Content Warning: Gore, Cannibalism
"They say the host is a maneater."
The other man laughs.
"I'm serious, you damn fool," the first voice practically calls across the bar. "It barely leaves bones behind, cracks 'em open like a damn vulture. Isn't too fond of heads."
The other man stops laughing.
"Only reason I came in here was to warn you. If you don't want your dome on display like a glazed pig, get the hell out far before last call. Get the hell out of this part of the city. This is its damn hunting grounds."
One of the patrons has left the bar. No one noticed. The laughing man (silent now) goes and takes their seat to collect his thoughts. His friend rolls his eyes in time with the slow jazz over the dying speakers.
An hour passes before he goes to join his friend outside. He only holds the door open for a second, but a million years of information throw themselves through the door in that single instant. The man, once speaking of the dangers of the city, split open at the middle, at his bones, through his organs. His head remains. Ropes of blood and entrails pirouette across the cobblestones, with no real thought to where they might land. Kneeling over the body like a preying mantis is a young woman.
Under all the blood and scars, she looks like she could have been a girl who went missing years ago.
The door shuts. No one talks about it. Not until today.