There was an old pop song that said:

Proxima, city of night brightness. City of night screams.

Proxima, city of joys. A city of nightmares.

Like any metropolis, Proxima City could sum up its cultural identity with its architecture: small houses, tall buildings, unattainable skyscrapers. One construction behind the other; beasts with crystal skins, concrete muscles, and steel skeletons, which drew a kind of food pyramid, where each building stalked the small link in front and endured the harassment of a bigger one from behind.

Corporations that dominated international trade had their head offices there, and their managers, as monarchs from different kingdoms that shared the same territory, were never satisfied diners who widened their bellies with the feast of success. It was a cocktail of the best cosmopolitan cities on the planet and the worst of the ghetto of the slums. A version of heaven and hell where excesses were the main dish of the yuppies, media politicians, showbiz stars, and any other character who excelled among its eight million inhabitants.

And among them was Uri, someone who, as he had once said to an old flame:

“I am lucky enough to taste worldly pleasures. I prefer to keep stress out of my diet, though.”

To which the girl replied, “You talk weird.”

That Friday the twenty-first of September, driving his SUV, Uri went to pick up Trevor to continue to satisfy that inner teenager—according to Trevor’s words.

Uri saw with happy eyes that his friend had set aside his formal clothes for something simpler. Or at least he’d tried.

“I warn you, if the evening ends late, you will not arrive in time for your golf match.”

Trevor touched the collar of his polo shirt.

“I bought it today, especially for tonight. And it’s better than I can say about that white shirt so bland you’re wearing.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not criticizing you. That you don’t wear a suit and tie is already quite a breakthrough.”

According to Uri, Trevor Homam’s dress code was an accurate depiction of his personality: too clean and conservative, so respectful that made one uneasy.

No one could be as perfect as he appeared to be. Trevor had to have an important dark side covered with several layers of exemplary behavior, ready to uncover after an outbreak of madness. Even though that day wasn’t here yet, and as time went on, Uri thought it might never come. Perhaps Trevor’s unwavering good manners had been fortified by the harsh upbringing he had received from his father, and by his mother’s strict religious doctrine.

Trevor found two copies of Loud on the car dashboard. Both cards were activated, projecting their covers in a miniature version, lightning up the cabin with their holographic colors. A half-naked Uri in all his former glory, and the title, ‘The Best Models of the Decade.’

“Those will be the souvenirs for the girls,” Uri said.

“You do know how to sell yourself, right?”

“You can ask my boss,” Uri joked, stepped on the pedal, and went for the other part of his retinue.

Both girls were in their thirties, blonde and sophisticated, covered in jewelry and lightly dressed; too skinny for their own good, though.

“Mint and Strawberry,” Trevor called them, watching them approach the car. “Are those their real names? You must be kidding me.”

“No. And they have a brother called Kiwi. Their parents were from a naturist cult.”

“Where do you get these people?”

“Pieces of my past life,” Uri laughed. “And now, show some respect, mister! The Mint and Strawberry sisters were the hottest supermodels on the catwalk for an entire month, ten years ago.”

The four of them had dinner at a fabulous seaside restaurant, and then they went to B-Crush.

B-Crush was the trendy nightclub and one of the most exclusive in Proxima, and as always, there was a long line of quirky people waiting behind a rope barrier for the bouncers to let them in.

Avoiding the crowd, Uri guided his company through a passage for VIP guests. But just before they could get lost in the darkness and chaos of voices and music that boiled on the other side of the threshold, a heavy hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

“And then we have those who want to sneak in,” a thick voice said.

He turned around—a little scared, why deny it?—and stumbled on a big bouncer: a five-foot-six, shaved-headed man that looked like he’d been a professional wrestler sometime in the past.

“Hey, Little John!” Uri called him, relieved.

“Uri?!” Frowning, the big guy looked at him as if trying to understand what he was seeing. “I’m sorry, I…”

“What’s up, bro? Didn’t you recognize me?”

“Not. It’s just that…” Little John pointed to the entrance to the disco. “I’d swear I’d let you in a few minutes ago.”

“Relax. It’s easy to get confused with so many people,” Uri said.

“Sure!” The doorman nodded. “I knew you’re too much of a ladies’ man to come here wearing a costume like that,” he added with a smile and continued with his work.

Uri said goodbye without knowing exactly what the big guy was talking about; joined Trevor and the girls, and as soon as he crossed the threshold, his eyes saw nothing but silhouettes in the gloom, shrouded in clouds of artificial smoke and flashes of blinking lights, moving to the rhythm of tribal percussion combined with futuristic sounds.

Mint and Strawberry were easy prey for the music and began to dance as if they were the only ones in the disco. Trevor, however… Well, something told Uri that the DJ would have to work hard to win over the always neat businessman.

“No matter how much technology we develop,” Trevor said, “our rites will continue to rule us. What a disappointment!”

And despite the loud music, Uri heard him well; although of all the comments he had thought to hear coming from his friend, that was not one of them.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Can’t you see it?” Trevor pointed to the people around him. “Change their clothes for animal fur, that mirror ball for a campfire, and lab drugs for hallucinogenic herbs, and you’ll be watching the same scene in a different time period.”

“Ha!” Uri surveyed his surroundings. “Modern Aborigines dancing around an illusory campfire, enraptured by the thunder of electric drums,” he considered. “Hadn’t seen it that way, but I guess you’re right. Glorious, isn’t it?”

“Primitive, I’d say,” Trevor turned his head. “Doesn’t it bother you to think that moving forward is just about going around in circles?”

“Oh, come on, Trevor! Still with that past stuff? You run a damn company that produces robots, and you see no progress? Who says that in a few years there won’t be androids dancing on this floor?”

“Well, I didn’t mean that.”

“Look,” Uri pointed to Mint and Strawberry. “Those two good parishioners need to go back to the rite of modeling, and Priest Lisandro can help them with that. We are gonna see him now, and then we solve the problems of the past, okay?”

“Ugh! Should I really have to join you guys? Lisandro is…”

“A spoiled little brat, I know,” Uri said. “But you and he have a lot in common.”

“Are you kidding? What do I have in common with that monster?”

“How about you start with a strong last name and end up with owners of wealthy companies?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Uri. We both inherited things from our parents, true, but that’s all.”

“Things your parents inherited from theirs, and so on for generations,” Uri added. “And you were talking about going around in circles?”

“You set the trap and I fell into it,” Trevor admitted.

Uri laughed and led his group into the VIP section of the nightclub.

The bouncer guarding the stairs to the VIP area let them in just by seeing Uri was leading the company—no surprises for Trevor there—and they got on a platform that looked like a wide catwalk over the dance floor. Handrails illuminated by black lights, a bar with a ton of drinks, and a lot of classy people hanging around.

“Hey! It’s Loud cover-boy!” said a girl and raised her glass of champagne.

There were about ten people along with her, all around a table with drinks. Lisandro Carinae was among them: A young man with brunette complexion; with the body of an athlete and the handsome face of a teen-movie star; gray eyes, an almost perverse smile, and a monetary power that none of those present could ever calculate. No one but Trevor, of course.

“What am I seeing? Am I in a board meeting and haven’t noticed?” Lisandro said when he saw Trevor coming. “My, my—It’s no other than mister Homam in person… in a nightclub!”

“Be nice, Lisandro,” Uri laughed. “Don’t make him feel uncomfortable now that I finally got him out.”

Trevor, shy and blushed, greeted everyone from a certain distance but shook Lisandro’s hand.

“Long time, no see.”

“You, always so sober, huh?” the young man said. “When was the last time we saw each other, Trevor?”

“At the opening ceremony of the Carinae IV Tower, about three years ago.”

“Right! I think we’ve just opened our eighth. So yeah, it’s been a while.” Lisandro took a sip of his drink. “That ceremony was crucial for me, y’know? My boredom levels were so high that night, I decided to never attend one ever again. Now, I let my siblings handle those things.”

Uri poured a glass of champagne for each of his companions and raised his.

“Becoming the living face of squandering was a job nobody in your family could do, but you, right?” he said.

Lisandro guffawed and clashed his glass with Uri’s.

“Can you imagine my snooty brother admitting to being the proud owner of a nightclub? Never! I’m the one who puts the fun on business, baby!”

“You and your cousins,” one of the girls remarked.

“Speaking of them, will they come?”

Lisandro checked his phone. “Rebecca says she and Cassandra are gonna be here soon,” he announced. “ ‘Please, don’t drink all the champagne,’ she wrote.”

Everyone received the news with joy. Everyone but Uri, who knew how to hide his little enthusiasm by taking that moment to give a sip of his drink. Lisandro’s cousins could be the most attractive women he’d ever met, but they were also the most spoiled, mean-spirited women he’d ever met.

“Hey, Lisandro, I brought two friends here. Strawberry and Mint,” Uri introduced them. “They were models for another firm and now they are looking for…”

Now that the attention was on Uri’s girls, Trevor Homam took the opportunity to retreat to the side and wait for the right moment to go away without being noticed. But one woman from Carinae’s group, a voluptuous brunette, approached him, and whispering as much as she could so that her comment could barely be heard above the music, she said:

“I know I may sound nosy, handsome, but I’ll give you some free advice.”

Trevor looked at her, putting an effort to show his disinterest, although the woman didn’t understand the sign, or didn’t care, and continued:

“I imagine you know why this egomaniac flea bears a freaking code as his last name, right?” she added and pointed at Uri with her eyes. “The government gives it to you out of pity when you weren’t interesting enough for someone to adopt you; y’know?”

Trevor no longer tried to hide his dislike.

“Wow!” he answered. “And I thought it was to identify in which sector of the city the abandoned child was found in case someone claimed him, not that it was the consolation prize of a popularity contest within the orphanages.”

“Whatever, handsome. He doesn’t have a real family to back him up, like you or me. I’m telling you, if you let this kind of people think you’re their friend, they will claw their way up and steal your company. I know of cases like that.”

Trevor adjusted his glasses, somewhat annoyed.

“Lisandro is a charming little fellow who loves being surrounded by buffoons just for the kicks,” the woman continued. “And I’m sure that flea thinks he already bought his place just because he once modeled for the firm. Ugh! But the time will come when Lis gets tired of him, you’ll see, and he’ll kick him back to the hole he jumped from.”

“Hi!” Uri showed up and got between the two of them. The woman smiled at him; he smiled her back, and she went away to find someone else to chat with.

“These people are not your friends,” Trevor told Uri.

“Oh, you bet! They aren’t even friends with themselves,” Uri replied with alarming calm. “What did she say to you? The last-name thing or that I have a free pass to this place because I’m Lisandro’s pet?”

Trevor shook his head.

“Well, in a way it’s true.” Uri shrugged. “Lisandro has no friends, he has subjects. Mint and Strawberry…” he said and pointed at them with the chin. “See, we always kept up the good vibes, but we were never really friends. They look for me because I have access to places they don’t have. And well, also because there was a time when we shared more than just a photoshoot… If you know what I mean.”

“Of course I know what you mean, you are no enigma! But I know you, Uri, you are not like them. What do you do with these people?”

Uri shrugged. “Seize the moment. What else you want me to tell you?”

Trevor couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You’re playing their game; can’t you see? They’re all involved in this—” Trevor pursed his lips; he had a hard time cursing. “—in this shitty round, waiting their turn to latch onto someone’s ass and claim a slice of the cake.”

“Whoa, whoa! Two profanities in one phrase, bro! That’s a milestone for you right there!”

“What’s the difference between you and them?” Trevor insisted. “Now I understand what they told you today, about covering up your emotional gaps. How do you want these people not to think that, if according to their way of seeing things, you are a—?”

“—Poor little orphan who just wants to have a good time?” Uri finished the sentence, and Trevor looked away. “Who cares?! Look, Trevor, maybe you don’t need to socialize because you have someone like me doing it for you. In a way, you pay me to talk to people like this. Now I’ve come to close a deal for these girls, and I thought it would be fun if you, my true friend, would come with me like you used to do; that’s it. Damn! What’s going on that today everyone wants to remind me of what I am?!”

“I’m sorry, Uri, I didn’t mean…” Trevor sighed. “I think I’m going home.”

“All right. Hold on, I’ll get the girls and—”

“No, that’s fine,” Trevor stopped him and tried a smile. “Stay with them and… Well, get them to get that job they need. I’ll take a taxi, don’t worry. See you Monday at the office.”

And so, Uri let Trevor go, with a strange sense of defeat stuck in his throat.

“Too noisy for mister Homam?” Lisandro asked.

“I guess so,” Uri responded and gulped down the champagne in his glass to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth.

It was a good time to take a break from the evening, so he went to the restroom to empty his bladder.

On his way to it, Uri tried to avoid as many acquaintances as he could. He wasn’t in the mood to say hello to anybody, let alone facing the possibility of getting into a conversation, so he moved fast, enduring a couple of stomps along the way.

He got to the men’s room and barged his way through the guys who were fixing their hair in front of the mirrors. Every urinal was busy, so he went straight to the toilets. He knocked on every door and got into the first stall where he didn’t receive a furious ‘Busy!’ as an answer.

There, he could finally remove the weight from his bladder.

Trevor’s question appeared in his mind: “What’s the difference between you and them?”

“I am much more than Uri O22, the poor little orphan,” he hissed through his teeth, and his eyes stung. So much talk around his past had struck a chord within him.

And when he zipped up his pants, someone tried to enter the stall, hitting him in the back with the edge of the door.

“Why the hell people don’t knock first?!” he yelled.

He pushed the door, and with an angry ‘Busy, here!’ at the tip of his tongue, he pivoted to confront whoever had interrupted him. When he did, a barrage of adrenaline and fear shoved the scolding back into his mouth and turned his eyes into two wells of pure amazement.

The man who just got into the stall was none other than himself. A person with a face identical to his.