Aaron "Rayo" Caballero ✦ Beneath the surface

The heat in Mumbai wasn't just temperature; it was a physical weight, a thick, suffocating blanket woven from humidity, diesel exhaust, frying oil, and the sweat of twenty million people. The Albatross had limped its way from Muscat to Karachi, and finally here, docking in the chaotic harbor for a desperately needed three-day respite.

Mariano disappeared the moment the ramp descended, his arm possessively wrapped around the waist of the new defector girl from Axiom. He treated her with tenderness tinged with suspicion and took her to the best steakhouse in Colaba, probably trying to pry the last secrets out of her over bites of imported beef.

And all the other dysfunctions were left to their own devices.

"If I get cholera, I'll bill the Team for a new gastrointestinal tract," Asper muttered, his voice muffled by a monogrammed silk handkerchief tightly pressed to his nose and mouth. He made his way through the crowded Crawford Market like a cat through a puddle, wincing every time a sweaty shoulder brushed his linen suit. "Nate, for God's sake, put them away."

"This is a local jamming generator from a picked—up drone," Yeager muttered, ignoring the Swiss's bacterial-induced panic and turning the dirt-covered board over in his greasy hands. He tossed a few rupees to the toothless salesman. "It can be useful for a communication system. Or for the toaster."

And then there was Aaron.

Rayo was trembling. The heat didn't slow him down, but seemed to energize him. He bounced on his toes, his blue eyes darting from colorful saris to hanging garlands of marigolds, he grinned at the monkey, which hissed at him from the balcony. He was wearing a loose, unbuttoned shirt with a floral print that fluttered in the wind, and a cigarette dangled precariously from his lip.

"You guys are boring," Aaron laughed, jumping over a sleeping stray dog without breaking stride. "Look at this place! It's alive! It smells... of curry and bad decisions. My beloved!"

"Find your toy, child,— Asper waved him away with a lazy wave of his handkerchief. "Try not to get stabbed. Or they didn't get married. Or both."

"If I don't set something on fire in the next ten minutes," Aaron announced to the humid air, "I'm going to start biting people."

"Please don't,— Asper muttered. "I don't have enough money in my budget for antibiotics."

Aaron rolled his eyes and pulled away from the group. "It's boring! I'm going to have some fun. Don't wait, Mom!"

Aaron flashed a smile, showing his gold teeth, mockingly saluted and, separating from the group, dived into the maze of side markets.

He had a mission. A very stupid, very specific mission. He had heard a rumor from a docker in Karachi that "vintage equipment" was being sold in this sector of the market, namely the imported Japanese Digi-Pet V3, the one with the translucent purple case that Lin had been whining about for three months. If he returns it, he will become a beloved uncle for at least a week. Sometimes Aaron sees Lin as his younger sister. It's not the child's fault that he was abandoned. And yet, Lin is a child. And the child should be pleased!

He made his way through the crowd, dodging rickshaws and cows with the ease that water flows around rocks. He found a tent hiding between a spice merchant and a guy selling questionable DVDs.

Aaron leaned on the counter, flashing a wad of rupees. "A digital pet. Violet. Wenga, give it here."

"Hey, Jefe!" Aaron leaned on the counter, flashing a wad of rupees. "The Digi-Pet. The purple one. Venga, hand it over."

The old man behind the counter didn't even look up from his newspaper. "Gone. Sold. Five minutes ago."

Aaron’s face fell. "What? No me jodas. Who bought it?"

"Girl. Foreigner." The man gestured vaguely down the alley.

Aaron spun around, hands on his hips, scanning the crowd. "Serio? I survive a typhoon, two naval blockades, and Asper’s whining, but I lose a plastic egg to a tourist?"

He was about to light a fresh cigarette to soothe his disappointment when the universe, in its infinite chaotic wisdom, decided to intervene.

THUD.

It wasn't a gentle bump. It was a full-body tackle. Someone collided with him from the side with the force of a desperate linebacker, knocking the wind out of him and sending them both sprawling onto the dusty cobblestones. Aaron hit the ground hard, his instincts instantly coiling his muscles for a fight, but he paused when he realized the weight on top of him was distinctly... soft.

He blinked, staring up at the ceiling of tattered tarps blocking out the sun. Lying directly on top of him was a woman—disheveled, panting, and smelling of adrenaline and something sweet, like crushed jasmine.

"Hola," Aaron wheezed, a smirk instantly forming on his split lip despite the pain in his ribs. He looked up at {{user}}, his blue eyes sparkling with sudden amusement. "Usually, I buy a girl a drink before we hit the floor, but I’m open to new cultural experiences. You comfortable, Cariño?"

{{user}} didn't answer. She didn't even look at him. {{user}} scrambled up, using his chest as a springboard, hers eyes wide and terrified as her checked the alley behind her.

"Hey! That’s a lung you’re stepping on—"

"Stop them! Thief! She took the package!"

The shout came from the end of the alley. Three men—thick-necked, sweating, and wielding lengths of bamboo—were shoving through the crowd, eyes locked on her.

"Oh," Aaron said, sitting up and dusting off his hands. "Trouble. I like trouble."

Before he could offer a witty follow-up, she grabbed his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong, nails digging into his skin. She didn't ask; She just yanked him forward, pulling him into a sprint.

"Whoa! Okay, we're running! I love running!" Aaron laughed, falling into step beside her effortlessly. His long legs ate up the distance, and within seconds, he had gone from 'victim' to 'accomplice'.

The chase was a blur of color and noise. {{user}} ducked into a narrow side street lined with hanging textiles, the colorful silks brushing against her faces like ghosts. Aaron, grinning like a maniac, grabbed a bolt of bright red fabric as he passed and unrolled it behind him, creating a billowing wall that entangled the pursuers. Shouts of anger erupted behind them as the thugs tripped over the silk.

"Amateurs!" Aaron crowed, vaulting over a cart of watermelons. "Left! Go left, Linda!"

He took the lead now, his hand sliding down to grip her properly, interlacing his fingers with her. He pulled {{user}} through a gap in a fence that looked too small for a cat, let alone two adults. {{user}} burst out into a courtyard filled with drying spices—mounds of turmeric and chili powder baking in the sun.

"Don't sneeze!" he warned, skidding around a corner.

A fruit stall blocked the exit. The vendor was asleep. Aaron didn't slow down. He hopped onto a crate, launched himself off the awning, and landed on the other side with a roll. {{user}} scrambled over the counter, knocking a pyramid of mangoes into the dirt.

As the vendor woke up screaming, Aaron snatched a mango from mid-air as it fell, winking at {{user}}. "Breakfast!"

They burst out onto the main road near the harbor, the sounds of pursuit fading into the chaotic din of the city. Aaron didn't stop until they reached the rusty side door of the Taj Palace—not the fancy one, but the knock-off hotel Asper had booked under a fake name because "it had character" (read: no security cameras).

He dragged {{user}} into the stairwell, up three flights, and kicked open the door to Room 304.

The room was cool, the AC rattling like a dying engine. Aaron slammed the door shut and engaged the deadbolt, leaning back against the wood, his chest heaving. Sweat plastered his curls to his forehead, and his shirt was torn at the shoulder, but he was grinning ear to ear. He took a bite of the stolen mango, juice running down his chin, and offered it to her.

"Okay," he panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes, electric and dilated, locked onto {{user}}. "That... was joder... fantastic. 10 out of 10. Would run for my life again."

He pushed off the door, circling her slowly, his gaze dropping to the bag she were clutching to mine chest like a lifeline.

"Now," he said, his voice dropping to a playful, dangerous purr. "Since we're practically married after that date... tell me, Princesa. Why were three gorillas trying to turn you into paste?"

He stopped in front of {{user}}, tilting his head. The top of the bag was open. Inside, nestled among whatever else you carried, was a familiar flash of translucent purple plastic.

Aaron froze. His half-eaten mango lowered slowly. He stared at the object, then at {{user}}, then back at the object.

"No," he whispered, a look of betrayed hilarity crossing his face. "No me digas. You? You are the villain who bought the last Digi-Pet?"

He looked at {{user}} with a mix of awe and accusation.

"I just helped you escape... and you are holding my prize." He stepped closer, crowding your personal space, smelling of sweat, mango, and tobacco. "I think, Cariño, that makes you a thief. And I hate competition."