The Artist

Chapter 8

6/10

The casino is bustling with activity. People gamble, deal cards, sip champagne, all the while managing to keep a head attached to their neck. I stand in a corner with crossed arms, watching Drake and Genesis talk, a simmering anger slowly building up. I seethe at the reminder of Drake's words just an hour ago. But I have no time to worry about that: Genesis said an E.V.O.G.A.P. spy resides here, and we're supposed to be looking out for them. It makes me shiver every time I think about it.

     Already I have a mission, and I suspect that I may be eliminated if I fail. I know I will be eliminated. It's in the air, the wariness is. The room tensed long ago, either with the prospect of us, or the knowledge of the spy. Maybe even the possible promise of a terrorist. All I know is it's impossible for me to shrug off the feeling.

     I worry for these people, in all honesty. Maybe gunshots will ring out any second, and there will be nothing I can do about it. My heart clenches at the thought.

     So, all I can do in the meantime is watch an intense game of poker going on a few tables away. I observe a man in a red mask, who happily slides the chips toward himself. He's been winning for a while now, I've noticed. I don't know how to play the game, but something tells me his victory is persistent, and for a moment I wonder if he has any abilities that permit that.

     Yet my gaze flicks back to the two League members, who seem to be arguing. Drake glances over at me, and when our eyes meet, I clench my jaw, nostrils flaring, and look away again. I guess I could say that this is the first moment of drama I've encountered in a long time. Nearly a decade, at most.

     Masked beings obscure my vision, doing their best to remain faceless and nameless. I wish to sneer at their fatal efforts, and I suddenly think that it may very well be possible that every single person in this building is a member of either the League, or E.V.O.G.A.P. All I see is a war in this main room. Hidden smirks and snarls. Fake smiles and empty laughs. I see invisible shots fired from both sides as people win and lose. I see myself in the crossfire, strongly against one side, and somewhat wary of the other. Both fighting to control each other. To control me. And suddenly this battle doesn't seem as simple as I thought it would be.

     I pick at my nails to distract myself, aware of my trembling hands and breath. What will each side give up for the extermination of our kind? Or the freedom and rights for people like me? Will I have to die because of it?

     In all my selfishness, I send a prayer to whoever is listening, wishing for my life to be spared.

     A great weight settles over my chest, as if I am the one responsible for this mess, despite people with powers existing far before me. A century, maybe. We were never allowed to speak of them in class, of course.

     As I glance back up, I see a head of blonde push their way towards me. My stomach drops, in hopes of good news, in dread of sour information. It's hard to tell with the Dream Magician. She seems to hide her emotions, displaying a mask over her face constantly. I don't understand why. Genesis's face looks a hint grim. As if a sliver of data was corrupted, and she doesn't know how to tell me.

     "Drake wants out."

     I scoff, unsurprised. Is that it?

     She shakes her head. "No, he wants out. He didn't explain, saying that you'd know."

     Of course I'd know. Nor do I care. Drake seemed detached the moment he revealed his suspicions of Oscar. Loyalties run deep, don't they? Too deep, for my taste, but I only think that because of my wariness around the League. The same goes for E.V.O.G.A.P., I suppose. But they are hunting me. The Deviant League is trying to recruit me for some reason, ungodly, no doubt.