Finally, as I stepped out of the hospital, the brisk evening air enveloped me like a refreshing wave, sharp and invigorating against the sterile warmth I was leaving behind. I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as I savored the hint of autumn’s chill, which contrasted sharply with the antiseptic smells of the hospital.

  Walking towards the parking lot, I navigated the dimly lit path, my thoughts racing as I reached my car. Once inside, I turned the key in the ignition, and the familiar roar of the engine filled the air. With a determined grip on the steering wheel, I drove straight away to Karim’s penthouse, eager to escape the remnants of the hospital.

  As I arrived at the towering high-rise, its glass facade reflecting the fading sunlight, I parked the car and stepped out onto the polished marble floor of the building's entrance. The lobby was adorned with sleek furniture and vibrant art pieces, but I barely noticed as I headed straight for the elevator.

  The ride up was uneventful until I slowed down near the penthouse floor; the pulsing rhythm of loud music vibrated through the elevator walls. Confident it was Karim, I started preparing myself for whatever bullshit Karim was about to talk about.

  Exiting the elevator, I walked down the plush carpeted hallway, guided by the thumping bass that grew louder with each step. Arriving at his front door, I reached out and twisted the knob, feeling the cool metal in my hand. As I pushed the door open, I was enveloped in a wave of sound; the music, deafening and energetic, rushed over me, pulling me into Karim's world.

  “Shoulders!” Karim exclaimed with an infectious energy, his voice ringing through the air like a call to arms. He then playfully waved a gold-wrapped buzzsaw high above his head, creating a comical spectacle as he strutted around the room, completely unbothered by the fact that he was wearing nothing but a bright white tank top and a pair of white underwear.

  As I walked closer, I spotted a woman who, at first glance, seemed like a high-class joytoy, her expression a mix of boredom and disinterest in Karim’s antics. She leaned slightly against the bar, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.

  Karim suddenly caught sight of me and beamed. “Ah! My white brother!” he exclaimed exuberantly, before turning to the woman. “This is Alex... Alex, meet my white brother.”

  I raised an eyebrow, unable to hide my irritation. “I think you should stop calling me that; it’s not fucking cool,” I replied, my tone firm.

  “Listen, are we going to do this or what? I’ve got other clients!” she retorted, annoyance creeping into her voice as she glanced around the bustling room, clearly hoping for a more engaging evening.

  Karim waved a dismissive hand.

  “Chill out, babe. Get into it, feel the music,” he urged, as if the pulsating rap beats could somehow alter her mood.

  I couldn't help but ask, “What’s wrong with you?”

  Karim abruptly cut the music, the sudden silence piercing the air.

  “Nothing wrong with me. Except for the fact that I'm destined to become the biggest player in this town! My name will go down in fucking history,” he declared, eyes glinting with ambition.

  “Whatever you say,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “But you mentioned something important that needed to be done. So, what is it?”

  Karim stepped closer, his grip tightening around the gun he brandished, a dangerous sparkle in his gaze. “Well, I caught wind from a client that we have the chance to acquire some real heavy-duty hardware that could tip the scales in this war... I’m talking about something much bigger. Better. Truly revolutionary.”

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  “Okay, but what exactly is it?” I pressed, intrigued yet cautious.

  “This is next-level intense. How about a motherfucking military-issued mech?” Karim shouted excitedly, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.

  I blinked, trying to wrap my head around the absurdity. “What do you need a mech for?”

  “I want it! Just picture it, man: you and me, piloting a mech, taking on whatever comes our way!” Karim exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement.

  A grin spread across his face as he aimed the gun at an imaginary target, mimicking the precision of a robot. “Japanese person,” he shouted, then pretended to fire, “Bye bye! Bitch!”

  I shook my head, unable to suppress a smirk. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Hey, what is it that you want, huh? Is it money? Is that what this is about? Here, take it!” He tossed a hefty stack of eddies my way, the bills fluttering as they landed.

  “Now, come on! Let’s go get this thing!” he urged, flipping the music back on with a flourish.

  “Come on! Come on, baby, get up. Let’s do this thing,” he cheered, as the bass dropped, filling the room with an electrifying rhythm.

  As the rhythm of the music enveloped the dimly lit room, Karim and the woman lost themselves in their dance, their movements fluid and graceful. Suddenly, a heavyset older man strode in, flanked by an imposing bodyguard who surveyed the scene with a vigilant eye.

  “Karim!” the man bellowed, his voice cutting through the melodic notes like a knife.

  Karim whirled around, a look of shock crossing his face as he instinctively covered his underwear to conceal himself. “Oh, poppa! What are you doing here?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

  In his haste, Karim reached out to switch off the music, the vibrant energy of the room deflating as a heavy silence settled in its wake.

  “Welcome! Welcome, Poppa! Allow me to introduce my esteemed business associate... umm... Mister, err...”

  I interjected, “Carver.”

  “Mr. Barber,” Karim stumbled again, mispronouncing my last name as he rushed through his words. His enthusiasm seemed unwavering as he continued, “He is one of the most brilliant minds I know. And this lovely lady here is his wife, Alex.”

  With an assertive yet playful tug, Karim grabbed the woman’s arm and guided her to stand beside me. Our eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange in the midst of Karim’s frenzied explanation.

  “We were in the middle of a creative brainstorming session,” he said, his voice a mix of excitement and embarrassment, “and things escalated a bit... let’s just say, I somehow ended up without my pants.” Karim let out an awkward laugh, a nervous attempt to ease the tension, before turning to his father with a reluctant compliment.

  “I always knew you had your flaws, but I never fully grasped the depth of your shame,” his father responded, disappointment lacing his words.

  “Poppa, things aren’t how they look,” Karim defended himself, his voice tinged with frustration.

  “Things don’t look good, son.”

  “Yet, as they say, one shouldn't judge a book by its cover,” Karim retorted, trying to hold onto a sliver of optimism.

  “When the book is titled Guns, Drugs, Prostitutes, and No Pants, I don’t think I need to read it,” his father shot back, a hint of irony creeping into his tone.

  Karim took a step closer, his expression earnest. “Father, these people are nothing to me. In fact, they were just about to leave. Go! Get out, Mr. Barber, and take your wife, Mrs. Barber, with you. And might I add, madam, this isn't a very appropriate way for a married woman to dress...’ I’ve tried to tell them multiple times, Father, yet do they listen? No, never! And you!...”

  He paused, his gaze shifting as he leaned in closer to me, whispering with urgency, “I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute to talk more about how we’ll get the mech.”

  “The military mech?” I inquired, curiosity piquing my interest.

  Karim quickly shushed me, his eyes darting around nervously. “Just go! And make sure you don’t come back without, uh, uh, knocking first!”