Chương 69: Money Laundering 101

How do you launder money? My breathing is steady with this question, it's not the first time I asked it to myself, and it won't be my last, however, this is a twist of my own words. Usually, I say to myself: How do I help my mother? I don't know why really, I didn't really have the time to think about it. Not the HOW but the WHY, why do I want to save my mother? This isn't something I had the time to sit with and understand myself. But today, I have time. I have lots of time.

My breathing is smooth, it's flowing in my body, through my lungs, my diaphragm dropping down in my torso, the air passes through my back to support my arched position, everything is a flow, a flow needs to move, but the movement does not need to be noticeable, a flow needs to move but a flow can be as subtle as the change in my breathing, as the way my body plays together with gravity as I hang in the air. Legs tight around a small branch that would definetly be creaking if I wasn't that small and weightless.

Blood is pooling in my head, it feels natural. Just like my desire to help my mother. It's more of a natural thing. I didn't snap my finger and decided to save her for x and y reason, it was something that came out naturally, I don't know why, to be honest, I really don't consider her as my mom. I never could. My MOM is Maria Williams, she's blond, just like my MOTHER, green eyes, compared to my current mother. It doesn't mean I'm not grateful to her. I think?

To be honest, my feelings are kind of a mess, been a mess since I was born. It's a bad mess, a really bad mess, a mess of training, pain, and weird shit that cannot be categorized. Still, I don't think I need to categorize it. I want to get my mother out of prostitution, maybe it's a hero complex, maybe it's something else, maybe it's because I'm searching for anything and everything anything and everything anything ANYTHING anyfuckinthinh any thing annnnnythinh to-! My finger pushes up. The bolt flies.

The worm explodes. The middle of it's body at least. It didn't even had the time to fully come out. At least, it has the time to writhe and die compared to the eagle. What a luck. This is the kind of thing I can respect. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Look at it. Fighting. Wriggling. Writhing on the ground while searching for a better place to die in than under this despicable rain. Just like me. Don't be like the eagle nebe. You're like the worm nebe.

You need to be like the wolf nebe. Twisting off the low branch, my body flows, it flows into a careful roll over the branch, until I can hang down, and safely let myself fall down on the ground. Just in front of the dying worm. I've been hunting some of them for a while now, they're disgusting and fleshy, I don't like them, so weak and fleshy. They're big though. Bigger than any worm I've ever seen, I don't know if that's normal, or if there's some magic bullshit going on. But the worm is the size of my legs.

They love this spot, I don't know why, but the first time I found one of the giant worms, it was when I was on a rock. It directly went back inside when my feet landed on the dirt though. I quickly figured out that they're doing something weird with vibration, just like worms in my past life did. And just like in my past life. The rain can summon them. How much would I love to be able to summon an idea, summon a way to get my mother out of this mess. Not the blood mess that is my bolt, the one I'm grabbing now.

No, this one doesn't matter, it's gonna get clean with the rain anyway. What really matters is my mother. And my father. And most importantly. My grandfather. How is one supposed to save their mother from prostitution, and from their abusive father, how someone is supposed to keep the only person that cares about them in this life close when they need to stay hidden? When the little opportunities I give her are fumbled by the hands of that little eagle protected by that bad bad bad wolf.

If the eagle falls and wriggle to the ground like this worm. The wolf will smell the blood and start hunting with his little pack. And wolves are dangerous. Really dangerous. There's only one chance for me to take care of the wolf. It's to be stronger than the wolf. Unfortunately, I'm weak, and things stronger than the wolf are coming if the army he's making is pointing me on the right direction. Strength won't help me. Well, it would.

But getting that strength will take too long, too slow, I need to be able to act. Now. As a weak two years old. One who's pretty good at shooting crossbows. So, how can one save their mother from prostitution when the responsibles cannot dissapear? The answer to that is simple. One must be.... subtle. Truly subtle. Subtler than one has ever seen, playing with subtle ideas, get cunning. Get creative, have fun, just like drug dealers had fun finding ways to launder their money. So how does one launder money?

How does one be subtle? That is a great question. Maybe I'll find my answer during my hunt? Reloading my crossbow and climbing onto the tree again, I ready myself for the next worm. Those worms are so weak. So wriggly. So dumb. So small. So young. So small. They're stronger than the worms I know, but still so weak compared to others. They have their oddities. They have their quirks. They hide well, really well, really super well, but when someone is aware of their existence, their hiding place get useless.

They are weak, fleshy, with two little ha-! With no hands, no limbs, moving as if they were constantly in pain. And they love the rain. They. Love. The. Rain. That's why I can't empathize with those insects. I'll be better. I'll be bigger, I'll be smarter, even if I'm small, even if I'm young, even if I'm so so small, even if I'm stronger than the other childrens around but still so weak against adults. I have my oddities. I have my quirks.

I hide well, really well, really super well, that's the quirk with being invisible, but nobody must be aware of me, nobody must search for me or my power will crumble. I am weak, I am fleshy, with two little hands that can do nothing but hold a crossbow relatively well, with the flow, rushing through my veins and making me move like a contemporary dancer, doing my best to ignore the constant pain ravaging my body by following the flow. And I hate the rain. I. Hate. The. Rain. That's why I'll be subtle.

I'll be better. They won't see me coming. Quite literally.