A scruffy old man poked his head out. His face looked like a deflated football left in the sun. But the second he laid eyes on Ilania, he hit the porch knees-first, sobbing into his threadbare pants:
Please! I'm begging you! I got grandkids in there! Little ones! Let me rock them to sleep a few more nights, and then you can have me! Just not yet!
Huge tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked right into his chest hair like doomed raindrops.
The ancient banshee just twisted what passed for her face into a smug little frown and mumbled in the dullest voice imaginable:
Sorry, bro, nothing This is just my side hustle for the last few centuries. Let's roll! — She snapped to her second self, and the younger Ilania screamed again — louder, harder, more apocalyptically dramatic.
The old man's crying stopped cold right in front of Antwan. Before the kid could even move, the guy's head started to collapse like an empty soda can
shrinking down to the size of a baby's fist, his flesh peeling off, hair evaporating, clothes turning to ghost-dust.
And Mama Banshee? She was out here hoovering up those necro-particles like it was a protein shake from the underworld.
Antwan tried to help. Really. But I held him back. We waited for the whole awful thing to finish, standing there like this was just another Tuesday.
-Ali, how could you?! You just watched an innocent man die! — He whispered in my brain, voice trembling.
His time was Can't mess with the cosmic balance, kid. She had every right.
Antwan had never seen me like this. Fatalistic. Cold. Like I'd just swapped out my soul for a parking meter. Was his auntie—the fearless demon- smasher of City—really gonna throw a random civilian under the bus just to get some intel from her monster mom?
He tried to shake off the thought. Nah, it couldn't be. She's not like that… right?
Right?
I could tell he was spiraling, so I jumped ahead in the convo, trying to keep the plot moving:
Where do They come from? What are They? And who the hell is Noah? Was he around before the Obscurity showed up? Well damn, you're going straight for the jugular, huh? — Purred the now well-fed banshee. Her old side actually looked kinda glowy now, with rosy
cheeks and everything.
Can't say the same for the poor soul she slurped — he didn't even leave behind a skeleton.
The mysteries you seek are veiled in time… like dew upon the morning vine… — sang the younger half, floating dangerously close to interpretive Ugh, cut the slam poetry, you walking haiku! Just answer me straight! — Alenari snapped. Yo, chill, baby mama, she is telling it like it is! You still don't get it? Nobody knows jack about what's beyond the It's all chaos and creepy vibes 24/7. As for your bloodsucker boy toy? He sure as hell wasn't one of the original locals, babe. C'mon, you know those people don't exist anymore, right?
Yeah. That one hit home. And she wasn't wrong.
The Obscurity didn't get its name from a branding firm. Nobody knew squat about it. And every time those anthropomorphic freaks showed up, Alenari had cross-checked them with the city's old census records. Nothing. They weren't anybody. Just... emerged. Fully formed. Like nightmares with social security numbers missing.
Alright then, let's go What do we do now? — She asked, voice low, heavy.
Her gut felt like it was being clawed up by a whole damn zoo.
A simple question, true and fine… but evil grows on twisted Step beyond the line you fear… and truth shall whisper in your ear… sit or stand, it matters not… but cleanse your soul from stagnant rot… That… was a — Alenari mocked her mom's rhyme with an eye roll that probably dislocated something. — You're seriously telling me to just dive headfirst into the Obscurity? That no one has ever come back from? Are you nuts? Are you even human? — Squinted the old — You act all badass commando all the time. Well, now's your chance to prove it. Since my
charming cousin already gave you her blessing, I'll toss in something practical.
Suddenly, a marble table materialized out of nowhere. On it sat a see- through pitcher filled with little plastic spheres.
Pick one. Three are empty. Three hold weapons that might help you survive. And the last three? Total Could be garbage. Could be magic. Who knows. What is this, a loot box from hell? Woman, have you seen a therapist lately? — Alenari blinked. — The banshee replied without hesitation. — Back in my day they hadn't invented that crap yet. Now hush up and choose your orb, honey. You're gonna need all the help you can get out there.
She wasn't wrong. It's hard to fight what you don't even understand. Alenari sighed and stalked over to the weird plastic capsule pile, muttering something about -playing her mom's dumb games.-
She grabbed the first one her fingers touched and cracked it open. Inside, a slip of paper read:
-The Man and the Pocket. …the hell does that mean? Ooooh, juicy pick! — The young half clapped — You just got yourself a new sidekick, baby girl! I'll teach you how to open a mini pocket-dimension. One-time use. You can stash a living human in there.
When things get dire, you release him—bam! Instant blood smoothie for the beasties. He'll be infused with energy from the Void. They'll go crazy for him and forget all about you!
Antwan looked like he was about to puke. And Alenari? She nodded.
Show me the thoughtform. I'll find the guy myself.
A moment of quiet passed. Somewhere nearby, a patrol of medieval guards shuffled by, armor clinking. Then Alenari gave another nod.
Got We're done here.
Take this final gift, dear lamb, to guide your path beyond the dam… — the banshee cooed, and a weird wisp of color-changing substance floated out of her hand. It twisted and warped... and became a regular-ass plastic door. With a turnstile.
Like something from a subway station. In 12th-century fantasy land.
What the actual hell is that? — Alenari I may have skimmed your upper thoughts from the ol' subconscious… her mom said innocently, palms up like, don't be mad bro. — Side effect of the thoughtform Chill. You're toxic when you're cranky. Anyway, it's a shortcut. Next clue's through there. No travel time wasted. You're welcome. Got it. — Alenari exhaled, motioning for Antwan to follow. He gave a hesitant wave to the two-faced banshee and trotted after her.-Goodbye, my little fools.
-See you in the Abyss, brave morons.
The banshee's final send-off, cheerful as ever.
The turnstile swung open on its own. Alenari stepped through… and found herself in a regular apartment hallway. Cinnamon and fried onions in the air, a baby screaming behind one door, and someone abusing a power drill in the distance. Good old-fashioned chaos.
Antwan stepped through behind her and shook his head in amazement.
Wait… is this Aunt Mia's building? My sweet undead mama was right. We need to talk to Aunt Mia. Who else do you go to when you're about to do something completely insane?-Wait—hold up—YOU'RE ACTUALLY GONNA GO INTO THE
OBSCURITY?! Have you completely lost it? Why the hell would you do that?!
Because he has my blood. And with it, he can do whatever the hell he wants. Including vaporizing me out of existence. You want that on your conscience? — I snapped at Antwan, and the kid visibly flinched from the pressure. Still, he held his ground, bless his trembling soul.
-You know nothing survives past the Wall, right? No humans, no tech. Everything falls apart. That's why we've got zero legit info on what's even out there.
Yeah, he wasn't wrong. But that strigoi pretty boy with my blood sample had promised me worse than just death on the other side. See, Obscurity - doesn't mean - Unbeatable. It just means we haven't punched it in the face yet.
There's still some fire left in this ammo crate, and they don't call me Dued for nothing.
So I just told him:
I need to protect myself. And frankly, it's time we paid them a house call. Get a little Airbnb tour of their turf. If I can bring back intel, maybe humanity can build a monster Maybe even design some shiny new toys to fight them. We've got questions—like, what do they breathe? Do they breathe?
Don't start playing the tragic martyr, That's not you. No offense, but you're just… well, not just a mercenary, but you are one. You don't take wild risks. You take contracts. You hunt one by one. And you get paid. So stop pretending to be a blockbuster hero.
Oof. Brutal. Accurate. Like a Yelp review from someone who actually
knows you.
But I ignored the sting, slammed that existential folder shut, and rang Mia's doorbell.
It opened immediately, like she'd been waiting for us behind it with cookies and psychic dread.
Oh my stars, come in, come in! I'm so happy to see you! — Cooed my tiny, porcelain-fragile friend.
We stepped inside and hugged like girls in a perfume commercial. Mia was wearing a velvet robe and stilettos, which could only mean one thing — webcam shoot prep.
Did we interrupt .. work? Not at all! — She — Stream doesn't start for another fifty minutes. I was just getting dolled up!
We strolled into her cozy living room, which looked like Martha Stewart had an emotional breakdown and decorated everything by hand. She plopped us down in rattan chairs, summoned a tea set from the ether, and started pouring us actual loose-leaf Chinese tea like some blessed digital geisha.
Before sitting, she casually wrapped a striped shawl over her cleavage — a strategic move, clearly aimed at preventing Antwan from melting into a hormonal puddle.
I tried to thank her, say a few words, be polite — but she gave me the international signal for -shut your pie hole and drink this, - and honestly, I obeyed. Especially when a platter of cream-filled pastries and muffins thicker than my ex's skull showed up on the table.
We devoured everything with the joy of two people who might die in the next chapter, washed it down with tea, and only then were we allowed to speak. Mia was only decisive about one thing in life — her self-invented code of etiquette. If you were in her space, you followed it. Or you left.
Antwan began our long story with hand gestures, charades, and desperate glances at me for memory support. I nodded and filled in the gaps, while Mia listened, occasionally giving me that look like, Wait, this actually happened? For real?
I just nodded back. Yeah. For real. No bullshit. No secrets. Then came the weird noises.
Grunting. Moaning. Definitely non-human.
Mia threw up her hands, apologized, and dashed off like a flustered anime maid.
We shared a look that said -what the hell now? - And waited.
She returned, sweating slightly, visibly annoyed, and muttered another apology.
Look… I'm not gonna try to stop you, But God, it hurts to hear this. You're really going through with it. I can see it in your eyes.
Another one? Did they all form a damn 'Don't Go Club' without me? - I thought grimly.
Mia led us into her converted office, which used to be a kid's room — and man, what a transformation. It clashed so hard with the rest of her granny- chic apartment it looked like we stepped into a secret NSA outpost run by a glam vampire.
Walls were lined with plexiglass panels. The floor was covered in thick industrial vinyl. A control console loomed in one corner with a dozen blank screens hanging above it like techno-spiders.
I'd only been in this room twice. Mia guarded its boundaries like a digital dragon.
Ali, sweetheart, this is mission control. From here, I'll be monitoring you and your I'm installing extra cams on your back and sides so I can track everything. If something nasty tries to jump you — I'll see it coming. To make sure you hear him clearly across that freaky distance, I'm uploading a new audio-boosting patch to your You'll get his voice directly in your brainstem. So even if you're walking into hell alone, we're still with you.
I felt tears sting my eyes, which isn't really my style. But damn, she gets me. Mia knows I'm scared, even behind my bulletproof bitch persona. And she's doing everything to make sure I don't feel alone in this lunatic mission.
I saw the worry lines deepen on her face — she looked like she'd aged ten years in ten minutes. I couldn't blame her.
When we met, she was just some shy nerd in her first year of tech college. I was… well, me. Age doesn't hit me the same. I get older, sure, but it's a glacial creep. Not like regular humans.
Back then, she was just Julia. Everyone said she'd be the next god-tier hacker. But inside her buttoned-up shell burned a wildfire of suppressed chaos. Eventually, she said -screw it- to social expectations and went full webcam queen.
But she didn't do it the sleazy way.
Julia — now Mia — built her empire on her rules. No sleaze-streams for random creeps. Nah. Now it's private shows only. Exclusive VIPs.
She plays strip bridge. Yeah. Bridge!
If she loses a hand, she peels off a layer. If she wins? Her opponent undresses and does whatever she tells them.
Mia plays like a damn card god. So naturally, she wins. A lot.
And her followers? Become her very obedient, very naked disciples.
Knowing that her mechanical obsession hadn't gone anywhere, I once suggested she lead a double life. Just like me.
So Mia — empress of dark cravings and camgirl charisma — started buying all kinds of drones off sketchy trade sites, souping them up, and sending them out to patrol the borders of the Wall.
She became my irreplaceable recon partner. Before that, I had to ride around with cops and border freaks just to get a whiff of what was going on out there. A boring, muddy nightmare. But now? I had the Mistress of Metal on my team — and she ruled the air like a dominatrix with Wi-Fi.