It was evening (6:02 to be exact), but it might as well have been called night (a deep, dark night).
The moon was blue, shining its radiance down at the world, but even that was swallowed by the palpable darkness of the city below, District Forty-Two.
In a random, rundown apartment, one could hear the sound of a woman moaning, a single mother struggling to pay the next bill, the next expense, the next emergency.
She looked... desirable. Her skin white as snow, her hair raven black, her form petite to an extent, not out of hunger but because she was naturally slender.
"Pa! Pa! Pa!"
She rode a man, white, pot-bellied, he seemed like the kind of guy you'd find in some insurance office or car sales, there was a ring on his finger, he was married, but not to this woman.
The room was lit by a certain reddish hue, from the nightlight, but it was dimmer than normal.
The child lay asleep in the far corner of the room, in their crib, undisturbed and unaware.
"Fuck me, daddy!" Her exaggerated moans filled the room, she did not seem bothered that her neighbors would hear, and the man seemed to enjoy it, panting heavily even though he was making little movement, his eyes alive with glee.
His dick slid into her pussy with ease, aided by lube and her natural wetness, the audible slapping of flesh growing louder with each moment.
And on the other side of the room, there was a TV showing a news station, which was muted.
"Bam!"
At that instant, a loud thud shocked both adults to attention; dust and debris flying everywhere.
As the dust cleared, they saw a woman with glowing, blood-red eyes suddenly standing in the middle of the room.
At first glance, her hair looked like a sleek, inky black, but the moment she turned her head or the light caught it just right, the hidden depths revealed themselves: a bold, electric blue shimmering beneath the black.
She wore what seemed to be a dark cloak, flowing faintly from the night wind from the window she had just broken to enter this room.
Both the man and the woman sat up in shock, using the bed covers to... well, cover themselves.
They did not scream, ask questions, or try to defend themselves. Why?
Because there was something palpably unreal about this woman as if she was both there and not at the same time.
'How did she even get in?' The single mother thought in shock. They were on the seventh floor of this apartment; there were no stairs to climb, no emergency fire exits, just a window.
But that thought was irrelevant now.
Looking to the burly man attempting to cover himself, the red-eyed enigma tilted her head and asked, "Where is the remote?"
At those words, the man, (as though compelled by some mystical force), pointed at a corner in the room.
Looking towards that corner, the red-eyed woman walked over and unmuted the TV, where the polished, grave face of a news anchor could be seen on the screen.
The streaking words below her read: "CRISIS IN DISTRICT 42 – LIVE."
[Good evening. We are continuing our live coverage of the unprecedented and horrifying situation unfolding at Binland's psychiatric hospital in District Forty-Two, where a standoff that began just after noon, stirred by a manslaughter tip from an anonymous person, has now stretched into the evening hours]
Behind the reporter, the large building (Binland hospital) was lit by the swirling red and blue lights of a dozen emergency vehicles.
The image then cut to shaky cell phone footage from earlier in the day: showing a woman in a business suit, her face contorted in terror and streaked with tears, perched precariously on a window ledge on the third floor.
Her sobs were almost audible over the gasps of the crowd below.
[The scene has been one of chaos and confusion,] the anchor's voiceover continued. [It has quickly devolved into what witnesses are describing as a 'bizarre nightmare.' We have seen individuals, confirmed to be employees and not armed terrorists, engaging in violent struggles with police and SWAT teams inside. Others, like Senior Therapist Sarah Ali seen here, have appeared at windows, seemingly compelled to threaten suicide.] She said, frowning slightly.
The footage then changed to show a man in a torn shirt, being subdued by three SWAT officers in a stairwell, screaming, "I have a bomb! I'll take us all with me!"
[Authorities have confirmed that the instigator is a single individual: a white female, identity yet to be formally released, but described as wearing a hoodie and…] the anchor paused slightly, her lips curling in confusion at what she was reading. […and possessing a visible, prehensile tail. She is believed to be moving through the upper floors, orchestrating this chaos while remaining elusive.]
The screen then split again, showing (on one side), the live shot of the building while on the other stood a grainy, zoomed-in still image captured by a news helicopter.
It shows a hooded figure standing by a shattered window, a long, sinuous shape curled beside her on the floor.
[Despite a full SWAT deployment and the building being surrounded for hours, the suspect has not been located. Gunfire-]
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
A faint, but distinct series of pops could be heard in the background of the live feed.
[-Continues to ring out sporadically from within the structure. Police have confirmed that their primary objective is the preservation of life, focusing on sedating and securing the apparently mind-controlled civilians. A steady trickle of these non-terrorists has been successfully escorted to safety throughout the afternoon, many requiring immediate medical and psychological evaluation.]
The journalist then turned to a panelist. [Professor Evans, from a tactical standpoint, how does one even begin to approach a situation like this?]
The feed cut back to the live building shot as the expert began his analysis, but the TV was muted at this point.
"What could have provoked such a slip-up from Carla? It's almost impossible for anyone to tell on her," the red-eyed woman muttered, thinking heavily.
'She'll survive,' she then shrugged, groaning to herself. "But I'm hella curious!"
By now it was evident that this woman was Amethyst, and as she paced around the room she saw the two people staring at her, seemingly scared or unnerved.
"You know, instead of fucking, them you could just kill them," Amethyst suddenly spoke, her form pausing unnaturally, her glowing red eyes locked on the slender woman, who shook under her gaze. "Don't worry about the fact that they're physically stronger than you, that doesn't count when they're bleeding out. And they're not that smart (I think it's because their dicks require a lot of blood to function), you could hide a knife within the bed and slit his throat, it's really difficult though so you'll have to figure that out, you could use a screwdriver for your first time, more piercing power-"
At her ramblings, the woman remained quiet shrinking into the bed cover.
"I could give you the contact of a... Collector, he'll buy anything, hair, teeth, he doesn't mind if it's decapitated too, the price would drop, though," Amethyst continued to ramble.
As though noting that the woman didn't seem too keen on her idea, she tilted her head. "I'm just trying to help for breaking your window, no?" she asked tilting her head as she noted the woman's growing horror. "Alright but the man beside you is already dead, couldn't help myself," she concluded.
At those words, the woman quickly turned her head, and to her horror, she saw that the man seated by her was indeed bleeding from a long slit in his throat, his eyes rolled back seemingly having been dead for a while.
"I believe you'll need this, and hey if you don't wanna do it, you can always say the Artist visited, toddles!" Amethyst giggled jumping out the window, her form disappearing into the night.
For a while, the naked woman sat there, stunned, the hum of the television and the faint snores of her child being the only sounds in the room.
She then looked at the card, her eyes horrified and unsure.