Heartthrob

The strike that hovered in the air never came. Silver hung like God's own lightning-bolt, poised to deliver a slaying blow, but the hand that held it was stayed. A voice reverberated from the full-encasement helmet, modulated beyond recognition - they were for all accounts androgynous.

"Get up. Now. I won't kill you if you comply, but I don't have all night."

Huh. Orders from someone other than Judas. That's a new one, for sure. EJ's bruised brainpan struggled to put two and two together until that blazing lightning-rod was gestured up. Her ears may have been ringing, but the eyes still worked - sort of. The left was swollen, but one eye was the bare minimum, not two. With a huff of phlegm and tears and blood and shattered ivory, she made an attempt.

Wham!

And just like that, EJ was quite literally floored - her already broken and bleeding-black nose splattered further blood onto the pavement with a stomach-turning squelch, and she screamed in agony and distress. The helmeted figure, however, just sighed. A strong hand clad in black-plastic combat gloves shot down like lightning to take the collar of EJ's shirt and hoist her up, as easily as if she had been a wayward plastic bag or a piece of refuse. From the way the hand recoiled once she was wobblingly upright, perhaps she was refuse.

Through a bleary eye, EJ looked down at herself. Her white shirt was ruined, absolutely: the clotted, roiling, living black-blood of the second-living was splattered upon her shirt in ways that reminded her of inkblots; this only added insult to injury, because seeing her parents fighting was not what she needed right now. Before she could find time to sob about the loss of her once-lovely officewear as the blood seeped in and ate away at it, that glowing sword was once more brandished. Her attention snapped back to her savior-captor.

"Ok, so, here's what's going to happen. You live around here, right? You're going to take me there, and then we'll discuss what comes next. Simple. Easy. Move it." The stranger was insistent, to be sure, and more than a little bit brusque - however, what choice did EJ have? That sword was ready to rip her to shreds in an instant, and this time she'd have no way to crawl up out of her grave. This time she would lie eternally placid. The first few steps were easy - the ones to follow were harder.

With one hand on EJ's shoulder and the other on the hilt of her now-deactivated blade, the stranger helped the secretary stay upright as the two of them snuck around what few alleyways remain between where they had been and where they aimed to be. Further off, towards the main blaze, the sound of sirens began to die down. Firehoses died and went silent, and chatter faded away. They were cleaning up and leaving. No one would be able to find her or help her. The thought formed a ball in her stomach, one that only grew more dense when they reached the door to her building. It had been smashed open by desperate undead in their hurry to escape, and now the complex's main entrance lay ajar like something from a horror movie. Lobby music played to an audience of two in the barren foyer, but it was only a pit-stop for the pair. They were off just as quickly as they had arrived.

To the stairwell, then up. Flight after flight disappeared in time, and soon they had arrived at EJ's floor - the ascent was lonely, no one to intrude upon them. The lights in some areas didn't work even before this whole ordeal, and so now that the building was riddled with fire-damage, much of their trek was by memory through stretches of sheer darkness. It gave EJ the creeps, like something was watching them - something yellow-eyed and monstrous. Something the size of a motorcycle, or more.

"What the fuck... do you pay... for fucking rent? Whatever it is, you're... Getting robbed..."

The terrorist's panting breaths punctuated their sentence with minute pauses and inflection; EJ's muscles were mostly tireless in situations like these, but it was obviously a bit different to do when one was dressed in battle raiment. Black carbon-fiber combat boots clopped up the stairs with heavy tread, their wearer's gait winding down as they climbed ever higher in the apartment complex's concrete-and-steel spire.

Finally, finally, they were at the 25'th floor. This high-powered hitperson with the blade and the boots was seemingly extremely worn by the jaunt upwards, but upon seeing Esper James timidly step out of the stairwell and beckon them to follow along, they are emboldened. The sword is away at this point as well, keeping the mysterious murderer's hands free, and their instrument of death away from instant reach. Hopefully. One could never be too sure with some of the technology that these people could acquire or self-invent, and EJ had a distinct feeling that a portable sword-launcher wasn't too outlandish...

"Fuck... Ok. Where's the apartment? We've got to get inside before the police realize that we're still here and start canvassing the area; you're gonna lock the door, tell them you're sick with Corpserot but that you've got your meds for this week. Cops are on order to let you poor bastards lie if you've got rot."

'How do you know what the cops are on order to do?' The first thought to pop into EJ's head nearly spewed from her mouth, but she held back on the sass for now. She was still at this other person's mercy. However, the thought was good to cling to - showed she was recovering, that she wasn't as dazed. In an hour or so she'd be right as rain and fresh as flesh.

The second-living of Vitus are in many ways like fictional undead, you see - many similarities are shared and remarked upon by true-living and second-living alike, satirized and fetishized and idolized in equal measures. Silver, the mark of purity, is a deadly thing to them - it burns their flesh in an intense and potentially lethal allergic reaction, causing dead-but-living skin to necrotize and putrefy. Most second-living avoided it like the plague, but a select few preferred it for this fact; they wore silver jewelry to burn the skin and create a 'silverscar' of black and dead skin which hardened like stone. It could be remedied through surgery, but this was costly and intrusive.

Similarly, Vampires could not see their reflection due to a stunt in the brain of self-recognition - instead they saw a strange blur that looked vaguely humanoid. Pictures still worked, though, and so special video-mirrors were sold. Ghouls and Ghasts were able to consume meat which was rotten or fetid without distress, a mutation of the gastrointestinal optimization causing them to become the goats of the carnivore scene. Zombies were functional even when missing sections of their body for extreme periods of time, including life-essential regions (most undead were similar, but even a severed spinal column could not fully incapacitate a zombie).

However, one additional feature was present in every one of Vitus's blessed, accursed few: regeneration. New flesh was built from memory, organs crafted wholesale by blackened blood, even damage once thought irreparable such as lobotomization being trampled underfoot in the body's rush to become perfect again. How this was possible was trade secret, and Tsang guarded the mysteries of undeath and it's attainment with unparalleled ferocity. People no longer paid any mind when gunshots rang out near the main HQ.

The door was pulled open slowly, fearfully, EJ's heart caught in her throat at the impending destruction she was sure lay before her. The ruinous blaze had surely caught all of her stuff within it's ravenous onslaught, and yet... No. Smoke had damaged some of the banana-creme wallpaper, and a bit lingered in the air, but other than that it was fine. She could have wept for the safety of her belongings and the security of her place of rest, and tears did well in her bruised eyes, but she could wait and cry later. The pair hustled in, the door locked and bolt thrown behind them.

The assassin headed straight for EJ's balcony, throwing the glass sliding-door wide and letting out both the lingering smoke and the heater's hard work. They breathed in the fresh air with a greedy inhale, holding it for a few moments before it rolled back out of their nostrils. Human, of course; EJ didn't even acknowledge the cloying pollutant in the air until her guest did first. The blonde stood in the corner like a cowed animal or attentive maidservant, hands together and at her lap, head gently inclined. She gave off every appearance of a dog who had known beatings.

"A-Ah... Sir? Miss? Whatever you are, uh... It's the middle of November. Could we maybe... Close that? Or at least open a window instea-"

The words blocked her windpipe as she choked on them, the knight's turned head striking her with fear. She shut her mouth and waited as the other person turned to look at her, dark black cape fluttering in the gentle breeze the open door provided. Words did not come immediately - instead, the knight strode right over to the secretary, stopping less than a foot away from her. Gloved hands raised up and flicked miniscule clasps on the underside of their turtleneck, a hissing sound escaping as she used both palms to remove the masklike helm.

First, a feminine face, skin the colour of hot cocoa on a cool winter evening. Her eyes were shut, but the rest of her features were elfin to the point of nearly being impish. A distinctly cute button nose sat flanked by a light spattering of freckles, and a single scar marred the otherwise fetching, tomboy-ish appearance: a pair of slashes down the right cheek, as if she had been scratched by an animal. When she opened her eyes they were ruby red and shimmering, obvious implants; their LEDs were set to low, but models like these could become literal headlights if necessary. Finally, her hair: a mop of shaggy, spiky white that had been butchered into a rough bob. It was as alabaster as the moon and obviously cared for, and all of her breathed of the life that Esper James's own body had forgotten.

"Shut up. You're alone in this apartment for the next few hours, got it? But before then, ground rules are these:

One. No talking to me unless I speak to you first.

Two. You are to get me some of your casual clothes, and I'm going to wear them. I can't be in this shit all night.

Three. If I see you reaching for any kind of weapon, trying to get any kind of assistance, calling anyone, shit like that? I will kill you. I'll make it the most painful fucking thing I feel inclined to do at the time.

Four. Final one. I might be here for an extended amount of time, so the rest of these rules will apply indefinitely until I tell you otherwise. If this is a problem for you, please refer to rule three.

Got it? Are we good? Can you remember all that, twerp?"

Esper James was... shocked, honestly. She was having her own god damn apartment co-opted by a literal undead-hating, vampire-murdering, sword-wielding terrorist. The fact that she obviously followed the New Way was icing on the shit-cake, what with her LED eyeballs and honed reflexes. She could see it in her mind's eye now: news headlines about how one of Tsang's own was aiding and abetting a deadly extremist in her own home. Hiding her from the police. Buying her clothes. Cooking her food.

Damnit, that made her sound like this bitch's wife.

She found herself nodding, though, because she had no other choice. A hand went up to absentmindedly re-adjust her healing nose and came away bloody, wiping it on her already-black skirt. The woman across from her smiled, and her teeth were just as terrifying as the rest of her: thick fangs like sharpened spires, made of darkened steel and sharpened to intensity. The glimpse was brief, but EJ had begun to put two and two together. The other woman began to speak, her utterance less frightening than her visage.

"Great. Good girl, blondie. Do you have a name? Actually, blondie works for now. Maybe BB, for blonde-black, like your... No, you get it. You get it. Ok, well, anyways, I'm gonna go shower - fix us up some dinner, or order something. You've got a slot on the door, you can receive it through there."

Yyyyyep. Wife. Indignity and frustration swelled within the ghoulette's chest, but she bit her lip before she could spit her spite. The black-clad tomboy's eyes crinkled in mirth as she caught EJ's repressed offense, a finger going out to poke her quasi-captive on the nose. She was surprisingly gentle, her touch upon the captive's cartilage barely even noticable - but it still left a sticky black film on her fingertip.

"Boop. I'm Esthrielle, by the way. Esthrielle Moonshadow. Oh, and you can close the door, but keep a window open or something. This smoke fuckin' blows."

Without waiting for an answer, Esthrielle spun on a cocksure heel and strode towards the bathroom like a smug baroness. She certainly was a haughty bitch, eh? As the bathroom door shut, EJ let out a whimpering little expression of frustration and helplessness, tears once more welling at her ducts. There was nothing she could really do to keep this woman from ordering her around - unless she wanted to get turned into ash. Vitus didn't really do graveyards.

-

Dinner was just some herring sashimi with soy sauce and glasses of water. EJ knew her way around a kitchen knife after a decade or so of practice, and so the fish cutlets were fairly pristine; the plating needed some work, and she didn't eat veg so she had no garnish save for some sticky rice, but it was nice enough for a night at home.

'A night with a guest', she internally grumbled. Guest was a generous way to say it. After changing into a loose white t-shirt with a chibi cat on the front and a soft pair of red-plaid sweats, she had spent the last twenty minutes in the kitchen shivering. The night air was cool and still - she had heard a few gunshots that she could only assume were police sweeping for Knights and finding a few, but none came to her door. Part of her wished they'd swing by with a warrant and bash their way in to find the murderer in her bathroom, but a prickling fear that that would be a bad course of action prevented outright action. The sashimi was placed on the table with little flourish or fancy; it wasn't meant to impress.

EJ took a look around her apartment wistfully as she snapped a pair of disposable chopsticks in half, taking it all in - remembering what it all looked like. A living room-dining room combo, where she sat, was connected to the kitchen and gated foyer (where her shoes were laid); a hallway also ran down from the living room half to lead to a bedroom, a bathroom, and a study. Decor was sparse and not overly pricy, but the apartment was comfortable, lived-in; it reminded her of her college days. Part of her bitterly acknowledged that was probably because she was, physically, still college age.

The door to the bathroom clicked and swung wide, faux wood panel cast open to reveal a towel-clad Esthrielle who was otherwise shockingly nude. Her right and left arm were only tangentially human: the same cinnamon tone as her skin but paneled and segmented with plastic, glimpses of dark carbon fiber making up the divider in armor-plating. Her elbows were ball joints, like a doll, and EJ guessed her kneecaps were the same - the elbows were exposed, but her wrists and knuckles were seamless. The woman's torso was organic, seemingly, and striped with scars in the visible regions, reminiscent of a jungle cat - however, dotted LEDs and an access port in her collarbone suggested at least some pseudoskin. Hints of tattooing showed from what was visible, but much was not.

"Oiiiii! Your conditioner smells great, girl - fig and agarwood? Pretty rich, not my usual scene, but I figure, y'know, when in Vitus...~"

Laughter from a sharklike maw followed her hollow compliment, the brash brawler padding over to the table across from her while EJ simply stared. The apartment's actual renter was dumbfounded by the limitless nature of this woman's brazen nature, the way she simply came in and took what she wanted and ignored EJ's opinion on the matter. 'Hard to believe these people think they're in the right...' she thought, gesturing towards the sashimi plate opposite her own. "That's yours. Eat up. I'll get you some clothes in a sec."

"Thanks, girl. What's your name? I can't just call you 'girl' or 'bitch' or 'Blondie' or 'hey, you' this whole time, you know. Blondie's cute, but it'll get old." Esthrielle sat down and spread her legs and arms with sauna-style etiquette. Small vents on either shoulder hissed steam into the air as their owner let a heavy sigh roll from her lips, eyes shutting briefly as she reclined in her hostess's property. The water from the shower still glistened on her soft, silicone pseudoskin, and her truthfully modest chest was barely concealed by the loosely hanging towel. She poked an eye open to look over at her captive audience, lips raised in a half-smirk.

EJ had to pry her eyes away despite herself, internally cursing her idiot impulses for even thinking of how it would feel to reach out and touch the other woman, to feel her factory-grown musculature, to get a closer look at that terrifying dental devilry... Fuck. 'Fuck.' Fuck, indeed. Further scolding before she looked out towards the balcony, feeling her face get red. 'Why do I have to be such a fucking lesbian?' Esthrielle either didn't notice the sudden reprieve of pallor upon EJ's cheeks or she didn't care; she was too busy relaxing in someone else's home.

"Fuck, uh..."

"Your name is Fuck?" The monocular gaze became a squint, steel slivers bared wider with sadistic mirth. EJ's own brow furrowed and she shut her eyes, frustration welling up once again.

"No! My name is Esper James Price-Wynnfield. I'm a secretary for Tsang Solutions, and I'm very important, so you should try and be nicer to me!" That last part was bullshit, but she was still thinking of Judas and what she had said: that EJ would be hard to replace. That Tsang took care of it's employees. That her superior did appreciate her and want her around. Maybe there was some creedence to her falsified grandeur after all.

Esthrielle's eyes both opened now, amusement and surprise mingling before her expression shifted to warmth and good-nature. Her smile wasn't teasing or sarcastic now; she almost seemed proud that EJ had stood up for herself, even that little bit.

"Ah, got it! Esper James. Do you go by just Esper, or-"

"No. Fuck no. E-Esper James or EJ, but never just Esper, and certainly not just... Just James." EJ had turned back to glare at her houseguest with those piercing emeralds, the red flecks within them catching the light of the overhead lamp and dancing for her audience of one. Esthrielle nodded approvingly, reaching out to pluck a strip of herring up and, after dipping it, toss it into her mouth.

"Mmh. EJ, then. It's shorter. I'd say kinda like you, but we're about the same height, so what do I know? Hey, sorry about being so rude earlier, still had some post-combat stress nerves'n shit. Adrenaline pumps have a time-out limiter to ensure I don't get locked out during a chase, or in case I get ambushed."

Esthrielle said it like it was supposed to mean something to EJ, but her words could have been in a foreign language. Bodily augmentation through mechanical means was rare in Vitus, and often only used for things which couldn't otherwise be genetically synthesized. This sentiment was shared in the rest of the UNAC - the United North American Coalition - but outside their borders, technological enhancement was the way to go. The ERFS - Euro-Russo Feudal States - were on the forefront of this wave of posthuman thought, with so-called New Way enthusiasts, or Waywards, being their heralds.

EJ's blank, unimpressed stare spoke more than words could convey. Esthrielle sighed and shrugged, going to gulp down half her glass of water before taking a handful of rice and tossing it into her garbage-disposal mouth and pouring some soy sauce after. Swishing and smushing it around she swallowed, going to cross her toned nu-arms and lean back in her chair.

"Ugh. Fucking hate coming West... So, what're we eating, ghoul girl? This better not be your neighbor or something."

"Shut it, toaster bitch. It's herring. Surely you know what a fish looks like? Or are those coated in plastic and chrome out East, too?" EJ snapped back with a twitch of her brow, still indignant about the way she was being treated.

"Oh, get bent. At least I'm not licking up scraps from the local sausage factory. Hell, I bet you're all about sausage, am I right? I know how office girls like you get promotions, you know." Esthrielle winked, seemingly unphased by EJ's tempered fury. Her right hand went up to made a lewd gesture, tongue poking her inner cheek a few times in rhythm. EJ grabbed her chopsticks and threw them at the foreign femme fatale with little hesitation, face reddening now from rage rather than lust.

"Fuck you! I worked hard to get this job! I went to college! I struggled for years trying to get into Tsang! I worked double shifts at a shithole diner and studied on my breaks! I went through a month-long interview process! Physical after physical, psych-eval after psych-eval! I couldn't sleep for w-weeks, waiting for them to get back to me; I sent out cover letters, I sent out emails, I practiced interview etiquette, I-I... I baked the hiring manager a freaking pie, I... I only got in because I fucking begged for it, like some kind of pathetic-..."

Esper James stopped mid-sentence, animosity gripping her by the throat as she realized she was every bit the pitiful little doormat Esthrielle was making her out to be. Tears, again. This time they were hot. Burning. Gasoline on a wicker sculpture, scalding her trembling flesh as they rounded the curve of her cheeks and pooled at her chin, dripping down to make her savory herring saltier. She was quivering with emotion - regret, anger, frustration, sadness, self-loathing - her words unable to push past the mental blockage it all created.

She could hold it no longer. The dam burst, and down she went: her elbows only barely managed to prop her up as she buried her lovely face in her hands, fang-filled mouth gasping out ragged sobs as those same heat-trails rolled down her face and dripped free. She wanted to be dead. Not just undead, but truly dead - she had been alive for fifty-three years, missed aging for little over thirty of them, and what had she accomplished? What had her life come to? Being the butt of a cruel joke. Being mocked, abused, terrified, and powerless. Stripped of her humanity, her dignity, and her agency. She felt like nothing; like a non-factor. If Esthrielle had killed her in that fucking alleyway, nothing would be different except that she'd finally be free of this living Hell.

Across the table, there had been a tone shift. Her body was synthetic but her heart was still human, and seeing EJ break down into ugly-crying had chipped away Esthrielle's teasing demeanor with every moment of weeping. She frowned, uncomfortable and begrudgingly empathetic - life wasn't exactly sunshine and roses for her, either, but obviously her hand had been a better deal than the secretary's. She stood, slowly toeing over to the grief-stricken blonde, wordless but gradually extending an arm. EJ could smell her, though, and struck out blindly to the scent of agarwood and fig.

"G-GET AWAY FROM ME! Don't touch me, y-you asshole...! You're only... Only m-making this whole thing worse! You and your stupid f-fucking nutcase buddies! You fucking kill people! Normal p-p-people, like- like me! Hey, no, I-I said don't TOUCH ME-"

Even as EJ feebly swatted at Esthrielle she was swept up in a warm, comforting embrace, the cozy scent of conditioner underlined with steam, gun oil, carbon fibre, and silicone. Esthrielle smelled like a tech wholesaler hosting a high-fashion runway, but in a way, that did make EJ feel better. Her bare pseudoflesh was soft and smooth and somewhere between human skin and love doll, the synthetic pores and muscle fibres just barely bridging the uncanny valley back into acceptable territory. Her breath smelled like tires and industrial lubricant and a hint of cherry scented car freshener. Two sides of the same coin: a pair of women on two different paths to foregoing humanity and becoming more, now entangled in a show of physical affection.

"Hush... Hush, EJ. Blondie, hey. Hey. I'm sorry, ok? I didn't mean it, I was just trying to fuck with you a little bit... Hey, hey, come on, take a deep breath... If you're gonna cry, at least cry into my shoulder or something and give me a hug, ok?"

That was bait EJ was happy to take. Shakily, her hands left her face and went to Esthrielle's exposed shoulderblades; they were marred with leftover sticky blood from EJ's injuries, but as they were nearly healed, barely any had truly come free. The ghoulette promptly pushed her face into Esthrielle's shoulder and cried harder than she had any time previous, her wailing thankfully muffled by the Knight's small-but-powerful frame. Esthrielle gave up on any attempts to verbally pacify her at this point, instead running those stern silicone fingers through EJ's hair and stroking her black-tipped mane.

They stayed like this for five, ten, fifteen minutes, until finally EJ had emptied herself of tears. The embrace lingered for nearly ten minutes more before EJ felt composed enough to be freed. Their hearbeats - one weak and slow, the other mechanical and heavy - syncopated with one another, their breaths coming in tandem, their bodies sticky from water and blood and tears and soy sauce. EJ pried herself first, with Esthrielle's hands coming away only when she was sure her captive was calmed.

EJ was quiet for what felt like an eternity, considering what had just happened - that when she had broken down, this cold-hearted killer's first instinct was to comfort her like a friend, to make sure she was ok. She had lent a helping hand and a literal shoulder to cry upon, and EJ had surprised herself by taking it. She was even more surprised (and spiteful of herself) that she had liked it. Esthrielle knew just where to put her hands and just how to cradle her, and she felt sickeningly safe in the other woman's arms. EJ decided to chalk it up to evil Eastern devil technology, or something of the sort.

Esthrielle sat back down, clearing her throat and looking at EJ with a strange expression. Another piece of the now-lukewarm herring was thrown into her gob and gnashed silently, lips closed and chewing subtle. It took our heroine a bit to realize that Esthrielle was waiting for EJ to say something.

"...o-oh. Thank... Thank you. For that."

"No problem. Seemed like you, uh, needed to let that out. It's not my place to ask... I know I'm not really making things better, am I? Haha! Hahaha..." The laugh trailed away, sarcasm mixed with regret that she had pushed the blonde so far. EJ, however, just shook her head; a smile appeared on her face, weary and thin, but genuine. Some of her broken fangs had already fallen out and begun to grow back.

"Yeah, I did, I guess. And yeah, you're not. You stormed into my house, threatened to kill me, forced me to get you dinner, used by special-occasion conditioner..."

"Shit, that's why it was on the shelf by itself..."

"...yeah. Anyways, you're right, you're kind of a pain in my ass. But, uh, I should also thank you for saving me from, uh... From getting r-ra... Assaulted." EJ couldn't get the first word out, try as she might - it felt like sludge in her throat, and she had to swallow it and try anew.

"Don't worry about it. Anyone would've done the same, right?" Esthrielle smiled sympathetically, putting a hand across the table to rest on EJ's. The ghoulette suppressed her instinct to recoil at the touch of pseudoflesh, instead just smiling as her whole arm tensed. She nodded, thinking it wise not to mention the truth - that most people in Vitus would have only ignored it or made it worse.

"So, what next? Any big plans? Hopefully involving zero casualties...?" She had glazed over the fact that Esthrielle was, in fact, a dangerous terrorist at this point; she was drawn in by chiseled mocha features, brash confidence, and genuine empathy. She cursed her rampant heart once more, but Esthrielle's answer came before she could beat herself up too badly.

"Eh? I was thinking of staying with you, blondie. I've gotta lay low for a while, my squad only does ops once in a while. Can't risk becoming too noticable. Oh, and call me Est - it's shorter, just like EJ."