"So, what's the deal with this one?" I couldn't help but sound emotionless, poor Thomas, he did nothing wrong to deserve this. But this day has been dragging along so slowly. Once I got home, I took some painkillers and tried to sleep, but in the end, all I did was fall in and out of a state of unconsciousness. At least that's what it felt like. Needless to say, I am exhausted. I can't wait for this day to be over.

"We have a dead body at Lane's. Seems like the house lady's affair tried to get into the vault, so she had to get rid of him." Thomas hands me the documents. It's a single sheet of paper and I double-check. But that's really all there is.

"I guess Mr. Lane doesn't know about the affair?"

"He doesn't, but I guess he will ask questions if his affair doesn't show up anymore. Out of the blue."

I sigh. This is just the usual mess, isn't it? "So both of the Lanes had an affair with the same man."

"I like your quick thinking. We need you to eliminate every evidence of the lady's affair while also getting that crime scene cleaned up." Something catches my gaze. It's nothing more than a motion, and the moment I try to catch it without being too obvious about it, it's gone. The Bear's sniper is out and about, ready to be in a position to cover my back. I don't need to see it to know.

"Where exactly is the body located?"

"Right outside the vault, just follow the trail of their fight." I nod, indifferent to the information given to me. But I wonder… Why is there a trail of a fight leading up to the vault if she caught him trying to break into the vault? Did she confront him, walked him back, playing the nice spiel? Make him feel safe and forgiven before she attacked him? Then why would they fall back to the vault?

I know the Lane mansion, there are at least a dozen ways to escape, there's no need to stumble back down there. Unless…

"Did he manage to open the vault?"

"We don't know. Lady Lane was very secretive and asks that the vault door is not to be touched. So… if there's blood or anything on the door just leave it."

"Can do." It's not the first time someone asks me not to touch something, even though it would clearly benefit from a proper cleanup. But whatever's in this vault it must be valuable. Valuable enough that the culprit would rather go back after being confronted and possibly threatened than actually run for his life.

Technically, I don't care. I don't give a rat's ass about possessions. I've been let into all kinds of vaults and treasuries. I've dealt with the most expensive goods; it never once crossed my mind to take anything. It's mostly just useless junk, and if it isn't, it's not mine to take. My job is far more important than to jeopardize it for a little souvenir. But the whole thing becomes a different story if it could put me in danger. I mean, in more danger than my job includes anyway.

The amount of clients I had to refuse because the crime scene was in an extremely dangerous beast enclosure isn't exactly zero. And let's not start on the highly dangerous, magical artifacts some people hoard like it's just another coin in their collection. And that one guy with his room filled with carnivorous plants twice the size of me? Nah, fuck this. So if there's something in that vault that actively will try to harm me, I want to know it.

"Just to be clear, if this vault is getting on my nerves in any shape or form: I'm outta there. If I hear weird voices, feel my senses tingling, some weird pull, anything slightly dangerous; I'll bolt it, and you'll need to find someone else for the job."

"Eon, common. Even if, it's locked up in a vault. Just do your damn job and everyone's happy."

"Except for the husband."

"Don't even bother, he'll stick his dick into anything if it resembles a human being."

"Well, yeah, but having a steady, ongoing affair and just fuck everything that moves are two different things."

"Look, as long as he doesn't sleep with you it's none of your business."

"Lucky me." He's not wrong. It is none of my business, but the thing is: we did fuck. And it was disappointing, to say the least, Mr. Lane is nothing to write home about. My relationship with Thayer is painful and definitively destructive but Mr. Lane will put anyone to sleep. They are like complete opposites, none of them better than the other in the grand scheme but different in any way. Forget blasting my head away with alcohol to ease the pain whenever Thayer and I spend the night; with Lane, I needed something to keep me awake. No wonder Lady Lane had an affair. Funny though that they both courted the same guy.

But I can't scare poor Thomas with such details. He doesn't know, most people don't know, and that's how it should be. Besides, Thomas is a little conservative when it comes to sex. Sometimes I wonder if he and his wife know anything else besides the missionary position. I did contemplate buying him one of these sex position books for his birthday, but knowing him, he'd throw a tantrum while flustering so hard we'd need a doctor before he dies of a heart attack.

And while I don't really see him as a friend, he does his job well enough. There are others who'll hand over the details to me, but I can't lie. I prefer it being Thomas. Not that I could make that call; no one can predict who'll be assigned to me or anyone else, but he does slightly brighten my day whenever he's my contact person. But just slightly. So the last thing I want is for Thomas to pass away, much less so due to a joke present from my side. I'm better safe than sorry.

We spend a moment in silence walking up to the Lane mansion. It's… something, alright? The interior is magnificent but the exterior is not. It looks like this former house has been built upon again and again, changing through different architectural styles without covering or changing the previous one once. It's a mess of architectural history. This mansion seems like it has been patched together from many different smaller houses. The only consistent thing is the color, though the weathering on the cold stone clearly shows the different time periods this mansion has been worked on.

I mean, by now one could think our arch built something magical to deep clean a house but I guess it's just not important enough. Besides, the black fog would tint it again in no time. At this point, everyone stopped to try. The city will never get back to its former glory. The city of marble, my ass. I chuckle. Thomas raises an eyebrow at me.

"Nothing.", I answer.

"You're in… a mood today, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look beyond exhausted. You look wasted. You're more agitated than usual, your eyes flicker around. And don't think that suit covers up all the bruises. Eon, even your chin is blue for god's sake."

I shrug my shoulders, slowly. Yes, I did try to cover the bruising as best as I could, but I didn't really try to cover it. It's not a secret anyway, not among the people I work with the closest like Thomas. Okay, only Thomas knows, but that's already one too much.

"I spent the night at The Bear's", again, I can't help but sound indifferent. It's easy to distance myself from the pain I had awoken to this morning. I'm already half at work, I can't let my weird relationship affect my work performance. But I haven't noticed how uneasy I really feel. Now that he mentioned it… I do keep checking my surroundings. I'm always on my guard, always a little too cautious but today – I don't know. It's probably due to the exhaustion. I don't like feeling this way, it takes away the control over myself, control I desperately need.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"You gotta stop man, that mobster is going to kill you eventually."

"Maybe, but he's also my best bet to stay safe from everyone else."

"You know; we're not having that discussion again. If you ever need to get away, you know where I live."

"I do." I nod. I really do. But here's the thing. Thomas is a nice guy with a nice wife and a nice baby girl. The last thing he needs is a creepy crime scene cleaner in his home. I'm on people's hit list. And I'd very much like to be on that list alone.

I hear him sigh ever so slightly. He knows that this conversation would only go in circles, and that's exactly why we're not having it now. Or possibly ever again. A cough brings me to a halt. My eyes dart right into the dark alley we were about to pass, as two frail, pale hands form a cup the moment I lay my eyes on her weak figure.

"Got a coin?", her voice is small, drained, more exhausted than I could ever be. For a moment, I look at this young girl. She mustn't be older than sixteen. I feel Thomas nudge my shoulder, but yet I remain unmoved for another second. She's far out of the usual places to beg for money; she must be devastated. Come morning she may be no more. But there is nothing I can do.

I avert my eyes. Usually, I'm not caught off guard that easily, I think I just didn't expect her. I didn't expect anyone to beg in this part of the city. But the poverty is spreading, day by day. I'm getting by, so-so. But my connection to Thayer sure has its benefits. Not that I want to benefit, but whenever he calls me over to stay the night I'm free to empty his fridge and battle his way too complex coffee maker. I guess, if I really needed to, he'd feed me for a day or two.

Not that I would ever ask him to. He already has more than enough control over my life, no need to give him more. I still live my own life. All he ever gets is a little bit of my time and my body, and it should stay that way. But if I ever were to hit a low putting me at a health risk, I at least have options. This girl on the other hand has none. And she's not the only one.

I turn away and move on, silently accompanied by Thomas. I know it's hard for him. He's a family-type of guy. He would give the world to people in need if he could, but he knows he can't. Give a beggar a coin today, watch them raid your home tomorrow. She may be harmless; the people she stays with aren't. There is no homelessness, only exploitation. She has nothing, nor does her family. They all live among smaller mobsters who provide them with a place to sleep and something to eat, occasionally they are given the chance to clean themselves. And in return, they go out begging.

They have to turn in everything they get, and if they make enough, their beggar-master will find the origin of the money and launch their raids. There is no point in giving her money, not if she's here. A single coin won't earn her the praise from her beggar-masters. And if given too much to ensure she gets to sleep and eat, we'd only put ourselves in danger.

This city… It consumes you. It consumes me, but I managed to stay afloat. But my line of work isn't for the weak-minded. It takes a lot to handle so many dead bodies, especially the stories they tell. I've seen faces I met before, mutilated beyond recognition. I have a strong stomach, my nose is numbed to the disgusting smell of decay and my eyes are used to the most gruesome scene. But how would a 16-year-old manage to handle such a job?

And what else is there to do? Prostitution? It's just as bad. Maybe, like this, she at least has part of her dignity left for what it's worth in her own eyes. Either you're rich in this city, or lucky. Thomas was lucky enough to have a well-recognized family name, even though his father fell from grace. But he got a chance. Not the best one, I admit. His job is still dangerous, but it is safer than mine and it feeds his family just fine.

We can't be choosers. We either do what we're good at, or we cease to exist. And inexistence in this city is worse than death. These people begging for money or selling their bodies… They are no one. They even get stripped of their name. They have no possessions, no real earnings. And in the process of living this way, they will eventually even lose their personality. They become shadows of their former self, just as this city has.

We leave the alley behind. A part of me expects to find her body on my way back, once I'm done with the Lane business, but I try not to think about it. As we reach the front door, Thomas is ready to go through the motions. He knocks. He'll do the talking. I'll just look good.

It's rare for me to meet my clients. Usually, I sneak in at night, make sure no one is home, not even the person who may need my services, and get to work. But it seems that Mrs. Lane is home, which could make my job more difficult. I have my ways of doing things when working, some of which many of the rich would never approve of. They tend to get in my way and try to dictate how I have to do my job. It's annoying, really, but sometimes it just can't be helped.

It takes a moment, but finally, the door opens. "Good evening, gentlemen," she greets us with a smile that seems weirdly insincere. No, not insincere. It's different. It's… forced and at the same time, it seems like she can't help herself? Hard to tell, but there is definitely something off.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lane. We're here to take care of the currently discussed business." There is one thing we never do: speak about a crime scene when talking to clients or people who are involved in some way. It's a precaution we have to take. We can never know what state of mind the people we work with are in, they could still be in denial, and when confronted with their crime so directly, they could snap and even become a potential threat to us or the job. Or both. One wrong step could jeopardize the whole thing. It happens anyway once in a while, but we shouldn't jinx it.

"Oh, my," she isn't even done with her polite nod towards Thomas as she lays her eyes on me. For a moment, we just stand there while she is eyeing me up and down. Then Thomas clears his throat, and she seems to get back on track. "Excuse me, I wasn't aware that such an exquisite young man would be cleaning through my house"

Her compliment doesn't faze me. Nothing really does, but I still nod in appreciation. Then she finally steps out of the way and grants us entry. She's here, there's no changing that, but at least it seems like she sent all her staff home or to bed. There isn't a single person in sight. And I know how packed full this mansion usually is. She would never open the door herself unless there was no one else to do it. And just as she had opened it, she closes it behind us.

"This way, this way, gentlemen," she motions her hand, and we follow her. It's been a while since I've been here, but nothing has really changed. The same opulent pictures in expensive gold frames, the same marble pedestals displaying the same busts and statuettes, the same red carpet paving the entry hall… Wait, are these even the same flowers? I should have known. There is no place in this city where such beautiful plants could ever grow. But the last time I was here I didn't even think about the possibility that they might be fake.

But what did I expect? She had all the money she needed to get some archist to make here these gigantic bouquets of white and red blossoms. Not gonna lie, I wish I could own something so breathtaking, but all I have is a cactus that refuses to die year after year. I mean, I probably should be grateful, but it's a cactus, for god's sake. And not even a magical one at that.

"You have to excuse me, Mr. Cleaner – can I call you that? You bunch are always so secretive about your names. It's exhausting."

"Call me however you like, my lady."

"Oh, what a charmer."

She feels flattered, and I hope that it's enough to shut her up. But that's not the type of luck I'm blessed with. And she comes around to prove just that.

"So, as I was saying. You have to excuse me. I have requested a cleaner trained by the arch."

"That you have. Is there a problem?" Thomas jumps in to save the day once more. For all the luck I don't have, I at least have the luck to never meet clients alone. It's far too risky. So whenever we know that someone is going to be at the crime scene there are two of us. One skilled enough to do the talking – a role Thomas fits well.

"Oh, no, not at all. Well… Maybe," she pauses, we pause, we all come to a halt. For a moment, there is utter silence, then she turns on her heels. I'm not tall, but she's even shorter than me, and she's wearing heels. She is a very short lady, but she has something about her that makes her seem twice her height. Her aura is present. So much so that there is little to no room for anyone else.

"He seems quite young to be arch-trained, if I'm honest. I would hate to be so clear in my request and yet get disappointed."

"He is arch-trained, and as you requested, he is our best arch-trained cleaner available in this district."

For a moment, there is nothing on her face. She does have a face, a beautiful one, especially for an older lady with barely any makeup; but there is no emotion, no reaction – just a blank stare. I look at her, calmly waiting. She just murdered a man; I doubt she has all her senses collected yet. I'm not here to pressure her, I don't need answers. Her psyche is hers and hers alone, as long as she doesn't decide to become a threat. But there is something I can't quite place yet.

Her behavior makes me feel uneasy. And that's not who she usually is, I know her. I've seen her before, interacted with her before. She sees many people during her day-to-day life, I doubt she remembers me, so that's not the weird thing. No, it's something else. And it bugs me that I can't name it.

"Excellent!" she suddenly bursts out loud, then she turns back around and proceeds to lead us downstairs. I shoot a glance at Thomas and catch him doing the same in reverse. He notices it too. He shrugs and I let go a silent sigh. This is going to be a fun night. Not.