Officer

Boom. Boom. The asphalt trembled with each massive slap like someone beating war drums. Snow toppled from rooftops and car hoods, falling in sync with the thunderous steps.

That’s when I finally switched to Dark Sight and saw the world with altered vision. Everything shimmered with chaotic energy, flashing in bursts of color and form. But to a normal bystander? It just looked like... a huge industrial dumpster.

But what a dumpster!

Lumbering toward me with royal swagger came the King of All Trashcans, rocking a mouth the size of a bus filled with iron fangs, and a tongue— okay, cable—whipping the ground like something from a BDSM nightmare.

Yeah, nope. Not the kind of foreplay I signed up for.

I should’ve paused, regrouped, planned better after all my recent screwups. But nah. I charged at the junk titan like danger was my idea of a cuddle session. Real smart, girl.

Before the cord-tongue could whip me across the shoulder, I poured the last scraps of ectoplasm into my system and pulled off a Trickster's Move. If it didn’t work? I was toast. No time to recharge.

My body warped and shrunk into an unnatural, barrel-like shape— mimicking the form of one of those smaller trash fiends I’d fought earlier. The big boy hesitated, tongue retreating in confusion. What he saw was one of his –own, - standing before him.

The transformation drained the hell out of me—I was ready to stick my tongue out and pass out on the spot.

We stood there for a few long seconds: me recovering, him in total confusion. Just enough time for me to channel my final drop of energy into my left hand (right one was outta juice—good thing I’m a natural lefty).

That hand, full of vengeance, I jammed straight into the metal side of the dumpster king.

Nope, I didn’t metaphysically destroy his Essence in the astral plane— didn’t have the power for that tonight. I just went caveman on his shell. Five solid punches into the weak spot I made, and he backed off a bit, cooling his jets.

And again... applause. Oh, right.

I’d forgotten about the fanclub chilling by the truck. Great.

I had to knock them out and ship them off for a quick memory wipe at the station. They’d seen way too much. I’m the Big Secret in this town, and I plan on staying that way.

So I switched off my second sight, turned my hand back to normal, dusted myself off, and walked over to them.

– Thanks for the applause. Always performing for my dear fans. Want autographs too?

Yeah, it came off snarky and like I was auditioning for stand-up, but I wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy after my list of recent tactical oopsies.

– You've earned the applause. Truly. But let’s skip the autograph part for now. Let me show you mine first.

The guy shuffled a bit and pulled a small cardboard card from the pocket of his crisply ironed pants. That little piece of antique ID would’ve confused any modern civilian, but not me. These were special press passes—given only to journalists cleared to work near the Wall and privy to Police Department secrets.

Why the police used such ancient paper IDs, I never bothered to ask. Frankly, didn’t care.

Seeing the card, I exhaled slightly and didn’t flinch when the journalist pulled out two flasks from a fancy leather bag embossed with intricate patterns.

– Giving you all my stock. You know, ma’am, how the brass doesn’t like handing these out... to folks like me.

True. Cops always had beef with journalists. Even when it came to sharing weapons-grade spicy juice. I took the flasks with genuine thanks and promised to pay him back later.

– And who’s your companion? And while we’re at it—what’s your name? I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

– Meet my assistant and intern, Angie. – He gave the intro like a gentleman. She nodded slowly. – As for me, I’m Noah. But everyone calls me Roger.

– Like the rabbit? Or the pirate flag? – Yeah, humor wasn’t exactly my strong suit today either.

– I must say, I’m quite charmed by your exquisite sense of humor... and your -modern- jokes. – Roger shot back with a smirk tugging at one side of his mouth.

Damn. That mouth had a great curve. The salt-and-pepper temples were elegant, and yet his face looked oddly young—devoid of age, but with a mature stamp behind those wise green eyes. And that nose... with just the slightest noble bump...

Wait. What the hell was I even thinking?

I awkwardly hesitated and walked toward the bins and their Big Daddy to finish the cleanup. It took both flasks of the flammable cocktail to process the remains, and I raised my hands in mock guilt—just business expenses. The whole time, I kept a sharp eye on that sweet little duo. But they didn’t budge, didn’t even whisper to each other. Just stood there... staring at me.

Well, screw them.

Once I wrapped it all up and picked up the stiletto I’d flung at the very beginning of the mess, I quietly hoped there wouldn’t be any more surprises. All my mind-moves were offline, unavailable for casting, and I needed time to recharge before I could sparkle like before.

Approaching the so-called journalists, I made it look like I was saying my goodbyes, but actually I was slowly sliding my stiletto out from the sleeve, ready to bonk Roger over the head—and then deal with his sidekick.

– Sorry, I didn’t catch that... you work for the police? – The man mumbled, scratching at his multi-day -sexy- stubble. Wait, what?! Sexy stubble?

Alenari, girl, get it together!

– That’s right. I’m an active field officer in the... – I started to say lazily, while suddenly pushing the stiletto into my hand, ready to strike.

But turns out he had his own agenda. And that agenda didn’t include being knocked out and falling lovingly into my arms.

With a swift motion, he ran a hand over his face, winced, and then grabbed my attack arm with the other—stabbing something into my forearm. Ow, damn, that hurt! I felt like I’d been electrocuted. Tried to break free, but nope—couldn’t move at all.

Well, I was screwed.