It was a very faint voice; Paul didn't hear it clearly.
The window opened, and some different replies came back. It was fainter than before; this time, Paul didn't even hear anything.
After exchanging passwords, or whatever that whole process was, Roxy glanced back at Paul and signaled him to come.
Paul, with both hands in his hoodie's pocket, walked towards Roxy, slightly looking right and left, feeling a little nervous. Roxy could see that. His mouth curled up slightly in a mocking expression.
Paul reached the window and saw the man inside, but couldn't clearly see his face because of the darkness. His eyes also stole a glance inside the window, but he couldn't tell which was which.
The man inside looked at Paul for a second, examining his behavior, and asked,
"How much?" His tone was heavy.
Roxy looked at Paul with a little anticipation.
Paul, without even looking at Roxy—he could sense his thoughts—thought for a second or two and replied,
"Five small cheats. By the way, what's the price here? Back in my place, they go for 250."
Roxy was about to say something, but the man inside said it first, "It's the same here," and went to grab the stuff.
Roxy looked at Paul with curious eyes.
Paul didn't mind it and started taking out the cash from the back of his jeans' pocket.
Then they both heard the voice of the man inside, loud and clear: "Uncles coming."
Roxy's eyes widened a little from shock and surprise. He quickly said to Paul,
"Run."
Roxy quickly turned and started running. Paul quickly followed behind him.
They both went in the same direction as they had come, turning left and right in a dark alley. Roxy's mind was blank and only had one thing in it: Keep calling him to RUN.
Obviously, he didn't want to be caught by cops. He already had experienced nights behind steel bars a few times and didn't want to increase those numbers at all.
Soon, they reached close to beneath the overpass and slowed their pace. Paul, separating from Roxy, took a right turn.
Roxy quickly glanced at Paul. He was about to say something, but Paul said it first,
"See you tomorrow."
Roxy nodded slightly, thinking that Paul must be feeling afraid.
Paul, after taking that right turn, took left and right turns again, and in a few minutes, he was on the main streets, pacing a little faster than usual.
He hurriedly tried to cross the streets when a black car stopped beside him. He didn't notice, maybe because he'd covered his head with his hoodie again.
The driver in the driving seat shouted, "Wanna die, punk!?"
Paul slightly lifted his left hand to cover his face because the car's headlights were flashing straight at him.
In a low voice, he said, "Sorry."
Then his gaze pierced inside the car while crossing the streets.
He could see a man in the back seat, wearing round, transparent glasses, looking at him. Their eyes met for a second, and the car went ahead.
Paul reached the other side of the street, brushed his thoughts aside, and walked towards his apartment.
Inside the black car, which had just gone past Paul, was a man around his late 40s, with a strong, well-defined face. His short, neatly styled hair was a mix of gray and dark tones, giving him a mature look, his deep-set eyes showing the tiredness of work.
Slightly furrowed eyebrows and a trimmed beard framed his face, his skin smooth yet naturally aged in texture, wearing a white shirt underneath a black blazer and black formal pants. The air around him gave the vibe of being composed but also friendly.
Sitting in the driving seat, he murmured slightly,
"That's why men's lives are for a short play."
"You said something, Mr. Brown?" a voice called out to him from the back seat, all clear.
Mr. Brown shuddered slightly, thinking he had said it in his mind, but it reached the man sitting in the back seat. He composed himself and said calmly,
"Oh. It's just nothing. I was wondering that the current generation acts so carefree that they don't even know death is knocking on their door."
The man behind in the passenger seat tapped his round glasses in the center with his middle finger.
In a little amused tone, he said,
"Oh. Is that so? You sometimes sure say some interesting things, Mr. Brown."
Mr. Brown thought he had said something wrong. With a little apologetic tone, he said, "No, no, young master, what I mean to—"
"Do not worry, I don't mind that at all. And also, what you said is very true, but not one hundred percent."
The man behind in the passenger seat said this without even letting Mr. Brown finish his sentence.
"And don't call me young master from now on; call me what you call my father."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Brown was also thinking of something and asked, "What do you mean by that, sir? Not one hundred percent?"
The man in the passenger seat replied calmly, "Just as it sounds, Mr. Brown. Not one hundred percent. It means there are still some individuals in the current generation who don't act freely. Maybe they will carry this generation, maybe like the guy who passed earlier or..."
Mr. Brown clearly heard what the man said and replied honestly, "Yes, sir." *Maybe*, he completed the last word in his mind.
The man in the passenger seat turned his head slightly to the left and gazed out towards the streets. He could see his slight reflection in the window. Just a few months back, he had turned nineteen.
He has sharp, well-defined facial features with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a strong jawline. His deep-set eyes are like a dark abyss—empty and endless—partially hidden behind round, transparent glasses.
His slightly arched eyebrows give him an air of mystery and a calculating expression, while his smooth, pale skin enhances his enigmatic aura, with a faint shadow under his eyes hinting at sleepless nights spent in deep thought.
His lips are thin, pressed together in quiet contemplation. His dark, slightly tousled hair falls naturally over his forehead, with a few strands brushing against his glasses. The air around him feels chilly and unsettling for no reason.
He was wearing a plain, formal black shirt and pants. The black blazer behind him pressed against the seat with his back, covering only his shoulders.
After thinking for a minute, he called out to Mr. Brown again, asking, "By the way, Mr. Brown, how's my old man lately? Has his health improved, and what did the doctors have to say about him?"
With the change of topic, Mr. Brown felt a little relief wash over him.
He replied in a subdued tone, "Yes. Doctors have said that Master is out of danger and making slow progress. But getting back to his old self... only the gods can do that. Anyway, he'll be happy to see you, sir. It's almost two years now."
The person sitting in the back passenger seat smiled faintly and said, "Out of danger, you say? But you know danger doesn't only come in the form of illness. You've got to be careful with that old man, Mr. Brown. Who knows when your Master might be killed by someone, like his own private security or maybe... his own son?"
The person sitting in the passenger seat hadn't even finished his sentence when Mr. Brown pressed the brakes hurriedly in the middle of the street.
The car stopped quickly, and Mr. Brown was thrown forward slightly, but he didn't care. He quickly turned his head back, looking at the man behind him.
The sudden chill and fear he felt were clearly written on his face.
He gulped down the saliva in his mouth before saying, "S-sir, you clearly didn't mean any of this, right?" He gulped again. "The last thing about..." He wasn't even able to finish his own words.
The person sitting in the back was relaxed, his back pressed against the seat. His black, endless, abyss-like eyes, hidden behind round, transparent glasses, were looking at him.
He said lightly, his voice echoing, "What do you think, Mr. Brown?"
Mr. Brown didn't say anything for three seconds. Lots of thoughts were clashing against each other inside his mind. He said, stuttering a little, "I-I, thi..."
But before Mr. Brown could finish his words, the person sitting in the passenger seat chuckled slightly and said, "Come on, Mr. Brown, you really fell for that? Didn't we always play this game when I was little? Did you already forget about that?"
"Oh." Only this word came out of Mr. Brown's mouth. He slowly turned his head to the front, his mind still processing.
What he heard was all just part of some game.
Seeing that Mr. Brown's expression hadn't changed in the slightest, the person in the back passenger seat continued, "You don't have to be serious, Mr. Brown. I won't do that, no... I couldn't even dream of doing something like this," his tone shifting a little melancholic as he continued.
"He is the only one I have left. Brother is gone, mother already went ahead, and he is the only one. Even if we don't talk much to each other, he is still my... my father, that I care about."
Mr. Brown nodded slightly inside his head. After listening to his words, the uneasiness from before vanished slowly, and a sense of relief washed over him.
He lightly pressed the accelerator and drove towards their destination.