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Ain't no Rest for the Wicked

Chapter Text

Let me tell you a tale.

A tale about a legend, a battle between two men.

Two men that were unlike at the other, but who had sealed their destiny by a simple face to face, the first time they’ve met.

Two men that had sold their life around blood, entering inside the darkness for the first, then inside the lightness for the second.

Two men, fighting for their honor and the accomplishment for their madness respectively, that in the end, will do anything for stopping or killing the other…

All of this, under the judgment of the Sacred Light.

But we’re not going to focus on these two men, but mostly on the present time…

And on an unexpected meeting under a starlight sky.


If Guido Mista had learned something from this city he lives in, it’s that it IS a shitty place.

The city, despite being as huge as poor, was geographically based on an unknown emplacement that never appeared on any maps of the entire world. People just knew it was somewhere in the US desert, but never could tell where unless you found it. If you are lucky. Or unlucky, depends on your opinions about that place.

Many immigrants, and people with English being their maternal tongues, eventually come here massively, running away from another life that they had wished to never have, or simply they’ve born here. Most of people hopes, arriving here, that this city to be a better place, however it wasn’t the case. Probably by fatalism, they’d accepted this and their miserable beings in addition, leaving life to continue peacefully, as the time passes slowly…

But, once again, that place is shitty as fuck: with poverty everywhere, many gangs who’s been lurking on any spots in town, drugs deals anywhere and executed mainly during the night, prostitution—you got it. This is really why it isn’t the place for people to have hopes for, which is why Mista had listed and detailed the reasons what makes it very, very shitty. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop men and women to coming here, and Mista can’t help but admitting he is one of those who had run away from their ‘home’, since he arrived here in his teens years, so…

However, something unexpected happened to Mista. One of the few things that could be true, beautiful and enjoyable, that had been showed by the dark and starry sky, despite the fact we are in January…

And then, a rock from the sky, appearing out of nowhere, fucking hit him in the face.

Chapter Text

 In their deepest thoughts, they knew it was pretty useless to flee. But it was something risked that sounded appealing, due to how obligated it appeared for them to do.

Nonetheless, since they were a child, they knew that that place is and will be for eternity in constant surveillance: security cameras on each walls’ angles; on each corners of the multitude rooms inside that gigantic place that looked *definitively* like a prison than anything else; butlers or maidens behind or in front of each doors, stopping any unwanted intruders or any tentative of escapes from the ‘tasks’ HE wanted to apply to anyone under HIS control...

It isn’t necessary to precising more about the defensive aspect of this fortress.

However, they knew that this prison, for them, was the strongest thing they ever known, because of what they had described earlier...But also the weakest thing they had ever learned to understand, and discover too, thanks to their childhood’s experience. It was not for nothing that Hide and Seek was and still is one of their favorite games after all. As a child, they used, a hundred or thousand times, to play at this game, with tricks only them knew. Unsurprisingly, they still use them, even today, those tricks, to hide from someone, but for different motives. It wasn’t for nothing they knew them by heart, simply because they knew each secrets spots in the mansion, the best and most effective to not being found by the butlers and maidens, to escaping from the ‘duties’ HE wanted to forcing a young person to do.

The young person in question, our nameless and new introduced character, was actually ‘playing’ at Hide and Seek. No, the term ‘play’ is totally wrong: the truth is that they were under cover, hidden at one of their best nooks that nobody had found yet, waiting for one of HIS subordinated to walk away, on edge to finding this young person. They understood why such devotion in this research: by fear and devotion regarding their ‘employer’, something that don’t change at all from usual, excluding the foolish ones, who thought they didn’t needed HIM and forgetting their ‘contract’ with HIM, that doesn’t exist anymore. But this time there is an exception. This research is appliqued for a more serious reason. A reason that our nameless protagonist is responsible of.

As they waited, discretely, for the heavy footsteps to walk over, they twiddled nervously what they had around they neck: the precious thing responsible of many desires from a lot of people, but mostly from HIM… From that...

They shook their head. Stay focus, they tells themselves, stay focus and wait they walks away...You could run, hide somewhere, once again, after. Indeed, the moment came, finally. The heavy footsteps seems less present, less perceptible by the hearing…It was the ideal moment.

The young person gets out of their hideout and start running. During the action, they ignored everything surrounding them and could only run as fast as they could, only hearing their own footsteps: light and hurried, reasoning in echoes against the ground and the walls. One of their hands was still around what they had around their neck and the pressure against the cold thing in touch made them afraid to loosing it in the midway of the run.

However, at this precise second when they were accelerating, they heard a loud voice: a guard. Someone saw them and screamed to the others something that they barely heard due to their hurrying, and they felt now someone was behind them. Who? The young person didn’t cared, because they were searching for a new spot to hide and—and--

No, they knew there was no chance to hide somewhere again. It will not be easy to find another one. In other words, they…

They—they must finding it, damn it!!! Where was it, it’s their only way to...To…

Where it is? They thought, panicking, looking around in their distress. Where is it already?!

They heard the sound of other people behind their back and it come closer, closer—the young person hurried their run, keeping the distance to not being caught, to not being saw, to the point they wished they could remember where it was, but the panic in their head muddled their mind...They’re going to get them, they’re going to catching them, and after that—god, don’t think about it, keep running, force yourself to remember!! It’s the only-the only way to...To...





No matter what, they must escape this prison.



January 7th 2006


Guido Mista is a twenty-three year old man. He likes simple things, such as eating homemade food, taking a nap, doing some walk outside and watching the view from his window. Sometimes, it happen to him to flirting with some girls in the streets, rejection accompanying it frequently. Sometimes, he goes into some fights because someone pissed him off or because someone insulted Clinton Eastwood.

And sometimes, he do some walk for a personal pleasure, going outside and doing nothing but walking…Except maybe today wasn’t from that perspective. The sour face that he wore surely confirmed either his hurt cheek behind a bandage bitten by the chilly air or that hypothesis.

The reason is simple: Guido Mista had been fired from his job he acquired two months ago. Which is a record since he usually didn’t managed to having a job, moreover extending his time working at any job, for three weeks and rarely one month. Perhaps it was because it had been two months, the number two being close (in addition and multiplication) to that other one Mista preferred to not referring of. It may not be just this single fact, the most plausible being the ‘accident’ that happened not long ago. Maybe both were related to each others, who knows…

His latest job had been to work as a deliver at a pizzeria, which wasn’t the most glorious work on Earth and well payed, but Mista didn’t really cared on that. In fact, he had enjoyed quit a bit: it was doing something easy, delivering food at which address on his scooter—not his, actually, it was a scooter that owned the pizzeria he worked with—getting his paid at the end of the day and voilà! Simple but perfect!

...Well, not so perfect, to be honest: if Mista admitted doing something easy is pleasant, working with the people at the business you’d been hired by is...It happened to be the contrary. He would have preferred not mentioning that piece of trash that was his former employer, but he needs to. It’s THE perfect example to make reference just about how the positives thoughts he had previously, after he got the job, were immediately erased the first time they’ve met face to face. That guy, huge and fat, was the worst that Mista had to deal with: always in his too tight suits (Offering a vision of that fatty body Mista had preferred to not remember), dirtied with oily stains, sauces and some meats dropping right on his shirt, from the hamburgers he ate constantly in his office (also in a dirtiest state that can makes Mista’s miserable apartment a luxurious one, in parallel) and for some inexplicable reasons, that man DESPISED Mista’s guts and gave to the twenty-three year old man a hard time.

No need to be a genius to understood the common hatred that Mista shared with him. In the first place, he wasn’t there to give a fuck about that bastard, all he wanted was just being paid, buying new things for himself and his apartment, was it complicated to ask??? But if he said one single bad word (he knows himself to be rude and crude) and did one action that could cause a conflict (he didn’t really cared about the rest of his ’coworkers’, but whatever…) his former boss would have fired him in an instant.

So Mista decided to keep a neutral face, whenever his boss and him crossed their gazes, mostly sharing a stink eye, while casually acting as nonchalant as usual. It always frustrated that man that Guido Mista, twenty-three-year-old pizza’s deliver for two months counted in the future, was more tough to endure all of that shit without truly saying something...Which wasn’t truly the truth. In fact, our dear Guido Mista wished nothing but an opportunity to quit the job and having another one. Of course, it never came true, with how hard it’s difficult to found somewhere to work. Especially by this period of the year.

This year is the worst as a must to requesting employment: we’re in a period, despite it’s in winter, were getting money is difficult. Many were the request that Mista had made, most of them were refused or, if he’s lucky, accepted...Before being fired after three weeks he stayed in. So it’s not like Mista could have quit the job immediately, let’s be real and the massive amount of determination to making another request, another call for an employment...He had tried that already, optimistic as he was. It didn’t work.

So he had mixed opinion about the ‘accident’ that happened. Maybe if he didn’t have to deliver that pizza to that guy, maybe he would not have to get away from that toxic job. Turns out, he had discovered, sooner before he lost the job at his former workplace, that his paid had dropped slowly-starting at the third week, close to the end of the first month-and he would have still lived with a miserable pay for one month max (the young adult would have quit after that) before leaving. Its saves his precious time, at least.

But also, he wouldn’t have had ended up in a cell at the police station. I mean, he had past the NIGHT and HALF of A DAY at the police station. Only because Mista’s last customer to delivered was an asshole. Only because he had peeked an eye, when the man opened the door, at the woman covered in bruises behind him, and had been taken into a fight (okay, no, he had been taken by surprise and it had been resumed by a single knock out after many struggles and push off...Shouldn’t had not pull out his helmet) with the asshole after he was noticing (“watching too long” from the bastard) this poor hurt lady.

And here he is. Two hours after getting out of the police station. After he had called, in a telephone booth, his boss to explaining(he might hate the man, but he was still his employer, right?) what happened before hearing he was fired anyway. And it also means he hadn’t get his paid, because it had been canceled. For the pleasure of the second one through the phone that couldn’t hold his chuckling.

You absolute son of a...!! Thought immediately Mista with anger after the phone call ends (more that the call cut off right before Mista could says anything), but there was nothing he could have done much more than ponder about his absolute bad luck and going back home before freezing outside.

Winter is a season that Mista usually doesn’t mind too much, but still dislikes for a good reason, since Gray City is established in a desert. In a desert, during winter, it is cold. Very cold. Thanks to the constant pollution inside the city, it’s not like you are going to die from the temperature’s change, but you will, despite that, literally freezing if you don’t wear a set of cloths that keeps you away from the cold. Unfortunately, Mista was only wearing his crappy worn out brown—no, in fact due to all the colors patterns, it is not longer brown-- coat, which had been so used to that Mista had to sew it up each time, which explained why it has patchwork patterns, with some tissues he find whenever he can.

Not just that, but because his scarf and gloves had been stolen after he passed out, hit by a punch (what a punch, Mista must admit) in the face by the other asshole. Don’t ask him if it’s that bastard or someone that called the cops, but once the young man woke up in a police car, they told him he had surely lost them (it was the only question they answered to him, ignoring the others with disdain).

Yeah, really.

Well, at least, he has still his purple hat on his head...

Shivering because of the cold, Mista clenched his teeth and crossed his arms around his chest, hands rubbing frenetically his forearms to his shoulders, as an attempt to warming up himself. But now his hands were caught by the chilly weather, so he had to warm them up by blowing on them before rubbing again his arms and vice versa.

This can’t be the worst day of my life, can it be? Mista thought, grimacing to his own unluckiness of the day. And yet, he can still comforting himself that he had seen more worst (not really, just let him having a positive thought, okay?). In comparison of today and yesterday, the worst of his life could have probably been three days prior—nope, he doesn’t want to recall that day and the date of that day.

Shaking his head and briefly sighting, Mista consoled himself again that he’s lucky it’s not snowing today. It’s not like he hates snow, however he was already freezing enough. Besides, it has stopped only few hours ago…

Just looking around, everything is wearing a beautiful white sheet made of snow. It is everywhere, on the ground, on the tables exposed outside owning from some bar and restaurants—it was as smooth as it looked particularly unique, in contrast with the usual aridity associated to arid spaces that become a common stereotype.

Too bad that that sweet vision is dirtied by the horn’s sound from the car’s line, rather the traffic jam, next to Mista; the laughs, the brawling and loud talking from bystanders as they stomp with no regards the white thing that will humidified their shoes once they’ll go inside; the constant pollution inside the city itself—Mista cannot even hearing his own footsteps on the snow, weak crackling, weak tones under his feet, under the racket all around. Plus, Mista is not in a good mood, preferring to walking faster, soon running, to go back home and drinking a coffee or anything that could warm him up than admiring what he’s walking on anyway. Ah, if only someone hadn’t stole his scarf and gloves…

“If I found the one who did that, I swear...” he muttered between his teeth, but he knew it was a lost cause. Better gotta pinch others sooner…

What? Where do you think our character got his winter’s belongings, anyway? Better take than nothing!

Accelerating the pace, Mista was blowing his hands, rubbing them against each ones as he, absentmindedly, took a peek to the traffic.

It is during this precise moment he saw...Her.

She was on the other side of the road, on the other pavement towards Mista’s right. Standing in front of a door’s building, she was wearing a pretty coat in a cream color, that matched her obvious pink hairs in a loose whirl (everyone could have noticed her for this single element). Curiously, her single baggage-big as a sign of many clothing and personal effects tidied inside- had also this matching pink color, but she was more focus on her phone-from the distance, Mista wonders which colors her eyes could be-than paying attention to any potential wannabe thief that would take advantage to such young woman. Mista himself wonders if she was looking at her Nokia’s (or another type of phone) screen absently or with boredom, but one thing was sure…

He couldn’t breath any longer.

Mista’s black eyes were locked on this pretty, yet unknown figure. His walk became more slow, as he was close to stop moving his legs. She hadn’t probably felt the gaze pointed to her, a bit far way, and Mista couldn’t help about that. It was like the traffic had swiped, nothing could perturbing this instant. It’s like the world, for short seconds, had totally disappeared. The noisy cars’ sounds, the people walking, talking at loud voice...Everything had been replaced by a profound silence, that could have kept as a barricade only Mista and...This girl. As if there were no one else here.

Then, Mista wondered how long did he looked at her. He should stop, feel ashamed to observing with insistence a stranger figure, but-Mista is a simple man, okay? He cannot help if he still look at her, as she slowly put her phone inside her pocket, turning her back to facing the door; when the sound, that Mista had forgot, came back again as she was entering the inside the building, as the cars’ line finally drives again, blocking the last time Mista could have seen this figure and-and--







7.55 p.m

Fork in hand, Mista played in his plate of pasta he has prepared for tonight. Black eye, accompanying his poor cheek, as result after Mista’s face in contact against the pole he hadn’t noticed (it was just on his way, yet...), under a band-aid that he had made-a compress tape up on his eye with two piece of transparent rubber- Mista couldn’t even wonder how somebody cannot feel so miserable in a single day...The type of day he had had. Perhaps the bittersweet thought maintained him to not feel so bad about his current unemployed’s position but quickly remained him back to the bitter reality: you quit a job with a toxic employer than usual, great! But you won’t have a way to getting yourself food and stuff for a while, that bad.

Because of the bit pessimism that doesn’t suits him, he tried to converge in a “not-so-bad” way all the unfortunates events that were pointed on him. However, just thinking on that whole ‘fired-from-a-job’ thing, he wasn’t too much hungry, but food is always necessary to fill your stomach...Besides, Mista’s too broken to spoiling some pastas. He forced himself in a last mouthful, because of his hurt cheek, chew it to the other side and swallowed it. After finishing the last pastas, he put the fork inside his empty plate and took an opportunity to check on his phone. If there’s no job during the day, Mista will certainly have some kind of “work” during the night, will he?

Apparently, destiny decided otherwise: there was no single vocal message left, which means no call. Not even a text. Mista had a discontentment pout forming his lips. What’s going on today? Is such unluckiness is possible? Maybe people had call last night when Mista was in that fucking cell (of course, he had forgotten his mobile phone at home)...And that he had lost potential ‘customers’? Maybe they had told to other ‘Don’t do anything with that dude, he’s seems useless!’?

“Oh, come on” he muttered in his barb, rolling his eyes at his own exaggerated inner thoughts; “They...Probably will call later. Yeah, and I’m. Gonna get money. Yeah, right.”

Shaking his head resolutely to his own thoughts, Mista stood up from his tool and put the phone back to its place. Picking up his plate and cutlery, Mista put them in the sink, then contemplate them for a short one second before shrugging, sign that he doesn’t want to attack the washing-up, because he’s really tired…Maybe he will do them in an hour...Or two…Anyway, he will do them later.

For now, he wants nothing but sitting on his couch and watching a bit the TV, just waiting for a late-night call to happen…Or maybe can he according himself a dessert?

His sweet-tooth taking the best of him, Mista opened the fridge and smiles greatly. Yes! There’s still the strawberry-shortcake he had bought yesterday morning at one of the rare shop in town (there’s no much shops in a good state in Gray City, so it cost a bit more. But the man in his twenties didn’t cared). With a bit of gluttony, Mista took the box where was inside his dessert and hummed happily.

Finally, something nice…

Then came a voice, a little meowing that caught immediate attention to Mista, right after he closed the fridge’s door. At his feet was a cat, with a yellow fur (pretty abnormal from a cat, am I right?), rubbing against Mista’s legs as a form of tenderness, affection, then gazing his owner’s face, sitting now on the ground, with this bit of affection showed earlier.

Oh, it’s Cinque. Cinque has always been that clinging since he is a kitty, unlike the others. Such a sweetheart, despite being a cat, and innocent pet. The only one that doesn’t dare bothering Mista if he wishes some silence. The one that would crave for a hug or a caress. The only one (unfortunately) that meowing the most and cries the most if he gets attack by Tres or if he’s ignored too long.

The one that it is weird to find alone, considering he is constantly stuck up with his brothers, behind them.

Mista understood straight away the signification of this.

“...Did they send you in recognition?” he asked, but of course the pet couldn’t answer. Nevertheless, he thinks he’s right: the cat tilted his head with too much innocence that betrays everything, in accordance to Mista’s confirmation. Immediately, his brothers came in the kitchenette’s space, meowing as if they hadn’t eaten for days, while they had swallowed their food five minutes ago. Already, Tres and Sei were jumping, moving their paw in the air as insistence to getting the pastry’s box, and Mista, annoyed, had to shoo them with his leg, so they could go away taking a nap or doing what cats generally do.

But the Sex Pistols were more persistent than any animals inside Gray City. Mostly this come from a personal experience that Mista lives

“Were you tryin’ to scratching me—go away!!” he chased Tres and Sei away, like a strict father with his children (in his case, he has six of them…), when Tres wanted to attacking his leg as a petty revenge to not accepting his whim. “This is mine, not yours—hey!!”

Barely have putting the box on the table’s part of the kitchenette that Once was on, starting to sniffing the odor emanating from the tin. Mista picked up his pastry once again and sought irritated between his teeth. The twenty-three year old man was tired, wasn’t in a good mood and now, his cats plays spoiled children having a tantrum? What is this day?!

“Okay, fine!!” he says, exasperated, pushing off slowly Due’s paw who appears to have climbing the table, the latter interested by the food inside the box. “You won, I capitulate!”

Putting the box at the fridge’s top, the only recess those little spawn of Satan cannot access, he grumbles and opened the closet where was tidy the cat’s food. The last bag, he takes in notes, and he will have to buy a new one...If he has enough cash.

Taking the bag out the closet, Mista walks out of the kitchenette’s space and arrived to the living room, the only principal room of the apartment, and put the kibbles into their bowl who was at a corner. The reaction is immediate as the cats runs hearing the song of food against the bowl’s inside, leaving Mista withdrawal, giving the opportunity for him to go back to the kitchenette, tidied the bag, retrieving the box and the cake after tearing the box, picking up a plate and a spoon and finally going back to the living room, sitting on the couch while the little monsters are occupied. Mista sought in relief, happy he will have some time for himself (even it will be shorten by bullying from Tres to Cinque).

Relaxing on the furniture, Mista missed the lack of comfort from the couch that he’s resting on. Of course, it does sounds strange to saying this, knowing his couch is fucking uncomfortable usually, but in comparison to a wooden board, it surely is the best.

...Hum, he should stop thinking about the police station. All he needs now is to recalling nice little things. Other than today. Yeah, nothing could have been great today--

Pink. Pink suddenly came to his mind. Pink hairs, that had been gazed from the distance.

Mista blinked, feeling his face becoming hot.

...Huh? What was that? Is he—Is he blushing? Why he felt so confused and embarrassed? God, is he truly blushing?? What does that--

“Aouch!” he uttered when he unconsciously rested a hand to his hurt cheek, reminding him why it did have a band-aid. The man blinks again, confused and left to questions. What did just happened. What the heck just happened. What was that right now.

Shaking his head, snapping out of his reflection, Mista took the remote on the little coffee table where he put the plate with the cake, in order to not thinking about what happened seconds ago.

I’m probably tired...Yeah, I’m just tired! He found mentally as a convincing reason for this momentary confusion. All I need now is just to relax!

Turning on his little, almost broken TV, by pressing the red button on the remote, he selected a program in hazard and found the local news channel. Putting back the remote control on the coffee table, he seized his plate and spoon, starting to eating the shortcake as the anchorwoman spoke.

“...he police has still no inquiries concerning the murder’s motive against the Watterson’s family, event that had occurred in November fourteenth, three months prior.” Ah, the new had starts. Right on a murder. Oh, well. Mista took a big mouthful of his shortcake, the sweet taste on his tongue making his hummed, even if he masticated it to one side. “Short news: previsions had been established around the meteor shower that is planned on this particular day, the seventh of the month...” spoke again the woman in a red dress, making Mista tilting his head. A meteor shower? Mista took a last mouthful of his cake, recalling where did he heard it, before he remembered.

Oh yeah, they have talked about that future meteor shower. The information had been spread one week ago, since the event was predicted to be at this date, the seventh. It’s an exceptional event, from what says the presenter, as she had gently joked about the couples who’ll spend a nice evening in each others’ arms, under a blanket, all the romantic clichés you can imagine from her mouth.

“ hopes to many of you to enjoy such rarity.” finished the anchorwoman, before speaking around another subject that disinterested Mista completely, finishing satisfied his shortcake. He was still reflecting on the words left previously from the presenter.

...A meteor shower, huh?






8.19 p.m

Is this really a great idea? Was reflecting on Mista, as he climbed the downstairs to the building’s roof. Wearing his crappy coat, Guido Mista wonders if observing the stars—correction, a meteor shower, because of the superstition ‘if-you-make-a-wish-it-might-come-true’ is it a great idea or not. He risks to catch a cold if he go outside at this hour, but Mista imagined, even with this fact, there’s still people who’ll watch this spectacle offered by the sky, tonight…

It may sounds lonely to do it alone, but Mista just want a good time and trusting a single superstition. Besides, he feels this was not a simple thing credulous persons believes, but a common thought people inside that shitty shares. A manner to get positivism, weak if you judge it or not. Besides he is a simple man, he trust easily things when he wants to. This is why he takes things carefully when it’s around that number, because it gets fucked up under that number for him.

So yep, the make-a-wish-to-get-lucky thing, he trust it genuinely.

Arrived to the top’s stairs, Mista is now in front of the roof’s door. Hands on the door handle, he checks if the door is locked by trying to opening it and—yep, it’s locked.

Huh. Even for today, seems everything tried to stop him having a good time. It’s surprising, because he thought someone would have unlocked the door with a little trick, but no...Maybe he had arrived in advance?

This is his chance.

Bringing a safety pin (always useful for some situations!) out of his pocket, Mista squat down and insert it into the door’s lock, doing his best to unlocking it. After one or two minutes, Mista smiles when he heard a ‘click’ indicating that nothing could stop him going outside anymore. Standing up straight, he put his hand on the door handle and opened the door, now accessing outside…

Before being greeted by an astonishing phenomena.

The dark sky was no longer dark anymore: a thousand, no a milliard of lights were ascending the sky to meet the Earth, in continuous shining lines, faster or slower, each one of them were coming behind or in front of the others, invading the sky magnificently. This phenomena was breathtaking, giving the impression to being able tot touching them while they were so far away...Yet, they went at any directions, but to another destination so far or so close, depending of your point of view.

To Mista, it was like a firework, but it was magical. From where he stands, no longer to the door’s frame but to the center of the balcony-roof’s building, he felt he was close to them, just to brushing them against his fingertips.

If it was for that, Mista did not regretted to come.

Then, he caught a big one in the corner of his eye, shiner and bigger than the others and he thought quick, make a wish!!

Hand jointed, Mista shut his eyes, squeezing them hard, an excited grin like a child would do forming on his lips, he try to search what he should wish for such opportunity. But it was so much evident for him. It will come true, he knows for sure.

What I wish is...

“I wish for my life to change.”

Then, everything came fast. Too fast.

Mista hadn’t have the time to realizing he was speaking aloud his wish, only him to opening his eyes slowly, observing the sky for a second. The shooting star he caught seconds ago wasn’t looking as far as it would have been presented. It seemed to pointing on Mista’s direction, beginning to be big in the mind-time, the light increasing, the speed increasing, becoming a rocket close to land to its target until--





Something from the sky suddenly hit Mista’s forehead. Everything became black after that.