"Shit, shit, SHIT!" I shouted as panic took hold of me. The clock flashed an impossible hour. Maybe the alarm didn't go off, or maybe my ears—fed up with years of screaming at work—had decided to tune out. It didn't matter. The only thing clear was that I was late, and I couldn't screw up this job. Not this time. It was my only shot at avoiding eviction at the end of the month.
I moved on autopilot: teeth brushed, lightning shower, clothes grabbed off the floor. "Did I eat breakfast?" I muttered to no one in particular as I rushed out of my apartment—a space so tiny and messy I could easily get lost among my own problems. "Bah, I'll eat tonight instead." Like every day, I had to face my demons—my coworkers and that hellish job—all for a paycheck that barely kept me afloat.
The street was packed, as if the entire city had conspired to slow me down. "Excuse me, ma'am!" I snapped as I pushed my way through the crowd. A chorus of complaints rose behind me, but I didn't stop to apologize. A few blocks away, my destination awaited, and with my car out of commission, running was my only option. Maybe someone up there would take pity on me today.
The building loomed at the end of the street, a gray block of apartments that made my tiny home look like a palace. The entrance bore a sign that read: "Pest Extermination – 24-Hour Service." A perfect disguise to avoid awkward questions.
I bolted up the steps, dodging rats so big they should've been paying rent. The security guard at the entrance—a bald, overweight guy—didn't even glance up from the newspaper he was holding upside down. Was he hiding his phone? Probably. Maybe watching a game or scrolling through photos of women in lingerie. I couldn't have cared less in that moment.
On the third floor, shouting echoed down the hallway. "THE HERO HAS ARRIVED!" I announced in an exaggeratedly cheerful tone as I stepped into the apartment. If I had to endure chaos, I'd do it on my own terms.
The client turned to me like a bull spotting red. His scowl, paired with his rumpled shirt, screamed "rough night."
"YOU. You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. Where the hell were you?"
I took a breath, ready for the usual song and dance. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, sir. Let's just say I took a spiritual detour." My tone—a mix of sincerity and mockery—left him confused just long enough for me to press on. "But I'm here now, ready to fix everything."
Beside him, my assistant Aria looked equal parts relieved and resigned. Her purple hair and bangs, which half-covered her face, gave her a mysterious vibe that intimidated clients more than demons. I turned to her. "Ready to roll, Aria?"
She nodded, pale but steady.
"Perfect." I turned back to the client and, with a grin bordering on insolence, added, "Time to exorcise your son."