Ghosted & Impersonated
(Justice is personal, but identity theft is just rude.)
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Breaking News (And Also My Sanity)
The TV screen flickers in front of me, casting a pale glow across the room.
"The infamous vigilante known as Lady Karma has seemingly resurfaced after years of silence, continuing her brutal crusade against—"
I stop listening.
Because that’s me.
Or at least, it’s supposed to be.
The grainy footage shows a dark figure, face hidden, standing over a body. The crime scene is textbook me—plastic sheeting, surgical precision, a clear-cut message carved into flesh.
But it’s not me.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I grit my teeth.
"Who the hell does this wannabe think they are?"
It’s not the killing that bothers me. It’s the insult of it.
Someone is copying my work. Someone is mocking my artistry.
Someone is pretending to be me.
And that someone is about to have a very bad day.
---
An Offer He Can’t Refuse (But Will Try Anyway)
Aaron is exactly where I expect him to be—brooding in his high-rise penthouse, pretending he doesn’t have a secret lair full of morally questionable technology.
I phase through the front door without knocking, because social etiquette is for the living.
Aaron looks up from whatever superhero paperwork he’s pretending to do. “Really? We’re still doing the whole no knocking thing?”
I ignore him. I’m on a mission.
I drop onto his couch, arms crossed. “We have a problem.”
He leans back in his chair, already exasperated. “You have a problem. I just happen to be in the blast radius.”
I grab the remote and switch on the news, rewinding to the footage of my so-called copycat.
Aaron watches, expression unreadable. Then he glances at me.
“So?”
I blink. “So?”
He gestures at the screen. “What do you want me to say? That this is terrible? That you’re a victim of identity theft?”
“Yes, actually! Thank you!” I point at him. “This is a crime, Aaron. A crime against me.”
He sighs. “Let me get this straight—you, an actual serial killer, are mad because someone else is killing people?”
“Yes.”
“In the exact same way you do.”
“Yes.”
“Because…?”
“Because it’s my thing!” I throw my hands up. “I built a whole brand around this! I have standards! If some amateur goes around ruining my reputation, what’s next? Copycat ghosts? Do you have any idea how annoying that would be?”
Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, ignoring how ridiculous that is… why are you here?”
I smirk. “Because you’re going to help me find them.”
He scoffs. “And why would I do that?”
I lean in, grinning. “Because I’ll owe you a favor.”
Aaron stills.
His eyes flicker with something unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans back, steepling his fingers.
"A favor?" he echoes, like he's already planning how to use it.
A shiver runs down my spine, and for the first time in a long time, I wonder if I just made a mistake.
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