'So It was a fake!?' Alvin started, shocked, albeit in a low voice.

  'Quite so, it was a counterfeit and a poorly made one at that'. I replied, stirring a cup of hot soy milk. White ripples pooled through the liquid, occasionally reflecting a distorted face.

  'You're sure?' he whispered scratching his head 'I mean–its just an ambigram, how specific can it even be?'

  'I cannot explain such complications to the likes of who can't even tell coffins from caskets after being associated with underground business for years'. I rolled my eyes. 'Also, do you perchance feel the whirring of this helicopter of a fan isn't obstruction enough?! The hell you whispering for'

  Just then the fan groaned louder as if to affirm my complaint.

  'Tut–tut' he lowered his voice further as if to even out my amplified one. 'Its called taking precautions, what if the axis has spies listening in'

  I tossed the mug aside, setting it down on the hardwood table with a clank. Then with a whimsical expression, drawled 'if they do then let them listen in, won't do me much harm'

  Alvin looked pointedly annoyed, and leveling his volume to audible range he grumbled 'For someone constantly running the risk of getting murdered, you sure are carefree'

  I suddenly happened to have found an accusing finger raised square at my temple, looking most like an aggrieved victim confronting a perpetrator he cried out 'tell me, you! ! do you actually mean to work for that Viscontini'. Then withdrawing the pointed finger to his forehead in dramatic lamentation he continued 'if so, who are you and what have you done to Black frost'

  I blinked twice and hard at the gaudily ostentatious display 'You should really try out a different line of work. I can almost hear opera in the background'

  'I know' said he– for a moment dead serious, then reverting back to his insouciant attitude continued 'but thats not the answer to my question'

  'The answer is both yes and no'

  'Do elaborate'

  'We are working for the same cause–yes. But as for interests, well I only have mine in mind' I replied, unconsciously shifting my gaze towards the other side of the room.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Scant sunlight filtered through the apartment window. The dark clouds adorning the morning sky spelled rain. I was fairly certain though–that it wouldn't fall...not today at the very least.

  'I didnot understand a word of what you just said' he said not deigning to hide the accusatory undertone.

  'Is it imperative that you know?' I grimaced.

  'Yes!'

  'Why?!'

  'For me personally, I'd like to know whom I'll be working for'

  'Well its like this then. Our predicaments are similar, we are working against the same predator, and as sickly prey we might as well help eachother other out.' I paused to draw in a shallow breath. 'but our reasoning is completely different, Vittore is motivated by his desire for revenge and I... I am only doing what I must do'

  'You could still run', he said thoughtfully, 'You're not even their target so why get yourself mixed up'

  'When elephants fight, the grass gets trampled. What i am saying is, we might be insignificant but we, that is; you, I, the society, none can keep ourselves out of—'.

  'But we are not grass' he countered 'we are not immobile either, you can just flee the country and that'll be it. Running away from the axis wasn't easy..it couldn't have been, so why give up everything now'. He said, somewhat retired and gloomy.

  'Kid, do you really think fleeing the country is like walking out of your front door'. It was my turn to point and haughtily I did 'All you ever speak of is fleeing. Fleeing this fleeing that. I'm only in my twenties, why should I spend my youth running away from things'

  He looked at me with such an exasperated expression that I suddenly wanted to laugh. 'Alright fine, I'll tell you.' I said with a crooked smile. 'All my actions are part of a grandoise plan i meticulously laid out five years ago to dismantle the Axis. Do you believe me now?'

  A flat, reverberating 'No' echoed across the room, bouncing off every wall until it plastered itself in my eardrums.

  'The Black frost I know is self centred and only acts only when there is something in it for her and according to what is necessary for the near future. You dont put yourself through the hassle of 'planning ahead for the future' or some shit'

  'Exactly, but add this to your analysis. I am also impulsive and once threw myself into alligator infested waters to learn swimming' I mused. 'And i hope this answers your question'

  With the air of an enlightened scholar engaging in charitable discourse with the mediocre he sighed 'It doesn't, I still don't see what's in it for you' *sigh*.'but reasoning with you is pointless anyway'

  Suddenly thoughtful, he asked, 'speaking of the society, It doesn't seem you plan to let him know'

  'Who? Vittore? Well I'm not hiding it from him'

  Catching the meaning, Alvin took his leave.

  Faint thunder rumbled in the distant. The overcast sky almost completely lost its last streaks of seeping sunlight.

  Closing the door after him and switching off that aberration of a fan, I sat down with my glass of milk. My eyes drifted helter-skelter around the room. An unremarkable apartment. There were a few books collecting dust upon lone shelves, silk curtains dangled loosely from the window. Wooden furniture occupied the rest of the space, those are hardly worth mentioning.

  Everybody who sees this place says it's eerily empty, I beg to differ. I'd perhaps prefer to think that way but unfortunately my line of sight is forever filled with unnecessary objects. Then again, these objects are more on the abstract side. Abstract occourings that pertain only to me.

  My vision danced around the place and quite suddenly settled upon my very own face. A reflection ofcourse, all humans a lighted upon by the eternal curse of never being able to behold one's own self but through a medium facilitated by another object.

  What a strange sight, how filthy.

  'Oh what a sin'

  'A disgrace. It can no longer be called human'

  'Unworthy little devil'

  — A wave of nausea coursed through my skin, right hand subconsciously propelling the mug forward. With the sound of sharded glass shattering upon porcelain, the image broke into a thousand miniscule fragments which—in the frenzy of their collisions–ground eachother to mortal dust. Milk spattered across the mirror's frame seamlessly playing the part of lurid blood adorning a crime scene. Lowering my eyes I saw blood and milk mingling in successive streams, dripping from the hand that had clasped the mug— fingernails digging into the very crevices from which they rose.