Chương 11: Attenuation

It is November 20th. Shrike knows this for certain, as she has been keeping careful count since overhearing "your birthday is in ten days" from a phone conversation between Martin and his brother, meaning his birthday is the 21st. From what she knows of the custom, friends give gifts and try to keep them as a surprise, a social game of sorts. She has determined that the best method for keeping a secret is to not know the information herself until the last possible moment.

Today, despite her misgivings, she has lied to Martin about her location. She is not, in fact, helping their neighbor Gary with an art project. She has brought Gary into her lie, to which he gladly agreed. The next step in her scheme is to wait at a bus stop for Cain to arrive. She doesn't have to wait for more than a minute or two, and barely notices him enter her limited range of thermal senses before he hugs her. Fortunate, she thinks, that she recognized him before her defensive instinct took over.

Her first response when off guard is an intensely bright light to blind and disorient assailants.

"Shrike! By God, I am happy to see you! We haven't talked in so long! How are you? How's the hunting? You're so warm, what gives?" Cain rattles off a half-dozen more questions, just like he does over text. Shrike replies in kind.

"I am glad to see you as well. We have not spoken to each other audibly in several months. I am doing well. Martin has received an award for his successes. I am wearing heated clothing." Cain nods along enthusiastically at every word. He's dirty, naked, and completely covered in his own long hair. Shrike is still unbothered by his appearance, despite recognizing it as strange. In truth, were he were not cursed to be forgotten and difficult to perceive, he would likely be arrested for public indecency.

Small miracles. Cain continues on about how he has seen every single movie that has entered theaters over the last few months, since no one ever asks him for a ticket. He spoils every last one, on the understanding that Shrike doesn't watch movies anyway due to the projector light hurting her eyes. Cain directs her on which bus they go on, how to pay for fare, and sitting in an empty row next to him.

"So, we are going to the Newgate Mall! Big place, tons of stores. You brought money?" She nods, reaching inside her jacket and revealing a wallet with dozens of bills.

"I understand this is a significant amount. Is this sufficient for birthday presents?" Cain nervously looks around.

"Shrike, this is close to two thousand dollars."

"Was this not enough?"

"It's plenty, but where did you get all this? I thought you weren't given a salary." Shrike tries to think of a good answer. It's everything she has saved, from money for odds and ends given to her from Martin, payment for helping neighbors who learn she isn't human and want to avoid being indebted to a "demon", cash taken from the pockets of corpses when Martin isn't looking...

"Work." The mall is completely impossible to navigate. A mess of uniform temperatures that make up walls and passing people in her maybe twenty foot area of sensing. She has no idea what or where anything is. Cain takes her hand, dragging her along at a speed she isn't quite comfortable with.

"Okay, Shrike! What does Martin like?"

"He enjoys..." She searches her mind. Damn it. She knows what food he likes, the temperatures he prefers, ideal mode of conflict resolution, but these aren't typically what gifts are based around for humans.

"How about... sports?" Cain asks, passing by a fan apparel store. She thinks carefully. He has mentioned sports on several occasions, but exclusively in conversations with his brother or people who bring it up in conversation first. Is he shy to talk about it, or does he not really enjoy them? There is no sports related apparel in the house, though it is sparsely decorated by anything.

"I am unsure. He is a large shirt size, five foot ten inches, 202 pounds as of last appraisal, mostly muscle over fat, seems to like 'the Y' which I believe to be the team name for BYU's sports team."

"Which sport?"

"... there are multiple?" Two (2) jerseys, one each of basketball and football. $1846 left. Cain stops.

"How about movies? Does he like movies?"... does he? She starts to feel somewhat ashamed. Is she really this clueless on what the person she spends so much of her time with enjoys?

"He has repeatedly referenced The Terminator on hunts, and since I do not understand the references, I assume he is doing them for his own enjoyment." One (1) poster for the movie "Terminator 2: Judgement Day." $1826 left.

"Okay. Maybe we think more practical gifts. From what you've described, he seems like a practical person."

"I agree with the assessment. He seems to consistently struggle against my light needs. Perhaps an oil lamp..? Do those still exist?"

"Yeah... maybe. Let's check the camping section."

"There is a camping section? We are camping often. Perhaps there will be more tools he would potentially find useful." Seven (7) miscellaneous camping items, and one (1) gas lantern: $1586 left.

"Damn, Shrike... this is getting really heavy. One second..." One (1) stolen department store shopping cart: $1586 left. Humans like personal touches, which is why they like thoughtful gifts. The the more personal a touch, the better? Maybe, Shrike thinks.

"An idea has come to mind. Perhaps a more personal gift would make sense. Something that would remind him of a moment in time he enjoyed. Does this make sense?"

"Alright! What are you thinking?"

"He was very happy upon me not entering hibernation. Additionally, all of our work friend's codenames are animal related, none of which to my knowledge hibernate. Perhaps some reminder of this?" One (1) custom piece of art from an art studio, the artist chosen by Cain due to their 'unique blending of ancient Greek and modern Botswanan art styles': $1506 left.

"While I am out, is there likely to be a bookstore?" Six (6) books that sounded appealing based on Cain's description, and a roll of wrapping paper: $1337 left.

"You hungry, Shrike?" Two (2) number 5s with a milkshake: $1302 left.

"Additionally, Cain, while you were distracted selecting an ideal artist earlier, I had lied about using the restroom, and instead purchased a warm hat for you that you referred to as 'snazzy', which I believe to be a good thing. Please correct me if I am wrong, I have kept the receipt. Why are you crying? Did I offend you?" One (1) snazzy hat: $1281 left. With a carefully coordinated phone call, Shrike has Gary pull around to the bus stop, and help load everything into his car.

Gary was kind enough to offer to wrap everything, which Shrike gratefully accepts. Everything is going as planned. She returns home, falsifies why she was gone for six hours, and resumes her routine as normal. Once Martin is sound asleep, she creeps out the window to avoid making the rusting hinges of the front door squeak, and begins moving the gifts inside with help from Gary's son Joseph. Martin checks a quiet alarm on his phone. Home security breach?

He stays silent, pulling the gun from under his pillow, until he hears Shrike whispering. He's too tired for whatever she's doing tonight, and goes back to sleep. Martin wakes up at 9: 00, and brushes his teeth after putting on pants and slippers. He finishes brushing, and attempts to walk down the stairs and instead meets one of Shrike's barriers. At least she remembered to keep it vertical this time. When it fades, he comes down to see breakfast prepared, with Shrike nowhere in sight.

Her voice calls from down the stairs to the basement to assist her with something. He groans, expecting to give yet another explanation on how the washing machine works. When he goes down the stairs, he instead sees Shrike sitting at the workshop table with a few lights, and a hoard of boxes carefully covered in Santa-themed wrapping paper. He looks at her with a little confusion, until he puts it together.

"How... did you know? When?"

"You were speaking with your brother on the phone eleven days prior when you mentioned your birthday. In turn, I admit to misleading you about my whereabouts yesterday, and with Cain went out to select presents. I was regrettably unsure of what you liked, so I acquired numerous gifts in the hope at least one appeals to you. Happy birthday, Martin." She half-smiles, unsure of the correct tone for the occasion. The half-smile soon breaks into a full one to match Martin's.

She goes over the thought process behind each gift, Martin laughing happily at each one after hearing her rationale. She gets to the final one, hesitating slightly before offering it.

"This one I had advisement on. I attempted to communicate my idea to the artist, but it was difficult due to not being able to see in the studio. I have seen it, and found it likely to appeal to you." Martin rolls his eyes at her, and gently unwraps it. It's on a smaller canvas, with a soft watercolor style. It depicts a small brook, cascading down a few stones, a ferret sleeping with a luna moth on its head on the top of the small waterfall. A possum is chasing an opossum along the lower bank.

The foreground is dominated by a loggerhead shrike and a purple martin flying in tandem along the stream, the sun catching their feathers as they glide. Martin holds it in his hands for a long moment, before walking off and telling Shrike he's going to go hang it in his room. She seems to buy the excuse, he thinks. He mumbles under his breath as he looks for a hammer.

"Damn it, Shrike... that's three times." Shrike studies herself in the shower. She discovered a very old scar she did not remember on her elbow recently, and decided to look for more. She finds a small straight line on her outer thigh, with a matching one on her inner thigh. A spear or arrow of some kind? Another, long faded, deep into her shoulder. An axe, maybe? The interior of her knee, circular. Numerous small scratches on the bottom of her feet.

One she is surprised to have never noticed between two ribs and directly in front of her heart. She gives up the search after finding more than a dozen. It was a curiosity more than anything, but after seeing how many there were, it started to make her brain turn. How many times have I come close to death? How many people have I made worry? She lets the burning water cleanse the thought from her mind. None are left alive now, not even in her memories. No purpose in dwelling, none are currently injured.

She steps out of the shower onto the stone bath mat, drying off and getting dressed. Martin had assured her today's event would be under three hours, so she had agreed to wear an autumnal dress on condition there was a sauna visit in her immediate future. She looks at herself in the mirror. It's odd, she thinks, how much different she looks now. Her skin is still notably pale, but far from the uncomfortable shade it was before. Her eyes are far less sunken in, though the dark rings under them remain.

Her hair is well maintained, her eyes a brighter golden hue. The neutral face she defaults to remains, but it much more often changes. Barely the same creature. The same person, as her friends often correct her. She steps out of the bathroom to meet with Martin, who himself is wearing a white button down and a red and gold striped tie. He hesitantly leaves his gun at home, one of the rare times she has seen him unarmed. Besides the four knives he keeps, of course, but those are rarely used.

They enter the Jeep, Martin white-knuckling the steering wheel. This is only the second time Shrike is accompanying him to his parents' house, but it promises to be even more challenging. Martin drills her a few times on the drive, and she responds with practiced answers.

"Say the prayer."

"I shall defer it to the more skilled Martin, as I am unfamiliar."

"More human."

"I'm Catholic, Martin will say it."

"Good. Are you two engaged yet?"

"We are coworkers, close but not that close. I am from out of state and cannot make it back for the holiday."

"Perfect. Take your sunglasses off inside, its rude."

"My pupils are still dilated from an eye exam."

"God, I hope they buy that. Eat the ice cream."

"I am... what was the term?"

"Lactose intolerant."

"Yes. Lactose intolerant." Martin grunts. They have a man on the inside, his brother Laman has agreed to run interference in exchange for a guaranteed drumstick. Thanksgiving is going to be hell, but he is used to handling demonic creatures. Damn it. Shrike pronounced Catholic with three syllables. No problem, he just launches into the prayer. Good, Shrike is folding her arms... After the prayer, Martin watches his father ask Shrike what accent she has.

Shrike runs through all possible options that fit the criteria of response Aaron would accept. Distant, voted red in the last several US presidential elections, vaguely exotic...

"West Virginia."

"Yeah?" Aaron asks.

"What brings a West Virginia Catholic out here?" Obvious answer would be work, but West Virginia is a hotbed of magical beasts.

"Went for college, stayed for the weather. I hate all the rain." He snorts.

"Yeah. Not BYU, so state?" State? Aren't all colleges in a state? Shrike nudges Martin's foot with a small projection beneath the table, and he takes over.

"Yep, U of U. Lucky duck got a killer scholarship." Aaron frowns a bit.

"Shame she didn't find a husband there, but a degree works too. How old are you, Shrike?" The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"30, how about you?" she politely asks. Aaron laughs.

"You've got a good sense of humor. How'd you get into the whole demon slaying business?" She missed whatever joke she made, but this is an easy one. She rehearsed it.

"Got into nature walks, and fell into it when I was able to start identifying little things. I have an eye for the job."

"Good on ya. So you usually work in what, groups of four?"

"Two, typically. Martin and I."

"Huh... Martin, tell me again why I can't use your real name?" He takes a silent breath.

"Because, Dad, it's dangerous to get tied to your real name in this line of work, since certain fairies will try and steal it."

"Pfft. I thought fairies did change your name."

"Aaron!" Martin's mother Ruth scolds him. He brushes her off.

"I just don't get it," Aaron says, leaning back.

"Shrike, did you know that-" Another topic which Shrike has been instructed to interrupt.

"I am aware of Martin's situation," she says plainly.

"He has been an ideal partner regardless." Laman takes his cute to distract and divert.

"Mom, this turkey is delicious. How did you keep it so moist? Mine always end up dry." Martin stops holding his breath. Thank God, he thinks. As they get into the Jeep with a final wave goodbye, both Shrike and Martin let out a mutual groan, followed by light laughter.

"I have been in numerous threatening situations. Why is it your supposedly enjoyable holiday dinner made me more anxious than anything else recently?" Shrike asks, smiling in relief.

"Because my dad is an absolute bastard who is constantly trying to get under my skin."

"Skin, yes... Martin, how many scars do you have?" He chuckles at the sudden topic change. One of Shrike's many little incongruities he's come to appreciate.

"Psychological or physical?"

"Physical. I ask because I have noticed many on my body exist that I had not known of." He blows air through his lips.

"A small one on my left arm, like six or seven little ones on my hands, I got bit pretty good by a small alligator by my thigh that left a few. Yes, a normal god damn alligator in the god damn Bear River, I swear I'm not making that up. Some on my back... oh, and I have two big ones on my chest."

"Then I am not worried. It is reassuring they are so common." She flexes her right hand, the pale splotch on her palm seeming less noteworthy now. She had been worried about it after seeing Martin look at it during breakfast a few days ago. So much of her mind has been devoted to him lately.

"Yep, especially in this job. Thanks again for doing Thanksgiving, Shrike."

"I say with sincerity that I loathed doing it, but sacrifices must be made for the sake of a greater purpose. A warmer purpose." She leans in a bit, making sure Martin picks up on her hint.

"Yeah, yeah. Tomorrow?"

"As they are closed today per the voice in my phone, tomorrow is acceptable." A sleek, official looking black car pulls in to the parking lot of the sauna. Two people step out. The driver, a blonde haired, thin man in thinner glasses steps out, stretching in his dark gray zip-up hoodie and sweatpants. A classic urban investigator look, one that implies anything and everything being inside the hoodie. Ferret.

The passenger, a dark haired woman in specialized body armor: cut proof, pierce resistant, hard plates mixed with aluminum mail and kevlar. In her hands, a submachine gun, one with a broad flat section on the right side for ease of drawing sigils. The hallmarks of professional sigil-trained monster hunter, one who specializes in killing things that resist being killed. Moth. They are here to join up with their frequent teammates and friends, Martin and Shrike.

It's their home turf again, a city job, something snatching people from clubs in Salt Lake City in a way that doesn't seem human. They are here early, mostly because Martin promised to show them that Shrike actually can be intoxicated, but only through saunas of all things. They have to see it. Moth quickly casts a sigil on her gun of "Clear" making it no longer visible, and slips it onto her back. They both head inside the building, immediately noticing all the lights are shut off. Must be for Shrike.

Moth attracts immediate attention as always. Part of their method. She waits by the door, not quite blocking it, but making it uncomfortable for people to squeeze past her. Ferret steps up to the lady at the register with a friendly wave.

"Hey there. Hate to bother you, but the job's the job. I'm Ferret, my partner back there is Moth. We're looking for a magical beast known to frequent the area. Likes heat." He flashes his hunting license.

"Tell me what you know?" The lady shrinks back, eyes nervously darting around.

"I... I can't give information like that..."

"Not a problem, we'll just wait here then." He stands directly to the side of the counter, reaching into his hoodie slowly, withdrawing... some mints. He eats one, offering the cashier one. She politely declines. Within a few more minutes, Martin's Jeep pulls back up to the sauna, and he walks past Moth. He recognizes the game immediately, winking at Moth. He'll play. He goes to the cashier.

"Hey there. I'll be dropping off my friend for her long session tomorrow. All clear for then?" He smiles politely, gesturing almost imperceptibly at Ferret. She nods.

"Of course, sir. Oh, this is Ferret. He's a magical beast hunter." She looks at Ferret, and back to Martin. Ferret laughs.

"Damn, you got us." He fist bumps Martin as Moth comes up to do the same. The cashier looks incredibly confused as Shrike stumbles out, a dumb grin on her face.

"Heyyyyllo, my friends." Ferret and Moth share a look of unadulterated delight, as Ferret waves.

"Hey there, Shrike! How's your day been?"

"So exceeeeedinglyyyyyy good. Eeeee. I enjoy the eeeeee sound." She stands next to Martin, swaying like a windswept birch.

"Why are you two heeeeere earlyyyyy?" She giggles under her breath.

"Just enjoying the show," Moth says, an already enormous grin somehow growing larger.

"How was the sauna?"

"So, so good. You should partake in one sometime. It was definitely worth attending Thanksgiving for. Definitelyyyyyy." She almost falls asleep while standing, until her eyes open one at a time, and closing in the same way. Moth takes a picture with her phone, careful to leave the flash off.

"This is amazing. How often does she do this, Martin?" He gently takes Shrike's hand to keep her from wandering off.

"Once every few weeks when she has to do something particularly unpleasant. In this case, Thanksgiving with my parents."

"Yeah, that tracks. I know I smoked a bowl after yesterday. My dad still thinks I'm going to be a rancher like him."

"Damn," Ferret says, "My parents are actually proud of my career, even though I ditched the FBI for it. You guys wanna come to mine for Christmas?" Moth gives a grudgingly respectful frown to Martin.

"I've been. It's actually nice, despite the cultiness."

"It's true, we're the not-annoying ones." Ferret attests.

"You're Mormon? Never would have guessed." Martin says.

"Everyone tells me that, but yep, went on a mission and everything. Its actually where I got my start in the job. Captured an aswang out in the Phillipines by blocking the exits to its hideout with those big boxes of scriptures we hand out. Conveniently for me, they seem to hate pretty much any object seen as holy, regardless of religion."

"Ass wang." Shrike says, nodding. The cashier watches the four continue to chat about monsters and magical beasts casually in front of her, amused by the non-human that just got drunk off of a three hour long sauna at 160° temperatures being a part of the conversation. If it weren't for the absurdly high tips she gets, she would probably ask them politely to leave. After brunch, and with Shrike mostly back to her senses, Ferret's car pulls alongside the club that most recently had an attack.

He lays out the description of the incident. Late last night, a dead male in the men's bathroom, 36, liver removed. Last seen entering with another male on the crappy security cameras, suspect leaving while having a different appearance. They immediately start on discussing what it could be. A shapeshifter that eats livers could be a dozen different things.

"It's just such a classic kumiho move. Seduce a man, lead him to an isolated area, eat the liver, leave." Martin states plainly. Moth sucks her teeth.

"It's clearly transformed as a guy, not a girl. Not trying to make a statement, but that's not the usual MO." Ferret looks closer at the camera photos, which took over an hour of pleading from the club's owner to convince weren't being sent to the government.

"Here's what's bugging me. Why are the clothes the same? What kind of shapeshifter only changes their face but still has to wear clothes?"

"I apologize for my lack of knowledge on the subject, but we know of at least one kynde which eats human organs. Perhaps it is not something well classified, such as myself." Shrike looks blankly at Moth and Ferret staring at her.

"Martin, had I not mentioned this previously?" Martin responds by flicking Shrike in forehead, before turning to the others.

"She used to be somewhere in South America and distinctly remembers eating a conquistador's organs. It's not something she does anymore." Ferret accepts the answer with a shrug, while Moth cringes in disgust.

"Gross and creepy, Shrike. I didn't need to know that."

"I apologize for bringing up the cultural taboo. I had only intended to provide a different perspective."

"It's a good point, Shrike." Ferret looks at the photos again.

"These are modern but boring clothes for a club. Nothing particularly fashionable, but normal looking. Maybe it wasn't confident in its ability to replicate American fashion?"

"Kumiho. I'm telling you, changing the sex it appears as isn't that big of a deal." Moth smirks, an evil glint in her eyes.

"I have so many jokes I can make right now."

"Tell you what. If I've heard it before, you buy everyone dinner. If I haven't, you can eat my liver."

"Focus, you two." Ferret sometimes wonders if Moth and Martin would have made good partners, but something tells him it would end quickly and angrily.

"It hunts at night, and looking at the data, its completely random beyond being geographically close and attacking gay men. Doesn't have a consistent timing, doesn't follow moon phases, or anything. I'm with either Shrike or Martin. A kumiho adapting to changing times, or something uncategorized."

"I don't have a better explanation," Moth admits.

"There are two gay guy clubs in the area that it hasn't gone after. Split up and set up surveillance?"

"I understand setting up camera equipment in bathrooms is socially unacceptable." Shrike notes.

"I meant at the entrance. Obviously." Even with her opaque glasses, the heat emitted off the neon sign makes it clearly legible.

"What does the plus sign indicate, Martin?"

"Don't worry about it," Martin says, as a sudden loud screeching comes from next to Shrike. He takes a step back, reaching for his gun, until he sees the culprit. A blue crystalline knife, dragging itself slowly along one of Shrike's barriers, emitting a sound like scraping glass. She seems almost bored by the attempt to stab her, though recoils at the sound.

"Your weapon is familiar. Were you in attendance at my speech?" The knife withdraws, followed by a short series of whispering between both the assailant and their partner.

"Oh, you must be that weird monster that hates light! I remember you. Are you the one eating all the livers?" His tone is fierce, and subtly resentful.

"How about you leave the human business to humans." Shrike looks at Martin with mostly confusion, as he stomps in between Shrike and the attempted stabber.

"Wanna tell me why I shouldn't drop you for trying to kill my partner?" he asks, hand still firmly on his gun. The assailant produces an ID. Iguana E, one star hunter. His companion produces an ID as well, Silkworm Z, one star.

"It's simple," Iguana replies.

"We hunt magical beasts, and we found a magical beast outside the place where a magical beast is likely hunting people. HQ heard your quartet split up, so they sent support." Martin fails to move his hand away from his hip. Silkworm is starting to look at him a bit nervously. She's less violent looking, and much more observant. Definitely the urban investigator.

"Martin, right? Remember that according to policy... if a moon-rank is displaying human predation behavior, it is advised to kill them in defense of civilians." She reads from a small red book, showing it to Martin. He doesn't bother to look. Shrike, still impassive, turns to face Silkworm.

"If I was predating on humans, this would be a poor location. I would rather do so in a more secluded area at the height of day. However, if you insist, I can-" Another flick to the forehead from Martin. She rubs her forehead in very mild discomfort. She by all logic should be getting annoyed by those, and yet, she finds the quick public corrections pleasant when coming from him. Iguana sinks his hands into his pockets.

"See? Clearly a threat." Martin looks at Shrike, who is still massaging where he flicked her. How threatening, he thinks.

"You would be too if someone tried to stab you. You forget who you're talking to. I'm the three-star who is more than happy to spend hours filing reports against you. Don't interfere with our job." Martin folds his arms, hand finally moving from his gun as Shrike whispers something to him. Iguana, seeing his opportunity, reaches back for his own weapon before suddenly finding himself on the ground, unsure what just happened. He notices his jaw hurts. Was he just punched?

He looks up at Martin shaking his hand while sending a message on his phone with his other, before staring down at him with a sneer. The moon-rank silently moves into the club, easily blending in with a small group of other club-goers. Iguana points at her from the ground.

"Damn it, she-" Martin steps on his chest, pushing the wind out of him, and leaning down closely.

"Blow the job and get someone killed, and there will be two deaths tonight." Iguana stops talking. Silkworm tries to calm Martin down and direct him back to the task at hand, but he doesn't take his eyes off Iguana. Why is he so- The club's tinted windows faintly flash outward with light, as club goers start running out in a panic. Iguana reaches for his knife, but Martin simply raises his foot from his chest and moves it to his hand.

"Shrike told me to keep you occupied. You're about to see why, I imagine." Shrike, with a lot of effort, drags out an unconscious man whose face seems to be melting away and back into his neck repeatedly. Each time it does, a new face is revealed beneath it. Martin lifts his foot from Iguana's hand so he can walk over to Shrike. He starts to text Moth and Ferret, until Ferret messages first, informing Martin that they had captured the target, and it was indeed a Kumiho.

Martin replies with his own explanation of their capture. Apparently, there were two magical beasts that both happened to be predating on the same targets, but were completely unrelated. It explains the lack of pattern, Martin thinks, and more importantly it means he wasn't wrong. He hears a slight cracking sound, turning around to see Iguana's hand recoiling and a barrier of light slowly fading. Shrike lets Iguana and Silkworm slink off into their car, Iguana nursing his hand.

"So how'd you know about the beast, Shrike?"

"The quarry was noticeably colder. I held back significantly when apprehending him, but it seems he is still decaying. No civilian deaths, one civilian injury."

"Injury?"

"Yes. Someone had attacked me from behind, likely under the impression I was a danger, and I reflexively released a directed burst of bright light to disorient the attacker. Due to the darkness of the club, he may be incapacitated. I believe he is still inside."

"Damn... I'll go check on him, you wait here with the quarry." Martin cautiously walks inside, seeing a man on the ground blinking rapidly while another man offers him water. There are a few others still inside, but the area is largely clear, the flashing lights of the club replaced with bright white ones. Martin crouches down next to the two people, and is met with a puzzled look by the one who can still see. Martin clears his throat to announce himself to the blinded one.

"Hey, I'm Martin, I'm a licensed magical beast hunter. I'm going to explain the situation, okay?" Both men nod, still in shock.

"My partner is herself a magical beast. Neither of us blame you for trying to knock her out given the confusing circumstances, but you got a face full of extremely bright light. It wasn't intentional, it's just a defensive reflex of hers. You're flash-blinded right now."

"Okay... I'm Vince. What the hell even happened in here?" The other man asks.

"There was a serial killing monster that disguised itself as a person. My partner bagged it in here, so as not to startle it and risk it getting away. That was the surge of light and heat." Martin explains. Vince nods, still putting it together. The blinded man starts to hyperventilate, about to start panicking.

"I still can't see, is this permanent?!" Martin takes a moment to word the response.

"It can last a while since it was so dark in here. It's never been permanent before, but there is a risk." Vince looks at Martin with searing anger.

"Why the hell would that creature do this to him? You said yourself this isn't Paul's fault! You just let her loose inside the club?!" Martin takes a deep breath.

"His name is Paul, right? He tried to hit the wrong person from behind. It was an honest mistake, but it was still a mistake. Here..." He fishes for his wallet, withdrawing it and offering a business card to Vince, which he forcefully snatches away.

"... is my card. I suggest taking him to a hospital. If there's any lasting damage, I can guide you both through your next steps. Okay, I need to get back to my partner outside before the serial killer regains consciousness. I'm sorry this is rushed, but I have to make sure the situation is handled." As Vince protests, Martin goes back outside. An MBR containment team is already loading the killer into a hulking steel and iron transfer truck.

Shrike observes the process through her heat sense, ensuring there is no issue with the loading. Once the truck drives away, Martin directs Shrike back to their Jeep, and he pulls off down the street. Unlike their usual comfortable silence, there's a strangling quiet in the car. After a few blocks, Martin sighs, trying to fight through the tension.

"Good job today, Shrike. You handled it pretty much by yourself while I was stuck dealing with those other idiots. You okay? Did you get hit anywhere, even glancingly?" Shrike stays silent for a moment, before she speaks softly.

"I am uninjured. I... do not know what recourse I should provide to the human I hurt. I would have no issue were it a typical assailant, but he was attempting to be heroic, and I punished him for the action. This has a grave effect on my conscience."

"It was a reflex, right?"

"Yes, but one I trained. I had not anticipated being attacked by a bystander. A foolish mistake."

"You didn't do anything wrong. That reflex could have saved your life."

"My typical barriers would have protected me, but I was already on edge from earlier, and due to the danger-""Shrike." Martin looks back at her. She's huddled in the blankets as always, but she seems smaller, somehow.

"This isn't your fault. You can't be expected to evaluate a threat that surprised you from behind. In fact, I was worried that you had spiked him or something. You had restraint, you acted correctly, and your response was completely understandable for the limited information you had. Don't beat yourself up over it. You stopped a serial killer. No one else died because of you." Shrike covers herself more, slowly disappearing into the quilts and throws.

She doesn't say another word for the rest of the day, remaining deep in thought. Martin answers his phone the next morning, expecting another spam call. Instead, a voice from yesterday is on the line. Damn it.

"This is Martin, or some secretary?" Vince asks.

"Martin."

"Yeah. Just letting you know he can see again normally, like you said. He's still a bit disoriented, but he's fine. Try and keep your pet on a tighter leash." Before Martin can respond, Vince hangs up. He slowly goes down the steps to find Shrike. She is, as usual when brooding, staring deeply into the fireplace.

"Shrike. Got a call from Vince, the friend of the guy you blinded yesterday. Paul, that's the guy, is perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about." Shrike still remains fixed on the fire.

"It seems humans are attacking me with increasing regularity. Twice within ten minutes of each other now. When I am calm, I can anticipate it, and block it as I did with Iguana. When I am on edge, my reflex is to stun. I fear what my reflex will be if I am ever surprised while I anticipate true danger."

"If that happens, we can deal with it. For now, take the win." Martin hears his phone ring again. MBR? He picks it up.

"Martin, it's Elia. Apparently you decked another hunter, stomped on his chest and arm, and then Shrike broke his hand."

"There's context."

"I know, but we're already short staffed as it is. Brass is having a fit. I'm trying to smooth this over, but you may have to kiss a few asses." Elia responds, her voice already exhausted, probably from her habit of all-nighters.

"Got it, thanks." He hangs up. This is going to be a nightmare, he thinks. Nothing he can do now except wait.