After a long, draining day, dealing with the unsettling cast of monster personnel at OmniCorp, Chase finally allowed himself the luxury of escape.
He left the high-rise, walking down the street which, even at this late hour, was still crammed with the pulsating, restless life of the city. He walked the familiar path toward the subway, the constant background hum of the Awakened city a subtle pressure on his senses. He boarded the train after a short wait. It was almost empty—a few other figures heading home from their own late-night office jobs. It made sense; it was only 8:23 PM.
Most people were either home, or trapped in the corporate grind of overtime.
Ten minutes later, he arrived at his stop. He still had a three-minute walk before he reached his apartment complex.
Arriving at the reception desk, the security guard, Tod—an older man around forty—waved him through with a familiar smile.
"Good night, Chase. First day at work went well, I see."
Chase gave him a simple, noncommittal nod. "You could say so, Tod.
They put you on nights again?"
"Yeah. Most of the security we have are young women, and Administration finds it better that a guy does this shift. You know, less complaints of drunk idiots getting their asses handed to them for messing with the girls," Tod said, giving a small, weary smirk.
As Chase stepped into the elevator, he exchanged final goodbyes with Tod.
He pressed the button for the fourth floor and let out a tired sigh. "This day was a far greater challenge than I expected," he muttered to himself. The mental gymnastics required to appear oblivious to the fact that half his office wanted to either worship or devour him had been utterly exhausting.
The elevator chimed, and Chase walked up to his apartment. It was a lavish home, a stark contrast to the modest, simple life he had desperately wanted. His parents had won a significant sum in a raffle years ago and had used the money to set up Chase and his two siblings.
Tragically, they both died in an accident when Chase started college. He'd been living alone ever since.
He unlocked the door with his fingerprint, and it opened with a soft, expensive click. He walked past the marble-topped kitchen island with its built-in stove and oven, placing his briefcase on the counter. He moved to the cupboard, pulling it open to reveal an impressive wine collection. He had told himself he would only get the "essentials" when setting up the home, but letting his sister—a connoisseur of the finer things—pick out the place had clearly been a mistake. It was a spacious two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment; far too large, but he wasn't going to argue with the ghost of a sister's insistence.
He grabbed a bottle of full-bodied Cabernet and poured a generous glass, intending to finally relax and vent some steam. It was at that moment he felt it: a familiar, nauseating ripple in the ambient spiritual energy of the room.
Chase stopped, wine glass halfway to his lips, a look of profound annoyance twisting his features. He knew exactly who it was. That damned, incompetent goddess.
The space in front of the marble island shimmered, distorting the air like heat over asphalt, and then she stood there. She was impossibly beautiful, radiating a blinding light that Chase had to squint against, yet she looked profoundly dishevelled and stressed.
"Hey, Chase! Long time no see," the goddess chirped, flashing a nervous, practiced smile. "How have you been? Good, I hope. So, um, the thing is—"
Chase cut her off, his voice flat and brittle with exhaustion and resentment. "What do you want? Just get to it, you damned woman."
"Right, right. No time for pleasantries," she said, wringing her ethereal hands. "I have a favor to ask. I need you to look after one of my followers for me. I'm sort of in a lot of trouble right now, and I really need your help. I promise, I promise, it won't affect your simple life."
Chase knew better than anyone that she was spouting utter nonsense. Anything connected to her was, by definition, a massive problem. Deciding to humor her, he agreed to the request, but only after he received his own answers.
"Goddess," Chase began, taking a slow sip of wine. "How does my boss know about our agreement, and who exactly is she?"
She shifted, avoiding eye contact by pretending to inspect a ceiling fixture. "Well, she knows about our deal because of a contract I made with her, and a few others, to notify them when someone working with us has entered this world."
"And that deal is that they can absorb my Essence to keep them satisfied?"
"Yes! Precisely!" she confirmed with alarming enthusiasm. "But you are strong, Chase. You don't really have to worry about that now. Also, some of them may try to eat you, but don't mind that—it's just workplace culture!" She suddenly checked her non-existent watch on her hand. "Oh, dear, look at the time! I have an emergency in the divine realm! Thanks, Chase! You're the best!"
With another blinding flash, she was gone, leaving behind only the subtle scent of ozone and total chaos.
Chase stared at the shimmering spot she had occupied.
Why the hell have I been working for her in the first place? I should have quit millennia ago. She's utterly incompetent at completing simple tasks. She hadn't even given him a name or any information about the follower he was supposed to meet.
Ignoring the fresh mess he'd been dragged into, he took a large sip of his wine, kicked back on the couch, and turned on the television, determined to wring some peace from the evening.
A few hours passed. The TV droned on, a soothing background noise, when a knock was heard at the door. Before Chase could rise, the knocking escalated into a frantic, demanding pounding.
Chase strode over and opened the door. Looking out, he initially saw no one.
Then a voice, petulant and ringing with annoyance, snapped,
"Hey, you Chase?"
Looking down, Chase saw a very short, very angry demon woman. She had voluminous white hair that looked like a permanent electrical storm, sharp white horns, and striking red eyes. She was dressed in a punk aesthetic—a skull graphic t-shirt and a leather jacket studded with spikes and buckles, giving off an air of profound youthful rebellion.
"Yes. I am Chase," he confirmed.
Without another word, the demon—who Chase immediately decided to internally name Rixsa—simply invited herself in. She didn't walk; she stalked past him, her tail flicking with irritation.
"Took you long enough," Rixsa complained, gesturing dismissively at the apartment. "You got a nice place. Too much walking space, though. I'll be unpacking my stuff. Call me if you need me to, like, answer the door or something."
With that, she disappeared down the hall in the direction of the guest room.
Chase stood by the open door, utterly dumbfounded. A goddess had killed him, resurrected him in an office of predators, and now saddled him with a rude, lazy, punk-rock demon roommate.
What did I expect? he thought, closing the door with a loud, definitive click. That damned goddess and her followers are truly the absolute worst. He walked back to his wine glass and took a massive gulp.
He had wished for a simple, modest, peaceful life. He had received a chaotic, lavish apartment, an alpha-predator boss, and now, a demonic squatter. His fate was a cruel joke.