5. Last

Rust’s home was even closer to the Strip than Dean’s, showcasing the vibrant splendor of the metropolis. Rare trees and exotic flowers from around the world had been transplanted at great expense to the city’s heart, blooming year-round, filling the air with fragrance.

Along the main avenue, shopping centers, cinemas, and casinos stood in a row, their architecture reminiscent of pyramids, pirate ships, and iron towers. Their facades were painted in bold, vivid colors, and even in broad daylight, neon signs sprawled across rooftops and entranceways flashed relentlessly, drawing every eye.

Luxury cars of every make streamed along the roads. On the sidewalks and in the center of plazas, clowns with painted faces juggled on unicycles; men in tailcoats walked on stilts with strings of colorful balloons trailing behind as they sang with voices as pure as dolphins; a wiry Black man, shirtless, bent his body backward like a snake; an Indian man, cross-legged like an enlightened monk, performed levitation; while a living statue painted in brass suddenly let out a shout, startling a passing woman into gleeful laughter.

Dean watched, thoroughly absorbed. It had only been eighty years, and icons like the Venetian and Bellagio had yet to be built. Las Vegas’s long avenue lacked some of the present-day’s gilded, extravagant luxury.

Gradually, the two left the din behind, pushing their bicycles through a narrow, dim alley behind a department store for ten minutes before entering a dilapidated apartment building.

Dean met Rust’s mother, Grace Spencer—a far cry from the overburdened, careworn matron he’d imagined. Instead, she was tall, striking, with thick red hair, lovely features, and a fashionable red dress.

“Hi, Grace.”

“Dean? Welcome! Rust talks about you all the time, says you’re his best friend!”

Grace ushered her little guest inside and treated him with warm hospitality. It was nearly dinnertime.

To thank Dean for helping her son with his studies, Grace had prepared creamy golden mashed potatoes and decadently sweet crepes. Dean wasn’t used to such sweetness, but not wanting to disappoint his exuberant hosts, he polished off every bite.

The main course, pan-seared pork chops, was a delightful surprise: crisp crust, tender and juicy within, with none of that off-putting pork flavor. Famished after a long afternoon of training, Dean devoured three pieces, even finishing the gravy. Grace beamed with delight, her smile uncontainable.

After dinner, the hostess dressed up and left for her night shift at the hotel, leaving Dean and Rust alone.

Dean sprawled on the sofa, twisting his neck to the music as the black, big-bottomed tube TV played “Grease”—greased-haired men and voluptuous Australian girls dancing exhilarating disco.

He glanced over. Rust was staring out the window, lost in thought.

“Hey, man, you don’t like Travolta? Change the channel if you want.”

Rust smiled awkwardly. “I don’t really like TV. Or boring movies.”

Dean looked puzzled.

Rust explained, “Before I turned seventeen, I’d never watched TV. My dad set that rule… He said ninety-nine percent of TV, movies, music—they all mess with your head, worse than D&D. Not just the radiation, but the harmful content. Too much exposure makes it impossible to settle down and focus on reading or work.”

Dean was astonished. Was his father some sort of time traveler from the future? Wouldn’t the short videos of tomorrow be even more addictive, making people ever more impatient?

“No TV? How did you get through those endless nights—just reading and studying?”

“Sometimes I’d read. Other times, I’d just look out at the stars. I was born in Texas, but we lived in Alaska for a long time. The country night sky there is nothing like the city, where the lights swallow everything, day and night—it’s vast, quiet, and pure. It lets your mind wander and brings peace for reflection.”

“Reflecting on what? Getting into a good college, finding a pretty girlfriend?” Dean joked.

“That’s one of them, I suppose… But I prefer making up stories. The dark night sky and twinkling stars—they’re like the dark Satan and the radiant angels.” Rust paused, utterly serious.

Dean wondered what kind of family produced such a dramatic kid.

“By the way, why haven’t I seen your illustrious father today? What does he do?”

The question was like a switch, plunging the room into darkness.

A shadowy emotion quietly spread. Rust suddenly lowered his head, gritted his teeth, and was silent for a long time. Then, all at once, as if making a decision, he looked up.

“I’ve never told anyone this before, but I admire your courage in the cafeteria today, so I’ll tell you. My dad’s been gone for a long time. Grace and I only learned he was a police officer after we received the death benefit.”

The smile froze on Dean’s face, vanishing into the void.

“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Why apologize? I’m luckier than you.”

Rust looked at him, earnest.

Dean felt a sharp ache in his chest. That’s right! He’d forgotten—his own parents had disappeared. Compared to Rust, whose mother was still with him, he had it much worse.

“So your father… was he an undercover narcotics officer?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. His colleagues never revealed what he actually did. As a kid, he was always coming and going. I’d go a whole year without seeing him. The last time—after two years, we saw him again, but he was lying in a coffin.”

“You know, Dean…” Rust turned, a faint terror flickering across his youthful face. “He looked so different then, I almost couldn’t recognize him. Even with a skilled mortician, he was… barely human. Bullet holes, knife wounds, burns? I don’t know what kind of torture he endured before he died.”

Dean listened quietly, a silent respect rising in his heart for those nameless heroes risking their lives in the shadows.

“After that, I started feeling this strange fear. Like someone would come out of the darkness and kill me… and I’d end up in a coffin, just like him. I had nightmares, couldn’t sleep. For my health, Grace brought me to Las Vegas… took me to many therapists before I could walk out of that shadow.”

It was rare for Rust to bring a friend home, and he couldn’t help pouring his heart out.

“The city is safe—cops patrol the streets twenty-four hours. It gives me a huge sense of security, and now I can sleep soundly. But I didn’t expect… to run into someone like Bob Lowe, that insufferable trust fund brat with his gang of sycophants… Make no mistake, here, ‘darkness’ is stronger than ‘light’!”

He stopped, suddenly melodramatic.

“Don’t worry, man…” Dean slung an arm over his shoulder, all seriousness. “From now on, I’ve got your back. If Bob tries anything again, we’ll take him together.”

And maybe get some practice in, too.

Rust’s eyes brightened.

“But Bob’s ruthless. People who cross him either transfer or drop out—eventually, they just vanish. He won’t let this go! Have you thought about apologizing?”

Dean felt a chill. Was this rich kid really so vicious?

He was suddenly grateful for his decision to stay over tonight, praying his own home wouldn’t be targeted.

“Apologize? Not a chance.”

Rust studied his face—he’d never seen such determination there before. The question slipped out.

“Man, I’m one hundred percent sure you’re nothing like you were yesterday—or before! You used to act like a mouse around Bob and his crew. And you’ve forgotten so many things!”

“What happened to you?”

Dean fell silent, rubbing his fists, trying to look hesitant, then, after a moment’s resolve, pointed to the faint marks on his neck, feigning lingering fear.

“I was attacked—could’ve been Bob’s gang, maybe someone else. They almost strangled me… For a moment, my brain was starved of oxygen, everything faded away, darkness swallowing me like a whirlpool.”

“When I woke up, it felt like part of my memory had been devoured by that indescribable darkness. I forgot most things about school—the names of classmates, teachers, what happened there. But other memories are intact.”

Rust grabbed an orange soda from the table and gulped it down, trying to calm himself.

His first instinct was that Dean was joking, but the marks on his neck and his deadly serious face forced him to believe.

A glimmer of astonishment appeared in his eyes—partial amnesia had somehow made Dean braver?

“You should see a doctor.”

“What if I recover and turn into a coward again? Better to stay like this.” Dean took a deep breath. “Man, I’ve told you my biggest secret. Please keep it for me.”

“I swear to God…”

“Good. Now tell me—besides Bob Lowe, have I made any other enemies? Or someone who really hates me, and might’ve attacked me?”

Rust shook his head without hesitation.

“No one else—at most, people might make a weird comment or two, but Bob’s the worst, especially on the baseball field.”

“Have I been acting strange lately?”

Rust grabbed a licorice twist from the desk, chewing as he met Dean’s expectant gaze.

“Does being down count? You haven’t smiled much these past couple of weeks. Clearly something’s weighing on you, like you’re heartbroken or something. But you wouldn’t tell me—always evasive.”

Prolonged sadness?

Dean’s investigation bar inexplicably jumped to twenty-five percent!

Something was off.

Depression, sorrow—they were all linked to suicide.

Dean tensed. He suddenly felt strongly that his predecessor’s departure was not just about Bob and his crew’s actions yesterday.

“Rust, you’ve really helped me.”

Rust patted his chest. “We’re on the same side!”

“I have another favor.”

“Name it!”

“Got a camera at home?”

“Grace just bought a Nikon F3.”

“Know how to use it?”

“I’ve taken landscape shots at the bird reserve.”

“How about helping me take some photos? I’ll be upfront—I plan to teach one of Bob’s goons a lesson, a big oaf from the baseball team.”

Targeting the trust fund kid’s henchman?

A trace of fear crossed Rust’s youthful face; he shrank back, not wanting to get dragged onto the baseball field again.

“Rust, there’s a road ahead—a chance for us to reclaim our lost dignity. I’ve got a plan; no one else will get involved. I’ll take the lead, shoulder all the consequences. You just need to help. If you miss this chance, you’ll live in those jerks’ shadow forever!”

Rust’s lips moved, but some invisible force seemed to seal them. He couldn’t answer.

“Rust, answer me! Are you a man or not?”

Dean suddenly shouted, his voice echoing in the living room, cold as frost.

Startled, Rust finally raised a trembling finger.

“I just take pictures?”

“There might be other perks—revenge, making them pay back a little interest for the past.”

“Then… okay!”

Rust nodded, clenching his teeth.

“Happy to work together!”

Dean crunched the hard candy in his mouth, gave a carefree grin, and stood, forcing a handshake on his friend.

Then he rolled his neck and wrists.

His joints popped.

He glanced at the system menu—

Combat lv0 (9/100)

“Now we’re true allies! You don’t mind if I use your living room for some after-dinner exercise, do you?”