Izan could not remember a life outside the rebel base. A life where he had a family, where he wore the clothes he wanted, or where he played in the streets instead of studying military tactics. When the rescue mission had begun, and the government's special forces had entered the base, Izan had felt compelled to defend the scientists to protect his pathetic life in seclusion. Mother always said the outside world was dangerous. Once, she also said that Izan was dangerous for the outside world.


The thing is there was no way of knowing if the outside was better than what he was living there in confinement, and it's always scary to let go of the comfort of the only life you've ever known. Even though he was now living in the city, the need for monotony and quasi-military organization had not disappeared. But at least it was an organization chosen by himself, and not imposed by someone else. 


Izan adored routine. Waking up early to exercise, taking a good cold shower, and attending his therapy session with Aila on the 1st Floor. Passing by the same vintage store and seeing the same owners walking their dogs down the street before heading down to the Ground Floor and going to work at Mr. Flint's bar-restaurant.


Working for that old man was the best thing that had ever happened to Izan in his life, as he had told Aila in one of their recent sessions.


Considering that his life outside had begun just four years ago, the pay and the bar weren't exactly anything to write home about either. But for Izan, it was enough.


The place lacked all those modernities that automated the kitchen and cleaning tasks, so Izan had to take care of cleaning the tables, cooking, and sometimes taking orders. And for Izan, it was a dream come true to work until his body ached from standing. So when he got home at night, he collapsed with a smile on his face, satisfied with the great productivity he achieved every day.


While it may be true that at first he used his powers at work secretly, he argues that it was always for purposes he considered fair. Like moving chairs a few inches forward to avoid bumping into them while serving, or causing some particularly rude customer to spill sauce off their plate. But Aila had managed to completely eradicate these childish behaviors before he was discovered by anyone, and in the blink of an eye, Izan was already 21 and was in charge of making sure the part-time teenager didn't mess up the orders.


His name was Cisco. And once, for his Neo Chinese class, he had written an essay talking about how Izan was his best friend and role model. Izan wasn't sure when he had become a responsible adult, but somehow he was.


It was Tuesday afternoon. The restaurant was practically empty, so Mr. Flint had prepared sandwiches for the two boys and forced them to extend their break. Izan ate in silence, while Cisco hummed some song quietly and fiddled with something on his Meta-pad.


The teenager was remarkably similar to someone Izan had once known. Perhaps, he thought, that's why he had grown so fond of him. Because of the way he smiled while singing any random melody, happy to be immersed in his own world. Cisco sometimes furrowed his brow and squinted, as if he needed to see less of this reality to project correctly onto the screen what he had in his head.


It was Kail.


"Who?" The moment the boy tore his gaze from his screen to fix it on Izan, the older man realized he had said it out loud.


He panicked for a second. The air stopping before entering his lungs and the familiar tingling in his fingertips. Fortunately, a door opening snapped him out of his shock.


"I'm afraid the bar is as empty as the outskirts of New Celona," Mr. Flint lamented, patting Izan on the shoulder. "If it stays like this, I'll have to give you the afternoon off."


Being alone in his apartment all afternoon sounded like a nightmare for Izan, a waste of time, a waste of hours of productivity. Luckily, the old man didn't force them to leave yet, he just lamented a couple more times and returned to the kitchen to deal with something else.


Cisco returned his attention to his screen after taking a bite of the sandwich, but he must have noticed Izan's gaze still on him because he stopped whatever he was doing and smiled.


"You can peek a little if you want to" he said. Izan accepted the offer and got up from his seat to walk around the table and get closer. "I bought the program at a vintage store on the first floor. Isn't it cool?"


Izan nodded without saying anything and pushed a rebellious strand of black hair away from his forehead to see more clearly. On the screen, a digital drawing of the facade of the bar-restaurant was halfway colored. With a quick glance to the corner, Izan saw the countless number of layers the drawing had required, and finally spoke:


"That's... Amazing. You didn’t use any AI? When did you learn to draw like this?"


Cisco's smile widened even more on his face.


"A lot of practice," he replied, his chest swelling with pride.


Izan suppressed a chuckle and ruffled the boy's hair before moving away to return to his seat. Almost immediately, Cisco returned his attention to the Meta-pad screen, but didn't resume his humming tune.


"They're pixels, it's an old bitmap program...," he informed. It's not like Izan understood any of that; apparently, such teachings weren't considered important for super-soldier kids on their mission to overthrow the government. Still, he nodded to encourage the kid to keep talking. "So I can't really save it into holographic format... But I like it this way. If you zoom in a lot, you can see the little squares of color that make up the image."


"It's meta-cool," commented Izan. Cisco's satisfaction only grew, and a warm feeling spread through the older man's chest.


It was so unfair. His adolescence had been very different from Cisco's. He couldn't help but think that perhaps Kail would have enjoyed pixels, little color squares, or bitmaps as much as Cisco did. Deep down, Izan hoped he would enjoy those now, wherever he was at that moment.


"Xan, aren't you going home?"


He didn't have a place to call home. Home was where he was surrounded by those he trusted most, with whom he could be himself. But after so many years apart, was Izan the same boy the government had rescued from the rebel group's facilities? Was there anything left besides the ruins of a place he once called 'home' and the flashbacks of a nightmare he once knew as his only reality?


***


New Celona was a city that could be either very beautiful or very ugly depending on which floor you visited.


The Ground Floor had asphalt and cement streets. They were the streets of what had once been called Barcelona, with its brick buildings and countless avenues. Everything there was dirty, dark, precarious; because if you looked up, you could see the glass streets of the First Floor.


Above, the skyscrapers were imposing, so much so that they inevitably blocked the daylight for the Ground Floor. The well-lit streets were always full of men in suits and elegant women. Life passed just as quickly on both floors, but upstairs it seemed like people were in a glamorous and busy rush, while downstairs it was more like a herd of packed sheep heading nowhere.


Izan knew it very well; he had gone up to the First Floor several times to testify in trials against the rebel organization, and therapy sessions were also held up there. But the rest of his life was spent on the Ground Floor, hiding among the shadows and dirt like the rest of the city's people.


Izan knew two kinds of fear. His own, and the fear people had of him.


Since he had moved to the lower floor of New Celona and had adopted the identity of Izan Paik, a young man from the outskirts who had just arrived in the city, he hadn't had problems with that second type of fear. However, the first seemed to have intensified.


At work, he could keep his thoughts at bay, busy serving tables, cooking, and cleaning. During breaks, he focused on Cisco and listened to Mr. Flint’s typical old man war stories. But when it was time to go home, everything became a nightmare.


He walked through dark alleys, too alert to the shadows and noises around him, when he noticed someone was following him. Steps that gradually got closer as he reached the entrance to his government-assigned apartment building. He quickened his pace, clutching his bag as if his life depended on it, because maybe it did.


There were government men, with guns aimed at his head, trying to sneak up to get the perfect shot. Smoke in the street, rubble and ash alike covering burnt flesh and still-fresh blood. Izan looked around, his breath heavy from inhaling gas, and agitated by adrenaline. He didn't see any familiar faces, but he could swear he heard a cry for help in the distance.


He turned the corner of his street, barely touching the ground with the tip of his sneakers before stumbling and falling face-first onto the asphalt. His body hit it with a silent thud. The bag sheltered against his chest. Izan hugged it and pulled his legs to his chest in an attempt to protect himself. The pain from the fall spread through his side, but the pressure on his chest stole the spotlight. He heard an explosion. His whole body trembled, scraping his elbows against the asphalt, and he gritted his teeth as he closed his eyes.


The steps were getting closer. The sound of gunfire and screams overwhelmed his senses, preventing him from thinking clearly, and the lack of oxygen began to suffocate him. He tasted something salty in his mouth. He thought it was blood, but then he realized it was something else. Tears. He was crying.


Realizing this made him open his eyes and stop hyperventilating for a second.


He was at the entrance to his building. There were no bombs, no gunshots, no screams, no smoke, no men chasing him. There were only shadows, the echo of his own steps, and him lying on the asphalt in front of his apartment.


It had been too long since he had had such a vivid flashback while awake. He couldn't help but think that his subconscious was warning him of something, that he should be more aware of his surroundings from that moment on. Aila would be disappointed to hear about that incident.