Wanted Poster

The sun crept over Genoa's rooftops. Golden light spilled across palace walls while merchants filled the cobblestones below. Music floated down from windows where whispered plots still hung in the morning air.

Adrian hugged the basin like it was his last friend on earth. His face had gone the color of old cheese. Ro-13 watched him, joints clicking softly.

" Doctor?"

"No." Adrian wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His knuckles went white on the railing as he took the stairs one step at a time. Martha stood waiting, laugh lines deepening around her eyes.

"Someone had fun last night." Her voice carried warmth and teasing.

Ro-13's processors hummed. "Sir is experiencing alcohol withdrawal symptoms."

"Wait here." Martha vanished into her spice-scented kitchen and emerged with a steaming bowl. "Old family recipe. Works miracles."

Adrian's shaking hands found the bowl. First sip made him wince. Second sip chased the fog from his head.

The door crashed open. Marco stumbled in, hair wild, apron crooked. "Catastrophe!"

Adrian choked. His face went purple as bread lodged in his throat.

“Santo cielo! Marco, What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry! I’ve got big news!” Marco said, spotting Adrian half-sprawled on the floor. “Uh... is he dead?”

“Oh no, he crossed over!” Marta shouted

One precise mechanical thump from Ro-13 solved the problem.

“Ah... I saw my life flash before my eyes…”

Marco thrust a paper in their faces - Adrian's face stared back from the wanted poster.

Martha's hand flew to her throat. "Dead or Alive? What did you do?!"

Adrian squinted. "What is this?"

“A wanted notice, sir. Think of it as... an invitation for criminals.”

“A criminal? Me? I didn’t do anything.”

"You used the King's cape as a handkerchief, Sir."

"The angry red guy?"

Marco doubled over laughing. "These guys are insane!"

Martha's hand cracked across the back of Marco head. "They'll kill you for this."

"The guillotine separates head from body quite efficiently," Ro-13 added.

"You have to leave the country before it’s too late!" Martha pleaded.

Adrian straightened, eyes clear. "Can't. Got a concert to catch."

As they left,Martha chased them out with a basket. "Take it. Please."

"Thank you." Adrian said calmly.

Ro-13's hand opened. Coins cascaded into Martha's palm.

Marco’s jaw dropped." I must be dreaming... did he just..."

an hour later, Adrian and Ro-13 sporting fake mustaches , hunched behind a newspaper on a hidden bench.

Adrian squinted at the newsprint. "The Teatro Carlo Felice is Genoa's grandest theater, where people come to listen to music and watch operas..." His brow furrowed. "What's a theater?"

"Sir, I notice your education has some... gaps. A theater is a place where stories are told live, with actors."

"Well, they didn't teach us that in school!"

Without warning, Ro-13's data stream hit Adrian's implant. His spine snapped straight, posture suddenly refined.

"Why not just download everything like that?" Adrian asked, startled.

Ro-13's sensors flashed crimson. "Some knowledge is restricted, Sir."

Adrian's peeling mustache needed another adjustment. "Good. I like learning things myself!"

In the darkness ,The Teatro loomed before them. Guards in pristine uniforms - dark coats, white gloves, immaculate hats - scrutinized tickets at the entrance. Adrian, now the perfect gentleman, presented his.

"One moment..." The guard's eyes drifted to a nearby poster. Sweat trickled down Adrian's back. Eternity passed. Then, a nod. "Proceed."

They stepped into grandeur. The Teatro's hall vibrated with anticipation - aged wood, velvet seats, sweet candlelight dancing on ornate walls. Adrian sank into his seat, tension melting.

When the curtain rose, there stood Paganini. Ghostly pale, tall, gaunt, white hair slicked back. His orchestra waited.

"What's that strange thing?" Adrian whispered as Paganini raised his instrument.

"A violin, Sir. Classical. Cherished for its voice..."

The first note struck. Adrian's world dissolved.

Crystal-clear music flooded his mind. Notes blazed like shooting stars, awakening forgotten memories. Time stopped. Sound became liquid light, washing away doubt, carrying him through fragments of half-remembered lives.Then came La Campanella, its bell-like melody weaving through the air, each note ringing as if it carried a secret from a world beyond our imagination.

La Campanella is a virtuosic violin piece, famous for its fast, challenging passages that mimic the delicate sound of a small bell.

Applause crashed like thunder. Adrian dazed , Tears welled up.”so… this is music classic!”

They rose to leave. An aristocratic voice cut through the crowd: "Sir! You dropped something."

Adrian turned, blood freezing. In the nobleman's outstretched hand lay his fake mustache.

They bolted. Behind them, the nobleman's delayed realization turned into a shout.

"Sir,Why do you attract chaos?" Ro-13's metal feet clattered against cobblestones.

"Not NOW!" Adrian shoved through a cluster of outraged pedestrians.

"STOP!" Guards' boots thundered closer.

"Left, Sir!" Ro-13's processors whirred. "Statistics indicate..."

"RIGHT!" Adrian yanked his robot friend sideways.

The alley opened before them – and a black carriage filled it. Adrian saw it too late. Impact. Flight. Then fruit everywhere. Apples bounced. Pears rolled. A merchant's shriek split the air.

"Sir!" Orange worry-lights flickered across Ro-13's face. "Status?"

Adrian surfaced from the produce pile. An apple lodged in his mouth, banana crown askew. He bit down reflexively and froze. Sweetness exploded across his tongue. Tartness danced. Juice burst.

"Mmmmmph..." His eyes closed in bliss, chaos forgotten. "This... this is..."

"Sir!" Ro-13's sensors flashed purple embarrassment. "Maybe save the food euphoria for later?"

Ro-13 hauled Adrian up. They slipped on bananas. Crashed down hard.

"Ow!"

"GET A ROOM WITH MY FRUIT!" The merchant's rage followed them.

A guard's head appeared. "FOUND THEM!"

"You've got to..." Adrian snatched apples. "Plan B!"

"There was no Plan A!"

"Improvising!" Adrian's fruit missiles found targets. Guards stumbled.

More hooves approached. Another black carriage rounded the corner, its night-dark horses at full gallop.

"Sir, incoming!"

This time Adrian didn't even turn. One moment standing, the next airborne – a final graceless dance before the ground rushed up. His head cracked stone, and darkness rumbled in.