---

---

Commander Kardos had cleared his notes from her desk by the time she returned, the meticulously organized sheets of paper tucked under an arm as he waited for her leave to depart for his own office. Director Zhang waved him away, eyes on her own pile of paperwork Greten had sorted for her. The USARILN West transfers.

No doubt Kleinfelder had sent her the worst of the students he could pass off as reasonably battle-worthy. And she'd have the distinct pleasure of dealing with every single one of them on top of all the issues plaguing her Institute, least of all the 20 subnaturals they kept sedated underground.

Hector had been recently returned to his chamber after his little tantrum as well, and when Miranda was solid enough to be of use again, she'd have him clean up the dead monsters mucking up the underground hallway. The boy's carrion-eating creature could regain its strength and she wouldn't have to waste resources attempting to rid herself of five hallways' worth of monsters with varying resistances to normal disposal methods.

If the creatures had lasted longer than a week before dissipating, she would have sent them to the same bunker with the Primordial for study. But a copycat puppet using Menagerie's power wasn't worth the effort. The government already had plenty of information on the real Menagerie's power.

So she had murdered the perpetrator herself. With Hephaestus's experimental weapon, she could do that. "The Dreambreaker," he had called it--a prototype gun that could temporarily disrupt a mage's connection to the source behind their powers. He had only created one, and she had been the one chosen to test the weapon. How fortuitous, then, that such a perfect opportunity had fallen into her lap so soon after its arrival.

Then the universe threw its punchline and the weapon had only partially worked on the intruder--a sign that either the prototype was a failure or there was more to the matter than simply Dreamcatcher working in the background. Something she'd have to let the crafter know in yet another report to fill out.

The first report would have to be sent to the Department of Defense, detailing the particulars of the incident. And her oh so unfortunate mistake in announcing Menagerie as the perpetrator. Yes, quite an unfortunate mistake.

It had, of course, been intentional.

And they certainly couldn't blame her for making the assumption. It wasn't like the USARILN directors were supposed to know the truth. Her reliable source was the only reason she had been made aware.

And now the Death and Taxes forum was aflame with speculation and panic. The news would leak across the USARILNs and stir events just enough. A Precursor rebelling. True or not, it was sensational. Any attempt to correct the issue afterwards would simply look like a cover-up. And so things would begin to spin. She could only hope she was ready for what she had started.

Between revealing Menagerie's death five years ago and revealing the top secret existence of the elusive subnatural code-named "Bogeyman," she wondered how exactly the government planned on handling the chaos she had innocently unleashed upon them. When the news inevitably leaked to the public, she would either cement her position or lose it entirely. Right now, those odds were 50/50. And she had every intention of changing that.

But not now. Now she needed rest and relaxation to prepare for the storm on the horizon.

In the fight against Bogeyman's puppet, she had fired two shots, each one strong enough to rumble through a good portion of the facility, denting even the material beneath the walls. Two quakes, and there wasn't a body left to dispose of. Just the remains of soldiers and monsters that died fighting.

Naturally, the event had tired her out. Even if the exhaustion seemed exaggerated.

The Director rubbed her temples slowly, willing the headache to go away. There was too much to handle at the moment and she couldn't afford to waste the time dealing with something as bothersome as an exertion headache.

If only events had been kind enough to oblige.

"When I said these new kids were different, I didn't mean they could be deployed immediately!" Rosa's voice cut through the quiet humming of the room's computers and the muted thrumming noise of Hephaestus's control cube.

The Director looked up at the staff member standing in the open doorway of her expansive office, a fretting Greten in the background trying to persuade the excitable woman to leave. Rosa's power was in full effect, the lines so thick around her eyes they almost looked like a half-mask.

"You wanted to see them in combat and combat came to us. Two birds with one stone. And now you're here angrily shouting at me because you hate that this method yielded results."

Director Zhang stared placidly at the other woman, knowing that this close Rosa's power could catch every little nuance of exhaustion and irritation--among other things--on display both physically and mentally.

"We lost two of them! And Bradley and Joseph!"

"You're the only one who bothers remembering the names of the faceless."

"Where is this going to lead? How many are you going to kill for your goals?"

"As many as I need to. You included if this pointless argument doesn't end now."

Rosa crossed her arms, staring at the Director with both her eyes and her power.

"This isn't different, you know."

"...I know I don't have a choice. They have to be stronger and we can't waste time coddling them anymore. Time and again we've seen real combat strengthen powers. It's effective. It works. For an entire year, we watched Lawrence Ellison, and only twice did you see the trails of power expand. So tell me I'm wrong. Tell me forcing them here didn't work. Look, Rosa, and you tell me it didn't work."

Rosa breathed in, trembling as she looked at something far above them, seeing something that was and wasn't there. She had felt it moments ago, but now she looked, and it seemed even more prominent. More present than it had ever been before.

"It worked," she whispered. "Beyond belief."

The Director's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I said they were different," her eyes tracked something rapidly across her vision "because I've never seen something like this before."

---

---

A long, wide truck rolled at a leisurely pace towards the decimated battlefield, filled with soldiers now freed from guarding the underground containment chambers. Behind that, a large tow truck followed.

"Suppression module: on," the cuff's automated voice announced as the new trucks came to a stop.

20 soldiers stepped quickly out of the truck after it pulled to a stop, several of them surrounding the dragon while the others pulled out stretchers from within the vehicle and loaded the dead bodies onto one of the original three trucks. Several more were assisting the sickened soldiers and the last four headed towards Shane's group, weapons aimed at the veteran subnatural as waves of light blue hexagons continued rolling off his mist-wrapped body.

With a half-hearted smile, Shane raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

A moment later, he released the hold on his magic and, consequently, the buffer of the armaments. The crystals around him dispersed soundlessly.

Before even a second had passed, Shane collapsed with a choking gasp, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

The soldiers continued aiming at his prone form, eyeing the mist around his torso suspiciously. When it seemed like nothing more was happening, two of them picked him up carefully and took him towards the longer truck that had recently arrived.

One of the remaining two looked down at the injured girl and the unconscious blonde boy, motioning for several of the other soldiers to move them as well.

With their weapons trained on the students, they didn't seem concerned that many of the kids were injured or potentially dying. Fair trade for the subnaturals' lack of concern over their dead comrades.

When the injured had been moved into the larger truck, the soldiers ordered the rest of the students inside with quick shouts of "In!" and pointed guns. Similar orders echoed at Chris, who was ushered at gunpoint onto the platform of the tow truck and bound with chains made of that same transparent material so often encountered at the Institute.

Within the main vehicle were several paramedics at the ready, armed with basic medical supplies and empty gurneys. Several of the soldiers spoke with two of the paramedics--a young man and woman pulling on gloves in a corner. They nodded at the soldiers and picked up several white boxes, heading out to help the four poisoned guards. Separately. Away from the subnaturals.

The injured students were transferred from the stretchers to the gurneys lined tightly against the walls of the truck and, once everyone had filed in, the larger truck moved out with the tow truck following close behind, leaving the rest of the soldiers to return in the three smaller trucks.

---

---

With the exceptions of Chris, who was taken to a separate wing on the ground floor of the hospital, and Shane, who was wheeled to a different floor, the new students were all shoved, prodded, and thrust into the same long room Gregory occupied, recently cleared for the new arrivals at the Director's order. The nurses and doctors quickly set to work checking on injuries and cleaning them out, while uninjured students were left to wait in what looked like a entertainment corner of flatscreens, comic books, and video games. Several of the soldiers marked the foot of Christmas's and Lilianna's beds with blue tape and the hospital staff focused on the two of them first, hooking Christmas up to an IV drip before sending interns off to get information on the healers.

While that happened, the same soldiers cuffed Sander's hands and legs together with the suppression cuffs from before, dimming the surge of his powers and locking down movement enough to give them ample response time should he prove himself more trouble than he was worth.

Before long, the hapless interns returned with several folders of information and one of the doctors quickly scanned through the pages before ordering a blood transfusion for Christmas.

Normal procedure went out the window when they hooked up five bags of blood to several veins along Christmas's body, and it wasn't long before a nurse withdrew some of Christmas's blood into a syringe and quickly injected it into Lilianna without a word of warning or acknowledgement.

The effect was immediate. The shimmering glow around Lilianna's body indicated the transfer had been quick enough and the slow repair of the girl's injuries meant there was significantly less work for the staff. With sighs of relief passing through the crowd of medical professionals, they settled back into a more relaxed routine, caring superficially for several of the worse injuries and making sure particularly threatening wounds were clean and bandaged.

When most of the preparations were complete, several of the doctors discussed waiting periods before withdrawing more of the healing blood and it was decided, based upon the notes provided, that several hours would be sufficient.

That done, they left the room of subnaturals to their own devices, assigning one nurse--Alissa--to watch both Christmas and Lilianna. She was the same nurse who had taken pity on Gregory before and when she noticed him in the room, she offered a quick wave and an apologetic look, inclining her head gently at the poor boy's condition after having just left the hospital several hours ago.

She might have even said something, if Benediction hadn't passed through the room in a flock of guards.

Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater, slacks, and polished dress shoes, the Precursor's bored expression didn't change as his ruby eyes flicked from student to student.

A scoff. A quick glance at his watch. A roll of his eyes.

He waved a bright hand through the air, lighting up the entire room in an array of white pinpricks of light that healed the students' injuries completely, disintegrating even the IV needles in their arms. The tubes of blood and IV fluids leaked out onto the glossy sheet vinyl floor in his wake, but if the Precursor noticed, he didn't care.

With a stifled yawn, the closest thing the world had to a benevolent god walked out of the room, exiting through the door on the other side while patting his hair and clothes to make sure the flight over hadn't mussed anything important.

Within minutes, Alissa had called for a doctor, but news that Benediction had arrived was already on everyone's tongues.

"You're all cleared to go," a female doctor with black hair in a bob cut and a gratingly sweet voice announced to the room before walking briskly in the direction Benediction had gone.

Alissa remained, cleaning up the mess Benediction had left behind.

---

The pain. That was all Lily could think of. The numerous lacerations on her body, the burns, the shoulder wound, the wrist wound. Her first thought was to bear them all. She wanted to take all the injuries but she didn't want to drink someone's blood. It sounded gross and it didn't feel right.

The people in USARILN can patch her up, right? The way they were able to patch her up when they found her unconscious just outside the borders of the school. They would do it again, right? But would they? Would they really patch me up? Or will just leave me to die just like they did when they sent all of us out here? Would they even care for an aberration? She closed her eyes as she began shaking with the pain, whimpering softly as she slowly, carefully curled herself into a ball, each movement creating bouts after bouts of excruciating pain.

Of course they won't. You have no worth. You should die. The way I did. Harsh words. Lily opened her eyes and stared towards where the voice came from. Her gaze fell on Shane but she didn't see him. All she saw was the faceless person, one of the many that permeated her dreams and almost all her waking moments.

"No. They still need me..." she whispered just as the black thread reappeared on her wrist, the other end waving in the wind, waiting for Lily to direct it. It trembled just as the girl did, doubt and hesitation already seeded in her mind. When she failed to focus on a target, the thread disappeared.

She felt something nudge her arm. Something smooth. Something she somehow knew she needed. It was enough to pull her out of the fog that had started to cloud her mind. She refocused her eyes and looked at the crystalline cup filled with a thick red fluid. The irony scent completely brought her out of her reverie and her eyes snapped towards the pink haired boy. He was obviously telling her to drink. She almost wretched at the smell. [i]No...[/color] she wanted to push the cup away. But without it, without this blood's healing capabilities, she would succumb to the pain and she would eventually die before she even had the chance to help the others. She stared at the cup for what seemed like the longest moment before she took a deep breath and pushed herself up into a half sitting position. She let go of her wrist, her hand sticky with her own blood. She reached up shakily and took the cup.

Just don't think about it. Just close your eyes and just swallow in one gulp. Despite giving herself instructions, she stared at the thick liquid as she shakily brought the cup up to her lips. She paused, half of her mind still screaming that she didn't want to drink the saving liquid. With one swift motion, she tilted the cup up and poured the contents into her mouth. She grimaced as the irony taste hit her tongue. She swallowed as fast as she could, trying not to wretch as she did. She shuddered.

As the blood flowed down her throat, she felt a slight relief from the pain. Of course, the injuries she had piled on herself didn't heal instantaneously but it felt a whole lot better. She looked towards Shane again, her eyes a little more focused than it had been earlier. She offered him something that was half a smile and half a grimace. "Thank you. For getting here when you did. Thank you for saving what was left of us," she said. Better to thank him now than wait later. She had no idea if she'll have another chance to do it. Contrary to what the others were feeling, she didn't really feel any resentment towards the obviously overpowered boy. Sure, he could have ended the battle even before it started and prevented the unnecessary deaths but he saved them all the same. She sensed that he himself was suffering from an injury. Maybe it was why he wasn't in the battle from the beginning... or maybe he just didn't want to be there just like all of them.

But apparently, Emma didn't share her sentiments. She watched as she strode up to the pink haired boy. She blinked when her hand connected to his cheek. She would have said something but what could she really say? What could she possibly say that would make everything?

Nothing.

With a sigh, she looked down at herself. Surprisingly, some of the smaller wounds had healed with just one shot of Christmas' blood. It wasn't pleasant the way it worked but it did. Who was she really to complain. But the thought of drinking more made her feel sick.

The pain was ebbing away slowly as her flesh stitched itself up under the effect of Christmas' powers. She looked up at the faint raspy sigh. Her eyes fell on the black haired girl she had met the night before. She was gesturing with her hands and her lips moved soundlessly. While she didn't really understand what she was trying to say, she immediately sensed what she meant when she pointed towards a small group of people. The black string again fastened itself onto Lily's wrist, the other end wrapping itself around Allison's.

Lily gave out a shrill cry of pain and her eye widened as a new set of injuries transferred to her. Blood began pooling around her from the open wound on her side.

The pain brought Lily back to her own disjointed world. Why help these people? Why bother? Would they help you in return? the cloud that prevented her from making out who it was speaking began to dissipate. Golden eyes similar to hers. A perfectly shaped nose. We can't stop all the time to help people out, Hailey. We. Need. To. Go.

"Who are you?" Lily mumbled, her breath hitching at the pain.

Golden hair similar to hers. Short and messy.

Was the pain helping her regain her memories? A tall boy. Somehow she could almost recognize him. His voice, his eyes, his hair. Wanting to see more and wanting to know more but not really considering the state her body was in, her string wrapped itself around Aaron's wrist next, fixing his broken ribs on contact.

Lily fell back and gasped, the broken ribs transferred through her power making it painful to breathe.

Do it, Hailey! Do it. There's no choice. Don't think about it. Just do it. I can bear it with you. The golden haired boy with similar features as hers looked down at her, his lips curved down into a frown and his brows furrowed in frustration. A black X marked his neck.

"Sebastian?"

A splash of blood rained down on Lily as the boy's eyes widened in surprise.

"NO!" Lily cried out, finally realizing who the boy was.

A new set of emotions surged through Lily. The need to hurt, the need to make those that wanted to hurt them feel the same pain. Eyes that were unseeing scanned the area. Lily didn't see Shane, Ethan or any of the other students in the battlefield. Instead, she saw a dark haired man face down on the ground, blood pooling around him. He was holding a small axe, his neck angled strangely. A large hack wound on his back was bleeding him out as well as other small lacerations on his body. A black string was fastened on his wrist.

She looked around for the golden haired boy.

But before she can find him and before she could make sense of what she was seeing, the automated voice of her suppression cuff cut through her thoughts and through this projection of her lost memories. Pain immediately flooded both her mind and body. She fought to stay awake, wanting to know if she had managed to help everyone that needed help. But the pain was overwhelming. She took too much injuries onto herself. With a ragged sigh, she gave herself up to the darkness.

The trip was long, and most people didn’t seem to be interested in talking at all. He had, of course, introduced himself to all of them. He even asked them leading questions like ‘How did that fight go?’ or ‘What are your powers?’, only to receive mostly silence. Or maybe some short one-liner. Or whatever else. Real cheerful bunch, really.

Still, he could understand it. He could even understand if they were pissed at him for being one of the ones that essentially showed up just to see the end. Watching the scenery outside from a small window, he kept an eye on the corpse-carrying truck, all the way until that particular truck set off elsewhere, leaving no indication of whether it was heading towards a cemetery or a garbage dump.

Eventually, all were carted towards the hospital once more, where Brent once again had to put up with basically nothing. His amethyst eyes flickered to each ‘student’ present, remembering their faces, but the mood was simply too…awkward. Too tense and quiet to have much of a conversation. So he kept quiet as well, wondering if that blonde boy with the healing blood was now going to just become an endless supply of medicine for the rest of the hospital. With five blood bags stuck into him, that looked to be very, very likely.

“Sucks to suck,” Brent muttered, still wondering why he was even there when his singular had already been patched up. Even someone like him knew that no one here was going to be interested in playing an icebreaker, after all. He looked to Sophia once more, but amidst all that had happened, the young girl was similarly silent, retracting into herself.

He sighed, leaned back, and just waited.

Didn’t have to wait long, it turned out, not when Jesus with a chip in his shoulder walked in and healed everyone. Ah.

That was a chance.

As a miracle was performed, a healing light practically disintegrating all the injuries, Brent instead focused on all the tubes that suddenly just...fell out of the students' bodies. As all sorts of nasty liquids splattered onto the vinyl floor, the youth rushed forwards and tilted them upwards once more. He wasn't sure about the science behind these things, but blood was precious, and wasting it on the floor was a pain. While a doctor announced that they were all free to go, Brent turned to the one that had to clean up this surprise mess and asked, "Name's Brent. Want some...uh...help?"

He gestured with the tubes that he still held in his hands, as if asking if there was any place to put them.

"Oh, don't worry about that...uh," she glanced around, looking for any of the other staff to help. They had all hurried to see Benediction, of course. "It's all right. I'll have to get more clamps for the tubes soon, anyway. But you can take off your cast, I think. He healed you, too, right?"

"Oh yeah," Brent rolled his shoulder, "Looks like it's fine now. Guess if Jesus is here, you can all go on vacation for a day or two? Margaret probably needs that."

He looked at the tubes in his hands, before shrugging and asking, "I mean, do you have a bucket or something for this? Just feels like a waste, all the blood on the floor...and I'm not even the vampire dude. I can knot them up if you'd like?"

"If you'd like to," she smiled gratefully, "but I didn't think you'd want to be in here any more than necessary, you know? A lot of the kids here--they just see the hospital as the place to die. Or wait to die."

Brent shrugged, as he started the whole process of tying the tubes together. They were more flexible than he expected, and as he did so, he said, "Guess I haven't been here long enough to really think of it that way. And, hey, you can die anywhere, you know? Did you ever hear about that study they did in Canada? 100% of people who breathed air died afterwards. Dangerous world out there."

"At least this hospital has comfy beds and no fees."

Should he? Ah, he had nothing to lose anyways.

"Good looking staff as well."

Alissa giggled at the joke, though she found it slightly in poor taste given the circumstances. Still, it was rare to find a subnatural who had a--positive? Would she call it positive?--positive-er view on the world than the usual student traffic in the hospital.

"All right, you, get the other tubes if you're so keen on flattery," she said with a smile.

"Yes ma'am," Brent saluted, grinning back, before turning his back on her as he got to work on the remaining tubes. The mess was still there, but being able to use his right hand without any vestiges of pain popping up was wonderful. Tonight wasn't going to be left-arm-and-leg night after all.

"By the way, where do those that do die go? Is there a cemetary in USARILN or something?"

His back remained facing her.

"Just asking for a friend and all."

Alissa bit the inside of her cheek, unsure if she could answer that. She figured she could tell at least what everyone in the hospital already knew.

"I don't know exactly, but subnaturals--students--who die get taken underground. To the basement floors. That's all the regular staff know, sorry. We don't have any clearance for those floors. But--" she stopped, clamping another set of tubes before continuing quietly "--Clark might know."

"Clark?" Brent turned, wiping a bit of IV fluid on the sleeve of his jacket.

"I'm not sure if I should be telling you about him," Alissa closed off another tube with a troubled expression, "but you can find him in 221. I think letting you know that much is okay...? It's restricted access for now, though. One of the guards came in earlier with Clark--it looked pretty bad--oh, I think...I shouldn't say anymore."

She remained quiet for several seconds, finishing off her side of the room before joining Brent where he was busy knotting the last few tubes.

"Try not to ask the staff around here too many questions, okay?" she said softly, keeping her voice low next to him. "Some of them...aren't really trying to keep the students...healthy. You shouldn't give them a reason to target you."

He recalled. The girl with the glassy eyes. All those who were walking around with missing limbs. His own dark thoughts about how easy it would be to kill them all if a mistake had simply been made with the dosage. And he nodded. "Thanks for the heads up," he replied, "I'll mop up the rest of the floor then. Do you use Windex for blood?"

That bitter taste was surfacing once more. He swallowed it down.

"We have a stronger bleach solution for disinfecting the floors. You can just mop up the blood and we can finish up later. Remember to wash your hands!" she patted him on the arm, "And thanks for helping."

Gregory Irving

---

---

Things were rather quiet after that as Gregory brooded in silence and tried to fall asleep. Naturally the former didn’t exactly help with the latter. A flurry of activity caught his attention, and he briefly glanced about as the room was cleared of almost every other patient. Uncertainty cleared aside bitterness for a moment, and he tilted his head to keep the door in sight as he wondered.

At least it didn’t take long for the procession of injured, soldiers, and medical staff to quickly file inside. “Fantastic,” he muttered wheezily as he turned his head to look at the ceiling again. The whole lot of them had been sent out to live combat, and it looked like only a fraction had worse injuries than him. Fan-fucking-tastic indeed. His right hand twitched, too mangled to do much else, and he sighed irritably. The irritation only grew as things continued to happen around him. Doctors and nurses performed their duties, the other students did whatever, and he was unable to even sit up without the pain slamming him back down.

More sounds. Numerous boots against the floor. More soldiers then, but why? He didn’t need to turn his head before the answer was handed to him in the form of a light show above him, and the disappearance of his injuries. He blinked a few times, overwhelmed by just how… healthy he felt, before he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the Precursor as the doors slid shut with a hiss.

The realization that he didn’t have to just lay around uselessly prompted Gregory to sit up quickly, and climb out of bed. Still… between the cast around his upper arm, the wrappings around his other hand making it hard to move, and those around his waist… he needed to find someone to get all this stuff off of him. Luckily, the doctor that arrived moments later and cleared them to get on with their lives also pointed him in the direction of some staff that could do just that, so that’s exactly where he headed off for the moment.

Emma didn't protest as she watched the bodies of Padma and Alexis be taken. She didn't speak on the ride back to campus. She didn't resist as they shoved her into the hospital room. She did what the nurses and doctors told her without a word.

She wasn't even crying anymore. Entirely despondent to an extent that bordered on theatrical.

That was until he came. The person in question, of course, was Benediction. She glanced up at the retinue of guards. He was barely visible between them but there was no mistaking it. She'd seen him on the news more times than she could count, browsed message boards dedicated to his glory, seen every fake sex tape where an actor dressed in his likeness got a go at an equally fake Sparrow- she could go on, but it would be best to leave it at that. But hell, it would be impossible for any person that was even a little up to date with current events not to recognize him. John Lennon had nothing against Benediction- that is to say he is 'bigger than Jesus' in a very literal sense.

And that made it all the more suspicious that he was here. Benediction was incredibly hard to obtain- both due to his aloof attitude and the myriad of red tape that one would have to go thorough to obtain the government's most important asset, arguably the most important person living on this Earth. He might not be able to fight but he was with very little doubt the most powerful of the Precursors. The power to circumvent death was something sacred, something must be kept safe from those that would abuse it.

So why was he here, wasting his time on a random group of students? Very suspicious. Of course there was only one conclusion:

We're important to them... but why?

Emma didn't have a clue as to the why, but it was clear that if Benediction was here to heal them they were important indeed. It was hard to imagine that a group of fledgling mages would warrant the attention of Precursor, but they did all the same.

Another thought dawned on her:

Are the others still dead?

After all if the living students were healed, why not the dead? Could the two she had worried over so much have been brought back?

She certainly hoped so. She could even... she could ask, couldn't she?

"W-wait..." She called out for the Precursor weakly, but he paid her no mind, already disappearing through the doors at the other end of the room. That wasn't a surprise. Why would the almighty Benediction pay any attention to her, or any of them? They were but a minor annoyance in his daily routine and nothing more. How vain could she be to think that he would care about her, let alone that he would go out of his way to find the bodies of the others? She that little bit of hope disappear, getting up slowly from the hospital bed, wounds now healed. She looked down at herself. Her clothes were still shredded but she was no longer covered in small scratches from the witch's attack

As soon as she was allowed to leave she did so without a word, sulking all the way back to her dorm. She didn't have words for Lawrence or Hazel.

That night she would take an inconsiderately long shower and then go to bed without a word, where a long, deep, sleep awaited her.

---

---

It didn't take long for Angélique's plea for help to be noticed. A very familiar face came to see her, visually confused about what the raven-haired Abberation was trying to explain by gesturing. However, she seemed to quickly get the gist of her message as soon as she started pointing towards Green Team, much to the relief of the ex-singing star. However, it turned into a somewhat distressing situation when the blonde girl she had met only a hour ago seemed to link herself with both Aaron and Allison with some sort of eerie black thread around their wrists.

Angel realized with horror that the girl was in fact the one named Lilianna Brandt, one of the two healers of the newly arrived students, as soon as the very same injuries Angel's teammates had suffered began appearing on the blonde girl's body. The black-haired X-marked jumped, startled, when Lilianna shrieked a terryfying wail of pain before entering a somewhat desillusioned state. She kept mumbling names, incoherent words and the like before fading away unconsciousness.

In the nick of time, Angélique saw her comrade's distress and was just in time to catch her into her arms when she fell unconscious. She was panicked and had no idea with what to do with the bleeding unconscious girl in her arms. If what she had heard from Ethan was true, then she had actually just transfered Allison's and Aaron's wounds onto her, making it very problematic to have both a shard of plate slicing across her side and fractured ribs.

With the same thought process as Savannah earlier, Angel took part of her clothing to makeshift bandages. But compared to her blond little teammate, she was wearing jeans and had nothing to cut efficiently. Unsure as to when the real help arrive, Angel tore her T-shirt open and wrapped it around the unconscious girl's body, taking care to not put as much pressure onto her ribs and the shard imbedded deep inside her body. The blood flow would be less significant, but still be considerable. Minding what she had learned from first-aid training and her own advice to Savannah earlier, Angel kept pressure on Lilianna's wound to prevent as much blood loss as possible, and hoped help would arrive sooner than later.

"Hang in there, Lily!"

Her wish had been granted when Angélique heard the sounds of trucks coming towards them. As they stopped near their position, nearly two dozens of soldiers came out rushing from the transparent tin cans, some of them bringing stretchers. In a very different contrast to Lilianna being ripped away from the scream-powered Aberattion and brought to one of the trucks in a stretcher, Angel had a gun pointed to her face with a cold "Move it!". There was not much she could do but snarl and spit at the ground in response before getting up and bringing herself inside a different truck all while being prodded and shoved forward.

Once everyone went inside, the trucks departed as quickly as they had arrived. The truck ride was relatively just as calm as when they were first brought to USARILN earlier today. With everything that had happened, Angel was in no mood for small chatter. She was bloodied from holding injured people, on the verge of crying from taking into consideration what had happened tonight, and felt exposed, being topless beside a plain black bra covering her torso's intimate parts. With her back against the transparent truck wall, it was hard to see the wings tattooed on her back, unless one had been looking from the outside of the truck, or saw the raven-haired young woman enter the truck beforehand.

Arriving at the campus, everyone wa shoved into the same room inside the facility's hospital. Angélique tried resisting at first, because she wasn't injured herself, but it was made clear to her by gunpoint that everyone who was part of that battle needed to go in there. With an annoyed puff, she stomped towards a chair and sat there with an grumpy look on her face. She watched with intent as the nurses began quickly working on the severly injured, mainly the healers of the new students. Obviously, the establishment prioritized the well-being of those who had aptitudes to alter wounds, heal them. It kind of reminded her just how idolized one of the Precursor was around the world. Beneful was his name? No, that was a brand of dog food. Benevolent perhaps? No no, that was something close to that, but more grand-sounding.

Speaking of the devil, whispers of a new arrival coming into the room brought her attention to the man who had stepped in with a myriad of guards. Benediction, that was it, according to the whispers from one nurse to the other. Angélique watched with interest as the sharply-dressed man simply waved a dispassionate glowing hand before leaving as quickly as he came. Scanning everyone around her, the canadian young woman realized with amazement the fabled power of this Benediction man, his name true to its meaning. Everyone looked good as new, and even the pain in the singer's throat had dissipated. She let out a single syllabe slip out of her mouth, and it came out just as clearly as if she never had been vocally overexerted.

When the clearance was given, Angel took no time into getting off her chair. But before leaving the hospital room, Angel walked towards Lilianna Brandt and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she reached her bedside.

"Thank you, for everything you have done." Angel thanked the blonde girl.

---

"Suppression module: on,"

Welp, it was official. The battle was over and they were going to be back on their way to USARILN. In a way, Marcus was glad. There’d be a nice, comfy bed waiting for him when he got home. He shivered for a moment. ‘Home’. That place certainly was not ‘home’; his home was someplace far away, and not entirely intact. This would have to do, and he had a feeling it would be that way for a while, at least.
Adding to that were the kind escorts who had arrived. It looked like there was a pretty large group of soldiers who’d shown up, and a tow truck for some reason. He watched sadly as numerous bodies were loaded into one of the trucks, more bodies than had come from their team. Other teams had apparently taken casualties as well, a fact that grimly reminded him of how much had been going on. Everyone had seemed so separated, but now that the bodies were being taken, he was reminded of the unity they shared. They were a big team; and everybody had lost people.

He looked around as the soldiers formed around them, more of them off in the distance performing other duties. Shane’s slow movement caught his eye, and he sighed, raising his hands in the surrender position as well. He’d already almost been shot once; so he was happy to do anything to mitigate that risk.

Marcus jolted a little bit as Shane passed out, cautiously looking around to see if there was a source. It made sense that the dude would be exhausted after that show of force, but it certainly seemed like a delayed reaction. He eyed the unconscious form with as much curiosity as the guards, but remained where he was, hands still raised slightly.

He internally chuckled a bit at what he thought was a humorous scene of a few guards attempting to coax a dragon onto a tow truck, but didn’t focus on that very much. The orders from the remaining guards quickly brought his attention back to his own predicament. Once again, into the truck; this all seemed very familiar to him.

“Does this one have a mini-fridge at least?”

---

The sit at the hospital was just about as quiet as the ride over. He’d sat back on his bench and closed his eyes, his weary mind still spinning a little bit because of the green gas they’d been subjected to. The poison nausea paired with the ever-so-slight motion sickness from the ride over didn’t exactly make for a winning combination, so he’d sat silently, halfway between waking and sleep, only vaguely aware of some chatter around him. If it were anything important, someone would shove him.

Now, Marcus maintained relatively the same position. Arms crossed, leaned slightly back in his chair, eye closed. As much as he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep here, but he hoped he was at least tricking his body into feeling a little less tired. He wasn’t quite sure why he bothered to stay after they’d shuttled in; a quick examination of him showed that he didn’t have any injuries aside from some superficial glitter cuts, thanks to Lily’s power taking care of his shoulder injury. That was probably the reason he stayed; Lily’s cries of pain and subsequent unconsciousness worried him slightly, and now he was just waiting to see if she made a recovery. He’d leave any additional ‘thank you’ speeches to the rest, and maybe send her a fruit basket at some point. Maybe send the blonde boy one too, for unintentionally keeping everyone else healthy.

His eyes popped open at an unexpected sound. Multiple boots; usually the sound of multiple boots meant he was about to get shoved off to yet another room or something, if the previous few days were any indication. What he saw was a little more surprising; A Precursor. The white mage of the Precursors to be precise: Benediction himself. It made sense; if the Director had one in her pocket to deal with escapees, then she’d also have one ready for healing. Wouldn’t want any unfortunate accidents to reduce the more important staff, he surmised.

He imagined that they didn’t qualify as ‘important staff’.

Hell, he probably should have been grateful for the small effort that the man did expend on them. The white light that filled the room was undoubtedly his power, a fact confirmed by the tickling sensation that accompanied his glitter wounds healing, along with the sound of numerous IVs dripping on the floor. Seemed that people as great as him didn’t worry about the messes they left behind.

As quickly as he came, Benediction was gone. Marcus looked around – people were sitting up from their beds and looking around, nurses were gossiping and walking around, one had even cleared them. He stood up from his position, stretching and yawning. It had been a long day, and now that he was free to leave, he was heading straight for his bed.

He shuffled slowly out of the room, trying not to step in any of the puddles spilled on the floor. He gently scooted past one student, arm trapped in a cast, apparently trying to get one of the nurses to free him from his plaster prison. The crowd dispersed slightly at the door, and a momentary look around the halls showed Marcus which way he needed to go to get back to the suites.

---

---

The sun was bright here. Its light gleamed from every surface, searing into his retinas. So he closed his eyes, walking forward with his hands held in front of him, palms patting empty air.

Another hand gripped his, and he knew the heat and width of it. The shape of those fingers.

The strike of that fist.

'You can go straight to hell.'

Agreement from his lips, but he had forgotten the words. He only remembered to keep his eyes closed while the blows rained and the voice struck.

Christmas jolted back into reality, body still frozen in sleep paralysis and for a second he almost panicked again. It took long moments of gasping through the aftermath of a nightmare before he finally looked around the room, eyes straining to catch the details.

A hospital room, but the last thing he remembered was the prickling grass and smell of dirt as the end of a blue ribbon fluttered in his vision.

The ceiling held his attention for a long time as he floated in a fog of his own thoughts. He turned his head to the right, relieved to feel the familiar knot of the ribbon against his head. Proof that even he could do something right.

Memories surfaced in the fog, and he breathed out in a long exhale, slipping quickly into another train of thought.

Did we win...?

He sat up stiffly, amazed to find himself hale and hearty, cold sweat and nightmare aside. It wasn't something he had the mind to ponder then, and confusion gave way to reluctant resignation. Things beyond his control. Terrors he didn't want to feel every time he tried to really think about everything. So he shoved the potential circumstances of his health into that landfill of things he didn't want to think about. The thought had felt like it extended too far into too many dark places about the who and the why and the--

Wasted on me.

Frightening to be of worth at all. He could fear even that.

Swallowing a clunky, lumbering dread that threatened to spill his worst thoughts across his consciousness, Christmas found a distraction in the ragged state of his clothes.

He reached for the ribbon immediately, pulling on the tail end to undo the knot. There were small nicks in the length of the heavy muslin fabric that made up the thin ribbon and Christmas rubbed the cuts between his thumb and forefinger wistfully, knowing there was no way to restore the ribbon to its former state unless someone had a power to repair objects.

Bits of dirt and blood marred the cornflower blue of the cloth and he looked around for a sink or bathroom so he could try washing it. Finding none in sight, he tied the ribbon back into his hair, the motion fluid from years of repetition.

If the rumors about this place were to be believed, he had basically gone to hell--as requested.

And there was that silly hope that somehow being stuck here evened it out. But he already knew things didn't work like that.

The thought that he could easily find something sharp to stab into his neck surprised him. When had he convinced himself that there was only one way of fixing things? Just another series of 'bad ends' to avoid.

He regretted a bit the lack of injuries. For all that he couldn't tolerate pain, it had felt mostly appropriate. If he got what he deserved, then it wouldn't get worse. It was what he told himself every time.

'You can go straight to hell.'

But hadn't he already been there from the start?

His stomach hurt reflexively as a seeping discomfort spread from the depths of his mind, threatening to become something more. Christmas squeezed his eyes shut and laid back down, curling into himself as he waited for the ugly sensation to pass. By the time it faded away, he had lost himself in that torpor of thought again and sleep swallowed him without protest.

---

---

---

---

Stare.

Stare.

STARE.

"I still don't have any-"

Lawrence didn't get to finish before he was tackled to the ground and viciously assaulted, his face being the prime target of his assailant's tongue. Partly, he was happy that his shotgun was unloaded beforehand, and partly he was unhappy that the blood that he had just managed to clean off a short time ago was so quickly replaced by slobber. Still, instead of throwing her off immediately he indulged her a bit, with a few scratched behind her ears while she worked the excitement of his her system. Then, thoroughly drenched, he hooked his arm under her and rolled her off of him, before quickly scrambling to his feet.

"All right already! I'm glad to be alive too, give me a minute though."

With that he made his way over to his bed before ripping his torn and bloody shirt off- first using it as a rag for his face- and digging out another nearly identical one and putting it on. Then he replaced the shotgun- thoroughly cleaned during his wait in the hospital- back into the footlocker underneath his bed. Then, satisfied, he turned to his companion once more and let out a small whistle.

"Let's go out."

He didn't even have time to grab his wallet before the dog was out of sight.



It had been an hour since he left, wandering around Crimen Culpae 1 with Lizzy trotting behind him. No leash had ever been required for the former stray, it seemed she always kept beside Lawrence when he was out- unless he gave her actual permission to leave. He had settled on one of the many benches lining the streets of the town, fully stretched out on it with Lizzy beside him. In his hand was a fresh cup of coffee, with steam dissipating into the night air. In his other was an object Lizzy desired, at that moment, more than anything else in the world: A stick of cheese.

He had stopped by his usual place, a small shop where the owners never bugged him with too many questions about being a Subnatural. That, to Lawrence, was well worth how overpriced their coffee was for the taste. After taking a sip of his, he broke off half the cheese stick and handed it to Lizzy, who nearly bit his hand in her haste to devour it.

And so he relaxed, trying not to reflect too much on the events of the day. From risking his life, to getting to see Benediction at the end, it had certainly been an eventful one. Lawrence, for one, preferred to live a boring life, but that wasn't exactly an option any more. Instead, he took the time to relax that he could, glancing at the moon above. Someone could look at that moon tonight and not realize people had died, that such a peaceful night for them was stained with blood for others. Lawrence, a year ago, had been one of those people.

It was a shame, that he couldn't ever look up again without thinking of the cost.

A nudge at his hand snapped him back down to earth though, and Lawrence obliged it by tossing the other half of the cheese to Lizzy, who snapped it out of the air with joy. Sometimes he wondered why the two were even together. Then again, he was probably the only one dumb enough not to shoo her off immediately. Dumb, because the look she was giving him at that moment spoke of one thing: Endless hunger. The kind that destroyed a budget.

"Still not satisfied?"

Stare.

Stare.

STARE.

"All right, all right! Let's go find you something else."

And with that the two set off again, with the moon at their backs.

Walking through the campus of USARILN East Kusari was an odd sight to be sure. Walking unevenly due to her malformed leg she was writing on papers held in place by a clipboard. She'd neglected to fill out the placement tests given to her when she'd arrived here, as well as fill out a few things in a requisition form. The tests were easier than she'd thought they'd be, which was fine by her as it allowed her to think about other things as she filled them out.

She'd just seen a man heal an entire room of people as easily as one could breathe. She'd heard stories about Benediction of course, but she'd always assumed they were exaggerated. Between his miracle working, and the sight she'd seen as she first came to this wretched place, her opinion of the Precursors had changed a bit. They were still dogs to the government in her eyes, but now they appeared to be idiot dogs. They had so much power, yet when it came down to it all they amounted to were pieces on a chess board.

Kusari glanced at the cuff around her leg. In practice she wasn't much different from them though, was she?

She arrived at the administrative office and handed in her forms leaving the clipboard as well. She felt a bit silly handing in the requisition form, but she wanted to see just how far their resources went. She had sketched three things onto the form, they were clothes.
The first was a School Uniform. She listed the exact dimensions and color, and requested five sets of it. The second was a short dress, and the third was a pair of pants, a set she requested two of.

One last thing was requested, a trainer. She needed someone that could teach her how to use firearms as well as close quarters combat. It was a fairly vague request, but she hardly knew what to ask for specifically.

She ignored the stares and glares as she exited the building, so what if she was covered in gore and one pull of a thread away from becoming a walking wardrobe malfunction? Honestly they should be used to this sort of thing here. Her legs started to take her towards her dorm, but then she remembered why she was in such a rush to grab her forms and leave, she really didn't want to see Sander's face right now. She had nothing nice to say to the boy that would have nearly killed her if not for her healing ability. She literally turned on her heel and began to walk to the gym.

She'd said to herself that she wouldn't take long in the shower, but it was nice and quiet here in the pool's shower room. The fancy black and white tiles and glass doors were easy on the eyes as well. She let out a sigh as she rinsed the store brand soap from her thin body. She ran her hand against her ribs, easily feeling the ridged bones. Just how long would it take for her to get back to a healthy weight? She needed to get into shape, learn how to fight so she could...

"So I can what?..." She asked herself. All she knew how to do was keep moving forward, but what was the point if she was walking this road blindfolded?

Hazel Baker

Most everything went by in a confusing blur to her during the trip back. She kept her hands on her ears all the while, taking what little comfort she can from Lawrence's words. Hopefully that means she didn't do bad on that mission. The wait in the hospital was almost unbearable, compounded by her ever persistent Stigma. To her surprise however, they didn't get any official looking person in a white coat coming in and telling them how they did, but instead, a person who came in there, and healed everyone almost instantly. It did not seem like healing in the conventional sense however, but rather an ability that reverts them to their original condition, disintergrating anything that wasn't supposed to be in their body, as evidenced by the various IVs disintergrating to dust.

Once dismissed however, she simply went back to their room, almost running in her hurry. Reaching for the unmarked bottle in her bag, she downed two more of those pills, before stripping off everything and falling asleep almost instantly on her bed.



Hazel stood up in surprise, her teacup shattering as she let it go, the black liquid spilling all over the table and her white dress. No longer was she in that sunlit garden, but instead what seemed to be a dining room with what one would call 'antiquated charm'. A massive dining room, with walls adorned with massive portraits of grim people, lit only by three candelabras on the large ornate table itself.

"Oh? That's quite a waste."

She turned towards the source of that voice, towards a very young girl in a red dress, sitting at the far end of the table. The girl was familiar, yet unfamiliar. Hazel was very sure she haven't met her before. At a loss as to what to do, she took a seat again, facing the girl on the far end.

"What's with that look? Don't you remember? I'm ———————." She giggled. Seeing that Hazel couldn't hear or make out her name, her eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. "So you still can't hear me. Or would the correct word be 'won't?'"

As if by a flip of a switch, the girl simply disappeared. As if to compensate for the disappearance, the table was laden with food, including a fresh pot of tea in front of her. The whole room rumbled, cracks appearing on the walls and ceiling. From what she could see outside the cracking windows, the room was slowly sinking into a deep ocean abyss. Water started spurting in from the cracks, slowly filling up the room with water.

"Afraid?" Small arms wrapped around her, pulling her head back with inhuman strength. Water dripped into her eye, as the girl's smiling face came into view, grinning widely with amusement. The girl's other hand reached for something, as Hazel struggled in vain in her grip; fearing what she may grab, fearing that she might just stab her repeatedly with whatever she found. Instead of a cold knife in her throat, a warm cup was pressed to her cheeks, the girl's enjoyment of Hazel's far readily apparent on her face.

"Don't worry," she spoke, in an almost mocking tone of voice before forcing the cup against Hazel's lips, forcing her to drink the contents.

"I'll protect you."



Hazel woke, at exactly the same time she wakes everyday. Her alarm was dead again. Perhaps it was broken, or the person in charge simply forgot. It was fortunate that by now, she was used to waking up at this exact time. Stripping off what little she was still wearing, she headed for her shower, before promptly walking face-first into a wall.

"Nugh."

Once again, she remembered where she was. A new facility, USARILN East, where she had a rather grueling test just last night. Now another sort of test awaits her, perhaps not as deadly, but still just as grueling.

The written tests and forms still unfinished on her desk.

---

---

Zoe had left the hospital as soon as they got the all clear. Sure, part of her was curious about why Benediction would be here, but it didn't seem like he'd helped them on much more than a whim to her. More importantly, she wouldn't get the time of day if she tried to find out from anyone who actually knew anything. Besides, the Precursor's unexpected arrival wasn't her priority. She had more personal issues to deal with right now.

Well, more like issues to try and avoid, if she was honest with herself. The truck ride back to campus had given her plenty of time to think over her outburst and it wasn't hard to figure that she wouldn't have made many friends in Green Team. Which normally wouldn't be an issue, but several of them were in the 'violent X' dorms, and running into them wasn't something she felt like dealing with until she cleared her head. Best case scenario, they'd scream at her, which she could mostly ignore. Worst case scenario, they'd start lecturing her about what she did and why it was a very very bad thing. Which was way more infuriating, because if you hit those people it apparently made you the unreasonable one.

Besides that, there was the fear that she'd snap again if they started to get on her nerves. Even with the suppression bracelets on, she didn't want to see how far her ability would work through that if she got into a fight. Even if it didn't work at all though, there was still the possibility of just straight-up punching them in the face. Which would probably get someone in trouble.

Either way, it wasn't a ideal situation, so she'd figured the best thing to do was clear her head. Walking around town wasn't exactly exciting, but it was nice to finally have some kind of calm after the rest of the day had been so chaotic. More importantly, she doubted any of her 'teammates' were there, so she'd been able to relax without looking over her shoulder the whole time. Smiling to herself, she leaned back against the front of a store that had closed for the night, just watching the world go by.

"Christ you're impatient!"

Came a voice from around the corner, followed by a crunching sound echoing into the night. Footsteps slowly became audible on the sidewalk, as well as the pitter patter of paws clicking against the ground. More enthusiastic crunches followed, with only a sigh to respond to them. On the deserted streets nearly midnight, anybody nearby would have heard the two. Zoe, of course, would be no exception. It was almost a few moment more though before the sources of the noise rounded the corner. Lawrence, unsurpringly, holding a cup of coffee, and Lizzy behind him, staring intently at his other hand. It was hard to tell in the middle of the night, but it appeared he was holding sticks of some kind, halfway stuck in some orange wrapper.

Deciding where to go next, he looked both ways down this new street, and saw Zoe almost immediately. Of course, Zoe was a hard figure to miss. Tall with hair that was good at catching the light, and a presence that made itself easily known. Coupled with a personality that made no attempts to hide it. Just about as intimidating as a woman could be, unless that woman's name was Zhang. Still, if Lawrence was surprised at seeing her, he didn't show it. Instead he tossed one of the sticks in his hand at Lizzy- who snatched it out of the air with practicd dexterity, and took his place leaning next to the taller woman. He stayed there silent for a few seconds, taking a long sip of his coffee, before saying:

"Couldn't sleep, or didn't try?"

Zoe looked at Lawrence curiously, slightly surprised to see him out this late. He hadn't looked much like the type to be out wandering town with his dog at midnight to her, but her impression must have just been off the mark. Maybe it was true you shouldn't judge a book by its cover - although now that she actually took time to look at the guy's appearance it seemed a lot less weirdly professional than she'd initially assumed. If anything, he actually seemed kind of scruffy, like he didn't care about it at all.

She thought for a second on how to go about responding to his question before deciding to just be straightforward with him. There was something calm about Lawrence and she'd gotten a lot more relaxed over the past hour anyway, which tended to make her more open with people. Besides, she didn't have any reason to lie to him right now, and he'd been there longer than the rest of them from what she remembered. Maybe talking to him could actually be helpful. With a sigh and a shrug, she turned her head to look at him.

"Things got pretty heated after the fight. Guess I figured it was a good idea to clear my head so I don't do anything stupid."

"Yeah, it probably wouldn't be a surprise if I said I heard you, at least enough to get the idea. Then there was Emma hitting the guy who saved our asses as a 'Thank you' and Sander trying to attack Christmas. I heard blue team bickering pretty hard as well. Yeah, pretty heated."

He took another sip of his coffee, but a much shorter one than the last.

"I don't know if I'm trying to clear my head, but I like to unwind after a situation like that. Makes you appreciate the time you have to relax."

Zoe chuckled slightly, not really seeming bothered by the observation. It was true, after all, and she at least wasn't ashamed of what she'd said.

"Hey, in my defence, someone had to say it. But yeah, it's good being able to to take some time out. At least 'til they send us out to die again."

Pausing for a second, she looked at him curiously before speaking again, her tone fairly blunt.

"Was today normal? You've been here longer than the rest of us, but sending us out that quickly... So many of them are just kids. Not that I'm much older, but I can handle myself. Can't say that about everyone though."

Lawrence had to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the question. The fact that anything surrounding subnaturals could at any time be normal was... amusing to think about, but he held back at the moment. Instead, he tossed another stick towards Lizzy as a brief distraction, letting her finish it with another satisfied Crunch before responding:

"Normal in that new students are thrown into the meat grinder immediately upon arriving? No. Normal in that new students are thrown into the meat grinder immediately upon arriving when Menagerie or another Precursor attacks us? I can't answer that. I can say things went surprising well, so who knows if it was the right decision or not?"

Another sip.

"I sure don't."

Zoe nodded slowly at his words. So it was true that they weren't normally sent out that quickly, she'd been right about that. But it was also true that it hadn't been a normal situation that lead to it, so whether they were being targeted for something or just unlucky was up in the air. She looked up at the night sky, considering the situation.

"I just wish we'd get told what was going on. I know that's not gonna happen, though. We're subnaturals, after all, so I doubt they care how any of us feel about this. At least until it starts causing them trouble, that is."

Sadness crossed her expression for a brief second.

"As long as they get whatever they're trying to, we're just collateral damage, aren't we? Don't think it really sunk in before today."

"You're not entirely wrong, but...

He paused once more watching the steam rise from the cup in his hands.

"Would they feel pity for us? Probably not, on a whole, but if they didn't give a damn at all about your well being then they would be shooting themselves in the foot. They need us to kill monsters, even if we're only weapons, a broken weapon is useless, it needs to be maintained. They're not so stupid as to throw us away for no benefit, or completely ignore all our needs as human beings."

"You know what they can't do though? Kill monsters. Doing that, I feel like I've found my purpose."

"So, even if it's only as weapons, we always have value. It may not seem like much, but I'd rather be something at the end of the day than nothing. Something, at least, has a reason for being alive."

"I guess it's better than nothing, then. At least we're useful."

Zoe couldn't help but be slightly bitter about it, but she knew how people thought of them. Besides, it wasn't like she'd never felt the same way before she became a subnatural herself. People with their kind of power were frightening to think of - she supposed it could have been a lot worse than 'useful'.

"I'm not really thrilled about it, but if being a weapon gives you a purpose then that's what works for you. All the same... I feel like most of the others deserve better. Don't belong on a battlefield. I don't want to see them getting hurt for someone else's fight."

It was an interesting thought, though. A purpose was something she'd never really considered, finding a real reason to keep fighting that wasn't just survival. She'd have to give it some thought.

"Someone else's fight?"

His tone changed, suddenly. A slight bitterness of his own leeching into it. The delivery was still calm, but there was a definite air of chastizement- or combativeness- to it:

"Who else's fight exactly? The owner of the shop I bought this coffee from? The military that was forced to nuke China into a wasteland? Any other option causes too much harm or too little good to be worth considering. We might fight because we have to, and I'll be the first to admit I probably wouldn't be anywhere near a battlefield if I had an actual choice, but it's still ours as much as it is everybody else's. We just happen to have power. Whether we belong on a battlefield or not, I'd much rather see us out there than civilians getting slaughtered or the military bringing a new definition to 'Collateral damage'."

Trying to soften a bit, he threw another of the sticks at an ever appreciative Lizzy.

"Maybe they do deserve better, but someone would have to take their place. And the people that would deserve just as much as them. It's a way of thinking that leads to more questions and regrets than answers. Personally, I work with who I'm given, we're all equals in misfortune. I don't think you're any more deserving of being out there than I am, or Shane, or even the children. World's fucked up whether we adapt to it or not."

"I never really thought about any of that. The fate of the world, the lives of whatever random people are walking down the street? I've never looked past the people on my side, not really. Doesn't stop me fighting, but saving the world was never really my thing. As long as I can look out for the people close to me, everything else was never really my problem. There's only so much I can care about."

She shook her head, almost looking angry at herself. Resentful.

"Selfish, right? But I'm sure you already figured that out."

Smiling wryly, she raised her head, slowly tapping a finger against the X mark on her throat. That was why she had it, after all. One stupid, selfish decision. Death, destruction, blood on her hands - she'd chosen that for the world, just to protect the people she cared about. Maybe it was just a dream or a vision, but there was no denying reality.

"I'm not going to stop fighting. But make no mistake, my fight was only ever for the people I personally care about. Say whatever you like, but that's not changing any time soon."

He shook his head.

"I'm not what you would call a bleeding heart, all I mean to say is death is equal. Whether it's us, or a random joe, someone has to be risking their life or the entire world does go to shit both for the fighters and the idle. It just makes more sense for the fighters to be us, and things that make sense are what I choose to follow."

Tossing the last stick to Lizzy, he shoved the empty wrapper in his his pocket and pointed to the Arbiter mark on his face.

"Besides, your mark doesn't make you selfish any more than mine makes me selfless. We made the choice we felt was best, and we live with the consequences of that action. But..."

He extended his now-free hand, offering a shake.

"This is all a rather deep discussion for a woman whose name I haven't even caught yet."

So he was just being logical about this? Wasn't how she looked at things, but at least she knew where he was coming from now. So she could sort of understand it, even if they didn't exactly see eye to eye. Logic was as good a way as any to try and sort out the mess they were in - but she was never going to be the type of girl able to view things objectively.

Although it was interesting to hear him talk about the marks. She'd always just assumed she'd made the 'wrong' choice, considering the consequences she'd ended up with, but in a way he was telling the truth. It had been what she thought was important that had mattered in the end. That was different for each and every one of them.

Zoe looked at the offered hand for a second before relaxing and accepting the handshake with a smirk.

"Guess that did get pretty deep, huh? Name's Zoe. You're Lawrence, right? I think Zhang introduced you to us all earlier."

The smirk was returned as he retracted his hand.

"Right, right, the whole arrival in chains thing. Yeah, still Lawrence here. And this-"

Stare.

"- Temperamental little dog-"

Stare.

"- Is named Lizzy."

STARE.

Upon finishing the last of her snacks, Lizzy could only be described as enormously satisfied with her life and the direction it had taken. However, the second Zoe and Lawrence had shaken hands she completely transformed. With almost unnerving stillness she inched closer to Lawrence and fixed a steady gaze on Zoe, almost startling in its intensity. No growl came from her throat, and no teeth were barred, but the message was clear: The dog was issuing a challenge.

"I'd just ignore her- she gets like this around women. Food's usually a good peace offering if you have any."

Zoe looked at Lizzy. Someone was pretty protective of her owner apparently. Not that it was a bad thing, although it was kind of inconvenient to deal with right now. Still, it was Lawrence's dog so taking his advice seemed like the best idea. Better than possibly making the dog angry anyway, because she'd been attacked enough for one day. Not that Lizzy seemed like she'd do that, but still.

Of course, she didn't exactly carry dog treats around with her. Although she had grabbed some snacks on her way around, seeing as the fight had left her with a bit of an appetite. Most of them were finished searching her pockets, she pulled out a small bag of apple slices and gave Lawrence a questioning look. She didn't want to go poisoning his pet or something.

"Yeah, this is all I've got on me. Can dogs even eat apples?"

"Yeah, although it's hit or miss if they actually like them, Lizzy though-"

At the word apples the dog walked up and snatched the package from Zoe's hand, strutting away with her head held high in arrogance. As if to say she had won the first round of a game Zoe didn't even know she was playing. Then, once behind Lawrence, she tore into the small package on the ground and devoured it's contents, leaving Lawrence to pick up the trash with a sigh.

"- Will eat anything. Sorry about that. I'll pay you back sometime, lord knows enough smartasses hand me apples on a daily basis."

The statement was followed by another sigh that spoke volumes about the truth behind it. The sound of a man resigned to his fate. Running a hand through his hair, he looked down the empty streets, and to the now-pacified Lizzy. Finally, his eyes settled on Zoe once more, and he tilted his head in the general direction of her new home.

"Need help finding your way back? I'm in no hurry either way if your head still needs clearing."

Zoe looked at the dog's actions in bemusement. At least she didn't seem to be mad anymore, although the reaction had been almost arrogant. Lawrence definitely wasn't joking about the dog's appetite either, seeing the speed that the apples disappeared at. It was kind of funny, actually - drawing a slight chuckle from the girl.

"No need to pay me back. It's just a few pieces of apple, I'm sure I'll live."

Still, there was something about the way that he spoke. Almost like he was tired of something or other. She gave him a look of concern, but didn't call him out on it. Instead, she looked back up at the school, following the direction he'd indicated. As much as she resented the circumstances, she had to go back eventually.

"I think I've just about cooled off. So long as we don't get there too quickly, it should be fine. Can't stay out here forever, right?"

"Well, as the one with longer legs, I'd say you have the honor of setting the pace."

With a sip of his coffee and an "after you" sweeping of his hand, Lawrence fell in beside Zoe on their trip back home. The three walked in silence, man, woman, and dog, although at least to Lawrence it was a peaceful one. A last chance to enjoy the night air for what it was, with the sounds of a mostly-slumbering town to soothe him. It had, in the end, been a successful trip into town. The battles of the past gave way to the relaxation of the present, and he felt like he'd sleep with little difficulty that night. Still, it wasn't entirely without reluctance that he approached USARILN East once more, and the cold embrace of the new life he had come to accept. For awhile at least, on the nearly deserted streets of a slumbering town, he had felt less like a weapon, and more like Lawrence. Losing that again came with no small reluctance.

Yet still he approached, and as the two stood in front of the Aberration wing, he looked up at Zoe once more, finishing off the coffee that had since gone cold. It took another moment after the cup was empty to settle on what he wanted to say, but finally he offered:

"When your stigma starts acting up, I'm usually around in the library. If you feel like getting some peace without having to destroy a bunch of shit- or you can't wait to get to ground zero, I'll do what I can for you."

As a demonstration, the two were briefly engulfed in a white light, although Lawrence didn't let his power take full effect before turning it off once more. It was merely meant to be a sample.

"Most Abes seem to like it, anyway. I'm sure word would have gotten to you eventually, but an invitation never hurts either."

As the white light surrounded her for a brief second, Zoe had felt ever so-slightly calmer than normal. It wasn't too potent, but then she doubted he was putting it on full blast right now. But it was nice, just having a few less worries for a moment. For once, she was calm enough on her own, but on a bad day... Well, she could see how it'd help out. Keep things under control.

"I can see why they would. It's... peaceful. I'll make sure to keep the offer in mind. Although if you wanted an excuse to talk to me, you could always just ask."

She smirked confidently, clearly joking, and looked at him with a slight laugh before turning to go back to the dorms. Pausing, she thought things over for a second. It didn't seem fair not to at least acknowledge his help properly before leaving. As she reached the door, she stopped before going in and spoke more sincerely.

"Seriously though, thanks for speaking to me back there, Lawrence. I appreciate it."

He chuckled in response, starting to move away and throwing a wave towards her with the back of his hand.

"Yeah yeah, let me know next time if you prefer taking up a career as a street sign instead. Goodnight though!"

Everything else whizzed by in a blur. Emma slapping Shane, Lily passing out, the trucks, the stretchers, Shane passing out, Brent, the hospital.... Callan sat in the "entertainment" corner with her hair down and hood up, synching the gaping hole in the side of her hoodie with her hand. She'd noticed it on the way back and would have likely died of embarresment had that acidic blood splashed any higher. Her main concern, however, was Lily and Christmas. They seemed to be in the most critical condition. Under any other circumstances, she might've been all too happy to explore the numerous games and comic books-- but not now.

One hand in her pocket, she watched the numerous blood bags being attached to Christmas. Leaning up against the wall, she anxiously chewed on the cord attached to her collar. She watched as Lily was injected with some of his blood and as her injuries magically dissappeared. She watched as they patched up all the other injured students-- cleaning and bandaging cuts, ice for bruises, stuff for the nausea.

She felt another pang of isolation-- slightly different this time. All these people were so fragile. The doctors, the nurses, her roommates, teammates, classmates. Any of them could be killed so easily-- like Padma, the tall red head, or the two soldiers she hadn't even noticed until what was left of them was scooped into bags and carried away. That gorey sight still nawed at her from its designated spot in the back of her mind. She'd never given much thought to the miracle that was her existence in a world that was so dangerous. As she attempted to ponder it, however, she had to remind herself that this sort of thinking really didn't suite her. She was asking for a headache and she knew it.

"Psalms chapter 116, verse 15."

She remembered the voice of her teacher from bible study. That lesson had been the same week she'd looked in the mirror and seen that mark on her cheek-- stark white against her caramel skin. Another life. Then everything had gone to hell.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. What does this mean exactly? Why does He consider that precious?"

Callan joined the class in their blank, expectant stares-- opting to lean on top her open bible, which definitely wasn't on the right page. Arms folded she chewed the cord to the same hoodie she was currently wearing-- forcing herself to stay awake. She felt like she owed that much. Anyway, it was Monday night and class participation hadn't been much of a priority for anyone-- least of all Callan. In fact, this was the only part of the entire lesson she remembered from that day.

"Well, first of all it's because he "seeth not as man seeth." He doesn't judge by appearance. He always sees things as they really are. We need to remember that he uses the infinite scale of eternity when deciding whether or not it's our time. We can't possibly know all the reasons why certain things happen, but we do know that when we die, we're delivered from evil--"

Callan dropped the cord from between her teeth and sighed harshly, forcing the memory away. She withdrew her hand from her pocket to grip the bridge of her nose. What was all that supposed to make her think? That Padma, that girl, and those soldiers were lucky? Delivered from evil? That she shouldn't be sad or upset? They weren't lucky-- they were dead. Gone. It wasn't okay. It didn't make sense. She didn't understand. More people were going to die. Would it ever stop?

"Any questions?"

She wished she'd thought to ask then.

The darkness that claimed Lily was not empty for long. Faceless people appeared one by one. Some were pointing an accusing finger at her, others were laughing and some were just standing around staring at her. Were they there to mock her? Because she didn't know who she was and where she came from? She felt anger surge through her. Was it her fault not being able to remember? She glared at them. Who were they? What did they want?

For the longest time, they stood there, silent and daunting, watching Lily and making her feel like some sort of freak show. She wanted to shout at them, to tell them to go away. But a part of her felt like she was missing something, that staying there in front of this collection of faceless people would somehow fill in the gap.

From the crowd that had gathered, a tall, slender figure walked up to her, his face, like everyone else's, was hidden by a thick cloud. He was saying something. She could see the faint outline of his lips moving but no sound came from them. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make out what he wanted to say. And then his lips curled up into a smile and he offered a hand to her. Should she take it? What would happen if she did? Would she finally be able to see his face, finally remember who he was and why she forgot him?

The scuffling of boots and sudden hush of the room drew Callan's attention to the door as it swung open and several soldiers walked in. Among them, a handsome man with dark clothes and black hair-- but that wasn't all he was. She knew that face in an instant. Benediction. Her jaw dropped and she felt frozen in place. He looked straight through her as he glanced around the room. In a flash of light and sudden feeling of mental relief, he was gone. Relieved was not how she'd say she felt about him leaving, though. Don't go, she wanted to say, Stay with us. We need you. Who knew when they'd all be fighting again? Without him, more people would die. Without him, four already had.

Lily reached out her hand toward the boy's hand. But as she did, he seemed to move farther away. Did he take a step back? Lily took a step forward and reached out again. All she could touch was air. Lily furrowed her brow and reached out a little more. But no matter how many times she tried she couldn't seem to reach him. His smile wavered, taking on a mocking look. She hesitated but she kept on reaching forward. Just a couple of inches more and her fingers will touch his.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and jolted her awake.

"Thank you, for everything you have done."

Lily opened her eyes, blinking at the bright light. The faceless people that plagued her mind replaced by Angelique. She looked at the black haired girl, vaguely remembering how she had gestured towards a small group of people. People who had injuries... Memories of the moment before she fell unconscious flooded her mind and she reached down and patted herself, looking for the injuries that she had taken. When she didn't feel any pain, she slowly sat up and looked around. "Hospital..." she murmured. How did she get there? She looked at Angelique again. "Are you okay?" she asked in a confused tone and then scanned the room again, looking for specific people. Her team mates. Callan, Marcus, Grant, Siena, P--- She paused at the thought of the deceased and instead, replaced her with the pink haired boy. That pink haired boy. The one that made the crystals. Was he okay?

"I'm okay. We all are, thanks to that Precursor, I guess..." Angélique replied to Lilianna.

Angelique mentioning a Precursor didn't quite register to Lily as she looked to the bed beside hers. That boy whose blood she drank... She could taste it all over again and she shuddered. She vowed to avoid doing that in the future. She was afraid that she might have drained him too much despite only having a single shot. Expecting to see a pale, perhaps bloodless boy, she sighed in relief when she saw that he looked well enough and appeared to be sleeping.

Callan released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and shook her head in disbelief. Of course she couldn't ask someone like that to stay with them. By the way he'd looked at his watch, he had more important things to do. She was so enthralled by seeing one of her childhood hearoes, she almost didn't notice Lily sitting up-- finally awake. A girl with black hair and shades was already there with a comforting hand on the short blonde's shoulder.

Her eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across her lips. Now that was relief. Callan lowered her hood and rushed forward to see Lily, stepping over the mess of fluids on the floor. "Hey-- you're up!" she stood a step away from the two--displays of comfort weren't really her forte and Shades seemed to have it covered.

"Uh," she decided she should probably say something else. Of course she was up. Bene-fucking-diction had just been here. "Thanks for healing me back there."

Lily looked towards Callan and grinned, the realization that nothing hurts obviously putting her in a good mood and chasing away thoughts of faceless people. "You're okay, SuperCal. I'm glad," she nodded her head enthusiastically and gave Angelique a grin as well. "And me too," she patted herself again, making sure that nothing really hurts. Her clothes were still torn and bloody but there were no wounds anywhere. She gestured towards Christmas' bed. "His blood works wonders," she said, obviously unaware that Benediction had come and gone. "Not that I wanna drink any of it again," she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

SuperCal? She smiled at that. It was nice to see that Lily was okay-- more than okay even. She almost found her sudden burst of energy a little overwhelming. Her smile faded when she realized Lily had no idea that Benediction was the reason she was healed so well.

"Oh man," she gawked, "You missed it. Benediction was here! He healed everybody just now!" She found that she was the one speaking a little too enthusiastically now. Even after witnessing the Precursor's tangibly salty attitude first hand, she couldn't help but be amazed by how easily he'd just healed an entire room of people.

Lily looked at Callan. "Benediction..." she repeated and then looked around. Of course.That was why no one else was in the hospital. The Healing Precursor had come and healed everyone, including her and the boy with the blue ribbon on the next bed. Having never encountered Benediction or any other Precursors, she wondered if he was a nice guy. He had a miraculous power, after all. She wiggled herself off the bed and onto her feet. "Where did he go? Maybe I can still catch him," her eyes were big as saucers as she stared expectantly at Cal.

Callan stared back in surprise, slightly dumbfounded by Lily's question. "Y-you're gonna follow him?" The thought hadn't even occured to her. "I don't know... he went out the door just a minute ago...."

Lily nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Yep, yep. Wouldn't it be nice seeing a Precursor up close? It's unfair that I was still asleep when he passed by," she said in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone. As soon as Callan told her where he went, she made a beeline for the exit. Halfway there, she turned back around and looked expectantly at both Callan and Angelique. "Did you two wanna come along?" she asked.

Callan shook her head instantly. The Precursor hadn't seemed too thrilled to be there in the first place and she didn't want to make him mad by wasting his time somehow. "I, uh... I think I'm gonna head back to my dorm now actually," she said, more tightly twisting the side of her hoodie in her hand-- meeting a Precursor. Why did that thought make her feel so anxious? "Let me know how it goes though... if you find him."

Angel has listened to the two now talking about the Precursor who had showed up and healed everyone in this very room with a simple flick of his hand. While she was indeed curious about the reason behind the visit of this walking miracle, she wasn't as enthusiastic as the two others girls about these people who were considered almost close to being living gods. Still, while her opinions were tainted by her experiences, she still respected their seeming admiration for the Precursors.

Shakind her head negatively, Angel waved a dismissive hand at Lily's offer. "I'll pass..."

Lily nodded as she continued walking towards the door, her attention still on the two girls. "Okay. Thank you for..." she paused, trying to think of how best to put her thoughts into words. Did they wait for her to wake up or were they just there by coincidence? Thinking that it didn't really matter and appreciating them being there all the same, she continued. "...for watching me wake up," she flashed them a grin before turning back to where she was headed. She stopped in her tracks, just in time before she crashed onto a wall. She blinked, scratched her head and then headed towards the right direction, muttering about why a wall was suddenly there.

Returning her smile, which melted into a concerned grimace as Lily almost walked into a wall, Callan briefly wondered if she was going to be alright. She shook off the concern in favor of the thought of a nice hot shower and her warm bed. Stifling a yawn, followed by an awkward sigh, she spoke to Shades. "Er... goodnight! she called out, making a very fast paced beeline for the door-- sprinting into the night as soon as she was outside. Of course, this probably wasn't the best way to avoid that uncomfortable occurance of saying goodbye and walking side in the same direction, but she was eager to be alone. As much as she liked her roommates so far and as much as they probably wouldn't bother her, she didn't know them well enough. They were still the equivalent of company just by being in the same room. Slowling to a walk, she filled her lungs with the crisp night air.

Watching the two former members of Blue Team leaving the hospital room, Angélique offered a short aknowledging nod to the aquamarine-haired tan girl who had left her with a simple goodnight. It was finally her time to leave this place, she figured, already having extended her stay way longer than how she would've liked. Glancing over the bed where the blond-haired healer was lying in, she sighed softly, muttering "Goodnight." before exiting through the room's door as well.

For the remainder of his time still out at the battlefield, Grant remained inside, in the safety of the truck. No monsters, no projectile fishmen, no emotional outbursts. The silence was comforting, and he just tried to get his rest on the ride back, but the bumpy ride was not helping in anyway in achieving that. Even when the trucks had arrived back at the school, he couldn't seem to catch a break as immediately, he was thrown straight into some kind of medical room. Luckily, Grant was not part of the actually injured group of students. Unluckily, he still had to stay in the room. With a sigh, he decided to just do what he thought was best at the time. He set Padma's knife down at his side, and he sat down. Not even a minute, and he was asleep...

"You're all cleared to go," was what came through his sleep, and with a subtle jerk, Grant was awake. He wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, noticing people beginning to leave. Finally. He grabbed the knife at his side and, without a second thought, Grant was on his feet and out of there. Destination: Dorm Room. It was sure to be a... very silent night back at the dorm. A silent and empty room. That's what he was expecting. So with the silence weighing against his body. Once he was in his very own room, he noticed. "...I need to take a shower," He said to the empty room. Dirt and muck on his arms, face, and his clothes weren't fairing any better. Definitely needed a shower. So without any other words, he set the knife aside, grabbed another set of clothes, and was off to the bathroom.

Was today productive? No, not nearly as productive as it could have been. He had gotten some answers to some questions, but Brent was still much too energetic. No doubt at least part of this was due to the healing light of Benediction, but another part was simple: after seeing Shane pull that shit off, the amethyst-eyed youth simply felt like it was a waste if he DIDN'T do anything as soon as possible. Before he got to any of that stuff, however, there were other things that needed to be prioritized. Paperwork, for one. Planning out the next day, for another. Who knew how much time he had, after all, before he was called out to truly fight.

Stepping into the silent room, Brent kicked off his own shoes and stretched out his back with a satisified sigh. His clothes weren't exactly filthy, but a bath would be nice regardless. A small, warm comfort before improving everything. That sounded about right. With that, he pushed open the bathroom door, just in time to see some dark haired boy step into the bathtub.

Ah, he had recalled seeing things such as another set of shoes and clothes strewn on the floor, as well as a fancy knife on a table. So that was why.

Amethyst eyes went up and down the slim youth's body, before Brent mentally pushed the dislike button. Complexion seemed fine, but he was still more fat than muscle. The skinny sort of fat, where they both didn't eat enough and didn't exercise enough. The dirt and soot that clung onto his body implied that he had come from the battlefield as well, so no doubt, this was a case where the power was greater than the wielder. Lucky. With that mental analysis finished, Brent said, smiling, "Sup. Name's Brent. You're my roommate?"

Just as the door swung open, Grant's eyes shot open and his head turned to the now ajar door. Gears turned in his mind as silence ensued after this other boy had just walked in, and Grant's hand immediately turned into a shield for his privates. Luckily, that was the end of the uncomfortable silence as the mystery person decided to introduce himself. Roommate. A replacement? A mystery third roommate? His name certainly wasn't called out during the pair-ups. "...I'm Grant. And I'd like it if we saved the introductions until after I'm dressed." He'd answer frankly to the new roommate, Brent.

"Yeah, sure dude," Brent replied, "Go on ahead."

Should he leave the bathroom? Naw, they were both guys. Who cares?

Satisfied with the answer, Grant turned. Then his satisfaction once more turned into discomfort as even after that answer, he did not hear the door shut. His head turned just a little, back toward Brent. "Are you going to..." He'd trail off, hoping that he would get the point already.

"To?"

"...Leave."

"Oh, sure then." With that, Brent exited the bathroom. Guess Grant wasn't that comfortable after all. He had to admit, it WOULD be a fairly awkward situation if the dude randomly got a hard-on.

Grant let out a sigh of relief once Brent was finally out of the bathroom, and he was left alone to his shower. But he did notice that the door was still open. With a sigh, Grant turned back to the knob as his chains emerged from behind him, touching the door before shutting it. At the same time, Grant twisted a knob. Cold water. He twisted the second knob. Better. He would spend a long time in the shower, washing all the dirt and grime off of his body. Minutes passed, and he finally turned the water off. Another minute later, the door opened and Grant stepped out, wearing clean plain clothes, similar to the previous dirty pair.

By the time Grant finally got out of the shower, Brent was already working on the papers, a pencil gliding through the pages with a singular focus. The subjects were definitely mind-rattling, but nothing he hadn't encountered before. Without turning, he said, "So, who's the third? Or is all this stuff yours?"

Grant was already on his way to bed, but his Brent's question, stopped him in his tracks. His eyes caught glimpse of the bag next to the bed that used to belong to Padma. Only a glimpse before he continued his path to his bed. "No. Belongs to our other roommate." Grant took a pause to sit down on his bed, keeping his eyes shut. "She's not with us anymore." He'd finish.

"Ah. The knife her's as well?"

"Yeah. Used it during the battle when she..." He trailed off before subtly shaking his head. "I decided to keep it. No sense in letting it go to waste."

"Waste not want not, eh?" Brent said, finish another page. "Which one was she?"

"Which one?" Grant repeated questioningly, leaning back against the bed as he opened an eye to look at him.

Brent still faced away from him, one finger tapping on the table as he worked on math next. "Four bodies. Two soldiers, two girls. Rephrased, it would be 'what did she look like'?"

Grant remained silent for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, as if searching, before he answered. "Tan and sporty," was the simple answer he gave, trying not to picture the sight of her dead body. "Name was Padma."

"Padma..." Brent repeated, his pencil stopping for a moment. His other roommate, huh. The one that he won't get to meet and the one that he won't be able to 'remember'. Did she die heroically? Or did she just die? That was another question that was on his lips, but ultimately, it didn't matter.

"Gonna try to forget her?"

"If those were my intentions, I wouldn't have picked up her knife." Grant gave up on holding himself up and let his back collide with the comfort of his bed.

"Good. Don't."

The pencil continued once more, scribbling late into the night.

Brent let out a long breath, watching the white cloud disappear into the cold air. Though it was only September, the morning was still cold, whatever sunlight that peeked from the clouds being distant and warmthless. Around the surprisingly well-maintained track field, soldiers did their own laps under the gaze of a sergeant. There were a couple other adults who weren't in uniform either. Probably live-in staff who decided that they might as well keep in shape. Help them run faster if an aberration goes wild and all that.

He had been in the field since 7AM, and, tapping his foot against the grassy ground, the brunette nodded to himself. Just a couple more laps then, too cool down. Then he can go have a big breakfast, go shopping, and figure out a good reason for him to meet this Clark person.

Two hands slapped his cheeks, and Brent rolled his shoulders once more.

"Let's get this done!"

It wasn't long after that Emma appeared at the training field. It was uncharacteristically early for Emma, made clear by the coffee cup in her hand and the bags under her eyes. She was about as ‘dressed down’ as she was likely to get, donning only a simple zip hoodie and t-shirt paired with jeans. To be quite frank she wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing here- of course she had come here determined to get stronger, hoping to be of more help the next time she was in battle, but she wasn’t exactly sure what getting ‘stronger’ entailed. Learning to control her Tulpas better? Learning to throw a proper punch? Learning to take a proper punch?

Probably all of the above, she decided.

Emma bristled slightly when she noticed the boy from yesterday. She was embarrassed that she was unable to keep any semblance of composure at the sight of her comrade's corpses. She prided herself on her ability to save her bullshit for her own time, but she lost it yesterday, she recognized that much.

That’s not to say she wasn’t still in tatters.

Her first inclination was to turn around as soon as she saw him, but she knew that she couldn’t let pettiness get in the way of her resolve. She offered a small wave at him, hoping that he wouldn’t be… angry? Or sympathetic, maybe? Perhaps she more hoped that he wouldn’t be anything.

Before Brent could properly kick off though, a familiar face waved at him. Small, really, but that face in particular was important. The pretty angry girl from yesterday that slapped Shane because she was too useless to protect her friends herself, was it? The one that was dislikeable in any way other than her decision? The one that he had been planning on looking for?

Well, it was definitely lucky then, that she found him before he found her.

Returning the wave, Brent called out with his usual smile, "Morning there, didn't think you were the sporty type!"

Emma returned Brent’s smile, but there was a hint of hesitation in her face. ”Good morning… no, not really, but… I figured I should get tougher if we’re going to have to be fighting. If I get tougher we won’t have to worry about people dying, right?”

Her smile turned to a frown. ”Anyways… I’m, uh, sorry about yesterday, alright? I wasn’t really… I wasn’t being fair to you or Shane, and I acted like an idiot. I just wanted to think I was doing the right thing.”

She’d been thinking about what to say since last night, and she still thought the words coming out of her mouth sounded stupid.

Tougher? Brent cocked an eyebrow at that, trying to recall what it was that she even did. Wasn't she the one that controlled those puppet-monsters? Not the one that was getting pingponged constantly by a giant scorpion? "Tougher? Uh...don't think that'd be very useful. I wasn't down on the field myself, but I'm pretty certain that natural human resilience isn't going to be too great against Mr. I-Level-City-Blocks-Casually."

Before he could continue on that particular line of thought though, the girl segued into a different topic, that of an apology, and all the brunette did was shrug. "Yeah, no problems. You're better off apologizing to Shane than me, really. I don't care either way. Anyways, dead bodies, asked some questions and it turns out they bring them underground. Someone called Clark, lives in 221, knows more."

He started jogging on the spot. "Dunno if it's A or B though, but I was gonna go check that out in the evening. Wanna come along?"

The boy started jogging with no warning. She called out after him, ”Y-yeah! Okay!” And he was off. But really what exactly did sending them ‘underground’ mean? And who could Clark be? Emma felt like she was getting wrapped up into some sort of conspiracy plot. But he did have a point, both about Shane and how she should be training. Her mental to-do list was reevaluated.

I still don’t even know his name, do I? She sighed as she watched Brent make his way down the track.

Marcus made his way to the track, a new hoodie pulled over his head, and a small drink in his hand. He congratulated himself on running out immediately and getting clothes, rather than wandering around the campus their first day in; the slight chill in the air seemed to be a warning as to what would have happened had he not. He didn't congratulate himself for not getting grocery supplies though, and the shitty vending-machine frappuccino was his reward for that lack of planning. Still, he hoped it would do its job and keep him awake; the previous night had not left him very well rested, and the slight bags under his eyes attested to that.

He'd woken up and slipped out of the room with the intention of making it down to the track and trying out his new...'power'. Something had happened on the battlefield when Lily threw the grenade at him, and he had every intention of trying to make it work again, just as he had spent some time practicing his rewind when he first got it. Of course, there was the matter of his decidely-not-chestnut ankle bracelet. He'd pondered his way around that one, not wanting to risk the electrical taze that had been previously mentioned, before he just decided to ask someone. A few moments later, he'd been cleared for practice and directed to the USARILN Track and Field, based on the fact that he'd be doing glorified running.

And it seemed like he wasn't the only one who'd decided to make their way over to the track for practice. Beside the numerous people who Marcus assumed to be staff and assorted personell, there were a few vaguely familiar faces to be found. He'd just tossed his empty bottle and was preparing to shout some form of greeting when a loud cacophany rang out from the bleachers.

"Hey... hey you." Kusari looked down at Callan, who had managed to fall asleep at the track field. She had been thinking of talking to her for hours, but now she was feeling a bit apprehensive. She'd cut her hair to prepare for training last night, only to wake up to find it had grown back to it's full length. The fact that her hair grew in such an annoying manner must have slipped her mind. Instead of cutting it, she had tied her hair back into a ponytail. As for her clothing she had on a plain grey shirt and sweatpants. "Callan, right? You can't seriously be aslee- HEY!" Callan's awkward sleeping position on the blench turned out to be a bad idea, as she ended up slipping and falling down, hitting her head multiple times in the process. Kusari winced with every loud bang. Well, surely she was awake now.

Callan hadn't woken up at 6 am since... well, she couldn't really remember. In fact, she'd fallen asleep trying to remember why she'd done so that morning a few hours ago. She'd arrived back at her dorm, taken a quick shower, and then fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She'd awoken to a growling stomach and, after taking care of that problem, going to the track to train had seemed like a better idea than going back to sleep. She ran two miles in 6 minutes before she decided to see if she could jump from the ground to the top of the bleachers. Then she started trying to remember when she last woke up and 6... then she feel asleep... and then....

"You really are tough, I guess you have to be if you're this clumsy." Kusari said. Wait, was that the first thing she'd said to this girl? Classic. Kusari coughed into her hand and started again. "Callan, right? I'm Kusari. This may seem kinda sudden and weird but uhh." Kusari frowned and looked around, as if someone was going to help her asked this absurd request. She didn't notice, but her altered leg's claws were tapping the ground anxiously. "I want you to fight me. Fight me and don't hold back. Hit me as hard as you can in fact. I need to get into shape, well we all do really. Oh, and don't worry about hurting me, I'll heal from pretty much anything."

Her hood fell down as she smacked the back of her head against the underside of the bench in her rush to get up and see who was talking. She rubbed the back of her head as she listened to the slim white haired girl standing over her-- Kusari.

"Uh," she looked at Kusari like she was crazy-- and told her so with a disbelieving scoff, "Sorry, but... are you insane? What do you mean you'll heal from anything? ...You know what my ability is, right?" Her amethyst eyes drifted down to the girls leg and she raised an eyebrow. She'd caught a climpse of that anomaly last night, but now that it was right in front of her face she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Kusari resisted the urge to let out a condescending sigh."My eyes are up here seaweed." She said. Kusari was accustomed to strange looks from people but she wasn't going to put up with it from someone that was supposed to be her ally, it'd get old way to fast after all. "And no, I'm not insane. I had my leg cut off and my throat torn open yesterday, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine."

Leg cut off? Throat torn open? Eugh, that sounded unpleasant. Callan considered an apology for staring, but something about Kusari, coupled with her still lingering grogginess, made her feel a little less inclined. Looking at her face this time, Cal gave her a skeptical stare as she mulled over her odd request.

"Alright," she finally shrugged, getting to her feet, "If you really want, I guess." Honestly, she was a little curious about how hard she could punch as well. Someone like Kusari presented the perfect opportunity to test that out.

"We should probably head down to the track though. I don't want to get in trouble for breaking anything." She glanced at the dent in the bench and shoved it back down. Wrinkled and imperfect, but much less noticable. As the metal so easily gave beneath her palm, she found herself already second guessing their agreement. Was this even a good idea? Weren't there other ways to 'get into shape'?

"I thought I recognized that blunt force trauma!" Marcus said, leaning on one of the bleacher's railings. He's seen the tellale streaks of aquamarine hair from where he'd been standing and made his way over, correctly assuming that there was only one teal-haired girl who could roll down the metal stands without any trouble. He gave a quick nod to the girl in the white hair, making his way over to where the stands met the ground. "How many times did you concuss yourself before all of this went dooooooowwwwwnnn..."

His voice trailed off a bit as he rounded the stand and got a better look at the girl Callan was standing with. His eyes locked to the most noticeable feature first: the large beast-like leg, with three crimson claws jutting out. They fortunately didn't appear to be bloodstained (Marcus doubted such a civil conversation would be happening if they were), but the ruby tips certainly made for an eye-catching spectacle.

But he was being rude. He quickly snapped his eyes up to the girl's head, following what seemed like an eternity of silence to him with an actual recognization. "Oh hey, you were with us on arrival day, weren't you?" he asked, looking between Callan and the slim girl. He recognized her - she was the one that had slipped the cuffs and almost gotten them all killed on their first hour at USARILN, but that didn't seem like the best of topics to bring up right now.

Bonk bonk bonk.

As Brent made his laps with his new...friend lagging behind, the sound of metal against a thick skull drew his attention to the bleachers, where the hobo he had spotted a couple of hours ago was now just tumbling down and down and down and ouch, that must have hurt. As her aquamarine hair spilled out from the hood, though, he narrowed his eyes and recalled the midget mage who got swatted by a giant scorpion. Oh, yeah, right, there WAS a student that did in fact have superhuman toughness, hm? And then, beside her was...

The white-haired one from the orientation. The one that essentially got him and Sophia shot, because she slipped the cuffs and spooked some newbie soldier. Outside of that monster leg, she seemed fine, huh? Passing by right as some scarred blond dude mentioned the whole arrival day thing, Brent called out, "Yup, she totes was! Nice to see the bullets didn't hit her!"

With that, he continued onto his second lap.

Kusari watched Callan easily push the dented bleacher flat, for a moment her instincts told her that this was a bad idea and that she should stop. Of course this was a bad idea, but that didn't mean it was a wrong idea. She simply nodded at Cal's suggestion to move to the track, when Marcus showed up. Kusari recognized him as the boy that wouldn't shut up on the truck. He too just couldn't resist staring at her leg. She couldn't blame anyone for looking, but he wasn't being subtle about it at all. At least he didn't need her to snap him out of it like she did with Callan. As if on cue, a boy running on the track chimed in, nonchalantly calling her out. The words 'Who's this bitch?' spoke in her mind, but thankfully were halted before coming out of her mouth. "Yes, I was the one that slipped out of my cuffs and got some of us shot. It won't happen again, I intend to be taking any shots from now on." Kusari out a huff and walked past Marcus. She had no problem beating herself up about what she'd done. It was a dumb mistake, something she didn't plan on repeating. "Feel free to join if you want." She said.

She stopped on the track where she agreed to spar with Callan, waiting for her so they could begin. It'd been a while since she'd been in a fight, hopefully street brawls translated well into bouts with mages.

Callan and Marcus exchanged looks as Kusari made her way down the bleachers-- her raptor claw loudly tapping the metal with each step. If Marcus was going to join them, he should probably know.

"She's askin' me to punch her," Callan mumbled to Marcus, hesitating to follow so she could wait until Kusari was out of earshot.

"I don't know, that didn't seem punch-worthy to me." Marcus said, mumbling back over to Cal. "She owned her mistakes, and she's willing to make up for it. I'd let it go personally, unless she was the one that shoved you down the bleachers."

"No, no," Callan shook her head vigorously, "She's asking me to punch her."

"Wait, literally?" Marcus asked, visibly surprised at Callan's response. "She knows what you do, right? She was standing right there when you bent the bench back into place?" he asked, guesturing to the slightly wrinkled section of metal.

She nodded slowly.

"Well, if she knows that, then she either has the ability to take the punch, or she's suicidal and you're her means of death. Given the numerous other ways around here to get killed, and that leg of hers, I'd say she knows what she's doing. So, hit 'er with all you got! Infirmary's right down the road if she's not as tough as she thinks!" Marcus shrugged indifferently, looking over at the white-haired girl.

"God," Callan rolled her eyes. "You're seriously on board with this?"

She looked between Marcus and Kusari, feeling defeated. Cal hurried up the bleachers to grab her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "If she dies, I'm punching you next," she quipped, passing Marcus on the way down. A joke... partially. She actually was concerned about killing Kusari. That probably wouldn't look great on her record... or tombstone, if that's how they dealt with manslaughter. Heh-- manslaughter? She'd be a straight up murderer.

"Well, if you kill her, we'll ALL be getting detention." Marcus said, raising his hands almost defensively. "So...maybe not all you got. Maybe like, half of what you've got; work your way up from there. Baby steps!" he said as she passed him, stepping down the stairs behind her.

"Don't punch me though, you'll turn me into a bag of flour. I'd really appreciate my ribs not becoming dust."

"Heh." She forgot about whatever she was going to say next as Emma approached. At this point she couldn't decide whether they were gathering a training group or audience.

Not long after Brent came Emma to greet the duo… ‘not long’ being relative to their differing physical ability. She stopped, trying to catch her ailing breath. Tired after one lap? She sighed to herself as she put up a hand in greeting to the pair. She recognized them as people she had fought alongside yesterday. Callan and the other guy. She never got his name. She also thought she saw Kusari hurrying off towards the track, raptor leg still attached to her. Emma did her best to put on a friendly smile. ”Hey guys!” She had heard Kusari invite Marcus to tag along, and thought that perhaps wherever they were going would suit her better than trying to catch up with the near-stranger on the track. ”Mind if I come along?” She was well aware of the likely chance that she wasn’t wanted.

"Oh," Brent turned, jogging in place once more, "Finished already, uh....Right, I'm Brent. Don't think I caught your name before. Or any of your names. But your name's what's relevant here, so yeah."

He wasn't totally sure who the white haired girl was inviting at the moment, and kept quiet about that. Considering her giant raptor leg of death, the youth doubted it was going to be for a friendly race or something like that. Her resting bitch face didn't help either, all things considered...but her oath to take all the shots next time was nice. He'd like to see that in person, whenever it happened.

Emma nodded at the now named Brent. ”Yeah… I’m Emma. Or Em, either way. Uh, by the way…” Her face reddened a little, aware of the implications of what she was saying and how it might be interpreted by the others, ”I’m in Building A, Suite 318. So you can find me for that, uh, thing tonight.”

"Sure thing," he replied with a smile, "I'll be looking forward to it then. Later!"

Maybe he'll figure out a high-cardio routine she can do when he had time. Having such a red face after just one lap really was pathetic, after all!

Marcus looked hesitantly between the two from his position near the bleachers. He wasn't quite sure if this was a conversation he was supposed to be listening to, but they'd been the ones to end up in his earshot, so he wasn't going to be the one to move. With whatever wierd conversation they were having seemingly finished, Marcus took it upon himself to make introductions after a brief moment of silence.

"Marcus Howell, at your service!" he said, making a slight flourish with his hand, looking to both of them. "And I'm not fighting, Cal 'ere would most certainly break every single bone in my pathetic body. I'm just gonna stand here and watch, maybe cheer a bit. You're welcome to also stand here and cheer, if you're not in the mood to go back to the infirmary!" he said, smirking a little. He'd come down here to try and work out the logistics of his new power, but this little side-trip couldn't hurt. Couldn't hurt him at least.

Callen waved somberly at Emma before dropping her bag on the ground and continuing towards the center of the track, leaving Marcus to continue talking to her. She wanted to get this over with and wasn't really interested in whatever Emma and Brent were going to be doing that night.

Emma nodded slowly at Marcus. "Nice to meet you..." And then she did a double take. "Wait, did you just say fight? Does that mean...?" She pointed at Cal and Kusari, "Really?"

"Hey, apparently she literally asked for it. With that kind of confidence, and that leg of hers, I'm curious as to what her power actually is." Marcus replied, crossing his arms and leaning on the fence.

"Oh, you didn't see it yesterday? Kusari can't die. And sometimes her limbs grow back as raptor parts? I'm a little fuzzy on that last part." Emma's voice sounded a little too casual for the topic, which probably meant she was starting to get too used to the craziness that happened here.

Kusari tilted her head back to see Callan taking her sweet time walking to her. The girl was probably anxious about this, but she didn't really care. It wasn't as if either of them were in any real danger. Looking beyond Callan, she'd noticed Emma arrive. He voiced that she wanted to join in their training, Kusari had no problems with that. Emma could be a good sparring partner as well, since her puppets could fight for her, and simply be summoned again when killed. She promptly got distracted by the boy that was running on the track, whatever they were up to wasn't any of her business, though Emma could at least not make it sound so suggestive. Kusari let out an annoyed groan and looked to Callan."Come on already, we don't have all day!"

"Right," she nodded before releasing a long, drawn out sigh. Callan bunched up her fists, cocked one arm back and--

"A-are you sure about this?" She suddenly relaxed her posture, leaning back. Frankly, she was a little disturbed nobody had stopped her from doing what she was about to do yet.

"Yes, I'm sure." Kusari said in a monotone voice. "If you don't start I will."

"Okay, okay!" She reassumed her punching stance, chewing on her lip. Kusari didn't look half as scared about all this as Callan felt-- she tried to take some comfort in that, though the sneaking suspicious that the albino skeleton of a girl was just plain nuts still lingered. As she readied the blow, she paused once more. Her eyes darted between Kusari's head, gut, and arms. Oh man, she was gonna be sick.

"Where do you want me to punch you?" she asked, setting her jaw.

Kusari's right eye twitched in annoyance, her patience at the moment was about as short as the wick of a candle. "I guess I'll start then." Kusari dashed forward at a speed she still wasn't accustomed to using her transformed leg. The distance was closed in half a second, the only thing now was to decide how to strike Callan. Punching this girl would only hurt her own hands, she could use her talons but she wasn't sure how dangerous that could be.

Kusari went for an alternative to a direct strike, she placed her right leg behind Callan's right heel, and then pushed against her throat using her right hand. She doubted even with her enhanced strength and durability that being grabbed by the throat was all the comfortable, she'd likely try to move back or resist, which should result in her leg tripping her up and causing her to fall.

Callan's eyes widened at Kusari's response and subsequent dash. "Wait--" she reflexively threw one arm across her body to protect it. She was fast. As she felt the girl's hand collide with her throat, her arm extended sharply, shoving Kusari several meters away as she attempted to step back. With her footing scrambled by Kusari's hook around her heel, she fell backwards onto the grass, landing roughly on her ass

Emma winced from the sidelines. She leaned in towards Marcus, "Kusari's holding back, but I think Cal's going to get her ass kicked. I don't think Callan's really into it." Emma had to admit, this was a little fun to watch.

Marcus chuckled a bit as Callan went toppling over. "Oh no, I can tell you that Callan's probably holding back too. At least until she stops worrying about hurting her and just throws a decent punch already!" Marcus said, yelling the last part a little bit louder, hopefully enough that Callan could hear him.

"Ten bucks says my teammate can whoop your teammate." Marcus said, grinning and turning his head to look at Emma.

"Oh, you're so on." Some people might say that the two seemed a little too excited at the prospect of their friends beating each other to death, but this wasn't exactly a normal situation.

Kusari's maneuver didn't go quite as planned. Usually a shove from someone being attacked like this wasn't quite so effective in halting the assault. Callan was ridiculously strong however, which was why Kusari was now in the air long enough to contemplate what she should eat for dinner. Her body fell to the ground, and she heard a disturbing sound from her shoulder, followed by a wave of pain. She shot back up to her feet perhaps a bit quicker than she should have. Wobbling in a circle for a moment she planted her feet and shook her head. "Ah..." Her shoulder had been dislocated, the area was already surrounded by a dim light and healing it's self. Since it was such a minor injury it was quickly back to normal.

Callan had in fact been knocked onto her bottom, but that was far easier to recover from than what she'd done to Kusari. She raised her hands, and prepared to receive an attack. "Great, now come at me!"

Was it really okay? Cal winced as Kusari wobbled around on her feet. A normal person probably wouldn't have been able to hop up that fast, though. She got to her feet and spared a tentative smile, rubbing over each of her knuckles with the pad of her thumb. Okay. She was gonna do it. For real this time. She crouched, shifting one leg forward.

"Here I come!" she warned. She cleared the gap in three bounds, driving her fist into Kusari's abdomen with as much strength as she could muster. Maybe it was the sudden rush of adreneline or maybe she was just an idiot, but by the time she remembered Marcus' wise suggestion about baby steps it was far too late.

Callan's fist collided with Kusari's body, her arms not even moving fast enough to block the blow. It didn't matter if she could see it when her pathetic arms couldn't keep up, she'd need to do something about her terrible muscle mass. Right now however she was more worried about something else.

Callan's fist had lodged it's self inside her stomach, having punched all the way through her. Kusari didn't scream in pain, perhaps she was too shocked at what she was looking at. With her lips quivering she placed shaky hands on Callan's arm and slowly pulled it out of her body. There was a lot of blood, along with things she didn't recognize... well she did recognize a few things. She'd have to replace that meal later.

Kusari held up a finger and sat down as if she was simply tired and needed a rest. She sat there for a few minutes, shuddering in pain as her wound slowly closed.

"Yeah... I'm done... for the day." She muttered, spitting out a bit of blood from her mouth. She looked to Callan, then down to her own transformed leg. Nah, I literally asked for this, can't get mad. CAN'T GET MAD.

"Don't worry about it, I'm fine." She said. That was a lie.

Marcus had just uncrossed his arms and gone to shake Emma's hand when he heard something. Something that sounded far too...meaty that what he was normally comfortable with. He head quickly snapped back to the fight, and it was readily apparent that he had just missed the best part. And by best part, he meant that Callan had just killed her sparring partner. Or would have, had Kusari not been...well...herself. That knowledge, the 'can't die' thing that Emma just told him, was probably the only thing keeping him from freaking out right now.

"Oh shit..." Marcus muttered, eyes fixed on the two as Kusari slowly sat down. "...Callan's gonna be pissed at me."

"Oh shit..." Emma muttered, reaction significantly more pedestrian. "Looks like I'm out ten bucks." She said, shrugging a little. She'd seen Kusari take worse, after all. "I guess we should go make sure Kusari or Callan aren't freaking out." She said, walking calmly towards the scene.

Something clattered onto the track as Brent did another lap. White, with viscera clinging onto it. A bone. A vertebrate? He stopped, picked it, and then turned to the center of the grassy track.

The bone clattered onto the ground once more.

He had turned just in time to see that aquamarine girl's fist stuck INSIDE the albino's torso. Blood soaked the gray shirt as his jaw dropped in slow-motion. Damn. Superhuman strength was actually that insane, huh? And, considering how raptor-girl just...walked it off afterwards, her massive gaping hole just fleshing itself together? Brent looked back at the piece of bone. She had regrown part of her spine just as easily, huh?

A student with superhuman physique and another student capable of regenerating from near-fatal wounds. There was a dragon as well, and some berserk normal dude. Nice. He should properly introduce himself then. Gotta network, after all. Picking up that bloodied bone once more, Brent tossed it up and down in his hand as he approached the two.

"Yo, need this? Guess you totally can take all the bullets after all, eh? Didn't know you'd literally be trying to kill each other though."

Because if they were, he totally would have been watching.

There was no resistence. Nothing. Like punching through paper. Callan was frozen in place, still trying to process what just happened, until Kusari's hand gripped her arm. She inhaled sharply as the contents of the girl's stomach spilled onto the grass. Reaching out with her clean hand to help, Kusari gestured for her not to and sat down. All at once and like a faucet, tears started spilling from her eyes as she looked between her bloody fist and the gaping hole, which had already started to heal. Even so, it was obvious Kusari was feeling the pain normally. Before she could even ask if she was okay-- which would have been an extremely dumb question-- Kusari answered.

She dropped to her knees and covered her mouth. "Oh God...." she choked, "I-- I'm sorry! I didn't think--"

She almost didn't notice Brent as he strolled up holding... God, was that her spine? Callan was on the verge of hyperventilating now. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about vomitting.

Kusari watched wide eyed as Callan dropped to her knees and began sobbing. She figured the girl would be a bit shocked, but she wasn't ready for the waterworks. "I-I said I'm fine aloe head. I asked for it didn't I?" Now she felt bad, not making girls cry was basically the eleventh commandment for her. Though looking at her right now, Kusari couldn't help but find her a little cute. Her face tensed into a frown that looked as if she were about to murder someone, unfortunately this was Kusari's embarrassed face. She was about to reach out to place a hand on Callan's shoulder when Brent walked up to them holding... holding a vertebrae? Was that from her? Kusari was mildly disgusted at it, seeing vital parts of her body outside of her was fairly macabre after all.

Seeing the bloody bone only made Callan worse, Kusari slapped it from Brent's hand. "What's wrong with you?" She nearly growled, then turning back to Callan. She had to somehow diffuse this situation. "Stop crying you bab-" She choked down her words and started again. "Hey, you wanna go on a date? I'll pay."

Wait, what was that?
Huh?
The fuck did I just say!?

At least it wasn't an insult.

In truth, Callan was desperately trying to get a grip of herself. Seeing Kusari slap the vertebrae from Brent's hand probably shouldn't have been as comforting as it was. But, if she had the strength to do that, she was probably going to be okay-- even if she wasn't right at this moment. Kusari's question gave her pause. A... date? With her? After she'd just done that?

"Wh--" She felt the tears begin to subside in the face of such an unexpected question. Before she overcame her hesitation to respond, however, Emma and Marcus had waltzed up with... jokes.

Emma approached Kusari with a sympathetic smile on her face. "No scarf this time, sorry." She joked. Probably not very funny. "... Are you, er, okay? Need anything? Uh, does water or something help?" Probably not an appropriate question. She had clearly missed all talk of dates, or her reaction would've been entirely different.

Marcus, having walked over with Emma, stood beside Callan. "Hey Cal, you alright down there?" he said, kneeling down beside her. "Don't worry, apparently she can't get killed!" he added, looking to Emma for confirmation. That being said, it still looked like she was in quite a bit of pain. He looked over to the rival duo and quipped to Emma: "Does she need an ice pack or anything? Shot of morphine? Shot of rum? Anything like that?" Hopefully his more cheerful attitude was putting his roommate at ease. Otherwise, he was about to get puked on, or thrown across the field, and he didn't know which he'd prefer.

Eh, so she didn't need it after all. And it turned out that mental weakness was still a thing for someone who was pretty much Superwoman. Good to know. Brent shrugged at all this, as Emma and scarface approached from the sidelines once more, each with their own attempts to diffuse or make like of the situation. None of those compared to the white-haired girl's attempt though.

If he had been drinking water, he would have spit it out.

A date? After Superbaby just put a hole through her chest?

"What, did she take your heart as well?"

...

Bad decisions for days.

Callan barely processed what Brent had said, being much too busy shooting daggers at Marcus.

"Apparently?" She got to her feet, shaking her head incredulously. She failed to see how any of this was funny. Maybe she would later, but for now.... She looked back at her fist and slowly opened her palm. She sighed and wiped her tears away with the inside of her jacket, trying to calm herself down. She couldn't blame Marcus for this-- or even Kusari for that matter. It was her fault and she should have known better.

Oh shit. She's pissed

Marcus could clearly see the daggers coming his way, and it didn't take long for him to figure out exactly where he'd tripped up and stuck his foot in his mouth. Especially when Callan had nicely pointed it out for him. "I-I mean, I figured as much! No way she'd be willing to go up against you if she didn't have the power to take it!" he stammered, quickly trying to work his way out of the hole he'd so delicately placed himself.

He stood up, moving his hands in the universal 'calm down' motion. She was apparently taking this way harder than he'd originially anticipated. To him, the fact that Kusari had sat down should have been the end of it, and they could all talk back and forth while they waited for her to regegnerate.

"Everything's fine; she's okay - you're okay. Nobody got hurt here!" he said, his tone still upbeat, but it was clear he was trying to reassuring at the same time.

Callan furrowed her brow in frustration. "No!" she argued, matching his volume "She did get hurt! Look!" She motioned to Kusari, but the point she was trying to make was almost completely null now. The wound was nearly done healing. "She's not dead, but she DID get hurt. Really hurt." She looked down at Kusari unaccusingly. The memory of her face was still fresh in her memory-- that look of shock in her eyes.

She grit her teeth-- was that all it was going to take for her to kill someone? They tell her they can handle it-- say 'Go ahead! Punch me!'-- so she goes ahead and... does that. And... a date? Was that a joke, too? She could feel her eyes starting to tear up all over again. She turned on her heel and sprinted back to her dorm-- way too fast for anyone to catch up.

"Ah, that went well." Kusari watched as Callan ran off faster than an Olympic athletic. She then glanced at Marcus as she stood up. "The hell was that about? You two really just sat there and argued about me without letting me get a word in edgewise. She let out an irritated groan. The last thing she figured she'd have to deal with here was drama, she'd need to shut this nonsense down as soon as possible. She looked down at her shirt, it was now stained red and had a Callan fist sized hole in it.

"Whatever, I'll see you later." She said, then walking away. There was a need to go after Callan, the longer she waited the more awkward things would be, she'd rather cut off her other leg than let things fester. She spotted the bag she'd seen Callan set down before their sparing match, she must had forgotten it. Kusari picked up the bag and headed for the dorms.

"I mean, I was kinda hoping someone else would say something and bail me outta that one, maybe help me reassure her that everything was okaaaaaaaaay aaaand she's gone." Marcus said, trailing off as Kusari also walked away.

Emma gave Marcus a sideways glance as Callan and then Kusari stormed off. "Well..." Emma snickered, "Looks like you're in trouble. You're lucky you didn't get a hole in your chest too, eh?"

"Oh, shit, you're immortal as well?" Brent raised an eyebrow at the blondie.

"Yeah, I kinda figured I'd be in trouble. I suppose I deserve it though." Marcus said, sighing and shaking his head. "Don't know if you noticed, but I was egging her on pretty hard back there." he said, smirking softly and looking off to the dorms. "I'll give her a bit to calm down, and then I'll apologize for making her totally wreck your teammate. Which, by the way, you owe me ten dollars for." he said, turning his attention fully to Emma.

"And no, my power's not immortality. That'll very much kill me." Marcus said, chuckling and glancing over at Brent. "I actually came here to work out some of the kinks, if you're curious." he finished, looking between the two of them.

Emma sighed, reaching for her wallet. "You're lucky I actually have real money." She said, extending the last of her wallet's contents towards him.

"Oh, hey; I really didn't expect anybody here to actually being carrying cash! Keep that stuff - it'll probably be a collector's item when this whole thing rolls over. You can use your card to buy me a drink sometime." he said, smirking again. He mentally applauded himself for that one: he hadn't exactly meant to be Mr.McCoolSmooth there, but it was an accident he really wasn't upset about making.

Emma blushed. "F-fine."

It looked like she had landed a date with Marcus and a late night excursion with Brent within the span of an hour.

"Great. She sarcastically remarked to herself.

Emma unlocked the door to her dorm, hoping to sneak in a nap for the day. It was still early but she already felt tired due to today’s hijinks- not that this level of lethargy was unusual for the girl. Her thoughts were focused on Brent, Clark, and the date that she was apparently going on with Marcus. As she headed in she grumbled to herself in frustration, ”I’ve only been her for what, two days and…” Emma became cognizant of Hazel, sitting at her desk working on something. Emma quickly forced her frown into an admittedly weak smile. ”Oh, hey Hazel. How’s it goin’?” She was trying her best to sound friendly, hoping not to seem like she was reluctant to talk to her. She wasn’t sure how effective her effort was.

Hazel turned her head towards the familiar voice, wondering what it was she meant. There was nothing moving in here, nor was she moving anything. What she was doing was trying to answer all these questions. Sometimes it was as easy as finding the X and putting an arrow over it or circling it, but then it hits her with a question about Ferdinand. She had heard the name a few times before, but she had no idea what a 'soccerplayer' had to do with a worldwide war.

"Nothing is moving," she answered.

She was dressed with the barest minimum required to not be considered completely naked, as her roommates seemed to be bothered by her not being clothed at all. For what reasons, she did not know. No one was bothered by it before, nor did anyone really bother making her wear anything besides that odd white suit before. But she did know that tired look, and Emma being fully clothed could only mean that she had ran another experiment or the like very recently.

"Tired?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Emma gave Hazel a somewhat perplexed look. Moving? She tried to piece together how Hazel could've interpreted her words, trying to figure out the rhyme and reason of her speech. 'Going'. Yep, that was what confused her. Emma nodded to herself, "Yeah, tired." She said, sighing. "When most people say 'how's it going' they're usually trying to ask how you're doing, or what you're doing... or... well, there are some nuances." She said, shrugging. She approached the girl to get a look at what she was working on, "What I meant was 'what are you doing'."

"This," Hazel replied simply, thrusting a handful of the test papers at Emma. It was the ones she had completed, with most of the answers looking like they had been scrawled in by a kindergartener who was still holding the pencil with a fist. Not that far from the truth, considering she was still grasping the pen that way. By now there was only a few more tests she had not finished, having worked on it doggedly since she took a shower that morning.

Emma took the papers, nodding. She cringed slightly when she saw Hazel's handwriting, but decided it was best to be polite. "The tests? Don't be too worried, they're just there to place you in classes, not really an actualy exam or anything. But... I can help you if you want?" She tentatively offered.

"Classes?"

Classes meant lessons, or at least Hazel thought so. She had absolutely no idea what some of these were, and the barest understanding of what the rest. If so... would they accept it if she had help? Would that not somehow ruin the tests? But then again, help with some of these would be great, especially for some of the more mind boggling questions. Conflicted, she ran over the scenarios in her head, staring blankly at the papers before her. Perhaps if she had help with only one of these papers... . The rest seemed relatively doable, at least considering what she had slogged through so far.

"Yes. Please help."

"Alright..." Emma was already getting the distinct feeling that she was about to be very frustrated, but she resolved to help her all the same.

---

Her head was still spinning from trying to even solve any of the questions. Hazel could barely even multiply let alone do all this x things. But at least the paper was finished, and only the less confusing papers were left.

Emma didn't expect Hazel to be good at math, but... well, it seemed that whatever she had been through to account for her odd behavior had also gotten in the way of her learning. Emma tried her best to explain what to do instead of outright giving her the answers but it was indeed very frustrating as she had expected. By the end her smile had lost it's edge, but to her credit she never made it obvious that she was starting to get annoyed by Hazel's ineptitude.

---

---

First, it was always the prickling underneath his skin. The sensation started at his palms, where it would slowly spread and increase in intensity. For now, it was just a minor discomfort, but Sander knew it would only get worse from here. Hell, he could already feel the gaping abyss calling. It was always like this. In the heat of battle, the brutal madness propelled him; it shielded him from thoughts, hesitation, guilt or fear. However, once the fight was over and the raging fire burnt out, it all came crashing down, leaving him to pick up the pieces in the ruins of his mind.

And he tried to. He really did. But it was easier back in The Facility. They would always cart him back to his containment unit, where he could curl in on himself and close his eyes and hope he wouldn’t have to wake up. Things were different here. So much different. It felt like a test. They pushed at his limits, leaving him in the company of others to see if he would become the monster they wanted. Did they have the answer yet? Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he killed enough?

Not even his own family…

But he digressed. His Stigma is sated, for now. He would not go there.

The fight left him the moment they stepped on the truck to return. Any further precautions were redundant, but he let them. He barely felt the cold metal on his skin anyway. Of course, he didn’t need any treatment. It had always been this way; they shot him and stabbed him and flayed him and broke him, but he would always wake up the next morning, alive and whole. One of the small mercies his curse of a power allowed him. Power left its marks, of course. It surged violently through his veins, leaving them dry and barren after it was gone. The heat was scorching moments before, but right now, he felt as if his blood were ice and his heart had gone into hibernation.

He shivered, numb fingers digging into the flesh of his arms as he sat in a corner, knees drawn to his chest. Despite the flurry of activities around him, Sander appeared inattentive, blue eyes glued to some spot on the floor and shaky arms wrapped around his bare torso. He was anything but, though. Every scrap of his strength was spent, but parts of his mind were still making demands. He smelled coffee, strawberries, vanilla and baked goods and fizzy drinks all rolled into a cloud of smog that threatened to choke him and made his empty stomach churned. He willed them all away, only for the room to return to the metallic stench of blood and disinfectants. However, as soon as his mind fragmented and he loosened his grip, the delectable scents returned full force, until he managed to cobble together the effort needed to banish them again.

The mental tug of war went on and on, as Sander felt his mind to tear at the seams. He needed to get out of here, and fast. Then his saviour came in the form of herbs and anise. Its smell suddenly invaded the vast space, prompting Sander to snap out of his daze long enough to catch a glimpse of dark hair and black sweater. Afterward, the scents faded almost immediately, like someone opened the window in a stuffy room. The dull, metallic scent of bagged blood remained, but its pull was something he could effectively block out. The figure left as sudden as he entered, his power and appearance did give Sander a few clues about who he was, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about that right now. He just wanted to get out of this room.

After minutes that felt like hours, the doctor finally declared them clear to leave. As a guard drew closer to unlock his cuffs, Sander rose to his feet slowly, but still leaning against the wall behind him. He held his breath all the while. Once he was free of the restraints, he bolted. Well, it was more like walked out briskly, since that was all he could manage at the time. The exhaustion was already setting in.

Some time later, somehow, Sander managed to find his way back to his dorm room. After a few minutes fumbling with the door knob, he finally got his fingers to be cooperative again and went inside. Without even bother to close the door behind him, he dragged his feet toward his assigned bed, hoping to catch sight of any new furniture. No such luck though. Everything was the same as when he left them. With a barely audible groan, he dropped into his chair, leaning back. Of course. They wouldn’t let him have it yet. There were more hoops to jump through, more tricks to perform before he could get his treats. He gritted his teeth, fingers pressing into the flesh of his arm again, though he had enough sense left not to use nails. He didn’t need the sight of blood at this moment. Not even his own. The exhaustion once again clamped down on him, so he didn’t try to fight it anymore. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes, losing himself in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

---

---

Even darkness wouldn’t hold him. His sleep was fitful; he lost count of the times he blinked awake to the pale light streaming in through the window. Eventually, he gave up. There was no point in trying, despite the exhaustion that was still gnawing at his consciousness. Things would stay like this for the next two or three days, no matter what he did. Well, there was one thing he could do about it, but it didn’t look like Director Zhang had allowed it yet. He didn’t know if she would. Either way, he couldn’t just sit still. The withdrawal was unpleasant, but downright torturous at its peak. He wouldn’t go through that again.

Cold metal against his bare skin, a sharp contrast to the slick warmth in his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, eyes lolling, looking at everything at once and seeing nothing. It hurt, something hurt, but he didn’t know where.

Somewhere above him, she shouted, a faint whisper in his buzzing ears.

He couldn’t. Never again.

After a long, steamy shower to wash away the sheen of sweat and gore on his skin, Sander began his morning routines, which mostly consisted of putting on various hair care products and rummaging through his meager luggage looking for a suitable outfit. However, a keen eye could tell he was far from rested, even after a night sleep. There were prominent bags under his eyes, his hands shook when he reached out for something, and every once in a while, he just stopped, blue eyes faraway while thin fingers gripped his forearm until the knuckles turned white. He did everything slower this morning, mainly because he needed the pacing. He couldn’t let himself be agitated. Or even worse, excited. Lawrence’s power came to mind, but he let the thought perish. Maybe a few days, when he was more desperate. Mind-related powers were not something he enjoyed dealing with. His thoughts were barely his own most days; he didn’t need any further interference.

Regardless, he left the room as soon as he was able, but not before casting a glance in Kusari’s direction. He owed her an apology, at least, but her silence last night suggested that she might not want to hear. Or he just made that all up because he was afraid. Either way, he chose the easy way out, for now. He would deal with her once his limbs no longer felt like they had been dipped in lead and chained to the floor. On his way out, he caught a glimpse of black on Christmas’ desk. It was the blond boy’s PS Vita. The thought of Christmas brought back a host of unpleasant (though not really) memories, but it also raised the question: where was he? As far as he knew, Benediction healed everyone in that room last night, which should include the blond boy. Yet, his bed was empty. Maybe they were keeping him for additional testings. Sander stood silently for a few moments, then finally reached out for the little device, stuffing it in the pocket of his hoodie before leaving the room.

Long stays in hospitals were boring. Sander knew this from experience. The least he could do was making a quick delivery.

Right after he finished with his business, of course. The hospital was not something he had fond memories of.

---

---

As Sander arrived at the Registrar’s office, it was almost noon. He had been postponing the trip, first in favour of a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee, then several more. The caffeine did little to help with his fatigue though, but it felt nice to finally have something in his stomach. Yesterday was so hectic he didn’t even have a chance to eat. They did say that eating help with your temper, or something along that line. Hopefully that would be the case.

The scent of people inside the office greeted him, sending a shiver down his spine despite the thick fabric of his hoodie. Sander had been hard pressed to find anything thick enough with long sleeves in his closet. They didn’t let him bring too much luggage. But it wasn’t like the cold bothered him anyway. Not in this stage. Once the line before him cleared, Sander made a beeline for one of the available attendants, the ID card firmly his grip.

“Hello there. How ca-“

“I am here about my requisition form.”-Sander cut the attendant off, tone curt but hardly hostile. At least, that was what he hoped. He was in no mood to exchange pleasantries right now, but he didn’t want to ruin anyone’s day either.

“A-ah. Of course. Are you here to turn them in or…“-The attendant’s plastic smile faltered, but he kept it up regardless. However, Sander didn’t miss how his eyes dropped briefly to the X on his neck or how his left hand moved to the edge of the table.

“They are taking too long.”-His voice dropped. Any lower, and it would come out as a growl. He cleared his throat, gripping his forearm once again.

“Right.”- The brown-haired man adjusted his glasses, even though they were perfectly positioned. Likely a nervous tick – “I'll need your name and ID number.”

Sander gave the man the info he asked, then he waited, restless fingers twitched and curled and pressed into the flesh of his palm.

“Here it is.”- After a short moment, the attendant spoke again. From his benign expression, he obviously didn’t read what exactly were those requests. That, or he could have been working here for far too long and didn’t give a damn. – “Your request is still being processed. I'm sure you'll get them soon.”

“Look. I can’t wa-“- Sander trailed off, taking a moment to will the frown off his face –“I have a condition. And I need my things now. I can’t wait. Please, isn’t there something you can do about it?”

“I can bump your request up so you can get your items a bit earlier.”-The attendant shrugged, typing up something as he spoke –“But you're not getting them right now.”

“There isn’t anything else I can do.”-The man said, almost as an afterthought, a hint of uncertainty in his dark eyes. Sander didn’t miss how he slowly edged away from the panel of glass that separating them.

Sander’s jaws worked as he considered his response. The frustration was slowly turning in rage, and once sprinkled with a hint of fear, it turned into desperation. Maybe if he caused a big enough commotion, they would learn to take him more seriously. Maybe if he broke the glass and dragged this fatass out of his booth…

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Exhaling slowly, he forced a crooked smile, then left without another word.

---

---

---

---

It wasn’t hard to find his way to the hospital. He could just follow the scent. And Christmas’ was not one he would soon forget. It must be because of the whole magical blood thing, since he knew the patterns of his thirst’s preference, and Christmas did not fit there. He might be putting the blond boy in danger just by being here. Then again, he might not. The craving remained as persistent as ever, but during the first few days of his withdrawal, he barely had the strength nor motivation to do much. Best get this over with so he could at least leave guilt in the back of his mind.

As soon as Sander placed a foot inside the hallway, one guard was already there to greet him, rifle at the ready. The guard murmured something into his phone, eyes never left Sander. However, he didn’t stop Sander, but instead just followed him around. Really, he would be surprised if they didn’t send out anyone. It didn’t matter though. As long as they didn’t deny him access.

Several doctors were hovering over the blonde boy like vultures by the time Sander arrived. By the looks of his bedhead and bleary eyes, he had only just woken up--or been woken up--and he was currently looking between the doctors with wide-eyed, fearful stares while they talked around him like he wasn't there.

"We'll need the Director's permission before we can do anything extensive," a stocky, balding doctor informed the other two, a taller man with graying hair and an equally short, pudgy woman.

"We're up to our necks in injured subnaturals. His blood can heal almost anything in high enough quantities! Are you really going to pass this up just because the Director hasn't cleared our request to keep him?"

"She has a point," the taller man agreed, albeit reluctantly. "Even the Director would be hard-pressed to argue against how effective this subnatural could be here rather than on the front lines."

"You misunderstand me. I'd like to keep both of the new healers here indefinitely, but we can only wait on the results of the request form. A little silly that we all have to submit request forms--you'd think she'd prioritize us over the subnaturals like they do at West, but oh well. Of course, I've attached a comprehensive analysis of the benefits in keeping the blood healer here, at least. If she must risk a healer on the front lines, I'd rather it be the other one."

"A shame we couldn't convince her to let us keep the previous healer--that boy with the needles," the woman replied, sizing Christmas up like she was comparing the two in her head. "Didn't help that that one was about as cooperative as a subdural hematoma." She sniffed testily before adding, "We still might have been approved if that Shane boy hadn't submitted a similar request. And of course she gives the healer to her prized pet."

"You probably won't give us that much trouble, will you? No sudden interference from the Director's pet this time, right?" the balding doctor prodded Christmas with what was supposed to be a playful poke.

From the way the boy shrank away, the extended finger might as well have been a hot fire poker.

Seething rage bubbled up in Sander’s chest. But they had always treated subnaturals like weapons. Getting angry wouldn’t change that. Killing wouldn’t change that; instead, it would only confirm to them of his kind’s monstrous nature. So he swallowed his anger, instead just coughed loudly as he entered the room.

“Ah.”- He pulled on the collar of his shirt, drawing attention to the large X that marred his skin –“Sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

"Who--" the female doctor stopped when she saw the X on his throat, but quickly regained her composure.
"We're discussing something right now, subnatural. Leave or we'll call the guards."

"...Sander...?" Christmas's voice was barely audible under the woman's retort, but despite his fear of Sander, he feared the doctors and their hawkish gazes far more. Between his potentially murderous, blood-sucking roommate and the hospital staff, he found himself trusting the former more. Were he less frightened, he would have found the choice disturbing.

“Don’t worry, the guards are already here.”-Sander offered the woman a thin lipped smile, far too exhausted to try for something more genuine.-“I just want to see my friend. Nothing too disruptive, I promise. You don’t actually need him for your discussion, do you?”

"On the contrary, he's quite important to the discussion. I'm afraid you'll have to talk to your...'friend' some other time."

They were always like this. Not all of them of course. Just the jailors. Just the tormentors. They thought they were better than the subnaturals, just because they fitted in with the norm. But Sander knew better than let the situation escalate into violence.

“Understood.”-He shrugged, before turning to leave- “I will wait outside then.”

Christmas made a noise between a cry and a gasp as Sander turned to leave. He knew what this was, between the doctors' perfect smiles and quiet agreement even as they offered lip service to the Director's rules. He didn't want to be left alone with them. He had run away to escape endless smiles and icy terror, not to embrace them under a different form. It was irrational, he knew. They would treat him well if they wanted to use him, but he was afraid all the same.

Christmas’ whimper caught Sander off guard. He froze midstep, turning to look over his shoulder. The blond boy’s frightful gaze reminded him so much of what he used to see in the mirror. Sander could never fully understand the boy’s fear, but he knew enough what it was like to live under the intrusive gaze of these researchers. However, there was nothing he could do about it. Or was there? He didn’t really want to find out. Instead, he just offered Christmas a somewhat apologetic smile, then hastily exited the room.

He had to wait. Fortunately, Sander was nothing if patient. Especially when the unnatural sluggishness plagued his senses and exhaustion threatened to collapse his bones. Out of sheer stubbornness, he remained standing for the first fifteen minutes or so, leaning heavily against the wall. However, after a while, seeing as how the researchers wouldn’t be finished anytime soon, he figured he should make himself comfortable. Or as comfortable as he could when the skin of his arms felt like there were bugs burrowing under it. So he slid down, back against the wall and legs sprawled out in front of him. A bump in the front pocket of his hoodie reminded that he still had Christmas’ gaming device, so out of pure curiosity, he took it out to have a look. Usually, Sander would have frowned upon such a gross invasion of privacy. The students barely had any to begin with, anyway. But he figured a quick look wouldn’t hurt, and he desperately needed something to take his attention away from the incessant buzzing in his head.

After a few minutes fiddling with the device, Sander finally got it working and managed to open up a game. It was a text-based game, thankfully since his fine motor control skills had all gone to hell, featuring what seemed to be giant robots and anime girls. His eyes glazed over every so often and he barely remembered half the choices he made, but he decided to keep playing regardless, determined to burn whatever time he had left. It was not like he had anything better to do.

Later, the group of researchers left, but they took Christmas with them. Sander quirked an eyebrow at that, but he followed anyway, from a respectful distance of course, so no one would get jumpy. He cast a glance back at the guard who had been trailing his steps all this time. Sincethe opportunity was there anyway, he also filed the scents of all the researchers in his memory. Just in case.

They moved from rooms to rooms, the myriads of savoury scents made him grimace, but that was it. Between his fatigue and the threat from the guard’s readied rifle, he found his craving far easier to reign in. Eventually, the researchers went in a room, then left. No Christmas in tow. He waited until their lab coats disappeared into the distance, before poking his head in the room, looking for his roommate.

Christmas was sitting on the bed, a fresh pad of gauze strapped to his left arm, on the inside of his elbow.

They had brought him around to help the worst of the injured students, and he couldn't truly fault them for that. He was terrified, of course, that they had plans to keep him there essentially forever, but could he really argue with the logic behind it? He had no place on a battlefield. His last performance had been more than enough indication of that.

He plucked at the hem of his ruined shorts, too lost in thought to notice Sander peeking in.

The scent hit him as soon as he entered, but Sander was prepared. He switched off his ability immediately, and focused on keeping it off. That strategy worked, to some degree, though he still finding himself eyeing the patch of gauze on the blond boy's arm. He resumed the grip on his forearm momentarily, before making his way toward his roommate.

"Hey."-He greeted, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie to retrieve the black PS Vita. Of course, he had taken the time to wipe all of his save games, and just erased any trace of him using in general. Hopefully the boy wouldn't notice -"How are you holding up?"

Christmas flinched at the sound of a voice pulling him from his idle contemplation. The doctors had told him to wait there, so he had expected their return--not Sander's appearance.

His first instinct was fear--the last waking memory he had of his roommate was the raw agony in his wrist, the knee against his stomach, and the undeniable sense that he would die. His second instinct was to flee when Sander's hand withdrew into the pocket of the hoodie.

His third instinct was to answer the question, because someone was talking to him and good boys answer questions honestly, Christmas.

Despite the efficient heating system in the hospital building, goosebumps dotted his skin.

Without meeting Sander's eyes, he answered with a murmur of "I'm...okay."

Only then did the realization fully hit him that it had been a battlefield. Other people had been there. Where were they? Was it a victory? Did Sander know?

He chanced a quick look at Sander's face and froze. His roommate looked haggard, eyes weighed down with bags and complexion pale enough to blend in with the hospital walls.

"Are..." he gulped down the stammer and tried again. "Are you okay?"

Sander knew he wasn't the shinning picture of good health right now, but he didn't think it was so bad that other people began to notice. Or Christmas was just trying to be polite. He would just assume the latter and act as if nothing was wrong for now. They didn't need to know about his...condition.

"I'm..."-He paused, closing that final distances with a few last steps until he was right at Christmas' bed side.-"I will be. Don't worry."

With that said, Sander took out the gaming device and handed it over his roommate. Only then, he noticed how badly his hand shook. A pang of panic bloomed in his chest, prompting him to withdraw his hand and dropping the device unceremoniously on the hospital bed. He hastily shoved both of his hands back into the pocket of his hoodie, before lifting his gaze to look at Christmas.

Christmas didn't have the chance to back away as Sander closed the distance between them, and before the panic reflex set in, Sander pulled out...his Vita?

"Sorry. Thought I bring something over for you to pass the time."-He quickly tried to divert the blond boy's attention, switching the topic. -"Did they let you leave yet?"

It was several rounds of mood whiplash and enough blinks and stares to almost be Morse code before Christmas finally grasped the basic use of words again.

"You brought my Vita?" he asked like it wasn't obvious.

He picked it up carefully, looking between the handheld console and Sander like it might be booby trapped. When the device was snugly in both hands with no strings attached, the tension in his face relaxed with a faint upturn of his lips and a slight raise of his cheeks.

"Thank you."

Another blink reminded him, beyond the surprise of the gesture, that Sander's trembling hand had almost dropped the thing.

He nibbled on the inside of his lower lip for a second, fussing with his thoughts and coming up blank on ways to be subtle about asking. He had felt Sander's strength firsthand. There was no way he was all right. But he had insisted...

The Vita's weight in his hand was a silly thing in the scope of it all, but he had missed it--the reality of having a--Sander had called him a 'friend.'

"Are you okay?" he asked again, raising his eyes as much as he dared. The compromise was Sander's chin.

"I'm fine" was the first words out of Sander's lips. Despite the fact that he was not fine. He was 10 shades of fucked up and his jaws hurt from all the clenching and he wasn't sure what game Zhang was playing at but he didn't want to play it at all.

He was not fine.

The blond boy was unexpectedly persistent, but so was Sander. He remained silent for a few moments afterward. The boy could have meant well, but it was not something Sander enjoyed discussing, so he would not. -"I am fine." -He repeated, mustering up the most convincing smile he could manage.-"It's just the exhaustion. I will sleep it off later."-Not really though, despite his effort. But Christmas didn't need to know that.

"Are you hungry?"-After a short pause, Sander spoke up again in another attempt to change the topic.-"I'm heading to the cafeteria soon."

"They said I was supposed to wait here..." Christmas responded, though the talk of food reminded him that he was hungry, actually.

Something jiggled in his mind--not quite clicking and not quite connecting. And he remembered the Director's words about Sander, saw again the Sander on the battlefield, recalled the hardness of teeth against his open wound. The hand that wouldn't let go. The grip like iron. The eyes that had burned a feverish red in the night.

Click.

His voice was a whisper when he found the question that he hadn't realized was on the tip of his tongue until now.

"...Do you need blood?"

It was Sander's turn to break eye contact. Well, one-sided eye contact of course, since the blond boy wouldn't even look at his face. Regardless, he looked away, eyes focusing on the wall on the far side of the room. Anywhere but the white patch on his roommate's arm. But what brought Christmas to such conclusion? Sander was confused. Did he look that bad? Was it because of the change? It was never like this before.

"No."-Swallowing the panic that threatened to break his voice, he spoke. His tone was neutral, but it was firm, brokering no argument.

He waited a short moment, then continued, speech back to normal this time-"You heard them before, didn't you? They didn't have permission to keep you here."

Yet. But he left that unsaid.

"If you are worried, just return later. They wouldn't even know it."

"Come on. They won't even notice."

Christmas blinked away the thought with a frown.

Sander had seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion and Christmas shoved any remaining thoughts about it away. It was just a hunch, from the way Sander had behaved in the dorms and on the battlefield, but he wondered if maybe he had offended his roommate with the ghastly pseudo-offer. Everyone could have an off day, right? Drinking blood to get stronger was...intense, but he had seen subnaturals do crazier things before on television. Maybe it was nothing more than Sander's discomfort with his power in general.

“It does not matter to me where it comes from.”

He pulled at the corner of his shirt. His shredded shirt. His tattered shorts. Sander was right about the doctors. But they had been right about his worth in the hospital, too. Christmas looked up at last, meeting Sander's eyes tentatively.

"What are you waiting for?"

"Um...could we head back to the dorms first...s-sorry," he pulled at his shirt for emphasis.

Grateful that the blond boy didn't push the question, the tension in Sander shoulders melt as he offered his roommate a more genuine smile. "Sure, let's go."-He said, turning to leave.

The torn shirt drew his attention, which led Sander to debate whether he should lend Christmas his hoodie. He should, but he wasn't sure the boy was even cold. Everywhere felt cold to him right now, so he didn't want to assume. In the end, he decided to keep his coat on. No need to make this weird anyway.

---

---

The walk back to the dorms was silent, and Christmas did his best to not shiver in the cold September air wisping across the open quad. He had been applying for colleges before the mark had appeared on his face, major undeclared, uncertain about the future and scared of the world at large. It surprised him how much had changed in just a week. And all while he had remained pathetically the same.

In the flurry of events between turning himself in and now, he hadn't given himself the time to think about it all. Certainly wasn't going to start now.

He hadn't noticed when his walking pace had increased, but where he had been following Sander's lead from a respectful distance before, he was now right behind the other boy. Consciously slowing down as they entered the dorm building and took the elevator up, Christmas fiddled with the ribbon in his hair, pulling it off as they reached the third floor.

Other students were milling about the dorms, but most kept to themselves, whispering about the events of the night before and speculating about the disappearance of some forum.

It all went over his head as they entered their empty suite.

"Where's...um..." he had forgotten her name and that guilt nagged at him, too. She had even cleaned up his lip in the aftermath of orientation and he hadn't even found the semblance of mind to remember her name. Selfish of him. Wrong of him. Always wrong of him. "Where's our other roommate?" he asked instead, hunching down to look through his duffel bag.

Sander clutched the thick fabric of his sleeves as he walked, eyes strained to stay on the path. It was quite fortunate that he had taken time to memorize the way around campus, considering the fact that Christmas was quite content to let him lead. It would have been quite embarrassing to stumble about aimlessly, not to mention tiring as well. All that standing had taken its toll. Once they arrived at the relative safety of their shared suite, Sander headed straight toward his chair and sank down, leaning over to hide his uneven breathing.

There went his plan to hit the track tomorrow. Maybe it would be better if he just stayed inside. Maybe if he began to break something, they would notice. But would they care?

Christmas' question pulled him back to reality, interrupting his increasingly grisly thoughts."Huh?"- He mumbled dumbly as he turned his head -"Oh, you mean Kusari? She just left earlier."

Pausing for a moment, he continued, voice suddenly soft, almost tentative -"I guess she is still mad about...yesterday."

Christmas stopped, a small bundle of clothes in his arms as Sander mentioned "yesterday." He had placed the Vita down nearby almost reverently, still simmering with an undercurrent of pleasant surprise that someone had even bothered. It had been a while since anyone had bothered. A while since he could even pretend to expect things that seemed like friendship.

"Um..." he scratched at the fabric of the clothes. Deciding against broaching the topic of "yesterday" until Sander was feeling better, he shuffled towards the bathroom instead.

Inside, he pulled off his torn shirt and shorts in favor of a gray, long-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts. There weren't any extra shoes, unfortunately, so he couldn't replace the nicked sneakers on his feet. With a quick sigh, he eyed the ribbon he still clutched in his hand, turning on the faucet and soaking the length of cloth in the water. It probably needed to soak longer before he could try scrubbing out the stains, but he didn't want to leave it behind.

The blood stains wouldn't come out with just water, as he thought, but at least a lot of the dirt did.

When he had done as much as he could for the beleaguered fabric, he wrung the excess water out of it and tied the damp ribbon back into his hair. A shower would have been nice, but Sander was waiting. Some small giddiness tiptoed into his overall trepidation about Sander's behavior and Christmas emerged from the bathroom with his torn clothes in hand and a hesitant smile. His face was still specked with bits of dirt from the night before, but that didn't seem to bother him.

Sander had a thing for impeccable appearance. It wasn't that he was a neat freak. Not really. But she had always liked it when he was, so he made a habit out of it. Even now, when his thoughts were train wrecks and his mind was scrambled, he kept his clothes tidied and fresh. So it was understandable that Christmas' appearance did make him wince a bit. Internally, of course. He didn't need to look like a condescending fuck. There was no helping the boy's sneakers, since Sander's were probably two size too big for him. But once his eyes caught the torn clothes, the bloody memories of their previous battle came rushing back.

Fire in his limbs. In his eyes. Down his throat. Clutching his heart.

It did not help that he always remembered everything in perfect details. Even when the thirst was choking his mind.

"If you need a shirt or two, tell me. I have a few to spare."-He said quickly, bracing one hand against the desk to pull himself up. The freckles of dirt on Christmas' face was bothering him, and for a moment, he almost reached out, but decided against it at the last minute. Gross invasion of privacy, he told himself.-"All done?"-He said instead, walking past the blond boy to reach the door.

Christmas nodded despite the fact Sander's back was to him. He grabbed his ID card and fell into step behind his roommate, the behavior almost automatic from old habits.

---

---

The cafeteria was everything he expected. Even at this hours, there were still people milling about. Most didn't even give the pair of them a second glance, so Sander just strolled right in, giving the man behind the lobby counter his ID card to scan. Christmas followed suit. The aromas of food was reminding Sander of his hunger, but he still couldn't really work up an appetite. Really, there was only one thing he wanted at this moment, and Zhang made it clear she wanted to dangle it in front of him for a few more days. Still, he was here to get food. Might as well. Maybe if he shoved enough food down his throat, the craving might actually subside.

They sat down at a table in the corner, a distance away from most others eating there.

"Um..." Christmas looked around at the displays of food and the people eating nearby. "I can get the...food..." he looked at Sander in case this was somehow not all right.

Sander looked almost surprised at that offer, but quickly composed himself. He glanced at the food displays, pondering his options. No utensil. Christmas would definitely ask if the blond boy witnessed him struggling to even get food in his mouth. So there weren't many options left.-"That's great. Just get me a sandwich. Please. Thank you."- He smiled, then added -"Maybe a cup of coffee as well, if they haven't run out yet."

It took Christmas three trips to get everything Sander asked--and then some. One large plate piled with three foot-long, BLT subs, a mug with black coffee, and another large plate stacked with extra-rare, bleeding steaks.

“It does not matter to me where it comes from.”

He was...curious if his hunch was right, but otherwise wouldn't mind eating the food himself. A bit of guilt nagged at him for pulling something slightly underhanded in what he thought was a helping gesture. If he was wrong, it wouldn't be a problem, right?

And if he was right.... Actually, he hadn't thought that far ahead.

Sander was beginning to wonder why Christmas kept coming and going back to the displays. The question was on his lips, but eventually, he didn't need to ask. When the blond boy came back with the plate of bleeding steaks, Sander had to clench his jaws to keep from wincing. He grabbed the steamy mug of coffee to hide his grimace, though when he held it up to drink, his shaky grip became very noticeable. Knowing this, he only took a quick gulp and placed it down, reaching for the sandwich.

What concerned him was the blond boy's intention. What was he trying to pull?

"So..."-He said, swallowing his first bite of bread and bacon -"You must be hungry."

Despite his neutral tone, Sander's eyes were glued to the bleeding pieces of meat. Cow blood hardly interested him much; he just found its color mesmerising. But the smell was wrong.

A snap, and he caught himself. His blue eyes turned back to Christmas, watching the blond boy's carefully.

"Um..." Christmas quailed at the stare. "A-actually..."

He looked around like he was trapped.

"I..."

Lying was hard. Always had been. Even for small things.

"I'm not...that hungry," he finally admitted.

Sensing his roommate's discomfort, Sander softened his gaze, instead switched his focus on his meal. The bread was far too dry for his taste, but he didn't dare to pick up the coffee cup again. Maybe he should've asked for straws next time.

"It's fine."-He shrugged, placating the blond boy. His mind churned with thoughts, trying discerning Christmas' motives. What was he trying to do? Was this a test? Or did the boy just make an attempt to give Sander what he thought he wanted?-"You can use the extra nutrients."

Especially after what Sander did to him yesterday. Fortunately for both of them, Benediction was on hand at that time, or else... Well, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't make the habit of meeting with people after his blood rage. He honestly didn't know how to act around them. Would a simple apology cut it?

He doubted it.

"I--um--I was wondering if..." he stopped talking, fumbling with the words in his mind. "If you...actually needed blood after all," Christmas confessed the last part in a barely audible whisper.

Sander remained silent for the longest time afterward, just chewing through his food while keeping his eyes on the table.

"...Always."- He finally mumbled moments later, eyes still glued to his pale hands.

"O-oh," Christmas responded lamely as the answer he wasn't ready for came out.

He poked at the plate of steaks for a long, silent minute.

"...How come you won't...eat this then?" he looked up at Sander before looking quickly back down.

"Not enough."-Sander responded curtly. It was not something he felt comfortable discussing. That wasn't hard to tell from the way he suddenly stopped eating and contented to just stare at his hands instead.

Red eyes in the night and icy terror, and even deeper than that...a wish to be that strong.

But a plate of meat wasn't enough for the trade. Too cheap for what he was bartering for.

Christmas had a guess for what would be "enough." He had a guess and a steak knife. And he thought it'd be fair this way. The weight of the Vita in his hands before was such a small thing. But it lingered in his mind like a lure. "Friend" was a frightening word for him. He very much wanted one--at costs he didn't want to fathom, terrified of that equivalent trade he saw as "friendship." But in the fresh torment that was this new reality of monsters and destruction, he feared "isolation" more.

Coexistence or dependency? He had always chosen the latter for himself in that false dichotomy.

Christmas pressed his index finger against the unused knife's edge, drawing a thin, short cut of blood that stung and made him wince.

But he held out his hand to Sander after the initial flicker of pain ebbed into a steady presence.

"...So what's...enough?" he asked quietly.

The scent hit him first. Even with a cup of coffee nearby, its aroma still paled in comparison to what his nose managed to pick up. He looked up from his folded hands, and the first thing he noticed was the oozing cut on his roommate's finger. The scent was almost overwhelming, but he managed to cobble up what left of his willpower and blocked it out, almost biting his tongue off in the process.

"No..."-The word escaped his lips as his eyes widened, cracks began to spread across the facade he took so long to perfect. He remembered Christmas' whimpers beneath his hands. He remembered the sting of Kusari's knife on his flesh. He couldn't do this. Not yet. Not here. Hadn't he hurt them enough? Just because he didn't have the will to stop when it mattered?

"Please don't."-He reached out, catching Christmas' bleeding finger in both hands and pressing it against the fabric of his sleeve. Thank god he wore long sleeves today.-"Don't do this. Don't."- He repeated again and again, fear evident in blue eyes.

Christmas looked up then, cornflower blue eyes meeting Sander's stormy gaze.

“This way, we're even.”

"This way, we're even," he said softly.

“W-What?”-Sander frowned, thoroughly confused. His grip on the blond boy’s unintentionally tightened –“You don’t owe me anything…”

His mind raced as he racked through the chaotic current of his thoughts to figure out what could possibly make Christmas want to ‘get even’ with him. In the end, he came up empty-handed. He had been nothing but a menace to his roommate ever since they met. He almost growled at the poor boy on their first meeting. And the battle afterward was a disaster. What could Christmas possibly owe him?

“I don’t get it.”- He spoke up again, this time finally noticing his death grip on the blond boy’s hand. He quickly loosened it, but still kept the injured finger in his left hand while reaching out to snatch the steak knife away from the blond boy. There wasn’t really a point in hiding how badly his hands shook anymore. –“You don’t want to do this. You have seen me. I can’t stop. I won’t.”

“Please.”-He finally added after a short pause, while pushing Christmas’ hand away.

Christmas watched Sander's hand shake in its movements, watched his resolution falter. What was he pushing for? Something like friendship. Something like disaster. And apaprently he'd pay in advance for it.

"If...if you don't kill me," he looked at Sander's trembling arm. "I won't mind."

“But I do.”- Sander responded immediately, almost hastily. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as Christmas –“I know myself, Christmas. And I do mind if you put yourself in danger like this.”

His grip on the blond boy loosened further, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t dare to. The bleeding had slowed, he could tell, but the temptation was still there. Of course, he wanted a second taste. He just needed a small gulp. Just enough to take the lethargy out of his limbs. He missed the rush, and more than anything, he was afraid of the crash. He knew where his withdrawal was taking him, and he wasn’t sure he could handle hitting the bottom of the abyss again.

But he didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t. The murderous urges, the blinding anger, the monstrous glee, that wasn’t him. Or at least, that what he would like to believe.

“I will be fine. Don’t worry. The Director is sending me more…supplement. I don’t need to take it from you.”- He tried to reassure the blond boy, finding it easier to form words now that the bleeding had subsided –“Please, relax. Eat something.”

Despite what he said, Sander kept the steak knife on his side of the table.

For a while, Christmas didn't respond, eyes still following the unsteady movements of Sander's hands.

He wondered if he had run away because he hated that place or the person he was becoming in that place. The person he was still becoming here.

"Okay," he finally agreed.

Satisfied with Christmas’ response and far too drained by the recent events to put proper thoughts into anything, Sander turned back to his meal, trying his best to finish the sandwich. With just one hand of course. His left hand was currently clenching the knife white-knuckled and Sander shoved the utensil into the pocket of his hoodie, to avoid any possible complications. Eventually, he just gave up and began to gulp down lukewarm coffee between bites, getting food down his throat as fast as possible. Once that was over with, he sat patiently until Christmas was finished with his meal. The blond boy didn’t seem to be interested in making anymore conversation, so Sander left him be. He could use a little bit of peace and quiet himself.

---

---

After late lunch, he went back to the dorm with Christmas in tow. His roommate had been utterly silent after the strange conversation, so he just suggested a shower and went back to hunching over his desk. Soon enough, he found himself reaching into his pocket to retrieve the steak knife from earlier. The same knife Christmas used to cut his hand, and later, Sander had slipped it past the guards on their way out. He stared at the shiny steel surface, watching his reflection in the blade: blue eyes, pale face, brown hair. Then his eyes stopped on the smear of blood on the cutting edge. Christmas. He could tell from the scent alone. He hesitated at first. He always did. Then he leaned in, closing his lips around the blade.

It was just a little bit. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

And it was not enough. The miniscule amount did nothing to satisfy his thirst. Barely a fragment of heat down his throat. Barely a skip in his heart. If anything, it only agitated him. Rousing the craving for more. He gritted his teeth, shoving the knife in one of the drawers of his desk. That was when he noticed the dark stain on his left sleeve. The blood had already dried up by then, but Sander still tried to get what he could out of it. Which was not much.

Christmas emerged from the shower as silently as he had gone in, eyes still looking at something that was neither here nor there. He dressed himself in the same clothes he had pulled out prior to the meal and exited the bathroom just as he finished tying the ruined ribbon back into his hair. He spared Sander one fearful glance with a hint of vague expectation before looking away.

Was it Sander he saw when he looked at his roommate? He wouldn't answer that question directly, even to himself.

No, he hadn't changed at all. Still latching on to people to hide from his own fears.

The sound of the bathroom opening caught Sander off guard. He lowered the stained sleeve immediately and looked over his shoulder, only to catch sight of Christmas emerging from the shower. His lips parted to form words, but his mind quickly caught up.

His eyes.

He hastily turned back to the table, pretending to be very interested in a scrap of paper.

“Sorry, but I think you’ll have to walk back to the hospital on your own. I’m not feeling too good.”- He said, though it didn’t take much for his voice to sound tired. He actually was.-“Don’t forget your Vita.” -He added before falling silent.

A glimmer of acknowledgment reminded Christmas that the lure of small kindnesses remained and that he saw too easily the people he wanted to use as crutches for his own crippling incompetence. That undiluted fear that ate away at him from every angle had once again found the one juncture that had always worked in the past: his need for others to rely on.

Running away had been two steps forward in some random direction he had hoped was right, and this--this mistake he was about to make here--would be ten steps backwards. So he took the only route available before he hit another bad end.

He picked up the Vita and ran away.

The door slammed shut behind her as Callan stormed through the suite towards the bathroom, slightly out of breath from the sprint over.

Having spent most of her waking hours either organizing the tabs in a multitude of books or working on tests, Siena was eager to hear someone returning to the suite. A brief moment of excitement ran up the girl's spine as slate eyes caught sight of tell-tale aquamarine h--what the actual fuck?!

"O-Oh my god, Callan?!" In place of the greeting that she should have given, the brunette was left with wide eyes and an expression of mild terror. Was Callan okay? The girl had been healed before, hadn't she? Wasn't everyone healed? It occurred to Siena that she hadn't seen her roommate since the night before--had she been bleeding the whole night? Questions fired off like a belt-fed machine gun, each trying to force its way out of her mouth, but failing. "I--you--I...are you alright?"

Because somehow that was the best question to ask when the person in question was both covered in blood and looking...not really okay. At all.

Callan flinched at Siena's reaction. Shit, of course she forgot all about her other roommate. Despite her best effort, she couldn't muster any semblance of a comforting tone or smile. "Yeah," she answered unconvincingly, disappearing into the bathroom and turning on the facet. She lost herself in the red spiral that circled the drain as Kusari's blood ran down her wrist and off of her finger tips. Yesterday she'd snapped at Grant. Today she'd snapped again-- at Marcus. The one person who had gone out of his way to do nothing but help her so far. She sniffed and wiped the corner of her eye with her sleeve.

A flinch told Siena that she might have been going a little too strong on the "panicked roommate" reaction, even moreso when Callan gave a one-word response--she's not okay. What would Maya do?--and disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water followed soon a cue that Callan was washing up. Hesitation surged through Siena's mind for a moment before the brunette regained herself...just in time to hear the faintest sound of a...sniff? Concern welled up, paired with an oddly maternal instinct that likely came from a character drawn from when her powers had first surfaced. Softly, Siena knocked on the open door to attract her roommate's attention.

"Cal...? If you need anything or someone to talk to, you can always let me know..." An awkward, clumsy smile crossed Siena's lips. "It sucks being hurt alone, right?"

She didn't respond at first. Turning off the facet, she snatched her towel off of the counter. "I'm not hurt," Callan answered, turning to face her. As she finished drying off, Cal made sure Siena could see her hand-- free from injury. She figured the message was clear.

No blood after washing off--she was injury free. Physically, at least. Somehow, that didn't make Siena feel better. "I...I'm glad you're not injured, but..." But there was probably something more. Familiarity blanketed the brunette at the thought. Not the first time she'd felt it, and it probably wouldn't be the last. "Well, if you want to talk about it, I'll be here. O-only if you want to though."

The way she lingered in the doorway-- Callan could tell Siena wanted to know what happened, but... if she told her, would that make things worse? She leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms and sighing harshly. "Someone asked me to spar with them at the track," she said, then quickly added, "Nobody died... or got injured... but... it didn't end well." With each phrase of her sentence, her voice was reduced to more of a mumble. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling and she didn't want to try.

"I don't really want to talk about it," she muttered.

"Don't worry. You don't have to tell me." Siena's natural drive to know screamed in protest, but she quieted it with brute force. Nobody was injured, and yet there was blood. Odd, enough to utter the phrase 'curioser and curioser' in context, but not enough to force anything. My problem, not hers. Instead, Siena stepped back and away, clearing the path for Callan. "I'll probably head into town later today. If you think of anything you need, I'll leave my number on your desk."

A pause.

"It might not mean much coming from me, but...I hope you feel better."

"Thanks," she replied with a genuinely apologetic smile. Fishing around in her pocket for her iPod and headphones, she made her way to the couch. She inwardly groaned, remembering again that she had left her bag-- and by extension, her iPad-- back at the track. She'd have to go pick that up sometime. Maybe later tonight.

Keeping out of Callan's path, Siena watched as the older girl moved to collapse on the couch, headphones on and eyes gazing at the ceiling. With a soft sigh, the brunette settled back to her place, snapping her laptop shut to return to flagging her books.



Kusari knocked on the door to Callan's room. Of course she had no idea for sure if it was Callan's room, she had simply decided to knock on every door until she got the right one. This resulted in a few people opening the door ready to argue, but apparently a strange albino woman with a monster leg was a universal sign to suddenly turn polite.

A knock at the door brought Siena's attention back to reality. Marcus, perhaps? The girl opened the door to see...not Marcus. An albino girl with...a monster leg. And a torn, bloody shirt. This blood thing was becoming a common trend on visitors and inhabitants of the suite, wasn't it? One blink. Two. "Um...h-hello, can I help you?" A pause. "Is...is that your blood?"

Kusari looked down at the girl that opened the door, she recognized her as one of the fellow students that had just gone through hell yesterday. Her eyes glanced down to her shirt, then back to the girl. "Yeah it's mine, bleeding is becoming pretty normal for me though so don't worry about it. I'm Kusari by the way..." She said, peering into the room.

"Ah, there she is." She said, spotting Callan laying on a couch. Kusari let herself in, revealing that there was an identical hole on the back of her shirt as well as she walked past Siena. Kusari dropped the bag next to Callan, and peered over her, replacing her view a ceiling with a Kusari.

"I can't believe you ran off like that, that's no way to answer someone when they ask you out on a date."

"Ah..." Siena didn't have much time to think before Kusari stepped into the room, heading directly for Callan. A pause. The brunette turned to watch the pale girl, only to see a hole in the back of her shirt to match the first. Okay. Maybe she didn't really want to know. Well...if Kusari needed to talk to Callan, then...maybe it was best to...go? Siena moved back to her desk, scrawled a note with her number, then left it on the desk before snagging her usual purse and a jacket--one that hadn't seen battle, thanks--and walking to the door. One awkward wave later, and Siena gently shut the door behind her. Clearly those two had things to talk about among themselves...probably.

Her music was cranked so loud, she hadn't even heard the knock at the door. Her pensive expression warped into one of sheer confusion as a pair of crimson eyes suddenly loomed over her. She pulled her buds out and listened to what Kusari had to say, sitting up and continuing to stare for a moment before looking down at the bloody hole in her shirt and glancing away.

"You some sort of masochist or something? she scoffed, trying to play it cool, though her cheeks were suddenly feeling quite warm. So... that hadn't been a joke?

Kusari crossed her arms and tightened her lips. "I'm more of an S actually, if you must know." She leaned down beside the couch so that she was at eye level with Callan. "Can't blame you if you couldn't take it seriously back there. I honestly just blurted it out without thinking. It was just the first thing that came to my mind, had to say something to get you to stop crying." Kusari grumbled and ruffled her hair, her eyes looking across the dorm room for a moment.

"That's not to say I didn't mean it, I thought you looked cute so I just said it." Kusari said, looking back to Callan. She let out a contemplative 'hmm.' "But I get the feeling that's not all that's bothering you, I really am alright you know? Doesn't even hurt anymore. Honestly, you and that guy were fighting over nothing."

Callan maintained a steady gaze up until the word 'cute' entered the conversation. Her cheeks were absolutely on fire now. She wasn't usually on the receiving end of such compliments. She felt a churning mixture of unidentified feelings as Marcus was then mentioned.

Callan slid her legs off the couch, making room for Kusari to sit down if she wanted. Looking back at her she nodded slowly. "When you said you'd just heal it up, I should've asked more questions," she sighed, glancing at the blood on her T shirt one last time, "I shouldn't have just assumed you'd be okay, even if you are right now."

She ran her fingers over her knuckles and smiled wistfully, dropping her eyes to her knees, "I shouldn't be going around punching whoever asks me to. I should have known better. I knew there was a chance you wouldn't be alright, but I ignored it.... I took that chance. I don't know. I guess... I just went ahead and trusted you?"

Kusari sat down beside Callan as she made room for her. She rested her elbow on her leg and smushed her cheek against her hand, looking at Callan as she spoke. "You trusted me and what, you regret it? Like I told you, nothing you can do will kill me." There was no irritation in her voice, in spite of the words she was saying. She noticed Callan running her fingers over her knuckles, It made her take a glance at her right leg. It was obvious, but everyone here had their own problems.

"You've never hit anyone like that before, have you?" Kusari moved her hand from her face and leaned back onto the couch. "I guess I hadn't thought of that before asking you to fight me... My bad. But you know, eventually you'll have to use those fists to kill someone, I doubt the only thing we'll ever be fighting is monsters."

"Heh," Cal forced a laugh, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and shoving her hands into her pockets as she leaned back as well, "Of course the one who gets superhuman strength doesn't know anything about fighting." Just like how the guy with the healing blood seemed to have the least of it-- and the second frailest looking person was given powers so they couldn't die. She glanced sideways at Kusari, reassessing the girl beside her now that she was taking the question seriously. She'd noticed right away how tall and lithe she was back at the track-- like an underfed alley cat-- but wow. On top of being pale, she really was thin.

Her face burned on. God, I'm glad I'm black, she prayed inwardly. She'd never been with... someone like Kusari... before. Hell, she'd never been with anyone before. Her mind was running away without her. She cleared her throat and looked away quickly, "I, uh... saw a Chinese Buffet in town. Five star reviews on Yelp...."

"Yelp?..." Kusari raised a brow, not knowing what that was but assuming it was some sort of online review website. She rarely got the chance to use the internet, she couldn't afford it after all. Even her phone was a cheap disposable with loaded minutes. "Right, wherever you want to go is fine. As long as it isn't some hipster vegan garbage."

Callan scoffed. "Please-- do I look like I'm on a vegan diet?" she joked.

"Just making sure." Kusari said with a smile. This was probably the first time she'd smiled genuinely since arriving here. That fact made her feel uneasy somehow, she stood up and pulled her student ID out. "Five hundred dollars a month is still pretty crazy to me, I can't remember the last time I've even had this much money." She said, then shoving the card back into her pants. Seeing her bloody shirt made her realize that she wasn't exactly dressed for a date. Now that she thought about it, was she even attractive to Callan? She hadn't turned her down so that was a good sign, but it was possible she was just being nice. After all, she didn't exactly have primo assets. Her gross leg wasn't helping either.

"Um... Meet me at the campus entrance. I have to go put something more respectable on."

Callan stood up with Kusari, already picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She could feel an audible growl rising from the empty depths of her stomach-- how long had it been since she last ate? Almost four hours now? And she was pretty sure it'd only been some jerky and a banana. She barely managed to speak over the sound before it surfaced.

"Uh," Callan sighed with a slight frown, "Wanna just borrow something and we'll go? Sorry-- I'm kinda starving and I haven't stocked my fridge with snacks yet." She tried not to look as impatient as she felt. "You could wash up here if you want," she added as an after thought, "My roommate's got this super fancy soap...."

Kusari was about to open the door and leave when Callan stopped her. "Well, if you insist." Kusari mocked reluctance, the truth was that she likely didn't have anything good to wear, she still hadn't gotten any new clothes after all. "Pick something you'd like to see me in, alright?" She teased Callan as she entered the bathroom.

"Don't get your hopes up-- my selection isn't exactly Vera Wang," Callan quipped, idly wondering if someone who didn't seem to know what Yelp was would even get that reference as she made her way over to the duffel bag by her bed. Kusari washed as quickly as she could, knowing Callan wanted to leave as soon as possible. She didn't quite know what to do with the ruined shirt. Keeping it as a keepsake would be in bad taste, wouldn't it? She tossed it into the waste bin, and walked back out to the main room in her pants and bra.

"This soap smells like privilege... So, what have you got for me?"

"Pretty great, right?" Callan chuckled, tossing her a black and white shirt, "You can keep that if you want. I ordered it online and it's never really fit. Hopefully you won't be drowning in it... b-because I'm a fatass." Callan smiled and laughed as she tacked on the self-deprecating joke, hoping she hadn't offended Kusari by mentioning her weight... or lack thereof. She wasn't quite comfortable enough to ask whether or not it was an eating disorder that made her that way. The fact that she didn't like vegan shit and was gawking at a $500 monthly spending allowance (which was decent, to be fair), almost seemed to suggest otherwise.

Kusari caught the shirt, and noted that Callan wasn't fazed by her standing there with no shirt on. Maybe her gaydar was broken. As she was about to unfold the shirt she heard make a joke at her own expense, she didn't find it very funny. She hardly ever found self-deprecation funny. "Some people like a fat ass Callan..." She calmly said, then unfolding the shirt. She was met with the image of a slice of pepperoni pizza, with words in bold that read 'I'll give you a pizza my mind.' She looked up at Callan with a blank expression. "I'll just take this as punishment for my sins." She muttered, slipping the shirt on. "Shall we go?"

Zoe woke up with a start, a smile quickly fading from her face. Glancing at the clock, she could tell she'd been out for ages. It was almost midday. She didn't mind a lie in, but it was normally nowhere near this late when she woke up so she must've been a lot more tired than she'd realised.

It had been one of her usual dreams, or what passed for usual since she became a subnatural. At least it had been vague, not the hauntingly real reenactments it could present her with. This dream was more of a warning - a hint of the memories that would slowly start occupying her thoughts if she didn't eventually sort it out. Normally, she'd take it as a cue to go and train or something, but...

Well, she didn't feel up to it today. After yesterday, a break was a pretty welcome idea, especially considering how late it had been once she'd actually gone to sleep. Besides, she had a decent handle on things now. There would be a while before things got out of control enough to warrant actually dealing with it unless someone picked a fight. Today? Today, she just wanted to sort things out. 'Things' being the assorted stacks of forms that were looming on her desk.

Paperwork. Ugh. I think I'd rather fight another spaghetti monster.

Despite her cheerful thoughts, Zoe had resigned herself to going through it. As much as she wanted to ignore the things just to make a point, she had a pretty strong suspicion that they wouldn't care in the slightest. And the satisfaction of dumping the tests probably wasn't worth getting stuck in remedial classes. Of course, it could happen anyway. Depended how much of this she actually remembered from school - it had been a while, now that she thought about it.

Not that she hadn't tried to keep up with some kind of study. Hell, she'd gone through more textbooks than she could count, but that only meant so much. There'd been other priorities, really. Getting enough cash to look after the others, for one. She wondered how they were getting on without her, actually. The last few years had been tough, but they'd looked after each other as well as they could. A dysfunctional, scared, reckless family of kids with no-one else to turn to. But a family nonetheless. Part of her really did miss them.

Reminiscing was always dangerous, though. After all, it made her think about--

She shook her head. This wasn't the time. No more memories. Just finish all the boring-ass work, and then move on with her life. Tomorrow. She'd deal with it tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next. Not yet.

Looking at the papers, Zoe focused on the requisition forms first. Her list was mostly practical, with a few basic comforts thrown in, but it all seemed worth getting a hold of to her. In terms of more doubtful requests, she'd asked for a knife - and although the odds on how likely they were to hand one out to a 'violent X' seemed dubious at best, there were a lot of practical uses to having one beyond just stabbing people. Not that you couldn't or anything, but if she wanted to commit murder she didn't exactly need one anyway.


Once that was filled in, she looked back at the tests with a sigh. This was going to be a long afternoon.

---

Finally!

Zoe tossed the calculus paper on top of the rest of them and leaned back with a satisfied grin. It felt good to have finished everything up now, because it meant the next few days were hers to do whatever she liked with. Most of her results had come out what she'd assumed was slightly below average - but she wasn't really that sure. As long as they were done, she didn't really care either way.

It was almost nighttime now, though. The work had taken up pretty much her entire afternoon. She sighed, looking over the form one last time before placing it next to the stack of test papers. Honestly, she was more tired than she'd expected. She'd maybe go walk around outside the dorms a little, but then she was getting some shut-eye. By tomorrow, Zoe figured she'd be back at one hundred percent.