Heartthrob

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As EJ went to leave, her pink-haired partner stepped into the bathroom. She was nude as birth and dappled with sweat; a well-curated figure the product of endless hours of purposeful exercise, dieting, and self-care. She looked in the mirror and smiled a lovely smile, one she had practiced to perfection. One she used to lure in her marks, to comfort them, to disarm them.

To deceive them.

This was Purity Aloise Francharde, the gambler, the influencer, the persona. She was a lover, a liar, and a thief; a performer, a temptress, a devil. She worked her wiles with intellect as keen as a razor's edge, and she had never failed in her task. She couldn't afford to. She let her smile fade, thinking back to the earlier liason with her most recent target, a fondness mixed with the natural distaste for the distanced dispassion of it all.

Purity sighed, bright eyes falling down to her hips to reminisce. She had been taken with EJ - one of the first in a long time. It was sad to see her go, especially in such an impersonal, rushed way, but she didn't want to let down her defenses. Not yet. The moans and gasps and whimpers of afternoon delight rang yet in her ears, and it made her feel empty. Used. Hollow.

Ring ring. The phone in her medicine cabinet - her work phone - was ringing. Puri's heart felt icy claws envelop it, and her whole body tensed. Pink-nailed fingers daintily reached out to open the door and extract her condemnation, slowly putting it to her ear. Adrenaline pumped in her veins already, blood ringing in her ears; her pupils were pinpricks, the dread confrontation striking her as physically as a roaring locomotive.

"H-Hello?"

The other line was silent for one moment, two moments, three moments, four. Sweat from sex and stress beaded at her brow and rolled to her chin, where it dropped to the cold tiles below. Finally, a voice came through the line, and Puri grit her teeth not to shiver at it's frigid tone.

"Progress report, operative Francharde."

Puri took a deep breath, eyes shutting for a mere moment to gather her thoughts. How had they known? Was her apartment bugged? Was EJ working for them? Or could they just tell these things? Her employers were more than resourceful, they were vicious, cruel, brutal - they wielded their power like a surgeon's scalpel to cut free opposition and chaff that didn't fit into their worldview. With a stammering voice, she began.

"Twenty-three. Caucasian. Born and raised UNAC. From the accent, I'd guess Northern Maritime region, possibly Nova Scotia. It's light, however; probably didn't live there forever. Five foot four, just barely. Natural blonde, spring green eyes, red flecks. Alabaster-pale skin with light freckles. Petite physique with acceptable proportions for chest and genitalia. Teeth well aligned and no notable physical flaws or birthmarks. Interestingly pointed tongue - unusual on her strain. Potentially variant. Phobos-gene Ghoul, nearly full Vampirism - something must have gone wrong during the process, potentially a faulty gastrointestinal facilitation system, or whoever performed her reintegration fucked up and used low-standard options. Would suggest an investigation into that. Blood type AB+."

Silence. Processing. Informational input. Puri had memorized every last detail of her quarry, and could have spouted even more if required - but that was all she was told to do, all she was told to say. Her duty was simple but strenuous, and punishment for failure was vicious. She swallowed to whet her dry throat as the silence stretched on with torturous perpetuity, staring at herself in the mirror: naked, damp, quivering, shameful. She wished to be free of all of this, but the collar that bound her in sway was far tighter than physical bondage.

And then, the voice.

"Affirmative. Two thousand five hundred UNAC notes have been added to your savings account. Mail the requisite provisions to your designated handler for the rest of your compensation. Understood?"

Puri breathed a sigh of relief - this was good. Favorable, even. She had snagged a high-value target, and her employers were pleased. This alone would pay her rent for a few months, once she got her money for shipping out the rest of the crap: the water glass, the plate, the napkins, the condom, the pajamas. Phobos was popular, and niche; they were a splinter strain of Mars-type, notable in the scientific community for their resilience and longevity... and hunger. The latter didn't matter to buyers, and since there was evidence of further striation within her genetic makeup, she may even be a further sub-type. That would be even more valuable.

Puri snapped back to reality to clear her throat and answer the phone, still a bit of a frazzled blur within her own head.

"Understood. Thank you."

The voice on the other end was just as chilling and cruel as before, but when it returned, there was a tinge of something more: amusement. Satisfaction. Pride in its own power, in the way Puri yapped like a lapdog to respond to her master's call. She almost thought she could hear a smile in its dead intonation.

"Satisfactory. Tsang Solutions thanks you for your cooperation."

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