Tales from Jackson's - Lone Wolf Cub

April 2066. The Second Black Lightning has come and gone, after changing the lives of several people. One such people, Vincent Jackson (formerly known as Mystery Johnson), has turned over a new leaf and opened his café in New Langdon, after working for a PMC for a while. When his acquaintance and comrade-in-arms Ange "Skeleton" Skallen asks him to check on his adoptive daughter Cyphr, Vince cannot say no. He knows she's living together with a weird girl that works in a flower shop, but "weird" doesn't even begin to describe what or who Lejl Kaleidos is...

(Proofread and edited by Kaleb O'Halloran)

The monotonous ringing of a doorbell. Echoing between the walls, resonating around the corridor. Slowly fading into stark silence... No reply. Jackson gazed at his watch, double checking the time. Half past ten, in the morning. Even on a lazy Saturday, you'd think this would be late enough for people to be awake. You'd think. He sighed.

For a moment, Jackson wondered what he was even doing here. Of all things he could be doing today, why this?

Yet he already knew the answer: to help a friend. Or maybe “colleague” would be more apt. Acquaintance? Yes, Ange was definitely an acquaintance. He was certainly not close enough to be called a “friend” in good faith, even if they had been comrades for a couple years now. Quite frankly, Ange was on a strange line where he could be called anything from a total stranger to a decent enough buddy, depending on circumstances.

Jackson glanced around, wondering what he should do.

The doormat was obviously cheap and old, missing some carpeting in a few places. The stylized cat girl drawn over it gave it some flair, if nothing else. The door was probably white at some point, but time had long weathered it into a dull mosaic of various grays and chips in the painting. Definitely not an expensive flat, definitely not a rich neighborhood. And yet, the name on the bell was the correct one. Wolfchild. Jackson shook his head.

No reason to go home without trying.

He pressed the button once more, causing that obnoxious ringing to play again. He tried knocking on the closed door, his arm lazily leaning against the rough, wooden surface. Still no answer.

“Well, I tried. Guess I'll be going now.”

Then suddenly, a noise. Footsteps from the other side. Someone was coming after all. Jackson stepped back, tidying up his tie and bright yellow fedora. He prepared himself for the usual questions, and for having to raise his eyes to meet those of the twenty-year-old girl who was almost five centimeters taller than him – a full grown man in his... forties? Not that he knew, it was just an educated guess. His amnesia wasn't exactly getting any better. At this point, the past had no meaning, anyway. Best thing to do was focus on the present.

“I'm here, just one moment.”

A muffled, sleepy voice broke out from the other side, as the clacking sounds of an opening lock began to finally break the stillness of the moment. At last, the door creaked open, creating a bridge between the man and the occupant of the small flat.

“So, what's up? Need something?”

Jackson's eyes narrowed down to a slit. He bent his head not back, but forward, to meet the inquisitive gaze of a girl who was just about ten centimeters shorter than him. With two natural, non-prosthetic arms. A girl who decidedly wasn't Cyphr.

Bingo.

Jackson removed his hat, in a sort of half-bow. Still had to act natural, he figured.

“Allow me to introduce myself, Miss. Name's Vincent Jackson. I'm an acquaintance of Miss Wolfchild... and her father, Mr. Skallen.”

“... Jackson, huh?”

The girl stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Her eyes were a shining amber, with strangely-shaped pupils. They darted around and squinted, as if to try and grasp Jackson's lineaments – to no avail. She appeared almost embarrassed as she then moved her gaze to the floor.

“I'm sorry if this sounds stupid, but... I can't focus on your face. Like, I just see... a blurry mess. It's like the features keep... changing? I don't know how to even explain it.”

Jackson laughed, placing his vibrant hat back atop his head.

“Oh, don't be sorry, I get that quite a lot! Let's just say my plastic surgeon made a terrible mistake on my request. I want a face like none other, I told him! Ah, my tongue be damned!”

The girl smirked. “Yup, you're Cyphr's friend alright. Only she could bond with all the weirdos around...”

A short chuckle.

“...which includes me, to be fair.”

Jackson scanned the girl from head to toe. She had a fairly light complexion, with slick-yet-unkempt blonde hair that drooped down to her neck. Most notably, her skin was covered in what looked to be tribal tattoos, just a smidge darker than the skin itself. He'd only barely managed to notice them; the difference in color was astonishingly small. She was wearing nothing but a short, white dress. No pants, no socks, no slippers, and even no... Jackson quickly averted his eyes. The dress was just a little too transparent. He could clearly discern shapes a stranger like him was absolutely not supposed to see. The girl seemed either oblivious to it, or openly playing with it. The most concerning part was that he couldn't tell which.

“Something wrong, Mr. Jackson?”

Jackson reluctantly met her eyes again. Those strange, amber eyes.

“No, not really. I was just surprised, is all. I didn't know Cyphr had a flatmate.”

The girl shrugged.

“Well, she does, as you can see. You can call me Lejl, by the way. Lejl Kaleidos.”

Jackson was almost positive he'd heard that name at least once before. Maybe from Sambiong? Or perhaps from his wife – now the soon-to-be-mother of a small cat-child which was due in the next seven months. Jackson decided it was best to play dumb for now, but he made a quick mental note to ask Sambiong about this later.

“Well, Miss Kaleidos, I'm pleased to meet you. Now, would you happen to know if Cyphr is home at the moment?”

Lejl smirked again.

“Oh, she is! Pretty sure she's still in bed. We, uh, might've partied a bit too hard last night. Y'know how it is... You go dancing, have a few drinks, make out with your hot roommate, go back home, and... Well, you can probably guess what happens next.”

Jackson's eyes narrowed once again.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lejl chuckled mischievously.

“Nah, don't worry about it. Basically, Cyphr's all tired and she's sleepin' like a baby. A very cute baby.”

Jackson sneered. Not that his mouth could be recognized in the dark, distorted mess that people normally perceived as his face. He found himself thinking about the previous evening again, playing it back in his mind like an all-too-vivid film. Ange “Skeleton” Skallen, a thirty-something-year-old French-Algerian man with light brown hair and red, piercing eyes, had downed one too many beers at his bar, “Jackson's” – very original, he knew – and had begun lamenting upon his life’s troubles...

**

“My baby, my Cyphr...” Ange mumbled, clasping his third empty glass of the night.

“It's almost closing time, Ange. You really shouldn't stay up this late.”

“I'm losing her, Johnson. I'm losing her.”

Jackson frowned at that name. “How many times do I have to tell you? Name's Jackson. Johnson was just–”

“I am losing her...”

Ange wasn't even listening, of course. He was too focused on drinking himself into unconsciousness, not unlike how Shaz would often do – although, the unreasonably-buff sharkman in question actually seemed to be relatively sober at the moment, despite having mixed vodka lemon and grappa with his last half-a-liter beer. Jackson was keeping a close eye on him though; last time he got drunk, the entire venue had to survive two hours of mumbled, offkey pub songs, broken up only by the occasional round of vomiting into the trash can, all while the jukebox blasted the opening of Puffi, the Happy-Go-Lucky Drug-Addicted Bunny on loop the entire time. The entire. Time. Not the most pleasant end to a Friday night. Thankfully, Shaz seemed mostly fine this evening, for now. But the same couldn't be said for Ange.

“She lives with this roommate, you know, my Cyphr! This girl I've never even met! And they hang out together all the time!”

Ange was going ballistic, waving his glass around like a madman. At this point, Jackson could only barely make out his slurred words.

“What if she takes her to a nightclub?! Watching muscular men striptease for them while drinking cocktails and making out with random guys! How am I supposed to just live with that?!”

“Ange, it's called growing up. You can't monitor her with cameras and trackers every waking moment of her life. For God's sake, she's twenty now.”

“Oh, what, so am I not allowed to be concerned for my daughter's wellbeing?! Who the hell made that a law?!”

Jackson coughed. Ange was seriously, utterly, unmistakably gone. He let out a loud sigh.

“Listen, Ange. Why don't you just go check on her in person? You know, just go there to visit her, spend some time with her, take a walk around the city... it's that easy.”

“I can't, I just can't! You know how she is! Hot blooded, just like her maman. She'd think I want to control her! And putain! She would be right!”

Ange was beginning to slip some French words into his speech. Never a good sign. Jackson shrugged as yet another audible sigh left his lips.

“Okay, you know what? I'll go visit her for you tomorrow morning, alright? I'll just make up an excuse to be there – after all, Cyphr knows me well enough.”

Ange's eyes suddenly lit up.

“You... you'd really do that for me, Johnson?”

“I still owe you one. After this small favor, we can call it even. But for now, you have to put down the glass and go straight home, got it?”

Ange nodded and slowly began to move away, one staggered step at a time.

“You promise, Johnson?”

Jackson gave a silent nod as a reply.

“You promise...”

The drunken Ange finally exited the bar, slowly embracing the bitter coldness of the night. Jackson saw him take the first taxi, carrying him off into the never-fading lights of New Langdon.

The next morning, Jackson found himself there, in that quiet, disheveled neighborhood, climbing the stairs to the fourth floor of that odd-looking building that was completely covered in graffiti and street art. In the surrounding grey monotony of Turing Avenue, the bright and vibrant colors of building number seventy-five pleasantly stuck out. An oasis of creativity in a desert of conformism and decay, a bastion of unwavering resolve to enjoy life, even when the world tried to stop you. Jackson noticed several children playing nearby, some of them drawing with chalk and markers on the walls, bringing imaginary worlds and creatures to life.

On his way into the main entrance of building number seventy-five, Jackson paused for a long moment, stuck staring at one piece of art in particular. A full-sized painting depicting a reddish-black sphere erupting in the middle of a city, and a vermilion pillar stretching from the ground all the way up to a hellish, crimson sky. The small caption, written in white at the bottom, read “Euterpe, 2064 – in memoriam.” Somebody, apparently, wanted to capture that moment forever. Somebody who signed it with the name Lone Cub. Jackson finally ripped his gaze away. Every reminder of the Black Lightning Disaster sent a chill down his spine. He survived it not once, but twice – and ended up learning a sad truth about the nature of the world. Yet, even knowing this, there was no way he would give in to the sadness and feelings of impotence. Despite everything, he had gained the right to live. He would exercise it to his last breath, no matter what.

With those last thoughts, Jackson finally climbed the stairs, approached that shoddy-looking door, and rang the doorbell – twice. Only to be unexpectedly greeted by an unfamiliar girl wearing nothing but a short, white dress...

**

“Soooo, Mr. Jackson...”

The girl's voice broke his state of silent contemplation, finally bringing him back to the present moment.

“...how long do you plan on just awkwardly standing there? You could always come back later when Cyphr is awake. Or would you prefer to have a seat inside?”

Jackson pushed up his hat. If it were up to him, he would have just gone away and never even thought about coming back. But he made a promise. A promise to Ange. He couldn't back down.

“If it isn't too much to ask, I'll gladly wait inside, thanks.”

Lejl waved her arms, motioning Jackson into the interior of the flat.

“Then please, come inside, Mister!”

Her slender hand reached its way up to Jackson's fedora.

“I can take your hat for you, if you wan-”

“Hell no.”

Jackson lurched backward, clasping his fingers tightly around his property. It took him a second to realize just how strange it must have looked.

“I... er, I mean, I'd prefer to keep it on. That's all.”

“Uh... Well, anyway, make yourself at home. Would you like some coffee too?”

“Maybe some tea, if you could. I already had a coffee this morning.”

“Really? With what mouth?”

“Oh, I have one. You just can't discern it.”

Jackson took a seat at the small kitchen table, letting his eyes wander around the room at their leisure. The flat was small, but functional. Aside from a surprisingly huge bathroom, it had only two main rooms – a living room with a kitchenette, and what he could only assume to be just a single bedroom. Not exactly luxury living, but who was he to judge?

The walls were mainly adorned by a sizable collection of photographs, most of them pinned up with simple masking tape. An abstract painting, hung up near some assorted memorabilia, also caught Jackson's eye, along with an official calendar of The Princess of the Light Petals. He guessed that show still had its fans, despite having been canceled three years earlier thanks to a disastrous change of main actress. Not that he cared much.

Jackson returned his attention to the photos. The vast majority of them were more on the artistic side, depicting a variety of things. Flowers, city ruins, street art, empty night landscapes illuminated only by glowing lampposts... Very few pictures actually had people in them. The few that did all showed Cyphr standing together with someone else – her flatmate, her adoptive father, her field commander Sambiong... There was even a picture taken with Shaz at the nightclub, a selfie where both of them looked far drunker than reasonable. Jackson's mind flashed back to the previous night, again. Did Shaz actually leave the bar, after throwing up his guts into the toilet for twenty minutes straight? Or was he still in there, trapped within that disaster zone of a bathroom? Jackson had stopped hearing noises after a while, and wasn’t really in the mood to clean up that mess on the spot, so he’d assumed that the big sharkman had just gotten better and gone home. But, thinking about it, had he actually unknowingly locked him inside the bar all night? That thought made his blood run ice cold. He decided it was best not to think about it, at least until this visit was over.

One picture in particular suddenly snatched Jackson's attention away from his own thoughts. It was another picture of Cyphr together with Sambiong... and his wife, Amy. Nothing was exceptionally strange about it. No supernatural phenomena, or ghosts, or anything like that. But seeing Amy now, he noticed... The similarity between her and Cyphr's new flatmate... It was downright uncanny. Aside from their eyes, they could have been twins. Same features, same body build – now that he thought about it, even the sound of their voices was practically identical. How could that...

“Looking for any pictures of you, Mister?”

Lejl once again derailed his train of thought, silently setting Jackson's requested cup of tea on the table in front of him. Jackson replied with a burst of nervous laughter.

“Oh, please! I don't allow anyone to take pictures of me! With this face of mine? I'd just ruin the composition! But no, I was actually more curious about... that one there. I actually happen to know both Sambiong and Amy. But I didn't realize that...”

“What, that we look so similar?” Lejl chuckled and shrugged, “Yup, you got me. I'm actually a cyborg clone of her from fifty years in the future, sent back in time to prevent the rise of the robot overlords, by protecting Cyphr so she can live on to lead the rebellion! She's a face that people of my time would recognize anywhere!”

Jackson grinned. “...That wasn't funny.”

“Okay, then what about this? I'm actually her twin sister, separated at birth and sold into human trafficking. They replaced my eyes with artificial ones so they could sell my aquamarine irises on the black market, and they tattooed my body to brand me as their own property. I only finally managed to escape just one year ago, thanks to the chaos and turmoil of the Black Lightning.”

Jackson glared at her. Every single word reeked of lies mixed with falsehoods covered in malarkey.

“Ooh, hold on, maybe this one will do it for you: I'm a shape-shifting alien whose form came from deep in Cyphr's subconscious, to represent what she truly lusted for the most – which coincidentally happened to be the body of this one girl she could never get along with.”

Jackson shook his head, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever suits your narrative. Just... forget I asked.”

Lejl proceeded to point her finger at Jackson with a pouting look on her face.

“Aw, come on, I gave you three perfectly sound origin stories! Can't you at least appreciate that I put so much thought and care into not answering your question?”

Suddenly, the two heard noises coming from the bedroom. The muffled sound of mumbled words and footsteps that could only really mean one thing.

“Oh, sounds like our sleepin' beauty just woke up! Wait here just a minute...”

Lejl eagerly began to make her way towards the room, only to stop and turn back with an indecipherable smile on her face.

“...I'll be back.”

Jackson felt himself rolling his eyes for the second time in the last few minutes as Lejl crept into the bedroom, the door quietly creaking shut behind her. Through the thin walls, Jackson could make out the sounds of automatic blinds rolling up and a window being unlocked as the two girls chatted with each other. About what, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t give it much thought however, as he was preoccupied with letting his eyes wander the flat some more during this downtime. Much of the furniture was mismatched, and very clearly second-hand. The fridge in the kitchenette had many magnets arranged on it, and the sink nearby was filled with unwashed dishes. There were also some pencil drawings and oil paintings hung up around that area, all signed with the name Lone Cub – the same artist responsible for that mural downstairs. That was an... interesting coincidence, to say the least.

Suddenly, Jackson’s attention was snatched away by the sound of the bedroom door squeaking back open. Lejl made her way out, giggling and prancing around a girl who was at least fifteen centimeters taller than her, was missing both her arms, and was still barely awake – yes, it was unmistakably Cyphr. She was wearing blue pajamas printed with the image of a cute penguin, the sleeves completely cut off from the shirt piece. Notably, she had neither her artificial arms nor her replacement earpiece on. Even her weight balancers, which she used to help keep her upright during combat and everyday life, were nowhere to be seen. It was amazing how there was almost no trace left of the horrors she’d been through as a child, how her body had been mutilated by organ harvesters. The only tell that remained were those two long, black bands that stretched from her eyes down to her neck. To a stranger, they would likely come off as rather ominous, with their glowing red border and the seemingly random computer commands that endlessly scrolled down them. Her hair and eyes, though, were still one hundred percent natural. Her ash blonde hair was complimented by similarly light irises, almost whitish in color. Right now, those eyes seemed still just a bit too sleepy to focus properly.

“...Mornin', Vincent.”

Cyphr’s voice was unsurprisingly groggy, much to the amusement of Lejl. Jackson tipped his hat to her.

“Morning, Cyphr. I apologize for coming here so suddenly, but I needed to talk to you about something.”

“Ah, sure, just one moment...”

Cyphr took a seat at the table, heaving out several yawns in a row before she finally managed to speak proper words again.

“Could you bring me my arms, Lally?”

Lejl nodded. From a nearby cupboard, she extracted a pair of shining, ceramic arms decorated with delicate floral patterns. After carefully setting them on the table, she then took the right arm and gently grafted it onto Cyphr's stump. Cyphr let out a weak moan, more annoyed than pained, but it prompted Lejl to stop nonetheless.

“Sorry, I...”

“It's fine, you know it's always like this. Not your fault.”

She repeated the procedure for the left one, with the same care and patience that was in stark contrast to her bubbly attitude from just moments earlier. Finally, Cyphr relaxed and let out a sigh. For a long while, the two prosthetic limbs remained completely motionless. Lejl was now staring intently at the data bands under Cyphr’s eyes. Some sort of debug log was being displayed there, in a frenzy of white, monospaced words that Jackson was unsure how any human could keep up with.

“Okay, I don’t see any errors. You can move them now.”

Cyphr nodded. Then, her ceramic hands reached for the table, with a motion so natural and smooth that one would be hard-pressed to distinguish them from the real thing. Lejl instantly returned to her previous demeanor, giggling as she sprung up from her seat.

“Alright, I'm gonna go make you a coffee, Cyphy.”

She planted a kiss on Cyphr’s cheek before moving swiftly over to the kitchenette, retrieving an antiquated moka from a lower cupboard. Cyphr glanced over at her with a soft smile, not saying a single word, before returning her gaze to the faceless man sitting across from her. Her words were still a bit slurred, but she seemed somewhat more awake now.

“Sorry about that, Vince. Didn't want to eat with my feet in front of you. I don’t normally wear these at home, but you know... I always get guests feeling bad for me, givin' me those condescending, pitiful puppy-dog eyes, like they think I must be the most unfortunate human being on the whole planet.”

Jackson tipped his hat again, giving a light chuckle.

“As if I would freak out. But it’s a fair thing to say.”

He took a sip of his tea before pointing an inquisitive finger at Cyphr’s arms.

“Are they new? Last I saw you, your arms were made of metal, and much less refined.”

Cyphr blushed a little, averting her eyes.

“Oh, yeah, they were a Christmas gift from Lally. She worked herself to hell and back just to buy them for me, that blockhead...”

Lejl's voice replied instantly.

“I'm right here and I can hear you well, y’know.”

“Well, of course. There wouldn’t be any point in complaining if you couldn’t hear me, now would there?”

A chuckle from Lejl.

“Yeah, alright, that makes sense. Except no, it doesn’t.”

They both laughed for a short while, without breaking eye contact.

“Fortunately, these kinds of prosthetics are actually pretty cheap nowadays. They’re all 3D-printed, you know? So even that blockhead over there could afford them, working part-time in a gloomy, dilapidated flower shop.”

“A very nice gloomy, dilapidated flower shop, mind you. Mr. Kissilmer has a great eye for decoration!”

“Ah, yes. Chrysanthemums everywhere. Excellent decoration. What, does he think living in a graveyard is trendy?”

“Ooh, you’ve seen his casket-shaped bed too, then? Did you know he always sleeps with his hands crossed on his chest? He also lights wax candles everywhere and fills the room with incense. He says it makes him feel more at peace with himself.”

Cyphr rolled her eyes dismissively.

“Yeah, sure. Bet he has a goddamned haemophage for a pet, too.”

“Aww, don't talk about li’l Kramers like that. He's a sensitive and well-behaved nocti! He never even spits his acid outside of lunchtime!”

“Oh, please...”

Even despite the playful bickering, Cyphr wore a gentle smile. Her eyes were fixated on Lejl, her cheek resting softly against her ceramic hand. Her tone of voice was notably warm, almost dreamy; a tone Jackson had never really heard from her before. She pointed her finger in Lejl’s direction.

“See, Vincent? That blockhead... that blockhead is one-of-a-kind. Most people have to take time breaking the mold, warming up to each other, but for her? She never even saw a mold to break.”

She forced herself to turn over to Jackson, to finally meet his gaze.

“So anyway, how can I help you? Knowing you, you wouldn’t come all the way here just to see if I was doing well, would you?”

Before Jackson could respond, the moka started whistling, signalling that the water had reached a boil. Lejl pulled out the small coffee pot and poured its dense, fragrant contents into a mug printed with anime-styled artwork of a magical girl. She carefully lowered the mug onto the table in front of Cyphr and sat down next to her, placing her hand comfortably on the taller girl’s hip.

“Aaaand there you go! A strong coffee with no sugar, just the way you like it. If this doesn’t wake you up, nothing will.”

Cyphr replied with a small nod. Feeling he now had a moment to speak, Jackson folded his hands together on top of the table.

“Well, Cyphr, you’re right about one thing. This was not intended as a simple courtesy visit. Yet, I see no reason to remain here any longer. All my questions have already been answered.”

Jackson stood up and tipped his hat as a silent goodbye. Cyphr was visibly annoyed.

“Hold on! You come here unannounced, wake me up in a hurry, and then just leave?!”

She let out a sigh, trying not to get too worked up.

“Alter, you’re truly strange. At least tell me why you showed up here in the first place.”

Jackson began to step towards the door.

“There are people in this world who care a lot about you, but are too stupid to do something as easy as this. That’s all.”

“Let me guess. My fath–”

“Your father, yes.”

Cyphr lowered her head.

“He hasn’t come to visit me at all since I moved here. I don't think he's ever met Lally even once.”

Lejl puffed up her cheeks into a pouty face.

“He must be a big meanie!”

Jackson could only shrug.

“He’s just a stubborn old man who has no idea how a real family works. Who just so happens to have an adoptive daughter who also has no idea how a real family works.”

Jackson began to step out the door, but suddenly stopped for a moment.

“Oh, and by the way, you two can come by Jackson’s any time you like. Your drinks are on me, but don't tell the shark, or I’ll be out of business by next Tuesday.”

Cyphr and Lejl nodded in unison, before looking at each other with puzzled expressions. Then, almost at the same time, they both burst out laughing. Jackson smiled and glanced back at the girls, catching one last stray kiss as he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind himself. Now that he’d fulfilled his promise, it was high time he went back and opened the cafe for the day.

**

“Come on, pal, ain't this a bit too harsh?! It's not my goddamn fault if–”

“Keep cleaning.”

After arriving back at Jackson’s, the first thing its yellow-hatted owner saw was the unmistakable profile of a great white sharkman, his nose and fingers pressed longingly against the inside of the glass door, shouting incomprehensibly in a manner that Jackson could only assume was him begging for freedom.

Jackson facepalmed. Double facepalmed.

“Pal, for real, it ain't my fault! Ya just went and locked me in!”

“That didn't authorize you to empty not one, but three full bloody beer barrels! Quite frankly, you’re damn lucky I just put you on cleanup duty for the day.”

The moment Jackson had opened the door, letting Shaz collapse face-first onto the pavement, the sharp, overpowering stench of alcohol quickly spread out from the building’s interior. Scattered between the arrays of otherwise lovely-looking tables were the broken remains of beer barrels, and the entire floor was coated in a disturbingly thick layer of a substance that, at some point, might have been beer. Some particularly noxious puddles of it were still visible among the once-clean tiles of the venue, making Jackson briefly wish he truly had no face to take in the abhorrent scene that assaulted his senses. When promptly interrogated, the big burly sharkman had initially pleaded innocent, but a swift headbutt to the snout from the infuriated proprietor was enough to make him spit out the truth. And now, almost ten hours later, he was still tidying up his mess, equipped with plastic gloves, an apron, and a cloth wrapped around his head, while also cleaning dirty dishes in the meantime – all, of course, to pay for the disaster he caused.

“Okay, pal, okay! It was my fault, I shouldn’t’a smashed those barrels, allllll that jazz. But can I at least have a dri–”

Jackson glared at him with the coldest stare he could possibly produce. Even through the blur of Jackson’s face, it struck immediate fear into the sharkman’s heart, resulting in an audible gulp. He quickly shut up and went back to work, while Jackson turned his attention to the counter. A familiar face was waiting for him.

“...”

“Hello, Ange.”

Ange looked lost in his thoughts. Sober, but somber. He stared down at the countertop as he spoke.

“I'm so sorry, Vince. I went too far yesterday.”

Jackson moved to the other side of the counter and sat down next to Ange. He took a good look at his face; thick, dark bags underscoring a pair of dull eyes. Sad eyes.

“I'm not doing good enough as a parent. I need to learn to trust my cub more. It’s like you said, Vince... she’s an adult now.”

“Well, it’s good that you understand that. Speaking of which, I kept my promise.”

Ange's tone of voice rose by a few semitones.

“Promise? What promise?”

“I went by her place earlier this morning.”

Ange suddenly lifted his head up, his mouth agape.

“You did... what?”

“I told you I would. Went down to to seventy-five Turing Avenue, climbed up to the fourth floor. She hadn’t quite woken up yet, so it was her flatmate who welcomed me initially.”

Ange stared at his glass, still filled to the brim with sparkling water.

“Her flatmate? ...Oh, yes. That girl who works at Les Fleurs du Mal part-time. I’ve never properly met her before. How is she?”

Jackson's mind went back to his first impression of the girl. That translucent, almost too-tight white dress that made him forcefully avert his eyes. And those intense, cat-like, amber-colored eyes.

“Let's just say that your daughter has a natural talent for bonding with weirdos. That includes myself, the girl, and you, Ange.”

Ange quietly sneered and took a sip of his water.

“Fair enough... What do you think of her, though? Is she troublesome for my cub? Like, a bad influence?”

“Nah, I wouldn't say so. They have... quite the interesting chemistry, to say the least.”

“Interesting... chemistry?”

“They sleep together.”

Ange spat his drink out all over the counter, his eyes wide open in shock.

“They WHAT?!”

Jackson gently patted his shoulder, signalling him to calm down.

“They needn't tell me, really. It was rather evident by the way they acted around one another. If I might, they seemed quite madly in love. The stares, the jokes, the simple-yet-intimate way in which they interacted... the small things, you know? Needless to say, your lone cub is a loner no more. Which is good, I suppose.”

Ange wiped his mouth, his eyes firmly closed.

“...I mean, I wish she’d have told me that herself.”

Jackson shook his head.

“Please, Ange. If she had told you up-front, you wouldn’t have allowed their relationship to continue unless you had a complete background check on her partner, including family status, criminal record, the last fifteen years of medical history, and so on until you were satisfied.”

“Well that’s the bare minimum for–”

Jackson facepalmed.

“Come on, Ange. Don’t you hear how crazy that sounds?!”

“Thaaaaat's right, pal! Yer a real control freak, bloody moonfish!”

Both men turned at the same time to see the brawny sharkman Shaz dressed up in a cleaning-lady outfit, leaning on the counter next to them. Ange found himself staring in disbelief for a long second. Then, without warning, he headbutted the shark directly on the nose, causing him to collapse to the floor in pain. He then stood up and began to angrily kick Shaz in the stomach. Repeatedly.

“Nobody. Asked. For your. Goddamn. Opinion. You overgrown goldfish!!”

He kicked him another two, maybe three times, attracting the indifferent stares of the cafe’s patrons – and of Jackson himself. Shaz let out feeble squeaky-toy-like noises on each hit, much to Jackson's amusement. At last, one of the waiters rushed over to the boss, pointing a finger at the onslaught in front of them.

“Ch-chief? Shouldn't we, I don't know, stop him?!”

Jackson nodded.

“Yes, I agree. We probably should. But, to be honest...”

A sadistic smile crept across Jackson’s face, masked only by his ever-changing features.

“...I can’t deny this is oddly satisfying to watch. Something about this scene is just so... cathartic.”

Ange continued to kick the sharkman some more.

“This conversation is about me and my daughter. You! Stay! Out of this!”

“Stop! It hurts! Agh! Bloody! Moonfish! It! Hurts!”

“Dad?!”

Ange froze in place, the tip of his shoe just centimeters from bludgeoning Shaz's stomach yet again. He turned to see two girls who had just entered the venue. The tall, ash-blonde-haired Cyphr, sporting a simple black tank top, navy blue jeans, and her two mechanical arms with a flower motif. And standing next to her, the much shorter Lejl, looking on with her strange, amber eyes. She wore a very bizarre outfit consisting of an open leather jacket, yellow striped police tape in lieu of a top, orange-fluo trousers, and what seemed like a pair of aviator goggles fastened on her forehead.

Jackson got up and walked towards the entrance, putting himself between the girls and the downed sharkman.

“Good evening, ladies. I am pleased to see you accepted my invitation.”

Lejl raised her index finger, pointing it inquisitively at the sorry heap of shark meat balled up on the floor.

“W-what happened to that poor thing?!”

Jackson nervously rubbed his finger against his cheek.

“Right, uhm... Let’s just say it's a long story that began with me accidentally leaving him locked up in here after closing last night.”

Lejl smirked.

“Yep, you really are a weirdo, Mr. Jackson. But, you know, the good kind.”

Ange sighed deeply, and slowly walked over to the trio. Not before kicking Shaz one more time, though, just for good measure.

“We will resume this exchange later, Mr. Aliart.”

Shaz groaned in pain as Ange raised his eyes up to meet those of his adoptive daughter.

“Cyphr...”

“Ange.”

“I... Vince told me that... he visited you this morning. That he met your... flatmate... and...”

Lejl stepped forward excitedly, offering a friendly handshake.

“Soooo, you’re that Ange! Nice to meetcha, Lejl's the name! Cyphr's always tellin' me about how cool her dad is, and also about how stubborn he is. Which I gotta say, coming from her, that’s pretty hypocritical!”

Cyphr grinned and pressed her hand against the top of Lejl’s head.

“Hey!”

Ange observed the short girl from head to toe. The way she was dressed was definitely questionable. Those tattoos, too, only raised even more questions. Overall, Ange’s first impression, based on looks alone, was very mixed. But then, he noticed something. He noticed how the two were joining hands, how Lejl was leaning on Cyphr's arm, with a familiarity and confidence that could only come from a deep, tender bond. In those strange, cat-like eyes, he saw clear as day the love they shared. As his mind cleared, he began to finally come to terms with the situation.

He accepted Lejl’s handshake, enveloping her small and delicate hand with his own scarred, war-hardened one.

“So... Lejl, you said?”

He took a deep breath.

“No point in beating around the bush. Are you two... together?”

Lejl rubbed her chin, still seemingly a bit confused in spite of Ange’s attempt at bluntness.

“Well, yeah? I mean, we’re flatmates, we kinda... uh...”

She paused as she felt familiar ceramic fingers caressing her bright blonde hair, slowly, the locks and strands being gently weaved around by the mechanical joints. Cyphr let out a sigh.

“That... wasn’t the question, Lally.”

Her eyes turned back to meet those of her father.

“You’re right, Ange.”

She leaned over to plant soft kiss on Lejl's cheek.

“Lejl is my girlfriend. For three months.”

Ange stared at his daughter in silence, for an awkwardly long moment. Then, all of a sudden, he ran up and hugged her. A solitary tear ran down his face, followed by another, and another. It wasn’t long before Ange was sobbing, crying like a baby. But those tears were not of despair.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me about her sooner?”

“What?”

Cyphr was at loss. This was certainly not the reaction she was expecting from him. It wasn’t even on the list of possibilities. Confusion was clouding her mind, and she was having a bit of trouble formulating words.

“I... well, I didn’t think you’d accept it.”

Ange wore a smile, looking at Cyphr with watery eyes that she’d never seen from him before.

“What, just because she dresses like a stripper and works in a run-down flower shop? Putain, am I that bad?!”

Lejl's eyes shrunk down into dots, and her mouth gaped open.

“Wait, what?! I-I don’t...”

Jackson placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes slightly narrowed.

“You are wearing police tape. Instead of a top. With nothing over or under it.”

Lejl’s cheeks puffed up. She pouted and rolled her eyes.

“Fine then, take that low-hanging fruit. I’ll remember it.”

Jackson crossed his arms, silently watching the hug of an estranged father and daughter. They may not have been related by blood, but that hug, that shared moment between them, was a big step for them – and something they’d both needed for a long time. Ange opened his arms to pull Lejl in as well, hugging both of them together. He was laughing, genuinely laughing, as a huge burden had been lifted from his heart. Jackson couldn’t help but quietly smile.

All he had to do was talk to her.

It really was that easy.

He decided to let them be, and returned to the bar counter. The night was still young, after all; who knows who else could come through that door, to sit down and ask their local faceless bartender for advice? Jackson tipped up his old, yellow fedora and swept his gaze across the venue. This place, this bustling microcosm of life itself, was everything he could have ever hoped for.

Seeing the reflection of the joyous eyes of a father, together with his daughter and her sweetheart, in the lonely window that bore the name of his establishment – that sight brought more warmth to his cold, closed-off heart than he would have been willing to admit.