Shift- Prologue

The soft click-clack of her heels against the perfectly polished office tiling resounded in her own ears louder than anyone else’s. She could hear the soft whispering of the fabric of her clothing as she moved and she could hear her own heartbeat, beating at a smooth, steady pace in her chest.

There wasn’t anyone in the main offices, the cubicles all sat empty and silent, making the sounds of her heels all that much louder in her own ears. There was a strip of light that fell across the floor down a hallway and the woman headed towards it, her footsteps becoming quieter as they stepped onto the carpeting of the hallway.

A heavy oak door was ajar, which was the source of the light, and a smile came to her face. It wasn’t a happy smile; it was a cruel smile one that was filled with malice. With a peek into the slightly opened door, she saw a once handsome man sitting behind the large wooden desk of his highly decorated office, scribbling his signature on a set of documents.

The man didn’t even look up as she pushed the door fully open, for it swung inward on silent hinges and because he most likely didn’t see her. Her keen ears heard the ticking of the grandfather clock that sat in the corner, the soft scratching noise of the pen against paper, and loudest of all, the man’s heart beating in his chest at a steady pace.

The door’s soft click as it shut and the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place finally made the man realize that he wasn’t alone and forced him to look up at the woman. She gracefully crossed the room and sat down in the grand leather chair positioned in front of the desk without a word.

The man set his hands on the desk in front of him, showing no sign of alarm at the woman’s appearance, nor that she had locked the door. He appeared to be rather calm with the whole situation; however, it was the fear and worry in his eyes that gave his façade away.

“How did you get in here?” A bead of sweat ran down his left temple, and the woman in front of him again smiled her cruel smile.

“Now now Mr. Banks, we aren’t scared of a lady, are we?” She flashed her perfect white teeth at him in an amused smile and gave a laugh that was like the tinkling of a wind chime, but somehow full of malice. It was a scarily beautiful to hear.

“Those police officers of yours stationed outside the building aren’t very good at their job, they were dead within seconds.” She gave a harsh laugh, throwing back her head and laughing her tinkling wind chime laugh, it sent shivers down the man’s spine as he reached for his gun hidden in the second desk drawer while her eyes were averted.

The woman snapped her head back down and in one graceful lunge she had pinned the man’s hands against his desk. If he hadn’t known what this woman was, the perfectly curving white nails that had appeared where her once normal human fingernails had been would have frightened him. But the nails, or more correctly, claws —they curved delicately to a fine, sharp point, and were a pearly white, much like a cat’s claw—pierced into his skin, and he was sure he was bleeding beneath the gray of his ten thousand dollar suit.

The woman’s brown eyes has had changed, becoming a glowing green with a slited vertical pupil, that combined with her claws, gave her the overall semblance of a cat, but while still being human.

“I wouldn’t reach for the gun, Mr. Banks; this is a civil conversation, is it not?” The woman tilted her head to the side, as if listening carefully. Unknown to the man, but heard through the woman’s keen hearing, sirens blared, making their way towards the office building. Someone had noticed the police officers.

When the man did not reply, she carried on the conversation herself. “I know you know of her existence, and you’d be wise to keep it to yourself. Or things might end rather badly,” she picked up a picture of the man’s family that was sitting on the desk and raked her nails down the glass, making a horrible screeching noise that resounded in the man’s ears. “Your family will be the first to suffer, and I’ll come for you last.”

She set the picture frame down where she’d picked it up from, and started to leave, taking her time in removing her claws from the man’s arm. She turned and walked away with all the grace of a primal ballerina, and turned back once she was at the door.

She waved a perfectly manicured —and human— finger at the man, “No harm will come to her,” her claws appeared in the blink of an eye, “or you shall die.”

She was long gone before the sounds of the sirens finally reached the man’s human ears, and soon there was the sound of pounding feet as armed officers came rushing down the hallway. They found the man in his office, seated at his desk with a look of bewilderment on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” He stood, asking the officers, his façade of acting like nothing had happened perfectly sound and stable, with no sign of cracking or slipping up.

“Mr. Banks, the officers stationed here were found with their throats slashed in front of the building, we came to make sure you were alright.”

“Well, I’m fine, now please, remove yourselves from my office,” he huffed, sitting back down in his chair and smoothed down his suit as the officers made their way out of the room with mutters of apologies in his direction. When the door was firmly shut, he walked over and clicked the lock into place, and returned to his seat.

After a few minutes of internally debating, he picked up the phone and dialed a number with a shaking hand. After a few rings, a man picked up, and said in a deep, gruff voice, “What is it?”

“They are here and they know of our existence.” The man took a deep breath, “They know we tried to kill the girl.”

“Then they are the ones who stopped the plan midcourse?”

“I’m afraid so, Miguel,” the man answered, and stood up walking over to the wet bar and pouring himself a glass of bourbon and sitting back down. Miguel was silent, he seemed to either be thinking, or not having anything else to say.

“So, they would wage a war for this girl?” Miguel asked after minutes of empty silence between the two of them.

The man looked at the picture frame on his desk, his two kids and his smiling wife, their images all marred by three long claw marks running down the glass. “Yes, I think they would.”

“Then it’s time we declared war on the Yáta,” Miguel said, sounding confident. “Let them know we won’t stand in the shadows and take their abuse. Let them know that we will destroy their race the way it should have been destroyed years ago.”

The man remained silent as Miguel continued his ranting, stating how they would annihilated the race of cat-people who called themselves Yáta. The only thing the man wanted was justice, justice for the love of his life, the woman who was slaughtered by those beasts.

His dear sweet Margaret, who had been walking home one night, and had had her throat slashed open in order to tell him that they were watching him and could hurt him anytime they chose to.

They would end, forever. And he wasn’t going to miss a minute of the action.