Destiny Override by Jamie K. Schmidt

Heat Rating: None

Content Warning: Moderate Violence.

An ex-stripper turned mage is hunted by vampyres our for revenge. Can her friends help save her?

If you ever need me, Katerina, I'll be here. Villain heard Shakedown's voice in her head, the man she swore she'd never take up on his offer. Yet here she was crawling back to the same old dance club, hoping no one she knew would recognize her. She grimaced as she caught a glimpse of herself in the bar's mirror, "Not likely."

When she left she was an eighteen year old who had been stripping for two years and studying her grimoire between shakes. The things she had seen from her magic had changed her raven's hair to silver and the magical backlash colored her black, Italian eyes to a misty blue. Then, she would have been wearing silks and soft cowhide leather in her off-time. Today, the more practical denim and steel laced synthetic leather was more her style.

"No," she concluded, after forcing herself to stare into the mirror. There was only one man who could possibly recognize her, and only then because of the memory program in his brain recorded the neural scans of everyone he came into contact with.

Yeah, Shakedown would know her instantly. That thought made Villain feel even worse. She took a table away from the stage and watched the patrons leer and hurry to the cashier to change their money into tickets. Upstairs, a different type of business was going on. She craned her neck to get a good look at the merchandise. She didn't recognize any of them; of course, the Toys didn't last too long in this neighborhood. Villain caught her breath, though, as one of the workers exited a room.

"Neon," she murmured sadly. He hadn't left. Or else, he came back.

She made her way across the smoky dance floor, dodging the slamming bodies. The music was different than it was five years ago, but the beat was the same.

"How much for the Paisan?" She asked the check out girl.

"Huh? Oh he's ten chips an hour. He specializes in..."

"I know what he specializes in," Villain snapped and handed her a ten chip. He was a weapons specialist with a hand to hand combat that would put most martial arts masters to shame. He was a loyal, brave friend, who wasn't afraid of anything.

"Go on up," the check out girl said, handing her a pass with Neon's name on it.

Villain climbed the stairs two at a time, with her head down. She didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to make eye contact. What was the old saying, "There but by the grace of God go I?" Or some crap like that. Nowadays it was more like, "Better you than me." On the upper level, she saw him gazing down into the crowd. His muscled forearms, scarred from the cyber-operations, rested on the railing. He looked tense, hunched over like that. She couldn't tell if he was hyped up or sedated. The long termers she knew said the mind drugs helped make their jobs easier; that it took them to a much better place. Villain always thought it kept them trapped where they were.