Zoe stared at Mitani's phone, watching a rap music video. "Uh," Zoe looked to Mitani. He sat beside her on the Park's privately owned aircraft, with it too, having their golden name on the side. He held out his phone in front of both of them, showing her the music video. "Who is this?"

  "They're all in a rap group or gang. But this song specifically is by Zheanni and her brother Conor."

  She listened for a while, hearing Zheanni rap, "It's a .38 Special, you feel that it's metal. You know that it's mental. I'm cold; it's my violent temper. Slide on your block in early December. On top for as long as I can remember. Firin' bullets that fly at your melanin pride, and everyone dies. I'll silence BTB and all they members.

  Fifty shots. Fifty shots. Yuh, on stage they tried to hit me with Fifty shots... They say this music is bad for the culture. Seein' what we're doing, they say, 'think about the children.' Bitch, they couldn't predict this come-up on The Simpsons! Mad cause this money got me winning! Imma take this chance to hit a celebration lap. Only smoke that gas, geeked up off Antwan's exotic pack, cause life is too short. Imma blow the whistle, and now you end up dead at twenty-four."

  "Yeah," Mitani said, "within the last year, they really blew up because of a feature on a song with Lil Durk," Mitani smiled eagerly.

  Zoe blinked, "Little...I don't know who that is."

  "Wha- really? He's like one of the biggest rappers right now. I dunno what it's like over in Crater, so maybe you guys don't listen to that stuff."

  "I guess not," Zoe replied, her brow furrowing as she gestured at the screen. An uncomfortable expression crossed her face as the video cut to a scene with strippers dancing. "We aren’t really allowed to watch or listen to things like this."

  "That must be awful." There was a long pause, as his attention focused back on the song. Conor's verse blasted through the speakers, "Then I got 'da offer. Jerry Springer told the world that Conor ain't the father. Real estate mogul, got five trap houses, made 'em all modern. Check the account. Racks on racks on racks. (Who's in that?) Fleet of whips like the crime rate. Black on black on black...In my hands, I got an AR. I'm clean with this shit, got precision like a ruler. I don't fuck with xans, and I ain't do no booger-sugar. You know I got bands, I got it 'cause it's right. I ain't got no type. I ain't got no type. Dr.Umar gonna have to forgive me, cause I'm slaying these bunnies like it's a sacrifice. Yah!" played loudly through the speakers. Mitani looked around the cabin of the personal airship. The mother, Olivia Park, sat by one of the windows; her daughter Ayla Park stood nearby, taking pictures of her posing mother. She lifted her hand, and below her fresh manicure shined a massive rock. The father, Alder Park, wasn't far, as he had passed out in a nearby chair, a never-lit cigar in his mouth.

  Zoe turned back to Mitani, her face unreadable. "Was that music supposed to be… good?" she asked bluntly.

  Mitani chuckled and shrugged, "I like it?"

  "Fair enough," Zoe said, looking down at the table in front of them—A wooden oval with glass in its center. Black cards with gold lettering and trim spread out in front of her.

  "How long have you been into those?"

  Zoe paused, "I was seven years, four months, and twenty-three days old when I found this special interest."

  'Oddly specific,' Mitani thought. "Are you like a gambler? Or do you do magic tricks or something like that?"

  "Mostly magic, but I know some card games. No one else seems to have ever heard of them but me, it seems, but for one reason or another, I know them."

  "Alright, show me a trick, then."

  The Festival of Wealth in Apris, and Stygian Tower's significance: The annual late fall event at the Stygian Tower keeps this country from becoming insolvent. People from all walks of life ready to part with millions in the pursuit of unparalleled extravagance—bankers, politicians, crime families, cartels, really, anyone who's willing to pay. For the participants, the Festival of Wealth is more than a gathering; it's a theatre of ambition, a stage where influence is measured in the weight of currency. Against the backdrop of this exclusive event, the Stygian Tower becomes a microcosm of societal intricacies, where money speaks louder than words, and the annual ritual ensures the economic pulse of the nation.

  The event is funded by four of the five strongest crime families in the world. The Moretti's, The Silvio's, The Elara's, The Falcone's, and the Velenzano Syndicate. However, the Silvio Family isn't welcome.

  Stygian Tower is only accessible to the wealthiest of people. There are only six thousand tickets made, one ticket per person. Once they go on sale six months prior, within the initial thirty seconds of release, automated bots made by ticket-scalpers swiftly snatch up the majority of tickets, setting the stage for colossal bidding wars that persist until the Tower's grand opening.

  Though, for people who can't afford a ticket to Stygian Tower, this doesn't mean they still can't participate. In the weeks prior, there are street markets, lower-end auctions, and events that millions fly across the world to enjoy.

  Ayla glided up the stairs, one of the hotel servants huffing and puffing behind her, carrying her luggage to her room.

  This was one of the most extravagant places Mitani or Zoe had ever seen. Mitani felt slight vertigo from staring up at the high ceilings.

  Ayla's fingers gracefully trailed along the marble railings intricately carved to mimic the feel and look of wood. Her green eyes danced over the Romanized paintings adorning the wine-red walls of the main room.

  Zoe wandered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows her attention momentarily captivated by the sprawling view beyond. Unbeknownst to her, there was a boy seated in shadow on a cushy orange chair facing her. The moon hung high in the sky, casting an almost orange hue over the sprawling city lights below. Squinting, she could barely make out the thin, rickety tower. Stygian Tower. Surrounded by a shifting spectrum of lights—green to purple to red. A gentle pitter-patter of sleet against the glass infused the room with a soothing ambiance, coaxing a subtle smile onto Zoe's face.

  In the reflection, a sudden flash caught her attention. Whirling around, she locked eyes with a boy a year or two her senior, a sleek silver phone clasped in his hand. He was thin and lanky, with a messy black mop of hair on his head. Silver bands held several locks of hair in place.

  Zoe stared at the guy, not sure of how to react. He looked up at her and gave her a big, goofy grin. "I'm Bulwark," he waved. Based on his accent, she could tell he was from this area of the world, though surely not from Apris, but a neighboring island, if she had to guess.

  "Hey," she paused for several seconds, 'introduce yourself properly this time!' "I'm Zoe, by the way."

  He squinted at her, cocking his head to the side, "You're a bodyguard?" he asked skeptically.

  "Yes, it seems so."

  "Do you know energy?"

  Zoe nodded.

  "You have an ability to boot?"

  "Do you?"

  Bulwark grinned as a hum overpowered the drone of the rain outside. A vibrant green glowed around him; a see-through revolver that looked like he made it from blue crystal spun on his finger. He held the handle of the gun to Zoe. "Pursuit of Truth."

  "Do you want me to shoot it or something?" She had a confused look on her face as she tentatively took the gun from his hand. "Surprisingly light," she thought, waving it around.

  "You can," he said, spinning another revolver on his finger, and with his other hand taking a black ritualistic dagger from his jacket. This revolver looked as if he sculpted it from jade. "It's not gonna 'damage' anything."

  Not really trusting that, Zoe awkwardly handed the gun back to him.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "So what's yours?" He asked.

  "My what?"

  He leaned forward in his chair. "Your ability."

  Zoe dug in her pocket, flashing her black box of cards. "I do stuff with these. I can harden and sharpen them. I can stick them to things or people and can modify the way they feel and look through my energy. Kind of like a sticker mixed with a chameleon. Chameleonic." She removed a card from the box, studying it. "I don't have a fancy name for it or anything," she mumbled. "I think I said too much. Keigh made it pretty clear in our conversations about energy to not tell anyone. And if you have to, less is more. It's good I didn't tell Bulwark everything."

  "That's a much cooler ability than I thought you would have."

  "Thanks?"

  "You know any tricks?"

  They both sat in orange chairs around a small glass table.

  As Zoe performed the card trick for Bulwark, another guard named Gemo, who had been in the room prior to their arrival, walked over to them, curiously watching the trick. He was in his mid-twenties, tall, tan, and wore a glow-in-the-dark biker jacket over a wife-beater. He had heterochromia, having one eye that was brown and the other eye a pale blue—though this was by choice. He scanned Zoe with his eyes, 'Five- no three. Definitely three,' he thought. 'Bulwark is a four. The guy with the hat- Mitani, is it? Two...'

  Ayla walked from her upstairs room, hopping on the stair railing and sliding down.

  Gemo stared at her in shock, 'Is this real?' His stomach tightened into a knot, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his face, 'This could be a first-ever! The highest I've ever seen! Nine point three!'

  Bulwark looked up at Gemo, "Dude you gotta stop doing that."

  "Doing what?" Gemo said quickly.

  Bulwark rolled his eyes, telling Zoe, "Bro sizes people up in his head all the time trying to rank people on how strong he 'thinks' they are, and then always gets himself worked up."

  "It's thinking like this that saves your life. I'll never get caught off guard by someone stronger!"

  "Okay bro." Bulwark shifted his gaze to Ayla, wincing as he watched her slide down the railing, 'She's lucky to not fall backward and crack her head open,' he thought.

  When she reached the bottom, she walked over, seeing what they were doing. When she arrived, Zoe was about to guess which card Bulwark had under his hand.

  "Seven of Spades," both Zoe and Ayla said simultaneously.

  Zoe looked at Ayla, a shocked expression on her face.

  "Wow, she's right," Bulwark said in awe, holding up the card. "How'd you know?"

  Ayla smirked and shrugged, "Lucky guess."

  "Hey," Mitani stood next to Alder, who stood in the kitchen, watching the personal chefs start to work on food for everyone. "Is there a holiday going on? I see alotta lights and things."

  "Pretty much. Not officially a holiday, but more of an annual event." He fished two cigars, offering one to Mitani.

  'This guy's like really cool. I can't show weakness,' Mitani took the cigar, holding it as Alder lit both of them.

  "There's a tower here in Apris. Stygian Tower. Worldwide, people buy a ticket and if you're fast enough and, of course, have enough money to pay for a ticket, (or realistically you'll be giving your money to a scalper), you're in. That's basically the main event. But for people who can't afford that, there are other events happening all throughout the week. When I was a kid, you couldn't go two blocks without seeing some party being shutdown…It's a lot better now as it's basically free rein."

  Mitani turned, hearing the clomping of boots walking toward them.

  Ayla strolled up to her father, "Can I go to the black market that's down the street. Pleeeeaaasssee!"

  Alder smiled, "Of course. Make sure to take two guards."

  A frown crossed her face, "But dad, I don't need them!"

  "For me, baby, okay? For my own peace of mind. You can buy whatever you want there, just don't leave their sight, alright?"

  "You're the best!" She yelled, running back to her room to get dressed.

  "Zoe, a favor," Alder stated.

  Zoe lifted her gaze, finding Alder towering over her with the obnoxious aroma of his cigar wafting through the air, causing her nostrils to flare with disgust. "Sure," she said. He put an arm around her; a shiver ran through her body, composing herself. Zoe let herself be walked to the side of the room. Alder Park took a step forward and positioned himself in front of her. Bending down, he ensured they were eye to eye.

  "Zoe," Alder began, his deep voice low and deliberate. "Ayla has taken a liking to you. I’ve noticed how she looks to you—trusts you."

  She wasn't sure how to respond. "Okay…"

  His piercing gaze locked onto her as he pulled her aside. "For all intents and purposes, you’re now her personal guard. You’ll accompany her everywhere."

  "Okay, I can do that."

  "Good," he smiled. Alder retrieved a sleek black-metal card from his wallet, holding it in front of Zoe's face. "She'll use this to pay; but I want you to hold on to it," he handed her the card. "You can also buy whatever you wish with it as well. Since we're employing you, you'll have all expenses, necessities, and anything of that sort taken care of." Suddenly, he reached out, putting his arm around her once again. She leaned back slightly, feeling his hot breath run along her face. His arm felt heavy and cold, like a large weighted chain. That same itchy, uncomfortable sensation rose throughout her body—she didn't know why, but it happens occasionally when someone gets to close or grabs her without warning. "At the same time, there's no such thing as a free meal, you get me? You will give your life for my daughter, understand? If anything happens to Ayla, I'll make sure the same thing happens to you—I'll make sure of that." He smiled at Zoe's quick nod of understanding. He stood but bent down once more. "Nothing weird with her, either. Don't let me find out something happened between the two of you, now."

  "Is there a legitimate threat of you or your family getting attacked?" Zoe asked as she, Ayla, and Gemo walked into the elevator.

  Ayla laughed, "Oh yeah, definitely!"

  "Oh," Zoe felt a nervous shiver go through her body. Ayla said it like it was such a silly thing to ask, so nonchalantly like it was guaranteed to happen. She glanced toward the security camera on the ceiling. "Any idea who would attack you?"

  "Too many people to name, ya know?" She was about a head shorter than Zoe. She looked up into Zoe's bright blue eyes, "You do know who he is, right? My dad? Who we are?"

  "Uh," Zoe glanced at Gemo for help. The whole time he stared forward, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Your father, Alder, is the founder of a small exclusive bank. He's known for being a prominent and heavy gambler. He doesn't exactly gamble with the cleanest people…or so the rumors are.

  "Let's see, your mother, Olivia, she's a famous model. But you, you're an actress. You're the main character of that show on the Dizney Channel. Betty from Boy Blues."

  "Wow," Ayla raised her eyebrows, "You can read. I'm impressed."

  The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the underground parking garage. Dim lighting cast long shadows across the pristine concrete floor, the faint hum of electricity audible above the stillness. A sleek black limo sat waiting just a few steps ahead, its windows so dark they appeared like voids. The driver stood to the side, his posture stiff, hands clasped in front of him.

  Ayla stepped forward, the sharp click of her heels echoing. She turned back to Zoe and Gemo, her usually playful demeanor replaced with a stern, almost commanding expression. “Look,” Ayla said, her green eyes narrowing. “Follow close to me. I don’t need either of you being slow. I didn’t want either of you with me in the first place for a reason. But I wasn’t joking in the elevator. My family…We gotta lotta enemies."