What's the difference between raising a seventeen-year-old sister in Los Angeles on an entry-level salary and being able to take home a five to seven thousand dollar monthly check from the Hunters Association of America?
Twenty essence points.
That was the whole game. The magic number. The golden ticket that turned "would you like to supersize that" into "would you like me to kill that goblin for you." Twenty essence points meant One-Star certification. The bottom of the barrel. The absolute floor of what it meant to be a hunter.
Rome had somehow gotten twenty-one.
One point is what separated him from washing dishes at Denny's or using his looks to become a host to make ends meet.
The gate hovered in the middle of Lincoln Park like someone had punched a hole in a painting. Fifteen feet of shimmering blue light, contained behind yellow tape and portable barriers. Association personnel in matching black uniforms stood at the perimeter, looking about as excited as DMV employees on a Monday morning. A couple of LAPD cruisers had blocked off the nearby paths, because apparently the city still felt the need to pretend normal laws applied when literal doorways to hell dimensions opened up in public spaces.
Rome stood near the cluster of food trucks that had materialized the moment the gate appeared. Because LA never missed an opportunity. Tacos, burritos, coffee, acai bowls. Someone was even selling hunter merchandise.
If the apocalypse came to LA, someone would be selling tickets and tacos within the hour.
About fifteen hunters were milling around the staging area. Some were geared out in full tactical gear that easily cost five figures while others look like they were preparing for a brisk afternoon jog.
Yet all of them have the same job.
Rome took out his earbuds and put them in his pocket. The music gave way to the beautiful sound of LA traffic. His stomach grumbled after the smell of bacon from the breakfast burrito place hit his nose but he ignored it as soon as he saw the price.
Thirty dollars is highway robbery for a single burrito!
Rome rubbed his forehead, feeling the medical wrap and wincing as he made contact with the gash underneath. He had a mishap at a gate last week and since it was a one-star, no one thought it was necessary to bring a healer. Rome sighed, putting up the hood of his sixteen dollar jacket from a Goodwill in Koreatown that smelled vaguely like Old Spice. His lucky jeans had a hole in the left knee and his bookbag was stuffed to the brim with water bottles, protein bars, and a spare shirt.
Rome refused to be unprepared after the "labyrinth incident."
" Hey Rome!"
He looked up. Rodriguez. Big guy, bigger hammer. One of the regulars.
Rome nodded.
"You good? Heard you had some trouble last week."
Another nod. Slower this time.
"Ready to rock?"
"Always."
Rodriguez grinned and moved on. More familiar faces passed by. The morning shift of One-Star grinders who showed up to every low-level gate in the county. They waved. They called out. They asked if he was okay. If he was ready.
"Well, well, well! If it isn't America's Nuclear Deterrent here to grace us with his presence!"
Old Man Patterson. Sixty-something. Beer gut. Gray beard that looked like he'd stolen it from a garden gnome. He'd been running low star gates since before Rome's parents met, and he never missed an opportunity to bust someone's balls.
Rome turned. Face blank. "Ha ha. Fuck you, Patterson."
"There's my boy!" Patterson slapped his knee like that was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. "Watch yourselves, everyone! The ultimate weapon has arrived! We're all saved!"
A younger hunter nearby, some fresh-faced kid Rome had never seen before, leaned toward the woman next to him. "Wait, is he actually strong? Why would someone like that be on a One-Star gate?"
The woman, short hair, spear on her back, didn't even try to lower her voice. "It's a joke. Rome here is basically the opposite of a nuclear deterrent. Rome is more like a glow stick. Crack him once, he shines for an hour, then ends up in the trash."
"Oi." Rome's eyes slid toward them. "What was that?"
The woman threw her hands up. "Nothing, nothing! Just hoping we clear this gate before six. The Masked Singer's on tonight."
"The Masked Singer," Rome repeated.
"Hell yeah." The newbie kid jumped in, apparently over his confusion. "Word is Asteria might be performing. You know her, right? The ice queen from New York?"
The woman fanned herself. "Four-Star beauty. That woman could freeze me solid and I'd thank her for it."
Rome scratched his jaw. Asteria. Yeah, everyone knew Asteria. The Association's poster girl. Face like a model, powers like a blizzard, and a PR team that made sure you never forgot either of those things.
"She's fine," he said.
"Just fine? She's a bombshell! A twelve out of ten easy!"
"Eh, more like a seven and a half." Rome shrugged. "But Nefer...?"
"Of course you would like the cat girl." The kid scoffed.
"What can I say, I'm a sucker for eyes and thick thi--"
"What was that about Nefer?"
Rome's spine went stiff.
He turned with the agonizing slowness of a man realizing he's just stepped on a landmine.
Kiona stood three feet behind him.
Arms crossed. Hip cocked. One perfect eyebrow raised to devastating effect.
Oh no.
She's beautiful.
And I'm about to die.
Kiona was a Three-Star healer. Way above the pay grade of anyone else at this gate. She showed up to One-Star runs sometimes because, according to her, "someone has to keep you idiots alive."
She looked like trouble given human form. Dark hair that fell past her shoulders in waves. Sharp features. Sharper eyes. The kind of face that belonged in magazines or on wanted posters, depending on her mood. Her healer's coat was crisp white, fitted in ways that were probably against Association dress code, and she wore it like armor.
Right now, those gorgeous eyes were locked onto the medical wrap around his head.
"Rome."
"Kiona! Hey! Funny seeing you here."
"What happened to your head."
"This?" He touched the bandage like he'd forgotten it was there. "Oh, you know. Ran into a pole."
"A pole."
"Yeah. I was rushing to catch the bus and bam." He mimed the impact with his palm against his forehead. "Pole came out of nowhere. I'm thinking of filing a complaint with the city."
Kiona stared at him.
Rome stared back.
Somewhere behind them, Patterson was still laughing about the nuclear deterrent thing. The food truck guy called out that fresh breakfast burritos were ready. Life went on.
Kiona's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."
"I would never."
"You're always lying."
"That's a hurtful generalization."
"Last week you told me you got that gash on your arm from a 'rogue shopping cart' at Target."
"It was a very aggressive cart."
"What about last month when you told me you "ragebaited a group of pigeons with bread so they gave you a black eye"
"In my defense, LA pigeons are literally built different"
Kiona stepped closer to him.
"Rome."
"Yes?"
"Let me see."
"Kiona, it's really not—"
Then he saw them.
The air around her shimmered as faint fox ears flickered into existence on top of her head.
She's going all out for this?
"It's just a flesh wound." Rome tried.
"I'll be the judge of that."
"I'm being deadass. It's nothing at all to worry about."
"Rome."
"The pole said sorry."
"Rome."
Those fox ears solidified another fraction. Her eyes gained a faint golden tint around the edges. The temperature around them dropped by a few degrees.
She's really not playing around.
Rome sighed and bent his head down.
She was maybe five-foot-four on a good day. He had six inches on her easy. Bending down meant practically folding himself in half, which meant being way too close to her face, which meant he could count her eyelashes if he wanted to, which meant his brain was doing that short-circuit thing again.
Focus. She's just healing you. This is medical. Professional. Totally normal.
Kiona's hand pressed against his forehead. Her fingers were cool. Soft. She smelled like jasmine and something else he couldn't name.
Very professional. Very normal. Completely fine.
Her lips moved. The words came out low, almost too quiet to hear. Old words. The kind that sounded like they belonged in temples and ancient forests instead of a Los Angeles park next to a guy selling breakfast burritos.
"Yoru no hikari, kitsune no megumi..."
Warmth spread from her palm. It seeped into his skull, past the bone, into the places that still ached from three days ago. The gash he'd been hiding knit itself together. The dull throb behind his eyes faded. Even the headache he'd been ignoring since this morning dissolved into nothing.
She pulled her hand back.
Rome straightened up. He touched his forehead. Smooth skin. No wound. No scar. Like it had never happened.
"Wow." He blinked. "That's... you really didn't have to go that hard."
"It wasn't hard."
"Kiona, you just burned essence on a cut. Before we even enter the gate. That's like..." He searched for the right comparison. "That's like using a flamethrower to light a birthday candle."
"Maybe I wouldn't have to use a flamethrower if certain idiots didn't keep running into aggressive poles."
"The poles in this city are out of control. Someone should start a petition."
"Someone should start wrapping you in bubble wrap."
The fox ears faded into nothingness and the golden tint in her eyes retreated fully until Kiona was back to being normal. Her arms were crossed under her bountiful chest and her lips were pressed in a thin line trying it's hardest not to curve upwards.
I see this as an absolute win.
"Hey Rome-o and Juliet!"
The shout came from near the gate where all the other hunters for the expedition were staring at them.
A man stood in front of the gate. He was tall, broad shouldered with salt and pepper hair. He held a spear in one hand with the shaft planted against the ground like a walking stick. He had well maintained armor that looked like it was broken in at least five years ago.
Rome recognized this man. This was Reyes, he was one of the veteran One-Stars that have been doing this since the cataclysm thirty years ago.
"The HAA appointed me as party leader for this run. I'm happy to see a lot of familiar faces and even happier to see new ones as well." Reyes looked each hunter in the eyes. "Welcome to the grind."
Every hunter nodded. The kid from earlier kept checking his side to make sure his knife hadn't disappeared on him every few seconds.
"Does anyone have a problem with me being the leader?"
Silence.
Rodriguez shrugged. Patterson picked at his teeth. The woman with the spear on her back checked her phone.
"Great, looks like the association has this pegged as a One-Star Blue. Should be smooth sailing."
Rome's hand drifted to the hilt of his knife.
"Game plan is simple." Reyes hefted his spear onto his shoulder. "We go in, we kill some monsters, and we get paid. Anyone got questions?"
More silence.
"Perfect." A grin spread across Reyes's weathered face. "Then let's get to work."
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