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STORYLINE: The deal was sealed with a handshake. Disgusting.
From her station in the shadows of the greenroom, Nurse Paine watched the transaction with the cold, clinical detachment of a coroner. The handshake between her master, the divine Dr. Lucien Ginerva, and that pink-haired parasite, Romance, wasn’t just a business agreement. It was an infection.
“You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years,” MasterGin purred, releasing the idol’s hand.
Paine tried to hide her smirk. Ten years. An exquisite insult.
She watched MasterGin sashay away, his tunic dissolving into the clinic light, leaving the room feeling emptier, colder. He didn’t look at her. He never did. He just left her with the mess, as he had for twenty years.
She turned her gaze to Romance. He was preening in the mirror, hair slowly turning pink, and wiping a faint smudge of soul from his lip. Life he had stolen right out on the street, in front of the clinic, under the glare of a thousand cameras.
Reckless. A liability wrapped in velvet and bad decisions. He risked the Great Work. The Monstrum. The Master himself. All for a quick hit of adoration. And for what? To save a broken cyborg girl who was destined for the scrap heap anyway?
Romance caught her staring in the reflection. He didn't look ashamed. He looked bored.
“You are walking on borrowed time, Master Romance,” Paine said, her voice dropping into the quiet, lethal register she usually reserved for uncooperative patients.
He spun the chair slowly, crossing his legs with an elegance that made her want to snap his femur.
“Aren’t we all? That’s why I’m curious.”
He leaned back, studying her with those impossible, mischief-flecked eyes. He looked at her not as a threat, but as a specimen.
“You keep his house clean. His rules intact. His miracles on schedule,” he drawled. “But you’re mortal. Spending your life in service to a monster who barely looks twice at you.”
The words struck her like a scalpel, precise and severing.
Mortal.
The word hung in the air, smelling of rot. She looked down at her white heels. They were scuffed at the toe. Scuffed from running down hallways, kicking open doors, dragging heavy, unconscious bodies into prep rooms. Scuffed from doing the dirty work while he floated above it all in a cloud of clove smoke and opera music.
She forced her head up. She would not let this glitter-covered leech see her bleed.
“My service is not for his vanity,” she lied, the words tasting like ash. “It is for the Great Work. The resurrection of the old ways.”
“The Old Ways?” Romance laughed softly, a sound that grated on her nerves like a bone saw hitting a clamp. “You mean like the Opening of the Mouth? The catering alone must be a nightmare. Let me guess… he handles the guest list, and you handle the carcass?”
Paine flinched. It was a microscopic movement, a twitch of the eyelid, but he saw it.
Carcass. That’s all Jihoon was to him. But to her? He was the clay of her master. She ensured the transition was seamless.
“The High Priestess does not complain of the weight of the knife,” she snapped, her voice rising.
“High Priestess,” Romance mused, standing up. He drifted toward her, invading her sterile field. He smelled of amber musk and freshly baked cinnamon buns. “A grand title for a janitor. You look exhausted, Paine. When was the last time you slept? Or does he keep you running on stimulants and promises?”
He stopped inches from her face. His beauty upclose undeniable.
“He treats you like furniture. Useful. Silent. Easily replaced.”
Rage, hot and white, flared in her chest. Her nails bit into her palm. *Furniture?* She was the foundation! Without her, GIN AESTHETICA™ would crumble into a heap of lawsuits and bio-waste within a week. She managed the supply lines. She silenced the inspectors. She fed the beast.
From her station in the shadows of the greenroom, Nurse Paine watched the transaction with the cold, clinical detachment of a coroner. The handshake between her master, the divine Dr. Lucien Ginerva, and that pink-haired parasite, Romance, wasn’t just a business agreement. It was an infection.
“You look thin. Bring your best face to the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. Drink ten years,” MasterGin purred, releasing the idol’s hand.
Paine tried to hide her smirk. Ten years. An exquisite insult.
She watched MasterGin sashay away, his tunic dissolving into the clinic light, leaving the room feeling emptier, colder. He didn’t look at her. He never did. He just left her with the mess, as he had for twenty years.
She turned her gaze to Romance. He was preening in the mirror, hair slowly turning pink, and wiping a faint smudge of soul from his lip. Life he had stolen right out on the street, in front of the clinic, under the glare of a thousand cameras.
Reckless. A liability wrapped in velvet and bad decisions. He risked the Great Work. The Monstrum. The Master himself. All for a quick hit of adoration. And for what? To save a broken cyborg girl who was destined for the scrap heap anyway?
Romance caught her staring in the reflection. He didn't look ashamed. He looked bored.
“You are walking on borrowed time, Master Romance,” Paine said, her voice dropping into the quiet, lethal register she usually reserved for uncooperative patients.
He spun the chair slowly, crossing his legs with an elegance that made her want to snap his femur.
“Aren’t we all? That’s why I’m curious.”
He leaned back, studying her with those impossible, mischief-flecked eyes. He looked at her not as a threat, but as a specimen.
“You keep his house clean. His rules intact. His miracles on schedule,” he drawled. “But you’re mortal. Spending your life in service to a monster who barely looks twice at you.”
The words struck her like a scalpel, precise and severing.
Mortal.
The word hung in the air, smelling of rot. She looked down at her white heels. They were scuffed at the toe. Scuffed from running down hallways, kicking open doors, dragging heavy, unconscious bodies into prep rooms. Scuffed from doing the dirty work while he floated above it all in a cloud of clove smoke and opera music.
She forced her head up. She would not let this glitter-covered leech see her bleed.
“My service is not for his vanity,” she lied, the words tasting like ash. “It is for the Great Work. The resurrection of the old ways.”
“The Old Ways?” Romance laughed softly, a sound that grated on her nerves like a bone saw hitting a clamp. “You mean like the Opening of the Mouth? The catering alone must be a nightmare. Let me guess… he handles the guest list, and you handle the carcass?”
Paine flinched. It was a microscopic movement, a twitch of the eyelid, but he saw it.
Carcass. That’s all Jihoon was to him. But to her? He was the clay of her master. She ensured the transition was seamless.
“The High Priestess does not complain of the weight of the knife,” she snapped, her voice rising.
“High Priestess,” Romance mused, standing up. He drifted toward her, invading her sterile field. He smelled of amber musk and freshly baked cinnamon buns. “A grand title for a janitor. You look exhausted, Paine. When was the last time you slept? Or does he keep you running on stimulants and promises?”
He stopped inches from her face. His beauty upclose undeniable.
“He treats you like furniture. Useful. Silent. Easily replaced.”
Rage, hot and white, flared in her chest. Her nails bit into her palm. *Furniture?* She was the foundation! Without her, GIN AESTHETICA™ would crumble into a heap of lawsuits and bio-waste within a week. She managed the supply lines. She silenced the inspectors. She fed the beast.
She smoothed a wrinkle in her a pristine couture scrubs.
“Be ready,” she hissed, stepping back to put distance between her and his seductive scent. “The camera is waiting.”
She reached for the door panel, desperate to be away from him, to be back in the cold, logical embrace of her lab.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The room washed in a sudden, pulsing crimson light.
Paine froze. Her heart rate didn't spike, it steadied. This was familiar. This was procedure.
She tapped her wrist-console. A holographic grid projected into the air, cutting through the red haze.
Sector 4. Sub-Level Maintenance. The VIP Tunnel.
Grainy night-vision footage flickered to life.
Five figures moving through the shadows. Covered in muck. Moving fast.
She squinted. The tactical gear. The girl with the camera. The boy with the glowing gloves.
The escapees.
The ones from the Pen. The ones who had caused a riot at the auction. They were here. In her house.
“Intruders,” she whispered, the word a curse. “Unauthorized biocodes detected.”
Her fingers flew across the console. This was it. The excuse she needed to vent the fury building in her veins.
“Summoning Enforcer Squad Alpha,” she announced, her thumb hovering over the execution command. “Seal the exits.”
“Wait.”
Romance stepped in front of the hologram, blocking her view.
“Don’t call the dogs yet. Look at them. They’re barely standing. Sewer rats in human clothes.”
“They are breaching the Holy Sanctum. Defiling the clinic where a God performs miracles.” Paine snarled, dodging around him to reach the icon. “Protocol demands—”
He grabbed her wrist.
The contact was electric. A fiery jolt shot through her core, ringing her like a bell.
“Look at me, Paine,” he breathed.
His eyes flared with a hypnotic, neon-pink light. The air suddenly smelled of yearning and first kisses. She felt the warmth brush her skin, syrupy and false, and she did not yield.
“You don’t want to call the guards. You want to let them pass. You’re so tired of fighting. Just... let it go.”
She felt the enchantment wash over her like a warm bath. It tugged at her thumping heart, whispered to her exhausted muscles that it was okay to rest, okay to fail, okay to just... stop.
It was a powerful spell. Against a human, it would have been absolute.
For one treacherous heartbeat, she wanted to let go.
But Paine was not just human. Not anymore.
For decades, she had taken her communion from the Master’s own vein. His blood, ancient and cursed, had rewritten her marrow. It burned like antiseptic fire in her veins, hardened her mind against the soft, sticky fingers of lower magics.
She looked at Romance. She didn't feel love. She felt insulted.
She didn't swoon. She sneered.
And then, she backhanded him.
SMACK.
It was a beautiful sound. Wet. Heavy. Final.
Romance stumbled backward, crashing into the makeup chair. He looked at her with genuine shock, clutching his bleeding lip.
“Do not insult me with your parlor tricks, Idol,” she spat, stepping over him.
She felt the change in her eyes, the iris burning red, legacy of the Master’s blood rising to the surface.
“Did you think I was mere cattle? I have supped from the Master’s own vein. His blood runs in my marrow. Your little love spells have no purchase here.”
Romance touched his lip, checking for blood. “Well,” he wheezed, straightening his jacket with a wince. “That explains the bad attitude.”
Paine ignored him. She turned back to the screen, zooming in on the feed.
Minjo. The robotics girl. She was dismantling a security camera with a multitool. The movements were precise, practiced. Familiar.
Paine’s mind raced. How did they get past the outer sensors? How did they know the tunnel layout?
Romance.
She whirled on him, pressing a scalpel-sharp fingernail into the expensive fabric of his lapel.
“You’re running a ratline,” she accused, her voice a low growl. “The smuggler in the Zone. It was you.”
He opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a look.
“And Sister Sophia,” she whispered, the name tasting bitter. “I will never stop looking for her. Our fellowship is broken without her. Did you make her disappear too?”
Romance slapped her hand away. The playful mask cracked, revealing something sharp and angry underneath.
“She died trying to save the world from monsters like you."
The name hit her like a physical blow. The air left her lungs. Sophia... dead? The possibility had always been a whisper in the back of her mind, a cold dread she refused to acknowledge. Hearing it spoken aloud shattered the fragile hope she’d carried for two years.
He pointed at the screen, at the dirty, desperate kids crawling through the pipes.
“They aren’t assassins, Paine. They’re children. They’re just here for the boy. Jihoon.”
“The Chosen One,” Paine corrected automatically as if it were scripture. “And…,” hurt leaked into her voice, “we were all born under the same star.”
“You mean you’re all born the same year?” Romance laughed softly, “Wow. Evil has aged you.”
She ground her teeth, and looked back at the screen.
The red-haired girl moved with surgical intent. She wiped slime from her face. The boy with the gloves helped the reporter over a pipe. They were terrified. They were filthy.
And they were walking straight into a meat grinder.
The Enforcers were stationed at the end of that corridor. Heavily armed. Hungry. If she let the alarm stand, those kids would be shredded in less than three minutes.
Paine looked at the red button.
If she pressed it, she did her duty. She protected the Master. She upheld the order.
But then... she looked at Romance. The "ratline." He was helping them. undermining the Master right under his nose.
*He treats you like furniture. Useful. Silent. Easily replaced.*
The words echoed in her skull.
Why should she clean up this mess? Why should she call the guards and let them have all the fun?
If these kids were smart enough to break into the Zone, survive the sewers, and breach the Sanctum... perhaps they were interesting. Perhaps they deserved a test.
And if they failed? Well, The Opening of the Mouth always drew hungry guests.
Paine lowered her hand. A thought, cold and calculating, formed in her mind. She watched the live feed collapse into static. She had already purged the archive. The system would remember nothing.
“The Master believes his security is absolute,” she murmured. “He believes no human can touch him.”
She looked at her scuffed heels. Then at the alarm.
“Let’s see if he’s right.”
She tapped the console.
ALARM CANCELED.
She keyed the comms line, her voice shifting instantly into her bored, administrative tone.
“Control, this is Paine. Belay that order. False alarm in Sector 4. Sensors are tripping on sewer rats chewing the power cables again. I will go down and verify the damage personally.”
“Copy that, Nurse Paine,” the radio crackled. “Standing down.”
The red light died.
Romance stared at her, his jaw hanging slightly open. “Why?”
Paine walked to the medical cabinet. She unlocked it with a thumbprint. The heavy, chrome bone-saw gleamed in the light. Beside it, a syringe of paralytic neurotoxin.
She slid them into the deep pockets of her pristine white coat.
“Because if they are competent enough to breach the outer wall, they deserve an audience,” she said, checking the weight of the saw in her pocket. “And if they are not… the ghouls will eat well tonight.”
She walked to the door, pausing to look back at him.
“Get to the studio, Romance. Smile for the camera. Sell the lie. Do what you were bought to do.”
“And you?” he asked.
Paine smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
“I have a mess to clean up.”
She swept out of the room, her heels clicking a sharp, solitary rhythm down the hall. Let the Master play with celebrities and haute couture.
The Master demanded order. But tonight, it was Paine who would become chaos.
Midnight Order is ending soon. Be sure to return for new items added, and if you missed any generious gifts. ...DJ Romance returns sporting some K-pop Demon awesomeness. His edgy outfit is by Dope+ Mercy. You can use the texture hud in the fatpack for base colors and several cool patterns. The top is mod, so I edited it for a burgundy color with the nice heavy metal looking pattern. The shredded pants also have texture options, I used the worn version. ...This style of pant look great with big stompers so I paired with the Cult Obsidian boots. ... Romance is rocking a messy mullet by Dura U136. It comes in several color packs, I used Light. The hair is not rigged so you use the hug to adjust the fit and edit it. I added the hair the U135 for extra Romance style lengh in the back. Perfect match! In the raw image below you can see the hair without the longer lower end. ...Also in the closeup image below, I included the gold version of the Auto Stellar Nose Chain. It comes in silver, black, and gold. It's mod, so you can adjust the fit. ...How about that awesome Ghoul Tail by The Deadboy? It automatically BOM fits your skin texture. For me it auto added the Fishnet detail! You can adjust in the hud the transparency of the skin, the cartoon outline colors for the bones and the tail, or hide the parts you don't want to show. ... Adding his trademark heart theme is the Heart Dermal Piercings by Stoic. They are mod so you can adjust the size and placement by hand. ....Adding more gothic punk style, are the BOM upper Fishnet by AsteroidBox, and lower an old favorite by Sna@tch that closely matches the style of the upper.
On him, DJ Romance:
Hair: Dura - U136 -ALL-Men's, Light [mesh](Midnight Order)(390L)
Top: Dope+Mercy - Offcut Harness Top, LEGACY [mesh](Midnight Order)(300L)
Pants: Dope+Mercy - Offcut Trousers, LEGACY [mesh](Midnight Order)(350L)
Tail: The DeadBoy - Ghoul Tail [mesh](Midnight Order)(899L)
Nose Chain: AURO - Stellar Nose Chain, BLACK [mesh](Midnight Order)(299L)
Hair lower: Dura - U135-Light [mesh]
Piercings: STOIC - HEART DERMAL PIERCING SILVER [mesh]
Boots: CULT - Obsidian Male - Legacy Male [mesh]
Fishnet upper: AsteroidBox - Shredded Nets - Black Plain [BOM]
Fishnet lower: Sn@tch - Fishnet Tights Torn [BOM]
Body: TheShops - [BODY] Athletic Meshbody (Legacy)(m) (1.7.1) [mesh](5000L)
BONUS IMAGES: inworld raw shots, hi-res, midday sky :
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