[perish the thought, but in this world, janus lefevre is a mobster.

maybe someday, it'll occur to them that that's not so different from what they were known to be in their homeworld. young vampires had feared janus' kind, wolves had warned their young, and sex demons-- that had been a whole other ball of wax altogether. here and now, in new york city, they avoid cops, pay off cleaners to dispose of bodies, are feared by the public in a mythological kind of way, typically out of sight and out of mind, but infamous on the news. that is, they were right up until this shit with the aliens.

maybe you catch janus reading a newspaper about it, sitting outside. enhanced registration! the explosion at pax! protests in the street! or maybe you catch them on the job, sitting in a park, surveilling their next mark, either an enhanced some bigoted consigliere wants taken care of or another person of interest. they look casual because that's how they're trained and they're good at their job, available to give you a cigarette or share half a breakfast bar.

whether in this world or the next, they've always been one of your friendlier murderers.]

[one minute, the telekinetic was on his way home in the dark, a little drunk, a little nostalgic. there was a rustle of movement, but there are people around, so that was hardly surprising; the city doesn't sleep and it tends to make a shitton of noise while it's rolling around in bed all night.

the next minute, he's waking up in a chair. zip-tied. a heart monitor clipped on his right thumb, the machines to his left blipping and beeping rhythmically. there's an iv strung over his shoulder, wound up around a collar fastened tight around his throat. it could be sexy in other contexts. it would be sexy, probably, were it not for the fact he's been kidnapped into a windowless concrete room, and whatever's flowing through the tube into his arteries makes his head feel like it's clogged up with cotton wool, the reach of his telekinesis turned fuzzy and approximate.

there's a young man sitting across from him, on a flimsy-looking stool; something janus had figured, they wouldn't be hurt by too badly, if it were turned against them. pale face, dark clothes. janus stares at him.] I don't know why Giovanni wanted you, [they tell him.] I wasn't told. You can tell me if you want. It's not going to make a difference.