It turns too far to look comfortable. Maybe only by about ten degrees either way, but still; hands aren't supposed to be able to twist quite that far at the wrist. I'd never been able to get over that. Not sure I never will, to be frank - and it's supposed to be my wrist. The wrist which is mine. The wrist between my arm and my hand. The hand it was attached to being sheathed away in black leather didn't help with the matter; who would've known a damn glove could make me so uncomfortable?
Well. Better to keep it on, I suppose. Less questions that way. Less discomfort.

My drink was too fizzy and too sweet. But cheap was as cheap is - cheap - and thus, it'll satisfy me. I sip it quietly as I watch the world outside pass me by. I check my watch - yup, still the same day, if about five minutes later than it was the last time I checked. 11:07 PM, 22nd December, 20XX. Truly, t'was the Christmas season, and the spirit of it inhabited every damn living creature around. Everywhere you looked, practically every single square centimeter of space was filled to the brim with green and gold and silver and red, baubles and tinsel and fairy lights and…

I neck my drink. Tonight, I'm filled with spirits of a much more chemical kind. I stare out the window, watching gaggles of late Christmas shoppers waddling back and forth, overburdened with meaningless 'gifts'. Am I being too judgy? Who gives a damn? It's not exactly my fault that Christmas has become such a commercial thing. A century ago it was about family. Sometimes I wish I could've been around for days like that. Now, it's all about the material. New car this, virtual reality that - whatever.

Speaking of ambulatory waddling, the mechanical bartender seems to have waltzed over whilst I was busy giving people who'd no clue I was there the hard stare. Bartending around these parts isn't the most popular of jobs - long, long hours standing up on what would probably be minimum wage if you were lucky - so like many an unpopular profession, some of the spots are taken up by a line of adaptable worker androids. Not particularly advanced, mind you; you plug in what their job is and they do it. They don't get better at it, but then again they never have sick days or strikes or any somesuch. Troughs and valleys.

This bartender was no exception to the rule. I swear, the last drink I ordered had been measured in its mixture to the most minute millilitre. I frown. Accidental alliteration.

They were fortunately on the stylised side of the uncanny valley - no attempt made here to make a facsimile of the human face, and all the better for it. I mean, have you seen the faces on some of those early 21st century models? Nightmare fuel, I tell you. Absolute ni-

"Sir, you've taken two drinks," I jump in my seat, her mechanical voice jolting me from my reverie. "Legally, I can offer you two more of the same."

"Fuckin' hell…" I murmur, steadying myself. I rummage through my pockets, placing a couple credits on the counter. "Another one then, same as last." The bartender-robo was practically ablur, creating the concoction in what must've been fifteen seconds flat. I managed to down it in less than a minute. Still too sweet, I complain internally as I stare down at laminated synthwood, part of me fixated on the perfect ebb and flow of the totally-real-we-swear grain. Yeah, probably high time I left for home and took this thing off. The leather squeaks as I close my fist.

I arise from my stool and step away from the bar. Well, I say step, but that was definitely a stagger. Takes me a moment to steady myself again, the world swaying of its own accord as my body adjusted to its own inebriation. That synthetic alcohol shit - synthol as we all call it when too drunk so say either word separately - is supposed to be less potent that the real thing. Either that's a load of bollocks or I'm a lightweight, and I'm not inclined to call myself anything that isn't my name.

"Thank you, come again." The bartenderbot says automatically.

"I will." I reply absentmindedly as I roll my shoulder. Seems fine, but better safe than sorry.

I continue toward the door, staggering a little here and there but otherwise keeping much steadier now. As I exit, a girl sprints past and ducks into an alley. Two men follow, one in a grey hoodie and the other in a black jacket, pausing to glance down the street before realising their quarry had gone into the alley and pursuing her. Come on, really? I glance about. Nobody else seems to have noticed. Fuck. Well, shit; I might as well balance out sinful drinking with a good deed - not that I was a believer in superstitious nonsense, but I may as well give myself a reason to intervene.

I flex my hands as I stumble over to the alley, finding her cowering against a wall as one of the men - the grey hoodie one - slowly advances. She looks young, mid-teens perhaps. Asian heritage, definitely. Hoods up all round, apart from me; but this jacket is lacking in the hood department.

The other guy, black jacket, somehow doesn't hear me approach. I'm not exactly light footed, neither am I a small man, and yet he nevertheless fails to notice my presence. "Oi, mate." I say, tapping him on the shoulder.

He turns, eyes wild with astonishment and anger - and his head then reels back as my fist collides right with his ugly nose. Something cracks, and it wasn't my hand. He stumbles to the side, his friend yelling expletives as the girl takes the opportunity to boot him in the crown jewels, and the girl scrambles past him to take cover behind me. "Fucking despicable." I grunt at grey hoodie as he gets his bearings.

"Fucking shank him!" Black jacket grunts between pained mumbles.

Then grey hoodie pulls a fucking knife out. A kitchen knife, mind you; but a knife's a knife's a knife. I mean, I did deck him in his beak but… is that any reason to stab a guy? Actually, looking at his face, it's all the reason he needed - dude looked absolutely irate, blood dripping down his chin from his busted nose. He lunges at me, thrusting the knife forward.

I meet the blade with the palm of my hand, the knife cutting into the leather and digging fast on the material beneath. I bring my other hand smacking down on his wrist, pulling my gloved hand away. I flick my hand away, hard enough to dislodge the knife, sending it skittering into the street.

He looks at me. He looks at the knife. He looks at me again. I punch him square in the jaw. As he staggers back, the girl steps up and delivers a swift kick to his bollocks - wahey, two for two! His legs give out and he collapses in a groaning heap. I look around for his mate but he seems to have disappeared further down the alley, and I can just barely hear him screaming every swear he knows over the din of evening traffic as he sprints away. I kick grey hoodie in the side for good measure and turn to leave.

The girl was looking at me from the entrance of the alley, staring intently at me from the shadowed safety of her hood, her gaze one of both sincere thanks and dubious curiosity. Her hair and eyes seemed to be black, but with the heavily orange-tinted street lights they could have easily been a shade of blue. She was rather on the small side - at least half a foot shorter than myself, and obviously lighter. I had no doubt that I could've picked her up with not a damn problem.

"Y'alright?" I ask her as I approach. Cautiously, mind you; no point in spooking her.

The girl nods, grinning. "Yes, yes, I am now. Thank you, thank you!" Huh. Not the voice I was expecting. Quite sincere; sweet, almost. Almost sing-song, in fact. Definitely the voice of a talented vocalist.

I wave my hand dismissively. "Nah, it was nothing. Anybody in my situation would've done the same, I think." To be frank, it definitely felt better than I was expecting to help a random stranger. I hadn't really helped anyone to this amount - or anywhere close - since that frightful day, almost a year ago now. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. That being said, not as sour as the thought of what those pair of predators would've done to her had I or anyone else not intervened.

I stamp down on the knife as I pass by, snapping the blade in two. No more stabbing for you, I think to myself as I kick the handle down the alley.

"Really? I suppose so…" She cocks her head curiously. "Is your hand ok?"

Oh, right. Knife to the palm. I shake the hand a little, flexing my fingers, and it seems to be working fine. "Yeah, it's fine. Not a damn thing wrong."

She frowns. "Are you sure? It looked like it went in."

"Tough glove." I hope she buys it. Leather is pretty tough.

She looks skeptical. Probably thought I was lying to her. Wasn't wrong. "Well… Okay, I guess."

I do my best to not audibly breathe a sigh of relief. Tetchy subject, especially at the moment. I roll my shoulder, grimacing a little.

"Hey!" She begins with a sudden bout of renewed eagerness. Seems she's taken to me rather easily - waaaay easier than makes me comfortable. Good lord, how old is this girl? No wonder she got into trouble. "What's your name?"

I disguise a suppressed belch with a clearing of my throat. Too fucking fizzy. "John," I reply, at least sober enough to recall my own bloody name. "John Moody."

"Cool!" She cocks her head again. "Can I call you Moody?"

I'm smiling a little? Surprised, too. Somehow nobody has ever used my surname as a nickname in all my life - and come to think of it, it's kind of the perfect kind to be used as one. "Well, I won't stop you. Moody it is, I suppose." Ironically, the name seems to have lifted my spirits from its namesake. Huh. "Well, what about you? What's your name?"

She seems to straighten up a little, her smile as bright as ever. How can she be so cheery after brushing with something so dire? I haven't seen such naivete in… Well, maybe ever. "My name is Hatsune Miku! How do you do?" She offers her hand for me to shake, and after a moment of confused hesitation I indeed shake it. Good lord, that is a soft hand - and yet the shake is surprisingly firm. Seemed like there was more strength in those ladylike arms than I had at first thought.

So, her name was Hatsune Miku… Odd name. I mean, I suppose it had some kind of nice ring to it, but… What is that, far East? Japanese, maybe? Feels like Japanese. "Huh. Is that Japanese?" If I was right, then...

She nods exceedingly vigorously. "Yeah! How'd you know? Do you speak any?" Alright, so that meant 'Hatsune' was the family name and 'Miku' was the forename.

I shake my head. "No, no. I just thought it sounded Japanese." She's still clutching my hand rather tightly. "You can, uh, let go now."

Miku lets go rather suddenly. Was she blushing? Couldn't quite tell. Whatever, I shouldn't care; I remind myself as I glance at my wristwatch, squinting in the warm yet distinctly cold street light. 11:16. "It's getting kinda late," I remark out loud, making sure she hears it. "Almost midnight, even. I've had a couple drinks and I'm getting tired, so I should probably get on home already. Try to keep away from any more people like those pair, yeah? See you around." I nod courteously and with that left for my apartment.

The dusk was growing colder. Dusk, what am I on about? No, it's nearly midnight. My breath was condensing into puffs of white in front of me, blowing back into my face with the chill winter breeze. I huff and zip my jacket up, pulling it tighter around me, all the combined warmth of alcohol and adrenaline having fled my system. Christ, I should've brought a scarf.

I find my eyes wandering skyward for a distraction, this town at night is surprisingly dull when you've lived here for so damn long. I was no stargazer but I was familiar with a few constellations… Ah, three stars in a perfect line. "Orion's belt?" I ask myself, squinting up at it. Hey, where's mine again? I spend a few moments searching for my zodiac before remembering it was on the other side of the planet.

Alcohol is just like that. Makes you happier by making you dumber.

My mind moves on, gaze drifting back down in front of me. Too much light pollution for the sky to be any fun. That girl, that Miku. Frankly, I'm wondering why she'd been alone at night in the first place. Practically asking for trouble, especially in that skirt. She definitely should've been wearing a longer skirt, or some trousers maybe. Wait, it's winter? Why is she wearing a skirt at all? It's cold as balls! Yeah, those boots were long as hell, but they didn't look padded, and that bare skin must've been absolutely freezing.

A longer skirt might've helped her not be jumped by drunk teens though… I shake my head, trying to dismiss mental images of her waist area from my mind. She's like a teenager man, get it together.

"Yeah, too cute." I grumble to myself at random, if only to vent.

"Aye, I suppose… But too young." I reply with a half-shrug. Great, I've started discourse with myself. This'll end well.

"Almost a shame you'll never see her again." I mutter, knowing entirely that such is the truth. If I've never seen her before, the odds of us meeting again are extraordinarily slim.

"Alright, but… why do I care?" I hadn't considered that. Sure, she was cute and friendly but… She was a stranger. Why care about some stranger? The world's too much of a busy fuckup to worry about every random I ever come across. I sigh, glancing down at my only companion, my own shadow. Am I too drunk or does it look weird? Kinda looks like more than one shadow, actually; like there's someone behind me. Now that I think of it, there's more footsteps I can hear than my own. She's fucking following me, isn't she?

I half-turn, looking behind me. Lo and behold, the girl had indeed been following me the entire time. "Oh, shit," I say as I stare blankly at her. "You were following me this entire time?"

Miku nods. "Yup." Kinda creepy.

"And you heard everything I said?"

"All of it," Oh. Fuck. Internally I was most certainly squirming at that, but I was trying my best to keep a straight face. Wasn't entirely sure I was succeeding at that. "Oh, but it didn't make much sense." Well, that was a little relief I suppose. From the look on her face, she was even telling the truth.

I breath a rough and extremely audible sigh of the utmost relief. Miku cocked her head and squinted in confusion at me. "Eh? What's wrong?"

And the squirming started up once again, like there was something digging around in there for food "No, nothing, just… uh…" Quick. Think of something. Anything related to what was going on. "Why exactly are you following me?"

She shifts her weight about awkwardly, as if deciding on precisely what to say and what not to say. "Well, I kinda… um… maybe don't… have anywhere to stay."

Was she trying to guilt trip me into letting her sleep on my couch for the night? "Why don't you get a hotel room for the night? They don't cost that much money if you go with something cheap."

Miku gives me a sheepish half-glance, neglecting eye contact for all but a split second. "I, um… don't have any money." Damnit, she is trying to play the pity game! I groan in exasperation, because I can definitely feel it working. If she has to stay out here in the streets all night, she'll run into even more trouble.

"You know what, I'm not even going to bother arguing with you against this." I grumble, making my best attempt to feel a little angry at the situation but somehow failing entirely - I just couldn't manage it at all. Was I too drunk to be angry, or was it just her overwhelming naivete and innocence? I don't remember drinking that much, if I'm honest. "Just… whatever, you can stay the night at my place."

"Really?!" She hops in excitement, a glimmer in her eyes.

"Calm the fuck down," I reply with a glare, gesturing for her to settle. "Don't make me change my mind. I'm not exactly prone to doing stuff like this, but, well. There's something about you..." I trail off as I fail to find the exact words I mean without it coming off as creepy.

Miku suddenly looks very interested in what I have to say, taking another step closer, causing me to half-step away in response. "What? What is it?"

I gnaw in the inside of my cheek as I think it over to myself. Boy, if I say the wrong thing, things could go to Hell in a handbasket real damn fast. Sheer problematicism. Wait, is that even a word? "Well, there's something about you, or your situation, or whatever, that intrigues me on some level." I sigh and start walking again, hearing her footsteps follow behind me. Frankly, the level Miku seems to trust me already is mystifying at best, and troubling at worst. I didn't consider myself to look or act like somebody you could instantly trust, or at least that was what I thought. Hell, even how I'm dressed is down to a fabrication. "I'm not sure what or why. It's just a feeling. A hunch. There's more to your situation that you're letting on, or maybe just you. More than meets the eye." I cough. "Like a Transformer."

"What?"

"Nevermind."