Why can't I figure out how this damn thing works, even with Lisa's blueprints?

That's what I continue to yell at myself. The controls are not responsive, gears are smashing into one another towards the bottom exhaust, and the missile's insides look like I shot through them with a couple of plasma rifles. Even I wouldn't be that cruel. Then to top it all off, the part that my Lincoln died for which controls this hunk of metal fuel line, lies in its tank without its glow.

How can I only half-fix an engine and place tiles back on a frame? Lola's art piece somehow shines even more than my frames do. I continue gluing frames and fragments back to the engine, with half of them actually staying on while others just fall in pools of my sweat.

Even Lincoln can't bear to see anymore, especially since I stopped answering his questions ten minutes into my repairs. He tells me how he needs to get ready for a date. Before he can tell me my mouth already says the words

"With the lovely Ronnie Ann, right?"

Lincoln's face spreads over a fire that was once a spark. I shake my head as he smirks and tells me to explain more of it later. His body flies through gravity to the front gate. Before going he gave me one grace of wisdom.

"I would give the wind a break from carrying your sweat. Let it take the pollen and send it up inside your nose."

I smirk at the thought and then watch him leave because I know my Lincoln would have told me something similar. However, my Lincoln might have stayed and forced me to do so. To my sad reminder, he isn't here, so I keep cranking away.

I only last another fifteen minutes before my body pleads to release the fluids I gulped much earlier. With hesitation I inch my way toward the glass knowing without the protection of my white-haired bodyguard; any of them could pounce.

None of them are in the kitchen to my surprise, which makes walking in a bit less heavy on my knees. My ears once both feet are inside get hit with the blaring of the numerous noises bouncing around the house. The sound almost compares to the many circuses battles me and my brothers participated in.

Admittingly with so much noise processing through my brain, I'm quite curious to see who or if anyone is quiet. Peeking into the living room to my surprise, it's the Folium's jokester.

She sits on the couch littered with school supplies. From her body arching the way it does I bet she's half-awake watching the valley governors talk about stuff that only mattered in my eyes almost two years ago. I pause a few inches behind her to listen.

Four governors, one each represents the four quadrants of this valley after The Great Terror destroyed it. The aftermath left their stomachs with such hunger, that they would do anything to gain to try, to salvage, to rebuild, to enforce, to then just give it all to Devastator. What does it matter?

Devastator's opinions and his legion out way anything they could do, besides, be on his best side. At least one of them supports us turning a blind eye to our doings within their quadrant. Sadly, another one of the four is like that to Devastator, while the other two fall along with whoever can threaten or bribe them first.

Watching them finger wag and shout at one another now in this time with their fancy skinned garments and their opulent mannerisms; no wonder Devastator was able to gain the support of the people so easily after killing a few ghouls.

"You know it's rude to not announce your presents to us you boob."

At first, the voice sounds wooden like she's trying to do a deep male voice. I look to the side of her only to have my eyes gawk, almost making me jump back and hit the floor. Her right hand is consumed by a wooden puppet with hair of gold and a suit of black and white. Its hollow-painted eyes glare into my soul while I try looking for his. Nothing but wood for miles.

"Now Mr. Corleone, we don't talk like that to our guest," she says in her now normal voice.

So many questions I have, which I get some answers to. Luana apologizes to me for the puppet's behavior. Saying he gets a bit ticked off when she decides to watch politics. At least I and the puppet can see eye to eye on something. Not knowing what to do, I shake his hand.

"You got a strong grip there bud. With strength like that, you can pop some cons for me if you catch my drift."

The puppet then winks and laughs underneath his wooden teeth. He reminds me of the ancient gangsters of the 90s. I'm surprised Luana knows of such things. Something I won't bring her down for.

"Mr. Corleone don't you mean polticons. Ha-ha get it?" At least until she says that.

I and Corleone's eyes roll around the clock and seeming to be a bit saddened by our responses she asks me bleakly, "What brings you back inside Joseph?"

Right then and there like a ding going off in my head my bladder seeming to forget, now has me hopping on my toes barely able to get a word across.

"It's right up the stairs on the far end of all the rooms. Here, allow me to show you."

"Really tits and miss out on the circus over here. If we continue watching these clowns they might just get to the main act."

Mr. Corleone gets a small chuckle out of me as we make our way up the stairs. Before going up I was taken aback by Luana following me like some clueless child. I can probably find a bathroom with the directions she first gave. Then I remember how clueless I really am. I'm a man out of his element. Everything I've been through so far shows that, and the upstairs is no exception.

There are six doors to be exact, all completely identical. Two on each side and two my eyes stare directly down on. The walls are cornbread yellow with white slabs to add a nice touch. Beats any grey colors inside my barracks quarters.

The noise seems to be at its peak up here because the first thing I hear is the twins arguing loudly over some toy. Typical behavior I can imagine. They are the first door on the left. I glance quickly through the crack. All that for a fairy jump rope to play tug of war with.

The twins combined with all the other noises start ripping the paint from the walls. I could barely hear the many remarks Mr. Corleone asked me about my metal knocker as he calls it continuing through the hall.

After some time following Luana, she goes over and leans on the nearest wall and points to the door where my left eye eyeballs. I slowly make my way towards the door, not before letting my ears try to hear what's in each room. The room across from the twins illuminates a green almost radioactive light through the cracks. I leave it at that.

The room that shares its side sang from the sound of the heavens, if not a bit loudly. I secretly wish Luna's voice would be enough to pierce the bathroom walls as it seems to be right next to it, though wish is a strong word.

Their bathroom is much cleaner than I expected. As hard as I tried to look there's no dirt in sight. With the mirrors being the shiniest thing of them all. Not surprising since they live with a queen who probably would die if she can't see herself within it.

With that in mind, keeping it this way wouldn't be the worst idea to consider. Though thinking about Lola, I can't help but remember what she told me about mirrors. Deciding to indulge myself with the idea, I started deeply into the shine that the square of glass crystals creates.

Funny, I can almost see myself shining in between its crystal. The deeper I stare, the easier the images come. Now clear as day, I can see the wicked face of the past. His shiny black armor mocks me, while his eyes blink out their names. Cliff, Joltxs, Buzzard, Lincoln, I see them all through his eyes. I see their deaths all hanging by their spines upon a rusty metal chain. With me left to only watch as they can't even call my name. Then he utters her haunting last words,

'You can make that dream come true.'

My hands began gripping the corners of the marble counter as my eyes started shaking, not wanting to look back. Then he finally speaks with a tongue all too familiar.

'How can you let an angel die, Joseph?' The voice says, letting it rattle and rattle faster than a snake's tail could through the mirror. 'She trusted you with her bright will Joseph, and now look at you... with every death dripping from your blood, her dream sinks in the pits; of your failure.'

That last line, that voice, my voice, snaps my mind for a brief moment. Just enough for my fleshy fist to slam itself against the mirror. Reopening my eyes, my flak jacket's reflection appears there once more. I'm surprised that I didn't shatter the mirror the way I hit it, only my pinky can feel shatter itself against the glass. I stumble out of the bathroom, putting my hands against my knees like I had run a marathon. Luana and Mr. Corleone are already there to greet me.

Their eyes stare at the helpless creature that bows beneath them. The doors that were closed beforehand had cracks in them now. I even see an eye come from the room of the heavens themselves. It projects a screen of fear and curiosity. I must pretend she isn't looking for my own sanity.

"Yoo Joseph, you're looking like the chopper squad popped you a new one. Is everything alright?"

Still clutching my shattered pinky, I reply "Let's just say I saw myself in the mirror."

I try putting on a smile, but Launa sees right through it like she's seen such a face over a thousand times. She gives a little scuff while helping me up, then leads me back towards the kitchen.

She takes no time setting Mr. Corleone aside, grabbing a first aid kit, and putting my finger in a splint. Unlike Hardcase doing a medical procedure, she's doing it all correctly with no errors in sight.

"I'm surprised you know how to do this so well," I mutter to her.

"Well Joseph, let's just say this wouldn't be my first rodeo. She gives off a weak laugh as she begins to wrap the splint. Who knows, maybe with a little training, she could have done a better job with Heavy than I ever could. However, soon I start to realize the impact of her words.

As she wraps both her pinky and index finger I can see a point of bone sticking out from underneath the skin of her pinky finger. From what I've heard and seen only achievable from the fingers healing incorrectly. If I didn't need any more proof, I noticed on that same arm small gashes near the wrist.

They weren't my backlashes deep but have a sort of dexterity to them. Now I knew why she captured through my face; it must have been like looking into a mirror herself. With that fact, I don't have to hide that anymore.

"So, you have tangoed with demons as well," I ask.

She looks up at me and I can almost see a sight weight lifted from her shoulders.

"What can I say, when you're friends with a gangster, you tend to make enemies, but what can you do but keep pushing forward, you know?"

"I can only imagine."

Afterward, a brief silence fills the air as she finishes the details of the wrapping. Such silence reminds me of something that leaks out a chuckle.

"What's so funny there? I didn't get to hear the punchline."

"Oh sorry. It's just you remind me of a friend who's around your age."

Curiosity enters her eyes just like her brother before. "Really you say?"

"Ah yeah, his name is Peter McCann. He's quite the jokester like yourself. One time he and some other lads woke me up with an ice bucket in the middle of the night, let me tell you I was shivering worse than a cat in water." I take a breath as she starts to giggle at my story. "Though behind all that comedy and jokes, I'm starting to realize even more how much pain he hides behind it all. It's like a coping mechanism in a way. To make sure he's still a flower shining upon the highest tower. Putting smiles on everyone's faces."

"Hehe, sounds like he's taking from my handbook."

"Who knows, maybe he is."

She then smiles and goes to retrieve Mr. Corleone who remains quiet as she places an ice pad along my finger. Before leaving back towards the living room she stops halfway and says,

"Try keeping the ice on while you work, alright."

"Or I'll have to pop it in myself," Mr. Corleone finally scuffs. I and Luana share a laugh. "Why are you boobs laughing, I'm serious."

His words make us laugh even louder, letting it fly with the distance growing even bigger towards us. The sound of her laughter is a coy now breaking out of its shell. If my finger beating is saying anything, I hope it remains that way.