“Have you ever noticed that there are no such things as British restaurants?” Diamond Tiara looked both ways before turning left at the intersection, which wasn’t something she usually did. “We have Italian restaurants, Chinese restaurants, Indian restaurants…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Silver Spoon asked, her gaze focused on her phone.

“Just an observation.” Diamond Tiara looked at the pavement, in case any hapless pedestrian tried to cross the street. “I’m trying to stop thinking about Sweetie Belle…”

“Don’t worry, she won’t get up to kill us.” Silver smirked. “Although her friends may now hire somebody more competent to off us. Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“Precisely.” Diamond Tiara shuddered.

“Is it why we’re driving aimlessly around the town?”

“Yes.”

“We can just leave the town,” Silver Spoon said. “Find some quiet place to live until everything calms down.”

“Yeah, or until someone hides in our closet, cuts us with a hacksaw and writes ‘whores’ on the wall with our blood.” Diamond Tiara stopped to let a granny cross the road.

“They won’t do that,” Silver Spoon replied. “Too much evidence. We’ll most likely end up in a kebab. Which reminds me that there are not many Turkish restaurants, just kebab bars.”

“Thank you,” Diamond Tiara muttered weakly. “I’ll never eat a kebab again.”

“I also googled ‘British restaurants’.” Silver Spoon looked at her phone. “British Restaurants were communal kitchens created in 1940 during the Second World War to help people who had been bombed out of their homes, had run out of ration coupons or otherwise needed help.”

“Wait, Great Britain was bombed during the Second World War?” Diamond Tiara asked. “With what, airships?”

“Wrong war.” Silver Spoon rolled her eyes. “1940, not 1914.”

“Let’s see how wise you are without the phone.” Diamond Tiara sighed. “Also, don’t think that driving around is my only defence. Take a look into the glove compartment.”

Silver Spoon opened the glove compartment and sighed, seeing the gun inside. She’d expected that, given that Diamond Tiara’s mother was a proud member of the local gun club, but still she was rather disappointed. “Of all the guns you could choose, you took something for boys with small dicks, with seven rounds, and a recoil that’ll break your wrist?”

“I have strong wrists,” Diamond Tiara replied. “And I won’t have to fire twice.”

“Yeah, sure.” Silver Spoon grabbed her purse and produced a smaller gun from it. “I have something better.”

Diamond Tiara looked at the gun, turning the steering wheel. The car swerved to the pavement, narrowly missing a kid with a ball. “It’s a plastic toy.”

“Illegal plastic toy,” Silver Spoon replied. “Seventeen rounds. Can fire all of them in less than a second. Try to top that.”

“Will help you compensate for shitty aim.” Diamond Tiara groaned. “Assuming you don’t fire everything at the wall. Where did you even get it?”

“Dad told me I’ll read about it in fifty years, when the documents are no longer classified,” Silver Spoon replied. “Though now when I think about it, we shouldn’t have to get them. Like, we’re gonna totally get arrested once the police catches us. And I’m too pretty to go to prison.”

“They wouldn’t dare.” Diamond Tiara pushed the accelerator harder. They just left the town and drove down the narrow road among the fields, leading to the highway. “Also, running away from a killer unarmed? Crazy. And remember that if more people had guns, Moondancer wouldn’t happen.”

“I stand corrected,” Silver Spoon muttered. “I’m gonna get arrested. You’re gonna get shot.”

“Shut up,” Diamond Tiara replied. “We’re going on a road trip. Think we’re Bonnie and Clyde.”

“They were shot too.”

“How about Thelma and Louise?” Diamond Tiara asked.

“Awesome.” Silver Spoon rolled her eyes. “With your driving skills, I wouldn’t be surprised if we end at the bottom of some cliff.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Diamond Tiara muttered.

“What a clever answer.” Silver Spoon chuckled. “I would, but I’d distract the truck drivers.”

Diamond Tiara shot her a nasty glare and focused on driving, avoiding looking at her friend.

“Fish and chips,” Silver Spoon said after a few minutes.

“What?” Diamond Tiara groaned.

“Fish and chips,” Silver Spoon replied. “If there’s a British restaurant in the world, then there’s fish and chips.”

Diamond Tiara sighed and shook her head.

Rarity walked out of the class, carrying a bag full of fabric samples and her sewing utensils. She smiled; the teacher just told her that she could become an exchange student in the London College of Fashion. However, there was one problem, whose name was Sweetie Belle.

Rarity sat at the table in the coffee shop on the other side of the street and grabbed a tablet to check the British news site she was reading every day. She didn’t really like the articles, but all her friends in the college read it. Plus, it had amusing comments. For the next fifteen minutes, she was reading about the vocalist of Fledgeling Changeling and poor children in Brasil while sipping coffee so expensive that it could fund a small country.

Sweetie Belle. She was eighteen, yet she wouldn’t survive a day if Rarity moved out. Especially since their parents, busy driving across the country to make money hardly cared about their children. Rarity shuddered, thinking what would happen if Sweetie Belle was left alone. For starters, she’d probably burn the house down.

Another thought nearly made Rarity choke on her coffee. What if her parents wanted her to take Sweetie Belle with her? That’d be the worst. All her dreams about marrying a real prince would tumble and fall.

Rarity’s eyes moved away from the tablet. An itch in the back of her neck told her that someone was watching her. Maybe it was one of the waiters? Those insufferable cretins kept finding new ways of misspelling her name on the coffee cup.

“Hello,” Bon Bon said, approaching Rarity’s table. In her plain, yet practical clothes, she stood out in the cafe like a bishop in the brothel. “I knew I’d find you here.”

“What do you want?” Rarity asked. “I told you that meeting in public places–”

Bon Bon opened her bag and pulled a smoked fish from it. Some of the patrons looked at her, but most of them thought that it was just something so underground they’ve never heard of it before. “I found this in my mail, wrapped in that hideous piece of gay designer’s shit your sister called her coat.”

“Pepe isn’t gay, he’s French,” Rarity replied. “And that’s a fine salmon, I must admit.”

“It’s not salmon, it’s a mackerel.” Bon Bon rolled her eyes. She lowered her voice to a whisper, “Do you know what that means? Wherever you sent your sister, she’s not coming back. Sweetie Belle is sleeping with the fishes.”

“Oh…” Tears appeared in Rarity’s eyes. She took a few deep breaths. “Don’t worry darling, we’ll think of something. Do you know Filthy Rich’s daughter?”

“Diamond Tiara?” Bon Bon asked. “Of course. She and her weird friend used to come to Twist for sleepovers.”

“I hope that won’t complicate anything.” Rarity took a sip of her coffee. “But it’d be nice if they had one more sleepover. A very long one.”

“Yes.” Bon Bon nodded. “With some additional attractions?”

“Of course,” Rarity replied. “Long, eventful, and they can never be found.”

“Will do.” Bon Bon stood up. “I’ll hire a party planner. We’ll be in touch.”

When Bon Bon walked out of the cafe, Rarity grabbed her phone and carefully chose a number. After a few signals, she heard a familiar voice, asking her what she wanted.

“British Airways?” she said. “I’d like to book a ticket…”

They eventually reached the highway and drove west as fast as they could, overtaking everyone on the way. Silver Spoon looked back from time to time, checking if no one was following them. Unfortunately, everyone else was going in the same direction, so the murderer could easily hide between the cars. Silver tried to look for something distinctive, but then thought that a good assassin wouldn’t use a flashy car everybody would remember. Thus, she started to suspect all the housewives in small, emission-free cars.

The sun moved beneath the horizon. Diamond Tiara looked at the dashboard and saw that they were running out of fuel. Luckily, there was a small, nearly abandoned station nearby, with a couple of petrol pumps and a shop. Diamond Tiara stopped by the pump and got out of the car.

“I need to take a dump,” she said. “Would you kindly tank the car up for me?”

“If you say so.” Silver Spoon rolled her eyes and opened the door. Quickly, it turned out that Diamond Tiara parked the car on the other side of the fuel pump than the fuel intake of her car was. Cursing under her breath, Silver Spoon sat on the driver’s seat, reversed, and parked on the other side of the pump. She was about to leave the car, when she heard a terrible screech.

“What the–” She looked to the left to see a small, old car that had just rammed into a fender of Diamond Tiara’s Mustang. To her surprise, Silver Spoon recognised a Ford A; however, it wasn’t a hot rod, but rather an old, unmodified Ford A that should’ve ended up in a museum rather than be driven around.

“Fuck,” Silver Spoon muttered. “Who is driving this junk? My granny?” She got out of the car and walked to the Ford, trying to imagine that she was tougher and stronger than she really was. “Listen, cocksucker,” she said in the most unconvincingly threatening tone anyone ever mustered. “I had a really bad day and you just hit my friend’s car, so get out right now or I’ll–”

A tall, long-haired girl with purple skin and two ponytails got out of the car, grabbed Silver’s neck and pushed her on the hood of Diamond’s Mustang. “Or what?” she asked. “I wouldn’t hit it if you didn’t stand here, cunt.”

“Or… Or I’ll apologise, fuck off, crawl in a corner and die?” Silver Spoon whispered.

“I can help you with the last one, slut,” the girl replied. “You think you had a bad day? Try being deprived of what was your biggest strength…”

“Well, I still have it.” Still lying on the hood, Silver Spoon straightened her leg, kicking the strange girl in the knee. Her scream as it bent the wrong way made Silver Spoon smile.

At least until the punch landed on her jaw.

Diamond Tiara closed the door of the stall and took the gun from her waistband. Then she lowered her trousers and sat on the toilet. For a while, she was sitting there, doing nothing apart from staring at the thin, plywood wall separating two stalls. The reason for that was simple: a girl with long, curly hair sat there and didn’t want to leave, making the whole situation rather awkward; especially since rumbling in Diamond Tiara’s stomach was telling her that something she ate was disagreeing with her badly.

“Okay,” Diamond Tiara muttered. “Let me guess: you’re waiting for me to go away, so you can release the kraken in there?”

It took a while before the reply from the other stall came. “Mhm.”

“Tough luck, because that’s what I’m doing too,” Diamond Tiara said. There was no reply. “Okay then. I’ll go first, then you can do whatever you want.” With these words, she loosened her muscles. Whoever thought that Diamond Tiara was prim and proper in anything she was doing, would be rather surprised at the symphony of olfactory and auricular factors that was unleashed with this simple move.

At least it was fast; a minute later, Diamond Tiara, now feeling much lighter, flushed the toilet, gagging at the sight of her deed. Then she pulled up her panties and left the facility, wondering if the other girl was still alive; the building clearly lacked a proper ventilation.

Diamond Tiara walked to the car park, limping slightly. To her surprise, she saw Silver Spoon being pummeled by some strange girl. It took her a few seconds to realise that she’d seen her before. More exactly, during the Battle of the Bands.

“Watch out! It’s a siren!” she yelled, pulling her gun out. Said siren stopped beating Silver Spoon and stood unsurely with her right hand in the air.

That moment of hesitation was all Diamond Tiara needed. A shot tore the air, the bullet hitting the siren’s arm, throwing her back at her car. Silver Spoon opened the door of Diamond’s Mustang and grabbed her own gun. Screaming at an unusually high-pitched tone, she emptied the magazine in her opponent’s general direction.

The girl rested against her Ford A and slid on the ground, leaving bloody trails on the metal.

“What did you do?” Diamond Tiara whispered, rushing to Silver Spoon.

“Aria Blaze,” Silver Spoon muttered, still holding the gun. “Her name was Aria Blaze…”

“Was, indeed,” Diamond Tiara replied, kicking the body. “We’ve had enough trouble without the fucking dead fish turd…”

“Hey, that’s racist.” Aria Blaze opened one eye and looked at herself. “I’m a siren. Also, you can’t even imagine how many dicks you’re gonna suck in hell for that…”

Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon looked at each other, wondering how someone who had just been torn with bullets from the crotch to clavicles, with at least some pieces of lead in their lungs, could talk.

Diamond Tiara was the first to regain her senses. She swiftly raised her gun and fired three bullets at Aria’s head, creating something that looked like a piece of modern art called “Brain, Pieces of Skull, and Smashed Eyeballs on an Old Ford”. It’d probably sell for millions at Sotheby’s.

Diamond Tiara, however, wasn’t interested in modern art. “We’d better go,” she muttered, dragging Silver Spoon to the car. With a screech of the tires, left the station, driving back to the town as fast as the Mustang could.

Meanwhile, a blue girl left the store carrying some tacos, a bottle of water, and a pack of tampons. She walked along the row of fuel pumps and stopped in front of the car.

“Aria, I know you’re on your period, but it’s not nice just bleeding everywhere…” She lifted the box of tampons and walked closer to the car. “Anyway, I brought you–”

The tacos fell to the ground.

Adagio Dazzle walked out of the store and threw her hair back before going to the car. She smiled, seeing Sonata standing next to it. Apparently her friend was done with the shopping, so they could hit the road again. Assuming the car would work; it was a piece of junk, but Adagio would never get rid of it. After all, it was her first car, bought straight from the factory somewhere in 1928.

“Hi, Sonata,” she said. “I just had the weirdest conversation in the toilet…” She looked at Sonata and saw her standing motionlessly, staring at something in front of her.

“Someone. Killed. Aria.” Sonata muttered in monotone.

Adagio looked at the body, which she only recognised because of clothes, and then back at Sonata. “Oh, crap,” she muttered, immediately recognising her expression.

Throughout history, the three sirens made quite a mark on the history of this strange world they happened to live in. Most of those events were pulled by either Adagio or Aria; Adagio was always smirking, thinking of hapless Charles I, whom she convinced that he’d win the battle of Naseby. Poor guy, completely lost his head for her. Aria, on the other hand, was responsible for stirring the crap around Salem in late 17th century, as well as an elaborate prank that ended up in some important guys being thrown out of the window. It later escalated out of control and became known as the Hussite Wars.

Sonata was different. She rarely ever initiated any prank. However, when she did, people tended to die like flies. She was also much more emotional; Adagio remembered well how some guy called Henry III of Navarre dumped Sonata for someone else. Sonata had an absolute blast during his wedding. It took Adagio two centuries before she decided to go back to Paris and even then she couldn’t help but shudder during the whole visit.

Then, there was also Constantinople. It was early 13th century, they were young and free, their powers slowly reaching their peak. Sonata, whose name was a bit different at the time, just had to fall in love in one of the Varangian guards. Of course, he dumped her, so she spent the first half of 1204 plotting revenge, and on one fateful day, somehow created a strong gust of north wind that helped Venetian ships reach the town.

Three days later, when Adagio crawled from under the scorched ruins, she felt old for the first time in her long life, despite all the power she’d absorbed then.

Now, staring at Aria’s lifeless body, unable to get back to life without her pendant, Adagio, for the first time in her life felt mortal. She knew that if she didn’t do anything, she’d live only for a few more minutes.

“Sonata, eat a taco,” she said quickly.

“Why?” Sonata asked, her voice as monotone as before.

“Because when you’re hungry, things tend to end in a lot of guts on the floor and I’d rather avoid that,” Adagio replied.

“I have no tacos.”

“There are some on the ground,” Adagio said, desperately trying to come up with a plan. Nothing came to her head, so she started to pray. Not to any of the most popular gods, but rather to Quetzalcoatl, whose worshippers they met on their first trip across the ocean. Aria always considered eating human hearts pretty metal.

“They’re covered in Aria’s blood.”

“Good. That way, she’ll always be in your heart.” Adagio could feel her own heart pounding rapidly against her chest. She tried to steady her breath. “W– what do you want to do with that? With Aria?”

“That’s simple,” Sonata replied. “We’ll bury her in the sea, as she always wanted.”

Adagio sighed with relief. “Yes. We’ll do just that.” She briefly remembered that Aria indeed mentioned that to them, somewhere around that time when Adagio told about Sonata’s previous exploits to two drunk rockmen. Unfortunately, they forgot half of it, and the song eventually wasn’t called “Sympathy for the Siren”.

“Then I’ll murder the whole town,” Sonata said, staring in the distance. “I’ll make a large pile of skulls, sit on the top, and stick a femur of the guy who did that in my–”

“No, no, no.” Adagio shook her head. “Bad Sonata. We can’t murder whole towns. Not without our powers.”

“I need revenge!” Sonata exclaimed, hitting the fuel pump and nearly knocking it over. “I want to know who did that!”

“We’ll ask the guy who works here,” Adagio said. “There are cameras here, after all.”

When Microchips started to work at that small, crappy petrol station, he hoped he’d have a calm life. It mostly worked. Emphasis on the past tense.

Now, in only one evening, he had to clean the toilet after at least two people having an attack of diarrhea, and almost witnessed a bloody murder. What was worse, two friends of the victim walked back to his store. When he asked them if he could be any help, the blue one threw him across the room.

“Enough, Sonata,” Adagio said, walking to Microchip, who was lying by the counter, watching the way her hips were moving. It was somewhat hypnotising; he almost forgot why they were there.

“Okay, my boy.” Adagio leaned to Microchip. “Our friend just got murdered and we’d like to know who did that. Could you show me the recording from your cameras, please?”

“Umm…”

“Sonata, what will you do to him if he doesn’t show us the recording?” Adagio asked.

Sonata emerged from between the shelves, holding several bags of chips and some chocolate bars. “Punch him in the balls so hard everyone will wonder why his eyes are so hairy.”

Microchip immediately regained the ability to speak clearly. “The cameras are fake. My boss is rather stingy.”

“No cameras?” Sonata asked. “Dagi, can I rip his head off and pee inside, like in good old times?”

“No,” Adagio replied. “We were supposed to fit in after losing our crystals, remember?”

“We tried, and they shot Aria,” Sonata muttered, puffing her cheeks.

“That doesn’t mean that you can go around, ripping people’s heads off.” Adagio turned back to Microchip. “Okay, no cameras. But maybe you know those girls who shot Aria?”

Microchip hesitated. Of course he saw Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon around, but it wouldn’t be wise to just give them away. For example, they could come back to him and then ripping his head off and peeing inside would be the least thing he’d have to worry.

“Some girls,” he eventually said. “I don’t know them.”

“Some girls?” Adagio walked closer to Microchip and looked into his eyes. “And who do you think could that be?”

“Dunno…” Microchip replied. “Did you piss someone off recently?”

“Canterlot High!” Sonata exclaimed. “Can we go there and burn the school down? We can use the fuel from here!”

“What for?” Adagio asked. “It wasn’t recently. Almost none of those people are in the school anymore.” She pointed at Microchip. “Hell, he was in there, and now he’s working here. Not the best for him.”

“So… Who could that be?” Sonata muttered. “Maybe those girls from that other school we went to? One of them didn’t like my skirt.”

“That wasn’t a skirt, that was a glorified waistband,” Adagio said. “The minimal length of the skirt is set in the school rules. You’d know it if you learned to read. Remember that girl with a lot of hair that spoke like a smartass squirrel? Hers was the least you could get and yours was half as short.”

Sonata rolled her eyes. “No, it was only a bit shorter.”

“Yes, but she also wore tights. Meanwhile, everybody could see your country matters.” She turned to Microchip again. “Can you believe I put up with her for two thousand, five hundred-twenty four years?”

“They could still kill Aria,” Sonata said. “Remember how she got into a fight with that creepy one? She nearly shot her with a bow.”

Adagio nodded and scratched her chin. “Yeah, that could be it. You know who we’re talking about, right?” She looked at Microchip.

“Umm… Some girls from Crystal Prep?” Microchip asked. “Actually, to think about it… I may have dated one of them. And I’m pretty sure I added them all on facebook.”

“See?” Sonata smacked Adagio’s arm. “We’re the only ones no one wants to be friends with.”

“Not a surprise to me…” Adagio grabbed Microchip and lifted him off the ground. “Names.”

“S-sugarcoat,” Microchip replied. “Once she let me–” He looked into Adagio’s eyes and saw a slow and painful death. “Sour Sweet, Sunny Flare, Indigo Zap, and Lemon Zest.”

“Awesome.” Adagio released him. “Mind if we take some food and plastic bags?” she asked when he fell to the floor.

“N-no, of course not,” Microchip muttered, watching the two sirens walk away.

The mortal remains of Aria Blaze, now gently wrapped in a plastic bag, fell into the water. Sonata watched it disappear, resting against a board at the end of the pier. “Don’t throw rubbish and dead bodies, please,” she read.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Adagio said, watching the bag drift away. “Are you okay, Sonata?”

“No,” Sonata replied, wiping her eyes. “That’s… not right.”

“Well,” Adagio said. “Not everything in the world is right. Remember Belfast?”

Sonata nodded. “Yeah, that wasn’t right. But shooting Aria was… less right. I think.”

“You do?” Adagio raised her eyebrows. Sonata only wept, so Adagio pulled her into a hug and for a while they just stood at the pier, staring at the sea.

“So… What’d Aria do if we died?” Sonata asked.

“Roll drunk on whisky, smoking one cigarette after another.” Adagio sighed.

“Wouldn’t she try to avenge us?”

“Yes.” Adagio chuckled. “After sobering up and realising that she’s all out of rent money.”

Sonata nodded and turned away from the ocean and the rising sun. “Well, I guess it’s time to find those girls…”

“It won’t be that hard.” Adagio pointed at the beach near the pier. A yellow girl with freckles and long, reddish hair was walking there, staring at her phone. “Humanity is getting dumber, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” Sonata asked.

“That in a hundred years you’ll be a genius,” Adagio said. “Hide under the pier and wait. I’ll lure her.”

Adagio got off the pier and walked across the beach, approaching the girl. She didn’t even notice her, focused at the small screen in front of her.

“Hello,” Adagio said. “Sour Sweet, right?”

“Nice to meet you,” Sour Sweet replied, turning her eyes away from the phone. Her eyes immediately narrowed. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I see you’re playing too,” Adagio replied, pointing at her phone. “I saw a Charizard under the pier, but then my phone died and I couldn’t catch it. If you want…”

Sour Sweet gave Adagio a gentle smile. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll have a Charizard and you won’t, loser.” She ran towards the pier. Adagio followed her slowly.

She didn’t have to hurry.

It was a Friday evening, and for the group of former Crystal Prep Academy students known as the Shadowbolts, it meant one thing: a party.

Well, on this particular Friday, the party wasn’t going all too well. Sure, they gathered together in Sugarcoat’s house, but there was something missing. Or rather, someone: Sour Sweet had disappeared and no one knew where she was.

In such a situation, their plans changed a bit, and the party got more heavy on drinking and philosophical conversation. Soon, however, the drinking part left no one but Sugarcoat and Lemon Zest to do the talking.

"Do you ever think about parties?" Lemon Zest asked, staring at the bottom of the empty bottle.

Sugarcoat sighed, downing her drink. "No."

Lemon didn’t seem to hear that. "Yeah, but I mean REALLY think about them. All these people getting together and bouncing around, sloshing stuff everywhere, acting like they don't have somewhere to be tomorrow. Or maybe... they don't."

Sugarcoat groaned and poured herself another vodka. "You're gonna have somewhere to be in about three seconds if you don't shut up. Spoiler: it's the hospital."

“Oooh!” Lemon Zest exclaimed. “I love hospitals! Though they should definitely work on their music.” She hiccuped. “Diagnose: Lebensgefahr alone just won’t do.”

“Where did you even learn about this guy?” Sugarcoat muttered. She was half-lying on the couch and Sunny Flare was using her butt as a pillow, but Sugarcoat had stopped caring a long time ago. “I thought only I’m listening to actual music here.”

“You mean, some guys who live in a hut made of shit and sticks, recorded one album, and then went to a nuthouse?” Lemon Zest asked.

“Yes,” Sugarcoat replied. As if to confirm her words, the first sounds of Einsturzende Neubaten’s Autobahn started to, for the lack of a better word, play. Sugarcoat grabbed her phone and looked at the screen. “It’s Sour Sweet,” she said. “Let’s see why she didn’t come.” She slid her finger across the screen.

“Sugarcoat?” Sour Sweet’s frantic voice came from the speaker. “Are you there?”

“Of course,” Sugarcoat muttered. “Where the hell are you?”

“Oh, I met some new people in the morning,” Sour Sweet replied. “They’re going to fucking kill me!”

“What?” Sugarcoat looked at her phone. “Listen, if you didn’t want to come because you secretly hate my ass, you could’ve just told me that.”

“No, why would I hate you?” Sour Sweet asked. “They put me in a trunk of their car and now I’m in some fucking dirty basement! I… I don’t have much time, so listen carefully. You know those girls, I’m sure.” Her voice was raspy and quick. “Their names are–”

“Hey! What are you doing?” someone in the background yelled. Sugarcoat heard some strange noises, followed by Sour Sweet’s scream.

“No!” Sour Sweet’s voice caused feedback in Sugarcoat’s phone, even though she was far away from her own mobile. “No, please! Anything but that! Nooo!” Her voice cut off abruptly as someone punched her. Sugarcoat’s throat went dry as she listened to the distant knocks and static, before somebody picked up Sour Sweet’s phone.

“Hasta la vista, pendejo,” a nasty voice said before the call ended. Sugarcoat immediately tried to call back.

“The number you’re trying to reach is currently unavailable,” a professional male voice informed. “Please, try again later.”

“Fuck,” Sugarcoat muttered. “Who could that be?”

“Eco kids,” Lemon Zest replied. “She said she really liked those gory slaughterhouse videos they put on facebook.”

“That’s not a reason to murder someone,” Sugarcoat said.

“Yeah…” Lemon Zest chuckled. “She then wrote to them that she masturbated to them for the whole night.”

“Well, damn.”

Sunny Flare raised her head from Sugarcoat’s butt and opened one eye. “Who was phone?” she asked groggily.

“Sour Sweet,” Lemon Zest replied. “Eco kids are murdering her.”

“Ah, okay.” Sunny lay back on Sugarcoat’s lap and snored.

Author's Notes:

Both Einsturzende Neubauten and Diagnose: Lebensgefahr are actual musicians. The former is industrial/experimental rock legend and the latter is a solo project of Nattramn from the Swedish band Silencer who recorded an album called Transformalin during his stay in a psychiatric hospital in Vaxjo, Sweden. If you are alone at night in a dark house, listen to it. You won't feel alone anymore.