Realistic or Modern Return to Sender IC [OPEN]

[MidwayLives]

Los Angeles, the City of Angels, the most populated city in the state of California. Sure, felt like it too depending on who you asked. Couldn't step on the sidewalk without bumping into some other jagoff's trying to step to the nearby crosswalk. Would only take a couple more steps before you came across some disgusting beggar sitting at the corner, holding out a moldy looking mug and practically begging for any kind of handouts. The town had been good at one point but over the last couple of years it'd really gone to the dregs. The scum of society sucking on the teat of hard-working Americans who actually got up and went to work and made a living. Didn't blow their paychecks on drugs like heroin or crack. Just total wastes of space.

Wasn't totally off the ball in terms of some citizens of the city, hell, even the country at large sharing those views. Sitting back on his couch with a ratty looking blanket draped across the extremely worn-out looking couch, one Thomas Gorman definitely had his fair share of controversial opinions. Not that anyone was interested in humoring him enough to hear them. Unless they were members of the federally funded unit that he led. When he wasn't busy kicking back Budweiser's and laying around in his pitch-black briefs and an absolutely soaked wifebeater. Crushed up cans of beer lay scattered around the floor, miniscule droplets no doubt staining the plain jane grey carpeting. For someone with the kind of authority and power that he could swing around like it were his member, Tom's presence didn't give off that immediate feeling of overt pressure. Maybe it was the fluffy looking slippers he had on over his feet or the fact that there was certainly some gratuitous nudity playing on the Curtis Mathe model TV situated across the living room from him. Lying beside Tom's left side on the couch was a rather inappropriate looking VHS cover. Night of Loving Dangerously, indeed. The pile of toys that looked as though they'd belong to a child, probably a boy, scattered in a corner of the room next to a shoddy looking dog bed, probably only added to the uncomfortable aura of the apartment.

Though, between the porn, the toys, they all likely paled in comparison to the fact that Tom?

He didn't look human at all.

His chest heaved up and down and there was a low rumbling, indicating that he'd dozed off and was snoring away. But his hands, hell, every part of him that was exposed looked humanoid enough in structure but if you had to describe looking at him, it'd be like looking at an aquarium without seeing any fish swimming around in it. Water flowed across his body, having no rhyme or reason in which way it went. Bright, to the point of looking like a glowstick, blue lines were spread across his face, arms, and chest. Likely representing the various veins that webbed across his body as they did everyone else. When you looked up at his face though, once again, it felt as though a huge wedge had been dug between being an actual person and something that only vaguely looked it. There was no hair at all present on the side or top of Tom's face which looked just as vicious and transparent as the rest of his body. Not even a nose or ears. No mouth with which to exhale his snores. Just two half-lidded eyes, lacking in pupils but giving off a dimly lit yellow glow. The blanket that Tom had been resting against was absolutely soaked and he was sleeping away without a care in the world.

Spoiler: an idea of the apartment's living room/just how trashy it is in general

While Tom slept off what was likely to be a terrible hangover once he awoke, the latest recruit to his off-the-books unit stirred in his bed. Which was actually less of a bed and more of a sheetless twin-sized mattress haphazardly tossed onto a cold metal frame. Thank the lord he'd had enough foresight to bring some blankets from home. When the Rookie, as Tom had taken to calling Jeremy Jameson, had protested about how uncomfortable his mattress had been and how it was affecting his potential sleep, he'd been told to 'suck it up' and that 'the boys in Korea and Vietnam never complained, so why should you, Mr. Privilege?' Not wanting to argue with his direct superior and admittedly still being rather afraid of the fact that his boss was some kind of water person, Jeremy lumped it and tossed and turned on his bed.

"Okay, Jeremy, don't sweat it. Yeah. First paycheck, I'll go down to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and get myself a sheet, a comforter. I'll treat myself good. I mean, I'm doing this all for the country and so it'd make sense that I'm in the best shape that I can possibly be in. Right...?" Jeremy muttered to absolutely no one. "...oh who am I kidding? I won't last one DAY in this place, let alone long enough to get paid!" Jeremy exclaimed as he threw off his blanket and hopped to his feet. Clad in a pair of blue boxers and a grey longsleeved shirt and a pair of fresh white socks that his mother made absolutely, one hundred % sure, that he'd had packed with him when he'd gone to meet Mr. Gorman in the first place. Before he'd knew what he was actually walking into and had his whole understanding of life totally upended. It'd barely been a day and a half, and first introductions hadn't exactly been great. He'd been so scared by Tom's appearance and his proclamation of 'Gifts' and so on had lead Jeremy to accidently falling and cracking his head on the corner of a table. It'd required bandages, stitches, and some angry mocking from his superior officer. He still hadn't even met any of the others yet. When he'd been brought to this apartment, Tom explained it as such.

"Uncle Sam's paying for room and board. So, don't worry about not having a place to rest your head in between jobs. But, keeping that in mind, it's not exactly The Ritz that you're walking into here. There's a laundry room down on the first floor. Take the stairs or elevator to get down there, get a roll of quarters from behind the counter, and wash whatever the fuck you're gonna wash. We got a recreation room down the hall. The rest of the folks here don't really know what we actually DO apart from that we're 'with the Feds' and so you generally won't have any problems. Don't go around MAKING problems or else it'll become MY problem and when it becomes MY problem, then it becomes Uncle Sam's problem and I think you and I both know that's something to avoid, yeah? All of you get your own rooms, design it how you want, I don't *hic* give a shit so long as you're not wastin too much time on it. Got any issues? Don't *buuuurp* come fuckin cryin to me about it. Now, fuck off Rookie. Mr. Reagan's inauguration is tomorrow and I'm not gonna miss it for the world. We'll do the meet and greet, ehhhh, sometime tomorrow."

A good idea of what I kinda imagined the apartment to look like. Nothing too fancy.

That'd been it, the only interaction to U.F.U.P Unit#81 that he'd gotten.

Not overly curious to see what other horrors were wrapped up in this thing, Jeremy followed the rather obscene noises coming from the living room. He stepped over beer cans, making sure to pick them up as he went. He'd never be allowed to be this much of a slob at home. So seeing someone who claimed to have some position of authority over him just casually lay around and get shit-faced really bugged him. Even if he was utterly too terrified to even think of saying that directly to Tom's face or anything like that. He laid the amount of crumpled up cans, totaling to around twenty or so with probably more that he'd missed, atop the coffee table in the center of the living room. He turned towards the TV and frowned. Real professional 'unit' this was. Watching porn right out in the open like this? Really? Jeremy shook his head and moved towards the TV to shut it off. Only to freeze in his tracks as an unfamiliar voice called out to him.

"Hey, mister! Don't turn it off! Okay?"

"W-What...?" Jeremy asked, as he looked over at the source of the voice. It didn't really help him relax at all. It looked and sounded like some kind of kid, Jeremy couldn't accurately guess at how old they were or if they were a boy or girl. Honestly, he couldn't really make heads or tails of the kid(hell, who's to say it WAS even a kid? Maybe it was some kind of horrifying monster born out of his nightmares or something? Why not? Dozing off in slumberland was the walking ocean in a wifebeater across from him.) because of a crudely cut up bedsheet thrown over the kid's person. The only identifying features were the glowing yellow eyes staring out at him from the entrance into the living room. Just like Tom's eyes glowed. "I said don't turn it off, Mister! Tom doesn't like when people turn the TV off."

"But he's sleeping...no, who are you??"

The kid giggled, seeming to be able to tell just how uncomfortable they made Jeremy. "I'm not a bad guy or anything, Mister! I'm one of you! Or well, you're one of us, right? You have to be! Tom would have killed you if you weren't!" The 'child' said it with such gleeful casualness that Jeremy felt like he almost wanted to throw up. Tom could have murdered him as easily as a mantis could devour a housefly but for whatever reason, he hadn't. Even if Jeremy seemed to lack whatever the hell a 'Gift' was. "My name is Damien but everyone calls me Black Ink so you can too! Hehe! What's your name?"

"Black Ink...?" Jeremy pondered the strangeness of that moniker aloud. "Uh, Jeremy. Jeremy Jameson. I'm, erm, new to the group. Just got recruited yesterday. Hey, how old are you exactly, Damien-"

"No! Nononono! Did you not hear me, mister?? Don't call me Damien! I'm Black. Inkkkkkkkk and I'm five! I just turned five last week!" The kid protested, stamping their foot against the carpeting. "Jeremy?? That's a boring name. Tom didn't give you a new name?" Black Ink asked and Jeremy stepped away from the TV, thoroughly confused at this point. "Wait, wait, what do you mean by new name? I didn't hear anything about that." Black Ink nodded reverently as he started to walk towards Jeremy, his black sneakers sliding across the floor. "Yupyupyup! When you join up, the government gives you a new name! Tom's part of the government so he gives us our names! He's the one who started calling me Black Ink and now everyone does! Are you sure he didn't give you one....?"

Oh. Well, that was kind of terrifying in it's own way. To completely lose your own identity? Not to mention the fact that Black Ink had said he was, what, only five years old? What the hell was a toddler doing here?? "He calls me 'The Rookie'..?" Black Ink giggled again and moved to step past Jeremy to change the channel. "Rookie? I'm sorry mister but that's a lame name! Tom must not like you very much. But that's okay, he doesn't like a lot of people." Black Ink explained as he changed the channel to something more softhearted, like the Spider-Man cartoon! "Dam-Black Ink, what are you doing here? You didn't sign up for this did you??"

"Sign up? Sign up for what? I've always been here. Me, my dad, Tom and everyone else."

What exactly was going on here? Was this some kind of human trafficking scheme? No, no that couldn't be it. Maybe he was just a relative of Tom's and he was staying here as a result of whatever the conditions were. "Black Ink, are you Gifted? Like Tom here is? I noticed that you have, um, eyes like he does. I'm sorry about earlier by the way, I didn't mean to be rude or nothin." Black Ink waved it off, not even so much as looking back at Jeremy while the teenager attempted to apologize. The child's mind was solely focused on the television. "Well, duh, mister. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. [PAINT IT BLACK] is what it's called. It's why I wear my costume. Tom doesn't like looking at me without it. My daddy doesn't mind though." Black Ink then slowly turned towards Jeremy. "Wanna see?~"

"See what-"

Black Ink lifted up the front of his costume, dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt and...well...

Shark like teeth, an extended underbite, oily skin. The kid looked like a horror movie monster. There was absolutely no sugarcoating it.

"AHHHHH!!!" Jeremy shrieked and Black Ink fell back, kicking his feet back and forth. "Hahahaha! I got you GOOD, Rookie! You almost peed your pants!!" Jeremy fell onto his rear, clutching at the table. This was no child. This was a little freak, a monster. Nothing about this was natural and it was only about to get worse. Tom shifted from side to side on the couch. Placing a hand to his head, he sat up straight and looked down at his hand. He could see the water coursing through his body. Which meant that he'd fallen asleep and left his glamour off. He closed his eyes and opened them again, seeing two things that were certified to set him off.

-Black Ink without his costume
-The Rookie screaming and making a nuisance of himself again.

<"ROOKIE! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! YOU WANNA WAKE UP THE WHOLE GODDAMN APARTMENT COMPLEX?? CHRIST ALIVE, SHUT. IT.>" Tom's voice smashed into Jeremy's psyche like a bull in a china shop. Most elemental types like Tom lacked mouths in their natural states and as such spoke through telepathy when not using their glamours. They could focus their 'thought-speak' or usually in Tom's case, 'yell' it so that everyone in the vicinity could hear and get the message. Jeremy flopped to the floor like a wet noodle and clutched at either side of his head, which still ached as a result of his fall from yesterday. "Hehehee! Told you he was gonna get mad at youuuuuu.~"

<"INK! PUT YOUR FUCKIN COSTUME BACK ON! JUST WOKE UP AND I GOTTA SEE YOUR UGLY HIDE FIRST FUCKIN THING IN THE MORNING??? WHY AREN'T YOU READY FOR SCHOOL?!">

"Dad's still asleep. So I thought I'd watch some cartoons." Black Ink replied, pretty matter of factly for someone of his age.

<"Oh? He is, huh? Well, go wake him up and tell him that if the two of you aren't dressed, cleaned up, and out the door before your dad's little butt-buddy from school shows up? You're gonna have a lot to worry about than cartoons! Now, get the hell out of here before you make me sick all over!"> Black Ink pulled his bedsheet back down and sprinted out of the room but not before ruffling Jeremy's hair as he went. "Bye, 'Rookie!' Hahahhaha!" Jeremy stayed where he was on the floor and slowly turned his head to look at Tom. "Good, uh, morning, sir."

<"Yeah, yeah. Only good thing about it so far is that I don't have a hangover. I never do. Comes with being able to control water I guess. You know how they always say to drink water when you drink? Well, I mean, look at me."> Tom stood up and shook his head from side to side. <"Blergh....Today's gonna be a busy day. Get up, Rookie, c'mon. You're not getting paid to stare off into space. Maybe in whatever jackoff school you went to but not here, not under my command. Here."> Tom tossed over the soaked blanket at Jeremy who flailed as he grabbed it. "Ew...it's wet!"

<"Well, gee, nobody told me that Einstein came back from the dead! Of course it's wet, you jackass! Look at me! Must have turned of my glamour before I fell asleep last night. Go to the kitchen and grab a brown bag out of the fridge. It'll say 'G' on it. Take it to the door down the hall and the first on the left. Knock and leave it by the door. Then go downstairs and throw my sheets in the wash."> Tom mentally barked this morning's orders and as Jeremy stood up, he gulped. "What...What are you gonna do? Sir."

Tom sat up and and ran a hand over his face. What was once a homunculus that appeared to be made of water was replaced by perhaps the equally creepy visage of a younger Jack Nicholson. Receding hairline and all. Voice sounded much too scratchy and growly to match Nicholson's usual cadence though. As though someone were just wearing the most effective Nicholson costume possible. "Me? I got the most important job of all, kid. I'm supervising dumbfucks like you. Now, go on and get. I'll be damned if I miss President Reagan's inauguration. GO!"

"yes, sir...."

Jeremy sheepishly wandered out of the living room, doing his best to ignore Tom's grumblings and rantings. "Oh for cryin out loud, where is the REMOTE?!" This place was a madhouse and he'd been locked up. That had to be the only plausible explanation for this and what he'd seen when Black Ink pulled up his costume. Just one messed up nightmare. As Jeremy headed towards the kitchen, Black Ink stopped before a door with the numbers #1718 on the front of it, cleared his throat and then began rapping on the door with as much intensity as a little kid could muster. "DAAAAAAAD! DAAAAAAAADDDYYYY! TOM WANTS YOU TO WAKE UP! WAAAAAKE UPPPPP! UPUPUPUP!!!!"

BFabulous PlusUltra DoctorDunno TheHistorian rakshasa​

 

[rakshasa]

Even in her unconscious state, Karen Buckley could still hear the background buzz of other's thoughts as she lie in a uneasy sleep, watching and hearing them echo through the mouths of her dream's actors, in a way that only made sense to the insentient mind. She was wrenched into the waking world as a booming voice crashed through her consciousness, nearly sending her tumbling to the floor. "ROOKIE! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" The first thing she felt was disoriented. Second, offended at the use of unnecessary vulgarities. She clung to her sheets as the assault on her ears continued; what was curious, she didn't quite recognize the voices source, whether it was from her badgering neighbors, whether it was spoken or thought, was it coming from the TV? Was their someone in her house?? She clapped her hands over her ears, overwhelmed by the sounds of multiple disgruntled voices ringing in her head. Her mind raced as she quickly assessed her surroundings; she sat on a squeaky, bare-bones twin bed in her ankle-length baby blue nightgown, the one she had put on last night. She was in a different room. Was this in her sister's house? It wasn't. Why wasn't she at her sister's? Where is this? Why is she here? Where's Chandler? She nearly lost her footing as she stood up off the bed, head swimming with panic. The room was nearly empty, walls, ceiling and floor clad in identical unfinished plywood planks; a dusty off-white curtain covered the only window in the room, pulled aside to expose the harsh light of the morning. Across the room sat a metal crib, white paint chipping off to reveal a rusted brown interior. Premature relief washed over her as she stumbled to the crib side, peering in to discover little Chandler, looking not nearly as worried as the situation warranted. He grinned up at her, wriggling restlessly, clad in the teddy-bear patterned onesie she had dressed him in just hours ago. In a second he was swept into her arms and held tight against her chest. Karen now struggled to see through the blur of tears stinging her eyes and threatening to fall, the relief of having found her beloved nephew quickly overshadowed by dread. Her mind was going a mile a minute, and she was barely able to hear her own thoughts over the barrage of strangers’. She needed to get out.

She moved her baby to her left arm and flung open the wooden door to her room with her right, dashing out on trembling legs. She quickly surveyed her surroundings, taking in the sight of the long hallway she found herself in, both walls interrupted every few feet by a door. Was she in an apartment building or a hotel? She wasn’t a fan of hotels. She spun her head around and let out a fleeting shriek as she met the gaze of a young child, peering out from under a white bedsheet.
“Where am I?!” She barked, quickly biting her tongue as she realized she had just yelled at a child. For all she knew, they could be in the exact same situation as her, lost and scared. She softened just slightly.
“Who are you? Do you know where we are? Are your mommy and daddy here?” She attempted a calm, motherly facade, but couldn’t hide her wavering voice or the way she was unconsciously backing away as she spoke, like the first female victim in a slasher.

MidwayLives ​

 

[DoctorDunno]

The door to room 1718 remained steadfastly locked for one beat, two beats, then - with a creak, it swung open. The face that peered out was soft, youthful, and not at all surprised by the sheer calamity in the hall. The... boy? Man? in the doorway stood no more than five foot five, with raven black hair that ran down to his waist. Gray eyes peered wearily at the scene that was unfolding, blinking a few times before their owner spoke. "Alright, first things first - Inky, *how* many times have I told you, you have to wear your costume around strangers? I know it's funny when they scream, but it could get us all in a lot of trouble! Now, cover your ears, honey." He'd wait for Black Ink to oblige, then turn to Tom. "Tom, I hear you FUCKING yell at Ink again and you'll feel how hard it is to stay humanoid at 100 gees." Up 'till now, the figure had seemed normal enough, but as he turned to berate Tom, he began floating into the air. "Ugh, what time is it? Thought one of the perks of rotating off the front line was not having to wake up at oh-too-fucking-early." He scanned left and right one more time, and only then did he seem to notice the other figures in the hall. "Oh. New people. Huh." He floated out into the hallway himself, giving Ink a tap on the shoulder to uncover his ears. He held out a hand, almost comically casual considering the circumstances. "Hi. I'm Mu."

Mu was wearing a two-piece pajama suit decorated with stylized rockets and crescent moons, and as he floated out, his hair began to braid itself, first splitting into three, then weaving one over the other. The room behind him looked clean, practically spotless compared to the rest of the house. Normal, too - there was a bed, a desk, and a cupboard, about as plane jane as you could get. There was one oddity, however - the bed had velcro straps running across it. The pens and pencils on the desk, too, had cords attaching them to the writing surface, like in a bank. In fact, every loose object in the room that wasn't put away in a drawer or dresser seemed to be tethered down in one way or another. Just what exactly was this place?​

 

[MidwayLives]

"Daaaaad! Daddy!!!"

Black Ink continued to wrap his closed hand along the door's surface. He usually wore yellow kitchen gloves to 'go along' with his costume as was the case here. His hands on their own and when viewed from a distance looked human enough but if one was close enough? They looked more like they belonged on that of an animal or some kind of humanistic cryptid. The fingers lacked any kind of visible fingernails, instead curving off at the tips to resemble the hooked claws of a feral beast. Before he'd started having to wear them, he'd never given too much thought to the reactions his hands garnered. The deciding factor was when a postman dropped off a package that G had ordered, Black Ink had approached the man in order to take the package to leave it by G's door. The postman, thinking it was no more than a precocious kid getting early into the Halloween spirit started to hand it over, only to pause as Black Ink held his hands out to receive the box.

The box fell to the floor, the postman stepped back, his eyes wide with terror brimming in the pupils.

Those hands didn't look like a child's, and they looked especially too good to be any kind of costume accessory you'd buy at the dollar store. The way that foul-smelling oil like gunk dripped off the edges of his claw-like fingers. The postman turned and ran away. Leaving Black Ink to tilt his head in confusion. Having heard the screams, Tom stepped down the hall and sighed as he looked down at Black Ink and then the way the departing mailman had gone.

"How many times, Damien?" Tom asked, using the child's real name.

"But, Tom, I-"

"How. Many. Times?"

"One."

"So, why am I here telling you a third time?"

"t-tom, the gloves make my hands sweaty...."

"Yeah? Now, what do you think I'm gonna have to do that man you just scared off?"

"you'll have to kill him...."

"That's right. You know why, don't you?"

Black Ink couldn't meet Tom's gaze. He knew that Tom was disappointed in him. That was enough but Tom didn't relent. He roughly grabbed Black Ink's right wrist and pulled the child to face him. "Tell me exactly why I have to, Damien."

"Because he'll tell people about me..."

"Go on."

"*sniffle* and you'd have to get rid of his family and friends too. Not just him..."

"That's right. A secret's a secret, Damien and this is one that we just can't give any leeway on." Tom stood up and looked as though he was going to try and ruffle the upset child's hair through his bedsheet, hesitated, and settled for roughly patting him on the back. "Knock on the door and give G his box." Tom gave the box a light kick as it flopped over to lying directly in front of Black Ink. "I'm not mad at you, kiddo. Just think about this little talk we had the next time your hands get sweaty, huh?" With that Tom started down the hall. Black Ink had never actually seen Tom kill anyone, really, he struggled to even comprehend what killing someone actually meant. From all that he could gather, it just seemed like a less effective way of saying goodbye to someone. Black Ink usually only ever said goodbye when it was time for bed and his daddy called him away. He said goodbye to Auntie Acela, Uncle Johnny, even Mr. G. But he never wanted to 'kill' them.

He hoped Tom never did either.
​

She moved her baby to her left arm and flung open the wooden door to her room with her right, dashing out on trembling legs. She quickly surveyed her surroundings, taking in the sight of the long hallway she found herself in, both walls interrupted every few feet by a door. Was she in an apartment building or a hotel? She wasn’t a fan of hotels. She spun her head around and let out a fleeting shriek as she met the gaze of a young child, peering out from under a white bedsheet.
“Where am I?!” She barked, quickly biting her tongue as she realized she had just yelled at a child. For all she knew, they could be in the exact same situation as her, lost and scared. She softened just slightly.

"HISSS!!!"

Black Ink turned and glared at the sudden yelling. The hissing came out sounding more like a cobra's hiss, indicating to it's target that it had one last chance to back off before it struck. For better or for worse, Black Ink had gotten used to Tom screaming or bellowing at him on a daily basis. Though it still gave him a nasty headache now and again when Tom would yell at him using thought speak. Which thankfully wasn't too often given that Tom didn't seem to personally enjoy taking off his glamour unless he had to or if he fell asleep and it deactivated.

Though, given the gloves and his costume, and the whole only being five years old he probably came off a lot less threatening than he'd hoped to be. But as the lady started to collect herself, Black Ink noticed the baby in her grasp and cooed. "Oooh! A baby! I was a baby! Once!" Black Ink exclaimed before he started to walk towards Karen and the infant.

Only to come to a dead halt, mere inches away from them, his arms at his side.

"Wait. Are you normal? Or are you like us...?"
​

“Who are you? Do you know where we are? Are your mommy and daddy here?” She attempted a calm, motherly facade, but couldn’t hide her wavering voice or the way she was unconsciously backing away as she spoke, like the first female victim in a slasher.

Her questions put Black Ink on edge. More so than the kid had been all morning and he hadn't even had breakfast yet!

"I'm Damien but everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, even my daddy, calls me Black Ink." The child explained for the second time so far today. "...Where are we?" Black Ink looked around, up, down, to the left and then the right. Then he shrugged. "I dunno. I just know Tom brought me here as a baby. My real parents didn't want me so now I got a new daddy, and auntie, and other people!" Black Ink gestured to the door he'd been beating on just a few moments prior. "This is where my daddy and I sleep! Well, he's not actually my real daddy but I love him and he loves me too because that's what daddies are supposed to do even if your kids are ugly like Tom always tells me."

Black Ink quirked his head to the side again.

"Gosh. Tom didn't tell you or the Rookie about me...?" Black Ink stamped his foot. "How rude! I'm very...very...veeeery important."
​

The door to room 1718 remained steadfastly locked for one beat, two beats, then - with a creak, it swung open. The face that peered out was soft, youthful, and not at all surprised by the sheer calamity in the hall. The... boy? Man? in the doorway stood no more than five foot five, with raven black hair that ran down to his waist. Gray eyes peered wearily at the scene that was unfolding, blinking a few times before their owner spoke. "Alright, first things first - Inky, *how* many times have I told you, you have to wear your costume around strangers? I know it's funny when they scream, but it could get us all in a lot of trouble! Now, cover your ears, honey."

Any further questions or answers on Black Ink's part would have to wait.

For the second he heard the doorknob click and the door itself swing open, Black Ink turned and sprinted back down the hall.

"DADDDY!~"

He embraced the youthful looking figure wholeheartedly, arms wrapped around his waist as Black Ink leaned in and snuggled. "Mmmm! Daddy! Tom brought home two new...recuts...recoots....new family! Isn't that great?? I scared one of them too!" Black Ink giggled before letting go as he hopped back and leaned back on the heels of his feet. "I know, I know! But I'm even wearing my gloves this time! See?" Black Ink held his hands out and indeed they were covered up by rubbery yellow gloves that'd look at home on a downtrodden housewife in the 1950s. "Tom named one of them 'The Rookie' and well....I don't know, this lady seems confused. Do you think Tom didn't tell her what was going on, huh huh, do you think?"

At his surrogate father's request though, Black Ink covered his ears. With a goofy smile, sadly, hidden away by his costume.
​

"Tom, I hear you FUCKING yell at Ink again and you'll feel how hard it is to stay humanoid at 100 gees." Up 'till now, the figure had seemed normal enough, but as he turned to berate Tom, he began floating into the air. "Ugh, what time is it? Thought one of the perks of rotating off the front line was not having to wake up at oh-too-fucking-early."

Tom by this point had relegated whatever business happened outside of HIS room/personal living space to the others. He'd given the Rookie his orders, G would get his breakfast, Black Ink and Mu would get dressed and be out of his hair for the next couple of hours, apart from the times he'd expect Mu to find a payphone and report back to him, and he'd have plenty of time to leer at Acela when it was just the two-oh, wait, scratch that. He still had that nutbag Romero and his own child to worry about.

Well, whatever, it'd all have to wait.

Reagan was on TV and Tom personally couldn't be happier if he tried. He'd never felt as proud about anything in his personal career than lodging a vote for Ronnie. He'd bring America out of the slump that peanut packer Carter had left it in. Get all those hostages out of Iran too. As he could hear Mu's voice over the TV even with the door shut, Tom rolled his eyes. "Yeah! Alright, just wait until I'm done watching TV, huh?? Now, that doesn't sound like 'getting ready' Mu! That ***** ***** friend of yours is gonna be here soon and I don't want him stickin around here longer than usual. He might get suspicious! Now, otherwise, keep it down out there, and shut the FUCK UP!"

Tom returned his gaze back to the TV.

He wasn't deaf or oblivious.

He'd heard Karen and understood perfectly well that she was likely to try and make a run for it.

He was 100% willing to do what he had to if Mu and Black Ink, well, mostly Mu couldn't get through to her.

So, for now, he sat back and folded his arms behind his head and continued to watch the TV and listen...
​

. "Oh. New people. Huh." He floated out into the hallway himself, giving Ink a tap on the shoulder to uncover his ears. He held out a hand, almost comically casual considering the circumstances. "Hi. I'm Mu."

"I don't think Tom told her ANYTHING, Dad..."

Black Ink stood behind Mu but also reached out to gently poke the baby's nose. "Heehee~"

"You didn't see any paper or hear about the U.F.U.P, miss?? Nothing at all??"

Black Ink pressed his fingertips together.

"we're like pretty important...but also, um...."

"you can't leave."

DoctorDunno rakshasa ​

 

[rakshasa]

"I'm Damien but everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, even my daddy, calls me Black Ink." Karen felt the slightest hint of relief as the child gave her his name and began to introduce himself. He had startled her at first with his appearance, but hearing the spirited way he spoke assured her he was not in danger, or at least didn't feel he was.
"...he loves me too because that's what daddies are supposed to do even if your kids are ugly like Tom always tells me."
"Oh... sweetheart, you're n-" Her attempt at encouragement was interrupted by the squeaky sound of an opening door, pulling her attention towards the sound.

Karen stood with a look that could only be described as incredulous as the diminutive man who had stepped out into the hall appeared to lift off his feet, betraying gravity as he snapped insults towards an unknown source. Suddenly, she felt no more reassured than before knowing she was not alone in this place. The fact that she recognized the voice that barked back barely registered; her brain was lagging trying to make sense of the current situation. The sounds of other's thoughts and voices became drowned out by the sound of blood rushing to her head and past her ears. She felt nearly paralyzed on her feet until the man addressed as 'Daddy' by the ghostly small child reached his hand out to introduce himself, making her lurch backwards.
"Hey!" She lifted Chandler above her head before the child could lay a finger on him. She was far too on edge now to trust even the child before her's intentions. In her panic, her brain's processing center had nearly ground to a halt, until something the child said finally resonated with her.

"...but also, um.. you can't leave." She felt the air sap from her lungs as the child spoke to her. After a moment of silence, she opened her mouth to speak, but the words became caught in her throat. She stood deathly still, stuttering silent nonsense, staring down at the pair like a prey animal backed into a corner. Finally, she felt her knee buckle, and she caught herself before she could keel over; taking small, cautious steps, she walked around the father and son as if the floor was ready to give out from under her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she almost felt as if she recognized this situation, that she was familiar with people like the man who called himself Mu, but she wasn't willing to rake through her memory while her survival instincts ran at full capacity. She wasn't sticking around to see anymore spooky Halloween bullshit, nor to hear from whoever in the hall had been barking back at Mu. Her flight or fight reflex had activated, and she had chosen flight. Still clutching her nephew tight in her arms, she bolted towards the only exit that presented itself, the staircase at the end of the hall.

MidwayLives DoctorDunno ​

 

[MidwayLives]

"Hey!" She lifted Chandler above her head before the child could lay a finger on him. She was far too on edge now to trust even the child before her's intentions. In her panic, her brain's processing center had nearly ground to a halt, until something the child said finally resonated with her.

"Sorry...."

Black Ink pulled his gloved hand back.

He hadn't been meaning to hurt or even to frighten the infant. He'd just never seen another baby before.

They sure looked....weird.
​

Finally, she felt her knee buckle, and she caught herself before she could keel over; taking small, cautious steps, she walked around the father and son as if the floor was ready to give out from under her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she almost felt as if she recognized this situation, that she was familiar with people like the man who called himself Mu, but she wasn't willing to rake through her memory while her survival instincts ran at full capacity. She wasn't sticking around to see anymore spooky Halloween bullshit, nor to hear from whoever in the hall had been barking back at Mu. Her flight or fight reflex had activated, and she had chosen flight. Still clutching her nephew tight in her arms, she bolted towards the only exit that presented itself, the staircase at the end of the hall.

Uh oh.

"Miss!! Wait!!! You really REALLY don't wanna do that! Tom won't like that! He'll have to..."

Black Ink didn't finish it. He didn't want to, not really. But it'd been beaten into his head over and over again that once you were here? You stayed here, this was your family now, these were your neighbors, the people you'd have to spend your life with. If you didn't like it? Well, you were always free to walk on out the door. There was just zero guarantee that you'd live for longer than a few seconds once you crossed that threshold. You may have seen too much, you may have heard too much. Whatever the case may have been, everyone that was apart of UNIT #81 had the potential to be both an asset and a liability in the government's eyes. If they performed without question and obeyed their superior's orders, then they'd be spared any violent treatment.

....But if they stepped out of line, even once?

It was a risk too big to let slide.

You either begged for forgiveness or you died.

Your family would die, so would your friends. Anybody who may have vaguely known of you.

All gone without a trace.

It'd be as though you never existed.

Black Ink held tightly onto Mu's right hand. "W-What should we do, daddy?? Tom's not gonna be happy, nonono, he'll be really mad. He'll do something crazy! He'll-" Black Ink's panicked ramblings were brought to a stop as heels clickclacked across the floor. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Ink. It's out of yours and Mu's hands at this point. This woman, whatever her circumstances were, she's found herself in a new setting with likely no compensation or explanation for why this has occurred. The fact that she's with child only makes the stress even worse. Though I'm loathe to admit it, I'd suggest leaving this up to Tom for now. He's the one that reports to the bigwigs in D.C. Let him carry their dirty laundry. You two need not stain your own hands with his folly." The fellow elemental suggested as Black Ink murmured softly but seemed as though he was going to obey as he watched Karen flee further down the hall.

Acela often found herself at odds with Tom. Mostly due to his naked aggression towards Mu's view on himsel, his choice of pronouns and the like. Not to mention that her own involvement with the government carried similar beats to it as Karen's own. She'd accepted the government's hold over her once it became inevitable that they would simply not take 'No.' for an answer and her family who cherished her despite her Gift would end up becoming casualties in the crossfire. Placing a hand on both boy's shoulders, she sighed but flashed them a warm smile. "Why don't you two go ahead and get ready for school, okay? I'm sorry that this morning has been so rough on you both from the sound of it. I'll keep an eye on things while you go about your business, okay?"

Black Ink eventually dragged his eyes away from the corner that Karen had rounded to get to the stair well. "...okay. thank you auntie acela."

Acela leaned down and left a small kiss atop Black Ink's costume. "Of course, nino."

With that, Black Ink hurried back inside Mu/his room. Black Ink hadn't been given his own room for fear that what was so obviously a child renting out his own room would arouse too many questions, he'd been given his own room with Mu until he became of age. Tom after much pressure and complaining from Acela and Mu and Crystal for better conditions, he splurged and bought Black Ink a dog bed. The item was obviously bought to mock said complaints but funnily enough Black Ink had taken to it with gusto. On the nights that Mu was out on work with Tom, Black Ink either slept curled up on the doggie bed or under the covers of the one he shared with his father. Still, Black Ink wasn't without his own clothes. Most of them had been bought for him by the others but he couldn't pick a favorite! They all just loved him so much! Opening up a chest in the corner of the room, Black Ink threw off his bedsheet.

His hair looked messy and untamed, black tufts of hair poking out through the tar-like substance like porcupine quills. The majority of it pressed down and flattened as though he'd used one too many globs of hair gel. His teeth poked out of his mouth even when it was closed due to his underbite. Tom had compared it to an anglerfish and the comparison had sadly stuck ever since. "....Dad! I don't know what to wear!"

~~~
​

Her flight or fight reflex had activated, and she had chosen flight. Still clutching her nephew tight in her arms, she bolted towards the only exit that presented itself, the staircase at the end of the hall.

"Son of a bitch."

Well, he didn't know what he'd been expecting.

One of the two was a kid who barely knew how to tie his shoes. Hell, Tom doubted that Black Ink even knew that much. With how often Acela and Mu coddled the damn brat, it'd be a wonder if he didn't grow up with some kind of freaky freudian complex. The other was...

Someone with a more generous outlook may have just settled on saying Tom was set in his ways. That there was no changing him. It was just his upbringing and it'd be like trying to convince a gun not to fire when the trigger was pulled. Just simply could not be done.

The truth was a lot simpler than that.

Tom wasn't even his real name. Nobody likely even knew his real name anymore. If anything, it was stored on some top-secret files in the Pentagon but that'd be it. Growing up under the direct supervision of nothing but military men who saw you as either a freak or a weapon in the making, you didn't have much choice but to either wilt and suffer or adapt and take on as many of their personality traits as you could. While it would have been easier to just lay back and let whatever happened happen, the boy that'd come to be known as 'Tom' simply couldn't let that happen, not to him, not like this.

To let one woman threaten all that he'd gone through? To make all of that hard work utterly pointless. It simply wasn't among any of the acceptable outcomes in his head. He'd spent enough years cleaing up after the others. Disposing of women that Johnny had drugged and brought home to murder. Having to kill people that Black Ink had purposefully revealed himself to. Or just taking the life of someone that the government had asked him to. He wouldn't question it. Good soldiers followed orders and orders were meant to be obeyed.

No matter what they were.

Rising up from his couch while Reagan continued to go through his speech on TV, Tom walked over to an ironing board situated in the corner of his living room. Surrounded on either side of it were two hampers. One was filled to the brim with neatly folded clothes and had a 'CLEAN' sticky note slapped onto it. The other was full to the point of tipping over and had a 'DIRTY' note attached to the handle. Laying across the board was a cleanly pressed grey jacket and a red undershirt. With a pair of matching grey slacks folded up next to them. It wasn't something he took pride in but ironing and cleaning his own clothes was one of the few things that he wasn't either too busy pretending to be drunk to do or to pawn off onto Mu or Crystal.

He could hear Karen's footsteps growing further and further away as he got dressed.

The wifebeater was tossed in the 'DIRTY' hamper and he adjusted one of his bowties. Helped give him a sort of 'classy' look. The suits at D.C. loved a fella who could rock one of these.

Her footsteps grew louder and louder.

He finished straightening the bowtie and sighed as he headed towards his kitchen's sink and turned on both faucets. The water poured out and began to fill the sink. Rolling up his sleeves, Tom inhaled and exhaled. The time for fun laying about had come to an annoyingly abrupt and undignified end. Now, it was time to work.

"It's showtime."

He dug his hands into the water and what happened next could have only been described as utter body horror. Tom's hands disappeared the second they hit the water. The water hadn't even been bubbly due to dishsoap. It was just as though his arms stopped at the intersection between open air and the sink. Tom pressed his arms further into the sink and then plunged his head in. It looked like a surrealist's art piece come to life. Tom's lower half began to dangle in the air as though he were kicking his feet back and forth and swimming. His slippers had been replaced by laced up dark brown loafers and they too disappeared into the sink water along with Tom as a whole. To the casual observer, it looked like Tom had just climbed inside the sink and vanished without a trace.

In a way it was true and in another it wasn't. True, Tom had disappeared from the kitchen. But only because most people didn't know that Tom's Gift, [HAVE YOU EVER SEEN THE RAIN?] granted him access to a sort of pocket dimension that all sources of water allowed him entry to. Climbing inside the sink water had merely been like stepping, or in this case swimming, through a door for a regular person. The water dimension seemed to be almost completely shrouded in darkness with the dozen rays of light barely making any headway in revealing too much of the watery depths. But that's just how Tom liked it and why the government put so much faith in him. Being able to 'appear' just where there was an active or available water source meant that Tom wasn't restricted by things like cars, planes, trains, or the like. As long as there was still water on the planet, he could get there. It also meant that nobody could see the thousands or so waterlogged corpses floating here and there. Some still had flesh on their bones, others were so decayed it'd looked as though algae was growing on them.

Some people said they had skeletons in their closet had never seen Tom's.

<"Now, where are you...?">

Swimming up to a ray of light that shot down from a puddle, it showed water running through the overhead pipes. Likely connecting to the apartment's sprinkler system. There was a sprinkler right at the top of the stairwell that Karen and the baby were fleeing to. He'd have to cut her off there before she got downstairs and risked turning this farce into a full-blown fiasco given the hysterical state, she seemed to be in. Placing his hands through the puddle and 'climbing' through it, he slid through the piping, melding with the water as he went.

*thud*

The pipes rattled and shook overhead.

*thud thud*

The pipes started to creak as though there was a great weight impeding the flow.

Before Karen could take one step down the stairwell-

*KRRRRRKRASSSSSH*

One of the pipes burst through the ceiling, drenching Karen and the baby, and pouring over the first few steps of the stairwell. The water kept gushing and gushing to the point that Karen may have feared that if it leaked anymore, they'd have a river flowing through this place. Eventually, the dripping stopped, and the pipe went still. The water that'd splashed over Karen began to run off her body and across the floor, coalescing into a humanoid shape more and more as the seconds flicked on by. When the figure began melding into something close enough to the shape of a grown adult male, Karen could hear that same voice from earlier stepping into her thoughts as though she'd left the figurative back door open.

<"Karen, right? Leaving so soon? We haven't even gotten to know each other yet..~">



His voice sounded masculine and dancing on the razor's edge of breaking out into a furious, screaming, rage. Eye-sockets which seemed empty at first peered back at the frightened woman, his skin rippling like somebody'd thrown a rock into a human-shaped lake. The makings of a mouth and nose began to form when they hadn't been there before. The lips shifted uncomfortably, and water spilled forth onto the ground at Karen's feet, as though trying to speak with a mouth was unnatural for this strange homunculus. For as it burrowed it's thoughts into Karen's head, she could see a vague distortion of herself in the water that seemed to coat the creature's body in rippling waves.

Eyes full of color and life bulged forth in the sockets and skin began to spread across the water, binding it together like a scuba suit kept it's wearer safe and sound within the depths of the sea. By the time the whole strange process had come to an end, there was a well-dressed man standing before her, a far cry from the hellish creature that'd burst from the pipe overhead just seconds ago.



"I just think it'd be a bit remiss to leave before I've properly introduced myself. I'm Thomas Gorman. Agent Gorman. But you can go ahead and just call me, Tom." He said, gently enough while holding his right hand out towards Karen as though he were aiming an invisible gun. "Now, I'm more than open to sit down and walk you through everything. I'm sure that this whole ordeal has been so rough on you and little, uh, Tanner. So, why don't you just step back, set the boy down, and we'll settle all this business. Before things get out of hand. Little bit of friendly advice for you too."

Tom's smile began to crack.

"I really wouldn't recommend screaming, by the by."

He advised while not lowering his finger at all. Keeping the 'barrel' pointed right at Karen's chest.

rakshasa DoctorDunno

~~~



Meanwhile, the operatives, forced or otherwise of Unit#81 weren't the only Gifted individuals getting up to no good.

The only difference was? Tom and co had a badge of approval from Uncle Sam.

Others like the masked man brandishing a rifle across his back and a smiling mask as he walked into a local dive bar, famous for catering to some of the more unruly types like bikers, gangsters and the like. A real 'man's man' type of joint. They didn't have that same protection in the eyes of the law. As far as the feds were concerned, people like the masked man were no better than unkempt W.M.Ds. Capable of causing massive amounts of property damage and destruction if they weren't either eradicated or brought to hell under the government's iron boot. Clasping his gloved hands together, the man stepped into the center of the bar with another individual standing beside him. She wore suspenders over a rather macabre and goth outfit that wouldn't have looked out of place standing next to a member of KISS or The Cure.

Holding his hands up, the man cleared his throat while his partner held a cigarette up to the mouth on his mask and lit it, a brief flicker of blue flames from her pinky lighting the edge of it.



"Thanks doll."

His partner nodded and folded her arms across her chest.

"Heeeeey! If I could JUST get EVEEEEERYBODY'S attention for just a little bit!" The man shouted, putting strange amounts of emphasis at various parts of his request. Most of the patrons deigned to keep ignoring him while others paused in their drinking and general rabblerousing as they looked over. One of the patrons in particular was a gruff looking biker, wearing a leather studded black jacket with a chain that hooked from the underside of his jacket to one of the belt loops on his torn-up jeans. Wiping droplets of beer out of his beard, the man glanced over at the stranger and his partner and laughed mockingly. "Pfft, the hell are you two supposed to be huh?? Fuckin....Bonnie and Clyde? Harry and Houdini?? The fuck's going on here??"

The comments were those of a drunkard and naturally didn't make too much sense. But it still roused a laugh out of the general crowd.

"I'm afraid you'll find that my lovely partner and I are no mere criminals or magicians. My name is Andre Archambeau! I hail from the beautiful lands of France! My birthplace is Toulon and I've travelled many days and hours to reach your beloved country of America!"

The heckler scoffed. "Soooo, what we're supposed to be impressed because you're some kind of quirky French *****?? Give me a fuckin break. Get the hell out of here before someone busts you in the fuckin mouth, froggie." Andre wagged a finger taunting the overly aggressive man and shook his head. "Non, non, my agitated and alcoholic-inflicted friend! You'll all be impressed by what my partner and I are going to show you. After today, your country's media will have NO CHOICE but to refer to me as..." Andre paused as he pushed past two other barflies and stepped atop the pool table. "The Maestro."

"..."

"HAHAHAHAH!"

"The fuck is this guy ON?? It's gotta be some REAL GOOD shit! Hey, lady! You're his old lady right? You got anymore of the good blow he's been burning through?" The man continued to push his luck, holding his hands up and looking over his shoulder at the reaction his commentary brought out of his fellow patrons. Andre/The Maestro stepped across the table and began to pull the rifle off his back and pointed the barrel directly in his heckler's face. Suddenly the laughter went silent and the atmosphere in the bar changed in an instant. The man trembled and started to back up. "W-Whoa. Easy man, I was just fuckin around...I...Didn't actually, hehe, mean anything by what I said y'know? I mean it's all just bullshit..." The man prattled on and on as others present in the bar began to reach for their own sidepieces.

Andre clicked the trigger and the man shrieked.

There was no bang but there was the sound of fluid trickling down a pantleg.

"No bullets. Haha." Andre teased as he slung the rifle back over his shoulder. Some of the patrons still weren't convinced and mutterings of calling the police were had. Andre stood back up and put a stop to that. Or at least directed his partner to. "My heart, would you mind?"



"Pas du tout, mon amour.~"

She held her right hand out towards the counter. The bartender who was starting to use his rotary phone to try and dial 911 froze as the petite woman smiled at him and the others sitting up there. There was brief flash of light and suddenly a massive jet of blue fire erupted from her open palm. Barreling through the bar, burning whatever was in it's path as it smashed into the counter. The poor people caught in it's wake screamed in horrible agony as they threw themselves to the ground in an attempt to put out the flames which licked at their flesh and bones. Alcohol behind the counter burst and exploded, shards of superheated glass flying through the air as gunfire began to sound off in the bar.

Shots hit home on the woman but much to the horror and confusion of her attackers, it looked as though the bullets simply passed through her body. One of them had even scored a clean headshot only to see blue flames flickering around the hole as it quietly closed up. "Il semble qu’ils ne comprennent pas qu’ils ne peuvent pas nous tuer, mon amour"

"Tsk tsk, so it seems, Cherie. Hold your fire, my friends!" Andre pleaded as those around the pooltable had long since -backed the hell up-after seeing this freak's babe turn a whole crowd of people into KFC. "How many of you are, let's say, Gifted individuals? Hm? Come now, don't be shy! You're part of why my heart and I came out here to this drab establishment in the first place!" Well, the main reason had been to help get his name out there but meeting up with American Gifted sympathetic to his cause would have been absolutely

excellent! ~​

Some of the patrons looked on in utter confusion and terror. Some cried and begged for mercy. Others just looked uncomfortable and couldn't look at either Andre or his girlfriend. "Hmhm, I understand if you're nervous. Your country, nay, the entire WORLD has had it out against us! But I say to you all that I've come to America to bring that to an END! No more shall we have to hide away like cockroaches in the darkness! We will RISE UP AND SHOW THE WORLD OUR TALENTS!~"

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ON ABOUT?!" The heckler turned victim screamed, utterly horrified out of his mind.

Andre turned back to him and chuckled.

"Ah, right, I'd almost forgotten about you. You colorful fellow. I think it's better to show than tell, don't you think...?" Andre removed one of his gloves revealing a series of scars across his hand, all of them looking crude and self-inflicted. Drawing out what appeared to be a hunting knife from a sheath attached to his beltloop, Andre cut at one of the scars and blood began to pool around the fresh wound. Flicking his wrist towards the man, blood splattered across the man's shirt and face causing him to recoil in disgust. "Eugh, what the fuck?! WHAT THE FUCK?!?"

Resheathing his hunting knife, Andre held his injured hand out and held his index finger against his thumb.

"[DON'T FEAR THE REAPER]."

The blood began to glow brightly as Andre snapped his fingers.

"WHAT THE-"

*BOOM*

The man, or what was left of him, fell to the floor in a bloodied heap. His entire torso had been ripped open and tossed to the wind. Pieces of ribs were here, there, everywhere. Internal organs had been eviscerated and ground up by the force of the explosion. His head was completely gone, a smoking bloody husk started and ended at the top of his neck. The demonstration having proved sufficent enough, Andre covered up his hand and turned back to Cherie. "I believe that if there ARE any Gifted among the people here, they'll speak up. Or lay among the corpses of their persucutors. Are you ready?"

"Oui.~"

Over the course of a half hour, Cherie had murdered the majority of the remaining bar patrons. Anyone left who claimed to be Gifted were given a choice to reveal their Gifts. Those who were simply bluffing in order to try and escape were blown to pieces by Andre. Those who proved their worth? Well, they got to walk out of there with the murderous duo.

*Andre Archambeau/29/Toulon, France/[DON'T FEAR THE REAPER]: PHYSICAL/Andre manifests 'scars' across his body that if cut allow him to charge the spilled blood with explosive energy. His blood has enough power in it to rip through a bank's vault door or completely eviscerate a human body. There is obviously a limit to how much blood Andre can afford to spill however before he begins to negatively affect his own health.

*Cherie Beaulieu/26/Algiers, Algeria/[BURNIN FOR YOU]: ELEMENTAL/Cherie manifests Blue flames which can scorch an unprotected human's body in seconds and turn wood into ashes just as fast. The amount of energy she can pump into her flames allows Cherie to 'fly' through the air by blasting off the ground with her flames or expelling them 24/7 from the soles of her feet to keep her off the ground and allow her to rain down, well, fire from above. Her flames are physically superior to Acela's 'Red Flames' but sometimes brute force isn't all it's cracked up to be.

TheHistorian ​

 

[TheHistorian]

Albert “The Duke” Krando

Seedy hole in the walls always have the best company. Albert mused to himself as he sat in his corner booth, a stack of plates on the table to his left, accompanied by a growing crowd of spent beer bottles. He had already noted the couple the moment they walked in, having seen the girl light the masked man’s cigarette he had a feeling something interesting was about to happen, he had no idea it would be so damned crazy…but that was fine, albert knew crazy, it was very often true that the most crazy people were often times the most entertaining as well. He couldnt help but snort as the “tough guy” wet himself when the gun was leveled at him.

When fire and bullets started flying Albert took this as his golden opportunity. He began to reach over his booth to snatch plates and empty beers off of whatever table was within his considerable reach. The seams of his clothes, the Booth chair, even the floorboards themselves groaned with each shift. As he grabbed a plate that had a Cheeseburger on it one of the bullets that passed through the Fiery french dame slammed into the ceramic plate shattering it and causing the food to fall to the floor. “Five second rule” Albert said as he grunted and groaned to reach the burger shifting the table in front of him aside and causing the bottle collection of his to tumble to the ground with an audible clatter. Finally drawing the attention of the two Apparent Psychos torching and popping people.

“Hold on you two…priorities.” Albert said making one last stretch attempt and succeeding in scooping the burger up in his hand, though at his size it admittedly looked more like a slider. Just like a slider he stuffed the entire full-sized burger into his mouth and while chewing said “Ith ou Anted…” before cutting himself off to chew, downing an entire pint and letting out a loud bass filled burp. “Ha that one was a solid ten out of ten…Anyway. If you weirdos was looking for a recruit who is worth their weight, you shoulda just bought me a beer. Im worth every last pound.” He statement was followed by him letting out a booming and frankly annoying laugh that spewed out bits of food and a stink of beer and stomach acid. “Frankly i doubt anyone else in this shit-hole will be worth the ashes you would turn them into. But if its all the same to you, can i have dibs on everyone wallets? I may actually want to pay my rent this month.” Again he laughed clearly Getting a kick out of all the chaos going on around him.
~~~
Akainu Yin

The bump ride in the back of the delivery van made Akainu Long for the Planes smooth flight, well for the most part smooth. Yet he knew the ride would soon be coming to an end and he would possibly get some time with himself to unwind, after all the last four months had been pretty hellish for him. The amazon itself was lovely, he almost couldnt bear to leave it, but the knowledge of what would happen to its gorgeous trees if he disobeyed uncle sam caused him to suffer a small pain, in order to spare him a much greater pain. Still he hated having to do so. To leave to crisp fresh air of the wilds and once again breathe the toxic air of millions of urban lifestyles. Even in his armor he couldn’t help but occasionally gag. Whats worse was he could hear them, the thousands of tiny voices crying out in agony, begging for food and drink that was not tainted. Pleading to be allowed to grow and live, only to be cut down when they reached towards the sun.
​

He snapped himself put of such thoughts, shutting the voices out as his therapist had been teaching him. Such thoughts only lead to violence and pain, he would need to suffer in silence. He had centered himself Just in time to feel the vans brakes be applied and hear one of the agents speak from the front. “Alright Mr.Yin…We are here, you need to get into the transport.” The man said in as polite a tone as he could muster, rumors travel far and apparently Akainu had a reputation, “Gladly Agent Kortes, though please do not sweeten your words for my sake. We both know this is a crate.” Akainu said as he rose to his feet and walked the one and a half steps to the back end of the van where he could step into the 6ft x 2 1/2 ft crate. The agent smiled as he climbed into the back himself and took the lid off of the wall. “Look on the bright side, theres new recruits since you were last here. Maybe you can try that vampire act again…it seemed to get you your kicks last time.” though the mask concealed his face, Akainu did soften his features and the beginnings of a smile had formed. “I will miss working with you Agent Kortes, please Ensure that you remain safe until we can once again be partners.” The agent was clearly taken aback by the comments but simply said “Yeah man, sure thing.” Before closing the lid and loading the crate onto the dolly as the other agent lowered the unloading ramp.

Both agents were dressed as delivery men and walked confidently to the door of the apartment building. Agent kortes was careful not to his a bump or gap in the curb with too much speed but the other agent walked briskly up the foyer steps and gave the door an old school police knock before holding out a clipboard for whoever opened the door. While the actual paper on the clipboard was in fact and official shipment invoice, it was still irrelevant, just a part of the cover needed to transport Akainu, after all a robot suit does tend to attract attention, especially with it being so advanced. Inside the Crate Akainu could still detect the world outside him, but the thing that set a contemptuous mood stirring within him was a smell, one he knew all to well, The smell of [Have you ever seen the rain], Familiar, Admittedly Fresh, But Accompanied by Annoying memories, including the most painful experience of his life.

 

[MidwayLives]

​

Jeremy

hadn't been having the best time of things, to put it as kindly as possible.

He'd been disrespected, scared out of his wits, and ordered around as though he were just an errand boy.

Having walked into Tom's kitchen at the behest of his direct superior, Jeremy shook his head in disgust. The sight of beer bottles splayed across the floor, crushed up beer cans sprinkled the wooden table situated in the center of the room. The wood on the table was stained due to Tom likely being careless with his drinking. Wasn't as though any of this was on his dime after all so why bother giving a shit? Even more so when he could and would order around a schmuck like Jeremy to walk behind him and clean up whatever he ordered him to? Shifting some of the bottles out of the way with the tip of his sneakers, Jeremy made his way to the fridge and opened it up and a foul stench immediately wafted over him. There was a white box that Jeremy could have only guessed was some kind of Chinese takeout that Tom had ordered and forgotten about. The rest of the fridge was taken up with all kinds of meat, plus a TV dinner or two.

"Sheesh, anymore steak and I don't think anyone will ever be able to say he's not red blooded..."

But it wasn't the takeout that gave off that smell. Moving some stuff around while making a mental note to put it back just as it'd been so as not to piss Tom off, he found a brown paper bag with 'ONLY TO BE GIVEN TO G-SHAKE TIL GOOD' written on it in sharpie. Effective and to the point. Grabbing the bag, Jeremy's face scrunched up into something resembling utter revulsion. What did this 'G' fella eat that gave off such a foul stench?! Shutting the fridge door after putting Tom's food items back in their proper spots, Jeremy cleared some space on the table and went about trying to tidy things up a bit. "Can't even walk in here, he's got so much junk laying here, there, everywhere.." Having filled up a garbage bag with a good number of cans, wrappers, and whatever else that Tom threw in the direction of the garbage can but couldn't actually be arsed to make sure it went in, Jeremy was standing at the sink washing his hands. "Feels like I could scrub all day, all night, and I still won't feel right. Just something about this place." It'd have been maybe too artsy to say 'stained his soul' but from how straight to the point Tom was about the fact that he'd willfully murder Jeremy if he became a liability in the eyes of the suits in President Reagan's cabinet, he felt rattled to his core.

*wristle wristle*

*skrtch skritch*

"...Huh?"

Jeremy looked around the kitchen. He'd assumed the nose to have come from a squeaky cabinet door. Given how low-value this entire apartment seemed to be, Jeremy was kind of surprised that the water wasn't brown and none of the doors had fallen off. He went about opening the various drawers, pantry doors, and the like but all of them still seemed pretty sturdy. Nothing fell off that he was aware of. So, then what had made that godawful noise?

*flop*

He ooked over his shoulder at the counter where he'd left G's breakfast. The bag had flopped over onto it's side and there was a slight bulge in the underside of the bag. As though something was moving in there, something that still drew breath.

Jeremy felt his breath hitch as he gripped onto the sink to try and steady himself. He needed a minute, anything, to try and settle down. He felt like he was going to have a nervous breakdown. He really, really wished he'd just been seeing things. But there was no denying it. Something in that bag was still alive. Jeremy gulped and tried to swallow his fear, only to halfway choke on it, as he moved towards the bag. In any other situation he felt that peeking into the lunch of a another person was something that busy bodies and jerks did. Who cared what someone else ate so long as it didn't stink to high heaven or was still alive while they ate it? The two parameters that Jeremy quickly felt that G's food was failing. He opened up the bag and looked down. The sight that met his gaze would stick with him for the rest of his life.

It was two dead rats, both of them looked to have twisted necks, likely as a result of having been pinned under/had their backs broken under a mouse trap. They were big and fat, almost the size of a pigeon or maybe even big enough to prey on one. But resting atop the dead bodies of it's brothers was a live rat. One that looked up at Jeremy with it's beady red eyes and bared teeth at him. It's fangs grinding together as it writhed and wriggled in the bag. The brief idea that 'G' was some kind of a nickname for a pet of some kind, maybe an anaconda, flowed through Jeremy's subconscious but it didn't make sense. Why have a whole room locked off for a pet? No, the only logical conclusion was that G ate these rats themselves. Whether by ignorance or abject cruelty, Tom when procuring these rats had forgotten to kill one of them.

'SHAKE UNTIL GOOD'

"..."

Jeremy had no problem killing bugs. He laughed when his dog caught birds out of the air or brought in rabbits.

But to actually do the deed to a creature bigger than a spider?

"sorry, little fella..."

Jeremy raised the bag up and swung it down against the ceramic countertop

*knock knock*

G's room looked rather different from the other ones that he'd seen. It looked guarded to the nines, a padlock, chainlock, and a hole on the center of the door that allowed G to peer out at whoever was outside. The room number 1915 looked worn out leaving Jeremy to wonder just how long G had been here. Longer than the others, than Tom even? Holding the bag in his left hand and doing his absolute best to avoid even looking in it's general direction, Jeremy fought down the urge to wretch. The way the rat cried out, that it'd taken more than one swing to finish the job. It was absolutely vile. Still, he had some hope left that G wasn't going to actually eat these rats themselves. He gave another knock on the door when no response came. "Uh, hello? G? Tom sent me to bring you this. I can leave it by the door if you'd prefer that but..." Jeremy forced himself to look over at the bag, the bottom of it soaked with fresh blood. "I don't think that'd be a good idea to let it sit out here too long...blegh..."

Still, no response came. No matter how long Jeremy waited or tweedled his thumbs.

"....Okay, I guess I'll just leave it then. If you, uhm, need anything else. I'm just right down the hall. Room 1134." Jeremy said as he started to turn away from the door. "Juuust....Gonna....Go-"

*click*

Jeremy froze in place as he heard the deadbolt give. Scaling his eyes upward along the door, they stopped the viewing window where he saw an eye staring back at him. It didn't look like any human eye, at least not one that he'd see on joe schmoe walking down the street. If anything, the more he looked at it, it started to resemble an insect's eye. What did they call it back in biology class? A compound eye! Basically, a whole bunch of little eyes all working together. Jeremy likened it to a bunch of cameras that all linked back to a central monitor. For his own sanity, Jeremy just hoped that maybe the glass was fogged up/dusty and he was seeing things wrong. Because, god help him, he didn't want to imagine any man with eyes like that. The eye pulled away from the door and Jeremy heard a voice croak out from the other side. It was hoarse and with a heavy German accent.

"Egh....Step away from the door and turn around....clickclick..."

Though the words were clear enough, something felt off about the way he spoke. It sounded as though it was physically straining to string together such a simple and to the point sentence. Then there was this odd clicking and licking noise. Sounded like a pair of mandibles? Or a tongue running over a rough surface. All the suggestions made Jeremy's skin crawl but not wanting any further problems with any other occupants of this place, he placed the bag on the floor and started to step a few feet away from the door. As a sign of courtesy, he even raised his hands up. "Okay, I'm away from the door." He called out and there was no verbal response. Just the switching and clicking of G's various locks being opened.

The door creaked open and the underside of the door grinded against the tile. Given how worn out the plaque with the room's number on it looked, it would have been easy enough to guess that this room had been left as it was even as the apartment was remodeled around it, leaving the door somewhat too close to th floor. Jeremy was tempted to look back but he'd restrained himself. G hadn't been rude in his request so Jeremy would return the favor and oblige him. If he had turned around, he would have seen a spindly arm reach out through the gap of the opened door and reach towards the bag. The limb was covered in some kind of brown-ish carapace, heavily resembling an insect's exoskeleton. At the end of the arm was a hand that appeared human-like enough from a distance but upon closer inspection, the hand looked like it belonged to a sci-fi beast than any human. Three 'fingers' and a primitive thumb rounded off the edges of the hand with transparent pads under the fingers that appeared similar to an octopus's suckers. The hand, no, the claw grabbed the top of the bag and started to pull it up and away from the floor only to stop in it's descent as there was something of a rip. The wet blood from the recently killed rat had started seeping through the bag and given the underside of the lunchbag the same consistency as soaked newspaper.

"Hey, uh, I don't mean to be disrespectful or rush y'all or anything. But is it okay if I-whoa!" Another hand reached out through the space that the slightly opened door provided and grabbed Jeremy by the back of his shirt collar and yanked him in. The door slammed shut behind him and the hallway went dead quiet once again. 'WHOA! WHOA! LET GO! LET GO OF ME!!!" Jeremy screamed as he batted away at thin air, only to gradually stop as he realized that whatever had grabbed him let go the second, he was in the room. What that something was, however, he couldn't tell, in fact he could barely see anything. The room was nearly pitch black aside from the illumination from a muted TV sitting over on a TV stand with wheels and a rather impressive display of monitors bunched over in the corner with a broad-shouldered figure hunched over at a desk directly in front of said monitors. "Phew, okay. Hey, are you, G? I'm-"

"Jeeeeremy Jamesssson. I know and yesss...I'm G."

Jeremy could hear the rustling of the paper bag.

"O-Oh, okay. Well, I guess it makes sense that Tom would tell everyone, heh. It's nice to meet you-"

"Tom didn't tell anyone. I figured it out *clickclick* myself."

"oh. um. well. did you need something or-"

"Be quiet."

"OK."

Jeremy could hear the rustling of the bag again. He heard something being pulled out of it. One of the rats, what else could it have been? Wasn't like there'd been candy in there. "One. Two, three-" G paused in his counting as the clicking grew more audible and the figure shifted in their seat. "Thissss one was killed recentlyyyy. Did you do thissss?" G asked to which Jeremy gulped and would have nodded but he couldn't even see his hands in front of his own face, he sure as hell wouldn't be able to tell if he'd actually nodded or just flinched out of fear of having made this guy(?) mad. "Y-Yes, sir, I did. I saw it was still alive and wanted to put it out of it's misery."

"clickclickclickclick...grr."

There was a loud wet plop. Sounded like he'd put the rat down on something, his desk maybe? "Tom sssshould have killed it daysss ago. The cold would have kept the meat fresssher. But you made it even worsssse." Though the situation had been gross and honestly, a little traumatizing for Jeremy, he couldn't help but take even the slightest bit of offense to that. "Ruined it?? I beg your pardon but what the heck do you mean? It's dead ain't it?"

"*clickclickclick* You don't get it. If you go hunting, you aim to take down the animal as quickly asss posssible. If it notices you or struggles, itssss adrenaline kickssss in and the chemicals sssstain the meat. Ssssourssss the flavor, may assss well be ssspoiled. Don't know why Tom left thisss up to you, Rookie." G chided and before Jeremy could protest or ask just how the hell he'd already known his embarrassing moniker, he heard a loud rip. As though someone was ripping velcro apart. Only this didn't sound as rough as that, it sounded wet and squishy. "um-" G paid whatever objections or inquiries Jeremy may have had as the noises only grew worse and in quick succession

*squelch squelch*

*skrrrritch*

*crunch crunch*

*sssssphwip ssshphwip*

The flesh being chewed up, muscles being stripped off the bone, those same bones being ground up and chewed on like a jawbreaker. Then whatever was left was sucked up like the world's most disturbing vacuum. Or at least that's what Jeremy's mind assumed was happening. He still couldn't see anything and quite frankly he was afraid that if he'd did, he'd have begged Tom to put him out of his misery like that poor rat or gotten himself a one-way ticket to the funny farm. "Ugh, passabel, nehme ich an, da es verdorbenes fleisch ist." G growled and finally once the noises had stopped, Jeremy found his voice once more and practically shouted. "Okay! So, I'm gonna go back to my room now, it was nice meeting you, G! Hope to see you around, maybe, possibly! Bye!"

"Wait."

Jeremy was so flustered by this point that he barely restrained the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child. "What??"

"You can't just walk around assss you pleassse in here. You don't know what you could knock over or bump into. Let me direct you ssso you don't make a messs out of thingssss. My room issss very carefully ssset up." G explained as the bag ruffled and crinkled again and Jeremy gagged. "Okay, okay, G. Do you mind if I ask a question or two?"

"Go ahead."

"Why do you sit in the dark? I mean, I can't see my hands! Don't you worry about tripping over your own feet?! I mean could I turn on a light at least or something and then I'll be out of your hair-"

"NO. LIGHT."

Jeremy held up his hands, or again, that's what he hoped he did. Wasn't like he could look and confirm. "Okok, no light, no light. Gotcha."

"My Gift allowssss me to traverssse the dark jusssst fine. Issssn't my problem if othersss can't adapt. The light sssstays off. Don't tesssst me, Rookie."

"That's another thing, how did you know Tom started calling me that? I mean, I haven't seen you leave this room since I got here." Jeremy thought about what he'd said and added on sheepishly. "Well, I mean, I only got here last night and finished setting my stuff up this morning but..."

"I read hissss lipsssss. The camerassss here don't record audio but I've learned to adapt. As issss necesssary in thisss *clickclickclick* turbulent world of ourssss." G started to go to town on another rat from the sounds of it which made Jeremy's stomach take further steps towards rebelling against it's master and expelling all the food he still had in him from last night. "You can see through the apartment's cameras? All of them? How?"

"Hacked them. Took sssome time but I've got plenty of it. Nothing tendssss to happen here without my knowledge of it. I can sssseee who leavessss, who comesss in." Jeremy had to admit that he was mildly taken back, the disgusted feeling in his stomach pushed away by the innate sense of curiosity. "...Can you see inside people's rooms?"

"No? Why would I? Keeping tabsss on the sssuroundingssss is one thing. Invading privacy is another."

"oh, uh, yeah shoot I guess when you put it like that..." Jeremy muttered as he folded his arms across his chest and looked away, an air of defeat weighing over him. "Oh! So, my other question was what are you?" That seemed to provoke a certain type of reaction out of G as he stirred and sat up straight.

"What am I?"

"...Just that I ain't ever met no man who eats rats. No offense."

G gripped onto his desk and started to push it back. The legs of the chair screeched and caused Jeremy to cling to his ears. Standing up, Jeremy heard the buzzing of wings and the sound of the floorboards groaning as G moved across them. "G???" He couldn't make out where he'd gone to and Jeremy had zero idea where the door was anymore. "I-I'm sorry! It was rude of me! I didn't...I shouldn't....Don't hurt me, please!" The teenager pleaded as he held his arms up and closed his eyes, finding himself surrounded by darkness both inside and out.

*driiiip. driiiiip*

He felt something land in his hair. It felt wet and congested like a glob of something. Hesitantly reaching a hand up, he put his hand against the substance and shuddered as it felt sticky and viscous to the touch. It had a similar smell to it.

"rats..."

G leaned in, the clicking sounding like a woodpecker digging into Jeremy's mind.

"What am I, indeed? I ssssupossse I am a man like you. But unlike you, little Rookie. I go by 'G' but long ago in my homeland, I went by the name of Gregory Samms. The name besstowed upon me by my parentsss. Do you think that they wondered what I wasss and not who I wasss? Who I am?" He leaned forward and Jeremy felt his skin losing it's color as he could taste the flesh of rats off Gregory's breath. "[ALMOST HUMAN] is my Gift. Funny isn't it? So close, yet ssstil sssso far in the eyesss of otherssss like you, Rookie. Sssuch is the ultimate fate of Mutation typesss."

"Mutation...?"

"Yessss...Physical, mental, elemental, and mutationsss. Do you think I ssstay in thissss rooom for fun? That I'd sssubmerge myself in the depthsss of darknesss for the hell of it? No. I do to avoid reactionsss like yourssss." G stepped back and made that clicking noise again. "Tom, or rather, the government trustsss me enough to act as the messenger between ussss. I have the converssssations Tom either refusssessss to have or issss too tired to entertain. All I assssk in return is to be fed and indulge in my hobbiessss...." Jeremy physically relaxed as he could hear G stepping away. "Hobbies? How many can you have sitting in your room all day?"

"For once, I'll make an exception *clickclickclick* Move to your right and then reach your hand out. Feel around for the cord for the lamp and pull it. Then you'll sssseee for yourssself." Jeremy pursed his lips together and did as G asked of him, having a feeling it wasn't so much of a request but a strongly worded suggestion. Groping around in the dark like a blind old man, Jeremy eventually found what he assumed to be the lightcord and pulled on it.

~~~



"oh my...urgh..."

Jeremy cupped a hand to his mouth and stumbled back, at a loss for words, and soon to be at a loss for lunch.

On the far-right wall was a posterboard. But there weren't any posters or papers of any kind pinned to it. Instead, there were pins holding variously sized stripped and mummified skin. Some were mice, some were rats, there were even cats and dogs and a monkey of all things. Their skin removed from the body and left to dry out under a heating lamp. Then pinned up like the world's most disturbing trophy. "Then...That ripping noise..."

"Yessss. Wassste not want not, Rookie. I consssume the flesh, grind up the bonesss, dissolve the excessss tisssue, and keep the ssskin. Clean it of any blood, dry it out, and pin it when it'sss good and ready. I like to mix thingsss up. Ratsss and mice are sssso common but a wandering dog or two....?

"W...Where did you say you're from again, G...?"

"Jersssey."

Jeremy almost admitted that the sarcasm hurt as much as this macabre pinup board revulsed him.

"I come from Germany. Usssed to be part of a different unit, decadessss ago. Acrosss the ssseaaas..."

"what happened...?"

"They died."

Okay, that was it. He needed to be gone. Now.

"G...I...I think I need to go. Where's the door?"

G made some kind of noise. It sounded like a laugh but Jeremy really wasn't sure.

"keha...kehaaaaaha...hahaha..."

"Where's the door?!"

"Move to the left and keep feeling down the wall until you find the knob. I'll lock it behind you. But, Rookie, before you go. There'ssss a 'package' you need to get. Tom's bussssy so you have to. I'll watch from here..." G added as Jeremy was already on his way, palming the wall in a desperate attempt to find the door. "ohgodohgodohgod..."

"One more question before you go, Jeremy."

"w-what??"

"...What do you know about Sssanta Clarita?"

That took Jeremy by complete surprise. What was the relevance?? "I, don't think I've been there before?? Why...?"

G glanced back at one of his monitors which displayed a news channel with rolling white text across a black screen, a siren ringing out as the broadcast looped.

FATAL DISASTER AT 'THE WATERING HOLE', INFAMOUS BAR IN SANTA CLARITA
FIFTY DEAD, 70+ INJURED
SUSPECTS CURRENTLY UNKNOWN
ARSON SUSPECTED
T.F.U.P NEWS WILL BE BACK SOON WITH MORE DETAILS AS THE INVESTIGATION REVEALS THEM. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT AND PATIENCE.

"No reassson. Now, go and don't forget to turn the light off."

"Okay, I'll-"

He turned by mistake, without even thinking, and saw G's real face. Something that'd haunt his nightmares for years to come. Half of it was illuminated by the lamp, the other by his monitors.



"Have a good day, Jeremy..."

"AHHHHH!!!!"

Jeremy fled out of the room, nearly tripping over himself as he fled in a panicked rush. G watched him go and chuckled as he moved to turn off the light. Had what Jeremy seen really been the truth? Or was his already agiated mind making images up to try and deal with the scope of what he'd been having to come up against lately? Or maybe that's just what a Mutation-Type looked like. He didn't know and he had zero desire of finding out. He'd only met him once and somehow, Jeremy felt like that'd been enough.

"What a pleasssant little fellow..."

The door closed and the locks were redone.

*crunch crunch*

TheHistorian (will have Jeremy actually bump into Akainu/post for Cherie/Andre in my next post!~)​

 

[MidwayLives]

"BLUUUUUURGH! BLEEEEEUUUUUGH!"

Jeremy wasn't sure how much more he could wretch. It'd already felt like he'd emptied his entire stomach three times over and it still hadn't been enough for him. Maybe it'd just been the lighting and his stress compounding to paint a more wicked image of 'G' than what he'd actually seen. But just the image of this human sized cockroach made his skin crawl to the point he felt like the goosebumps weren't ever going to stop. Flopping against the wall in his room's bathroom, he slumped down and let his hands rest against his legs. He'd broken out into a cold sweat and his entire outfit felt soaked through like he'd just gone and run a marathon. He hadn't had much time to really finish setting up his room. Aside from setting up his 'bed' and hanging up his posters.

The one he'd gotten of John Wayne, from his role in True Grit, he'd hung up in the bathroom.

There was a real American, someone to aspire towards. Someone who wouldn't let the world rattle his cage no matter how crazy things got.

"Blurgh..." Jeremy just wondered if he had that same kind of nerve in him or if he'd just be a 'Rookie.' forever. Wiping off his mouth and standing up to thoroughly wash his hands and dry them off on his jeans, he pulled off his t-shirt and tucked it under his arm along with Tom's couch cover that he'd been ordered to wash. Now that G had told him about some kind of package that'd arrived, Jeremy figured he'd kill two birds with one stone and wash the laundry and pick it up at the same time. Making his way to the elevator located in the center of the hallway, Jeremy stepped inside and set the destination to the lobby.

He bit his bottom lip and glanced around. His eyes drifted all around the interior of the elevator. Pointless questions like 'when was the elevator installed? What was the landlord of this place like?' Anything to get his mind off the dread that entering G's room had left him with. Keeping his eyes glued on the elevator's ceiling, Jeremy almost didn't notice when the elevator stopped to let a new passenger on. It seemed to an older man, probably around his mid 50s, white and balding right down the middle with grey tufts still on the side. The man had a briefcase tucked under his left arm and was dressed up in a suit that matched his hair or what was left of it in coloration. If Jeremy had to spitball, he was the lawyer for someone in this building. Probably wasn't anyone involved with Tom's crew or else he might have recognized Jeremy.

"Saw you looking at the ceiling when I walked in. What were you looking at?" The man asked causing Jeremy to snap out of it.

"Huh? Oh, nothin, really. Just, uhm, thought I saw a bug is all."

"A bug? What kind?"

"Why?"

"Making small talk, is that a crime?"

"N-No, sorry, I guess I'm just a little on edge."

"I can tell, you're standing shirtless in the elevator."

Jeremy had to admit, he probably looked a little weird, just a little though. "What are you here for?"

"Business. You?"

"Live here, doing my boss's laundry for him."

"Yeah? Errand boy, huh? Get all the important jobs?"

"*mumbles* Something like that and it's 'The Rookie' actually."

"...Come again?"

"Nevermind. Hey, you know how I said I saw a bug? I saw one when I was getting dressed today. Might have been a cockroach it was so big." Jeremy said so casually as the man frowned and clearly stepped as far apart as he could manage while still enclosed in the elevator. It'd worked out just as Jeremy had hoped. It'd killed whatever abrupt conversation had begun to blossom between the two men and having had quite the stressful morning so far, Jeremy was perfectly fine with that. When the elevator reached Jeremy's floor, he stepped out, keeping his back to the man.

"Jerk." Jeremy growled as the elevator doors shut and the man disappeared.

Spoiler: A good visual for the lobby : )

The lobby for the apartment was decent looking enough. It kind of reminded Jeremy of how swanky these kinds of places looked in movies. For the normal people who lived here, this place was as probably close to good living that they could manage. Though the broken light fixtures and what he guessed could only have been mold growing over rotted out fixtures added to a sort of homely touch. Seeing the two men standing near the entrance, Jeremy started to move towards them only for one of the 'delivery men' to hold his hand towards Jeremy. "Whoa, hold your horses there, son. You seem like you're off to the races. Anything you need?"

"Um, I'm here to sign for the package?"

"That right? Well, you know the delivery industry is a cutthroat place, son. It's dog eat dog out there and you're lucky we live in the good ol US of A. Over there in Vietnam or one of those 'other' countries." The agent mocked waving his hand disdainfully in the air. "That saying becomes a whole lot more literal." Having made his comment which he'd honestly thought was quite funny, the agent folded his arms across his chest. "So, I hope you'll understand when I say that we'll need a lot more convincing before just agreeing to hand a package off to some johnny come lately. You're not a Thomas Gorman, are you?"

"No...but I work for him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm Jeremy Jameson, newest recruit of the U.F.U.P."

The agent smiled and reached out to pat Jeremy on the back. "Hey hey, looks like we got a little patriot here don't we, Kortes? Son, let me just say on behalf of all mail men everywhere from Fedex to the boys and girls working day and night at the USPS, I'm glad we have someone like you sticking by to defend this country of ours. But, uh, still gonna need a little more verification than that. Protocol and all y'know." Jeremy couldn't help shake the feeling that this guy, probably some kind of governmental agent like Tom was messing with him. Still, they'd probably have to kill him if he made a scene so he pulled out his U.F.U.P ID-card which he'd been given by Tom upon his joining of Tom's Unit. The agent took it, looked it over, rubbed at his chin.

"Well, I'm convinced. But, son, you know what we'd have to do if this was some kinds of clever forgery don't you?"

"Yeah, I've got an idea."

The agent chuckled. "Tom doesn't miss a step does he? Welp, go ahead and sign then. My partner will get the crate off the truck and we'll let you take it from there." As Jeremy signed the paper, he furrowed his brows. "....You guys aren't gonna bring it back up to the top floor?"

"Kid, what do we look like? We came, we handed you the paperwork, the package has BEEN delivered. It's your problem now."

As the crate was pulled off and the agents gave their goodbyes as they drove off, Jeremy was left with a massive crate situated next to him in the lobby of this dilapidated apartment. "Well, ok, not quite what I was expecting but if I can just drag it to the elevator..." Thankfully, there were leather straps attached to the underside of the crate, likely to help transport it and also to keep from whatever was inside from getting too banged up during transportation. It wasn't like Jeremy was a total beefcake but as he slid his arms through the straps, he started to pull the crate towards the elevator. He really hoped that it didn't have some kind of person in here.

As they walked back to the car outside, one of the two agents snorted.

"Hey, you think it was a dick move not to tell the kid what was really in the crate?"

Back inside, Jeremy grunted and sweated up a storm as he dragged the crate behind him, moving closer and closer to the elevator.

"HOLD IT!!"

Relaxing his grip on the straps, Jeremy looked around for the source of the yelling. Finding it in the shape of a little older lady who leaned over the counter and glared at Jeremy and the crate, as if she knew something he didn't.

"Something wrong, m'am or...?"

"Don't you 'M'am' me, you snot nosed punk! Think what, just because you're young and fit that you can talk to me like I'm some kind of old crone that you'd walk across the street? I'm a lot of things, honey, but an invalid isn't one of them. My NAME is Miss Kubrick and I just KNOW that you're another one of those top-siders. Those screws hired by the government that've completely closed off access to the top half of MY building!!! Uncle Sam might be on the hook for all of you freaks and weirdos and I may not know exactly whatever it is the hell you're doing all hold up there. One day one of you is bringing up women up there-dressed like tramps and I never seem come back down. Then I gotta hear about dogs missing, some lady the other day? Ringing my desk bell complaining that her exotic helper monkey was gone! Just disappeared in the dead of night! The money might be good, and I can't do much in the face of the government, but you folks have turned this place into a godforsaken circus, and you'll bet that I'll complain about it!" Kubrick screeched, walking from around her desk and hobbling over towards Jeremy to jab one of her boney fingers into his chest.

"I might not know or have any clue what's in that box you're lugging around here like you're....You're....Gunga Din! But I know that you're sure as grass is green and the sky's blue that you're not gonna use my elevator to get it up there to that madhouse!"

"W-What?! M-Miss, I don't know how heavy this thing is! It'll take me hours to drag it up the stairs!"

Kubrick pointed to her left and to her right.

"There's two stairwells, honey. You can take either one but unless you wanna push me out of the way, you're NOT using my elevator."

She smirked and then began rubbing at Jeremy's stomach. "Unless you'd be willing to spend a little quality time making a mature woman feel a little less lonely? It's been so hard since my dear Jack passed away...."

Jeremy really, really wished he hadn't.

But he threw up.

Having to pay extra for both his shirt, Tom's sheets, and Kubrick's dress, Jeremy had balled his laundry up into a bag and slung it over his shoulder as he went about dragging the crate up the stairwell, opposite to the one that had Tom currently standing off against Karen on. It was heavy, unwieldy, and clearly wasn't made for this kind of work. Thump, thump, thump, up the stairs it went. Jeremy of course being the good-natured boy that he was apologized to all the patrons that the loud noise disturbed. Some of them accepted it and went on about their business, others cursed Jeremy out and threatened him. By the time he was on the last 'normal' floor before he'd cross the threshold into the floors that the government had specifically designated for use only by members of the U.F.U.P, Jeremy stepped away from the box and fell flat on his back, his chest caked with sweat and only a few more steps away from a coughing fit due to the immense strain he'd been putting his body through.

"Sorry, *cough cough* but I think I hit the wall. I need a break..."

"Sleepin on the job? Don't think Tom would appreciate that."



"...Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"I asked you first, mister."

The longhaired stranger held up his hands and snickered. "John. Tom calls me 'The Living Dead.' Quirky soundin isn't it? Almost sound like I came out of a schlock film or something. What's in the crate?" John asked as he walked over with his hands tucked in his pockets. Rising to his feet, Jeremy stepped in front of the box defensively. "I'm afraid I don't really know you all that well, Mr. Romero, on account of just meeting you and what not. I'll have to keep some things to myself and my own. Need to know basis and all that."

"Okay, okay, sure. Guess you won't be needing any help then getting it up to our floor?"

"Our floor? You mean-"

"Yup. I'm 84 years old."

"..."

Whether this guy was just a nut or really did have some kinda Gift that let him be that old and remain so young, Jeremy didn't really care at the moment. He needed to get rid of whatever was in this box and he certainly wouldn't mind some help. "Okay, you grab one strap and I'll grab the other." John grabbed the strap on the left and Jeremy on the right and together the two with a little elbow grease carried the crate containing Akainu up one last flight of stairs and dumped the crate on the floor next to them as Jeremy leaned against the staircase's handrail. "Hey, um, thanks for the help back there, Johnny. Sorry I was so rude to ya. It's just been a lot to deal with."

John waved it off. "Hey, don't worry about it. I get it. It is a lot. But you shouldn't be so trusting of strangers, y'know?"



"....Why not-"

Smoke began to filter around John's person as he lunged forward, inches away from butting chests and much to his horror, Jeremy felt himself falling back, his hand slipping from the railing.

"[LOVE BITES]."

TheHistorian​

 

[rakshasa]

Karen stopped dead in her tracks as the pipes above her burst, drenching her in a downfall of water. She shakily stepped back from the first step, blinking hard as the water streaming down her face invaded her eyes. She held Chandler even closer in the rain, covering his bare head as best she could with her open palm. In between her temporary blindness and the cold sweat enveloping her skin, it took her a moment to realize the water was pouring down to the floor and off her body like a rushing stream, before it slowly began to gather into a mass before her. Once her eyes were clear, they shot open wide with terror watching the trembling, bubbling shape before her take form into something more and more human. Once it began to grow eyes of its own, she found herself staring back into what she could only describe as a walking, talking nightmare. She was in so much shock she barely registered it's voice in her head.

It eventually took the full look, shape and even sound of a human, speaking to her as if it had never been the horrific humanoid it was seconds before. It was talking, but the words never reached Karen's ears. She could only stand in slack-jawed horror, head spinning with confusion. Once it had finished it's spiel, Karen took a moment, almost seeming as if she were gathering herself, before gently placing her nephew in the man's arms. She doesn't know why she did this. She didn't know what was happening. She couldn't even tell if she was still breathing. She tried her best to understand, and the world had spit in the face of what she considered logical. Now, facing a situation her wildest nightmares couldn't match, her poor shallow mind had been spent completely. For a split moment, Agent Gorman saw naught but the whites of her eyes as they rolled back in her head, signaling she had lost consciousness even before her head hit the wooden floor below. Just like that, she was out like a light.

Chandler began to cry.

MidwayLives ​

 

[DoctorDunno]

Mu sighed as he listened to the commotion outside. It was always like this when new people arrived. At least it didn't sound like a full-blown fight yet, or worse. He paced over to his desk and cranked the dial on the cheap radio that had been screwed in place there, trying to drown out the noise from outside. It didn't, totally - it never did, the walls here were too thin, but at least it was enough of a distraction to let him get on with getting dressed. Mu stripped out of his pajamas, and as he discarded each piece of clothing in turn, it simply hung there, floating in midair. From the dresser, he picked out his clothes for the day - it was hot out, too damn hot, so jeans and a plain white tee would have to do. The shirt was loose on his chest, and it overflowed where he tucked it in to the jeans. For shoes, a pair of Doc Martens - simple, practical, bulletproof. Only once he was all set did he pluck the pajamas from midair and stuff them into a duffel-bag of dirty laundry that had been velcro'd to the floor, and turned back towards the door.
He took a deep breath to steady himself before grasping the handle and pushing back out into the hallway, preparing to take in whatever scene awaited - he'd look right, left, and then holler - "Tom, please tell me we don't have to dispose of a body today."​

 

[MidwayLives]

Karen stopped dead in her tracks as the pipes above her burst, drenching her in a downfall of water. She shakily stepped back from the first step, blinking hard as the water streaming down her face invaded her eyes. She held Chandler even closer in the rain, covering his bare head as best she could with her open palm. In between her temporary blindness and the cold sweat enveloping her skin, it took her a moment to realize the water was pouring down to the floor and off her body like a rushing stream, before it slowly began to gather into a mass before her. Once her eyes were clear, they shot open wide with terror watching the trembling, bubbling shape before her take form into something more and more human. Once it began to grow eyes of its own, she found herself staring back into what she could only describe as a walking, talking nightmare. She was in so much shock she barely registered it's voice in her head.

"Karen. I'm only going to ask once. Calm yourself and put the kid down. Now."

~~~

Tracey and James Watson's home:

"Hey, honey?"

"Yeah?"

"Make sure Chandler's doing okay before you get ready for bed, yeah? I'm just gonna soak in the tub for a bit."

"Eugh, well just make sure you dry off before you give me a goodnight kiss, huh? Don't want you putting me out."

"Psssh, please, your fire's gonna burn for a loooong time if I have anything to say about it."

The two lovers shared a laugh, and she could hear her husband doing as she'd politely asked and walking off to their son's room. It'd only been what, three months at best, and yet Chandler was absolutely the best thing that'd ever happened to her. Laying her head back while letting the warm water run it's course over her submerged body, she stared up at the ceiling of her tub. It'd looked like there was the slightest of blemishes in the paint, a brown spot, which probably meant that there was leakage somewhere. If she'd put enough brainpower into it, it probably was the result of a loose shingle on the roof and rainwater slipping through to the underbed of the roof outside. Maybe tomorrow if it didn't rain the entire day out, she'd hold the ladder and let James up on the roof and he could use his Gift to solder the missing shingle back on. Or just close off whatever hole was up there altogether. Though from the uproarious crackling of thunder and the pitter-patter of the rain outside, she doubted it. Seemed like it was shitty weather week.

...

What? Was she really thinking about the roof and the weather at a time like this? Seriously, the shingles?

She'd been lucky enough to not only have been able to play a major role in helping bring about the brightest spot of joy in her life, but she also had an incredible partner who'd always be with her, til death do they part as the vows had said. He was good with kids, he'd always made time for Chandler and even helped out his neighbors when they needed something, even as simple as helping jump their car if the battery died.

But that wasn't what made James 'special'.

No, it was the power that he'd had since he was born, a Gift as it were. The ability to control orange flames and bend the element of nature to his every whim. If he wanted a fireball, he'd get it. If he wanted to just light the tip of his index finger to light a candle for a romantic evening with the missus? He could damn well do it and if anybody tried to tell him otherwise? Well, they could take a hike. Tracey had been one of the few people in his life that James had been able to open up to. All elementals, with the peculiar exception of Black Ink, were born looking like the element they'd controlled. For members of the Gifted community, it was perfectly fine to love someone like James, they weren't the ones who disparage him. It was the others, the uninformed masses who went about their daily lives believing that people like James were a mere work of science fiction, a horror movie monster if they'd ever seen one, and for most folks in the government, hell, even across the world?

He was just a weapon waiting to be brought home to it's user, in this case, the military industrial complex.

But Tracey saw more than the potential to hurt, to be a plight upon America's enemies.

He was and always would be the man she loved.

Clasping her hands together, she smiled and closed her eyes as she leaned further back against the wall.

Missing the sight of something moving across her grounds outside, shifting as though it were 'jumping' from raindrop to raindrop, getting steadily closer and closer to the house. Coming to a stop outside the bedroom window of the bedroom that'd been in the process of being painted up and remodeled for Chandler, James was staring down at his son. Growing up he'd always been afraid to even try going without a glamour. If even one person saw him, it could spell disaster but with his family, he'd felt safe to be who he truly was. Gripping one side of the crib, he used his free hand to tap the mobile spinning above his son's head to get his attention. Once he had it, he smiled down at his little buddy.

"Hey there, champ. Sorry if I woke you up, your mom just wanted me to come check up on you. Make sure everything's okay. Which, given by the smile you're giving me, I'm gonna go ahead and assume that you're doing great. I'm happy. I...uh, I'm not so great at putting it to music but you and your mom, you both mean so much to me. I can really be myself around you guys. Hey, hey, look up here, kiddo." Once his son gazed upwards, James briefly shed his glamour and having developed quite the level of control over his Gift, a trail of fire sparked off from his finger, which along with the rest of him looked like it'd completely given way to some kind of burning humanoid, similar to the Human Torch! The fire trail spelled out his son's name and capped it off with a

'I love you'

Written underneath before the fire dissipated as James 'smiled' with his eyes, lacking a mouth in his elemental form as they usually did.

<"Love you, my boy. Goodnight-">

Huh?

James's eyes snapped up from his son and to the window. He could have sworn that he'd seen someone standing there. It wasn't something along the lines of some paranormal specter or a trick of the eyes. It'd looked far too familiar to be some sleight of hand or him being too tired. Whatever it was, it looked like it blended in with the raindrops. Not wanting to alarm his son however, James started to step away from the crib.

<"Sleep tight, Chandler. I'll be back for you. I promise.">

The door shut and James mentally called out for his wife.

<"Tracy? Are you okay? I thought I saw someone standing outside the window! Tracy!">

Meanwhile, inside the bathroom, Tracy had been so relaxed that she hadn't seen the wet spot on her ceiling had gotten bigger and bigger. What had started as a thin stream leaking down had started to turn into a steady gusher threatening to overflow her bathtub. When the cold rush hit her in the face, Tracy sputtered and coughed as she opened her eyes and saw the home disaster that was unfolding before her eyes! "S-Shit! James! James, the bathroom, the ceiling's leaking!! It's spilling all over the place!!"

<"Tracy! Get out of the bathtub, I think there's someone stalking the house!">

"What?? I-I couldn't hear you!" Tracy called back, the running water muffling her husband's urgent pleas. As she started to stand up, she felt herself roughly dragged back into the tub, water sploshing over the side and spilling across the tiled floor and leaving a thin film of brown filthy rainwater under the bathroom door and leaking into the hallway. "What, what the fuck-" She panicked as a head started to pull itself up out of the bathwater, the water around her body started to move upwards, coagulating and colliding to form an adult sized arm that had a hang gripped around her throat. The two yellow eyes that glared at her cemented it. She was in deep shit and whoever her attacker was, they weren't going to let her call for help.

Then they spoke to her.

<"Should have kept your big fucking mouth shut.">

She thrashed and beat her hands against the stranger, but she may as well have just been splashing around in a kiddy pool. To hurt an elemental, you needed to have a Gift that outright bypassed needing to activate their condition or one that countered their own ability. Lightning loses to rubber, oil to fire, and fire to water. As the figure began to manifest itself properly, it took on a frame more comparable to an adult man of an average frame. Slapping another hand around Tracy's neck, the attacker continued to throttle her.

"Wh....yyyyyyy! *cough cough* WHHHHHHHHY?!" She croaked out, doing her best to continue try and throw herself out of the tub, anything to try and escape the clear fate the stranger had for her.

<"You could have just married your husband. Raised a family and kept your mouths shut. But now it's too late. Too damn late.">

Stopping at the bathroom door and seeing the grimy rainwater receding in and out across the floor, James didn't waste a second. He pressed his palm to the door and burned it to cinders. <"TRACY!"> He screamed his thoughts and both his wife and her soon to be murderer glanced over to him.

"Ja...me...s!"

<"Too late.">

And it was. Just as James moved forward, demanding that his wife be let go, the stranger squeezed tight around Tracy's neck.

*crack*

Her arms stopped flailing and instead fell into the water. She slumped back and as her killer pulled his hands back, she slipped down, down, down until she was fully submerged within the water of the tub. Without missing a beat, Tracy's killer turned towards James.

<"You're next.">

<"Fuck....Fuck you....MURDERER!">

Throwing both of his hands forward, James let out an absolutely burning jet of fire aimed at the man who'd just taken the love of his life away from him. All while he'd been mere feet away, unable to save her from the cold hands of death. The fire hit the other elemental head on causing him to scream in mental anguish. <"AAAGHHHHHH!!!"> He rolled around in the tub before falling back and sinking below the depths of the water as James rushed to his wife's side. Pulling her up from the water, James held her in his arms, gentle enough to keep his natural flames from burning her. But as he looked into her eyes, it was just too obvious.

He'd been too late. Within seconds, mere moments, she'd been gone. Plucked straight from his arms and the lives of her family with him unable to do a damn thing until it was too late. <"Tracy....I'm...I'm so sorry...>" Elementals couldn't cry in their natural state but as sure as John Denver was a national icon, tears would have been streaming down James's face if they could. So caught up in his grief was he that he didn't notice that a sizeable chunk of water had oozed out of the tub and slowly snaked it's way behind him as it started to re-manifest into human form. Wrapping one arm around James's neck, Tracy's murderer leaned in and narrowed his eyes.

<"It'll take more heat to kill me than what you've got to offer.">

Whether or not it was true or just the product of arrogant boasting, James didn't care, he grabbed onto his opponent's forearm and flashed his fire as hot as he possibly could. Seconds went by, a single minute turned into multiple as smoke drifted upwards and activated the fire alarm.

*WAILWAILWAIL*

The skin on the other one's arm began to bubble, and steam started to rise off the limb but he didn't give an inch to James. Instead, he only seemed to grab on tighter and started to back towards a puddle near where the bathroom door had been. <"It's.....Over....James.">

They fell into the puddle and disappeared from the bathroom altogether.

Instead, they fell into what by all accounts seemed to be some kind of pitch-black void. The pocket dimension that [HAVE YOU SEEN THE RAIN?] allowed the user and only him access to. Given how expansive it was and how even he hadn't explored it's deepest depths, if the thing even had any kind of bottom, he'd taken to seeing it as something of a subset to his main gift.

"[OCEAN MAN]."



For a while James's fire shined so brightly, he'd been able to illuminate a significant space of [OCEAN MAN]'s territory. What he saw looked like something out of his worst nightmares. Floating bodies, some of which looked so fresh that their skin color was still as bright pink as it'd likely been life while others were so decayed, they were little more than skeletons with fragments of rotted away clothing clinging to the bones. Despite his best efforts to keep burning, James's body began to sputter and twitch in the other's grip.

<"You...You fire elementals. All the same. Your flames go out, you may as well be a fish on dry land. Bye.">

As the light around James started to grow dimmer, he could see his life flashing before his eyes. His family, his first time meeting the woman that would soon become his wife, the time they'd spend together, the bond they'd shared and...

<"chandler...">

<"Huh?">

<"i'm....i'm sorry, son....i couldn't...keep my..">

<"What are you going on about-">

<"promise...">

The flames went dark and James's body went limp.

It was dark in [OCEAN MAN] once again.

Climbing out of the puddle, the water elemental winced and looked down at his left arm. His skin looked like the most articulate display of water flow that you'd ever be able to get in a human shaped diorama. With the slight exception of a massive burn mark that spread from his elbow all the way across his forearm. <"fuck...Fuck!!!"> Putting water wasn't going to do much for it and it wasn't like he hadn't thought of it, being who he was and all. Stepping out of the bathroom, the man stumbled through the halls of the house. It would have been easy enough to simply 'jump' back outside while still inside [OCEAN MAN] but his mind was elsewhere. Maybe it was the pain or whatever James had been mumbling in his final moments. Something just didn't feel right upstairs.

In the room parallel to the spot in the hallway that his parent's killer was staggering through, he hadn't heard a peep out of the child. His dad had put him to sleep after all. Stepping out through the front door, he looked out a crimson red 1970 Buick Riviera parked alongside the curb across the street. Putting up his glamour while still masked in the rain, he moved through the torrential rain, the raindrops purposefully seeming to avoid landing on his person as he walked down the driveway and pulled open the passenger side door and practically fell inside.

"ahh....ahhh....sonfoabitch got me good...."

"Good. I hope it hurt."

"crystal..."



"I don't know what kind of reaction you were expecting. A father-daughter hug? Bond over the murder you just committed? The family you definitely just destroyed?"

"crystal, please, I'm not in the mood. Just start the car and take us home."

"They had a kid, you said. Right?"

"crystal, for god's sake-"

"Answer me. Right?"

"right. They have a baby. I dunno how old it is. Weinberger's boys weren't overly specific. Now, would you PLEASE start the car. I just wanna go home."

"Yeah, your little pest infested hovel. Home sweet home. Just kick back and relax after what you've done."

"one. don't talk about G like that. two, i'm the parent, you're the kid. now, for the last fucking time, start the car. my arm is killing me."

Crystal leaned back and reached into the glovebox, grabbing a KODIAK brand camera out of it. First, she took a picture of the burn and then of Tracy and James's home. "crystal, what the fuck are you doing??"

"Making a mental and physical note of this night. So even if you can sleep soundly at night, I can't."

"..."

Only then did Crystal finally start up the car and drive away.

For a while, the two sat in relative silence.

"did anyone call for me?", he asked, referring to the obnoxiously sized car phone he'd have to have installed in his beautiful car, irreparably damaging the otherwise pristine interior.

"someone, yeah. Said they were from the states's department. I asked them which state and they said they wanted to speak to Agent Gorman. So I told them that you were too busy destroying a family unit to come to the phone right now. The man on the line didn't seem to like that."

"oh for fuck's sake, crystal. Weinberger's gonna chew my ass out for letting you near the phone."

"Maybe next time you won't bring your kid to one of your hits."

"it's not a hit, I was doing my-"

"Job?"

"...let's just sit in silence the rest of the ride home, ok?"

"ok."
​

It eventually took the full look, shape and even sound of a human, speaking to her as if it had never been the horrific humanoid it was seconds before. It was talking, but the words never reached Karen's ears. She could only stand in slack-jawed horror, head spinning with confusion. Once it had finished it's spiel, Karen took a moment, almost seeming as if she were gathering herself, before gently placing her nephew in the man's arms. She doesn't know why she did this. She didn't know what was happening. She couldn't even tell if she was still breathing. She tried her best to understand, and the world had spit in the face of what she considered logical. Now, facing a situation her wildest nightmares couldn't match, her poor shallow mind had been spent completely. For a split moment, Agent Gorman saw naught but the whites of her eyes as they rolled back in her head, signaling she had lost consciousness even before her head hit the wooden floor below. Just like that, she was out like a light.

Chandler began to cry.

"Huh? Karen? Karen, you alright?"

Tom wasn't really sure what to expect. In something of a dumbfounded state, he accepted the child while still keeping his 'gun' pointed at Karen.

It wasn't until she gave up the ghost and thumped over that he lowered it.

"...Huh."

The slight thought that 'maybe she's too much of a liability in the stat she's in' crossed his mind, once, twice, but on the third time? He relented and sighed.

Looking down at the wailing infant he had tucked under his arm, Tom grimaced.

"So. You're the little brat that your folks gave up their lives to save, huh?"

The baby continued to cry as babies were known to do.

"Can't say you seem like much to me."​

"Tom, please tell me we don't have to dispose of a body today."

"No, no. Just a another addition to the list of things that're not bound but destined to be a pain in my ass."

A bubble rose up from the soaked floorboards and pressed itself under Karen's back, lifting her off the ground and keeping her floating beside Tom. "I'm gonna take her to Acela and see if, ugh, she can deal with this. On the way out, you think you could knock on Crystal's door?"

"Ooh! Ooh!! I wanna do it! I wanna!!" Black Ink called out from his/Mu's room where he was still getting dressed.

"Whatever. I don't give two flying..." He stared at the baby. "fucks who knocks on the door. But no kid of mine is gonna be a lazy good for nothing layabout. So, I don't care if you gotta bust the door down, get her up and moving. I gotta....deal with this. 'Scuse me." He said before rudely bumping past Mu while trailing the Karen!Bubble behind him.

rakshasa DoctorDunno ​

 

[TheHistorian]

Akainu Yin
​

Akainu stood peacefully in his Crate as it was brought up the stoop and into the building. He listened to Kortez, the agent whos name he hadnt bothered to learn, and The apparent rookie who he was being dropped off with. A few short moments later and he had a name to go with the voice “Jeremy Jameson? Is there a name more worthy of a comic book character?” He thought with a hint of amusement, a hint that quickly evaporated when he heard the voice of a woman Shout “Hold it!” Instinctively yet silently Akainu Raised his hands into a cliche Ninja sign, he had long since gotten over the irritation at such a stereotypical design feature. Yet it was
Something he often utilized as it was how he deployed the deadly sphere drones. Clearly they were as functional as day one, because as soon as he clasped his fingers and the magnetic pads connected with one another the drones cameras activated and their batteries powered up with a muted Hum.

He would go even more deathly silent, not a peep would be audible even if someone placed their ear on the wood. Holding his breath and slowing his heartrate he listened to the exchange between This Jeremy Jameson and the woman who Annoyingly identified herself as Ms. Kubrick. Her mention of the word Freaks stirred up enough frustration within Akainu that he dropped the index finger on his left hand Causing the drones to begin diverting power to their magnetic bladed cables. He was under strict orders to remain hidden until they reached his floor. If this women knew too much, he would be forced to demand clearance, or Tie up what could be a loose end. Sure he would get chewed out, but what else was new. She hit a second strike after the words government and circus freaks were uttered. He then dropped the left hands middle finger causing the drones to power on their centrifugal force Hover engines. The next finger would deploy them, and the one following that would set them Upon the target his Eyes marked, which he could easily ensure would be this woman.

At the Mentioning of his crate Akainu lowered his right hands middle finger, and the drones detatched from his back silently hovering up into the corners of the crates top portion and beginning to unfurl The Flattened Oval shaped segmented cables. The cable itself was bladed, Half an inch wide, an eigth of an inch from top to bottom, and Nearly seven feet long…and each of the three drones let out their own. However Akainu admittedly felt a bit embarrassed at his reaction when he realized she was simply trying to flex her authority. He even contemplated having the drones return until the mention of stairwell. Just the transit from the doorway to the Elevator has been bumpy and uncomfortable.

Instead he decided to engage the magnetic locks on his suits joints to lock him rigidly in place, then using his left thumb he repositioned the droids so that they were low enough to keep him from bumping into the crates walls as they slowly but methodically banged up the stairs. Still his hands remained clasped with just his right index finger raised.

Thump thump thump the crate jostled up the stairs and several times a drone had to push Akainu to keep him from toppling in the box and shifting the crates weight. Listening to the huffing grunting and strain, not to mention the cursing and apologizing Akainu couldn’t help but feel bad for Jeremy. However he honestly felt a bit of joy for him when he heard the voice of another. That joy magnified as the other offered to help him get the rest of the way up. It still wasnt the smoothest way to travel, but Akainu could tell the ride had gotten alot smoother at least until his transportation was casually cast on its side. He unlocked his joints and had just begun to open the crate a tiny bit, when he heard the tone shift of John, who was apparently a gifted like himself, but a good deal older than himself. Nonetheless through the crack he saw him seemingly lunge at Jeremy, who seemed to lose his balance and looked about ready to take a nasty and potentially fatal tumble. “I hate dead wood anyway.” he muttered barely audible as he made the executive decision to lower his final finger.

SHWING,SHWING,SHWING.

The crate erupted into finely cut pieces, and in the same moment Akainu’s feet seemed to bend at an unnatural angle so that even on his back they were flat on the ground. Tiny cleat like spikes dug into the hallways grungy carpet and servoes in the ankles whined as they pulled him up 90 degrees until he stood, at a rate as unnervingly unnatural as as his ankles apparent range of motion. As he moved he turned his suits glowing eyes upon John, memorizing Jeremy’s position so he could quickly catch his wrist as he fell backwards. Yet his eyes on John meant the drones would also be on him. Blades whipping towards the Young octogenarian pausing a few inches from him. “greetings, Jeremy and John.” he said giving Jeremy’s wrist a firm tug to pull him back to his feet on the top of the stairwell. “I am Akainu, Though i prefer if you refer to me as Mr.Yin, i am The latest addition to this…circus as Mrs.Kubrick so eloquently put it.” He shifted his gaze between the two of them before adding. “If its all the same to you two, ive had enough jokes and roughhousing for today, what with being a human delivery jostling up several flights of stairs. So if you wish to be rough do so seriously and Quickly. I shall respond in turn and when we are done i will rest from my long days travel….though if that doesn’t sound very fun to you…Jeremy, would you please Guide me to my own room, and tell tom i would like to see him.” Oddly enough his voice didnt seem to come from any speaker or mouthpiece on the suit, it seemed to echo in the minds of both Jeremy & John, just like toms…

MidwayLives

Spoiler: The cliche hand sign

 

[MidwayLives]

Some people liked to think that if you were born into money, more often than not, you'd usually turn out to be a massive prick. While it was definitely harder than most to shed that kind of preconceived notion when your dad was currently one of the wealthiest CEOs in the country, Dean Hawkins had aspirations far bigger than being some prodigal son, the stuck-up heir who'd kiss his dad's ring only to give less than a toss when his old man finally kicked the bucket and Dean got his due. Laying in his king-sized bed with 'The Sex Pistols!' themed sheets splayed out under him, Dean was wearing a pair of acid washed jeans with holes torn in the knees, a plain black tee and a matching leather jacket. Encapsulating his feet were boots, black as night, with chains wrapped around the top and they stretched up to cover the cuffs of his jeans. To most people who didn't know Dean, which was the majority who again saw him as just a rich boy with a silver spoon eternally stuck in his mouth, they wrote him off as just a poser. The entire punk movement worked against people who built their fortune off the backs of minimum wage workers like the Hawkins.

But he was far more into it than just dressing up like it. He'd tried his darndest to do the proper research and hang around the right kind of people. Nightclubs, bars, even just attending concerts was fun and helped him to get into the spirit of being a 'punk.' Though, given that he wasn't old enough yet to legally drink, most of those bar hopping events usually ended up with him having to be escorted out/receiving the third degree when he eventually got back home to the mansion his family lived in out in Beverely Hills. Still, there was one band that he worshipped more than anything.

The Ramones.

He'd bought all their albums, kept up with their tour schedule, and all around tried to be as committed of a fan as he possibly could be.



There was just something so primal, so awakening about seeing all of them perform up on stage. Seeing the audience woo and scream, some of them even bellowed loud enough to probably constitute as a audible hazard to one's hearing on their own. Occasionally the thought to try and reach out to the studio that held the band's label and see if he could get a chance to meet the band and get to try and know them on a personal basis crossed his mind and there.

He doubted he'd ever do it.

It would have been anyone's life dream. To be able to just, on a dime, throw out enough money to not only meet your idol but get to hang out with them. Something about it always just left a sour taste in Dean's mouth though. 'Why do I get to have such amazing opportunity and not even have it be a once in a lifetime gig? My families so stacked, hell, maybe I could even BUY the band. But what did I do to earn any of this? I get up, put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else, can't stand the HELL outta math, screw up with girls. I'm just an everyday American schmuck.'

Even that self-deprecation may have just been played off as the meager whining's of a well-off youth wanting to 'see what it's like on the other side.' All the people who hung around with him at school only really did so to kiss his ass/mooch off him when he'd inevitbly end up paying for dinner, bowling, a trip to the mall or arcade, etc. Or to get an in for their equally but not as rich folks to try and schmooze with his mom and pop. Spread the economic leech's berth a little wider and all that. So, after a certain point, Dean just put a stop to it.

He started to dress how he wanted, shoved off any of the hanger ons, and generally tried to just a decent guy. If people wanted to assume things about him then sure, go ahead, he couldn't read minds.

....But he could tell someone to like him.

See, Dean wasn't just a rich kid, he was a Gifted.

In fact-

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

"Dean?? Dean, it's already 6:00!! You KNOW that school starts at eight!! If you don't start getting ready you're going to be late and I can't handle another phone call about your tardiness! I just can't! Now, open this door! RIGHT NOW, MISTER!!!"

"[dream lover]."

Dean's eyes began to glow red.

"Stop knocking."

On the otherside of the door, his mother, a blonde-haired woman wearing the frumpiest looking of dresses that she'd likely bought the second she'd seen it in a catalog from Victoria's Secret or SEARS banged on the door. "Dean Hawkins, you stop ignoring me right now, turn down that AWFUL music, and open this door for your mother! Right now-" At that moment, thoughts forced their way into her mind, telling her over and over again to stop knocking. Feeling an overwhelming desire to obey these thoughts, she lowered her hand. Pleased with the fact that his door wasn't being beaten on like a pair of drums, Dean rose to his feet and his eyes continued to glow.

"Step away from the door."

He knew his mother too well. If he hadn't given this second order, when he'd open the door, she'd be in his face like one of those ostriches at the local zoo. Get too close to one of them and they'll peck your eye out or in Dean's case nag your ear off. Once he pressed his ear to the door and heard the sound of his mother's dainty heels clicking back, he finally opened the door. "Yeah, I know Ma, I've been up for a while. I'm already set to go."

His mother looked absolutely horrified.



"Not only do you use God's Gift on me, your own mother, but you dress like that. You know, Dean, as a mother I don't tend to expect a lot from my children other than to clean up after themselves, take care of their hygiene, and dress responsibly and you can't follow any of them. Do you hate me, Dean? Is that it, hm? What have I done to you that was SO wrong that you've made it your life's mission to work against everything that your father and I have worked so hard to give you and your sister?"

One, his family were also Gifted, his mom Nancy had [DANCING QUEEN], a physical Gift that allowed her excess amounts of stamina. But only a good degree more than your average joe so she wasn't out running marathons or scaling mountains. Just a little more exercise in front of the TV or on her mall walks with her rich friends. His 13-year-old sister and total fucking brat Catherine had [RIDE ON TIME]. It was another physical gift that left her sister with pads on the bottom of her feet that allowed her to build up kinetic energy in them and unleash it. She mostly just used it for riding faster on her bicycle around the neighborhood, keeping up with Dean's old beater of a car to aggravate him, or to style on the kids at the private school their parents had sent her to instead of Dean.

His dad's Gift was.....something else.

Two, it wasn't like his family were dumbasses who believed themselves above the common joe, which of course they DID but they were aware enough about organizations like the U.F.U.P and violent Gifted supremacists like Andre to know that outright declaring their abilities was never going to be socially acceptable despite the relative security their wealth afforded them. So they mostly just wrote it off as 'sheer talent' to their party pooper acquaintances who'd never be any the wiser.

Three, they, well he didn't know if his dad really bought into it or was just keeping the routine going, but his mother and sister believed their Gifts to be signs from God that they were worthy and had clearly been fated to achieve the lot that they had in life. Why else would they be blessed in such a manner? If not because of their devotion to their Christian faith. Dean didn't know or why he'd been given [DREAM LOVER] but even way back when he was just a baby, he could feel it's presence and that it was called just that. It'd always been a part of him through better or for worse. In a similar way to how in Tom's mind, [OCEAN MAN] was something less that he controlled and more just something that he had access to, [DREAM LOVER] felt something like that to Dean. It had potential to swing one way or the other and it was just left up in Dean's hands. Chalking it up to God just deciding to do him a solid rather than helping out any of the other hundreds of problems plaguing the planet made him feel sick.

"Ma, I don't hate you and I only used [DREAM LOVER] to get you to back off the door. You were beating on it like your stress ball and I take offense to that last comment! I brush my teeth! ....Every now and again. Look, I just need reminders. Nothing wrong with that."

"You're 16 years old, Dean! How many years do you need reminders for basic things?? Like how to dress yourself for one! If you think you're leaving dressed like that, you've got another thing coming! Your father and I got you a whole closet full of all kinds of nice and softer clothes and you'd rather work at that seedy video store and dress like a thug!"

Dean sighed. "Mom-"

"Dean!!!! Do NOT make me get your father!"

"why not. it's HIS money you're spending." Dean mumbled under his breath as he moved towards his closet.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing, ma. I'll be out in a minute. Alright? Can you do me a favor and close my door?"

"Dean Hawkins, if you're not out of this bedroom by 6:15, I'm getting your father and having HIM deal with this attitude of yours!"

*SLAM*

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed a random shirt off a hanger and a pair of blue slacks. Something that a professional white-collar worker would wear and not a punk who'd likely cut their own holes in their jeans. "Man..." It wasn't even that the clothes he'd grabbed were bad but this just wasn't who he was, who he wanted to be. Some buttoned down patsy who'd smiled at events he'd have never gotten invited to otherwise, only there because of who his dad was. Nothing more, nothing less. But he knew in his heart of hearts that if he ever tried to stake out on his own, his father would stop at absolutely nothing to humiliate his son and do everything but physically force him to come groveling back to his family and the wealth that could be his, if oh, only he just behaved like a proper young man.

~~~



"Oh Dean! You look SO handsome now!! Why can't you dress like that everyday??"

Out of the bedroom at 6:14, a minute before he knew he'd have heard his mother screeching like a banshee and click-clacking away to get his dad.

Not that Dean imagined what his son wore, or even did, unless it directly had any kind of effect on D-Mart.

Dean could have worn a potato sack around his old man and unless he did it outside a local D-Mart, Lance Hawkins wouldn't have given two shakes of a stick of shit about it.



"I dunno, mom. Maybe and this is just a guess here, because it makes me feel like a total chump?"

"Your father dressed just like this when he was your age. Would you call him a chump?"

"I'd call him somethin but I think you'd probably have to wash my mouth out with soap."

"DEAN!"

"You asked."

Nancy shook her head, having already had enough of son's rebellious attitude this morning. "I know you and your father haven't exactly seen eye to eye lately-" "Lately? When have we ever?" "-BUT I'd really appreciate it if you could just get along with him during breakfast this morning. I think it'd do the whole family good." Dean blinked before holding his hands up while sliding his backpack over his shoulders. "Breakfast?? Aw c'mon Mom! You KNOW that I always get food with Mu when I pick her and her sister up."

"Mu, Mu, ah, right, the girl you talk so much about, but you've never once brought over to meet your family."

"She's shy and I'm done with this."

"Do what your mother says, son. Arguing only wastes how much time you'll get to stuff your face at the kitchen table."

Dean tensed up as he heard the more ominous thud-thuds of his father's brown Cole Haan Oxford shoes cladding against the snow-white tiling. Propping a hand atop his son's shoulder, the patriarch of the family gave it a firm squeeze and smiled. "Surely you can stomach to be around your old man long enough for a glass of orange juice and a plate of eggs, hm?" Dean roughly shook his father's hand off and turned to face him.

"No."

Dean readjusted his backpack and started down the hallway. "I'll be home at five or whenever Mu gets off work. See ya."

"*sigh* [THE LONGEST TIME]."

Dean froze in place as it'd felt like somebody had turned his thoughts into a cassette and somebody went psycho and tore all the tape out. His bottom lip quivered, and he looked around, seeming confused, as Lance walked up again and slipped an arm over Dean's shoulder. "Wha....What happened? I could have sworn I was still in my room..." He'd just angrily finished buttoning up the shirt he'd grabbed out of his closet and was about to walk out to meet his mom before she blew a gasket. How the hell had he ended up down here by the hallway so fast?

"you used [the longest time] on me...again."

He'd alluded to it before but his dad's Gift was a really nasty one. It didn't actually reverse time. If you broke a vase for example and Lance activated [THE LONGEST TIME], you'd just be unaware that you'd broken it and thus be set up for a much stronger emotional reaction when you were angrily called out for something that you no longer even remembered breaking. It was as though someone grabbed the strip of your recent memories and cut them in half or used white out! on them. Most people were so baffled, believing it to be something of a lapse in memory that they didn't even realize that Lance was a Gifted in the first place! But Dean had grown up with the man, it'd taken him less and less time over the years to realize when [THE LONGEST TIME] had been activated. He'd personally hoped that after the last time, his dad wouldn't have had the heart to put him through that again.

When Dean had been seeing a girl in seventh grade, lower-income family, probably below middle-class level. His family obviously didn't approve believing that the girl was just using Dean for his money when in reality the two had met at Dean's volunteer job at 'VIDEO REWIND' down on Broadway Avenue and became close friends and eventually Dean asked her out. When Dean simply refused to quit seeing her, Lance hired a private investigator to track down where the two teens would be having their latest date and Lance had a member of his staff drive him down there to keep an eye on things. When she'd asked Dean if he loved her, he activated his Gift.

"Dean?"

"Huh...? I....I don't..."

"...You don't what?"

"I...I don't know..."

"If you love me??"

"No...I..."

That'd done it. Having misunderstood Dean's confused phrasing and not giving him a chance to get his bearings, his girlfriend fled the park in tears. Her parents forbade Dean from seeing her again and threatened to call the police when he'd tried calling her to patch things up. It was only after noticing how much sulking his son had been doing that Lance stepped into his son's room, sat down on the bed beside him and tried to clear things up.

"Son, do you remember a couple months back? That girl you were dating, what was her name again? Jenny? Janie? Janet..?"

"Jackie."

"Ah. Right. Well, I just wanted to check up on you. See how my little champ is doing."

"*sniff* Not too good I guess? I just don't know what I did wrong, dad? I-I had like a brain fart! It's like I just completely forgot why I was even there at the park!"

"I think I know what happened."

"...What?"

"Son, this might be difficult for you to hear, but Janice's parents called here the day after you and her, er, 'broke up.' They admitted that they'd pushed her into striking up a friendship with you and encouraged her to try and make it into something that it wasn't. A true relationship. Maybe they'd hoped you'd stay together through seventh, eighth, and all of high school? College even, maybe! Get themselves a nice secure hook in to be taken care of for the rest of their days. I don't know what exactly their end goal was but it'd affirmed my suspicions that I'd had from the moment you first met Jasmine. That it was all just about the money. So, I did something about it."

"W...What? Dad, that...That doesn't sound like her parents at all. I mean, sure when I talked to them, they were mad but..."

"Son, are you calling me a liar?"

"No! No, never, I'd never do that, father. No..." Dean wilted as his dad glared at him.

"Good. Now, as I was saying, I did something to keep this pack of vultures from preying on my child. I had one of my staff find out the park you two were meeting and I, well, you know how you use [DREAM LOVER] to get your mother to give you an extra scoop of ice cream after dinner, hm?"

The color began to fade from Dean's face as he clutched at his dad's sweater.

"Dad...You didn't. Please tell me you didn't..."



"I'm sorry, son. I did what I had to do. Not just for you, not just for me but for all of us. Don't you realize how much it'd effect our family if one of your little girlfriends tried coming out with some story slandering us to try and get an easy pay day? A settlement to the tune of, oh I don't know, 1 million dollars?? I had to look out for the Hawkins family, Dean. I'm only sorry that I didn't tell you on the night it happened. Saved your mother from fretting about you and you wasting all those hours you've could have been at football practice but chose to spend laying around here in your bedroom."

"DAD I'M A KID!!!"

"No. You're a young man and the presumptive heir to a very famous and very popular industry, Dean. I've already talked to the coach and he said he's willing to forgive your absences if you get up and come in tomorrow after school. My son, the carrier of the Hawkins name and a football star, you'd make me so proud."

"no...no, i'm not going back."

"....What?"

Lance's eyes narrowed as he gripped either of Dean's shoulders.

"Dean, I don't think you realize what you're doing. I spent money and time on making sure you got the quarterback position on the team. Just like you'd asked. That's all resources I could have put elsewhere, Dean. Are you really going to throw that away? MY time, Dean?" Lance glowered as he started to loom over his tearful son who beat at his father's chest with his hands, his vision clouded by tears. "You used your Gift on me! *sob* YOU USED [THE LONGEST...*SOB* TIME] on me!!! YOU RUINED MY RELATIONSHIP WITH JACKIE!! YOU!!!"

"Dean. Calm down. Now."

"I HATE YOU! I HATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATE YOU!"

Grabbing his son's left wrist, Lance started to dig his fingers into the skin causing his son to whine in pain, this time of a physical nature rather than an emotional one. "Now, Dean, I've been very tolerant of your behavior up until now. I've excused your absences from school, I've even spoken to all of your teachers personally, and you're going to throw away all that good will over a girl. Don't you realize that the world is so vast? There're dozens, no, hundreds, no wait, thousands of J...Hrm...Well, the point I'm trying to make is that you'll meet other girls and you acting like this isn't going to help anything. Now, take a deep breath, and calm down!"

Dean continued to beat on his dad with his free hand and flared his eyes.



"Dean...Don't do it."

"..."

"Dean, I'm warning you. This won't go the way you want it to. You might be able to get away with using it on your mother and sister. But..."

"[DREAM LOVER]!"

"DEAN!"

"KILL YOURSELF!"

Beads of sweat rolled down Lance's forehead as the intrusive thoughts started to do their work. His shoulders rose and sagged, and he felt his body breaking out into a cold sweat. He couldn't form any words but the glare between father and son said enough.

~~~

Sometimes, those with strong enough wills, could muster up just the right amount of mental fortitude to resist the impulses [DREAM LOVER] pressed upon it's victims.

Something like that may have been why Dean's father still walked and breathed.

Only the two knew for sure.

"I don't appreciate bad attitudes in my home. You're old enough to know that Dean. I'll see you in the kitchen." With that he turned away from his son and tucked one hand in his pocket, the other he held out towards his face to look at his watch. A CEO was always busy after all. Nancy followed after, shooting a glare at her son as she went before she was all smiles as she scampered after her husband. "Wait up, honey! Let me pour you a glass of coffee!"

Dean stood there, his hands balled up into fists, as he flared his nostrils.

"son of a bitch..."

Making his way into the kitchen, Dean saw that there was already a plate made for him. While his sister was having a bowl of Frosted Flakes, a hearty glass of milk, and a side plate of waffles mixed up with butter & syrup, his mother was having a healthier meal of a morning chicken salad, a glass of ice water(no doubt packed with stimulants to get her through the day) and the big boss man himself at the center of the table had four strips of bacon, well cooked eggs, and a mug of piping hot coffee.

Dean had a glass of orange juice and two slices of buttered toast.



"I got more butter than you.~" his little sister mocked

Dean's eyes flashed only for Nancy to slap at his arm. "Dean! Shame on you! Using God's Gift here! We're all trying to sit and eat the meal that he has provided for us!"

"Your mother's right, now sit down and eat."

Dean roughly pulled his chair out and plopped down. "Oh boy. Toast. Definitely prefer this over a Big Mac or a Whopper. Yessir."

Noticing that his wife was glaring daggers at Dean, Lance reached for the remote and flicked on the TV they had in the kitchen. "Don't mind him, dear. He's just lashing out for reasons he doesn't understand. That's all." As the family continued to eat, Lance blinked as he watched the news broadcast on the TV, showing a reporter from T.F.U.P News-a media outlet that was supposedly sponsored by the government, but Lance believed it was likely little more than a governmental puppet.

"Oh for crying out loud...One building goes up in smoke and the mayor's gotta overreact." Lance complained as Dean noisly crunched on his toast and rubbed some of the crumbs into his sister's cereal bowl. "Daaaad!!! Dean is being gross!!!"

"What's wrong, honey?" Nancy asked, seemingly the only one caring about her husband's sudden reaction.

"Apparently there was an 'incident' down at some bar up in Santa Clarita so now the mayor's ordering some kind of curfew. Calling it 'stay home, stay safe' until the perpetrators are caught. All major businesses are expected to keep running in the meantime, but do they have ANY idea what this is going to do to the D-Marts in the Santa Clarita vicinity??? Less people being able to go out and shop means those stores get less traffic. Less traffic means less revenue which in the shorterm seems fine to incompetents like the mayor but. In. The. Longterm. It damages the overall bottom line! For crying out loud, they gotta bring the whole city to a close over ONE incident when it was probably just some kids messing around. I'll tell you what, if it were me as mayor? I'd make an example out of politicians like this. Show them just how ridiculous their ideas are. "

"Oh of course, Lance! The kids and I both know you'd do amazing!"

"Thank god at least we have an actual MAN in the White House again..."

Dean looked away while still chewing away at his toast. "Even if it was just a bunch of kids, I heard lots of people died. You don't think that's at least worth investigating?" Lance raised an eyebrow. "What-What is this, Dean? Do you think that the police can't do their jobs while people go about their daily lives around them? Hehe, son I'd have a little more faith in our country's law enforcement than that. Though with the budget cuts, who knows..." Lance muttered as Dean stood up and chugged the glass of OJ. "What if it WASN'T just a kid with a match. What if it was a Gifted??"

His entire family joined in glowering at him.

"You'd accuse one of God's chosen children of being behind such a horrific accident, Dean? What's gotten into you...?" Nancy asked as though she were on the verge of tears. "It's that Mu, isn't it? Is she the one who's been putting these thoughts into your head?" Holding his wife's hand and gently patting it to try and calm her, Lance looked straight at his son. "Mu, that's right...Dean, if you don't mind my asking what's this Mu's ethnicty, hm?"

"Dean hates God! Dean hates God!" his sister screamed.

"What the FUCK does that matter?? She's my friend!"

"She's...*sob* She's black isn't she?! That's why you don't bring her over! You don't want us finding out you've been blowing your allowance on some....some welfare witch!"

"Dean..?" Lance asked, as though he were looking for Dean to assuage his mother's fears.

It wasn't the reaction they got. "Y'know what? Fuck this and fuck you, butthead." Unbuttoning his shirt, Dean threw it over the back of his chair and started towards the door. "I'm heading out, I've gotta pick up my friends and drop off Mu's kid."



"Oh, so now she's got a kid! I'm telling you right now, Dean! I REFUSE to be grandmother to some kind of, kind of...drug baby!"

"Fall."

*THUD*

"Mom! Mom!!!" Catherine shrieked as she raced over to her mother's side to help her up as she'd just decided to throw her back in the chair and fall over on her rear end. Ignoring his father's demands to come back and apologize, Dean slammed the front door shut behind him and moved down the massive driveway where his old beat up Dodge Avenger looked massively out of place next to his mother and father's more illustrious looking vehicles. Dean had saved up and up and bought the car with his own money. Something that irritated his father to no end. Opening up the backseat, he tossed his backpack in and then settled into the driver's seat.

Spoiler: Dean's Car

"Don't worry, Mu. I'm on my way."

He started up the car and was on his way.

Away from this glorious hellhole, at least for a little bit. ​

 

[MidwayLives]

One of the downsides to being born as an elemental is that most of them generally couldn't control their given element upon birth or even into their developmental years. Which for someone like Tom meant that he'd be leaving puddles everywhere he walked, crawled, ruining furniture by soaking it to the point that mold would settle in. For a fire elemental it was even worse. Burning anything, you touched, had to have your homework laminated by your parents(if they didn't threaten to give you up outright) and letting them feel in the answers because the teacher would accept only so many 'but the dog really DID eat my homework' or 'I lost the essay I was working' excuses before they started handing out punishments for something that the child may have genuinely had no recourse available to them to try and solve.

Although someone like James was able to control his Gift, that was mostly due to the support of his family growing up and his own admirable display of will and fortitude. Others may have been left to suffer like this throughout their whole life, unable to touch, unable to love, having nobody tell them how to make a glamour. Although most Gifted were able to be brought into this world with little issues, those of the elemental and mutation types had to often be hidden away by medical staff, many of whom the staff might be Gifted themselves or been strongly warned by the government to avoid any 'slip-ups', these methods would often be as drastic as swapping out the elemental or mutation out with a completely unrelated 'normal' baby just to play for appearance's sake and incase the parents had brought any unrelated parties with them that the hospital may or may not have felt would create an issue if they saw a baby that looked as though it were literally made of flames. Then once the parents were alone, the hospital staff would quietly give them their actual baby and stand guard over the hospital room until the parents could be safely escorted out.

If the baby was deemed as 'too dangerous' to let go home however, government agents posing as regular medical staff would lock down the room and either neutralize the parents or offer them some type of compensation in exchange for their child. Black Ink was the 'product' of one such negotiation. As he'd been told time and time again whenever his wandering little mind had forgotten, he'd been born, his parents were horrified at how he'd looked, and when the government made them a deal, they jumped at it and to the best of Black Ink's knowledge, they took the money they were given and went off on their merry way, perhaps to have a child that was less physically revolting as Ink was.

For a while it hurt to think about but for as far back as he could remember, which wasn't a whole lot given that he'd only recently turned five, Mu was his father AND mother. He filled both roles and took care of the elemental as though he were his own flesh and blood.

Mu loved him and Black Ink loved him too.
​

Mu sighed as he listened to the commotion outside. It was always like this when new people arrived. At least it didn't sound like a full-blown fight yet, or worse. He paced over to his desk and cranked the dial on the cheap radio that had been screwed in place there, trying to drown out the noise from outside. It didn't, totally - it never did, the walls here were too thin, but at least it was enough of a distraction to let him get on with getting dressed. Mu stripped out of his pajamas, and as he discarded each piece of clothing in turn, it simply hung there, floating in midair. From the dresser, he picked out his clothes for the day - it was hot out, too damn hot, so jeans and a plain white tee would have to do. The shirt was loose on his chest, and it overflowed where he tucked it in to the jeans. For shoes, a pair of Doc Martens - simple, practical, bulletproof.

His dad was so damn cool!

Black Ink looked through all the clothes that, Mu had kindly folded for him, and tossed them around like a tornado wrecking up whatever got in it's path. It wasn't until he settled on a long-sleeved polka dot themed t-shirt with black and white splotches all across it. Keeping the jeans he was already wearing on, Black Ink folded up his bedsheet and tucked it inside his backpack which was colorful and had stickers of Shaggy & Scooby Doo, Yogi Bear, and various other Hanna-Barbera characters thrown around it. In one of the mouths of the backpack, Black Ink pulled out a picture of Mu dressed up to the nines, looking possibly like your 'suburban mom' vibe(likely at Tom's insistence that he look 'more like a mom') as he held Black Ink in his arms for the first time, he couldn't have been more than a year old and was bundled like a burrito but you could still make out his yellow eyes looking up at his adoptive parent.

Black Ink gave the picture a fanged grin before tucking it away and slipping his costume away in the bigger pouch of his backpack alongside his textbooks and the like. Just incase he had to be rushed away in a hurry and his hoodie was damaged. Who knew what kind of things could happen while Black Ink was in kindergarten learning about how the cows go moo??

Pulling a grey sweater over his head and slipping on a surgical mask over his fangs, Black Ink looked towards his dad. "Okay, daddy! I'm all ready to go!! I want Dean to stop at Burger King today! Burger! King!" The child exclaimed with a giggle as he hopped up and down. Peeking his head out as Tom walked past carrying 'The Baby' and the lady who'd gotten mad at him, Black Ink started to follow after Tom.

"Tom! Tom!!! Toooooooom!!! TOOOOOOOOOOOOOM-"

"What. Black Ink?" Tom asked, coming to a stop as he looked back over at the excitable child.

"Can...can IcanI...Can I hold the baaaaaby?"

"..."

": )"

"No."

"Aww!!! C'mon! I'll be careful with it! I promise! I proooomise!"

"LOOK. Ink. Holding a baby is a major responsibility. It's best left up to parents, isn't it? It's not that I don't trust you. But I'm a parent and Mu's a parent, right? So, don't you think it makes sense that a parent of a parent holds the baby, huh?"

"right grandpa..."

"Good. Now why don't you go wake Crystal up huh?"

"Okay!" Black Ink exclaimed, cheering up in an instant as he raced down the hall to start banging on Crystal's door.

"CRYSTALCRYSTALCRYSTAAAAAAAL!!

"Damned kid. Annoying as hell but easy enough to cheer up." Tom looked down at the still wailing baby tucked under his arm. "Wish they were all that easy."
​

SHWING,SHWING,SHWING.

The crate erupted into finely cut pieces, and in the same moment Akainu’s feet seemed to bend at an unnatural angle so that even on his back they were flat on the ground. Tiny cleat like spikes dug into the hallways grungy carpet and servoes in the ankles whined as they pulled him up 90 degrees until he stood, at a rate as unnervingly unnatural as as his ankles apparent range of motion. As he moved he turned his suits glowing eyes upon John, memorizing Jeremy’s position so he could quickly catch his wrist as he fell backwards. Yet his eyes on John meant the drones would also be on him. Blades whipping towards the Young octogenarian pausing a few inches from him. “greetings, Jeremy and John.” he said giving Jeremy’s wrist a firm tug to pull him back to his feet on the top of the stairwell.

The smoke that was apparently conjured up by John's [LOVE BITES] quickly faded away into nothingness as he threw himself back against the wall, his eyes wide in fear and just complete bewilderment. "There....There was a man inside the box?? Ah...I..." An exacto-blade fell from John's right hand as he held his hands up to try and signify to the whirring machines of death floating inches away from his face that he wasn't a threat. "Looklook! I'm okay, I'm cool! I was just messing around! I didn't mean to actually hurt anyone. I...I.." He stammered off, freezing like a statue. He didn't want to get carved up like a Christmas goose.

"Owowow..." Jeremy winced at how firm of a grip this stranger had. He was equally as surprised that the box he'd been carrying had another human being inside of it. That other agent whose name Jeremy had failed to get ('Me, son? I'm nobody.') to try and report him for being such a jerk had told him and swore up and down that it was just a bunch of porno tapes for Tom. Having seen what Tom apparently got off, er, up to, in his free time it definitely didn't surprise the teenager.



"Well, uhm, thank you Mr. Yin. From the bottom of my heart. I could have taken a nasty spill if you hadn't stepped in." Looking the man from top to bottom, it made a bit more sense to Jeremy that he had to come in to join the rest of Tom's crew a bit more subtly than just walking up the stairs like he had. Leaning past to look at the strange metallic fellas floating around John, Jeremy waved for them to back off. "Hey, um, don't get me wrong I'm madder than a bull seeing red. I'm tired, sore, and could have cracked my melon good if you hadn't saved me. But I think you've gotten the message across. Right?"

John slowly nodded but kept his hands up.

"Y-Yeah, I'm sorry. Can we get like a do over...? I'm John Romero..."

"Jeremy Jameson. Next time if you're gonna 'mess with the new guy' can we do it away from the four or so flights of stairs?"

"s-sure...Now can you..."

Provided that Akainu called off his drones, John relaxed and started to move down the side of the hall that he'd heard Tom shouting down from earlier. "I'm just gonna....TOM!! TOM THERE'S SOME KIND OF NINJA GUY HERE!!! TOM!!!!!" John screamed, running down the hall, his hands in the air like he just didn't care. Making his way over to where he'd seen John drop his knife, Jeremy thought back to what the landlord(who's cleaned dress he was gonna have to bring down to her again. Ugh.) had said about one of Tom's men bringing women up here and them disappearing. He couldn't quite explain it yet but somehow in just the few moments of meeting him, he'd had a feeling this John guy had something to do with it.

"I think he'll get Tom for ya. I'll *ugh* go ahead and show you your room." Jeremy said as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants and casually started walking down alongside Akainu. "Hey, the whole 'talkin in my head' thing. Are you one of those..." Jeremy gestured with his hands. "Gifted folk too?"
​

He shifted his gaze between the two of them before adding. “If its all the same to you two, ive had enough jokes and roughhousing for today, what with being a human delivery jostling up several flights of stairs. So if you wish to be rough do so seriously and Quickly. I shall respond in turn and when we are done i will rest from my long days travel….though if that doesn’t sound very fun to you…Jeremy, would you please Guide me to my own room, and tell tom i would like to see him.” Oddly enough his voice didnt seem to come from any speaker or mouthpiece on the suit, it seemed to echo in the minds of both Jeremy & John, just like toms…​

John raced through the hall, screaming his head off for Tom's help, for Tom to come quick, to stop what he was doing and deal with this guy. All up until he actually ran into the guy chest first. Falling back onto his rear as a tentacle made of water erupted from Tom's chest to slap the other Gifted away, Tom glared down at John for making such a fuss.

"The fuck's wrong with you, John?? How many TIMES do I HAVE to say it?? This isn't the fuckin track & field park. You and the kids wanna run around like maniacs? Take it somewhere else! This is a place of business! Not to mention..." Tom thumbed over to Chandler. "I've got a baby in my hands! Now what was SO important that you had to scream my name like a buzzed whore over it??"

"a 'buzzed whore'...? I mean, Tom, I think another elemental showed up! He's wearing all this weird armor and he says he knows you and-"

"Hold on, hold up, back up a second or two. You know for sure that he's an elemental?"

"He used thought speak on me! I'm sure of it! The Rookie's leading him to his room right now!"

"Wait, his room or the Rookie's room?"

"HIS room!"

"...Alright. Here, take the baby." Tom handed over the baby to John who awkwardly accepted it. "I've gotta go handle this personally and I can't be in two places at once. Just bring the baby and the chick to Acela's room. Make sure she actually takes them. Don't drop them off on the floor and John, so help me god, if I find out that you drugged or did ANYTHING to the lady..."

"We're gonna have problems, you and I. Alright?"

"okay, okay. I mean, I don't even do that stuff! .... anymore."

"Yeah, right." Tom started past John. "The bubble will follow you up until you reach Acela's room and then it'll pop. Don't let the bitch konk her head off anything. She can't really do much if she's braindead or has a cerebral hemorrhage. See ya later, Johnny boy." With that Tom gave John a pat on the back before moving down to confront just whoever it was that John had come running to him about in such a panicked state.

...



Not alone for even a second with Karen, John exhaled through his nostrils. Over and over again. Reaching around in his back pocket, he pulled out a plastic box that appeared to be filled to the brim with razor blades. Something that a Gifted, as he so claimed to be, really wouldn't have needed to inflict harm on someone unless their Gift was relatively mundane/didn't exactly possess any offensive measures. Flicking open the mini latch that kept the box sealed and also from the blades spilling out when John tried to sit down, he carefully picked one up and held it out towards Karen.

"So tired looking, I bet she's so stressed..."

He rolled up one of her sleeves, the fabric still a touch damp from when John splashed the two of them with old pipe sprinkler water. Leaving naught but bare skin exposed. Running a thumb over the underside of Karen's arm, John's index finger and thumb held the razor blade mere inches away from her pale skin. But in the end, John settled for just cutting off a string of fabric that'd come undone in her bunched-up sleeve. "Not today, not like this..." He slipped the razor blade away and moved down the hall, the water bubble floating after him with, at least in his mind, Karen none the wiser.

When he eventually reached the door, John took the razor blade he'd been fiddling with and almost cut Karen's wrist open with and scratched at Acela's door. This of course earned him a streak of fire biting out at his shoes. "Ow!"

"What do you want, Romero? I'd thought I'd told you once or twice to never darken my door again."

"When was that?"

"After the first incident that G had to clean up for you. Now, unless you have business for being here, I'm going to be generous (not that you deserve it) and give you a five second headstart before I burn you alive."

"I got a baby."

The door suddenly erupted into flames as John stepped back, the bubble carrying Karen doing the same as Acela stepped out, her dress from earlier still looking as presentable as always but her hair was a billowing cloud of smoke and flames and her yellow eyes pierced straight through John.



<"WHO, JOHN?">

"W-Who, what??? Acela, wait! I think you're misunderstanding!"

<"WHO DID YOU HURT TO GET THAT BABY?!">

"I didn't hurt anyone! Not this...time...anyway.."

The flames around Acela's person turned blood red and she held a hand directly in front of John's face. He could feel the cool breeze of the heat hitting him in the face. <"LAST CHANCE, JOHN.">

"Please! I didn't hurt this lady!! I don't even know if it's her baby, her nephew, niece, whatever!! Tom gave them to me and told me to bring them to YOU! That's all! I swear *sob* I didn't touch them!!"

He held the baby up towards the fire woman in front of him, ready to barbecue him.

Only for her to delicately take the baby in her hands, the fire not at all harming him.

She smiled with her eyes, just as his father had once done.

<"My my, what a cute little angel you are!">

She looked down at John and mentally sighed.

<"I'm sorry. Be on your way now.">



"Thanks..."

John skulked off

*pop*

The bubble suddenly popped and Karen fell to the floor with a thump.

John ran off faster.

Moving back into her room after fiery hands picked up Karen and gently carried her in as well, Acela kicked the door shut behind her. Acela's room was nicer than most of the others but that wasn't saying much. It was absolutely cluttered with dresser drawers overstuffed with practically all her clothes that her parents bought for her in a last-minute rush before she willingly agreed to go with the government. Some of it still wasn't opened and was too small for her now but she'd hoped to try and anonymously donate it when she got time. There was a little desk nestled in the corner but with a lot less monitors and electrionics than G had on his. Just some clothes haphazardly thrown onto the chair, around the chair, and a typewriter sitting atop the desk. Helped Acela get out her thoughts when she didn't want to scream or yell like the others. There was also a microwave sitting atop some self-help books. Acela was also 'lucky' in that she had a room with two beds. One for a guest(usually Black Ink whenever he had a nightmare and Mu was doing work/asleep himself) that was queen sized and had a headboard/footrest, the whole nine yards and a simpler one that hung over her desk. That was the one she preferred to use.

Luxury was nice but she didn't feel as though she deserved it, any of it.

Spoiler: Acela's room

Holding the baby under her arm, Acela brushed off some of her unmentionables onto the floor and pulled back the covers to lay Karen underneath them. Even going as far as to try and fluff a pillow for her. It was the least she could do after she'd been passed around like a hot potato by everyone else here it seemed like.

<"Poor angels...">

rakshasa
​

…Jeremy, would you please Guide me to my own room, and tell tom i would like to see him.”​

While they'd gone ahead and walked, Jeremy kept the conversation to a minimum. Wasn't that he didn't appreciate what Akainu had done for him. Much to the contrary rather. But, and sure maybe it be construed as not having exactly had a good experience with Gifted since he'd been first introduced to the whole reality of them yesterday. But he just felt uneasy around another person that had the potential to be like Tom.

So, Jeremy decided to try and play the field. See if he was a bit nicer at least.

"Mr. Yin, right? How was it that you and Tom know eachother? Were you guys pals or something in your younger years?" Jeremy asked before deciding, why not, he was already opening his mouth. May as well ask something that had a risk, however small of getting him hurt. "Tom called me a 'party pooper' and seemed confused when I told him that I'm not like y'all. I don't have a Gift. I don't think so anyway. Why do you think the government made him keep me on?" Jeremy asked while pushing open the door to the room that'd been reserved for Akainu and set up to his specifications.

"Oh, here's your digs by the by, heh..."

"Excellent tour guide skills, Rookie. The rhubarb's still standing so I guess your little spiel didn't bore him to tears."

"Tom!"

"Bingo."

Tom stood at the other end of the hall, his hands at his side.

"Hey, pal. Been a while."



"Seems like you scared one of my boys pretty bad. John was damn near pissing himself when he told me another 'big bad scary elemental' had shown up. I'd figured either one of the ghosts from my past had come back to haunt me or it was you." He clapped his hands and chuckled. "Looks like it was the latter. That is of course it's still you under all that shit, huh?" Tom started to slowly stride towards Akainu, though there was no hostile intent that could be read off him. "C'mon, how about a handshake for old time's sake." He held his right hand out.

"Put er there, Yin."

Jeremy watched with bated breath on just how this whole encounter was gonna sort itself out....

The Historian​

He took a deep breath to steady himself before grasping the handle and pushing back out into the hallway, preparing to take in whatever scene awaited - he'd look right, left, and then holler - "Tom, please tell me we don't have to dispose of a body today."​

So many things were happening at once.

Tom possibly(?) having to defend his territory from another elemental who claimed to know him.

Acela taking both Karen and her nephew in.

Jeremy getting caught up between two people who could crush him like an ant.

It may as well have been background noise to Crystal Gorman however. No, she didn't choose the last time. From what she'd asked some of the military goons that showed up every now and again when a politician needed to discreetly talk with Tom in person, her parents died or didn't want her. One of the two. She ended up in the government's possession and Tom was the first one that they dumped her with. To his credit, Tom accepted her into his family with zero issue. He felt some degree of pride of being able to give another his name. Even if he didn't have his old wife to raise Crystal with, she would have loved her.

Having been party to Tom's 'disposal' of James and Tracy by agreeing to drive the car for him incase he got too injured to do so himself/if he got overpowered and had to flee, she'd been cooped up in her room the last couple of days. Only getting up to go to school and that was it. She didn't make small talk with her old man or any of the others. In fact the few people she'd only interacted with were John(who she wasn't afraid of due to the fact that she was 99% sure that he wasn't actually a Gifted and just a deranged and delusional party pooper that the government scooped up to keep him from making a bigger spectacle of himself.) Black Ink, and Mu. Black Ink was cute in a grotesque way and Crystal spoiled him when she could. They loved to curl up on her bed and watch horror movies together that Tom would rent for them from VIDEO REWIND. Mu was also cool to hang with. They weren't judgmental and Crystal respected his gender identity.

It was so admirable.

Though, today, she didn't even feel like going through the motions to get up and go to school.

*squelch*

"Huh?"

Peeking over at her door, she saw black goop oozing it's way under her doorframe. Rolling her eyes, she hopped to her feet and reached into the goop and began wriggling her fingers around. The blob jiggled before manifesting back into a little boy all dressed up and ready for school. "Hehehe! Aunt Crystal, that tickles!!!" Picking up Black Ink in her arms, Crystal frowned.

"Ink, how many times have I told you not to call me Aunt? It makes me feel old."

"But if your my dad's sister....what do I call you?"

"....How about auntie? It's cuter sounding."

"...cute like me?"



"Don't push your luck." She gave Black Ink a kiss on the forehead and instantly regretted it. Felt like kissing the gum inside of a sucker.

But the kid was so endearing she didn't wanna hurt his feelings.

"Are you coming to school with us, Auntie Crystal? : ("

"...well..."

"pleeeeease!! Please!!! It's not as fun when it's just me, daddy, and dean! Dean says it feels too much like it's a date! Blegh!"

"Oh? You think dating's gross too, huh? Me too!" Crystal pretends gagged as she hopped to her feet. "I was gonna stay home and deal with my dad when he presumably got pissed that he couldn't easedrop in here anymore. Or at least he couldn't until someone tried to slime their way under my door and moved the towel under the way." Crystal teased as she readjusted the towel. "Been drinking soda for the past few days straight. Dad can't stand manifesting in the stuff. The carbonation makes him sick to his stomach."

"mmm...I want a soda....C'moooon! Let's go! Daddy's already dressed!"

"Okay, okay! Sheesh! Keep your pants on!" Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, Crystal moved towards the door with Black Ink eagerly hopping after her.

DoctorDunno​

 

[MidwayLives]

While Dean's father lamented what he believed to be an extreme overreaction on the mayor's part to the 'Santa Clarita Incident' and G's own interest in the subject, let's turn the clock back a bit to when the bar was still up and burning.

For those who feared the consequences it might bring if too many survivors collaborated their stories/made too many mentions of 'Gifts' and 'people with powers', it would have been easy enough to simply kick back and murder everyone in the bar. Avoid any witnesses and have the local authorities chalk it up to an accident, maybe wiring went bad or some shit and the place burned down, and people died in the ensuing panic. Or just a vile act of arson by a psychopath. But that wasn't enough for Andre.

He wanted people to know he did this. That he'd keep striking out until he either achieved whatever goal he was aiming for, or he was killed. Whichever came first he'd be fine with it because at least he'll have lived and died to the beat of his own drum. Sitting down on a chair as burning corpses and exploded guts and bones scattered across the interior of the bar, Andre took a long drag on his cigarette as Cherie wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and leaned in to kiss the side of his mask.

"Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas mon amour? Vous semblez déçu. N’est-ce pas ce qu’ils voulaient de vous ? Pour semer la discorde parmi les masses de caca du parti?"

Andre waved it off as he brought the cigarette back to his mouth.

"Non, non. Just a touch disappointing that despite all the hooligans in here, all the men parading around with chests full of bravado, none seem eager to have taken us up on our gracious offer. I suppose it really will be just you and me, Cherie."

She hugged her lover close.

"Est-ce si faux? C’est comme ça qu’on a toujours fait les choses. Peut-être que cela ne devrait pas être différent."

"Mhm..." Andre didn't seem convinced.

"please...."

Both of the killers glanced over as a man crawled over towards them. He had blue flames spread across his back and appeared to have a chunk of wood speared through his right knee. Likely a result of shrapnel from the explosions caused by [DON'T FEAR THE REAPER]. He grabbed onto Andre's pantleg with a bloody hand and grimaced. "Please....help me....I'm...I'm a gifted just like you two..." Cherie scoffed and stood back. "Have your lady put out the flames...please. I've tried rolling, patting them, they just won't go out..."

"Mes flammes ne peuvent pas être mises si facilement par vous les Américains cochons."

Andre held up a hand to which Cherie sighed and looked away. Standing up from his chair and kneeling down, Andre held the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and drew a revolver from his side holster. "This is the MAS 1873 Chamelot-Delvigne service revolver. My father had it passed down to him by my grandfather and when I joined the French Navy, my father passed it down to me. I've kept it with me ever since. A bit morbid to think of a weapon as a lucky heirloom, no? Hahaha, but that's just how it's been with my family."



'I...I don't understand...Please, just help me..."

"Cherie, my love, the light of my life. Her parents lived in Algeria all their lives. Used to be as French as this very gun right here. Until that crétin complet De Gaulle threw away all the lives that'd been sacrificed trying to keep it. I met Cherie during one of my tours and with her, I fled. Was on the run for quite a while until I was strangely enough contacted by an American who helped me get here! He didn't give me a name but he said he's quite somebody. In fact I'm curious if you know him. He's-"

Andre lifted up his mask just enough to reveal his mouth, of which there were marks around his cheeks and chin as a result of his Gift. He mouthed the name of his apparent benefactor. The man he'd been prattling onto couldn't have cared any less however, despite how utterly surreal what he'd been just told sounded. "WHY AREN'T YOU HELPING ME?! Why...why are you telling me all of this?!"

"Because, my friend, you won't live to tell anyone about it anyhow. So where lies the harm?" As the man begged for his life, Andre held the revolver to the man's forehead and moved his thumb back. "pleasemandon'tdoitdon't-"

*click*

The man blinked, once, twice, and then looked up at Andre.

"Sorry. Just can't seem to resist pulling a, what do you call it, a practical joke more than once. No bullets."

"wha...what..."

"Funny, isn't it?"

Debris fell around Andre and Cherie, nearly crushing the man in the process.

"Hahahahaha! Laugh with me!"

"Hahahaha!" Cherie laughed, clasping her hands together.

As the man tried to give into the craziness of the situation, he opened his mouth to laugh. But the second he did, Andre put his cigarette out. Right on the man's forehead. The man howled in pain and his mouth opened even wider. As he slapped his hands to his head to try and calm down the burning that was quickly starting to overtake his prone body, Andre removed one of his gloves just enough to get access to his left thumb. Biting down on it he drew blood and opened the revolver's cylinder. Popping out one of the bullets, he ran a wet streak of blood across the top.

"I've never been fond of cowards. Begging gets you nowhere in this life, my friend. Gifted or not."

He crammed the tainted bullet in the man's mouth and flicked what remained of the cigarette into some poor, likely dead, schmuck's drink. Rising to his feet, he started to head over towards a voice that'd called out to Cherie and himself. All while leaving the poor man to writhe on the floor, clutching at his throat as he choked on the projectile.
​

“Hold on you two…priorities.” Albert said making one last stretch attempt and succeeding in scooping the burger up in his hand, though at his size it admittedly looked more like a slider. Just like a slider he stuffed the entire full-sized burger into his mouth and while chewing said “Ith ou Anted…” before cutting himself off to chew, downing an entire pint and letting out a loud bass filled burp.

"Il est complètement dégoûtant"

Cherie didn't mince words as she took one look at Albert.

Andre was a touch more accepting.

"Non, he's right, Cherie."

He raised his right hand and went to snap his fingers.

"Priorities."

The choking man saw what Andre was about to do and tried to gurgle out an appeal.

"[DON'T FEAR THE REAPER]."

*BOOOM*

The man's head exploded like a ripe watermelon and Cherie stepped off to the side to avoid any blood splatter getting on her. Or any bits and pieces of skull or grey matter, eugh.

Andre holstered his revolver and held out a hand towards Albert.

"Andre Archambeau. It's a pleasure to meet someone who's not letting their baser instincts get a hold of them."

Cherie was taken aback by that and instantly countered.

"Andre?! Que dis-tu?! L’homme est un glouton évident!"

"Mmm, I suppose. But he seems to be proud of who he is. That's admirable in its own way, yes, it is." ​

“Ha that one was a solid ten out of ten…Anyway. If you weirdos was looking for a recruit who is worth their weight, you shoulda just bought me a beer. Im worth every last pound.” He statement was followed by him letting out a booming and frankly annoying laugh that spewed out bits of food and a stink of beer and stomach acid. “Frankly i doubt anyone else in this shit-hole will be worth the ashes you would turn them into. But if its all the same to you, can i have dibs on everyone wallets? I may actually want to pay my rent this month.” Again he laughed clearly Getting a kick out of all the chaos going on around him.

"Hahahaha!"

How could anyone hate such an obviously jovial man? Despite not having been blessed with the best of physical appearances, this man didn't seem to let it get to him. He lived his life to the fullest, Irregardless of what society said or tried to do in an effort to keep him down. That was exactly the kind of free spirit that he desired, no, that he craved to join him in his movement. "What the maker has pulled from you in conventional looks, he's blessed you twice in charm! You're quite the remarkable fellow! Hahahah!"

Splaying his hands out to the side and climbing atop a table beside Albert so that he'd be at proper eye level, he grinned behind his mask. "How long have men and women, 'party poopers' we call them like it's a childish game and they haven't been keeping us down, our predecessors, our very ancestors shackled in mundaneness! Forced to eke out a meagre existence lest they be spirited away for threatening to just be who they are, hm? I say that this is precisely the kind of thing that should be fostered! Encouraged even! Until there comes a day we can all live as ourselves, free from the hand of the government or others lurking in the shadows, we SHOULD fight and what is..." Andre grabbed a nearby corpse that'd been burned beyond recognition and grabbed their wallet out of it and handed it over to Albert. "War without it's spoils?"

"Welcome aboard to the....hm..."

Andre realized he'd never really thought of what a proper name for would be for their revolution.



Cherie still wasn't impressed.

"André, tu ne peux pas être sérieux n’est-ce pas ? Cet homme nous aide ? Il n’est guère plus qu’un oaf gourmand..."

While still waiting to see if Albert accepted both the money & his handshake. Andre sighed and tut-tutted.

"Cherie, you shouldn't judge by appearances. This is a great opportunity we have before us! I for one am honored to meet you, sir!"

Just then, another voice chimed in. This time, the figure was still sitting at the counter. The bartender had been killed and the majority of the alcohol gone to waste. But that was completely fine. It seemed as though the well-dressed individual was still sloshing around a glass of a viscous red liquid, wine perhaps.

~~~



"What do you plan to do?"

Andre glanced over but Cherie didn't take her attention off Albert. Just in case he tried to do anything to hurt Andre who, although naive as he may have been, was trying to genuinely have a heart to heart with the man.

"Who might be asking?"

The figure turned around and slowly stood up, her hands at her hips. Her eyes having the same stabbing gaze that you might have garnered from any bird of prey. They looked like they tore right through you and didn't care about the fragments left flailing in the wind. Her outfit which SCREAMED business casual at the top of it's lungs was completely covered by blood to the point that what may have been a perfectly fine white suit before all hell broke loose was now drenched with volumes of blood. Still, the woman didn't seem perturbed at all. If anything, the air that Andre got from her was one who's interest was simply piqued, and... that was all.



"It's nothing personal, of course. It's just that I've seen dozens, ah, perhaps hundreds would be more accurate. Bright eyed, so exuberant and ready to face the day and the stigmas that challenge the common person's perspective of the real unknowns that are walking among them every single day. Every single one of them died either penniless and alone or left to rot away in a prison, their message to the public at large completely diluted and within a mere decade or so? Completely forgotten about. As though they never existed in the first place and in cases like that. I call those lives little more than a waste. A waste of resources bringing them into this world, waste of time to raise them, educate them, teach them about right and wrong, start a family and even bring new life into this world. Only for that new life to be tainted by the failures of the ones who came before them. The ones who failed to enact any kind of proper change. I've seen it stretch as far as the Nile is wide. From when I was just a young girl in Japan before the Americans forced us to open our shores, to embrace the foolish brashness that everyone in this country seems so eager to indulge in."

The woman smiled cutely. Quite a feat for someone drenched in the life fluid of others.

"Can't help but be cautiously optimistic that you intend to stand out from those who came before you."

Andre thought over her words and seemed to take them all at face value. Whoever this woman was she clearly knew her stuff and when & how to pick her words. It felt like speaking to one of his grandparents if he was being honest. Someone who'd already been through the worst and only hung on to see if the newer generations would fix what had been broken. But then it hit him.

"Opening of Japan....That was in the 1850s, no...? You exaggerate surely, you'd have to be..."

The woman chuckled and took another sip of her 'wine.'

"It can't be...You'd have to be at least nearly 130 years old. What kind of Gift allows you to escape the cool hands of Death for so long...?" Andre pondered aloud, starting to sweat a little behind the mask. The woman set down her wine and in a brief flash of movement, she'd moved from halfway across the demolished bar to standing in front of Albert and Andre. Her hands still splayed comfortably at her side to indicate that she didn't intend on posing a threat to them. Yet. Reaching out to gently stroke Andre's chin, she smiled warmly at the two men.




"Perhaps I'm even older than that. ~ If nothing else you take from my words, I'd advise you to think more outside the norm. Beyond even what a Gift allows you to do. I can't lay the blame for my longevity solely on something I was born with. My Gift is as much a part of me as I'm sure it is for you, you or you." She pointed over to Cherie whose eyes were glowing and fading away into the recognizable yellow eyes of all elementals. "If you're really going to do this. If you're really serious about trying to take a stand for your people? Then I'll lend a hand however I can. My name is Erika Fukuhara and you have my word I'll support you through this. But, if you don't trust what I say then..." She grabbed Andre's hand, dumbfounded as he was, and rubbed her index finger affectionately over his thumb.

"Who's to say that some of the blood on me right now isn't yours? Spread across those you've been killing left and right? Claiming their lives like a merchant seeks coin. Go on. Make the choice. I know you're thinking about it."

"...I..."

"Andre...~"

Cherie had seen enough.

The floor began to rumble as boards started to peel up and erupt into flames from sheer proximity to the furious elemental.



"ÉLOIGNE-TOI DE MON AMANT, TOI ANCIENNE PUTE!!!"

A massive fireball which scraped the roof of the building causing some of the support beams to quiver, leading Andre to stand beside Albert, barreled through the bar, incinerating corpses and leaving only ashes behind, and on a direct colision course with Erika who merely smiled at the attack. She'd gotten a feeling that making moves that looked like she was encroaching on the otherwise tightly knit relationship Cherie seemed to share with Andre would provoke some reaction, if not perhaps one so horrifically violent.

*VSSSSSSSSH*

The fireball came to a dead stop as though it'd slammed into something. It was still too bright to even try looking at head on. Squinting behind the eyeholes of his mask, both he and Albert could see Erika simply holding her hand out against the fireball, but if they looked just a bit closer, they'd see that her hand was completely engulfed in some kind of cloudy black smoke. The fireball grew smaller and smaller until eventually it just...disappeared. Leaving behind massive scorch marks in the ground. The darkness around Erika's hand faded into wispy strands of smoke which too dissipated.

"[Total Eclipse of the Heart]."

Cherie didn't know what'd happened to her attack but if this bitch thought she could touch her Andre like that, she had another thing coming.

"Hahaha!"

Both women glanced over to Andre who'd tipped his hat slightly and chuckled.



"I finally get it now. What you were trying to say, Madame Fukuhara. I'll do my utmost to see my plans achieved. With the support I'll get from all of you? We'll either reach the end, at a loss for words, but victorious or at a loss of breath and our aspirations tossed to the wind."

He glanced back at Albert and smiled.

"But we'll never know until we try, no?"

Throwing his hands out dramatically to the side.

"THAT is who we ARE."

"...Qui?"

"[BLUE OYSTER CULT]. That is who we are. What we'll be. This world will either bend to us and we'll see who breaks first. Haha...HAHAHAHAHA!"

Cherie didn't want to trample on her lover's goals but something didn't seem right about this Erika or that peculiar Gift of hers....

~~~

Sometime, later, after the newly banded [BLUE OYSTER CULT] had vacated the ruined bar, leaving only a few survivors behind to tell the tale, the mayor of Santa Clarita was rudely awoken in the middle of the night with some rather alarming news. Rubbing at his eyes, Peter Santiago who'd been swept into office with all the reforms he'd promise to get passed through to improve Santa Clarita's infrastructure and problems with local crime(like the same kind of hooligans that had called the bar their second home away from home) was stirred from bed with his wife-who of course was 25 years or so his junior to the 60 year old mayor. Running a hand through his, well, decently maintained combover, he looked to his secretary who seemed to be absolutely flustered.

"Well?? It's bad enough, Carl that you drag me out of bed when I'm in the middle of a sound sleep and you wake me up to inform me about...what? Some trashy bar burning down? Some wino probably spilled their drink on something they shouldn't have and sparked a flame. You know that's part of why the people elected me, remember? The place probably didn't have accurate safety measures, hell I'd be surprised if that trash site had a wet floor sign."

"Well, um, Mayor Santiago, the damage is looking pretty extensive. Authorities are reporting FIFTY , 70+ INJURED..."

"...Ugh, well, I mean with that many injured, surely one of them's got to be able to help paint a picture of what went down right?"

"I'm not hedging my bets sir, most of them were admitted to the hospital with extreme third degree burns or wounds akin to being struck by an IED."

"IED?? C'mon, Carl speak to me in ENGLISH and not LINGO."

"I...Improvised explosive device sir."

"Oookay, so burns, alcohol blowing up. Explains the shrapnel and burns. It was an accident. Case closed." Peter said dissmisvely as he started to head back off towards his bedroom. "Sir-"

"WHAT, Carl?? I think you've wasted enough of my time."

'I-I-I'm terribly sorry, sir. It's just that one of the eyewitnesses who was still cognizant enough to speak said that one of the suspects shot fire from out of their hands, blue flames." That caught the mayor's attention and he hesitated for a bit. "...Probably just hallucinating, right? I mean, it can't be a..." Seeing that his secretary wasn't outright dismissing the possibility, Peter began rubbing at his forehead. "Okay, okay, d-do we have any pictures of the suspects? Names? Anything?"

"Well, the higher ups in the authorities are doing their best to surpress the information from reaching the public, probably so they can try to frame this more as an act of arson or an accident but an officer came by and dropped this off. Security cameras on buildings near the bar were able to catch some grainy photos. The officer even, heh, gave them um....nicknames..."

'THE MAESTRO'

'THE FAT BASTARD'

'BURNING HEART'

'N/A'

"Huh? Hey, Carl how come there's a n/a for this last one?"

"Well, that's the weirdest part, sir. The eyewitness described at least four suspects involved, they all left at the same time, but the security cameras only caught three of them. It's like the fourth person, whoever they are, didn't show up on film." Worrying that he was dealing with some serious shit above his paygrade, Peter fell into his chair and cupped one hand atop his head. "G-Get on the phone, get Unit#69 m-mobilized. If this really is what we're thinking it is, we gotta....gotta stomp this out before it gets out of hand....Don't let a fucking word about their real identities get out. The less publicity these psychos get the better. Just kill em and put *gulp* put this behind us.."

"Yes sir.."

TheHistorian

​

 

[DoctorDunno]

Mu would be waiting for Crystal out in the hallway as she and Ink stepped out. He was leaning up against the wall, trying to look cool, but couldn't help crack a smile at Ink as he bounced along the corridor. He'd never admit it, but Crystal was a nice bit of normalcy in this place, a grounding anchor. The whole situation was still surreal, of course, but with her and Ink at least it was a kind of surreal he could live with. "Y'know you can always come to me if Tom's getting on your case, right? He's not so tough." Mu said, with more conviction than he felt. They'd scrapped before plenty, and Mu had held his own and then some, but some of the sneakier stuff Tom could do with his gift was worrying, and the guy could hold a grudge like nobody's business. Still, two could play at that game if it came down to it.

As they pulled into the main foyer, Ink would make a break for the exit, eager to start the day with his fam, but as he neared the door he'd suddenly feel as though the room was tilting, shifting, like a funhouse - and all of a sudden the floor was now a wall, and the back wall was the floor. Ink would fall, or perhaps flow, down the floor until he was back beside Mu, at which point the world would suddenly right itself again. "C'monnnnn Ink, aren't you forgetting something?" He'd lean down, putting on the parent act for the lil' blob of goo. "Gotta put on your glam before we go outside, remember?" Mu always felt a little bad at this part - he knew Black Ink hated the Glamour, hated the way he had to keep himself solid and humanoid the whole day. But it was that or, well, the alternative didn't really bear thinking about. He'd wait until Black Ink had complied, then he'd look down the hallway towards Acela's room. He'd heard the commotion even as he was getting dressed - Tom was gonna be in a mood for a while, no doubt, but at least the new girl was ok for now. Acela wouldn't let anything happen to her, that much was certain. Nobody was better suited for putting their foot down against Tom.

He'd heard more commotion - the sound of something heavy being moved, of metal against metal, but looking into that would probably have to wait until after school, they were running late as it was. Two new arrivals in one day? More? He shook his head as he remembered - counting the baby it was three, and counting. It definitely seemed like something was afoot, but whatever it was would have to wait - for now, Mu had his orders, and right now his orders were to go to school. He'd look at Crystal and Black Ink, make sure they were both ready, and step out into daylight.​

 

[MidwayLives]

Mu would be waiting for Crystal out in the hallway as she and Ink stepped out. He was leaning up against the wall, trying to look cool, but couldn't help crack a smile at Ink as he bounced along the corridor. He'd never admit it, but Crystal was a nice bit of normalcy in this place, a grounding anchor. The whole situation was still surreal, of course, but with her and Ink at least it was a kind of surreal he could live with. "Y'know you can always come to me if Tom's getting on your case, right? He's not so tough." Mu said, with more conviction than he felt. They'd scrapped before plenty, and Mu had held his own and then some, but some of the sneakier stuff Tom could do with his gift was worrying, and the guy could hold a grudge like nobody's business. Still, two could play at that game if it came down to it.

Crystal smiled but waved it off.

"Heh, it's no big deal. Just usual BS that we gotta deal with being 'kids' of a cruddy government stooge."

She'd almost wished that she'd bugged G about trying to tap into the apartment's intercom system. Let Tom hear that message spread across all the halls, floors, rooms, etc.

"Besides..." Crystal closed her right hand into a fist and let it glow brightly with a yellow light. "I gotta be able to fend for myself time and time again."

She reached down and ruffled Black Ink's hair and did her best to keep the smile going.

Though, given as she pulled her hand back, her palm had been left covered in a thin greasy black film it was harder than usual. Black Ink was a peach, and it was bullshit that it was far more likely that the government would rather kill him to keep this centuries long silence going than to let him have a chance at a happy life. For the majority of her life, Tom and whatever nurses and doctors that would occasionally come by during her childhood were the closest things that she had to a family but Black Ink only had everyone else who lived in this apartment and given that one of them was a wackjob(John) and another was a total recluse that even Crystal had never met in person(G), it wasn't the most ideal environment for a child to grow up in.
​

As they pulled into the main foyer, Ink would make a break for the exit, eager to start the day with his fam, but as he neared the door he'd suddenly feel as though the room was tilting, shifting, like a funhouse - and all of a sudden the floor was now a wall, and the back wall was the floor. Ink would fall, or perhaps flow, down the floor until he was back beside Mu, at which point the world would suddenly right itself again. "C'monnnnn Ink, aren't you forgetting something?" He'd lean down, putting on the parent act for the lil' blob of goo. "Gotta put on your glam before we go outside, remember?"

"Aww...."

Black Ink frowned as he didn't want to look at his adoptive father/parent figure.

"i hate wearing a glamour.... it's not who I am..."

Gifts were bizarre as is and only the government (and by proxy those in the know) had the foreknowledge to really try and get a scientific grasp on what made Gifts tick. The leading theory was that they had something to do with a person's soul, or 'Box', in keeping with the theme of things. Most research groups were skeptical though on how one could physically define a soul. Tom liked to imply that he only knew about as much as the government higher ups felt he needed to know but it was clear enough to people like G and Acela that he knew more than he let on.

Black Ink, on his own, was an anomaly. His body was covered in a sticky, tar like substance and the glowing yellow eyes hinted him towards being an elemental like Acela and Tom. But then he had a mouth, visible ears and two slits where a nose would be giving him more of a mutation vibe.

Whenever was Tom asked about what exactly Black Ink was?

'He's a thing that shouldn't be. That's what he is. Now quit fucking asking.'

Black Ink didn't mind. He was fine with being an elemental. The idea of being more like Aunt Acela or Grandpa Tom made him happy.

Black Ink pulled the medical mask off from over his ears and tucked it in his backpack. He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nostril slits. "Hmph....hmph..." Raising his left hand he ran it over his oily face and pulled it back. "Did...Did it work?" He asked as he looked over at Crystal who had the briefest look of horror on her face before turning it into a clearly pained smile. "What's wrong, Crystal? Does it look wrong...?" He asked as he pulled down the hood of his sweater. His hair was fine, just a messy uncombed mop of black hair. But as you moved down to the sides of his face, things started to fall apart. His skin was pale and splotchy, with holes pocketing the sides of his face, exposing bone and muscle tissue. For everytime he talked, you could see his tongue rolling around inside his mouth as he formed words, from the left side of him anyway. He also had failed to fully shift his eyes, so you still had yellow pupilless orbs staring at you. The right side of his face looked only marginally better with the side of his mouth closed up but the fusion of skin that made up his cheek looked marred, almost as though someone had driven a knife through it. His hands looked human enough except at the ends of his fingertips where the tips of his natural 'claws' poked through making it look as though he were wearing fingerless gloves.

"Crystal...?"



"Um, nonono, not wrong per sae. Just that you might need some help. That's all. You're getting better at it, Damien. Just gotta keep at it. Like riding a bicycle." She said as she knelt down and began opening up her schoolbag. Black Ink sniffled and both Mu and Crystal could see, clear as day, that he was upset even as Crystal tried to spare his feelings. "No, you're lying to me. I look ugly..*sniffle* just like grandpa Tom says, i'm ugly and that's why my real parents didn't want meeeeee..." Tears ran down from his eyes, another oddity amongst elementals, as he wiped at his face. "i-i'm not Damien either. i'm black ink, black ink! *sob* i hate wearing a glamour, i hate it i hate it. i just wanna be me *sob*."

"Ink, Ink, honey, it's ok. It's ok..."

"i-i-i-" Crystal could see that he was starting to hyperventilate and reaching into Black Ink's backpack, he pulled out the picture that Black Ink always kept on him. The one of him being handed off as a baby to Mu and both of them staring at the other. "i never even learned to ride a bike....*sob*" He covered his eyes with his hands and wept openly as Crystal frowned. It didn't just come close, it broke her heart to see such a precious child so distraught over something that he just couldn't control. Whatever was 'wrong' with Black Ink, whatever it was that made him stand out from other elementals, Tom knew, and he was a prick for not at least telling the rest of them what it was. Every day before school, they had Black Ink at least practice putting on a glamour and for better or for worse, this attempt at least didn't look entirely out of someone's horrific nightmares. Only just a little.

"Ink, it's ok, it's ok. Your dad and I are here for you. Auntie Crystal, remember?"



Black Ink whimpered and looked past his hands at Crystal who smiled at him and held out the picture.

"I didn't know your real parents but if they really gave you up to Tom for something like that. Then they didn't deserve you. I'll always love you and your dad's loved you since the moment you guys met. I wish you could just walk around as you are but it's just not safe, Ink. People will see you, who don't know you like your dad and I do, they'll get mad, they'll talk, they might even try to do things to hurt you. I know you don't like it. I don't like it either. But you have to. Just...Just do it for your dad, okay? He loves you." She said glancing back at Mu.

Black Ink held the picture, looked at it, sniffled, tucked it away in his pocket and then bolted past Crystal to hug Mu. "Daddyyyyyy!! Waaaaaaahhhhhh!!!! aghhhhh*cough cough* waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!"

Crystal stood up and frowned as she continued fishing through her schoolbag. "Ink? I got something for you." Pulling out a box of bandages and thick sunglasses, she coaxed the boy away from his father and over to her again. "Some of these..." She said putting the band-aids over the holes on his face and then slipped the sunglasses over his ears. "It's not perfect but if anybody gives you any guff at school, you just tell them you've got photophobia."

'does....*snifle* does that mean I don't like taking pictures...?'

"well, kinda I guess? It's more about not liking bright lights. If the teachers or anyone ask for proof, just tell them to call Tom. I'm sure he'll be able to get some kind of medical BS to give them. Just make sure you keep them on at all times, ok?"

"OK..."

"Okay, do you feel better now?"

"a little..."

"....Want Dean to stop at Burger King?"

"yes...!"

Black Ink turned and moved to head out the door with Crystal yelling after him. "Ink!!! Pull up your hood!!!!"

"okay!!! sorry!!!"

Stepping out onto the porch, Crystal looked at her watch and then back at the excitable child she'd grown a fondness for. "He's a real handful. You've got a little rugrat on your hands, that's for sure." Running a hand through her hair, she sighed. "I just wish I could do more to help. I gotta imagine it's tough going from here, there, to bam, here's a baby all of a sudden." Mu had practically been responsible for raising Black Ink from infancy with only the support from Crystal and Acela mostly. Tom couldn't care less so long as Ink stayed away from him, Crystal didn't want John being a bad influence on Ink, and G...

Well, everyone mostly stayed away from G.

"Wonder what the hell is keeping Dean."

~~~



A couple blocks down from where Ink, Mu, and Crystal all awaited their usual ride/friend to drop Ink off/the rest of them at school, a jeep with two individuals decked out in masks and military fatigues. Loaded in the back of the jeep was a strange looking metal drum with caution tape wrapped across the sides and top of it. Parking the jeep at the curb, the driver stepped out and adjusted their gas mask.



"Ugh, I hate having to wear these fucking masks. I can barely see shit past the filter." The passenger threw up their hands in a 'what can ya do?' type manner. "What do you expect? Ever since the mayor of Santa Clarita went squealing to the governor, we've been having to pull extra duty and I don't know about you? But from what they told us about this fella's Gift, I don't even want to give it the slightest chance of pulling some freaky deaky shit on us."

"Ugh, I guess, but still why the fuck do we gotta move it through this crummy ass neighborhood? Nothing but gangbangers and Gifted who either isn't worth a damn or are too fucked up for us to even consider taking in without members from a U.F.U.P unit."

The steel drum, holding whatever 'it' was didn't budge or show any signs of life.

"Hey man, like I said, blame Santiago. He claims that shithole bar getting burned down was some kind of Gifted attack. So he went whining to the governor, governor thinks that this 'Maestro' fucko might make more attacks so better just move this stuff. Better safe than sorry and all that. They also apparently gave something over to UNIT#69 over in Santa Clarita. But we get lumped carrying stinky around town."

"Smh, gifted my ass, I've drank at that bar before. Fuckin scuz pit. Some dumbfuck probably burned the place down by accident."

The two soldiers, their uniforms likely designating them as members of the California National Guard, had a laugh between them. Unbeknownst to them, four armed men wearing buttoned up shirts and dark cloaks (think DND warlock or mage with black cloak + hood) were sweating up enough liquid to fill a whole canteen as they heard the guardsmen talking amongst themselves. They'd only have one shot at this. To make their move, they all had to be on the ball. The apparent leader of the group, greasy dark brown hair and thin spectacles, acne pocketing his cheeks, looked back at his companions. "On the count of three, we move. Got it?"

'got it.' 'clear.' 'o-okay..'

"One..."

The leader lowered a finger.

"Two..."

Then another one.

"THREE!"

The men moved from around the corner and aimed their firearms at the guardsmen who sputtered and stumbled back. "H-Holy shit!" "Whoa! Easy, fellas! Easy!!" The guardsmen on the left exclaimed as he held his hands up. "W-What's going on, huh??" "Jesus christ, I didn't even see them get the jump on us..."

"S-Step away from the jeep and we'll be taking the drum. The government has done that poor soul enough harm. Keeping someone locked in some kind of barrel? H-Have you no shame?" The leader stated, though given the stammering here and there, it was clear that this was probably the first or second time he'd aimed a firearm at another living person. "I'm...I'm Darkstar and behind me are my legion of the n-night... Sound off, men!"

"I-I'm Crimsonwing...." "T...The Herald..." "Sp-Spartacus..."

"We're members of the P.G.A, liberating Gifted from the cruel hands of the government i-is what we do..." Darkstar stated, and the two guardsmen looked back at eachother, muttering something along the lines of 'is...is he fucking serious?' 'darkstar...?' The driver guardsmen, still holding his hands up, took a step or two closer to Darkstar. "Okay, okay. Easy there, friend. Don't wanna do something you'll regret for the rest of your life. What exactly does the P.G.A stand for...?"

"Don't move! D-D-Don't come any closer...It's supposed to spell out Pro-Gifted-Alliance. We're normals that support the plight of the abused against government tyranny. The same tyranny that Reagan no doubts plan to continue!" The driver was glad his mask was on so 'Darkstar' couldn't see his reaction. The guy was totally fucking cracked. On top of that, he was risking making a scene. If the drum was ruptured and 'it' got out, they'd have a serious fucking problem on their hands. The governor had hoped that by sending a 'light' transport, it'd help defer attention which was smart.

Just sucked when you were being held up by psychos who didn't have a clue.

"Look, kid-"

"It's Darkstar! I'm NOT a kid! I'm a wielder of dark forces and if you take one step closer, I swear..."

"Craig, for christ's sake..." The passenger guardsmen whisper shouted.

"Darkstar, you...You really don't wanna let loose what's in that drum. It's grade-bad news. I mean 'could end up with the entire city getting leveled' if it's not kept under tight lock and key. Please, just lower your guns and lets talk about this." Craig pleaded but Darkstar didn't seem convinced. "Yeah? That's just what...I'd expect you types to say. Government minions."

"we work for the STATE of California, not the feds!" The passenger protested only for Craig to gesture for him to shush. "Please Darkstar. From one man to another, you have to cut this out. People could get hurt. I know the status quo sucks. I get that. But you wouldn't be doing the Gifted community any favors by freeing what's locked up in there. Believe me."

"Are you Gifted?"

"W-What...?"

"I said. Are you Gifted?"

"...no. I'm not."

"Then how could you POSSIBLY understand WHAT IT'S LIKE FOR THEM TO LIVE IN TERROR?!"

"Darkstar please-"

*BANG*

The shotgun tore through David's jacket and sent him flying back, landing on the concrete, his head twitching from side to side as his body immediately went into convulsions. "HOLY SHIT, CRAIG!!" The passenger drew his sidepiece and opened fire, nailing Spartacus right in the forehead. The kid dropped like a sack of bricks as the passenger grabbed Craig by the back of his collar and dragged him off to the front of the jeep as he tried to lay down some suppressing fire. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He had to get to the radio inside the jeep and warn his unit that his partner had been killed and PROJECT: ROT was risking being taken from governmental custody. Leaning over occasionally to fire at Darkstar and the other two, the passenger looked down at Craig's corpse and slammed his fist into the front of the jeep. An innocent man and a great comrade just gunned down like a stray dog.

Up top in the back of the jeep, the drum began to stir. The vague sound of metal being dented could have been heard by both parties as the passenger just went for it and tried to grab the walkie in the jeep. He knew what would likely happen since he wasn't watching his back and the only one who could was dead but he had to warn them! He

*BANG BANG BANG*

"AGH!!"

He gripped onto the steering wheel as he reached for the walkie. Tapping on the receiver end, he coughed up blood from under his mask. "This is Guardsmen Sanchez. PROJECT: ROT has been compromised. I repeat PROJECT: ROT HAS BEEN-"

*BANG BANG*

Two more shots, this time from handguns, tore through Sanchez's back and out his front, staining the interior of the vehicle a bright spray of red. Sanchez's grip on the walkie loosened as he fell back onto the ground.

'Guardsmen Sanchez? Guardsmen Sanchez, you cut in and out. Was PROJECT: ROT damaged? Guardsmen Sanchez, it is urgent that you reply. Please come in. Please-" Darkstar ripped the walkie out, yanking the cord out of the dashboard and flinging it to the ground. "Crimsonwing, Herald. Help me get the drum off the back of the jeep. Looking at the dead guardsmen and the mortally wounded one, it wasn't until Darkstar barked at them a second time that the two teenagers moved into high gear, undoing the steel ropes/hooks that'd been used to strap 'ROT' down to the back of the jeep. "Ugh, this thing reeks..." "It's heavy too..."

Darkstar looked down at Sanchez who was coughing and gagging, no doubt on his own blood.

"...Come on. Let's get out of here."

"What about David-"

"Leave him. He gave his life for the cause."

Carting 'ROT' off the back of the jeep, it took both men carrying one side of it as they tried to skedaddle away from the scene as quickly as possible.

Sanchez waited until he was sure they were out of eyesight. He didn't have the energy anymore to try calling for help. It was too late for him anyhow. He'd bet that those last two shots likely tore through something important on their way out. But he couldn't just die here without warning somebody. He'd heard that a U.F.U.P unit was based in LA like every other city. Clutching a hand to his bloodsoaked uniform, he dragged his index finger across the side of the jeep, as though he were writing something.

By the time civilians had come out to investigate what was behind all the gunfire, they'd find Craig's body slumped out near the front of the jeep and Sanchez's corpse laying prone on the sidewalk. As most panicked, others desperately called 911, some noted the message that'd been left written on the jeep.

[THE DEAD WALK]

~~~



Watching Sanchez use up the last of his energy from a nearby alleyway, a figure stepped out of what appeared to be nothing but shadows. Adjusting his tie and flaking off ashes from his cigar, the figure had a NY U.F.U.P pin attached to the lapel of his jacket. It begged the obvious question of what a Gifted fed from outside of the state was doing poking around his nose in California's business.

But it seemed like the state and LA were going to have bigger problems in the short term.



"What a mess...."

Only hoped that California could handle whatever came out of this.

Dean had heard the gunshots and merely shook his head. "Christ, what is this city coming to when someone can't even just drive by to do their friends a solid without hearing ratatata..." A red light there, a turn here or two, and Black Ink hopped up in the air, while still maintaing hold on his sunglasses as Dean's car came into view and stopped outside near the sidewalk of the apartment. Holding up a hand and smiling aplogetically, Dean smiled at the two and Black Ink, whom he only knew as Damien, Mu's quirky little kid.

"Heeeeey! Sorry I was a bit late! Some assholes were firing off their guns a couple blocks from here."

"DEAAAAN!" Black Ink screeched as he ran towards Dean's car and gripped onto the right-hand side passenger door handle. "Whoa, whoa! I'm happy to see you too squirt but watch the hands! I just got her washed!" "oh, sorry..." "Egh, don't worry about it, little man. Just hop in, alright? I got the carseat already for you in the back. Your dad can click you in." Black Ink grumbled as he climbed in and planted his rear in the car seat that Dean had gone out of his way to buy specifically so he could help Mu out by driving Black Ink around.

"i HATE sitting in the car seat. I'm not a baby...."

"Yeah, I know, I know. But I'm not looking to get pulled over, ya feel me, Damien?" Dean squinted his eyes as he looked at Black Ink through his mirror. "...What the-Nice shades, my dude. What's the occasion?"

"I've got photophobia!"



"oh. Uh, cool...?"

DoctorDunno ​

 

[rakshasa]

Holding the baby under her arm, Acela brushed off some of her unmentionables onto the floor and pulled back the covers to lay Karen underneath them. Even going as far as to try and fluff a pillow for her. It was the least she could do after she'd been passed around like a hot potato by everyone else here it seemed like.

Karen had entered a hypnagogic state as cool water rushed to embrace her after she had collapsed, but fighting to regain consciousness, she didn't manage to come to until she felt soft fabric being pulled past her exposed arms. She quickly pulled herself up, wasting no time trying to fight back the feeling of exhaustion in her newly awakened state. For the second time in nearly an hour, she found herself wrestling to be free from cheap, foreign bedding in a dusty, foreign wood room. The eyes that had struggled to keep themselves open moments ago shot open as she took in new surroundings, immediately recognizing the small, wriggling blur nestled in the arms of the stranger before her and the sensation of empty arms it triggered. Before she could look into the eyes of the woman before her, she promptly liberated Chandler from her grasp, holding him still even as her hands shook madly. Tears bit at her throat. She was so confused. She only wanted to see the familiar setting of her sister's bedroom, but no matter how many times she found herself waking with a start, she couldn't escape the nightmare she found herself in.

At least the closest voice in her head was less accusatory or threatening than the ones before.

It was a realization that should have brought her comfort, but instead, it delivered the final blow holding back the dam behind her eyes. Before the haze of sleep could be blinked away, her vision was clouded with tears that fell in a stream, flooding her face with saltwater. Sapped of strength, all she could do was scoot back on the mattress until her back hit the wall behind her.

"Wh... why?? Are you-" she stifled back a sob as best she could, coming out as a choked hiccup. "Doing this???"
Even in her lowest moments, never in her life had she felt so powerless. She had tried running, and now like a deer in the headlights, she felt as if death (alternatively, a life of forced labor) stared her straight in the face.
Holding her nephew tighter, her fear took on an accusatory tone.
"I-I'll call the police!! And tell them you kidnapped me!!! You'll see! They'll- They won't-"

MidwayLives ​

 

[MidwayLives]

"Wh... why?? Are you-" she stifled back a sob as best she could, coming out as a choked hiccup. "Doing this???"
Even in her lowest moments, never in her life had she felt so powerless. She had tried running, and now like a deer in the headlights, she felt as if death (alternatively, a life of forced labor) stared her straight in the face.
Holding her nephew tighter, her fear took on an accusatory tone.
"I-I'll call the police!! And tell them you kidnapped me!!! You'll see! They'll- They won't-"

Acela couldn't muster up the words. None to comfort her, none to reassure her.

Because it felt like looking into a mirror.

The fear.

The fury.

It was all too real.

Too painful.

~~~

American-Occupied Enclave of Berlin, 1946.

The war to end all wars had concluded, well over a year ago. Germany and its allies had been thoroughly crushed and razed to the ground. No more talk of Gifted this or Gifted that. The population in all sections of the country that'd been split up between France, the United Kingdom, the US, and USSR would experience a process known as 'The Return Process.' What did you do with things you didn't want? You got rid of them. The culture and propaganda that'd been devised as a result of the Nazi regime outright declaring Gifted superiority, breaking a code of silence and no acknowledgment that stretched as far back as when knights still rode upon horseback and the Americas had yet to be discovered by Europeans.

It'd only been broken prior in 1914 by the German Empire who'd declared they'd send Gifted troops to support their ally in Austria-Hungary who'd been struggling to crush Serbia.

Both times, thousands suffered, hundreds had their entire lives upturned.

The world had enough.

But with the UK and France greatly weakened by both World Wars, it'd left a power gap that the US and USSR were both willing to step in and exploit. Any Gifted in any territory occupied by the victorious powers were to be documented and given a choice.

-They could either join up with the occupying country's armed forces through monetary influencing
-Or they could be taken by force and everyone who'd known of them would be brutally killed/disappeared.

France, the UK, and the US preferred to only save the latter option for Gifted who were too stubborn to give in/those too young to make the decision for themselves and yet had parents/guardian who wouldn't cooperate with the government's demands. The Soviets held no such compulsions and any German, Polish, Hungarian, Czech, Gifted and so on were to act in service of the USSR's armed forces under penalty of death if they so much as said 'No.' once to a Red Army officer.

One lowly American soldier by the name of Elliot Mayfield, who'd seen his fair share of action throughout Belgium and Western Germany, had managed to make something of a family for himself while serving overseas. A young lady and her daughter who couldn't have been much older than 7. Her husband had helped them flee Spain during the Civil War that'd ultimately ended with Franco (the Anti-Gifted side) coming out on top of the pro-gifted Republicans. They'd moved to France with only what they'd been able to bring with them on such short notice. As the German war machine stormed through France proper, her husband moved to join the resistance, wanting to do whatever he could to help defend his new home against the invading force. As both he and his wife were fire elementals, they were seen as something of a hot commodity as far as prisoners went amongst the Third Reich. However, when a captured resistance member squealed on his comrades to the local German and Vichy French authorities, Rodrigo Cortez knew full well that if he was captured, the Germans would have stopped at nothing to find out if his child would possibly grow up to be as powerful as him, maybe even more so! So when the Gestapo came looking for him, he lied to them.

<"I am the only Gifted in this household. Both my beloved wife, Carmen, and my daughter Acela are so normal wie möglich.">

"I see. So, you, a Gifted willingly consummated with a lesser being? Do you not feel any shame?"

<"What is there to feel shame for? I loved my family with all my heart. I always will.">

The arresting officers scoffed in disgust. Ironically enough, neither of them was Gifted and very well could have been easily killed if Rodrigo had gone for a violent approach instead. Looking over his shoulder as the officers doused him with water to activate his condition and make him vulnerable to conventional weaponry, he took one last look at his family who wept. They'd been able to put their glamours on and kept them stable even as both knew this would be the last time, they'd ever see Rodrigo again.

He smiled with his eyes in only the way an elemental could.

He kept his last message to his family a private one. That only they could hear.

<"Acela, Carmen. Siempre estarás en mi corazón. Te amo.">

"Papa!" Acela sobbed as she tried to reach out towards her father. "Acela, no! Nonono..." Carmen was just as much of a fire elemental as her husband. But now that he'd been found out, someone had to stay behind, someone had to be there for Acela. The officers weren't sure what'd been said but one of the two had seen enough of this family's heartbreak. It was making him sick. Giving Rodrigo a hard shove towards the door, the officer practically screamed at him in German. "Genug! Bewegen Sie sich, Sie Dreck! Zucht mit Normalen, was für ein Elend du bist!" The other officer stared at Carmen and Acela, his hands folded across his chest.

"Hey, Wilhelm! Was sollen wir mit Frau und kind machen?"

"Nun, sie sollten auch gehen, aber ich nehme an, wir können das allein als Lektion dienen lassen.Außerdem ist die Ältere ziemlich hübsch, nicht wahr?"

The two men chuckled amongst themselves.

"Heh, ich denke schon. Der Jüngere hat helle Augen. So voller Feuer dieser. Auf Wiedersehen für jetzt, Kleines.~" The one officer mocked as he reached over and firmly gripped Acela's chin before pushing her back as he moved to catch up with his partner. Once they were gone, Acela looked back up at her mother, her glamour fading just a bit to let her yellow eyes shine through. "What will happen to Papa now, mama? Will...Will we...?"

Carmen bit her lip. She didn't have the best understanding of German but she'd gotten the gist of what those vile men had been saying about her and her daughter. Pigs, the whole lot of them. Wrapping her arms around Acela and pulling her in close, she cried. "Lo siento mucho, pequeño. Estoy tan, tan arrepentido".

As the two cried together, Rodrigo Cortez was given a quick trial.

Convicted for numerous crimes against the French state and the murder of collaborators, he was sentenced to death.

He was killed by firing squad the very next day.

Although they greatly mourned Rodrigo's loss, thankfully, the Gestapo officers never did return to darken the door of the Cortez family. They'd likely found new targets to torment or as the Western Allies began pushing back the once thought of as invincible 'Beschenkte Einheiten', they may have scattered like cockroaches, desperate to avoid facing the consequences of their actions. Struggling to support Acela by herself, Carmen, reluctantly, attempted to socialize with as many German troops as she could. Some paid her for the time spent, others threatened her. It wasn't glamorous and every time she always wished it was with her Rodrigo instead, but it helped put enough food on the table for the two of them. As the Germans were driven out of France, Acela and Carmen took what they could and fled their home, trying to catch up with the approaching American troops. When Private. Mayfield found Acela and her mother hiding out in the apartment which had been utterly carved out by the bombing raids, it was like a dream come true.

'Let us go to America. We'll finally be free there.' Is what Carmen often told her daughter when days looked their bleakest/Carmen was physically too tired to work. Mayfield, a farm boy back home before he'd been drafted, sympathized with their plight despite not being Gifted himself. After both Germany and Japan had surrendered, Mayfield and Carmen were married. He'd agreed to love Acela as though she were his own and although he'd never replace her father, Acela couldn't help but be charmed by the American's positive attitude and general good nature.

But​

Elliot had forgotten to disclose that his new spouse and stepchild were Gifted, to the upper brass....

They'd only been together for two years at most and had returned to Kansas City, where Elliot had grown up and lived with his own family. His parents, although not open about it to avoid upsetting their son, didn't approve of him going out and marrying a 'European woman', instead believing that Elliot would have been better off marrying a downhome girl from the States. Still, they cherished Acela and often lavished her with gifts much to Elliot's amusement and Carmen's gratefulness.

Sure, it'd been quick and happened rather fast, but Elliot saw it as imperative to try and give these two the best life that he could. He'd take Acela with him when he rode the farm's tractor, Carmen walked her through the sunflower fields, and her new grandparents took her shopping.

Everything, for once, seemed to be going just as her mother had said it would.

They were finally free.

...Until one day while out with a couple of friends from his former unit, Elliot had one too many drinks and let it slip that his wife was a fire elemental. 'She could light up this whole place like...that! Just a snap of the fingers!' While his pals cheered him on and congratulated him, there was someone in the bar, nobody that any of them knew. He was just a civilian who'd never seen war like Elliot had. But from what news did leak out to the American public, about the 'crazed Germans' and their 'ludicrous claims of powers beyond what any normal man or woman could achieve', it terrified the man. Slinking off from the bar, he gave his anecdotes on Elliot's drunken ramblings to the local authorities. They passed it higher up the chain until eventually it reached Elliot's old commanding officer. General Westlake. Sr.

The next day, there was a knock at the door. Carmen answered it believing that it was perhaps one of their neighbors asking to see if Carmen and Elliot would be interested in coming over for dinner. Instead, when she opened it she was greeted with men in G.I. uniforms with M-1 Garands aimed at her and a tall, imposing man, with a grey overcoat and collar masking practically everything but tufts of jet-black hair and his dull purple eyes. Standing in the center admist the gathered men was a man she'd recognized from some of Elliot's pictures. He was a decently high figure in the US military. But what could he have been doing here?!

"Miss Mayfield, I presume? Or do you prefer Miss Cortez?"

"I...."

"I'm General Anthony Westlake, Sr. I trust you've likely heard of me from your husband. Fine young man he was, it's just a shame that he seems to have put his own interests first before those of his country. You see, Miss Cortez, your husband apparently said some rather colorful things while out at the local bar, you see. Something about having a 'wife made of fire.'."

"I...I...well, you know how men can be when they drink and please, I'd prefer you call me Miss Mayfield-"

"We did research on you. You were originally from Valencia, Spain, no? Your last husband served with the French Resistance. Details on him end there but I imagine he wasn't long for this world given your current situation. Or did you think that by marrying one of my men that you could just...Come here and live as though everything was normal? When you and I both know you're a little off, aren't you?"

Having woken up from all the nearby noise, Elliot rubbed at his head and shambled out of bed. "Carmen! Carmen, if you're gonna talk to Miss. Libowitz, can ya pretty please do it....out...Sir." Elliot froze as he came face to face with a man, he'd hoped that he'd never see at his front porch. Westlake was all smiles. "Ah, Elliot. I'd heard through the grapevine of your little fun last night. Tell me, how long did you think you'd keep crucial information like this from your own government?"

Stepping in front of Carmen and gripping a hand on the door, Elliot's chest rose and lowered. Carmen placed a hand on her husband's shoulder as she could tell how nervous all this was making him. "S-Sir, with all due respect. If you're not here to make friendly conversation, my wife and I would like to return to bed."

Carmen could have sworn she saw a flicker of purple flames around the overcoated man's eyes.

"As much as I'd love to let sleeping dogs lie, I'm afraid that a man in my position simply can't do that, Elliot. You brought an undocumented Gifted here and let them live among you, your family, your community. Unsupervised and uncontrolled. I've been tasked with correcting this before it becomes any more of an embarrassment for the army." Elliot didn't make any sudden moves, the soldiers armed with guns hadn't lowered them at all during the conversation. "What?! What do you mean correct it?! Carmen and Acela have lived here for years! They're not dogs! They don't need to be leashed!"

Westlake narrowed his eyes.

"How many dogs do you know that can control fire, Mr Mayfield?"

"I don't know what you're planning on doing, but I won't let you hurt my family."

Westlake shook his head. "Nobody has to be hurt. Not unless this becomes an issue. Your wife, talented in the use of her Gift as she may be, would likely require more resources to spent training her than what's necessary. But your daughter is, what, 9 years old now? She'll do just fine serving just as her step father did." Westlake said as he glanced back. "Jason. Retrieve the child." The tall man nodded and moved forward only for Elliot to get in his way.

"The only way you're stepping one foot into this house is over my dead body."

"..."

The man raised his hand and held his palm out towards Elliot.

"Stand down, Elliot. Final warning." Westlake called out but Elliot stood firm.

He'd gotten Carmen and Acela the life they'd hoped for. He wasn't going to-

"[BURN]."

Purple flames erupted from Jason's palm, covering Elliot, causing him to flail around in a panic. Screaming in agony as Carmen tried in vain to put him out only to recoil. The flames that Jason manifested were too hot too be touched, even by her! Grabbing onto the wall and setting it ablaze as he did, Elliot called out to Carmen, his voice weak among the flames that ravaged him. "CARMEN....GET....GET ACELA AND GO....DON'T STOP RUNNING....JUST GO!" Elliot ran forward and wrapped both arms around Jason's waist as Carmen squeezed past the uniformed man to sprint down towards Acela's bedroom. Westlake looked absolutely furious. "Damn that woman, after her! Do NOT let her escape out into the open with the child!"

As the soldiers followed after Carmen, Jason continued to trudge along even as Elliot hung onto him.

"YOU'RE....YOU'RE LIKE HER....SO WHY...? WHY HURT HER....?"

Jason's reply was short.

"Because I tried fighting."

He flared his energy and the sheer intensity of the heat his body gave off forced Elliot back, knocking him to the ground as he continued to writhe in absolutely horrific pain. "It didn't work." So down the hall he continued, his footsteps heavy and clodding as he walked.

~~~



Acela didn't reach out towards Karen or the baby.

The flames she used to make up her hair writhed softly and rhythmically.

<"You can call them. I'll let you use my phone.">

Acela's eyes squinted.

<"But it won't matter. The police, the FBI, hell, even the CIA. It's all connected. As long as you're a Gifted that the government is aware of? You're theirs now. I'm....I'm sorry.">

Acela moved to take a seat across from the bed she'd set Karen up in. Then she departed some words she'd picked up as a child.

<"There's no home for you to return to. Never again.">

rakshasa ​

 

[DoctorDunno]

The first time Mu had gotten Ink strapped into the seat had been a nightmare, straps and buckles and little arms everywhere, but he'd gotten pretty good at getting the little terror all strapped in nice and snug. Hard as it was to believe, Ink was actually getting a little better about his little glamour tantrums, and that in and of itself made Mu's heart ache. Poor kid didn't deserve any of this. Kids should be free to be kids. Still, it didn't stop him from breathing a sigh of relief as he hopped in the passenger's seat next to Dean. "Another day in the madhouse?" He asks Dean, a statement as much as a question. As he set off, there was a noise of protest from Ink. "Oh yeah, and we promised Damien we'd stop at Burger King on the way. I know we're late, but first period bites anyway."

Miles and miles of Santa Clarita rolled on in front of them, the open highway always beckoning. An escape, always tauntingly out of reach. What would it be like if they just kept driving and never looked back? How long would it take for them to get tracked down and brought back? Who would find them first, the government, or Dean's family? Would they get a few nights of blissful freedom, or would they be dragged back before the sun had even set? Would they even make it to the edge of town? Mu rolled the windows down and looked up, into the blue-black sky. Space. He'd been a couple times, though it'd never see the light of day in a history book. Gravity manipulation was handy when the government wanted a few soviet satellites de-orbited prematurely. Even up there he wasn't free - a radio transponder controlled actuator hooked into his suit's oxygen supply had been a leash to keep him tied to the ground. If he wanted to, Mu knew, he could just fly out the window right now, sail out into the wind, go wherever he wanted. But where would he go? They had already won. The whole world, the US, the USSR, everywhere, was like this. Full of people like the ones holding his leash. There was no freedom to be found in this world.

----
Miles away, in a basement that smelled faintly of mothballs, Major Tom was trying his best to look cool and failing. It was hard to look cool as a gangly teen, as the would-be P.G.A. had learned the hard way not a few minutes earlier. Still, he was pulling it off better than they were right now, and that's what mattered. He paced over to a particularly green-looking kid with concern in his eyes. "Yo, do you need a glass of water or somethin'? You look like you're about to hurl. The hell happened out there?" Major Tom stood six foot two, topped with a messy blonde mullet, and his gift, [BLACKSTAR] was probably the only reason these goobers had made it out in (mostly) one piece. Tom could make portals, and more than that, make himself a portal, and it was this exact ability that Darkheart was about to give him the entire contents of his wallet for one use of. It wasn't a bad plan, all things told - stop the van, grab the barrel, use Tom's portal to get out before anyone was the wiser. But clearly, it hadn't worked out that way. Now Tom was standing in a basement with a bunch of panicked teens with powers.

The worst part was that he was still grounded, too.​

 

[MidwayLives]

"Yeah, well, it was great to catch up, Yin. Glad to have ya onboard."

As both Tom and the Rookie left to give Yin space to arrange his room as he pleased, Jeremy smiled.

"Eh? What the hell are you smiley about, rookie?"

"W-Well, it's just nice to know you've got a friend is all."

"Heh, yeah. He's a friend alright. But, hey, you wanna know something Rookie?" Tom asked with a smirk slowly blooming from one side of his face and stretching to the other. "What?" Jeremy asked, innocently enough. Only for Tom to grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him close enough that Jeremy could smell the booze coming off Tom's breath. "Friends ain't worth any more than dogshit stuck to the bottom of your shoes in this life. Yin was a bad seed and he kept on being one until finally he gave up and cracked. Blossomed into a beautiful fuckin rose. But it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart, oh no sir. He knows who butters his bread and knowing that is important to living a healthy life when you're a Gifted. A fucking normal like you wouldn't understand one goddamn iota of that. So, next time you wanna open your mouth and spread that naive bullshit like some kind of creamy Nutella across your words, think twice before you do."

"I...I..."

" 'I-I-I' don't give a shit. Don't start acting buddy buddy with me, kid. You wanna keep making yourself useful? Take that bag." Grabbing the bag of still sopping wet sheets that Tom placed over his couch to keep it from getting soaked and moldy from when he forgot to passively control his Gift, he shoved it against Jeremy's chest. "Go back to my room and set em out over my couch. After that, eh, I'll find something else for you to do. Now, go on, piss off." Tom waved Jeremy off and started to walk past him. Jeremy cradled the bag, sniffled, bit at his bottom lip before furrowing his brows.

"No."

"...Excuse me?"

Tom stopped in his stride and slowly turned to look over his shoulder at Jeremy. The youth, clutching at the bag like it was a life preserver and he were stranded in the middle of the ocean, swallowed and faced Tom. "I said no. I don't know why you have to talk to me like that. Like...I'm lesser than you or something. It isn't right..."

Tom flared his nostrils and stomped back up to Jeremy, looking down at him over the bridge of his nose. "Not right? Not fair? So fuckin what, huh?" Tom gave Jeremy a rough shove. "Who said that anything about what we do is fair or right? I don't have the slightest clue if there's any kind of man upstairs in the sky that's watching out over all of us, Rookie. Sure, sure, you can go ahead and go to any church and any priest who's not burnin the midnight oils will tell you that there's a reason for everything. They're talking out their dicks. They don't know for sure and neither do I. But whether there's a man upstairs or not, it doesn't matter because the only authority that matters to me is the government. When they ask me to do something, I'll damn well do everything in my power to get it done. Sure, I can bitch and moan, it's my right. But there's no way in hell I can refuse."

He jabbed Jeremy's chest again.

"If they're in charge of me, then I'm in charge of this unit, which means I'm in charge of you. Which means I can talk to you any fucking way I want. Besides, what the fuck are you gonna do about it?" As Tom started to turn away again, he chuckled. "I'll let this go and file it under 'learning pains' but I won't be so nice a second time, Rookie."

Jeremy couldn't take it anymore. He'd always been raised to try and turn the other cheek. To only fight to defend what was right. So, what did it say when he continued to let Tom walk all over him? 'Let someone take advantage of you once? They'll do it for the rest of time.' Something his ma always used to tell him and Jeremy brushed it off time and time again. When would he ever have to worry about bullies?

So far, Tom was the only one.

Dropping the bag of laundry, Jeremy stalked after Tom, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Jeremy." Tom said, his eyes briefly flashing yellow as he craned his head back and

*WHAM*

Jeremy was sure his punch had connected and to most casual onlookers it had. He'd cracked Tom nice and good in the side of the face. Tom hadn't stepped back or vocally reacted to the strike. Jeremy couldn't quite find the proper words to describe how Tom's skin felt. Kind of wet to the touch? Not as though he'd been sweating up a storm getting so angry but the kind of wet, you'd see from a cold glass of ice water or soda sitting on a kitchen countertop. Condensation, that's what they'd called it in biology class. Pulling his hand back, Jeremy didn't let up as he rained blow after blow on Tom's chest and stomach. Tom just looked on impassively, his eyes half-lidded as though Jeremy were putting him to sleep with his actions than inflicting any kind of actual harm or pain upon him with his strikes. Jeremy didn't care one bit. He didn't need to hear Tom yell or see him react. Just going through the motions and throwing his fists back and forth was enough of a catharsis for him.

"Alright."

Tom grabbed Jeremy's right hand at the wrist and pulled it off to the side.

Tom usually didn't care too much about whether he looked sloppy or not in his glamour. Usually only bothered to dress professionally, was likely expected of a man employed by the government to lead a team full of Gifted individuals, many of whom like John and Karen hadn't been keen on everything going on around them. As Mu and Krystal could attest to, there'd have been many times where Tom had conducted business with other U.F.U.P leaders from other towns in California while sitting on the toilet or on the couch in his underwear. With a baker's dozen of empty bottles of alcohol ranging from dull water beer to some of the best rumchata you could get your hands on. Not that it mattered. All of it was distilled through him regardless. Jeremy had just taken him as a oafish slob but as he looked up at Tom and saw the hair that'd been knocked out of place by Jeremy's first punch, he felt like a gazelle on the African plains, pacing in an agitated state as a pack of lions stared it down eager to make it their next meal.

" Hoped you worked out whatever you had going on there. Those were some pretty good blows, kid. I have to imagine those years on the wrestling team did you some good after all, huh?" Tom mused, casually showing off a minor enough detail that hinted at just how much he knew about Jeremy's past. "Still, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I didn't feel any of that. Not a bit of it. Didn't tickle, didn't even feel any goosebumps running across my skin, and I sure as hell wasn't hurt and why is that? Well, let me put it as plainly as I possibly can, Jeremy."



"You can get as mad as you want. Punch me all night long if it helps. But as long as you're just some plain joe schmuck from fucka-who-cares-ville, I think it'd really, really be in your best interest to step back, think about how lucky you are to not have been killed the second I found out you were nothin but a filthy fuckin normal, and listen to what I say. If you don't like it? Well.." Tom grabbed at Jeremy's throat with his free hand and much to Jeremy's horror, easily lifted the younger man off his feet, leaving Jeremy's sneaker clad feet to dangle helplessly as Tom held him up. "There's always an alternative if you'd like."

"I'm not unreasonable at all, Jeremy. I'm just a guy who knows where everyone stands. I stand where I'm at, the bigwigs in D.C, Congress, hell even President Reagan himself may he be blessed, and you? You stand right at the pissing bottom. Down there with the cigarette butts and used rubbers. Once you can get that through your head, you'll be a lot better off. Or I'll just kill you and save myself the headache. Whichever comes first."

Jeremy spit on Tom's arm and the agent laughed.

"...Skinny as a waif, balls as big as a broad's ass. Best compliment you'll get from me."

Tom started to squeeze and Jeremy felt utterly helpless. It was true, he had no way of actually hurting Tom. Why? Why couldn't he have been born with a Gift like so many others? Why did he have to be normal?

Just then there was a crackle in the air and suddenly a familiar voice croaked throughout the hallway. Sounding like it was coming from both ends.

"Tom...Let the boy go....."

G...?

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Thought I told you not to fuck around with the intercom system, Greg. That old ***** downstairs throws a fit about 'it's only supposed to be for emergencies."

"I believe thisssss isssss one. Look, he'sssss gone blue...."

Tom looked back at Jeremy who was wheezing for air and dropped him. Jeremy clutched at his throat and sounded as though he was trying to engulf as much air as he possibly could into his lungs. "*cough cough cough cough*" Reaching down to both scoop up the bag and dump it's contents over Jeremy's head, Tom pointed over to the direction of his room. "G did you a favor just now. Don't piss it away. Go and do what I told you to do before I really lose my temper, Rookie." Jeremy rubbed one hand around his adam's apple and glared daggers up at Tom.



"..." Without another word of verbal protest, Jeremy grabbed the damp sheets and walked off. Waiting until he was out of eyesight and no longer his problem, Tom glanced around until his eyes rested on the brown boxed speaker planted on the far end of the hallway. There was an indentical one down the hall behind Tom as well. "Well, what's the issue, G? Not like you to go and stick your nose out for anyone so what gives? I can't imagine you did this just to stick up for the new kid."

"Why not? He'ssss a polite young man."

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Come to my room, Tom. The Sssshade called me..."

"....what?"

Tom moved down the hall in a hurry, his casual demeanor along with the color in his face fading in practically an instant. He'd only met the agent known simply as 'The Shade' on a few sparse occasions. Guy was a few years older than most other unit higher ups which often left him the target of 'hey grandpa/gramps/crypt keeper/geezer' type insults but guy was apparently one of the best that New York had to offer. Which meant that the fact that he'd gone out of his way to contact G-#UNIT 81's general go between, since Tom practically couldn't be bothered to sit still for boring governmental dialogue and G could, something had to be up. Other state's units usually didn't interfere with eachother, whole lots of red tape that had to be cut through and all that. Which meant that if the Shade was poking his nose around in California, something major had gone down and Tom didn't like that.

Not one bit.

~~~

"Everyone all ready and buckled in?"

Crystal slumped back in the backseat beside Ink and gave two thumbs up. "All good."

Black Ink grumbled as his dad secured him in the car seat. He'd always hate having to use it but the fact that Crystal always sat next to him always made him happy enough to forget about it after a minute or two. "I'm okay too!"

Smiling as Mu took the passenger seat, Dean revved the car up. "Then, let's go on and get!!"

As the car screeched and hauled away from the apartment, Ink glanced back and waved at it. "Bye home!"

"Burger King? Yeah, sure I'm down. Better than the breakfast my mom made me. Oh boy, toast that's burnt just a bit too much and orange juice! A growing boy's dream! Geez...they were just out of this world today, man." Dean grumbled as he turned on the radio to try and alleviate his growing headache with some tunes. Pulling a water bottle out of her bag, Crystal snorted while opening it up to take a sip. "Hey, studies say that orange juice is acidic. Drink too much of it and it'll start eating you."



"What?? Get the hell outta here? Where'd you hear that? The National fuckin Inquirer?"

"Ohhh! Language, huh?" Crystal chided as she cupped her hands over Black Ink's ears.

"Oh, uh sorry little dude. Sometimes it just slips out."

"ANYWAY, for your information I read about it in VOGUE. I don't just let TV teach me about the world like some people." Black Ink chimed in adorably as he clapped his hands. "TV teaches ME a lot! Daddy always shows me Sesame Street on my grandpa's TV when he's asleep!"

"Oh yeah? Well, ehy, Damian do me a favor huh? When you get to school, ask your teacher if they can help you write a letter to Sesame Street. See if Big Bird knows a thing or two about the man eating orange juice epidemic that's sweeping the nation." Dean teased which earned him a flick in the back of the head from Crystal. "Ow! Hey, can we NOT mess with the guy operating the vehicle, please?"

"orange juice doesn't eat people....does it?"



"Well, of course not, Damian. It wouldn't eat little kids like you. It'd only gobble up and dissolve guys like Dean. No brains, all muscle, that's the best meal they can get." Crystal teased back to which Dean gave Mu a side eye. "Hear that? All muscle."

Crystal flicked him again.

"Ow! You said it!"

"Then you repeated it."

"It's MY car, I'll repeat what I want when I want. Now, for the love of all that is holy can we PLEASE change topics??"

​

Still, it didn't stop him from breathing a sigh of relief as he hopped in the passenger's seat next to Dean. "Another day in the madhouse?" He asks Dean, a statement as much as a question. As he set off, there was a noise of protest from Ink.

Well, it was A topic shift.

"...Fought with my old man again."

Although he'd eventually come to terms and accepted Mu's gender identity, he'd been something of a jackass at first. 'You're a man? Then, alright, I'm the fuckin Queen of Rhodesia' only for Mu to say something like 'they don't have a queen.' and for Dean to get flustered. As the two bonded, they'd eventually become close though there would always be rumors that Damian was his kid and not just Mu's little brother. Dean did what he could to stand up for his friend but it wasn't always easy, even less so when any detentions were always followed by a call to his parents, usually his mom who'd then go whining to his dad.

But he'd never told Mu about [DREAM LOVER] or [THE LONGEST TIME] or really any of his family's abilities. As much as Dean didn't really understand WHY he'd been born with it or why his ability had deigned to call itself [DREAM LOVER], he didn't want to risk coming off like some kind of out-of-touch weirdo by going on about superpowers and stuff like he'd stepped straight out of the pages of a Marvel or DC comic. It was just a bridge he didn't feel opening up to anyone, not even Mu.

"Him and my mom don't like that I hang out with you so much. Think my old man's starting to think I'm a *****"

"Dean!" Crystal covered Ink's ears again.

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Anyways, I let it slip that you've got a kid. Mom goes through the roof. Assumes you gotta be on welfare or something. That I'm giving you money/that's why you've got a 'government job.' Just the usual patronizing bullshit. She even went and called my dad because I didn't wanna stay for breakfast. Dunno why I'd even bother. Aside from having the same last name, I feel about as far from everyone in that house as a fish probably does to like, I dunno, an elephant." Dean tapped on the dashboard and sighed. "There, was, uh apparently some incident up in Santa Clarita. Bar burned down or something. Lots of folks got seriously messed up or died. So the mayor tells everyone to stay indoors if not at work or otherwise until they catch the folks responsible. Course all my dad cared about was how it'd effect D-Mart's profits in the town."

Crystal clasped a hand to her mouth. "Wow. Mr. capitalism himself caring more about money than people? I'm shocked, Dean."

"Me too. Dad thinks it was just a case of arson. Punks our age messing around. I dunno. The whole thing just feels off to me y'know. Can't really....explain...huh?" As they came to a red light, Dean looked off to the sidewalk and saw a group of guys wearing what kind of looked like cloaks over regular green buttoned up shirts and beige slacks carrying some kind of steel drum and carting it down the way. "...For all the money that goes into L.A, you'd think we'd be able to afford better outfits for our sanitation workers."

As the three men continued on their way, the passengers of Dean's car all heard the same thing, whispering through their heads. The voice sounded utterly hoarse, as though it hadn't had a drink of water or any liquid in years. They could hear the tongue scraping against the teeth as it's vocal chords went into overtime to push out the words.

<"....[THE DEAD WALK]........">

Black Ink blinked and rubbed at his ears.

Crystal glanced over at Mu.

"Guys?" Dean asked, apparently not hearing the voice.

"Nothin, Dean. Yeah, you're right. They look like trash guys and more like the dorks we'd see in the library."

"....Don't you hang out at the school library a lot?"

"Are you calling ME a dork, Dean?"

Dean turned up the radio higher and let that go. Probably the smartest choice he could have made.

*SKRRTCH*

Just as the red light had flicked back into the bright green, our gang nearly got themselves involved in a car accident as a black hearse curved to force it's way in front of Dean. "HEY!" Dean bellowed as he laid down on the horn. "...JERK! I HAD THE RIGHT OF WAY!!!" The driver of said hearse rolled down his window and had the audacity to lean his right hand out to flip off the noisy teenager that was honking at him. "Ugh, mother..." Dean bit his tongue and stalled himself from finishing the curse. Wasn't Damian's fault this stranger was being a douchecanoe.

In the viewing window of the back of the hearse was a black mahogany coffin with a wreathe laid atop it.

Ink grabbed at Mu's sleeve as he pointed at the hearse. "Daddy! I...I could have sworn I saw something move."

Dean was a touch more skeptical, understandably so. "What? In the coffin? I hate to break it to you little man, but whoever's in that box did the last of their moving on this planet. The guy's probably on a rush to a funeral or something." Which Dean understood, you kind of had to be quick about these sorts of things but sheesh! Traffic laws were still laws and driving etiquette didn't just disappear whenever you wanted it to! That feeling was even more compounded for when Dean turned to get into the drive through line at the local Burger King, the hearse once again pulled in front of him. "SON OF A...." Dean looked back at Ink who smiled at him. "...A biscuit."

"Son of a biscuit, really...?"

"hehehe! Biscuit??"

"Look, I had to improvise, alright?? Sheesh?" Dean grumbled; his mood soured even more by this asshole. The line continued ekeking up and up until the hearse finally got to the window. Rolling down the window, the driver leaned out and Dean finally got a good look at him. Guy looked about as much of a sleazebag as you could be without turning into a living caricature.



"I want a Dr. Pepper, large, six-piece nuggets, large fries and don't skimp on the salt, and a extra-large whopper." The hearse driver said before tapping the drive through countertop. "You need me to write any of this down, or...?"

The teenager who'd sadly gotten very much used to jerks like this nodded. "No, sir, that won't be required. I've got it all. An Dr. Pepper, six-piece nuggets, large fries, and an extra-large whopper."

"Great, great, but hey, uh one thing. What size was the Dr. Pepper?"

"Um-"

"See? Knew you weren't paying attention. Maybe I should file a complaint with your manager, huh? See if you do this for other customers. You see my buddy in the back? I'm trying to get something to eat before I bring him to be at eternal rest at the cemetery. You are making ignorant little mistakes like this, it...it really mess with the whole feng-shui of the operation, you get me?"

"...yes sir."

"So, what size was the pop?"

"Large, sir."

"Great. Thanks."

The driver gave a smug thumbs up as he rolled up his window and continued to the next window to grab his food. Dean had only heard bits and pieces but he'd had a feeling just from looking at the guy that he was a real piece of work. Moving his car up, Dean rolled down the window and smiled. "Hey there! My friends and I would like to get-" Provided Mu got whatever he felt was enough for both him and Ink, Crystal just got herself a fish sandwich and a medium Sprite. Dean got himself a large whopper, a large Coke, and nuggets that he'd planned on sharing with Ink. Pulling off to the side to park the car so they could all just sit and eat their food, Ink squirmed in his seat.

"What's wrong, little dude?"

"i...i....gotta go potty..."

"Wha...?" Dean reached back and grabbed Ink's small cup of Dr. Pepper. "Christ alive, Damian. You weren't supposed to chug the whole thing. Mu, Crystal. I'll take him in for a second. C'mon, kiddo." Unbuckling his seat belt and stepping out so he could help Black Ink out of the backseat, the kid hopped from one leg to the other as Dean walked with him inside the restaurant. Watching them go as she sipped on her soda, Crystal laughed. "Not to sound mean but now I can kinda get why people think you and Dean are a thing. He's really good with Ink."

~~~



As the two adoptive siblings partook in their food, the hearse had parked nearby and it's driver wasn't happy.

"Goddamn it, I fuckin knew they'd skimp out on the nuggets. Son of a bitch." It was a SIX-piece. Not a five piece, not a four piece. SIX. Tossing the bag down onto his passenger seat, he wiped at his lips. Well, whatever, he'd just make a big stink about it the next time he came here. Maybe even on the way back from the funeral. Taking a big juicy bite out of his burger, he failed to hear the consistent thumping from the coffin. As it'd turn out, Mu and Black Ink hadn't been seeing things. Something, or someone was stirring inside that coffin. With his radio turned up and his mind focused on his food, the driver continued to indulge himself as the coffin lid eventually was pushed open. The corpse inside was a young man who's one half of his face looked fine but the other looked completely ajar with the around the lower left side of his mouth held in place by lots of stitchwork, his skin discolored from blood pooling up and just general decomposition. He'd been placed in what looked to be a groom's suit and a wedding ring placed on his left hand's ring finger, the back of the suit had been cut at the back to allow the funeral home operators to cut it open and make it easier to place atop the corpse when it was viewed by the mourners.

The eyes were yellow, bright as the sun, just like an elemental.

The corpse's arms bent and cracked, likely working out the rigor mortis that'd very much settled in at this point. Gripping on either side of the coffin, the corpse slowly sat up and looked towards the glass that separated the back of the hearse from the front. Practically throwing itself off to the side and out of the coffin, the corpse staggered towards the glass. Propping one hand against the glass, it's lower jaw staggered and clenched as it balled it's other hand up into a fist and reared it back..

~'You can't hide from the beast inside of youuuu!'~

The driver smiled as he finished up his whopper and balled up the wrapper. Ready to just throw it out the window and onto the ground. As he started crumpling up however, he happened to glance at his mirror and noticed the young man-a victim of a traffic accident staring at him.

"what the fuck-"

"BRAINS!!!"

*SHATTER*

"AHHHHHH!!!!! NO!!!!"

The zombie climbed it's way through the glass, uncaring of the glass shards tearing into his suit and spilling clear embalming fluid all over the floor and dashboard. Grabbing onto the shoulders of the driver, the corpse opened its mouth and bit down on the back of his skull.

*crunch*

All while Crystal and Mu, the driver's likely only chances at a savior, sat blissfully unaware of his agonizing demise.

Having feasted upon the driver's grey matter, the zombie threw his body to the passenger seat once it'd had its fill. The stitchwork had come loose with the first bite, revealing jawbone as the zombie opened the driver side door and tripped onto the ground as it looked towards the Burger King. "MORE brains....GIFTED brains....." It wheezed out, fresh blood dripping from it's teeth as it pushed itself up and walked as though it were being drawn forward by invisible strings towards the inside of Burger King. Pushing open the doors, it didn't take long for Dean to realize something was amiss as he stood by the men's restroom door waiting for Ink to come back out. Screams filled the fast food joint like a echo chamber as the zombie staggered in. But it wasn't interested in any of THEM. It smelled something tastier, something even more delectable than regular cranium meat.

GIFTED brains...

"Dean?? What happened??" Black Ink called out while still kicking his feet back and forth on the toliet. Dean wasn't sure but he'd damn well find out. "...Hold on a second, Damian. Don't come out of the bathroom yet, ok??? DON'T GO ANYWHERE!" Dean yelled as he stepped back into the lobby and came face to face with what was either some kind of special effects horror show or something out of his nightmares. The zombie looked towards Dean and it's eyes lit up like christmas ornaments, it's hands outstretched towards him. "GIFTED BRAINS!!!"

The zombie was upon Dean in seconds, Dean clutched at it's wrists, as it snapped at him. Trying in vain to bite out his throat or into his skull. "BRAINS!!! BRAAAAAAINS!!!!" The corpse utterly wailed as Dean was shoved back against the counter as the poor cashier on standby fled back into the kitchen to try and call the police. "S...Stop! STOP!" Dean shouted but whatever this thing was wouldn't listen. He could see blood on his face, bone. This had to be PCP or something right?? Some SERIOUS drug work! The guy looked like he was falling apart-quite literally so- and yet still felt as strong as an ox. It was all Dean could to do to keep the guy inches away from sinking those bloody teeth into him.

He really, really didn't want to do this.

But it was do or die time.

"[dream lover]..."

Dean's eyes flashed bright red.

"STOP!"

The zombie paused and it's hands went limp in Dean's own.

It stepped back from him and slowly placed it's arms at it's side. The patrons who hadn't already fled for their lives paused in muted terror. What kind of shit had this bloodied wackjob taken? Dean huffed and puffed as he hesitantly reached out a hand towards the man, placing a hand on it's left shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. "L-Look, man. I don't know what's going on. But if you just stop all this, all of...whatever this is. We can get you some help. Okay? Now, just rel-agh!" Dean screamed as he immediately fell back against the counter, nearly toppling over. Something was fighting back against [DREAM LOVER]'s influence over the corpse and it was NOT happy about the sudden intrusion. Dean could hear that voice that'd eluded him loud and clear now.

<"STAY.....OUT.......BOY!!!!">

The zombie bared it's teeth and grabbing Dean by the collar, threw him across the room, causing him to crash atop a table and break it under his weight and the impact alone. "Ughhhh...." He groaned as the zombie turned and limped towards him. "BRAINS!!!!"

It was only through the expulsion of people running and screaming from the place that finally caught Crystal's attention. Though Mu's very well may have been caught beforehand. "...What the hell?" She knew fast food wasn't good for you but unless somebody found a fly in their ice cream or a rat in their burger, this seemed like an extreme overreaction. Though the fact that neither Ink or Dean had returned yet didn't leave the greatest of feelings in her stomach. Leaving her backpack in the car, she unbuckled herself and raced towards the entrance doors! SOMETHING was going on!

DoctorDunno​

 

[MidwayLives]

The graphic scene that Darkstar and his followers had left in their murder and subsequent theft of government property wasn't at all an unfamiliar sight to the old hardboiled detective that'd come to inspect the scene upon hearing all the screams and gunshots. Kneeling down besides Sanchez and Craig's corpses, the man who looked old enough to be their father, if not grandfather, sighed as he stroked his chin. Two young men cut down in what he could have only assumed to have been the prime of their life.



"Bloody shame."

The police had mostly been relegated to keeping average civilians from getting too close to the crime scene so as not to muddy the figurative waters. It'd only taken flashing his badge to allow Detective Alex Summers to take a quick look of things. He'd initially been given some guff over his heavy English accent, something that he hadn't lost even the slightest twinge of even after immigrating to America after his service in the Second World War had left him weary of his home country and Europe in general. Losing his older brother in the Great War when Alexander had only been three at it's kickoff likely hadn't helped matters. So, he'd packed up, took what money he'd had saved up and moved overseas and had built himself up quite well as a detective.

Though, if you were to ask any of his peers, they'd have described him from vastly differing fields of view:

'Oh, Mr. Summers? He's an absolutely lovely man! He was such a gentleman when I reached out to him! The LAPD is lucky to have him, I'd say!' 'That British dude? Hehehe, he's chill, I guess for a pig. Didn't snitch on me when he caught me smoking a joint. Er, I mean...' 'Can't stand him! If he wants to police so bad why can't he do it in his own damn country?' 'Guy looks like the walking dead, he ought to retire.'

Needless to say, opinions were mixed.

It also didn't help that as the decades went on, the American government started to take more of a heavyhanded approach to attempting to try and corral/manipulate the country's Gifted population and the 'regular' police forces just weren't gonna do it.



"You finished yet, 'Lex? The U.P.R.F are gonna be here any second and they won't be happy to see you poking your nose around. Again."

The sultry yet husky voice belonged to Catherine Anderson, a fellow LAPD officer that'd been handpicked by the aforementioned group: the 'United Patriotic Realization Front'(law enforcement that handled crimes with any potential ties to Gifted activity. U.F.U.P Units handled heavier cases, though to the average American, the UFUP was little more than an organization more akin to the Peace Corp or some other 'of all ages volunteer organization'(just sponsored by the government!) than an actual militarized force) that'd been more or less ordered to try and keep an eye on the aging detective/try to keep him from sticking his nose in business that wasn't his, a handler so to speak. Most of the time the two got along generally fine. Other times her job was easier said than done.

If anyone was brave enough to try and openly guess her age, it'd have probably pinballed to around mid 20s-early 30s. She was by no means a rookie to the world of Gifted and knew more than she'd let her 'partner' realize. He'd actually fought in the war against Gifted Axis forces and yet denied it all as quackery, supernatural mishaps. In his mind being 'Gifted' just didn't make sense. Just German + Japanese propaganda that boiled over into international lunacy. The same insanity that'd plunged the world's great powers into war back in 1914 as well and had taken his brother from him. For better or for worse, most state/local police forces had been subsumed by the UPRF(Uproar!) in terms of actual policing. To better keep tabs on any hostile Gifted after all. Which of course threatened Alexander with the idea of just 'giving in' and accepting things the way they were and retiring/taking on smaller cases that he just generally felt were mundane/lowball enough to try and keep him placated rather than satisfy any actual sense of justice he had.

He steadfastly refused to retire. Something that drove the UPRF up the wall. Someone who wasn't 'in on it' that tried digging into Gifted business. It'd have been trivial enough to even have a 'party pooper' officer accidentally kill him. It was then perhaps, a sign of good fortune or just miserably decent luck that enough people either knew of Alexander through liking him or despising him that having him outright disappear or 'commit suicide' would raise too many questions. So, the UPRF struck an agreement with the LAPD. Assign one of their officers to keep an eye on him and reign him in so he wasn't constantly butting heads with UPRF officers.

Naturally, both sides agreed on having a Gifted officer keep an eye on the man who refused to believe they were real.

[UPTOWN GIRL] wasn't anything special as far as Mental-type Gifts went. They allowed Catherine to conjure up barriers of varying sizes, primarily for defense, but they were also solid enough to coat her fist for a punch or to bank a rifle shot off of. She'd debated trying to talk some sense into Alexander about the existence of Gifted but fleeting as the thought was, she knew it'd only end up with both of them likely dead or wishing they were so. Tucking one hand in the right pocket of her jeans with the other rested casually on her hip, she watched impassively as Alexander glanced over at the bloody writing that Sanchez had left on the side of his truck. "[THE DEAD WALK]. What a strange thing to leave as a message. Some kind of code perhaps...?" Alexander pondered aloud while Catherine audibly sighed in mild frustration, the detective so deep in investigating that he'd barely even acknowledged her question. She wasn't overly privvy to what exactly had gone down here but the two men dead were California National Guardsmen and the message that Alexander was wracking his brain about sounded like a Gift name.

-The name of the Gift that'd been used to kill ​

them.

-One of the men's own Gift? Had they perhaps figured their deaths may have been covered up with some fashion? Maybe somebody would recognize it even if, like the majority of the world, were in the dark about what exactly [THE DEAD WALK] even meant.

Whatever it was, they'd run out of time to think on it. At least here at the scene. Sirens wailed as a black armored truck wheeled around the corner and came to a stop beside the deceased's own military vehicle. As the back doors of the truck swung open, multiple figures decked out from top to bottom in slick black armor and fatigues stepped out and spread out across the crime scene, each of them having automatic rifles strapped over their shoulders.

Spoiler: UPRF Officers

"Great. They're here."

Alexander quickly scrambled to his feet as one of the armored figures stomped over towards him. "N-Now hold on a second! Before you go right into trying and boot me out of here, I believe that one of the young men, before he died left a message written in his own blood no less!" The detective exclaimed before pointing over to the message. The officer didn't seem impressed or really gave off any indication that they'd even acknowledged any of what Alexander had said. Instead moving to roughly shove him back, the 70-year-old man tumbling over onto the ground beside Catherine. "Hey! Was that really necessary?" Catherine hissed as she tucked her hands under Alexander's armpits and helped him up to his feet.

The officer didn't reply, instead turning away and walking off now that Alexander had been pushed out of their 'field of operations.'

"I'd have truly, truly hoped that by now, Mr. Summers would have been able to deduce that UPFR units primarily handle investigations of this nature. Honestly, I find myself puzzled as to why the two of you are even here." Climbing out the passenger side of the truck was a finely dressed man, lacking the brutish if sleek armor of the UPRF officers and taking on a more formal approach with a dashing overcoat and his greying hair slicked back in a combover.



"In fact, I'd have thought that avoiding this type of scenario is precisely why we and the LAPD agreed to assign you this job, Miss Anderson. Am I at all wrong in that assessment?"

Just as Alexander 'needed' someone to keep an eye on him, the UPRF Officers had someone at the head to give orders. For the whole of Los Angeles, Lieutenant. Warren Fairweather was that man.

Alexander couldn't stand him. Luckily enough the feeling was mutual.

"Come now, Warren. We're both adults are we not? Surely, we can have a healthy discussion without needing to make nasty implications of my partner's work ethic." Alex remarked while looking back at Catherine who shook her head. She appreciated the support, but this wasn't the time or the place for it. While Alex had been willing to try and extend something of an olive branch to speak diplomatically, Warren was under no such obligations. "Maybe that could have been said, the first, or perhaps even the second time my officers found you mucking around a developing crime scene. But, if I'm keeping track, this is....the fifth time? Who even knows of the encounters that you may had when my predecessor was still in charge of the LA branch of the UPRF! So, no, Mr. Summers, I'm afraid I'm all out of an appetite for 'healthy discussion.' You can both be on your way."

"Alright, thank you sir. C'mon, 'Lex."

Alex shook off Catherine's hand. "Warren, wait! I feel like...wait, what are you doing there?! Stop that, stop that at once!" Alex shouted as he stepped past Warren and moved towards an officer who was wiping off the message that Sanchez had left. "That was the lad's dying message! Leave it be-urk!" The officer indeed stopped what they'd been doing and grabbed Alex by the throat and started to slowly step back, Alex having little choice but to follow in step. Standing side by side with Warren, the other man didn't even give Lex the decency of looking at him. "Were you here to see the guardsmen write that message, Summers? I'll go out on a limb and say, 'no', correct? Then how could you be so sure it's what you claim it to be? Perhaps it's simply graffiti put there by a devious ne'er-do-well. Or whoever the assailant/assailants may have been could have left it at something of a deluded calling card? You simply don't know, and I've lost whatever inkling of patience I've had with you two. Now, leave, or you'll be going away in handcuffs."

The officer let go and this time Catherine would tolerate no further resistance. Placing both hands on Alex's arms as he coughed/tried to clear his throat, she apologized once more and moved to push/drag the elderly detective off. Watching with barely restrained disdain as the two walked off, Warren towards one of his officers and motioned towards Craig and Sanchez's bodies. "Get them in the back of the truck. Severe the head first, limbs second at the first sign of reanimation. This is a damnable shitstorm we've found ourselves in." All because of that idiot mayor over in Santa Clarita. If he'd just shut his mouth and let the proper authorities handle this before crying wolf to the governor, all of this could have been avoided....

~~~

"You were really pushing your luck back there, Lex. It's a miracle that Warren didn't have you tossed away with the stiffs." Catherine quipped as the two continued to step away from the scene as Warren had ordered of them. Placing his hat atop his head from where it'd been knocked off by the officer's rough shove, Alex flared his nostrils and huffed in contempt. "I suppose then I should count my blessings that Warren Fairweather was feeling generous this fine morning?"



"That ISN'T what I meant and you know it." Catherine snapped, having already had her fill of her babysitting job. "These aren't just run of the mill cops you're mouthing off too, Lex. If I hadn't gotten us out of there, things could have only gotten worse and worse. I get you want to help, believe me, I do. But pissing Warren off ain't the way of doing it." Lex pulled on the lapels of his jacket and looked off into the distance. "Now, I have you to thank? With all due respect, Catherine, I've been doing well enough looking after myself for the last decade or so. I think I'll be fine for however much time I've got left."

"*munch* Not with that kinda attitude, friend."

Both officers looked over at the new voice in the conversation. He was a very well dressed man, if Catherine had to think of something, anything to compare him to, it'd be someone from the 1940s or 30s. Fine suit, nice tie, and a black fedora to bring it all home. Still, oddly enough it looked as though even though he was just standing off on the sidewalk on an otherwise sunny day, he still seemed partially obscured by shadows. Holding a hotdog in his left hand, Catherine noticed the 'UFUP NY STATE' badge pinned to his suit.

"Far away from home, isn't it?"

She wasn't totally clueless. Any Gifted worth a damn that was being used by the government in some capacity, whether it be local, state, or federal. The U.F.U.P could dress it up as nicely as they wanted, Catherine felt blessed enough that she'd been able to lead something of a meagre life as a 'mere' police officer rather than whatever she'd be getting up to as a member of a U.F.U.P Unit.



" *munch* Suppose so. S'not a problem, is it?"

"Not if you don't make it one."

The man blinked, looked over the pair, and laughed.

"Funny gal you've got with ya, pal. I go by 'The Shade.' I figure it's a pleasure to meet ya." He looked past them and at the crime scene they'd just left. "Been an interesting time since I got here."

Alexander couldn't help but be a touch confused. "I'm sorry, your name is 'The Shade?' More than that, what're you doing all the way out here?? Some kind of long reach work for the U.F.U.P??"

The man who'd introduced himself as 'The Shade' merely took another bite of his hotdog. "Guess you're not gonna introduce yourselves, huh? That just a California thing or you two just rude?"

"O-Oh, uh, sorry. I'm Catherine Anderson. Officer of the LAPD."

"Hmph. Alexander Summers. Also of the LAPD, though, given that they have me working on petty theft cases nowadays, I don't know for how much longer."

"Sounds like it's pretty rough over here, huh? You asked me why I came here, right? Sadly not much I'm at liberty to say or do. At least not without clearing it up with a bunch of paperwork." Like the fact that he'd seen the immediate aftermath of Darkstar killing the two guardsmen but hadn't stepped in. Doing so without proper authorization would have opened up a whole can of worms between New York and California and The Shade was too old to deal with the fallout with that. "Guess it's just simple enough to say I'm here on business and leave it at that. But, hey, since you two eventually introduced yourselves." He teased. "I'll give you a friendly piece of advice. One I hope you take to heart."

"Huh?" The two spoke in unison, confused by the stranger's choice of words. They'd just met him but he was offering them ​

guidance.

"This situation with the guardsmen. Stay out of it. Matter of fact, stay as far away from it as possible."

Both officers looked at the other and then back at the Shade. "W-What?? I mean, I-we'd already planned to but what's the U.F.U.P's interest in this??" Catherine asked, thoroughly puzzled. "Again, not much I can talk about openly without inadvertly snipping through a bunch of red tape. Either take the advice or don't." Finishing off the rest of the hot dog, the man started to step back as more of him seemed to become shrouded in shadows, his entire face obscured.



"I'd hate to repeat myself thrice but, if it fits, it fits. Go back to whatever you'd been doing. Whether that's helping little ol Ms. Grady get her car unstuck or giving a citation. Or don't, ignore all that I've said." The Shade continued to step back until he was just about to round the corner.

"You've been warned."

Then, he walked around the corner....and just like that, it'd appeared as though he was gone.

It'd been a long time, since childhood even, that Catherine had found herself breaking out into something of a cold sweat at just mere words. But between the cryptic threat laced within the Shade's words and whatever exactly really was up with the murders, but she also felt a pang of relief. That maybe now that they'd been told by someone with at least some kind of modicum of authority that things would be better if they stayed back just like Warren asked of them.

Alexander....had an opposite reaction.

"Catherine..."

"...Yeah?"



"Let's head out to grab a bite to eat. Clear our heads up a tad."

Phew. Well, at least it'd seemed that The Shade's words had reached him-

"...Then piece together what's been going on..."

aaaand there went the last vestiges of hope.

~~~
​

"Yo, do you need a glass of water or somethin'? You look like you're about to hurl. The hell happened out there?" ​

The youth that MT had reached out to, 'Herald' had been the name he'd taken on during his 'enlistment' into the P.G.A. An organization of around four people, well, three people now. It wasn't exactly up there with the great Pro-Gifted militias like 'Fight with Power' or 'The Party Crashers' and Herald definitely doubted that either of them were based in their founder's basement. Said basement which wasn't even his, it was his-

"DEREK!!!" A shrill voice called from atop the stairs, so loud to be heard past the closed door. "Derek!!! You've been down there all day, honey!!! When are you and your friends going to come up and get something to eat??" Derek Jones of course was Darkstar's real name. The one he'd been born with, used in everyday life, when he wasn't murdering men only trying to do their jobs. He'd founded the P.G.A on a whim mostly. It was an idea brought about through idle conversation at one of his roleplay sessions. What if it didn't have to just stop at being pretend? What if they really stood up and tried to make a change in the real world? To help out those in need? To be the voice for the downtrodden, the neglected, the hurt.

All great ideas in concept.

Just, the execution, ended up being a tad flawed to say the least. If the blood splatters across Darkstar's cloak and the rust covered steel drum sitting atop the porcelain tiles in the basement bathroom didn't spell it out enough.

Herald clasped his hands together and shook his head. "No...Nonono, I-I'll be ok...I'll be ok-"

"Fuck, no we won't be OK! Not for a long fucking time!"

"Stop. Cursing. This is my mother's house." Darkstar said calmly.

"Oh, c'mon Derek! We just-"

Both men froze up as Darkstar pulled out his handgun and pointed it directly against the side of Crimsonwing's head. "You know something, Crimsonwing? I'm starting to really question just how dedicated you actually are to our cause, hm? Maybe I should have given the 'Crimsonwing' moniker to The Herald instead. What do you say, Joey? Are you in or are you out?"

Joey had only recently joined up with the P.G.A. Truthfully, he'd had hoped that it was just a lot of bullshit, mindless talking and all that. Sure, people could talk about whatever they WANTED to do as much as they wanted. Getting up off your ass and actually trying it was a lot easier said than done. Most people just couldn't be bothered to give up the convenience of every day middle class living. He'd never expected it to get as far as getting guns (stolen from Derek's dad's collection) and actually taking human lives. "t...take it easy, derek."

"My name's not Derek."

He steadied his finger over the trigger.

"okokok, darkstar, i-i'm sorry. really...really!"

Darkstar leered at Joey for a moment longer before slowly lowering his piece. "We get rid of the guns; the kid can cover that." He said gesturing to MT, a Gifted kid that he'd happened to meet by happenstance while loitering around a 'Birthday Party'(neighborhood/apartment/community that's heavily populated by Gifted) and decided to try and pay to help them out. The kid drove a hard bargain and ultimately held the trump card in that sure while if he turned in Derek and co, the government would likely arrest him as well, they'd likely be in for way more serious consequences for openly collaborating/harboring a Gifted without informing the authorities. "We lay low for a while, keep going to school, to work. Act like everything's normal. When the heat's died down? We work on our next plan."

"Next plan...? Dere-I mean, Darkstar, we haven't even told the kid what happened yet...or what even IS that thing in the barrel! It smells like death warmed over! Twice!" The Herald whined only for Darkstar to push him away roughly by shoving his palm right into the other teenager's chest. "There were some minor setbacks. I dealt with them. That's all." He glanced to The Herald and Crimsonwing. "We lost Spartacus." Darkstar grabbed his still ice cold Pepsi and popped the cap off and took a long swig. Actual alcoholic drinks upset his stomach. "But we managed to neutralize two of the government pigs and saved another Gifted."

"are we even sure that's what's in there? You heard the guardsman, whatever's in there is bad news..." Crimsonwing bemoaned, afraid of pushing the boat any harder after having a gun pointed at him. "That PIG was only repeating whatever his superiors told him."

"Okay. Do YOU know what's in there?"

Darkwing paused as he glanced over at the barrel.

"I..."

"DEREK!!!!!"

"NO, MOM! WE'RE NOT HUNGRY! THANK YOU!"

"That's all you had to say, honey! I'm not a mind reader!"

Hearing his mother's voice growing more and more distant as she walked away from the basement door, Derek looked towards the drum. He'd only really attacked because he'd been running with the idea that there had to be SOMETHING strange in that barrel if the California National Guard was transporting it and so relatively low-key as well. "W...Well, we'll just have to open it and find out." Both of his partners looked horrified at the mere suggestion but it didn't seem like they'd have a choice. A voice suddenly entered the minds of the P.G.A members and MT. The voice sounded weak, confused even, as though they were waking up from a long sleep and trying to get their bearings.

<"where....where am I.....?">

"D...DID ANYONE ELSE HEAR THAT?!" Crimsonwing shrieked as he clutched at either side of his head. "What the hell was that?! I'm freaking out, man!" Darkstar stamped his foot. "Shut up! I can't hear!"

<"Let me out.......LET ME OUT!!!!">

The drum began to shake. The tiles cracking and splintering under it's immense weight. The voice grew more energetic, carrying with it an almost feral energy to it, animalistic even. <"LET ME OUUUUUUUUTTTTTTT!!!! LET ME OUT!!! [THE DEAD WALK]!!!!!!!!!!!"> A sickly green miasma began to float around the drum and spread out of the bathroom and towards the teenagers gathered. "What is that stuff man?!" The Herald was absolutely cracked as he stumbled over the coffee table trying to crawl away on his rear end.

*THUD THUD*

The metal of the drum began to crease and groan as what looked like fist imprints pressed themselves into the sides of the barrel. <"LET ME OUT!!! NOW!!!!!!!!">

DoctorDunno​

 

[DoctorDunno]

Mu, meanwhile had gotten up to check what was taking Dean so long - and maybe to make sure he was making the right order. He liked Dean, but the guy always ordered too much food for his tastes. There was always gonna be part of him that just couldn't stand to waste food. But all of that fell out of his head the moment he saw a shambling figure sihlouetted in the window, heard, even muffled, Dean raising his voice. The hair stood up on the back of Mu's neck, and he burst into a sprint, his lithe body bursting through the door almost before his brain had time to catch up, taking all of his self control to not simply *propel* himself through the air. Damnit, damnit. First rule, the first rule was never let the principal out of your sight. These peaceful years had made him sloppy. Part of him hoped that it was a false alarm, that Dean was just getting in some stupid argument with the cashier, that he was just being paranoid, but all that fell out of his head as he sighted the shambling corpse in front of Dean. His breath caught in his throat - this was bad. When fighting other Gifted, the most important thing was to never ever go in blind if you could help it. Even if it seemed obvious, a lot of gifts had nasty surprise applications. Mu's certainly did. Like how, even now, as he charged towards the figure threatening Dean, Mu's weight was increasing - by the time he tackled the zombie, he was moving with the force of an NFL linebacker. He'd waste no time - whatever this was, he had to get the situation under control, fast. Under his breath, Mu muttered-

"[Supermassive Black Hole]"

And as he did so, the body before him would suddenly feel as though it weighed ten times as much. For an ordinary human, it'd be enough to pin them to the ground and then some, hell, the gravity alone would be lethal with extended exposure, blackout would set in after a few seconds, death following shortly after. Still, Mu's eyes remained locked on the figure, and only then did he fully take in the scene before him. He'd seen bodies before, of course. A childhood like his, you saw plenty of bodies. But they weren't usually standing, and walking, and... talking. Mu was shocked, his breath caught in his throat. Even as Crystal caught up, his eyes darted left and right, checking doors, windows, corners, falling into old drilled-in routine as his brain desperately tried to catch up with the situation. This was gonna get worse before it got better.​

 

[rakshasa]

Karen Buckley

"Whuh-? You-" Karen was cut off by her own labored breathing. She had hardly moved since she had woken up, but she still found herself fighting for air in between desperate gasps and sobs. Despite her racing mind and slowly simmering panic attack, she struggled to try and self-soothe, to somehow bring herself down from the edge where she stared head-on into a full fledged meltdown. She pressed Chandler against her bosom, running her hand up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him; it was of little use, as he squirmed calmly in her arms, steadfast and stoic even after everything that had just gone down. The only person it was benefitting at the moment was her.

"Sso you're giftedtoo?" Her words came out in a jumbled heap, mouth rushing to keep up with her train of thought. While she had been attempting to put as much space between her and her captors up until this moment, the woman's grief-filled voice softened her until she was no longer twisted and clinging to the wall. For the first time since before she had woken up, she felt the impact of the words she was being told, instead of them going in one ear and out the other, bypassing her panicked mind. "A-and they're holding you here?"

Looking down at her lap, she racked her brain, digging for references, for anything that could justify her current situation and contextualize it in her head. It had not been the first time she'd woken up to devastating news recently, nor did it feel like her first time being completely uprooted and forced to get used to a new way of living. It wasn't the first time she'd seen a fire elemental, either. Wait, it wasn't? A light went off above her head. How could she have forgotten her own sister's husband?

She nearly shot to her feet, narrowly avoiding falling to her knees as the blood rushed from her head.

"Y-you're a fire elemental! D.. do you know James Wesson?? If they have everyone who's gifted here, then he- he has to-" She was so consumed by excitement the connection from her brain to her mouth temporarily disconnected. All she could muster was a premature giggle of relief. If he was here as well, then together, they could take what they know about this place and somehow escape. She knew her twin married a brilliant, charming man, and if he was still here, maybe he knew and he was waiting for her. Maybe this nightmare was about to end.

Poor thing. She almost had hope.

MidwayLives

_________



Sandy M.

The hum from a lonely, half-busted florescent light broke the silence of a dim, dusty room. What little sound poured in from the street was muffled enough to be drowned out by the incessant buzz. There was little of the outside world in this place; the natural light of a sunny California afternoon was stopped from streaming through the windows by newspaper, yellow and peeling from years of use. What little of the room you could see from the street was dirty and bleak; bits and pieces of drywall littered the floor, as well as hundreds of dead brown leaves; the walls bared scars and holes from where various shelves and hooks once stood, and the few that remained looked as filthy as the floors, as well as crumbling from age. From the outside, this little shop on Orchard and South, dubbed 'Orchard Premier Plants' by the withered sign above the entrance, looked almost condemned. The inside, however, told a different story.

Beyond the newspaper barriers between them and the outside world, various flora of all colors and sizes flourished and blossomed, spilling out of their planter boxes and plastic pots and towards the floor. The shelves on the walls nearly buckled under the weight of their excessive plumage, some large pots filled with life already sitting on the ground. In the center of the room stood a cheap plastic table, one that should've only been used for tailgates, but instead found itself nearly tipping over with hundreds of containers filled with blooming flowers. Plants that weren't lucky enough to fill a pot sprouted out from drinking glasses and tissue boxes, nonetheless happy with their arrangement, as, like the others, they grew healthily and shone brightly with emerald hues.

While the other shops in town bursted with busy customers, only one person occupied this room, knelt down among the dust and dirt that carpeted the linoleum floors. Despite the debris digging into her knees, the figure showed no signs of discomfort, hunched over a plant on the floor with her.

Bony fingers patted down rich brown soil, careful not to disturb the withered stalk that sat in the middle of the pot. When she was done, she wiped her hands down her apron and observed her work. In this room, the only thing that didn't seem to burst with life was it's caretaker. Exhaustion in the shade 'deep red' cast a shadow underneath her eyes, shallow blue pools that stared wide and unblinking towards their subject. Her pale skin was pulled taut over a thin, hungry frame, partially obscured by her plain white frock and dirty green apron. Her appearance alluded to that of the undead, and when she cocked her head at her plant, her movements read similarly as uncanny.

"My poor geranium, you look so sad." She whispered to herself, voice like a creaking door.

Lifting her hand towards the browning plant, she grabbed hold of something invisible. It was hard to tell exactly what was happening, but when the process was over, the plant seemed invigorated. The single blossom atop the stalk, as well as the few lingering leaves underneath, unfurled, giving way to a small, but brilliant pink flower. A smile broke across the woman's face.

"See now, isn't that better?"

Her voice almost seemed prideful. Preoccupied, she barely twitched when she heard the bell above the shop door chime.​