In a tailor's shop in Coven two hunds admired a wool coat. The shop itself was on the upper level of the building and didn't bother putting its wares in the window. It was invitation only, for a select clientele, expensive and above all... discreet.

Simon was tall for a hund, human sized at 190 centimeters and 95 kilos. His fur was the classic Döbian black with tan patches on the arms and legs. He seemed to be young but had a certain confidence that betrayed his youthful exterior.

And though he had the advanced muscles of a champion classic bodybuilder he moved like a dancer. If it weren't for his cropped ears it would be easy to mistake him for a personal trainer or wellness coach. But Simon was not in the wellness business. In fact, he was in quite the opposite profession.

The tailor was also more well fed, softer. Like most of the Dansk he was tall and sturdy, but his fur was more tan and his cheeks drooped. Usually he didn't work with new clients but a substantial amount of money had changed his tune.

Evidently someone of substantial means wanted Simon outfitted. They had even supplied most of the hardware. And what hardware it was.

"The coat has an adaptive non-metallic lining. It changes properties depending on what you need, it can keep you cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Also, it has built in automatic 'black ice' anti-intrusion technology." The tailor waved dramatically at the full length dark navy peacoat. "If someone tries to get in your head their wetware will go supercritical."

"Haven tech?" Simon asked curiously in perfect Dansk. His voice carried no accent and seemed to mirror the tailor's to the point where they could have been father and son.

The tailor shook his head. "KH Labs special order, no back doors, no surprises."

"How the ever loving fuck did you get your hands on that?" Simon examined the coat. It looked genuine. He pulled it on and felt the fabric adjust to fit him. It looked good, damn it looked good.

In the back of his mind he felt something click as the jacket interfaced with his existing hardware and a message appeared.

I AM GENUINE. AND I DON'T JUST LOOK GOOD, GOOD IS FOR SHIT YOU BUY OFF THE SHELF. GOOD IS FOR THRIFT SHOPS AND CLOTHING SWAPS. I AM BESPOKE, MOTHER FUCKER! YOU ARE WEARING A KING'S RANSOM WORTH OF TECH. FUCKING ACT LIKE IT! -COAT

Simon raised an eyebrow at the tailor. "You didn't mention it could speak. Or swear. It swears… a lot."

"What? Oh yeah, direct interface threat detection. It's new. I have no idea how it works."

WARHUND ENGRAMS MOTHERFUCKER! -COAT

"Apparently it uses warhund engrams." Simon explained. "Interesting. What else do you have for me?"

"There is a weapon… but I must admit it is a strange one." The tailor itched behind his ear awkwardly. "I don't know what to make of it."

He pointed to a dusty heavy weapons case. It was covered in layer after layer of warning stickers in all different languages, as if it had passed through many hands that had all decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

Intrigued, Simon undid the latch. There was a brief hiss as pressures equalized and the case slowly opened to reveal a textured metal rod perhaps half a meter in length. It was slightly oval and blunt on both sides. But what was so stunning was how the black metal seemed to drink the light around it.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He couldn't help but notice that the metal clamps holding it in place and the heavy weapons case seemed to be less to protect the contents of the case, and more to prevent them from escaping.

The tailor let out a wicked smile. "That there is a genuine vampirzahn. But I would not touch it if I was you."

"Oh?" Simon asked playfully, reaching for the weapon. "Why not? It doesn't look particularly intimidating."

"Because it's going to try and kill you if you do." The tailor stopped him before he got too close. "It's a rasierhund weapon, made for putting down enhanced soldiers. Rumor has it Gershwin himself created them. Nobody but a rasierhund can wield it, not for long anyway."

He sighed. "I would offer to buy it off of you but really it's not worth anything. It's too dangerous to use and too hard to contain. I did some digging, this one is particularly nasty, they called it 'Torheit' and rumor has it some allied soldiers were stupid enough to try and use it after they killed the original owner."

At the mention of its name Torheit began to shake violently against the metal clamps that held it.

The tailor waited until the vampirzahn quieted down before continuing. "It took out sixty of them before it got bored and went into sleep mode. They found the bodies stripped of their wetware and slashed to ribbons."

Simon held out his hand casually, palm up. "So you're saying it can only be wielded by a rasierhund?"

"Yeah, and they're all dead. Long dead. Thank God for small favors." The tailor shook his head.

"Full synthetic chassis, enhanced strength and durability, insane prey drive. Very bloodthirsty creatures. Not so much hunds as machines in hund form. It's good that Gershwin took the secret of the conversion process to hell with him when he was executed." The tailor shivered. "You're lucky they all died out before you were born."

Simon slowly rotated his thick wrist until his palm was facing the floor and spoke in his mother tongue. "Torheit, hier!" He commanded.

The tailor dove for cover as Torheit seemed to spin in place like a blender, shredding the metal restraints that held it before leaping into its master's palm.

The tailor looked at the stranger in his shop with shock and disbelief. "How are you not dead?" He demanded angrily.

"I guess I must be a rasierhund." Simon said with a smile as he twirled the weapon like a baton between his fingers. "Don't worry, I won't take what you said personally. It's all true, except the parts that aren't." He waved his hand and Torheit seemed to vanish. In reality it had just gone up his sleeve and attached itself to his forearm.

"Well I'll be fucked." The tailor scratched his head. "Will you be needing anything else, Mr. Rasierhund?"

"I also require two kilos of katzen monomol, a dozen kilos of composition 6H, and…" He looked down at his clothes, "Some new threads. I want to make a good first impression."

FUCK YEAH WE DO! GET SOME MERINO WOOL, BITCHES LOVE MERINO WOOL. ALSO, YOUR SHOES SUCK. GET NEW ONES. -COAT

"And some boots, hard heeled. Preferably reinforced." Simon added.

"Yeah yeah, I can fabricate something custom. Come back in an hour and I'll do a final fitting." The tailor looked Simon up and down. "I'm thinking charcoal gray for the boots, black for the sole. Real leather with an aramid backing and a breathable liner."

"Sounds good to me. Do you know a good pastry place?" Simon asked.

"Tilde og Karl for savory, The Sixteen-Twelve for sweet." Suggested the tailor, his surprise tempered by his single minded focus on the craft to which he had dedicated his life. "Tilde is friends with my massage therapist Helena and has excellent croissants. The other place has really good cardamom snails and the best pastéis de nata this side of Porto."

"Book me a ninety minute massage with Helena and I'll see you after." Simon looked at the scarves on the rack. He rubbed a thumb and forefinger across the textured cashmere. "This is exquisite."

"Hand woven by the katzen before the cataclysm." The tailor said with a smile. "You have a good eye. Then again, you're much older than you look."

"I had a similar scarf once." Simon said, looking out into the middle distance as he remembered things best forgotten. He turned back towards the tailor. "I'm looking forward to seeing your work. Thank you for your help."

The tailor shrugged. "Tailoring and armoring are lost arts, it is good to see those that appreciate them, even if you are a rasierhund." He reached forward and thumbed the fabric as if committing the texture to memory. "Yes, I will make something special for you Mr. Rasierhund. You will not be disappointed."

"On that, I have no doubt." Simon bowed to the tailor and exited the shop. He had time to kill and a city to explore. He looked down at his bare fingers, perhaps he even had time for some jewelry shopping.

FUCK YES. BUY ALL THE THINGS. -COAT

Simon laughed at the enthusiasm of his new smart jacket. Yes, they would get along just fine.