Heartthrob

The burgers were greasy, slightly overcooked, and drowning in mayonnaise. Purity hadn't asked for mayonnaise, nor the limp white onions or the wet, flaccid lettuce that completed her meal.

She didn't care. It tasted like home: like better times, better things. Tasted like when she was young.

Kristoff's free lunch had come with information, which Purity soaked up like a sponge; after Alex had passed, Kristoff had been forced to look for a new supplier. He used what few connections he still had in the city to secure something, some sort of influx of new product, but it was... shady, to say the least; he'd been rolling it over in his mind for weeks, now, morality once again coming a'knocking at his jaded heart.

But. In Vitus, you either sank or swam, and he had decided —- despite all indications that things were off — to swim. This new dealer had been providing more product at suspiciously reasonable prices, he admitted, but not without suspiciously explicit instructions. Kristoff was ordered to only sell to current customers, and not to expand outward; if he was to be found furthering his 'market portfolio' (the supplier's words, not his), then those refrigerated supply trucks of "meat" would just stop coming one day, as if they'd never started.

Bile churned in Purity's gut the entire time Kristoff was describing the encounter, and the details of his contract. First and foremost, it reeked of Tsang. Alex had been Tsang, that was true — but, he was a diamond in the rough, one in a million. He hadn't been like the others, not entirely.

But this new person... Bluntly, they read to Purity as more of a classic Tsang flunkie pulling what strings they could to hoard more gold, all while avoiding the scrutiny of their boss. She had lived in the city, and in close proximity to Tsang corporate, to know all too well how they operated. They'd keep Kristoff on a leash, furthering an otherwise sickening affair simply for some modicum of personal gain, until he stopped being useful. Then, he'd be the next one in a jail cell — or on someone else's plate.

But... Well, it was disturbingly restrained. The cheaper prices, in particular, flared like a warning sign in Purity's mind. Why would this new supplier be able to get Kristoff what he needed for cheaper than Alex? The thought ran circles round Purity's brain as the old man went on and on, describing how prompt and discreet the new shipments were; no one ever thought twice about a meat truck pulling up in the dead of night, but this new guy got them in during daylight hours.

Now that was wrong. Completely wrong. No one did damn near anything during the day in Vitus — not unless they wanted to do it where no one else would see. And this person was confident no one would ask Kristoff any sort of questions, or draw any sort of attention?

Ugh. The entire affair was like spoiled milk to Purity, yet the only answer she could come up with was so awful she didn't even dare consider it to be the truth. But... Kristoff had said one of Purity's girls had been in here, under some sort of dinner-date pretense. Apparently she'd gotten a text setting it all up, and— No. No.

Purity's blood ran cold in an instant, and the wave of nausea in her core - coupled with the tightening of her gut into a dense Gordian knot — was nearly enough to cause her to refund that burger, with some change, all over Kristoff's floor. She formed her lips into a practiced false smile, white teeth displayed in a perfect pearly half-moon, while her mind screamed at her to get into panic mode. Beneath the table the pair had taken refuge at, Purity's left hand slowly reached down to grab the grip of the pistol Khetnep had afforded her.

"Kristoff?" Purity interjected, slicing the older man's prose — and train of thought — in twain. He stumbled over his words for a moment, blinking as though awoken from a dream, before focusing his gaze upon her anew. "Yes, Purity? What is it? I was, ahah, I was rambling, I suppose... I... I'm still unsure about this new guy, but... Well, ends have been... Meeting better than usu—"

Purity continued on without hesitation. "How long after that girl came in for the supposed 'date' did you get in touch with this new supplier? A few days? A week? A few weeks?"

Her smile was pristine, as always; she had practiced for so long to get it just right. Her words, however, were daggers, and their blades dripped icy venom.

Kristoff blinked again, expression shifting to concern. "Bwah... A week, about. I had to hustle to lock something down ASAP, so that there was no break in my stock... In a game like this, even a single bit of slow-down and you fall behind competitors, and your customers—"

Purity interjected again. "Kristoff, how did you find this person? Just slumming it around IRE sites in town, looking for whoever wore a black suit with a red tie? I know you said something about your contacts, but, ahah, I..." And, as Purity trailed off, Kristoff seemed to understand what was happening here. His face drained of color; his eyes shut once then opened wide, like the shutter of a camera; his mouth drooped agape, a single soft groan escaping him like the death rattle of some ancient lizard.

"Purity! No, no, it's not like that— he's just some layman who knows the disposal crew, I promise, it's not—" And there, of course, was where Purity drew her gun.

"Shut up, Kristoff. Shut up! Some fucking layman who knows the disposal crew? Eh? You expect me to believe that — you think I'm that stupid? You think I think you're that fucking stupid?! You used to be on a fucking UNAC kill-team! I know you're not just some old ex-mil geezer, fucking around in your little diner until you finally decide to eat a bullet so your re-trimming costs aren't too high!" A frigid fury burned brightly within Purity, now, her eyes as icy blue as her heart suddenly felt. Steely nerves held the gun level and still, aimed straight at Kristoff's nose, ready to give him a long-distance lobotomy should it be required.

"You... aren't fucking dumb, Kristoff. I'm insulted that you seem to think that I'm dumb! So! How much, then? How much are they paying you? You're on the ol' Tsang payroll, now, is it? Hoping to make me your fucking meal ticket?" Here, her smile did falter — only for the merest of moments, but falter it did. A crack in her placid, glacial facade, hinting at the incomparable anger which lay beneath.

Kristoff swallowed hard, his dumbfounded expression melting away to reveal a resigned, weary look. He spread his hands out and shrugged, admitting with arms and palms and shoulders that the jig was up, and he was caught. "Same as everyone else. Five million dollars. Come on, Purity — I've been a Tsang informant for... ahah, almost as long as Alex and I have been in business. I sell to the good and docile ones, I tag the ones who seem dangerous... but a man has to eat, eh? It's like you say — I used to be in a different line of work. The diner business never panned out, but money from the blood-suckers always spends well."

Oh, God, Purity thought, this was about EJ the whole time. In some small sliver of her brain, she was pissed for an entirely new reason. Why was it always about her girlfriend? Why was she never the target? "Fuck you, Kristoff. You were like an uncle to me, you know? Especially after Dad passed. Especially after... Tsang got ahold of me. And, what, you're throwing all that away? Just for a little scratch? You fucking disgust me."

Now, it was Kristoff's turn to be indignant — he flew into a fury at her words, face reddening with real, warm blood. "Fuck me? Fuck me?! You're the one with the little floozy bitch girlfriend who's got everyone in the city hunting her down! What the fuck did she do to get such a bounty, eh?! Even the fucking Revenants don't get million-dollar bounties, and they're hammering IRE sites across Vitus! You ever stop to ask her why she fucked over the people-in-fucking-charge so badly she's worth more truly dead than halfway alive, eh?!"

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Purity's left index finger twitched, involuntarily. The trigger didn't find itself pulled, but it was reminded of its own existence for a moment — and so were both parties at the table. Kristoff barreled forth, gesturing towards her gun. "Fuck! Fuck! Shoot me then, you little brat! You think five million dollars is so little, eh?! That money could get me out of Vitus! Think, bitch, think — what could that money have done for you when you were getting passed around by every greasy salaryman in tow—"

This time, the twitch wasn't involuntary.

A blossom of deep, rich, mortal red found its garden in Kristoff's shoulder; it was the closest thing to a warning shot he would get. Honestly, Purity had half a mind to give his new flower a sibling, but she stayed her hand. For now.

Kristoff's yell was nearly as loud as the report of Purity's handgun, though he choked down the pain after only a moment. With his un-shot arm, he raised his hand to cast a vengeful middle finger Purity's way. "You'll regret this, Purity. I was the closest thing to a family you ever had, you ungrateful fucking brat, and now you're choosing some slut you've only known for a month or two over me?! You're gonna kill me over that blonde cunt? Eh? I'm sure your father would be so proud of you for finally standing up f—"

Twinsies. This one looked like the pendant of a lovely brooch - though from the way Kristoff began to gurgle and burble and clutch at his throat, maybe it had been pulled too tight.

"When you see him, tell him I'm glad he's fucking dead. And you, too, you... Y-You old fuck. You sicken me. You make me want to hurl. You, and your stupid, shitty burgers. Oh, and don't worry about your stupid fucking diner..." Purity looked towards the kitchen, that fake smile feeling more and less genuine all at once. She knew in her mind that he could barely hear her, and probably wasn't even paying attention... but, fuck it, she was doing this for her. "I'll take care of it for you. I'm sure you wouldn't want to get revived, anyways."

Even as he faded away, when Kristoff heard this, his eyes seemed to snap that much wider in fear. Of course, bleeding from an opened throat doesn't give you much time to cling to consciousness, and he was already slumping down when Purity uttered her coup de gras; by time he could even react, he had no ability to respond.

And then, he was dead. The first death, some in Vitus believed, was special - an even smaller crowd believed that it was best delivered by someone close to the recipient, like a lover, or a family member. Purity had always thought that was a special sort of fucked up, but, normally? She could see some sort of macabre romanticism in giving your 'first time' to someone who was already close to you, to bind the two of you together. But this? She had no plans of letting Kristoff ever have a second death, or anything further.

Up from the table she went, whole body trembling now as she lost the drive to keep herself together. Kristoff's still-warm body had flopped over the tabletop like a dead mammoth, big and shitty, and his own blood was already beginning to pool and stain his clothing. She'd need to... do something about all that. The building was brick, so it's not like she could do a little recreational arson... but... during their conversation, she'd had an idea.

It took every ounce of adrenaline-fueled effort she could muster to drag Kristoff to the kitchen. At multiple times during the struggle, she considered calling Khetnep, and letting her know what had happened — but, each and every time, she had denied herself the easy out. This was her mess to clean up. It was her catharsis to claim. She wanted to reach out and snatch some closure with her own two hands.

And so, the friers were started back up. Revival could do without the body, of course, so that was pretty much dead weight; this time, more literally than others. As she took up Kristoff's old butcher knife in hand, she wondered why she hadn't just done this at the table... but, fuck it, no use crying over spilt blood.

Whack. Thud. Chop. Shlumph. Squelch. C-c-ckranch.

Kristoff's head was much lighter than his entire body — an optimistic sign for what came next. Revival didn't need the body, no, but it did need the brain... as much recoverable grey matter as possible, to piece back together the entire person from what remnants lingered in scavenged brain cells. If there was no grey matter recoverable, as in the case of house fires, or severe industrial accidents involving corrosives? The person was gone, completely.

Purity started up the deep fryer. Kristoff had grown pretty fatty during his time in Vitus — a lazy life, devoid of the military regimen he'd had in the service. Surely, he'd end up crispy and delicious for the first Tsang operative to snoop around about why their informant wasn't checking in.

She dropped his head into the now-bubbling golden fluid, letting it splash a little as she did. A shouted curse was drawn from her as a few specks splattered on her exposed midriff, but she smiled through the pain as though her face was locked like that, just like parents would tell their kids their own faces would be. She hadn't even realized she was still smiling. She didn't feel much like smiling, but then again, she had a track record of smiling when she most felt like crying.

Before it was time to leave (which was quickly approaching), and while she was still in the kitchen, Purity decided to... Well, to try and restore a bit of her own joy? She decided to do something she'd only ever heard reference to on the internet. Something that you were definitely never supposed to do with a deep fryer. Something that would get you fired from any establishment that operated such a thing.

Making her way to the icebox, she couldn't help but whimper playfully to herself. "Oooh, Purity... I'm sooo thirsty... Are you gonna j-just, aha, are you just gonna leave me here...? Dying of thirst? Just fucking l-let me dieeee?"

She nearly began to cry as she took hold of a plastic sack of icecubes, the juxtaposition of her current foolishness and the truth of the situation hitting her like a truck. Still... this was her Christmas gift to herself. She responded to her own whimpered question, to the 'deep fryer' whose thoughts she had spoken aloud. Her lips trembled with restrained grief and sick joy as she called out.

"Oh, aha, n-nooo! No, little deep- deep-fryer! Aha! Ahaha, ahahaha! Ha-ha-ha! No! I'd never let you go thirsty! You're such... ha! S-Such... S-S-Such a little... Such a thirsty l-little fucking g-guy, haha! Ahahahahaha!" Tears began to well in the corners of her eyes, hot and stinging to such a degree that it made the fresh specks of burn on her tummy pale in shame to be compared. Determination alone carried her through the ending of the comedy-routine-for-one, her legs wobbling like a newborn fawn as she followed through for no one's benefit but her own.

The fryer began to hiss and sputter as the first ice cube was poured in. By time the bag had been fully emptied, and Purity sprinted away to avoid its wrath, the fryer resembled an imagined Yellowstone bubbling before its cataclysmic outpouring.

Purity slipped out the back way, laughing and sobbing at the same time, eyes blinded with tears but muscle memory carrying her true to her exit. Finally, the back door was thrown wide, opening out into a dingy alleyway which always seemed to have puddles, regardless of how recently it had rained. The pinkette drew in a singular lungful of that smoggy, pollutant-riddled Vitus air, her laughter cresting at its peak. Then, she dropped to her knees behind a dumpster, palms racing up to hide her bawling eyes from her audience of none.

Her mind pinged around to the details of their conversation, still so fresh and yet feeling like it had been ages away already. That... That thing, about being the closest thing to family she'd ever had. In a way, he had been right, she hatefully admitted. Fucking prick. He had always known how to get under her skin and rile her up... something he'd learned from her father, ironically.

But... it wasn't true now, was it? She had EJ. She had Esthrielle. She... sorta had those new girls, Lulu and Zofi. She had Khetnep, in a way, though that was less 'family' and more 'mutually beneficial business associates'. But, she had EJ and Est. She had two women who loved her. Two women who were... Who were gonna be by her side, through thick and thin. Two beautiful, loving, sweet, caring girls who would support her, and comfort her, and keep her... keep her safe.

She hated this. She hated being like this. Sobbing into her hands in a dark, damp alleyway, behind a dumpster... A scene not unfamiliar to her, and she hated it every single worthless time. This time was different, but she hated it all the same. She hated these awful emotions of hers; she wished she could just cut them out and toss them away, and be happy all the time. Would that be better for her girlfriends?

Whatever. Fuck it. Like always, she just needed to lock in and buckle down. She just needed to focus, and keep moving. Just like always. Everything always came back to moving forward.

And, once she could find a way to stop fucking crying, she needed to move forward out of this alleyway, and never ever come back, and go get gifts for EJ and Est. To remind them she loved them. To show them how much she cared about them, and how important they were to her. To reaffirm their relationship with one another.

To ensure they didn't think she didn't love them.