Out, Out, Brief Candle!

“Listen up.” The Lone Star officer punctuated his command by harshly jabbing his baton into the older woman’s sternum. “I don't need a raggedy, old, knife-eared cunt telling me how to do my job.”

The man continued, ignoring the whelp of pain from the citizen. “This is Vegas, got it? Your niece is probably joytoying her way across the Strip, showing off her perky elf titties to anyone who’s got the nuyen. That ain't got nothing to do with me, get it?”

He turned to walk away, his partner chuckling at the exchange. Then, he turned back for more.

“Lone Star ain't a fucking charity, right? We don’t work this beat. Find someone in your contracted area, or drop some cash and I'll look for your missing little Katie or Keri or whatever her dumb fucking name was. Otherwise, maybe you just imagine she decided to slot and run with a human and got herself a better life.”

Distraught and dejected, the woman let the tears come, not sparing the effort to wipe them from her cheeks. As the policemen turned away, her eyes bore holes of hate into their backs. They didn’t care about her, or her niece Cora, or any of the now seven teenage elf girls to go missing from The Sprawl in the last five months.