PLAT! 

Heein smacked the ball of dough with serious force. His thick-skinned palms got them in the shape he wanted them to be. He was rushing to make as many of them as possible as he had arrived late for work. Normally, he would've kneaded the fifty loaves of bread, let them raise, grease the pans, put the loaves in, and let them bake in their brick oven with fifteen minutes to spare.

However, it was twenty minutes to eight o'clock. They should've basked in the heat so they could be crisp and brown before nine-thirty. Unfortunately, he was far from finished. He didn't want to disappoint, have their regular customers wait, nor be the blame for them losing out on potential sales. He wanted to keep a smile on their faces because every person has terrible moments in their lives, and if he could make it better with the warmth of his baked goods, then his job was a success.

But this drew him to the thing that kept giving him sleepless nights: purpose. He often pleased those around him - customers, family, friends - but what about himself? Doesn't his happiness matter? His grandfather, who adopted him from childhood after his parents disappeared one night many years ago, wanted to pass on his legacy, the Top Notch Cornerside Bakery, to him. He expected this to come - he was being groomed to be the successor since he was little. But he lacked the desire to own a place in which his passion was non-existent.

Instead of cakes, coconut drops, and jam tarts, he wanted to be a part of the Judicial League. The fame, fortune and women were enticing for failures and winners of life alike. But for a puffy haired, scrawny forty-five-year-old that wears prescription glasses and a bad knee, is it too late? He didn't know, but he'll never know until he tries. And when he does, he'll make sure he succeeds.

"Heein, are you done yet? It's almost time to open shop." His old man Bendis stationed himself at the cashier, having given up the laborious task of baking just months ago. His sideburns, horseshoe moustache, and greyscale apron were more than presentable to the public. He would take time to iron it every morning before work. He was prideful in his profession and did his best for himself to look as good as possible, and it was the same for his business - making sure the windows were without streaks, the two, three, and four-seat tables were without crumbs or stains, the marble tiles were polished, the small set of steps were swept, the dishes were washed... he was a workaholic, to say the least. No longer participating in the thing that put intense pressure on his ageing body meant he had to compensate in other ways. He didn't want to feel useless. To be euthanized wasn't something he wanted, especially with how his health has been.

"I'm almost done. Just give me some more time." He rushed to place each one into a baking pan and stuffed the first set into the oven. Wait, did I grease them? He took out one, flipped it over the flour-covered table and passed his finger over the base. It had practically no slick to it.

Realizing this, he rushed to take out all of them. It was sad knowing his mantra vida couldn't assist him - it would make the problem more cumbersome. While he was making sure to grease each one so he wouldn't have to do this for the third time, two women knocked on the glass at the front entrance.

"Are you all open?" It was Miss Grace and Miss Antons from the senior citizen poker club and which was frequently held at Mr Thomilson's house. There was lots of smoking, drinking and loud retro music during these games. Also, there was a lot of community gossip there too. Some lived and died by the juicy details that passed through their lips, and at times if it was about each other, they would ensure the person or people in question were nowhere within earshot or even there.

An evening while a drunken Bendis went to the bathroom while assisting the set-up up for the basement to play their regular game, the rumour that Bendis was ill passed around. They didn't specify which sickness he had but from the frightening descriptions, it had to be serious. The few that were there due to arriving early decided to keep this painful truth a secret. He was a good man, and they didn't want the whole community to have knowledge of something that would become the talk of Panpurrin, one of the three major port cities of Idrix.

Of course, he refused to tell anyone he had HIV, except for the nurses and doctors that required knowledge of said disease for him to receive the right treatment - one of which was the niece of Mr, Mulkernar, who very rarely came over to try his hand at poker. He favoured Gin Rummy and Bridge.

She understood what he was going through was quite sensitive to him, so he asked her to keep it a secret while not knowing of her slippery tongue. Her stepfather would often inquire about her day through telephone - which was stressful with the plentiful gore, sadness and death they experience, and compounded by the overwork and underpay she had to deal with at the Pergoron State Hospital, a two hundred and fifty-year-old medical facility.

Bendis went to greet them, and as he did, he received a surprise from two of the ladies he was friends with since middle school - they changed form. They were no longer the people they once knew, or better yet, they were never people he met.

The female geriatrics with wigs, dentures and canes became two burly young men with the desire to clean this place of every dollar and cent, and pastries as well. He rushed to help his grandpa, but they had him hostage. The mantra vida 'to be successful, emulation is key', got Heein and his grandpa good. You couldn't tell them from the real ones. To live in abject poverty meant this skill had to be reinforced and practised for them to survive. Cherrinobu was a hard neighbourhood for one to grow up.

"Stay back before I slit his throat!" Rero, the one with bloodshot eyes - a sign of drug abuse, crow's feet and chubby frame, had a look of desperation underneath the makeup and the ankle long violet dress he wore.

He did as they said as the more intelligent and broader faced, Teralin, went to the antique cash register to stuff all the money he could into his hiking backpack. He then proceeded to the kitchen behind him to get some baked goods for later. He had another bag just for that - a duffle bag - to place and carry all the bakery goodness he wanted for later.

When he was done, they released, but not before they jabbed him with the pocket knife. He shut his eyes, expecting blood and screams, but when they pierced his ears, they weren't his own - it was his grandson.

The sharpness of the blade tore into him five more times before they left them to bathe in sorrow and crimson. Bendis leaked salt-laden tears. The guilt from Heein's stabbing was overwhelming. He would rather let his own life end over his grandson. To depart from this world wasn't much of a bother, but for someone he loved to die so young? That would ruin him. Bendis had a chance to live to a fulfilling life even with his predicament from birth. This included the multiple awards, to the hosting of celebrities and high ranking dignitaries, and even numerous newspaper segments - he did well, and he wanted the same for Heein. He didn't want his legacy to go to waste, neither for him to struggle as much as his old man by providing a guaranteed and prestigious job. All he wanted was for someone he groomed to take over the mantle.

However, their touching moment got interrupted by grunts, punches, kicks, and cracking that faded as fast as they came. Bendis wondered what all the commotion was for.

A stout man with a scruffy, salt and pepper beard and a pointy hat came inside and went towards them with the bags of money and pastries the criminals had. He failed to respond to as to who he was as he pulled out the necklace beneath his shirt. He focused instead, activating the translucent gemstone's healing energy, lighting up his green pupils and returning Heein to normal. It was so effective, the blood that stained Bendis and the area surrounding them vanished.

"Thank you so much. Is there anything you want?" Bendis pleaded.

He shook his head to a no. Bendis latched onto his ankle, which slowed the stranger down before being kicked off, allowing him to increase his pace to get away from him.

Old Man Bendis realized that the stranger preferred to not be bogged down with praise. He gave up chase to check up on his grandson.

Looks like he's enjoying his nap. The sight of him being curled into a fetal position while sucking his thumb made him feel fuzzy. He looked outside to see their unmoving bodies in the middle of the street with huge cracks. A crowd began to build at the site, hindering the view. He decided to close the store to let his grandson rest for the day and for the authorities to investigate.

Some pedestrians were searching for the man who did this, but he fled to the rooftops, leaving them to run around like headless chickens. He was unsure if the necklace would work, but seeing that it did wipe the fear from him. He could go forward knowing that he did something right.

The mantra vida 'predators rule over the weak', had always served him well.