Page 6 of Fatality

For what? The fuck do I know.

She's always been like this—bouncing around, teasing everyone, laughing at everything, and being ridiculously sensitive.

Her long black hair falls around her shoulders, the difference between us, is that she has two white streaks framing her face, making her look like she walked straight out of some chaotic underground fashion campaign.

“Morning, grumpy head!” Charlie says immediately.

“You’re too loud before coffee Charlie… and leave her alone.” Jules nudges her with an elbow. “You look tired. Don't you own makeup?" There's a faint smirk pulling at her lips.

I glare at Jules.

“Very funny,” I scoff, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I slept like shit last night.”

Her long dark brown hair is perfectly brushed, her eyes are calm but quietly amused.

“Fuck both of you. Wanna see if I can rearrange your faces?” I roll my eyes and start walking.

Charlie gasps dramatically, and Jules punches my shoulder.

I chuckle softly.

“So,” I say as I head toward the district where my tattoo studio Nocturne is, “What's the plan for breakfast? Please tell me we're not getting synthetic coffee. That stuff smells awful.”

I grimace.

“If we are, I'm ripping your tongues out.”

“Oh, don't be like that, Riv!” Charlie says, waving a dismissive hand. “The coffee in Jill’s and Co is actually good.”

She's practically drooling already, probably at the thought of it when Jules snaps her out of her fantasy.

“You're unbelievable,” She shakes her head in disbelief “but we're absolutely not going, we’re late for opening the studio."

I nod satisfied, Charlie pouts but don’t argue.

During the walk, the girls keep chatting, but I barely listen, I keep looking around despite knowing this street too well—I walk it every day.

The neon lights and holograms add an edge I hate, it’s too bright, too artificial.

It’s always impressive to see the drones watch us every second.

Always hovering.

Always watching.

Preventing crime or at least, that's what they claim, whether it's true or not, I honestly don't care enough to find out.

I can't escape where I was born but I can escape my family, and everything their status comes with.

Charlie and Jules keep talking about the appointments lined up at my studio.

They both work there with me, for me.

Jules is the piercer—calm, meticulous, and always focused while Charlie is the receptionist, always smiling, bright, the kind of person people instantly warm to.

I'm the tattoo artist.

One of the last people who still drives a needle through skin instead of relying on skin printers.