The Swift Anomaly

Fifth Pulse: That 'Side Bussiness'

Hallway of Intersecting Portals

June 1st, 2030

5:00 P.M.

Typhon pumps his lanky legs and groans. Hundreds of dusty chrome mirrors of varying sizes and shapes swirl around him. Each one portrays the being that is Typhon in a different light: some of the smaller, squarer mirrors paint an image of a baby Typhon with tiny horns and overalls. A curved mirror with strange ruins engraved on it paints an image of a drooling, hideous monster. Suddenly, each mirror spins rapidly in a circle, stops, then shifts and switches positions with the mirror to its right. The mirrors spin, and swirl, and spin, and... CRASH! Each one cracks and then vanishes into the void below. Typhon then shakily pedals through the now-visible portal. Passing through the portal changes him somehow... He can sense the difference, but cannot quite put a name to it. Theresa crashes through a nearby opening in her monstrous taxi, a smug look on her wan face.

It is in that moment that Theresa removes a green plaid scrunchie from her wrist, stretches it out, and waves her left hand over the top of it. The scrunchie gives off a scent of cinnamon, cloves, and various other spices as it forms a glossy, reflective surface. A mirror Typhon realizes. Though a snazzy chick like Theresa would probably call it a compact, or something stupid like that. It is then- in that moment- that Typhon finally examines himself: the portal had changed him. No-it transformed me into an old dude! Typhon starts to shake and he places a trembling hand to his now throbbing forehead.

Theresa places a dainty finger against her plump lip as if she knows something he does not. Typhon definitely knows something: and it is that his mohawk has morphed into frizzy, gray strands, his face is covered in age spots, and he has shrunk about half a foot. He glances expectantly over at Theresa, but she remains the same youthful beauty inside the portal world as she was outside of it. The portal world has a dense, heavy pull attached to it. There are various magnets and metal trinkets stuck to its walls. The portals attached to it vary in size from a circle as wide as a penny to a gaping gap as tall as two non-aged Typhons. An electric hum plays in the background, along with Michael Jackson's hit song "Thriller." Typhon cocks his head to the side and wonders if he is hallucinating. Theresa chuckles.

"I have good taste, don't I? I want to entertain my clients to the best of my ability" Theresa explains as she runs her tongue over her teeth.

Typhon shudders. His father- Death- tends to use the term "clients" rather frequently. However, Typhon cannot recall a time where any of those "clients" were permitted to leave the property alive.

"Oh no! Goodness me! I hope I did not give you a frightening impression of me" cries Theresa hurriedly. She plants one manicured hand on her hip and tousles her locks restlessly with the other.

"I run two businesses you see. I must pay the bills, you know. And makeup and designer dresses are certainly not cheap" she chides. She paces in a circle around Typhon as she speaks.

"I construct, design, and rebuild the most popular districts of the underworld, as I am sure you are well aware. However, I also run a transfer service" she whispers the last bit in a nearly inaudible mutter.

Transfer services-in which the recently deceased are taken from the above world and taxied to the underworld- are a taboo topic here. That is because almost all of them are orchestrated by ghoul gangs outside of Death's circle. Death works tirelessly to weed them all out, one by one. Yet, Death must be aware of Theresa's side business, seeing how close the two strange beings are. Suddenly, glass shatters and metal shrapnel rains down on Theresa and Typhoon, slashing through their vulnerable flesh.