- You've earned the Truly. But let’s skip the autograph part for now. Let me show you mine first.
The guy shuffled a bit and pulled a small cardboard card from the pocket of his crisply ironed pants. That little piece of antique ID would’ve confused any modern civilian, but not me. These were special press passes—given only to journalists cleared to work near the Wall and privy to Police Department secrets.
Why the police used such ancient paper IDs, I never bothered to ask. Frankly, didn’t care.
Seeing the card, I exhaled slightly and didn’t flinch when the journalist pulled out two flasks from a fancy leather bag embossed with intricate patterns.
- Giving you all my You know, ma’am, how the brass doesn’t like handing these out... to folks like me.
True. Cops always had beef with journalists. Even when it came to sharing weapons-grade spicy juice. I took the flasks with genuine thanks and promised to pay him back later.
- And who’s your companion? And while we’re at it—what’s your name? I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.
- Meet my assistant and intern, – He gave the intro like a gentleman. She nodded slowly. – As for me, I’m Noah. But everyone calls me Roger.
- Like the rabbit? Or the pirate flag? – Yeah, humor wasn’t exactly my strong suit today either.
- I must say, I’m quite charmed by your exquisite sense of humor... and your -modern- – Roger shot back with a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth.
Damn. That mouth had a great curve. The salt-and-pepper temples were elegant, and yet his face looked oddly young—devoid of age, but with a mature stamp behind those wise green eyes. And that nose... with just the slightest noble bump...
Wait. What the hell was I even thinking?
I awkwardly hesitated and walked toward the bins and their Big Daddy to finish the cleanup. It took both flasks of the flammable cocktail to process the remains, and I raised my hands in mock guilt—just business expenses. The whole time, I kept a sharp eye on that sweet little duo. But they didn’t budge, didn’t even whisper to each other. Just stood there... staring at me.
Well, screw them.
Once I wrapped it all up and picked up the stiletto I’d flung at the very beginning of the mess, I quietly hoped there wouldn’t be any more surprises. All my mind-moves were offline, unavailable for casting, and I needed time to recharge before I could sparkle like before.
Approaching the so-called journalists, I made it look like I was saying my goodbyes, but actually I was slowly sliding my stiletto out from the sleeve, ready to bonk Roger over the head—and then deal with his sidekick.
- Sorry, I didn’t catch .. you work for the police? – The man mumbled, scratching at his multi-day -sexy- stubble. Wait, what?! Sexy stubble?
Alenari, girl, get it together!
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- That’s I’m an active field officer in the... – I started to say lazily, while suddenly pushing the stiletto into my hand, ready to strike.
But turns out he had his own agenda. And that agenda didn’t include being knocked out and falling lovingly into my arms.
With a swift motion, he ran a hand over his face, winced, and then grabbed my attack arm with the other—stabbing something into my forearm. Ow, damn, that hurt! I felt like I’d been electrocuted. Tried to break free, but nope—couldn’t move at all.
Well, I was screwed.
The paralysis didn’t hit my eyes though, so I whipped them around in a panic, locking on the smirking reporter. His grin revealed a curious detail: he was missing a right fang. Glancing at my arm, I saw where it had ended up—lodged in me. That bastard bit me. A freaking strigoi.
Now it all made sense. Why his assistant was so robotic—he’d hypnotized her. He must’ve swiped her supply of fire-juice too. The press badge? Total
fake. And I hadn’t even bothered to look at it properly. What a day.
And to top it all off, I didn’t use my twilight vision to scan his true form.
High-rank strigoi could cloak themselves as human, sure—but this guy? Looked completely ordinary. No ghostly pallor, no pointy ears, no glowing amber eyes, none of that classic corpsecore aesthetic.
Just... Roger. The charming one.
As I mentally braced for a messy, tragic ending, Mr. Pseudo-Journalist gently pulled his fang from my arm, wiped it with a dainty handkerchief— without even bothering to clean my blood off.
- See, Alenari? That wasn’t so Just a little prick and poof, all done.
Oh great, now he’s joking. And wait—how the hell does he know my name?! I never introduced myself!
He popped his fang back into his mouth—and with a gross little wiggle, it reattached like it had never left. Dude should’ve gone into dentistry. What a waste of talent.
I tried to act tough, but the paralysis still had me stuck. So I began prepping a desperate final strike—one that would probably cost me my physical form. I didn’t want to think too hard about what came after. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it...
The strigoi, meanwhile, rolled my blood on his tongue like a wine critic, groaned in pleasure, smoothed his hair (poser), and gave a graceful little bow.
- Well, that’s I won’t keep you ladies. Perhaps we’ll meet again. – Then he winked and vanished into the shadows.
Just like that, the paralysis melted away.
I blinked, wiggled my limbs in disbelief. Holy crap. He let me go. Right next to me, I heard a panicked squeak:
- What happened?! What’s going on?!
Turns out the hypnosis on the girl had worn off too. The young journalist batted her lashes and spun around in confusion.
- Where am I? Who are you?
I let out a heavy sigh. This was officially the worst day I’d had in ages. The one silver lining? I didn’t need to haul Angie off for memory scrubbing— she already remembered zilch. And I could feel it wasn’t an act. That much, I’m a pro at reading.
-But you couldn’t read the smooth-talking strigoi’s lies,- – muttered that annoying little self-loathing voice in my head. I slapped it mentally, and it shut up in a sulk.
About five minutes later, Angie and I exited the slums. As soon as we hit a normal district, I flagged down a cab for her. The poor thing got an earful of lies from me: that I was a local, found her wandering lost, and helped her snap out of a daze. I even handed back her cardboard press badge—the one dropped by her oh-so-kind kidnapper—and told her to get an MRI ASAP, because -that kind of amnesia needs serious checking.-
My delivery was flawless. She bought every word.
Feeling beyond drained, I ordered myself an aero-taxi. My legs were jelly, but I couldn’t go home yet. I still had to upload the combat footage, report the mission, and claim my paycheck.
I sank into the soft seat of the hover-cab and sent a silent thank-you to all the gods I don’t believe in—for living in the City. This place got the first crack at every tech advancement, and our aero-taxis weren’t used anywhere else yet. Our megapolis always got the best of everything. Rightfully so— our people had suffered enough to deserve it.