In the City, native languages of different nations weren't exactly in fashion. People only used them within their own ethnic circles. The rest of the time, everyone spoke the common tongue—koine, which was mandatory from childhood.
In this massive interethnic metropolis, humanity achieved yet another one of its age-old dreams. They had their own version of Esperanto here—and unlike its ancestor, koine actually worked.
That's how I could casually chat with Juan the Mexican and Kim Soo- Hyun, who was Korean… or maybe something else, too. I never asked, and he never volunteered. What mattered more than nationality… was race.
And this sweaty, nearsighted man with a belly so massive it practically needed its own ID tag... he belonged to a specific people: the lycanthropes. Despite his body-poCityve and far-from-Hollywood appearance, the big guy was sharp as a whip and way more open-minded than most of his peers. I could actually talk to him about the weirdness of tonight.
Mm-hmm... Yeah… .. – he muttered, which didn't exactly scream - genius,- and you might've thought I'd overhyped him. But I knew better.
Kim wasn't chatty—he was thinking hard.
Listen, Time to contact your... partner. ASAP. – He spat the words out like a dog barking. Well, that was his nature showing. Which one? – I asked rhetorically, already knowing who he Kim and I were often on the same wavelength.
The Police tricks won't cut it here. We need a non-human perspective on this mess. What will you do in the meantime, Kim? Send out extra Load them up with more flasks. Sweep every area near the Wall. And how do you plan to explain that order? – I Say I received intel. That a spike in suspicious paranormal activity was registered in our I'll review your footage. The payment's already in your account. – I nodded and shook his firm, calloused hand—one that didn't match the rest of his squishy exterior at all.
Time to bounce. I wasn't thinking about money right now, or whether Antwan had started editing the concealer review episode. I hadn't even checked my social media to answer comments or drop little hearts under them.
What I was thinking about... was how much I didn't want to visit the woman Kim had mentioned. So I busied my mind by recalling how I'd first met the colonel.
Back in the day, Kim was the kind of cop who never shied away from field ops. He personally led strike teams into skirmishes with Them. Despite his poor health and less-than-marathon-ready physique, Kim had taken down more than a few creeps before he ended up getting -promoted- to the supernatural side himself, seven years ago.
It happened during a mission near the Wall. A massive, hairy lycanthrope had been terrorizing the district, and I was deployed with a team to neutralize it. Back then, I still occasionally worked alongside the police, so the order didn't surprise me.
What did surprise me, though, was that the beast—rather than pouncing to rip out a throat or maul a limb—ran around Kim and gave him a weak little bite on the calf. That ruined my perfectly timed counterstrike.
We did eventually put the beast down, of course. But what the hell were we supposed to do with a bitten man? I stood there, paralyzed by indecision.
Creatures from the Obscurity never bit their victims. They didn't eat them. They just killed them. Plain and simple. So this whole -initiation- thing?
Completely unthinkable. Oh, it was definitely him.
As if a magic wand had been waved, the picture-perfect family man, loving
father, and high-ranking police officer instantly morphed—charging straight at me with two beast legs and two human ones. I should mention: there were no grotesque bone crunches, no horror-movie fur explosions. None of that werewolf cliché garbage.
The werewolf image was just a theatrical curtain, like everything else about Them and their -costume party- forms. The real changes happened on an energy level far beyond the physical.
The newly minted monster hopped and leapt around, and when he realized I was too damn quick to catch, he turned his fury on the squad behind me— hurling flasks like cavemen throwing rocks. Back then, the cops hadn't yet equipped flamethrowers. They just chucked the bottles by hand.
This lycanthrope was fast. Too fast. He shredded the entire team within minutes... while I just stood there, watching.
There were no memory wipe protocols back then. If there had been, I might've stopped the team and rifled through their minds for tactical adjustments. But instead, I coldly sentenced them to death—for selfish, petty reasons.
My best friend, Camellia, had just died. Antwan was still too little to talk to. And the only person I had left was Kim Soo-Hyun. (Back then, I wasn't close with Julia yet.)
I didn't even have to weigh the options between the beast and his fallen comrades.
Kim and Antwan meant more to me than anyone else in the world. Still do.
When the blood finally stopped splattering, and the chunks of meat stopped raining from the sky, Kim returned to himself. He immediately grabbed his pistol, clearly intending to follow his squad into the afterlife.
I knocked the gun from his hand.
A memory from my eye-crystal projected an image: him, smiling with his wife and two little daughters.
They don't need you – I said coldly, cutting off his protests. And just like that... he agreed.
We erased all footage of what happened. Told the higher-ups the team was killed by a werewolf—one of two attackers. One we destroyed; the other got away. We even -presented- them with the remains of the beast. Claimed the recording equipment had failed during the chaos.
They scolded us. Gave Kim a six-month salary cut. Took away my royalties for the next six assignments.
Didn't matter.
What mattered was Kim stayed alive. I trained him to control the transformations—kept his beast side locked down tight. But combat ops were off the table. The thrill of a real fight, the adrenaline—any of that could trigger the monster.
So Kim switched to desk duty.
Too many memories. Too many regrets. Not enough action. I shook it off and called for a taxi.
Time to focus on what really mattered: getting home. The dream country I longed to visit was called Sleep, and I was ready for a one-way trip. That was the only kind of action I wanted now.
I had barely stepped through the door and hung up my jacket when an angry-looking Antwan appeared in the dining room.
- I'm listening.
Sigh. So much for sleep.
Technically, I didn't need it. I could go days without rest. But even I had limits. And I'd burned through a truckload of ectoplasm tonight. I was toast.
MOMMY'S TIRED.
So I told the whole story again—for the second time today—even though Antwan had already watched the footage. I filled in the strigoi parts I'd deleted from the official record.
Now he was storming through the hall, arms flailing, brain on fire. The house might've been quiet, but my mind was in full chaos mode:
- This is it! The Breakthrough! Just like we thought, like we knew! Correction: you I still say this so-called Breakthrough is just tabloid BS. The creatures stay behind the Wall. When they do show up, it's in small packs. No big armies.
Exactly! Key word: What if it's already too late? They've got a real Dark Lord now!
I clicked my tongue and shook my head:
Oh great. Now you're seeing revolutionary monster messiahs. No, Antwan. We're just dealing with a skilled energy manipulator who may have temporarily coordinated a few beasts. Nothing more.
We still need You need to go to Ilania. Now. She's the only one who'll know what's really happening.-
I groaned. Another one. Everyone kept shoving me toward that loony old woman.
Pack up. Grab a couple flasks for the road.
Antwan practically levitated with excitement. His eyes went so wide, they could've made anime characters jealous.
Auntie Ali, - he said it in full sincerity, calling me auntie for the first time in his life – -you're taking me with you?! But you always said it was too
dangerous! And why do I need flasks? You think we'll get attacked there too?
So many questions! She won't harm I guarantee it. And the flasks... just in case. You never know. – I said vaguely.
Where are we going? Is it far? – Antwan was already geared up like a soldier and practically vibrating with readiness. You could say it's right under your
We stepped into our blooming, gorgeous garden. I took a deep breath of the sharp floral scents and ran my fingers gently across the honeysuckle and orchids. Then, without warning, I pressed those same fingers onto Antwan's wide-eyed face.
When I pulled them away from his sky-blue eyes, he still saw the garden— same shapes, same stuff. But the colors? Gone. Totally nuked. All that was left was a washed-out grayscale palette. The sky above us just stared down like some bored god, and it was impossible to tell if it was day or night.
Antwan was staring at me in stunned silence, and in his eyes, I saw my reflection—like one of those creepy black-and-white cartoon characters from the last century.
What is this? Where are we?
You are at your You are at my home. My home is at your home. Sang a strange, melodic voice, like it belonged to some forest nymph high on mushrooms and incense. Antwan flinched and whipped around.
Standing near our gazebo was something that might've walked straight out of a bedtime story—or a fever dream. But only halfway.
From one side, it was a cute freckled girl with fluffy blonde curls and narrow shoulders, rocking a floaty summer dress and flip-flops. Very… nice.
But take two steps to the left… and bam. Granny mode.
Like someone sliced her right down the middle, and on the other half was a cranky old crone with matted gray hair full of burrs, a bird-pecked nose, and the kind of smile that makes dental hygienists quit.
One eye was youthful and sparkling, green sparks dancing like fairy dust. The other? A pale, milky horror show with a full-on cataract horror bubble.
-Who is that? - Antwan had seen a lot in his young life, but he was examining her like he'd just discovered a rare Pokémon.
I sighed and pointed:
Meet That's her. A banshee. And, for my sins, also my mother. Two-faced, as you might've noticed, dude, but not two-faced like my darling daughter here, who's too ashamed of her own mom to bring her little friends over for — Croaked the old side of the banshee, winking at Antwan.
Truly! And she doesn't even address us formally! — Sang the younger half, like a passive-aggressive bard.
I barely held in my laugh. Antwan's expression was somewhere between a frozen Windows screen and existential dread, so I cleared my throat and tried to refocus the circus:
Ilania, we need your Let's skip the freak show and get to the point. Help us out and we'll all go our merry ways. You could've called me -Mom- just .. — sighed the old bat, giving Antwan a long, hungry look.
She never wants to open her little heart to her dear mother, always rushing off like she's on a tight deadline. But you, bro, you look like a sweet I bet you'd love to sit down and have a nice chat with your new friend here. Who knows, cutie, maybe you'll end up being my new crush.
She kept talking and talking, but Antwan? Antwan was gone. Her eye—that eye—was pulling him in like a black hole. His whole mind started slipping away, like someone was yanking his soul out with a candy claw machine.
Just as he was about to check out of his body like a bad hotel, my palm slapped the back of his head. Hard.
Ow! Ali, what is that?! — He hunched over, rubbing the sore spot, blinking like someone just turned his brain back The world snapped back into place.
I checked that he was back in one piece and lazily shot my mother a warning glare:
Try sucking out his life force again and I swear I'll toss your soul into the actual abyss. Did you seriously think I'd just watch you drain him in front of me? Oh dearest daughter, and your delicious little companion! Please accept our most sincere apologies! — Chirped the girl-half sweetly.
It's just been sooo long since someone so tasty dropped We got a bit carried away. — She curtsied like a well-trained psycho. The hag half nodded apologetically:
I admit, I lost my head a little. It
Antwan was now ping-ponging between us with that same - are you people even real? - look.
So that's why you didn't want to bring me here? Your mom's a people- snacker?
Ilania said nothing. I ignored the accusation and went full business mode:
Look, you already know why we're You spy on me constantly. I want answers. Why are They acting more coordinated lately? Why is the breach always at one point now instead of scattered zones? What the hell kind of strigoi was that and why did he want my blood? You overrate your own importance, you pathetic worm calling the ravens to doom! Why would we waste our time tracking your frail little carcass? Snapped the youthful side with suddenly demon-core The hag half wasn't so dramatic. She squinted slyly:
Okay, Maybe I do keep tabs on your little adventures. By the way, mad respect for your tactical skills back in the trash zone. You totally... sucked.
The other half giggled into her sleeve like a mean-girl anime villain. That burn hit me right in my already bruised ego. I clenched my jaw, about ready to tell Mama Witch exactly where she could stick her sass, but she raised a hand:
Here's the deal: you and your little buddy will walk with me to work. During the stroll, I'll give you whatever answers I can. And don't even start whining about not having time. You know time doesn't tick the same way here. So park your planner and come on. Truth shall drip into your ears, but only after you stop breaking down all the walls. — Nodded the girly side with dramatic flair.
Sure, I could've grabbed that wicked old hag by the scruff and given her a proper shake, but I didn't wanna traumatize Antwan. The kid's got a soft heart, and he didn't need to see his aunt go full Mortal Kombat in the garden.
So I just nodded, swallowed my pride, and followed Mother Dearest toward the ornate gates of our yard. As we walked, I glanced around at the crumbling pergolas and mossy garden statues. They'd been the pride of my actual home, but here, in this colorless pocket dimension, everything looked like it had given up on life decades ago.
Antwan, ever the eager helper, was first to hit the gate remote. The portal buzzed open... revealing a dirt-choked road straight out of a medieval hygiene nightmare. The whole path was chewed up by ruts from carts, wagons, and whatever else people still dragged around before the invention of brakes.
Ragged drivers led sluggish oxen by the reins while overloaded wagons moaned like they were dying with every bump. A troop of armored horsemen in full kit rode alongside the caravan, spears ready to stab anything that twitched too suspiciously.
They passed Antwan without so much as a side-eye, even though he clearly did not match the local dress code. He looked like a Calvin Klein ad got lost in a Renaissance Faire.
I walked up and patted him on the shoulder.
My mother really outdid herself, huh? Breathe in that fragrant stench of rot and human Can't you just feel the urge to challenge someone to a duel over a chicken? Who would've thought Hugh Everett's Many-Worlds interpretation would get used like this?
Antwan just shrugged, dazed. Ilania, meanwhile, wandered off like a woman on a brunch mission, not even bothering to close the gate behind her. We followed, me casually, Antwan spinning his head left and right like he was afraid to miss the next dragon on parade.
The dirt road, fenced on both sides by a wild forest, didn't go far before opening up into the outskirts of a tiny medieval town. No walls, no guards. Just sleepy buildings huddled together like they were sharing gossip. One- and two-story huts, complete with weathervanes and crooked chimneys, looked like they'd been squatting there since the dawn of moss.
Despite Antwan's shiny sneakers and tight jeans, no one paid us any attention. Not even the dirt dared cling to his outfit. He was still sparkly clean, like a walking detergent commercial.
Meanwhile, Mother Banshee was pestering me about when I'd drop my next episode. I tilted my head toward Antwan like, -You wanna handle that one, chief?
Turns out Ilania was a superfan. Knew every single one of my vids. Had
opinions.
While the two-headed influencer gushed about my Oscars red carpet breakdown and Met Gala coverage, Antwan was watching a scene straight from This Old Streetlife.
A short, twitchy lamplighter was dragging a ladder from post to post, lighting up gray little flames in glass lanterns. Even the fire here looked
bored. But I guess to the locals—assuming they were more than just next- gen holograms—that meant it was nighttime.
We finally stopped at a small log cabin—the only wooden structure in the whole area. Ilania told us to wait. While she headed for the door, Antwan was distracted by a pack of women waddling away from a nearby river, each balancing a yoke on her shoulders with buckets for laundry. No detergent. No influencers. Hardcore stuff.
Then came the scream.
The young half of Ilania let out a bone-shattering wail that froze Antwan's spine into a popsicle. It wasn't just loud—it was ancient. Like the sound of entire empires collapsing in one breath. It wasn't for us, obviously. It was a doorbell.
Nothing happened.
The old side of Ilania rolled her eyes and bellowed:
Sooon! Get your wrinkled ass out here, you crusty fart! Me and the Reaper ain't got all night!
There was some shuffling from behind the thick oak door. It creaked open just a crack, and a gravelly voice groaned from within:
Who the hell's out there yelling at this hour? Go away, unless you wanna meet my dogs! You don't have any Now drag your sorry face out here and see who came calling.