Futuristic ❝ 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 ❞

[neon reverie]

 

[mother of sorrows]

Processing. . . .

status: online

listening to: sleeping bag

location: ur mom's house

Jun says. . . .

"Program initiated..."

''Process: 30%''

''Process: 60%''

''Process: 100%''

''Access: OPEN.''

...

Real name: Jun Shinohara

Threat level: Alpha S

Alliance: the Phantoms

Status: Alive. Kill on sight.

Subject is known to possess both telekinetic and telepathic ability. Mental blockers are advised. Subject is violent, known to carry weapons and to use fatal force. Proceed with caution.

The subject appears to be weak to emotional stimuli and displays heavy distress when experiencing overwhelming mental information. More study needed.

Background of the subject is documented from age: 12.

His parents are the deceased

''Access: DISCONNECTED.''

nice try. at least take a guy out for dinner first.

coded by kaninchen

 

[neon reverie]

Processing. . . .

status: busy

class: alpha

power: hallucinations

profile states . . .

__________________________________________________________

// ACCESSING FILES . . .

// OPENING DOSSIER MIRAGE. .

// LOADING DOSSIER . . . .

// DOSSIER READY :
__________________________________________________________

Code Name: Agent Mirage

Real Name: Liu Jiayi

Affiliation: Enyos

Status: Alive.

Agent Mirage completed her training with exceptional grades and has been granted the leadership of the Enyos.

Proved to be efficient in field and team communications.

Has exhibited excellent mastery in weaponry.

Close Combat could use some enhancement.

Relationship with other Enyo affiliates seem amicable but formal.

Loyalty to the Union and goal of Project: Enyo well-proven.

Motivations detail remarkable sense of duty, in Mirage's own words: "I simply wish to help uphold the peace and safety provided by the Union. "

Second-hand accounts have noted a deeper emotional reaction during operations, suggesting the possibility of unidentified motives. Clarification required.

Social status as daughter of Liu Huizong and heir to Konwei Corporation is noteworthy.

Cognizance of Deviant nature undetermined. Further studies required.
__________________________________________________________

coded by kaninchen

 

[mother of sorrows]

jun --

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  las vegas, baby

  
  

  
  

  
  

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super tramp

goodbye stranger

Out in the high desert, away from the last standings of human civilization, hope and radio waves can travel for miles.

There is not much left to disrupt the signals, once you step outside of the sun-shields and security gates. There is not much, no, except for miles and miles of emptiness - a space between existence and dream, sizzling with crawling heat. In the pre-Fall days, wise men and mad saints would walk backward into the endless dust, looking for something in nothing. Out in the remote farms edging out of Union territory, there are tales of beastmen, all human but for their legs; just like a jackal's, twisted backwards like their pelvis was forcibly turned in their living body. They howl and pad along the tightly packed dirt, dragging animals and people into the humming night. The opposite of heaven isn't hell, it's whatever fills the high desert with radiation and strangeness.

Once the choking winds settle and the freezing cold sweeps in, that's when the air dances with waves.

They'll reach even the most hidden Phantom compound, bringing in stray news from teeth-lined military camps or police rumble, whispering propaganda to ears that will not listen. 'Everything is fine,' it lies, hisses, demands. 'For freedom, prosperity. Future.' Humans are not much different; they hope into open windows and past military curfews, their minds forming waves that touch everything around them. Like ripples on a lake, steadily reaching out into the world like an extended hand. They're not caught by rusting radio stations, barely perceptible as words and more as sensations. Only the most attuned can pick them out of the never-quiet chatter that is humanity, turning mere waves into something you could comprehend. It's not like reading a book, really; it's not words. More like how you look at the face of an old friend and instantly know what's on their mind.

Out here, under the boiling mid-day sun, the suit that looked like it costs more than a house (and the man wearing it) thought something almost like this:

Wow, I sure hope this maniac doesn't kill me.

Jun - the maniac currently sprawling over the man's passenger seat, sunglasses on and hands behind his neck - thought something akin to this:

I have a name, you know.

A person passing by in the middle of this harsh desert, when the sun was at its highest and no living creature dared to be out, might ask themselves this:

Just what is going on and what did this man do to deserve being called a maniac?

To that persons' great surprise, they will find out that stopping a man driving down a dusty highway, shoving a gun in his face, and telling him to drive is apparently both 'illegal' and 'traumatizing.' But Jun has a very good reason to be doing this, trust - and it's not just because the guy's face was absolutely priceless. The desert's not lovely but deep, and Jun has promises to keep and miles before he sleeps.

Above them, the sun. Below them, sand being displaced by the car's rumbling glide. Long before the Fall. they had these cars that ran on wheels and oil slick beneath the dark dirt; a wild comparison to the fields pushing the great machines off now. He has seen skeletons of them, buried and forgotten in dunes that nobody has disturbed in centuries. Unkind light reflected off its surface, making it shine like a great silver fish - a halogen shark steadily rushing past cacti, empty landscape, and abandoned buildings.

Out of the brand new radio, music poured.

Gloria, you're always on the run now,
Running after somebody, you gotta get him somehow -

On Jun's face, streaks of blood.

It was hot. Ungodly so. Sweat poured down his forehead, dampening his hair - the only small mercy he was granted was that the car was roofless - acrid, heavy fever danced in the highway's distance. His throat was as dry as the mountains rising up to the right of them, mirage-like.

I think you've got to slow down before you start to blow it,
I think you're headed for a breakdown, so be careful not to show it -

''Raul.''

The man in the suit that looks like it costs a house flinched behind the wheel. He was pale, giving Jun hesitant glances so unsubtle that he might as well turn his whole head. Jun didn't move, didn't even spare a look from under his dark sunglasses - he shuts his dry eyes, light sparkling behind burning eyelids.

''It. It's Paul.'' The man nervously mumbles, glancing in front of him. Jun's eyebrows raise.

''I could have sworn you were Raul.'' But then again, it's hard to hear a name over screaming-

''I, uh. I'll answer to both?''

You really don't remember, was it something that he said?
Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?

''Paul.'' Jun starts again, voice rasping on the dryness. He leans on the seat with his side, turning to stare at the blond growing pale. A type that barely ever steps out of the city districts, sleeping tight behind lines of fence and cybersecurity poised for the kill. Too bad the first person he stumbled outside of it happened to be Jun. Were Jun a kinder, more empathetic person, he'd almost feel bad.

''You got any water?'' The original question was this; you know how much longer? But the first neon sign had passed them by, advertising soda and so Jun knew it is not too far. The first sign of salvation. Reapers usually aren't a big percentage of customers - a shame. They might like strawberry lemon.

If everybody wants you, why isn't anybody callin'?
You don't have to answer,
Leave them hangin' on the line, calling Gloria -

Sweat drips down the man's pale forehead, anxiety crawling off him in waves. He grimaces. ''Uh. Should be some in the backseat, or. I don't know, if a bottle rolled off?'' He grimaces again as Jun almost climbs over the seat, regardless of the car's stuttering speed. The water is warm, but it's water - he slinks back to the passenger seat, Paul still giving him a hesitant look. Jun crosses his legs over the dashboard, squints into the distance. Civilization in all its glory - life where there should be none. He could almost make out the welcoming boards, women with too many teeth staring off them.

Security gates. The first resting place.

( - and there was evening, and there was morning—the first day. )

Expensive cars laid on the for-pay parking lot, shining and shining and gleaming; it was still the desert out here, cruel and inhabitable, but they sure tried their best to make it bend. A motel, bustling with tired travelers, made camp; flowers reached out of the dry ground, brittle and beautiful. Thin robots idled around, offering information to tourists and signaling towards twin gates. Above them, a gigantic sign of blinding reds and blues and purples.

WELCOME TO FORTUNA !

''Mind parking here?'' Jun asks, but it's not a question. Paul obliges, pausing the car by the side of the road - it jostles to the hard ground gently, like a bird landing in a nest. Jun uncurls his legs off the dashboard, wipes the blood off his cheek - sees Paul follow his movement closely, unsure hands still tight around the driving wheel. Grins. Idly asks: ''You know what they used to call this place before?''

Will you meet him on the main line, or will you catch him on the rebound?
Will you marry for the money, take a lover in the afternoon?

Paul stares. Glances away. Thinks:

What the fuck. Is it a trick question?

It wasn't, but Jun didn't say so. He climbed out of the car to make his way to the other end, grabbing his own meager backpack on the backseat. The other man's head swivels as he follows his movements, eyes like saucers. Stares even more once Jun leans by the driver's door, closing in.

''Uh... It's. I mean, Fortuna.'' Paul mumbles, inching away.

Pauses once Jun takes off his sunglasses, a bruising eye and a smile filled with violence in potentia lurking beneath. There was a little too much darkness in his eyes, a bit too many teeth in his grin for it to be genuine.

''Nah. Las fucking Vegas.''

He gives the frail-looking man a faux-affectionate pat on the shoulder, even as he flinches bodily; gives a wave as steps backwards, walking towards the gates labeled ENTERING. ''But hey, thanks for this. Take care of yourself out there.''

Just before he intermingles with the crowd, a thousand minds pushing it away, Jun hears one last stunned, baffled thought;

Did he steal my fucking wallet?

Feel your innocence slipping away, don't believe it's comin' back soon -

---
If you choose to listen to the Union, they will tell you this:

The Phantoms aren't a concern.

Paid-for government programs roll out daily on any media that's been run through fifty different filters, beautiful women and handsome men with white smiles all telling you the same thing; the Union is winning and always has been. The terrorists will not prevail, they whisper, hiss, demand, flagging any journalist that leaks footage of government-funded camps and prisons. Water used to be precious here, but in Fortuna it's used to fill the pools of the rich and the waterfront where the bodies turn up a week later. People here know better than to ask why the people turning up dead were all the ones asking all the important questions; why are you hiding the funded violence towards deviants? Why are you changing historical facts? When, when, when will you admit you have blood on your hands?

The Union answers with: for the prosperity of all of us.

Even the boldest of news sites don't dare run the murders for more than a week - they'll be ruled as suicide before the day turns and the internet is filled with pictures of Enyos, always too bright and always too heroic. A distraction, but a worthy one. The group enjoyed as much blind love as the next pop star, gathering entire fan clubs fawning over how well they protect the integrity and populace of the cities. Propaganda in its most human form; give them a person to look up to, to cheer on and you have an entire army. Shining, smiling, beautiful Enyos, plucked from the arms of mothers who are aristocrats and the daughters of aristocrats - they looked almost like gods on the big screen, waving at the camera and not a perfect hair out of place.

On illegal live leaks hosted on websites hidden under layers of passwords, you see Enyos killing families.

Deviant ones, of course. Sanctioned deaths, signed by mayors and high-up officials you'd know by name. Peel away the surface of the cities and you'll see the rotting bones beneath; nature documentaries will tell you that the desert is the place of the most extreme conditions, but it is also a place of divide. The rich and mighty lounge pool-side and stare down from their cold palaces on top of skyscrapers, protected by security of the last name and physical alike - all while beneath them the streets run red with blood. All the sparks of revolution are there; but there is no match to bring the flame.

Jun doesn't need filtered media or undercover journalists to tell him what the Enyos are like. He's seen them up close, was hunted by them like hounds after bleeding game. See, the thing is this; the Union will tell you the Phantoms aren't a concern. But.

But kill them all, and make sure they stay dead.

The ghost.ID whirred incessantly at the base of his neck as he stood in line, a thousand bodies pressed in the waiting room. Tired tourists on the end of their nerves argued with hapless automated assistants, the human ones that looked like they've seen terrible things, robots whose only job was to offer refreshments - a high pitched voice demanded what happened to their luggage somewhere. Flickering neon boards showed off casinos, hotels, clubs as traffic information forced its way in on others. An accident happened somewhere on whichever building, a small line of news crawling below. The dark floor below squeaked beneath Jun's shoes, linoleum worn down by age; the desk labeled 'QUESTIONS' was much shorter than the automatic scanner, cross-examining IDs with official records, but also much slower. Impatience, exhaustion and bland curiosity that were not his own settled on his shoulders like a blanket, reading the surface thoughts of those around him on instinct.

An average person might think its a blessing, to read minds. To always know what somebody is feeling, thinking; to know if somebody is lying or planning your secret birthday party. Too often poets will lament not knowing what goes on in the head of their love, or to wish humans were not such a mystery. The inner workings of other people were often a shadowy land, one that you can never be sure about till you fall.

To Jun, they were too intimately familiar.

To a person who did not like other people very much, hearing their every thought is a near curse.

Life lacked little in humor or love for irony, because Jun just happened to be very good with them too.

The girl manning the desk had dark circles the color of bruises below her eyes, a thousand monitors stacked behind her; she glanced between the ID and Jun himself, squinting.

''...Paul E. Blitkovitz?''

''The one and only.'' He gave a blase smile beneath his dark sunglasses, resting his hip on the polished surface of the desk. Something beeped somewhere. ''Listen, I think something is wrong with the scanners. It didn't let me through.''

She obviously didn't seem amused, the first stirrings of suspicion reaching him.

He's not the guy on the picture,

the woman thought, features slipping into a frown. ''I'm sorry, but.'' Long fingernails tapping on sleek marble. Eyes narrowing. ''You gave me the wrong ID.'' A few long stares followed them at that, a few stray people turning their heads. Security watched like wolves smelling blood; Jun didn't have to turn to see their hands play on the trigger of their guns. He was uncomfortably aware of the cameras watching, all the hardware and software dedicated to finding people like him; sweat poured down his neck for nothing related to the pressing heat.

Jun doesn't flinch, hesitate - he only keeps the same bland smile, tilts his head.

''What do you mean?''

''This isn't yours.'' The same suspicious glint; ready to bite and tear and howl. A bared tooth of danger. Jun grins wider, reaches out -

Not physically, of course.

People have asked him before, what it's like to prod around somebody's skull - to influence their thoughts or lay traps that spring without notice. It was more influence than a physical feeling, like leading a mind a certain way. It's terrifying - and a strange sort of amazing - how malleable the mind is; comparing it to clay wouldn't do it real justice, as it won't break or bend just because you want it to. But most people are not used to any thoughts but their own and never question where their train of consciousness comes from. Only those who are exposed to it can realise when they're being played with - and even then maybe not, if you're cunning.

Jun is exactly that, and more.

Her mind is a scramble of too little sleep and too much caffeine, all to easy to lead or trick. He doesn't seen to eliminate the hum of distrust, or twist his face - only convince her eyes. Tired, she's tired and bound to make mistakes. The lightning here is terrible, all gloom and neon that makes her head burn. Maybe she should take a break after this. The image of Jun slips inside without her noticing, mind picking up similarities with the one on the ID even when there are none.

''Must be a mistake.'' Jun gives a raised eyebrow, all faux-confusion. His air is one of a man that doesn't know the name of trouble, that rarely runs into situations like this. The woman frowns, not convinced.

''I told you, this isn't you in the -''

She looks down, voice falling short. Blinks as if not believing her eyes, face coming inches away from the ID. Another person behind her might say, ''what's your problem? They don't look the same.'' The picture didn't change, no, but reality matters little when the brain doesn't see it. Eyes not believing their own signals, fooling themselves.

''I.'' The woman stares, dumb-founded. Her mouth hang open slightly, a lot more hesitant as she looked up at him. Thoughts, fast and confused, ran from her - doubt, uncertaintly. Has she really seen wrong? ''I'm. So sorry. I didn't see right.'' She mumbles, looking off to the side - her face was one of a person who has stumbled into their house to find everything the same, only slightly wrong.

Jun gives a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Takes the ID with practiced ease.

''It's nothing.''

---
Fortuna is a beast of a city at night; terrifying in it's beauty, a burst of color on the dying sky.

High-wired and build from neon, with cars flying overhead and celebrities grinning from billboards, selling you hope and ideals and health. Puddles of rain persevered in the alleys where secrets flow over bloodied cement. It was a city of everything - hubs of technology, food, entertainment sprang up all over the stretching landscape - but it's always a city of money first. A woman in silk as bright as gold threw her head back and laughs, throwing coins into a fountain cut from marble. Manicured squares fill with as the moon hangs low, music drifting in the air like incensce. Robots and AI, humanoid and not, line the corners - cleaning grime and dirt, calling patrons to restaurants and clubs.

It was a different view all together, when you're on the 15th floor of a skyscraper.

All the lights and bustle seemed so far away, here in a room filled with champagne bottles and polished marble floor. The traffic down there sparkled as bright as the chandeliers above Jun's head, crystals hanging off a domed ceiling. Paintings of sneering women and foggy landscapes decorated the intricate walls; a few polite bystanders commented on them in hushed voices, walking from white table to the next. Beautiful fabrics shone in the dull light, all the height of fashion packed into one room. The Millenium Gala is one of the most prestigious art events in Fortuna, visited by the kids of politicians and cold heirs who grew up in a lap of money. Somebody like Jun, with blood drying under his nails and appreciation for the underbelly of the world, wouldn't be able to secure a ticket here even if he killed for it - the line for them are long, and exclusive besides. Only the suit he's wearing right now could put a family out of debt for life.

Not that Jun had to kill for it, even if he would. They have their connections.

- ''So,'' Jun said from the grimy couch packed into the small apartment, flickering though the phone given to him as he laid. The AC on the wall coughed fresh air (or whatever constituted as fresh in Red Heights) with a loud rasp, the wallpaper peeling off where the moisturise leaked through. Chantou was a whirlwind through the hideout, jumping from one monitor to the other. The girl was short, half Jun's size, hair a mess of red - a woman that can die only as fast as you can kill. Once he saw her hand be cut off, only for it to re-grow a day later. ''Who am I gonna be following around?''

A picture flashed on his phone - a middle-aged man, bald and giving the camera an oily smile.

''James D'aurville, CEO of Technomad. Real piece of work.'' Chauton frowned at a monitor; numbers, big ones, appeared. ''Officially, he works in close contact with the mayor and a few other companies. Unofficially, he smuggles deviants across city borders. Or at least, that's what they're led to expect.''

Jun surpressed the sneer of disgust threatening to erupt, a knot forming in his stomach. Of course the son of a city-favorite would also be a human trafficker. As if the Union wasn't filled with the rot and corruption they claim to get rid of - no, both of those are dear friends to them.

''What the mayor didn't expect is that James here would steal some very important files right under their nose. City hall would be up in flames by next morning if somebody got a hold of them.''

Her smile caught on the sleek monitor, her reflection wiggling its' eyebrows at him.

''What do you think about 300$ hors-d'œuvre?'' -

The man stared idly like a wolf amongst sheep, playing with a champagne glass he had no intention of drinking. A gentle hum murmured from the comm hidden in his ear, whispering -

''No sight of James yet. Talk to some people.''

Jun grins and grins and grins, half-lidded eyes flat for such a bright smile. He couldn't whisper back, not yet, and so he took out his only hope; his phone, hidden in a suit pocket the guards didn't bother checking. He flickered over dicreetly to the group chat, nobody paying attention to one man in the crowd.

junbun has just updated his status to: in the ghetto

chau: jun
chau: are you serious
chau: FOCUS ON THE MISSION
junbun: don't worry about it, i got it under control
junbun: listen how would you feel in my situation
junbun: what if i meet somebody named countess von boochie
junbun: how am i supposed to react then, hm
chau:
chau: just talk to some random people, maybe find something out

A sound of opening doors caught Jun's attention from the phone, quickly tucking it back into it's place. Flashes of dresses and suits entered into the slowly filling room, silks and satins reflecting off the ceiling high glass. James should be here soon - according to their informants he's never missed this gala. Probably less for the art and more for another chance to show off his wealth and enjoy the company of sycophants vying for his attention. Jun slides off from his corner, his smile never reaching his eyes; not that anybody seems to notice, making small talk as he goes.

If only he were the only person here with a sharp grin, with too much intelligence sparkling in his eyes.

Just his luck that wouldn't be the case.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

jiayi

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  Varun, Roman, stranger

  
  

  
  

  
  

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Valerie Broussard

Trouble

Primus. A city relentlessly in motion and ceaseless in money. Iridescence ricochets in neon beams off titans of glass, reaching the dream wanderers and chasers below. Time flies fast, too fast, in this metropolis; one second, one handshake for a sold deal, another second - a new corporation rises, one more second - a million jobs created, the second following - a few more are destroyed. People demand, people beg, people win and people lose. Primus can give you something as valuable as success, as wanted as wealth, but are you willing to give what it takes in return? Gazes of the desperate and avaricious see nothing but diamonds in the sky. But through heaven's eyes, Primus trembles like a sinner before a god indifferent to her pain.

Cities can be perfect, its streets and skylines an utopia.

Humans, however, can't be.

Eyes can glimmer red like rubies, red promising of a grave. They say wealth only lifts you up when it's tying the noose, and they are not entirely wrong; it's how life can get poisoned, poisoned with malice, poisoned with greed. Especially greed. Oh how lazy those minds can be, seeking swift returns despite the burning of bridges. They are entitled too, entitled because they will invade, lie and betray when they don't get what they want. But that's the thing about Greed; it presents you with gold that disappears with the wind, slipping away into an unending horizon of lies and mirages. You chase, and follow, and trail, fingers reaching for a light that never settles, heart bleeding for a future that never arrives. Greed never bows, you do. And bow shall you, in your throne, under your false crown, and on top of the blood and bones you've gathered during your conquest.

You aren't the only one greedy, though; there will always be ones reaching for the stars, willing to pay whatever it takes to ascend in social status. And people never forget what you have done. Never forget about what you deserve.

They call it karma.

Something Jiayi does not mind delivering.

The man holds the tablet close to his chest with a hirsute hand, as though its very presence would protect him from what might come. Hair slicked back with a questionable amount of gel and a suit slightly crinkled, it is clear he made an albeit fruitless effort to appear accomplished. Nervous eyes behind glasses - another sign of low wealth, the market for optical implants being priced - glance around the room. Artificial light fractures through glass across the decadent walls and tiled floor. A white and minimalistic desk greets him, along with a chair grand enough to impress and intimidating enough to instill fear. All the noisy bustle from Primus dies before it reaches the ears of those inside. Nevertheless, through the grand window, a message flickers, its volume striking even in silence.

IT IS YOUR CIVIC DUTY TO REPORT ANY SUSPECTED INSTANCES OF SEDITION AND ANTI-STATE BEHAVIOUR. ONLY WITH YOUR HELP WILL OUR SOCIETY PROSPER. UNION IN THOUGHT, UNION IN DEED.

He swallows, before finally letting his gaze fall upon the person in the chair, who smiles a smile not unfriendly, but not warm either.

"Varun, it's good to see you again. " her voice greets as her hand gestures for him to take a seat. There is a stumble, a hand finding the trusted back of the seat for support, but ultimately, the two figures become equal in height. The woman's eyes glance down at the tablet held in a caged grip, before glinting with a sense of anticipated satisfaction. If all bodes well, both would end up richer at the end of the day; one with credits and one with information.

"I take it you have everything I asked for?" her hand hovers expectantly in the air, waiting to be handed the data. There is a nod, a shift in the seat as Varun moves to hand over his tablet. He pauses then, hesitation striking him midst movement. His gaze betrays the inner thoughts circling around; perhaps the distant howl of guilt or quiet whisper of the moral compass. He was betraying his corporation after all, selling off information that publicly intertwined the big boss with everything happening behind closed doors and in dark-lit basements. What a right-hand man he was. It is a harsh betrayal, though not one he can back down from. And he knows that, knows that they both know that. Still, something is festering, an uncertainty, maybe a fear. A fear that what goes around comes around.

"What are you planning to do with the data?" it's a question he should not ask, one he already feels having the answer to. A flicker of annoyance flashes behind those dark eyes, before her lips curve into a sharp smile.

"Oh Varun, I am not paying you to ask questions." So kindly, do shut up are the words that never follow, though ones Varun can pick from tone alone. His gaze drops, hand gripping the tablet once more as if his life depended on it. Well, it kind of did. A sigh escapes Jiayi's lips, one not too unlike a mother's when she is tired with a child's antics.

"We wrote a contract, did we not? So, rest assured, you will get the protection you need along with the promised creds." Not that protection was needed. James was going to have a hard time issuing orders beyond the grave.

Varun is greedy but not dumb; he knows those hidden messages very well. There are places where you can dig for small treasures and places that harbor endings. Lines you should never tread, not when the blood you will mess with is Liu and Enyo. Shame James never learned that. The black-haired man shifts again, his arm extending over the desk, the tablet becoming in reach. In her hands, the tablet's screen lights up, emanating a cyan glow as the brand insignia flashes. Encrypted digits sequence and turn, before unfolding before them; small pixels materialize in the air, connecting and growing till holographic words, photos and videos start to decorate the once empty space between the two.

His crimes paint pictures of frazzle drip murders and blood spatters. The weeding of competition. Screams melt together with whispers, carrying secrets and fear; a deviant for a dime, a child for coin. Material eyes and material hearts make lies sparkle, like false stars you chart your life by. It is the betrayal of ideals and selling of morals, something Varun knows too well. Perhaps that's why the man looks away from the data, its weight uncomfortable on his shoulders. 'It is worth the price' they all say, but is it? You can buy almost everything, even time. But in the end, you will be alone, wrapped in ashes and smoke.

Alone and with nothing.

Jiayi examines all the information, critical eyes moving left to right, right to left, up and down with an almost frightening lack of reaction. It makes you wonder, how many of the unspeakable this woman has already seen. Makes you question what this woman has done. It is normal to have curiosity when colliding with the unknown, to find yourself guessing what lies in the space beyond your own mind. Words end, but that does not make it the ending of all. Jiayi can see the slight discomfort in his eyes, the whirling of thoughts and questions. It reaches out, searching for threads it can attach itself to. However, there is something unnerving too; a ripple in the current, breaking its flow. A small voice in the back of the mind.

Maybe it is best not to know.

A flash of red.

The interface gently hums and whirrs, before a translucent rectangle shimmers into existence. It remains empty from Varun's standpoint, as intended. A message only meant for the eyes of the Enyos presents itself, a specialized chip unfolding the words for her. Jiayi reads the intelligence. Archon Gilda. James D'aurville. Stolen files.

A smile breaks out on her visage.

"Well, this just got interesting..." eyes flicker back to the other person in the office. "Where did James plan to be again this week?"

Varun blinks, his face twisting in a grimace. Again, could it be guilt? Does it matter? It didn't stop him before, and it doesn't stop him now:

"It's…"

- - -

Fortuna.

A world of wonder and possibility, illuminated by light of uncertainty. Bets ring out like thunder as the lucky collect their plunder. A neon glow seeps into your pores, staining you with vivid blue, purple, pink and red. The sun dries the mind while the city greens your money. Debt fluctuates by a single move, silence strangled by tension. Here, fantasies are real and truth a mirage. It is light, heat and decadence. It is the city of kings and queens, diamonds and hearts; it pulls you in, splendor and all.

It is where sin shines and greed roars.

The Millenium gala is not an unfamiliar scene for Jiayi. It echoes the same kind of tenors as many other social events do in the upper levels of society; there are hums of symphonies, swells of low-pitched voices, crescendos of conversation. Laughter light and easy hold dark red undertones, much like the wine they sip from in those tall glasses. Eyes wander over canvases of lavish art, clinging to the strokes of paint as if the mahogany hues would turn golden. Figures twirl in timeless elegance, all of them being souls of extravagance secretly seeking for the light that makes them the Muse of the night.

Look at me, their silks beg.

Admire me, their jewels shout.

Remember me, their white pearled teeth smile.

In a gallery like this, it is never about the art.

"Has our lovely James arrived yet?" her question flows in the air. Somewhere, in the security room filled with screens, a voice responds, their words slipping right into her ear through the small comm piece.

"Not yet."

Being an Enyo did come with its perks, the unit's insignia holding a power of its own. Family power differed city from city, territory from territory. People are loyal as much as your business fills their pockets, as far as your reputation spreads. Enyo power, however, entertained a magnitude no people were able to question. It is one backed by names you can hear but not touch, ones deciding on your fate. When they catch the presence of an Enyo, they bow, may it be out of respect or fear. Roman, the security guy, was no different.

"Hm, I suppose I will wait in that private room of his then."

A bit of socializing was given, but it was best to disappear before those curious eyes turned into questioning whispers. Something that captures the attention of aristocrats more than brushes of the mind is the blemishes in reality. No tints are more fascinating than those flawed and fickle. Behind the pleasantries of idle talk and charming smiles, pride and greed grows hungry. Sharp eyes search for any opportunity, not unlike a predator laying in wait for the first drop of blood in the water.

And it's not that James doesn't deserve to be torn apart by society's wolves or so to speak. Jiayi just think she deserves to have the first bite.

All the chatter slinked back into a muted backdrop as the Enyo moved from the main room into one of the hallways. High heels click against the marble, her champagne glass standing abandoned on a window sill. A door opens into a room; light filters in through the gap, its golden streaks stretching across the floor and up the wall. It's an average sized room; there is a long white lounge couch curving alongside the corner, a sleek black coffee table, under it an emerald green carpet, and a large holographic screen. The screen portrays a desert oasis, its green and azure edging around the figure in the room. A figure too tall and too skinny to be the one she's waiting for.

"Who are you?" she steps into the room, eyes trained on the stranger. "One of James' new hires?" another step closer, gaze critical of the features dark and unknown. "Hm, you don't look like the usual ones he keeps as his lackeys." But then again, a man like James was currently going for a brand change. Entrepeneur to Criminal. Maybe that goes with recruiting the renegade looking ones.

Well, surprise lackey or not; the mission goes on.

"Well, James and I are in for a business chat. So, if you don't mind leaving the room."

There is a sharp smile, one telling you don't really have a choice.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

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super tramp

goodbye stranger

God, Jun really doesn't like rich people.

It's not that he didn't know this before, but now and then comes a scene that rubs it in his face; the high-pitched pelt of laughter, the shameless bragging. Hands that have never touched blood, but had no problem pointing out which throat to slit. A man talks about last week's riot like a sport. A woman plays with the necklace dangling off her neck, bright enough to feed an entire family. Loud laughter behind too many teeth. It's easy to grow soft behind sun-shields and lines of defense. Blood gets washed away every morning and bodies hidden behind black plastic; they never have to see the people they kill. They're predators of a different ecosystems, raised on marble flooring and under chandeliers. Here, reputation and last names stab as well as knives. Smiling, grinning, sneering faces blur into one under crystalline light, one beautiful dress sweeping into another.

Jun listens more than he talks. He never sticks around enough for them to notice he's not one of them; bloodhounds, seeking weakness. It's really not that hard when nobody is interested in him in the first place - one mental nug here, a misdirection there and his company is only kept with a drink in hand and careful eyes.

In Jun's ear, a voice whispers:

''He'll be here soon. Get to the room.''

God, when will this bitch shut up?

A too-happy woman thinks in passing.

That's why their family lost the Glutsko deal. What an idiot.

A man in a suit the color of whale-bone goads.

Somebody, somewhere, planned their mother's death. Jun was out the room before he could hear the end of it.

His phone's screen reflected off the ceiling high windows, the sound of deals and lies muffled by heavy doors. Outside, the city shone. Flying ad spaces drifted along traffic, modern-day stars on a horizon carved by human hands. A constantly shifting digital layout, showing room after room after room danced in his hands; lines of security and spots of cameras. A room, just down the hall from here, blinking red.

''No guards. You're good to go.''

Jun tucks the phone back in place. Thinks;

The hors-d'œuvres wasn't even worth it. Yikes.

---

It's not a king of a meeting room, but it certainly is a nobleman with some decrees to their name; beautiful in only a way the places in Fortuna can be. Minimalistic and sleek and with a dancer's elegance. In the half-dark embrace played an endless loop of a desert, tranquil and empty. The irony isn't lost on Jun. With drink still in hand, Jun leaned on the edge of a faux-aquarium filled with holographic fishes, watching him watch them. A koi of white and red passed by, far too large and shining to be anything but a program.

So far, so good. James is on the way and nobody noticed him. He wasn't worried about the cameras - they'd have to unscramble thousands of files to trace anything back to him. Throwing back the last of his drink, Jun thought (before his cynical mind could catch up and correct itself);

This should be easy.

He regretted it as soon as his brain was done, grimacing. Some deity, if those are even left after the Fall, if they weren't destroyed in the fire and radiation, must have heard him; and it must have had a bad day because only a second after the comm sprung to life.

''Uh. We got a problem.''

Oh, fuck him. That's what he gets for trying to exist for a minute without something going wrong.

''You always know what to say to make me feel better, Chau.'' He mumbles back. A tiny beta fish passed by, looking far too judgemental for a computer illusion. Move along, asshole.

''Yeah. Sorry to disappoint, but some lady is on her way here. She's about to enter.''

Great. Just great. Because why can the mission work perfectly when instead, they can have somebody barge in? Of course, his mistake.

''What lady?'' Jun paused. Considered. ''Is she hot?''

He didn't have to be there to see Chau's eyeroll - the woman had a talent for bringing gestures to life through tone alone. ''Out of your league, I'm afraid.''

''Ouch.'' Jun put a mock hurt hand over his chest, expression shifting into shocked disbelief. Chau just laughed, the heartless beast. ''Way to ruin my confidence.''

''That's what I'm here for. Hold on.''

Fingers tapping away at a keyboard. Then, silence.

It hung like an executioner's noose; far too long to be anything but bad. Jun slid off the aquarium's edge with far more calm than he actually felt, a barely there frown tugging at his brows.

''Uh.'' Pause. ''She's - not in any of the records.''

A beat passed. Then -

''Are you sure?''

''Yeah. Everything is encrypted or behind firewalls.''

Unease fell like a choking blanket, like the pressure of a river about to tear down a door; neither of them had to say anything to understand what this means. To be out of the public records, to not be recognised by every camera on every corner, you either have to 1) pay a pretty dime to a capable hacker, 2) be out of the straight and narrow life. Or.

Or 3) be important enough for the goverment to not want you recognised by every damn software a bored college student made in their free time.

Neither of those options seemed preferable right at this very moment.

He didn't have time to linger on what this could mean, on the curses he'd much rather be whispering under his breath as of right now; Chau's whisper of 'good luck' was all he got before the doors swung open, turning around with an unhurried step. His shoulders were relaxed, the line of his body languind; only those who know him would recognise the lurking tension just beneath his skin.

In the doorway, a woman.

She was pale in the gloom, a halo of artificial light behind her head; black fabric, black hair, but far darker were the eyes staring right at him.

'Who are you? One of James' new hires?'

He didn't have to step closer to see the sharp intelligence following his every move, a glimmer of coldness in them that made Jun's shoulder tighten the merest amount. A bland smile was all Jun gave to her as answer, setting aside the glass in his hand. Whoever this woman is, he's not going to give her any reason to stick around or a word to hold against him if she's asked later.

'Well, James and I are in for a business chat. So, if you don't mind leaving the room.'

Her smile isn't a question - far too much like a knife's edge to be anything but a command. He's sure it's made more than a few people turn and walk away, an unspoken gesture of somebody used to power and used to wielding it.

As it was, Jun made a show of considering it - gave her the thin, dismissive smile he knew made people want to punch him.

''I do mind. I got something to tell him, really important stuff.'' He gestured vaguely towards the door, a symbol of 'shoo' without saying the actual word. ''You can wait outside, though.''

He knew he shouldn't do this; that standing out in her mind, whoever she is, would be a terrible idea. Something wasn't right here, a sense of disquiet creeping on his neck like a shadow. And yet -

''I'm sorry.'' The man tilted his head slightly, the edge of his smile twitching up. ''Am I supposed to know who you are?''

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

jiayi

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  Stranger, Roman, James.

  
  

  
  

  
  

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2Wei

Pandora

Men.

Jiayi knows them well, can catch those dark kaleidoscope shards behind crystal smiles and illusionary words, its Machiavellian colors twirling like snow in a glass dome. They think themselves so powerful, so important, as if they are the stars of the galaxy or the gods in the heavens. Cocooned in their own state of fantasy, they watch the planets spin and decide it is them the cosmos revolves around. And something whispers, whispers all around. It whispers but never makes a sound; you can only sense its energy, daring you to question the truth of a false god. Senseless words they are, but desperate people rarely have the luxury of being critical. It is how they get you, down on your knees, hands planted against the ground. Like a worshipper in waiting for the falling of stars and manifestation of wishes.

It is how you get to cling to those lifeless, ill-intended words that feel like promises.

But Jiayi is neither desperate nor a fool.

She knows the word games that come with tall presences in black suits, has learned the ways of ice cold prose so she can claim her hands are clean. Spark like the bold flame you are, she will smoke you out and have your words burning at your feet. It is an art those only painted by chromatic shades of the elite could master; the shatter of colors so pristine yet cutting it reminds you of the jewels sold and bought in blood. Isn't it ironic how those vibrant streaks can originate from heartless beings with rotten minds? Children grow up whispering words ruinous and ruthless, just because their parents made it a poem.

Just because everyone else does it too.

And most people have learned by now, how well the Liu family does in these kind of battles. Not all though, that much is evident in the way the stranger flashes Jiayi a heedless smile. She does not know whether to think him a dullard or an arrogant one. Perhaps both ― but something in that black gaze of his makes her pause; it's raw, too raw to be refined. Critical eyes scour his appearance from head to toe, searching for the crack in this seemingly faultless picture. He is dark and mysterious in ways all dangerous things are, and the fact she can't recall having seen his face before doesn't mute the chiming of alarm bells either. A bold tongue he has too, his words ignorant or foolishly dauntless. Too unlike any business associates that weasel surrounds himself with.

But, let's say he is speaking the truth. Let's entertain for a moment he belongs to James' circle, may it be the regular kind of business or the illicit affairs on her tablet. He wouldn't want to stay either way.

Not if he got a scrap of intellect.

"You're new, aren't you?" it sounds more like an observation than a statement and the edges of her lips quirk slightly, the ghost of a smirk present on her visage. "In that case, I will excuse your ignorance."

''Am I supposed to know who you are?''

"Right now? Perhaps not." her figure moves closer, right till her chin has to tilt slightly to keep eye contact. "But it might be good for you to reconsider the 'important' talk you are about to have with James. I'm afraid he won't be doing business much longer."

Jiayi did not mean to act as harbinger to some insignificant soul, but the cards fall where they may, and she has her fair moments, even when devising the unbecoming of someone. What kind of role he chooses to play in this was up to him; Jack or Joker, it didn't matter. Not with the ace in her pocket and hidden blades present against her skin. Albeit troublesome in the aftermath, a spectator was not going to deter her. If anything, it might wipe that irritating smile off his face.

It might serve as an incentive to learn names and faces.

"James is coming," Roman's voice informs in her ear, making Jiayi take a step back from the stranger, hands traveling to her back.

"Door will close and lock on your command."

Ah, so helpful those Enyo perks.

Heavy footsteps against marble herald his arrival. A strip of light reflects off his bald head as the wide figure squeezes itself through the doorway, before freezing upon noticing two people in the room. Lines of surprise are etched in his face, or could it be a hint of fear in that widen-eyed look? So many vices wrapped in a pathetic package of flesh and bones, so many skeletons stashed in the closet. Jiayi wonders if he ever saw it coming; his death by a thousand cuts.

She smiles a smile too sweet to be kind for a woman like her, greets him amusingly like an old friend would.

"Already done with the pleasure for the evening James?" there is a snap of the finger, the soft thud of a door closing, sequenced by a click. Light flickers on in the room, revealing the cutting steel in one of her hands. The blade glistens.

"Good. Because you and I are in for a small business chat."

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

jun --

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super tramp

goodbye stranger

This wasn't going as planned.

Not that things ever go as Jun wants them to - funny world, the like that cares little about what you were building and prances right over the bricks you laid with it's nose turned. It might take the paper you sketched on so carefully, too. Take it and tear it up just to make sure you will not be trying this again. Life is a wheel or maybe it's a bulldozer, the ones eating up low-income housing up in every city; and the people who once called it home have to stand outside and watch it crumble.

He feels like he is being put out of home and the floor below his feet at times like this. But Jun's house never crumbled - it burned with your whole family trapped inside.

And now, with those eyes made of onxy watching him, he thinks he can already smell the smoke.

She did not have to talk - she did, but she wouldn't have to. The edge of her smile screamed, the air where her hands lingered threatened. Prey paint themselves in poisonous colors, bright and eye-watering, but he saw no blue, yellows, red in her face; he didn't need to see bangs fared to see that they are there. 'It might be good for you to reconsider the 'important' talk you are about to have with James. I'm afraid he won't be doing business much longer.' The woman said through lips the color of an open wound and, well, that's a flash of claws if he'd ever seen one. But whose claws - the ones of a round tiger lazily licking it's paws on the bleached rock of a zoo, fed for just existing? Or is it the ones you'd spot in the damp darkness, green void of the jungle, sweat clinging to your hair and with it the realisation that you're not alone?

Jun watches her watch him and thinks, with pessimistic hope, that the shine in her eyes is the zoo glass reflecting.

His smile doesn't falter. The comm in his ear is quiet like a tomb. He thinks to say - something, possibly to make this worse - but his words are cut by a knife of a door opening.

Footsteps echo heavily, rocks into silent water; something to fatalistic about that noise as James enters, wide-eyed and frozen at the sight of them. Curses fill Jun's head, working out a different thousand ways this could go - he hadn't planned for somebody to want to see James tonight too, though he probably should have. The guy is looked after by half the city; but he can still do this, if he plays his cards just right. No witnesses would be ideal; but he doesn't have to cover her eyes for her to be one. For all it's glory, the brain is unreliable. All he has to do is make her forget.

The doors close, sealing them in. Jun is no longer smiling.

His hand drops to his suit jacket.

Pupils widening to a pitch-black, devouring the eye; limbs tensing, breathing slowing, waiting.

Witness or not, James will die tonight.

(He sees the similar glint of steel in the woman's hand only after he already made for James' throat.)

Muscles strained under the weight of a body lurching forward, motion sending marble and neons spiraling like migraine colors - James reacts, but reacts too slowly, hands coming up as if he could possibly stop what is coming right at him. A sickening lurch, the croaking noise of a voice cut short, throat cast open. Blood splattering pillars worth their weight in bones, and more litres of red.

And the blade stuck right below it. Not Jun's.

He leapt from the brush of a mind behind his like a viper to it's nest, over-loud heart pounding in his ear and fingers scrambling for purchase on a leatherbound sofa. Shoes with far too large a price tag squeaked against marble flooring, all muscles ready for danger. For a moment, there was silence.

Then, there was a thud. The body fell.

There she stood. Terrible, like a nymph covered in blood. Like a church burned to the ground. Opposite they stood and Jun realised, with a twist of his stomach, that he suddenly wasn't so sure who was the prey here and who the predator.

One of them here was the one holding the knife and the one at the other end of it. Now if only it was easy to tell who is who.

Cold sweat stuck to his back as he watched her, eyes dark and warm blood splattered on his cheek - a rub from the back of his hand stretching it further, body poised to attack, kill, if only she made the move first. Eyes devoured with void, gloved hand glistening sickly, smile gone and buried in some grave somewhere. Tension coiled at their feet like a living thing, delicate and easily broken as mom's favorite vase - and Jun didn't want to be the clumsy one this time. Get her memories, his mind screamed, wipe it clean. But he'd have to get close for that and with how they circled each other now, he's not so sure that will not end in bloodshed tonight. He grit his teeth into an almost grin, far too pleasant for a body on the ground and red staining them both.

Speaking of the body -

Jun would have been horrified if he recognise the twitching in still-warm limbs, the way James (or not) turned into himself like a spider dying, as if there was something in-between meat, skin, bones trying to break out - no noise came from a torn throat as the body glitched, suit and face and hairless head flickering like a TV channel set to dead noise. And as limbs re-arranged, turned, changed, well -

that's not James.

Jun stared. And then cursed.

You have got to be fucking kidding him.

Of course James, asshole extraordinaire and business man whose head is worth it's weight in gold, would send a fucking body-double. The obviousness of it was so sharp that it slapped Jun in the face with the strength of a scorned telenovella character, barely resisting to face-palm right there and then. Yeah, of course. Right his luck. If he's lucky James will even hear about this tonight and flee to his faux military-base mansion. Annoyance mixed in his stomach, ice-cold against the animal's wariness holding him down opposite of the woman.

''Some business meeting.'' He starts dryly, voice too loud in a room filled with the silence of a grave. ''You always try to kill your partners?''

He took a careful step then to that face pale like the light of a moon, slow to not cause alarm. His hand tightened around slippery blood. ''Guess he's been stepping on your toes too.''

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

jiayi

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2Wei

Pandora

Jiayi has seen enough of it to know death can be as much a greeting as a goodbye. It can embrace you like a caring mother would, humming your tired being into a slumber, offering the requiem you have been waiting for. Or it can feel like a scythe tearing into your soul, ripping apart the seams that hold life together, without mercy or patience. Your life fleets away then, out of your body, up into something, or nothing, depending on the beliefs you die with. Jiayi does not believe in heaven or hell, but for everyone's sake, she entertains briefly that it exists — just so James can be denied from the former and dragged into the latter.

It is only right, after all, that he pays for his sins with more than his life.

Jiayi knows the sight of death well enough to understand its different facets. It can be horrific for sure, most unkind deaths are; the image of blood, bones and flesh meshed together like it was never a person to begin with rarely being a sight to admire. But death can look beautiful too, oh and how beautiful it looks on James; red spreading from the wound,, like a rose blossoming at last after being buried beneath layers of dirt. Liquid petals drip onto the floor to lay at the feet of a man who wished to know of death but never taste it. It is a life, as justifiably ended as this, that knows no last words; only pathetic gurgles before even those dissolve into nothingness.

It would have been a fine conclusion for a terrible man, and Jiayi would have exited the premise satisfied, but nothing is ever so simple.

And the man, with blood on his cheeks and darkness in his eyes, is never just someone.

They might have had the same target, but that does not mean they are on the same side. He can be anything, his presence very well a secret as dangerous as the ones James died for. Jiayi does not betray any emotion, stays calm even when the air among them is ablaze with wordless verses of alarm. Her body, however, adjusts to the uncertainty, muscles tensing and eyes sharpening. Tension lingers around like delicate dust — something as easily broken as it spreads — and she draws her dead-cold steel once more. He grins, eyes blacker than the bottom of the sea, edges of his lips a bit too far up to not appear pleased. Jiayi does not know if the quiet in him is just that; the absence of noise,, or if she's greeting the calm before the storm.

But something else happens then, an odd movement in the corner of the eye, and Jiayi's eyes abandon the stranger to see a body break apart. A ghastly transformation, one she watches like a scientist does with their experiments; methodically and passive. It is not something she'd anticipated, but she can't really be surprised by it either. James, while too arrogant for his own sake, is not dumb. He knows the way people operate, knows how men like him don't have public endings but rather one behind closed doors. Just like the way he handed out demises. Still, it is a bit disappointment to have him not die tonight. And the question stands; who tipped him off? Could it be that he has more ears and eyes in this world than she anticipated? Or had foolish Varun picked up a false fragment of loyalty again?

''Some business meeting.''

Jiayi narrows her eyes, mind snapping back to the other enigma in question. She could decide, then and there, to eliminate the source of a voice deep and dry; all it takes is one aim at the heart, one signal to Roman for the cleanup. Yet, something halts her from doing so. Call it curiosity, call it greed— but she wants to know more about him, or more what he knows about James.

"James is one with many enemies," she replies as kicks the body on his back. "but you must know about that, right? Considering we're both missing a dagger right now." she bends down and retrieves her dagger. "So, who sent you?" Jiayi does not like playing word games, so she doesn't. She looks at him as she rises up again, tilts her head slightly to the right. "A fellow competitor? Or someone from his other, more hidden businesses?"

One step closer.

Blood trickles down the blade and her hand.

"Or can it be that this was more personal than professional?"

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[mother of sorrows]

jun --

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super tramp

goodbye stranger

''James is one with many enemies," she says. So gently, like the sea wind in a siren's hair when she begs you to jump in. Softly, like a music box made from glass. "but you must know about that, right? Considering we're both missing a dagger right now.''

The woman moves with deadly grace, a soft hand collecting it's weapon dripping with red. Jun watches her watch him, two wolves circling the same campfire. He thinks, then, somebody will have to die for her.

There is no other option. Jun embraces the odds.

Who sent you?

He isn't smiling anymore. Every step, every look gets matched; every inch closer he follows up with an inch away. Arrogant? Maybe he is. But he isn't an idiot, no, and neither is the woman he's locked in a room with - fools do not have eyes of a predator cat and neither do they hold your gaze 'till it hurts. He isn't the only danger here, but neither is she. And yet only an idiot would seek a fight out, here, where the darkness hums and a not-body twitches on the shining floor. Jun can handle himself if it comes to it, sure - he's been in stickier situations, has escaped with his life still flashing before his gaze.

But he didn't come here to kill her. Only James.

''Maybe it's a mix of both.'' His voice is like a black river, coursing through a snowing forest; deceptively calm, inviting the lost to try and cross it.

And it's not a lie. Not strictly.

''I sent myself. Or did I?'' The grin is back when he tucks back the dagger (close at hand, always), leather gloves reflecting gore. His stance is still set in tension, eyes flickering at every slight movement. ''You, though. I know business when I see it.''

It screams in every predatory shine of her eyes, in every twitch of marble-pale skin; no passion, no particular feeling behind making a man choke on his own blood. The way Jun sees it - and he always does see it coming, trained in humanity and all the little gears keeping it turning - there's only two ends to this scenario. Either somebody dies or somebody doesn't. Neither of them are here for peace and even if James ended up only a phantom they've chased, the very implication is enough to set fire to the dry hay that is violence. He isn't scared. No. But he's gone off the plan far enough and every breath he focuses on something else could be spent tracking down the son of a bitch sending variants to their deaths.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, Jun's own mind supplies.

And so Jun's hands go up in the air, a false show of compliance.

Grinning, grinning, he says;

''But that's here nor there, is it? We both wanted him dead. Want him dead.''

'What are you doing?' Chau hisses in his ear, static devouring the edges of her voice - he gives it no mind, knowing full well its going to bring on strong murderous intent the second he's back in the safehouse. The man only takes a deep breath, pauses -

and reaches out.

The strings holding minds together reach out, slowly. They poke at the edge of her consciousness, slip between the would-be soul that makes up a human being (take that away and what's left?) It's a feeling you can't get used to, no matter how often you do it - to not look into somebody's mind, but to touch it. Not physically, of course, but there's no other word to describe what its like. He tries to pry open her brain, to puppeter the dark swirl of thoughts lurking beneath - only for it to snap back, his own mind leaping back as it bitten. Resistance.

Mental blockers. Of course.

Okay. So maybe she's prepared. Jun doesn't need to see what goes on in that head of hers to do his magic.

Seeds placed near her mind, only catching if she pays them any attention - he's no threat. There's no guarantee it will work, not with the protection her mind is laying under, but it could still help. To her it might only seem like a distant feeling, maybe a train of thought she goes down if she cares to; and if she decides she prefers other paths, well.

He's talked himself out of worse corners.

''I don't have any problems with you. Only James.'' He nods towards the curled fake-body. ''And looks like he's a no-show.''

The man looks back at her, black eyes shining with something that isn't just an animal showing it's stomach.

''We could do the same to each other, but you seem like a smart lady. Common goal and all that.''

That smile again. Too many teeth.

''The bar's still open, if you'd prefer to talk somewhere less bloody.''

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[neon reverie]

jiayi

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2Wei

Pandora

You may wonder what kind of waltz occurs when death meets devil; there are graceful, fluid movements like blood leaking from long closed wounds. Steel versus steel in a time-warping dance that goes step by step, right on the edge of something colder than hell. Next to a parade of crimson, gazes clash as much as they trail; all in search, in waiting, to catch the shade that tells all.

His face might not reveal much but Jiayi knows that grin is made for war, can see those dark eyes flecked with ash, and notes, alarmingly, how his composure never falters. He isn’t afraid. Not of death, not of her. A fool he proves to be once again, but one that holds more unpredictability than what the Enyo likes. Her grip tightens slightly on her weapon, tongue still tasting accents of blood. Of death. Jiayi might have come to kill only one, but don’t think she won’t stain her teeth with your blood too. Her heart wasn’t born to be kind; it harbors far too many ancient vices to not beat with cruelty, pumps too much fire into her veins to not burn what stands in the way.

“I know business when I see it.'' he says and Jiayi is just able to stop a smirk from materializing. He is not wrong per se, the death of James being determined not by her finger but those of higher power and whispering minds. It is an order you can’t deny – but was there ever any doubt she would? Crimes fresher than those on the tablet makes it so that Jiayi has accepted with no small amount of fervor. After all, you don’t just hurt a child without inviting the wrath of the same blood. But yes, let’s pretend it’s all business. He doesn’t need to know what else colours her motivations so.

Her eyes narrow then as he continues to talk, words spilling from those devious lips like it’s the gospel of the wise. Their waltz on red stained tiles ceases for a moment as the devil dares to step forward and offer something that could only be treacherous in nature and absurd in sense. A hymn twirls around them, promising something so sweet it can only turn bitter. His wish lays open, too open for someone as wrapped in secrecy as him. It’s a tango Jiayi isn’t sure she wishes to participate in, the proximity only allowing his steel to be closer to her back [ or heart].

It might be fate that brought them together at this moment, both with minds of the same goal. But Jiayi hates the work of ‘god’ and despises the word of man. They do nothing for her, always promising salvation yet delivering damnation. She doesn’t trust him, doesn’t trust the haloed opportunity to be anything less than a diabolic trap. And still….still comes a trickle of thought, a stream of insanity; it seeps right into that space between her mind and heart, touches land dead and abandoned – right where nothing should grow, especially not these carnations of curiosity. Blooms of bad decisions unravel, carrying petals that whisper and whisper and whisper.

what if…

Her gaze narrows, the view of a failed job painting the scene once again.

The devil grins, hands outstretched, beckoning for another dance.

A scowl appears.

. . .
​

crimson swirls slowly and a hand holds its glass with an iron grip, stature unremarkably straight for a place where men drink the sweat of their heart away and women drown their images. Eyes briefly observe the scene around them; lights bleed gold against black, illuminating dark wood floors and leather chairs. A conscious design done to permeate the opulence able to attract those with too much coin and too little regret. Holographic instruments weave sounds deep and of soul, its rich music palette only serving as an undercurrent to the flow of conversation. With the Millenium gala still in motion and so little time to impress fellow socialites, the bar remains fairly empty. This doesn’t alleviate Jiayi’s unease, though – not with the devil sitting right next to her.

Speaking of the devil.

Her gaze returns to him and her lips purse.

“Well, I don’t have all night; so perhaps it will do you good to start drinking less and talk more.” she comments coldly. Just because she, against all that is rational, decided to entertain his words, doesn’t mean she trusts him or plans to play kind.

But Jiayi is fair.

“Let’s start with a name for example.” she extends her hand, stiffly and not too far, but towards him nonetheless. “you may call me Jiayi. Liu Jiayi.” a small piece of information, one public enough to be harmless. It is a small step, a guarded move that says; “I may be willing to see where this might go but don’t waste my time.” There are better things to do after all – far more agreeable company to be had.

​

[ And yet, she is continuing this waltz.

Unknowing if the grave they dance on is to be James' or hers. ]

♡coded by uxie♡