't even seem to catch the issues that affect them, and with all the baggage they heap about themselves I just go on being glad Ludwig's of proper mind, since they couldn't be allowed to take up my torch." Worried and grimacing, he leaned to the sturdy stone rail, rubbing both temples.

A counter came more swift than Bowser would've thought, even from the one who always managed to surprise in this fashion. "Yes, my king, it is indeed a dark hour for your household. I'm glad I could assist in keeping tabs on them, otherwise you'd not even be aware of these conundrums. If you want that I advise, I might suggest you give them only the time it takes to reach their lowest point, as Roy has done. Then will they be receptive to your wisdom, and understand you only want what brings them perspective, for identity and future. How a butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, it must be allowed to struggle or its life cannot start to produce."

The royal countenance was soon changed, as if a huge weight lifted. "Many thanks, Kamek. Your contributions aren't overlooked." Rising from his perch, he started in the same direction as Iggy'd gone, with his next-in-command close behind. "I'm forever glad Ludwig didn't fall in with their tendencies. But I sired seven children, not one, and I shouldn't feel the latter is my fate."

The short figure gave gentle nods. "All will change with time, my lord. I assure you my talents are not narrow in scope, and if there is a way of returning them to rightful outlooks, know that I will find it."

The royal sigh was relieved, though with eyes closed. "I consider that a binding promise, Kamek. Should you not deliver on it by two weeks, I'll be forced to take action. And you know what that entails."

Just barely out of the king's audible range, came a fearful gulp. He was not dumb to the implications.

Without a word or evident cause, Bowser halted with eyes slowly opening, and glanced back past the overlook, to where he imagined Roy might be at the moment. Spending well-onto a minute in these unspoken fears, they closed with a sorrowful shaken head. Instinctually driven to somewhere less taxing, he continued down the hallway, Kamek trailing the respectful distance.

"Send for an Irish Coffee to my quarters, strong as the kitchen can spare.", he requested. "I'm wearied by the chill of this night."

********************************

A heavy squint, behind dark shades.

It seemed a million miles down to the next block, though he knew it couldn't be more than fifty feet. In this state, comprehension of distance was gone; the white pony still coarsing through his veins, battling the Xanax popped besides for unbridled control. Neither was a clear winner, but his body was the loser, though his mind wasn't free to feel or know. He'd abandoned the car many blocks behind, against a sidewalk, after the snap decision to go for a stroll. It didn't occur to him he'd left a $100,000 ride, parked in the loosest sense of the word, in plain view, smack-dab in the middle of ghetto fabulosity; he was far too high to do any sort of critical thinking. It was all he could do to wonder if he'd even had company walking the street past nine on Monday night, if there was a friend next to him or not. He would hardly latch onto the clear 'no' while staggering past the homeless and despondent at each corner, or one-track-mind teen gangs who were out to be seen stirring shit for want of rep'. But he kept on just the same as both stared him down, either in recognition of who he was, or what.

An addict with his level of staying power wasn't easily mistaken for some working-class unfortunate, especially where junkies were an all-day sight. The locals learn to recognize and further seperate them, grouped according to what they do, what they have and how much. Some savvy observers would shift their weight, readying to stand if they could muster an approach, or ask if his connections they could 'borrow'. None today would go through with it, knowing his identity. A rich and powerful rat is in many ways untouchable; who would risk betraying one who'd easily ensure you were never heard from again?

The chilling breeze that had so easily swept the city, and its king, had no effect on him. The last thing he should notice in this state was condition, and his own gait, wobbly and unstable. More than once he nearly fell, but for the ableness to stop his buckling knees, a skill half-from build and half-from years of this lifestyle. Likewise unaware of the clammy dampness his hands left on light poles, he swung with them to round corner after corner, never aware of his path nor the onlookers.

While he drifted on cloud ninety-nine, across the street and opposite the building he passed roared a giant commotion, as the same vagabonds who'd craned their necks to see him were now leaping in every direction to avoid the pandemonium fast approaching. Behind the cause were twenty-odd of Bowser's most practiced soldiers, armed to the teeth with steel helmets, diamond-tipped spears, armor and a sneer to match their hate for the dumpy target. They would go on searching 'til he was found; by an order absolute, their life or death determined by success.

Several streets distant, Wendy, Larry and Lemmy found Roy's car, piled out next to it, hoping he was safe inside. By the time the Trans Am went quiet, all three had scurried to the driver's side of the Viper. Wendy, who'd worn the closest thing to a look of hope, lost that luster as her dainty hands banged against window glass in exasperation.

"Roy, you sorry son-of-a-bitch", she growled, "Why do this to yourself?"

"He could be ten thousand places around here", Larry spoke from knowledge. "And if he's moving we might never find him."

"Not doing much for our morale", Lemmy chided. "I'm staying positive, 'cause he's not gettin' left out here with the M-word, Jack Frost OR a head that's all-high and no-sense."

"Then we need to split up and track seperately. We'll have better odds."

"But we'll have more chance of running into Drain-brain instead,", Wendy countered, "and giving him clues of how bad we're distracted. And, I may be proud of my fight skills but that doesn't mean I like this one alone."

"Sis, if there's one thing you could teach, it's that girls aren't automatically made not to kick ass." Larry adjusted his jacket. "But fine, we'll go together, just so long as we fucking pick a direction before he drops from old age."

Lemmy's eyes darted in all directions, trying to choose, when he caught the vast tableau of koopas running, shouting and in general uproar. Reflexively his left hand shot up pointing a rigid finger. "THERE!! All those people spazzing out, he must've been by!"

They shot off like out of a cannon towards the commotion, fast as their legs would carry.

There wasn't one among the crowd who didn't know to fear him, in trademark red and overalls. Bumps from his boots cracked the near-freezing blacktop.

"My God, we're fucking dead!", he overheard, mixed with other screams inherent in his drop-in. Had they been in the mind to consider, they'd know he had no business with them, but only with the same man. Not any better for them, nor would it bar their getting in his way.

Coming to a busy intersection, he approached a gridlock of idling cars. Many spotted him; no driver nor passenger would budge, lest they draw his attention. Ignoring their mindless panic, he leapt the wide span of metal, drawing more screams and yells as they watched the famous talents in action. Only after clearing the makeshift obstacles did he feel drafts atop his head. The hat was gone; strong winds picked it up and carried it behind, where it bounced along the street with no guide beyond the buildings and their canyons of wind-tunnel. With lowered brows, he promptly chased after, knowing without it he'd lose some share of protection. In the event of the unforseen, it wasn't smart to risk.

After twirling about like some possessed fairy, it came to rest at a light pole, the winds that carried it now pinning it fast against the cold steel. Short of breath, he took some time picking it up, just enough to catch the echo of shuffling footsteps.

As he leaned up to listen for some possible pattern, he saw it, in shock of what he closed in on.

Yards away, framed against the red crumbling clay of tenements, stood a face worthy of his memory.

To be continued...