Echoes of the Masked

The highways of Los Angeles stretched into a long ribbon of light under the night sky. As the car sped past, shadows of streetlamps flickered across the windshield.

Archie Seabrook gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting casually on the window ledge, his eyes fixed ahead.

In the passenger seat, Seventeen sat with her head slightly bowed. On the surface, she appeared relaxed, but in reality, she was calculating the perfect moment to strike.

If she wanted to get rid of this “cousin,” it would be simple.

Once the car turned onto a deserted backroad, she’d make her move.

He was completely off guard. She could wrap her arms around his neck from the back seat, plunge the first knife into the artery on the side of his neck, then drive the second through his windpipe to ensure no sound escaped.

Her fingers lightly pinched the folded knife in her pocket, her breathing steady.

But in the next second, Archie slammed on the brakes.

The car jolted to a stop on the roadside. Seventeen’s fingertips tightened ever so slightly.

Archie turned his head, his gaze landing on her, his voice low: “Let me take a look.”

A cold shiver shot up the back of Seventeen’s neck.

She didn’t move, just narrowed her eyes, her fingers still gripping the knife’s handle, ready to act at any moment.

“I haven’t gotten a good look at you yet.” Archie frowned, studying her closely. “You don’t quite match the image I have in my memory.”

Seventeen’s throat tightened, but she maintained her docile expression, staying silent.

Suddenly, Archie reached out, pressed his hand on top of her head, and ruffled her hair roughly.

Seventeen’s muscles tensed instantly, and she instinctively pulled back a little.

Archie chuckled, withdrew his hand, and stepped on the gas again. “How’d you grow up and lose every trace of the kid you used to be?”

The car started moving once more, heading toward the city.

Seventeen’s hand, still in her pocket, slowly relaxed. Her palm was slick with cold sweat.



The neon lights of the apartment complex glimmered faintly in the darkness, casting a warm yellow glow.

The car rolled into Silverlake Heights—a middle-class apartment community.

Most of the buildings here were three-story complexes in the 1980s style, complete with small balconies. The residents were mostly office workers, teachers, and freelancers. By nightfall, the neighborhood settled into a quiet, orderly calm.

“We’re here,” Archie said, easing the car to a stop.

Seventeen peered out the window. A serene man-made lake curved around the community, its surface reflecting the apartment lights in shimmering ripples.

This place was better for hiding out than she’d expected.



The elevator still had an old advertisement plastered on the wall, and the floor was littered with a few dried leaves someone had tracked in.

It was nighttime, and residents trickled back to their apartments in twos and threes, dressed in casual sweats, carrying takeout bags or groceries from the store.

As soon as Archie parked, people approached to say hello.

A middle-aged man in a blue shirt walked over from the roadside and lowered his voice. “Hey, Archie, can you help me out?”

Archie glanced at him—a teacher from a nearby school.

“What’s up?”

“Some students got into a fight at school and ended up at the precinct. Could you put in a word? It’s a small thing—nothing worth a record, right?”

“Did they have knives?”

“Uh…” The teacher’s face grew awkward. “One of them had a BB gun…”

Archie sighed. “A BB gun shot to the knee isn’t exactly a ‘small thing.’”

“But they’re just kids…”

The two went back and forth, negotiating. Meanwhile, a plump woman approached Seventeen’s side of the car and tapped on the window.

Seventeen blinked, instinctively rolling it down.

“Just got back from the store and picked up some veggies.” The woman thrust a bag of fresh lettuce and green onions into her arms. “Your cousin’s always eating takeout—he never buys his own groceries.”

Seventeen caught the bag reflexively, too stunned to respond before the woman turned and walked off.

She stared at the vegetables in her hands, a strange feeling stirring in her chest.

This place had more “human warmth” than she’d expected—maybe even more than her old home ever did.



Archie drove slowly into the underground parking garage. Seventeen, clutching the bag of vegetables, pushed the car door open.

“Hurry up and get inside,” Archie said offhandedly. “Settle in—I’ll take you out for some barbecue tonight.”

Seventeen mumbled an “Oh,” then grabbed her luggage and followed him into the apartment.

When they reached the elevator, Archie suddenly stopped, frowning at her bag.

His eyes lingered on the heavy leather duffel, a hint of suspicion in his gaze.

He reached out, grabbed a corner of the bag, and gave it a light squeeze.

There was… metal inside.

Seventeen’s heart skipped a beat.

This was bad.

“What’d you bring?” Archie crouched down, feeling the leather again as if to confirm.

Seventeen reacted instantly, her voice calm. “Workout gear.”

Archie looked up at her. “Workout gear?”

She nodded. “Resistance bands and dumbbells.”

“How heavy?”

“Twenty kilos each—two of them,” she answered without hesitation.

Archie stared at her, as if weighing whether she was lying.

After a few seconds, he stood up, pinched her arm, and clicked his tongue. “Your arms are pretty solid.”

Seventeen kept her cool smile, but her palms were sweating again.

If he opened that bag and saw the submachine gun, magazines, and cash inside… she wouldn’t make it through the night.



Archie’s apartment was tidier than Seventeen had expected.

The kitchen, especially, was spotless—like it was just for show. The pots and pans on the counter looked untouched, a clear sign his diet relied entirely on takeout and instant meals.

“The cot in the living room’s for you,” Archie said, tossing his keys aside. “Get settled. We’ll head out to eat soon.”

Seventeen scanned the room, her gaze landing on the coffee table.

A stack of old bills and receipts sat there, topped with a pay stub carelessly thrown on top.

Los Angeles Police Department.

Total salary: $2,950.

Seventeen glanced at the number and smirked faintly.

“Your pay’s that low?” She couldn’t help but laugh.

Archie shot her a look and smacked the back of her head. “If you’re so great, go earn more than me.”

Seventeen shrugged with a grin. “I’ll just get a job.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

She didn’t answer, just smiled.



A few minutes later, Archie got a call from work—an emergency meeting at the precinct. He had to head back.

“Stay put and don’t wander off,” he said, grabbing his jacket and rushing out the door.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut, Seventeen exhaled, collapsing onto the sofa.

Ten seconds later, she bolted upright, slung her bag over her shoulder, and prepared to leave.

But then—

Rip—

The sound of leather tearing was sharp and quick.

Then came the clatter of cash, magazines, and metal parts spilling onto the wooden floor.

Seventeen stared down at the mess, silent for three seconds.

The pay stub on the coffee table was now buried under a pile of cash, glaringly ironic.

For the first time, she thought to herself: This is fucking ridiculous.

(To be continued)