I leaped. The air flapped against my squinted, narrowed eyes, and the black bangs of my hair dangled, whipping against my forehead as I streamed through the air.
In the air, I struck a dynamic aerial pose, clenching my right fist, dragging it backward — toward my waist — and pivoting my waist.
Then, the moment I arrived a few inches away from the door, I swung a heavy punch.
Bang–!
My solid fist connected with the metal door, causing it to vibrate subtly.
As a result, my fist trembled. And a stinging pain coursed through my knuckles as the pressing weight of gravity worked against me, pushing me back downward.
My piercing gaze peered downward, at the area where I had leaped from. It was about twenty feet away from the door.
My legs dangled freely in the air, and my coat fluttered behind me as I fell.
Then, as gravity secured its victory, my dangling legs thudded on the ground.
To distribute the weight and also ease the stinging pain of the landing, I crouched as I landed, letting out a soft, guttural groan.
A small exhale broke out from my lungs as I stood up.
"The door was sturdier than I expected," I said, looking up at it. "What kind of metal is that?"
A faint scowl painted my face as I raised the top left corner of my lips. A curling, irritated sneer.
I shook my head. "Enough of that."
I'm not hitting that thing again. The sound of my fist colliding with the door must have alerted them.
"Now, I wait."
...
...
...
After about five minutes of standing and waiting, much so that my toes and calves began to ache subtly — might've been because of that landing, though — the door finally opened.
—"Who the hell was that?!!" A thick, hoarse voice rang out. The voice oozed with bubbling anger, like the source would kill me the very moment I answered.
First of all, I cleared my throat; it was dry. Too dry. Maybe it was because I forgot to drink water after eating.
After clearing my throat, I calmly replied, "How do I get in? I'm looking for someone." My tone held no hostility. A very deceptive tone, because in fact, I held an abnormal amount of hostility toward all members of the Cyclo Gang.
The reason why was quite simple, but annoying nonetheless; they made me walk in a dark, lonely street for several minutes just to meet my friend, they built a floating, metal house or joint or whatever they called it, which made entrance into the building impossible, and the reason they built it was most likely because of aesthetics.
No, it was most definitely because of aesthetics; they were the Cyclo Gang after all. Fools who illegally modified their bodies with unlicensed cybernetics just to look cool.
And then, to top it all off, they made me punch that damn door. Now, my knuckles were blistered, and it might take the damn thing nearly a whole day to heal. And I might need to fight against those ruffies in there; there was no way I could fight with blistered knuckles.
I deemed it a very good reason to be hostile toward the entire Cyclo Gang.
"Are you the bastard that hit this door?!" The thick voice replied to my calm inquiry with a violent, very violent yell.
He called me a bastard?
I couldn't see the source of the voice. He was hidden behind the door, and that act was his only saving grace.
"Yes, I am. And as I said, I'm looking for someone." Again, I replied calmly. I don't know how I did it, how my voice seemed to comply with my agenda.
The man let out an annoyed, bitter sigh. Then, he asked: "Do you have the password?"
"No, I do not have the password. I wasn't given one."
"The password is given to every one of our guests, even if it's a friend. I'm afraid you might have to walk away if you do not have the password." He said.
At this point, a vein bulged at my forehead. I barely hid the poignant, dripping annoyance behind a tightly lipped smile. Then, I spoke with my teeth, "Can you please call the person I want to speak to?"
"No. Now get moving before I blast your head."
That's it.
My blood boiled, surging through my veins with primal speed. I clenched my fists, my fingers digging into my palm. Then, with a grotesque frown etched on my face, I crouched once more, preparing to propel.
The door was open.
"Or maybe I can," He suddenly said, his tone was a bit softer now. Almost calm, "Who is it you want to see?"
I unclenched my fists. Standing. But my boiling blood had yet to calm, and my frown had yet to dissipate.
"His name is Mangé," I spoke with a voice that lost its calm, a voice that had morphed into something that enforced aggression. "He should be a low-ranking member of your gang."
"Huh?" He exclaimed evenly.
Then, his head stuck out of the door. A round, pale face that was barely visible, but I could see his facial features. No facial hair, his bright red hair stuck out like a sore thumb, and a consternated expression outlined his young face.
Probably a teenager, because he didn't even look like he was above nineteen.
"Boss Mangé?" He asked, this time, his brows arched.
Boss?
I began to contemplate, should I just jump in?
Maybe I should. Crack the skull of that brat and walk in myself. But that might be too rash. I should be rational about this.
I don't know anywhere there. Hell, just looking at the sheer size of this building should be a clear sign to me that its interior would be vast. There might be numerous rooms too. I might get lost. And I'm just looking for a low-ranking gang member. I might even barge into the gang leader's room by mistake.
So, let me just… endure this brat's antic. After all, he's just a kid.
"What is your name?" He asked.
"Tell him Stella has come looking for him."
"Alright, Stella. Wait a bit. I'll go ask my boss. He'll tell me whether I should let you in or not." He said, crawling back inside that damned floating building. And of course, not forgetting to shut the door.