The lights overhead flickered as the tattoo machine whirred to life. Tanya winced. Why did they always have to do that? Thankfully, Maria was a regular and had already heard all her classic lines. “Happens every time I’m ‘bout to do my best work,” and “The electricity is as nervous as you are, eh?” were her usual go-tos.

  For a moment, the only light was the soft glow of the rising sun through the window behind Maria. The woman’s wheelchair sat beside her, shadows dancing across the counter and up the parlour’s back wall. With a buzz the power surged back, flooding the parlour in neon. A Galaga arcade machine hummed to life and began to play a jaunty tune. The leaderboard pulsated in time with Tanya’s name at the top.

  Tanya organised the inks on her workbench, shifting the tools around ready. Maria reclined in the tattoo chair, feigning relaxation.

  “Last chance to leg it,” Tanya said, her Cockney accent chiming through.

  Maria swatted Tanya’s arm. They both laughed. Tanya reached for her phone to turn the speakers up.

  Vibrations pulsed from each corner, the subwoofer filling her head with her favourite bassline. Tanya tilted the white lamp away from Maria’s face to rid her glasses of glare. This would be a long session so she wanted her friend to be as comfortable as possible.

  “You ready?” Tanya said, earnestly this time.

  Maria scrunched her eyelids, her voice coming out as a squeak. “Make it count, I’m running out of skin space up here.” She wasn’t kidding; Tanya was tattooing the only space left on her arms today.

  Tanya prepped the gun and leaned over. In Maria’s metallic skirt, she caught her own reflection—along with the neon glow of The Wyrm and Needle sign. The words warped with every shift of the fabric, morphing between flipped letters and strange scrawls.

  Tanya rubbed Maria’s arm with alcohol wipes, then pinched the skin tight. The hunting blade tattoo peeked out from beneath her chunky bracelets, part of a full sleeve that curled around her arm. The contrast between her tattoos and the one she was working on brought a smile to her face. Tanya had always preferred witchy symbols: eyes and tarot cards and skulls. Maria’s were all botanicals. At first glance, they looked delicate, but Tanya knew each to be poisonous or carnivorous. Their tattoos lined up perfectly with their dress sense. Whereas Maria’s full cheeks and lacy dresses brought a smile to the lips of old grannies, Tanya had enough piercings and edgy fashion sense to horrify the parents of all of her past lovers.

  “You got one of those raids after this?” Maria asked. “The war craft one?”

  “World of Warcraft?” Tanya said, turning to grab a stencil from the nearby trolly. A quick tug peeled the film off it.

  Maria shifted in her seat and craned her neck to look at her. “Yeah! That one.”

  The old thing creaked as she moved. Tanya’s hand shot out to steady it.

  “Oi, stay still, would ya?” Tanya smiled. “Yeah, it's been a while with work bein’…” She trailed off. “Well anyway, I’ve been busy. Barely get time for games nowadays. I'm tryin’ a new character tonight though, a Warlock.”

  Maria’s face was blank.

  “The summoner one—ya know—the lil’ imps.”

  “Oh yes! They’re so cute.”

  Only Maria would think they were cute.

  Tanya readied her hand to begin. “Just breathe. You got this, mate.”

  Maria nodded, her fingers gripping the armrest. “Short-term pain for long-term squiggles, right Tan?”

  Their gazes met in silent agreement. The needle pierced skin, and Maria tensed. Tanya kept her eyes on her friend’s face, looking for any sign to stop. When Maria nodded, Tanya continued the line. The gun buzzed up and down the girl’s shoulder. Tanya’s heart rate slowed as she wiped away each smudge of ink.

  Maria was not as calm. “Ow, ow, ow, distract me,” she said.

  “Uh, sure…” Tanya scanned the shop, eyes settling on the pile of letters on the counter. Ignoring those envelopes stamped URGENT and FINAL NOTICE, she focused on one with familiar handwriting. “Mum told me little Tommy’s lovin’ grammar school so far.”

  “Wow… he must be… so big now,” Maria said, flinching after every other word. “You still—ow—paying for that… fancy grammar school?”

  “Yeah, I am.” Tanya paused to let her friend take a deep breath. It gave her an excuse to refill the ink and inspect the tattoo’s progress. The edge of the boy’s face was beginning to take shape. She’d been eager to work on this one all week—ever since Maria told her it was inspired by the story they’d read together as kids: “The Little Prince.”

  “I wanted to give him a proper shot, ya know?” she continued, trying to hide her smile, but failing miserably. Her little brother was the smartest boy she knew. She’d done alright at the local school, it had toughened her up, but Tommy wasn’t like that. He was shy and sweet. She’d take on as much debt as she needed to protect him. “Well, I do what I can, don’t I?”

  Maria let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders. She pointed to her first tattoo, a semicolon. Tanya had a matching one. “We’ve come a long way since our days in Brighton, don’t you think? Back when you’d talk me into schemes like—”

  “Inventing magic fish bait,” they said in unison and laughed.

  “I just nicked some market beads and dyed pigeon feathers, then stuck 'em onto a regular tackle." Tanya grinned.

  She shushed Maria and snapped the rubber glove against her wrist with an exaggerated thwack. “We can have a natter after I finish the line work, yeah?”

  “Darn, foiled again...” Maria drifted off, staring over Tanya’s head towards the speaker.

  Tanya had tuned the radio out until now, but something in the announcer’s voice pulled her focus. As her trance faded, the dull ache in her wrist returned, along with the low buzz of the radiator.

  “Residents around the UK have reported sightings of mysterious black creatures. Described as shadowy and elusive, these beings have been seen on the edges of major cities, prompting both fascination and concern. Local officials have launched an inquiry—though, so far, no concrete explanations have emerged. Authorities are urging caution as they continue to investigate these unusual occurrences—“

  “Huh,” Tanya said. “Bit weird, innit? You reckon it’s real?”

  “You haven’t heard?!” Maria exclaimed, “There have been reports like this all day, strange sightings, weird thefts, and unexplainable mysteries—Laura thinks it’s someone playing a prank on the BBC—”

  The bell chimed and the conversation lapsed. Tanya turned the music down.

  “Sorry mate, I’m booked all mornin’.” She smacked her hands on her jeans and turned around.

  His hair was shaved almost to the skin, he towered over six feet tall, and even his muscles had muscles. A leather jacket clung to his broad frame, the orange snake on one arm marking him as an East-End Adder. A few more filed in after him, all bearing the same mark. She’d never met him directly, but everyone in Whitechapel knew of him. He was known as Adder, and he was the reason kids in this area didn’t go out after dark. For weeks, his lackeys had been showing up at all hours, pressuring her to pay protection money she couldn’t afford.

  No, not now.

  Maria stiffened, gripping her sleeve until her knuckles blanched. Her breath hitched in shallow pants as if even breathing too loudly might draw their attention.

  Tanya bounced her knees, readying to sprint. If she ran at them first, Maria might have a better chance of escaping. Maria fumbled, pulling herself onto her wheelchair with shaking hands. She knocked the ink caps over. Tanya wanted to help, but she wouldn't risk taking her eyes off him. Standing at 5 foot 4, Tanya knew no amount of dyed hair, tattoos, or piercings would convince these thugs she was a threat. Her only chance was speed.

  “I assume you know who I am,” Adder said. His voice caught her off guard—posh and smooth, a stark contrast to his rugged look.

  Her stomach knotted, but she forced herself to exhale like nothing was wrong.

  “Who wouldn’t?” Tanya replied. “Let her go, an’ then we’ll talk.”

  A figure had already circled behind her. She recognised his two face-framing dreadlocks and the scar down his right eye. He’d come in alone last time, full of fake pleasantries and thinly veiled threats.

  Tanya nodded towards the man with the dreadlocks. “I already told him. I can't afford it.”

  Tanya glanced over her shoulder. Maria’s face was pale, her expression locked with tension. She gripped her chair to steady her arms, but they still shook uncontrollably.

  “Here, I’ll give ya everythin’ I got if you let her go.” Tanya lifted her palms and moved toward the counter.

  Adder smiled, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head. He held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “I don’t need your pennies. What I want to know is why you’re the only one on this street not paying on time.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Tanya’s jaw tightened, uncertainty curling in her gut. She knew the answer—some were sinking into debt, others had partners with better jobs. No one could afford it, yet the price kept climbing. One missed payment and Tommy was out. She wouldn’t let that happen.

  Tanya pointed at a neon sign on the wall: Remember, you can always ask for a break.

  “My customer wants a break. Please step aside.” Arms crossed, she stood her ground—with far more confidence than she felt.

  Adder smiled and stepped out of the way of the door. Maria lurched towards it and Tanya thrust some cream and a dressing in her lap as she passed, murmuring “Tell Laura from the florist not to come ‘til I call.” Maria nodded and didn’t look back.

  “How many payments have you missed now, hm? How many warnings?” Adder approached the table and gestured for his men to sit on the sofas by the entrance. “You see, people are starting to ask questions. Why isn’t she paying? Does that mean it's safe if we don’t? Is Adder going soft?”

  No one was crazy enough to say that, not really. She’d not told a single neighbour either. She wasn’t about to argue either way.

  Tanya flipped the sign to closed. She exhaled, steadying herself, then turned.

  The men spread out across the shop. Two giant thugs, who appeared to be brothers, were sitting on the creaking sofa by the wall and speaking a language she didn’t understand; it sounded Indian, maybe Bengali or Hindi. The man with the two dreadlocks framing his face circled her, inspecting the signs. His boots dragged along the floor behind him, leaving marks in the wood. The last, the shortest of the lot, a guy barely 5 foot 5 with an undercut, found the arcade machine. He leaned over it with a crazed smile. Something about the way he clamped his hands on the controls disgusted her. All of them did, circling her like vultures. She’d convinced them before. She could do it again.

  “I’ll get it to you. Monday?” She bit her lip. She’d need a miracle to pull that much together.

  His face hardened.

  “Sunday? No, Saturday?” She blabbered days, holding up her hands.

  Monday would be hard enough. Maybe she’d have to get a loan this time. She’d sworn she’d never get one again after seeing the interest last time, but any way out was worth whatever promise she had to make.

  Dreadlocks approached, each step measured. Tanya stepped aside to give him space, but he didn’t pass her. She couldn’t read his face. Her heart raced. She took another step back, but he shot out, gripping her arm with surprising force. She jerked, ready to cuss him out—but something cool and sharp pressed against the small of her back. At first, it didn’t register as anything more than a cold pressure. Then she felt the tip cutting into her skin.

  His knuckles brushed against her back and she flinched. She could tell from the drag of skin down her back that it wasn’t even a large blade, but there was something about the force he pressed it with that made the air heavier. She tried to move away, but his grip tightened, urging her forward into the store. Undercut closed the blinds. The store was different now. The neon lights that once were cosy reflected an eerie, alien glow against the leather jackets. Shadows pooled in the corners.

  She stiffened, fighting to control the shiver running down her spine. It had never been like this before.

  No, they mean it. Oh god, they’re gonna make an example outta me.

  The knife stayed firm against her back. Dreadlocks’ fingers twitched, drumming a slow, deliberate rhythm against the hilt. His breath was too close, his words a low murmur against her ear. “What will it be, princess?”

  One of the brothers ripped the landline from the wall. The cable snapped with a sharp crack. A creeping unease settled in her gut, spreading slowly, like cold water rising around her ankles. Her fingers hovered over her pocket, where her phone pressed against her leg. Useless. The second she reached for it, they’d take it. And then what? Even if she called for help it was unlikely there’d be enough proof to arrest them.

  The blade’s edge was barely grazing her skin, but her thoughts lagged.

  Think. Think. How can I pay ‘em?

  Dreadlocks’ other hand slipped from her arm to her waist. Her pulse hammered. She used all of her self-control not to hit him or scream.

  Tattoos.

  She forced herself to scan their skin. If she could barter, maybe even grab a needle—anything to put something sharp in her hand. One of the men on the couch ran his hand through his hair, there was some symbol on his wrist but it was small. She could do better.

  “I can do you a deal,” Tanya said, louder than she needed to. She crossed her arms, her gaze shifting to the logo on each jacket. “The snake’s your thing, yeah?”

  Adder nodded, tilting his head.

  “I don’t see no East Adder Tattoos on you, nothin’ really showing you lot off.”

  A heavy silence enveloped the room, stretching her nerves taut. Adder paced up and down, studying each Polaroid photo on the wall next to him. She’d never been so grateful for those pictures.

  “Hm.”

  “You deserve somethin’ flashy. Custom design of course—free of charge. Big pieces for the lot of ya. That’d cover most of what I owe. If you like it, I could do the rest of your group—simple-like—show you guys are in charge.” She rambled, masking the shake in her voice.

  The silence was suffocating.

  “Design something, then I’ll decide,” Adder said, shrugging off his leather jacket. The others exchanged glances, raising their eyebrows. Beneath his long sleeves, his skin was uneven and red, marked by old burns or scars. He passed her his jacket and she inspected the swirling orange snake embroidery.

  Dreadlocks pressed the blade harder against her back, the tip biting into the soft skin just above her tailbone. “No funny business.”

  On the couch, the brothers muttered in their language. One let out a low, throaty laugh, eyes flicking up to Tanya. The other stared, his gaze sharp and unblinking.

  She reached for a pencil. Before she could grab it, Dreadlocks yanked her back against him. For the first time, the blade properly cut into her skin. She felt a thin, hot sting and clenched her nails into her fists to stifle a gasp.

  His presence loomed heavy behind her, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were deep brown, neon blue reflections flickering in them. “If you want me to do your tattoos, I need to move around.”

  He paused for a moment then let go of her shoulder, satisfied to follow her with the knife.

  She took a steadying breath, grateful for the sliver of space.

  It’s just a tattoo, Tan. You do these every day.

  Her hands trembled as she grabbed some transfer paper, slipping a few sheets from the pile.

  The snakes on their jackets were identical, except for the number of fangs—Adder’s had two, the rest had one. She’d need to adapt the design to fit different placements. Adder would be the trickiest. She assumed he’d want it visible but his arms were unlikely to make clean enough lines.

  She began designing snakes for each of them. For Adder, a looped snake around his neck with the face in the centre of the back of his neck like a third eye. She spent the longest on his design, working out how to best place the tattoo to avoid his scars.

  The brothers tossed their jackets aside, muscles shifting under their shirts. They spoke easily, their banter too casual for a hostage situation. With each laugh booming around the shop, she flinched. For a while, she pondered how to curl the designs around each other, trying to avoid giving them a strange section of each other’s snakes. That’s when she got it—two wriggling snakes. Each would be a mirror image of the other on the brothers’ large biceps. If they interlocked their arms, the snakes would curl around each other.

  For Dreadlocks, she sketched a chest piece—a snake coiled to strike, one tooth chipped, mirroring the shape of his knife. She focused on the drawing, trusting her memory of him. When she did look up, it was only a glance. She didn’t want him to catch her and look back.

  Finally, for Undercut on the arcade machine, she designed a lower arm piece. The head of the snake would reach onto the hand with large swirling eyes to hypnotise its prey. As she worked, she caught glimpses of him at the arcade machine, fingers tapping in a frantic rhythm. He lost and slammed his palm against the machine. The loud thud broke the quiet tension. His eyes returned to Tanya, gleaming with the same wild energy as the snake in front of her.

  A wave of nausea crashed over Tanya as she finished. She stared down at her sketches, the moment slipping into something unreal. As her hand fell to her side, every gaze in the room snapped to her. Adder extended a hand for the stencils, and she handed them over in silence. The others remained motionless, watching his expression until he nodded, then crowded around to see their designs. Dreadlocks shoved her toward the group, cutting off any chance of escape. Not that she could outrun them anyway. The blade at her back felt unnecessary, but he kept it there, relishing the control.

  “You begin with me,” Adder said.

  Tanya’s shoulders dropped a fraction, but she clenched her stomach, forcing the bile back down.

  Perched on the recliner, he stared down at Tanya, unblinking. “Tanya, is it? If you recount any of this, I will be forced to kill you and anyone you told. Do you understand?”

  Tanya’s mouth went dry. She nodded and busied her shaking hands with cleaning equipment.

  The room was thick with an energy that Tanya couldn’t place. With the blinds drawn, the parlour was bathed in neon light, casting garish hues across the walls. The only white light was the single spotlight above Adder’s head.

  She crept over, trying not to stare. His arms were a jagged landscape of twisting welts. Some scars stood raised and white, others darkened closer to dried blood. His skin had been irreversibly changed—rough and uneven, like leather stretched too tight, then left to wither. His arms were taken over by the new rippling texture, fading into normal skin around his collar bones.

  She picked up her tattoo gun and switched it on, anticipation coursing through her. Again the lights flickered, plunging them into momentary darkness. Tanya’s heart lurched. Adder straightened in his seat.

  Dreadlocks pressed the knife against her spine again. Tanya’s arms jerked, the tattoo gun still buzzing. “It does that when I turn it on.”

  Dreadlocks eased the pressure of the knife as Adder leant back again. It pulled her focus to the wet bead of blood dripping down her back. She tried to ignore it.

  Adder went still, his breath slowing, and Tanya’s anxiety thickened. Every time the lights flickered, dread crept in—what if, when they returned, he wasn’t where she’d last seen him? His pleasant smile had returned, but she couldn’t shake the memory of the snarl in his voice when he threatened to kill her.

  She placed the stencil on his neck in two separate parts. Leaning in, the smell of cheap aftershave filled her nose. Up close she could see the fine blond hair growing throughon his head and a faint scar on his upper lip.

  “This is the BBC News at Twelve. A man in the highlands claims to have developed a remarkable ability—the power to move objects with his mind. Residents of the small village of Durness—“

  Adder lifted a single finger. “I prefer silence.”

  Tanya walked over to turn off the speakers manually—she didn’t want to lose her phone.

  While the arcade machine buzzed with Undercut’s game and the brothers whispered, her corner felt stifling with the silence of the unmoving Adder. Her heart sped up to fill it.

  She dipped the tattoo needle into the ink next to her, mouthing a silent wish for her skills not to fail her now.

  Then, as she began the first line, her mind fell silent. All that was left was the canvas before her and the buzzing of the tattoo gun. With each wipe, her heart steadied, and the weight in her stomach lifted.

  * * *

  Class Unlocked!

  Tattoo Summoner

  * * *

  Her grip tightened around the tattoo gun. She barely stopped herself from jerking back. The voice sounded clear—like a whisper just behind her.

  Adder let out a low “Hm?” Dreadlocks was still holding the knife but he settled onto a stool, spinning the blade absentmindedly between his fingers

  “Uh, nothin’. It’s shapin’ up well.”

  She glanced around the room, searching for anything that could explain what she’d just heard. The arcade machine whirred in the background, a chorus of erratic synthesizer noises out of time with the music. Undercut hadn’t moved from it, his fingers still slamming the buttons in a frantic, unrelenting rhythm. Maybe that was it. Just a weird trick of the sound, an intrusive thought mixing with the noise.

  She turned back to the tattoo, her fingers shaking slightly as she adjusted her grip.

  Time blurred. Hours passed in what felt like minutes. She lost herself in the rhythm of her work, the hum of the tattoo gun grounding her. The design wasn’t full colour, just an intricate black outline with a soft orange glow pulsating at its edges. She added the final strokes to the eye and pulled away to examine it.

  * * *

  Ability Unlocked!

  More than Meets the Eye

  * * *

  Tanya froze.

  The voice was louder this time, curling around her thoughts like a whispered secret. It was smooth, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

  A shiver prickled at the base of her neck, trailing down her spine. She couldn’t deny it now. Something was happening.

  What the fuck’s goin’ on?