Heather knocked twice on the garage door, a rhythmic 'tap-tap' that echoed slightly in the quiet afternoon.
The garage had always been more than just a place to store tools and bikes—it was their space. A makeshift hangout spot she, Conner, and Sonetto had gradually turned into their own little hideaway over time. It wasn't perfect, but it had character.
The building was relatively new, though a few rust spots were beginning to show along the hinges and lower panels. Nothing too concerning—just enough to remind them it wasn't built yesterday. Inside, it was surprisingly clean for a garage. No oil stains, no scattered junk—Heather took pride in that.
A full-sized fridge hummed quietly in the corner, stocked mostly with energy drinks and other junk food. In the centre stood a weathered table, bigger than most dining room tables, but it served its purpose. the surface is scuffed from its prior uses, but still sturdy. Instead of chairs, old couches surrounded it—worn, torn in places, but comfortable in the way only furniture with a history could be.
But as Heather entered, she saw both Conner and Sonetto lying on opposite couches as they were likely exhausted after the incursion with Carol earlier that same day.
The usual energy that filled the garage was gone, replaced by a heavy stillness. Both Conner and Sonetto were there, completely motionless save for the slow rise and fall of their chests.
They looked wrecked.
Sonetto had one arm draped over her eyes, her full school uniform still on, as if she'd collapsed the moment she walked in.
Conner lay on his back, one leg hanging off the side of the couch, with his school blazer laying under his head as a sort of pillow…
"Fuck… what happened?" Heather muttered as she stepped further inside.
She hadn't been there when it all went down. Everything she knew came from overheard whispers in the hallways, half-baked retellings, and exaggerated gossip. The story changed depending on who told it—Carol's eyes were glowing, she climbed the walls, she screamed in ancient Latin… whatever.
But every version shared one detail.
Mr. Galloway ran away like a little bitch, bolted out of the classroom. And left his students to deal with the turned vampire on their own.
"The goddamn news… fucking pricks…" Conner muttered, barely audible as he sank deeper into the couch, too exhausted to even open his eyes.
"So many questions…" Sonetto added, her voice hoarse as she gripped a half-empty water bottle in her hand. "It just makes me wanna fucking kill myself…"
Heather stared at them, stunned.
They had just fought a vampire—something out of a nightmare—and survived. Broken, bruised, but alive. And what was eating them now… was the news?
She blinked, almost laughing in disbelief.
"Wait… that's what you're upset about?" she said. "You guys almost got torn to pieces, and you're worried about the damn press?"
Conner let out a weak chuckle. "Yeah, pretty much…"
Sonetto snorted, taking a small sip from her water bottle. "God… remember when you kicked that bitch's head in?"
She broke into a laugh, the kind that only comes when you're too tired to cry. "Thinking about it now—it's fucking hilarious."
Conner smirked, eyes still half-closed. "I thought she was gonna tear my bloody face off."
Heather raised an eyebrow, watching the two of them—burned out, and laughing like idiots.
Yeah… they're both fine… Heather thought, or at least, they were still themselves.
"God…" Heather muttered, while turning toward the television in the corner. It rested crookedly on top of a battered nightstand, powered by a single orange extension cord that snaked across the floor like a lifeline from a better decade.
"You're not even watching anything?" she asked, shooting a glance back at them as she crouched down and started mashing the buttons along the bottom edge of the screen.
The TV clicked, buzzed, then flickered to life—grainy at first, then stabilizing into a news broadcast.
Heather rolled her eyes. "Figures."
The news anchor's voice crackled through the old speakers, clear enough to understand but tinny with age.
"—no official comment yet from the school board following today's incident at a High School in East London, where students report witnessing what some are calling a 'violent outburst' by student's."
The screen cut to shaky phone footage taken from outside the school gates. Sirens wailed faintly in the background as students streamed out in all directions. A glimpse of an ambulance. A figure being loaded onto a stretcher—unmistakably Carol, though the camera didn't linger long.
Sonetto groaned. "They're gonna milk this for weeks."
Heather stood, arms crossed, watching as the footage shifted to a shot of the school's principal giving a brief statement. His tone was calm, measured—scripted.
"We want to assure parents that the situation was quickly brought under control. Thanks to swift action from school staff and emergency services—"
Conner scoffed. "Staff. Sure. Galloway nearly tripped over himself getting out the door."
Sonetto sat up slowly, wincing as she rubbed her shoulder. "You tried to warn him, but the fucker just booked it anyway."
Heather stayed quiet for a moment, eyes still on the screen. The next segment teased an "exclusive interview" with one of the students from the class.
"Guess you two are famous now," she muttered.
Sonetto didn't laugh this time. Neither did Conner. The weight settled back in. Heather sighed. "You guys gonna be alright?"
Conner opened one eye. "Eventually."
Sonetto nodded. "Just… not today."
Heather walked over to the fridge and grabbed a couple of cold cans from the fridge, tossing one to each of them.
Despite Conner and Sonetto's current condition, they both caught the cans without issue
The news anchor's voice crackled through the old speakers, clear enough to understand but tinny with age.
"—no official comment yet from the school board following today's incident at a London high school in the northern end of the city, where students report witnessing what some are calling a 'violent outburst' by a fellow classmate."
The screen cut to shaky phone footage taken from outside the school gates. Sirens wailed faintly in the background as students streamed out in all directions. A glimpse of an ambulance. A figure who was heavily restrained was being loaded onto a stretcher—though the camera didn't linger long.
Sonetto groaned. "Thank god it's the last day..."
Heather stood, arms crossed, watching as the footage shifted to a shot of the school's principal giving a brief statement. His tone was calm, measured—and scripted.
"We want to assure parents that the situation was quickly brought under control. Thanks to swift action from school staff and emergency services—"
Conner scoffed. "Staff. Sure. Galloway nearly tripped over himself getting out the door."
Sonetto sat up slowly, wincing as she rubbed her shoulder. "Pussy did't try to fucking help me, he Just booked it."
Heather stayed quiet for a moment, eyes still on the screen. The next segment teased an "exclusive interview" with one of the students from the class.
"Guess your famous now," she muttered.
Sonetto didn't laugh this time. Neither did Conner.
The weight settled back in. Heather sighed. "You guys gonna be alright?"
Conner opened one eye. "Eventually."
Sonetto nodded. "Just… not today."
Heather walked over to the fridge and grabbed a couple of cold cans, tossing one to each of them. Despite their exhausted condition, they both caught it perfectly.
Heather's phone buzzed loudly in her pocket, cutting through the quiet hum of the TV. She pulled it out lazily, already expecting more school drama—until she saw the name flashing across the screen.
'Mother Mama Mari'
She blinked. The nickname tugged at something buried—familiar, a little silly. God, she hadn't called her that in years. It used to make them both laugh. Now, it just felt distant now.
"Hold on, I'll be back…" Heather said, stepping into the corner of the garage, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice dropped to a low murmur as she took the call, back turned to the others.
Conner sat up slightly, looking down at the can Heather had tossed him.
Tozzkell: Fresh Lemon-Mango Iced Tea.
The design was ridiculous—two over-tanned, half-naked models frozen mid-volleyball jump, grinning like they'd just discovered the meaning of life in a can. One hand on the ball, the other holding up a glowing, sweat-slicked Tozzkell like it was holy water.
Conner squinted at the label and rolled his eyes.
"I bloody hate these…" he muttered, cracking it open anyway. "Why not a Whimlen or something?"
Sonetto peeked up from her couch. "The one with the ginger and lemon? That's disgusting."
"It's refreshing!" Conner protested, gesturing with the can. "Better than this sunbaked thirst trap in a tin."
Sonetto snorted. "You sound like a pensioner."
"Thank you, I do try."
Sonetto chuckled as she looked toward the TV. They both lied back as an advertisement for a type of sponge, of course, they weren't interested.
Conner leaned back, the faint hiss-pop of the Tozzkell filling the moment.
It took a little moment, but then the garage door creaked open and Heather popped her head back in, phone now tucked away in her pocket.
"Hey," she said, a bit more upbeat than before, "my mum just grabbed us some pizza. I'll go grab it real quick."
Conner's head popped up from the couch like a dog hearing the word 'walk.'
"Pizza? What kind?"
Heather rolled her eyes with a grin. "The kind you eat, dumbass." She said as a fun little insult. "I didn't get the full list, but I'm guessing at least one pepperoni and probably something weird she thinks we'll like."
Sonetto raised a hand lazily from her couch. "Tell her no mushrooms, I swear to God—"
Heather was already halfway out the door. "Yeah, yeah, no fungus for the vampire slayers, got it."
"Oh, fuck off. That was one time!" Conner shouted after her, his voice echoing through the garage.
Heather smirked, then let out a deep, amused chuckle as she stepped out onto the driveway. "Whatever you say, Puffy," she shot back over her shoulder, drawing the nickname out just enough to make it sting.
She closed the door behind her with a satisfied click, the smirk still lingering on her face. Conner groaned dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch. "I swear if that name sticks, I'm moving to another continent."
Sonetto kept grinning. "What? I like the name 'Puffy', it has a nice ring to it. Like the old story, 'Lisa Puffy, The Vampire Hunter'."
And with that, the door shut behind her again, leaving the garage filled once more with the soft hum of the fridge and the muffled chaos of whatever reality show had started playing on the TV.
Conner shifted slightly, one arm hanging off the side of the couch as he eyed the screen with mild disdain. Some overproduced drama with terrible lighting and worse acting was blaring from the speakers, and characters screaming about betrayal over a salad.
"The hell are we watching?" he muttered.
His eyes landed on the TV remote sitting just within reach—on Sonetto's side of the table.
He groaned. "Change the channel, or put on a movie or something. Please. My brain is actually leaking out of my ears."
Sonetto didn't move at first. She glanced at the remote like it was miles away, sighed dramatically, and then lazily reached for it with the back of her knuckles.
"This is what you get for being too lazy to sit on the right side of the couch," she mumbled, grabbing the remote and flipping through channels one-handed.
Flick—news. Flick—weather. Flick—reruns of some ancient sitcom with a laugh track louder than the jokes. Flick—finally, a menu of available movies.
"Okay…" she said, perking up a little. "We've got horror, action, or some rom-com crap that looks like it was made in a blender."
Conner made a face like she'd just offered him a spoonful of battery acid. "Suicide is honestly preferable to Rom-com's" he coldly stated.
Sonetto smirked. "Bold talk for someone named Puffy."
He pointed a stern finger at her. "Don't. You. Dare."
She chuckled under her breath and kept scrolling. "Alright, alright, Horror or action?"
Conner hesitated. "Let's try horror"
"Okay then…" She clicked on a title that had white letters across the black screen. "Amt Ahaus: The Empire's Former Army"
A deep, ominous boom echoed from the speakers. The screen faded to a dimly lit forest.
Conner raised an eyebrow. "Classic."
Sonetto snuggled deeper into the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.
They sat in silence for a moment as the movie began its slow, suspenseful crawl toward doom. But the scene itself was a panning shot of a medieval army marching in the light snow, as the narrator reads from his script about how four Holy Roman Armies had gone missing in the region of 'Amt Ahaus'.
All of a sudden, Conner seemed to take great interest in the title.
Sonetto pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the film, which seemed more like a documentary than anything else.
The narrator's voice echoed from the speakers: "Between the years 790 A.D. and 820 A.D., four entire Roman arm—"
The screen abruptly cut to static.
Both Conner and Sonetto turned to look at each other. Conner gave her a sceptical glance, the kind that said 'really?' Like she'd just switched the input to mess with him.
But he knew she wouldn't do that.
"Something might have knocked the dish… Goddamn it…"
Just as the words left his mouth, the garage door swung open with a soft creak, letting in a gust of warm evening air—and the unmistakable aroma of pizza. Heather stepped in first, her cheeks slightly flushed from the walk over, juggling a large pizza box with both hands. Her mother followed close behind, expertly balancing two more stacked on top.
"Want some?" Heather's mum asked with a grin, already moving toward the table like she owned the place.
The smell hit Sonetto like a freight train—cheese, garlic, oregano, and that toasty crust smell you only get from real takeout. Her eyes lit up.
"Hell yeah!" Heather said, practically springing to life. She darted around the cluttered table, pushing aside a tangle of headphones and a half-empty bag of chips to make space.
"Right here's good," she added, patting the newly cleared spot like it was sacred ground.
But Conner, he just sat there, before taking a slice