Success Story

Roaming the Streets of London

Grell bonks the cat on the nose. Bonk. It doesn't react, staring into their soul with the eyes of a terrified survivor of mass bonkings. "Such a pretty kitty~!" they squeal and nuzzle into the fluffy purrer. Cheshire mewls and pads their face. "And it likes me too! Thank you for appreciating my love, feline friend!" 

Cheshire slinks from Grell's lap to Williams, curling up into a ball and trying to fit in the smallest space between his crossed legs. He scratches its head the way it loves so much, sending it into a slumber so comfortable it may as well have overdosed on catnip. 

The CEO sits on the couch with Grell sharing matcha tea powder prepared with the finest knock-off strainers one can buy on eBay. William expected Grell visiting to be like a babysitting shift but is quickly realising how assertive and cunning the redhead themself truly is. Qualities he probably saw when he hired Grell but didn't realise until now. 

"So William," Grell stirs their mug to make the settled powder infuse once again. "How did you get to be a high ranking member of the London underworld nd the CEO of a massive shell corporation?" 

"Well..." he sighs. A difficult subject to bring up. "My life drawn out for me when I was born full of expectations made me chase greatness. The top seemed the only natural place for me. Entitled? No, in fact the opposite. I feared being anywhere but the very highest peak of society meant utter failure. I lay awake at night with crippling terror at the prospect of being anywhere but the top. Perhaps that's why I demanded an office on the highest floor or live in this apartment several storeys up. The closer to the ground I am the more anxious I get," 

"Our lives are so different but so very similar," Grell sighs contentedly, allowing themself to stare off into space looking at nothing in particular. Appearing to be transfixed on the wall. 

William allows himself a rare smile. "I'll make more tea," He stands in the centre of his living room in this small London apartment. It overlooks the city through thin, floral-meshed curtains. A lot more 'exclusive' than Grell's and in a more central location but with just the same space. The busy city throws sirens and car alarms into their space. It makes it no less cosy. "Are you staying the night or not?" it's not asked curtly but an invitation. One he hopes Grell will accept. 

"Stay the night? Why yes, I can take the couch!" 

"No, you are a guest," William adjusts his glasses. His hair falls across his forehead in a spiky fringe. In those faded blue-white pinstriped pyjamas that look like they belonged to his grandfather, William looks like a 5 year old child. Especially with the pillow wedged under his arm and the blanket draping down over his shoulders. Has he always been this prepared in advance? "I'll take the couch," 

Grell gently takes the pillow and blanket from him, staring into his eyes with a loving gleam sharp at the edges. "I wouldn't be comfortable sleeping in someone else's bed. Trust me, I'd much rather have the couch," 

But neither have the opportunity to sleep as a loud banging sounds against the door. Grell and William stare at one another in suspicion and silently William leans behind his couch. He stands but this time holding a long, serrated metal poker that looks like a medieval torture device, He presses a clip, the serrated edges gnash together like teeth. 

"Nice," Grell whispers, arming themself with a pair of sharp-looking scissors that sat on the coffee table. They creep towards the door. 

William looks through the peephole and sighs in relief. "It's Othello," he opens the door and in strolls the scientist. A particularly maniacal expression on his face and a faint blood mist on his teal shirt. 

"Everyone, good evening," he waves at them both, especially at Grell behind William's shoulder. He dances past both of them and into the apartment, unimpressed by the minimalist decorating. "Right, both of you should get dressed and follow me, you see?" 

"Why? What are you doing here?" Grell quirks an eyebrow. They aren't spending 10 minutes retying their bootlaces if they don't have to. 

"The demon hound changed unexpectedly and broke through its chains," Othello sighs. "Broke right through the door," 

Grell gasps. "The demon hound escaped?!" 

"You said the serum you applied would prevent it from changing form!" William accuses in a calm voice dripping with malice. The veins on his forehead throb angrily. 

Othello scowls back with the expression of a wounded puppy. "There's a reason Project Pluto is an active experiment! We haven't worked everything out yet!" 

"If you could stop assigning blame for a second, um... there's a demon hound roaming the streets of London," Grell sighs, already sitting on the couch and strapping up their red stilettos. From the window a sudden rush of screaming can be heard and the deadening roar of the demon hound carrying for thousands of miles across the Atlantic. 

"Fuck," William whispers to conceal his indecency. The three run from the London penthouse into the streets below. An older district devoid of skyscrapers and instead housing the historic landmarks of Shakespeare's time. The theatre stands tall beside them passing the bronze Shakespearean plaque. They run against the crowd, towards the chaos and roars of destruction. 

Arriving at the marina bay Grell freezes in horror, staring into the bloodthirsty eyes of Project Pluto. A very different dog than they remember. The hound perched on the museum roof that cripples under its weight. Streams of fire pour from its mouth that blaze across rooftops. The howling isn't done in anger but in pain, for blood drips down its jaw. It can feel every second of the fire burning its mouth and yet the dog is unable to stop. 

"Huh, I didn't know it could breathe fire," Othello ponders the demon hound with apathy. 

"Summoning the fires of Hell," William confirms gravely. "What can we do?" he asks Othello. 

"Thee is no way to neutralise it now. I wouldn't know where to begin!" 

"We must limit out damage," William shakes his head. Grell feels tears stinging at their eyes. They know what must be done. 

"Please?" Grell asks in a small voice. "I played with Pluto... he likes me. Please allow me to send him to the next world," 

"You are not so divine," William frowns sadly. "But yes, you may finish this yourself," 

"Hold him there, make sure he doesn't get out of hand," Grell chokes back a sob. "I've got to go and fetch something," they make a sprinting start for their own flat, the trepidation of horrors to come scouring the forefront of their mind for more emotions of feed off.