Beyond 2077

Making the most of that second chance... time flew by.

Three years later.

Like two stubborn magnets, their lips sought each other—pushing, dragging, relentless—never parting even as they stumbled through the apartment door, crashing against its walls.

The world could collapse around them in that very moment, and they'd still be there, sealed by the heat of their breath and the impatient graze of their lips.

Without breaking it, her hands roamed up his chest, as if she could feel every fiber of every taut muscle beneath her fingers, while he walked backward, tripping over furniture without a care — each bump, each stumble making her laugh on the inside.

In one of those necessary breaths to catch air, like a déjà vu between gasps, she murmured:

"Your brother?"

"At a friend's place," he whispered, before kissing her again, trailing down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone.

"Terry... no..." she said, caught between a fleeting attempt at reason and a shiver that ran up her spine, adding with effort, "A-and your father?"

He didn't hesitate. His voice was low, laced with carelessness, almost disdain:

"No clue. Don't care. All I know... is he's not home."

And before she could ask anything else, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her down the hallway in his arms. With a sharp kick, he flung open the door to his room.

That controlled brutality, so different from the incident years ago... it set her ablaze even more.

Terry dropped her onto the bed. She bounced on the worn mattress with a laugh as nervous as it was eager.

When he pulled off his shirt, she couldn't help but bite her lip...

It wasn't the vain body sculpted in a gym.

It was something else.

One forged by necessity, pushed to exhaustion for years. And instead of breaking, being genetically resilient enough to come out stronger.

The vibrant glow of neon lights slipping through the window clashed against the dense shadows of the nearly pitch-dark apartment.

That contrast of light and darkness outlined his shoulders, his chest, his arms. It revealed a figure that wasn't big. Not brutish.

He was slender. Lean. Agile.

Every muscle stood out sharply beneath taut skin, speckled with bruises and poorly healed wounds.

Seeing him approach... Maya swallowed hard.

Without breaking eye contact, she slipped out of her dress in one fluid motion, leaving only her underwear—not the kind she'd have planned for the occasion, but to Terry; it was perfect.

Then, she smiled, ready to let herself... be devoured.

Terry, however, couldn't help but admire her deliciously paradoxical... figure.

Narrow shoulders and a waist so delicate it seemed almost fragile, stirring a man's natural instinct to protect her.

But at the same time... paired with curves in just the right places—round near, firm thighs, and breasts that didn't scream, but whispered with tenderness.

A perfect blend of angel and demon. Of sweetness and desire. Of something you'd want to cherish and... devour.

It made Terry smile as he resumed his step, with that half-broken smirk he'd learned to use as a shield, a mask... but this time, it was genuine and real.

He lunged at her. The mattress creaked under their shared weight.

But just as their lips were about to meet again...

Maya's eyes lit up, and in the next instant, her mind buzzed with the notification of an incoming call.

She quickly sat up on the edge of the bed, doubting her ability to keep her mind clear, and chose to answer the call with her voice instead of her thoughts.

["Sweetheart, where are you?"] Feeling that something was wrong, her father's worried voice echoed in her head.

"Dad... I told you I'd be at Chelsea's after school," Maya said aloud, trying to keep the privacy of her feverish mind intact. "We're working on a bio-Ah-mhm(♫)"

But she couldn't stop the moan that escaped her lips when Terry, with a mischievous grin, blew softly in her ear and began to "devour" her bare neck.

It electrified Maya's mind, caught between pleasure and panic.

["MAYA! WHAT WAS THAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHERE ARE YOU?"] Her father's voice turned into a digital roar.

"Dad, it's nothing, I'm in the bathroom... you called at a bad time," she stammered, her hands weakly pushing Terry away while her eyes, gleaming with desire.

Or at least that's what Terry "interpreted." and it was just from the call.

Letting his rough hands slide down slowly, caressing her body, like explorers seeking more... sensitive lands.

["The bathroom? Do you think I'm an idiot? You're with that deadbeat, aren't you? I'M COMING OVER RIGHT NOW!"]

Her father's fury reverberated in her mind, while the pleasure drowned it out.

"No, Dad, don't come! I—" Another gasp tried to escape, and she had to bite her lip to hold it back. "I'm heading home right now!"

Not wanting—not able—to let her leave.

And knowing why, aware of the bad blood between Mr. Tan and him, ever since their paths crossed in the past when he was heading out to work in the early hours.

Terry spoke with a mix of mockery and defiance. "Tell your dad Ramona sends her regards."

Seeing Maya's brows furrow, Terry insisted, "Just tell him."

"Dad... who's Ramona?"

"!!!" Faced with the speechless panic on the other end of the line, Maya declared before hanging up, "We'll talk when I get home in an hour! Or maybe I'll talk to Mom directly."

Wanting to forget everything outside this room for the next sixty minutes, Maya let herself fall back onto the bed. After a heavy sigh, she said with a sly smile:

"I hope an hour's enough for you."

Those mischievous, full lips, painted black, made Terry lose control for the second time in his life, and he lunged at her.

Her skin prickled with goosebumps as he whispered softly in her ear, "Don't even dream it. I'm quite resilient."

.

Two hours later...

With the icon of dozens of missed calls from her father blinking in the lower corner of her IDn interface, Maya stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.

Her bare chest rose and fell with the rhythm of heavy breathing. Tremors of pleasure still coursed through her spine, like jolts from an overloaded circuit, sending spasms that clouded her mind and stole her words.

Terry, a proud smile curving his lips, kept his right arm still, careful not to stimulate her any further, and pulled a crumpled cigarette from the pocket of his pants lying on the floor.

He placed it between his lips and, with a slight snap of his fingers near the tip, the cigarette lit itself, no flame or lighter needed. Allowing him to take a satisfying drag; a reward for a job well done.

In the past three years, since he discovered that part of himself he never knew existed, Terry had found three pressure valves to keep from losing control again.

Tobacco was the first — a cheap vice that offered fleeting calm.

The second, discovered at sixteen, was sex.

Nothing silenced the demons quite like the heat of a woman, her ragged breathing, the way Maya trembled under his hand.

"Do you have to work today?" she asked, her voice hoarse, worn out from the screams she hadn't held back. She propped herself up, still dazed, resting her chin on Terry's chest, her sticky skin brushing against his under the flickering light of advertising holograms seeping through the window.

Before he could answer, she stole the cigarette from his lips with a mischievous smile. She took a drag, the ember's glow lighting up her face, staining the filter with her matte black lipstick. The smoke curled in the stale air, mixing with the scent of sweat and rusted metal wafting in from the street.

"I don't know," Terry said, shrugging. "They'll send me a message with the new location. They change it after every... job." His tone was casual, but a faint edge betrayed the weight of those "jobs."

The third outlet was his new work: a place where he could channel what he'd learned from the beggar incident, without fear of complaints reopening his old case.

Even if it was necessary for him. After nearly losing everything to a single mistake, Terry knew he had to be smart. He couldn't afford to jeopardize his brother's well-being.

Maya traced the outline of a fresh bruise on Terry's side, her touch gentle, as if it hurt her to see him like this. "I don't like how you make a living," she murmured, her voice heavy with concern. But then, softening her tone, she added, "Still, I'm glad you have time to study. And for me."

"I'm glad too," Terry said, a tenderness in his voice that clashed with the scars on his skin.

She took another drag on the cigarette, holding his gaze before handing it back. "You've changed... you know?"

He took the cigarette from her fingers, their hands brushing, still sparking something. "How?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"Like you're a bit more yourself again," Maya said, choosing her words carefully. "Lighter, less hollow... like the kid you were before everything went to hell."

Terry let out a dry laugh that faded quickly. "When I scared you in that alley, I found something in me I didn't know was there. Something ugly."

He looked at her, his blue eyes glinting like cracked screens in the dim light. "I've had to learn to control it... so you don't run off again."

"Idiot," Maya whispered, no venom in her voice, as she leaned in. Their lips met again, melting into a slow kiss, heavy with the taste of tobacco and unspoken promises.

Then, Terry's eyes lit up, as he received the expected message. He pulled back gently, scanning the notification projected in his vision.

"It's confirmed," he said, his tone a mix of irritation and resignation. "Tonight's 'gig' is pretty far. I'll have to head out soon. Want me to drop you off at home on the way?"

Maya raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sarcastic smirk. "Do you want my dad to have a heart attack?"

Terry mimicked her. "Want to?"

"Alright, I'm hitting the shower," Maya shot back, giving him a playful shove to the chest before standing. The crumpled sheets slid off her bare skin, her figure bathed in the glow of neon lights, fading into the shadows of the dark apartment as she headed to the bathroom.

"Sure," Terry muttered, slumping back onto the worn mattress.

Alone in the room, he shed the mask: lighter, less hollow, an echo of the kid he was before everything fell apart. An "upgrade" over the years.

And with a dangerous glint in his eyes, he reviewed the automated message that had just arrived on his IDn interface:

[Message from Arkham Maximum Security Prison]

[Subject: Approval of Visit Request]

Your request to meet with prisoner nº9996 has been approved.

Date: July 29, 2025

Time: 19:30

Location: Delta Containment Block

Instructions: Present yourself at the west entrance with biometric identification. No unauthorized devices permitted.

Warning: Any violation will result in revocation of privileges and potential legal sanctions.]

The more he read, the more something stirred within him, a knot of unease threatening to unravel. But the hum of running water snapped him out of it, reminding him he still had some time. He decided to quiet that restlessness and stood, intent on "washing Maya's back."

Before leaving his room, though...

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath, stepping on a scribbled-on cymbal monkey plushie, tossed on the floor like a forgotten toy.

He nearly kicked it aside, but the memory of that girl's bright eyes and warm smile—the one who tried to help him in his darkest moment—stopped him. He picked it up carefully and returned it to its place on the shelf, among dust-covered trinkets.

As the only witness to what had happened... and what was to come.

Slipping into the bathroom quietly...

"No, Terry... I can't take any more," came a tired, laughing voice as she felt him step into the shower.

"Don't worry," he replied, with smile revealing his heroic, selfless side. "I'm just here to help..."