REMEMBRANCE | an ejen ali fanfiction

05 | The Rundown Shop

Ali stared at a rundown grocery store, the sign flickering and sparking in the dead of night. Its shelves were rusted and loose, with only a couple deflated bags of chips laid out for display.

He held the phone to his ear, eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

If anything, it looked like something that came straight out of a horror game. The shop was hidden in the busy streets of Cyberaya, but when it comes into full focus, it stuck out from the rest of the cleaner, more modern restaurants like a sore thumb.

His father's voice came through the other end. "Yes, Ali, that's the place," he assured him. "Is there something wrong?"

A surveillance camera across the street shifted its lens, zeroing in on the boy.

"I was expecting something less, y'know..." Ali trailed off. "Less old? Less conspicuous? How is this not suspicious?"

A sigh. "Get in the shop, Ali," his father groused. "There's no time to be gallivanting around like toddlers."

"Fine, fine! I'll go."

He terminated the call with a grunt, shoving the phone into his pockets before glancing at the store itself. The wallpapers were rotten and shedding, the tiles in dire need of a good scrub with dust piling in the corners.

Yeah, it didn't look weird at all. Totally normal.

Ali chewed on his bottom lip, debating the pros and cons of meeting this new partner of his that his father assigned him to. The idea of turning around and going home sounded really tempting right about now.

He whipped around, glowering at the security camera and its blinking red dot. He sees the shutters of the device narrow and center, and he just knows that his father's watching on the other side, waiting for his reaction. If he were any less civilized, he'd give the thing the finger and wipe his hands from this sketchy deal. Who's to say his dad wasn't sending him into the den of a bunch of serial killers?

But ultimately, his sense of duty overcame his hesitation. Was that what his dad was teaching him? "Responsibility"? It's already more exhausting than it's worth.

Taking a deep breath, he held onto the straps of his backpack and held onto the bar handles on the door.

The door handles were greasy, the dust on the glass panes obscuring the view within. Ali narrowed his eyes, wiping the layer of dust with his hand to catch a glimpse on the inside. It was dim, with measly looking shelves and products out for sale, and no one behind the beaten counter.

Here goes nothing.

He pulled the door wide open and stepped inside. A pungent smell of chlorine assaulted his nose, the entire shop smelling like an indoor pool that's been boiled alive throughout the entire summer. His soles nearly tripped on the tiles, but he caught his balance before he could fall on his face.

"What a dump," he muttered, shivering at the state of the place. There was no way he'd find anyone here. He'd have better luck searching for a needle in a thousand haystacks in the dark with gloves.

What he didn't account for was the voice.

"Do you need anything?"

Ali whipped to his right, eyes darting to the figure that'd appeared out of nowhere. It was a woman with hair tied into a high bun, a cheap plastic ball pen stabbed into the bundle of hair. Through her glasses, he could feel her cold stare linger on him.

He didn't like her. Everything about this woman screams 'danger!'.

"Yes, uh," Ali stammered, gripping the hem of his shirt with clammy palms. "I, well, um—I—"