A facade of confidence, words spoken to a mirror. “If I stick to the program and work hard, I will be rewarded,” the reflection responded. Straightening his tie and coffee in hand, the man stepped outside his door. He turned left to wave at his neighbor; she waved back. He turned right to wave at his other neighbor; nobody home. Strange. His other neighbor was always there every morning at the same exact time, but he had been gone for a week. Must be on vacation, the man thought. If I work hard, I’ll get a vacation too. Taygete Bay is nice this time of year.

After the morning commute on the metro, the man found his home away from home: an office cubicle number 612. Some would say it was cramped, but he would call it cozy. Cozy, yes, for it was all the space he needed for his work. A large stack of papers greeted him on his desk, and thus began another day for the rest of his life.


A frozen Salisbury steak waited for him back at his apartment, ready to meet the microwave. He ate his dinner in deafening silence, letting his gaze wander over to the wallpaper peeling more with each passing day. “I’ll get a better place soon,” he said to himself. Soon, but how soon? It was a question he never had the answer to. Then he was off to bed early, so he could get up in time for work tomorrow.

New day, same sun. “I am an upstanding citizen and a model employee.” This was the mantra he stuck to every morning. It was good to have a mantra. He waved to his neighbor. She waved back. He turned to the right—still nobody home.

“He passed away,” she said. “What a shame. Nobody ever knew him.”

“These things happen,” he replied.

Another ride on the metro, another elevator to his cubicle, and another stack of papers. Then it was home for another frozen dinner.

Over and over…

Consistency was nice – nothing ever threw him off his rhythm, and that was the way he liked it. That was until one day he coughed, and a spray of red caught onto his sleeve. Blood. His. Am I getting sick? He thought. No, it’s probably nothing. Just seasonal allergies is all. He couldn’t allow himself to get sick – he had a quota after all, and he never fell behind. Today would be no different.


He continued his days working and working, never noticing his skin turning pale. Working and working, shutting out the sounds of his coughs. Working and working, his breaths becoming heavy. One day he would come home, never realizing that he would never wake up again. Taygete would never stop for him, nor would it ever remember the man in cubicle 612.

“Welcome to SuperLife, where your life becomes super! How may I help you today?”

Catherine smiled as she repeated the slogan with the same enthusiasm priests gave during a eulogy. The customer, a fat, middle-aged woman with thin blond hair, wearing a blouse two sizes too small gave her barely a cursory glance before she resumed screaming into her earpiece, her phone clutched in one hand and a mini-microwave—yes, an entire microwave—tucked under her other arm.

“I told you, Harold,” the woman said, loud enough for the other three customers to hear her. “Three isn’t enough. I need four. Four!”

Four of what? Cat wondered. No, never mind, I really don’t want to know.

Her eyes glazed over as the woman continued to scream at this mysterious Harold. Was he her brother, perhaps? Maybe her husband? What kind of man would let himself be tied down by a woman like this? Though considering her magnitude and bearing, the poor fool likely didn’t have much choice in the matter.

Catherine’s thoughts drifted further as she held back a yawn. The Heritage had been packed to bursting last night. She remembered peeking out of the curtains on stage at the crowd, her stomach full of excitement and anticipation. And hope. Hope that she would gain a bit more of a following, a bit more notoriety, a bit more attention from the common people. As always, the applause was polite at first, and she didn’t actually start drawing attention until she walked up a wall she lined with metal before her performance started.

Spinning, twisting, twirling in the air, her dress skirt held down by tiny magnets inside the fabric, her voice echoing out from the stage to pull the crowd in. Watch me, see me, join me. Bask in the revel and be free.

No one had joined her, of course. Oh, a few drunks danced, but that was typical for that time of night. She wouldn’t know if she did well until after her morning shift was over, when she could finally take a break and look at her Pasithee. She usually gained an influx of followers after a performance like last night, but sometimes…well, it wasn’t a guaranteed thing.

The woman was still screaming at her husband. Or brother. Male relative. There were five other people waiting in line behind her now, Julie was still on her smoke break, and the manager had about as much sense as a cockerel strutting blindly through a lion’s den. So she was stuck here, trapped in her little bulletproof cage, waiting for customers to bring their defective products up to her and complain about them not working.

The woman finally put the microwave on the counter and put her back to Cat, so she deftly snatched the power cord and connected it to the socket under the counter. The appliance didn’t power up as expected, but instead just sat there, as dead as if she’d plugged it into a chunk of wood. She pulled the side panel open and peeked inside, but couldn’t see anything wrong from there. She’d have to take the whole thing apart to find out what the problem was. Maybe a blown fuse?

“When did this stop working, ma’am?” Cat asked, glancing up at the woman. The fat old bitch ignored her. Irritated, and before she could stop herself, Cat reached out—not with her hand, but with the essence that constantly surrounded her—and enveloped the woman’s earpiece. Then she changed...something, and a high-pitched whine began to drone from the woman's earpiece, causing the woman to flinch and yank the device from her ear.

It was one of those expensive pieces, Cat was satisfied to see. High quality, long battery life. Ruined now, because of a simple magnetic charge. The woman scowled and finally turned to look at Cat, who was busy printing a form for credit on the device.

“Here you are, ma’am,” Cat said, as sweetly as she could. “You can use this store credit to purchase any microwave we stock of equal value as this.”

“Store credit?” the woman asked, flabbergasted—a state Cat suspected she was perpetually trapped in. “I don’t want store credit; I want my money back.”

“All sales made at SuperLife are final, and we offer only credit in return for defective goods.”

“That’s not what I was told last time I came here. Where is your manager?”

“He is on a conference call at the moment, but I can—”

“Winters!”

Catherine flinched. Then she sighed and turned to see her manager, Thomas, storming towards her with a thunderous expression. The conference call was over, apparently, and it hadn’t gone well for Mr. Perfect judging by his mood. He was shorter than her, though she wasn’t that tall herself, pudgy and balding, though he looked to be in his early thirties.

“Are you giving out store credits without approval again?” he demanded, then added to the woman, “I’m sorry ma’am, I’ll be right with you.”

“I’m following company policy, sir,” Cat said. “Defective products brought in and returned are exchanged for store credit. That’s what I was taught during training.”

Thomas shook his head. “Well, you’re wrong. Return the customer’s credit—in full—and fill out the RMA for returning this unit. I won’t have you stealing from me again.”

That wasn’t me, Cat thought, but didn’t say. That was my friend Angelli. Totally different. And you’ve been stealing shit and giving it to Julie, who’s been sucking your dick every day for five months straight.

Regardless, she did as she was told. She was an upstanding, model citizen, after all. Never mind that she sent Angelli a text about a certain broken microwave lying out back. Angie, or one of her friends, would grab the thing later tonight and carry it back to their apartment. It was a perfectly good microwave, after all. At least it would be once Cat fixed whatever problem it had.

“Welcome to SuperLife,” she said to the next customer in line. “Where your life becomes super. What did we screw up this time?”

An old clock tower, frozen at a time that can no longer be read. Is that the minute hand or the hour hand hanging limply at the 6 o'clock position? Is it precisely at six, or a little to the left or right? Who took the face? The other hand? Why did they leave the hand that remains?

A new work of street art at its base, sprayed in that same shade of crimson paint you may have seen once before: on the wall of the warehouse where that gang that wanted to be the new Fenice family used to reside; spread across the pavement in the parking lot of the last major shopping mall to move out of Herse. They've been appearing in abandoned places lately.

A hasty but coherent crimson likeness of Miss Vermillion, smiling mysteriously just as she does in that famous photo from the last public address in which she used the name of Herse. Here, the image is somewhat undercut - not just by its sketchy shape, but by the rest of the composition. Looping around her, curving behind her, chaotically imprinted across her face and clothes...
SMARTEST IN THE WOMAN IN THE
WORLD HERO OF TAYGETE WANT TO BE JUST LIKE
LIKE HER WHEN I SMARTEST MOST BEST FOR THE JOB
ONLY ONE FOR THE JOB IN THE WHOLE WORLD

*

Two cans lighter than she came, a woman, whom more people know by the name of Cherry than any other, makes her way directly to her art supplier. Her work is well behind her sketchbook. She'll never catch up if she stops at just one today.

The streets are quieter at this time. Herse is never quiet and never safe by day or night, but Cherry's frequent sleepless wanderings have found about 4 AM to be the ideal - most everyone worth avoiding is preparing to do something at sunrise, and the rest are asleep, nearly asleep, or wrapping up work. Those left on the streets are out now because they don't want to meet anyone, and that suits her excellently.

She cocks her ear to a voice whispering a mantra in a curious rhythm. "You're-not-alone-now," to the tune of... just a little out of time with her footsteps. Well, there are no absolutes in Herse - some are out now to find people who don't want trouble. She suddenly shifts her gait, and her follower comes briefly out of sync, just long enough that she can hear their steps herself.

Too bad for them, a bad place to stage an ambush. Her destination's just a block off, and the owner's shotgun is always loaded. They'll wait for her outside, but she'll disappoint them.

*

The man behind the counter looks up from his magazine at the ring of the doorbell. Before a word passes between him and the entrant, he bends down and picks out a case of her brand. Unlike most of his stock, with some other exceptions, it's undrinkable in the medical sense, with official warning labels to prove it. But a regular is a regular, and stock that sells is stock that sells.

"Money tonight?"

She tosses cash on the counter as she takes the cans. Never credit with her. Probably for the best. She seems like an enemy-of-the-state type.

"Yeah. No favors. Work to do."

"Good. M'floor's already mopped if y'didn't notice."

"I didn't. See me out the back door."

"Squatter outside?"

Cherry nods as she passes him. He rolls his eyes and rolls his shoulders, grabbing his gun to show her out.

Got you now, you little rat.

Angelli closed in on her prey, who didn’t realize he was running into a dead-end alley. Last night was full of hazy details—forgotten places, cigarette smoke, and piles upon piles of shot glasses. The morning after the man woke to the sound of a revving engine and his door getting kicked in. Next thing he knew he was being chased out of the window of his apartment, never being frightened more by combat boots and black lipstick. Wandering hands had their price.

“This is just a misunderstanding!” the man cried, realizing he had nowhere left to go. “I didn’t know she was one of you!”

He panicked as Angelli drew closer, biding her time with every step to leave him in suspense. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and made to throw a punch, but stopped just short of his face, the glint of her brass knuckles reflected in his horrified eyes.

“I’m only gonna tell you once,” Angelli warned. “You ever hurt my girls, I hurt your boys. Now get out of here—and change your damn pants.”

“What about my door?”

“Fuck your door.”

She dropped the man and let him scramble off, choosing not to test his luck further. Angelli let out a sigh and took out her phone, staring at the crack on her screen. She’d get a new model soon. Eventually. Angelli dialed a number and waited for the tone.

“Hey Nails, what’s up?” a feminine voice answered.

“Tell the newbie that guy isn’t going to bother her anymore.”

“Ooh, details. How many ribs did you break?”

“None, let him off with a warning.”

“Booooooring. You’re gonna make the rest of us look bad, Nails. Y’know, ever since you started living with that roomie, you’ve been getting pretty soft. You forget why you joined the Valks?”

“Eh, shut up, Lash. Don’t make this a thing. The guy didn’t do anything too serious, so it didn’t need to get bloody. Also, leave my roommate out of this, this has nothing to do with—speak of the devil. We’ll talk later.”

She swiped to read the text Catherine had just sent her about a special sale on microwaves at the SuperLife—one hundred percent off. Angelli mounted her motorcycle and sped off, weaving through the standstill traffic. Many people sat in place, windows rolled down to take in the noise of the city. One unfortunate soul had his coffee splash onto his face as Angelli swooped by. She ignored being called a bitch as she reached the supercenter. Angelli circled to the back and stored the lone microwave Cat had left into her bike’s saddlebag and made back to the parking lot. Now was good a time as any to grab a snack.

“Heya, Bestie.” Angelli waved to Cat as she passed by to the chip aisle. Her eyes scanned across the selection until she found the salt and vinegar flavor. She snatched it, though the cool ranch bag made her hesitate for a second. Cat’s shift usually ended around this time, so she wouldn’t wait long until they’d meet outside. Angelli walked out of the store without paying for the chips as if she already owned them.

Considering nobody stopped her, she did.

---

---

In the dead of the starless night, Herse would find its peace at last. Even monsters needed their sleep. Most of them, anyway. The stars may not have been in the sky, but they were closer than anyone would think. A man roamed aimlessly through the vacant streets, with unfettering silence allowing him to collect his thoughts. Crowds weren’t his environment of choice—never were. Despite all the people going about their days in the city, he never had a soul to talk to. He was used to it.

Yesterday had been full of nothing. Today was the same. The loneliness was its own hell, and above that was the boredom. The stark, unending boredom. The man had walked all across Taygete and back by foot, and lost count of how many times over he reached end-to-end of the city’s limits. He stared up at the ruined clock towering above. It was the embodiment of the district itself, stuck in time and missing pieces that kept it turning.

A more interesting sight quickly caught his fancy. The side of an old metalworks storage warehouse defaced by graffiti. A woman was in the process of spraying the shape of another woman onto the wall with frantic words scrawling about. Was this a cry for help, or the rambling statement of a lunatic fringe? Nonetheless, the work was impressive for something that didn’t make use of stencils. Like a deer darting up from the sound of a snapped branch, the woman startled and took off.

What was she running from? Him? It couldn’t be—nobody ever saw him. Indulging in his intrigue, he took chase. It wasn’t too hard to keep up with the woman, as the darkness of night was of no hindrance to his eyes. She turned a corner and entered a shop, and a faint exchange of words could be heard within. Shortly after, the woman returned outside from the back entrance. Looks like they were expecting something. The man stepped into the store, and by which he did not use the door. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

He phased into the building, its walls offering his body no resistance. An old man armed with a shotgun stood in wait by the back, watching the woman outside. Curious. The intruder proceeded to step forward without fear, waving his hand at the old man. No response. He didn’t know what he was expecting, nobody ever saw him after all. The woman seemed to be an exception—one in a billion. The man made no effort in hiding his presence, approaching her in full view of the street lights.

He made loud footsteps to see if she could hear him. She could. He walked to the front of her to see if she could see him. She most definitely could, and what a sight she would see. The man’s form was devoid of flesh, appearing as a humanoid-shaped silhouette cut out of a nebula and given life. His face was completely featureless, save for two glowing violet eyes. His body was a gaseous shadow, filled with a tiny sea of stars. If he had lips, they would be smiling. When he confirmed the woman could see him, he spoke.

“Nice to meet you, miss. How are we this fine evening?”

The footfalls again, following Cherry out of the store. Loud, obnoxious. She doesn't need help to pick them out this time. But anyone following her now would be in view of the owner.
She glances over her shoulder. The owner is watching her back, and not watching the...
That.

The first question is always, "Is it real?"
And the answer is - no. Obviously no. If anyone at all were actually following her, her supplier would make sure she knew it, one way or another. If she were in so deep right now as to hallucinate his nonresponse, she'd have some sense of the fact.
This one's even claiming the sound of her pursuer. She looks ahead again. Something's just reminding her to stay on edge, which she doesn't need to be told.

Then it overtakes and stops in front of her. She startles. They don't do that. They don't... usually? Have that level of object permanence.

"Nice to meet you, miss. How are we this fine evening?"

But it can't be real.
Unless this is some kind of mask over a real person stopping her - but the owner's still back there.
She glances back again. The owner went back inside.
She looks ahead again. It's still there.
Who would be stopping her to ask a question like that with the sun so far gone, without the slightest threat in their tone? And with an appearance like that?
An ordinary creep... someone unaware of how things work in this district, or above the danger... someone confident she won't harm them, in any case. Confidence is its own kind of threat.
She holds her ground, tensing up to fight. If he pulls a weapon - if it's a gun - if he has friends. Thoughts running fast. She almost neglects to respond.

"Morning, isn't it? Nothing else to do at this hour?"

The clinking of glasses, the familiar stench of booze and cigarettes lingering through the air, and the constant struggle between the music and patron's voices trying to overcome one another within the lively establishment, are all too familiar to the lone freelancer as he remained tucked away in an isolated booth in the corner of the always bustling Heritage. The smoke from his newly lit cigarette clouded his vision as he stared down into the drink he had been slowly nursing, watching the perfectly formed cubes of ice melt away into the light goldish liquid with a stoic gaze. A small frown settled on his face before raising the glass to his lips to take an easy sip before leaning back into his seat with a hiss of pain, holding his stinging side and doing his best to ignore the throbbing bruises along his lower jaw. A huff of irritation escaped him along with a thick plume of smoke from his nose before glancing up at his surroundings. As always the place was lively as ever, with plenty of suits and other high rollers enjoying the many pleasures the Heritage had to offer, even a handful of hired muscle standing guard around the section of the bar for the VIP guest. Isaac felt a tinge of sympathy for the men, knowing all too well how much of a pain in the ass it is to be on babysitting duty, especially when said babies are loud obnoxious drunks that constantly remind you that they could buy you, your family and your future generations if they wanted to.

Isaac's attention to the atmosphere of the bar was soon interrupted as he noticed a figure approaching his booth from the corner of his eye. "Man, don't you look full of sunshine and sparkles," a familiar voice said with an amused chuckle. Isaac let out a small sigh before tapping away the ashes of his cigarette into a tray and looking at the owner of the voice with a deadpanned look only to be met by an amused grinning face of his recent business partner, Otto Turner. They've only been working together for half a year now, but Otto's intel gathering and connections have been pretty handy with landing decently paying jobs. His bright green eyes held the same mischievous twinkle they had since they met, the dirty blonde strands of his shaggy hair hanging loosely above his brow and just barely hiding the scar across the temple of his forehead. That stupid grin he always has seems to grow even larger every time they meet along with freckles dotting his cheeks upon his lightly tanned skin. Sporting his usual fur-lined jacket with a dull grey t-shirt and baggy cargo pants Isaac couldn't help but wonder if the man had any other kind of clothes in his wardrobe seeing as he never seems to change his look. He ignored the thought of his partner's fashion sense and took a sip from his drink.

"You're late," Isaac stated before returning his cigarette to his lips. Otto held up his hands apologetically before taking a seat from across him with a sheepish chuckle.

"I know, I know, but something came up with a past client and I couldn't ignore it," Isaac arched a brow and gave him a curious look, but was quickly waved off as Otto shook his head. "Don't worry I handled it. Just needed to do some digging and number crunching, nothing big," he assured him with a smirk before leaning back in his seat and raising a hand to signal a passing waitress to order himself a drink. Isaac kept his gaze on him to see if he was hiding anything but winced in pain as he shifted in his seat and felt the bruises along his side throb. It was Otto's turn to give Isaac a questioning look, arching his brow and pointing down to Isaac's ribs that he was currently holding. "But uh, what happened here anyway? You're not usually the one getting roughed up this much," he said just as the waitress arrived with his drink. "Don't tell me you let your guard down? Thought you were the professional muscle here," he teased before bringing his drink to his lips, trying his best to hide an amused smile. Isaac felt his brow twitch a bit in irritation, but let it slide and glanced up to Otto pointing at him with the two digits holding his cigarette.

"You gave me bad intel, that's what happened," he stated clearly with a small frown. Otto nearly coughed up his drink before looking at him with wide eyes.

"What!? Bad intel? ME!?" he questioned clearly offended by the claim. Isaac simply gave a nod and gestured to his bruised jaw. Otto scoffed and shook his head before tapping his finger on the table. "I don't give bad intel, everything I have is always good. More than good, it's damn near perfect!" he declared with a slightly puffed-out chest before jabbing a finger towards Isaac. "When was the last time I ever came up short for you?" he questioned with a determined gaze to clear his name. Isaac gave him an amused smirk and shook his head.

"Never, everything up until now has been good," he said before pausing to sip from his drink. "But this time you made a mistake. What you gave me said I would only be dealing with two or three thugs, minimum. That place was chock-full of thugs," he muttered as he lightly rubbed his jaw. "I went in ill-prepared and ended up getting jumped by the bastards," he grumbled as he recalled the nasty fight down in the Herse slums. Otto only gave Isaac a disbelieving look, but soon relented and gave a heavy sigh before taking a large swig from his drink with an annoyed frown.

"Shit," he hissed before swinging his arm over the edge of his seat. "So I'm guessing you weren't successful in retrieving the package?" He questioned as he looked off around the bar. Isaac gave an amused scoff and dug into his coat to pull out a thick envelope before sliding it over to Otto.

"I never said that. Just got more of a beating than was needed to get it," he said before sinking into his seat and enjoying the surprised look from Otto as he looked down at the successfully retrieved package upon the table. Otto soon overcame his shock and let his usual grin return to his face as he took the envelope, testing its weight and letting out a chuckle.

"Damn Vix, good shit," he said before tucking the package away into his jacket with a nod. "Clients will be really happy to have this bag of goodies back. I trust you kept this professional and didn't do any snooping?" he asked only to be met with a deadpanned expression from Isaac. "Got it, got it just needed to ask. This does belong to a suit after all," he says before patting the new lump in his jacket. "Anyways, good job Vix. I'll take things from here and make sure you get your cut by the end of the day. Keep an eye on that account," he chuckled before downing the rest of his drink and slapping the table as he rose to his feet. Isaac gave a curt nod and held up his drink as Otto turned on his heel with a two-fingered salute and made his way towards the exit of the bar.

With the business of the day now done and over with Isaac let out a long sigh before putting out his cigarette and twirling his drink in his hand. 'Could have been worse I guess. At least I still get some credits at the end of the day,' he thought to himself before feeling his wounds flare up again in irritation. A pained expression painted his face as he stared into his drink, noticing the ice had finally melted away. For a moment a heavy silence hung over the lone freelancer, his thoughts drifting off to space before closing his eyes and downing the rest of his drink. Gritting his teeth he let the burning, golden liquid do its job before opening his eyes and waving down the waitress for another order. He had a feeling it was going to be one of those nights.

Cat twisted her nose as the scent of smoke assaulted her sinuses. She scratched her cheek to hide her distaste as Julie finally returned from her smoke break. She stubbornly powered through the smell, though she grabbed a scented handkerchief from her purse as a precaution. Her skin itched, and she hoped Julie stayed put.

No such luck.

“Catherine,” Julie’s nasally voice, like the buzzing of a particularly large bee, grated Cat’s nerves. “Can you take my shift this evening? I have an appointment with my hairstylist.”

Cat turned and gave an apologetic smile. Julie stood just outside her little bulletproof cubby, flicking through a phone with one hand while the other contended with a purse Cat was fairly sure was heavier than the microwave Angelli looted earlier. Of course, it was a designer bag, one of Grey Filament’s ‘high end accessories’ tailored for ‘customers of modest means and modest income.’

Julie was a chubby girl, though not overweight. Men might call her ‘fluffy’ or ‘plush,’ but those words didn’t really mean much. Round cheeks, wide hips, short with stubby fingers and long hair dyed a strange silver-blue color, lips painted to match. The two gold hoops clashed with the dull blue-gray SuperLife vest and slacks.

Slacks in general were a poor fit on Julie, though Cat remembered what the girl looked like in a miniskirt, as much as she wish she didn’t. Julie, however, was one of those girls who believed more was better, and moderation was cowardice. Or some such nonsense like that. Heavy makeup and misplaced fashion sense aside, her hair was quite stylish.

“Sorry, Julie,” Cat said. “I have a date planned tonight.”

“A date? With a boy?”

No you idiot, with a stage. “Yes.”

“Is he cute?”

“Mmhmm. He has money, too.”

Julie pursed her lips. She seemed impressed, and gave Cat a small nod of respect before she turned away, believing the conversation finished. Cat forced back a sigh, then grabbed her purse as she saw Thomas striding out of his office in a quick gait. There was tension in his jaw, though Cat didn’t get a good look at him before he went out the back entrance.

He must know Angelli is still here, Cat thought, hiding a snicker. He wouldn’t want to risk glancing at her the wrong way.

That was fine with Cat.

“That bitch is still loitering outside, isn’t she?” Julie asked disdainfully.

“You’re lucky I like you, Julie,” Cat said. “Else I might tell her what you just said. She’s a good friend, despite what you think of her, and despite her occasional...lapses in judgement.”

Julie hesitated. It was a mark of Angelli’s reputation Julie backed down so quickly. Angie surprised Cat when they first met, but as she grew to know the woman, Cat enjoyed the delinquent and her occasional antics. Angie was reluctant to speak about her gang and what they did, even though Cat knew she was part of one, though not for lack of trust or friendship. The two girls got along well. Surprisingly well.

Catherine gathered her belongings as the shift finally came to an end, though Arthur was late again. But since Thomas left early and Julie was stuck here anyway, Cat decided it was time for her to go. So she stepped out of her cubby, locked the gate, then strolled out the front doors.

Angelli straddled her bike outside, leaned like a picture straight out of a biker magazine, all black leather and lipstick, though her hair was a silvery platinum. The older woman noticed Catherine but didn’t react as Cat approached the parked car beside Angie. She made sure to stay a pace or two away—Angie got testy when Cat got too close to her bike, despite Cat’s countless reminders it was safe.

“So,” Cat said, smiling and noting the microwave strapped to Angie’s bike. “Rob anyone interesting today?”

---

“I take offense to that, Cat. I’ll have you know that all my goods I’ve acquired today were legitimately obtained,” Angelli said, taking a bite from one of her “legitimately obtained” chips.

“Also, I didn’t know your store had a mascot,” she added, meeting the dirty stares of Julie through the windowpane. “What’s your new slogan? ‘Welcome to SuperLife, home of the smoking cow?’ I gotta say, it’s not a good look for business if she’s just going to be mean-mugging customers when they pull up. Tell her if she’s got something to say to me, she can say it to my face.” She sighed and patted the saddlebag holding the microwave. “Good thing we can finally replace that piece o’ shit back at the apartment after the ‘incident-we-will-never-speak-of.’”

The “piece o’ shit” in question was a story all its own, told by the various scorch marks permanently imprinted in the kitchen. Though they had guests over who would ask, the two never explained the origin of the marks. Having nicer things never hurt. Angelli switched on her ignition, while the thought still lingered. “While we’re on the topic,” she continued. “I’m gonna head down to the Galleria. Mama’s got some actual shopping to do—feel free to meet me there. By the way, I fed Zeke and put him back in his cage earlier, so you don’t have to worry about him.”

Angie stopped herself from taking off, the red sunset over Lucetius Peak causing her to pause. The rare moments she chose in silence spoke louder than those she didn’t. Like a fleeting whirlwind chasing cheap thrills, she spent her days loading up on adrenaline and owning the roads, never slowing down. She sat in place, a breeze briefly gusting through her hair before her mind snapped to reality. “On second thought, Cat,” she said. “I think I’m gonna make a quick detour.” Angelli released her kickstand and roared off.

With that, she was gone again.

---

---

“Morning?” the figure repeated, glancing around. “For me, it’s hard to tell. Don’t own a watch, y’know. Can’t even hold one. Last I looked at a clock was the old tower we passed… and that one’s only right twice a day.”

He fixed his gaze back onto Cherry and paced around her as if he was sizing her up. In return, she kept her eyes locked onto him. The figure decided to amuse himself further. “You look a little nervous there. I get it, I am pretty gorgeous after all. Or maybe… you’re thinking about hitting me. That scowl you got says it all. Won’t do you any good, I’m afraid. Trust me, I’ve tried. If it makes you feel better, you’re more than welcome to do it anyway. Go on, I won’t get hurt physically nor emotionally. I pass through everything except solid ground.”

The figure squat down, leaving himself open to whatever would happen. “Enough about me,” he went on. “Why don’t we talk about you? You’re the only person that’s ever been able to see me since I got like this, and I’d hate to squander the moment. Odds are I’ve completely gone off the deep end and you’re just a figment of my decaying psyche, or you’re real and this is no mere coincidence. I won’t rule out the former, but for now, I think I’ll take my chances. So just who are you? What makes you so different that you can see me?”

A beat. Seconds passed like there was rot in the air.

“Oh, how rude of me,” he said. “Poor manners to ask about you when I haven’t even given a proper introduction, right? Wish I had a name to give you, but I’m afraid I can’t remember anything before my… ascension. Gazed a bit too long into the abyss, you see. In fact, I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Why don’t you just call me… John. John Doe. I’ve been wandering around this city for God knows how long without anyone to talk to. That is, until now.” John Doe, as he called himself, stood up and took a step forward.

“Now this is the part where you tell me about you.”

---

Lights. Music. Drinks.

The Heritage never failed to keep the three coming. Despite sitting in the middle of Carme, anyone could feel like a Chaldene high roller for a night without breaking the bank. Several patrons lined the barstools with undone ties and loosened collars, losing themselves in the intoxicating air of the nightclub. Others made fools of themselves on the dance floor, moving to the beats blasted by the DJ. The bartender left her nest of beer taps and liquor display shelves to Isaac’s booth and set down a plate of the club’s famous steak burger and a new mug.

“Star says this one’s on the house,” she said, her soft voice rendered almost inaudible by the music. “She wants to talk to you.” The bartender was an odd sort, sporting albino hair and a personality a little too reserved for someone in her profession. The nametag on her lapel read “Aurora.” Aurora noticed Isaac clutching his ribs and picked up the serving tray with the empty mug.

“I’ll go get an ice pack.”

Moments later, a different woman approached the booth, dressed in a track jacket with her chestnut ponytail peeking out of her snapback. The hat’s bill hid her eyes, but everyone in The Heritage recognized the owner. It was common knowledge that she only let those she liked call her "Star"—to everyone else she was just “the owner.” Isaac was one of the lucky few. Those she passed avoided meeting her gaze directly, as to meet her gaze was to risk her displeasure. And nobody wanted to risk her displeasure.

“Hey Otto, take a hike for a bit,” she said, her voice exuding authority. “I need to have a little chat with your homeboy over here.” With Otto shooed away, Star sat opposite Isaac. “So,” she went on. “How’d you get from cleaning my tables to spilling blood on them? This isn’t what I imagined when you said you were quitting for better pastures. You should know better by now, Isaac, if you’re gonna bring your work here, you either take it off the premises or you give me my cut.” Star eyed the ashtray and the colony of cigarettes accrued there. “Between your new bosses and your smoking habits, you’ll lose your good looks a hell of a lot sooner than you’d think.”

Star rested her hand on her chin and gave Isaac’s injuries a once over. She didn’t have more than a few years on him, but it didn’t stop her from treating him like a kid. Aurora returned, setting an ice pack and bandages on the table, only for Star to grab them before Isaac could. “I want you to hold onto that pain you’re feeling for a minute. Really stew on it for a while and think about what you’re doing. Remember that pain.”

Once she was satisfied, Star slid the ice pack and supplies to Isaac.

_{feeling bad today for medical reasons. if i'm not making any sense, oh well}
Checking every word, every movement, every... there are no facial expressions... checking everything for any sign of a threat. It just wouldn't make sense for him to be genuine - in any sense - but everything's saying that he is. Cherry doesn't move, doesn't speak, hardly seems to breathe for a long time, staring intensely at "John Doe."
Taking him at his word is Plan Z, but by now she's getting there. What was it that he said exactly? He's some kind of ghost? She hasn't been listening as closely as what might be polite.

"Why do I see you?" she echoes, and she's aware now that she's probably talking to herself - something she'd been able to avoid doing in public for months straight.
"Why do I see anything?" she adds, quieter.
Well. She's already started.
"I see a lot that no one else does. Omens, and hints, and..." She tries prodding the apparition's shin with her foot, to see if she can. "...a lot of nonsense. You're different. I don't like that."

If she was right from the start, if he is a threat
If there are more like him
What does he want
Will spraypaint to the eyes work
Relax. Relax. Any thug she's ever met would've started something already. But what else would he want?
Circles and circles, the same thoughts again and again and again-

"I don't like this at all. No jokes. Tell me what you want."
She should really get herself a gun.

Isaac arched a brow in surprise when the club's special burger was placed down in front of him with his new drink and looked up to see Aurora. "I didn't-," before he could finish she already told him it was on the house and Star wanted to talk. "Ah," he said before letting out a small sigh. Looks like he got caught doing business in the club again. He hadn't exactly been subtle about it, but he at least hoped he'd be a few more drinks in before she caught wind of it. After wincing from the pain in his side Aurora said she'd get an ice pack for him and Isaac could only give her a thankful nod and smile. "Thanks, Aurora," he muttered before having a sip of his drink and taking a bite from his burger. God, he didn't realize just how hungry he was till now. Getting the shit kicked out of him must have really built up an appetite.

After his third or fourth bite, he finally noticed the familiar sight of Star making her way to his booth to confront him. He held back an amused chuckle as those she passed avoided any contact at all with her, probably too scared to risk pissing off the owner. She had always been an intimidating figure in the bar, their first meeting leaving Isaac with goosebumps, but it seems he's managed to get in her good graces. She helped take care of him when the time came, though most of the time it came with some sort of price, Isaac was still grateful to her. After wiping off his lower lip from one last bite of his burger he leaned back in his seat and gave Star a simple nod as she sat across from him.

Isaac cast his eyes downward as she went on to lecture him about doing business in the bar and simply gave a quiet nod of understanding, knowing she was right and felt like a kid getting scolded, a familiar feeling when he'd talk with her." I know," he muttered before returning her gaze as he took another sip of his drink. He couldn't help but laugh a bit as she commented on him losing his good looks due to his habits and gave a shrug. "Can't have that I suppose," he chuckled before gently rubbing his sore jaw with a wince. He'd defiantly be a lot uglier by now if he wasn't good at his job. Soon Aurora returned with an ice pack and bandages. As Isaac went to grab the supplies Star was quick to get there first and suggested he think about what he was doing and remember the pain. Though knowing her it was more of an order than a suggestion. Isaac stared at her for a moment in silence, letting her words sink in before she slid the supplies his way. A small sigh escaped him as he picked up the Pack and began to take off his coat.

"Thing is Star," he began before hissing in pain once he managed to get an arm free, revealing quite a few scars running down his right arm, the most notable one being a large scar running down from his shoulder to his wrist. "I'm no stranger to this pain. Sorta have a long-term relationship with it," he chuckled grimly before placing his coat to the side and slowly pulling up his shirt to reveal a massive bruise on his side, speckles of blood here and there. He stared at the wound with a small frown before giving a quick breath through his nose and applying the pack to his side with a hiss. Holding back a curse he looked back to Star with a pained smile. "I'll think on it though, always do," he assured her before lowering his shirt a bit to take a swig of his drink.

"Sorry again about this though, I knew it was a bad idea to come here for work, but it was sorta last second," he admitted as he stared into his drink with a distant gaze. "Plus I went down to the Herse today and uh... well you know how I am with that place," he said with a quiet tone as he swirled his drink around with a heavy frown. "I'll give you your usual cut, Otto's heading off to collect payment now," he promised before leaning back in his seat to continue tending to his wounds.

Cat smiled and waved away the exhaust fumes of Angelli’s departure, part of her glad the woman could leave a conversation so abruptly and part of her a little annoyed by it. She could appreciate someone always wanting to be on the move—that’s basically what her life was like for six or seven years. An international, never-ending road trip, where she often didn’t know where she’d be sleeping until night came.

It felt odd to have both a stable roommate and a reliable, if somewhat run-down bed for...eleven months now? Had it really been that long? The days went by so quickly here compared to a year ago, when every day was an adventure all its own. She was constantly meeting new people, complete strangers who seemed bemused to have a sun-tanned foreigner asking after their day, though overcoming language barriers required some creativity.

But despite all that, she never felt a true culture shock until after she returned. Modern civilization was just so different from the villages and hamlets she visited, and while the lower places of the world could be dangerous sometimes, Taygete honestly wasn’t much better. Everything was just more...convenient here.

Catherine shook her head and ducked into her car. Even if she was coasting through life now, that didn’t mean she wasn’t doing important work here. Well, partly. Cat the Retail Customer Service Representative wasn’t doing much, other than giving her a stable income. Which was still important. But there was something else too.

She turned the ignition and, while she waited for the radiator to blast the heat from her car, she flicked through the notifications she missed during work. There were several hundred of those. Most from Pathisee. Her performances were becoming more and more popular, now that she had some traction and a stable viewer base. The latest video had tens of thousands of views now, which made her smile. While a couple ten-thousands was still only a drop in the proverbial Taygete ocean, Cat knew better than to downplay the importance of the individual.

About a half-hour of driving through packed city streets and nearly getting into two accidents because some asshole cut her off on two different junctions, Cat finally arrived at the Galleria. The place was an eyesore. Nothing like this existed in many parts of the world—parts of the world she visited—and those people got along just fine without such conveniences. The towering structure, all twelve floors of it, could have served as housing for hundreds of villages and families, though Cat supposed she couldn’t be upset about it. Most village homes weren’t larger than a single story.

Still, she missed the stars.

A quick glance confirmed she’d arrived first, so Cat bought herself a pouch of fried quinoa bites, and sat down to tear into the food and her remaining Pathisee notifications. The food court was packed with people, all caught up in their own little worlds and completely oblivious to her. No one saw her. Not while she still wore her SuperLife work clothing. She couldn’t be more invisible. She liked it that way.

Cat paused, glancing up as a pair of young women passed, chatting and laughing together. She smiled to herself, then glanced around the court. Where was Angie, anyway?

---

Taygete bathed in the light of the setting sun, the chill, mountain air grazing her skin with the evening’s final bite. At last, she escaped the noise. But this peace would never last, and Angelli would soon have to return down to the land below—for now she was queen of the mountain.

A small mewling cut through the silence as a small cat appeared, taking notice of Angelli. A suitable first subject for her reign. To commemorate the occasion, Angelli set her phone to record as she beckoned the cat closer. Cautiously, the cat approached. Instead of offering reverence, the cat delivered a scratch and a hiss before scurrying off.

And so it was treason.

“Fuck you too then, you little bastard,” Angelli scoffed, treating the fresh marks on her hand. At the very least, Catherine would enjoy the moment. She sent the recording to her, followed by a snapshot of the sunset. Angie was never really the kind for sentimentality. Never really the kind to consider the world around her, as Cat would eventually find out. But she was learning. She was trying.

Her detached mind shifted into gear along with her motorcycle, riding back down the trail and into the city. The noise reared its ugly head once again, and the rare moment of peace was shunted into the back of her mind.. The Galleria rose above the street, towering higher and higher as she drew closer. There was something odd about the mall and the power it held over people. It was a symbol of damn near everything she hated, yet it brought her a strange catharsis by being there. Maybe it was the glamour and pretty lights. Perhaps she was no better, falling for its charms.
She eventually found a suitable parking space among the clusters of cars in the lot and strolled in along the crowds passing through. She deftly swept past women attempting to spritz her with sample perfumes and offer her various makeup supplies. Angelli may have had her reputation, but these women were fearless. Relentless. She managed to escape unscathed by grabbing a random man as a human shield—unfortunately for him, he now had the combined smell of “No. 14 Elle McLaren” and “No. 18 Pastel de Urinario”—his displeasure reflected in his screams of agony.

With the worst of the cosmetics department behind her, Angelli made her way into the food court via the escalator. She piled a tray with a slice of pizza and a cup of cola, and actually paid for it this time. Cat wasn’t too hard to spot, even with how inconspicuous she thought she was being. Angelli set her tray down and sat across from her while she was distracted by her phone.

“Watching one of your old videos again?” she asked, brushing aside a stray lock of hair. “Careful not to fall in love with yourself now.”

---

---

Of all the people that he could finally talk to, he didn’t expect to meet one so neurotic. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Apprehension was a natural reaction for anyone seeing a such a ghastly sort such as himself, and to that he gave credit. John watched as Cherry barraged him with questions and disjointed ramblings, only offering a shrug in return.

“Still can’t get a name out of you, can I?” he asked. “Very well. I think I’ll just call you ‘Happy,’ since you’re such a ray of sunshine. From the looks of it, you don’t seem to like a lot of things.”

Cherry’s attempt to prod John’s shin was futile, as her foot passed through him without resistance. He looked down and then back at her, as if bewildered by her method of rationalization. “If I can’t even remember my actual name,” John went on, standing up. “Then I’m afraid I’m not going to be good for explaining why you can see me. Hell, I’d like to know as well. But to answer your question, what I really want is a solution to my predicament. I don’t very much like being a shadowy bogeyman, y’know.”

John leaned in closer, venom seeping into his voice. “And do you know what it’s like to be invisible, intangible, and immortal all at once? It’s boring. Dreadfully boring. What I want is an end to it all. I need someone to help me revert to who I was before I became like this… or find a way to actually kill me. Right now, you’re the only person I can work with. So what do you say, Happy? Of course, it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t offer anything in return. If you help me, then in the meantime I can be your eyes and ears wherever you need me to be. You’d be surprised the kind of dirt you can get on people when they think they’re alone.” Finishing what he had to say, John stepped back giving Cherry room to breathe.

“You have nothing to lose.”

---

Star watched on as Isaac stirred about hopelessly in his own pain, rebuffing his groans with looks of disappointment. She knew what lip service sounded like when she heard it, and Isaac was only going to learn the hard way. Star leaned back in the booth as she imparted her last bit of wisdom.

“Yeah, I know all about your history with Herse,” she said. “And I would think that all the blood that was spilled would be enough to keep you from going back. Look, you’re a grown-ass man now, and I’m not going to try and run your life for you. But take it from me, there are better places to end up than a ditch riddled with bullets. You have the liberty of choice, which is a lot more than any street rat that crawled out of Herse could ever say. If you don’t care about yourself, then think about the people that do. Don’t choose to be stupid.”

After saying her piece, Star left the booth and disappeared back into the nightclub. Aurora came along and began to wipe down the table.

“Miss Star isn’t angry at you,” she assured Isaac. “She just worries for you, even if she doesn’t outright show it.” Aurora gathered the empty plate and mug placed them on a cart. “I was… in a similar situation once. At the time, I endured with what I was going through, as I thought it was the best option for my future. Miss Star found me and told me that she could help me, but I would have to say that I wanted to. That it would have to be my choice. I was stubborn at the time. Uncertain of what would happen to me. In the end, I made my decision and I’m glad for it. I’ve been here ever since.”

For someone as reserved as Aurora, this may have been the most she had ever shared with a former coworker, let alone a patron. Chances were, something about Isaac’s story had resonated with her. “If you’d like another drink, come up to the bar,” she said. “I’ll take care of your tab for tonight, just don’t tell Star.” She then left Isaac to tend to the other patrons.

Cherry is silent for a moment. She takes a step back and stares, or glares at John up and down through narrowed eyes.
It wouldn't be the first time she spent days in pursuit of a complete delusion, but everything's pointing... well, it sure is pointing. This isn't a hallucination - from that assumption, what then?
Living in Herse trains one to pay closer attention to transactions than Arche or Chaldene would allow most to muster. Calculations that take an average Taygete drone tens of minutes might take a businessman just one, and they can go by as fast or faster along the well-worn thought-tracks of someone who needs to make deals and friends to survive, and can never afford to be cheated.

"Nothing to lose," she echoes. Her expression doesn't say she believes it. Her expression says she's probably never believed anything she hasn't seen, and rarely what she's seen either.
Then her eyes dart aside, almost as if regarding someone who's come up next to John.


Everything is quiet more often than not at this time of morning. Noises as subtle as taking a breath to speak are audible from feet away. In the right wind and the right echo, hushed voices could carry for a block or more. Experience can teach a woman anything. Cherry answers in less than a whisper.
"We'll see."
Her eyes flick back to John. Over the course of a few seconds, the tension and suspicion in her demeanor have gradually dried up as if by miracle. She's only a little louder as she says, "We both know I have no idea where to start for my end, but it sounds like you'll let me use you until I find something. So - fine. You have my commitment if I have yours."


"...you can call me Cherry."
She offers her hand.

As Isaac tended to his wounds he listened to Star weigh in her opinion, his frown growing heavier as she spoke. There was truth in her words, there always was, but he hated that the most. Her statement of him having a choice stung, knowing he did in fact have a choice but still led his life by the gun and the credits that can be gained through blood. He was always aware of the risk he faced in this line of work and hated hearing it out loud. He winced as she told him to think about those who cared for him if he didn't care for himself, hiding his shameful frown through the pain of his wounds as he tended to them. Isaac looked back up to Star to say something but found it was too late as she had already left the booth and disappeared into the nightclub. He stared off into the busy bar in thought before letting out a heavy sigh, applying the last of his bandages and downing the rest of his drink with a frown.

He knew she was right, he's known for a while now, but what was he to do? Taking up the gun and selling his skills to others was the only reason he's come this far! He feels pride in his work, but why did he feel sick about it at the same time? He was making a living, he's crawled his way from those damn slums and come so close to the top! So why... why did all of his achievements feel so empty? Would he not be satisfied until he's killed by some prick who got off a lucky shot? Maybe he had already chosen to be stupid. The questions floating in his mind only grew more frustrating by the second as he glared into his empty glass, but before he could sink any further into his head he was pulled away as Aurora approached his booth and began wiping it down.

As she assured him of Star simply worrying about him he sunk into his seat, unsure if she really did but keeping it to himself as he stared down at the table. After clearing the table Isaac looked up to her as she began to speak of her past, slightly surprised by the gesture as she tried to reach out to him. It was completely out of character for her, but he listened anyways with a thoughtful look in his eyes. She never went into details about the struggles she went through, but he wouldn't pry. As she stated she was happy with her choice of coming here he looked to the table, deep in thought as he let her words sink in. He smiled softly as she said she'd take care of his tab and chuckled as she went back to work. A slow sigh escaped his lips as he spent a few more moments on his thoughts before pushing himself out of his seat with a groan, doing his best to push past his throbbing wounds.

Grabbing his coat and easing himself back into it Isaac made his way to the bar where Aurora was working. After digging into his wallet he slipped enough cash to pay for his tab and a generous tip her way. "Have a good night Aurora," he said before flashing her a friendly smile. "And thanks," he muttered before making his way to the club's exit. Once exiting the club he let out a heavy sigh as he was greeted by the nightlife of the Carme Promenade. Checking the time he decided it was a good time to call it a day, but before that, he would give Otto a call. As he began making his way to the metro line he waited for his partner to pick up, making sure to avoid or push past the crowds in his way. Soon enough a familiar voice answered the call. "Hey Vix, what's up? Was a just about to meet up with our clientele for payment."

"Otto, I wanted to let you know to hold off on any more clients for a bit," Isaac stated simply as he spotted the entrance to the metro.

"What? Seriously? Dude I know you're a bit banged up but I've been hearing about some really decent-paying jobs from some high rollers. Like, really big high rollers. If we don't go for em now we'll miss a really fat payday," he said, Isaac noticing a hint of frustration in his voice as he spoke about missing the chance to get paid. Isaac rolled his eyes though as he entered the metro line.

"I'm not budging on this Otto, no jobs. For now anyway. I need to get some things settled. Besides, I won't be any good in this state," he said with a stern tone as he waited for the next train to arrive.

"But Vix-"

"Otto! No. Jobs," he stated firmly with a frown. Otto was silent for a moment before a groan could be heard from the other line.

"Fine, no jobs. Get better soon Vix," he said with a defeated tone in his voice, Isaac noting a bit of nervousness in his voice towards the end. Before he could speak again Otto hung up first and left Isaac alone on the line. A heavy sigh escaped him as he shoved his phone back into his pants and stepped onto the train and took a seat alone. His tired mind drifted off to his thoughts, thinking of what Star and Aurora had to say tonight. Did he really have a choice anymore when it came to his future? Could there really be something else for him? Those questions floated in his mind as he closed his eyes and relaxed in his seat as the train took off.

“I’m not falling in love with myself,” Cat said, flicking down to the comments section. She frowned, then kept scrolling until she found a comment not laced with sexual harassment. “Though I suppose everyone should be able to love themselves a little. If you can’t live with yourself, how will anyone else? Anyway, I’m just doing some research on how to be better at this thing.”

She set her phone on the table between them and turned it around so Angie could see the video playing. It was one of her earliest performances, done on a street corner rather than inside a reputable club like the Heritage. But renting a slot at the Heritage got expensive, and she could only do it because of her retail job, and though her performances were starting to eclipse what she made at SuperLife, she still needed that secondary income.

She found the video horrendous, but hadn’t taken it off of her account. Indeed, it still received new views and comments, though with less frequency than her newer material. She switched to one of those newer videos, and she could immediately tell the difference. Would Angie ever believe her if Cat said she felt like a different person when she performed? How could she even explain that? How could she describe the feeling she got when she put her costume on and became someone else?

The costume, the mask, the colored hair and makeup changed her. She didn’t become an entirely different person, but the persona still felt real to her. Like stepping into a role playing game with a character model and personality based off herself. One with a different name.

“I just want to be better. I’m trying to play a role here, a different character. She isn’t me, but I’m sometimes her. And I need to learn better how to be her if I want to get anywhere with these performances. The better I am at pretending, the more popularity I can get, and the better to spread what I’m trying to show.”

---

Angelli sipped her drink until the straw rattled from the last drops, watching intently at what Cat was showing her. More importantly, she was watching Cat. “That’s not what I meant,” Angie said, her eyes moving away from the phone and to Cat. “There’s a difference between loving yourself and falling in love with yourself, it’s not that deep. ’Course, if you really wanna blow up, then consider incorporating a pole into your act.”

A beat.

“Ha ha, sorry. Couldn’t help but read off one of the comments,” Angie went on. “Seriously though, I don’t see the big deal about giving a shit what others think about you. Here you are saying you love yourself and yet you’re trying to be someone else. Is being popular that big a deal?” She looked off to the side as she took a bite of her pizza. “High school was ages ago. Guess some people stay addicted to the attention.”

True, yet poignant. She hated lingering on being a downer, so Angelli reached into her jacket pocket. “While we’re doing show-and-tell,” she said, placing her phone on the table and bringing up a list of emails. “I ever tell you what I did before I became a Valk? Bunch of shitty office jobs. I tried being the person everyone wanted me to be. The person they expected me to be.” She flipped through the emails one by one through her cracked screen, a smile forming on her face. “You know what these are? Termination letters. I collected them like trophies. I thought I had it all figured out a couple of years ago. ‘Be professional, work hard.’ It’s what I was told to get ahead in life. My bosses would make your manager look like a damn saint if you ever met them. Look at this one, it’s my favorite. I’ve got it memorized word for word.”

Angie cleared her throat and put on her best snob voice. “Dear Miss Angelli Moreno, we regret to inform you that your employment at Stevens & Stephens Acquisitions ends as of the date of this email. The reasons for your termination are listed below. As of the end of the quarter, you have failed to meet your productivity quota by a staggering four percent. A client contacted higher management when you refused to volunteer extra hours onto their project, in which you cited that you were not authorized to distribute that time. If you referred to the employee manual section 87A, you would know that you are not authorized to disclose to clients what you are authorized to do within your position. Your attendance has also been unsatisfactory, as you have only arrived every day on time while ignoring the company half-hour early guideline. Lastly, the other employees in your department have submitted reports of unsavory behavior. Referring to Assistant Supervisor Daniels as a ‘limp-dicked cocksucker’ is beyond unprofessional and unacceptable. If you have any questions regarding this letter, please contact our Human Resources Manager.”

She was proud of herself, without a shadow of a doubt. Her grin broadened as she reached the bottom of the list and shut her phone off with a contented sigh.

“You wanna know how it felt to finally stop giving a shit and live life by my rules? Liberating. To each their own, though. You do you, Bestie.”

---

---

John gave a look of surprise, if only his face could be read. “This is progress. Good, good,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Cherry. Officially.” He placed his hand over Cherry’s, with no touch felt and only the intent of returning a gesture. “Now, we could spend the next couple of minutes talking about each other, but I’m afraid it’d be one-sided. I wouldn’t have much to say about myself in return so let’s leave some of the answers up to the journey, yeah? At the very least, you can tell me what you’re looking for, and I might be able to help.”

The break of dawn had made its arrival with the sun peeking over the horizon. There was a silence again, but not the same desolate silence that wracked John’s mind. There was a tinge of genuine calm in this one. Only in the endless solitude did he learn the subtle flavors of it. Like bitter wine.

“Sun’s up,” John said, well-disposed in the outcome of the fateful encounter. “Might want to get moving before the ‘wolves’ wake.” With the light of dawn, Herse’s sins were once again laid bare. Small spots of blood flashed from parts of pavement and partitions in the street. Every road sign had its own special arrangement of dents and bullet holes. No other place was as poisoned and devoid of friendly faces.

“Y’know Cherry, I think we’ll get along just fine. Now, I don’t want to get into all that ‘destiny’ crap—and you don’t look the type to believe in it, but I’m thinking this isn’t a mere coincidence. I mean, what are the odds, right? Well, I’ve been around the city practically a hundred times over, so if I were to meet someone that could see me then it would have to happen by matter of statistics. Still, it’s almost unreal. By the way, let me know if I’m talking too much. I tend to ramble on when I have a captive audience, and up until now that’s just been me. So… what’s on the agenda for today?”

---

---

Light filtered through the windows of the subway car as it made its way out of the terminal. The night had come to a close, and Isaac would have naught but his own wounds to keep him company. The train’s rumbling across the rails was the only audible sound, as many other passengers were fixated on their phones. Everyone minded their own business, with more words being exchanged through text than with each other. So close, and yet worlds apart.

Isaac had his moment of rest, too bad it would be short-lived. The life of a mercenary had a glamorous allure, promising many excitement and a fat bank. What the stories neglected to tell was that it also came with unwanted baggage. The pay could afford many things, but never the right to get careless nor ignore loose ends. For a mercenary, there was one lesson that each eventually learned.

Peace had to be earned.

Several of the passengers rose from their seats and gathered around Isaac halfway through the ride when he closed his eyes. A swift hook was delivered to his already bruised jaw and served as the only greeting he would get from these men. “Get up, asshole,” one of them sneered. Two of the assailants picked Isaac up by the arms and brought him face to face with a man patched up with bandages of his own—one of the thugs Isaac had paid a visit to prior that night. His fists worked Isaac’s ribs while the other bystanders in the car avoided getting involved. They shuffled over to the other end of the car with some of them recording the incident on their phones—not to report evidence to the police, but rather filming content for Pasithee.

“First, you’re gonna tell me where my package is. Then, you’re gonna tell me who put you up to this,” the thug ordered. One of the others swiped Isaac’s wallet while he was being held.

“No hard cash on this guy,” the lackey said, pulling out the contents. “Looks like he’s creds only. Pfft, wow. This guy actually has his own business cards. You sure got balls to be doing public merc work when you’re riding solo.”

“Or he’s stupid,” another lackey chimed in.

“Or he’s stupid, ha ha!”

“Both of you shut the hell up,” said the ringleader. “I’ll do the talking here. Well, tough guy? My package. Your boss. You tell me what I wanna know and you might make it to your stop.”

It was going to be a long train ride.

Sunrise came too fast. Cherry scans her surroundings and edges toward an alley for cover.
"What I'm looking for. What I'm looking for is... a lot. The agenda is a lot. I was just going to paint today. With you? With the faith that you're real?"

She brings John into the alley. Her demeanor is changing again. She seems to be growing agitated, her eyes widening and her voice picking up pace as she looks into him.
"I- If you've been around like you say, you know- you know Taygete has an, an infestation, don't you? I'd almost want to call them leeches, but no, leeches can be satisfied. It- it's a-a different kind of parasite, a cancer. They grow and eat and drown out the body because all they know is grow and eat and kill everything they depend on until it's all desolation. They're all over the city center, they're all over history, Rome, Venice, France..."

She's gotten very animated. She stops in the middle of counting out locations on her fingers, and visibly makes an effort to untense.
"I could do this for hours. I can go on nonstop about how this city's been trembling on its knees in front of Miss Vermillion since its conception, but I can't right now. Not right here. Not at you, who has to have seen it. What I'm looking for?"

Cherry leans back against the filthy brick wall behind her. She fidgets with her braid. Her eyes smoulder.
"I don't have anything, and they've stolen the world. I'm looking for anything. A single-injection cure. A team of oncologists. At least an MRI scan to start with. This poor goddamn city was born to die. The symptoms are all around us, and nobody has the strength to move."

Cat laughed, despite herself. She shouldn’t have, knowing the termination letter staring her in the face was authentic. Corporate culture was rife with toxicity and unrealistic expectations, and that shouldn’t be making her laugh. She should be vomiting. It was sad, dangerous, and all too common in the world—especially Taygete. SuperLife wasn’t near as suffocating as some of the other corporate societies, but the wrong manager at the wrong time could turn a good day bad, and a bad day awful.

“I’ve never been much of a stickler for rules myself, Angie,” Cat said, placing her chin on her hands and smiling fondly at her friend. “I struck out on my own for years, ‘cause I didn’t want to be cooped up with my bitch of a mother until I was twenty. If I had let her, she’d probably have married me off like we were still in the Middle Ages or something. I had my own little renaissance, though I don’t think it was quite as abrasive as yours.”

She chuckled again, but her smile slowly faded. “It’s not really about being popular,” she said quietly. “I want to help people. Can’t just stand by and watch this city bore itself to death. I still read through comments despite some awful behavior because some people actually want to ask questions. I’m doing this for them. Not me. I think.”

That last part was the real kicker, though. What good could a girl dancing on a stage do for others, when all anyone ever wanted to see was less clothing and more skin? If she didn’t use that strange power of hers to ‘enhance’ her performances, would she be any more popular than the local strippers? She didn’t know. She’d probably never know. And that, despite all she said, bothered her.

I never asked for this power, she thought. She shook her head and smiled at Angie again. “You said we were shopping today, yeah? As much as I like talkin’ to you, if we don’t get up now we never will. And I have a show to prep for tonight.”

The seats on the train were far from comfortable to rest in, but at this point, a jagged rock would feel like a cloud to the exhausted freelancer. At least he had a bit of room to spare and spread his legs with a long sigh. To keep his mind off of the throbbing pain Isaac simply thought of the bed waiting for him at home and a cold beer to drink before retiring for the night. He’d have the day off tomorrow, but for the life of him, he couldn’t decide how to spend it. His wounds would still be healing so there was no chance he’d be doing anything too fun, but at the very least it’d be a good chance to relax and think of his next course of business. Maybe-

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard shuffling to his left and right, his shoulders tensing as his instincts began to scream danger. It was too late to react though and Isaac found him receiving a hard blow to the jaw. A grunt of pain escaped him as he gritted his teeth before trying to rise to his feet to fight back. Unfortunately, he was unable to make the next move as two thugs gripped him by the arms and hauled him up to his feet. “Shit!” he hissed in frustration as he struggled for a moment to get free but gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs as the ringleader of the group delivered more blows to his rips. Once the assault ended Isaac was left hunched over, breathing heavily as two of his attackers held him up.

Isaac’s mind was hazy and his vision blurry as he looked to the ground in a daze. The flaring pain that was stabbing at his sides was now screaming out, his ribs feeling as if they were about to snap. This wasn’t good, this was far from good. How could he be so stupid enough to let his guard down? The taste of blood began to fill his mouth as he silently cursed his screw-up and raised his head to meet the leader's gaze. Shit, Isaac recognized the bastard from earlier today. “Shit,” he whispered in an annoyed tone before glaring at the bandaged man as he spoke of what he wanted.

A heavy frown covered his face as the other thugs swiped his wallet and simply ignored their taunts, his glare remaining on the man asking the questions. As the leaders asked again about the package and his boss Isaac remained silent for a moment, spitting a bit of blood to the floor and taking a deep breath, ignoring the pain in his side as he inhaled. “Package is long gone now. As for my boss,” he paused and tilted his head to the thug holding his card. “I’m my own boss technically,” he said, a slight smirk coming to his pained face. It probably wasn't smart for him to goat the man on, but he wasn't about to share any more details of his business with him. Plus, he really didn't know who had hired him for this job, only Otto did.

Keeping a tight lip earned no amusement from the leader, as his patience wore thin. He made another fist as he reared up for another punch, only to stop himself. Dead men told no tales, and Isaac could yet prove useful. “You really want to make this hard on yourself, huh?” the leader said, taking a seat and crossing his legs. “Hope you aren’t planning on stalling for time. These people here ain’t gonna help ya, and I’ve got all night.”

The leader made a motion to one of the thugs, who tossed over Isaac’s carton of cigarettes. If anything, Isaac owed him as much for the trouble. He balanced one of the cigs between his lips, lighting up with a casino lighter from his pocket. “Good brand,” he trailed on. “I get the same ones myself. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that much. Not everyday we get a solo rider with the stones to pull up on us. Not everyday that they make it out alive, either.” His composure cooled down as he met Isaac’s eyes, knowing full well who was in control.

“Believe it or not, this ain’t about money,” the leader said. “I’m guessing you operate on a ‘no questions policy’ if you didn’t bother to ask what it was you were taking from us. Truth is, you can’t put a price on what was in that package. While I’m being truthful, I’ll even go as far to say that I ain’t too sour about what happened earlier today. But you’ve got me in a bit of a bind, see. If I don’t get that package to its intended recipient, then it’s gonna be my balls on a fuckin’ platter. So I’d say it’s in our best interest to cut the bullshit and help each other out here. That is of course if you don’t want me to stick you like a pig.”

Isaac remained silent, his gaze hardening on the leader as he proposed his deal. He hated to admit it, but he wasn't in much of a position to refuse. If anything, he was lucky this thug wanted to make a deal. Glancing around with a heavy frown, a sense of disgust twisted in his gut as he glared at the passengers simply watching and recording the situation. It wasn't that much of a surprise, but it always made him sick to see people make content out of others' struggles. "Shit," he muttered under his breath as he hung his head in defeat. After taking a moment to think of his next course of action Isaac took in a steady breath and let out a long sigh, ignoring the stinging pain in his side. "I need to make a call," he stated before pointing to his pocket, unable to reach for his phone with the man's goons holding him. "My partner deals with the clients. If I don't call him now that package of yours is as good as gone," he clarified with a shrug.

The train hissed to a halt, and the passengers cleared out. The leader directed the thugs to let go of Isaac and proceeded to give him orders. "We're going to the nearby park," he instructed. "Walk with us, act natural, and don't make any sudden movements. I'll give you your shit back when we're done." The group then escorted Isaac to a secluded area at a bench by a streetlamp, with one of the goons handing Isaac his phone. "Make your call and put it on speaker. Try anything funny and we'll bleed you over the pavement." The leader took a drag on another one of Isaac's cigarettes and eyed him carefully. The other two watched as well, standing by in wait in case of a wrong move.

After following the instructions given to him and taking a seat on the bench, hissing in pain from his wounds flaring up, Isaac snatched his phone from the thug. He stared at the phone with a heavy frown, giving a final glance back up to the leader of the group and clicking his tongue in annoyance to see the bastard enjoying his smokes. Out of all the times he decides not to carry heat and it had to be today. With a defeated sigh he dialed Otto's number and leaned back in his seat, his eyes staring up at the streetlamp above him with a distant gaze. Finally, a familiar voice answered.

"Vix? What's up? Thought you were calling it a-"

"Ot, we have a change in plans," Isaac stated flatly, interrupting Otto before he could continue. A moment of silence filled the line before a heavy sigh could be heard on the other end. He knew the only time Isaac called him 'Ot' was when things had gotten serious.

"Great, changing plans always keeps me on my toes," he said dryly. "What's up?" Isaac frowned and let his gaze remain upwards to the streetlamp.

"Bring the package back, location three at drop-off point B," he instructed with irritation clear in his voice. Another moment of silence filled the line.

"Should I ask why?" he questioned with a grumble. Isaac scoffed with a bitter smirk before looking down at the phone.

"Not unless you want to start looking for a new partner," he said before looking up to the leader with a frown. The man wanted the name of who hired them, but Isaac debated for a moment before speaking up. "How big is the guy who gave the job?" he asked.

"They got a few connections, but he's no kingpin. They're just more loaded than some of the other small fries, probably just some lap dog for bigger fish. Why?"

"Get me a name along with the package. Make it look like there was a leak on his end, make any blowback less hazardous for us and the business," he instructed only to hear a dry chuckle from Otto.

"I can do that, but shit Vix, this is a real bust on my end," he grumbled before sighing lightly. "Guess I'll be busy with damage control then. I'll get it done, just give me some time to get everything in place."

"You got half an hour, make sure it's done," he said before pausing for a moment and sighing. "Sorry about this, I'll make it up to you," Isaac apologized before frowning in annoyance as Otto only let out a fit of laughter.

"Now that's rare, you, apologizing? That's usually my thing!" he only laughed some more before calming down with a sigh. "Don't worry about it, just buy me a drink later and don't get yourself killed. I'll have everything in place in a half hour," Isaac visibly relaxed a bit and nodded.

"Thanks," he muttered with a small smile before hanging up and running his hand through his hair as he looked up to the leader with a frown. "There, the package and a name will be delivered. It'll be in the Callisto district, east of the metro line," he informed him with an unpleasant expression on his face before looking down at his pack of smokes. "Mind if I have my smokes back? You guys have been a real pain today," he muttered, gesturing to the wounds covering his face.

"You're one to talk," the leader grinned, pointing to his own bandages. "Don't worry princess, we'll let you go back to your beauty sleep." He tossed Isaac back his cigarettes and directed the thugs to return his wallet. "I'd stick around and send a guy to confirm the package, but I have faith you'll follow through on your word. Next time we won't bother waking you up with a punch, just remember that." He pulled up his sleeve, taking a glance at his watch, and threw his coat over his shoulder. The three made their departure, with the leader stopping midway and still holding onto one of Isaac's business cards.

"Nice meetin' ya... Isaac. If for whatever reason my package doesn't turn up, you'll be hearing from me again. Swear to God, you've caused enough trouble for me and my little girl. Take it easy, champ."

Isaac let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his seat and running his hand through his hair as the leader and his goons finally left. He stared up at the streetlamp with a hardened expression, his mind lingering on the man's last statement. What was he talking about when he said mentioned his little girl? There weren't any children in that shithole they brawled in. It made him a bit uneasy, but the pain from his wounds kept him from thinking any farther on the subject, hissing in pain as he forced himself off the bench. "Son of bitch," he muttered as he began to make his way to the metro line, a slight limp accompanying him along the way. As he walked along, he thought about who that man worked for and what the hell that package was. Otto said this would have been a simple job, nothing too hot that would blow up on him. Yet here he was, beaten and his reputation as a freelance most likely in danger thanks to this blunder. His shoulders slumped slightly as he couldn't wrap his tired mind around the situation anymore, the only thought being of a warm shower, a cold beer along with some painkillers, and a soft bed to rest his bruised and exhausted body. Things looked bleak at the moment but with a long sigh, he steeled his nerves as he reached the metro line and entered the train. He'll bounce back and figure out what to do, he always does. For now, all he could do was collect himself, heal his wounds and plan his next move.

---

Angelli watched the rollercoaster of emotion being told on Cat’s face. Always lost in her little world, that Cat. It was a terrible affair to watch people feel sorry for themselves, let alone watch a friend fighting the ghosts in her head—for the supposed bored masses of Taygete. What a pitiful thing to be: a martyr for nobody. Stars were beautiful, but the night sky had plenty.

“Alright, alright,” Angie conceded. “I won’t keep you for too long. Don’t wanna make your fans jealous. Anyway let’s go get that… that…” Now she was the one wearing the frown. “I’m drawing a blank. I can’t remember why I came here. It’s this damn place, I’m telling you.” She rose from her seat, rubbing her temple. “Fuck it, I’ll probably remember when we pass by it. Let’s go.” The remainder of their time was spent with Angie dragging Cat through every corner of the mall. Hats were tried on, passing men were rated, and a photo booth was visited—such was tradition.

A large fountain centered the heart of the mall, fixed with its own glass aquarium of saltwater fish. Towering palm trees lined the corridors of the ground floor, and a single bird managed to find its way in. Angelli stared down at her reflection in the water for a moment, before letting out a soft laugh and dropping a coin in. She turned back over to Cat.

“I know what you’re probably thinking,” she said. “What’s ol’ Angie—a girl who already has everything got to wish for? Well, I’m gonna go ahead and keep that my secret. Maybe I’ll tell you someday. Y’know, when it’s appropriate.” For all that Angelli spent wondering what went on in her roommate’s head, she gave Cat the opportunity to do the same. A keen gleam in her eyes promised a payoff for those that dared to tread the road.

At last the two found themselves on the bridge connecting to the parking garage, and as promised, Angelli would not rob the world of Cat. “See you at the apartment,” she said, giving her farewell. Angie watched Cat walk away before almost working up the nerve to say something sappy.

---

---

“Looks like my first impression of you was right on the money,” John spoke, listening to Cherry’s voice rather than her words. “You really are an interesting one. Dare I say, my cup runneth over. I’ve been waiting for someone like you, someone with ambition. Someone with drive. Though it doesn’t look like you know where to start.” His voice hit a brief pause when Cherry mentioned the mayor of the city.

“Ol’ Mom hasn’t been seen in the flesh for years, you know. Any trace of her will is only expressed through the proxies who claim to legislate on her behalf, and her voice is only heard through screens and speakers. It’s got people talking. Got ‘em wondering. Wondering if she’s even alive. As far as a lot of people are concerned, she’s about as real as me… take that as you will. I must ask though, is there a point to putting blame on someone who may or may not exist?” He then waited Cherry to finish her tirade.

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to judge you or your perspective of the world. No, I’m here to help you indulge in whatever you plan to do—so long as I get what I want in the end. Suffice to say, a man can’t hold much of an opinion of a world he can no longer interact with.” John’s hollow eyes intensified as he observed each sentiment in Cherry’s movements. “You on the other hand, you want to change the world. You want to start a revolution from the ground up. That’s not something you can accomplish on your own. Wars aren’t won by a single person, and there’s people out there who think like you, waiting for someone like you to come along like I did.”

John stood by Cherry as she leaned against the wall, and pointed out of the alley. “Your people are out there, and all you need to do is find them and be the one who reaches out. You’ll know you’ve done your job well when all along… your followers realize they never needed a leader.”

---

---

The train ride this time went without incident, and Isaac safely made it to Arche. With his savings and meticulous budgeting, he was able to lease a decently-sized office space near the Verdenview Apartments for his base of operations. The building was fitted with the necessities to double up as a suitable living space, with a personal bedroom and bath on the second floor, and a full kitchen equipped with appliances on the first. Isaac had been given a complimentary anthurium plant by the real estate agency, which was beginning to wilt.

The wall-mounted television remained on before Isaac locked up on his way out, now tuned to a Jackie J. comedy special. Isaac could hear the laughter of the live audience as Jackie J. went into his routine.

“…Y’know a lot of tourists come to Taygete and spend their entire vacation in Taygete Bay. Just nowhere else but Taygete Bay. ‘We don’t want the rest of the city, just give us the fuckin’ beach.’ And as anyone who lives here knows, Taygete Bay is the place you go when you’re young, drunk, and stupid. That’s the place you go when you wanna make terrible decisions. You’ll see plenty of titties there too—both male and female. You guys stay the hell away from Taygete Bay…”

A warm bed awaited Isaac upstairs, offering to soothe the injuries he sustained tonight. He had only the company of whatever he chose to furnish his quarters with, but maybe he liked it that way.