Zoey Lavender revved her motorcycle's engine, the familiar roar echoing through the streets of Sigma City as she sped toward the rooftop party. The city lights blurred around her, a mess of neon colors that matched her mood - part annoyed, part curious. This wasn't her scene. Fancy parties and small talk were bullshit, but a client was a client, and the money was good.
She pulled up to a sleek, modern building, parking her bike in the shadow of the towering structure. The valet gave her a wide-eyed look but wisely kept his mouth shut as Zoey dismounted, her black heels clicking on the pavement. She smirked at his reaction, enjoying the way her outfit - a tight, high-end goth ensemble - turned heads. With her hair down for the first time in years, black strands framed her face, and the black lip gloss completed her look.
Entering the building, Zoey strode past the lobby, ignoring the receptionist’s attempt at a polite greeting, and headed straight for the elevator. The doors slid shut with a quiet hiss, and she leaned back, feeling the alcohol she’d downed earlier starting to settle in. It was going to be a long night.
The elevator opened directly onto the rooftop, where the party was in full swing. A warm breeze carried the scent of expensive perfume and the distant hum of conversation mixed with soft music. Zoey stepped out, scanning the crowd. Her client was somewhere in this sea of wealthy, well-dressed people, but the first thing she needed was a drink.
She made her way to the bar, brushing past a few curious stares. People at these things were always too polite to stare openly, but they all did it. She could feel their eyes on her, their whispered questions. Zoey was used to it. As tall as she was and with a reputation for violence, she wasn't exactly someone who blended in.
The bartender, a pretty young woman with red hair, looked up at Zoey with a mix of curiosity and fear. Zoey flashed her a grin. "Vodka. Make it a double."
As the bartender hurried to pour her drink, Zoey turned her attention back to the crowd. There was the usual assortment of businesspeople, socialites, and a few artists thrown in for good measure. But then, something - or rather someone - caught her eye.
A wolf hybrid. Zoey blinked, her disbelief masked only by years of playing it cool. She was used to being the odd one out, the transhuman who made people uncomfortable just by existing. Etrius, Zola, and Ravenna were the only others like her, at least as far as she knew. And now another shows up?
The wolf woman stood near the edge of the rooftop, looking a little out of place despite the stylish blue dress she wore. She was taller than most of the people here, though nowhere near Zoey’s height. The hybrid's voluptuous figure, with its grey fur and down feathers, was a surprise in itself. Zoey couldn't tear her eyes away, her mind racing with questions.
"Here’s your vodka," the bartender said, sliding the glass over. Zoey took it without a word, downing half of it in one go. The burn helped clear her head, though her eyes kept drifting back to the wolf woman. Who the fuck was she?
Making a decision, Zoey pushed away from the bar and walked over. She didn’t do polite introductions, but something about this woman - something about the way she held herself, like she wasn’t entirely comfortable in her own skin - piqued Zoey’s interest.
“Hey,” Zoey said, coming to a stop beside her. The wolf hybrid turned to face her, and up close, the surprise was even clearer in Zoey’s mind. Steel blue eyes, a soft but confident expression, and just the faintest hint of nervousness. Zoey raised an eyebrow. “You new in town?”
The woman blinked, then offered a small smile. “Yeah. Just moved here a few weeks ago, actually. I’m Taylor. Taylor Wolfe.” she replied in a foreign English accent. Her voice was smooth, pleasant, but there was a hint of something else. Maybe it was the way she looked at Zoey - like she hadn’t expected to meet anyone like her either.
“Zoey Lavender,” Zoey replied, taking another sip of her drink. She didn’t offer her hand. “Never seen someone like you around here. You, uh, just start showing up to these fancy shindigs or what?”
Taylor chuckled, a soft sound that seemed to break some of the tension between them. “Something like that. I’m still trying to figure out what to do here, actually. It’s… different from what I’m used to.”
Zoey nodded, looking Taylor up and down, not bothering to hide her curiosity. “Where you from?”
“Originally? The UK,” Taylor said, glancing away, as if unsure how much to share. “I’ve… been a lot of places since then.”
Zoey huffed a small laugh. “Yeah, I know the feeling. City’s a fucking mess, but you’ll get used to it. Or you won’t. Doesn’t matter much either way.”
Taylor looked back at her, curiosity evident in her eyes now. “And you? You’re… not like most people here.”
Zoey smirked. “No shit. Let’s just say I’m in a line of work that keeps me on my toes. Not a big fan of these kinds of parties, but sometimes you gotta mix business with pleasure, right?”
Taylor seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. “I suppose so. This isn’t really my scene either, but I thought I’d give it a try. Meet some new people.”
Zoey drained the rest of her whiskey, then tilted her head toward the bar. “You drinking anything, or just standing around looking pretty?”
Taylor laughed again, a little more genuine this time. “I could use a drink, actually.”
Zoey grinned, feeling the buzz from her whiskey starting to kick in. “Come on, then. Let’s get you something strong. If you’re gonna survive here, you might as well start now.”
They headed back to the bar, side by side, drawing even more curious glances from the partygoers. Zoey ignored them, focused instead on the strange turn her night had taken. Meeting a new client was supposed to be the highlight of this bullshit party, but now she was face to face with another transhuman - someone who might actually understand what it was like to be a little different. She was excited to talk to Taylor, hear her story, and maybe share some of her own.
As the bartender poured Taylor her drink, Zoey leaned against the counter, her eyes never leaving Taylor’s. “So, what brings you to Sigma City? Looking for work or just sightseeing?”
“Both, I guess,” Taylor said, taking the drink and sipping it cautiously. “I’ve been a few places since… well, since I left the UK. Haven’t found a place to settle down yet. Sigma seemed like a good place to start.”
Zoey raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? This city chews people up and spits them out.”
Taylor smiled faintly. “I’m not worried. I’ve dealt with far worse.”
There was something in Taylor’s voice that Zoey recognized - an edge, a hardness that didn’t quite match the soft exterior. She could respect that. Maybe Taylor wasn’t as out of place here as she seemed.
Zoey finished her second drink and set the glass down with a satisfying clink. “So, you gonna tell me how the hell you got those feathers, or is that a story for another time?”
Taylor chuckled, and Zoey noticed the way her feathers fluffed slightly with amusement. “It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
Zoey nodded, feeling the alcohol warm her insides. “Yeah, I’d like that. How tall are you? You’re one of the first people I’ve met here who doesn’t make me feel like a fucking giant. My friend's partner is only five foot on the mark.”
Taylor’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Six-three, give or take.”
Zoey let out a bark of laughter. “Six-three, huh? Still got a ways to go before you’re looking me in the eye, though.”
Taylor’s gaze flickered over Zoey’s frame, a question clearly forming. “How tall are you, then?”
“Eight-four,” Zoey said with a smirk, enjoying the way Taylor’s eyes widened slightly.
“Well,” Taylor said, her tone light, “I guess I’ll have to work up to that.”
Zoey chuckled, feeling the night shift from business to something more interesting. Maybe this party wouldn’t be such a waste of time after all.
The alcohol was beginning to work its magic, softening the edges of her usual sharp demeanor. Taylor, standing close, had become more than just some girl at a party. There was something about her that made Zoey want to talk - really talk, not the bullshit small talk she’d usually pass off in these kinds of situations.
“So, you’re new in the city, huh?” Zoey slurred slightly, her speech slowed by the booze. Her amber eyes, usually so intense and intimidating, had softened.
Taylor nodded, smiling warmly. “Yeah. Moved here a few weeks ago. Still trying to figure things out.” She took another sip of her cocktail. “It’s… different here, you know? Lots of people.”
Zoey chuckled, the sound unexpectedly light and almost girlish. “You don’t fuckin’ say.” She drained the rest of her drink and signaled the bartender for another. “This place is a fuckin’ madhouse. People with all kinds of shit goin’ on. And they’re all, like, trying to one-up each other. Gets fuckin’ exhausting.”
Taylor nodded, her eyes never leaving Zoey’s face. She could see the cracks forming in Zoey’s tough exterior. “You must be pretty good at it, though. Handling all these people.”
Zoey snorted. “Good at it? Fuck, I dunno. I just… I just do what I gotta do, you know? Keep movin’. Keep fuckin’ pushing. It’s all I know how to do. Even if I don't wanna.” There was a bitterness in her voice now, something raw and unfiltered that Taylor hadn’t heard before.
Taylor reached out, her hand brushing against Zoey’s arm. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make Zoey look at her - really look at her.
“That sounds lonely,” Taylor said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Zoey’s eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in something else - something closer to vulnerability. “Yeah, well… shit happens. You learn to deal with it. Or you fuckin’ die.” She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Guess I’m just too stubborn to kick the bucket. By the way," she said, looking at Taylor's hand on her arm, "I can't feel that. Old prosthetics. Just more shit I get to deal with every day."
Taylor felt a pang in her chest, a mix of empathy and something more. She could see the pain behind Zoey’s bravado, the years of fighting and struggling just to survive. It made her heart ache, but it also made her admire Zoey even more.
“You’re stronger than you know,” Taylor said, her voice firm. “I can tell that you’ve been through so much, and you’re still here. That’s not just stubbornness, Zoey. That’s… that’s strength.”
Zoey looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, Taylor thought she might see tears in those amber eyes. But then Zoey laughed, a genuine, if somewhat sad, laugh. “You’re fuckin’ sweet, you know that?” she said, shaking her head. “Not many people would say that shit to me. They’re too busy being scared, or pissed off, or… I dunno. They just don't care. They just don’t see it.”
Taylor smiled, a little tipsy now herself, and she leaned in closer. “Well, I see it,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And I think you’re amazing.”
Zoey blinked, her heart skipping a beat at Taylor’s words. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. Her usual defense mechanisms - the sarcasm, the swearing, the bravado - had all fallen away, leaving her exposed in a way she didn't show to anyone, except maybe Etrius.
“I… fuck, uh...” Zoey muttered, looking away. “You really don’t know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, do you?”
Taylor tilted her head, her blue eyes soft and understanding. “Maybe I do,” she said, her voice gentle. “Maybe I’m okay with it.”
Zoey stared at her, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. She didn’t know what to make of this girl, this strange, beautiful girl who was somehow getting under her skin in a way no one else ever had. But she couldn’t deny that it felt… nice.
“Well, fuck me, then.” Zoey said, more to herself than to Taylor. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “You’re somethin’ else, Taylor. Somethin’ special.”
Taylor smiled, and for the first time since she’d arrived in Sigma City, she felt like maybe she’d found something - or someone - worth sticking around for. “So are you, Zoey,” she said softly, blushing through her fur.
As the two women continued their conversation, Zoey’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, blinking at the screen as the alcohol dulled her focus. The message was short, dismissive: Reschedule for next week.
Zoey scoffed and shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Asshole isn’t even fuckin’ showing,” she said. She sighed and signaled the bartender for another drink - this time, something stronger.
Taylor watched her, a concerned expression crossing her face. “You sure you want to drink more?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with genuine care. “You’ve already had a lot…”
Zoey waved her off, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Why the fuck not?” she said, downing the new drink as soon as it was placed in front of her. “Nothin’ else to do tonight, right? Might as well get fuckin’ plastered.”
Taylor didn’t argue. She could see that Zoey was already slipping deeper into her own head, the alcohol loosening her tongue and lowering her guard even further. She stayed close, not wanting to leave Zoey alone in this state.
“So…” Taylor began cautiously, “you mentioned earlier about dealing with a lot of shit. Do you want to talk about it?”
Zoey’s eyes flicked to Taylor’s, and for a moment, she looked like she might snap back with some cutting remark. But instead, she just sighed, her shoulders slumping. “No,” she said quietly. “But I might as fuckin' well.”
Taylor waited, letting the silence hang between them, giving Zoey the space to continue if she wanted to.
Zoey stared at her drink, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass. “I wasn’t born like this, you know,” she finally said, her voice distant, almost hollow. “I was… created. Designed. Some twisted fuckin’ science experiment in a Nazi lab. They wanted to make the perfect soldier… so they made me. I wasn't perfect, so they...They did shit to me… things no one should have to go through.”
Taylor felt a chill run down her spine. She had heard about some of the horrors of the past, but hearing it directly from someone who had lived through it - someone she was suddenly starting to care about very much - made it all the more real.
“What kind of things?” Taylor asked gently, though she wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear the answer.
Zoey’s hand trembled slightly as she brought the glass to her lips, taking a long drink before continuing. “They did things to my body… fucked with my DNA, made me bigger, stronger. But it wasn’t just physical. They broke me down, piece by piece. Tried to make me into some… obedient thing. Every day was torture, physical and mental. They wanted me to submit, to obey. But I refused, so they punished me for it. And it broke me.”
Taylor’s heart ached for Zoey. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Zoey’s arm. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “No one should ever have to go through that.”
Zoey’s laugh was harsh, bitter. “Yeah, well, I did. And now I’m this… fucking mess. I can’t sleep without nightmares, can’t stand being touched unless I’m drunk off my ass. I drink to forget, to numb the shit they did to me. But it never really goes away, you know? It’s always there, just waiting to drag me back down.”
Taylor squeezed Zoey’s arm, her heart breaking for the woman in front of her. “You’re not a mess, Zoey,” she said firmly. “You’re strong. You survived something that would have killed anyone else. That doesn’t make you weak or messed up. It makes you a fighter.”
Zoey shook her head, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t feel strong,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel… broken. Unfixable. Like there’s no way out of this fucking hell in my head.”
Taylor’s hand slid down Zoey’s arm, her fingers intertwining with Zoey’s in a gesture of comfort. “You’re not alone in this,” she said softly. “I know we just met, but… I’m here for you. I don’t know if I can fix anything, but I want to help in any way I can. I want to be someone you can lean on, if you’ll let me.”
Zoey looked at her, and for a moment, she was speechless. She wasn’t used to this - someone other than Etrius actually caring, someone offering to be there without expecting anything in return. It scared her, but it also… comforted her.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Zoey admitted, her voice shaking slightly. “I don’t know how to let someone in. It’s… fucking terrifying.”
Taylor nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I get that,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to do it all at once. Take it slow, see where things go. No pressure, no expectations. Just… two people trying to figure shit out together.”
Zoey stared at her for a long moment, the walls she had built up around herself crumbling just a little more. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice hoarse.
The two women sat there for a while longer, their drinks forgotten as they talked about everything and nothing, the night stretching on around them. For the first time in a long time, Zoey felt something other than anger or pain. It wasn’t quite happiness, but it was close.
The party had started to wind down, the once-crowded rooftop now sparsely populated with a few lingering guests, the bartender, and the DJ wrapping up for the night. Zoey and Taylor had found an empty couch tucked away in a quieter corner, where the music was more of a background hum than a thumping beat. Zoey, now plastered, slumped against the armrest, her usually sharp eyes dulled by the alcohol.
Taylor sat close beside her, her presence comforting and steady. Zoey had been talking more, her words slurring but her thoughts painfully clear. She had started to dive deeper into her traumas, though she still kept an emotional distance, instinctively guarding the darkest parts of her past.
“They did things to me,” Zoey murmured, her gaze unfocused as she stared at her empty glass. “Things I don’t even like to fuckin’ think about, let alone talk about. It wasn’t just the pain, the physical shit… it was the way they tried to break you inside, you know? Made you think you were nothing. Just a toy. A fuckin’ thing for them to play with and toss aside when they were done.”
Taylor listened quietly, her heart aching for Zoey. She had seen glimpses of this tough, almost invincible persona throughout the night, but now she was seeing the woman underneath—the one who had been hurt so deeply that she couldn’t even bring herself to fully admit it. Zoey’s walls were still up, even now, but Taylor could see the cracks.
“I don’t know how I got out,” Zoey continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… survived, I guess. But it didn’t stop, you know? Even after I was free, it was still there. Always in my fuckin’ head. It’s like… no matter how far I run, I can’t get away from it. So I drink. I drink to forget, to dull it all. But it never fuckin’ works. It’s always there, waiting for me when I sober up.”
“You’re stronger than you think, Zoey,” she said softly. “Just the fact that you’re here, talking about it, means you’re not letting it win. You’re fighting back, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
Zoey’s laugh was harsh, bitter. “Doesn’t feel like I’m fighting. Feels like I’m just… existing. Like I’m stuck in this loop, and I don’t know how to get the fuck out.”
Taylor’s hand tightened around Zoey’s. “You’re not alone,” she said, her voice firm despite the sadness in her eyes. “I’m here. And I want to help, in any way I can.”
Zoey turned her head, finally meeting Taylor’s gaze. For a moment, there was something raw and vulnerable in her eyes, something that scared her but also made her feel just a little bit less alone.
“I don’t want to scare you,” Zoey said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m… I’m a fucking mess, Taylor. I'm unfixable.”
Taylor shook her head, her expression resolute. “You don’t have to be ‘fixable,’ Zoey. I don’t want to fix you. I just want to be here for you, whatever that means.”
Zoey looked at her for a long moment, the alcohol and emotions warring within her. Then she sighed, leaning back into the couch, her eyes fluttering shut. “You’re too good for this,” she mumbled, her words slurring. “Too good for me.”
Taylor didn’t respond, knowing that trying to argue against Zoey’s self-loathing would be pointless. Instead, she just stayed close, offering her silent support.
As the minutes ticked by, Zoey began to sober up, the haze of alcohol lifting just enough for the exhaustion and sadness to take over. She wiped at her eyes, realizing that she had been crying without even noticing. The tears were hot and bitter, a release she hadn’t expected but couldn’t stop. Taylor didn’t say anything, just gently rubbed Zoey’s back as she cried.
By the time Zoey finally pulled herself together, the party was over. The last few guests had left, leaving only the staff to clean up the remnants of the night. Zoey sat up, sniffling slightly as she wiped at her face. “Fuck,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “Didn’t mean to turn into a fuckin’ mess in front of you.”
“It’s okay,” Taylor reassured her, her voice soft and soothing. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling things.”
Zoey shook her head, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small vial of dark green liquid. She stared at it for a moment before uncapping it and downing the contents in one swift motion. Taylor watched, curious but concerned. “What… what is that?” she asked hesitantly.
Zoey screwed the cap back on the empty vial, her expression inscrutable. “Just… something that helps,” she said cryptically, avoiding Taylor’s gaze. “Keeps me from… losing my shit completely. It happened before, and wasn't pretty.”
Taylor wanted to ask more, to understand what Zoey had just taken, but she could see that Zoey wasn’t ready to share. Instead, she just nodded, accepting the answer for now.
The two women sat in silence for a while longer.
Finally, Zoey pushed herself up from the couch, her movements slow and deliberate. “I should get going,” she said, her voice still tinged with the sadness she had tried to mask. “I’ve… taken up too much of your time with my shit.”
Taylor stood up as well, not ready to let Zoey go just yet. “Do you need a ride?” she asked, her voice gentle. “I can call a cab or something.”
Zoey shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Nah, I’m good. Got my bike. But… thanks.”
They walked to the elevator together, the silence between them comfortable now, filled with unspoken understanding. As they stepped inside, Zoey turned to Taylor, her gaze softening.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “For… listening. For being here.”
Taylor smiled, her eyes warm. “Anytime, Zoey. Really.”
As the elevator doors slid shut, Zoey surprised herself by leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Taylor’s lips. It was brief, but it was enough to make Taylor’s heart flutter in her chest.
When they pulled back, Taylor smiled shyly, her cheeks tinged with a soft blush.
Zoey grinned, a hint of her usual arrogance returning. “Guess I’ll see you around,” she said as the elevator doors opened at the ground floor.
“Definitely,” Taylor replied, squeezing Zoey’s hand one last time before they stepped out of the elevator.
They exchanged phone numbers before parting ways, Zoey heading off to her APC while Taylor made her way back to her apartment. As Zoey climbed into her vehicle, the weight of the night settled on her, the emotions she had let spill out crashing back down on her. She sat there for a long time, her hands shaking as the tears flowed freely once again.
Taylor, meanwhile, walked home with a heavy heart. She hadn’t expected to care so much about Zoey, especially after just one night and a few drinks, but there was something about the broken, complex woman that had gotten to her. She found herself worrying about Zoey, wondering if she was okay, if she was safe.
When she finally got back to her apartment, Taylor couldn’t shake the feeling of concern. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts consumed by Zoey and everything she had shared. She wanted to help, to be there for her, but she knew it would take time. Zoey had been through hell, and it would take more than one night to heal those wounds.
As she finally drifted off to sleep, Taylor made a silent promise to herself: she would be there for Zoey, no matter what. Because Zoey deserved someone in her corner, someone who cared. She wanted to be that person.
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