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Highest Performer



 
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Yoshima

“My title? It got garbled up in my contract documentation so…I’ve been mistakenly given the role of “Succubus” for the time being.” Succubus? Is that a desert plant? What even IS that?

----

Yesterday

 

The Hospital still wasn’t very pretty. The lights overhead were as cold and white as ever, and doctors and nurses dragged themselves through the halls, their ghostly apparitions only fueled by coffee and cold vending machine egg sandwiches during 26 hour shifts. It was a mostly uneventful night, with occasional whiffs of strong disinfectant and a slap of wet mops on the ground from night janitors passing by. Ah. Nostalgia.

 

“Lin! LIN?!”

He turned around to a harrowed-looking man in a white coat.

“No! Yoshi?! Is that you?”

He grinned with a shrug, sheepishly jamming his hands into denim pockets. “No. Sorry, doc…you have the wrong guy.”

 

The confusion on the other man’s face was palpable, and Yoshi relished every second of it. No wonder. This was a colleague of his, back when Yoshi had worked at this very hospital ward. They had been close, and had spent many a sleepless night alongside one another, butting shoulders at the surgery table, spitting jokes back and forth as they expertly suctioned, sliced through flesh, removed bullet wounds. They would prop each other up after a night out with too much to drink, had went on hiking trips together, with each other’s wives tagging along. Yoshi was kind back then. He was often found in the break room trying to sop up tears from his brown, expressive eyes, crying over his patients when they didn’t make it. On quieter days, he made regular trips to the pediatrics unit to cheer kids up with some ridiculous dancing.

 

“No…of course you’re not him. He’s…I mean…”

 

He trailed off, still squinting at him but flushed with embarrassment. Yoshi feigned surprise. But he knew exactly what the other man was thinking.

 

Yoshi was supposed to be dead. Yoshi, the former Good Doctor turned notorious serial killer, who had gone batsh!t, murderously mad after the death of his wife. Yoshi, who filleted his victims using this very hospital’s scalpels, then licked the blades clean. Yoshi, who gleefully plunged his bare hands into people’s guts and chuckled when he was met with weak, gurgling screams. Yoshi, who was finally brought to the grave years ago for his deranged evil.

 

Yeah. That guy. Bingo.

 

He had made headlines with his gruesome new hobby. People locked their doors at night - for a while, he was feared throughout the land. But he had been sloppy, drunk in fresh blood and carnage, and the very scalpels he used to methodically dissect his victims were found near the crime scenes and tracked down. Slayers came after him one faithful night. And he was plunged straight to Hell.

 

Beep beep. Beepbeepbeep.

 

“You might want to get that, Brian.” Yoshi gestured.

 

“Ah…yes…” The resident grabbed his pager, wordlessly nodded in thanks and brushed past him, and glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening. How did he know my name…? and then did a double take. The other man had disappeared.

 

----

Some time prior

 

Yoshi had become a star employee in corporate Hell. He’s climbed the ranks fairly quickly – from lowly ferry toll-collector to expert whipper  – maybe the Big Boss would see potential. I deserve a promotion, he thought, panting from the exertion. Hell was boring. Didn’t he do enough work for the Devil in the Realm as a serial killer? And he worked for free, no less. He missed the excitement and diversity of the Realm. It was filled with all kinds of innocent people to toy with, unlike his current fiery office.

 

He was granted the chance to have a Skype meeting with good ol’ Satan. He took a deep breath. “Bring me back. I think I deserve another chance to be on Earth”.

 

Satan laughed at him. “You’ve always been one of my highest performers.”

 

A contract was sent to him a few days later. It was about the thickness of a small whale. Yoshi dipped a pen into blood, hands shaking, and scrawled his signature onto the dusty, singed last page. His ticket home.

 

----

Present

 

You’ve always been one of my highest performing workers.

 

Those words sealed the deal. He’s at a club, with some tight pants. It’s a packed night, but the glare from the stage lights obscured his audience from view, allowing him to be exquisitely alone to hone his craft.

 

Damn, this ex-doctor was going to be an amazing Asian Magic Mike.

December 20, 2018 03:28 am

Mackenzie

It's one of those nights that get away from her. Jasper is toiling away, and thus Mackenzie is left to her own devices. She'd seen him off, an uncomfortable sacrament that has come to be a thing for them. It is almost like a blessing in the form of a tight hug and whispered demands. No this, no that. Bring back this, avoid that. It's sweet, if not a little melancholy.

She sees him off, and thus she is left to her own improvisations.

Being alone is hard for the Irish femme, her youth always gnawing at her in much the same fashion her emotions do. The past four months have been trying, and Mackenzie is left sentimentally battered. The loss of her b-tch, an ugly breakup with Victor, Jasper's new job, and everything in-between. She feels a heavy culpability where none should exist.

She should have been more accessible. She should have voiced her concerns and feelings sooner. She should have been there. There is little she can do now, except watch on in hindsight.

A clear desire to escape herself is what has brought her out into the chilly New York winter, though she finds herself constantly auditing the land not for foes but instead searching for those she wishes to see. There would be none but an exquisite impersonator of that f-cking English b-stard.

Dark curly hair, dark eyes, monochromatic clothes. Hell, he even manages a close match to that devilish simper as he steps into some depraved establishment.

Yes, he would do.

Without thought, Mackenzie has decided upon her dinner and is moving toward that selfsame door. Barely a glance would grant her access, and once inside, she finds herself in a warmly lit... oh. Oh, my.

Faint red lights illuminate the seated areas, but the stage is another story. Theater lighting brings to life it's actors, though Mackenzie barely pays them any mind as she sets about finding her dastardly prey in the mix of desperate, overly excited women. Either Victor 2.0 works here, or he has other interests that she would likely not appeal to.

No matter.

It is there on the stage that her gaze would drift as she moves through the audience, landing upon the gyrating man for just a second long enough for her eyes to narrow.

She is so sure that she is seeing things, and yet here she is. Here he is. In the flesh.

So. Much. Flesh.

Slowly, she approaches.

Mister f-cking Yum Yum.
December 28, 2018 09:45 am

Yoshima

He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. It smelled humid, of humanity. The sour smell of sweat from countless damned souls he was so used to smelling – the smell of fear, suffering – was largely absent.

Instead, he was met with a bouquet of eagerness and intrigue. It was a welcome relief.

The brilliant stage lighting warmed his exposed upper body, and his eyes were growing accustomed, as he danced to a soulful croon of "It's Raining Men". His eyes locked onto a certain man in the audience with a mop of curly hair, bobbing within the sea of women. Yoshi stared him down. There were certain quotas he needed to fill.

As a newly minted Demon, Yoshi may have been given warm, human skin, the likeness of when he was still a human many, many decades ago, and also some superhuman strength. Unlike many of his colleagues, however, he preferred more unorthodox methods to claim his victims. Lure and capture. It was easier than pouncing on them in a dark alleyway. Yoshi was never one for brutality. He might chip a nail.

It wasn’t hard. There was a certain charm to the Demon, a presence that pulled so many closer. Patience, however, was not Yoshi’s strong point. He wanted immediate results. Showing skin certainly helps speed things along.

He shook himself, breath quickening. A new smell, the smell of the Supernatural, graced his olfactory senses.

Vampire. Female.

With that, he was caught in a current of memory.

Ever since medical school many decades ago, he craved to do something with his hands. He wanted to see what was inside, he wanted to lovingly dissect humanity in the most intimate way possible – through the flesh. He was now granted that, and more. As a Demon, he now has the assignment – no, the privilege – to quite literally consume humanity. Bones and all.

He used to enjoy his murder sprees with a certain Vampire by his side. A certain Tanvir Buckley. He adored her. She had captured his heart, and her own carnage-loving spunk made him feel truly alive.

Did he just smell – her? Was she here?

In between his performance, his eyes scanned the crowd, settling on a shock of brunette hair. No. Not Tanvir. But this one…his lip curled up into a smirk. She’s always been breathtaking, with those fine elfin features. Kind of like some broody character in Twilight.

Mackenzie.

He was very familiar with that certain glint in her eyes. The look of a hunter. And her eyes were focused on someone, but they were getting distracted within the surge of bodies inside of the nightclub. As her eyes met his, he broke out in a grin, brilliant white teeth humanlike, but unsettlingly so.

He swooped down from his perch, untangling himself from the pole he was on to land softly in front of the Vampire, straightening to tower over her. The smile never left his face, but the formerly soft brown of his eyes darkened into something more serious.

“He’s mine, Mack.”

She was stepping into his territory. And his prey.

December 30, 2018 03:23 am

Mackenzie

Like something out of a Westside Story, he is suddenly in her space and ready to rumble. Mackenzie has never been one to back down. Some may blame it upon that Irish stubbornness, but deep down, she is simply selfish. The woman is greedy, taking without remorse no matter the subject of her attention. It is deeper than that, still.

Quite simply, Mackenzie is tired of pretending.

So, as the tall drink of water declares his prey, she scoffs. A smile adorns her features, please and amused. It touches that cool, blue stare.

Being the good sport that she is, Mackenzie plucks a small was of ones from her pocket - lifted from none other than her person - and fans them out in the small space between herself and Yoshi. That smile, previously girlish, turns into something just a little more.

Dangerous, dauntless, and determined.

"I saw him first," her whispered response would carry upon the stale air, entwined with dust and broken dreams... kind of like his own. Without hesitation, she flicks the first bill upon her meager stack at him, watching it scurry away with her words. "Imagine how many strippers asscracks that has been in..."

And another.

She steps forward.

"Now, I realize it must be very difficult for you to find someone worthy of your wrath in a sea of thirsty women and a single man. But. I followed him for a reason, and you are not going to swoop in like a hawk snatching a kitten."

The raining of the bills has increased in speed as she speaks, resulting in just a single one left that is now clutched in her small hand. Never mind the grabby women pretending to touch the butt and take pictures they would later regret. Quietly, Mackenzie is having a temper tantrum in her own fashion. All because he told her no.

But she wants this one. It reminds her of the past, and regret. It must die. by. her. hand.

"So."

As if that sums it all up, she shamelessly stuffs the last bill in his waistband.
December 31, 2018 07:47 pm

Yoshima

“I saw him first.” He clucked in disapproval. The man with the boring London drab she was after had a certain Taint to him – high priority – that he couldn’t wait to consume. He didn’t know exactly what exactly had caused this Taint, but he had some ideas. Taint is reserved for the ones that like to snap pictures of women’s panties as they go up the stairs. Or chats up ladies at a bar and slips some powder into their drinks. Sleazy, devilishly handsome types. Yoshi was an abhorrent being, yes, but even he couldn’t tolerate that special little breed of monster. The Company valued souls like those. What could a man like that be of any significance to a Vampire? Yoshi snorts.

“Did you just call him…kitten? What’s he to you? New boy toy? Trying to forget? …revenge?”

His questions were quick and biting, as he studied any changes in Mackenzie’s expression. Maybe one of those will land. The woman was somewhat of an enigma to him by now, and he wasn’t sure exactly how long he’s been underground. There were certainly no Nokias anymore, judging how easily women’s phones shattered when their hands faltered trying to take selfies with him. What a fragile new world he’s come to.

Imagine how many stripper’s asscracks that has been in…

Yoshi’s eyes gleamed. Oh. He can certainly imagine.

Fluttering, single bills floated to the floor. The defiance in her eyes and that declaration of challenge as she looked up at him as she depleted her stash of cash widened his smile. Aw. Cute. She edged closer, barely a forearm’s length away. Without warning, her hand had shot forward.

“So.”

Mackenzie tucks the last bill into his waistband, snapping it back with an elastic crack. Yoshi’s display of pearly whites faltered ever so slightly into a grimace.

F*ck, that hurt.

Despite his wounded pride, he had to admire her through his slightly watery eyes. She had nuts of steel, certainly none as sensitive as his. Boys flocked to Mackenzie, as he was a prime witness to in the past. Hell, he himself was drawn to the fiery little Irishwoman, with her quick, biting charm. And that determination! Yoshi’s eyes twinkled. He missed her. But that can't be the wrench thrown into his plans. Those pretty muscles of his can’t thrive on rainbows and dewdrops alone, after all – the whims of the Demon’s body was very much of a carnivore. Amino acids were essential building blocks for his continued *******ized life, as he had found out through some rather painful self-experimentation. Yoshi the doctor wouldn’t dare prescribe veganism on any poor Demon.

His eyes swiveled to the object of Mackenzie’s attention, who, with a flourish of his overcoat, had settled into the bar on the side, watching them, glowing with that...Taint. The Demon was pensive, his thumb distractedly rubbing over day-old stubble on his jaw. He needed that man. Mackenzie getting her hands on him by her lonesome would spoil it. So how to get her to cooperate…?

“Where I come from, it’s rude to tip.”

He reached down to his waistband, lowering it ever so slightly…to retrieve the bill, expertly folding it into three. He tilted his head, biting his lower lip. Several hens clucked in approval, drawing closer, smartphones armed. Yoshi ignored them. This was normally bad customer service, of course, but he only has eyes for his current client. She had, after all, dictated his price.

“However, since you Europeans insist on being so…generous, credit is due. It’s only manners, after all.”

A half smile grew on his face. The folded bill was caught between two fingers on one hand, as his other hand offers the silky smooth black necktie around his neck to her, as he goes into a deep bow, his eyes trained on her brilliant blues as he straightened.

“I’m all yours. Tell me what you’d like me to do.”

The previous statement was a declaration, as the hens cooed in appreciation. He whispered to her, voice low.

"Hope that guy isn’t your boyfriend, Mack. Can’t imagine how he’d castrate me if he was. But maybe...just maybe...he'll come closer. Then we'll see which of us can be the first to nab him."

The background song swelled to a crescendo.

 

Oh, it's raining men, yeah
Humanity's rising (humanity's rising)
Barometer's getting low (it's getting low, low, low, low)

January 01, 2019 08:59 pm

Mackenzie

Is this real life? Mackenzie asks herself that every day. Here she is, stood in a male revue, arguing with Yoshi over a kill. She isn’t sure why. This man she had stalked in here holds no value, but instead looks like someone. Turning her head, she lets her gaze flicker over him in full, unashamed as he watches her dissect him.

He’s hardly passable. Sure, he has that perfect dark hair and warm, near pitch eyes. His clothes are equally matching. But he isn’t the same. When they meet each other’s gaze, there is nothing there. No recognition, no amount of familiarity. Certainly no love lost, either. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and Mackenzie becomes acutely award of just how well her emotions rule her.

“I don’t know him.”

Mackenzie has no idea who he is, and she feels akin to a stranger to the man he had reminded her of.

An icy glare would set upon Yoshima, though she works to hide her own confusion and inner turmoil. He wants to battle over this one, and while she should refuse to back down and assert herself - she decides against it. Rather, her heart does.

“F-ck off,” she mutters, glancing sideways at a woman far too excited by the man standing just before her. Mortals are so bizarre, she couldn’t possibly try to understand their ilk in these venues. “You can have him. I don’t care.” But she does. She cares very much, just not for any immediately obvious reason.

“Dance for her.”

Putting her hands up, she takes a step back before retreating to the bar. She needs a goddamn drink, and he will not stand between her and that.
January 16, 2019 07:34 am
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