Danti- There are no strings on me

All Over This Showering Thing

Screams. Always the first thing Anti's brain would register in the morning. Screams.

The neighbours must have a guest over. They seems to have many visitors. Anti has never many any of them. He knows not to go downstairs until it's quiet.

Anti sat up, pushing the blankets to the foot of his creaky bed, and stretched. His back clicked awkwardly. What day was it? Must be Tuesday. He was working yesterday. He was trying to track down a Mr Spooky Jim for his newest client. Both of them had fuckin' weird names, but what Ego didn't? Blurryface has lost his partner in a hit and run. It had been going well until the police arrived and shot them both. Not part of the plan. They had to split up, and Blurry can't seem to find him. Anti couldn't care less. If he found Spooky alive, he'd get paid. If he found Spooky dead, he'd get paid. If he didn't, we wouldn't get paid. That's all that really mattered.

This wasn't usually what Anti did. Any other day, normal people, would pay him to kill other normal people. Occasionally they'd try to get him to take out another Ego. He didn't, most of the time. Not unless they were extremely weak. Sometimes stronger Egos would hire Anti to kill someone who was bothering them. Why would they take the blame when someone who needed the cash would do it with out caught?

Anti stood, wandering off to the kitchen. He frowned, realised he wasn't hungry and went back to his room to gather some clothes. He threw them into a pile on the bathroom floor and started running his shower. He tested the water, satisfied with the burning temperature and stood under spray. He was disappointed to find he was now standing in the shower with wet pyjamas. They had little yellow sad faces on the boxers, the black tank top sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

He swore at himself, then at the shower, and threw the pyjamas over top of the shower wall. They landed on top of his clean, dry clothes.

"Oh, fuck off." Anti began scrubbing his scalp, running shampoo through his green hair. He'd have to dye it again soon.

He'd narrowed down Spooky's current position to a place not too far away. He'd booked this hotel room for two weeks. He was on day three. He didn't live here. He lived in a small apartment back in LA. It was a lot less classy than this joint. He didn't give a shit.

Spooky should be less than an hours walk away. All Anti needed to do was send a picture to Blurry, text him the location and wait for the money to appear in his bank account. Simple. He didn't need two weeks to find Spooky. He had other plans.

Anti grinned, washing out the soap, expertly avoiding his eyes. He was basically at pro at this point.

Anti was looking for his Host. His counter part, of sorts. He's split from him at the age of 10. He woke up in LA. He'd learned the name of his Host, Sean. Or, Jack. His YouTube channel was called 'Jacksepticeye'. Anti had taken Septiceye as the second part to his name. He had grown up in Ireland. Anti had searched there for years, doing his little 'assassin for hire' gig on the side. He hadn't found jack shit. He thought that joke was hilarious.

Jack was meant to be in Cincinnati, which is where Anti was currently camped out. He was meant to be visiting a friend. Anti forgot the name. Mark, or something generic like that. Anti had done his research. Another YouTuber. Not a threat. If Mark was there while Anti slit Jacks throat, he'd have to die, too. If he wasn't, he could find the body later on and cry, or whatever he wanted to do. Maybe he'd fuck it. Anti had met a disturbing amount of people who were into necrophilia.

Once Jack was dead, Anti wouldn't have to worry about packing his belt with knives every time he went outside. He was an easy target for Egos that wanted to move up in the world. He didn't have a clan or gang or crew or any of that shit. He was alone. With his Host dead, he'd become powerful. He'd seen Egos with dead Hosts gain amazing abilities. Some could alter people's emotions to point where they were completely numb, not caring if that bullet hit them or not. Some became utterly bulletproof. These Egos were at the top of the food chain. They were safe. No one wanted to fuck around with them. There would, on occasion, be a massive Ego fight, where one Hostless Ego would kill another Hostless Ego to get higher up in the ranks. It wasn't often.

That is where Anti wanted to be. He wanted people to look away when he walked down the street – not look for his weak points.

Anti rubbed some fruity shower gel over his body, letting the hot water wash the rest of it off. He got his oil removing face scrub and smacked some of that on. That hurt like a bitch when it got in his eyes, so he was careful to run around them.

He got oil removing face scrub in his eye. He screeched, unhooking the shower head from the wall and blasting it straight into his face. He washed it out, turning the water off and stepping out. He didn't have a fuckin' towel. He unlocked the bathroom door, running to the couch. He'd left a basket of laundry here yesterday after going to the laundromat. He thanked the Gods that he'd shut the curtains last night. The people across the street probably didn't need to see him butt naked at 6:30 in the morning. He scooped out a blue towel, rubbing it over his face and ran back to the warm bathroom. He didn't know why he thought rubbing the towel over his cheeks would help his eyes, but it did.

He dropped the towel and wrapped it around his hips. It was weirdly hard – some of the fabric was sticking together, strangely, making it crunchy. He wiped his hand over the fogged mirror, looking at himself. It was a full length mirror. The towel hid his dick. It was a shame. It was a mighty dick. That wasn't his focus right now, though.

He looked at his eyes and cringed. He looked like he'd just smoked a massive bowl of drugs. His eyes were bloodshot, bringing out the blue iris in his right eye and the green one in his left. Unless Jack has been wearing contacts all his life, Anti was pretty sure that both of his eyes were blue. Why did he have to get the fucked up one? Because he was the Ego. Egos all had something that made them stand out. Different coloured eyes, an extra toe, a birthmark. They had something that no amount of magic could cover up. Sometimes they'd have tinted skin, like Anti, but they pull on a simple façade and it would look normal to anyone other than an Ego. It made it easy to walk around without scaring everyone away.

Anti sighed, shaking his arms. The green colour of his skin disappeared, leaving it a pale white.

Anti finished drying himself, and looked around for his clothes.

"There ya are." He smiled. They were in the corner. "There ya fuckin' are." He kicked the wall. They were fuckin' soaked.

This was going to be a long ass day