The Heart System

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

The bus hissed to a stop, and I slipped out into the night air. The city smelled different here—stale beer, piss, fried food from the 24-hour diner across the street. This was the edge of town, the kind of place neon signs didn’t quite brighten, no matter how hard they buzzed. The gas station sat a block ahead, its flickering lights glowing sickly yellow, the kind of glow that made you feel dirtier just for standing under it.

On the way there, I caught sight of movement in the narrow gap between two buildings. At first, I thought it was just a couple arguing. Then I looked again.

They weren’t arguing.

The woman was bent forward against the wall, one hand bracing herself on the bricks while the other tugged her crumpled T-shirt up over her chest. Her breasts were full and heavy, flushed from the man’s rough grip, his mouth fastened to one as he sucked with hungry need. She moaned low, arching her back, while his hips drove into her from behind, jeans pushed down around his thighs.

”Fuck, harder,” she panted, tilting her head back.

”Yeah? You like that?” His voice was a grunt, raw and impatient. He slammed into her again, one hand kneading her breast, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks.

She cried out, hair sticking to her sweaty face, her tits bouncing with every thrust.

I slowed, watching from the sidewalk. Nobody else paid them any attention—two men walked past with cigarettes dangling from their lips, barely glancing at the scene before carrying on. This neighborhood had long stopped pretending to care.

The man’s pace grew erratic, harsher. ”Shit... I’m close.”

He pulled out in a rush, fumbling off the condom, and stroked himself fast, groaning as he spilled hot across her lower back and the crumpled fabric of her pants. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his forehead.

The woman didn’t flinch. She just sighed, straightening, tugging her shirt down over her sticky skin. Then she held out her palm, flat, expectant.

”Two hundred,” she said, casual as asking for bus fare.

He swore under his breath, pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, and slapped it into her hand.

She counted quick, stuffed the cash between her tits, and adjusted her shirt like nothing had happened. ”Pleasure doing business.”

The man zipped his jeans, muttered something, and the two of them walked out of the alley in different directions—disappearing back into the city’s pulse like ghosts.

I lit another cigarette and kept moving, the city alive around me. Neon signs buzzed, flickering like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to be bright or broken.

My eyes drifted back to the alley, where that woman had been. There was a woman I’d known once—a girl with soft skin and bright eyes who had, long ago, chosen money over something real. My girlfriend.

I exhaled smoke, letting it drift into the cool night. Yeah... money made people do all sorts of things.

The gas station’s flickering lights came into view, the weak yellow glow highlighting the grime along the pavement. Lost in thought, I flicked the last ember of my cigarette to the side, watching it sizzle and die on the cracked asphalt.

The hum of the overhead lights greeted me as I stepped inside. The glass door chimed lazily, announcing me in a tone that didn’t quite match the grit outside. I paused for a second, letting my eyes adjust to the fluorescent glare, the smell of oil, coffee, and stale air wrapping around me like a familiar coat. Another night, another shift. Same as always.

Ricky was behind the counter, slouched over his phone. He looked up, eyes half-lidded. ”You’re late.”

”Two minutes,” I said, stepping behind the register. ”Don’t get emotional.”

He snorted, grabbing his jacket from the hook. ”Thank fuck. This place was dead, man. One guy bought gas, some drunk chick tried to piss in the trash can—same old.”

”Sounds lively.”

”You can have it.” He slid his time card into the punch machine, the beep echoing sharp. ”Try not to die of boredom.”

”Thanks for the pep talk.”

He smirked, already halfway out the door. ”See you tomorrow, Evan.”

And then I was alone.

The hum of the fridges filled the silence, the smell of burnt coffee hanging in the air. I set my phone on the counter, leaned against it, and exhaled smoke into the stale night.

Another shift. Another night watching the hours crawl by, pretending not to see the city’s filth bleeding in through the glass.

The clock ticked over to midnight, and I was officially on duty.

The first couple of hours passed in a dull rhythm. People came and went: a guy grabbing a pack of cigarettes, a woman filling her tank and buying energy drinks, a teenager fumbling with change for a soda. Faces blurred together, some tired, some careless, some too drunk to notice the world around them. I nodded, said the usual lines, scanned the items, punched the register. Nothing new. Nothing worth thinking about.

Then the door chimed again.

I looked up and froze. The man from the bus—the one I had caught harassing that girl—stood in the doorway. His eyes locked onto mine for a heartbeat that felt too long. Behind him, two more men stepped in, moving with easy confidence toward him, murmuring to each other in low whispers. I let out a slow breath, tension crawling up my neck.

He approached the counter, casual like nothing had happened. ”Can I get a pack of these?” he said, pointing to a brand of cigarettes.

I grabbed the pack he indicated and slid it across the counter.

”You love playing the hero, huh?” he said, dropping coins onto the counter, the change clattering. ”I get that. You’re still young.”

”I love playing a man with common sense,” I replied, taking the coins and dropping them into the register. ”Would that be all?”

One of his friends bumped into a display, sending an orange juice bottle crashing to the floor. I exhaled, shaking my head, muttering, ”Of course...”

They chuckled but didn’t linger. The three of them left the station, and I went to the mop closet to grab a broom and mop, muttering to myself as I cleaned the spill.

The door jingled softly again.

”I’m coming in a second,” I called, expecting another customer. ”There’s just...”

No. The same three men were back, their expressions dark, eyes like predators. The first man—the molester—stepped forward.

”Play the hero more, cunt,” he spat, the saliva hitting my cheek. ”I dare you.”

I groaned, bracing myself as the two men lunged, slamming me into the counter. The register rattled beneath me, bottles clinking on the shelves. Fists and elbows met my ribs and shoulders, sharp and relentless.

”Should’ve kept your mouth shut, kid,” one of them muttered as they hit me again.

I gritted my teeth, letting my arms absorb the blows as best I could, coughing from the hits. ”Shit... agh...” I groaned, pushing back where I could, but there were too many of them.

Minutes—or maybe seconds—later, they stepped back with cold, satisfied smirks, leaving me on the floor, bruised and gasping.

I was still lying on the floor, ribs aching, head pounding from the earlier beating, when the door chimed again.

Someone stepped inside—a girl, but I couldn’t see her face from behind the counter. Her presence felt different, almost... surreal. She leaned slightly on the glass, voice calm, measured.

”Can I get a mint cigarette?”

I groaned, pressing a hand to my ribs. ”I’m... kinda beaten up right now.”

She smirked. ”I expect service when I enter here. Don’t let your little injuries get in the way.”

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself up. My legs shook, but I managed to grab a stool and drag it behind the counter, sitting down heavily. Pain lanced through my side as I straightened, and that’s when I saw her—blonde hair falling like silk, blue eyes that somehow made the harsh fluorescent lights feel soft, and skin so unreal it almost hurt to look at.

”Wait... I saw you on the bus,” I said, blinking. ”Then you... disappeared.”

”Minted cigarettes,” she said, tone sharp, almost teasing.

I coughed, wincing from the pain in my ribs, then hesitated. Something about her... she looked impossibly young. ”Uh... can I... see an ID?” I muttered awkwardly, as if talking to myself.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and reached into her pocket. ”Fine,” she said, handing it over.

I took it, squinting as I read it aloud.

”Karamine. Goddess of Lust?” I muttered, voice tight. ”What kind of a name is—”

Before I could finish, a hand shot up toward my face. I jerked back instinctively, but her fingers clamped over my left eye with impossible force. I screamed, flailing, and felt something hot and sharp inside me as she pulled. Pain exploded, blinding and absolute.

Fuck! She pulled out my eyeball just like that.

And then... she ate it.

”Delicious,” she said, almost casually.

”OH GOD! OH GOD OH GOD!”

Then the pain became unbearable, and darkness swallowed everything.

Was I... dead?

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