Rebranding

I think this is my third time rebranding on this blog.
When I first started in college while I was writing short stories at the same time as my friend, EthelReker, my Username was Strange and Depressed (SaD) because my emo phase had just started to awakened. This then got bumped up to Thanos Venge as I started to get used to the norm of writing mostly because it was my current IGN, was obsessed with Revenge and Stun Guns and I had gotten knee deep into my emo and depressed stage with a deep desire to use my misery to fuel my drive to write.
But while my depression has far from actually vanished, my emo phase is I believe pretty much gone. I'm just a bummed out burn out who wants to try again a little. So in my current transition, I'll use my real IGN, MaxAxil, now and leave it at that.
Hello, adult me.
-MaxAxil

PS:
Where does that leave the namesake series of Thanos Venge? Well, that identity has become its own entity and may see its own rebranding.
Because honestly, as an adult? Thanos Venge sounds extremely silly to read when I went back over it and my old notes to see if I can return to where I was since the last time I tried to do it.

Salvation's Light - Reality // Eyes

"If you insist on asserting your way of living, then I shall do the same!"
- Takaya Sakaki (Persona 3)

Previously: Hallowed Light - Unravelling // Awakened

Christine doesn't even need to take my order the moment I reached the counter. She just hands me a cup and doesn't take my money even.
"It's on the house."
"Are you still trying to--"
She smiles and shakes her head. "I saw you last night getting out of that uber when I was going home from my work. Your friend dropped by earlier and got himself a cup."
That word again. Friend. I didn't like that word and I didn't have any real friends at all.
But apparently Henry is my friend. I don't really comprehend. I know he's the closest thing to a friend but... Not outright one I would say is such.
"Must have been a hell of a night if you decided to get drunk last night."

I don't respond and look at my coffee.
"I guess you're wilder than I thought." She grins. "Next!"
I move away for the next customer and walk back to my apartment.
Friend... That word rattles me again and I find myself unable to shake why I'm not correcting anyone about it.
I can't have friends. Every paycheck I get is from killing people. Any means of weakness such as hesitation will make my job extremely difficult and trust in me would plummet. The moment Henry so much as pisses someone powerful off, he'll be a client's target. Considering how he operates, I wouldn't be surprised if that happens. And unlike a huge conglomerate like the Eden Foundation, assassins have no real excuse to say no to a job like taking on a single person. Even if I say no, someone else will be asked to kill him. And even if I do grow a conscience, taking on others just to protect him is not something I can accomplish forever. I am highly skilled assassin but there will always be someone better than me. And if others hear about such treachery, a target will be painted on my back as well.
My math sums up, right?
So why am I opening my computer and stalking Henry on Facebook? Why am I so curious about why his friendship suddenly matters to me?
I was shown small gestures of kindness and was called a friend and suddenly it matters to me?
No no no. That's not how it works. All we've done together was drink, do each other favors, and the occasional small talk. Why is the word friend suddenly ingrained as important?
I drink my coffee too quick and burn my tongue a little. That thought process didn't take nearly enough time as I thought to cool the coffee down.
I'm going to have to take a few days off.
After that encounter with James Osmond and my sudden memory flashes, I think all I need right now is a break.

//

At around 6:30, a call from Henry rouses me from my stupor.
I had been drawing my memories from what I can recall and pieces that don't make sense without my entirety of my memories keep appearing.
The man, assumed to be my father, baking pie. Judging from the small detail I could see from my memories, it was a pecan pie.
James Osmond wrapping me in his arms from my perspective as a woman I assumed to be my mother hitting him with a chair.
Crayons strewn across the floor and that memory of James putting me in a room.
"Hello?"
Henry was out of breath as if he was running. "Hey! I got the file!"
"Why are you panting? Is someone chasing you?"
"No... I..." He pants again... "I stepped on a dog's tail and... it chased me for a while... I... I don't... want to stop to look... and see if it's still chasing me..."
"...Did you even bother to check if there was barking behind you to see if the dog was still there."
He stops and gasp for more air. I can hear his shoes turn around to check and finally a sigh of relief.
"Okay... I'm here."

"Why didn't you just drive here?"
"It's leg day." He says, still out of breath. "Do you want me to come up or--"
"I'll come down. I need to go buy some food anyway. No, I'm not buying you dinner."
"Lame." I hang up and grab a jacket from my coat rack.
The old lady from across the hall greets me as I walk toward the elevator.
A sudden flash occurs as the elevator goes down.
The image of James Osmond protecting me. It was more vivid now.
Why can't you just eat the fucking vegetable! The woman shouts.
Mom! No! My eyes catch site of James' embrace and the chair hitting him in the back. Blood gushes out of James' head but the embrace continues to protect the memory of me.
The elevator dings and my flash ends. I turn the corner and find Henry there, still wearing my clothes. He raises the file as I approach and smiles.
"I'll tell you, this thing wasn't easy to get. I had to call in a favor from the Utah Police Department down in Terra just to get a hold of this but-"
It was too fast.
I was falling, the file shoved right into my chest. The normally talkative Henry had suddenly gone quiet. His usual, friendly expression was replaced with dead seriousness.
From across the hall, I caught a glimpse of what Henry saw before he pushed me. A figure clad in a black coat and covered with a mask and hat. He was pointing a gun at me.
And Henry realized it too. I didn't have time to react so he did.
He had reached quickly into his holster and fired. I could only see a glimpse of who he had fired at,
Henry's shot forces the man to stumble back and I make brief eye contact with him before he fires back. Everyone in the lobby scrambled as the gunshots echoed across the room.
In the chaos, the man disappeared and I'm left on the ground with Henry standing over me.
"You... okay?" He says.
"Yeah. I'm--" I felt a drop of something wet fall on my face. It smelled metallic and it poured out some more on me. Years in my job has desensitized me and it's unmistakably blood.
"Oh." Henry touched his abdomen where the bullets had hit him. My vest had a growing blotch of blood and more dripped on me and the floor.
He falls to his knees and keels over next to me.
I sit up and move us further to the reception desk to hide. The doorman was quick to call 911.
Henry's breathing slowed and attempts at speaking makes it more painful for him.
"Why?" I say
He closes his eyes and mouths something.
Friend.

//

The police arrived at around 6:43, around 8 minutes after the shooting happened.
Henry Santiago was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
His mother and little brother arrived 20 minutes later to see him.
A detective approached me to gather a statement.
"Don't worry." He says to me. "You were Henry's friend, right? The guy told me about your situation so I'll make sure the police don't harass you." 
Friend... The last thing he said... or mouthed... was that damn word.
"Guy was like family, you know? He's sleazy but he'd look out for you. Considering what happened, it looks like you've got someone after you. Better lay low for a while."
I thank the detective for the advice and go see Henry's body after his family had left.
Henry looked so weird being still and quiet.
"Why me?" I ask his corpse. "Why am I your friend? I'm just a psychotic killer, remember?"
I have to get used to the concept of real tears. They just keep falling off of my face.
This is what I meant about friends being a weakness. They go and get themselves killed. Maybe I didn't do it, but someone wanted him dead. Everyone dies.
But despite all this, I have to make sure Henry's service to me isn't in vain.
I need to compartmentalize my goals and deal with each one at a time.
I am a professional. I must be able to organize and move without fail.
The detective dropped me off at my apartment building. The lobby was sealed off by police tape and lingering cops searched the area.
I walked through the crime scene, avoiding the splotches of Henry's blood on the floor and made my way to the elevator.
There were no flashes, something I was hoping would keep my mind off things.
When that fails, I look over at the file and take in what was compiled for me.
Henry was organized in his own way, highlighting sections of what I would have found useful. James Osmond, 32. A professor and researcher at Terra University. Lives in Terra, Utah with his son, Nick Osmond. Contact details listed below.
Utah is a six hour drive from here. I have to prepare my clothes and rest.
I'll hit the road first thing in the morning.

//
I take a glance at Cloudy Day and contemplate a cup. But considering what happened to Henry, I'd be putting Christine in danger considering the association. If Henry was a friend, someone who was seen flirting with me would be in just as much danger. I can grab a cup later.
The drive was surprisingly met with no surprise attacks on the way.
I've only made a total of 3 stops since I left. One at a Starbucks, One at a diner, and One at a gas station. 
Once I got to Terra City, I quickly checked myself in at a motel. The plan was to give James a call and see where it went from there.
"Hello?" It was his voice. The man at the party. It was definitely him.
"Hi. I'm..." I stammer, unsure what to actually say now. Do I say I'm his brother? Do I say that I have something of his? Do I blackmail him?
"I'm sorry, if this is a telemarketing call, I'm afraid I'll have to--"
"You met me at that party." I suddenly say.
There's silence and I can hear Spongebob Squarepants played in the background.
"Taylor?"
I don't respond to the name. I don't acknowledge it. Even if Taylor exists... I'm still Patrick Walsh.
"I'd like to meet you tomorrow. If that's alright."
I could hear the man stutter a little. "S-Sure! I'll give you my address."
"There's no need." I hang up and throw away the burner phone I used to place the call.

//
I didn't know what to expect when I pulled up to James Osmond's house.
It was a modest home. A two-story home with white picket fence and a small porch. Toys were strewn across the lawn. Probably had a bed made of white roses. The American dream.
It must have been at least 20 minutes before I finally got out and walked up to the door.
I knock a couple of times and I hear footsteps approaching the door.
A little boy with black hair and green eyes peeks from behind the door's window curtain.
"Daddy! There's a stranger at the door!"
There's a hushed conversation and finally, the man I saw at the party comes to the door. He doesn't open it quickly, glancing at me from the window for a second.
When he opens the door, his watery eyes gazes right at me. It looked like he had a lot to say but couldn't, as if the air in his body had been sucked out.
Instead, he lets out a coarse, whimper and pulls me in to a full embrace and he begins to sob.
"Taylor. I missed you so... so much, Buddy."
I stand still, a little overwhelmed about what's happening.
He pulls back for a second and looks at me. "Look at you! So big! So handsome!"

I'm pulled back into an embrace and I awkwardly return it.
The little boy from earlier approaches us and looks at me with cautious eyes. "Daddy, who is he?"
"He's your Uncle Taylor. Taylor, this is Nick. Go on, say Hi."
The little boy... Nick, suddenly hugs me as well. What is with this family and hugs? Ever heard of personal space?
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." James says. "I'll field them one at a time. Just let me give Nick his lunch."

//

Nick was eating a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes. The boy seemed a little too happy munching on the side vegetables.

James returns with a large box in his hands.

"Just a question first." I say. "What were you doing in Northbrick that night?"
"I was visiting a friend." He says, dropping the box on the coffee table. "Sadly, she passed away." 
Serena.

James opened the box, revealing bunch of assorted memorabilia that trigger a bunch of flashes in my head.

"You are starting to recall your memories, am I correct?”

James’ amicable tone had become emotionless. “Flashes of images that make no sense right now... Unfamiliar emotions flooding in... Have you been experiencing those?”

My eyes widen and suddenly I’m on guard. I have many hidden blades in my body and a loaded gun holstered at my back. If this was a trick, I am prepared to make this a personal job.

He waves his arms, as if reading my mind, to try and calm me.

“This... it’s the Myst Protocool wearing off. It’s giving you your memories back.”

“Myst... Protocool?” Myst... that’s the association that took me in and trained me when I was young. 

James takes out a family photo. A man who looks astonishingly just like me stood next to a woman and had his hand on two boys shoulders. A pre-adolescent me that I can recall from my old pictures in Myst’s files and James, looking as he did in my memories.

“As you may or may not have gathered, we lived a rather miserable life with our mother abusing us. Our father, the one parent that loved us, could not touch her and we had very few options to escape. That is, until I met and befriended the founder of Myst.”

He hands me another picture. This time of him and my mentor, Gantz. The man who had himself erased from society’s memory.

“I became close to them and I was set to enter their science scholarship. And he told me that if I ever needed anything, all I needed was to call. Can you guess what happened next?”

I looked at the picture and flashes in my head intensified.

//

She... she killed Dad.

What? Mom killed... Dad?

Shrill Screaming echoed in my memory.

James took my hand and ran towards a room, all while calling a number.

“Help! Our mother is trying to kill us! He killed our father!”

The memory of James hiding me in a closet became so much clearer. Our mother had approached us with a knife and he had blocked her way. She was going to murder us.

And from here, those men in black arrived, quickly dispatching my mother.

Gantz had arrived and James approached him.

“Please make him forget this... all of this.... our life. He doesn’t deserve this pain.”

“But you realize....” my mentor says. “...everyone that enters the Myst Protocool is to be enhanced and trained as merciless assassins, correct?”

James turned his head to me. “It’s better this way.”

My mentor nods and I see James move away for the men in black to take me away.

//

“You stole my life.” I say, controlling my voice to not alarm James’ son.

James lowers his head. “Yes.”

“You let them turn me into a killer.” I reach for my neck, something seemed stuck on my throat. “You abandoned me.”

“I didnt. I would never.” He said sharply. “I couldnt let you see me until the Myst Protocool had set in. It would compromise your programming. But when I came back during the safe period, you volunteered to transfer. I looked for you. I looked everywhere for you.”

I stand up and open my mouth to argue. For years of my life, I had been empty. Longing for something to mean something to me. My memories were sealed away and family would undo what would become Patrick Walsh. Whoever Taylor Osmond was got locked away.
"I did it to protect you." He says. "You didn't deserve the trauma. You were just a kid."
"It wasn't your decision."  I say behind my grit teeth. "Didn't it ever cross your mind that weaponizing your younger brother is far worse than letting him live his life knowing his family's dark history? I may not have all memories back yet, but you took away my humanity."

I finally let myself cry willingly. My emotions, my memories, my true self. All were supressed and now that I finally start get them back, I thought I’d be happier. Instead, I feel betrayed. I feel lost. Conflicted. 

“I’m gonna go out for a while. I need some time to think. ” I tell him. He doesn’t try to stop me as I walk out and get on my car to drive back to the motel.

//

I've been contemplating how I was going to continue with this revelation. Do I go home? Try to live normally? Stay, deal with my resurfacing humanity? Erase my existence?

When I got back to my room, I found the CEO of the Eden Foundation, Richie Walter,  sitting at my room’s couch and held a Manila envelope.

“What do you want?” I say, coming off a little hostile. “Are you here to kill me for stopping your deal with Serena?”

The man tosses the envelope into the coffee table and images scatter out.

“No. A job is a job. We don’t hold grudges.” He beckons me over to come look at the images.

These were shots of my apartment building at the time Henry was killed. Pictures of Henry's death and pictures of the hooded figure escaping.

“However, we also do not tolerate our own from deviating.” He hands me one picture and I almost drop it when I see who it was. 

Christine. She was at our apartment’s stairwell, taking off the mask and clutching her shoulder from where Henry shot her.
“But this doesn’t make any sense!”

“Christine Mackenzie was our scout, keeping us informed of any anomalies and informing us of movement we can use to further our cause." Walter lights a cigarette, puffing smoke into my room. "She volunteered for our company’s call for trained assassins and trained herself to rise up. It wasn’t until after she killed your friend that we realize what she’s after.”

“And pray tell, what does she want?”

He hands me another image. It was of me killing a corrupt prosecutor in his home. One of the easiest jobs given to me to cripple an unjust case.
She was there. She was his daughter.

From what the CEO tells me, prior to joining them, she had bounced between foster homes and fended for herself in the system. She had lost everything. Just like me...

“Revenge...” I suddenly say. It's ironic, really. She, herself a kid in the system that got abused, ended up working for a company that misuses foster children for their own gain. All just for a chance to kill me. “She’s here isn’t she?”

Walter nods and checks his watch. “If I were you, you ought to run home to your family.”

My memories haven't completely resurfaced yet but what little I have knows that I can't lose them. What little I found... What family I have left.

//

It was just as I thought. Christine was here.
Her pink Mercedes was parked outside my brother's house.
I quickly barged in and found Christine sitting in our couch.

“Christine...!”
"Oh, hey!" She smiles at me, the same flirty smile whenever I came to the cafe. "You sure took your time."
James came in holding a tray of tea and Nick accompanied him with a plate of biscuits. "Taylor. I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
I felt sweat trickle down my temple and I give James a nervous look.
To his credit, he recognized it extremely quickly and put Nick behind him.
"I know why you're here." I say, already positioning myself to fight. I take a quick glance around the room. Christine was seated across the coffee table. If she gets up, I can force her down with that and restrain her.
"What are you talking about?" She stands, feigning confusion. "I came here because I got a--"
"Drop the act Christine Hope, daughter of Prosecutor Reynold Hope!"

She stares at me, seemingly dumbfounded at first, before finally dropping her kind attitude. She lets out a loud and creepy laugh and takes out a gun and pointed it at me.
From behind her, James drops the tray and the cups he had shattered and spilled all the tea he had prepared.
"What do you live for?" Christine asked me, her cold voice echoed in my brother's living room. "Give me the pleasure of taking it away,"
I looked back at my nephew hiding scared behind my brother.
For the first time in my life since I can remember, I was actually scared. Scared about what she'll do. Scared about dying. Scared of losing what I realize finally have.
Because after years of living for nothing, I finally had an answer to that question.
"To be someone."
She chuckles, raising a brow in confusion.
"Someone who mattered." and I wasn't going to let go of what I found. What I finally got back. Not without a fight.
I kick the coffee table forward, toppling her off balance. The pistol bounces off the floor and accidentally fires at a fruit bowl, eliciting a scream out of Nick and prompting my brother to pick him up and run.
I take no time waiting for the girl to catch her second wind and kick her again, knocking her down on the floor before stomping on her stomach.
She coughs and staggers but does not let me make a second attack. She slams a chair at my leg and gets up to counter attack. But I'm faster.
She's flying the moment my fist connects with her face.
From my back, I grabbed my revolver and aim at her.
She got back up, having recovered her own gun and aimed back.
There were no words. No time wasted. Just two successive pulls.
It felt like the seconds were getting slower when we both fired. The bullet inched ever so slowly into my chest and for that brief moment in time, I remembered everything without the static. 
The coloring books Dad used to buy. James' band practicing in the basement. The pecan pie that my Dad baked with me. And the day James hid me in the panic room and blocking the way.
I remember loving how I helped James and Dad tended to the garden. I remember being so picky about my food. That I hated vegetables enough for my Mother to grow violent about it. I remembered being sad about seeing my hamster dying. I remember how much my brother would sing me to sleep.
For this briefest moment in time, I remembered the feeling of being.
Taylor was a person that Patrick Walsh had to protect in the world where killing was the way to live.
No phases, No static. No black and whites and echoed voices.
I was here. Patrick Walsh opened the door. Taylor Osmond was finally free.
My hearing pounded with ringing and I could barely hear her crashing into my brother's door. Funny, it was much louder than when I hit the ground.
"Uncle Taylor!"
My chest was warm. Not just from the pouring blood. But from the hands that caressed my wound.
"Call 911!" Nick's hurried steps were muffled.
"No no no no no no...." James muttered, like he always did whenever he was getting into deep trouble.
My mouth felt warm and sticky. I can't breathe. I can't speak.
I reach my hand out to his face. "I..."
I wasn't empty inside anymore. 

-Author Notes
It's up to you to decide if Taylor dies or not.
After working on this for a while, I'm happy I actually finally finished this. Even if it seems kinda cliche and long at the end.
Thank you for reading.
-ThanosVenge

Hallowed Light - Unravelling // Awakened

"You don't get anything out of facing reality, and there's no way to change it either."
- Tohru Adachi (Persona 4)

Previously: Cold Light - Blurred // Beyond

I have never been one to drive fast. If one is as efficient as I am, there would be no reason to rush or draw suspicion to oneself.
But I've never been sick either.
Every time I blink, I feel static in my brain zap and send flashes into my eyes. If I don't hurry home, I'm going to end up crashing into someone.
If that last trail of thought and sudden flash lasted just a second later, I would have missed a swerve and rammed the bench just outside my apartment.
I park the car and stay put in my seat for a while. I could feel sweat trickle down to my suit as my hand on the steering wheel maintains its grip.
My eyes are closed only for a minute before someone raps at my window.
Christine.
"Hey, are you okay?" She says. "You almost ran over the bench."
I roll the window down and give her the best fake smile I could muster at that moment.
"Yeah, just had a little too much to drink."
She crosses her arms, either disapproving of dui or that she didn't believe me at all.
"Being drunk is more being red than being pale and sweaty. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine." I open the door to get out and wipe my head. "What about you? Why are you still here? Doesn't your shift end during the afternoon?"
"Oh ho, someone pays attention." She winks at me but her concern returns. "I had to pick up an extra to cover for Anissa. But never mind me, You look terrible!"
"I'm seriously okay." I don't give her a chance to respond and quickly scurry into my apartment. I do not have time to deal with this.
Walking straight wasn’t much of an option. I wobbled every step of the way to the elevator.

Concerned neighbors and guards offered help but I tell them I’m just having a bad night.

I practically keep my eyes shut on the way up, laying my head to the side as I wait for the ding to my floor.

Finally, I made it home.

Calling this a headache wasn’t quite right.

I wasn’t in constant pain. But the persistence is hurting my senses. I don’t think I can take any more jobs while this goes on. My phone buzzes and see that my pay has made its way to me. Normally, I would splurge on what I am currently attempting to make my hobby, prepare payments for my bills, and set aside some savings just in case.

But I think this time I just want to pass out. I wish I actually were drunk.

Another thought crosses my mind. Alcohol.

//

“That was fast” The look of excitement from Henry's face slowly vanished as he finds himself less impressed by the normal restobar I take him to. It's not like he complain since it's free booze though.
"Don't get used to it" I don't even bother hiding my annoyance and quickly grab a booth.
I don't do crowds in my personal time, but sometimes it's better to drink with someone around. Sure makes getting home easier.
I've known Henry for over 10 years in the business. I kill people, he looks away.
He's too invested in his own thing that his sense of justice is fuelled heavily by moodiness and boredom. His nonchalant attitude and no questions asked approach made it easier to rely on him than the other people in my connections. And if he's around when I get numbers up on my bank account, he's usually the first to cozy up for a drink. In a weird sort of way, I guess he's the closest thing I have to an actual friend.
A server approaches us, handing us these fancy matte black menus with gold plated linings.
I stop Henry from taking one as I was already prepared to order for both of us.
"Two buckets of Red Horse. Also, a plate of nachos and fries."
I hand the server my card and she politely leaves.
"Dude." Henry crosses his arms. "You need to cut that out. Sometimes I'd like to order those fancy cocktails, y'know?"
"So the entire menu?" I snap, suddenly flashes hitting my head again. "Can you just give me this for once?"
The server quickly returns with the beer and tells us she'd be back with the rest.
"You okay man? You're sweating like bricks." When I don't reply and knock back one bottle, he continues. "Wait, are you feeling guilty about your job today? Aren't you supposed to be some remorseless psychopath? Look, if it makes you feel any better, that kid wouldn't have survived if his family got in deep with those lunatics from Eden."
"I can kill you with a toothpick and make it look like an accident. Tread carefully." He raises his hands in defense. "It's not that and I take offense to being called a psychopath! No. It's something else."
I sigh and shut my eyes as a particularly persistent image flashes in black and white.
The same image I've forgotten. That same teenage boy in that patchy bits of my memories putting me inside that small closet I presume and blocking some guy's way.
Why now? After years of being dormant, why now? Why haunt me again when I've stopped looking and stopped caring about what my life used to be?
This painful reminder of what I failed to find. One I was happy to give up on. Why flash this cold, colorless image now?
But it doesn't stop there. No, this wasn't an image anymore.
The boy... The face that was always blurred out in my head moves aside. His face, clearer and better now.
Thin lips, hardened but worried face. Eyes that I see tones of green from.
"Taylor." He mouthed. His voice muffled and unrecognizable. But his face, clear as day.
Slowly, I heard muffled footsteps, closing in on me.
My eyes trailed to the boy. The boy who's features I captured extensively.
And in the brief moment this memory let me see him, I realized who it was.
"Patrick." The flash felt like it lasted 30 minutes but it must have only been a couple. Not very long, but long enough to alarm Henry. "I thought you were asleep."
He inches back when I snarl at him. I may not appreciate my long lost memories slowly resurfacing, but having it interrupted when I thought I could piece it together was just too much for my already fractured patience tonight.
"Geez, asshole. If you're gonna ask someone to go drinking with you, the least you can do is be fucking polite." The table pushed a little strongly as he got up, "You make me come over and get an uber, don't let me order, and snap at me for showing concern. Why should I put up with this bullshit?"
He was leaving, as one would expect from terrible company. But, and I don't know why, my hand reflexively grabbed at his wrist before he could continue to go.
"Wait... I..." My voice cracks a little.
I feel weak. I feel like a different person is asserting himself within me.
To Henry's credit, he didn't continue snapping back or let his already angered state control him. Suddenly, he places his free hand on my forehead. I was startled, but my body doesn't activate my usual, untrusting reflex of backing away right away.
"Man, are you sure you should be drinking?"
He sits back down and crosses his arms, staring at me as if to scrutinize what's in front of him.
"So what are you dealing with here?"
"I just want to drink." I say. "It's nothing."
"Enough with the Tsundere act. There's obviously something wrong and you need my help. Well, you'll be glad to know that I'm always willing to help those in need."
"Aren't you supposed to be a corrupt cop?" The server arrives with the nachos and fries and Henry takes a new menu while I'm distracted, grinning at me to say he's going to order whatever he wants.
Sure enough, this tall, fancy glass of blue liquid arrived. It even had one of those little fucking umbrellas.
He takes a sip, looking almost a little too delighted. I'm not even sure if the thing has any alcohol in it.
My options were limited. Being ill is bad enough. Not knowing what to do about it is just going to make it harder for me to take more jobs.
"Henry." He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
"Do you have your sketchpad?"
He continues to sip as he produces a small, leather-bound book and a pencil from his manpurse.
It has been 4 years since I last attempted to draw the boy in my memory.
Always distorted and away.
But now...
My hand swipes at the pages, memorizing the details I pieced in my mind.
Lips, short hair, hardened face, worried eyes...
The alcohol manages to dull the flashes, but it continues. Past the boy, men arrived to take me. My throat hurt, as if screaming a name.
"Wow. You're giving me a run for my money." Henry yanks the sketchbook from my hand, making me drop the pencil in surprise. "If your day job doesn't work out, the department is more than willing to get new artists. Who is he?"
 "Someone... in my memory. I can't remember but he keeps showing up suddenly."

"What, you have amnesia?" He chuckles. "That's kind of cliche, don't you think?"
"Some people are nice to those who lost part of their lives, you know?"
Henry doesn't respond to the sass. His sly eyes squint, staring intently on what I managed to produce.
"I've seen this kid before." He takes another sip of his drink. "Well, no. Someone familiar is more like it."
"Who?" I say, a little more strongly then I thought I should.
"Some guy who dropped by at the station. The idiot dropped his passport. He was lucky some chick found it and dropped it off at lost and found."
I was wide awake now. It felt like the alcohol in my system was suddenly flushed out. "What's his name? What did he look like?"
"James Osmond. He had this same strong look in his face but his eyes were definitely kind like this. Though he had a buzzed head now." He smirks. "Does that ring any bells?"
"I met a man with that description earlier. But I ran away."
My head flashes again. This time to my encounter with him earlier.
The way he rapped at my window and called me Taylor echoed in my head.
"I need to ask you a favor."
He calls over a waiter. "Hi. Can we get a plate of chicken wings and another one of these blue lagoons."
"Coming right up sir."
He points to me. "Put it in his tab."
The server nods and walks off. Henry looks at me and tilts his head a little as if to tell me to continue.
"I need you to look this guy up for me. Anything in the database that can help me know and find him."
"Well maybe you shouldn't have run away." He chomps on a nacho and happily greets the plate of chicken wings that arrived. "Give me a day. I'll have it to you by tomorrow night."

//

As a professional killer, I've been trained to have a tremendous amount of tolerance towards alcohol. I must consistently have sharp senses. So to numb these and compromise myself, it would take a large amount of alcohol. 7 plus 9 bottles plus nachos and pizza plus wings equals drunk right?

Ever felt so light and heavy at the same time? That's what it feels like.
But I don't feel these flashes that's making me go epileptic and that's fine by me. But woah it's so tunnely.  What's with these borders around my eyes?
"Uh, buddy? I think you should let me take you--"
I need to pee.
"I know, buddy. But maybe not on that lamp."
This is a lamp?
"Yes, Patrick. That's a lamp." I barely feel him pull me towards my apartment.
"Hi Mister Doorman ." He gives me a little wave and smiles.
"Sorry. He's drunk."
So worth it.
"Is it?" He says. Have I been saying these out lout?
"Yes, you idiot."
Ding! It's the elevator!
"You know, you're kind of cute drunk. Like a little kid in Disneyland."
Man, now it feels heavy everywhere. It's like we're being pulled down.
"Hey. hey." Henry pulls me up from the evil floor.
"We're almost there."
I feel him grope at my body and I can't help but feel emasculated.
"Where are your stupid keys?"
"Guess." I grin.
He sighs, playing hard to get and reaches for me but I'm a ninja, doesn't he know?
"Give it-- Give it to me. Don't make me put you in a headlock!"
"Kinky."
He checks my coat pockets and my keys betray me :(
The door opens and Henry takes me in to my apartment.
Clean as ever, just as I like it.
Because a clean apartment makes Patrick happy :)
"It's too late and we're both drunk so I'm staying the night. "
"M'kay." I shove him to the wall and grabs his face.
"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?"
His lips tastes like cheese and his tongue like pico de gallo.
Henry pushes me back and I can feel my ass hit the floor.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Don't worry, I've done both ways." I smile at his scared blue eyes. "Gotta be able to do stuff when you kill after all."
Detective Henry's hand is in my face and he's pushing me. He's mean.
"I appreciate the offer, but I don't swing that way."
"But you called me cute." Now I'm sad.
He sighs again and pulls me in. But only for a short hug.
"There, there buddy. As much as I like drunk.. and horny Patrick, I'd rather not experiment tonight. We'll talk when your sound judgment is back."
That's boring.
"Oh." I look down.
"What is it?" He asks.
"I  need to pee."

//

Taylor, did you eat all the pie again?
No.
I told you to leave some for me! You know how long it takes Dad to bake those.
I'm sorry.
Look buddy, I know how much you like them but you need to learn how to share. And eating a whole pie isn't healthy.
But I was hungry.
Next time, I'll buy you two burgers. How does that sound?
But what about Mom?
Fuck Mom. She doesn't have to know.
I'm scared. Why won't Dad just fight back?

Because she's a girl, buddy. If Dad hits Mom, he'll get arrested. Do you want to lose Dad?
Then why can't we leave?
If we leave, Mom will threaten Dad and find us. It'll make things so much harder for us.
Why can't we call the police?
The police won't believe Dad. They'll believe Mom. And even if they do believe us, she'll probably only get a light sentence.
Then what can we do?
I don't know, Buddy.

//
Calling whatever this is a hangover was an understatement.
My head was splitting open and I could feel my stomach churned.
And perhaps for the first time in years, I felt tears in my eyes.
And fear.
Whatever that dream was, it was definitely a memory I've long forgotten. A life taken away.
James Osmond... Was he my brother?
And if this was really a memory, did I really have such a terrible life that I decided to erase everything?
The flashes of my memories become violent and I keel over in my bed.
I'll take care of you buddy.
Don't hurt the kids.
You pieces of shit don't know how hard my life was.
One day...
The flashes aren't consistent anymore. Images of my memories zip by like powerpoint slides. James Osmond. A blurred man with pie. A blurred woman holding a chair. The room James Osmond put me in. And suddenly, the flashes stopped. The voices vanish and all I hear is the city life bustling outside my window.
"Awake are you?" Henry stood at my doorframe, fully dressed in my clothes. Maybe even a little overdressed with my coat over my vest over my button up.
"What's with the getup?" I get up, realizing that I have been clothed in house wear despite not remembering changing at all. Rather, I don't really remember anything after getting on the Uber home.
"Where'd you put my clothes?" I say, getting up from my bed.
"You puked on them so I put them in the washing machine." Henry crosses his arms and smirks. "Gotta say bro, could used to living like this. Maybe I should add extra to my fee and be your roommate"
"Don't call me bro. And don't push your luck."
"Worth a try."
"Why'd you do that?" He looks at me, confused. "Change my clothes and put em in the washing machine, I mean."
Henry raises a brow, still dumbfounded by own confusion. "Because we're friends. It's the polite thing to do. And I wasn't about to let you sleep covered in puke. That's just gross."
My first reaction would have been to tell him we weren't friends at all. But I say nothing. I don't know why. Friends?
He leaves and comes back with a glass of water and hands it to me.
I say nothing again, drinking the glass empty.
Flashes aside, I've still got a hangover to deal with.
"I'm going to get some coffee. " I stand, walking to the door and he backs slightly away from me. His face looking slightly red. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" He stammers. "Just, I got some earlier and I need to get to the station."
I stare at him, trying to figure out what that reaction was from.
"I'll give you a call when I get the file, alright? See you later."
He bolts before I can say anything else.
Weirdo.

Continue to the last chapter: Salvation's Light - Realty // Eyes

Authors Notes:
The Monochrome Abyss storyline was meant to end in this chapter. But the progression took too long to get points across and thus I had to extend the story by one chapter. In doing so, I had to move around quotes in each chapter and change the titles, which messed with my original title ideas and idea of giving opening quotes to three Persona-user villains counting down from 5 to 3. I have not played the 2 duology, but, research and stock knowledge aside, know that I can't quote a villain persona user from there(Though quoting Hitler would have been hilarious). And while I HAVE played Persona 1, I don't think it's fair to skip on 2 just because I can't quote anyone from there. So I'd rather just do 5R-5-4-3. (In hindsight, Kandori DOES appear in 2, but yeah I didn't think that far ahead when I was redoing the quotes anyway)
-ThanosVenge

Cold Light - Blurred // Beyond

"Justice!? Righteous!? Keep that shit to yourselves!"
-Goro Akechi (Persona 5)

Start from the Beginning: Sinister Light - Fantasy // Line

"So, I'll see you tonight?"
I smile, taking the invitation from her hands. "Wouldn't miss it."
Serena moves in, cupping my face as her lips touched mine.
For about a good 2 minutes, our kiss stays as our eyes stay shut.
Finally, she pulls away and gives me a coy little smile. "Stick around longer tonight. Maybe I'll donate something to you too."
She winks, slowly and dramatically exiting the restaurant.
I wave goodbye, my face red and swooning from her touch.
All of which dropped to my usual, business like smile the moment she was out of the way.
I meant what it when I said I wasn't in the market for dating. But sometimes business means I have to use any means necessary.
After all, if I'm going to kill someone as high profile as her, I'm going to need to get closer.
It's a shame, really. I would have loved to sleep with her. But a job is a job.
My libido comes last. I'd rather have my money.
For potential clients in the market to have someone disappear, I have a far simpler method of contact compared to people who have complex systems like the Penthesilea Agency or Thanos Venge.
Word of mouth.
I may not make many friends(that I don't kill), but I do build a huge network of professional connections. I make nice with rich folk or other assassins who are morally fine with eliminating those in their way and in turn, they spread the word and hand out my calling cards that I leave around. In that card is a riddle and a phone number. If they solve the riddle and send the answer by text, the phone sends them a question sheet that they need to fill out and I review the request. If I think it's legitimate, I send them details about payment and burner phone numbers to let them contact me.
The riddle isn't all that complex but there's been a surge of clients and I think I should consider changing it.
Because I have no specific method of murder, I've been given many names because of my system of contact or my efficiency. Pandora, Silencer, Puzzle Box. But I think the one that stuck the most popular one is Checkmate. Clients are weird.
On to my current client, Hayner Mulch, President of Black Lily wants me to kill their philanthropist CEO, Serena Black. His best friend. And on a deadline too.
I have to get rid of her before she donates her company's money to the Eden Foundation. You must be thinking, why would anyone, much less her best friend, want to kill a nice lady for donating to a charity that helps fund housing for orphans? Envy? Bad blood?
Not those, but there are quite a few reasons actually. Serena, while kind as she is, is actually not very smart. Hayner knew that the Eden Foundation was part of a shady business that are orphaning children, taking them in, and housing them in these fake homes for show. Not only was a large amount of Black Lily's stock was going to be donated, but he also knew that the Eden Foundation were planning to use that money to cause a catastrophic shooting at a ghetto neighbourhood populated by Mexican immigrants and African Americans with police forces they have in their utility. They'll not only be orphaning children, they get to use this political outcry to promote that their company is part of the black lives matter movement and promote their cause to gain more donations. Of course, Serena didn't believe her best friend who himself has shady connections. Since the cops were in on this, there was no way he was going to turn this into them. Nor did he trust the FBI, considering his connections. When asking assassins to eliminate the Eden Foundation proved impossible because they all refused, me included, he asked me to kill her instead to at least prevent them from using their money for their plans. Ironically orphaning his god son.
Money's money. What happens to her spoiled kid isn't my business.

//
The Eden Foundation pre-partnership party starts at 6 in the evening. I have some time to kill, so I buy a new Tuxedo down at MJ Bale. They love me since I always come in to buy something instead of browsing.
Browsing at the store is a waste of time. I research what I want before I actually buy something so I won't hesitate like most people who come in to take a peak first.
Being firm about what you want will stop you from ever being hesitant. Hesitation is the last thing one needs when killing.
I say that, but at the moment, I hesitate entering Cloudy Day to buy my own pre-party caffeine. I'd rather not have another long conversation with Christine. Else I end up being rattled again.
But like she pointed out, I'd rather not drive to the farther cafes in the city.
So I suck it up and enter.
"Hi, welcome to-" Christine starts, pausing when she's me come in.
Though she stumbles a sec, her smile and cheery voice does not waver. "Oh hey, Patrick."
She turns around to face the coffee put for a sec and turns her head to me. "The usual?"
"Yeah." I say, placing the 5 dollars on the table.
"Thanks." She says. "Go take a seat. I'll bring it to you."
I nod, moving to find an empty booth. Though I really hope that by bring it to me she doesn't mean to have another unsettling conversation with me.
After about 4 minutes, she arrives with coffee in hand. "Here you go. And as always, thanks for the tip."
She turns to get back to work, her body indicating she's a little overworked and tired considering the lunch hour just ended.
For a second, I was glad she didn't stick around for round 2. But I spoke to soon.
"So hey." She suddenly says. "About this morning. Sorry about being weird. I really like you. I do. But I didn't mean to be assertive enough to make you uncomfortable. Sometimes I can be too much, as my mother used to say."
I take a sip and smile. "It's cool. It's a flattering that someone wants to throw themselves at me."
She laughs a little, turning her head towards my suit. "Oh! Someone's got a fancy suit. What's the occasion?"
"I'm going to a party." I tell her, trying to be as vague as possible.
"Okay. Wish you'd come in already wearing it though. I'd have love to see you look like James Bond."
"And risk accidentally spilling my coffee on it?" I say with a fake british accent. "Sorry, luv. I always have to be careful." 
Christine crosses her arms as she chuckles, nodding as she walks back to the counter.
As my eyes follow her, they trail off to find that man with the buzzcut sitting at another booth, talking to someone. Has he been here all day?
I've never seen him before, so it makes me cautious. But I don't feel too alarmed for some reason. Sometimes, tourists or business men do come here, so I put it out of my mind for now. I can investigate him later if he sticks around.
At the very least, I think it won't be awkward around Christine anymore.

//
I arrive 5 minutes early to the Black Manor located at the edge of Northbrick's cliffside.
The way I wormed myself into this party was simple. I "saved" her from a stick up. Like my data says, she's far too trusting for her own good. In a matter of 2 days, she already told me her sob life story of being a single mother who can't stand children in pain and how she was a mess before she turned her life around for her son. She's also got a dating problem.
By day 3, she already asked me to give her a chance to go out on a date. My guess, she's looking for a man responsible enough to take care of her son. Lady, your best friend is willing to adopt your kid after having you killed. Couldn't you just take him?
Thanks to this date, I found out she was deathly allergic to cumin after sending her meal back to have the cumin removed. She apparently nearly died years ago.
Again, too trusting.
This made moving forward with my plan far easier. I didn't have to sneak her out of the very well secured mansion just to shoot her somewhere and cover it up somehow.
I hired people to intercept her caterers and secretly swapped their precious chicken meals with ones stuffed with large servings of cumin disguised as rosemary seasoning.
It wasn't hard to get rid of any anti-allergy medication or epipens if there were never any in the premises. She's too cocky to believe she'd ever need any even when she knows a spoonful of cumin would kill her.
And her most fatal flaw would have to be living way too far from the city just to have a view every morning from her cliffside home. For someone so nice, she's got a pretty expensive taste in things.
Even if an ambulance makes it here, it'd be too late.
Serena, who was seated at a private table near the second floor railings, stood up
to call attention to guests on the first floor. This was her way of appearing very important. After all, if you have the high ground, you must be very important to have people beneath you.
Again, for a lady so nice, she has a pretty superior view of herself.
"Friends! Loved ones! Thank you for coming to my party this evening. Tonight is a special night, for this dinner will be for celebration of my upcoming partnership with the Eden Foundation!"
There are claps and fake smiles all around. I can tell that half of these people knew that this donation was a huge mistake.
"Children deserve to pick up their lives from the pain of losing their family. So a toast to giving orphans homes."
Everyone raises their glasses and take a sip.
"Now." She gives a wide, innocent smile. "Dig in!"
Everyone scatters across the room for their designated seating and she returns to her seat.
"She's doing great things." Someone said to me suddenly next to me.
Jacobi Black. Serena's teenage son. Also a nice kid.
I give him a sincere-ish smile. "Yeah."
"I'm proud of her you know?"
You really shouldn't be in a hurry to act and sound like an adult, kid. But then again, after tonight, you're going to have to be. "You should be."
I watch her, enjoying her chicken and coleslaw. Munching on what's already 3 spoonfuls of food.
It's in that moment that her happy expression begins to transform into horror. Her face begins swelling and turning red. 
I take this time to act suspicious, fabricating concern at the commotion taking place. "Hey, is something wrong with your mom?"
Jacobi walks forward to look. "Mom?"
She stands, her hands around her neck as she struggles to breathe.
"She's choking!" I shout, faking a distressed scream.
"MOM!" Jacobi rushes up the stairs, me following from behind.
Worried murmurs echo across the room.
Within an assumed 5 minutes, Serena Black will be dead. Her son will hold her hand, watching the life in her eyes disappear and a descent of rage will follow.
However, we weren't even halfway through the Black manor's outrageously long staircase when something incredibly convenient happened.
Serena stumbled and fell back, right towards the railing and down straight to the first floor.
There was a sickening crack as her body hit the ground. Her neck was bent ways that shouldn't be possible for anyone to survive. Her once beautiful face was bloated and oozing with blood and her limbs broken and bent out of shape.
Jacobi rushed back down, screaming for his mother again and again.
From the crowd, I spot my client, who watches in horror before closing his eyes.
He turns to me for a brief second, sending a short nod of acknowledgement, before rushing to pull Jacobi back.
I had kept myself looking devastated as police soon arrived to take statements. The catering service "admitted" to have confused rosemary and cumin together and that Serena Black's death was deemed a terrible, terrible accident. I had my own connections with the police so I made sure that there wouldn't be a heavier investigation.
A cop approached me, taking out a pen and a notepad.
"Save it." he says.
"Good evening to you too, Henry." I say quietly, not dropping my facade in the face of other guests.
"How much you make tonight?" he inquired, continuing to fabricate a report on his notepad.
"Probably a quarter of what she was going to give to that evil foundation."
"Mhmm." That's code for a drink soon.
He puts a hand over my shoulder, as if to comfort me. "Maybe somewhere fancier this time?"
"Fine." I wipe tears from my eyes. 
"You're free to go."
I nod, preparing to walk out.
Before I leave, I move towards Jacobi, who was sobbing into the President's chest.
I knelt down and pat his back.
"She was all I had. And I was all she needed." He suddenly said in between sobs. "She lived for me and for those kids that suffer. Mom was everything. What do I have to live for anymore?"
My body cringes and I find myself silent for a few seconds before I can formulate a response.
"She would want you to live on." He didn't even respond, just pushing himself off and running straight for his room.
Black Lily's President turns to me, opening his mouth to say something that I know was about my report. I shake my head in response, only pointing to the phone in my pocket to tell him to just text me. I walk away as the cops put a tarp over Serena's body. I could only keep my hands on my face as I blended with the crowd of horrified guests on their way out. Some of them were even saying that they knew this was coming. To them, I must look like I'm devastated. In reality, I'm smiling and suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous chain of events that transpired tonight. It wasn't until I was halfway back to my car that I finally managed to control myself.
The moment I made it to my car, I stop a few seconds to breathe in and breathe out.

"Taylor?" That wasn't my name. I know it wasn't my name. So why did I turn around?
From behind me, the same man with a buzzcut from the cafe earlier approached me. He wore a brown leather jacket and jeans, making him stand out from everyone who seemed to have gussied up to look fancy tonight. How did I or anyone else not noticed him?
"Taylor." He repeats himself. Before I can respond, something flashes in my head. This static-y image. This black and white image of a boy standing over me. A long, thought to be forgotten image. 
My head begins to hurt and I stumbled back.
"Hey are you-"
"That's not..." I can't even completely say that's not my name and just get in to my car.
The man taps at my window as I start my engine to drive off.
From behind me, I can hear him give chase for a bit and shouting that name again.
I nearly swerve but manage to regain control.
Why did he call me Taylor?

What just happened?

Continue to the next chapter: Hallowed Light - Unravelling // Awakened

-Author Notes:
Hope you all enjoyed Part two of the Light series.
The last two parts of the series is what I haven't totally finished yet and will take time to release so stay tuned.

Sinister Light - Fantasy // Line

"I gave up everything. EVERYTHING!"
-Takuto Maruki (Persona 5 Royal)

There was something calming about killing people at Twilight's light. Not that anyone ever realized that the dead were really dead by the time I had my hands on them.
A fine show of where I've brought myself in my line of work.
In an underground network full of crooks and sketchy men, I like to believe the name Patrick Walsh has power. Just below Gyle Winfreed, a terrifying ex-assassin, and just above the likes of Thanos Venge, a hacker from Eastbrick. Not that I believe he was any more of a threat to the criminal underworld than Gyle these days.
My hands reached for my phone, already anticipating that the client was calling. I can never really comprehend how the clients seem to call just after I finish someone off. Was it intuition? Or was it impatience?
"It's done." I say to my current client.
Quentin Leed. A young intern for one of those sketchy multi-million companies. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and he just couldn't keep his mouth shut.
I try not to get attached to my clients details. It makes it so much easier to snuff a life out.
No hard feelings Quentin. I like to survive.
Killing him wasn't nearly as fun as I anticipated. I heard he had a black belt in Judo. But then again, I'm more of a pragmatist. There are no rules in my type of engagement. I will kill without any hesitation and with any resource I have.
I waited for him to do his daily jog. His route was stupid enough to bring him to the woods. And there, I slit his throat and buried him in a 10 foot hole and filled it with concrete.
At the end of the day, I get to come home with a fat envelope and I can continue paying for Netflix and buying whatever the hell I want.
It makes me wonder why people like Gyle would leave. I hear it was for love, but I don't believe in that bullshit.
Justice and morals are useless. Justice is hard to believe in in this world where corruption lives on even in the lives of the simple men of simple lives.
Look at Thanos Venge. He lives on revenge, his way of justice, but he's just one person. And its not like he's doing it for free.
And years ago, there was this woman I respected. Her ability was like no other. Though I nor anyone can quite remember her name. Just the initials E.R.
I heard she lived as she died, standing by her beliefs that stood within that grey line of morality.
Peers often ask me what I live for.
Honestly, I can kill anyone in a heartbeat and that's the only question that stops me.
Its kept me up at night sometimes.
I took life so easy, but I can't justify mine.
What did I live for?
At this point, nothing really.

//

In my off days away from my usual grind, I liked to take up a thousand hobbies to try and replicate the feeling of accomplishment that I used to feel when I did a job successfully.
Away from the occasional fighters, my job has been boringly easy.
And I've lost any form of excitement.
But honestly, nothing evokes a sensation. Video games are exciting for a few hours before they get predictable. Sports become way too repetitive. And I've dabbled in some degree of literature. Nothing too interesting to keep me going.
Cooking was an essential skill I needed to learn at a young age. Though there has been a blur in my memories regarding my past.
Like a block that took away what I once was.
The only bits and pieces I have of what I was in my youth was some faces I knew, certain skills that could keep me alive, and a dark patch where I remember a teenager blocking me from another man. My family I assume.
That teenager's face was so obscure that I never could quite replicate it in drawing, another skill I had. I used to look for him. But I've long since gave up. There was no point in trying to look for someone who could be gone.
If you ask me what my earliest memories were, I'd outright lie to you.
I'm a freelance killer, not a hired friend. I won't tell you anything about myself because anyone, a friend, a lover, a client, can become a target. And I've been hardened enough to not keep many attachments close. Makes it easier to kill someone when they tell you "You were my friend".
But... if by some rare chance I did value you enough to keep you off my little black book, I will admit to you that the last real memory I can think of is actually starting my training from the first person I could never kill. My instructor, whose name has already been erased from society so he too can live a normal life, watched over me and left me to believe he was the only family I had left.

//

"Oh, Pat. Come for the usual?" This was Christine Mackenzie. A young girl who operates the cafe right across my apartment. She likes me for some strange reason. I won't lie, I like the view. But I'm not nearly as horny as 98 percent of the white male populace nor am I looking to date so I'm just here for the coffee. 
I give her a polite nod and take out the prepared 5 dollars in my pocket. tt's 2.50 for Cloudy Day Cafe's average cup of coffee. But it's common courtesy to leave a tip so I just hand it to her and she doesn't give me the change anymore after I continued to insist on her keeping it.
"You know, I'm just gonna say it straight out." She suddenly says. "You've been coming to this cafe for so long and only during my shift."
It's not like it was my fault I wanted coffee in the morning nor am I god to put you in the same crappy 7 A.M shift you're on.
She gives one of those silly half smiles she likes to give to the customers. "How long is it gonna take you to ask me out on a date yet?"
Spunky. I thought. I usually do something for girls to want me whenever I need something from them.
I don't think buying coffee regularly should mean I'm actually trying.
Was I really that hot?
"You're joking right? Christine, you don't even know me. For all you know, I could be some psychotic killer."
Psychotic's a strong word, but you get the point.
The semi-rude tone doesn't stop her. Her smile now a full on beam. "Then let me get to know you. I want to take a peak into that brain of yours."
No thank you. I doubt you'd be able to handle what's in my grey matter.
Should I start looking for another cafe? Ah, but the average cafes here in Northbrick, Colorado stray too far from each other to give each one located in each sector of the city a fair shot. I'm not about to drive to the Starbucks in Lindholm Street for that.
Or I could say no thank you. Polite rejection should stop anyone.
"Sorry but maybe I'll pass." I say. She doesn't lower her cheeky smile. "It's just, you have to understand that I don't really know you. You can't seriously just make me go out with someone I hardly know."
She laughs. "You sound like a girl. But I understand the logic. If only other men knew how to act like that."
Insult aside, I guess it worked.
She hands the coffee to me but suddenly backs it up. "Or, we can start by being friends."
Why is she suddenly so persistent?
She chuckles and hands me the cup. "My break's in 5 minutes. Talking casually can't hurt, can it?"
I'm too speechless to counter argue and just walk to a table. Maybe if I leave she'll back off.
On the other hand, I might get banned from buying here and I really don't want to buy instant coffee.
Sure enough, 5 minutes later she was sitting in front of me like we've been chums since forever.
"You're so persistent, you know?" I say. Almost impressed but sure to add attitude.
She shrugs it off and crosses her arms. "So I've been told."
Taking a sip of my coffee, I try to read into this to get a grasp on what her deal was. But from my view, all I see is a curious girl showing way too much cleavage and seemingly overworked with those tired looking hands of hers.
"Why do you want to get to know me anyway? I'm just a regular you make idle small talk with. What on earth possessed you to want to go out with me? Are you horny?"
Oops. That last one just slipped out.
Instead of offense, she's completely doubled over. "With that wit? I already love you."
She takes a few seconds to collect herself before continuing. "There's something interesting behind those innocent looking eyes of yours. A story. I like that in a person."
"You like... People who look like they're hiding really dark secrets?"I say, pretending to look offended.
She waves  her hands to try and defend her answer. "AND you look great. You can hide it in that coat but you've got the bod and I've already confirmed you've got the common decency and humor."
I really want to roll my eyes. Presumptuous people are the worst kind of people I deal with daily. 
"That's kinda creepy." I say. "Aren't you at all worried that I just might never come back for you trying to hit on me?"
Christine smirks and leans in closer. "Well, from the way you seem to come here, I take it you don't bother with the other cafes in the area so I'm sure you won't run."
For a second, she's a little too close for comfort, but she eventually backs away. "I guess I'm just saying I'm curious."
"Why can't you be curious about the other regulars?" I ask.
Her face grows bored and she turns to the other tables that had many of the familiar faces.
One by one, she points out each and every regular I see coming in. "Divorcee, smug entrepreneur, twelve stepping drug addict, hopeless romantic, and angry college student."
She turns to me. "They're too easy."
I knew she was right because I made sure to gather data about people around here to make sure no one around Northbrick would be a threat.
 Aside from that assassin from the Penthesilea Agency who got rid of that painter before leaving, I was sure that no one could compromise me.
But this pushy girl is letting it seem like she knows more than what her file says. Or am I just too paranoid?
"And what is it about me that  doesn't seem easy?"
"Like I said. Your eyes." She inclines her head as she keeps her gaze on my eyes. "Something's in there. And like, it makes me want to ask what you live for."
That question again. That damn question again. I don't know if I seem rattled, but this conversation is really not entertaining anymore.
"Sorry, did I hit a nerve?" She asked, sincerely. "It's just... There really is something about you that's intriguing."
We're silent for a few minutes. My coffee is getting cold in my hand but I feel paralyzed to my seat.
"Sorry. I think I'm making you uncomfortable."
She wasn't wrong. I haven't been this uncomfortable since I watched a man willingly eat a vat of acid.
"Nah." I wave it off, trying to reestablish my non-work facade. "Just some deep questions that I have no answers to. Believe it or not, I'm just an ordinary, overworked office worker."
Christine chuckles, taking the cup I hand her as she stands. "Ordinary people don't exist."

She takes over for Cherie at the counter and serves a sharp-looking man with a buzzcut. She gives me a small wave as I walk off, her questions still lingering in my head.

Continue to Part 2: Cold Light - Blurred // Beyond

Author's notes:
I hope you like it. This story was originally something else but I've forgotten the concept I originally adapted and came up with this recently.
I've already finished like 85 percent of this story but it's too long to put in one post. So stay tuned for the next parts of the Light Trilogy.