The Last Particle

28.06.2024 11:00

Lufthansa flight Geneva - Sarajevo

Soaring above Geneva, Tomas leaned back in his window seat, taking a last look at the shimmering expanse of Lake Geneva. The city below, framed by the distant Alps, was a breathtaking sight, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He hadn’t planned on making the trip—it was a spur-of-the-moment decision after a late-night call with his mother. Her soft voice had stirred a familiar longing within him, reminding him of the ties that held their family together. Despite the years and choices that had led him to live apart, being with Marko always felt like coming home. As his younger brother, Marko had always looked up to him, and in many ways, Tomas had viewed him as someone to protect, even when their conversations turned into playful sparring matches. Their bond, forged through shared childhood memories and the weight of unspoken love, was unbreakable.

Yet, after a few days spent together, Tomas felt a complex swirl of emotions. There was joy in being near Marko, but also a bittersweet reminder of how easily life could shift. He relished their time together, but it was laced with a nagging awareness of how little he had shown that love over the years. In the warmth of Marko's laughter, he recognized the closeness they shared—a bond that time and distance could not sever, even if he sometimes wished he had done more to nurture it.

One of the highlights of his visit had been a night spent at a lively beer garden in Munich. They had settled at a rustic wooden table, surrounded by the hum of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Hours slipped by as they exchanged stories, shared their hopes and fears, and indulged in hearty German fare—Weisswurst and mustard. With each beer, Tomas felt the burdens of his life lift just a little, replaced by the warmth of brotherhood and a sense of belonging that he had long yearned for.

As the plane took direction toward Sarajevo, Tomas’s thoughts turned to his nephew. He had spent time browsing toy stores and baby boutiques, but each time he was met with confusion. What did a baby need? Was it better to buy a cute outfit or a plush toy? He knew he wasn’t the best at picking gifts, and the fear of getting it wrong weighed on him. Instead, he had opted for something more substantial—a €100,000 investment account to be accessible when his nephew turned eighteen. It was his way of saying, “I want you to have more than I did.” He wanted to ensure his nephew never had to experience the fear of poverty, a specter that loomed too large in his own past.

Yet, there was something inherently impersonal about it. A practical gift, yes, but not one filled with the warmth and love he hoped to convey. He imagined his nephew, as a young adult, receiving a letter detailing the investment and what it could mean for his future, and he felt a twinge of guilt for not finding something tangible to wrap in bright paper and a bow.

“Next time, I guess… Uncle will get you something nice you can love as a child,” he murmured under his breath. “Uncle”—the word stirred something deep in him, probably the closest he would ever get to “Father.” But it is what it is.

The flight began to experience slight turbulence, and the cabin lights flickered for a few seconds as they were leaving Geneva. Tomas’s attention shifted from the pages of his novel, Unhinged Fury by Allan G., to the flight around him. It was a common occurrence, but it jolted him nonetheless, mirroring the unrest brewing inside him. He attempted to refocus on the story, yet the internal turmoil and mixed emotions from his visit clouded his mind.

As he reflected on the fleeting joy of his trip, he recognized a deeper emptiness that lingered in his chest. He planned to spend a few days in Sarajevo before returning to Trebinje, hoping to fix up the vineyard and the family home a bit. Maybe some work on the land would help clear his mind and ground him once more. There was solace to be found in labor, a way to connect with the past while building something for the future.

He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if the changes he envisioned were enough to fill the void he often felt.

As the plane soared toward home, Tomas understood one thing: the flight may have been short, but the journey within would continue long after the wheels touched the ground.

28.06.2024

Sarajevo 17:15

As the plane touched down in Sarajevo, a wave of familiarity washed over Tomas. The Ilidza skyline—if you could call it that—felt like a welcoming embrace. The smell of sulfur from the thermal baths was as unpleasant as ever, but it brought back memories of home.

Taking a taxi from the airport was always a risk, and Tomas had learned ages ago to negotiate the fare upfront. It wasn’t just about the money; paying €50 for a 7-kilometer ride in Sarajevo went against his core principles of not getting shafted by random taxi drivers.

After settling into his penthouse apartment in Pofalici, Tomas stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over him like a comforting blanket. He closed his eyes, letting the steam envelop him, washing away the remnants of travel and the emotional heaviness lingering from his visit to Munich. The familiar scent of his shower gel—a subtle blend of cedar and citrus—evoked memories of simpler times, moments when life felt less complicated and filled with possibility.

Once refreshed, he emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly lighter, as if the water had rinsed away some of the weight pressing on his chest. He plopped down in front of his gaming setup, a sanctuary adorned with LED lights. The screen flickered to life, and he felt a rush of anticipation as he prepared to lose himself in the chaotic world of Escape from Tarkov. It was more than just a game; it was an escape from reality, a chance to dive into a high-stakes environment where every decision mattered, where he could be someone else, if only for a few hours.

With his headset snug over his ears, he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he joined a match. The sounds of gunfire, the crunch of glass beneath his character's feet, and the distant boom of grenades filled his ears, drowning out the cacophony of thoughts swirling in his mind. He loved the thrill of strategizing, the intensity of high-stakes encounters where one moment could mean the difference between victory and defeat. But just as he thought he was finding his groove, disaster struck. A grenade exploded out of nowhere, sending his character sprawling across the virtual ground.

“Stupid scavs with nade aimbots!” he muttered, frustration boiling over as he stared at the screen. The sudden demise felt personal, an unwelcome reminder of how quickly things could turn chaotic, both in the game and in his life. He leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off the irritation.

Before he could regain his composure, his phone rang. He glanced at the unfamiliar number and hesitated. The anger from the game still simmered, and he almost ignored the call. But curiosity got the better of him, and he picked up.

“Hey, Tomas.”

“What do you want, Emir? And how do you know I’m back?” Tomas blurted, recognizing the voice instantly, despite the years and distance that had stretched between them.

“No need to be rude; it’s good to hear your voice,” Emir replied, his tone cheerful yet slightly tentative. "Lejla was at the airport when you landed, she saw you and mentioned it over coffee. I thought I’d reach out.”

Tomas felt a flicker of surprise mixed with something else—nostalgia? “Lejla, huh? I haven’t heard from her in ages. What’s she up to these days?”

“She’s still at the engineering firm, juggling projects and family like the rest of us,” Emir said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Anyway, I read about you the past few months, and I felt like shit about how we ended things. Thought we could catch up. It’s been too long, and I don’t even remember why we argued back then.”

Tomas considered the offer. It had been years since their falling out—over something as trivial as a business disagreement that had spiraled out of control. In the heat of their arguments, old wounds had reopened, and grievances long buried surfaced, leading to words exchanged that they both regretted. Emir, now 41, was an engineer with a struggling construction company, and his wife, Azra, was an architect. They had two kids, ages 4 and 9; the older one he’d met when she was just born, while the younger one he only knew through hearsay.

But god, it was so long ago, and if he was honest with himself, Emir wasn’t entirely in the wrong. The tension had built slowly, ignited by the pressures of their ambitions and the weight of expectations they both carried. Tomas had been so focused on proving himself that he had let pride cloud his judgment.

As he weighed Emir’s invitation, a flicker of suspicion crept in. Did Emir genuinely want to reconnect, or was he looking for an angle? He’d heard enough about Emir’s struggles to know that he might see an opportunity to leverage their past friendship for some benefit. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, but Tomas was willing to take the risk.

Reconnecting with Emir might help him reclaim a part of his past he had lost, and that prospect didn’t seem so bad—even if he had to keep his guard up.

“I’m more of a beer guy. Would Azra let you out tonight for a few drinks? To be honest, I could use some company lately.”

“Let me check with her, but I think I can swing it. It’s been ages since we hung out,” Emir said, a genuine warmth returning to his voice.

“Alright, see you at the Opera at 21:00,” Tomas said, trying to sound casual, even as thoughts of what it might mean to reconnect buzzed in his mind.

28.06.2024 23:15

Opera bar, Sarajevo

The loud music thumped like a heartbeat, mingling with the animated chatter of patrons filling the dimly lit space. The air was thick with laughter, cigarette smoke, and the scent of spilled beer, creating a lively atmosphere that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming. Emir and Tomas sat across from each other, their table littered with empty glasses, the remnants of their drinks glistening under the low lights.

Tomas leaned back, a broad grin plastered across his face as he recounted his latest misadventure. “... and then I fucking pushed the fire alarm button. Can you believe it? Here I am, an old fart, piss drunk, pants torn on my knee, standing in the foyer of a hotel in Osaka at 4:30 in the morning, waiting for slowly evacuating guests to get down so I can apologize. Man, I never sobered up faster in my entire life!”

Emir burst into laughter, the sound rising above the music. “Only you could turn a night out into an evacuation drill! Did you at least get to explain yourself?”

“Not a chance,” Tomas replied, shaking his head, his smile still lingering. “The look on the security guard’s face was priceless. He was ready to throw me out. But hey, I still made it to my room without being kicked out. A win is a win, right?”

As he spoke, a group of familiar faces passed by, stopping to greet him. They were old friends, some from school, others from long-forgotten business ventures. Most of them were just faces now, a blur in the haze of memory and alcohol. They exchanged quick hellos, laughter, and slaps on the back, each interaction pulling Tomas further into the web of nostalgia.

“Man, you’ve still got it,” Emir said, watching Tomas charm the crowd effortlessly. “It’s like you haven’t missed a beat since you left.”

“Maybe,” Tomas replied, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “But some of those beats were pretty damn off.”

Emir raised his glass, a knowing look in his eyes. “To off beats then! And to making sure we don’t set off any alarms tonight!”

They clinked their glasses together, the sound ringing out against the backdrop of laughter and music. Tomas felt a warmth spread through him, a blend of alcohol and camaraderie, but beneath it, a thread of anxiety remained. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Emir was still sizing him up, searching for some angle to exploit in their reconnection.

“So,” Emir began, leaning in closer, his voice lowered slightly, “you mentioned before that you’ve been working on some interesting projects. Care to share?”

Tomas paused, feeling the weight of Emir's question settle over him like a damp blanket. The warmth from the drinks and the laughter around them felt distant for a moment. He sighed, the air heavy with unspoken truths.

“I’m done with business projects,” he finally admitted, surprising even himself with the words. “After the exit, I thought I’d find something worthwhile to dive into. But honestly? I’ve just been wasting time, drifting from one day to the next, trying to figure out what’s next.”

Emir leaned back, surprise flashing across his face. “Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who’d just sit back. What happened to all that ambition?”

“It fizzled out,” Tomas said, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. “I spent years chasing success, thinking it would bring me happiness. But now, I’m not so sure. I’ve been thinking about fixing up the vineyard in Trebinje—maybe even the house there. It’s a mess, but it’s got potential. I am actually traveling down to Hercegovina in two days from now to figure out what to do with it with a clear head.”

“Your family’s vineyard? That sounds like a hell of a project,” Emir replied, his interest piqued. “What do you have in mind?”

Tomas smiled faintly, picturing the overgrown vines and crumbling walls. “I want to restore the house and revitalize the vineyard. It could be a place to escape, maybe even create something beautiful. But it’ll take a lot of work—more than I can handle alone.”

Emir’s eyes glinted with opportunity. “I can help with that. My company has experience in renovations. If you need assistance, I can send a crew down there. I’ll even give you a discount for the project.”

The offer hung in the air between them, and Tomas felt a mix of gratitude and wariness. “I appreciate it, Emir, but I don’t want to put you in a position where it feels like a charity case.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emir shot back, a laugh escaping his lips. “It’s a win-win. I get to keep my team busy, and you get a kickstart on your dream. Besides, I owe you after all those years. Let’s consider it a favor.”

Tomas mulled it over, weighing the pros and cons. There was something comforting about having a familiar ally, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being just a project to Emir—a potential path to a benefit, the risk for him was relatively small though. “Alright,” he finally said, “let’s talk about it more once I have a plan in place. I can use all the help I can get.”

“Great! I’ll hold you to that,” Emir replied, raising his glass again. “To new beginnings, then!”

“To new beginnings,” Tomas echoed, clinking his glass against Emir’s, this time feeling a sense of cautious optimism mingle with the underlying tension. As they drank, he tried to push aside his doubts, focusing instead on the possibilities ahead. Maybe reconnecting with Emir would lead to something worthwhile after all.

28.06.2024 23:00

Chiesa di Santa Maria della Vittoria, basement, Vatican

Cardinal Antonelli stood by a heavy wooden table, his hands clasped behind his back as he peered into the darkness. “The whispers are growing louder, Zephiel,” he began, his voice low and measured. “Chatter from the international community regarding G.A.I.A is no longer mere speculation. It has become a focal point of concern.”

Agent Zephiel, a Nephilim trained and nurtured within the sacred halls of the Vatican, emerged from the shadows, his cloak brushing the floor as he approached. “I sensed the shift, Your Eminence. The resurgence of that ancient name is alarming. There’s a charge in the air, one that will bring change to the world we built. The ancient conflict will be rekindled, just as it has been many times before.”

Nephilim, through history, were known by many names: Immortals in ancient Persia, Assassins in Medieval Europe, Ninjas in feudal Japan… They all shared one thing in common: they were the silent death to anyone who opposed their masters, skilled in information gathering and clandestine operations. Ever since that fateful day in Sodom and Gomorrah, when the resistance detonated itself to create a Zyphron void, they have been “less”... but still more than mere mortals.

Antonelli turned, his expression grave. “But what does it mean? Reports suggest that Zyphron particles may be surfacing on Earth again. These two are definitely connected, G.A.I.A runs on Zyphron like all the alien tech does.”

Zephiel nodded slowly, his voice steady but laden with foreboding. “In the lore we have preserved, Zyphron is described as a wellspring of power—an essence that could redefine existence. If it is indeed returning, it signals a time of reckoning, a potential reawakening of forces that were long thought to be contained. The generals in stasis might even awaken soon, and we need to be ready for their return”

“Humanity’s ignorance can be both a shield and a sword,” Zephiel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “The balance of power has been disrupted before. If Zyphron returns, we must prepare for those who would oppose us”

With a shared understanding of the challenges that lay ahead, they exchanged a final nod before moving deeper into the bowels of the church.