Welp, first chapter of the story. I am on a roll!

Knuckles belongs to Sega Corporation. I own the rest. Let's go!

(Imira's POV)

I am Imira Fadjir.

And if you ask me to a formal event anytime soon, I'll just say no.

Not that I mind it terribly. I can dress up when I want to. I won't mind if I have to get fancy. But don't suppress my will while you're at it, okay? Then we have a problem.

Not that any of this was my fault. Not that it was my fault an invulnerable warrior jumped in. Or that a bunch of dragon monsters started attacking the guests. Or a ton of other things happened besides that sent one of my friends into a stress rampage.

I guess you could start this tale of woe at the biggest party out there – the party that went sideways on account of weirdness and excessive stress.

It was supposed to be a simple job – check out the party, see what's going on, and leave without arousing suspicion. And fight any monsters we come across. Problem is, nothing's ever simple for a VLADJI. We draw attention wherever we go – bad attention. So, there were going to be monsters, I knew it. With our luck.

And it was shaping up to be such a good party, too. People – men in tuxedos that looked well-tailored, women in brocaded gowns with skirts extending past their feet if they puffed a little less – danced to some grand waltz music performed by a chamber music ensemble. I didn't care about the waltz, but I wasn't focusing on the music. Or the rest of the party. I – and VLADJI, for that matter – had a job to do here.

Something that seemed to be lost on my VLADJI comrade, Amos Darvosky.

"For Allah's sake, Amos," I scolded him as he commented on the musical display, "we aren't here for the pleasure party. We're just here to figure out why people keep disappearing from these parties, and–"

"–the reason for the avatars' jumpiness around the place, yeah, I know," Amos said wearily. "But why can't we all have a little fun while we're at it? Or perhaps have one of those sweet tortes–"

"You already ate," I reminded him. It was true. We'd had a nice dinner, courtesy of Amy Rose, before Carson, our teleporter extraordinaire, sent us to Norgate to deal with the disappearances occurring there. We didn't know what would be served at Norgate, and there was a high chance it wouldn't follow Amos's and my religious restrictions. At least, that was the ostensible reason. Given the disappearances, I had to wonder whether it was poisoned. I certainly wasn't ruling it out. VLADJI had to be prepared for anything.

Our outfits were chosen in accordance with the event. I wore a glittering red gown with simple red flats for dancing (or bolting or kicking enemies' teeth in, whatever the case might be), white silk gloves, and a red chador over the whole thing. The chador was my addition to the ensemble, a hand-me-down from my stepmom (which Evie Regent had helped me mend) and which I wasn't going out to a formal event without.

And of course I had the old standby – my red hijab, woven from Nemean lion fur and filled with other magic (which I hadn't yet identified). The hijab was invincible, indestructible, and stretched out to great lengths. It had saved my life multiple times, which was why I hung onto it. That and it was a gift from a divine source, and I pay attention to that.

Amos gave me a look. He was also dressed for the occasion, wearing a tux Evie had picked out for him – black jacket and pants, white shirt, black shoes – but the bow tie was a little deviation from the norm. Instead of the black ties worn by the regular guests, it was a dark pink color. It was the one concession Amos was allowed to have in his wardrobe. He'd also groomed himself as well, his hair as usual impeccable, if a little longer than the other male guests'. I could even catch a whiff of cologne when he got a little close – which wasn't often.

However, when I looked a little closer, I could see the chain of a necklace peeking out from under his shirt collar. Amos was presently wearing his David's star pendant underneath his wardrobe, because he was stubborn about its capabilities. The only thing I'd seen it do was turn into musical instruments, which would not be helpful against a monster. He also had his belt in a jacket pocket – perhaps because it wouldn't go with his outfit. But that I had no worries about. I'd seen him use that belt and use it well.

"What do you make of it?" he asked, changing the subject. We'd been observing the whole scene for some time now, but I couldn't help noticing his hand was tapping on the back of the buffet table. I decided it was more likely a nervous tic than anything else. I didn't think Amos had been this close to such a fancy party in his life.

I scanned over the guests. "Too stuffy."

Amos laughed softly. "Yeah, I'm not sure how the ladies stand their costumes – Ow!"

I punched him in the arm, as I often did when Amos crossed the line in conversation. (Well, someone has to keep him straight.) Amos frowned at me, then scanned the crowd, and said, "Well, so far nothing's–"

I had to suppress the urge to swat him again. "Don't say it! You know what happens when you say it?"

"Something happens," Amos said, as if he'd been over this several times.

I just huffed in annoyance. My boy had no grace.

We hadn't been called to Norgate mansion for a party. There'd been reports of humans disappearing from the grounds. Most of them were women, which rang every alarm bell in my system. They'd just walk out into another room, and not be seen again. That made me wonder if we were assigned to a murderer's house. The owner of the mansion – some noble (I use the term loosely) guy by the name of Nep Wyvern – also didn't seem to like us. I'd catch him scowling at us from his balcony, which he never seemed to leave. That last bit also rang my alarm bells – so much it wasn't even funny. Why would he not want to join the people enjoying themselves? This was America, after all.

The disappearances, however, weren't what made the avatars jumpy about Norgate. They could handle a child murderer, no problem. Humans disappearing would get their notice right away. But they were even more agitated about the place – when they did go near it – than they would normally be for those circumstances, which suggested there was more behind the place than even the cops were aware of.

Monstrous trouble. As if we didn't have enough to deal with here.

"Psst."

I turned to Amos, who'd been the one to get my attention. "That better not be another knock-knock joke," I told him. He'd been doing this for quite some time during the waltz, and it was duly trying my patience.

"Okay," Amos replied, "I'm just going to skip the snarky retort and cut straight to – party crasher at ten o'clock."

"What?" I guessed he was referring to direction, obviously. I turned slightly to see what he was talking about – and saw her.

She was sneaking around, with a silent walk to rival that of the guy next to me. (I swear, Amos could sneak up on you even if the floorboards creaked.) She wore white combat robes that reminded me of the gis worn by martial arts students but held up with a leather belt with a steel buckle. At least, I was pretty sure it was leather. It sure wasn't any leather I'd seen. She also wore brown shoes of the same weird leather, which I was surprised she was making so little noise with. To top it off, a golden fur coat, extending to her knees, covered over the white robes.

Her loose hair was flame red and wavy, in a way that reminded me of Liz Jorgman. (Her daughter – DJ, our leader – was presently set in a singing act after the waltz, under an alias.) Her eyes seemed to scan the balcony where I'd often seen Wyvern come out, as if she thought something was wrong with it. Maybe there were bombs and/or other booby traps on it. But Wyvern came out to that balcony frequently and hadn't been blown up, so that couldn't be a possibility. More likely she was wondering what was up with Wyvern.

But the strangest thing about her was the weapons. And that girl was armed to the teeth. Several daggers and a huge sword were tucked in that weird leather belt of hers. A quiver was slung over her shoulder, with an unstrung bow and arrows in it. Oh, and there was a long spear in her hand. Taken all together, she could have been on a hunting party – a really dangerous hunting party.

"She's not human," I said automatically.

"Give the Muslima a prize," Amos muttered.

I don't know how I knew. The girl's outfit reminded me of savages and hunters from old story books. She could have been cosplaying them, for all anyone else cared. But somehow, I just knew this wasn't some random human out here scanning the balcony.

"Haven't the guards taken care of those toothpicks?" I asked, indicating her on-person arsenal. Weapons weren't allowed inside the mansion, but Amos and Vinny Lee had had zero trouble sneaking their weapons past the guards outside. Mainly because the guards weren't too concerned about a belt (Amos) and a pair of gloves (Vinny Lee).

"That's not the weirdest part," Amos replied. "Watch."

The girl wound her way through, still watching the balcony, when she bumped into a waltzing couple, knocking the man into his woman. The woman glared at him in annoyance but resumed the dance as if the strange girl with the weapons hadn't even been there. It was as though the chick was completely invisible.

"How do they not see her?" Amos asked. "A girl with a bunch of weapons, wearing combat robes and furs, violating the formal protocol – surely the guests would have noticed something like that. She sticks out."

"No kidding," I replied. "Even more than us?"

"Ha, ha."

I wasn't joking. We did stick out from most of the guests here – me for my height and the chador and headscarf, Amos for his pink bowtie, which was unusual for a guy to choose. Also, a lot of the guests were older than us. I wouldn't be surprised if we were the only adolescents here.

"Is something the matter?"

I nearly jumped out of my chador. Sheesh, for a red anthro guy – who was taller than me, and I am far from short – Knuckles was way too good at sneaking up on me. I'd have to hang a bell on his bow tie, so I'd know where he was.

"Ah, K-Meister," Amos replied, just as surprised. "A little warning?"

Knuckles approached us from the other side of the balcony table. He looked quite handsome tonight – black tux like Amos's, but with an actual black bow tie. The jacket hugged his shoulders and chest so tightly I would've thought he was showing off on purpose. His dreadlock spines were arranged in a sort of ponytail for the party, and it was presently getting unruly. His gray eyes burned as he scanned over the crowd.

"I don't see anything that's the problem," he said quietly.

"Maybe you're looking the wrong way," I replied. "Wyvern keeps looking in our direction. Almost like he suspects something's up with us. And I suspect something's up with him."

"Anything?"

"Clear thus far," Amos said. "But that Nep Wyvern guy is getting a little suspicious–"

"Oh, no," Knuckles moaned. He was looking in the direction of the red-haired girl from earlier.

"Yeah, we saw her. What's the problem with her?" I asked. "Witch? Siren?"

"Avadark?" Amos asked on a whim.

"Worse," Knuckles replied. "My ex."

Wuh-oh, romantic tension. Always the worst going into a dangerous situation.

Verse for the update: 1 Thessalonians 3:10.

Please review! No flames, stay tuned, and give thanks to those who fought for our freedom.