Streetlights dimmed to a soft, rosy hue as an unusual couple strolled beneath a pitch black sky. Even the clouds hid behind a veil of darkness. The two lovebirds couldn't care less, laughing away the night.

The first of the pair appeared to be normal ... almost. His hoodie and jeans bore a blend of dark grays that whispered two words: 'urban camouflage'. With bronze skin, his burnt sienna dreadlocks draped a forehead-mounted device. It was like an eclectic mix between sunglasses, goggles and a visor. One could be forgiven for mistaking the large flashlight in his hand for a stun baton. If stun batons were BB guns, this was a bazooka.

Things got weirder with the second of the pair. She was like the luminous pinks and reds of a plasma lamp poured out and given human form. Her dress? Nothing more than swirling swathes of lenticular clouds. Her hair was a furnace of dancing energy. With gliding footsteps light as air, it seemed the slightest breeze might carry her away. However, there was power in her footfalls. In the quietest moments, they could be heard meeting the ground. Thunder booms in the distance. That's how they sounded. When she moved, the atmosphere shifted, like currents in the murky depths churning in the wake of a leviathan. Her rosy radiance forced its cozy subtly upon the environment, setting the mood. Vague images appeared in the air, depicting her story as she spoke.

"I'm floating there, arms crossed, trying to look tough as the eyescraper falls and everything tilts sideways," she enthused. "The impact probably won't hurt, but my fight or flight instincts don't know that. Everyone's screaming! The building is shrieking! I can't tell if I'm squealing, but I hope not 'cause half my focus is on staring down the landlord, and the other is on not smacking into the wall. Before the whole thing hits the ground, he's down on his knees on the side of the wall shouting: 'ALPHA AMY, HAVE MERCY! WE SUBMIT! THE LANDLORDS SWEAR-!' Then the building hit the ground and he had to stop talking."

"So that's what I heard from across the city!" the boy laughed before sobering up. "Did they even survive? They're monsters through and through, so I wouldn't blame you if they didn't, but ..."

"No one forced them to feed people to their buildings," Amy declared. "Still, they're mostly okay. Broken bones here and there, but nyctals are pretty hardy."

"Did you have to dig them out of the rubble?" he asked.

"Thank God, no," she answered, raising her hands in relief. "The building remained mostly intact due to ... ugh, organic reinforcement. Those soft, squishy insides cushioned the fall. Anyway, The Landlord's District is mine now! Soon, we may be able to visit The Standpipe after dark again!"

"Sweet!" he exclaimed. "That makes, what, six districts? At this rate, you're gonna ..."

"Seize the night, all of it," she finished with an ambitious grin. "No more hiding. People are gonna be able to walk around, just like this. Well, except those who wanna be monsters inside and out. They should be afraid,'̶̮̅́ca̵͎̘͆͝ư̵̙̾se̴̤̮͌́ I̷̘͊'̵̬͑͝m̴̛͕ c̸̹͆ő̴͚̹̽mi̵͍̱̇̚ň̸̗̺g.̴̩̳̈́̀"̷͔͗̀

Several streetlights exploded, leaving them in near-total darkness, save the soft glow of her body. They hustled towards the closest unaffected streetlight.

"Sorry, Norman. I’m still getting used to this," Amy whispered.

"Something, something, '1% of My Power'," Norman quietly quipped.

She laughed lightly. "Why are we whispering, though? Nothing's gonna approach us in my neighbourhood, especially when I'm-"

A waft of wind tickled Norman's ear as something passed audibly near. He spun, his high-powered flashlight levelled like a weapon. Its beam pierced the darkness behind them.

Nothing.

Nonetheless, he kept himself between his girlfriend and the dark, searing the beam into any suspicious shadows as they took refuge under the streetlight. The night lit up as he adjusted the flashlight for wide-area coverage, sacrificing intensity. It parted the rosy atmosphere. Amy's body growled, as did something in the air. It pressing down on Norman: a warning. They ignored it. He'd done too little to provoke an attack. Either way, he didn't care. His only concern was keeping her safe.

She watched him, agape. "You shielded me without a second thought …"

"You never know if someone's figured out how to hurt you," Norman whispered so as to avoid missing pertinent sounds.

Amy choked up a little. "Th-thank you, but it's okay-!"

He spotted something and swatted it from the air with his flashlight. Roughly the size of a baby bird, it squeaked a screech, shook off the blow and groggily flittered at him. He pinned it to the ground with the wide focus beam. It hissed as it tried and failed to crawl towards him.

"That's not a moth, is it?" Norman asked incredulously.

"No," she clarified, scrutinising the feisty little thing. "I think it's a brainfly. One isn't much of a problem. A dozen? That's where it gets iffy. They're attracted to minds, the same way moths are attracted to light, except they feed on mental energy. With enough of these nyctals buzzing around your head, you zone out and wander around, unable to form a proper thought."

"Until something gets you," he added.

"Until something gets you," she confirmed. "They're good at keeping victims alive and out of harm's way, injecting sedatives and nutrient fluids through their stingers. Of course, that can't last forever."

"Okay, that's terrible. Buh bye, little jerk. You will not be missed," Norman declared as he refocused his flashlight on the nyctal. Its squeals reached a new pitch.

"Wait!" Amy yelped. "This creature plays a small but vital role in the ecosystem! It should be allowed to fulfil its purpose ..."

A strand of her ‘hair’ snaked onto the brainfly’s head. It steamed and spasmed.

"... of feeding an apex predator," she finished.

Its head exploded and the strand withdrew into her body. She sighed in satisfaction before frowning.

"Oh, that just made me hungrier," Amy pouted.

"You're still hungry?" he bemoaned.

"Uh, yes? No? Yesn't?" she fumbled. "The steak you made me was wonderful, but I'm always hungry ... in a different way."

She fidgeted under his sympathetic gaze.

"It's not that big of a deal, hee," Amy insisted with a nervous breath of a laugh.

Norman raised an eyebrow with a sly smirk. "You know, you do that when you lie sometimes."

"Wut?" she asked, her face falling.

"It's really cute," he opined.

"Do what?" demanded a flustered Amy.

"I've said too much," he teased.

She grabbed him by the collar. "At least tell me so I can do it intentionally!"

Their laughter revived the amicable atmosphere.

"So ... what do minds taste like?" Norman asked with a predatory grin.

She guffawed. "Okay, wow, you actually went there. Hm ... they don't taste like anything, really, but they do have a sensory flavour of sorts. Technically, I’m always eating electromagnetic energy and other stuff, hence the streetlights, but that’s not enough. It’s like water, while minds are food. The brainfly was like a gourmet chef poured out his heart and soul with cheese, spices and sauces! ... into a single French fry. It'll leave you annoyingly hungry and the worst part is HE SQUEEZED A TINY PICKLE INSIDE IT!"

"That’s oddly specific," Norman chuckled. "What do nyctals taste like?"

"It depends," she mused. "Animals are like buttered salt bread with a bit of that flavourless, no-brand cheese neither of us appreciates. They might have hot pepper, or mayonnaise, or Bajan seasoning, but it's all fluff, no meat or veggies. You can't really live off of them. Sapient nyctals are ... well, I've never had a whole one before. I just take a little off the top: memories, thoughts, moods, you get the pic. It's like eating your eccentric aunt's traditional soup, with just a little pickle in it. Sure, it has what looks like eyeballs floating around, but food is food. You don't wanna make her angry or she’ll get the guava stick and she doesn't care that corporal punishment's illegal."

"Was that a personal-experience kind of thing?" asked Norman.

"Ha, yeah, but the thing is you sort of end up liking it," she went on. "You drink the soup but leave the meat. It's nutritious enough, so you can kind of get by without touching the mind's core. I know most nyctals are jerks, but it doesn't feel right to go all the way, y'know?"

"Yeah," agreed Norman.

She continued. "Normal humans are-"

Amy slapped her hands over her mouth, wide eyes frozen on Norman. He returned her gaze casually.

She began to relax, tilting her head and blinking inquisitively. "You should have had a bigger reaction to that."

"Why?" he asked. "I presumed you weren’t finished, so I'm hearing you out."

"Aww, you're so sweet," she cooed. "Right, um ... just to clarify, I've never fully had a human before. This thing has." She gestured her own body. "Many of its memories don't make sense to me, like reading an alien language, but I remember when it ... it …"

The lights dimmed as the environment changed. A more ordinary-looking spectre of Amy stepped out of nowhere and heedlessly walked through Norman, eyes on the sky. Wrapped up in her thoughts as she stared at the ground, Amy probably didn’t know she was projecting memories again. The other Amy gazed up at a rosy radiance curdling in the twilight clouds. It was beautifully ethereal, exquisitely eldritch. She seemed entranced. The world of monsters was new to her, but it was not forgiving.

Sanguine streams of aurora pounced from the anomaly in the sky, enveloping her skull and lighting it up like a dying torch. They receded. Her body fell. Only a smoking gap remained atop her shoulders.

Her disembodied form floated between its abstracted jaws. Their teeth converged, punctured her thoughts, emotions and memories. She screamed. She roared, tore away the teeth and ignored those that remained. Amy plunged into its core. The monster wailed as she clawed, strangled and dug her fingers deep. The membrane between the core and herself ruptured. It bled and mended itself back together, but she was already inside.

They were one.

The memory ended.

Norman’s fists were clenched.

Amy looked up. "... I know what the human mind tastes like, because I remember the moment when our minds overlapped as it devoured mine."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Norman reached for her shoulder. It sprouted hungry tendrils that reached back. His hand hovered and reluctantly withdrew.

Seemingly oblivious, she stared at her ethereal palm and flexed the fingers the way they should, then the way they definitely shouldn’t. Amy looked around at the rosy aura that turned her world to monochrome.

“The thing I hate the most has become my flesh and blood,” she stated.

"You beat it," he declared.

"Did I?” she asked. “It’s not dead and it’s not tame. All it needs is an excuse. Do you ever get tired of walking on eggshells?"

"... Yeah," he admitted. "But I don't think about it like that. I was sure you were dead. To find out you fought back and took control of its body? That's more than I could ask for. Besides, this avatar is fiiiire."

She couldn't keep the smile off her face if she tried. "It’s a lure slash feeding apparatus.”

“Well, it’s luring me,” he smirked.

She chuckled. “Didn’t know you were into monsters."

"I'm into you. Always you," Norman declared, eyes emanating warm sincerity.

Amy blushed. Everything blushed. Her rosy radiance mellowed to pink. The streetlights followed its influence, painting the area with her emotions. Amy glided to his side and wrapped her arms around one of his, leaning into his shoulder with a sigh of pure contentment. Her curly hair tendrils slithered across him like creeping vines. Norman tensed, steeling his nerves lest they surrender their electrical lifeblood to her hunger. He trusted her, but there was some fragment of his mind that expected his arm to deaden permanently. It didn’t. Instead, a glowing warmth ebbed and flowed up his arm, into his torso. It was like sitting next to a fire on a chilly night, but the fire had walked up to him to get close and personal, yet it didn't burn. He felt contented, loved ... were these her emotions? If only he could return the feeling. He leant his head atop of hers, knowing that it wouldn't come close to reciprocating the effect, but pouring his heart into the gesture nonetheless. Maybe, just maybe, she would feel something.

They settled into a slow, comfortable walk. Finally, Amy spoke up.

"Heh, maybe I should have let the A.M.E. get me sooner," she jested.

Norman froze mid-step. "Hol' up!"

She gave him a light punch. "Dude, I've been dropping hints forever!"

"I asked you out multiple times!" he retorted.

"I was playing 'hard to get', and other stupidly tropey excuses," she sheepishly laughed. "So, how's your arm? Any numbness?"

"Nope. You're getting good at contact," he praised.

"Thanks. I bet I can hold a phone now," she supposed.

"Well, you're in luck," he beamed while fishing such an item from his pocket. "I fixed yours, E.M.P.-hardened it, and just generally hardened it."

She gasped. "Really? Lemme see!"

Amy snatched the phone from his hands and eagerly turned it on, inputting her P.I.N.

She bounced in excitement. "YES! No more rainbows on the touch screen!"

Her enthusiasm fell as the phone buzzed. 'Mom is requesting a video call' it notified.

With a shaky breath, she switched the camera off, set it to loudspeaker and answered. "M-Mom! Hi!"

"AMY! YOU HAVEN'T CALLED IN WEEKS! WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY??" gushed her mother.

"I ... s-sorry, my phone was damaged. Norman just fixed it for me," Amy explained.

"What happened to your voice?" her mother probed.

Amy's blood ran cold. She didn't technically have blood, but the vestigial sensation was there. She cleared her throat. There was no windpipe, but something in her neck made the sound. She might have gone insane, if not for these facsimiles of a human body, but she couldn't fix the flanging in her voice yet.

Norman put a hand on her shoulder. That was enough to steady her a bit.

"I might be coming down with something, hee," Amy lied. “It’s been pretty chilly.”

“You've been outside at night," her mother accused.

"W-well ... I had to-"

"There’s no 'had to'!" her mother exclaimed in near-panic. "Once a nyctal gets you, that's it!"

"One of them's protecting us," Amy asserted.

“… The atmospheric mind-eater?" her mother tentatively asked.

Amy paled. "... Yes, but this A.M.E. behaves differentl-"

"You don’t talk to it, you don't go near it, you move out of that neighbourhood as fast as possible," her mother asserted.

"What if it caught someone like Norman?" pressed Amy. "What if it started acting like him?"

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Amy, is Norman okay?" came the inevitable question.

"He’s fine," Amy confirmed.

"Good," her mother breathed. "I know what you're trying to say: You want to believe that it's the actual person, not just a mimicry. You want to believe they can become the A.M.E. and maybe some kind of hero. We barely know anything about these things, but we do know that when they eat someone's mind, they're very good at pretending to be them, and they just get smarter as time goes on."

"We don't even know that," Amy insisted. "This 'mimicry' could be the actual victim, being used as a lure."

"That's the problem: 'being used as a lure'," her mother emphasised. "Amy, you have a good heart, but you can't afford to make this mistake. You have to assume the A.M.E. is just that: a mind-eater pretending to be a person."

"... Yeah," Amy finally agreed, wiping away the water that condensed in her eyes. "Anyway, I'll be in touch."

"But you just got your phone back! I’ve done nothing but snap so far!" her mother argued.

"I wonder whose fault that is,” Amy sassed with an eyeroll. “I'll call again in an hour or so. Just gotta finish a recipe I've been working on, hee- um, he gave me some pointers. Norman, I mean."

“You can't cook," her mother stated flatly.

Amy snerked a laugh. "I know! That's why I'm trying to figure it out! Mom, you are so mean. It's harder to move freely these days and eateries are closing left, right and centre.”

"And all it took was a localised apocalypse for you to learn how to cook!" her mom added.

"You shouldn't make light of such predicaments, dearest mother," chastened Amy.

"Sometimes, that's all you can do," her mother argued with sombre sobriety. "Well, you better attend that alleged 'recipe'. With all the nyctals running around, if you die for some lame reason like burning the house down again, we’ll be having words in Heaven."

"'Again'?" chuckled Norman.

Amy grimaced a tooth-gritted grin. "Why are you like this, Mom?"

"Love you too, honey," quipped her mother. "Oh, did I just hear Normie? Normie, heyyyy! Wait, why are you in my daughter's house?"

"He-got-stuck-here-after-dark,-I-love-you-buh-bye!" Amy gushed.

"Love you too," her mother growled.

Amy made as though to end the call. Her finger hovered over the red button. Brow furrowed, she stared at the phone as seconds ticked by. The glazed eyes of her mother's avatar gazed back.

"... Hello?" her mother ventured.

Finally, Amy ended the call with a heavy breath. "She never hangs up first. I could literally burn her livelihood down, and she'll never hang up first ... but of course, she still thinks I'm her daughter …"

The streetlights dimmed and began to die. Her luminous form faded.

Norman raised his hands in a placatory manner. "Amy-"

She gave a broken chuckle. "You keep calling me that, but-"

He hugged her. Pangs of fear and despair that were not his own lanced through his body like lightning. Their fury quelled as the clouds within her heart began to clear, giving way to rays of warmth that echoed his affection. So, she could feel his heart. Their souls sang. His feet left the ground as she carried him into the air, floating in slow, savoury circles. Moments or minutes could have passed and he would not know.

Finally, she broke the silence. "How do you know you're hugging Amy? You could be hugging the monster that killed her, and it just thinks it’s her."

"It's hard to know anything for certain in this world," Norman mused. "Always was, but as far as we know, A.M.E.s focus on luring out victims, and that's it. Why would yours pretend to be you for so long without a payoff?"

"What if it figured out how to play the long game?" she asked. "By using me to make the night safer, it could lull people into a false sense of security for a mass feeding. I might not be a mimicry so much as a Manchurian candidate: a double agent that doesn't realise it's a double agent."

"I don't think the A.M.E. would let you say that if you were. It's too risky," reasoned Norman.

"I suppose so," she agreed.

"Sure, they get smarter, but this seems too big of a leap," Norman added.

"And if you're wrong?" she pressed.

He paused. Shadowy possibilities passed behind his intelligent eyes. It was a painful relief.

"You're being realistic. That's comforting," she praised a little more tersely than was intended.

"Hope for the best, plan for the worst," Norman declared. "As far as we know, you're still you, you're mostly in control, and unless new information arises, we have no reason to assume otherwise."

"I like that," she agreed. "For such a smart guy, you really know how to make it simple."

"Well, which is smarter? Overcomplicating life into a headache or simplifying tricky stuff?" he asked.

"... Hey, you're right!" Amy agreed before looking down. "Aaaand we're here."

They touched down and parted before her front gate.

"So, how was your first flight?" she asked. "Still no numbness?"

"Just a little numbness," he confessed. "Worth it, though."

"Sometime, I wanna really take you flying," Amy enthused. "I can push just over 300 mph, but I'm getting faster. Supersonic speed would be so cool! The hardest part is making sure my ambient biomass moves with me. I could fly you to the top of skyscrapers so you can parkour down! No need to worry about falling, 'cause my mass will work as a safety net. I might even be able to simulate low gravity for some next-level stunts!"

His eyes widened. "That sounds insanely awesome, and I cannot wait."

Amy giggled at his enthusiasm and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Well, g'night."

"Goodnight," echoed Norman.

Amy took a few gliding steps to the door and opened it. She stopped and turning back to him with a frown.

"Norman? We've talked about me all night," she stated. "Is there anything you wanna get off your chest?"

He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his toes. "Thanks, but I'm good."

She half-smirked and leant against the doorframe. "You know, you do that when you're nervous, and I don't actually need sleep anymore."

He ceased his rocking. "True, but you need a break. You've been going for days."

"Yeah, but this is a two-way relationship. I always have time for you, Normie," Amy assured.

"I know," he smiled appreciatively. "It's okay. I'm working out some stuff, but I'll be fine."

She searched his eyes. "... Alright. I'll respect that. I love you."

"Love you too," Norman replied.

The air shifted towards her, stirring up treetops and greenery in her garden. The rosy hue that followed her everywhere receded into the house. In the absence of its stifling embrace, the streetlights returned to their natural brightness. She closed the door, but her house wasn't big enough to contain the monochrome nimbus. Instead, its excess settled around the building like a miniature atmosphere.

"That's all her," he whispered in amazement.

Without her aura of influence, the night’s chill caught up with him. Norman gazed back at a road that looked almost unrecognisably uninviting, shadows so deep that they may well be abysses.

He took a brisk breath. “Alright, here we go.”

Norman hastily removed his backpack and retrieved a tiny, camouflage-gray drone that took to the air with barely a sound. He pulled down his visor. It illuminated his vision without the pesky green tint of night vision goggles. With the press of a button, its cameras went live in sync with the omnidirectional ones on the drone. He grinned at the drone as he began a swift walk.

"'Eyyyy, Night Seizers!" he whispered. "Welcome the 7th episode of Carpe Noche. Some of you trolls (you know who you are) said unsavory things about my claims of being out and about at night. Many of you more reasonable folks rightly wondered if they had a point, buried beneath the verbal diarrhea they call an 'opinion'. I get it: tensions are high, we're all a little cranky, it looks like the end of the world, at least for those of us quarantined in this crazy city. You might have wondered if my gear is too 'Batmany' to work in real life. I understand that. You've also heard rumours that I'm dating the girl who pulled a Duo Reverse Card on an A.M.E. and now she’s basically a superhero. Yes, that’s true, and no, I will not go out of my way to present proof because our relationship isn't for clout. Believe me or not, all I’ll say is this: I like to walk her home after dates, or rather, she walks me. Nothing that knows better messes with us when we’re together, but getting back on my own? That’s the challenge … She has a lot on her plate. I don’t wanna over-rely on her. Moving at night is tricky, but I think we can work it out. Today’s focus is gear and street survival."

The sound of a massive, fleshy form was slopping behind him, closing in at a fervent pace. He began to run.

"You've seen me explain D.I.Y. assembly processes and survival techniques. It's time for a demo on the field. If you want reliable, stress-tested gear, I'm always happy to supply, but this is very much something you can learn to make yourself. Note: This is not for children."

Norman reached an abandoned building and retrieved a Springle can from his backpack with practiced fluidity. He hurled it against the ground lengthwise to the wall and it exploded, scattering spices and salt in a horizontal carpet. So long as whatever was behind him continued in a straight line, it was unavoidable. Norman made sure the visor's camera had seen what he was doing.

He scaled the wall like a monkey, using ledges, pipes, crevices and any other foothold or handhold he could find.

"I recommend reserving night travel for emergencies unless you're confident enough to risk your life. Why am I doing this at all? Because we've charted the oceans and mapped the stars, sent men to the Mariana Trench and The Moon. We fly without wings and wound without touching. We move hundreds of miles farther and faster than any other creature without taking a single step."

The fleshy thing squealed like a swine upon glopping onto his salt and spices. However, it was tenacious, pushing through. He heard the scraping sound of its toothy tongue striking concrete like a climbing pickaxe as it writhed up the wall after him.

It was closing the distance.

"We've fought lions on the savannah and battled polar bears on the tundra. Apex predators learnt to fear us."

The thing was practically breathing down his heels when he pulled himself onto the rooftop. He drew his flashlight like a sword and beamed it into the fleshy beast's face. The light revealed its identity: a slug, albeit the size of an elephant. Its toothy tongue and six eyestalks, some for seeing, some for grasping, all writhed like tentacles in a discordant dance. The slug's hissing screech was deafening as the flashlight's beam drew steam from its reddening face.

He never flinched.

With a sharp *ZWACK!* of his flashlight baton, he struck one of the slug's eyes and it recoiled off of the wall, hitting the ground in a wet splat.

"The Night Shift is just another hurdle to overcome. I'm out here tonight to show you just how possible it is, because at the end of the day, we are image-bearers of infinite potential. We don't merely survive. We thrive. Every now and then, man and monster need a reminder of what it means to be human."

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