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Prophet must embrace himself and his past to save the Prime Minister's daughter from a mysterious Tauran assassin.
EPISODE ONE.
(My family.)
A grey sedan parks outside of a hotel in Lucia. The sky is a dim blue and the streetlamps are beginning to turn on. It's cold and people are going out to drink and celebrate the end of the week. The radio shuts off and a shape emerges from the driver's side. It is a heavyset man, wearing a tuxedo. He has broad, square shoulders, and his face is obscured by the darkness of the night. He pauses for a moment, looking up at the towering building. He reads the sign above the entrance.
"BONIFACIO"
A cool breeze winds through the branches of the trees and around thick concrete buildings, around Domovoi. The man does not shiver. He walks towards the entrance.
---
Domovoi passed businessmen, CEOs, actors, bankers. Swaths of the rich and the elite filled the hotel lobby. It made him sick. He slipped between them, well-dressed figures conversing. Fake smiles and empty handshakes. There was a band performing somewhere. The jazz mingled with the dull roar of conversation that filled the room. He bumped into somebody, nearly causing them to spill their drink. As he walked away, he heard the man exclaim. "Hey, watch it!" He reached the elevator, hailing it, entering and crossing his hands. There were three packages he needed to collect, all of them on the third floor. The floor was mostly empty, the suites not as luxurious as those on the upper levels of the building. The first package was outside of room `309`. It was heavy, and as he carried it, there was a metallic clinking that accompanied Domovoi's every step. The second was in front of room `327`. As the man carried both boxes, a couple passing by him in the corridor eyed him warily. He paid them no attention. Room `356`. Domovoi bent down to pick up the package, and the door in front of him opened. An old man stepped out, in his pajamas, and the two made tense eye contact.
"That seems to be my pack-"
"This is not your package." Domovoi stared into the resident's soul. He had piercing purple eyes.
"Well, it's in front of my ro-"
"This is not your package." Domovoi gave a forced smile. "It must have been put here, mistakenly."
The old man's eyebrows curved downwards. He looked somewhere between scared and confused. Domovoi peeked into the room behind him, and it was empty. The balcony was open and there was a pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. "Alright, then." The old man shut the door. With all three boxes, Domovoi approached a room at the end of the corridor, taking out a keycard and swiping it. The door unlocked. A stocky, bald figure sat on the bed with his hands cushioning his head. Hints of an orange beard wrapped around his face. The TV was on, turned to the local news. He raised an eyebrow at Domovoi and stood up.
"Thought you'd never get here."
Domovoi began laying the boxes down on the bed. He opened each one, taking out mechanical parts and beginning to assemble them quickly. He did not hesitate. A newscaster on the TV rattled on in German in the background. Domovoi detested the language.
"Security's pretty heavy upstairs. Even asked me what I was doin', told 'em I was tryin' to find the pool. Guards are nosy."
Domovoi said nothing.
"You know you're crazy right? This is crazy."
"Will you join?" Domovoi didn't look up when he spoke.
"Fuck no, man. I'm gettin' out of here."
Domovoi had finished. A semi-automatic shotgun lay on the bed before him. He took the final piece, a silencer no larger than a can of soda, and affixed it to the barrel. He loaded the gun and cocked it.
"Where is the vest?"
The man slid out an armoured vest from under the bed, handing it to Domovoi.
"The mask?"
The man retrieved a fireman's mask, throwing it onto the bed. They looked at each other.
"What?" The man said. "It looks badass. Just try it."
Domovoi scowled. He put the mask on, stepping into the bathroom and admiring himself in the mirror. The mask, the gun, and his gargantuan size made him appear alien. Almost godlike. He nodded. "You wait five minutes, and then you leave." The bald man sat back down on the bed and Domovoi returned to the hallway, the newscaster's voice fading as the door shut behind him.
---
Prophet sat on the couch with his eyes closed. It made no difference, but he could concentrate better. He paged through the sounds of the city, flitting through them like folders in a file cabinet. One couple argued a few floors below him, another was having sex just one floor above. Businessmen talked in low voices in private suites, glasses clinked together in celebration. Someone covered Prophet's eyes with their hand.
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"... three."
Naomi pouted. She took her hand off of Prophet's face and sat down next to him. "Temi, how can you see things without your eyes?"
Prophet sighed. He leaned back into the cushions. "Here. I'll show you. Close your eyes." Prophet clicked his tongue and it resonated throughout the living room. "The sound waves bounce off of objects in the room and return to your ear. Then you can figure out how far away things are." Naomi looked at him. "Go on," Prophet said. "Try it."
Naomi closed her eyes and clicked her tongue. She frowned. "I don't get it."
"It takes practice is all." Prophet tensed up.
"Temi, what's wro-"
"Sh." Gunshots. In the corridor.
---
Domovoi stood in the elevator. His shotgun was rigidly pressed against his chest. His head nearly touched the ceiling and his body surged with muscles. His neck was solid and venous. The elevator chimed and the doors opened.
A guard was stationed at the door of the elevator. Domovoi shot him three times in quick succession, causing his body to slump over against the wall. The shotgun hissed. Domovoi moved down the hotel corridor, passing a metal detector and setting it off. A second guard, standing outside the door of a hotel room, drew his weapon. Domovoi shot him in the neck, tearing his carotid artery in half. The guard collapsed, clutching his throat. He approached the door of the hotel room, taking aim at the lock mechanism. The shotgun exhaled sharply, like a stifled sneeze, and the lock was blown to pieces. Domovoi entered, scanning the room.
It was clean and spacious and cold. Tall glass windows gave a panoramic view of Novenae's business district. Domovoi lowered his gun. He noticed two depressions in the couch cushions, but nobody was there.
---
Prophet mashed the elevator button despairingly.
"What floor, Naomi?"
Her arms were clutched around the soldier's neck. "Twentieth floor." The Prophet swore under his breath. The shooter was in the hotel room. It smelled like copper and gunpowder. Prophet was trembling now. He took deep breaths. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He put Naomi down.
"Stay close to me."
Prophet retrieved the MP9 that hung from his belt and pushed a magazine into it. He pressed his body against the wall of the corridor and began to walk forward, keeping his barrel pointed at their hotel room. With his other hand he read the braille on the plaques next to each doorway.
`ROOM 607`
`ROOM 608`
`ROOM 609`
`STAIRS`
Prophet pushed open the door and he ushered Naomi in. He scooped up the child in one arm and descended the stairwell.
---
Two people. The girl and a nanny, maybe. That, or her father. The latter would complicate things. They had escaped through a door leading to an adjoining hotel room. It wouldn't matter. Domovoi stepped back out into the hotel corridor. He was about to enter the stairwell when the elevator chimed and the steel doors beckoned him in.
---
Prophet could feel the child breathing and held her close to his chest. She had wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him. Her heartbeat was quite fast. The murmur of conversation strengthened as they entered the hotel lobby. Every conversation and sniffle and breath was pronounced. It was overwhelming. Prophet turned down the sensitivity on his hearing aids. There was a bar not far from here where they could hide. He had frequented the place and knew the bartender well, from there he could radio for help. Prophet did not notice an elevator arrive on the ground floor. A woman screamed. Prophet turned. A slug ripped through his left shoulder, passing through it and into the chest of the man behind him. People began to panic, running and trampling over each other. Prophet aimed his firearm and dumped a full magazine in the assassin's direction. The smell of gunpowder tinged the air and danced with hints of perfume and champagne. The magazine fell from Prophet's gun. He crouched low, using the commotion to disguise himself.
---
Domovoi's first hit connected well. He lined up his next shot. In a brief, imperceptible moment, the two were able to see each other clearly for the first time. Domovoi studied Prophet's face. His eyes were milky and glazed over. The Prophet raised his weapon and Domovoi ducked instinctively. A wave of bullets careened over his head and into the wall behind him. Clouds of smoke and drywall billowed out into the air. When Domovoi stood again he could not find the Prophet nor the girl. People swirled around him with expressions of terror, abandoning drinks and high heels. In the middle of it all a man lay motionless on the floor. A pool of blood grew around him. Someone caught in the crossfire. The faint hue of red and blue lights illuminated the entryway to the hotel. He approached the North wall, made mostly of glass panes overlooking the canal. He shot at the windows causing it to shatter and jumped through.
The windows overlooked a vertical garden, and then a pathway that dipped low and followed the canal just near the water level. Domovoi relieved himself of his equipment, dropping his gun and vest and mask into the water. It was nearly midnight, at this hour the waters of the canal were dark like crude oil and reflected the lights of the city. Domovoi vaulted over the railing, diving into the shadow.
---
Prophet had worked his way into the restaurant, cutting through the kitchen, and now the two had left the building through the back entrance. Sirens howled in the distance. It was cold out. Prophet put Naomi down. "Are you ok?" He ran his fingertips along her arms, looking for wounds.
"Temi, you're bleeding."
"I know." He was in shock now, but this was going to hurt much more later. Prophet's shoulder ached. He retrieved a phone from his pocket and held it up to his ear. The half moon shone brightly down on them from above.
EPISODE TWO.
(Aftermath.)
Temi was in the hospital for a week.
A dark, unmarked van came to pick them up from the hotel. Naomi watched Temi get placed onto a stretcher and rolled into the back of the vehicle. A tall, skeletal man with thin eyes got out of the van and introduced himself as Mr. Hidori. He had on a surgical mask and gloves and a wide-brimmed hat that made all but his eyes visible. He said that her father had sent him and that he wanted her to join him on the way to the hospital. She wanted to stay with Temi, so Naomi accepted.
They drove for a long time. Temi began to fall asleep and this made Mr. Hidori worried. Blood had soaked into Temi's black shirt and pooled onto the stretcher. Naomi held Temi's hand while Mr Hidori examined him and she noticed that his arms were covered in drawings. There was an image of a dragon breathing fire that extended down his bicep which transitioned into an old Chinese warlord with rustic, detailed armour surrounded by smoke. There was a bouquet of flowers near his wrist and the head of a snake rested on his hand. Some designs were so detailed she couldn't understand what they were supposed to be, and she spent the rest of the drive trying to decipher them.
They arrived at an office building, then the parking garage under it, and finally at an elevator that took them deep within Novenae. Naomi was surprised when the lift dropped them off at a hospital ward. Mr Hidori and a few nurses barreled past her, rolling Temi down the corridor and into a side room. Naomi could barely see Temi as doctors began to gather. They poked holes in his skin with needles and began cutting his clothes off with a pair of scissors. Naomi watched them work through a tall glass window.
The next three days went by fast. Father wouldn’t allow Naomi to leave without Temi, so she had to stay at the hospital. She got clean clothes, a bed, and takeout whenever she wanted. Her room sat just across from Temi’s. Every once in a while she would try to talk to him through the glass. He never replied- Temi slept for three days straight. He must be tired. On the fourth day, Father called. Naomi talked about how she was doing in school and her new project in Robotics Club and if she had made any new friends. Father’s replies were warm and kind. He told Naomi that he was sorry that he couldn’t visit her in person- and that he loved her. His voice trembled when he spoke. They talked nearly all day.
Temi woke up on the fifth day. He fell out of his bed, causing a nearby machine to topple over. It took several nurses and a security guard to pick him up and lay him back down. Mr Hidori rushed into the room and took off his hat, showing his curly black hair. The others left the room and Naomi watched the two converse quietly. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. She grabbed something from her bedside and walked across the corridor, opening the door to Temi’s room quietly.
“Madam,” Hidori said, bowing at the girl. Temi said nothing. She approached his bed, nervously, placing a stuffed animal by his wrist and scuttling out of the room. Prophet’s expression did not change. He grabbed the plushie, feeling around it with the tips of his fingers.
“What is it?”
"An owl."
EPISODE THREE.
(Heat.)
Prophet was seated at a bench outside Foundation headquarters in Aberdeen. The heat pulled him down into the soil. He listened to the cars rumble past him on the tarmac until it just became part of the background. The city was breathing, stretching its legs. Next to him, Hidori dug into a folder he had set on his lap.
“No clue when he first came in,” Hidori said.
Prophet had his head bowed toward the ground with his elbows dug up against his knees. Hidori pulled out a blurry photo of a man in a gas mask with a tactical vest on. He had his shotgun trained on something out of frame and he looked strong.
“Some guy was carrying a ton of packages on the third floor. He was smart, kept his face down and looked away from the cameras. About ten minutes later our masked man entered the elevator,” Hidori said. “Wish we had police records.”
Hidori looked over at Prophet from under his wide-brimmed hat.
“You know,” he said, “you can talk to me about it. I can help you.”
Prophet was silent for a minute. “I’m fine.”
Hidori stacked the papers neatly and closed the folder. “Suit yourself. School starts tomorrow at seven. I’ll need you there.” Hidori stood and left the Prophet alone.
---
Tozak poked at a tablet that lay on his lap, chewing the nail of his index finger between his teeth. The bed spanned nearly the entire width of the motel room and was shoved into a corner just below a window. Next to it was a minifridge filled with bottled water. The carpet was maybe thirty years old and gave off a pungent smell that Tozak couldn’t quite place. This part of the city was sparse and poor, just a few squat concrete buildings nestled in a vast plain that stretched out into neighboring Asunda. In the early hours of the morning as a smog settled onto the horizon all you could hear was the cranes of the port of Novenae working away. The pollution in these areas was more tolerable. Tozak’s cell phone rang. It was a number he didn’t recognize. He held the phone to his ear.
“Is it done?”
“No,” Domovoi replied.
“Shit, man.” Tozak massaged his bare forehead. “I thought we’d be done with all this. What stopped you?”
Domovoi paused for a moment. “There was a bodyguard. He slipped out with the child.”
“How?”
“I had to bring it to the lobby.” Domovoi looked over his shoulder, out at an empty parking lot on the other side of town. A bead of sweat dropped down his forehead. “Tozak, where does a child spend most of their time?”
“Uhm, school, the mall maybe. If not stuck at home.”
“Do you understand, Tozak?”
“Yes.” The line went dead.
---
Prophet had been parked outside of the main entrance of the school for three hours. His body was leaned up against the car door and he had one finger to his temple. Even with the fans going it was oppressively humid. He heard a vehicle roll up outside of the front entrance. A heavyset male stepped out. Familiar. Prophet opened the car door and got out himself heading towards the entrance in large strides. Maybe six feet tall, two hundred pounds. Muscular. The stranger’s heartbeat was bold and strong. Prophet thought about the hotel and it made him clench his fists. It was hard to say what would happen if things went sour in the parking lot. He approached the man from behind and grabbed his forearm and twisted it behind his back. He pushed the man against a nearby wall.
The man grunted when his body hit the concrete. “Private security,” Prophet said. “I need to search you before you can enter.”
“Get off of me,” the man said.
“Please stop resisting.” Prophet twisted the man’s arm and he yelped. He patted down his belt and jeans. Nothing, no weapons. Nothing tucked in his shoes. Prophet relaxed his grip and let the man flip himself around.
“Christ,” he said. “I’m just trying to see my kid.” He took one last look at the soldier as he stepped through the entrance. Prophet stood still and didn’t know what to think.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
---
On a cool evening two weeks later Naomi’s amah tucked her into bed and said goodnight. Prophet gave a small wave to the woman as she went out the door. He left himself to his own thoughts for a bit and it scared him. His chest was heavy and he couldn’t breathe. He walked over to the kitchen, pulling out a can of beer from the fridge and letting the liquid slide down his throat. He finished the entire thing in three gulps and stood there allowing the feeling to wash over him. This wasn’t new to him. He’d felt this way before. He hadn’t thought about it in a long time. He took out another beer and chugged it. Two more. A warmth came over him and he leaned up against a wall and closed his eyes.
---
Prophet felt a small kick against his right elbow. There was a tall thin figure with a wide-brimmed hat standing over him.
“Get up,” Hidori said.
Prophet stood at attention shaking off the morning fatigue. He felt the doctor peering at him.
“You’re taking a vacation.”
“What?”
“You’re going on leave for one month.” Hidori walked towards the entrance and Prophet followed him.
“A month?” Prophet hissed. “With all due respect, sir, very few people are qualified to give my wa-”
“You have to sort this out, Temilo.” Hidori stopped and faced the soldier. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Naomi’s father about this, but I’d have to.” Hidori took off his hat and scratched his head. “You’ve gotta talk to someone.” The sun poured through a nearby window and illuminated the doctor. He wore a cyan dress shirt that was slightly too loose for his gaunt figure. He extended a gloved hand and rested it on Prophet’s shoulder, a rare occurrence. “We’ve got the best private security in the city and all the money in the world. Focus on yourself for a bit.”
Prophet’s shoulders dropped. He may have accepted it.
“If anything happens, I’ll call you. Keep your gun, just in case.” Hidori put his hat back on and walked down the corridor through the front door and held it open for Naomi’s amah, disappearing into a car with tinted windows. Prophet clung onto the wall. He heard Naomi waking up in the adjoining room.
---
The shopping centre was only half-full as it was a weekday but there were plenty of shoppers out and about. Prophet had his folding cane and a thin pair of glasses on but they were mostly for show. People rarely bothered him this way. He went to a café in the middle of the plaza but didn’t order anything and sat down just to think about things.
“Sir, do you need help?”
A figure stood before him. Prophet raised an eyebrow.
“I can read the menu out if you like.”
“I’m not gettin’ anything.”
There was an awkward pause and the man stepped closer and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You know, I don’t see many blind people around here.”
“It’s a big city. Not easy if you’re blind.”
“Hell, even if you’re sighted. You mind if I sit down?”
Prophet didn’t say anything but the man obliged.
“You a vet?”
Prophet hesitated. “Yeah.”
The man gave a slight nod. “So am I. What outfit?”
“Four-seventy. Scorpions. Served during the riots.”
Prophet’s chair creaked as he leaned back. Prophet heard the man swallow and his heartbeat lurched.
“Is that why you’re..?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“...”
“You up to anything now?”
“Retired. Not much I can do like this.”
The baristas grinded coffee loudly which drowned out all the other noise and the two waited for them to finish.
“So what brings you out here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You come to cafés often ‘nd just sit?”
“When I’ve got things to think about, yeah.”
“What’s on your mind?”
Prophet pursed his lips. “I keep having this dream. I can see again. I’m in some hotel lobby. There’s mannequins, just a sea of mannequins crowded around me. I can feel them staring at me. Somebody in that lobby’s hunting me down but, I can’t tell who it is. All those mannequins look the same. Could be any one of them. It scares me.”
The man tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. The plaza had a glass roof that went up into the sky. “If you served in the riots, I’d say fate’s been on your side up to this point. Fear’s not a thing you can shove in a cupboard and deal with sometime else. That’ll make you worse off. You’ve gotta bathe in it. When I was out there, the NPL would mortar us to shit. My ears would ring and my brain’d bounce around my skull. I just let all that chaos pick me up and take me in its arms and it never bothered me again.”
“...”
“Well, that’s my two cents.”