Chapter 2

"Dad!" another voice calls out from over the stairway. A boy aged fifteen, way taller than the other but nevertheless a striking mirror image of the triplets, comes running down the steps with his twin brother in tow, who are clasping a fire extinguisher in one hand. The twins are not wearing any gas mask as they search their way towards the professor and the triplets, waving and slapping their hands against those wisps of smoke greeting and kissing their faces.

"Are you okay, Dad?" The boy lands his hand upon Professor Ayn's shoulder. "What happened?"

Professor Ayn turns, touches the boy's hand with his gloved one, and smiles.

"All is jake, Hawk. No need to worry."

"It looks like there's no fire," Hawk's twin brother murmurs softly, staring at the laboratory door, eyes already watering. The boy slowly put the fire extinguisher down and looks at Professor Ayn. "Dad?"

Professor Ayn shifts his gaze.

"Yes, Tesla. There is none. Thank God."

Seconds later, a swarm of Crimson droids storm their way inside the basement shortly follow by those Silver droids.

"All is jake, robots! All is jake!" Professor Ayn lifts one gloved hand at the Crimson droids in a warding off gesture. He then cranes his neck toward the Silver droids. "Clean up my laboratory and fix every thing that needs to be fixed, all right? Now move, robots!"

The Silver droids systematically wheel their way towards the laboratory door. Moments later, the sound of vacuum-cleaners...

The smokes slowly disappear.

The professor and the triplets pull their gas mask off, so grateful to inhale fresh air again.

"Go on, kids. Go back upstairs. Nothing to worry about now. Everything's jake," Professor Ayn orders with a wave of his hand.

The kids are more than glad to be dismissed. They were preparing for school when the explosion happened. And those studious kids do not wish to be kept nor delayed from attending school for a long time, great of all if it is the day of their exam. The kids start walking back upstair except for one.

"I can see that you're on to something, Dad," Hawk asks, looking at the professor quizzically. "May I please know what you are trying to invent?"

Professor Ayn turns to look at his second to the eldest son and smiles.

"You are right, Hawk. I am trying to invent some thing." The professor gently strokes his silvery beard with his one gloved hand, a smile still plastering his face. "But I will not go as far as to reveal what it is. Not yet. You know it is classified. And above all, it is a surprise."

"Not even a clue, Dad?"

Professor Ayn chuckles good-naturedly.

"Not even a clue, Hawk. I'm truly sorry."

"I think you should take a break, Dad," Hawk says gingerly, not wanting Ayn to misjudge this statement as an attack on his hardcore science-ing. The boy notice how strange their dad's brown eyes are. How bloodshot. How sunken-looking due to poor sleep and over-thinking. And there is nothing new or even surprising about that since their dad is a great scientist. Professor Ayn is a living think tank. A great deep thinker. A brainiac, if there really is such a word as funny as that. And just like those famous professional writers and playwrights living in this time and age, scientists also use their creativity for a living. And most of the time scientist like their dad prefers thinking a lot, toying about an idea a lot to the point of figuratively tearing and wearing their brain tissues.

Professor Ayn playfully ruffles Hawk's thin hair and beams.

"I'm serious, Dad."

"I know you are, son." Professor Ayn pushes back his thick eyeglass up his nose, his face now solemn. "And thank you for your apparent concern, Hawk. I really appreciate it. I really do."

Hawk looks at the professor with such love and respect very evident on his pale face.

"Dad, we're so lucky to have you. I really think that you are the best dad in the world." The boy let out a sigh and gives a bitter sweet smile. "I guess I'm being biased now for saying all of this but who isn't? You manages to take care of us without Mom. You loves us. And I think that's more than enough, Dad. You-You don't have to prove anything. Because you already did."

"Hey, that's so sweet of you. Thanks, son." Professor Ayn leans forward and gently kisses Hawk on the forehead, all the while careful not to leave smudges of charcoals on his son's face from his dirty beard. He then looks at Hawk, grinning mildy. "Okay, Hawk. Now you can spill the beans. Don't be shy. Tell me what you want. I was deeply touched by your sweetness I could even buy you your own car."

"Dad! It's not what you think." Hawk touches his chin, one brow arching, eyes turning heavenward. "Well, having my own car sounds really great but I'm still a minor. I'm just fifteen, remember? I can't possibly own a car. And I don't even know how to drive." He returns his gaze at Ayn and grins. "But thanks for the offer, anyway."

Professor Ayn laughs heartily.

"Very well, Hawk. By the way, I don't need a break. Not at all." The professor pats Hawk on the shoulder, his face now thoughtful. "I have to do this thing. This is my passion. It keeps me pre-occupied. And it keeps me from thinking about your...Mom."

Hawk nods slowly. He gets their dad's point. He will rather see their dad drowning himself doing science in his Magic laboratory than see him sprawling on the floor with a bottle of wine in one hand. Though Hawk highly doubts the latter's possibility because their dad is such a very health-concious man and he is yet to see him drunk nor even smelled of alcohol by any chance. He knows their dad. The only vice of Professor Ayn that he can come up to, if that can be called as such, is doing science. Inside his laboratory. Alone. After all, Professor Ayn is a very smart man. He knows better than to waste his very precious time doing unproductive and detrimental things.

If this is the only way to lessen their dad's pain regarding their mom's sudden death three years ago then so be it. Hawk can live with that.

"Besides, this is my passion," Professor Ayn reminds. A Silver droid with its long silver hose being dragged by it like a headless over-sized white mealy earthworm wheels its way blindlessly towards them. The professor steps forward and gropes for a specific red button on top of the droid and pushes it. The droid abruptly comes to a stop, all its faint lights goes out. The hose is slowly being pulled inside the droid automatically by some internal mechanism working on it. He cranes his neck at Hawk. "I'll go crazy if I stopped. You do not want a crazy man for a dad, would you, Hawk? I know you don't. I can see it in your two tantalizing eyes."

Hawk crosses his arms and grins.

"Most people in the Scientific Community already labeled you as a mad scientist, Dad, in case you forgot. But don't worry. We still love you even if you are crazy."

"I'm a very lucky crazy daddy of five, then. Good for me, " Professor Ayn opines, cackling. He returns his gaze at the droid, pats it on its "head" and pushes another button. The Silver droid comes to life again and then starts wheeling away from them. The professor glances over his shoulder and look at Hawk with a bitter smile plastering his face. "But kidding aside, Hawk. I can't possibly abandon all of these. These are my lifeworks. And it is like a caffeine that I can't seem to avoid. It's a part of me now. And I do believe that you can relate to at least one of my statements, right, son?"

"Yes, Dad. I can relate. Caffeine is really addictive. Especially the Espresso," Hawk agrees, slightly shaking his head, smiling. As usual, their dad is good at giving relatable examples for conveying himself to gain sympathy. Their dad is a very articulate man. And too rational and sane. The reason the Scientific Community regard their dad as a hopeless mad scientist will always be a great mystery to Hawk.

Hawk hugs Professor Ayn and starts going back upstairs.

A little girl stands upon the last flight of the stairway.

Hawk grimaces, slowing his pace.

As always, Lolita is wearing nothing!

A flush creeps up Hawk's face. He hastily shifts his gaze, trying to act as if he doesn't not see her at all. But of course, he does see her and Lolita knows that.

Lolita will always know.

"Hawk, let's play again, please?" Her voice is as soft as the wind gently caressing Hawk's ears. The little girl raises both hands.

With a heavy heart, Hawk shakes his head.

"M-Maybe another time, Lolita. I'm truly sorry." Not wanting to but knowing full well that he cannot really resist the urge to do so, he throws a quick glance at the little girl, dreading but at the same time admiring her beauty.

Lolita has not changed a bit. Same sweet angelic face, pre-pubescent body, childish mind, and a squeaky voice. She is as milky-white as a porcelain doll that she almost looks like one. Almost like a non-human being.

Or is she?

Her eyes are the orangey-red of flames in a woodstove. No irises, no pupils and no whites. Her eyes are completey orange- an orange that shifts and flickers. She is on fire inside, and her eyes are like the little isinglass portholes in stove doors.

Six years ago both Hawk and Lolita were still nine when they met inside the gazebo located at the back of the mansion. They became playmates and best of friends. Lolita was always there when Hawk needed someone to talk with, someone who would listen to him when no one seemed to care.

After six years, Hawk is already fifteen now while Lolita is still nine.

Nine!

"But why, Hawk?" There is a trace of deep sadness in the little girl's tiny voice...and anger.

Hawk sighs.

"I-I told you to dress up but...but you're not doing it."

Lolita's forehead creases, flaming eyesockets narrowing. She looks down, surveying herself.

When the little girl looks back, Hawk is gone.

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