His cold calculating eyes stared down at me. I chose to ignore the silver revolver in my face to study his eyes. He could not hide from those that bothered to see. It was clear the trace of doubt and uncertainty they held. It was why he had not bothered to pull the trigger but instead to gaze at me for a long time.

I suppose anyone else in this situation would be begging for their life and yet I only had a sense of calm. Peace about whatever this night would bring.

I’ve known for a little while that he was one of those Prototype PseudoMor that everyone hated. The reason for the mistrust even among humans. They all feared to be talking to a Prototype and reveal information they rather not have shared. These PseudoMors had bred suspicion in the City until it reached the level of madness. There were whispers around the City that not even your own mother could be trusted. How did one know if your mother was in league with the City and was a Prototype PseudoMor? She could have been switched at any time. Could a female Prototype PseudoMor go so far to give birth to act human? Did they have that capability? Equally I’ve heard mothers speak of their own child with suspicion. How do I know I brought back the correct baby and was it fully human? Or that it hadn’t been replaced along the way. There was nothing that said a Prototype PseudoMor could grow from a baby to an adult but then again, there was nothing that said it couldn’t.

This Prototype PseudoMor called himself Malik. It actually took me a few weeks to figure out that something was….off. Malik laughed and smiled at all the right places but his eyes were always calculating. Almost as if he was playing a game of chess trying to figure out the next move to make, what response should be given for the situation.

I met him when we quite literally ran into each other. I often wonder now if it was a set up to give him an opening to begin his mission. At the time I didn’t think much about it. He was new to town and seemed not to want to talk much about his life before. That was fair, after all most people played things close to the vest. But the longer he hung out around Pastel Cafe and around others did I start noticing little things. As I’ve said, it’s easy to see when you take the time to look.

Eventually the cold calculating look gave way to confusion when he looked at me. It was not the first time seeing that from someone. It’s just most never bothered to figure out my motives or reasons. In a city that required you to rely on no one but yourself, it was not odd that many were not willing to get close. Even families were not close, only hanging together when it suited them.

However I was fortunate to have parents that loved me. Our family was close. That in of itself was different for in this City everyone went their own way eventually. But my parents chose to stick together. They chose to believe in each other and not the suspicions that were seeded in this City. They knew that they were breaking the “rules” of the City but had wished to eventually see a day when people came together in trust and love. That’s why they opened the cafe. They wanted to create a place that fostered trust and love. A level of comfort in an otherwise cold and dark reality.

When I inherited the cafe, I wanted to continue that legacy. My pops alway said “You can reach more with the light than with the darkness. Always strive to be that light. You never know who it will touch. It can always touch your own soul if you let it.”

I fixed up the cafe hoping my ideas would bring peace and comfort even if it caused a kind of confusion. I was well aware that many felt threatened by such a thing. Because of the dark

world we lived in, I wanted bright and pretty colors even if I had to mix the paint myself. People's minds were already on edge, so didn’t want any alcohol playing even more tricks with our minds. There was entirely too much drama to deal with on a day to day basis so tomfoolery was not going to happen here. No underhanded deals, bothering women, gambling or any other such nonsense. Pastel Cafe would not be the place for that.

It took time and a half to get to the place Pastel Cafe was today. I like to think it worked and my parents would be proud. Mr. Zibali, an older gentleman with a bushy mustache and a beat up fedora came nearly everyday. When he didn’t show up one day, I went to his house and found he was ill. I didn't mind helping him and since then he has adopted me as a daughter of sorts. He would come sometimes bringing his friend and they would play bingo and drink coffee.

I’m not quite sure how but I ended up being the Sister of Auntie to many of the neighborhood kids. They knew that if something was wrong and they needed help they could ask me. Somehow I got regulated to tell stories to the little tykes making them giggle. It was sad that many of the kids were looked at in the neighborhood with suspicion as the adults looked upon each other as such. But they were too young to understand what would eventually lead them to become bitter at early ages. If I could put a smile on their face then I could sleep peacefully at night.

But I digress from the situation at hand.

Since Malik didn’t seem like he was going to say anything nor had he pulled the trigger yet I decided to speak, “Have you finally come to kill me?”

He blinked but otherwise didn’t waver in his stance. I suppose a Prototype PseudoMor could stand arm extended until world’s end and not get tired. Must be nice stamina to have….

“You knew.” He finally rumbled.

The statement made me give a slight nod of my head. Why should we hide any more? I knew.

“How?”