Retired A.I. and Amateur Musician

Birds and buildings reached above the clouds, towers of business and titanic apartment complexes amid flocks of flying rats and their predators. The sounds of the city below reaching up between the unintentional steel and concrete aviary that provided ample ledges to nest both falcon and pigeon alike.

The ambient noise of the streets echoing through the heights as the crowds and traffic navigated along the early November streets far below. There among the trash and chatter, people were cutting between cars that honked in pointless offense. While the more patient of each waited idly for the lights to clear their passage.

Their focus more drawn to the shops and boutiques that lined the small shopping square in Centropolis or their own lives, not on the man weaving between them. Some sparing a glance, eyes drawn to the guitar across the man's back the instrument seemingly out of place. Most simply ignored him to curse back at a blaring horn while others paid no mind to either; instead, simply pulling their soon-to-be-traded for winter-coats a bit closer.

The air cooling just enough to convince most that breaking out their thicker wear early was the wiser choice for any November noonday shopping. Those that had spared a glance and pulled their light jackets a bit closer did so to ward off more than the chill. Their suspicions of the obviously homeless man with his instrument quite clear, not that the man seemed to mind in the least.

Out of a great many things that had a place here in the square or even in this universe, Izime knew he wasn't one.

That being a good thing, as the types of creatures that shared his powers wouldn't take lightly to fresh competition.

Izime knew the safer option was to sit back and relax.

So that's what he did, taking a more hand's off approach to the species he'd been the soul caretaker of in his last life. Here in this universe, he would stand, maybe not beside them, but to the side.

Adjacent to the cares and whims of earth as someone who stopped by to spend some time. The issues here were already firmly in hand, managed by those who'd been written in as the planets caretakers.

Izime could just kick back and be another human who made the most of their time. Working, struggling, and above all helping where he could. Though he usually did that last bit off world. Work and struggles tended to stick to Earth where humans were a lot more comfortable in judging other humans.

At least they kept it to a smaller scale here, though they had a guiding hand a lot earlier than his humans had. Wars broke out a lot less when odd were some Joe Shmoe with a cape would start throwing tanks or slapping jets out of the clouds. All in the name of peace. So the big wigs casting their judgments had calmed down quite a bit.

Though that same level of casual human judgment forced Izime to work the crowd even now.

The few looks he'd noticed he returned with a smile hoping they'd feel a bit more comfortable at the polite response.

Izime more interested in watching the crowd as a whole. Carefully weaving through while they pressed towards him, observing the odd clash. Taking in every single movement and moment, still absorbing the people and the places around him years later.

The oddly comfortable mixture of buildings creating a perfectly working system that clashed with the otherworldly sensibilities behind his teal eyes. Architecture and styles from various ages and comic artists pooling together to form a working kaleidoscope of a time-period here.

Turn of the century cars popping their exhaust alongside electrics, smartphones and payphones sharing the space alike. All having equal support and infrastructure somehow supported in a working economy. During some period that compared to the Earth he held data on from the late 2020's. It all amounted to a slightly offensive world in comparison to the reality he'd known. All in all it felt like watching someone do what he did better.

Though it also felt like the system here was cheating to achieve this flowing order somehow. Izime wouldn't judge to hard, he'd have like some cheat codes in his own reality. If he'd had those he'd still be there. So no, Izime couldn't say this wasn't a place where he could say he belonged. He'd still allow himself to be offensively impressed in the perfection as he stayed however.

Even finding a home of sorts, which Izime was making his way back to. Even as his eyes roamed Izime's direction remained true, ears following the beat that signaled the location of his adoptive kin. The square filled with the gentle rhythm of a makeshift drum as two stood motionless in the flow of the busy shopping area.

Izime watched as the crowd passing around them like a bend in a river, the family who had helped him most in this world. Never halting just curving their flow around the obstruction that had anchored his new life; hews just a small trout returning to the comfort of those still waters.

Weaving closer towards the two, Izime walked up to the man sitting on a lifted concrete flower bed.

Wesson was one of the first people Izime had met in Centropolis, or at least the first he'd gotten along with decently. The dark-skinned man was seated with one worn boot stomping a steady rhythm onto a five-gallon bucket at his feet. Thick woolen jacket showing stains and wear from the years as a yellowed bandanna held his dreads back from his brown eyes.

Twirling around him was a small girl, Wesson's daughter Shya. Her twisted braids swinging with the rainbow of beads that decorated the tightly woven rows. A small tambourine in her hands, the small toy tom and cheap metal cymbals enthusiastically playing a counter rhythm. The clothes she wore obviously much newer, the thick pink fluffy jacket still shiny and stainless. Though her jeans had a few holes the faded pink pajama pants poking through underneath provided extra warmth.

"Slow ass day Wesson," Izime complained, leaning back and watching as Wesson's daughter twirled away happily.

The young girl not yet fully aware of her father's struggles with busking in the chilling November marketplace. More focused on earning smiles than cash as she performed for the few shoppers that paused long enough to give a second glance.

Something Izime certainly wouldn't begrudge the young girl of as she'd already had her share of burdens.

Wesson nodded in appreciation at Izime who was returning, holding two steaming cups of coffee under one arm and what he assumed was hot chocolate in his other hand. Izime had taken extra care to not spill the cups, walking with his guitar over his back after taking a break from vocals.

Wesson cast a worried look over Izime, the coffee stains wouldn't add or detract from the tattered dark brown hoodie Izime was wearing over his nicer but still ratty jacket. Both of the coats adding layers that hid the Caucasian man's thin frame while the jeans and boots he wore looked just as worn as Wesson's own clothes if not worse.

Mostly because they had previously belonged to the more experienced homeless man.

"Sayna'thing, less te pote move chans. It's a good thing to be walking round the market with your guitar though." Wesson wishing Izime'd not bring them bad luck in creole.

Nodding and casting a glance at the small gathering of bills sitting in the small case that usually held the toy tambourine as he worried. The toy obviously didn't go to the very expensive looking round case Izime had found but Shya had few precious things, and the case fit her toy perfectly. Izime had offered it to the girl to keep her own instrument safe without a second thought or any explanation.

The strange black polymer was just heavy enough to stay put and seemed to shield the days take regardless of how windy it got. A take that was looking like rough split if Izime took his cut.

Brown eyes holding that slightly worried look, the tense features on Wesson's face slowly easing as he turned towards Izime. His brother not taking his share of the split the last few months had made things a bit easier.

Something Wesson knew Izime had been holding back on for their sake

"Bit of advertising," Izime nodded placing one of the coffees down one the planter, not needing to look to know what had Wesson's tone worried. The two he'd gotten the drinks for struggling far more than he was now the single father obviously worried with winter fast approaching.

"Think you can give me the backing vocals for 'I'm the Sinner' after this?"Izime asked Wesson for a bit of help with their busking, hoping to fill the case a bit more.

Wesson gave as low nod as he reached for the hot cup of coffee. Thinking that the slow deep intro Izime was asking for would do well to draw attention in the square; the bluesy song well suited to Izime's voice.

He had to admit even if Izime lacked range, the white boy could still pour in that soul. It was obvious the younger man had put in practice at some point in his life. Combined with Wesson's own deeper tone and the natural acoustic reverb of the shopping square it was a sure way to score some quick cash.

"First acts almost done see, Shya come get a cup a hot chocolate." Taking a slow sip of his coffee Wesson glanced upwards towards the dropping sun before calling his daughter over.

Shya turned and stopped the little rhythm she'd been tapping out. Quickly running back the short distance to her father and looking down at the old dirty planter he was sitting on, to finding nothing.

Her bright green eyes instead turned towards Uncle Izime who was already standing there and holding out a cup of the sweet marshmallow topped drink.

"Hey Shya, think you can give me a bump and tap on your dad's next rest?"Izime bent down and asked the young girl while holding out the cup of hot chocolate. Explaining what he meant a bit better as he did so, "The pause after your dad stomps?"

"Mwenkapab! Yes, I can," Shya agreed, smiling brightly as she took the paper cup. Blowing for half a second, she took a tiny sip, quickly covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

The drink still a bit too warm as it had burned her lips.

"Is Uncle Izime gonna sing more?" Scowling as her hot chocolate betrayed her, Shya walked over and sat it in time-out next to her father's cup of coffee as she asked the question. The young girl looking up at her father and uncle Izime who were watching the crowd.

Their minds full of the things that worried adults, Shya waiting for a response.

Izime smirked at Wesson over his coffee, taunting him a bit at Shya's apparent excitement before taking a few deep sips. The heat already being pulled away by the November chill. Bringing the steam wafting around Izime's face as he watched the shoppers pass by.

Wesson simply nodding at Shya while he watched the white boy's head grow several sizes. The Haitian listening to the square filling with the noise of idle chatter instead of replying, knowing it only feed that ego.

The small chiming addition of the toy tambourine and drum now absent as the three prepared to bring an end to their little drink break.

Izime waiting until there was a slight lull in white noise, calculating the near perfect moment he reached back and slipped his guitar around. Pulling the strap with a finger Izime felt the comfortable weight of the old electric acoustic in front of him. The worn wood looking just as rough as the stained brown jacket he had over his plaid button up.

Izime felt glad the only people he cared about were his fellow performers, not worrying about how he looked for the crowd.

Adjusting his jacket a bit, before grabbing the cheap split body by its neck and running his fingers over the strings. Izime could feel the wooden body begin to fill with vibrations, giving a nod in appreciation at the sound.

Reaching down for one final sip, he turned and sat his coffee back on the concrete planter giving a glance at his two co-performers.

"On three?"Izime asked Wesson and looking at Shya as he waited for a nod.

Izime watched Shya's big eyes looking between her father's worn boot and himself, feet dancing nervously afraid she might miss her first notes. Wesson didn't bother replying, instead simply beginning the easily repeated intro to the song.

Wesson's lower baritone aleady reaching through the crowd.

 Izime tapped on his guitar setting himself along with the count Wesson was providing as Shya finally gave him a confident nod.

Pulling the chill November air in Izime was immediately glad he had gotten that cup of hot coffee.

The colder air threatening to take his attempt at sounding raspy and almost snapping the notes as his voice nearly cracked.

Izime shook head and doubled down as the air left his lungs, the square filled with the sound of his voice. The deep thump of a worn boot on a bucket was shortly followed by a small tap and crash of cheap metal. Izime giving an approving nod easing Shya's worries as she'd arrived right on cue.

Shya's smile grew as she watched her uncle sing.

Amazed at how quickly he'd recovered not even batting an eye in front of a square full of people. Her tiny body quickly loosing that little tense nervousness she'd always felt when they performed. Shya knew they needed to do their absolute best when her uncle Izime was in town.

It didn't take much to realize her life was a bit different that the others at school, something that had upset her after a while. At Shya's young age she had easily draw the correlations between a good performance and having a better night. A few good shows meant a new jacket or a treat, a few great shows could add to a week of clean beds.

Those weeks sounding much more like the lives those bullies at school had taunted her with; those coats not getting nearly as many jeers.

Something that'd angered the young girl; convincing her it was worth causing a bit of trouble with those kids in school. Trouble that'd eventually had her father coming in to school and leaving her with a whole lot to explain to both him and the principal.

After a few long talks with her father and Uncle Izime, Shya had agreed that working to better their lives was more productive that hating their situation uselessly. Shya knew it was up to her to and her father to make the most of the rare chances they had, not wanting to waste it.

The only time they had a chance to really amp up their performances was when Uncle Izime was here to help her dad out properly.

Uncle Izime's smile was a sure sign that this show would go off well and they'd celebrate tonight once again. Shya still had to admit that it was rather hard work as despite their efforts the small crowd kept moving on regardless of Izime's abilities.

Though now more than a few paused to tap their feet as the three buskers filled the square with a touch of live music.

Some among the toe tappers already moving to toss bills into the small tambourine case.

Other stopping to record with their cellphones.

Wesson giving Izime an encouraging nod, both knowing the inclusion of social media usually encouraged generosity. The phones working their magic as some of those not even stopping to listen simply wandered through the frame to be seen tossing in their own change.

The three trailing into other more exciting genres than the attention-grabbing blues song as it ended. All the while each scanned the crowd, finding those who could be worked with. Shya dance happily with some passing children, Izime carefully lowering his volume and changing to a lullaby as a family with a stroller full of tiny sleepers passed by. Wesson doing a bit of rapping in French as the acoustic songs were burned out on the crowd.

Each carefully finding the moments where they could give a more personal touch.

Anything to possibly squeezing out those extra few desperately needed pennies.

The small gathering of bills and coins growing slowly but steadily until the sun had finally dropped far enough that the squares lighting kicked on.

Wesson's foot eventually slowing as it tired, his throat a little sore from providing vocals. The man watching as Izime slid the guitar off his shoulder and sat it down beside him. Izime's tired hands rubbing at fingers sore from reaching for frets.Shya's tambourine tapping coming to an end as she looked up dejectedly. The lamps flickering to life around her the first signs of an approaching bedtime.

The square's lighting system activating something Wesson and Izime had agreed was the best sign to close up shop for the day. Shya having school during the weekdays and neither of them wanting to try and work the rowdier weekend crowds that passed through the square.

Younger adults more prone to antagonizing them than stopping to enjoy the music.

Then there were the drunks that enjoyed fighting after leaving the high-end bars.

None of it was worth the trouble they might rouse or running the risk of getting kicked from the square, so the three buskers quickly packed up their things from the hard day's work.

"Another day travay di, get your cut fanmi?" Wesson whined about the days labor in his native tongue before motioning towards the case in Izime's hands now that they were alone.

The three having already left the square through a less traveled back alley, a path more comfortable socially for the three less attractive aspects of society.

"The crowds were easy today; besides I still got some stashed. I do want you and this little queen to get out of the shelters for a bit, so you take this," Izime gave Shya an exaggerated flourishing bow before turning to shove the case into Wesson's arms, "Find a motel, I hear about you two couching it in a trap house I'll break my guitar over your fucking head."

"You," Wesson was about to let it slide until he felt the unexpected heft of the case, yanking Izime back before quickly undoing the clasp to at least peek inside.

There among the loose change and pocket money lay a brick of much newer crisper bills still in their bank bands. Wesson swallowing back more than a few questions as he considered what little he knew of his 'brother'.

Izime had been a worse state than Wesson had originally.

Wesson had found him with little beyond the rags he had managed to turn into clothes. Now just a handful of years later Wesson found himself once again thanking his stars for the turn in karma, but that quick turn only worried him all the more.

"Malpwòpte" Wesson cursed under his breath, knowing Izime could easily understand him. Still not handing the money back, Wesson instead clasped the case closed and leaned closer to Izime. The worried father trying to whisper through his tense nerves so Shya couldn't hear, "Ye best not do something stupid Izime; that's a stack, an actual stack."

"It's clean and so am I," Izime just shook his head thinking of things Wesson was better off not knowing. The words were true enough, though it had taken some work to turn that clean money into earth cash. Izime shoving the case closer to Wesson as he made himself clear, "By the way I wasn't asking."

Wesson gritted his teeth ignoring Izime's aggressive tone on the last part, taking the case stuffed full of loose bills and an actual strapped band of much larger bills.

It was clear enough that Izime wasn't being completely honest, not wanting to reveal the truth of where the money had come from. Wesson could also tell that it was more complicated than some petty crime and while it might not have been spotless the cash wasn't dirty.

Izime was his brother, and he trusted him to not put Shya in danger; if his brother said the money was clean then it was. Where it came from didn't matter nearly as much as making sure Shya and himself were taken care of. His daughter deserved a clean bed and a better life than he could currently provide.

Wesson wasn't so prideful that he'd refuse the help. As much as he appreciated it though, one had to wonder if Izime was doing something questionable or maybe even shameful to help them out so much.

Wesson could tell Izime still had his own world full of secrets they'd never shared; family always knew best after all.

"Iz, you leaving again hmm?" Wesson gave Izime a bit of an accusing look as he asked the question. The man had stuck around for nearly three whole months this time, but Wesson hadn't forgotten that face; the spaced-out look of elsewhere. Worry forcing the man back into his native creole once more, "retounen byento, come back quick; for Shya tanpri?"

"Need to take a trip, same as ever; but I will. So, you two make the most of that," Izime explained, tossing a lazy punch at Wesson's shoulder while they both watched Shya play. "I had a run of luck and realized I don't need it, not like the rest of my family. Its clean and safe; you're family so I want to hear that your clean and safe to."

"Same mon frere, right back at you." Wesson managed a smile through his worry, grinning the irony of his brother's lighter skin in his own hand. The shorter dreaded man pulling his lighter skinned brother in for a shoulder bump before releasing the man.

Wesson carefully tucked the case under his arm before turning towards a pile of refuse in the alley as he began to remove the camouflage.

Tossing a few bags and boxes to reveal a shopping cart that had been disguised as trash. Packed full of various bags and other luggage, bits of clothing and blankets poking through the mesh. Keeping their clothes and stockpile of food safe from the weather and prying eyes. Wesson busily digging around, finding a place to bury the case before grabbing an extra jacket for Shya.

Wesson turned the cart to wheel it down the alley trying to think of a question to ask his daughter, simply something to distract her.

"Motel 5 or Best Sleep-Inn?" Wesson's words dying out as he watched his once much younger daughter doing her best to act just as big as both Izime and him tried to convince her she was. The girl's father not sure if he actually wanted his daughter to be quite so mature during moments like this.

It wasn't appropriate to throw a fit, but it was certainly understandable, the girl was dearly attached to Izime. Wesson wishing for a moment Shya would ask the question they'd talked her out of years back.

"Now Shya, you be good OK." Izime turned towards his excitable niece, smiling brightly and confidently even as he knew he was hurting her so. Happy at least to heave take care of the two most important people in his new life. Even if the means were complicated, it wasn't illegal and it let Izime take care of those who needed it.

"Going on another trip?" Shya stopped tapping at her tambourine letting it fall to her side, eyes dropping as her tiny fist wiped at eyes that most certainly weren't getting wet.

Taking a shaky breath Shya found a can to kick at releasing her frustration not quite comfortable with looking at the uncle she was trying not to blame. Izime was her only uncle and only other family member in this world, and he was leaving her again; she didn't want to part with an angry look and silence.

It still hurt though; her tiny world fell to pieces each time she watched the little family she had shatter. Shya had taken those first years roughly, age and repetition helping her learn that getting upset when Izime left wouldn't solve anything. Now that Shya was bigger, she understood Izime wasn't homeless like she was.

She couldn't afford a home, Izime moved around too much to have one.

It felt hurtful but a part of her young heart still whispered that Uncle Izime didn't care about having a home with them, not like she did with him. Though another part yelled back that it was because her uncle was much more worried that she was being taken care of.

Shya was probably spoiled like her dad said, it was easy to see Izime was doing far too much for them outside of the little work he asked for in return. If Uncle Izime stopped by, they stayed in hotels, and he'd take her swimming. She could eat at McRonald's with just a bit of puppy dog eyes. Something she knew she'd occasionally abused, possibly leading to Izime needing to leave even sooner.

Shya upset with herself as she childishly wanted that feeling of 'being spoiled' even longer. All while wanting to recognize the love she held for her uncle in letting go without a tantrum. Sniffling back the moments where she'd made the most of what little life had gifted her.

The tiny girl finally looking up at the man who'd patiently waited through her sniffles.

The strange funny man who'd she at first begrudgingly shared her suppers with as dad had shown him the local kitchens, now taking up a position as the second supporting pillar in her life. Still just as willing and patient with her, as she'd imagined she was with him back then.

"I'll probably be back around January." Izime offered, nodding at Shya who hadn't managed another steady word. Bending his knees to give the girl a warm look, holding his arms open for a hug which the sniffling Shya quickly gave.

Izime tentatively giving her and Wesson a rough time frame on his return to Centropolis at the same time, never sure of just how long he planned to spend traveling. Sometimes it was a bit rough looking for places in the super-hero influenced world to ply his particular trade, sometimes staying was even rougher.

"Go'on south, best to stay till spring." Wesson assumed Izime was chasing the warmer climates to do physical labor, only bothering to ask for one minor thing for his daughter. "Be a treat for Shya to see you on the holidays but the kizin gratis aren't exactly welcoming, still the soup line would be warmer with you beside us, yes?"

Izime paused for a moment as he considered all the places he could go, had already gone in this rather odd universe. Almost instinctually refusing Wesson's offer before he'd really replied at all.

"North, got some business around Voltham City. Christmas is... I'll try and swing by but no promises." Izime shook his head, stopping as he took a slow breath to offer that soft commitment for the holidays. Considering for the briefest moment how much nicer it would be to go south, let alone to just stay.

South didn't hold much promise aside from involving himself in the magical markets which meant running into Constantinople.

West was Middle City where FazzPazz and Thorn always seemed to be going back and forth at super speeds in a time-traveling rivalry.

Centropolis where he resided now in the middle of the USA was the legendary Thessian psychic's home city and Izime would never cause trouble where Wesson lived.

Then there was Radiation Man who was flying around the globe doing his Zexxian best as the world's defender. James would always return to that little farm in Kansas though.

Izime, well he'd always stay on the move.

"I'm headed this way, you two be safe here in Centropolis OK?" Izime called out to the two who were walking away.

Wesson beginning to turn the cart down the alley towards one of their little homes, probably the bridge overpass near Gateway. Ears already tuning out any calls the two might have made back

Izime turned away before cocking his head back just barely. Bidding goodbye to Shya one last time, unsure if she could still hear him. "Be good for Wesson Shya!"

Izime knew it was probably a bit mean, but he'd already had a life. It had been difficult one but educational in hindsight, and this one had its moments so far as well. So, to make the most of this rerun, Izime just wasn't going to get too deeply involved. He'd had that one life already, all those pains and joys involved with it.

The already lived human had already lost one extended family, so he felt quite comfortable with his decision in keeping this one at an arm's length. That soft detachment would be how he'd trade the driving dagger that came at the end. Only suffering the smallest of paper cuts as those he knew faded away.

Call it being more emotionally efficient but that was his goal this time around.

This was just a second run at the same old simulations, albeit with a few major alterations like the whole Heroes and Villains thing. The trade-off being there was no propagation and no Bell in this universe. Izime knew he was simply a cheap imitation, an insult what Bell had wanted Izime to be.

So, this seemed like a decent plan for living this time around, actually living to some degree along side these humans.

A better plan than the one he'd he had before that had ended in nothing but loss and him getting everyone killed.

Izime would leave earth to the heroes and take his little moments in the short slices he felt like he could handle. This way the pleas to stay just one more day, the offer to enjoy the winter in their company wouldn't ever be too hard to resist. They'd never have to suffer a no and he'd never have to give one.

Shya could only hold back so long and the little catching up Izime had done with the family that'd saved his life years ago had drained his entire social battery. That bite of peace was all he could stand. It was better to slip away before he became too integral, too involved beyond being the funny 'Uncle' that stopped by once a blue moon.

Izime continued quickly down the alley opposite of his family.

His smile dropping as he recalled the barely hospitable winter haven, he would be making do in.

Mind focusing on his job here in this world where he could do more for them as that in-between creation.

So, what if he was missing out on some thing's life offered, Izime wouldn't let something so minor bother him. Ironically the 'what' of who he was fit in well here, even if he wasn't ever supposed to have existed in this place.

Once more he'd put that to use to ease the burdens of those who'd been left forgotten, that was reward enough.