Jarek mentally prepared himself. Walking out like this, just controlling Andy and wandering the city in search of adventure, was unthinkable. Too many people knew her, and it would take just one person glancing up and noticing something off for everything to collapse. The disaster would be immediate. And loud. Very loud.
Modifying his own body was easy. Turning into a jacket, scarf, belt, or even a pair of luxury boots was simple. ¿But replicating human skin? That was a different league. Every pore and imperfection that made flesh feel like flesh, he simply couldn't fake it. Not without anyone who brushed against him noticing instantly that something was wrong.
And the law didn't forgive that kind of mistake.
In this world, any attempt at assimilation, imitation, or replacement of human appearance was forbidden. At first, Jarek thought they were exaggerating, but after thinking it through, the logic was ironclad. It wasn't paranoia. It was self-defense.
This regulation wasn't a mere legal whim; it was a containment wall. An attempt to protect the population from being hunted and devoured silently from within their own communities. An ancient fear of being replaced by creatures capable of smiling with a loved one's face… A trauma that had marked humanity from the beginning.
And he, who was a thousand times more dangerous than those predators, wasn't going to tempt fate by letting himself be mistaken for one. Well, he did want to get into trouble, ¡But not that kind of trouble!
In front of the apartment door, he reshaped the suit covering Andy's body. His 2.45 meters compressed down to 1.69. The colossal claws thinned into soft fingers.
Jarek focused on eliminating any threatening aspect of his appearance. Overall, he now looked like a strange mix between Earth-65 Gwen Stacy and a housewife in the middle of a punk phase during an existential crisis.
Jarek tilted his head, evaluating himself. It wasn't perfect. But it was enough to walk down the street.
And for now, that was enough.
The building hallway wasn't exactly welcoming. A long, narrow, almost claustrophobic rectangle where every footstep echoed too loudly. The walls, once painted an optimistic beige, now looked like an old photograph: worn, stained, with small patches where humidity had claimed territory.
The tiled floor had that oily sheen that didn't come from cleaning, but from wear. Some tiles were loose; others crooked like misaligned teeth. Every time someone walked through, the hallway responded with a click, clack, cloc that you learned to ignore over time.
A single bulb embedded in the ceiling, forced to be there, flickered every so often. Its yellowish light didn't illuminate—it hinted. It created long, distorted shadows that stretched across the walls.
The air smelled of an indefinable mix of dampness, cheap disinfectant, and the lingering scent of some stew a neighbor had cooked hours ago. It was a completely normal smell for those who lived there, and intensely suspicious to anyone who wasn't used to it.
At the far end, next to the elevator that had been out of service for months or years, a narrow window let in a thin pale-blue thread of nighttime light. That small icy glow clashed with the bulb's yellowish tone, creating a sad but oddly aesthetic palette.
The suit enveloping him vibrated slightly, readjusting. The fake leather with punk details let out a convincing creak as he closed the apartment door and headed for the stairs.
And his first problem didn't take long to appear.
The door to apartment 304 opened just as Jarek passed by. Marbela, a woman in her fifties who occasionally invited Andy to play cards, froze upon seeing him. One of those little old Druz'ya, just as elderly, followed close behind with an empty basket, probably meant for groceries.
The woman scrutinized him, scratching her chin with a visibly furrowed brow.
—¿Don't you live downstairs? — she asked, narrowing her eyes.
It was a strange question, especially coming from someone he'd never spoken to. Jarek needed only half a second to recall the other blue tenant in the building. Right. The other one. The one who was also slimy, shiny, and had the same puddle-like texture. The confusion was inevitable, especially for an old woman on the brink of senility.
—…I'm not that guy — Jarek replied, trying to sound as non-hostile as possible.
—¿You sure? — Marbela insisted, crossing her arms with the attitude of an aunt who's already decided she knows the truth.
—Absolutely.
—Hmm… Marbela examined him from head to toe. —You're lying.
—I'm not.
—Your voice is the same as Ludo's.
—It's not.
—Your height is the same.
—It's not.
—Your ominous vibe is the same.
—Thats… ¿What's that supposed to mean?
Marbela clicked her tongue before slamming the door.
¡Crazy old lady!
At least it confirmed no one saw him as something too out of the ordinary.
He finally reached the stairs, where an old, crooked sign warned:
"No running. No jumping. No sliding. No crawling."
--------------------------------
Something was off.
The moment he stepped out of the building, several stares locked onto him. Not in fear. With that look. The universal look of "here we go again." A mix of annoyance, resignation, and poorly hidden disgust.
A woman sweeping the sidewalk stopped moving her broom. She followed him with the gaze of someone about to be asked for a loan.
—Ugh… they're starting to come out again — she muttered, loud enough for him to hear.
An old man sitting on a bench watched him pass and raised his eyebrows with the same dismay.
—Not a single day of peace — he grumbled, pursing his lips.
Two young people chatting on the corner paused their conversation the moment they noticed him. They stepped aside like someone avoiding stepping in something gross.
—Don't look him in the eyes — one whispered. — Then he asks your name and you can't get rid of him for a week.
The other just snorted — Gross, they're getting more opaque lately.
With every step, a new exasperated sigh, an annoyed glance, a "stay away from me" gesture appeared. People didn't run, but they did avoid him like a soft, chatty plague.
Jarek blinked.
—Curious — he murmured before brushing it off.
¿Why get discouraged over a few idiots?
The night was young; he wouldn't let a few uncomfortable stares ruin it.
Because now, after so long—so much confinement, so much silence— ¡he could finally drink alcohol!
He had hours ahead before Andy woke up. An entire ocean of free time to explore, get lost, make glorious mistakes, and hopefully start a fight in some dive bar.
It was his first time in the city; he'd have plenty of time later to start his career as an underground monster hunter.
But first: a drink.
Or two.
Or however many wouldn't kill him.
Hopefully none would make him "opaque."
The street led him to a place that smelled of old wood, reheated grease, and fermented regrets. The flickering sign read:
"The Subtle Revelry"
He pushed the door open.
The atmosphere inside was warm and noisy, filled with people who had already made enough questionable decisions not to notice one more.
Unfortunately, they did notice.
The murmur shrank. Not in horror, but in equivalent annoyance to seeing the neighbor who always borrows stuff and never returns it.
A hunched woman dropped an ice cube outside her glass.
—Oh no… ¿Another one?
A group of miners turned their heads in unison.
—I thought they were banned here — one said.
—No, those were the 'corrosive jelly' type —another replied
—¿And this one?
—The annoying kind, I think.
—Uff.
The words went in one ear of Andy's body and out the other as Jarek reached the bar.
The bartender, a furry humanoid who reminded him of a Club Penguin puffle, looked at him with the same enthusiasm as everyone else.
—¿What'll it be? — he asked without interest.
—Anything over 67% — Jarek said, sliding a white bill across the counter. In the center, taking up almost the entire space, was the serene face of a pale woman with closed eyes and a barely hinted smile. Her skin, etched in silver lines, seemed to shift with the angle of the light.
Around the portrait, spiral filaments mimicked craters and lunar phases, forming a sacred halo that made the currency look more solemn than any bar purchase deserved. In one corner, a transparent symbol. A small floating crescent, authentic only when it glowed bluish under the bar's amber light.
It was one of the big bills, the kind people usually saved for offerings or emergencies.
Jarek slid it without reverence across the bar. After all, the money he had was a gift from that friendly citizen he met yesterday, and he'd make the most of it.
— I don't think that's a good idea, sweetie — the bartender growled.
"Sweetie?"
Jarek blinked, genuinely confused. Being mistaken for a woman didn't bother him—he looked like one. ¿But sweetie?
Without bothering to argue, he tossed a couple more bills onto the wood. The burly puffle sighed with resignation before slamming a glass full of reddish liquid in front of him.
The glass landed with a dull thud.
The reddish liquid bubbled with thick foam that smelled of fermented fruit, wet metal, and something that had definitely died during the brewing process. One of those drinks you shouldn't have without medical supervision.
Jarek could've sworn he saw skull-shaped smoke rising from the glass.
Perfect.
He grabbed it with both hands and took a generous swig. The first fix he'd made upon entering Andy's body had been her liver. The organ had been wrecked, scarred by an early addiction that left internal wounds as deep as the external ones.
Now it was completely healthy, but that didn't mean he'd force her to drink while she was unconscious.
When the liquid touched Andy's lips, Jarek diverted it. He guided it away from the human throat, channeling it into a small internal duct. A kind of "second mouth" only he could use.
The liquid slid down his own throat, a structure he shaped and dissolved at will, allowing him to taste and swallow without risking his host.
Andy slept untouched. Jarek drank satisfied.
The effect was immediate. The liquid slid down like a lit spark, traveling through his throat, spreading across his chest, and unleashing a wave of heat. His body vibrated with a low pulse. The punk suit glowed for an instant, tightening under the alcoholic impact.
—Ah… — Jarek exhaled, shuddering with pleasure. — …divine.
A nearby customer, a woman with orange eyes and pointed ears, looked at him in horror.
—¿Did he just… moan? she asked her companion.
—He's one of those — the companion replied, shrugging. — They make noises.
Across the bar, the bartender growled. — You shouldn't drink that so fast.
— I shouldn't do a lot of things — Jarek replied, taking another swig.
A second wave hit him, stronger.
The taste reminded him of Guinness, with a hint of cinnamon and red berries.
—Another — he ordered, gently tapping the empty glass on the bar.
—One's more than enough for you — the bartender growled, pointing at him with a wet rag — I'm not cleaning up the mess you're about to make.
Just as Jarek was about to pull out more bills, a drink from one of the patrons flew in a perfect arc and splashed against his back.
He didn't move. He didn't even try to dodge it. He simply let the liquid soak him completely, sliding down his fake leather jacket until it sank into the dark surface of his body.
And then, slowly, with a soft glup, he absorbed it.
The entire bar fell silent. That awkward silence that only happens when everyone's waiting for someone to explode, scream, or violently melt.
But Jarek just stretched his neck a little.
—Thanks — he said with a smile that was kind but strange enough to make anyone want to become invisible. — ¿Want to throw another?
He spoke directly to the culprit of the refreshing attack. About two meters tall, muscles so defined they looked ready to burst. The best way to describe him was to imagine a rhinoceros, but not a normal one. One someone had decided to cover in the golden, silky, absurdly shiny fur of a golden retriever. His body was a compact mass of exaggerated muscles. His neck was a trunk, his shoulders formed hard mounds under the fluffy fur, and every movement made that golden mane ripple like a breeze through a field of flowers.
His face kept the wide, powerful snout of a rhino, though partially hidden behind long strands falling like a badly cut fringe. His small eyes, sunken in the fur, gleamed with explosive energy. His short but solid horn poked out from the tangle of golden hairs, giving him the look of a giant puppy.
The guy stepped up until he was chest-to-chest with Jarek. His shadow was large enough to cover half the bar, and with a snort that stank of at least ten different kinds of beer, he sneered.
—¿Are all of you this stupid? They told you to get lost.
Jarek's smile widened, revealing his elongated fangs.
—Come and make me.
The rhino-retriever let out a laugh so powerful it made the glasses on the bar vibrate. A couple of patrons glanced up for a second before deciding it wasn't worth getting involved and returned to their drinks. The big guy took another step, completely invading Jarek's personal space. His knuckles cracked like dry branches.
—I'm not your babysitter or your escort — he growled. — So I'll do you a favor… and kick you out before someone kills you.
A mocking chuckle escaped Jarek.
—Adorable. — His voice dripped pure venom. — You really think you can.
The big guy didn't wait. He threw a watermelon-sized punch straight at his face. The onlookers managed a collective "he's done for."
Jarek simply tilted his body a couple of millimeters, just enough for the fist to graze the tip of his nose. The punch sliced through the air and smashed into the wall behind him, splintering the wood like eggshell.
The rhino-retriever took a step back, more surprised by the lack of reaction than by missing.
—¡Ooooh, scary! — Jarek mocked, raising both hands.
Before the big guy could process the taunt, Jarek threw a single punch straight to his chest. A dry, brief impact.
The effect was anything but subtle.
The furry brute flew backward, crashing through two tables, a coat rack, and ended up embedded in the far wall of the bar, leaving a perfectly outlined silhouette amid splinters and dust.
—¡I'm ready, bitch!
Jarek shouted, waiting for his opponent to come back.
Seconds passed. Then a minute. Another.
But there was no sign of the furry guy.
— Uh…
The entire bar remained silent, except for the constant drip from a poorly closed barrel and the creak of broken wood where the golden rhino had passed. He was alive—that much was clear from his Garm detection. Only his energy signature was weak, far weaker than it should've been.
—I… thought he was stronger.
The bartender, who had stayed silent until now, vaulted over the counter and planted himself in front of Jarek.
—¡This is what I get for being nice to your kind! — he exploded, throwing his arms in the air as if Jarek were the embodiment of every problem in his life. — ¡But of course, one tries to be decent and look what happens!
The puffle didn't give Jarek a second to respond. He continued venting with a speech that sounded rehearsed for years.
—¡Always the same! ¡Always! You come in, absorb things you shouldn't, knock over furniture that isn't yours, and then start shouting challenges like a bunch of idiots.
He brought his hands to his face, took a deep breath, and then pointed at the door with a trembling finger of fury.
—¡Out!, ¡To the street!, ¡Go jump, crawl, whatever it is you do!, ¡But not here! Not in my bar, not on my shift, not while I'm still paying for the bathroom remodel
As he pointed to the exit, the bar's patrons parted, none hiding the relief on their faces.
The bartender headed straight for the hole in the wall. Jarek watched him stomp away with short, furious steps as the rest of the customers' boos joined in like a light rain of bad attitude.
—Fine… —Jarek huffed, raising his voice so everyone could hear. — ¡I've been kicked out of better places!
No one laughed. A couple even whistled for him to leave faster.
The rest of the night wasn't much different. Wherever he set foot—bars, street stalls, even a snack machine that clearly couldn't be offended but somehow seemed to be—he got exactly the same treatment. Disgusted looks. Resigned sighs. People pulling their kids away.
It was the same whether he behaved, greeted politely, or literally just stood there without moving a finger. But Jarek wasn't the type to get depressed over public opinion. He didn't care.
Or at least… he tried to convince himself he didn't.
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It would help me a lot.