It has been two days since they arrived. Drift had finally finished putting his house back in order. After sitting in the living room for a while staring at his mask. He realized it was over. All those adventures, there were constant wars but at least he was free. He had time to be so chill because he was not consumed by the stress on earth. He stared at his old phone and decided to call his parents. After so long they might as well consider him dead. His head was full with thoughts about his parents and siblings. He was too much of a party guy that might had disappointed the whole family. If it were not for that party he would have never gotten into the accident and ended up in Fortnite. When he moved the lamp he noticed an old letter. God knows how many years it was left on that counter. Drift ran his fingers around the edges. He recognized that letters. It was his mom's hand writing. He took the letter with him and decided to walk around the house to admire it again. The result of years of hard labor on the back of swarthy Bengali-speaking workers. At the height of its sumptuousness, it was the jewel of the river; the house of an important government official. Even when his family lived, nearly five decades later, its pertinence and grander endured. But the formality of the house was both frivolous and well receded, so Drift and siblings endeavors could be fulfilled and were free to squander away what was left their childhood on the riches of the land. He sat at a bench near the apple tree he used f play under. Took a deep breath and began to read it. The letter said.
Baby,
It is my honor to be your parent. Dylan when you came my world changed,  filled with love for you, my precious child. It is for me to defend you, to care, to help you mature into who you were born to be - not a small version of myself, but your own self. It is my God given duty to protect you from harm, yet it is your right to take your own reigns and judge your own risks as soon as you are able. I pray that my care of you leaves you able to be autonomous, to have control of your own life, able to fully love and care for those blessed to share life with you. I hope so. You might be still upset about what happened. But your father and I are here and will always wait for you... and who knows? You might be wondering around. Exploring some crazy place like you always do. That's why your father has that nickname for you, remember? Drifter. Just know my love for you is eternal, that it will always be in the ether to comfort your heart should you ever have need. You are the internal light in my heart,
Mom
Drift hugged the letter and decided that it was enough waiting for his parents. They live in the same state just the traffic makes it a bit longer to get there. He changed clothing to something a bit more suitable to the place. His old cat mask was thrown in the back seat inside a bag.
He opened the garage as he said
- Well hello baby, how much I missed you

The silver gray Mercedes S600 cruised down the freeway, travelling south. Drift was sitting in the front seat with so much soft leather around him that he could barely hear the 389 horsepower, 6-liter engine...At eighty miles per hour the engine was only idling. But Drift could feel the power of the car. One hundred thousand pounds worth of German engineering. One touch from the unsmiling chauffeur and the Mercedes would leap forwards. This was a car that sneered at speed limits. That car car was a thing of beauty and precision engineering. The shape was as smooth as a rain drop and the curves looked organic. But once the engine started purring, then revving, it was all about the drive, the feel, the speed. He opened the window as he yelled
- Hello California!

Drift's POV
When I arrived I peaked from the large window. Wasn't hard to do. There she was my mother, looking like a disco ball in red lipstick and platinum hair, wearing her smile and her kind eyes, placing the milk in the cart. My sister helping her with the food. I parked the car. As I was walking I got lost in my own thoughts and childhood memories. My mother was one for surprises, each day a multitude of tiny things... how they made me smile from toe to lips. Which hand was my cookie in? Which way would we walk to school? Would be splashing in puddles or leaping over? Would we dance our special jig if we saw a cat? It was so fun, all those everyday adventures... I cans still feel her excitement at seeing a simple flower or the way the light played upon the path. In a life so ordinary it was her that was extraordinary, not because she was given so much, yet because she made it that way. Although dad is a business man with more than enough money mom always had weird hobbies. As the baker turns flour and water to bread, as God turns seed and water to flower, mother turned the mundane into fascination and love; she was my heaven, my superhero.