Heartthrob

Tonight, the lights in that manse upon the hill glowed with a warmth they had not for some weeks. The Alighieri estate was more alive than it often was - even discounting the night that its sole resident had been shot in the leg. The reason? Well, it was obvious, wasn't it? Judas Alighieri, vile corporate empress, whose rule over Vitus was only superseded by Zichen Tsang himself... was throwing a party.

A party with actual people, not just... well, her own ego.

The occasion? She simply felt like throwing one - or so she told all the invitees. She was rich, Vitus was entering a new age of prosperity, the economy was in a massive upswing after the securing of some phenomenal trade deals with Mandragos, far in the North... Why not throw a fucking party? Why not let everyone who was anyone in Vitus see just how much wealth and sway Judas had?

At least, these are the excuses she came up with. These are the reasons she scrounged up for herself as she stared into her own gemlike irises, watching their natural swirl as she tried to calm down and get a God damn grip.

Why was she having such a freak-out right now? She'd already beaten one of the manservants bloody in the wine cellar... that hadn't helped, and while he had only cried a lot, Judas still felt like something was missing. And so, she had tried to do something about it - made a pathetic, feeble attempt to dredge up some semblance of mental acuity. Something to punch through the fog that beset her tonight.

That is, she had decided to cane one of the maids - nailed her to a wall by her wrists with a nailgun, lashed out as hard as she could without breaking anything (the furniture, not the woman), and yet... Seeing that poor girl's legs go limp as she passed out from pain, blood running down her wrists and tears down her face, body slack like a sack of potatoes...

...it had done nothing for Judas. It hadn't even excited her enough to be aroused by it. That was, perhaps, the fucking worst part, the vampire thought - that she could inflict these cruelties, but when it was so impersonal, it barely even registered as an occurrence. She'd even considered scrambling her security to snatch someone off the street, so she could blow their brains out in front of the guests - that had nearly piqued her interest.

Nearly.

But even then, that was still random pain on a random target. It would be an excellent power play - but everyone here, these Tsang executives, influencers, titans of industry (two steps from outright Tsang employees, really), and celebrities? They already knew Judas was the most powerful woman in Vitus. Hell, she was the most powerful woman in the whole world. The ERFS was ruled by men, the PADE (Pan-African Digitized Existence) was ruled by a collective, Mandragos was... a nightmare world, who knew what they fucking passed for a leader there. Hell, even the UNAC had a woman president, but Judas was reasonably sure she could take a wrench to-

No. Breathe. Breathe, Judas. Focus.

Everyone in this building knew Judas was a goddess-made-flesh, and that contesting her would be courting death. She had clawed her way to the top, fought everyone in her way with any method she could manage, she had... She had killed people to get where she was today. Not the petty, crappy excuse for death they had in Vitus nowadays, though. She had, personally, killed her rivals - true death, before second-life was even an option.

Judas's fingers cracked the porcelain of the sink she was leaned over as the memories began to stream in - they began overtaking her like a tidal wave overtakes a sand castle, crushing her conscious self down beneath the riptide. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no... No-ho-ho..." The vampiress wasn't surprised to find tears welling in her eyes as her vision blurred and became unfocused - she was surprised by how warm they were, however. It was almost like she was alive again. Almost.

The memories of her first murder poured in like pitch to fill a cauldron, ready to be poured onto an unfortunate invader. They stung like a fucking bitch, too. Judas bit down on her tongue hard enough to pierce it, and as she ground her teeth, it was rent free - black blood filling her mouth as she swallowed the shorn away chunk. Even the pain of that couldn't save her from the reminisce.

Judas had been... twenty four, was it? Twenty four, freshly moved to Vitus with big aspirations for her life... Well, 'freshly moved' in the last two years. Vitus had still been shiny and new, back then - there was no smog in the sky, there was no grime on the streets, and the buildings weren't yet Brutalist eyesores. It looked normal.

Even remembering that normalcy caused Judas's heart to quiver. She had been working for the old 'owners' of Vitus - Tanakara Technologies, back when that name still meant anything to anyone at fucking all. In those days when Tanakara was a household name in the UNAC, Judas had been there for the golden age of it all: she had climbed the ranks, mingled with the right people, said the right things and did the right work, all to grease the right wheels. She had put in every ounce of her being.

And where had it gotten her? She had burst up through the ranks, tearing up the corporate hierarchy like a bullet tore up flesh. But, just as every bullet did, she eventually came to a forced rest - right in the heart of Tanakara's power structure. Notable corporate status, a real mover and shaker... She had earned her position, despite what everyone said behind her back. She had climbed there, fair and square...

Thuds came from outside the bathroom as someone knocked. A friendly voice offered solace, and inquired as to her status - the words didn't fully register, but the intent was deciphered without issue. "Yep, Jack, I'm good. Just. Please. Go get me..."

Something. She couldn't even recall what she had asked for. She wanted something - of course she did. Anything to try and pull her from this reverie before she came to its awful, hateful end. It always ended the same, every time she slept... Every time she closed her eyes, even so many decades later... She wished that, just one time, it would change. She wished, bitterly and before she could dam up her feelings, that she were different. She wished she were a better person.

Once Blackjack had left - she had, of course, kept him on retinue after the incident at Kehler Complex - she blinked her eyes like she was trying to crush them with their own lids. Tears trickled down without restraint; they fell into the porcelain bowl below, and for all the vitriol and regret, they may as well have hissed like acid.

Back in her memory, Judas remembered the deal - one of the other board members, the vice president himself, had come to her. He said he saw her ambition... Thought she was just what the company needed. He also said he knew about the things Judas had already done to secure her place in Tanakara - and so, he had an offer for her.

He needed someone willing to get things done, outside the eyes of the law... outside the eyes of the rest of the board members, too. Judas was close enough to the top to do what needed to be done, but not so high up that she would be monitored. She was in the perfect position to do what, he said, needed to be done. For the future of Tanakara, of Vitus... and of Judas herself. So, he laid out the deal.

Judas was supposed to kill the CEO, allow him, this vice-president, to rise to the top of the company. And in return? She would be his right hand, and would get all the power she had ever wanted. It had been made to sound so simple; it had sounded so easy.

She had to consider it for a month before she agreed. She had never taken a life before - not like this, not in this way. She had paid to have some people offed, or just arranged for accidents to happen, but... this time it was different. This time it was more personal, and more difficult than any other.

Outside the dream, Judas felt her neck grow taut as her body tensed - the plunge further into memory wracked her bodily with pain, and she gasped for air as thorns seemed to bloom from her every vein.

Images flashed through in a slideshow, sometimes forming small snippets with sound and motion, mostly remaining as snapshots caught in time. Moving day - the cake - the box cutter - the sunshine. People don't die quickly when they are stabbed in the gut. Judas had wanted to watch that woman die - the not-yet-a-vampire had wanted to make sure she was dead, and that she suffered. Judas wanted to make her suffer like she had made Judas suffer.

Guilt. Stomach-wrenching guilt. The buzz of a phone - the knock on the door. A bathtub filled with acid - acid that wasn't as strong as she wanted, or needed. The leather interior of a car that wasn't hers, but was close enough to hers that no one thought it odd. The scent of a pig sty on a rainy Autumn evening; the feeling of something sloppy and wet and hacked to pieces, poured out of a garbage bag.

Judas, in the present time, felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She hunched over the sink and quivered from head to toe, retching hard as dry heaves wracked her form. Her white-knuckle grip on the sink's edges had long since broken through its fragile body, and she only now did she realize that chunks of porcelain were piercing her palms. For less than a second, she thought about bandaging up - but instead, she simply gripped the fragments harder. She didn't give a fuck - not now.

The end of the recollection came with that same force that it always did - a front-page obituary for Aoi Tanakara, murdered in her own apartment. Judas had given a statement - of course she had been asked for one. It was plastered there on the front page, right beneath the smiling face of the dead CEO; it said, simply, "Tanakara Technologies will survive, and Vitus will thrive. We will bring the perpetrator to justice."

That was the last time she had seen her mother's face.

Suddenly, everything went grey - and when Judas arose again, the polished latex of her 'provocative' little black dress (picked out by the hired help) creaking as she pushed to a sit, she was in the bathtub. A familiar face now leaned over her - he was dressed, as always, in his armor. She had grown fond of that armor, despite herself - and his dumb little insignia, of a heart riddled with bullet holes. This time, however, he was devoid of helmet.

Pale skin was shrouded by an abundance of silky-looking ebon hair, formed into a thick, gently feathered mop. His features were sharpened to a point, and his jaw was simultaneously strong and narrow - the edge of a cavalry sabre. His prettyboy looks were only disrupted by a single, long scar that ran from the top of his right cheekbone (just below his eye) to just above his jawline. A shame - but he obviously kept it for a reason. Not like he couldn't just get it fixed, on his paycheck.

Powerful but streamlined brows were arched in concern, hooding the striking blues that they hovered above. Judas nearly snickered up at him - he looked so normal. Frankly, he looked like he'd spend his time at places like the Jezze, that awful little hole she had found EJ and Est in... though, in a way, it made sense that he'd want to work for her, then.

"Judas? Are you-" Blackjack was concerned for her, genuinely. That was cute. Pathetic, honestly.. she was more resilient than this little boy would ever be. God, he had to be, what - twenty two? Twenty four? No older than twenty six, if nothing else. Still fresh around the gills, and yet he always acted with such bluster, such confidence.

It nearly made Judas angry, that someone like him was supposed to be protecting her. Judas reached a hand up to take Blackjack by the chin, holding him with a delicate force that whispered promises of brutality should he lean away. "Baby boy, Black-ja-a-ack, you are... Worrying yourself too much. I am fine. I'm always fine." A smile came then, more fake than the body of an Eastern harlot but still possessed of all the necessary thoughts and feelings to quash any questioning.

Blackjack's concern wavered for a moment, the loyal hound brought to heel and submit to its master. He shut his eyes, drawing in and releasing a single breath. Judas could see the wheels turning behind those gorgeous blues, even when they were hidden - she could see the way he had to adjust himself, his thought processes, his ideas, his role in the situation. He had to do so much just to keep her happy.

That was what truly made her happy - that she should be so aggrieved by her demands, and yet, would still acquiesce.

He opened his mouth, soft-nearly-pouty lips parting with a gentle smack. "Yes, Judas, you're right - as your personal bodyguard, I am worrying far too much about your health and wellness. Please, let me give you my first death as an apology." He kept his eyes closed, letting the sarcasm and snark drip from his words to fill the empty bath. Judas smirked.

Blackjack was one of the only few people in the entire world who could speak to her like that - speak to her like an equal, or even take shots at her like this. It was refreshing. It felt normal. Hell, it felt good, having a personal confidante that she could break character with. Though, of course, she'd never tell him that aloud - if he didn't already know, he would never understand.

Judas released the boy's jaw and brushed herself off, even though the only thing marring her waterproof dress was the blood from her hands and her tears - and neither of those really stood out. Black on black, or clear on black, and all of it shiny and wetlook? She could bathe in India ink and no one would ever know.

"Help me up, Jackie - I know you're itching to get your hands back on me, right? Be mommy's little helper; come on, I know you can~" The words were in jest - at least, she thought they were. Judas had never been interested in men, never in her entire life - and even now, she could still confirm her preference for women by slapping Vivica around a little. The rush of blood from hearing that neon-haired fuckdoll whine and cry was usually all Judas needed to sleep soundly at night.

She'd need to see a therapist, she figured - not for the violent tendencies, though. She wanted to snuff out any potential psychosexual connection between Blackjack and-

Oh? Suddenly she was lifted, without delay or notification. Blackjack had slipped his hands under her arms while she thought about which of her seven therapists she'd go to; now, he had drawn her smoothly to a stand. She wasn't allowed to steady herself, either - he pulled her gently towards himself and away from the wall any time she tried to put a bloody palm against it.

"Aht. No, no - I know you're healing, but this is a party. Don't aggravate your wounds, let them heal." He shot Judas a single, sly wink, one that nearly felt smug - was he being fucking smug about this? That riled Judas up a little made, her want to put him in his place... but, he was right. That was the worst part, wasn't it? He was right. It was a party, her party, and here she was... Having a breakdown in her own master bathroom, palms bleeding, tongue freshly healed... She needed to be presentable.

For her own pride, if nothing else, she needed to be presentable.

Judas spat some of the blackened blood, which had yet lingered in her mouth, into Blackjack's face. It hit his lips with a wet sound and splattered across his visage, getting an oily smear on his left cheek. He flinched, just barely - but rather than a scowl, his face now bore a smile. Fuck him and his stupid, Tsang-dental-insurance perfect teeth.

"Fine. I'll be out in a bit. Do me a favor, hm?" She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her request, much less respond to it - she knew he had to say yes, no matter what it was. "Go get Vivica. I-" The rest of the words tumbled out of her brain and to the floor below, no longer grasped within her mind's eye. Panic flared up within Judas's core, every alarm blaring and bell ringing at full volume - she could feel her ears ringing from bloodflow, and her vision swam anew.

No. No no no. Even if... Even if Blackjack was sort of safe, 'safe', he was still just a first-living mook who she paid to kill and die for her. And Vivica? Was just a body, just a doll to be posed and kicked and fucked and discarded when Judas had taken all that she could. This house, too, was meaningless - and so were the people within it, every single one of them. She couldn't let them in - she could never let a single fucking one of them in.

She'd made that mistake already, and even once time was one time too many.

Her lips went through the motions of speaking, relaying words and intent that came from muscle memory and unconscious thought more than active, prescient effort and consideration. She told Blackjack to 'just bring her here', and also a single glass of wine, and some food. She said something flirty to him - she might have even caressed his cheek, though maybe the black on his cheek was just more smeared blood-spit. When he walked out, though, Judas dropped back down to her knees.

Fuck. She was so fucked up - so very, very fucked up. Why was she being like this? Why was this happening to her? Why couldn't she stop it? She didn't like Blackjack - he was just a boot. She didn't like Vivica - she was a meaningless warm body to use. Everything was fucking meaningless. Fucking, fucking, meaningless!

Judas slammed her hand against the nearest wall, fracturing tiles and mercifully missing any woodwork. This was a conversation that she had had with herself before - many times throughout the many decades, and yet, every single time it hurt as though the wounds were fresh, and the flensed skin was newly raw. She had far outlived her time on this earth - immortality, as requested, was achieved. The Benefactor would be happy enough with this state, even if he couldn't have kids.

And yet, the blessing was a curse, too. It had been in the first ten years of her deathless existence when she had first noticed it... Noticed these strange feelings, the absences, the missing chunks of memory and the hollow void in her gut and her chest and her mind. It had made her feel weak.

When first she had felt weak, what had she done? The memory was seared into her eyelids, though not in nearly so much detail as the other pains that ate her inside and out. She had dragged her supervisor out onto the sidewalk by his tie, ignoring every word that slipped past his flabby, perverse lips... and she had taken a glass bottle, the bottle of Crackle that she had been drinking, and put it to his teeth. It had felt good. Sickeningly good. Vomit-inducingly good - and so, she had vomited atop his bloodied form, body quivering from adrenaline and mind racing fast enough to kick up a whirlwind.

Thus began her tendency, her nasty little habit; she had explored with coworkers, sex workers, lonely women on dating apps, even reeking-drunk strangers at Vitus's many dive bars. Beatings. Canings. Whippings. Choking. An elevation to knife play... stabbing, tracing, lacerating, carving... And then, of course, biting. Vampiric fangs were just oral knives, after all.

More and more. Excess after excess. She had to get worse and worse, more and more violent, crawling further into the pits of depravity. She changed her name, embracing a sort of stage persona... A crafted self, because facing the truth of the self was as awful as the self in question. When she got her updated birth certificate, with Judas Alighieri instead of Yukari Tanakara, just seeing it had nearly made her cum. It had been so good, for so long... she hadn't felt weak in decades, at least not long enough for it to really set in before she could brutalize an innocent.

But now, it was fading again. Everything was fading. She would have liked to think of it like... like eating too much cake. You started to go numb to the sugar and the jams after a while, even though it had been so fucking delicious when you started. Judas noted, wryly, that she hadn't eaten actual cake in close to sixty years.

Another dagger stabbed her straight through the chest, knitting itself between her ribcage and slicing free the tender meat of her soul. She was getting bad again, and she didn't know how to stop it. She didn't know how to stop herself from spiraling out. This time, it would be a bad spiral, too - she would hurt a lot of people, if she let herself. She couldn't let herself, no matter how easy it would have been to just let slip those dogs of war. She would never have been able to recover.

A single footstep - then another, then another, then an earth-shattering crash as her left fist kissed the mirror's virgin lips and ruined it forever. That was good - she didn't want to look at herself. She didn't want to see what she had become.

Nothing helped the void. Nothing made her happy, or excited, or satisfied - not for more than a few minutes, anyways. Not violence, not sex, not money, not... The laundry list repeated itself again, and then again, and then again. A singular question hammered into her frontal lobes time after time, the impact of each blow worsening and causing the blood-drinker to physically tremble. She had started to cry again.

'What's the point of living forever if nothing matters anymore?' It repeated on a loop, and before her eyes she saw the life she had built for herself crumbling into dust. If the people didn't matter, the places didn't matter, the money and the power and the influence didn't matter, why would she want to live forever? What was the fucking point, if everything began to blend into a sickening hedonistic slurry after a few decades? Why shouldn't she just drive on down to a crematorium and throw herself in?

A knock came at the door - it sent her, momentarily, back to the slideshow of earlier. Those memories couldn't get their hooks in her this time, though, and she turned to cast her dewy-eyed gaze towards the bathroom's sole entrance. "W-What? What is it? I'm fuckin' powdering my nose in here, you l-little perv-"

"It's me, Judas. I have Vivica. She's got your food, and some party favors. I made sure of it. I'm opening the door now." No waiting for a response, the exact same respect for the completion of his task that Judas had given to the instruction of it. That was good, though, she made an effort to force herself to realize - it was good that he just opened the door, because if he hadn't, Judas might have sent him away. That would have hurt worse, but it would have made sense.

The door opened. Blackjack stood there, a thin plastic rectangle hanging from the right side of his mouth - from the scent of his breath and the air that followed him, it was some sort of psychedelic. Beside him stood Vivica, her bruises having healed admirably, her body quivering with fear beneath a fetishistic nurse's uniform - complete with exam gloves, and thick white heels that bore a red heart with a white plus.

Vivica, all neon green waves and bruise-darkened eye makeup, looked to Judas with the same sort of fear and awe that the lamb holds for the wolf. In her hands, she held a silver platter. A blue-rare steak dinner sat atop fine china thereupon, with a glass (and bottle) of that same bloody champagne Judas had shared with Esper James, all those days ago... It felt like years, though it had only been weeks. Three condoms sat beside a plastic baggie of alabaster powder, the ensemble completed with a fresh, un-sullied straight razor.

"Go get her, Jude. I know-" Blackjack began, and surely there was more to follow - but before it could, Judas snarled and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. "You do not call me Jude, you sniveling little f-fucking insect! Do not ever call me fucking Jude! My name is Judas! I don't do pet names!" The tears came faster now, hotter too, and stronger; Yellowstone had erupted in her eyes, and molten lava painted her face in new shades of sorrow.

Blackjack had the good sense to widen his eyes and take a step back - it showed deference, subservience, and acceptance of her directive. It also, thankfully, helped ground Judas a bit: seeing him react with genuine surprise and worry, actually acknowledge that he had fucked up, dulled the blades of Judas's rage considerably. She let her fingers fall even as he raised both his hands in a feigned surrender.

"Ah, Miss Alighieri, I'm truly sorry for such a gross overstepping of my station, I... I'm really, God, really sorry, I...-" Second verse same as the first - Judas waved her still-raised hand dismissively, letting a melancholy sigh slip free from her lips. That sigh drooped down to touch the ground alongside her gaze, and her spirits.

"No, Jack. I... This hurts me to say this, but I have to. You deserve to know, and... Fuck it. No stalling. I'm sorry. You didn't... You didn't know that I've... got some attachments to being called Jude. You didn't know that I didn't want you to call me that. You did what I asked, bringing Viv here, and getting us- me some food, and fun stuff. I..." Here, all the momentum in her monologue seemed to dissipate into nothingness. The wind that had once unfurled her sails and billowed forth to guide her now left her boat stranded at sea. She used an oar to paddle to land.

"...I shouldn't have yelled at you. Not this time. Don't you ever fucking tell anyone I said that." She needn't have added that last part, in truth - it felt rather implied, what with the tears and the sudden ragged nature her voice held, and the smashed tiles and mirror and sink. There was a lot that had happened in that bathroom tonight that no one outside of the three of them should ever know.

Blackjack let his shoulders fall back to a relaxed state, and he nodded - no snarky, cocksure smile at getting one up on Judas this time. No comment in that vein, either, or anything other than a somber observation by his shocking blues. After a few moments of tense, torrid silence, he took a step back forward - using now his right hand, against Vivica's ass, to urge her forward alongside him.

"I forgive you, Judas. I meant it - I didn't mean to upset you, and I am legitimately sorry that it seems like I did. I won't do it again. You might be my boss, but that doesn't mean I can't like you - and I don't want to piss off someone I'm glad to know, either." He may as well have been punching Judas with every word, the way it impacted her.

Hearing such kindness... fake or not (she couldn't tell right now, hazed with feeling as she was), it still meant something he'd even try to comfort her. It meant something that he'd want to calm her down, and put in any effort at all to do so. Judas felt her lips curve upwards into a smile, wobbly but true - the tears came to a gradual stop as her expression shifted, and she nodded to the door.

"Close the door. Lock it. Stay here with us. Don't ask questions - don't say anything. Just let this happen, okay?"Blackjack nodded, and at his side, Vivica felt her knees grow weaker than usual. Neither spoke.

They had just been told not to, after all.