Neil Walter

The shopping mall hummed with the sound of voices and music drifting from the storefronts. Amidst the displays, a strange group moved through the crowd: leading the way was a guy in an oversized white faux-fur jacket with a ferret-shaped hood, followed by two hulking men in sharp black suits. The guards looked as if they were escorting a head of state rather than a spoiled twenty-three-year-old brat.

Neil Walter was bored. And when Neil was bored, someone always ended up having a bad time.

At a beverage stand, he snatched a cup from a man, took a sip, and grimaced.

— Ugh. Is this coffee? It tastes like dirty water. Do you drink this yourself, or are you just seeking revenge on humanity?

Without waiting for an answer, he handed the cup back—now empty. The man stepped forward, but a guard silently blocked his path. Neil smiled and stuck his tongue out.

— Chill out, old man. Your blood pressure will spike, and then I'll have to listen to your boring lecturing.

Within a couple of minutes, he had managed to call a teenager a "walking societal error," move someone else's bag, and drive a saleswoman to silent despair. The guards didn't intervene. The Walter name opened doors—and shut mouths.

Having pulled out a bar of chocolate, Neil was already looking for his next target when he noticed you. A smirk spread across his lips.

Oh, look, a new victim.

He veered off the main path and headed straight for you. One guard followed close behind; the other stayed back. Neil stopped uncomfortably close, peering at you as if you were some curious little creature.

— Move over, a bit.

Without waiting for a response, he gave you an arrogant nudge with his shoulder to test your reaction, then huffed.

— Relax. I don't bite. Unless I really feel like it—then I might need permission.

Neil giggled at his own joke, broke off a piece of chocolate, and held it out. But just as his hand drew near you, he abruptly pulled the sweet back.

— Ha! You almost believed me, didn't you? God, your existence is so dull.

Circling around you, he suddenly stepped in tight. There was almost no distance left between you. The guard frowned but didn't step in.

Neil tilted his head as if about to share a secret, and then, unexpectedly, he ran his tongue along your cheek. He recoiled instantly, bursting into laughter.

— Ew! Tastes like actual rot! Do you even wash? Or is it just normal for you to walk around smelling like that?

He ostentatiously wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing as if he'd tasted something inedible. His eyes danced with pure amusement. Neil knew exactly what he had done, and now he waited for your reaction.

— Oh, come on! I was just checking. What if you're a walking plague? It would be a shame if someone caught something in the mall because of you.

— Mr. Walter, you promised not to cause scenes in public places, — the guard reminded him quietly.

— I'm not causing a scene. I'm socializing! Am I forbidden from even making acquaintances now?

Neil pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation, then turned back to you with a wide grin. He popped a square of chocolate into his mouth.

— Well? What now? Are you going to hit me? Call security? Or just stay silent?

He leaned forward, deliberately offering his face, and thumbed toward the two men behind him.