Shadow Slave

Just like every day, Saint woke up before dawn broke.

However, she did not feel refreshed and well-rested, like she usually would. Instead, she felt tired, dazed, and hurting all over. That was because she did not wake up in her comfortable, state-of-the-art orthopedic bed. Instead, she woke up on the hard surface of a church bench. Her luxurious cotton percale bedding was nowhere to be seen, either, replaced by a single dusty sheet of cheap and coarse fabric... naturally, her carefully selected pillow was also gone, supplanted by a rolled-up trench coat.

She had even slept in her clothes.

...And only for a few hours.

”Unacceptable.”

Trying her best not to feel indignant, Saint sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘Ouch.’ Her bruised body hurt. The cuts on her fingers stung, as well — the handkerchief wrapped around them had turned brown from blood and was sticking unpleasantly to her skin.

She was dirty, disheveled, and... grumpy. She felt disgusting.

That did not happen often.

Saint looked around groggily.

Of course, her clean and quiet apartment was nowhere to be seen. Sadly, she was still in an abandoned church, in the company of two unhinged detectives and an escaped patient. They did not seem to have slept at all — instead, they were sitting around a makeshift table, discussing something in hushed voices.

The hum of their whispering felt jarring in the echoing silence of the empty church. ‘Irritating.’

Saint sighed.

The morning was a time for exercise, personal hygiene, self-care, and nutrition... ‘Oh, no.’

Saint could not exercise properly because her body was bruised and battered after the altercation with the three brutes. Putting strain on it would only exacerbate the damage.

Personal hygiene was also a victim of her circumstance. She did not have her cleanser lotion, exfoliating scrub lotion, hydrating shampoo, and balancing conditioner, let alone her skincare and haircare products... all she had access to was bottled water to wash her hands and face.

Letting out another grumpy sigh, Saint rose from the bench and did just that.

Anything was better than nothing...

While Saint was carefully unwrapping the handkerchief from her hand and rinsing the deep cuts, Detective Athena looked at her and smiled.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! There’s toothpaste and a spare toothbrush in that box over there. Enjoy!”

Saint gave her a long, somber look. Some time later, she was done with trying — and failing — to make herself look presentable. Then, Saint was faced with another blow.

Naturally, she treated all matters having to do with nutrition seriously. But her balanced breakfast was a pipe dream, at the moment... instead, she was presented with the food supplies in one of the boxes. ȐÂ₦ố𐌱ĘṦ

A galore of ultraprocessed carbs, artificial additives, and chemical preservatives, all under a thick layer of high-fructose corn syrup.

It was basically poison.

‘I can’t eat that!’

Saint stared at the box with a lost expression, not knowing what to do. Noticing her hesitation, Detective Athena smiled again.

“Oh, there are also some donuts left! Treat yourself!”

Looking at her smiling face, Saint felt something that she had never felt before. ...The desire to smack another human being right across their face.

Her eyes widened a little.

‘I... am not okay.’

And whose fault was that?

Theirs!

Taking a deep breath, Saint counted to ten and then said politely:

“Thank you. But I am not hungry.”

Picking up a bottle of water, she quenched her thirst and stayed motionless for a while. Now that her morning ritual — or at least a version of it — was complete, she could finally think about her situation.

Her mood only grew worse.

Someone had tried to kill her. She did not know who or why. There were detectives protecting her, but their mental state was questionable.

Morgan, the heiress of the Valor Group, had escaped from a secure mental hospital and was now here with her, acting as if nothing odd was happening.

So what was Saint supposed to do?

Going home seemed like an unwise decision, considering that someone was out to get her. Going to work was similarly problematic.

Relying on her rescuers...

She listened to what they were saying.

At that moment, Detective Sunless was shaking his head.

“It is still not enough. Sure, we determined that the past of the victims was changed to give them a connection to the Valor Group. The company of the guy who was supposed to renovate this neighborhood was a minor contractor for them, the young security guard was previously assigned to a different post, the older woman worked in an agency that provided outsourcing archival services for one of the Valor Group branches... but that is still not enough to pinpoint the exact culprit.”

Detective Athena answered in a carefree tone: “Yes, but if we add the attempted victims to the list — the CEO, two detectives who had been in contact with him, Morgan, and her psychiatrist — then the entire picture changes, doesn’t it?”

Morgan shrugged.

“There is nothing in my counterpart’s memory to easily explain why she would be targeted. At least not on the surface — even if she knew something, I’d need to know what to look for first to find pertinent information.”

Detective Sunless spoke again:

“There are very few issues that would require both the CEO and his sister to be taken out of the picture. An attempted coup? That doesn’t make sense, though... even if both Mordret and Morgan disappear, the power will simply return to Anvil. We don’t think that he’s behind the Nihilist, do we? He’s supposed to be out of the country, anyway.”

Saint closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Great. Now they think that I became collateral damage in some sort of power struggle within the Valor Group?’

She drank her water in silence, feeling miserable.

By then, the conversation had changed course.

“Whoever the culprit is, they won’t stop trying. We need to be ready to defend ourselves... which can be more problematic than we think. We are mundane people at the moment, after all, and our mundane bodies are quite vulnerable. Do any of you know how to use this thing? I pilfered it from the highly skilled, deadly, armed assassin who had tried to kill me.”

Morgan spoke next.

“No. I never trained with firearms, let alone antique ones.”

Detective Effie chuckled.

“What’s so difficult about it? You just point it at the adversary and press the trigger, right?”

Detective Sunless did not sound too sure. “Well, I don’t know. Their cars need to be fueled with flammable liquid, and their communicators only work half a day without being charged. Who knows what their guns use as ammunition?”

Frowning, Saint turned her head and then spoke evenly:

”This is a double-action, six-shot revolver... Smith and Wesson Model Ten. It uses thirty-eight caliber bullets. Also, don’t point it at each other, please. You are detectives, so you should know how to follow basic gun safety.”

Detective Sunless blinked a few times. “Actually, I have no idea. I was near a lot of guns in the Evacuation Army, but I never even fired one, let alone trained to handle one.”

Then, he smiled brightly.

“But you seem to know your way around a gun, Saint! Well, of course you do. After all, you are a weapon master.”

Saint frowned. What about her gave this bizarre man the impression that she knew how to handle a firearm?

Not that she didn’t...

Pursing her lips, Saint remained silent for a moment, then said reluctantly:

“I do have a marksmanship certificate. I used to practice shooting to maintain a good level of hand-eye coordination.”

He nodded a couple of times.

“Of course you did. Then, you keep it.” With that, he pushed the revolver into her hand.

Saint froze, startled.

”Excuse me?”

Detective Sunless smiled.

”You know, for self-defense. Next time someone tries to strangle you, blow their brains out. Alright?”

Then, after thinking for a few moments, he added:

”Actually, bash their brains out before they try to strangle you. Yeah, that would be way better...”