Bab 25: Chapter 25: For Your Eyes Only
The private elevator glides to a smooth stop, its polished doors sliding open with a soft chime. Tyrell and I step out into the opulent lobby of Skye's high-rise.
Tyrell practically vibrates with excitement beside me. "Dude, are you sure the convenience store really sells rice crispy treats?" Tyrell asks, his voice tinged with a mix of hope and skepticism.
I shrug, offering him a reassuring smile. "I mean, I assume so. Most convenience stores do, right?"
Tyrell's body language shifts, somehow conveying an intensity that transcends his helmet. "Dude, I haven't had one since I got here. I'm excited."
We step out into the bustling city street, the noon sun casting long shadows between the towering skyscrapers. The air is thick with the scents of street food vendors and car exhaust.
As we make our way down the crowded sidewalk, I can't help but notice the way people's eyes are drawn to Tyrell's distinctive appearance. Some stare openly, while others try to sneak furtive glances. Tyrell seems oblivious to the attention, his head swiveling back and forth as he takes in the sights and sounds of the city with childlike wonder.
As we wait for the crosswalk signal to change, Tyrell suddenly turns to me, his posture stiffening. Even without being able to see his face, I can sense a shift in his demeanor.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and serious, "we gotta get real for a second."
The light changes, and we start across the street with the flow of pedestrians. Tyrell's words hang in the air between us, heavy with unspoken tension.
"What's up with Skye killing you?" he asks bluntly as soon as we reach the other side.
I feel embarrassment and shame washing over me. "It happened when we were fucking," I admit. "She just choked me too hard and..."
I trail off, unable to finish the sentence. The memory of those terrifying moments flashes through my mind, the pressure on my throat, the pleasure of the world going dark.
Tyrell stops abruptly, his helmet tilting to the side as he regards me. "If I tell my boss that story," he says slowly, "it might be really bad."
"Then don't tell them," I say, a note of pleading in my voice.
Tyrell stands there silently for a long moment, his blank helmet betraying nothing of his thoughts. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"Fine," he says, resignation clear in his tone. "Just this once, I won't tell her."
Relief washes over me, and I feel some of the tension drain from my body. "Thank you."
We continue walking down the city street, the conversation about Skye fading into an uncomfortable silence.
As we walk, I'm struck by a sudden thought.
"Hey, the other day, you went somewhere. Where did you go?" I ask Tyrell casually.
Tyrell stifles a laugh and then sighs. "Did you have a 9/11 in your world?"
I blink, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Yeah," I reply hesitantly.
"Well..." Tyrell says, drawing out the word. "I had to fight an alternate universe, Osama bin Laden."
I stop dead in my tracks, staring at Tyrell in disbelief. "What the fuck," I manage to sputter out.
Tyrell shakes his head, his voice taking on an exasperated tone. "Dude, you don't even know the half of it. The dude is fucking crazy, and he wants to fight your wife."
I can't help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. "That's so stupid," I say, shaking my head. "My wife would trounce that guy."
Tyrell chuckles, the sound tinged with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "For sure, but it's so much dumber than I can explain, honestly," he says, shaking his head.
He lets out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly under his red jacket. "Just wait," he continues, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I'm sure you'll hear about him eventually if he breaks out again."
My brow furrows in confusion and curiosity. "Break out of where?" I ask.
Tyrell's helmet turns towards me, the face managing to convey a sense of reluctance. "I'm not allowed to say," he replies, his voice firm but apologetic.
I sigh, frustration bubbling up inside me. It seems like every answer I get only leads to more questions in this strange new world. We continue walking down the sidewalk.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement catches my eye. We're passing by an electronics store, its large display window filled with rows of televisions, all tuned to the same channel. The screens flicker to life with a "Breaking News" banner, the bold red text demanding attention.
My heart drops as I read the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screens: "Fatal Attraction: Did Super Star's Powers Turn Deadly in Love?"
The televisions in the store window flicker to life, their screens filled with a startling image that makes my blood run cold. It's a photo from last month's press conference, capturing a moment frozen in time. Skye stands tall and proud in her iconic Super Star costume, her emerald eyes gleaming with confidence as she addresses the crowd. Beside her, I look small and almost fragile in comparison.
As I stare at the image, transfixed by the memory of that day, the anchor's voice cuts through my reverie, her words sending a chill down my spine.
"Rumors suggest Super Star killed new fiancé during an intense bout of lovemaking and then had him revived," she announces her tone a mix of sensationalism and faux concern. "Sources are still trying to confirm this information now."
'They haven't confirmed it?'
I feel the blood drain from my face as the words sink in. How did they find out? Who could have leaked this information?
Before I can fully process the implications, the second anchor chimes in, his voice dripping with barely concealed excitement at the juicy gossip.
"Well, Sarah," he says, leaning towards his co-anchor with a conspiratorial air, "if these rumors are true, it certainly puts a new spin on the phrase 'love hurts,' doesn't it?"
"What the fuck?" I blurt out at his creepy comment.
Sarah lets out a forced laugh, her perfectly whitened teeth gleaming under the studio lights. "It certainly does, Tom. One has to wonder about the dangers of superhuman-human relationships. Is Super Star's fiancé putting himself at risk every time they're intimate?"
"FUCK YOU!" I yell at the TV.
Tom nods sagely, his expression a mask of fake concern. "Good point, Sarah."
Tyrell puts a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it oddly comforting. I can feel the tension radiating from him, a stark contrast to his usual carefree demeanor.
Just as I'm about to suggest we keep walking, Tyrell's phone begins to ring. The cheerful, upbeat tune seems jarringly out of place, given the circumstances. Tyrell sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. "I'm probably in trouble," he mutters, his voice tinged with resignation.
"Don't tell your boss, dude," I plead. Tyrell nods once.
With a fluid motion, Tyrell reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. As he answers, his entire demeanor shifts. Gone is the tension and worry from moments ago, replaced by an almost manic cheerfulness that's so at odds with the situation it's almost comical.
"Oh hey, J-dog!" Tyrell exclaims, his voice pitched higher than normal and infused with an enthusiasm that sounds forced to my ears. He pauses, listening intently to the voice on the other end. I strain to hear but can only make out a faint, tinny murmur.
"Yeah, I just heard about it too," Tyrell continues, his free hand gesticulating wildly as he speaks. "It's fine, it's not true." Another pause, longer this time.
Finally, he speaks again, his voice losing some of its forced cheer. "Alright, alright, I'll report to the boss directly." With that, he ends the call, his arm dropping to his side as if suddenly drained of energy.
Tyrell slips his phone back into his pocket, his shoulders slumping with the weight of unseen responsibility. He turns to me.
"Luke, my man," he says, his voice tinged with the unmistakable tone of a kid who's just been caught with a poop sock. "I, uh... I gotta go. The boss lady wants to see me."
I nod, understanding all too well the feeling of being summoned by a higher authority to get chewed out. "Yeah, I get it," I reply, trying to keep my voice light despite the worry gnawing at my insides.
Tyrell shifts his weight from foot to foot, his discomfort palpable. "I should probably take you home first," he says, the words coming out in a rush. "You know, just to be safe."
I shake my head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "It's fine, Tyrell. I'm a big boy. I can handle myself."
Tyrell's helmet tilts to the side, a gesture I've come to recognize as his version of a skeptical look. "If you get hurt while I'm gone, I'll be in even more trouble," he says, his voice taking on a pleading edge.
I can't help but chuckle at his persistence. "Tyrell, buddy," I say, patting him on the shoulder, "if you take me home, I'm just gonna go back out when you leave. Might as well save yourself the extra trip."
Tyrell stands there for a moment, silent and still, as if weighing his options. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Then it can't be helped," he says, resignation clear in his voice.
With a fluid motion that speaks of long practice, Tyrell reaches into his jacket and pulls out a stone.
"Alright, man, I'll be back," Tyrell says, his voice carrying a note of finality.
Tyrell pops away unceremoniously. When I look back, he is gone while sand falls to the ground.
"What the fuck is with the rock?" I can't help but wonder at what stupid purpose it holds.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the spot where Tyrell vanished, the grains of sand settling on the sidewalk the only evidence he was ever there.
I shake off my bewilderment at Tyrell's strange disappearance and resume my quest for rice-crispy treats.
I'm so lost in thought about the marshmallow treats that I almost don't notice the familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction. It's only when I hear my name called in a worried tone that I snap back to attention.
"Luke?"
I look up to see Veronica Vale, The CFO of …..
'I don't remember what the Star company is called actually. Oh well.'
Veronica's tailored charcoal suit is very classy looking. Her usually composed expression is marred by confusion and concern as her eyes lock onto mine.
"Why are you out alone right now?" she asks, her brow furrowed. "I just heard the news. You should go home. Your face is plastered everywhere right now."
I feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Of course, the story would spread like wildfire. In a world obsessed with superheroes, a scandal involving Super Star was bound to make headlines at lightning speed.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I'm out to buy rice crispy treats," I explain, feeling slightly foolish as the words leave my mouth.
Veronica's eyebrows shoot up, her purple eyes widening in disbelief. "What?" she exclaims, her voice a mixture of exasperation and concern. "Luke, Skye has a whole team of people ready to be at her beck and call. You can just call Sarah for that."
The mention of Sarah's name sends a pang of guilt through me. Images of that fateful day flash through my mind, the chaos, the blood, the razor wire trap.
"It's awkward to talk to Sarah," I admit. "She lost her legs because of me."
Veronica scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. Her raven hair catches the sunlight, shimmering like polished obsidian. "Star Enterprise paid a lot of money for her new legs," she says, her tone matter-of-fact. "And I assure you, she's even faster than before."
I shrug, not entirely convinced but not wanting to argue. "Okay," I mumble.
Veronica's eyes dart around nervously, scanning the bustling street. Her gaze lingers on a group of women across the road who seem to be eyeing me with predatory interest. I notice her fingers twitch slightly as if resisting the urge to grab my arm and pull me to safety.
"Look," she says, her voice low and urgent, "let me walk you home. This isn't safe."
The genuine concern in her tone takes me aback. Her usual composed demeanor has cracked, revealing a vulnerability I've never seen before.
"I can have a few boxes of your junk food sent to you within the hour," Veronica continues, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Any kind you want. Hell, I'll get you a lifetime supply if that's what it takes to get you off these streets right now."
"That's far too many…." I can't help but chuckle at her intensity. "I'm okay alone, really," I insist, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "It's just a short walk."
Veronica's expression hardens. "Luke," she says, her voice stern and unyielding, "this world isn't like the one you're from. Women here will see you as a rice crispy treat, and then..." She pauses, her gaze flickering to the group of women across the street who are now openly staring at me. "Well. Snap, crackle, pop."
The weight of her words settles over me like a heavy blanket. The playful cereal jingle takes on a sinister new meaning in this context, sending a chill down my spine.
"Uhh, alright," I say, my voice shaky. "Yeah, maybe I'll take you up on that offer."
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone