Sector 2

Chapter 6

I woke up late the next morning. Sunlight peered through blinds, which were considerably kept undrawn. As I rubbed my eyes, I smelt the salty aroma of breakfast. I sat up and saw Jon in the kitchen, occupied with bacon and eggs. At the sound of the sheets shuffling, Jon looked over his shoulder.

"Morning, sleepyhead," said Jon. He turned back to the eggs.

"Morning," I replied, croaky from sleep.

In the brief silence between us, all I could hear was the sizzling and popping of the frying pan.

"I saw the stitches," Jon added as he flipped an egg with a spatula. I silently panicked, but he didn't overreact like I thought he would. Jon continued, "Can I at least see it?"

Jon finished with the eggs and bacon, carefully sliding them onto two plates and placing them on the table. He gave me an expectant look – to which I nodded tiredly. Jon crept back onto the bed and sat across from me. I lifted part of my shirt up so he could inspect the stitching. I watched his eyes as he leaned in to get a better look but couldn't see any kind of change in emotion. "You're not disapproving or anything?" I asked tentatively.

"Ai, why would I be disapproving of anything you do. I trust you know what you're doing. You're an assassin for God's sake-"

"Was," I cut in.

"Was," he echoed, sitting upright. "Do I at least get to know what happened?"

"I wanted to see if my parents were telling the truth."

"Oh, Ai," Jon sighed.

I pointed at him in mock anger, "You are disapproving!"

He raised his hands in protest and said, "No I'm not!" Chuckling, he scooped me up in his arms and seated me on his lap, hands weary of the wound. He brushed my hair back and kissed me. I held his head in my hands and kissed back. He was always so gentle, just like his soul.

I pulled away and lost myself in his bright blue eyes, literally. I tried my vision on his eyes, and what an experience it was. I could zoom right into his pitch-black pupil and weave through the colourful strands of his iris.

"How are you doing that?"

"What?" I blinked.

"You're pupils. They were like dilating and... un-dilating," Jon said.

They were?

"I was trying something out. One of the... robot things,'" I answered. Jon asked me to do it again, and I complied. Then I stopped, and he reached out to my hair. I grabbed his hand, harshly at first before softening my grip and resting it in my lap.

"Um, I have to talk to you about something," I mumbled.

"What is it?"

"You know... my parents." Jon nodded understandingly and I continued, "You saw them, right? The orphans... They're kids. Who knows what needs to happen for them to be altered like that. They're most-likely going against their own will or lured into thinking that something great is going to happen to them." The speed of my voice quickened without me realising.

"Ai," said Jon, "slow down. Breathe."

"And... Sabre and the others. I'm wondering if they're stuck in my father's control because of the experiments, if this all has the potential to turn into another Sector 10.

Jon squeezed my hand, "I understand." He paused. "But the food's getting cold." He tittered and helped me up. "We can discuss this after."

---

"So, what are you proposing again?"

Jon and I were finishing breakfast. He asked questions through bites and swallows.

"We need to get them arrested," I spoke in a minutely unsure tone.

"And you intend to do that how?"

"We turn in the evidence. Go back, record everything we find, give it to the police, who are hopefully better than the ones in Sector 10. Supposing they're not, I don't think they'll run an investigation without legitimate reason," I said it as if it were a simple task.

"Ai, you might've well spat in your dad's face before you ran out of there. You think they're going to be okay with you just waltzing back in like that?" Jon queried.

"That's why I'm not waltzing in." I put my fork down and pushed my plate forward.

"You alone? What about your cut?" Jon did the same, stacking the two dishes atop each other.

"...I'll be fine."

I could hear Jon exhale quietly.

"I'm coming with you," Jon said.

"I thought you said you trusted me."

"You're injured, Ai," Jon implored.

Quiet.

"Fine."

The clamour of plates interrupted the tense silence as Jon rinsed them.

"We're going tonight," I commanded.

Jon didn't reply, but he didn't say no either. I leaned back in my chair and looked out the opened balcony doors. Buildings shined with natural light; the shabby street was filled with life. On the other side of the road, a few teenagers whizzed by on bikes and skateboards, calling out to their friends. The bounce of a basketball and the scraping of shoes on gravel sounded somewhere in the distance. Shrieks of the laughter of a young boy. Cheap wheels rolling across concrete.

Hopefully ceaseless bliss.