Outside, the panic was immediate, unlike the idle disbelief that paralyzed the friends inside the café. They hesitated for about two seconds too long than it was good for them. Even Speckles could hardly move. He was trembling like leaves within Fiddler’s warm embrace.

Speckles, Fiddler thought about his pet, watching him. He petted him absentmindedly; a mere nervous gesture to prevent himself from shaking. For all of his life Speckles had lived among humans that had yelled at him, chased him and threatened to break his little neck. He had always been rightfully angry and upset about it and he was very vocal about it too. But Fiddler had never seen him scared before. And Fiddler just knew that he was sensing something, no one else had noticed yet.

Speckles ears twitched. He tried to bury himself a little deeper into Fiddler’s lap.

The musician raised his head. He only now noticed that they were the last costumers in here.

“Guys” Fiddler did not realize how alarmed his voice sounded until everyone – even Speckles – turned their heads towards him.

But it was too late. The door flew open with such force, that Nima stumbled backwards and nearly dropped her keys.

Six masked men came storming inside, guns drawn, like they had expected a lot more than the three remaining friends inside.

“Hands up!” The first one of them yelled and all but Fiddler followed the order, no questions asked. Noah’s aura immediately turned a whole shade darker.

“Hands up!” The man repeated the order in specific regards to Fiddler’s apparent refusal. He was too preoccupied trying to soothe Speckles and he was worried the monkey would be startled and shot if he were to suddenly raise his hands.

“Fiddler…” Noah whispered between gritted teeth. “Put your hands up”

But the nervous finger had already come loose on the trigger. A shot was fired, followed by Nima screaming.

Noah was yet faster. He got up; his chair hit the ground with an impact almost as sharp as the bullet itself. In the same, swift movement he hooked one of his feet around the leg of Fiddler’s chair and it fell just in time for Fiddler to accidentally dodge the bullet. It only barely grazed his skin, leaving a red smudge on his cheek.

“Who told you guys to use your weapons?” A voice scolded from the open door. Yet, no one dared to look back or lower their guns.

Fiddler was still on the ground. He did not dare touch the wound, but he could feel the warm blood on his cheek and a thumbing pain in his shin and palms from where he had unexpectedly hit the ground. But it was better than a bullet in his head, right? He could have died right here.

He stole a quick glance at Noah, who appeared to be alert, but still somewhat calm. Like he knew exactly how to handle a situation like this. Like he had done this before. Fiddler realized that he did not even know half of Noah’s story.

Another white haired man entered the café. He swatted his hands at the armed men.

“I thought we had established that we don’t want anyone harmed” He continued, but no one reacted.

He was not particularly tall and built rather slim with long fingers and pale skin. There was a second man, right at his feet, looking somewhat sickish and like he could not be bothered to be here at all.

The white haired man clicked his tongue at the lack of response. He shook his head, then stopped in the middle of the room to have a fine look around like he was filing through the situation in his head, putting everything into its respective place.

“Could’ve been more” He finally concluded his thoughts, followed by a shrug. “But I can work with it, I guess” He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

His hand covered half his eyes and his head was bowed slightly as he suddenly pointed at Nima who was still standing frozen at the door.

Fiddler noticed how his heart picked up an unhealthy pace. He did not even know what they were going to do to them. But he did not want Nima to be the first.

“Her. Bring her to me” The man ordered and Fiddler thought it was weird because the man himself was standing less than three steps away from Nima. The sickish looking man groaned accordingly.

“Just go over there yourself, you lazy piece of-“

He was cut off by a falling chair that Nima must have accidentally pushed over upon stepping forward. Now, all eyes were on her, much to the white haired guy’s delight. He had changed his mind and actually closed the distance himself while he drew something from the inside pocket of his embroidered white lab coat.

“Don’t worry, this will only hurt a bit”

Fiddler could not see the stranger smile, but he could hear the joy in his voice. Nima caught her breath, then inhaled sharply.

The man held her arm up and positioned the very fine needle of a small syringe on her skin. He began taking a sample of her blood. He was very professional about it and his hands followed a natural routine as everyone watched him, taken aback by what almost felt like fascination and awe. Nima did not look in pain either, yet she was mildly disturbed by the stranger’s unknown intentions.

Their shared confusion served for a fake sense of serenity inside the café but it could not drown out the muffled screams and sirens from outside that were still painting a very real picture of the bizarre situation they had found themselves in.

The stranger was done. He had not even taken an awful lot of blood, only a few droplets that he let tickle down on a little petri dish. He wore a green goggle on top of his head that was made to cover only one eye. He pulled it down in order to have a closer look at the blood sample.

He did all of this like he was in no rush at all while all three guns were still pointed at the three hostages. His sickish looking companion had nothing to say, but he groaned externally and internally every now and then, reminding everyone of his existence and the fact that he really did not want to be here at all.

“A mind reader” The white haired man suddenly exclaimed in inappropriate delight. He took a second glance at Nima who was feeling bold enough to stare him down, but she could not fool anyone with her knees trembling like that.

It took Fiddler a second to put one and one together, but when he did, he was stunned. Was the man talking about Nima? Was she Blessed, like him? A mind reader? He had not known that. And now he had to fight every urge to get up and verbally express his surprise to this news. But the barrel of the gun, still pointed at him, reminded him explicitly to remain quiet and worry in silence about any inappropriate thought he had ever had in front of Nima.

The stranger seemed to be done and turned on his heel to fixate Fiddler with his quite disturbing gaze. Only as he came up close, he realized what exactly was so eerie about that man’s eyes: They were of two entirely different colors. Fiddler had never seen anything like it. Was he Cursed? Was this part of his mark?

Fiddler was still sitting on the ground, holding Speckles tight to his chest. He needed Speckle’s reassuring presence just as much as the monkey needed his. He was glad to be able to bury his fingers in the monkey’s soft fur. It was easier to face the man’s piercing glance that way. In return, Speckles needed someone to hold him down so he would not jump the man’s face. Fiddler figured that a surprise monkey attack would end badly for everyone involved.

Staring at the pale man in fear as well as the strangest kind of awe, it suddenly struck him how harmless he looked. His face was smooth and angelic, almost robotic, like he was merely mimicking human expressions to a disturbing degree of perfection.

“Are you still scared?” He lifted a perfect eyebrow as he crouched down in front of Fiddler who could neither deny, nor confirm this question. He was startled, frozen and trembling all over when he wanted to keep his cool so badly.

He was scared in the same way a child was scared of the doctor. A doctor who was likely going to have his patient shot if they showed any signs of struggle. Yet, if Fiddler had not known any better, there was something about the man that looked as though he was the kind of doctor who would treat you to a lollipop if you were well behaved.

“It will only hurt if you struggle” The man offered some text book words that sent a shiver right down Fiddler’s spine nonetheless. His arm was stiff and the doctor had to use light force to gain access to the ripest one of his veins.

“I said hold still” The words came out sharper the second time around and Fiddler could have sworn to see the face of an angel slip for a split second. Although he was likely not older by an awful lot, the calm cut of his voice had Fiddler melt into the memory of being about four years old and going through his first and only medical examination in the orphanage.

“Give the boy a break. He’s, like, 12” The sickish looking man suddenly interfered, but barely moved closer or made any attempt to actually step in.

Fiddler bit his lip as the needle pierced through his skin. The doctor continued the procedure from before: Blood sample, petri dish, goggles and the stunned revelation at the end.

“Well, this one’s interesting” He frowned and checked again, his soft unrevealing smile turned into a crooked, amused grin. “I’m almost curious to ask you to play for us. But I guess this would be our death sentence, huh?” His lack of fear was clearly mocking him and Fiddler could not blame him for that.

“I wouldn’t do that” He protested because he needed to. If only to reassure himself.

One corner of the doctor’s lip curled up. “Of course not” He clicked his tongue and got up, carefully sliding the sealed petri dish into his pocket. His eyes found Noah who was by now standing straight, ready to knock down the table separating them at any given moment. He was a good bit taller than the doctor and his slender, muscular statue was visibly built for fighting more than anything the doctor could have kept hidden underneath his lab coat.

Fiddler held his breath. He barely dared to move his eyes away.

“You won’t find anything here, pal” Noah tried to reason, unwilling to give his blood away to a stranger.

The doctor shook his head. “I think that’s for me to decide”

“Dicey” The sickish man’s voice had lost a nuance of his tiredness. In fact, he sounded slightly alert. “Wrap it up, Doctor Weirdo. We need to leave” His body language was not nearly as urgent as his voice suggested. He was looking down at his dark green painted nails that matched the mud brown color of his hair. “They’re coming”

The doctor – Dicey – bowed his head ever so slightly, visibly disappointed. His left blue eye flickered dangerously at Noah. There was a sudden nonverbal communication freezing the air between the two fair haired men and the tension left everyone around them catch their breaths.

“Get a room, you two” The sickish man grumbled, still loud enough for everyone to hear. Speckles seemed to be the only one responding. He suddenly struggled his way out of Fiddler’s sweaty grasp and finally did what he should have done at least ten minutes ago. He jumped right at Dicey’s face, all four claws drawn and ready. That way, no bullet was precise enough to hit the monkey without the danger of taking out Dicey as well.

Noah seized the moment to knock out the closest one of the masked men with a fierce kick to the head. His body had entered warrior mode and he quickly dodged three more bullets shot into his general directions. With his minions distracted, Dicey was left dealing with Speckles on his own, despite his very verbal demands for help.

Fiddler tumbled underneath the table. He would not let go of his violin, but at the same time, he was not brave enough to actually draw it like one would have drawn an actual weapon.

But it was a weapon, he knew, but never lingered on this thought for too long. He saw Nima on the ground on the other side of the room and prayed that she was hiding the same way he did and that she had not been struck down by a loose bullet.

He held on to his violin case like he was holding on for his dear life. And he probably was, whispering silent words to the beautifully carved wood inside its leather case, begging and praying that all three of them would make it out alive. Like the instrument was somehow capable of doing the magic on its own. Like all it needed was Fiddler’s trust and his voice to come and save him like his Blessing had once saved him from a very short life and humiliating death on the street.