-Tell me, I beg you, Greatest Sage—do I deserve to be called brave if I jump into the water without looking for a ford?
Will the people love me if I never asked for their opinion?
And the Wise Man said: These questions make you a follower. So go your own way, and for the love of all that's holy, drop the home decor monologues and these endless nature descriptions. Add more meat to the bones before you turn into another literary drone.
Peter Dinklage. 16th Century AD.
The Beginning and... Until the End.
All set! Starting… Ugh, hold on! Let me brush my hair one more time and figure out which pose makes me look the hottest on Wait, why are you filming from my bad side?! You tryna kill my media presence?
-This is no time for jokes. I'm a true professional, not some cheap rookie. Did you remember to open the script?-
I don't think I've hit dementia .. why the hell are your hands shaking? Where's that big ol' professionalism of yours, huh? Okay, fine. Don't whine. Let's roll!
And so, in that lovely atmosphere (or, as the viewers of this show would say
— vibe) of mutual mockery and passive-aggressive bickering, the next shoot kicked off. In a big room painted bright emerald, filled with all sorts of overdecorated furniture and giant tripod lights (that, of course, would never make it into the frame), only two people were present.
And while the host just puffed her lips in mild annoyance, her cameraman went full scowl mode, glued to the lens.
Hey there, girlies! We've got an amazing episode lined up today — we're diving into a brand-new collection of concealers from your fave brand!
Plus, we'll compare them to some budget-friendly options out there to figure out what's fashion, and what's just plain flop!
What kind of brain-dead intro is that?! I've told her like a hundred freakin' times that 'Hey there, girlies' sounds super outdated and cringe. Might as well say, 'Greetings, fair maidens!' She never listens to my creative input, just dumps all the organizing and tech crap on me, — Antwan puffed up even more, and with his naturally scrawny frame, now resembled a pissed-off winter bullfinch.
Meanwhile, the host kept her fake smile glued in place, robotically sorting through the shiny new beauty packages, mumbling her pre-written lines.
The lady was just waiting for this routine, soul-sucking performance to end. Sure, she didn't need as much sleep as your average human, but still — poetically speaking — sometimes she just wanted to dropkick her way into dreamland.
Or at least flop on the bed with some coffee and scroll through endless Stories without a thought in her head.
Ah, the tragic grind of a beauty blogger! Always talking nonsense, faking that bubbly energy, trying not to break into hysterical laughter at the sheer amount of crap you say to the camera.
But even eternity has its limits, especially in the noble art of makeup reviews. And finally, Antwan gave the sacred call: -Cut! That's a wrap!- and the two of them shared a tired glance.
-Day shift's over. Please let there be no night work, 'cause I am burned out like the most burned-out person in the history of burnout.-
Right on, Antwan, – I said softly, catching his mental – But y'know, instead of pulling double shifts, you could've just gone to college, worked here on the side, and stopped running around the streets at night chasing who-knows-what.
-And miss all the fun? Hell no, Alenari. After everything I've seen and learned, there's no way I can go back to living like some average student rotting in a sweaty classroom with crusty old profs. So spare me the lectures.-
Now it was my turn to sigh. This stubborn kid always liked to flash his teeth at me — metaphorically speaking, thank God, 'cause those things were crooked as hell. Dragging him to a dentist was a lost cause.
The boy was scared of practically nothing, except for two things: dentists and being ignored. And while his fear of boredom was basic and predictable, his obsession with being heard needed a closer look — because I could proudly say I was the only living being in the world who could actually hear him.
His telepathic ability wasn't some cool supernatural gift that made him an instant psychic celebrity adored by old ladies everywhere. Much to his dismay, he had zero connection to the spirit world, and I was the only one who could hear his inner monologues. The boy couldn't speak out loud, but I'd managed to reach him and set up a direct link to his brain.
So now, forever and ever, I was stuck with the son of my late best friend — a boy I'd legally adopted. But I still called him my nephew, since that made it easier for him to deal with the whole losing-his-mom thing.
All those thoughts zipped through my head while I stepped outside to get some fresh air. That same head was throbbing with a nasty migraine, and the icy winter breeze felt like sweet balm for my brain.
My cameraman was still fiddling with his gear somewhere inside the house, while I paced around our evergreen garden—the one I used to tend to all by myself… well, okay, not anymore, now there's a hired help involved, but hey, doesn't change the facts! I loved that little garden of ours, always putting me in a springtime kind of mood.
While I was in the middle of all this emotional goo and pastel fluff, the world around me wasn't asleep, and I got yanked back into reality by a call. I focused on the incoming task, and the implant wired into my brain picked it up.
Hello, my I'm not interrupting, am I?
I waited patiently for my friend to finish speaking, as any conversation with her ran at tortoise-speed mode. But I respected her—both as a person and for her painfully poetic delivery—so I never rushed her.
Not at all, We just wrapped the shoot. How are you? I must apologize again, but I'm afraid I have to ruin your rest with some bad news. There's a potential danger that demands your immediate attention, darling. Unless, of course, you're too tired or simply not in the mood. I'm terribly sorry!
I winced internally. That's so Mia. Forever eloquent and constantly apologizing for things she has absolutely no control over.
WHAT HAPPENED, MIA? My "baby" caught some strange movement near the It doesn't look like anything human. Did the camera glitch again? – I asked sharply, instantly slipping into combat-ready mode. Maybe tonight was gonna be one of those nights… Just a little. And the movement, sadly, ended too fast. So maybe it's not our business after I'll upload the coordinates to your Inbox. Take it, my dear, maybe it'll come in handy. Again, sorry for the intrusion!
I said goodbye with all the warmth I could muster and immediately checked the coordinates. Huh… the object—or subject—was somewhere past Avenue Louise of Brussels, in the slums section of Lisbon. I looked at our lovely manor, where Antwan was currently hiding out, and, after a second's thought, mentally shrugged.
No need to bother the kid. He's already worn out. Let him rest and recharge. I'll go check things out myself. And if it is our -client, - I'll handle it and record the whole takedown straight to my retinal feed.
Sure, the footage quality would be trash, and that would slash my paycheck in half, but screw it—Antwan's worth more than all the damn royalties in the world. Wait—did I remember to close off my brain from eavesdropping? Whew, yeah, otherwise he'd be bringing it up for the next ten years, minimum.
As you wish… ten it is. You asked for it.– A half-thought-half-vision flickered through my head, which I completely ignored as I fondly recalled my nephew's childhood.
With all these relaxed, semi-useless musings and memories, my body wandered through the frostbitten streets of the City. This massive metropolis had no bad habits like falling asleep, and it wasn't fazed by the empty streets either—after all, the population kept getting topped off with new arrivals from beyond the Border.
My legs carried me straight to Plaza Mayor, and now I was weaving through couples and chatting friend groups across this central Spanish
square. Lights were sparkling, everything looked like a fairy tale, and happy faces beamed in anticipation of the upcoming holiday festivities. But for me, the only special day was when nobody rang my damn brain like a doorbell.
I bumped into a flyer guy who muttered a few sleazy remarks about my clumsy self and apparently oversized butt. On any other day, I'd have happily shoved those words right up his own butt cheeks—but alas, I was in a hurry.
If Mia's "baby" aka her drone, picked up suspicious activity, I had to check it out. Say what you will about her quirks—Mia had a real knack for sniffing out runaway creeps.
The square tranCityoned smoothly into Abbey Road from good old London, and suddenly everyone around me was speaking English. The architecture also changed, turning older and fancier. I would've loved to stop and stare, but time was ticking. They don't wait around for your convenience, and any delay could mean casualties.
Yeah, yeah, don't waste energy before the real party starts—my inner cheapskate squeaked in my head again, asking me to save some fuel. I rolled my eyes and, as always, ignored that annoying little miser.
Minor Transform isn't that hard to pull off. For me, anyway.
All I had to do was let go of my usual leg-flesh and let the pale, ghostly substance that replaced my legs flow freely over the pavement. That kind of levitation gives you major speed, but it also attracts some… let's say unwanted attention.
I had zero rights to blow my cover, so I could only use this trick in deserted areas. Lucky me—Avenue Louise had just emptied out, like someone swept away the crowd with an invisible broom. In his cardboard palace, some homeless guy was snoring up a storm, rattling the whole block. Not wanting to startle the poor soul, I zipped through the air, nice and quiet.
If the sleepy guy had opened his eyes, he probably would've thought he was stuck in some totally bonkers dream.
I leaned my body forward to give it a nice aerodynamic shape, picked up speed, and zipped toward the slums in no time.
The closer I got to the visible edge of the Wall, the fewer houses there were. The kind with glowing windows where people made cozy little lives and looked forward to their evenings. Anyone with a working brain had already packed their bags and left this cursed place. The only ones still here were the completely fried daredevils, those who had nothing to lose and nowhere to go, or the ones who just didn't feel like shaking hands with the almighty law.
It was exactly that kind of fine citizen I saw mid-flight—a bunch of sketchy dudes poking around the flowerbeds and bushes, clearly searching for something. Judging by the way they moved, it was like they were on the deck of a swaying ship instead of solid ground.
-Treasure hunters? Or rogue gardeners? – I smirked internally, but I didn't have time to dwell on this crew's questionable hobbies. I had arrived.