The Blood of Amietta

I. The Diner of Poisoned Food

This really isn't like me.

Sure, I've been known to have a good time occasionally, but I'm the type that's fun to party with because I can handle my drinks. I'm the annoying friend that downs a few at the end of a stressful day and pretty much picks up where I left off the next morning– sans hangover.

Never in my life did I think that I would drink so much that I would black out.

That is until I wake up one afternoon in an unfamiliar diner with a horrendous headache and absolutely no memory of how I got there. I don't even remember making the decision to drink. Aren't you supposed to be sober when that happens?

Like I said– this really isn't like me.

My whole body aches terribly. For all I know, I was up all night jumping from rooftop to rooftop. It wouldn't be the first time– Officers can be real sticks in the mud when it comes to staying out past curfew. But based on the pain I'm feeling, it's more likely that I was falling off of them. I swear I've never felt this bad in my life.

Why can't I remember where I am? Last I knew I was camping in the Outskirts for a few days. I don't remember entering any Mega-Cities and there isn't an Identification Chip attached to my ear. That's concerning. No Chip means no access, so unless I suddenly gained the ability to magically teleport into random hole-in-the-wall diners, I'm probably not in a Mega-City.

So where the fuck am I?

I spare a glance at the depressing establishment. Wherever I am, I don't feel very welcomed.

There is a waitress rolling silverware across the abandoned diner. Her weary gaze digs into my back as if she's worried that I'm hungry enough to spring up and devour her whole or something. She made me aware that my presence wasn't welcome here the moment I sat down, but I don't understand what I could have possibly done to offend her.

Maybe she's just having a bad day... but something tells me that's not it.

I'm really not that hungry at all, but I can't remember what pulled me into the diner in the first place. In the moment, I figured the least I could do was order some food. Although, based on the cold atmosphere of this restaurant, I'm not so sure about that thought anymore.

It's too late now.

A wave of nausea washes over me and I groan softly, unable to hide my increasing pain. I swear I have never been this hungover before. I set my head down on the wood table, allowing my blonde curtain of hair to shade the bright diner lights as much as possible.

Deities, what did I do to deserve this? I wouldn't wish this fate on my worst enemy– someone I very conveniently can't remember right now.

"Cheeseburger, extra pickles?" a nervous voice rings out.

I glance up and nod at the worker, barely registering that it's not the same girl who took my order, but an older woman with a messy apron and overworked hands. She unceremoniously dumps the hot plate with a loud clunk on the table and disappears behind the swinging metal door. All before I have the chance to even mutter my thanks.

The young server is still at her station, watching me closely. I wonder if they've deemed me dangerous enough to poison my food– I wouldn't put it past them.

I sigh. I must be spending too much time in the Outskirts if my face is fending off people this easily.

Gingerly, I pick up the burger, mindful of the steam that still wafts from the freshly cooked meat. The warm sandwich emits a delicious aroma that I can't refuse, even with a splitting headache. I take a bite of the burger and find that I'm not disappointed. In fact, the meal is so good that it makes me forget all about the diner's weird service for a moment.