Scorpio pt. 1

Revisit Death Prompt 7: Scifi Dystopian/Horror

This prompt lived rent free in my head for a week. It ended up being a two parter in the end because I loved writing the dialogue even if it’s not my strongest suit.

Pt 1 & Pt 2 will be staggered, tonight(leading into Monday AM) and tuesday.

Nick Winney gave me this prompt, he was one of my first avid fans. He went to every Stream of Consciousness POV workshop, I will run them again, I swear after we land stable housing. (Which is the whole thing behind this series. I have two more bylines, and then redacted people.)

Nick Winney is a mystical character on Substack, I am fairly certain. I don’t even know if he’s mortal. I would give him a prompt right now if he asked for one. I don’t know a prompt I have hated from Nick Winney. He has a wild imagination that I genuinely love the bones of. What I love about him, I can go as weird or different in any of pieces, and he will be supportive. Give Nick a read. Support your Indie Writers~

• If anyone guesses Anise’s star sign, I’ll let you give me a free prompt even if you already have a prompt. I gotta catch up though. [Vinny Reads & JLG Noga + 2 redacted, the math isn’t wrong people showed up later. ]

  

  [ Iris Van Herpen Haute Courte dress, “Crystallization” collection, model ~ Kyona Van Santen. Dutch fashion designer, cover photo of the book: Sculpting the Senses. One of the first fashion designers to print 3D dresses in static & flexible forms. She creates incredible imagery, her work is said to be shown in the Brooklyn Museum in 2026, it hasn’t been announced. You don’t want to miss anything she has in the states. ]

• I will be using Iris Van Herpen’s pieces to be displayed for the whole pt 1 & 2 for some reason I think of Scifi when I look at them. Distorted by yours truly, you can buy the book if you want to look at fascinating fashion, if you’re nowhere near Paris (FR) or Brooklyn. I am not sure if Paris is still displaying her work. Check out, if that’s your thing.

• If anyone knows her tell her not to sue me. I will remove her work. I am so broke I can barely buy food.

• Stream of Consciousness POV, zero draft.

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---

Smoke filled the air, its plume forges distrust where the fog doesn’t creep. Sunsets, and electrified skyscrapers reach for the sun. Stairways to completion, to the man in the clouds. Pillars at inhuman height. In the winter, fog encases above our heads. Its thick quilted warmth, a mother’s lost touch.

I slip past the billionaire buildings, disappear in the insides of the outside. Its anatomical mouth swallows my form, every step is a surprise. Money, its copper taste stains the gums. Every step deserts my former self. Hands on the leash, pulled forward as my pet rubs against my side. Its meat burns the top layers of my skin, epidermis scraped off. Sandpaper raw.

Pet walks wavy, reptilian and strange. When no one’s listening you’ll talk about your puppy. When no one’s watching, they’ll never see it’s a costume. Sometimes, it’ll be a good night for Alucard and I.

Somebody’s not going to be careful. They’ll feed the prey drive. Sloppy, rotten fish.

Home is an antique shop. Home is a masquerade mask. Home lies to the public.

We share a few historical buildings on the block. Brick and mahogany wood. Intimate objects cherished thousands of years before you were birthed, maimed and postured for appearance. Every piece has a story, some you’ve thought up when time moves slowly. People pack themselves like sardines in towers, fester in juices and forget who they are. Wouldn’t bother with a mirror, they’d rather escape through designer drugs and coins. Fill up their laundry with an advertisement, body counts collected in cross bones.

Fur coats lined with human skin, body horror replaced by consumption. The world is desolate, rich in collectables. It resurfaces after they discard bits into the fields behind the cities, walls of trash. It all burns twenty four-seven, three-hundred sixty five days. Those on the other side never see the sun. Our piggy’s cannot imagine what all they leave behind. Piles and piles filled to the brim.

Instead of burial grounds everyone becomes repurposed, recycled into society and worn. Outsiders work underground where the soil is rich and they can still farm. They pick up side jobs as collectors, help repurpose the trash to see the light. Others aren’t as fortunate, and die underneath the weight. Its ecosystem is barely sustainable, we do what we can.

Alucard lets out a hiss, he pulls on the harness. Claws scratch and jerks up parts of the sidewalk. My ears sting when he does this, and I’ll never know if it’s out of spite. Pebbles of cement are adrift, grifting for a place in this world.

Alucard’s hisses are garbled cat chirps distorted from his belly when he’s excited. My arms tense up before the release. Pointer finger pulls the latch, I listen to the leash whip back into my clasp, its harpoon leveled to my chest. Cigarette on my lips suck in its poison. It tastes like the earth is fresh and this hell has burnt crisp.

Somebody got real careless. I see parts of a shadow that’s about to be nobody.

Alcuards jaw opens wide and shoots his bacteria laced spit. It eats away at the skin, melts the barriers to pink dewy muscle. My pet produces an astronomical amount of spit. His eternal body glides in ageless vitality.

My boots keep a distance from Alucard as he works. His serrated teeth pull at the surface of the human body. The body starts to squirm and make garbled speech. I can’t have any of that, noiseless is preferred.

Jolt to the skull, one clean kick right across their jaw. Bone structure felt strange, rubbery. I want to chalk it up to all the microplastics consumed, how it changes organic matter. Disinterested in their expression I shove my thirteen inch boot over their airways. Lean my chest and ribcage into the nose and mouth. It won’t take long, even if it feels ages as the pressure wanes.

A golden necklace lies over his neck with his ID card. I snatch it, its weak chain ripped into tinted scraps.

Surname Smith. No first name. No credentials.

His ashed blond hair dusted the sidewalk.

“How many times do I need to tell you? That’s not real fur Alucard. Let me strip the food.”

I slap a retractable cane in my coat and a spear forms at the bottom. Cut the clothes into debris and put them in my duffle bag. Not a care in the world if Alucard leaves anything behind. People talk less than a day before they forget what happened. Street cleaners come and wash away the carnage. Blame the people in the cities of trash, and praise Jezzus. Hopes and players. Competition lost.

Alucard sucks pieces of flesh into his mouth. Ripped, torn and shredded. Humans were scaled beyond the limits of his jaws. No snake constriction, no expansion. We’ve tried to genetically alter him in perilous ways for a smooth transition. Biology defies it.

The necklace around Alucard’s throat makes a noise, and begins to blink. My finger taps my earbud, and I hear a translation.

This is disgusting. Let’s go home.

My hand fumbles for the leash before I link it to his harness.

We leave the identification less carcass in the middle of the sidewalk. A heap of bones and flesh with holes. Face unrecognizable. It smells of bile and iron in the air. Sea salt from the fog washes away some of the thankless decayed flesh. Molted from Alcuard’s venom.

Victims get logged in a generation of people. This one forgot to identify themselves and recharge their ID before they went outside. Likely a pseudonym, to hide from their lover, their wife, their family life. They all become collectables regardless of the stakes.

Sardines without a master, without a home.

---

Alucard is the last dragon.

His whole species got decimated in the thousand year war. Heard from the Elders they were the larger version of Komodo dragons. They’re similar in size to tigers or would have been Russian war dogs. Evolution was swift, when the planet decided to go dormant. Species survived and evolved, or they couldn’t adapt.

For centuries the people in the cities of trash kept them alive, as a weapon until Agents of the Machine caught hold of their plans. Generation after generation, Alucard was genetically altered to exceed all life.

When he became the last dragon, the scientists had a breakthrough and devised a necklace to allow him to acquire language. His grief I imagine is replaced by bloodlust. Something in his biology that cannot be maintained or altered by us.

Alucard and I have a deal.

I destroy this city, and he eats whoever he wants as long as it’s through our rules of law. Alucard lets me pat him and rub his belly like a puppy. Elders have disguised him into large dog body structures and no one asks questions. I design hats in various colored ears over his head. He doesn’t seem to protest it. People in the city believe his tail is a prop. People believe he isn’t real.

Alucard has been around me since I was a child. He’s feral and sentient, terrifying at best. I am sure if given the opportunity he would rather have been human on any other day. Elders have the keys to his brain, how it functions, how it forms. I try not to prod him with questions beyond either of our wheelhouses. It’s a waste of time. This city’s gotta burn.

All the piggy’s think they’re the masters as Agents of the Machine.

---

Leaned back in my wheely chair in the lab. The ID was locked. Not your normal pick up. Smith was a pseudonym, now you’ll have to find out who the fuck they were. Normally when Alucard needs to feed it’ll be weeks at a time. In the present, his bloodlust has become insufferable. None of the meat satisfies his needs. More, every three days and for trade, I give him a rubber ducky to extract his venom.

I’m a collector of poisons and medicinal properties. Alucard respects it, because we trade flesh for venom. Our deadly exchange.

When we’re behind the doors I unzip his costume parts and let him roam free. I’ll find him sleeping in his bath hub which is a pool covered with inside ferns, maidenhair and lemon button. Assorted rocks glow luminescent neon rays, pink and hybrid blues. If Alucard was an immortal human, he would’ve been desperately involved in our dance scene.

There’s a tippy tap on the windowsill connected to the tunnels underground, broke my train of thought. My body scoots the chair to the other side of the window, pulled a lever and a pair of eyes match mine.

“I am here to see an update on identification for the Elders.”

“Yeah? You good at breaching security locks?”

A deep sigh pushes into the panel on the otherside. “What do you have for me?”

I move my body to the door that looks as if it might open a closet. Behind it are three steel chamber doors, and the third is a round wheel that has locks in place. Numbers click it open, 6-9-8-7-9-9-8-3. Before they pass through the other chambers, there’s a room to sterilize the bodies. Little tiny guns shoot substances thick see through goo that diffuses into rubbing alcoholic spicy air. It wipes on their skin and analyzes their data. There cannot be any cross contamination. That’d be dangerous, Agents would find our ruse. Nobody’s able to cross until the top light clicks bronze. No diseases, no problem.

I’m standing smoking watching the person through the cameras. They sent fuckin’ Liam. He’s a rising star apparently, all the underground loves him. Liam’s an incredibly fast courier, and also he loves tech shit. None of which interests me unless it’s poison related. If it’s a tool, I want it. If it’s a computer, make it accessible, or chuck the hardware out the damn window.

“Look who crawled out of a hole.”

“Pleasure to see you, Anise.”

My fingers on the ID card, I rub it with my thumb. “You don’t mean it.”

“I never do.” He holds out his palm. “What do you have for me?”

“It was Alucard’s feeding time. Random person on the street, the usual. Well, it wasn’t normal. People often scream. Fucker was mostly silent.”

“Smith, huh?”

“No first name, no regional location. Just a ghost in the system. There’s a strong lock it blocks his data chain. Redacted on purpose. Someone was smart about it. I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Move over, Anise. Let me see if I can hack it.”

He moves your body out of the way and places the chip into your makeshift reader on your computer. Data shows xxx, nothing. He pulls up the data generator, and begins to hack inside the Agent’s hub.

One of Alucard’s first kills was a top bitch had all kinds of devices we learned to make copies of copies. Access to every person in this forsaken city. If we don’t have a city, we can go state or national. Smith was an echo. No one in the city with the likeliness of him.

Somebody’s trying to hide their private life.

Liam’s top brow began to sweat, codes filling up the page looked foreign. Screen went black with zig zag lines across the laptop. The whole process gave me waves of anxiety watching it. Nothing was going to happen. He might as well just been free food for Alucard, which I suppose is fine. Nobody is nobody.

Liam smiled, “Don’t give up on me, Anise. I think I got it. Yeah, yeah.” He slipped his fingers across the keyboard, an orchestra played with his dexterity. “Yeah, there we go. Parker Smith Agent 306. Age zero. Not sure what the hell that means. No address. Owned by Company Silver. Worth looking into I’d say.”

“Never heard of it. Gotta be a shell.”

“You’re going to have to look into it since Alucard ate him. We can’t have the Agents on our back. It’s too risky.”

“Guess my weekend has suddenly opened up. They might be able to donate to my charity case.” I sucked in the cigarette and blew smoke in Liam’s face.

“If you keep doing that I’ll get cancer from second hand smoke.”

“It’d be a damn shame. Alucard doesn’t like nasty organs.”

“Alucard does have a mind of his own. He much prefers non-humans. Have you tried taking him out of the city to eat sheep or goat?”

“That’s expensive. We’d have to hunt in the wild. We have work to do, and he knows it. This isn’t a game, Liam. People’s lives are on the line. We cannot merge cities until the threat is neutralized. Say, we succeed. It’ll be much easier spreading it in other domains. A complete takeover.”

“We’re lucky, you know. The world stopped making bullets. We would’ve had far worse carnage.”

“Have you ever been punched by their robotic security men?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

I lean in real close to his face, “You can’t poison them because they’re not real. You gotta hit them with barbed wire bats to loosen up their mechs, or dissemble their core, if fortunes on your side. Should they get you, you’ll end up throwing up blood for weeks.”

Liam’s curly hair fell through my fingers, ringlets. Baby hairs. “It doesn’t kill them, nothing they can’t fix. They’re all programmed to believe they’re good. They don’t get it, lack of consciousness. Bullets would be faster.”

“If there were bullets we wouldn’t have a chance.”

“If there were bullets, all I would need is a team, out by a week. People don’t understand how combat changes a person. When you’re not worried about dying, your awareness drops to zero. It’s an easy kill.”

Liam smiled, it may have been the first time I saw his flawless engineered teeth. “You can’t poison mechs, how do you think we’ll get there?”

“No, but I can burn their hardware. Nothing like a little hydrofluoric acid and a bit of fire to do the trick. Inside, outside. Doesn’t matter.”

“You risk hydrogen fluoride gas, Anise. It’s dangerous.”

“Oh? You’re concerned I don’t know how to wear PPE? Come on Liam, stay being a bitch boy and leave the killing to the professionals.”

Liam laughed, “I plan to see my age well into an wrinkled old bastard. Happily, a bitch boy.”

---

Are you reading horoscopes, again?

“Yes, Alucard. You never know when you need to consult with the stars to make a decision.”

What do the prophecies tell you?

“I should stake the place out tomorrow, Wednesday. Avoid either end of the week at all costs. When was your birthday again?”

Who knows, Anise. You’re born, you eat, or be killed. It’s simple.

“One hell of a boring life. If we can find out how to transplant your brain into a body. I will be sure to put my name in for good luck.”

I would rather die.

“I thought you hated being a dog? Wouldn’t you like to have hands? You could pick up shit instead of wrecking it. I am going to say, you’re definitely a Scorpio.”

I am not sure what that means.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s the vibe I’m catching from you. Total Scorpio energy. It says you can’t go outside for a week.”

Does it say I am allowed any gluttony?

“Yes, I should probably bring a partial slab of someone’s body.”

Don’t cut off anyone’s dick, because you’re bored. I won’t eat that.

“I don’t want to get my delicate hands filthy. I much prefer to watch them suffer.”

What’s your star sign?

“You’d never believe it, even if I told you.”

Try me.

“I’m a mirror. I reveal everything. Rip out the uncomfortable reflection of the self. It’s beautiful Alucard. Menkind don’t have to acknowledge reality. What monsters they wish to create is plentiful. Many fail to escape themselves when they find awareness.”

This is a run around. Menkind are children. They only wish their ignorance could pacify them. When I learned the language, I thought it would be prophetic. Now, all I feel is disdain.
How many treats will you bring home for me?

“As many as I can carry. We’ll even try out your poison. I wonder which is stronger, yours or hydrofluoric acid?”

Don’t bring me any poisoned meat, it hurts my stomach. I trussst you. I would hate to eat you out of spite.

“There it is. The Scorpio. You’re a fuckin’ Scorpio.”

You know I won’t eat you. You’re too confident. If Liam comes back he could be collateral.

“No, Alucard. He’s the best the other side’s got. We taunt the baby hair bitch boy because he’s easy. Eating him isn’t an option. Humiliation is better, lasts longer. He’ll know it by name.”

Now, I’m hungry.

“We’ll hunt tonight. Somebody’s gonna follow me.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Anise.

“If someone follows me, I’ll need them to fess up. I’ll need a code word to step away, Alucard.”

Scorpio.

---

In the afternoon with a cup of tea, earl grey stains the front enamel of your teeth. For all the wrong reasons, rumination hijacks your brain and lives right on the tongue. It swirls like a squiggly line sentient of its own thoughts. This is a hostage situation. Since you realized your own consciousness, there was the fantasy. The world without trash and death. It lived in the pigments of trees, the veins in the leaves, before poisons and disease. It’s hard to confiscate a brain like yours and throw away all of it wholesale. You’ll dance like the Agents to the right tune, if only for a moment and let life reveal itself.

Alucard expressed, the only way for a fresh start is to fight back. Burn it down. Leave behind the quiet luxuries and comfort of safety. Most of your life, you could hide behind the angled blade, labs filled with poison, as you climbed and assumed a position as a middle class collector. Pay in your year spot. Life’s transactional state.

Inside the layers that make up your existence, it’s hard to turn away. To hide, to store memories, to collect what wants to be forgotten.

Most of the wealthy women live in their ivory towers never to see the light of day. When the new world comes, women will be on the battlefield. All generations. Menkind cannot exist without the first woman.

---

All the poisons are hidden to the menkind?

Stored in vials behind coat pockets where it can’t be detected. “I’ll be fine, Alucard. I can pretend I am somebody’s girlfriend.”

Will they not see through you?

“Maybe, I doubt it will go as planned. I will die or go in.”

We don’t even know who runs the place.

“I like to come in hot. It helps me feign ignorance easier.”

Something doesn’t feel right.

“If I don’t come back by 1 AM, you know what to do.”

I call the Elders and escape through my door for the clean up crew to dissssmantle any resemblance of you.

“And how do you call the Elders?” My hands place a different retractable cane that opens up into a metal bat with barbed wire.

I press the prerecorded device in your bedroom with a dragon symbol. Are you even listening to me?

Teflon tubing hides the hydrofluoric acid in the event they have robots. Four throwaway knives for their core, if I can get close. There’s new tech every week on this side of the world. Newsletters come out in droves. Did you see it? The latest is bioengineering and cross breeding of species. They no longer have mutants that die. Did you want the bunny deer? Yes. Does it look cute until it opens its mouth? Yes. Alucard has only eaten a few of them. According to him they taste far better than the two legged creatures.

Hello? Don’t tell me you have a brain bleed.

“I am thinking.”

Are you? Because bitch boy doesn’t sound like he knows what he’s talking about.

“It’s going to be fine. Piece of cake.”

If you die I’ll eat the rest of your corpse.

“Promise?”

Folded the duffel bag four ways and slipped it into my zipper inner pocket. Alucard’s eyes collapse behind film, gooey, abalone texture. Spinning fast, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking. My nails glide over the glass pane, antiques glittering underneath the overhead lights. My hands pat the brim of his nose leading to his head. He doesn’t stir, statuesque. No reason to keep him in puppy form, I’ll be long gone.

My thankless, loveless life. I cannot feel it, the way I felt it back when.

Outside the sun is red, it doesn’t blind me.

I watch it stain the sidewalks with bright light, mercurial over my boots. The fog blotches the light. It’s still grey. Oh, the city speaks its truth. My heart goes out to the ones before me. Its sharp razor. I remember when the sidewalks had trees, old centuries old. Grandmother’s and grandfather’s of a different lifeline. Their roots tore up the streets, cement bumps and potholes.

No one walks on the streets after the dark hits. People stay in. Dog days fill up their comfort.

Libraries shutter, the quiet creeps in. Security guards stay outside, some real, some not real. Irregular movements fight with the shadows. I contour with the ground. Slip a syringe into my left hand press into the skin with a whisper. Two hours to find the antidote. Two hours to feel the heartburn create heart palpitations repeated in their chest.

No witnesses, no problems. Breadcrumbs for anyone searching. My kaleidoscope disaster.

The Company is about one mile away. Convenience is not a coincidence, Parker Smith. Agents know something is in their city, they don’t know what it is or who it is. It would take less than a minute to infiltrate my compound. Less than a minute for me to blow it all up with my body as collateral. Sacrifices aren’t my thing anymore. Ghost transactions is ideal.

Looked up the nefarious place. Some winding scantily lit staircase made of cheap black metal. Every window has a door attached that leads out. Wonder how many people get hung off, and see their piercing end. Rooms into their splattered remains, unable to escape fate. Hate heights. Vertigo. Not going to climb those things even if it’s easier access. Robots gotta be outside. No way there is a human meat shield.

Will have to switch it up. There’s one way without lighting them up with hydrofluoric acid. In the middle of the throat is a lever. Opens up after you twist their Adam’s apple. You don’t even have to peel back their slimy rubbery skin. It opens up, as it partially beheads them and you take their core. Hard drives are harder to crack. Costs a fortune to replace them. After we steal their data, we wipe it clean and powerhouse the underground. Trash city can burn righteous. People get electricity for years. It’s worth it, won’t be able to take any today.

Fuckers hit hard. Not looking forward to them getting tough with me. Best way to tell is at the nape of the neck. There’s a zipper. No way a human would get one for a body mod. Bloody infections. Fastest way to sepsis. Hospitals log you in a system to forget you.

Two security guards stand straight up, posture a line. Look at those unblinking bastards. Cameras in their eyes. Speakers to process data. Everybody’s got a code whether or not they realize it.

One of my syringes had two shots of whiskey. Shooted it straight into my mouth. Crunch it underneath my boot. Unkempt. Pyre in my loins. Take me to the chapel.

Skins cold to touch, my voice slurs. “Parker. He told me he works here. I want to see Parker.”

‘Parker who, miss?’

Never would know they were artificial unless you listened to their unnatural speech. I flick my nails on its zipper, stumbling on its rock hard body. Hand quickly fucks down the lever. His head was held together by sticky goo, applesauce spaghetti. I slide a knife into the center and trip its core.

Not even a second passes between the other one. Launch myself on its body.

“Parker. Parker Smith. What’s wrong with your friend? It’s toooooo early to be sleepin’.”

‘I will call him down, Miss.’

“Yes, I would very much like that, mister misery mister.”

Hand behind its neck flicking the zipper. “Where does it go?”

‘What go?’

“Your zipper. Where’s it go? Do you get to choose what skin suit you wear? Haha.”

Parker Smith, the man Alucard ate a few days ago, stood at the entryway confused. Oh, this is rich. Who the fuck are you? I stumbled into the robot. Stabbed into the robot’s core with a longer blade. Not enough to kill it. Trip the wires. No cameras.

“Can I help you?”

Yes, you can. I kick the robot down and swing up to the real Parker Smith. My hands are at war with the wind. Right hand on his throat, not enough pressure to choke him. Enough for him to feel it there.

“I fucked you, but you’re not you. Who the fuck is you?”

“It’s complicated.” He chokes up the words.

“Amnesia, love?”

“I can tell you’re upset. Why don’t we go inside and talk?”

Yes, tell me why there’s clones of you. Don’t ask about how those security robots were just chucked to the ground. Broken. Without fuses to hold them together.

He holds my hand, inside I shutter. Parker Smith has cologne thick enough you can drink it and it torches your nose like a bad cocaine habit. Cremates whatever color you had left inside this graveyard.

“We’re still working on the programming. I know it must feel jarring seeing another person who isn’t real.”

Casual, between friends. I relax when I see his big veins on his neck. Hungry, I imagine Alucard in heat, his blood filling our parched bone dry lips. Detach, and disorganized his human life. Bet, he secretly wants to be discarded. They all do. “It’s pretty fucking weird.”

“We’re scientists, with the birth rate declining we’re going to have to make the absolute human. Holy grail, eternal life. Or kidnap people off the streets in the outer cities.”

“Trash city is hardly a city. More like a compound to roll in their own feces.”

“It would be less than ideal considering our unspoken treaty.”

“Who cares about them if it means we exist though?”

He led me into a flat, a high ceiling luxury loft. In the middle was an obscenely large bed with about a dozen screens lit up on the wall. Monitoring. Recorded. One screen was completely static. Must have been Alucard’s kill.

He brings me to the bar and begins to pour me a drink.

“How much money do you want to stay quiet?”

“Not even going to ask my name?”

“You’re Anisette Green of the Otherworldly Antiquities. I looked you up, while you were accosting our guards. I could’ve sworn one of my clones must have seen you. It was you over him. What was it like? Fucking a clone?”

My face could not hide my disappointment. Menkind are a fuckin’ travesty. I slide the glass back into his hands.

“It wasn’t as impressive as I had thought. He didn’t make a noise, cold fish. After, he ghosted me. I have his ID card. Brought me here.”

I slap his ID card down. Data is mine. His face goes pale, “The thing is Parker. I love kinky sex. It turns out, the fake one couldn’t keep up. Somewhere during our tiny excursion, his ID card fell on my floor. Naturally, I needed questions. So, what’s your story?”

“It’s rare those things ever come undone.”

“You should probably microchip your pets.”

“That’s an idea. They still need an ID to pretend to be real.”

“You a kinky bastard too, aren’t you Parker? Bet you love to watch yourself fuck various women.”

“In a way, yeah. I want to see alternative timelines.”

“I am not judging you for your curiosity. It’s probably every man’s wet dream.”

“You want my story and you’ll leave?”

“Yes, I am an archivist. I can’t help it, if I want to know more.”

“Anisette, who are you?”

“I am not into credentialism. I am a collector, Agent Parker.”

---