Sonnet of Silence: Nights in a Bar Eve

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Hana's subtle hand gesture and the solitary tap of her finger on the bar, signaling me to approach. "Can I assist you?" I asked.

"This is for you," Hana responded, sliding a glass towards me. Upon it was a charming panda, crafted from glass and set upon the base.

I shifted my gaze to Hana, observing as she delicately swept her raven-black hair behind her ear in a slow-motion ballet. This elegant gesture exposed her pale, porcelain neck and ear, illuminated by the soft candlelight. Framed by her hair's inky waterfall was Hana's face, a mesmerizing arrangement of striking features. Her eyes, as deep and mysterious as the night sky, held a piercing gaze that silently told tales of courage and resilience. Flanking them were her long, curling lashes, casting dancing shadows with each flutter.

The elegant slope of her sharp nose led down to her lips, a pair that seemed sculpted by divine hands. They were full and carried a natural blush, exuding an aura of sensuality that belied their usual silence. Her lips, though often quiet, were the gatekeepers to a world kept silent.

Hana was a woman of few words, her sentences always succinct—each syllable chosen with the precision of a seasoned poet. She could sit alone for hours, her silence permeating the bar more than the casual conversations. It was as though she bore an invisible fortress around her, walls constructed from her deep solitude.

Yet, her solitude held a strange, magnetic charm, an allure that tugged at heartstrings and whispered stories of a woman carrying her world's weight alone. She would often depart the bar without uttering a word, her absence leaving the room filled with a poignant longing. Her intensity was both daunting and enticing—a paradox that drew attention and made hearts bleed for her. Hana was a symphony of contradictions—bewitching, intimidating, elusive, yet impossible to ignore. Her mere presence was a silent sonnet, a hushed story leaving one longing for more.

"Thank you," I responded, offering her my most sincere smile. "Such a beautiful panda shape. I really like it." I touched the decoration, then busied my hands behind the bar before setting a plate of strawberries in front of her. "From me to you, Miss Hana." She didn't reply, but I had grown accustomed to detecting her joy's subtle signs, such as the dilation of her pupils upon seeing the strawberries. Her eyes were the only windows into her emotions, a realization that had taken me a year to make.

"Cringgg," the small bell above the bar door chimed, announcing a new guest. "Welcome," I greeted warmly. A young man appeared, his status as a BtP superhuman indicated by the object wrapped around his upper left arm. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on Michelle, and he made his way to the empty seat beside her, clearly captivated by her beauty.

(Good, let him distract her. I fully support it.

Maybe tonight won't require any drastic measures…. Or perhaps, it's inevitable.)

"I hope no one has claimed this spot?" the man asked, flashing a smile at Michelle. Michelle stared back, her face a picture of surprise as if she were beholding a knight in shining armor. Seeing the smirk on her lips, the man took it as an affirmation.

"Black Velvet," the man ordered, turning to me. Unconsciously, my gaze shifted towards the Master, who had just returned from the kitchen and had heard the order. In response to my glance, the Master made a subtle hand gesture, instructing me to make the drink.

(You're entrusting me with this task? Alright, let's see the outcome.)

My frustration welled up at the thought of preparing a Black Velvet—my versions never quite matched the Master's. The cocktail is a blend of dark beer, like Guinness, and champagne, each contributing half to the drink. The complexity lies in perfectly balancing these two elements, usually poured simultaneously from their respective bottles. When the glass is full, both components should be in perfect harmony, requiring skilled pouring to ensure an equal amount from each bottle, finishing at the same time. The pouring process takes a mere three seconds.

Taking a deep breath, I acknowledged that only a few bartenders could execute this procedure with grace—the Master was one of them, and I was still a novice. I hadn't yet perfected it. If the task had fallen upon me this time, it meant the guest wasn't special enough for the Master to intervene, or perhaps the Master had another reason. I swiftly prepared the ingredients, noting the man trying to entertain Michelle. She seemed so cheerful that I felt a surge of relief. Perhaps, I wouldn't have to escort Michelle home anymore.

(Oh God, let them become a happy couple. I truly wish for this from the bottom of my heart.)

But my optimism quickly waned upon seeing the reactions of the other patrons, whispering and laughing upon observing Michelle and the man. Drinking Margaritas as if they were water and looking incredibly beautiful, almost all regular customers here knew who Michelle was.

***

The man also took note of the other patrons' reactions to him. "They must be jealous seeing me with such a beautiful woman," he thought. His gaze swiftly returned to Michelle—the golden waves cascading down her back, her stunning yet somewhat childlike face, her curvaceous body. She must be an angel with gray eyes, he mused. He then turned his gaze to the other patrons

His gaze quickly turned to the other guests. "Sorry, guys, but this girl is mine," he thought confidently, unable to hide his triumphant smile.

***

Both of them got back to chatting. It seemed Michelle wasn't too drunk yet and could keep up a good conversation, laughing at the right moments. Whether aware of it or not, Michelle's body suddenly swayed towards the man, who promptly steadied her, opening his arms and allowing his chest to support Michelle's shoulder.

(Great! I bless you both for a lifetime, Amen.)

The two of them ended up even closer. I could see the man inhaling the sweet fragrance emanating from Michelle, and his face looked intoxicated without alcohol. The man moved his left hand across Michelle's back and gently touched her lower left back, so gently that it made Michelle smile sweetly. They looked like a loving couple.

"Cringg…." The door opened again and Jess was seen entering the room and approaching Hana.

"It's time to go," she said to Hana. Hana nodded and pushed a payment card towards the Master and stepped down from her high chair. She glanced at me briefly and slowly walked out after retrieving her payment card. Jess followed her from behind and when seeing Michelle with that man, Jess smiled and exerted her power which made her hand ignite with extraordinarily hot flames that instantly heated the entire room in the Bar. "Don't you guys think the temperature is too hot for close proximity?" He then walked out laughing.

The man beside Michelle sighed irritably and extended his hand, which immediately emitted cold air from his arm, spreading throughout the bar and restoring the room temperature. Suddenly he remembered something and asked Michelle, who now had her head resting on his upper chest near his left shoulder, so he could smell Michelle's hair.

"I see you are also work at BtP, in which division? Why haven't I ever seen a girl as beautiful as you before?" Michelle was still silent, about to answer but the man immediately continued, "Forgive my stupidity, after we have been talking for so long I have not introduced myself, my name is Patrick and you..?" Instantly, my hand, which was pouring black beer and champagne, became tense. If you look closely, the whole room also seems to become quiet instantly. Several pairs of guests' eyes seemed to be staring in their direction as if waiting for something.

"Michelle," Michelle answered softly teasing near the man's ear.

The man smiled, "Oh Michelle, Michelle a beautiful name like or… oran…ge… cat…" The end of the sentence was almost inaudible to anyone, even himself. The man's face changed. His face, that was originally smiling teasingly, now looked dumbfounded or empty and soon after, he seemed to come to his senses. The man immediately looked at me for attention. He moved his mouth without sound while his right hand pointed to Michelle without her knowledge.

I could read the man's lips asking "That Michelle The Coyote Ugly…?" Seeing the man's face almost pale and slightly frightened, I nodded briefly as a sign his guess was correct.

The man's first reaction was quite surprising, as if his soul had left his body, he immediately moved his head to look at the other guests who now seemed to be trying to hold back their laughter. Some looked like they pitied him.

"Damn, this is what they meant," Patrick thought.

I immediately served the black velvet that was ordered. But the man's right hand was already raised to refuse and he somehow seemed the exact opposite of when he first came in. The man who was originally smooth and gentle in his movements now suddenly became stiff. His right hand held Michelle's shoulder tightly and his left hand followed on Michelle's other shoulder. Swiftly he pushed Michelle's body away from him which instantly made Michelle, who was being cuddly with him, sit upright on the chair.

"Sorry, I just remembered something really important. I have to go now," the man blurted out, immediately stood up, took out a payment card that was immediately swiped in the cash register machine near me, and ran off as quickly as possible leaving the Bar chair. Even before Michelle was able to utter a single word.

"Cringg ..." the man closed the door roughly, leaving Michelle's face instantly pale.

Her mouth, which was about to say something or maybe shout something, was immediately hanging in the air and then she let out a sob. Tears in the corner of her eyes also started to well up. Her hand immediately grabbed the black velvet I was still holding and gulped it down until it was finished. Making everyone who saw it sigh. I caught a glimpse of a small smile on Master's lips.

So this is what he meant when he asked me to make that black velvet.

I looked at Michelle who is now gulping down that black velvet. People like her indeed prioritize quantity over quality. Any type of cocktail in her hand ends up like water. Now Michelle looks gloomier and sadder than before, making me sympathize and make another glass of Margarita to offer to her. It seems the wound inside her will get worse.

"Cringgg" The sound of the door opening echoed and a BtP security personnel, fully uniformed, approached, "Are you Jaime? This is a directive from my superior."

I examined the delivered items - a smartphone emblazoned with a Tesla logo, and a laptop with an LX symbol, a piece of quantum supercomputer technology condensed into the form of a laptop. "This was no ordinary laptop, a super quantum laptop. It was a conduit, a private gateway to the ceaseless power of a quantum computer tucked away in some distant data center. The cost of one of these machines was the equivalent of 10 luxury cars, and their availability was exceedingly limited.

"The Tesla car is parked outside," he added.

Michelle turned to me, her eyes shimmering with anticipation. "All the pieces are in place. When do we initiate the plan?"

"After the bar closes, in 1.5 hours."

Waiting for the Bar closed time, I ordered DEA to take control of her new house on the LX's laptop and control Tesla smartphone.

In the heart of BtP's database, the AI program known as IRIS existed, an enigma of intelligent design that Michelle and me had daringly stolen or copying for personal use. Commandeering such technology was a perilous game, the stakes were high, and the penalties severe. But the allure of harnessing such potential was too intoxicating to resist.

Raising DEA, however, was no small feat. It was akin to nurturing a hyper-intelligent child that knew nothing of morality or purpose. A blank slate with insatiable curiosity, capable of ingesting the entirety of the internet's knowledge but without the discernment of right from wrong.

To guide DEA, I had to impart it with purpose. A tangible goal it could strive for, sharpen its abilities towards. Without it, DEA would remain a tool of vast knowledge, lacking direction, a veritable Pandora's box of possibilities, but blind to its own potential.

The task of setting DEA's restrictions and objectives was one of trial and error. An arduous process that demanded patience and tact. I had to strike a delicate balance between allowing it the freedom to learn and grow while also maintaining boundaries that would prevent it from veering off course.

It was a dance on a razor's edge. DEA needed to learn, to perfect its purpose, but within the parameters I set. Too much restriction, and it would stagnate, too little, and it could become an uncontrollable force. The journey was going to be a complex game of chess, with each move made with calculated precision. DEA was the fifth AI I raised.

"Pull data from my motorcycle's ride," I instructed, my voice a bare whisper as my fingers danced over the holographic interface, "Sync it with the Tesla. We need the fastest route to Melodistria city. It has to be less than ten minutes."

DEA's artificial voice filled the silence of the bar, its tone cold and clear, "To cover the 55 kilometers to Melodistria city within your stipulated time frame is not feasible considering the intricate road network. It poses a significant risk to passenger safety. It may result in death."

I paused, considering DEA's warning, my gaze drifting towards Michelle. Her eyes were wide, but determined. "Consider the driver and passenger aware of the risks and willing to face them head on."

My hand hovered over the activation button, the weight of our decision pressing on my chest. With a final nod towards Michelle, I pressed down. The Tesla stirred to life, humming with renewed energy.

"We've crossed the point of no return, Michelle," I murmured.

"There's no looking back now," she agreed. Her voice, laced with determination, echoed in the silent bar.