She might as well have crawled slimy and stinking from the pit of a sewer by the look they gave her when she finally reported in. The months had not been kind; caverns still hollowed around her eyes, her skin pasty beneath the scatter of freckles across her cheeks. Ropey tendrils of hair dripped around her shoulders, hanging blunt above the sardonic tilt of her eyes.

You've been out of the field a long time, they hedged once DNA confirmed her identity and she was hastened to the nearest government building. So naturally they wanted to evaluate her mental state. She was the Custody's steel, after all, and they had every right to examine her for flaws. Though they were welcome to test her for sharpness too.

It amused her all the same.

She looked up curiously, fingers laced on the desk. A smile played at the edges of her lips, for by the severe look on the agent's face, this one had clearance to access her file. Or enough of it anyway.

Female killers always seemed to upset others more than their male counterparts, like the curve of feminine lashes and the blush of feminine cheeks ought not be conduits for something so sinister. It was worse when they found her attractive; gaze catching on her slender fingers or the swell of her lips. Recanting quickly when they considered what ruin either tool might have wrought.

It was cruel maybe, but Nhysa enjoyed the flashes of discomfort. "I won't kill you unless I'm told to," she'd tease. "You're loyal to the Custody, right?"

The carelessness of her tone did not often go down well. The seriousness with which she answered their questions now even less so.

"I took some vacation time. I got a great deal, see. Really couldn't turn it down."

When that answer didn't suffice, she scraped back her chair and lifted her shirt. An ugly scar, still twisted red and healing amongst black scab, stood angry against her pale flesh. The nanoaid should have had more impact, but whatever the poison had been clearly affected its virility. The skin was dying. 

Her brows lifted. His face blanched. She sat back down.

Next question.

By the end of the interrogation and battery of tests, boredom sunk her chin to her fist. Though when he finally shuffled to depart, she straightened, raised a finger to halt him, and smiled. 

"There's something else." Her look was sly. It was almost as if the shadows chasing the corners of the rooms deepened as she beckoned him back down. "I wish to register."

Rune dropped her backpack at her feet and sank upon the bench. The lights of far-away Izmailovsky market were doused about then, drenching her surroundings in darkness. Her calves ached and her fingers throbbed. Fatigue pulled her eyes low, but she stopped herself from stretching out on the slats in mid-move. A dry splotch of bird poop was splattered where she was going to put her head. The hesitation didn't last. A moment later, she stretched out, thrust her hands over her head and yawned. She was already covered in grosser stuff than bird poop.

Thirty minutes later she was awakened by a thrust to the ribs. 
"Ow- hey! Whats the matter with you? I'm sleepin' here." She growled from the depths of her hoodie hood. Flecks of hair stuck out around her face like hay cinched with string. The pink and purple stripes were long ago faded. Lines sank the planes of her face.

"No sleeping on park benches." A deep voice responded. "City ordinance." 

"Where do you suggest I sleep then?" She pushed up, rubbing her eyes. 

"I don't care, but not here. Now go on about your way." 

Rune rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag and pushed to her feet. The guy was dressed in a gray police uniform, she recognized some of the markings of his assignment, but not all of them. 

She grumbled as she hefted the straps onto her shoulders. The weight of her backpack dug into tense traps. She felt beat up, but Rune gave as good a beating as she got and only one of the two of them walked away. Part of the oni was what decorated her clothes right now. It was also responsible for most of the odor too. Most of it, anyway. Ever since Uncle Seth died, and all of her connections with the Atharim were severed, it had been a little difficult to pay the rent.

She parted ways with the cop and went in search of the next nearest bench. The undercity was warmer, but she wasn't interested in going back there for at least a few nights. Maybe under a bridge? God her stomach rumbled.

Shots punched the air like thunder. Rune's eyes flared wide and all of her remaining energy (plus a little extra adrenaline) was pumped to her legs. She ran back the way she came and found a pool of blood near the abandoned bench. The cop was no where to be found. Two spent cartridges glinted in the dark nearby.

Hunger and fatigue drained away. The heat of a hunt was enough fuel for now.

But she wouldn't turn down a cheeseburger right then either.

From her backpack she retrieved her baby. She laughed to this day when the store owner practically fell out of his chair when Rune said she was there to buy the .45 ACP then proceeded to load and cock the beast of a gun while barely batting an eyelash. She paid the guy and had Uncle Seth's blessing to punch him in the face for the names he called her. 

She chuckled even now. This gun was her baby. She even had a name for it.  

Rune closed her eyes and drew a deep, satisfying breath. The stench of bloodlust and fear told her which way to go even as her nose wrinkled up doing it.

Yesterday’s test of the GP45 had gone very well for the young racer.  She’d put in times exactly in line with what the engineers requested and for the final five laps they’d told her to open it up a little.  She ended up four tenths of a second off race pace.  There’d been more in the tank too, so to speak, but Nika was not about to destroy a multi-million dollar machine unless a podium was on the line.  Her job was simply to find the optimal set up; find the speed.  She was very good at her job.  The tyres felt good, suspension was dialed in for Alex’s weight, not hers, and they’d managed to put in three different base settings for the electronics package.  A good day.

While her full-time ride in MotoGT was on a completely different bike; the commercially-available Ducati Panigale Hayden Speciale 1100 tuned for racing versus the one off purpose-built racing machines of MotoGP, she had been serving as Alex Castori’s test rider for three years now.  On his MotoGP bikes.  MotoGT was an insane mix of track and street courses whereas MotoGP ran strictly on the premier race tracks of the world.  That’s why there was training though and no one trained harder than Nika.  Maybe that’s why she’d won every series she’d ever contested and why she was set to defend her second MotoGT title this coming season.  No one had ever won it twice, let alone three times which was the way her own fans thought saw it.  A rival fan’s incursion onto the race course had ended that year’s title run though.  Such was racing life.

After the Ducati test she’d relaxed in her condo until the Atherim had called.  That had turned into a late night.  A restless night.  

Nika’d allowed herself more time in the morning to reset her mental game.  Her alarm went off at 7, scant hours after she’d poured herself into bed following last night’s emotional rollercoaster.  All that work only to find a murdered murderess and a mystery that really wasn’t hers to solve.  Not her area of expertise.  The Atherim had people for that, she was certain, but she was not it.   

The assassin slept clothed but didn’t have a specific memory of dressing for bed; light pajama pants and a matching button up shirt because Nika didn’t use sheets.  Or blankets.  Nothing on top of her, she couldn’t stand it.  Your past never truly went away.  

Bare feet negotiated the stairs of her lofted bed.  She preferred a morning shower and lingered longer than necessary.  Her palms splayed on the tile and braced her body as the hot water ran downward.  Cleansing.  She told herself the water took the bad dreams away...washed her clean for a new start because dwelling on the past distracted from the now.  

It was a work in progress.

Nika toweled off post-shower and then took her morning coffee and breakfast wearing nothing but a pair of micromodal trunks as she reviewed her schedule.   

While she’d inherited her top floor condo from her parents; the level below had been her own acquisition.  Half that floor served as a garage for her toys and the other half, well, that was accessible only through her flat.  Via secure stairwell.  Cleverly hidden.  Because Nika watched too many spy movies from before she was born.

Virtual Reality had taken off in the ‘20s.  For a time, an unstoppable momentum of funding and developmental resources flooded the industry.  Significant advances were made in medicine; interest in education saw a revival as well.  Users could visit any place, any time...literally do or experience anything at all that could be imagined and programmed.  It was utterly amazing in every sense of the word. Systems became so refined, so perfect, that VR was indistinguishable from reality (with the proper accessories)...and those were the civilian models.  The gaming and entertainment industries exploded.  Movies and games were remastered and truly participatory. You could go for your morning run across the surface of the moon, lip sync onstage to sold out mega concerts, play Madden 365 as a sparkling vampire or be the shark in JAWS.  Limitless...

The problems started small; malnutrition, dehydration, truancy from work or school but snowballed at an alarming rate.  What quickly became a worldwide public health crisis reached its pinnacle at a tragic mass suicide event involving over 63,000 people in an online role-playing cult called ‘AugWorld.’

Change, for once, came swiftly.  Despite the money involved, the VR industry enacted fast and real solutions.  Prompts and permanent warning popups were required in-game or in-movie; by default a pink and red ribbon but later customizable per user preference.  Animated VPets were particularly popular.  Resolutions were dialed down, time limits and cool-off breaks were hardwired in.  Interest waned a little, then a lot more as generations frequently don’t pursue the same hobbies.  Still, all movies have the VR Mode (now called WorldMode) along with 4D, Birds-Eye, Standard and Widescreen formats.  Cinematography is truly an art form now, especially for easter eggers.

Nika’s model was, naturally, lacking all default safeties.  She’d liberated it from the American military machine -through backwater channels- as one of her hobbies seemed to be acquiring military tech and weapons for personal use.  

As it was markedly less expensive to train troops via VR/WM/AR, that industry still was booming.  The well-off countries had been training this way since all the way back in the 1980s, although it was crap then.  Her model, while not the latest and greatest (even she couldn’t have gotten away with stealing that broken or not), was more than adequate for her needs.

Training.  Relentless, purposeful training.  It was one of the secrets behind her mastery of both creed and Higher purpose.

Lih sat for a while, then began to pace in the conference room. He stared down into the corner stand where there was an ornate brass timepiece... a vintage clock. He watched as the imperceptible crawl of its polished hands across the equally gleaming dial of the timepiece. 

He went to the small door of the conference room, and looked out into the narrow hallway. People were busy elsewhere. He could hear the echo of raised voices in the distance.

He went back, sat down in the comfy leather armchair, and sipped a cup of now cold caffeine somebody from chief inspector Drayson's office had brought. 

He took out Aiden Finnegan's novel Weaving Wheel and tried to read another one of the Irish folktales, but his mind wasn't on it.

His senior from Drayson's office reappeared and closed the door behind him.

"What's going on, Sir?" Lih asked, rising to his feet. "When can I start this interview?"

"In a short while, I trust," said the tall, copper skinned man evasively. He flexed his chin, as if there was much more that he wanted to say but couldn't.

Lih stared at him and slowly resumed his seat.

"In the meantime, is there anything I can arrange to have brought out to you? Some refreshments, maybe?"

Upon Lih shaking his head, the senior officer turned to leave... 

Lih asked the empty room, quietly and urgently, "I'm not in trouble am I?"

It hadn't taken long to tell Yun his plan.  He wasn't surprised when she agreed to let him off her leash.  In a way she really hadn't, Dorian had a tail almost a mile long.  He'd agreed to a chip for tracking purposes.  He wasn't planning on keeping it forever, if at the very least Sage would be able to disable it.  That was thing the girl seemed to not know about him, was his house full of misfits.  Dorian regretted not allowing Sage into his wallet while they were still under the same roof.  It might have saved a lot of aggravation having his son's bodyguard coming flaming the house.  Might even show Yun that she might be barking up the wrong tree.

But he hadn't, and he had made a deal.  A Deal that gave him and his family some freedom from the Atharim, once they put a stop to IA's investigation on his part though.  Yun saw to the precinct side of it.  But it was Dorian who was going to end that particular Atharim threat.  And sick Domovoi on Nox's little crowd below the city.  A dead police officer would do just that.  The trick was to only get Abt to follow him.

Which really wasn't hard.  Yun and company had left Dorian's car unattended where they found him.  Dorian got into it and drove into the Red Light District.  He and Ivan had done through chasing Sebastian.  And that's when his world changed.  He'd met a boy and a girl Atharim, god and sentient.  He'd covered for Martin for the last time.  And now his friend was dead, and Dorian had betrayed everything he'd ever done or stood for - except the sacrifice was to save his family.  A family he hadn't loved enough before but the thought of losing Cruz to the Atharim deaded his resolve.  Abt would not threaten his family.

Eventually someone would come looking for him.  Dorian just hoped it was not Nox.  He hoped the boy was still asleep after the big gala.  He'd be home soon.  And Cruz would be safe and Nox could do what he did best - fight monsters  - keeping the rest of the world safe.  Dorian knew that he'd never stop fighting that fight, it was in his blood.  Though the Atharim would hunt him forever - he didn't care.  It was a strength Dorian envied.  But it would likely get the boy killed.  

Dorian headed into the tunnels below the Red Light District and he made sure he was seen by ever security camera he could.  Sage would find him at the very least, he was counting on the boys stalker tendencies.

[[Some time following post #1 in A New Page Turned]]

Grass tickled her skin, her limbs baked warm and brown where they poked out from the crisp linen of her dress. Small flowers rooted up through her hair, spread out in a halo of wild curls around her face. Nimeda stared up at the sky, pulling the clouds into whimsical shape or sparking arcs of sunlight through raindrops. Today she was trying very hard to keep hold of a single thought, and it pushed a thoughtful furrow to her brow that had nothing to do with the concentration it took to manipulate her surroundings (which really took very little effort at all).

She waited for something.

For dark shadows to vein through her perfect sky, or the field in which she lay to suddenly scald with the whip of dry desert winds. For rain to fall like daggers of ice, for something that squeezed a smile to her lips in anticipation, so much so that her head tipped back, grey eyes searching, playfulness swelling in her chest.

And then remembered to hold onto that thought.

She waited for someone.

Raffe had been watching the man that night, the first he had been allowed down from the rooms upstairs to mingle amongst the patrons. His cheeks were clean-shaven, his shock of dark hair neat. The press of his crisp clothes hung odd, like his body did not know how to relax beneath them, or they felt uncomfortable against his skin. The burnished eyes drew attention as much as they created an arc of silence around him. As far as Raffe could tell he spoke to no one, just wandered like a lost puppy, bright eyes drinking in the pomp and splendour of Kallisiti until he finally found a quieter corner to absorb it all from.

It wasn't exactly the first time Oriena had welcomed the city's waifs and strays into the heart of her kingdom, but he was certainly the oddest in the collection.

The evening rolled along fine, until one of the patrons put his hands where they weren't wanted. Lilya was professional; her grip efficiently pinched his hand off, eyes narrowed. Presently she would inform Carmen, who would take care of the rest, but Kasun clearly sensed something beneath the current. And he snapped like she'd screamed against a predator.

The rush of his bare feet padded against the floor as he launched himself at the man, and chaos erupted.

Raffe had always been something of a mediator in the orphanage, so he didn't even think before he vaulted forward, leaving the gape-mouthed customer he had been serving with a half finished drink. Ice and mixer spilled against the bar.

The man's muscles were like corded wire as Raffe tried to wrench him off amidst a shower of blood.

"Get everyone out." The snap of Carmen's orders knifed the pandemonium. Raffe managed to grapple the man back into the changing room before his grip slipped. Kasun's lips bared over bloody teeth, a growl low in his throat as he spun, gold eyes utterly mad. And he was fast. Nails raked Raffe's chest before the flash of those teeth dived low.

Something burst in his chest, like a storm suddenly raged uncontrolled. 

And Kasun flung back, the twin orbs of his golden eyes winking abruptly out.

Raffe's hand shook at his throat, hot blood gushing through his fingers as he staggered back into the rails of costumes lining the wall. The pain didn't even touch him yet, eyes wide as Carmen's face swam into view above. Feathers and silk brushed his skin as he collapsed, the wire of hangers digging awkwardly as he crashed through.

"Shit shit shit." Carmen's hands slipped frantically, her face frozen with panic. Stoical Carmen. He'd never seen her so unravelled, and it pressed a stupid grin to his lips. But when he tried to speak, bubbles of iron burst against tongue instead of sound. She pushed his hands down hard. "For fuck's sake hold the pressure, Raffe!"