In 2019, The Washington Post stated that malls are dying in the United States. It's the year 2035, and the Lone Star Mall in Texas has survived the Post's declaration of death, barely. It is the nation's 5th largest mall. The American Kingdom all owns the title of number 1.

The Lone Star Mall houses a theme park, hotel, and a militia of stores and restaurants. Lone Star Mall may be alive, but the Post's words inch closer. The tourist coming for the spectacle is the only thing keeping it alive. Even the outlets surrounding the building are a maze of wonder, with the cracks in between the stores housing the city's unsavory residents.

One of them is standing there right now. In the side parking lot in one of the outlets is a man named Kent. He stands six feet tall with a sturdy build. To the bone-thin thirteen-year-old boy he is speaking to, he feels ten feet tall and as wide as a semi-truck. The boy, Drake, grabs the straps of his backs pack and stares at the man's black boots.

KENT

Now, you're going to take this to your school, 

and I want you to sell it all by the end of the week.

Drake wanted to stop by the mall to grab himself a new shirt for a date he had. He finally dared to ask the girl he liked out, but he wasn't aware the alley was this man's go-to spot to find new talent. Unknown to them both, someone watching from a distance knew.

The man pushes a plastic bag filled with a rainbow assortment of "adult tik-taks." All the pills are color-coordinated and packed in individual small plastic bags.

DRAKE

I... I don't want to.

KENT

This is a great financial opportunity for you. 

Create a foundation for further fiscal growth 

or help mommy with the bills. If you can't do this.

The man leans in close.

KENT

Well, that means you'll need a special one-on-one 

business seminar. To get you in the right 

headspace to work.

The man clinches his fist. A drop of sweat slides down to the tip of the boy's nose. He can hear his blood racing through his body. The man's pupils are small, focused. If you stare deep into the black of them, you can see the cracks in his psyche.

The words bubble in the boy's throat. He wants to say, "no, get away." He knows he needs to sprint as far away as possible, but his feet are sunk into the ground. Nothing can break the trance he is in, until a shadow cast over the boy's face.

The slurp from a straw impaling a chocolate chip frappe the boy's stare. Standing behind the thug is dark skin man named Donald "Don" Isabela. The top of his bald head barely reaches the man's shoulder. The boy, who is 5'3, barely has to look up to stare Donald in the eye. He has a thick beard with a clean lineup. Don is wearing a navy blue suit with a thick brown t-shirt; sneakers that shine almost as much as his freshly shaven head. His frame would suggest that he frequently goes to the gym to build muscle, but you can tell he skips cardio by his round stomach. His blue, metallic watch jingles while he races his cup to take another sip. The hot exhale after that sip fogs the bottom frame of his horn-rimmed glasses.

DON

Finally, I was getting tired of watching you do nothing.

The man turns around, initially looking over Don's head. It wasn't until he noticed the shine bouncing off Don's scalp that he looked down.

KENT

Look at this stocky stump. What do you want?

DON

Stump? Why go there? It wasn't even called for.

Don takes another sip. The cool chocolate chip hits his tongue and pairs nicely with the cold breeze of the wind. It's only fifty-five degrees outside this fall day, but for a man who grew up in this state of Texas, it was as cold as the artic. The man eyes Don, wondering why he is here.

KENT

You don't look like the boy's dad or brother. 

Why don't you go down the street 

and pretend nothing happened?

Don takes another sip from his cup, then looks up at him. He glances at his watch and then at the nervous teenager moments away from wetting himself. Don does this, hoping it would aggravate the man and get him off his mental balance. By the red rushing to the man's face and narrowing stare, Don can tell it's working.

DON

I can't go into too much detail. 

You know, client confidentiality. I'm gonna skip 

ahead as I have somewhere to be.

Don pulls his phone, which is a glass rectangle. There is no camera or buttons on it. He taps on its side, and the glass shows a black screen with a play button. He holds up the phone for a second. The man and the boy stare at it, waiting for something to happen. Don notices their confusion and looks at his phone.

DON

Oh, my bad, my bad.

Don's calm and collected demeanor withers. What's left is a nervous chuckle as he panicky presses the play symbol on the screen.

DON

Okay, now look.

A video appears on the screen. It is of Don, the man, and the boy standing there as if someone is watching them from the side. The man turns and doesn't see anything there.

DON

I hid the camera well. You won't 

see it. Go ahead, wave.

The boy turns in the same direction and gives a small wave. It appears on Don's phone.

DON

I've been recording this since you first pulled 

the kid in here. I'm still recording now.

Without hesitation, Kent takes a swing at Don. The man's massive fist barely misses as Don stumbles back and falls cheeks-first into the ally.

KENT

I bet when I beat the crap out of you, 

it'll look good on camera.

DON

Let's relax now.

Don moves back while still on the ground. Don's hand slowly reaches for something behind him. Before he can reach something black tucked in the back of his pants, a trash can lid flies like a frisbee and smacks the man in the jaw.

The sunlight shining into the alley cast over someone standing at the end. They are obscure, but her voice reverberates off the brick walls.

UNKNOWN WOMAN

Don't you dare touch his big butt.

DON

Was "big" necessary?

UNKNOWN WOMAN

Shut up; I'm saving you.

The woman keeps her eyes on her prey. The man takes a step back and looks deeper into the alley.

KENT

This is getting too much. I'm gone.

Kent makes a break into the ally's shadows.

DON

We can't let him get away, Aly. You need to—

Before he could finish the sentence or even get up, the woman sprints pass Don and follows the man into the ally. The boy could barely distinguish who ran past them, but Don would recognize his sister Alysa Isabela anywhere. She is in her late twenties and has the same complexion as him. 

She has an outfit ready to go down the catwalk of the stylish business attire fashion show, complete with her burgundy jacket, a belt tightened in the middle, and Adidas sneakers that compliment her outfit. Her fluffy, curly dark hair barely passes her chin, and her eyes zero in on the man's back as he tries to escape.

Drake turns to Don, still clutching the straps of his book bag. Don catches this.

DON

It's all good, kid. She can handle 

herself. What's your name, kid?

DRAKE

Drake.

DON

Nice to meet you, Drake. Call me Don. 

 Why don't you show me what's in the bag?

Drake nods and unzips the bag.

The man sprints deeper into the maze of shops on the outskirts of the mall until a glass bottle flies right passed his head and shatters on a nearby wall. Het turns, and Aly is already close. He takes a swing.

KENT

Don't mess with me. Dynasty ain't no punks!

His fist wafts in the air as there is no face for his knuckles to connect to. Aly read his movements. She lowered her body and sidestepped around him to avoid his punch.

With a deep breath, Aly analyzes the man. The way he swung his fist, it's clear he hasn't had any professional training. His stance is sloppy and unbalanced. With a simple nudge, she could knock him down. However, the confidence behind his punch shows this isn't his first street fight. Her eyes can follow him clearly while he turns around. His movements are slow, well to Aly.

She tucks her arms and goes in. She pushes with her back foot and twists her hip as she pulls her fist back. Her back muscles tense as she pushes her fist forward and makes sure to utilize her whole weight. Before the man can react, Aly's fist slams into his gut with enough force to turn bricks into dust before the man can react. A metallic clang echoes in the alley when she lands her punch.

His feet are in the air as a glob of saliva spews out his mouth. He flies back three feet, and his body bounces like a fumbled football. The man passes out, and Aly smirks.

ALY

Maybe I don't need to join that 

gym. Looks like I still got it.

The back of the man's jacket collects dirt as Aly grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him through the alley like a bag of trash. She returns to Don, who is taking photos of the boy's backpack. Don notices his sister is dragging the man behind her.

DON

That's disrespectful.

ALY

Look at that kid again and 

tell me he deserves respect.

Don agrees with her.

ALY

You got enough for the client.

DON

I got more than what they asked.

ALY

Think we can charge more?

DON

No, but at least we got 

enough evidence for our client. 

Now, what they do with 

it is up to them.

He turns to his sister and holds his hand out.

DON

Mind getting me—

Before he could finish, Aly tosses the man's phone. It is similar to Don's but smaller and not as clean. There are dried watermarks, minor scratches, and finger smudges all over the glass body.

ALY

Already got it. Can we hurry? I want to 

show you what I did with the space.

DON

Don't rush me.

Don holds the phone in his right hand, the same hand his watch is on. Appearing out from the under of the band is a translucent teal centipede. You can see the hairs on Don's wrist when you look at it, as it is made of light instead of physical matter. Don makes sure the boy can't see this. The insect crawls onto the man's phone and buries itself into the screen. There are no new scratches or cracks on the screen, but the centipede entirely passes through the glass and into the phone.

Don tosses the phone back to his sister. She drops the man, and his back thumps on the floor, but she catches the phone. While she places his phone back into his jacket pocket, Don presses his thumb on the side of his phone. The thumb is scanned, and a thin light shines around the side of the phone. He pulls it from the glass, and the phone unfolds to double its size. Don starts to go through the files with a small circle filling up in the corner of the screen.

To unfamiliar eyes, it looks like Don is going through his phone at a crucial moment and is ignoring everyone around him. Aly, on the other hand, knows what is going on. The screen's content isn't Don's phone but the unconscious man. The circle shows the progress of downloading content off the man's phone. The information is detailed on how many times he has locked and unlocked the device.

Standing near each other, the boy can see Aly standing a few inches taller than her brother. She turns and crouches down to look at the boy's eye level.

ALY

I'm sorry, but we are going to need 

the backpack. Don't worry, we will make up 

for it. Can I see your phone?

Drake, with shaking hands, gives her his phone. Aly hands Don the phone and a few swipes on the screen, and Don hands the phone back to the kid.

DON

I just transferred around $300 to your bank account, Drake. 

Complements of the man on the floor. 

Don't worry; he won't be able to trace it back to you. 

 You need to keep out of trouble and places 

like this. You were lucky we were here.

Aly walks out the alley, heading toward their car.

ALY

Grab the camera, and let's go.

DON

Where not leaving yet.

ALY

Come on, the space is waiting

for us. I worked all month.

DON

We have to wait for cops and 

then check in with the client.

ALY

Or we can head straight there.

Don's brow scrunches closer together as his forehead wrinkle appears.

DON

We are waiting here with the kid until the 

cops come to pick up the dude on the floor.

The boy stands there, no longer able to clutch the straps of his bag, watching the siblings bicker back and forth. Two questions float in the boy's mind. "Should he wait here with them," and "who are they?"