CHAPTER 1 - THARO

  [Komuna]

  North, South, East, & West

  4-4-107 P.I. 6:35 PM

  "Jooooodeeer…” Tia groaned, kicking her feet up on the passenger seat's armrest. Slipping off her she-demon mask named East, the youngest sibling tossed it aside as she let loose another prolonged groan. “Well, that went great,” she mocked. “Gonna be sleepin’ like a log with all these bruises… after I drink myself stupid. And before any of you ask, I ain’t sharing. Tonight’s a me night.”

  Through the rear-view mirror, Tharo tiredly observed his sister as he, too, pulled off his mask—West. While annoyed, he did nothing to repel her dirty boot’s advances. There had been enough fighting for one day.

  Removing her hair pin, Tia sprawled herself across the rear seats. Raven strands falling to her shoulders, tangled and greasy, thick eyebrows scrunched together as she rested her head as far back as it could go. Left from the rim of her mask, a circumference of dust clung to her caramel skin. Lower, her golden ring, hanging on its leather cord tied around her neck, slipped out from under her shirt as she sunk further into her position.

  Sighing once, then twice, Tia carefully began untangling the knots in her hair. “Oh and for the record, you should’ve let me blow that prostitute’s brains out. It’s the least the bitch deserved after what she tried pulling!”

  Beside Tharo, with his mask North abandoned at his feet, Agustin gave a disapproving grunt as he swatted away his sister’s boot. “Considering her employer’s identity, she was more use to us alive than dead. More importantly, if the tired bóinu has energy to fix her hair and complain, then the tired bóinu has enough energy to make sure we are not being followed,” proclaimed the elder brother through labored breaths.

  The consequences of his gunshot were becoming all the more evident. Even now, the view of the dirt road swayed as their car slowly drifted from one side to the other. While having insisted otherwise, the truth remained he had no place behind the wheel in his state.

  Bearing the same skin and hair as Tia—the latter of which he kept relatively short—Agustin’s features closely resembled those of his blood sibling. As far as Tharo could tell, he was considered an attractive man with his scruffy beard, dirty green eyes, mature demeanor, and small collection of tasteful scarring garnering him plenty of interest. However, his injured state drained any semblance of health the man had once possessed. His shot arm, beaded with sweat and drained of color, hung between the driver's seat and door, dried blood coating the hasty tourniquet that kept him from total collapse.

  Guilt's sting struck again.

  As minutes dragged on, Tharo watched his brother’s arm grow more and more hypoxic. Worse still, his tourniquet was gradually coming undone, its loose wrapping weighed down by the leaking wound. With sunset upon them, and no proper supplies on hand, there was little left they could do on their own.

  They needed help.

  They needed Leona.

  “Agustin, your arm is screwed if we don’t properly address it soon,” said Tharo, bringing himself to speak up.

  Agustin spared a glancing side eye. “I’m fine, akhato. First we reach the safe house.”

  Not good enough.

  He was already struggling. Push things any further and the risk of infection—or losing the arm altogether—would start to become a real concern.

  A concern that wasn’t Tharo’s alone.

  “We’re ditching this heap of junk anyways, báibái,” Tia chimed in, sticking her head between the brothers. “I can drive as Leo patches you up. No one’s been following us for a while now, so it’s that,” she pointed to Agustin’s injured arm, “which needs to come first.”

  Agustin didn’t respond. Whether thinking it over, or just plain ignoring them, it didn’t matter. Tharo wasn’t about to let his brother's stubbornness fail him.

  It was his fault Agustin was in such a state. His fault for not doing his job, and he would be damned before he absolved himself of the responsibility.

  So, their plea continued.

  “This isn’t something we can wait on. Leona can turn around and meet us in less than five minutes. You know it’s not worth it. Please, Agustin.”

  “Before it’s too late, báibái,” Tia added.

  For a moment longer the man drove in silence, unable to stop himself from slumping further in his seat.

  “Fine…” he eventually succumbed. “Make the call.”

  Illuminated by the terozeno’s headlamps, the crew of vetala pulled up to the ruins of an old solar farm. A technological relic, most of its panels had been stolen or cracked beyond salvaging long ago. Sand coating the mirror-like electronics, what surfaces remained intact bejeweled the surrounding farmland with the sun’s dying light. Tharo had scouted the ruins days prior, and aside from local teenagers, it had lay abandoned for over a century. Luckily, it seemed they were the old solar farm’s only visitors tonight.

  By then, the bandages were so degraded with blood that moving Agustin risked undoing them entirely. Instead, both Tharo and Tia leaned over from where they sat to assume the driving. She managed directions, steering, and the calls with their rendezvousing sister, while he manned the pedals and the stability of their brother’s deteriorating condition. Agustin himself now rested against the steering wheel, his eyes barely open as the terozeno slowed to a halt.

  The driver's door swung open.

  Built like a pillar, Leona stood hunched over the little car. A red bag with a white cross was securely tucked under her arm, she immediately crouched next to Agustin and began her examination.

  “Why in all the hell is he driving?” she gestured aghast with a thick Italian accent at their downed leader.

  “I… insisted… on it—” Agustin tried answering before a large, gentle finger silenced him.

  “Shh shh shh, amore, do not speak. Rest,” urged Leona before turning back to her two siblings. “Why did you let him drive!” she repeated, now down on her knees outside the car, stethoscope and pressure cuff in hand.

  “You know how he gets,” Tia defended as she helped. “We practically had to beg just to get him here.”

  Agustin chuckled through his heavy breathing and Leona shot the man a daggered stare before quickly returning her attention to Tia and Tharo. She jerked her head at the shot arm. “I waited for explanation. Now how?” she demanded as she rifled through the med-kit.

  There was a momentary exchange of glances, but Tia beat him to the punch.

  “I screwed up,” she claimed, leaning forward in her seat to assist propping up their brother. “Fuckin’ gunned it too fast for the vault. Thought I nailed all the co?os but I guess I ended up missin’ one of them. You should’ve seen him. Guy was half dead and still managed to jump us as we were preparing to leave.”

  Hearing his sister’s shame, Tharo’s heart dropped like a stone crashing through a frozen lake. He remembered the bodyguard, the very same he’d spared in the Bankmaster’s office. It was Tharo who should’ve killed him. If only he hadn’t been a coward.

  But he was the one at fault.

  He was the one to blame.

  “NOT TRUE!”

  Tia and Leona looked at him in stunned silence, perplexed.

  Tharo's cheeks grew warm as he quickly averted his gaze, settling it upon his nervous bouncing knee. He cracked his neck, the uneasiness returning as it always did. He hadn’t intended to react in such an immature manner.

  When nothing was said, he gathered his emotions and forced himself to face the eldest sister. “The bodyguard surviving was my fault. I was in the room with him. If I had ended it then and there, this would have never happened.”

  Again, neither of his sisters spoke.

  He hated how neither could maintain their anger.

  He hated how they pitied him.

  Tia reached out for his shoulder, but Tharo brushed the hand away.

  “Stop it!” he snapped, only hating himself more seeing her hurt expression.

  But it had to be done. So, he pressed on with his own condemnation.

  “Because of my mistake, Agustin was hurt. You can’t blame Tia for that. If I wasn’t…”

  He was back in the massacred hallway.

  Memories of blood.

  Memories of gore.

  Memories of a want far too delicious, far too tempting, that he should’ve never walked away from.

  A chill struck Tharo to the bone as something deeper, primal, stirred with gleeful celebration for the splendid slaughter.

  He steadied his trembling hand.

  “Well…” Leona finally sighed, examining Agustin’s pupils with a penlight, “... let’s leave topic as is. That matter is best handled when all,” she nodded in Agustin’s direction, who grunted in agreement, “can participate. Now, help me take coat off. I need to see arm.”

  As so they did.

  The injured limb had gone blue, lines of dried blood running down from the bullet wound.

  “No necrosis…” she muttered, gently inspecting. “However, he needs fluids, blood transfusion, sterile bandages, a sling to support. Also, any bullet needs removing before wound stitched. Were you followed?”

  Tia shook her head, “Haven’t seen a soul since we turned off the main road.”

  “Then home can wait,” Leona proclaimed. “Surgery must be done soon and saline injected. Tia, you will act sentry. If someone comes, you put bullet in skull. We can’t afford witness. Tharo, you will help me, then join her.”

  And so it was done.

  All doors leading inside the terozeno were opened and Agustin was lifted over to the passenger side and reclined as far back as he would go. Leona then shuffled into the driver’s seat and Tharo circled around to Tia's now vacant spot. Once in place and having slipped their masks back on, she handed him a pair of medical gloves. Carefully, Leona cut through the layers of clothing along the seams, until all that was left was exposed skin and the slivers of mutilated fabric pinned beneath the barely intact tourniquet.

  Leona pointed with the fabric scissors to a spot on the shoulder a few centimeters above the bullet wound. “We expose properly first. On count, we cut and remove covering,” she directed over their radios. “Hold pressure here. Squeeze hard.”

  With all his might, Tharo gripped the shoulder with both hands and clamped down. Cool and clammy, the arm had a rubbery, almost artificial, feel to it. Warm blood escaped in spurts as Leona removed the old tourniquet and swiftly replaced it. Only when re-secured and no brachial pulse could be felt did Tharo relax his hands.

  The injury itself was actually comprised of four smaller individual bullet holes. The outer three puncturing peripheral muscle, with clear entries and exits. The fourth, however, was more pressing. A deep red hole no bigger than the diameter of a pencil, its bleeding maw twitched with Agustin’s pulse. At its base the faint metallic sheen of an embedded buckshot pellet reflected back.

  “Not lodged,” Leona said with relief before slapping Agustin with the back of her hand. “Cazzo!” she spat. “You supposed to be smart, yet look how I worry!”

  She hadn’t actually hit him, her strike more tap than anything else. And although her words never reached him beyond the airtight seal of her mask, Agustin winced apologetically all the same.

  Reaching back into the medical bag, Leona pulled out a bottle of alcohol and a fist full of clean rags. As Tharo opened his hand to take the items, the medic turned mercenary grabbed his wrist to examine his electrical burn.

  “Hurt?” she asked, eyeing both sides.

  Tharo shook his head. Pain never persisted past the first hour.

  “Hungry?”

  Again, he absolved her worry. At least for now he was back in control. “No more than usual.”

  “Good,” Leona grunted over the radio, the contours of her yellow gas mask, South, dipping in out of shadow as she leaned away from the overhead light.

  Reaching back inside the bag, she pulled out a thermos and added it to the rest of what Tharo had been given.

  “Drink all,” she warned.

  Tharo nodded in compliance. If she'd asked him to jump on one foot and bleat like a goat, he’d done so. Anything to help subside the guilt.

  Leona, happy with his response, motioned back to the rags and alcohol.

  “Take to Tia. I manage surgery from here.”

  Tharo paused, confused, “But she's fine.”

  Leona clicked her tongue and turned back towards Agustin. “Happy? Your idiocy spreads, coglione!” she fake smacked him again before readdressing Tharo. “Lei-demone favors left leg. Not as tough as she boasts. If there is cut, clean and wrap. I full with one infected; don’t need another.”

  “And if it's internal?” Tharo responded as he stuffed his pockets.

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  “Then she waits,” Leona simply stated, “Now go, I must concentrate.”

  Tharo nodded, removing his gloves as he prepared to leave the car. Pausing halfway out, he looked back upon his two mentors. One semi-conscious and pale, the other cursing as she tended to her partner.

  “Good luck,” was all he could manage.

  Leona raised her gaze as she looked over her shoulder, the permanent blank stare of her mask contrasting with the softness of her voice.

  “Go.”

  Stepping out, Tharo left the procedures inside the terozeno to his better. As shadows invaded beyond their borders, Tharo pressed the button on his mask’s left temple, shifting his view to the gradients of green night vision. In an instant, the vast universe above lit the night with more stars than seemed possible.

  Looking around for his other sister, Tia’s voice crackled over the radio from within the noise canceling earpieces connected to his mask.

  “Up here.”

  After a moment of searching, Tharo spotted her waving on the nearby observation tower silhouetted against the starlight.

  As he made his way over, an agonizing scream christened nightfall. With it came the story of excruciating pain, and Tharo’s chest tightened as he braced another wave of guilt.

  Reaching the tower's base, a single leg dangled off its lookout deck. Following the scaffolding around, he eventually found a ladder, rusted metal bars creaking under his weight as he climbed up.

  Sitting near the slanted edge, Tia faced away with her other leg pulled to her chest, pointed chin resting on her knee, East set aside. Removing his own mask, he took his place next to her as the last traces of daylight escaped over the distant Altindag mountains. Below, Tharo could see the dim dashboard lights of the terozeno turned ambulance.

  The night was shattered by another scream.

  “Doubt I could ever get used to that,” Tia said as their brother’s wail died. From the sound of her voice alone Tharo could tell she’d been crying.

  His guilt increased tenfold.

  “Leona says your leg is hurt,” he said, hoping the change in topic would alleviate some of his sister's grief.

  Tia scoffed, “Never misses a beat, that woman.”

  “Doubt it,” he smiled, returning her sentiment. “I brought disinfectant. Mind showing me?”

  Tia didn’t answer, but spun herself around in her spot, bringing the leg that had been hanging off the side up and over. Limply, she rested her calf on his lap—rolling up her torn pants—revealing a long shallow gash wrapping around the backside of her leg.

  “One of the guards snagged me as I dropped him. Guess I missed two of the co?os, huh?”

  Not knowing how to respond, Tharo focused instead on separating one bandage rag from the other and dousing the first in rubbing alcohol.

  “You listening? I said—tskk ahhh!” Tia cringed as he applied the wet rag and began wiping the cut. “Hostia puta! That burns!”

  Tharo alleviated some of the pressure.

  “Sorry,” he muttered before sticking the penlight in his mouth to free both hands.

  Her wound was his fault, too. It had been his job to disable the alarm before things got out of hand. If he had been faster, or braver, his sister wouldn’t have had to do so much of the heavy lifting.

  She wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

  “Looks like it’s gonna be a nice night,” he heard her say.

  “Mmm.”

  “If it’s like this tomorrow, wanna go stargazing?”

  “Mmm.”

  “You know… I think I’ll just jump off this tower.”

  “Mmm.”

  A hand stopped his own from tending to the cut, “Talk to me.”

  Reluctantly, Tharo looked her way. Without a word said, he felt their years together affirm the love they shared, and through her, that same love with which he cherished all his found family.

  “Never again,” he finally admitted as he removed the penlight from his mouth, his voice weak and quiet.

  Tia's hand remained unmoved from his. “Sorry?”

  “I’ll never do it again,” Tharo repeated, his words stronger and clearer as he promised both to her and fate itself. “What happened today… if I could’ve helped more, none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t spared the bodyguard, this wouldn’t have happened. If I hadn’t let… it…” Pausing for a deep breath, Tharo recollected himself. “If I hadn’t let it take control of my life and every little thing I do, this wouldn’t have happened. So, never again.”

  Giving a squeeze first, Tia let go as she shifted to look back towards the fading horizon. Resting her cheek against her knee, a weak chuckle escaped her.

  “You’ll end up like me then.”

  “Eh, I could do worse,” he tried joking.

  “Fair, but surviving three years while doing little more than throwing a punch is quite an accomplishment. Vetala or otherwise.”

  He scoffed, “A vetala who wouldn’t kill…”

  “Who couldn’t,” Tia corrected. “Not like you had much of a choice.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact I’m a liability.”

  “And you aren’t if that thing takes control instead?”

  Another scary thought. Tharo busied himself by proceeding with her cut’s treatment as he battled on how to even address such a statement.

  A third scream echoed out.

  Tia’s leg tensed, her muscles tangibly contracting beneath the rag’s thin fabric.

  “And what about… the bioweapon?” she abruptly asked.

  “What about it?” said Tharo, not knowing how to respond. Just talking about the thing made him paranoid.

  “Well… all this talk about killing probably has it all riled up. No?”

  Tharo paused and focused on whatever was perceptible along the boundaries of his consciousness. All was calm again, his own thoughts and feelings residing alone within his mind.

  Had it gone back to sleeping?

  Or was it plotting within the shadows of his subconscious?

  “Can’t say,” he admitted.

  “I saw you shaking when you came out of the office. Did it try to take control again?”

  Tharo was transported back into the midst of the bank's body-ridden halls. Even while wearing his mask, he could smell the thick iron of the liters of spilt blood wafting in the air. And whatever he could sense, it could, too. In those moments, the bioweapon trapped inside him had spurred to life, tearing at the mental chains imprisoning it deep within Tharo’s psyche. Its manic tantrum had been enough to send Tharo into uncontrolled shivers as they always did when the bioweapon attempted to break free.

  “Yeah…” Tharo finally answered, unable to hide his shame, as if he’d been the one who had gone crazy at the scent of human blood.

  The gentle hand returned, “That thing isn’t you.”

  “I know.”

  She was too kind.

  She should’ve hated him—a perverted abomination with two souls trapped in a single body. Thank whatever there was to thank that she didn’t.

  But Tia hadn’t forgotten her initial query.

  “And if it takes control?”

  There it was, the unavoidable question.

  What if?

  Tharo toiled his brain, but minute upon minute passed without answer. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  As another of Agustin’s pained screams came and went, Tia eased into her words.

  “I was fifteen… I don’t think I’ve ever told you this actually. It was before the Lawless, when I still lived with the Bailarines del Fuego. Being a rebellious teenager and all that, I thought I’d take a walk one night. My hometown completely changed after dark, and I couldn't help but be curious. I thought as long as I watched from afar, I wouldn’t get caught. Obviously, I was wrong.” Tia sighed, leaving Tharo to wait before she continued with her story. “The guy was drunk, probably not the worst type all things considered, but that night I must’ve seemed like an easy target… co?o!” she cursed. “I’ll spare you the details, but I ended up being pinned to a wall. His hand slipped, mine got free, I grabbed his gun… and fired until it was empty.”

  Tia’s words grew cold, harsh and biting. The same as when she spoke about the bioweapon trapped inside Tharo.

  After another pause, she pressed on with her speech.

  “I don't regret it… he deserved what he got. But, I lost something killing him.”

  “You didn’t have a choice,” he tried reassuring.

  Tia scoffed. “Choice… we all have a choice, little brother; sometimes there just isn’t a good one.”

  “You were defending yourself!” Tharo protested.

  Tia leaned into him, “There are no lesser evils. A life is a life, and taking one corrupts your own like a sickness. Once you know how easy it is—the power you feel over holding someone else's fate—it breaks you down from the inside out.”

  “Like a bioweapon.”

  “Yeah… like a bioweapon.”

  Tharo nudged his sister with his shoulder, “Well, I don’t think you're broken.”

  “Thanks,” she nudged back. “You sure about this? Committing to something that awful?”

  Taking a slow breath, Tharo looked out towards the now shrouded lands of the Taklamakan Lawless. He was in this deep already, no point turning back now.

  “My earliest memories are of bodies. Some intact, some torn to pieces. Some burnt, some pale, some frozen solid. I don’t remember how I got there, or much of anything of what happened next. I’m not even sure if they’re really mine. I just remember those brief, hazy memories, as if they were more dream than reality. I…”

  It was his turn to pause.

  His sister scooted closer, her tender hand falling to his back.

  “I’m okay,” he reassured. “I came to terms with those dreams a long time ago. But to answer your question; yes, it scares me. So much so it makes me sick just thinking about it.”

  Tia rested her head in the nook between his and his shoulder.

  “Good,” she affirmed exhaling, “That just means you’re as human as the rest of us.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh lucky me.”

  “Unfortunate, I know,” she quietly chimed, joining in with her brother’s laughter only to be cut short by Agustin’s cries. “You know,” she eventually said, “today was probably the closest we’ve been to a full-on KOS for a long time. Certainly, since you’ve joined us.”

  “Again, lucky me,” Tharo bemused, earning himself a soft slap.

  “I’m being serious. Did… How close was that thing to breaking out?”

  Tharo pondered the question.

  “Closer than you’d be comfortable with, but nothing I haven’t managed before,” he concluded out loud.

  “That’s a relief.”

  “How so?”

  Tia shrugged. “Today was about as bad as it gets. If it couldn’t escape then, it probably won't ever,” she gave him a reassuring pat on the thigh. “Any idea what stopped it?”

  “Not a clue. It just goes away after a while.”

  Neither spoke after that as Tharo finished wrapping her leg. Resting on each other when all was said and done, they remained motionless in their sentry as the exhaustion of the day caught up.

  “Hey,” she pulled far enough away to face him after they had both redonned their masks, “...what if I train you?”

  He half acknowledged her, “You have a murder machine living inside you, too?”

  Her laugh over their masks’ radio was brief and breathy, “Well… no, but from how you talk about it, the fix seems pretty straight forward.” She tapped East’s temple with her index. “It only gains control when you lose it.”

  Tharo blankly stared. “You think of that all on your own? Truly, she is a genius of our times.”

  Tia slapped him again, “I’m being serious. As my Bailatutorios used to say: ‘True freedom only comes through domination of the self.’”

  Tharo cocked an eyebrow, “Wonder what book he pulled that from...”

  Scoffing, his sister slumped her head to the side.

  “Him reading? Nah nah. He just had a thing for discipline is all. Worse still, he was right. Rabbir hamhumaa kamaa rabbayaanee sagheera,” she finished the last sentence in prayer.

  Swiftly, Tia stood up—only to whimper at the remembrance of her maimed leg. Then, she offered an open hand.

  “You really are a lucky one—”

  “And her genius continues.”

  Another slap.

  “Because—before I was so rudely interrupted—I have decided on allowing you the honor of becoming my student.”

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to clap?” he exclaimed, making sure he had actually heard the absurd proposal.

  “Yup!”

  “Yay me?”

  “Here’s how I see it, if that thing knows you can manage a fight on your own, it won’t bother intervening.”

  “And this is based on what exactly?” Tharo pushed back. She couldn’t be serious, could she?

  Tia shrugged, “Call it a hunch.”

  “A hunch?” he echoed in disbelief. “And what happens when this hunch of yours is wrong?”

  “I guess we die in a very, very violent fashion.”

  “Not funny.”

  “It’s a little bit funny.”

  He turned away, only to see the outstretched hand slip back into his field of view.

  “C’mon,” she insisted. “Not like we have to rush things, right? We finish the job the day after tomorrow and after that, we’re home free. We’ll take it slow, and if it doesn’t seem to be working, we try something else.”

  Something else… what other options were there to begin with? Bombs not deactivated inevitably explode.

  Why not try? Why not search for a way to take back control? All else being equal, inaction could only lead to assured loss.

  Never again.

  “You know this is a crazy idea, right?” he sighed.

  “You have a better one?”

  Admittedly, he didn’t.

  Looking back at the open hand a moment longer, he sighed again and grasped it, allowing her to hoist him up. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  Tia patted him one last time. “This is gonna be fun, trust me,” she said in a gleeful way that certainly did not inspire a great deal of confidence.

  “If this works, we’re treating your pyrophobia next,” he rebutted before accepting defeat.

  “De qué cojones hablas? Now who’s crazy?”

  They stayed lookout atop the tower for a while longer, watching for any approaching distant lights.

  But none ever came.

  In time, Leona called for them.

  Agustin had passed out and was resting in the back seats with an intravenous line taped to his forearm, the connected bag of saline placed on the vehicle’s roof. From there, all three helped carefully move their resting leader from the terozeno to Leona’s car, migrated all equipment and belongings over, and promptly set off.

  Tia drove the rest of the way home with Tharo, who had forgotten to drink the thermos’s contents, forcefully chugging alongside. Leona thankfully stayed unaware of his blatant disobedience as she had remained in the back to monitor Agustin. Battered but victorious, the company of vetala finally arrived home just past midnight.

  As soon as his face hit his pillow, Tharo’s mind went blank—his consciousness melting away into a vast expansion of infinite dancing colors. Ambiguous forms morphing around him began to assume wondrous symmetrical shapes. Each branch repeated into ever-smaller versions of itself, reaching towards points so impossibly small, they vanished altogether. As the sparkling diamonds shrank, their magnificent hues dulled. Slowly, and with no end, they surrounded him as they drifted down, coating everything in a white blanket until all that Tharo could see was snow.

  Joder: Fuck in Spanish.

  Báibái / Bóinu: A popular saying amongst siblings of the Bailarines del Fuego, translating to brother and sister respectively. While the terms have their origin in their Rohingya ancestry, by the mid-second century they had been completely assimilated and recontextualized within the Bailarines’ own cultural lingo.

  Akhato: Komuna for little brother. It was also used when speaking with a younger man that one shared a strong familiarity with.

  Hostia puta: Spanish; also fuck.

  KOS: Kill on sight.

  Rabbir hamhumaa kamaa rabbayaanee sagheera: A dua (an Islamic prayer) for one’s parents, roughly translating to; My Lord, have mercy upon them as they brought me up when I was small.