We stepped into the mall, and calling it "massive" didn't do it justice.
It was ginormous. Towering glass ceilings arched overhead, letting sunlight pour through and scatter like diamonds across the polished floors. Dozens of escalators crisscrossed through levels of stores, fountains, food courts, and vendor stalls. A live band played on one balcony. Neon signs flashed in every direction. There had to be thousands of people inside—laughing, shopping, actually living.
And yet… it wasn't overwhelming. It was alive. Unlike some places.
Unlike back on Earth—where malls had become graveyards full of people glued to their phones, scrolling endlessly, ignoring everything around them. This place was alive with connection. People talked. Laughed. Engaged. Shopped like it actually meant something.
Why couldn't the world be more like this?
That thought lingered as we moved through the crowd. I was lost in it. drifting between thoughts, until Tucker nudged me with his elbow.
"Shirley," he said under his breath, "you feel those eyes on us too?"
I blinked, snapping back into the moment. "I was kinda deep in my head, so… no?"
Tucker sighed and gave a small nod. "There's a bunch of people watching us. They think they're slick pretending they're not. But they are."
I glanced around casually, letting my eyes wander so I didn't look suspicious. Sure enough, near the smoothie bar to our left, a group of girls, about our age—stood in a not-so-subtle cluster. Four of them. All dressed in bright, fashionable clothes that fit the Paradise vibe. They were whispering to eachother.
The moment I made eye contact, they gasped, turned quickly, and pretended to look at the menu above them.
Real smooth huh?
I raised an eyebrow. "Well. That's not creepy at all."
Then I realized.
Every single group of girls around our age, whether passing by on the escalators or lingering near shops on the upper floors, was staring. Not the kind of quick glance you brush off either. I'm talking full-on, eyes-wide, head-tilted staring. And the second I locked eyes with any of them, they snapped their heads away like they hadn't just been burning holes through me with their gaze.
I'm not the paranoid type, and I'm definitely not the type to start thinking I'm famous or whatever—but I felt targeted.
Why the hell is everyone looking at us like that?
Then it hit me again, Cael. The fight. The rumor mill. Word must've spread faster than I thought. Was I suddenly… popular?
Before I could finish the thought, a palm slapped across my face.
"The hell?!" I snapped, stepping back.
It was Tucker. He was swatting wildly at the air like he'd lost his mind.
"Relax," he muttered, eyes tracking something above us. "It's this damn fly. Thing's been hovering around us since we walked in. I'm starting to think it's a spy."
I blinked. "A spy? You can't be serious."
But before I could laugh him off, the fly darted right in front of us, just a few feet ahead, then stopped mid-air. Just hovering.
It just stared.
If flies could stare.
I felt my smirk drop into something more… uneasy.
"Oh," I muttered, the sarcasm draining from my voice. "Maybe you're onto something."
Twenty minutes later, we had officially lost all sense of self-respect.
What started as a casual trip to the mall had turned into a full-blown spy-thriller parkour mission from hell. And the villain? This damn fly.
We weren't walking anymore, we were sprinting like lunatics, dodging pedestrians and nearly knocking over shopping carts. Tucker ran up an escalator going down, muttering something about "flanking from the high ground." I leapt over a railing to the second floor—not gracefully, mind you, more like a sideways flop, and landed in front of a candle kiosk that I immediately crashed into.
"Sir, are you alright?" the employee asked.
"No time!" I wheezed, pointing at the blur zipping by. "That fly knows things!"
The chase continued.
Tucker somersaulted over a bench like he was auditioning for a spy movie. I tried to do the same but caught my foot and crashed into a mannequin dressed like a summer intern. The mannequin lost an arm. I might have bruised a rib. No time to think about it. Wait, can you even bruise ribs? NO TIME!
We chased the fly into the food court, and Tucker, eyes locked on the target, ran straight across people's lunch tables, kicking over drinks and trays. One guy screamed, "MY RAMEN!" as Tucker stomped through his lunch like a tornado.
I followed close behind, slipping on some spilled ice cream but managing to grab a hanging "50% OFF HOTDOGS" sign for balance. I swung on it like a jungle vine and launched myself toward the fly—who, of course, darted away like it had been waiting for that exact move.
"HOW IS IT THIS FAST?!" I yelled.
"I TOLD YOU IT WAS A SPY!" Tucker shouted, nearly knocking over a kid with a balloon.
We chased it through a shoe store, around a decorative fountain, through a photo booth (which probably printed out a blurry strip of us mid-sprint), and almost collided with a guy in a giant chicken costume.
By now, mall security was eyeing us suspiciously.
We finally cornered the fly near a smoothie stand. It paused mid-air like it was mocking us. Hovering just inches above a glowing neon sign. Tucker looked at me. I looked at him. We both nodded.
"Three—two—one—"
We lunged.
But just as we jumped, the fly zipped to the side again, and we both went flying… straight into a cluster of girls standing near the fountain. I stumbled back, practically crashing into one of them.
She blinked at me, then looked at her friends. Another stepped forward, looking a little too amused.
"Hey," she said, smiling slyly. "Are you two… ya know?"
The group of girls started whispering and giggling like we were in the middle of some high school rom-com. A few covered their mouths as they tried—and failed—not to laugh. But two of them stood out. They weren't giggling. They weren't whispering. They were just watching us. "Weirdos" I thought to myself.
The one who had asked the question stepped forward slightly. She had sleek black hair that framed her face, cut neatly into bangs just above her brows. Her eyeliner was sharp, perfectly done, and her sparkling blue eyes were practically glowing under the mall lights. Her skin was porcelain-pale and clear. She wore an oversized graphic T-shirt tucked slightly into high-waisted shorts, and white platform sneakers that gave her an inch or two of extra height.
Next to her stood another girl, quieter but just as striking. She had soft brown skin, almost sun-kissed, with hazel-brown eyes behind a pair of round glasses. Her hair was a mix of brown and blonde, tied into a loose, messy bun. She wore an oversized beige hoodie that hung comfortably past her waist, paired with frayed denim shorts and faded red Converse.
They didn't look like they were here to giggle or gossip. They looked like they had something to say.
And then I remembered.
Oh right—the question.
What was your question again? I forgot," I said, still lying on the floor like a pancake, winded from… whatever had just happened.
The black-haired girl giggled and extended a hand to help me up. Her grip was soft and gentle but confident.
"My name is SJ276," she said with a little tilt of her head. "What's yours?"
I shook out my hair, trying to look cooler than I felt. "Shir— I mean, uh… SOB442."
SJ276 smiled knowingly, like she saw through the lie but was entertained anyway.
Her friend, the girl in the hoodie, stepped forward and offered a shy wave to Tucker. "My name's MP300."
Her voice was soft and girly, not in a weak way, just… classic. That's the only way I can explain it, alright? Don't blame me.
Then SJ276 pointed at Tucker. "And who's your friend?"
Tucker straightened up and gave her his signature lopsided grin. "Name's Tucker."
I mentally facepalmed. Bro.
He just gave his actual name. They don't even use names like that here. I braced for confusion or awkwardness.
Instead, MP300 smiled sweetly. "That's a nice name."
I blinked. How?! How does he get away with that?!
Feeling the heat of the world mocking me, I cleared my throat. "Actually… my real name is Shirley. Sorry for the whole code name thing."
Tucker immediately burst out laughing. So did the girls. Like ugly laughing. Like tears in the eyes laughing.
I gave them the deadpan stare of a man who knew he'd lost the fight the second he picked up the gun.
"Yeah, yeah, get it out of your systems," I muttered.
After the laughs settled, we all started walking together—me, Tucker, SJ276, and MP300. The other girls from their group split off and disappeared into the crowd, leaving us in a quad formation.
Paradise Plaza was absolutely buzzing. Neon signs blinked above doorways, holographic mannequins danced in windows, and music poured from every corner like the whole mall was alive. We visited a few stores. MP300 geeked out over pastel hoodies in a boutique called Cloud Stitch. SJ276 dragged us into a wild sneaker shop that had shoes rotating in anti-gravity displays. Tucker and I tried on dumb hats for no reason. It was… kind of fun.
And then, of course, the fly returned.
Buzzing right past Tucker's nose like it owned the damn air.
"There it is," he growled, pointing, he's seen his enemy.
"Oh come on," I said, backing up slowly. "Not here. Not now."
I guess it's too late.
Tucker leapt forward and swung at it with a folded shirt he'd been holding. He missed and accidentally smacked a holographic display, which exploded into sparks and a horrifying sales alarm: "INVENTORY BREACH!"
I dove to slap the fly against a window but missed and shattered the glass. An entire wall of mannequins fell like dominos.
"MY BAG!" MP300 shrieked, grabbing a purse off the collapsing display.
"WE HAVE TO KILL THAT TURD!" Tucker yelled.
We chased the fly up an escalator, by running up the downward side. I don't know what that says about us, but it wasn't graceful. I somersaulted over the railing like a wannabe gymnast while Tucker used a clothing rack as a battering ram to knock over a vending machine that had nothing to do with anything.
SJ276 and MP300 chased behind us, laughing and shouting, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" while we karate-kicked our way through a sunglasses store, overturned a perfume cart (that stuff got in my mouth), and tried to trap the fly inside an automatic massage chair that we accidentally short-circuited.
We hit a ceiling tile with a golf club we found in a sports store. We jumped off a balcony onto a decorative hanging logo that snapped mid-air and sent us crashing through a second-story window into a food court smoothie booth. The blender exploded. People screamed.
Then mall security showed up. There were like five of them at first.
Tucker stared at me, chest heaving. "Shirley… we can't let them stop us."
I nodded grimly. "For the fly."
We charged.
It turned into an all-out brawl. Security tried to tackle us, but we ducked, flipped a table, and hit one of them with a baguette like it was a sword. I may or may not have used a mannequin arm as a shield. Ceiling panels cracked, fountains burst, and one of us drop-kicked a trash can like it was a soccer ball. We made the security quick work though. As always.
Half the mall was basically in ruins. There were kids crying, teenagers recording, and some guy shouting, "WORLDSTAR!"
Finally, in the middle of this chaos, the fly hovered down in front of us again. Just taunting us. Daring us.
We were about to lunge again when we skidded to a stop—because standing directly in our path was SJ276 and MP300, looking at us like we'd just destroyed a mall. Crap. We did.
SJ276 tilted her head, deadpan. "…Are you two always like this?"
But before anyone could even get a word out, my eyes locked on a katana store across the walkway.
Yes. A literal katana store. And sitting outside, like they wanted this to happen, was a bucket full of swords, just casually sticking out.
Naturally, I did what any sane person would do in a moment of high-stakes insect warfare: I shoved SJ276 and MP300 gently—but urgently—out of the way and sprinted toward the blades.
"SHIRLEY, NO!" The girls shouted.
"SHIRLEY, YES!" I shouted back.
I grabbed the nearest katana, and without hesitation, leapt high into the air. The fly hovered dead center in my vision, as if it knew. As if it mocked me.
I unsheathed the blade with a sharp metallic ring, holding the scabbard in one hand, the sword in the other. In that instant, it felt like I had my cleavers again.
I flipped the blade sideways, inhaled, and released a single slash, clean, fast, and somehow infused with raw Strength Presence. The energy crackled around the arc of my swing, and a massive crescent-shaped force wave erupted from the blade.
The slash tore through the air like a tidal wave made of wind and power, slicing across the entire mall in slow motion. Glass shattered. Lights burst. The far wall of the mall—the entire wall—split clean in half.
I landed with a heavy thud, wind rustling my hair.
Everyone—SJ276, MP300, Tucker, security, cashiers, customers, just stared.
Wide-eyed. Silent. Horrified.
I blinked. Looked around at the destruction. Half the food court was on fire. A water fountain was now upside down. I might've just cost the mall 30 million in structural damage.
"…Did I get it?" I asked, brushing some debris off my shirt.
Tucker looked up, eyes wide. "NOPE."
The fly was still hovering, now right above his head.
His face twisted with rage. "I'VE HAD IT."
He took a step back, planted his feet, and cocked his fist so hard it hissed with steam. Actual steam. The air around him warped.
Then, he let loose a punch so explosive it sent shockwaves across the entire plaza. I had to brace myself against a bench as wind tore past me. A hurricane-force blast hit the opposite side of the mall, and the wall exploded outward.
No scratch that. About 100 million in damages.
People screamed. Alarms went off. Cars in the nearby parking garage flipped over from the pressure. A crater had formed where the punch landed, and several poor shoppers were hanging onto broken railings, trying not to get sucked into the aftermath like they were in a disaster movie. And to be honest they were.
The entire mall went dead quiet.
Everyone just stared.
At us.
Again.
I slowly turned to Tucker.
The fly buzzed up between us and hovered in place. Completely unharmed.
Unbothered.
A literal mall-destroying punch. And it didn't even flinch.
This fly was pure evil.