As experienced--well, she supposed that she could call it experience--as Siena was in teleportation, it hadn't stopped her from getting dangerously close to some of the protruding pikes of asphalt. Hadn't stopped her body from reappearing so close to a few that a fraction of an inch might have resulted in serious injury--but that fact wasn't so startling. The brunette released her opponent's hair as soon as she'd reappeared, the lack of momentum keeping her from landing into a worse situation than before.

Or at least, that would have been the case if she'd only managed to kill her opponent.

A sense of absolute, mind numbing danger flooded every aspect of Siena's instincts when a scream tore through the air, followed by a sea of asphalt spires that rose, lifted--too dangerous. She didn't have to process the momentum before she tried, tried to escape in a cloud of sulfur. Tried, but did not succeed when the impulsive fight-or-flight response couldn't comprehend that she should have waited to see the end of the spires. When her body reappeared, she hadn't quite cleared the canopy of the forest. Her orientation shifted in her attempt to cover herself, asphalt points digging deep into the flesh of her right shoulder, another into her right calf, her flesh trying, but failing, to materialize where the spires had been. Oh god. She was moving further up. Too fast...! She felt herself rip away from the asphalt with such clarity that she wished she'd gone into shock.

Heat, cold, numb, searing, hot, pain. It hurt.

Agony demolished every threshold, pushed far past her wavering limits. Too much. It was far beyond what she'd given to herself for grounding. To give herself something to--hurt, it hurt! Blinded by pain, her body gave into instinct again, a choked scream ripping from her throat, its crescendo only broken off by the telltale sound of Nightcrawler's teleportation as instinct overrode logic again, tried to keep her from falling into the spikes.

She couldn't breathe. It hurt so much.

Siena felt herself reappearing more than she saw the surroundings, felt that she was still carrying the momentum of hurtling through the air. Couldn't see, too much pain. Hurt. Was she still screaming? The thought received confirmation as she heard her own voice crack, the volume receding as it broke from its sudden use. Pain. Couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Where was the phone? Victor could fix--

IT HURT.

Chris had no time to avoid the sudden appearance of concrete spikes rising from the roiling earth. His natural armor did not falter however, rather the platinum-esq scales caused the rising structures to shatter. Siena's screams however gave him his full attention. With the end of her teleportation she was sent traveling up and upon an angle above, and without another thought, the dragon arbiter took off into the air. He moved as fast as his body could allow in the air. Seeing someone he considered somewhat close to, even if only for a few weeks, this way had delivered a real sense of weight to reality. The same depression he felt with the death of his allies on the first mission, the same guilt he felt watching everyone he knew around him die...his own friends, right infront of him. From the abyssal sorrow rose a burning desire to ensure no more of that happen.

Upon closing the distance, Chris spread out his left wing. This created drag to his flight, however he arced the ends of his wing up as he tilted to the side; which caught Siena over the elongated skin membrane as if it were a blanket.

Kusari had pulled Marcus and Emma out. Sander was floating high above the spikes. Callan's durability should have kept her alive. Lawrence was sandwiched between two. Siena...

Good, Chris had stopped her from falling out of the anti-gravity zone and onto a spike.

The dragon was, thankfully, finally getting shit done, and while a part of Brent wanted to transmit to Zoe an order to just kill the grav bitch and for Chris to roast the spike bitch, both their powers were keeping everyone 'safe'.

At least, like this, Lawrence wasn't floating up any higher.

"Transmit," Brent commanded, the cuff beeping in response, "Chris, what's Siena's condition?"

...

"Nevermind. I'll be firing my Sticky Hand into the field. Can you nudge her onto it? From there, I can pull her out and you can reposition yourself below her to catch her when she falls."

Twisting his body to face the general direction of the duo, Brent fired another glob into the field, the glob crossing a five meter distance before falling under the effects of the subnatural's magic, bobbing up and down.

She'd expected to hit something hard, something that might send the last vestiges of her consciousness beyond her grasp...but it wasn't what happened. She hit something that had the faintest give beneath her weight--not soft, but not a solid wall.

Siena couldn't even appreciate it before the pain overwhelmed her again, drawing a strained breath from between her lips. Phone. She wanted her phone. Her reader. Anything to take her mind off th--god, was all that blood hers? The brunette opened her eyes to see the streaks that had followed her on impact.

Her cuff beeped to life. She latched onto the voice with frantic desperation. Anything to distract from the pain. It hurt. Her body hurt, her head was spinning. Sticky hand? She was supposed to use what? 'Christ, it hurt.' Where the hell was her phone?

The manuever was tricky, but Chris agreed with Brent's rescue plan. Seeing the substance Brent created, the dragon guided Siena with his wing towards the sticky hand with each time the gravity threw Siena up away from the wing. Not only did he have to be careful not to harm her, but also ensure that he keeps himself alift in flight. Without any other obstacle however, he managed to drop her off upon the glob.

"Alright," Brent continued, "Fly under now."

With a connection made, all he had to do now was pull Siena out. Her injuries looked fairly bad, but they had a healer nearby, and unlike Lawrence, she wasn't impaled through the chest.

"I'll descend with her once she's close to me. Can you go get Lawrence next, Chris? We mig-"

Don't be a bitch.

"We can definitely save him as well."

With Siena in Brent's hands, Chris moved to get Lawrence. His eyes squinted the pain as he approached the other arbiter. With him wedged between two pillars of asphault, Chris struck his claw to the side cracking one of the concrete spikes over. He proceeded to grab Lawrence with his claw in hopes he could grab him before the gravity could send him astray, as well as being careful not to worsen his injuries in his large claw. After taking Lawrence he flew back towards Brent and Siena, Exhaustion had began to set over him.

She was lighter than she looked, which was pretty bad when Brent had already expected Siena to be light. Holding the multi-powered arbiter close, he slowly unreeled the wire further, descending into the forest of spikes. Using his feet, the brunette kicked himself away from any protruding ones, glad at the very least that the creation of more spikes had ceased. He could feel the warmth of her blood dripping over the wishalloy membrane. The pain from his own hand was making itself known, now that adrenaline had receded.

But he could still bear with it. Unlike many others, his reserves were still not fully drained.

His feet touched the ground, and he looked up once more, at Chris transposed against the blue sky.

Oh.

Huh.

"Yeah, Chris," Brent said, "If you have Lawrence secured, uh..."

Pretty awkward.

"Head for the APC or to Lily, whomever you can find more easily. He needs attention immediately."

His magic faded from the climbing gear, lengths of rope suddenly tumbling down and becoming entangled with the spiked growths. Detaching it from his harness, Brent left it there as he soldiered on through the concrete forest, opting to cradle Siena against his chest. A fireman carry would have been easier on his arms, but this low in the field of spikes, it would have taken too much space.

And regardless...

"Damn, you're way too light," Brent laughed, trying for a joke, "80% air instead of water?"

Considering the situation, Siena was...was...

...

Surprised. The word came back in a flash of clarity, as if breaking through a dark shroud. Her head swam with something between nausea and confusion as she felt herself descending. It was significantly less painful than her initial landing, the girl had to admit that. Another pulse of pain, this one duller than before, accompanied a brief chill. Too much blood...? Wouldn't be surprising, she hadn't tried to stem it. Stop it.

But still she managed a strained, wispy laugh. She could barely hear it herself, but the girl couldn't pinpoint whether that was because it was soft or because the blood was still pulsing in her ears. "Don't g--ow...give 'way my secrets." It hurt. But this was something to take the edge off.

'Remind you of something?'

---

And what she saw was the sea again...different this time than before. It was around her, above her, just as it had always been.

But it was not the storm she had come to know.

It continued to drip, trickle, but it didn't push her head under in a moment of desperation. It didn't try to force her into submission with the expanse it held. With that infinite knowledge that taunted her. Instead, something distant. Something like...heat? No, it was warmth. Something gentle and unfamiliar.

...or perhaps entirely too familiar. It seeped over her. Gentle. Understanding.

Ah...just a fraction of a moment too late, wasn't it...?

---

No. No, it didn't.

Keep talking.

As the blood became sticky, her flesh becoming clammy, Brent could feel just how cold she was, how utterly shallow her breaths were. The two holes in her body continually let out more of that crimson tincture, but help was arriving soon, and he pressed on. Christmas could resolve this. If not Christmas, they must have first aid or something stocked up in that APC. It was better to make it out of this spiky forest than it was to waste precious minutes binding up her injuries with strips of clothing.

But if only he had carried a first aid kit WITH him!

"Bet you could be swimming in clicks if you set up one of those 'Dieticians Hate Her' ads though," Brent said, ducking under a particular low spike. " 'Get Thin Quick with the Siena Santana Water-Into-Air Diet Plan! Guaranteed to make you a human balloon!' "

Another breath. She focused on anything that didn't remind her that she was bleeding or that her shoulder and leg were aching. Really, she wasn't cut out for combat, was she? Or...maybe she was just cocky. Thought her versatility could get her out of any scrape when in reality she needed too much time to utilize it. Another throb.

'Talk back. Talk back, Siena.'

It took her a few extra breaths to eke the words out.

"Wait, don't b-balloons blow up?" Wanted to fall asleep. She took a breath, tried to keep her eyes open and failed for a moment. A moment that she wanted to stretch into two, maybe a few more so she could just rest...but she had to keep talking. Respond when spoken to, right? She opened her eyes.

Shit. Balloons did blow up. They blew up because sharp things popped them. Sharp things like spikes. Did he step on a landmine?

Did he care?

If Siena got triggered by something, that was still better than her falling unconscious. It was better if she was awake, right? He wasn't sure what the logic behind that was, but...consciousness was good.

"Shit yeah, they do," Brent laughed falsely, "Siena, you're smarter than me. What's something that's like a balloon, but can't be popped?"

She wanted to go home.

Not that stupid little room she shared with two others. Not the dull lessons she pretended to pay attention to. Not Ground Zero, not the town...home. Out of the question. She just had to keep talking where she was.

"Um..." Slow. Her thoughts were slowing down. Siena didn't like that feeling. Slow enough that picking apart each one was easier than usual. Finding the right words was hard. "Mylar...?" She didn't buy balloons. Neither did Maya. Neither did...no, Gerwulf did. Once. "Don't you--ow--buy balloons?" Sluggish. Like her tongue had become thick and heavy in her mouth. How unsightly.

Mylar? Brent narrowed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly that was supposed to be. Sounded like a...brand name? A special balloon? Or a material they used to inflate it? He wracked his mind a bit, before realizing that his silence was more dangerous than his inability to recall what 'Mylar' was.

"Correct!" he beamed with a game host-esque voice, "And as for balloons, I bought plenty, but it was always the cheap rubber ones from Dollar Stores, you know? Spent so much time inflating those for parties and all that."

But never for his own.

"Anyways, looks like we're almost out of the woods, Siena!" He couldn't allow himself to wallow in anything, not when there was shit to do. "You read a bunch, right? You know if Game of Thrones ever finished? Or did the author die halfway through?"

"Game 'f Thrones...s'that the one wh...ere everyone dies...?" Or at least plenty of them. More of them than needed, really. "Think he stopped after...um..." Fuck. Fuck, fuck, she couldn't conjure the number. She took a quiet, soft breath. Seven? Eight? Twenty? The thoughts slipped through her grasp, resulting in a half-present murmur. "F'rgot..."

Christ, a fucking genius, wasn't he? Bring up balloons that pop and stories where loveable characters die by the truckload. Hadn't he gotten better than this?

Brent grit his teeth, the spikes thinning out.

"What's your guess?"

Not enough. Something to catch her attention a bit more, cause her to think a bit more.

"Wanna make a bet?"

Cause her to consider the future, however close and far that was.

Despite Brent's orders, Chris returned to his side and gentle lowered Lawrence beside him. Since he couldn't see any injuries on him, the dragon arbiter figured he had already been healed. His attention once more looked to Siena, she looked barely conscious. He was still for a moment, unsure of what to do. His role was not a healer, and Brent seems more then capable of keeping her alive until another mage comes to fix her up. Exhausted with his injuries, he stepped some meters away from the group and merely curled up on the ground.

The ground beneath them exploded, shooting deadly asphalt spikes haphazardly around. The angles jutted out of the ground at irregular angles, with no rhyme or reason to them. It might have actually been an interesting display had it not been trying to kill them at the time. He felt the tentacle pull him closer to Kusari, hugging him in a way that somewhat reminded him of Max.

Of course, this embrace was nothing more than protection, as the gravity field they were in tore them loose, bouncing them up and down on the concrete death traps like a basketball. He felt impacts, most of them muffled slightly by Kusari's body shield, but enough made it through for him to feel the impact against his armor. He didn't notice his armor shudder and shake as it took the hits, his eyes peering over the rest of the spiked area, scanning for teammates.

Lawrence had fallen, that much he knew without seeing him. His strength had returned to him, and he knew what that meant. Somewhere, the guy who seemed the most level headed of them all was bleeding to death again. Off to the side, there was a dragon, which sent a surge of fear through his chest as he struggled to remember the same dragon on the Capture the Flag match.

Siena and Lawrence had been snatched by the dragon. They were safe. Both covered in crimson, but safe. Safe for a few brief moments before they bleed to death - they needed help too. Callan was floating around where the gargoyle had bee-

Her arm was gone.

The absence of Callan's limb numbed his mind, the blood flowing around her floating form, while the pit in his stomach was growing. She was hurt bad - he couldn't even tell how she was looking at this distance. For all he knew she was dead. Like Savannah.

Siena was injured. Lawrence was dying. It was all because of his command. Because he hadn't been as careful as he should have been.

Nonono. Not something he was willing to acknowledge right now.

No sooner had they touched the ground than Marcus had turned to Lily, eyes wide and breath shaky. "Lily; can you heal Callan from here? Siena and Lawrence too? Just..." his eyes flicked to the fallen form of Kusari, where she was regaining her composure. "...you can just transfer the wounds to Kusari, right?"

Lily's looked at Marcus, automatically nodding her head. She was a healer. Of course, she can and will heal her classmates. There was no question about that. And even before Marcus could ask, she could already see... no... she could feel the injuries people had. She turned her head towards Kusari. While transferring injuries was how her power worked, she wasn't so keen on healing classmates just to transfer it to a team mate even though said team mate was practically immortal. She thought back to how she had transferred injuries to her earlier. It was why she now had a tentacle. She remembered the pained look on her face. Pain. Even immortals feel pain. For a moment, she regretted not doing a lot more for the battle. She could have tried better, maybe got there earlier... healed the wounded and transferred the injuries to those that dished them out in the first place.

But then again, this was no time to regret actions she didn't take. She could worry and regret about it all she want later but now, she had to heal people. She could feel one of her classmates growing weaker by the second, she could almost hear how weak his heart beat was already.

The black thread appeared on her wrist even before she could think of anything else, the other end of it flying towards her target. As soon as it wrapped around Lawence's wrist, his wounds transferred automatically to the small X-marked blonde. Maybe I can tolerate the wounds until someone can come to help. Christmas, maybe. I don't have to transfer any of them and Kusari won't have to-- her thoughts were interrupted as she received the chest injury. "Ugh," the pain in her chest was so excruciating that she couldn't even cry out. Blood pooled beneath the wishalloy that she wore around her body, staining her clothes crimson. Having the wishalloy there partly provided pressure to the wound to slow down her blood loss though. She staggered forward and fell to her knees, one hand pressed to her chest.

Fighting to stay focused despite the pain that was dulling her thoughts and making the voices in her head scream for death and destruction, she sent her thread back out, this time heading for Callan. She braced herself for another horrible injury. In a blink of an eye, the hand that she was pressing against her chest along with her whole arm was gone, the wishalloy she had wrapped around it still shaped like her arm. A claw mark appeared on her cheek and she began having a bit more problem with breathing. She whimpered in pain, her now foggy mind registering her mistake as she looked through tear filled eyes at the bloody stump visible through the transparent material of her strange armor.

She should have taken the less severe injuries first. She pressed her remaining hand to her chest.

And let the boy die. Why not? It's not as if he's family. The loudest voice of her stigma cackled cruelly in her head.

You're right. Lawrence would die if I take his injuries last, she thought, rendering the cruel voice silent. No. I can't complain. I can take this. For what I did to those people in Ground Zero, I should endure. She gritted her teeth as each breath brought pain shooting in her chest. And as if punishing herself, she immediately sent the black thread out again, this time taking Siena's injuries. She took everything, from the smallest to the largest injuries and she slowly laid down on the ground.

As new pain barraged her senses, the old ones dulled and she no longer registered how many bleeding wounds she took into herself. Her mind became chaotic, the voices taking over.

Hurt them all. Make them feel the pain they're making you feel.

Pain. Destruction. Death.

Remember what I said, I'm pretty sure I was placed on this team for a reason, Kusari's words echoes somewhere in the chaos of Lily's mind. Yes, she was immortal, she can heal any injury. There was really no sense trying to bear it all by herself. She struggled to sit up, using the pain to focus her mind. She just had to transfer what she took. Nothing more. Kusari wasn't a monster she wanted to hurt.

Is she not? came the taunting voice in her head. Look at her.

No. The small blonde trained her unfocused eyes towards Kusari. "I'm sorry," she apologized through gritted teeth in a small, weak voice and the thread that seemed to be the conduit of her power wrapped around her wrist and her team mate's, transferring the minor cuts and Siena's two bleeding wounds.

Transfer everything. Transfer more, came that ever present voice. And it took all of Lily's effort not to give in to it. Instead, she laid back down on the ground and closed her eyes, keeping her remaining hand pressed against her chest wound, the stump of her right arm continually bleeding. "Not all. Not all," she chanted softly to herself.

Emma's mind felt empty. Ever since Kusari had set her down she hadn't said a word, instead choosing to take the moment to rest. Watching everything... Callan's arm, god, her arm, Lawrence, Siena, all her friends dying out there while she stood useless... at least they had won the battle. At least they had done their job.

Did we really win, though?

It just didn't sit right. Especially now, watching Lily... she was glad that she was able to heal the others, but what an awful power it was. Emma knew she wouldn't be able to do it. Emma wanted to do something for her, comfort her, tell her it was going to be okay, but... well, Emma wasn't sure that's what she'd want to hear right now.

No, Emma just kept on watching.

Her wounds having fully healed, Kusari stood to her feet and looked back to Lily, she was the linchpin of this whole encounter. No one had to die if she could heal them in time. She watched Lily as she took the first injury from Lawrence. The wound hit her harder than Kusari thought it would, there was so much blood gushing out of her. "Lily, do it." She insisted, watching the girl suffer like this wasn't exactly pleasant. However, instead of transferring the wound, Lily took on more. An arm came off, and many cuts appeared over her body. "H-hey, what did I tell you?" Kusari held out her hand, moving it like a loan shark asking for their money.

A black thread moved to Kusari, and she braced herself for an onslaught of pain. But the most that appeared were minor cuts and gashes. Kusari blinked at Lily in confusion. She'd seen her power work before, there was no reason she couldn't transfer it all.

"What the hell are you doing?" Kusari asked, on the brink of yelling. "You have one damn job, what's so hard about this? What, you think I can't handle it?" Kusari brought her claws to her now exposed midriff. She scraped the claws across her skin, shredding it into a bloody mess. "Do you need proof? Here it is." She said, her voice raising. "This is why I'm here Lily, are you trying to say I'm not needed!?" Kusari was screaming at this point. She didn't understand why Lily was doing this, did she just not care about her life? It was idiotic, if she couldn't take on their pain then what purpose did she have?

Marcus gasped and knelt down to Lily as she hit the ground. Her shirt was oozing crimson at an alarming rate, and she hadn't even taken the other wounds yet. Then her arm disappeared, and then her body tore open with numerous gashes. It was too much, she was taking too much. He looked over at Kusari, mentally preparing to watch her arm come off as well.

The fact that it didn't was scarier than if it had.

She wasn't transferring all the wounds, just the smallest ones. His head whirled around to look at the transparent outline of where her arm used to to be; like some invisible glove, filling with red. He shouldn't have made her take all the wounds, just a few of them, keep everyone alive until Christmas could get to them.

"Oh shit." Marcus frantically patted down his belt, looking for something he could use to patch her up, his hand grasping around the hilt of the combat knife they'd all been given. Lily was losing blood fast - if she went into shock or passed out...

More mistakes. Another life for his consience.

He went to cut his left sleeve off, stymied by the slight shimmer that appeared as he brought the knife closer. Grunting in frustration, he brought it down to the bottom of his already damaged shirt, easily cutting through the fabric. Somewhere, Kusari was yelling, but he wasn't paying attention.

He tore the bottom strip off, letting the knife drop to the ground and grabbing what was left of Lily's arm. A firm knot, just above the wound; that was one of the things Max had told him about her first few days of training. They'd learned all sorts of survival skills, and she'd done her best to pass them along to him. He tied the makeshift torquinet around the stump, pulling on the knot as hard as it would go.

"Lily! he said, his voice growing ever more frantic. Her chest wound was still bleeding quickly. "Listen to me, Lily. You've gotta transfer those wounds over to Kusari, okay?"

Unfocused eyes turned towards Marcus. Amidst the chaos in her mind, she could hear her immortal team mate shouting. "I will. Don't worry. I can... endure it. I just...don't want Kusari to have to...bear so much when..." she paused, trying to ignore the pain that seemed to come from everywhere on her body. "When she's already taken so much injuries earlier." She closed her eyes for a minute. "I'm not saying you're not needed. Had to make sure... you've healed properly first," she said in a soft voice, barely above a whisper but clearly addressing Kusari.

She wants to be hurt. Hurt her. Transfer everything. Transfer MORE. Show her how much you NEED her, the voice in her head was gleeful. Pain. Destruction. Death, it chanted in a singsong manner.

For a moment, a malicious look came over Lily's golden eyes. She trained them on Kusari and the edges of her mouth twitched. Focus, Lily, came her own voice in her head. Focus. Marcus was right. She was getting dizzier the more blood she lost. It was impossible to try to hold on when she can feel herself slowly slowly drifting. The pain was no longer there and the desire to close her eyes and sleep was getting more and more overwhelming. Not more than what you took. Not more than what you took, she chanted firmly in her head. She was feeling a little cold.

Pain. Destruction. Death, the other voices chanted.

He placed his hands over the crimson spot, moving her hand out of the way for both of his. Was she getting cold, or was his panicked mind imagining the worst case scenario?

"Focus on me, Lily." he continued, his voice just above a whisper as he applied pressure. "You've got to transfer them right now."

Marcus' voice was helping keeping her awake. She focused on it and ignored the other voices that seemed to be shouting in her head now.

The black thread that signalled her power's activation appeared on her wrist and connected with Kusari's. As soon as it touched her team mate's wrist, Lily's chest wound instantly healed and her arm appeared as though it hadn't been severed in the first place. She was breathing normally again. The strand connecting them quivered, as if waiting for more, asking for more. For a moment, Lily hesitated and almost gave in to the stigma egging her to cause more pain to her target.

She looked at Marcus, golden eyes almost pleading for help. But what help could he give? He didn't know what the voices were saying. He didn't know what she wanted to do, what she was denying herself. He didn't know that trying to control that destructive impulse was harder than having to endure the pain flesh wounds gave her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. HURT HER.

One.

Make her see that she's not immortal.

Two.

KILL HER.

Three.

When she opened her eyes, the thread dissipated. And her mind was filled with wails of fury. She reached up, grabbed her head and squeezed her eyes closed. "Stop it. Stop it."

---

---

The strange, slippery feeling that still lingered throughout Grant's body suddenly left, leaving him with relief of the sensation's absence. Problem was, at the same time of its departure, two of the subnaturals he was holding in his chains had slipped off. "Oh, crap-" With a thud, the hazel-haired girl hit the ground, and Grant looked down at her. A second thud didn't follow, and Angel still stayed suspended in the air. "Oops."

Ernie had caught Christmas' unconscious body with a slight yelp. Or rather, he moved himself under the healer in the nick of time, almost toppling over from the sudden weight.

"Grant, what th--" Ernie began, but was cut off by the sudden arrival of a stranger. A Regular, and not even a USARILN soldier. Despite the obvious lack of an X-mark, Ernie remained on guard and summoned his rope. A Regular commandeering a USARILN truck and asking for a 'healer'? He didn't like this at all. The Aberration set Christmas down on the ground and stood tall between him and the stranger.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "Where's Marcus, and the soldier in charge of this truck?"

Looking between the strange rope and the mark on Ernie's neck, he opted not to move any closer. After witnessing the little irish sub's temper earlier, Dean wasn't about to let his guard down just because he was supposedly one of the 'good guys'. And judging by his tone, this one wasn't already in the best of moods. "My name's Dean. Soldier's dead. And your friend might be too if we don't hurry." Keeping Ernie in his sights, Dean took note of the others with a troubled frown. If this guy's ability was magic rope and the other guy had magic chains....

"I don't suppose your healer can patch people up while sleeping?" he mused, brown eyes falling on the three unconscious subnaturals.

"We're not healing any Regulars, if that's what you're asking," Ernie glared coldly, though his gaze kept flickering between Dean and jagged spire of spikes in the distance. He knew that this bickering was wasting valuable time. But he also knew, better than anyone in this class--hell, maybe better than anyone in this school--how Aberrations got around. It was crazy how easy it was to have your neck overlooked these days, the numerous methods for getting around a city. If he could help it, he wasn't going to let another X-mark ambush happen while he and four of his classmates were cooped up in a cabin. His paranoia needed to be satisfied. "Who's in the truck?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, but remained silent on the matter. Lauren's wounds had been healed earlier, so clearly there was some sort of miscommunication going on somewhere. But that would have to wait. "Nine people. One of 'em is yours, though. Didn't catch her name."

Brent had mentioned Savannah being snatched earlier so it must have been Sophia in there. But she wasn't the one Ernie was concerned about.

"Right. One more thing. Evac team should've received a rogue subnatural before everything went to shit. White mark, brown sweater. Is he in there?"

Dean nodded, his shoulders suddenly tensing at Ernie's concern. "Guy was in pretty bad shape. He's been knocked out for a while now. He's not dangerous, is he?"

"Knocked out?" If Ernie looked confused, it's because he was, "He almost killed both my teammates. You're saying he didn't do anything the entire time when the truck was ambushed?"

"That's what I'm saying," Dean furrowed his brow in frustration, leading Ernie to the back of the truck so he could see for himself, "He's been tied up and out cold the whole time." Throwing open the doors, Dean gestured to the slack jawed figure on the floor of the truck, vaguely propped up again the inner wall. Swarmed by each of her terrified children, the blonde woman immediately spoke up as the doors opened.

"Dean! What the hell's going on?"

The Aberration elected to ignore the woman and her children in favour of scowling at David's prone body. Were the enemies not aiming for their ally after all, or did they just not get the chance to retrieve him with Evac team around? Were they just following the conspicuous truck, completely uncaring of their little spy? Either way, there wasn't enough time for enough time for another interrogation session. Ernie turned to the driver. Dean had seemed honest enough. Apart from some one-eyed weirdo in the truck, none of them seemed to be consciously concealing their necks. Even if they were, he trusted that Evac would have been smart enough to check. For now, Ernie was satisfied, or at least as satisfied as he could be with the current situation.

"Transmit. Field's going down, so try not to stand anywhere too dangerous. Over."

Ernie turned at the sound of Zoe's voice through the cuff, eyes widened as the spikes began crumbling and the strange yellow field disappeared. She really was strong. Now there was definitely no time left. He looked back to the driver.

"We can go now. Help me load them up."

Nodding, Dean glanced towards the woman as he stepped towards the three unconscious subnaturals. "Everything's gonna be fine. Just stay put," he reassured her quickly, not wanting to try the X-mark's patience. The unconscious were quickly helped onto the vehicle, along with Grant and Ernie. The Aberration barely had any time to make sure his classmates' heads were slumped the right way before the APC took off down the road.

Gregory Irving

---

---

Sitting cross legged atop the roof, Gregory looked up from the phone in hand as another voice transmitted through it. Seemed like the situation to the south had been dealt with if the fading golden pillar was any sign to go off of, but frankly he had no idea what was actually happening anymore. Guess that was sort of inevitable when he isolated himself like this. Drumming his fingers against the rooftop, he let a few more moments of silence pass before he stood and watched as the loaded APC began to move again. Turning around a few times, he looked over what remained of the town from his vantage point and figured it’d probably be best to be back when USARLIN decided to pull out.

Dusting himself off as he stepped out of the fairly untouched building, Gregory took a few moments to study the streaks of blood he walked past as he headed east back the way he had originally came. If the transmissions were anything to go by, things had gotten pretty messy with the others. Probably worse than just looking at the aftermath of what had happened to the town before they arrived. For a moment he wished he had his notebook on hand, but the thought disappeared with a frown. His pace was measured despite the apparent all-clear the map displayed, and he glanced about at the relative calm that seemed to have settled for the moment. Not like there was anyone calling on him to hurry his ass anyways.

---

---

---

Both the Aberration girls had literally lost their heads and the forest of spikes shattered and retracted slowly. What sections did retreat back into the asphalt was that much less of a tarmac burial for anyone still caught deep inside the area, though the headless matter manipulator would be buried regardless. Everything else fell apart in increasingly rapid deterioration, until a mound of black rubble filled up the intersection of Madetra and Caversham just as Brent managed to clear the last of the hostile architecture.

Lawrence was breathing weakly nearby, unconscious now from exhaustion and blood loss, but at least in stable condition with the injury gone from his body. Callan, as well, was knocked out atop the hill of crumbled asphalt, lying a short distance away from the headless body of the gravity manipulator, the dead soldier with his limbs bent at odd angles from the repeated impacts, and the old man who had bought time for the APC to escape. Despite the inadvertent blessings of the ice mage's power, his aging body hadn't been able to withstand the damage as long as Lawrence's had, and the life had vanished from his eyes mere moments before Lily's timely arrival. Beside the dead mage, Zoe had fallen, the students' positions at the heights of the spike forest allowing almost all of them to land favorably, even if Zoe's legs were blanketed by a thin layer of rocks and Callan's hair was caught on innumerable others.

Their battle was over, for the moment, and the winter evening finally settled properly around them, the barest traces of light on the horizon fading at last and giving way to the brilliant night sky where a bright half moon shone against a backdrop of stars easily visible from Wisford, which suffered neither the urban sky glow nor the clutter and glare of light pollution in the other cities. Everything sparkled in direct contrast to the darkness below.

The rain had stopped earlier, leaving behind damp concrete and wisps of clouds visible only in the negative space of starlight. The season lended the aftermath an icy chill that the wet air exacerbated, reminding the pounding hearts and raised body heat of the combatants that even the strongest fighter would succumb to ambient temperature eventually. It was a reminder--as much as Savannah's broken body half-buried in concrete--that for all the world segregrated them, they were still human.

For several long moments after the sudden end to their fight, there was an overall silence in the quiet clattering of rocks from the large hill. It was almost peace.

In the northeast of town, far in the distance and well beyond even Factory's location, a massive circle expanded, visible even from the town center. Tts outline was unsteady and fragmented, glowing as if in blacklight, while the inside filled with a series of distended lines branching from the center, spinning and whirring like a madman's fan. Perspective was impossible to gauge with the surreality of the spell, but it looked like it could swallow the town whole, even from that distance.

A sudden explosion rocked the earth, the vibrations like an earthquake beneath their feet. It faded, then another followed, throwing up a large cloud of dust that the night wind was merciful enough to not blow their way. The looming wheel with its whirling spokes and unnatural, purple light flickered and disappeared in the wake of the sound.

Bright lines of light burned through the night in retaliation, firing horizontally and off towards an unseen target. Something roared, and it sounded human and feral at once. Another explosion, bigger than before, and a length of darkness rising up in that same distance, the amplified shape of Tumor's all-consuming body breaking into the starry lights against the sky like it had eaten those, too. The creature moved soundlessly, rising and falling without any audible accompaniment, unconcerned with the bright swatches of light that tried to wrap around its entire body. Its head darted down after every rise, like a massive heron spearing at fish, and after the third fall that monstrous visage didn't rear up again.

Silence once more, the fate of that distant battle unknown to the students.

"This is Ethan to everyone in range," a voice rang from the cuff, overriding previously open communication lines. "We have Cat's Cradle or some damn good imitations in the area, plus unknowns. Whatever they're attacking, we don't want to be anywhere close, so I'm ordering a retreat. Transport will meet you at the drop-off point. Make sure everyone's accounted for. Factory is confirmed dead. Over."

The rumbling of wheels over crackling gravel announced the APC's careful arrival, its new driver still unsteady with the bulk of the car, but managing well enough. Coming to a stop, the driver side door flew open and Dean ran towards the only motionless body he could put a name to. As he crouched beside the old man's corpse, silently assessing the damage, Lauren stood a short ways behind him, hand hovering over her mouth while she cried the tears he refused to. The alert from the quiet girl's cuff inside the car seemed like a lesser problem, even when the name "Cat's Cradle" made the small hairs at the base of her neck stand on end.

The rough tumbling had done much damage to the aged body, and a quick finger against the side of his neck told Dean all he needed to know.

His grandfather was gone.

Dean’s expression was stiff, but his lower lips were trembling. Ever since the Slumber, he had seen scenes like this on the TV, ruined buildings and motionless bodies. He just never thought he would one day have to live it. He didn’t have time to think much before, when the blood was still pumping and adrenaline ran thick in his veins. Now, everything was coming into focus. Thoughts about what he could have done but didn't threaten to flood his mind, but Dean swallowed them down.

There was no time for this. He trudged towards the back doors of the APC and pulled them open, looking across the truck's passengers.

“Where’s your healer?” he asked, clinging onto the sliver of hope.

---

---

---

---

---

One moment Sander was wading uselessly through air and the next, everything around him went dark.

Even when he had been driven half-mad by the fire, Sander knew enough to recognize where the water had taken him. He was back here again, standing amidst the familiar riptide. The current was still raging, waves upon waves lapped against his body, but he remained unmoving. The water should have been cold. It should have hurt. Sander knew pain. He was familiar with it.

But the water was gentle. It embraced him in a warmth that did not scorch nor drain. It protected him from the darkness beyond. Protection he didn’t even know he deserved. The comfort was strange. Half-forgotten. He knew pain. He knew fear, back when the tides were hungry and relentless. He did not know this. But it offered, nonetheless.

Power still stretched into the embrace. He tasted the tainted drops on the tip of his tongue, drinking in the fire. This, he also knew. At least this did not change. The power was still the same as it condensed in his chest.

It was his. The only thing that was really his from the beginning.

It fitted.

Cruel reality rushed back to him soon enough. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw red. Blood was thick in the air, both living and dead. But the fire in his chest wasn’t flaring out of control anymore. It burnt, and it hurt, but he was holding. His thoughts were lucid, and he knew.

It got better. Finally, a gift from the water that he was actually grateful for.

A brief smile flashed across his features, just as he plummeted. The fire held him still, so the asphalt beneath only cracked harmlessly against his bare back. The scents of blood were still tempting, though. Still too much. But at least now he knew enough to pinpoint where ‘too much’ was. As Sander got back to his feet, he toned the fire down to a more manageable level, and it obeyed. He let out a relieved breath, before turning his head to survey the battlefield. Too much blood. His gaze stopped briefly on a familiar head of aquamarine, and something knotted in his stomach when the sweet smell of fizzy drink was far stronger than he would have liked. But Kusari was already there, along with Lily. They were handling it. She would be fine.

There was something in the forest, but it was too far out of his smell range. Fortunately, the commotion died down soon enough, so Sander didn’t think too much about it. His thoughts trailed back to his roommate now.

Just then, Christmas’ scent came back into range, along with the rumbling of car engine in the distance. Minutes later, the APC rounded a corner and stopped. Some strangers rushed out, but Sander paid them no mind as he approached the truck, waiting for Christmas just outside.

Ernie didn't even glance back at Dean's question. He wasn't important anyway. If Cat's Cradle were actually in the area then getting everyone back to drop-off safely was their biggest priority. "Give me a second. Could you gather all the injured? Get them into the truck."

He didn't leave the APC quite yet, choosing to wake his objective in the vehicle instead. The same salts used to rouse Christmas were hastily taken out and waved under the healer's nostrils. He didn't know how effective it'd be on the second use but hopefully it'd keep Christmas awake enough for one big group heal.

"Just a little longer."

Christmas blinked awake slowly, eyes unfocused and barely seeing. It was hard staying conscious. His limbs felt too heavy and his eyelids drifted downwards of their own volition. The air was cold and he was tired and maybe if he just rested a bit more the throbbing pain on the side of his head would go away. Blurred voices rang just outside the full comprehension of his thoughts and he fought to make sense of the sounds.

Ernie waved his hand in front of the healer's gaze. "Can you hear me?"

The words were slow to process, but they made sense after a few seconds. Christmas stared a moment longer, then tried to say "Yes." It came out as a slightly inflected "Mmgh" instead.

Meanwhile, Sander grew restless. The coffee scent was also a touch stronger than usual, which he initially just assumed that Christmas used his power. But he was beginning to doubt that, especially when one of the strangers began to ask for a healer. A Regular, too. He didn’t like this.

With a few quick steps, Sander approached the vehicle, peering into the opened doors. What greeted him though, sent fire down his spine. Ernie was talking to a prone Christmas, and for some reason, they were both half-naked. Whatever happened, Sander had decided that he didn’t like this one bit.

Red eyes gave the other occupants of the vehicle a customary glance, but Sander wasn’t really paying attention to any of them. Instead, he headed straight for Christmas, kneeling down beside the blond boy and pressed fingers against cold cheek. There were bandages around his roommate’s neck, too.

“What happened?” -Sander asked, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Heated fingers against his face startled him, but Christmas was in state of mind to think about the "who"s and "what"s. He just turned his head a few centimeters towards the left and tried to hear a voice he distinctly recalled liking.

Ernie stiffened at the sudden arrival and retracted his hand, opting to rummage through his backpack instead. He hated that false peace that constantly exuded from Sander, like the bastard was trying to lull him into some sense of security. Wary eyes regarded the taller Aberration's body. Scorch marks and debris scarred his sweatpants but other than that there wasn't a single scratch on him. No blood, not even from that subnatural he'd apparently attacked. Truly a monster.

Clenching his jaw, Ernie pointed to the unconscious forms of David and Hazel. Better for the actual perpetrators to get ripped apart than him. He practically spat out the words. "Him, then her."

Sander followed the finger, before finally turning back to regard its owner with cold eyes –“Aren’t you suppose to protect him?”

It didn't work. Ernie paled beneath the blood coating his cheeks and looked away bitterly.

"I...tried," he muttered, wincing internally at how pathetic the words sounded when spoken out loud. That was entire truth. And that was what made it sound so weak. His power couldn't do anything against invisible enemies. Couldn't do anything against matter disintegrators. His indurability only protected himself and he couldn't use it to help anyone even if he wanted to.

He wanted to believe that he had wanted to. He wanted to believe that he'd tried his best.

Heat flared along the line of his spine, and for all his newfound control, Sander felt he was losing. This wasn’t the rage given to him by the mark on his throat. This was his, and his alone. And it was telling him to break Ernie’s jaws, there and then.

“You tried?” -He snarled, his temper slowly winning out. –“Did you really?” -Almost without volition, Sander reached out with an arm and grabbed Ernie’s by the throat, fingers digging in with enough force to hurt, but not to harm. Not yet.

A choked yelp escaped the long-haired boy's lips, a startled and frightened expression lining his face as he staggered backwards. He grasped the other teen's hands, trying to wrench them off but it did nothing. At least the effects of his rope saved him from any pain from Sander's grip, though that only marginally helped with Ernie's psyche. All the panic and rage from before flared with a horrid, new intensity.

What happened to not wanting to hurt me, you asshole?

Those words never came out. Ernie glared back with a furious snarl to match Sander's.

"Wh-- th... fuck!" he gasped out and started bashing at Sander's head with both fists.

The civilians in the truck gasped. One screamed, and another shouted for the two to stop--the man in the green baseball cap.

"Hey, you two!" he called out again, backing up against the wall despite his words.

Dean echoed his words with another call to stop.

The noises were getting louder, and Christmas felt a small sting of fear at the rough tones and panicked sounds. He tried again to speak as his vision cleared briefly, now sliding images into and out of clarity. The words failed to come out properly again. Another quiet "Ngh...?" in place of "What's going on?"

The negative reactions of everyone else in the truck, along with Christmas’, were lost on Sander. His focus right then was on Ernie, and he wasn’t going to let this one slip. The impacts against his head was little more than gentle patting, since his power was still active. The fire, and more important, his control of it, had given him the courage he needed to confront Ernie and resolve matters once and for all.

Ernie would never hurt Christmas again.

“Well? Give me an answer. Did you really try?”

Ernie felt tears of fright begin to prickle. No one had stopped Hazel when she nearly killed them. No one was going to stop Sander if he succeeded where she had failed.

And no one would miss Ernie when he was dead.

Sander, that fucker, that FUCKER, was so self-assured that day. Even now, people were fucking screaming at him and he didn't even bat an eyelid. Sander had an important power. He was strong. Only the strong were special. And Ernie, the sad, weak, pathetic, idiotic little shit he was, had never been anything Sander was. To have the strength to break down everything in his path and get off scot-free. His power, he, had never been enough for anything or anyone, not even himself. Especially not himself. Fuck, he couldn't even beat anyone unless he had someone like Zoe standing behind him, or if his target was some stupid, defenseless Regular. He was a bully in every pathetic sense of the word, only able to exercise control over anything that was lesser than what little strength he had. It was his destiny to get constantly tossed around by the strong, because he could never do the tossing himself.

"...tried. It...wasn't enough..."

It had never been enough. It would never be enough.

He had failed Liam. He had failed Christmas, and Sander through that. It was redundant to say that he'd failed himself, when he was constantly enduring a cycle of that torturous, emotional bullshit that always sped up whenever his Stigma started itching. A cycle that would just keep going until he died in this stupid truck surrounded by stupid Regulars.

Because really, if he was ever going to change he would have done so in the heated frenzy of the battlefield, right? He'd told himself, told Marcus and Christmas and so many other gullible shitheads, that he'd become better. He'd been hoping for a miracle in this battle. And all he received was a reminder of that frustrated rage that he only ever had the balls to release at those who couldn't defend themselves. A reminder of all the infinite reasons of why he was a useless little bitch that should have died so many occasions before this. He had no reason to keep living. He had no family or real friends to return to. It was just him, his rope and that fucking Stigma that was hellbent on destroying everything he had before he could even receive the chance to give a shit.

It was so fucking cruel. So unfair. But it was the only thing that was propelling his actions right now.

Ernie reached into his backpack, feeling around desperately for the USARILN issued knife he'd kept earlier. It was pulled out and unsheathed within seconds, and with a muted roar, he took a wild slash at Sander's face.

The blade cut at him, and Sander let it. Sharpened steel couldn’t pierce his hide, not when the blood was still boiling in his veins. The knife did leave a faint mark in its wake, just one red line that ran across his face, but he knew it would fade soon enough.

Violence only called for more violence, though. The blood high stirred, and Sander had to clamp down on it.

“Are you telling the truth?” -He pressed, leaning toward the other Aberration. –"Look at me, Ernie, and tell me you’re not lying.”

Ernie's knife barely made a scratch. He truly was going to die here. The tears began dripping down his face, barely visible as they left lined smears through the blood. Stigma and instinct told him to try harder, told him all the places he needed to slash and stab. But the knife had long clattered out of his hands by then. He could do nothing but talk, and pray that it satisfied this monster.

"...all true," his breath hitched and it took every ounce of mental effort to not start bawling. His rage had left his grasp along with the knife. There was nothing but pitiful fear now, "Wasn't...strong enough..."

Moving hurt his head, so Christmas didn't dare sit up, not when he was feeling dizzy, too, as a bit of adrenaline kicked back in and fueled a sputter of energy. He was afraid of whatever chaos was going on around him, his sight dominated by people standing sideways and fighting with each other. There were more screams from sources around him, and more shuffling movement as other people tried to back away from the tense scene right next to him.

His hand tumbled uselessly off the narrow bench he laid on and it took concentrated effort to grab at the loose clothes he could identify as Sander's now. The voices were clearing up just enough for him to piece two and two together. The tug didn't last long, and his hand dropped again, the surge of energy nauseating him in the process. He groaned in the aftermath.

Sander said nothing for the longest of time. What there was to say? The things between him and Ernie could not be solved with words alone. At this point, he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Maybe one of these days, the water would give Ernie control, too. He wouldn’t know. He hoped it would. But he was ready, otherwise.

For the heady scent of coffee and the warmth of another person next to him, he would do anything.

His fingers tightened, briefly, before Sander let Ernie go in a rough shove. He turned back to Christmas afterward, responding to the tug that was barely there. Dried blood coated the blond boy’s skin, so Sander used his blood absorption to clean what he could.

Another escape from Death's blood-coated hands. Another one to join the rest he didn't deserve. Never deserved them. At this point, Ernie didn't know whether to be resentful or relieved. But the cowardly preservation instinct in him overrode that tiny speck of dignity he still had. Relief it was.

Ernie fell backwards, scrambling for the backpack before clambering past Sander to leave the APC. He was going to take this chance for granted, definitely. He didn't know if it would be in ten minutes or ten days. But it was definitely going to happen. At this moment, that was what he hated most about himself.

Ernie didn't look back as he hit the ground outside the truck. He just ran. Away? To Zoe? To Cal and Marcus? It didn't matter where. He just needed to leave that monster far behind him.

With the situation defused, Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Between a sub whose eyes were glowing red and another with a strange golden rope, he hadn't really wanted to intervene. Who knew how their magical abilities worked? He still wanted to find a healer, but not because he thought his grandpa could be healed at this point. More like he needed to know if anyone here could bring back the dead like Benediction.

It didn't seem a good time to ask when tempers had barely settled.

"Shouldn't we find a healer to help him?" he nodded at the woozy, blond-haired white mark, grimacing slightly at the amount of blood all over the small teenager's body. For the kid's sake, Dean hoped it wasn't all his blood.

A faint glow emanated from Sander as he picked up the remnants of blood clinging to Christmas’ wishalloy. It worried him, since there was too much of it, and he couldn’t be sure it was all Christmas’ or someone else. There was a wound on the healer’s neck, after all. That was a bad spot.

“He’s the healer.” -Sander gave an offhanded answer to the stranger, sparing him a glance before turning right back to Christmas.

"Oh..." And after the debacle he'd just witnessed, asking this healer to bring back the dead was likely to get him killed--that was, if this kid could even manage that.

Despite the heat and rising blood pressure, Dean held his tongue. He'd give in to the irrational anger and blame and grief in due time. This wasn't the moment and this wasn't the place, especially not among what amounted to the deadly child soldiers of a new age.

He watched the barely conscious healer swipe weakly at the taller boy's leg again and turned away, pulling his girlfriend into a tight hug instead because he needed to remember what he was still grateful for.

A profound tiredness seeped through Allison. It was the sort of bone-deep exhaustion that seemed an insurmountable obstacle to consciousness. Despite this, the aberration remained upright, even if only barely. Using the shard had taken a lot more out of her than she had expected. She would have to keep in mind the extent of the powers she was stopping in the future. For now, she needed rest.

Her legs felt like jelly, refusing to keep her upright without mental effort. Her sweat soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to her body, made only worse by the wishalloy covering them. Her breathing was deep and strained, her body trying to reclaim lost energy. Overall, she felt as if she had just run a marathon. She just wanted to curl up on the ground and sleep, to let the exhaustion consume her for a few hours, and now that the battle was over that seemed more of a welcome prospect. Of course, Allison had more important matters to attend to.

A voice calling itself Ethan commanded everyone towards the drop-off point, and an APC screeched to a halt nearby. Allison's legs would have to carry her a bit further. Before she began her trek, Allison allowed herself a moment to look at the remains of the battefield. There was, of course, the corpses of the two subnaturals, fresh from Zoe's wrath, helped to their doom by Allison and her accursed blade, which had long dissipated. Allison's classmates littered the battlefield in various stages of consciousness. Allison hoped that there were no dead among the unconscious, for once. She didn't need more death in her life. No... that would be a selfish way of thinking about it. Allison didn't want them to die. She needn't factor her own suffering into the mix.

Amongst the receding spires of stone, Allison was able to notice a familiar blonde head lying face-down on the ground near to what Allison presumed to be an enemy that had been killed before her arrival. It was Savannah, and she wasn't moving.

Allison scrambled forward as fast as she could, her movements a series of stumbles and tripping, as she made her way to the young girl, exhausted. As she approached, the scene became more clear. Savannah's head was bent at an impossibly angle, her body contorted in similarly inhuman fashion. Savannah Churchill was dead.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." Allison muttered endlessly, as she lowered her shaky hands to what remained of the child. She had been an angry little girl, but Allison would not have hesitated to call her a friend, despite the relative few times the two had interacted. And now she was gone, another child ripped away from the world. "No, no, they can save her." That precursor, Benediction, he could bring Savannah back to life. No... why would he? He had left other students to die, why would he care about a single child? "I... I have to t-try." Allison spoke beneath her breath with a shaky, broken voice.

Allison's hands reached under the corpse and delicately flipped the girl over, well, as delicately as shaky, tired hands could be. She realigned Savannah's limbs and neck as best she could, and lifted the body from the ground. Allison's legs did not appreciate the extra weight, but she forced them to bear it anyway. She wasn't just going to let Savannah rot on the ground. Allison forced herself towards the APC in a series of strained, stumbling movements.

She approached the vehicle in silence, trying to avoid looking at her allies, or the corpse that was once her friend.

---

Zoe's gaze fixed on her hands as she recovered from the fall. Red with blood both fresh and dry, and who knew what else. Melted bone, maybe? Whatever scraps remained of the gravity-user's windpipe?

They weren't the only thing stained. There was blood on her clothes, the shorts that hadn't been covered in alloy. More dotting her skin here and there that she could only assume was Callan's. There was an odd sort of guilt at the back of her mind as she melted it away. Like maybe it would have been better that they saw her as what she was.

After all, she'd killed three people in the space of minutes. Tortured another in cold blood. Maimed a teammate for the sake of efficiency. To make things worse, she'd probably wake up within the next week and be smiling about it. Involuntary reaction or not, that didn't make her a good person. And given that she'd embraced that monstrous, horrific part of herself voluntarily... Even 'okay' seemed like one hell of a stretch.

But then, she wasn't in a position for self-pity. And while she cared about the others, she doubted anyone was dumb enough to consider her a friend, so there'd be nobody to lean on. A problem of her own making, of course. They didn't need to see how it was all affecting her. She wouldn't burden the others with her pain and she didn't need or want their pity. Better to just get moving.

"You don't need to be untouchable; You just need to act like it."

It hurt a little as she pulled her legs out from the rubble, standing shakily. It was a good feeling, pain. She liked it. It made everything make sense, felt right to her. Embraced it, the dull ache in her muscles and sting of tiny scrapes and scratches on her skin. As she raised her head, her expression twisted into a victorious grin, the moment of hopelessness seemingly abandoned.

Part of her wanted to go and help get everyone into the truck, but she hesitated. Did they even know what she'd done out there? Maybe, maybe not, they'd find out soon enough. Might not be worth the risk of approaching either way, and others seemed to already be helping.

It didn't feel right to stand by, but for now, she'd only tear away what little joy they might find in victory. Even if it rang hollow, the reasoning was sound. Last thing the others needed while they were hurting was her.

Bodies. Dead, lying around the battlefield. The kid was one of them, right? She wondered-- If it hadn't turned out the way it did, if she'd gotten there immediately, would it have changed anything? Because it could have, in her mind. Didn't take her long to finish most of their attackers off after arrival. Still, she couldn't claim to know what happened, or what would've happened.

Watching as Allison rushed over to the body, an old conversation sprung to mind. Words that maybe she shouldn't have said.

"Try not to get anyone killed while I'm gone! I'd hate to have to clean up after any of you."

And sure enough, two of them were gone. Savannah was dead, Aaron was... who knew where. There was a lot Zoe could say about the way she'd acted-- But there was no denying that she'd been right on the money. Part of her was just grateful that they'd only taken themselves out instead of having the others die for their mistakes. That was probably an ugly thing to think.

But it didn't surprise her.

She had no place in mourning these dead.

The microphone - She could always go to pick it up. Hardware, a vague hope that the people in charge could glean some information from it. Zoe knew it was a bit of a stretch, but she was holding out hope. The others didn't know about it, as far as she was aware, and she wasn't sure if Ernie would go and get it. She knew Christmas definitely wouldn't.

Being an 'X' meant any survivors were probably unlikely to bother her, and the journey wasn't a long one. She'd just make her way back to the point on her own. Better to spend as little time in the truck as possible, avoid the people who weren't fundamentally screwed up the way she was. Looking past the conflicting emotions that fogged her mind, it seemed to Zoe that there was some kind of undeniable truth to all this.

For all the last week's talk of cooperation, of unity, of trust... Kindness hadn't been the thing to win the fight. What saved them was ruthlessness and bloody determination. They didn't need Zoe to stand by them, they didn't need her as a friend. It was clear, then, that what they needed was the girl that thrived on pain, that would kill without hesitation. She'd been right. About everything. About Savannah, about the others, about the way the world worked.

So why did the idea make her feel so wrong?

---

---

"That's gross as hell."

His own words cruelly echoed at him in his mind as he ran. Past Emma. Past Marcus. Past those lifeless, gold eyes belonging to some little girl he only briefly knew.

It was selfish, he knew that. He should have been making sure that Lawrence was getting proper healing or that none of his classmates were getting slowly crushed by that unnatural pile of rubble. But being selfish was what he was best at. He couldn't find it in him to give a shit, not while those deadly, red eyes lingered in the APC. Not while the crusting of the blood coating his body made it increasingly impossible to focus on anything that wasn't the rancid stickiness weighing on his body. He couldn't face anyone in this state, with eyes that weren't just red from the blood and his conscience bearing on him like a hand around his throat. He wouldn't be able to apologise to Marcus or anyone like this. So he didn't. He just kept running.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long to find a house on the way to drop-off with a working bathroom. Crimson-covered shoes and socks were shed immediately. Ernie moved quickly, soaking a towel and emptying a bottle of soap onto it, then scrubbing himself down like a madman clawing through his own skin. The durability from his rope negated the pain he would've received from such rough treatment, a neat trick he'd learnt years ago. Bathing in a rush was no stranger to him. Sometimes it was better to just get out of there before someone got pissed than get a proper cleaning. It would take a while before everyone got back, considering all the casualties. He had time. The dead could wait. Cat's Cradle could wait. Hell, they could just go ahead and raze this craphole town for all he cared.

He scrubbed until the freezing water stopped running red. It took a few towels to get through the sheer volume of filth on his body, took a few checks in the mirror to make sure he'd gotten it all out of his ears. Spotless. Not a splotch or scar on him, not even from Sander's rough hand. With the lack of injury from the battle, it was impossible to tell that he'd just been dragged through hell, save for the miserable frown branded onto his features. Ernie stared blankly at his face in the mirror.

Covered in vomit-inducing grime. Scared witless by someone he couldn't even dream of fighting back against. This was exactly how Christmas felt that day, wasn't it? Ernie watched a lifeless smile try to crawl onto his face. He'd brought it on himself. He deserved every bit of it. And he'd hated every part of it. If he just faced it like a man instead of the coward he always was, would he have gotten through it more smoothly? He doubted it. After all, here he was, grooming himself instead of helping load the wounded onto the APC, all because he couldn't stand the thought of his friends seeing him like the disgrace he was.

Ernie ran a clean hand through his knotted hair. It came out with the barest hints of red and he frowned again. He wouldn't be able to take a three hour drive with something like this pulling at his thoughts. The Aberration pawed at the matted locks in dismay. Long and dirty like worms burrowing into soil. Suddenly it wasn't just the cold making him shiver anymore.

There wasn't enough time to make sure it was all cleaned out. Not at Wisford, not in the whole world. As long as he lived, he wouldn't be able to get that awful sense of dread out of his hair. He'd never be truly clean.

For now he just washed and combed it out as best he could in that short timespan, then tied it tight and high as if he was trying to separate his hair from the rest of his head. After a few minutes and a brief rummage through the house's wardrobes, Ernie emerged from the house with unfitting clothes, tight trainers, and a canvas bag containing the contents of his abandoned backpack.

Kusari had left the scene of the battle with the enemy mages. She was frustrated beyond words, she didn't know whether she should be pissed off or bawling her eyes out. She had really hoped that no one would die this time, but as much as she tried to curb her expectations there was always that last bit of hope that got to her. Savannah was dead, she'd noticed how broken her body was as Allison picked her up. How many times would she have to see an ally die? How many times would she promise herself that she would do better? She was sick of it. At this rate she could only believe that she'd be forced to watch as everyone she knew died. Maybe it would be better to just avoid getting close to people after all.

On her way back to the diner Kusari stopped by the overturned collector. The people that were held captive were still there on the street, though it looked like less of them were moving. She moved her tentacle over to bodies that still looked intact, but were immobile. Many of them still had a pulse, though she didn't know how much longer they would still be alive. It would have taken Lily far too long to heal all of them, she was sure she'd made the right decision. She fumbled with the phone given to her, and called command. "You can see where I am, right? There are civilians here that need medical treatment... Over." She put the phone away and let out a sigh. It was a tad disturbing how little she seemed to care about them. Was she supposed to just be the bigger person and forgive the regulars that either ignored or wished subnaturals death? Apparently she wasn't that good of a person.

She made her way into the diner, and then into the freezer where her severed arm still was. She'd likely never get used to this song and dance, there had to be a better way to use her power than constantly mutilating herself. She took a wooden spoon from the kitchen, wrapped a clean cloth around it and bit down on it. In one swift motion she sliced the tentacle off. She broke out into a cold sweat before the limb hit the ground. After picking up her arm and attaching it to the bleeding stump she tried to ease the pain by doing math problems in her head. It didn't help.

Once her arm was properly healed she spat out the spoon and made her way back to the evacuation zone.

The pain felt so distant...that was bad, wasn't it? When the pain faded and...no, it wasn't that the pain was fading, it was that the pain was...gone? Still feeling a wave of nausea wash over her stomach, Siena tried to glance at her injuries. Tried, only to find that they were gone. Entirely. The cuts, the nicks, the gouges and punctures--they were all gone.

'Wait, who healed them...? I didn't...' Her thoughts went to the blonde boy, Christmas. Vague memories of his method of healing making her grimace...but Lily too, right? Lily had...

Dizziness washed over her thinly, her view bursting with colors before she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to block everything out. Her injuries were gone, so she should...walk. Right? Walk. No pain meant she'd be fine, right? The brunette released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding back, soft and weary. So tired still...

"I think...I think I can walk..." Was that her voice? Despite her best efforts, it sounded weaker, wavering in stability...flat. She tried to put a little more energy into the next words, but found them barely any more lively than the first. "You can put me down." Still bland. She tried to correct that with a weak smile. "Think someone else could use the help."

But she felt so safe there, carried like...

'Stop.'

...but she felt...so safe...

Dimly, he could hear concrete and tarmac break down behind him, collapsing onto itself as Zoe dealt the final blow, slaying the subnaturals that had taken so much effort to kill. Dust brushed against his body, into his hair, as air was displaced, but Brent hardly felt it. He barely cleared the collapsing zone of death before it fell, and in the past, perhaps, that brush of death would have got his heart racing, but now…

It was numb.

And he was tired. So tired of this conversation, of this situation, of how little he was able to actually accomplish. Always so close to doing something, only for it to ultimately not matter. Zoe must have attained a new power that gave her flesh-rotting ability some degree of range, while his inability to prepare lead him to contribute less than nothing during the entire fight.

Less than nothing, when he could have done more.

Someone’s voice sounded through the cuffs, alerting them of the presence of Cat’s Cradle. Were they the ones involved then? Cat’s Cradle didn’t recruit weaklings, did they? Something else then. Something that didn’t matter. Brent didn’t turn, continuing to walk away and away, approaching the APC that had arrived. Ernie burst out of it, running away, but he didn’t pay the blooddrenched x-mark any heed. After all, Sander was in there. Sander, the bloodlusted vampire that had done more than his fair share of work. Amethyst eyes followed his friend’s path behind buildings, but that was all the concern he could feel.

A bit melancholic now, wasn’t he? He chewed on the inside of his mouth, using a bit of pain to remind himself of the present. There was still work to get done. Siena was still…no, she wasn’t.

Her injuries were gone, taken away by Lily. Fragile as she was, she still put others above her own needs. But her flesh was too pale, her voice too weak, her body too light. She could walk, but he couldn’t like that. It was one thing to encourage someone with atrophied legs to attempt walking, and another thing to let someone who’s dead on their feet to continue walking.

Wait. Was it?

“We’re almost there,” Brent said, smiling down at her, “You lost a hell lot of blood, so just rest up, alright? Did more than enough. Hopefully they have juice or something in the APC.”

A bitter sensation spread on the roof of his mouth.

“Anyways, there’s plenty of others to help out the restt. Not like the Lily Team is just gonna leave everyone to sleep on concrete after healing them, right?”

Odd...maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe it was the familiarity of the situation, but Siena couldn't deny that she was...relieved at Brent's response. Odd. It was odd. Weird, strange, stop feeling comfortable. Her mind tried to rationalize it as a side effect of the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.

...that was what it was, wasn't it?

"O-Oh..." Still flat, but...not quite. No. No, no, no. She didn't like this. Focus on something else. Like what? The fact that Sav was dead? That she had been the reason for that inopportune spike forest? That despite the literal arsenal at her disposal she'd been worthless in combat against the clockworks. Been a liability in the fight against the subnaturals. But...'Stop.' Where was her phone? She wanted that creature comfort back in her hands. "Thanks. You really do go above and beyond, huh?" A soft, breathy chuckle. "I kind of like that about you."

Unexpected. Thanking him now?

No, she could probably only show her gratitude because she wasn’t aware of how much he had fucked up all over the place. That one moment of emotional weakness, of a winning that one small victory, fucked everything up. It was a bullet that could weave through all obstacles to accurately strike a minuscule target upon someone’s body. The matter manipulator wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell if he held his fire and waited for a fleshier target than a gargoyle that could take a punch from Callan without exploding.

But he didn’t voice that bitter truth. Almost a man but still a child.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, averting his gaze to the APC, “But, well, I only go this far because everyone else can do so much more. Hazel’s a god of destruction, Sander’s an invincible juggernaut, Emma’s range is infinite, Grant’s a tactical savant, and you’re me except way smarter and more versatile.”

Ah, he didn’t like his smile right now.

“Don’t want to become a liability and fall behind, you know? I want to be able to help everyone."

"A liability?" Siena questioned faintly. "I'm pretty sure Hazel 'n the rest of us would have been mincemeat if you hadn't been able to tell us what was happening." Not that it had done much with their relative lack of a strategy in the midst of combat. Not enough communication--probably something that could have been avoided. Peering up at her comrade, the bookworm flashed a grateful expression. Genuine.

'How utterly shameful.'

"I'm a far cry from everyone, but you certainly saved my skin more than once this time." Holding back the urge to close her eyes and just rest, the mage gave a weak laugh. "You could just as easily have left it to Chris and hope my Wishalloy was still useful if I fell. Wouldn't exactly call that a liability."

Chris remained in his spot, his eyes were closed to aid in his resting; however Brent and Siena's conversations occasionally caused him to peek every now and then. He'd be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit jealous. Siena in Brent's arm, talking to each other even with compliments. He tried to reason with himself that he shouldn't focus on such things in these situations. They had all nearly died and Brent was at least trying to help her out.

If Chris were to transform now and pick her up instead he would have been naked anyhow, so he convinced himself that Brent's cradling wasn't something he should be jealous of. He still felt it creeping on him though, it probably would have been worse if he wasn't so tired with physical pain still stinging him.
You probably didn't have a chance with her anyway"

“But…” Brent stopped himself before he went any further. He let out a deep breath, forcing his expression not to crumble apart. How would it make her feel, if he told her just how little he felt about his role, regardless? Of how much more he could have said, if he wasn’t so obsessed with trying to make his power seem useful? He could have noticed that Sander was coming as well, that the anti-gravity mage was the most dangerous one, not the gargoyle. He could have spotted the entire incident that messed Lawrence up and immediately fired, instead of trying to get all three of them at once. There was still so much that could be done.

His regrets remained unvoiced.

“…thanks. But it’s still my theory that Hazel could have rolled through the entire clockwork army if she just made a hamster ball and ran around.” He managed to laugh. “And you still owe me knife combat lessons, ‘ena. No way was I going to let you drop into rubble just to make things easier on myself.”

…

A bit of honesty.

“Though I was desperate to do something, after letting the situation spiral out of control as much as it did.”

Familiar.

'Stop.'

But it was familiar. She reocgnized the hesitation. The careful wording. Recognized the parts that had become like second nature in the short period she'd been in USARILN East...and it drove a spire into her more effectively than any of the spike-generating subnatural's attacks had. Too familiar. Uncomfortable. Too familiar.

Ah, and there it was. The truth, regardless of how muted it might have been. Something that Siena had evidently grown an aversion to recently. Damn, was she in any state--did she really even have any right to meddle?--to say anything? No excuses.

"'nless you have some secret clairvoyance, I doubt you were letting any of that happen." And a thought. No, she wouldn't have accepted anything as simple as that as an excuse. Wouldn't have let it go so easily. The smile flickered, then faded out as her desire to keep up the facade lost out to her desire to do something right. "But I guess that's hard to believe right now." Who would even believe that? "Still, you did plenty."

A fraction of a second where she hesitated...then a smile of some sort of genuine emotion. Gratitude? Camaraderie? What? It felt out of place from her usual expressions. Did she really keep herself from actually smiling that often?

"So again. Thanks."

When had his pace slowed by so much? When had he started using her pity as a salve? His eyes narrowed incrementally, even as some part of his mind was glad for her kindness. He made his choices, and they turned out to be wrong most of the time. He wasn’t sure he really did plenty, but perhaps it was fine to believe in someone else’s opinion for once.

Amethyst eyes flickered down, and something inside Brent cracked.

Ah, there it was. Something real. Different from the few that he caught while walking through the cafeteria. Different from the ones that emerged while in Crimen Culpae. Different from the one that set him off during Angelic’s training session.

This was worthwhile.

“That smile’s the only recompense I need.”

After securing Siena in the APC, Brent found himself outside once more. A burden had been lifted from his body, not merely a physical one, but something else. His hands clenched into fists and then slowly released, before he slapped himself on both sides of his cheeks. A slightly red blush emerged as he broke off into a jog, towards Chris and Lawrence. There was still work to be done, still people to help, still more chances for him to lessen the weight on others and the burden on himself.

Slowing down as he approached the curled up dragon, Brent said, as he pulled Lawrence up and over his shoulders, "Yo, Chris, didn't you hear? We need to get going now."

The beast let out a groan as he stood upright. With someone to carry Lawrence he didn't have an excuse to lie around anymore. A part of him wanted to crush Brent, Jealousy combined with the thoughts of a monster that if it hadn't been tamed, perhaps would have drove Chris down that path. It was better to just ignore it if anything, and Brent was of course right, they needed to move. Instead of reverting to a mortal body, he just marched down to leave without waiting for Brent to catch up.

Well, that was easy. Shrugging at the dragon arbiter's lack of shits given, Brent trudged on behind him. Was he just planning on flying back to USARILN? Or was he just going to lay on the APC for the ride back? He would have scratched his head if he could, but ultimately, the brunette picked up the pace, calling out, "Yo, Chris! There's a bunch of regulars in the APC, so maybe you should transform back or something? Don't want to give them more heartattacks and all!"

He was right, if they were harboring anyone not used to friendly subnaturals, his form would certainly put them on edge. Although he didn't want to be naked for the whole ride, maybe someone has a towel for him. The dragon shifted his form, letting out a small cry as its body shriveled and contorted slowly. It swirled slowly with shattering scales and blood until the biomass took a smaller humanoid shape. The process took about 3 minutes, but once the body ceased its stirring, Chris remained in a naked body. He did not bear any of the wounds his beastial form had taken.

The arbiter stood up with a sigh as he wrapped his arms around his chest. He didn't like being exposed like this, but he had to get used to this kind of thing given his power.

Interesting. Watching from behind as Chris shrivelled into a human form, shedding scales onto the ground, Brent used this chance to catch up to the pale shrimp. Before the pale youth could start causing a whole different set of trauma towards people, the brunette quickly and efficiently removed Lawrence's pants,

"Here ya go," he said, handing the pair of bloodied trousers over, "Learned this trick from Lawrence. You need my jacket too, or naw?"

The kid redeemed himself. Chris took the pants and quickly put them on. If it was any other situation he would have refused to wear such dirty clothing, but it was serviceable nonetheless. "No, I don't like wearing someone else's clothing. The pants will be serviceable enough." He continued to walk with his arms crossed over his chest again. He didn't have much else to share in words.

"Alright then," Brent replied. It must have been the melancholy of that final fight getting to the pale arbiter, wasn't it? He remembered Siena's own words, her own gratitude, and nodded to himself. Better to pay it forward. "You did good that fight, Chris," the brunette said, with a lopsided grin, "Thanks for dealing with those birds. Was shitting myself during the first ten or so minutes with those things flying about."

Chris's face nearly twitched into a smile, had he not kept a firm expression facing forward. A compliment? Now Chris's disdain towards him was mixed. He certainly wasn't trying to offend him, at least thats what he could pick up on by his persona. Maybe he was just overreacting to the whole scene. He shouldn't be so focused on trivial social matters on the battlefield anyway.

It took him a while to exit his train of thought and reply. "I do my best, if I am to make this curse any use for the rest of us." He glanced back to Brent briefly before staring into the ground ahead of him. [/color=red]"I..I do my best to save people, but I can only do so much as a giant monster, I'm glad you were there to help Siena get back on her feet, it means a lot to me."[/color]

"Dude," Brent said with a laugh, playfully kicking him in the knee, "You can do a hell lot as a giant, flying badass flame-lizard. Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that everyone else was already doing their best with dealing with the whole triple sub threat, I would have just told you to fly in there and flamethrower them all!"

"For real though," he continued, a little more seriously, "Your power's not a curse. It's not even a x-marked power. It's hella useful as the only ability that grants flight, durability, super strength, long-ranged attacks, AND a form of healing. If you learned to control your strength more, you'd be able to do way more than Sander or Callan."

"And as for Siena, don't mention it. She's a..." What? "...friend to me too. Us Unit B kids gotta keep tight, after all."

It wasn't just his persona, the conversation with Brent gave Chris a sense of nostalgia. It felt like he was 12 again hanging out with his friends....when he had friends. The reminder caused him to smile briefly to himself. "Yeah. I won't lie I do have that sensation of being immortal or unstoppable after I transform...Theres also some sort of...cathartic feeling when I get to destroy a monster or two."

He sighed. "Though the innability to communicate properly is a pain. I was thinking about starting to train my normal state too just in case if I can't transform or if my transformation isn't needed. I can still breathe fire and even grow armor-like scales when I'm not transformed too, I just want to get a weapon first before I even start to train myself with that." As he conversed, his arms lowered to his sides, no longer was he so reclusive about the situation.

Chris's loosening up didn't go unnoticed by the observant arbiter, and Brent grinned at that. It was interesting, that he had access to his draconic heritage even without transforming, but that was talk for another time. Powers were interesting, but the brunette decided that it was better not to think about it for now.

"Eh, that sounds just like procrastination to me," he replied, "Gotta get some meat on your bones before you consider actually fighting, you know? All the CQC in the world isn't gonna help you if you don't have muscle to make your attacks matter. And as for being unable to communicate..."

"...how about you learn morse code? Short roars for dots and long roars for lines?"

He laughed at his own joke, wondering how odd it was for him to be able to laugh at all after such a dire situation.

He chuckled a bit at the comment himself. "I tend to roar a lot as it is, that just seems to much effort for me to deal with." He looked up for a moment. "The only solution we got down so far, as you recall, is Siena being able to translate what I'm thinking. Only, I can't rely on her for that all the time, she needs to take other names too to be effective." He paused in thought. "Though my form has been taking rapid changes, so maybe I might evolve something to help out with that problem."

"Or maybe you really should consider using your dragon form only as a last resort," Brent suggested, "And focus your attention on controlling your non-transformed abilities."

"That would be easier if the transformation was a lot faster and less painful." He commented. "Though if I can be useful without having to go through that suffering every battle, then yeah thats something I want to start practicing."

"Get yourself a lance as well. Become the Dragoon to your Dragon." He wondered a bit. "Wait, can you like...use your dragon scales as building materials?"

"Never thought about it. The scales seem to disappear when I go from dragon to human but I haven't tried to shed any scales in human form." He put a hand on his chin.]
"Given the fact that the scales are impervious to heat, It'd be difficult to mend them in anyway. Though with your powers maybe you could craft something with it?"

Brent shook his head. "No way man, can't do anything with magical objects...but hey, that's all things to think about for our next training date with Siena and Angelic, eh? Real shame we didn't get to pull off the flying death fortress, but you lose some you win some."

"Well there is always next time. The flying fortress idea sounds good on paper but we should try to work on that on our next training session too."

"Maybe you'll grow even bigger next time, and we can start dropping Sanders and Callans like nukes."

"Fun idea." He smiled.

"Genius idea." Brent corrected. "On par with Grant's legendary pantsing techniques."

Entering the APC awkwardly with Lawrence still on his back, Brent found a nice little corner to prop the older student against, before stretching out his spine. It had filled up again, hadn't it? Eyeing the unconscious, bandaged Angelic and the one seat that remained beside her, he made a conscious decision not to take that seat, and instead, settled for the one by Siena once more.

After such a rough fight, as well as her tumble with Hazel, no doubt this would be a perfect time for Chris to bond with the heavy metal screamer.

He shot one last, encouraging smile towards Chris.

Good luck, bro.

He was a bit confused at Brent's gesture, but didn't want to think much of it. In truth he wanted to sit next to Siena, however it wasn't that important for him to argue over it or anything. Instead he just took the seat by Angelique in silence. His thoughts now focused on what the hell they were fighting back there.
We had one casuality and others were severely injured...I guess thats better on paper then our last fight but..they sent us to fight other subnaturals?
The thought made him a bit sick, so he tried to focus on other things.

"Hey hey hey, you're fine now." Marcus said, trying to calm Lily down from whatever it was that she was dealing with. He ran his hand through his already tussled hair, the sweat cooling slightly across his forehead.

They'd won. They'd done it. A part of him wanted to cheer and laugh, but it was stopped by the part that reminded him of the cost. Savannah, the old man, the soldier, they were all gone. Not to mention all the people that had nearly been killed. Too close for comfort, in his mind.

He'd killed them

He shook his head, as if trying to force the thought out of his mind. It hadn't been his fault; it had been the group of Abberations that had killed them. He wasn't to blame just because he got careless and let the gargoyle in. It wasn't his fault that she'd been in the perfect position to take Savannah out of the truck.

It wasn't his fault. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that, he couldn't force his own mind to believe it.

The much needed moment of peace was brought to an abrupt halt when the horizon exploded, sending shockwaves through the ground. The cuff crackled to life, ordering a welcome retreat. They couldn't handle something like Cat's Cradle. Not without more...

He rose to his feet, offering Lily a hand. They needed to get loaded up.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, looking to the motley little group. He brought his gaze to Kusari last, deliberatly avoiding Dean's gaze as he searched for a healer in the APC.

Lily's mind was still a mess of voices egging her to do damage, to find a way to hurt someone...anyone. Having passed the injuries she took to Kusari had calmed the voices down a bit but they knew that she was capable of a lot more damage, a lot more hurt and they were furious that she didn't give in to that desire.

Live up to what you are. Stop pretending to be someone good when you're a monster inside.

She looked at Marcus, who was trying to calm her down. The boy she almost killed in that first battle. What was his name? She furrowed her brows and focused on drowning out the voices as she tried to think and remember.

You're a MONSTER.

Was I always like this? Forgetful?

Hurt them. KILL them all!

Or was it because of that head wound I had when they found me near USARILN East?

You can ignore us all you want. But at one point, you will find yourself giving in.

Name name name name. What's his name? What's his name? The boy's hand appeared in front of her. She looked at it for a few seconds before she reached out and took it, pulling herself up, all the while running all her memories of the boy in her mind.

Emma’s eyes had been directed at the ground.

Don’t look.

Instead, she directed her gaze at Marcus. She almost couldn’t believe that he had dared ask that, as clearly things were anything but alright. She wanted… a part of her wanted to yell at him. To blame him. To blame someone. To tell him it was his fault. But she didn’t say that. She said nothing.

As soon as she was up, she rememberd. "Marcus!" she exclaimed triumphantly, her golden eyes shining with delight at successfully remembering. When he gave her a quizzical look, she just flashed him a bright smile and squeezed his hand before she let go and turned her attention somewhere else. The first person that caught her eye was the pretty girl standing a few feet away from them, staring at something in the concrete rubble.

She looked back at Marcus for a brief second before she took a stepped away. "I'll just..." she started but didn't bother finishing as she headed towards Emma.

Don’t look at her.

She couldn’t help herself. She had to. It didn’t take her long to pick out where the body of Savannah was, buried in concrete, twisted and broken. Wordlessly she walked towards it, glancing down at the girl’s face, frozen in agony. She was just a child, she had no place out here. Emma searched for someone to blame, but she already knew who was at fault.

Why didn’t I come to the APC sooner? Why couldn’t I do anything?

Of course the answer was 'no'. It'd take a long while before everyone was anything close to alright. But they were alive...most of them were at least. Marcus smiled back to Lily as she stood up, giving a small sigh as she followed Emma. He watched as the stopped at a pile of rubble, his curious glance turning to a roiling pit in his stomach when he spotted the blonde locks snaked through the stones.

Emma had walked off, Lily had walked off, and even Kusari in her heavily damaged state had walked off. All he could do was look around, sighing sadly at the scene.

Hurt her. The voice in Lily's head insisted for the nth time.

Oh, just shut up, she thought savagely and turned ran her memories of this girl in her head. Name name name name. she chanted the same way she did for Marcus.

And just like earlier, she grinned and said her name out loud. "Emma!" Maybe it was because she was trying harder than usual that she could actually remembered. "Are you---" the question died on her lips as she let her gaze drift towards what the other girl was staring at.

A dead body. A small girl with blonde hair with a look of horror frozen on her face, her eyes wide but unseeing.

Dead.

The small blonde teenager stared at the dead girl for the longest moment. She didn't even know her name. She never really interacted with her despite seeing her around campus. Now she laid dead and there was no way she could try to get to know her even if she wanted to.

Strangely enough, the voices in her head had quieted down. Her golden eyes turned into a dark amber shade. Is it possible? Won't it be useful if I could? she asked silently in her head, questions that was left unanswered by the strangely silent voices.

Staring at the girl, she willed for her power to activate. The black thread appeared on her wrist. But the other end remained floating uselessly in front of her. Lily glared at the thread then at the dead body, wordlessly commanding it to do what was impossible. For a moment, the black strand floated towards Savannah's unmoving body. But like earlier, it remained floating above it uselessly.

You can't bring the dead back to life. You can only kill, the voice in her head explained.

The black thread quivered for a few seconds before it disappeared.

Emma’s face was blank, expressionless, as she turned back to the APC. She walked towards the vehicle, sparing Marcus a glance as she passed ”We should go.”

It took Lily a few minutes before she turned and walked towards the APC after Emma. She was silent but a dark look was on her face.

Marcus kept his eyes averted, only daring to make contact with Emma as she got closer. His guilt continued to bore the hole in his gut, and he waited for her to yell at him; to tear into him for his mistakes, but it never came. Only a single sentance, it's lack of emotion telling him everything he needed to know.

"Yeah..." Marcus said, looking out over the cracked asphalt that marked their fight. He didn't want to get on the APC yet, not with so many of the civilain survivors there. "I should...go help get some of the people get on board."

A nobel course of action driven by a selfish motive.

As though she was acting on auto-pilot, Lily turned and followed after Marcus, not really registering the tiredness and the slight lightheadedness from the blood loss she experienced earlier. "I'll help," she said in a quiet voice.

Emma gave a small nod. "Right. I'm... just going to wait here." she realized it was selfish to wait while the others helped, but she wasn't exactly in the state of mind to care.

With Lily following him, Marcus made his way over to the slumped form of Callan. Even with her arm reattached to her body, she still looked worse for the wear. Dirt and blood seemed to mute the usual vibrant streak in her hair, her skin seemed much paler than usual. Not surprising considering the cirumstances, but it was almost frightening to see their resident Supergirl, one of his roommates, in such a state.

He knelt down to her, grabbing one of her arms and pulling her into a sitting position. She was far too cold, just as Lily had been previously. Ducking down to gain some leverage, he pulled her arm across his shoulder, aiming to support her. Even without her entire body weight on him, he could already tell that she was heavier than she looked.

As he struggled, he could feel her moving slightly, presumably beginning to rouse herself.

"Hey Cal, we're getting you to the APC now." he said, the light tone in his voice similar to the one a parent would use for a sleeping child. "Lily, can you get her other side?"

Lily nodded and silently obeyed Marcus' request. She grabbed Cal's other arm, the one she had healed and draped it across her shoulder the way Marcus did.

Come on, Cal. Get up.

Get up, get up.

Get up, walk it off. C’mon Cal!

The stolen words plagued her will to sleep. Though the memory of who'd said them was well associated with a sharp, pulsing pain in her ankle, Callan felt nothing but the uncomfortable dirt under her fingernails as she came to. All the pain from before was gone. Someone was moving her. Another familiar voice.

Marcus. It was Marcus.

“Ngh.” She found herself less inclined to focus on that fact as the world came back in pieces. First, her arm. Her arm? She clenched and unclenched her fist as the appendage came into view. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she had to look.

Get up! Walk it off!

Her father’s old command echoed around in her head every time sleep prodded her eyes to flutter closed again. A constant tug-o-war, but she couldn’t quite decide which side she was on.

Why was her arm so important? Remembering, muted panic at recalling it was Zoe and tentative relief washed over her expression beneath the layer of blood and dirt that obscured her features. As Marcus mentioned moving her to the APC, she forced coherent words into her mouth while trying to pull herself up.

“Wait, wait,” she grimaced. Everything was coming back to her now, but she asked anyway. Perchance it was just a bad dream. “What… what happened?” She looked to Marcus pleadingly, begging for good news. Was everyone okay? Siena? Ernie? Lawrence?

…Savannah? No, she knew better. She felt a lump rise in her throat, tears threatening to well up before she commanded herself not to cry.

You’re okay. You’re fine.

Well-- you're not dead anyway.

Now wasn’t the time to lose it. She had to keep it together. Others might be hurt. Others might need help. She had to help.

"C'mon, let's get you up." Marcus said, trying to help Callan pull herself to her feet. "It's okay. We...beat them."

He tried to give Callan a warm smile as she stood, but it was far less genuine than usual. They'd won, but there had been a high cost. Too high, in his mind.

Lily emulated what Marcus was doing and how he was supporting Callan. As soon as the supergirl was up, the small blonde teeterd on her feet for a few seconds, Cal's weight, height and the dizziness from her earlier blood loss making her a little unsteady. But she bit her lip and didn't complain. She remained silent, just like the silence in her head. There were no voices in her mind for once. But in its place was Savannah's face and the thought that she could have done more to prevent her death from happening.

Callan frowned at his answer, the hesitation in his voice and lukewarm attempt at a smile igniting her suspicions. In search of answers, she sluggishly lifted her head to survey the battlefield. It was utter chaos— littered with blood, rubble, and corpses she barely recognized. Surrounded by so much stillness, her eyes were drawn to the form of Allison as she clumsily rushed by.

Callan heard the repeatedly muttered word as Allison came across Savannah's corpse: broken, dead and unceremoniously left face down on the asphalt.

Unable to look away, Callan froze and her breath stuck in her throat. She'd never said more than two words to the kid, but of course Savannah had had people who cared about her. Maybe parents that loved her. Maybe siblings. Friends. She didn't know, but it didn't matter. She was too young. She shouldn't have had to die like that.

And it was all my fault. Her breath was shaky when she finally exhaled. I'm sorry. She couldn't keep the tears back any longer. They pooled and ran down her cheeks, pushing past the layer of grime and leaving streaks. She knew if she spoke, it'd be nothing but a sob, so she kept quiet and put her head down, internally repeating her apology as if somehow Savannah could hear.

"Savannah is dead." Allison Revel's voice came out weak, as she attempted to choke back tears. Her grip on the body only tightened as she collapsed onto the ground next to the APC. Close enough.

Lily noticed Callan put her head down and heard Allison's words. Savannah. That's her name, she thought briefly. Was there a different path? Why do I have an X mark instead of the white marks the others have? Why did I choose this path if I can't even be helpful enough to prevent death? Benediction can bring back the dead. Why can't I? Do I really just bring death and destruction? Why can't I remember anything? But no matter how much she asked, the voices remained silent.

Emma grimaced. Allison, she remembered, part of her oppisition during the flag game. A small glance towards Marcus and Cal before she started walking towards the collapsed girl. She knelt down, carefully extending a hand towards her shoulder."Allison... we have to go. Cat's Cradle is here, remember? You... you don't have to worry about her. The school will take care of it. I'll help you take her in if you want, but we should be quick. I don't need to tell you how dangerous Cat's Cradle is, right?" Emma's voice was even- at the very least it didn't betray her.

Really, all Emma wanted was to get the hell out of here.

Allison cradled the corpse in her arms, staring at the ground as Emma spoke. Emma was wrong, so very, very wrong. Of course Allison had to worry about Savannah, no one else would. The child didn't need to die, and if there's a chance to bring her back someone needed to take it. The school wasn't going do it, that Allison was sure of.

Cat's Cradle, yes, the reason they were retreating. Allison remembered now. Her tired legs hadn't carried her far enough, had they? There was a little further to go for the girl and the corpse. Allison stood up slowly, her legs still unwilling to carry the weight of both her and the body, and silently turned to enter the APC.

Marcus said nothing as the tears began to roll down Callan's face. Nothing as Allison collapsed, nothing as Emma helped her up, and nothing as they began carrying a shattered corpse onto the APC. There was nothing to say, nothing he could possibly say that would help. For once, no amount of joking and grinning would make things better.

He'd learned long ago that it was best to stay quiet in these situations.

Was it truly for the best though? That they take Savannah back to the campus? They all knew what would happen to her. Hell, it'd probably happen no matter what they did, but at least burying her in the middle of nowhere would be better than sending her to be eaten.

But it wasn't his place to suggest that. Instead, he continued to say nothing.

Head down, repeating a useless mantra of an apology, Callan noticed Lawrence a short distance away. He didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, but was that because he was dead or had he been healed too? She lifted her head and shifted towards him, still using Marcus for support. She paused. He was still breathing. A small sigh of relief accompanied by a different sting of guilt that bit at the back of her conscience upon realizing how happy she was that he hadn't been the one who died. Or Marcus or Siena or anyone she knew at all for that matter. The thought made her feel nauseous. It was like the first day all over again. Only this time, she'd practically pulled the trigger.

Callan ran the back of her hand across her cheek, back to forcing some composure. She wasn't exactly sure what had happened while she was knocked out, but if what Emma said was true, they needed to get out of here quickly. Cat's Cradle was no joke and she didn't want to see anyone else die today. "I'll get Lawrence--" she started, but as she moved away from Marcus to step towards him, her feet simply couldn't keep up and she immediately staggered.

Marcus moved to stop Callan as she attempted to go to Lawrence, nearly getting thrown off his feet as he did so. Even in her weakened state, trying to hold Callan back was like trying to stop a bulldozer from moving with only his body. Still, he braced against the fall, keeping her supported on her own two legs.

"Nono, you need to rest. You got hit pretty hard back there." he said, trying to direct her back towards the APC. He could see that Brent and Siena and the dragon seemed to have Lawrence with them, so that situation was under control.

Pretty hard of course being a bit of an understatement; she'd lost the entirety of her arm in that whole mess. He didn't even want to think of what would have happened had Lily not been there...

Lily stepped back when Callan staggered, leaving Marcus to support her alone. She stood a few steps away, thinking if she should continue helping out the obviously exhausted supergirl. But then it looked like Marcus would be enough to help her out. She wasn't needed and so she slipped away.

"I wanna help," she persisted, though she stayed in place. She was the strongest-- it'd be easy for her to carry Lawrence and anyone else who was injured back to the truck. At least it should've been easy. Callan felt a rising irritation at the way her legs refused to properly support her weight, furrowing her brow in confusion.

Emma’s eyes followed Allison into the APC. Allison and Savannah. She sighed, glancing inside, prepared to follow the girl in… but what she saw placed a distinct scowl on her face. It seemed Sander and Ernie’s little feud extended even here. She couldn’t help but shake her head, Is this really the time to be doing this? Despite herself she held her tongue. She stepped back, watching passively as Sander shook Ernie down like some kind of thug. She wanted to say something, but she was too tired. Couldn’t they just… not? It was over before she worked up the courage to say something. Ernie tumbled past her out of the APC before he took off running.

”Ernie! ERNIE!”

She called after him, but he was already gone. A frustrated glance was given to the others, save Sander, who she willfully ignored. A long sigh followed, before she approached Marcus. ”I’ll go get him. We need to leave. Make sure all the injured get on the truck.” If her look didn’t betray her mounting frustration, her tone would. She lingered for a moment, looking at the Callan and Marcus. They must be feeling the same things she did, she realized. And for a moment, she wanted to tell them that she was sorry. That it wasn’t their fault. That she could’ve saved everyone. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation. It was just a moment, though. A small nod, and then she jogged after Ernie. To think, she’d be going out of her way to go help Ernie, of all people.

It wasn’t for his sake, it was so they could leave.

"Callan." Marcus's voice was firm now, almost scolding. "You lost a lot of blood; if you over-exert yourself and pass out, you're not going to be helping anybody."

He sighed once, his voice readjusting back into a friendlier tone. "You did it. You helped. Let the rest of us help a little bit now, okay?"

He gave the APC an angry glance as the shouting commenced. This was certainly not the time or place for them to be having pissing contests about who did what, and while he would have loved to jump in and tell the two to button their flaps, it would have equally not been the time or place. He nodded to Emma as she jogged off; she'd get him back.

Or she'd get killed by a surprise attack from Cradle.

Still, as much as he desperately wanted to go after her, she was right; first priority was getting everyone on the transport. Brent seemed to have a pretty good handle on Lawrence, Lily had healed Siena, and he had Callan. Besides the few stragglers who were either already on board, or close behind, everyone was pretty much accounted for.

Callan seemed slightly taken aback by his stern tone. She winced and looked down at her shoes as Marcus tried to reassure her that she'd helped. She'd helped? Helped who exaclty? Sander practically took down Factory all on his own. He'd known exactly what to do while she just mindlessly followed orders like a brain-dead moron. If it wasn't for him, she would've been fried to a crisp by that laser, too.

Then there was the fight with the rogue mages. Marcus told her to go for the gargoyle lady and what did she do? She charged at her carelessly. Perhaps if she hadn't been quite so eager to get there. Perhaps if she hadn't hurried quite so much. Perhaps if, in that millisecond before it happened, she hadn't allowed herself to think about how much she wanted to be the one who saved everyone. Who fixed everything.

She and not Emma. Like it was some sort of competition.

She thought back to the evaluation forms and, just when she thought she couldn't feel any worse, the guilt she felt seemed to hit its peak. Specifically she remembered the only evaluation that hadn't been anonymous-- the one given by Lawrence.

"Brawn doesn't exclude you from using brains as well..."

That's what he'd said. He'd suggested mental exercises, but what did that mean? And why had she brushed those evaluations off so quickly? Because she was embarrassed about how she lost? Too good for their advice? But what could she do about it now?

It was a question she couldn't bring herself to find an answer to as another wave of exhaustion washed over her. She nodded and muttered a weak "Okay," in response to Marcus.

It didn't take long for Emma to find Ernie. Her fellow Aberration. Her teammate. Her comrade. Her would-be friend. Honestly, she wasn't sure why exactly she despised him so much. He was usually affable, usually friendly, except for those times. But she knew that she should've understood. Understood what the stigma does to you, how it makes you act. It was his stigma that made him such an asshole, wasn't it? That was the likely explanation. That was the explanation that absolved him, especially in her eyes. She should know what it's like to have that other voice creeping in the back of his head. By all accounts she should be friends with him. They'd hung out, they ate lunch together... and he was a lot like the people she knew back at home.

Maybe that was why she couldn't help but hate his guts.

Her anger amplified a thousand fold when she saw him emerge from the house completely clean, in new clothes. Was that why he ran away? To clean up? She was done trying to surpress how she felt. She glowered as she jogged towards him towards him. She wanted to do what her stigma told her to. She wanted to hurt him, but she surpressed that urge. She'd have to satisfy with letting her anger out another way. "Jesus FUCKING Christ Ernie!" her voice was shrill, anger clear. She'd had enough of today, "Did you not hear what Ethan said? Cat's Cradle is here, and you ran off to take a fucking shower? Are you trying to get left behind? Are you trying to fucking hold us up? Enough people have died today, why the hell are you going off on your own when a group of fucking sociopathic Animi could be around the corner?"

It took him longer than he liked. To release that vice grip of terror clenching his heart. To remind himself that Reno was far, far away. To remember that it was just Emma that was screeching at him, one of the farthest things from what he considered a threat at East. It took him far too long.

Ernie staggered back, a pitiful expression lining his face before he managed to compose himself. He was supposed to be more than the frightened child from years ago. His mouth opened to answer, but he struggled to compose the words. There was one question that shook him in particular.

"How many...did we lose?" Ernie murmured quietly, looking subdued.

Emma’s mouth hardened into a line. This wasn’t a question she wanted to answer. A noticeable pause passed before she said, ”Savannah… and a lot more regulars.” another pause, ”We almost lost Lawrence, but he should be stable now.”

Lawrence was fine. He wasn't even needed for that. But Savannah...

He had neither the desire nor the right to mourn, not when there was a good chance that it was his partly his fault that the APC got attacked. Another compulsion seized him, told him that he had to avoid seeing that little girl at all costs.

It's a miracle we didn't lose more, he thought, but his mouth remained clamped shut.

Instead, Ernie looked down at the tight trainers on his feet, mulling over the rest of Emma's questions. He knew how stupid it was to be worrying about his cleanliness when Cat's Cradle were in the area. He knew, but he just didn't care. He wanted to be away from everyone, he wanted no one to see him. Bad habits were getting repeated, habits that had taken him months to work himself out of, habits that no one but he had ever understood. No one would understand. So there was no point in explaining himself to Emma or all people. His expression turned to one of disdain, though whether it was for himself or the girl, he wasn't sure.

"Shouldn't you be with Marcus? Why did you even follow me anyway?"

Emma scowled. She wasn’t in the mood for Ernie’s games. ”Fucking really? I followed you because, like everyone else, I want to get the fuck out of this shithole and we can’t do that until you get your ass on the APC that’s waiting to take us out of here. And that’s the only reason I’m here. This isn’t the time to run off and fucking take a shower.” Emma was exasperated. Fed up with this battlefield and with Ernie’s bullshit.

Don’t say it.

Don’t say what you’re thinking, it’s just the stigma.

But she had to. She couldn’t fight off the urge, she just had to get the last word in. The voices pushed, and if she was being honest with herself she wanted to say it. ”It should’ve been you, not Savannah.” her voice was filled with animosity. Did she think he’d care? No, not really. But it felt good to let him know exactly what she thought about him. With that she turned on her heel, marching back towards the APC. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He better follow too, or I’ll have Determination drag him back.

Ernie stared back, stunned, eyes wide open. It was the truth, after all. There was no right or reason that he was standing here while others had perished. The guilt crashed onto him like a toppling shelf, and Ernie could say nothing. But guilt soon turned to aimless anger, a fury that only escaped because it was Emma who had said it. Emma, who had a rare, strong power like Sander. Emma, who was sociable and perfect and pretty without even trying, when it had taken Ernie so long to get to where he was now. The nice girl who enjoyed the quiet, civilian life that had been ripped from him, who had everything without lifting a finger, even though they shared the same mark. Who the FUCK was she to talk?

The boy stomped towards Emma. So this was why he disliked--no, fucking hated-- this girl. It made a stupid amount of sense when he took the time to think about it.

"Yeah?" Ernie yelled back at her, "Well, I'm still here! So we all have to fucking deal with it!"

Did they really? Hazel and Sander seemed to had tried to change it. Nothing had stopped them, so what was there to stop Emma? Ernie bared his teeth and wrenched Emma's shoulder back to demand her attention. Part of him wanted to grab her by the hair and shove her into a collector to see how she felt when it happened to her. Another part wanted to just goad her, to just end everything. Third time was the charm, right?

His fingers dug into her shoulder. "Why don't you try it, huh? Hazel and Sander didn't have a problem with trying to kill me. Kardos won't stop you! FUCKING TRY IT."

Emma stopped walking. She scowled.

And then she smiled, just a little.

And then she laughed.

”Is that what you think? That I want to murder you? Please. I’m not like you.” she pointed to the X-mark on her neck. ”We both have it. We both know what it’s like, the stigma, the whispering in our heads all day. But do you want to know what the difference between us is? I don’t listen to it. I can get by without sating it. It fucking kills me, but I can do it.” lies, the voice in her head told her, she wasn’t getting by, but she said it anyways. ”I can tell, you do whatever the fuck it tells you to, don’t you? If I sat here goading you, like you’re doing to me, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Once again her face hardened.

”That’s so fucking pathetic Ernie.”

Right where it hurt the most. Like it was with Hazel and Sander, he would never have the ability to kill her, no matter how much he wanted to. His Stigma had always been the only strong thing about him. Ernie pulled his hand back as if he'd been burnt. Did she have some fucking telepathy power to go with everything else? He knew it was stupid to protest. To keep trying to get the last word in this losing argument. But anger had a way of messing things up for him, like always.

"Right. 'Cos how long have you been an Aberration again? How many years have you gone surrounded by dozens of Stigmas and X-marks who would gladly snap your spine if you weren't careful enough?" he snarled, "Don't talk like you know what a Stigma can do. And don't you dare talk like you know a goddamn thing about me."

Grasping at straws.

Emma’s eyes narrowed. ”Fuck off, Ernie. Years don’t matter. The fact of the matter is I can handle it and you can’t because you’re a petulant fucking child. I’ve had my stigma for almost a month and I can already handle it a million times better than you can, so what does that say about you? Until you learn how to handle your shit you’re nothing but a liability to all of us. Just look at Sander! I have no idea what the hell you did to him, but given what I know about you probably gave him a good goddamn reason to hate you so much.” her mouth contorted into a sneer.

”But you’re right, I don’t know you. I’m just making guesses. Care to prove me right? I know what you want to do. What the stigma wants you to do. So go ahead, either do it, or come back to the APC with me. Either way you’re nothing but a fucking coward.” she knew that she no longer had the high ground- she was just blindly provoking him. Not blindly, no, underhandedly. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Flawless loss. She'd completely demolished him, and he couldn't even say a word back. He had no dirt against her, no protests against the accusations pointed at him. It was everything he'd tell himself, all the reasons he loathed the X-mark on his neck. Had he always been so transparent?

"You're right. It should have been me," he whispered bitterly. He wouldn't have been able to stand it if she heard him agreeing with what she said. He was the one who endangered Evac by handing over David. He deserved everything he was getting here.

A sudden realisation hit him. One final goad. Ernie had nothing to lose that hadn't already been viciously swept away by Emma.

"Yeah. I am a coward. I stood by while Zoe melted a rogue mage's ear off. I ran away with Christmas while Evac was getting their asses kicked. But that's not even the funniest part."

Ernie's shoulders slackened and he looked to Emma with a sneer.

"It really should have been me instead of Savannah. We asked Evac to pick up the rogue mage, after I scarred him for life. He was a spy and those X-marks must've been gunning for their buddy. I bet he had some kinda GPS tracker on him. Made the ambush a lot easier. So if we had just kept the guy and stayed put, it's likely that me or Zoe or Christmas would be dead instead."

She already hated him. Purging his conscience and provoking her would have no effect.

"So yeah, that was 100% right. Along with everything else you said. Savannah is dead when it should have been me. I've had years to raise myself to your moral level and nothing's changed. So I doubt I'm gonna learn anything from all this. Are you gonna keep wasting your breath? Are you gonna actually do something? Cos I'm fine either way. We can just walk back and have a nice group hug with Marcus and Cal and Siena and pretend to get along like we always do. Because nothing's going to change. I'm still going to be this trashheap when no one's around, and you're still going to have that perfect Stigma-free life. Everything we've done here was a waste of time."

Emma knew, at that moment, that she truly hated Ernie. Her fist clenched without her willing it.

Kill him. You know you want to.

No. She couldn’t do that. But she really did want to. ”So, it was your fault? You take all the blame? A little girl died, and you’re going to sit here and try to use that to… what? Provoke me? I thought you were an asshole. But I was wrong. You’re fucking despicable. You’re right, you are a trash heap. And it really should have been you. And yeah, we will spend a bit longer sitting here in front of the others pretending everything is okay. But that’s fine, because I know that you should’ve died. The truth is you’re a fucking waste. You can’t do anything. A rope isn’t going to save you when you’re alone against an enemy subnatural. So you know what?” Emma leaned in, whispering so the cuff couldn’t hear her. It scared her that she managed to smile as she spoke. ”When it comes down to that, I’m going to let it happen. I don’t need to kill you. It’s going to happen either way, isn’t it? When it comes to me having to choose between you and any of the others I’ll abandon you without a second thought. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but it’ll happen, because that’s what you deserve.”

Emma backed away, resuming her normal volume.

”You put people in danger. People died, people got injured, because you were sloppy. And we can’t afford that. I hope that eats at you, Ernie, although I doubt you give a shit about a near-stranger's life.”

Emma turned away, walking back to the APC.

”Come with me or stay here and get killed by Tumor, I don’t care.”

He couldn't find it in himself to be angry at Emma anymore. He was just...empty. She'd taken everything, said everything that needed to be said. There were no more excuses, no more opportunities to feel sorry for himself or use as some kind of emotional bargaining chip. He had been completely exposed. So why wasn't he more afraid?

Ernie watched her walk away, and in spite of himself, he felt like laughing. It was amazing how quickly someone could tear apart every single shred of his identity like that. He knew he deserved far worse than these verbal lashings, and he knew that Emma had the power to bring everything he had coming. He knew that her Stigma would be telling her to give in and crush the annoyance in front of her. But she had remained steadfast. She resisted it and turned away, which was more than Ernie had ever done. Yet another classmate Aberration that was better than him in every aspect. He really fucking hated her.

"I'm glad we can be honest with each other," he spat, quietly so she couldn't hear.

He followed without another word.

---

---

Bright truck headlights broke the uniform darkness of the night as several APCs turned off the interstate and onto the main road leading towards the remains of Wisford. Five trucks filled with soldiers, paramedics, and emergency relief supplies for injured citizens rumbled carefully to the miraculously intact evacuation team APC parked at the town's edge. Dean had driven them back once the sparks of tension between quite a few of them had abated enough that he could slide into the driver's seat without much notice.

The civilians already present in the APC had been entirely silent on the brief ride to the safety of military backup, doing their best to avoid angering what appeared to them only more of the volatile subnaturals that needed to be collared and hemmed in, lest absolute anarchy fall upon what remained of civilized society.

As he let the car idle and stepped out, Dean raised his arms in surrender, making sure the soldiers heading into hostile territory wouldn't shoot him on sight for commandeering the APC. He had opened the back doors to allow several of the passengers to exit as well, but didn't urge them. Between the haunted gazes of both civilians and subnatural teenagers, he found it hard to form words without the pressure of danger at his heels. Instead he let them rest in the brief moment of transition. From quiet lives to traumatic memories, the dead and the dying were as much as part of his small life as the unfortunate subnaturals' now--perhaps more, paradoxically, because Dean knew he would never have the potential to become desensitized. He didn't fault the bitter teens who still needed time to realize their childhoods hadn't simply vanished, but had been taken from them in a cruel jest. What teenager before the Slumber hadn't wanted magical powers? Even now, some still did.

But this was the reality it led to, because the scales previously tipped in favor of harmonious coexistence couldn't bear the weight of the worldwide disaster and so crumbled. Nothing measured the morality of the populace against the presence of magic now. The rules of society--at least as far as subnaturals were concerned--had given way entirely to martial law, ankle cuffs, and persecution.

And if he had to be brutally honest with himself, Dean felt more comfortable with that state of affairs than letting them run loose.

The arriving soldiers were quick to hold him at gunpoint until the paramedics could determine that the passengers in the back were the right people and then some. Another smaller military APC rounded a nearby corner and approached them, stopping at a distance before the driver's door swung open and revealed Ethan. He waved at them, but didn't make any further comments, turning towards the back doors as paramedics rushed over and began loading the exhausted or unconscious onto stretchers. The group moved with their prone teammates, joining them in one of the trucks while Dean explained himself a short distance away.

At Dean's location, a soldier was contacting a commanding officer and relaying the information: a civilian had taken command of the truck, the original driver was dead, and they were trying to determine at the moment if he was a subnatural or not. Another soldier rubbed at the skin over Dean's right temple, then checked his neck, looking for signs of makeup or other forms of concealment. When it seemed clear enough, they remained in position, just in case the final confirmation from Rosa revealed he was a subnatural after all.

The same soldier contacting command panned the phone's camera across the area, over Dean, and walked towards the back of the truck, gun at the ready the moment Rosa confirmed someone was a subnatural who wasn't accounted for. But everything checked out and three of the APCs drove off into the town, towards any marked survivors while looking for others as well.

Once the all clear was given, the rest of the soldiers were quick to separate the students from the citizens, with the majority of the paramedics crowded towards their own kind. The remaining ones in charge of the subnaturals gave most of them a cursory glance, checking for wounds behind the blood and dirt, but assured in the confirmation that both healers were indeed still alive, so there appeared to be no need to check further. They avoided Kusari entirely, deciding that the immortal girl wasn't worth the attention when the only injury she couldn't survive would have been blindingly obvious and equally as undeserving of a second look.

Lawrence and Savannah were taken away on stretchers to separate cars, with Christmas, Angelíque, and Hazel joining Lawrence's car along with several soldiers. The unconscious enemy Arbiter, still trussed up, was taken away with Ethan's group.

A quick check of several notes regarding the abilities and the chief paramedic ordered Sander onto the same truck as the other unconscious students just as another medic recommended that Callan be taken with that group as well. Harried medics and well-worn stretchers swiftly moved the superhuman girl towards the truck, with another two soldiers directed to lift Siena onto the familiar canvas and framework before carrying her towards the rest of the injured.

The last person to join that truck's group was Lily, who was deemed unwell enough for at least some concern.

Loaded up with gurneys onto which the unconscious or weakened students were transferred, the truck's doors closed after the last of those requiring further medical attention were assigned and drove off first.

The remaining students were packed into a different truck while soldiers checked the evacuation team's APC for any significant damage or unwanted attachments. It was impossible to prepare for every eventuality when it came to magic, but at the very least they wouldn't be caught unawares because they hadn't tried.

Civilians were moved onto a fourth truck on standby while a fifth made its winding way into the town towards the location of survivors Kusari had pinged, eyes alert for more on the way.

---

---

"Move them to the nearest town with proper accommodations, then take them to Washington. Director's orders," Commander Kardos sighed, his communications with the temporary base just finished. They had cuffed the subnaturals found in Wisford and the officers at the base were already starting to pack up, the majority of the soldiers returning to the campus on emergency orders along with Ethan's team, which would be three hours behind on the return, but they needed the reinforcement in case things got worse before they got better.

Kardos's left arm hung uselessly in a sling as he sent the clearance papers to Mr. Greten, the entire process of one-handed typing and clicking far too tedious for his liking. His attached commands directed the secretary to contact the heightened security near Washington that had only grown pricklier at the mention of a subnatural or Dreamcatcher attack in a nearby city. They were not going to enjoy the news that Cat's Cradle had been sighted near Wisford and if the necessary permissions weren't managed prior to the students' arrival, the group was more likely to be gunned down than given a respite. And incendiary retaliation on the students' parts would simply make USARILN East look bad--doubly so if any of the students actually succeeded.

While a frazzled and bruised Mr. Greten rushed back and forth between his office and Rosa's gathering the identification papers and contacting the military forces near and in Washington, D.C. Kardos limped towards the shattered entrance of the administration building, clicking his tongue in irritation at the extensive damage to the building front. The brief, but severe battle had reached just far enough that the administrative buildings and several research buildings had taken enough damage that even their resident magical repairman couldn't handle it all at once. Currently, the boy was focused on rapidly restoring several of the underground passageways leading to and from the containment chambers, including the deeper areas. He had fixed the worst of the damage to the aboveground buildings, but was conserving his energy for the truly important structures.

Hector was currently cleaning up the bodies of both enemies and allies at once, with specific instructions to collect dead soldiers without further destroying the bodies. It was a hard task, considering several of the soldiers had been turned to stone in a cruel imitation of the legendary Medusa's powers. It had failed to work on Hector's eyeless abomination, however, and one of the enemy mages' attempts to shrink the creature down to a more manageable size only partially succeeded. Hector hadn't fought the change in size, letting the mage expend the energy with a feigned resistance until Miranda was the size of a small child and nearly too fast to track. There hadn't been enough time between the mistake and the mage's death for the woman to enlarge the creature again and the remaining mages had no defense against the impervious monster. Two teleported away, fleeing once the battle was no longer to their advantage, leaving behind the parts of thirteen other Aberrations torn asunder by Miranda.

There were cracks and rifts along the cement, and massive craters where explosive impacts had left behind broken soldiers and students. Several of the more capable students had fought back and luckily survived, but with most of their firepower at Wisford the Institute took far more damage than expected.

There had been attacks on all the Institutes here and there. Isolated incidents and usually easy to contain and eliminate. But an organized attack by mages had, ultimately, required a mage to end, especially when an Aberration girl in a bodysuit had baited out their snipers' locations with a field that appeared to freeze time on anything that entered.

Two other mages had appeared stuck in the field with her as she froze entire waves of bullets and prevented any ranged attacks from connecting. Rosa had suggested unloading even more projectiles into the field, a careful parse of the girl's power revealing certain limitations in the power's effect.

By all accounts, the group caught in the field's temporary safety should have been shredded once the magic faded, but its duration allowed one of the other mages inside the field time to touch one of the bullets with an unhindered arm, arcing a bright blue line between every projectile that touched the field. The third mage took the free period of safety to begin reshaping the immediate area, reconstructing the ground and walls into a far-reaching maze that encompassed the entire campus, though failed to overwrite Template's projected cityspace.

The moment the girl released her field, every bullet disappeared, the compounded effects of the destruction occurring all at once to the objects.

In the safety of the maze and with its creator leading the way and opening passages at will, it was too simple a matter for them to corral the unfortunate soldiers into a compact space and for the Aberration girl to drop from above into the group of disoriented soldiers and freeze them, her body suspended in mid-air while the linker mage reached in and touched the soldier closest to the field's edge, thicker bands of blue connecting the people together.

The effect was slow and inefficient normally and required a suitable amount of victims to truly be worthwhile, but a minute was more than enough damage, especially among six unlucky military recruits. When the field released again, the soldiers appeared to crumble into themselves, bodies dry as sand and just as structurally unstable, leaving only a bundle of clothes and their weapons behind. With legitimate arms dealers harder and harder to come by and almost prohibitively expensive for most without proper government sanction and discounts, the Aberrations were eager to take the weapons, even if their particular abilities didn't compliment the new equipment too well.

That wasn't their main job anyway, being the distraction, and the sudden explosions that felled two of the security outposts was a sign the main group had found the snipers' nests.

It was supposed to have been going well.

Then the litany of hissing had erupted from the forest and a monster like a woman had grown large enough to dwarf the buildings. It moved like molasses, but boasted enough strength that even the superhuman forces of their group were swatted away like flies. Most powers seemed to roll harmlessly off its shoulders and the only truly appreciable effects relied on external manipulation rather than direct damage.

There was a point to which powers were too strong to risk engagement without knowing how to fight it, and that thing had certainly surpassed that point.

A plan to clutch at that filmy substance that formed its flesh-like dress and freeze it momentarily had succeeded for the duration of the girl's power, but in the time she held it at bay, it had pulled a handful of cement from the ground and crushed the labyrinth constructor with a throw like an afterthought, the maze immediately retracting and the landscape returning to normal in the wake of the Aberration's death.

Bullets had no effect, and the linker mage had fled once the creature reached down for another scoop of cement.

He didn't get far.

When the girl's field ran out, she didn't get far either.

And then it was short work for Hector, who watched the scene aboveground from the safety of his containment chamber, tracking visuals through glass-black eyes and spinning slowly in his swivel chair, legs kicking back and forth impetuously. He was having fun for once--and who knew that girl could actually stop Miranda. It was impressive. If she hadn't fallen in with the wrong group, Hector thought he'd have wanted to play with her, too.

By the time it was all over, a fourth of the school had been decimated, with all its security outposts down and major security holes all across its perimeter where entire teams of soldiers and patrols had been murdered in the attempted invasion. And it was the most successful one by far, too, timed too conveniently to be coincidence and far too deadly to ignore.

The worry was creased in the furrows of Kardos's brow as he surveyed the shattered buildings on the southeastern side of the school. The attack had decimated most of the sport facilities, as well as the nearby security outposts. The buildings there now lay in ruins, concrete walls had already collapsed on themselves. Collateral damage from the battles between inhuman forces. The track was littered with debris and bodies, smoking vehicles and makeshift barricades marked where the guards had set up their defence perimeter.

The hospital had also suffered considerable damage from the initial attack. The buildings were still standing, though it was only a husk of what it once was. Most of the occupants had been evacuated; those that didn’t leave remained buried beneath the crumbled walls.

The administrative buildings remained mostly intact, fortunately. A broken window here and there, scorch marks and bullet holes marred the building’s front, but the damage was superficial at most. The same could said to the rest of the buildings on campus.

---

---

Meanwhile, Experimental Unit B was transported to the nearby town of La Plata, a larger location than Wisford, but still significantly smaller than the growing city that was Crimen Culpae 1. Stuck in that strange purgatory of not quite irrelevant, but not quite notable either, the town carried itself with an unsure air, several high rises in construction within what the mayor hoped to be the future "financial district" while the majority of the locale spread out in short, squat buildings built too many decades ago and entirely preserved out of sheer indifference to the modernizations around them. Close enough to a major hub of civilization and spared from any notable Dreamcatcher attacks, the town's police force and government-sponsored militia were ill-prepared for the lockdown that had been issued to towns near Wisford. As it was, their defense consisted of several car blockades and rooftop patrols, with what amounted to a ring of human bodies around the perimeter of the town facing Wisford.

Military clearance and communications had arrived just in time for the chief of police to relay that USARILN East's subnaturals and soldiers would be staying at the town for a period of time and that the situation in Wisford had been handled. The announcement was public enough that local stations picked up on the news and spread it among the townsfolk who wavered between a mixture of fear and anticipation. Some resolved to hole up in their homes until the subnaturals had passed through while others leaned over their porch railings, staring down the main road hoping to catch a glimpse without actually interacting.

The media, however, was starved for news in a town where a teenager saving a cat was considered the breaking event of the day and where rehashed news feeds from bigger stories around the world were the only reasons the populace even bothered with the news at all. The station had milked what they could of the Wisford disaster, but with military orders to remain out of the general vicinity of the town, there was little to do but wait until the situation changed. Of course the police chief received a slew of questions from the local news station regarding the Wisford situation and whether the incoming subnaturals had anything to do with the resolution, but he fielded them all with a curt "No comment."

That left them only one recourse which was to wait and follow the military arrivals until they could chance an interview with either an officer or--if they were truly lucky--one of the subnaturals themselves. It was the kind of controversial hit that big city news outlets always had their pick of, and finding one in La Plata was a godsend, so a journalist, a news anchor, and a camera crew followed the military cars from a safe distance, interviewing even the citizens down the street from the motel while they waited for the intimidating military soldiers to settle in.

The mostly uninjured students were placed inside the biggest motel the town could offer, recently requisitioned by USARILN East and promptly emptied of all current inhabitants, much to their chagrin. Each room there housed two single beds and a bathroom facility; however, the students weren’t allocated to specific rooms. The officer in charge of the group wasn't interested in keeping too close a watch on the more obedient students, choosing instead to eye the stream of information coming from USARILN East on his phone and making sure he would be ready to move if the situation changed. So the students were left to sort that out among themselves. The conscious ones, that was.

In the motel's lobby, a terrified manager and receptionist cowered behind the front desk while the commanding officer addressed the group of students in front of him briefly.

"If you're leaving the motel, you are to remain within easy access. That means stay on the main roads and don't wander any further than a few blocks. Make sure a soldier knows so someone can keep an eye on your tracker mark if they don't outright escort you. If we can't keep track of your position or you leave without informing one of us, we'll act on the assumption you tried to escape and shoot to kill."

That done, he left the building, returning to one of the APCs and shouting orders to the nearby soldiers.

The second truck of injured and unconscious students drove three blocks away to the town hospital, passing by a cafe and several restaurants where evening customers watched with wide eyes and bated breath, following the unwieldy truck's progress towards the hospital's ER entrance where each student was fearfully escorted from the emergency room after check ups and placed in their own accommodations in the local hospital: one per room with minimal guard presence among them patrolling the hallway that all the occupied hospital rooms shared. Hazel, however, was restrained by three more suppression cuffs--another on her right ankle, and two more on her wrists, then handcuffed to her bed. Unlike the usual cuff on their ankles with the option of turning suppression on and off, Hazel's were meant for dangerous prisoners. While most mages would have been entirely suppressed under the effects of four, Hazel's power still petered through, though it was a long shot from any of her prior antics. Four guards were stationed in the room at all times, weapons at the ready. If she so much as hinted at aggression, they had orders to kill.

Doctors and nurses were briefed by a soldier concerning the powers of the relevant students, with USARILN East's recommendations in handling each one while soldiers occasionally checked in on the child-sized body bag in the hospital morgue, making sure the dead Savannah was truly 1. her and 2. dead.

Christmas's unconscious body was carefully rolled from room to room on his bed, the doctors injecting his blood via syringe and needle into all the injured students except Sander, whose notes had carefully and repeatedly warned against large doses of blood, and Hazel, who was under special watch. They did, however, leave one packet of blood for Sander in the room's refrigerator, the nurse handling it nearly throwing the bag as she tried to leave the vicinity of the subnatural within seconds.

After the first bout of awe at the shimmering, glassy mist that enveloped Angelíque's torso and restored her to full health, the doctors were much more ready to utilize the boy's magic, with or without his permission. None of the soldiers were surprised to hear a request to use the blood on several of the long-term patients in the hospital and after a brief check with the commanding officer, they allowed it so long as the blood was replenished through a transfusion.

Afterwards, the doctors wheeled the healer back to his room and left him hooked up to a blood bag and IV. While the notes confirmed that the boy's blood could take in large volumes quickly and convert them, the hospital staff followed basic blood infusion procedure, fearful of the repercussions should they injure a subnatural--both from the subnatural himself and from the fearsome reputation of USARILN East.

---

Hazel Baker

---

She woke up with a grimace, as pain racked her entire body.

It felt as if someone took a tenderizing mallet to every inch of her body, then went crazy on her right arm. Hazel was sure that if she was to take off the chainmail and her clothes, her right arm would be bruised deep purple. She wasn't sure what was wrong with her right hand, it felt as if her bones were pieces of hot steel grinding against each other. Trying to raise her arms, the left snagged immediately on the cuffs securing her to the bed she was lying on.

By reflex she bit down on her back teeth. "In events of capture..."

It did not take long for her to wake up completely, enough to notice she was in a white sterile looking room, lying on a bed she was also cuffed to. There were new cuffs on her arms and legs, probably the source of that incredible feeling of being suppressed. Feeling as if her nerves were red hot barbed wire, she brought her right hand to her face. Had it not been for the gloves, she suspected she would had had worse injuries like multiple broken fingers. As it was, three of her fingers seemed bent unnaturally; judging from how it felt, it was simple dislocation. Her face felt as if someone ran a cheese grater on it, and she suspected those flaky bits stuck to her face was her own drying blood.

But Hazel was still alive.

Alive and imprisoned again in a small room. In a way it was reassuring, a familiar feeling of security and certainty. There would be guards out there, if her experiences were any indication. Reaching her right hand over to her left, she gritted her teeth as she popped out her fingers one by one back into position.

She was hungry, thirsty and in pain, not to mention tired and slightly disoriented by the extra cuffs they slapped on her. But still, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

---

---

---

---

The ride to the hospital flew by in relative silence. Callan took note of her fellow classmates: the injured and unconscious. She did her best not to stare too long at anyone. Siena, covered in blood and looking as exhausted as she felt, was among them, but it seemed Lily had healed her as well. The older girl named Angel had a face in tatters-- what the hell happened to her? She didn't spend very long assessing everyone. Nobody seemed like they might die, though she certainly wasn't responsible for that bit of good news.

No, the person she'd been responsible for was likely on her way to the belly of USARILN. Destined to be eaten by some gross mage-corpse eating monster. That was on her. The events that took place replayed in her head like the memory of a horrific movie. The camera always lingering too long on the lifeless honey-gold eyes of a girl she barely knew. She could've done this. She could've done that. Why? Why? Why? Why hadn't she been more careful? Done things differently?

The tears threatened to well up again and she buried her face in her hands until the truck eventually came to a stop; everyone was carted into separate rooms. The two nurses that were tending to her seemed terrified, but Callan barely took notice. They rubbed at the blood on her cheek, checked her dilation, took her pulse, and examined the strange ring of blood around her elbow-- where her arm had detached and regrown. Eventually she was moved to a separate room, but she wasn't left alone for very long.

They carted Christmas into the room and drew some blood. She found the sight disturbing, but, to her own chagrin, said nothing and averted her eyes. It wasn't until she realized they were having trouble getting the needle into her arm that she reacted at all.

"Here," she said, reaching towards the needle. She didn't want to be poked or prodded anymore. She wanted to be left alone. The nurse froze in fear as Callan's hand wrapped around hers, finally pushing the needle through the skin with the added pressure. She'd never had an aversion to needles or anything, but she concealed her uneasy feelings behind an irritated scowl-- one that did not go unnoticed by the pair of women as they quickened their pace.

Alone at last, Callan laid back on the bed and stared up at the blurring ceiling. She wanted to be alone. She didn't want to be alone. But who cared what she wanted? That girl was dead! Because of her!

She grit her teeth and covered her face, but the tears flowed freely beneath her hands. She dizziness and exhaustion that had once overwhelmed her was slowly receding, but her head simply wouldn't stop pounding. She could sense that Misery was itching to take advantage of her moment of weakness and she did her best to choke back the tears. Stop crying, stupid! she chastised herself further, sitting up and resting her forehead on her knees. Racked with guilt, she stayed that way, focusing on remaining in control as her tears ran dry and the Wisford fight repeated itself in her head.

A loud snap. Lifeless honey-gold eyes. A searing pain in her arm.

A snap. Lifeless eyes. Searing pain.

Snap. Eyes. Pain.

Contrary to how most people seemed to feel, Kusari had always liked hospitals. People associated them with death and suffering for obvious reasons, but she'd always thought that was shortsighted. What safer place was there than a hospital? People didn't come to hospitals to be hurt, but to be healed, that was something to take solace in, wasn't it?

Regardless, Kusari didn't feel calm, she was visibly on edge. A nurse passing by took her tense expression as an aura of hostility and rubbed against the opposite side of the wall to avoid her. The fact that her clothes looked like the Tasmanian Devil had chewed on them probably didn't help... Well that and the horrible looking claws.

She ignored the nurse, she wasn't the first person in town to try and avoid her. Kusari had other things to worry about, like the fact that she had arrived at Callan's room three minutes ago and hadn't so much as knocked. The girl looked like a mess, still covered in grime and blood from the Wisford incident. And here Kusari thought she wasn't presentable, at least she was able to make use of the bathroom at the motel. She wanted to just walk in, but Callan looked as if her mind was a thousand miles away. Maybe she could crack a joke to ease the mood? Hey, once you lose an arm once, the next time isn't so bad!

"...I should leave right now." She grimaced, comedy was never her thing. However, acting with reckless abandon was. She decided to stick with what she knew.

She opened the door to Callan's room and walked inside. She could only offer a weak smile in greeting. "Hey Callan... I uh, got some chips for you... Barbecue flavor. Not really my preferred flavor but I figured you might like them." They also happened to be the flavor that was hanging just barley from a hook in a vending machine, but that was besides the point. She sat down on the bed and handed the bag to Callan. "I'm glad you made it back alive. You're alright, right?"

The sound of the door creaking open sent Callan's heart racing for all the wrong reasons. Old tears stained her cheeks-- still dirty save the part the nurse had briefly wiped at before realizing there was no wound beneath the thick layer of blood. How long had she been sitting there? Callan furiously rubbed her cheeks to extinguish any trace of tears as the thoughts flooded in. She still hadn't showered. Her blood loss problem was fixed, but she was still horribly exhausted. She hadn't even thought about sleeping yet. What time was it??

Callan lifted her head up off her knees and blinked at the tall, lanky girl as she spoke before averting her eyes. She extended her hand to accept the small gift robotically, turning her attention to the bag for a moment too long. The crinkling noise it made between her fingers somehow sounded louder than the person speaking. She looked up, meeting Kusari’s eyes as she told her she was glad Callan was okay.

"Yeah," Callan folded her legs and rocked back, eyes darting to the corner of the room as she shrugged and forced a smile, "I'm fine." She ran her fingers through her bangs, "Glad you're here. I owe you a thank you actually."

Kusari noticed the change in Callan's behavior, anyone could see that something was bothering her. But it would be rude to pry, wouldn't it? "Thanks for what? I got there way too late, I barely did anythi-" She stopped herself, letting out an annoyed grumble and ruffling her hair. "Anyway, I wasn't able to help you at all. I know how painful losing an arm can be, I should have been there to stop that from happening."

Callan grimaced, despite herself. There was no way Kusari could have done anything about her arm. Was that something she really wanted to bring up, though? As far as she knew, Kusari never made good on that threat she made against Sander. Even so-- maybe Zoe’s arm melting episode wasn’t something she should be putting on blast right now. And not because she was worried about Zoe.

“But you did help me out-- by getting Marcus and Emma out of trouble when I couldn’t,” Callan seemed slightly agitated— though it was mostly at herself. She'd known ahead of time that she wanted to thank Kusari for stepping in. Still didn't make it sting any less, knowing she could have done better. Remembering how reckless she'd been. Resting her hands in her lap, she picked at the corner of the chip bag, "I don't honestly know what I'd have done if anything happened to them."

"Oh. Sure, no problem." Kusari didn't even think that Callan would thank her for saving someone else, she wasn't even aware she had gotten that close with Marcus and Emma. Why hadn't that occurred to her?

She knew why, she just didn't want to think about it. She was a living embodiment of the Hedgehog Dilemma. The two people closest to her, her roommates, got so sick of her they moved out. The moment she tried expressing her feelings to Callan she only put unnecessary pressure on her. There was an unsettling pain in her chest, as if a demon were sitting on her. It was the kind of pain her healing factor had no sway over.

"I'm glad I was... able to help." She said, her voice just barely audible. She didn't know what to do. She had thought helping in battle would be enough, but it wasn't. She didn't want to be alone, in fact she couldn't be alone. She rubbed the red claws on her fingers against each other, another nervous habit rapidly developing. "I um, I'm staying in room seventeen at the motel they got for us. You wouldn't mind staying with me, would you?"

Callan watched the movement of Kusari’s claws as she spoke, looking up at the sudden invitation. “Huh?” her face contorted with confusion. Hadn’t she horribly offended Kusari the last time they spoke? Kusari hadn’t spoken to her all week! Of course, Callan had been avoiding her all week as well, but…

The question caught her off guard. The cogs of her mind whirled away for a moment before she realized. Sander and Christmas had both requested to be in a room separate from her. She’d been alone all this time. Callan felt sorry for her behavior—she knew her fellow arbiter had seen her dodge a hallway more than once. But she was still wary. And while part of her thought the idea of company would be nice (even with someone with whom her feelings were so mixed up about)—a larger part felt like she should be alone. She’d gotten a little girl killed today after all.

“Uhm,” Callan felt heat rushing to her face. She wasn’t an idiot and Kusari wasn’t exactly subtle. She could feel Kusari’s eyes on her as she averted her gaze, “I… I don’t know….”

Kusari let out a sigh and pulled her left knee up to her chest, then resting her chin on it. "Yeah. I don't know either. Sorry, it probably sounds like I'm just trying to get into your pants, not that it's not on my mind. I just, you know..." She wasn't sure what else to say, she was used to getting by just saying whatever was on her mind, but that wasn't cutting it now. How could she convey that she wanted to feel someone else, just be with someone she liked? She was being selfish, it would make sense for nearly anyone to want to just be left alone right now. At least she hoped that's all it was.

Callan’s face burned, her mind numb with embarrassment. She did her best to look at Kusari instead of anywhere else—finally settling on the braid peeking out from the long tousled white tresses and resting on the girl’s shoulder. She just… what? What was she going to say? Did she really want to know?

She tried to will herself to calm down. Be less flustered. Now wasn’t the time to be so concerned about something so… petty? She’d heard comments similar to this before—parties she’d stayed too long at with people who drank too much. But this wasn’t the same. Not at all the same. Kusari was stone cold somber. That or she’d disguised the scent very well….

“Ku--..." the name stuck in her throat, so she started again. "A-- ...are you okay??” she asked hesitantly, suddenly remembering what had happened the last time she asked that question.

Kusari laid down on the bed, her left eye not covered by her messy hair staring at the ceiling. Callan followed her with her eyes, but said nothing, scooting over ever so slightly to give the girl room. "This is kinda messed up, I come to ask if you're alright and I'm the one making you worry. I'm a wreck honestly, it's taking everything I have just to keep from freaking out. I don't even care about having a normal life anymore. At the very least I want to pretend to be a human being. Even if it's with a girl that literally tore my guts out because I asked her to, I'd like to..." Kusari let out a frustrated groan. "If I can't find anything to make me happy then what's the point of even living?"

An uncomfortable knot was beginning to form in the pit of Callan's stomach. She frantically tried to think of something to say or do. Or maybe just say. Callan continued to notice the beast like appendages and felt a growing sympathy for Kusari. It... had to've been hard. Being expected to take on injuries just because she could heal them-- through Lily or otherwise. And then getting stuck with sharp, scary looking claws. Callan thought she could relate to wanting to feel normal, but part of her felt that was a lie. For all of its misuse, she... liked feeling this strong. This untouchable. Or at least she DID. Up until Zoe had taught her how very little her ability meant.

She felt small. And unimportant. And tired. And, most of all, still very very dirty. Callan self consciously rubbed at some of the dried blood caked onto the back of her hand. It flaked off in small particles and she stopped-- gross. Surely she was just... misreading whatever it was Kusari was trying to say. They'd only known each other for roughly a week or two after all.

"Hey," a small, sympathetic smile wormed its way onto her face, shifting to one side as she did her best be encouraging, "It's fine. It... it'll be okay. Really."

Hearing those words acted as a floodgate for Kusari's eyes. She had started crying before she could even fully think of something to say back. When was the last time she felt it was alright to let her guard down, to take a moment to allow her pent up stress out? She covered her eyes with her left arm, she rarely ever cried, and it was even more uncommon that someone saw it. "You're probably just saying that, but thank you... Really. I think I just needed to hear that."

Oh... nice work, Cal. You made her cry. "H-hey," she stammered, "It's--" Okay? Alright? She didn't want to sound like a broken record, but what else could she say? All her previous concerns about Savannah, Zoe, and the fight were temporarily forgotten, but the stress was still there. Coupled with a rising frustration. No amount of points scored or super strength was going to help here.

"Kusari..." she said, at a loss. Callan reached a hand towards the girl's shoulder, but pulled back at the last moment. She simply sat and waited patiently. If Kusari wanted to talk, she would listen. Other than that, she wasn't quite sure what to do.

Kusari wiped the tears from her eyes and sat up. "Enough of that. I need to say something to you too. The last time we talked I put you in an uncomfortable position. Um." Her face tensed as if she were thinking too hard about something. "That is why you were avoiding me, right? I guess I can't blame you."

Kusari seemed to be calming down. Relief quickly bled into tension again as she brought up that day, but Callan had understood it was an inevitable topic. She couldn't avoid talking about it forever. The odd question and her harebrained reaction that morning after breakfast... the claw marks on Sander's chest... and the peculiar argument she'd witnessed.

"She's dangerous."

"I know monsters. Kusari doesn't even try."

And then there was the matter of Kusari threatening Sander for her sake. It was such a mess. She hadn't avoided Kusari because she thought the girl might be dangerous (though, after today, it would probably be wise to reevaluate her total lack of concern when it came to the potency of her teammate's abilities). Kusari had confessed her feelings-- strong feelings-- and Callan hadn't known what to say. Kusari had seen and questioned the claw marks Misery had made that night. Kusari had made her feel upset by threatening Sander-- trying to fight her battles for her with no regard for how she felt.

A mess-- reflected in Callan's unreadable expression as she opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. One issue at a time. She nodded, still struggling to meet Kusari's eyes for longer than a second. "I'm sorry about... all that...." she mumbled, hugging herself tightly. "I, uh... I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything. I just... didn't know what to say."

Kusari let out a stifled chuckle. "It's fine, it's fine. It takes more than that to hurt my feelings." She said. She wasn't quite sure if she believed it, it felt true at least. She didn't think of herself as the type to hold a petty grudge just because someone refused to date her. "It was my fault anyway, I was trying to rush things without taking how you'd feel into consideration. Heck we haven't even known each other that long. I mean jeez, you probably aren't even into girls." Kusari let out a sigh and stood from the bed.

"I'd like to know you better, Marcus, Emma, and the others too. I've been afraid of losing friends, but I can't let that stop me. Someone has to remember if one of us dies, someone has to care." Kusari let out a disdainful scoff. "Those regular bastards won't care, that's for sure."

Callan smiled uncomfortably. She wasn't so sure about that last part, but she wasn't about to go into detail about her more physical feelings towards Kusari. Especially when all her other feelings were still so uncertain. Clearly Kusari didn't suffer from the same indecision, but she was content to let the subject drop as Kusari kept talking.

'The regulars won't care.' A week ago, Callan might've argued that instantly. Her words were sad, though. Did Kusari think nobody would care if she died? ...was she right?

Callan frowned for a moment, mulling over her words, before a smile surfaced. "If you wanna hang out with us, all you gotta do is ask. Always empty seats at our lunch table, you know...." Her expression became more serious and she paused. "Did you... did you know Savannah?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Yeah I know, I've just been avoiding eating with people like an idiot. Uhh. She tried to remember the child that died, but all she had was a face. "I didn't know her, and that's just what I mean. She had an Irish accent... I think? That's about it. If I were to die I wouldn't want people to just remember me as 'that pale bitch with the freaky claws.'"

Just remembering the sight of Savannah's dead body made her blood boil. "Killing a kid like that... We should really just wipe all of those assholes off the face of the Earth."

She hadn't known her. Callan shouldn't have felt relieved to hear that, but she was. She'd thought that maybe that was part of the reason Kusari had been crying before. Even so, Kusari's last remark made her feel all the more guilty. She couldn't help feeling just as responsible for killing Savannah as the gargoyle girl. She couldn't think of anything to say, falling back into the same far away stare as she lost herself in thought.

"Uh, did I say something wrong?" Kusari said, confused as to why Callan suddenly looked just as distant as when she walked in. "Did you know her? You didn't... See it happen, did you?"

Callan shook her head suddenly, squeezing herself tighter. "No. I didn't know her at all." Callan chewed her lip. She didn't want to tell Kusari what happened. Selfish. Putting something like that first on her list of concerns. Emma and Marcus saw what happened. Everybody was going to know eventually. Why try to hide it like this?

You can't hide forever, Cal.

"I wish I could have saved her," she answered instead. An honest statement, though it was no easier to say out loud.

Kusari narrowed her eyes Callan, she had no reason to not believe her, but she was clearly disturbed by something she was remembering. Maybe seeing Savannah's dead body had shaken her more than she thought. "You did your best, didn't you? Just do better next time, that's what I plan on doing. None of us are soldiers and we have next to no training. If you want to blame anyone-" Kusari looked down at the cuff on her leg. "Blame them."

Her best? Had she really? Though Kusari made a good point, Callan remained unconvinced. "Yeah," she agreed anyway, falling silent again.

Kusari's lips wriggled into a frown. Callan looked like she'd need some time to adjust... or something. "Alright, um, the motel is just down the street." Kusari kneaded her braid, not realizing she was doing it with her right hand. "Again it's room seventeen, if you want to hang out." She stopped fiddling with her hair and lowered her hand.

"A-ah." She had cut her braid off, the severed follicles now in her hand. "I'll uh, see you later." She stammered, trying to ignore the fact that her face was flushed red. Her hair would grow back overnight like it always did, but that didn't stop her from looking stupid.

Did... did she just? Surprised, Callan noted the tint of Kusari's cheeks immediately. Her skin was so fair-- it was kind of hard to miss. She pressed her knuckles to her lips, trying to stop the small laugh that escaped her in vain. Her smile contoured as she tried to look less amused. "See you later," she chuckled softly.

Kusari faked a cough and turned towards the door. "Right, at least I got you smiling again." She basically deserved to be laughed at, so she had no reason to be mad. The fact that Callan felt comfortable laughing felt nice in a way. It was better than her being too afraid of her to even consider it. "Later." She opened the door and exited the room, then heading back to the motel.

Callan stopped chuckling abruptly as Kusari pointed it out. She really shouldn't be laughing at all after what happened... but it was a nice distraction. "Bye, Kusari," she said, with a wave and a tentative smile. The door swung shut and Callan sighed heavily. That... hadn't been entirely horrible. It went a lot better than she'd thought it might anyway. Sliding off the bed, she made her way into the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. She ran her fingers over the layer of grime that still marred her face.Yuck. She really did look disgusting. Callan quickly turned on the faucet. Running her hands under the cold, steady stream, she quietly watched the blood and dirt mixture spin into the drain while she mulled over the conversation.

"--not that it's not on my mind." All at once, the blood came rushing back into her cheeks and she slumped over the counter, face buried in her hands. A muffled "Uwaaagh." sounding from the bathroom signaled the mortified teenager's embarrassment as she tried her best to think of something else.

Emma entered the APC wordlessly. Ernie, of course, wasn’t far behind her. It didn’t take her long to find her spot. Her spot, next to Marcus. She seemed hesitant, if only for a moment, to sit down. She gave Marcus a small nod. ”Hey.” her voice was empty.

Truth be told, she wasn’t in the mood for talking.

Marcus gave Emma a silent look as she climbed aboard the APC. There were too many thoughts of his own that fluttered inside his head, and he was thankful for anything to come along and take him out of that moment.

For making this all seem ordinary...

How far off that little talk of theirs seemed right now.

"Hey..." he replied, summoning the strength for a small, if hollow, smile. He slid over a little bit; an invitation for her to sit down next to him, to relax, to hopefully forget for just one moment how unordinary their experience had just been.

Emma accepted his invitation, this time forcing any hesitation away. Still, unlike the ride over, she allowed a little bit more distance between them. She returned his smile, with great effort.

No, that was a lie. It was easy to fake a smile. It always had been.

”So…” a small laugh came from her, forced, stilted. ”I guess, ‘how’s it going’ isn’t really an appropriate question?” she said, feeling a hint of awkwardness.

"Probably not, but I don't exactly see any better alternatives." Marcus said, returning with a single, tired laugh. It'd be a long time before any of this left his mind, but for now, maybe it was just best to follow Emma's lead and pretend like nothing had happened.

"I think our card group is gonna be a little bit short now."

Emma regarded Marcus with a slight frown. ”Yeah…” luckily for her he was ignorant towards what happened between her and Ernie. Hopefully things would stay that way, but she was doubtful that Ernie would be interested in a game of cards with her now.

”At least…” Emma gulped, feeling a twang of guilt for what she was going to say, ”Nevermind.” she said, shaking her head slightly.

At least we lived.

”I’m just glad… glad that you’re okay.”

Marcus smiled again, a little more convincing this time; a little warmer. He scooted a little bit closer to her, if only just enough to know she was there. A reassurance for himself.

'Okay' wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe his situation, but he needed to put his brave face back on. The Marcus who's job it was to make sure that everybody else was also 'okay'.

"How are you holding up?"

Emma’s frown became a little more distinct. She found her hands squirming against each other uncomfortable in her lap. ”I…”

A gulp.

”I’m fine.”

The words were convincing enough. A small lie to ease her troubled heart. In truth, she couldn’t stop replaying what happened over and over in her head. She was convinced that she could’ve, that she should’ve done something. She blamed Ernie, but she knew that she was the coward. If she was anyone else, Savannah would still be alive

But she didn’t say that to Marcus.

Instead, she just nodded to herself, letting him scoot closer to her, scooting a little closer to him in turn. A small smile came to her lips. She was glad, at least, that she had someone else. Someone to smile at her even now, ”Yeah. I’m just glad we’re leaving.”

Marcus had said those words enough to know the true meaning behind them, but if his suspicious were raised by Emma, he didn't show it. There was no reason to push - they'd been through a lot, and it certainly wasn't like he was willing to spill his feelings on the matter.

"Yeah...I've had about enough of this place for a lifetime." Marcus said, an unusual amount of cynicism in his voice. There'd always be places like this one, but for now he was happy to put it behind him.

He let the thought hang there, as he shifted slightly with the vehicle's movement, the wheels softly crunching gravel beneath them.

---

At some point during the APC’s journey to the town of La Plata Emma had fallen asleep, head falling unceremoniously onto Marcus’s shoulder. Sleep would’ve been a blessing if not for the dreams. It seemed that her sleep these days wavered between the nightmares and a blissful state of dreamlessness.

The good dreams, it seemed, were far and few between.

Today she dreamed of the day USARILN had come to take her from her family. It wasn’t one she liked, but it came often. She squirmed uncomfortably against Marcus’s shoulder as the APC made its way towards their destination.

But no respite came for her.

Instead, she awoke when the door to the APC opened and a soldier announced their arrival. She gave Marcus a small glance, slowly coming to the realization that she had used his shoulder as a pillow. A small moment of hesitation before she said, "S-sorry." with a slight smile. She wasn't sure if she had to apologize, but they had only been a 'thing' for a short while, so she erred on the side of catuion.

Marcus had stayed awake; there certainly wasn't going to be much sleep for him anytime soon. As the silence had grown deeper and Emma had leaned over on him, he'd simply given her a quick look, and tried to shuffle himself into being more comfortable without waking her up.

Warning bells rang in his head as they stopped; this certainly didn't look like the school they'd been taken from. It looked quite similar to the place they'd just left, save for the fact that it seemed to be in one piece. They'd apparently stopped at a motel, if the dingy sign out front was to judge by - the other vehicle had continued onward, taking the injured students somewhere farther down the path. While Marcus tried to crane his neck to see, he stopped as he felt Emma shift, thinking he'd woken her up by accident.

When the door finally flung open, he surveyed the situation a little more. Seemed like a quick pit stop for now - a temporary housing as they made their ways back. Probably didn't want to risk travelling in the dark after the last incident. He was reminded of their first transport, and how similar it seemed now.

Marcus glanced down at Emma, now satisfied with the answers he'd come up with. He gave her a small grin as she apologized. "Oh hey sleepy-head, have a good nap?"

”Well… not exactly.” she said, looking around as she started to wake up properly. ”Where are we? This isn’t the school… did I miss something while I was asleep?” she said, starting to get up.

"Some small town, I don't think we're that far away from Wisford. My guess would be that we're just stopping for the night. Don't want to worry about getting ambushed in the dark or something." Marcus said, taking a moment to stretch. It was the best guess he had at the moment, although he'd certainly be taking the time later to find out for sure.

”Right.”

Emma hesitated once again.

”Well, I guess if we’re at a motel we should go grab rooms… or… well, if you’re not tired we can take a look around the town. Uh, only if you want to, of course!” Emma said, rubbing the back of her head.

"Well, Sleeping Beauty, I think wandering the town isn't the best idea right now. Unless you want to be torn apart by rabid journalists." Marcus said, nodding over at some of the more confident souls who prowled the perimeter.

"But if you'd like to stroll about town, we can make it a date!" he said with a grin. An odd thing to suggest after what they'd been through, but perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea.

Emma laughed, giving a small blush at the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ comment. ”Hmmm. I’ve always wanted to be on TV.” she said with a hint of sarcasm. ”And I don’t exactly mind another date. Something to take our minds off of things..?” yeah, that didn’t sound too bad to Emma.

"Well, you certainly have the face for television!" Marcus said, standing up and offering Emma a hand. It would be hard to tell what exactly there would be for them to do in this town, especially with the restrictions that would inevitably laid out for them.

It just left the slight problem of the publicity. He didn't like being the center of attention, or at least not big attention like interviewers and stuff, preferring to stick to the smaller crowds that Class Clown rewarded him with. Just this once, though, he'd make an exception.

"Choose a direction, I guess. We can walk until we find something, or get tazed! Perfect date idea!"

Emma gladly accepted Marcus’s hand. ”Right. Maybe if the cameras catch us we’ll be like Sparrow and Kadabra.” she joked. Of course, she knew that there was no way they could be as popular as the beloved Precursors. After all, they were just ordinary Subnaturals, something to be reviled by the normal.

”Let’s just hope the school doesn’t decide to taze us. Getting electrocuted on camera wouldn’t be very cute.”

It took every inch of willpower for Marcus to spoil the moment with a 'shocking interview' joke, but he managed it, replacing the pun with another warm smile to Emma. "Looking up to TV's cutest couple, huh? I guess I can live with something like that." he said, following the guard into the motel.

---

Marcus listened intently to the guard's speech, if only to know what he had to do to avoid being tazed in the middle of the street. It wasn't long after the man's speech ended that he flagged down the nearest guard and got the 'all-clear' for departure.

Even the braver of the reporters hadn't quite surrounded the building yet, so Marcus and Emma were free to leave unmolested. For now at least; time would only tell how long that would last.

"I don't think getting back in is going to be as easy as getting out..." Marcus quipped, turning around to see if they were being followed. "But I guess that's a problem for later."

Emma nodded. ”I guess so…” she said, taking a breath, contemplating her next words, ”Marcus… do… do you think…” her toned darkened a little. She hesitated for a moment before abruptly continuing, ”Do you think Lily’s okay? You were closer to her than I was, and she seemed pretty banged up.”

It wasn’t the question she was going to ask.

"I wouldn't call us close, exactly..." Marcus said sheepishly. They'd only even interacted during battles; the first time she almost got him blown up, and the second time he almost forced her into taking too many injuries and bleeding to death. Certainly not the kind of relationship where they'd be described as 'close'.

"I hope so, though. She transfered the injuries away, but that's a rough deal: taking everyone's injuries on herself? Not something I would have picked."

Emma couldn’t help but giggle a little. ”That’s not what I meant, ace. You were standing closer to her. But… yeah. She was really brave… what an awful power. I don’t know if I could do that.” Emma said, nodding to herself. ”I’ll have to stop by the hospital and check up on her.”

"O-oh." Marcus stammered, his face flushing a bit as he figured out the miscommunication. "Right. I knew that. She looked fine." he quickly said.

His immediately embarassment was fortunately able to cover up by the appearance of a small stop across the street. A wooden sign, which probably used to be a dark shade of blue but was now faded to a soft sky color designated the location as the 'Blue Moon Ice Cream Shack'. He stopped for a moment, pointing out the small building to Emma.

"Looks like it's open, wanna swing by and grab a cone?"

”Hmmmmmm.”

Emma, for a moment, feigned deep contemplation before a small smile crossed her lips. ”Very well, I’ll allow it.” she said, with a twinge of sarcasm, taking off towards the store.

”By the way, don’t think I didn’t notice how embarrassed you just got.” she said, a devilish smile planting itself on her face.

"You always notice things like that, how am I supposed to pretend like you didn't?" Marcus teased back, following behind her.

The shop was being tended to by one cashier in a striped uniform. He didn't look much older than the two subnaturals that had just walked in and had obviously been watching them from inside. He gulped back his fear and remained silent, allowing them to browse over the flavours on display for the moment. It was obvious that the pair weren't very welcome here.

Emma gave a wary glance to the cashier, and another wary glance to Marcus. She leaned towards him, ”I… don’t think they care too much for subnaturals here.” she whispered to the boy, feeling a tinge of red in her face. She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or anger, suddenly conscious of the cashier’s gaze.

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that feeling myself." Marcus whispered back, still checking out the different ice creams available. "You want to leave? I'm sure there's got to be somewhere around here that's a little more friendly."

Emma glanced at the cashier and then at Marcus. ”No. I want ice cream.” she whispered back, frown clear. ”The regulars can be scared of us if they want to be, we’re not going to hurt them.” she continued. She didn’t wait for Marcus’s approval before walking up to the counter, ”I’ll have a scoop of butter pecan, please.” Emma mustered all of the politeness she could, smiling, doing her best to set the boy at ease.

Marcus shrugged nonchalantly; she was right, even if they were frightened by a little smear of color across a random kid, there certainly was no reason to be. Hell, if the normal civilians here had known how much they'd just done, they should have been treated like heroes.

"Peanut butter swirl for me, please!" Marcus said, following Emma's lead and trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.

The cashier nodded wildly, his hands managing to stop shaking as he scooped the corresponding flavors from the displays. Despite the store's signs clearly showing options for varying toppings and cones, the boy said nothing and offered the two orders in the standard blue cups.

"S-six..." his voice was barely audible as he feebly asked for payment.

Emma nodded slowly. ”Six…? Six dollars?” She gave Marcus a slight glance before pulling out her wallet, retrieving her school card, and extending it towards the boy.

Marcus internally smirked at the kid's reaction. Surely they weren't that frightening? Just a couple of teenagers trying to get a scoop of icecream! Nothing weird about that at all! Sure, they had superpowers and all, but that certainly meant nothing when it came to the enjoyment of a frosty treat.

But he was getting off track.

He reached for his wallet at the same time Emma was apparently reaching for hers, displaying his card at the same moment. "Hey now, if I recall correctly, you paid last time." He turned to face the boy, still giving Emma a sideways smirk, "Here, take mine."

"School's paying for it either way, but sure, if you want to feel good about yourself." she said, putting away her wallet with a small smirk.

The cashier eyed both cards fearfully, unsure of which one to take until the X-marked girl made the choice for him. Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible and avoid any physical contact with a subnatural, the boy practically swiped the card from Marcus. The panicked action had its consequences, however, as it slipped from his grasp and bounced off his other hand, landing right into the tub of pistachio flavor. All the color drained from the server's mortified face as the card and its USARILN East logo pointed up at him like a death sentence.

"I-I'M SORRY!" he screeched, as he fished the card from the display and rinsed it off. The transaction was soon made in record time and the card was pitched back at Marcus over the barrier.

The whole spectacle was laughable, especially as the fearful kid dropped his card directly into an open tub of ice cream, eliciting a very sarcastic "Well that can't be sanitary."

He was less humoured when his own, wet card came flying out of the booth at him, fluttering through the air to hit him directly in the face. It did no harm other than a single rivulet of water that dripped across the the bridge of his nose, but it did leave him slightly irritatted, evidenced by the singular second of scowl he gave.

He bent down to pick his card out of the dust, sighing to himself as he brushed some of the dirt off of it, giving Emma a look that amounted to 'Can you believe this guy?'.

'Timothy', if his nametag was anything to go by, continued apologising profusely. He removed the pistachio tub from the counter with the excuse of "need...c-clean" and promptly disappeared into the back of the store. It didn't seem like he was heading out any time soon.

Emma gave a small sigh, returning Marcus’s glance. ”Guess he didn’t want a tip, then.” she said, grabbing a spoon and heading for the door.

"I've got a tip for him: be nicer to your local superheroes!" he said, placing his hand to his mouth to shout the last part into the back. Grabbing his ice cream and following Emma, he left the shoppe behind him, taking small comfort in is small bowl of dessert.

Emma shook her head a little, giving him a quick glance of disapproval. ”They already hate us enough, we should avoid giving them more reason to.” her sentence was followed by a small sigh as she took a contemplative bite from her ice cream.

"What?" Marcus said incredulously, taking his own spoonful of ice cream. "I think that went very well!" This part of his statement he could not finish without chuckling a bit to himself.

"Most people wouldn't have been as restrained as I was, so I'd consider myself to have been the paramount of courtesy just now!"

Emma’s eyes widened a little, a restrained smirk planted on her face. ”Really, you call that courtesy? Kid was scared out of his mind, I don’t think you’re ‘comments’ were helping.” she said, her tone was placed between teasing and serious.

"I would have said the same thing to anybody, given the situation! Because I, unlike some people don't discriminate." He tried to hide his mischevious grin with another bite, failing miserably.

"Not my fault the kid can't take a joke!"

Emma sighed. ”All I’m saying is that your ‘jokes’ might end with a ‘Villagers marching on Frankenstein’s monster’ kinda situation. We don’t want a bunch of rioting angry normals marching on the hotel, right?”

"That's...fair." Marcus said, slightly humbled by her argument. She made a valid point; perhaps what he thought of as 'funny jokes' weren't exactly the best in a situation like this. If his interactions with Callan had taught him anything, it was that not all problems were solved with humour, as he'd originally hoped.

"I suppose you're right, I probably shouldn't trigger the everyday worker bees. You want me to go back and apologize? 'Cause I'll do it!" he said, turning around to face he building, wicked grin on his face.

Emma gave a small laugh. ”Maybe not the best idea, don’t want the poor kid to have a heart attack when you walk back in. I appreciate the attempt, though.” Emma looked down at her ice cream, taking another bite. Her smile slowly drooped into a frown, her thoughts turning away from ice cream and Marcus’s jokes.

”Hey… hey Marcus, can I ask you something…?” her tone soured a little, suddenly downcast.

Marcus's jokester attitude shifted completely at Emma's sudden tone shift, and he turned back around to walk along with her. The question, the sudden drop in the mood; he recognized the atmosphere. These kind of things weren't his home turf - he did far better with a lighter mood.

"Yeah, what's up?" he said, the slight hint of curious concern being the only betrayal to his thoughts.

Emma’s pace slowed down a little, ”It feels kind of silly. We’re acting like nothing happened, but… I can’t stop thinking… thinking about Savannah. Do you think… do you think that things could’ve gone different?” Emma’s voice was shaky. She wasn’t saying what she really wanted to say, but it was close enough. She couldn’t get the image of the girl’s twisted body out of her head.

Of all the questions she could have possibly asked, why'd it have to be that one? The one question that had been hammering his brain since the moment he saw those lifeless eyes. He felt his blood turn to ice for a brief moment; of all the people to ask, it had to be Emma, too.

"I..." What was he going to say? That he'd effectively killed an innocent young girl because of a lapse in judgement? That he'd let an abberation onto the APC, and the whole fight could have been avoided if he'd been paying attention? That Savannah, Callan's arm, Siena's injuries - none of it would have happened?

He was taking too long to reply, how long had he been standing there without an answer?

"I don't know...." he finally said, the words oozing out of his mouth like molasses. "It all happened so quickly...I honestly don't know if we could have done anything..."

Emma stopped walking.

”No… no, I don’t think that’s true. When I got the call from Brent… when he said that you were in trouble… I didn’t do anything. I just… stopped. If I had moved quicker, I think… no, I know, Savannah would still be alive.” Emma looked at him pleadingly. Her voice rung hollow. ”Why couldn’t I do anything? It’s just like the Flag game, but this time it was real… someone died because of me, Marcus.”

Marcus stopped too, although his eyes weren't as pleading as Emma's were. He looked to the ground, as if searching for an answer written on the pavement. All of the things she was saying were sticking in his chest like a dagger.

Someone died because of me

How desperately he wanted to tell her the truth, but that would mean condeming himself. Would mean standing tall and facing his problems head-on, and owning his mistakes.

He wasn't very good at accepting the blame.

"Emma, I was closer than anybody there. Trust me, I've already asked myself this question far too much." It wasn't a lie, but he certainly wasn't being forthright. "I tried as hard as you did...but that's our life now, I guess." he didn't have all the answers right now, but god did he wish he at least had one.

Emma looked down too.

”Right.”

She gave him a small pat on the shoulder, ”We can’t... I guess there’s no use worrying over what could have been.” Emma was trying to convince herself of that, not him.

”It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Usually she was a good liar, but the words rung hollow.

"You don't have to be fine," Marcus said, smiling weakly. "But you are here, and that's the most important thing."

He punctuated his sentance by grabbing her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Even now, as he tried to make everything fall into a semblance of 'all right', the question still burned inside him, eating away like a parasite.

”Yeah… you’re right.”

This time, at least, she managed to make the words sound a little more convincing.

”It wasn’t your fault either, you know that, right?” those word were easy. It wasn’t a lie, she really believed it. ”It was just… something that happened. We can’t blame people… or blame ourselves.” she wasn’t sure if she was ready to give up her guilt, but now she thought it was something he had to hear.

If only you knew

"Yeah...I know." he said, giving her another weak smile. She didn't know; he didn't deserve her confidence, the ease at which she passed the blame off of him. But she said the things he'd been trying to convince himself of; without the abberations, none of it would have happened. Surely it was their fault and not his.

It helped a little bit.

"We should probably head back now, before Tim's mob catches up to us."