Taro Tanaka would not suffer this man to escape him. It was bad enough that he had committed murder and assault, but now he sought to escape them? He would not have it. With a monoscopic focus on the task of bringing this fiend to justice, Taro jumped atop a nearby manhole covering. While the act might seem random and pointless at first, the purpose became apparent when he lifted the cover with his mind and flung it into the air, propelling both the cover and himself. He traveled, airborne, in the direction of the building the villain had fled inside, and smashed his way onto the floor they had escaped into through a window.

Though he attempted to manage the landing with grace, Taro ended up slamming into the floor rather heavily. Coupled with the cuts he endured from smashing through a pane of glass, suffice to say Taro was hurt in a quite a few ways. However, filled with adrenaline and heroic determination, Taro would not lay down and lick his wounds, and instead rose, chest puffed out, ready to confront the perpetrator. "Submit, villain!" He called out, calling upon his extraordinary powers to hurl a nearby office chair at the man. He would endeavor to avoid hitting his compatriot who was locked in combat with his attacks, but he would have to see if chance would be kind in that regard.

@Crimmy @Krayzikk

@Krayzikk@Etranger

Dhṛtarāṣṭra - Night, School District 15, Inside Office Building

"Weird for you to pick a terrorist suit, hero!"

The leggy, endowed girl was very 'quick on the uptake'. It was not good for any skedaddling attempts, but it was making this night super exciting, you know?! He was the distraction, so the bigger the flash, the bigger the bang, the better it was for his friend's goal! Easy, right? Even in the dusty darkness, the wide grin was very visible on Dhṛtarāṣṭra's sharp looks. He was 'seriously pumped' right now, because he and her were really going to make a scene here.

He would have landed later than her, but her 'fast-thinking' meant he was gonna have to 'scratch that off the list'. The landing was a 'no-go' for him. The same moment the dust flew for his eyes and she stepped in, his fingers were pointing forth, and the air between them detonated like a firework, a flash of light, heat and noise that blew more and more of the dust into the air ... and sent him flying unnaturally (but purposefully, heat radiating from his back) away from her, his feet skidding along the wall of the room with loud screeches. If he was going to be rude about it, then he would say it 'hurt like a bitch', and his face was contorting into winces from the pain. It was not as intense as the one he had catalysed earlier, because all this wanted to do was simply push him away so he could get on the wall, right? But it still hurt a lot, and his eyes were all runny and red.

He dropped to the floor with an 'oof'. He was putting the distance between them. That girl was probably all okay, maybe a little more dazed than him after the explosion 'took her around the block' for a bit, but that would buy him some time to 'get his bearings' as well. Except he didn't get that time, because the moment the blonde staggered up, he had to deal with the chair coming at him 'completely out of the blue'. Not at all expected by Dhṛtarāṣṭra, right?

The windows had shattered opened and some new fellow had come in to throw a chair at him. It looked like telekinesis, but if it was something else, it still looked like TK. 'If it quacks like a duck, then it's a duck' was the idiom, yes?. He dove for the floor once again, but the edge of the chair caught him in his left shoulder, sending him spiralling into a roll along the floor. The pain was lancing through his arm like lightning.

Not good at all.

But his distraction was getting more people to see him. That was very good, yes? Very exciting as well, right? Dhṛtarāṣṭra decided that his plan 'had it in the bag'. He pushed himself up, gasping for breath from the stinging pain. He was closer to the newcomer and the window now, while the girl was further back. Two people. A broken window if he wanted to get out. A hole in the ceiling if he wanted to get out. Lots of things to play with in the office complex.

There should have been a need to worry here, but he did not mind at all!

He picked up the metal leg of the office chair, which had rolled near him after the chair had nicked him and crashed into the wall, splitting entirely in half. The casters were still connected, their wheels swivelling as he lifted it up. It was good to have a makeshift weapon, right? And it could be useful in other ways too, yes? He held it aloft, twitching it slightly to beckon his foes to come.

---

@Plank Sinatra@Avant

Gandharva - Night, School District 15, The Street

Despite his attempts at disguising himself from view, it appeared that one of the individuals had managed to notice his presence. If it had been in any other situation, he would have been in a great conundrum, and very much shamed by a failure to perfectly remove every single trace of himself. However, the focus he had placed on speed over properly, elegantly carrying out his tasks had ensured that the more perceptive and attentive would discover him. It was an unfortunate turn of events, and Gandharva could not say he was not disappointed in himself. Yet he had never possessed much choice in the matter.

His escape was undignified, and even as his feet pounded rhythmically against the cold tarmac, the lifeless, flaccid body upon his shoulders jerked to and fro, its distorted form serving as more discomfort for him in this unwanted and unfortunate task. It was too unsubtle an operation. As unsubtle as the screams of his pursuer, whose footsteps were becoming closer and closer.

Faster and faster.

In the nightly silence of the district's less-visited areas, the rapid advance of his pursuer could be incredibly intimidating. It was at an unnatural pace that the screaming demon seemed to run with, suggesting the presence of Esper powers. That was an irritating talent to deal with. Far more irritating than the wild pink substance that arced through the darkness above him, failing to reach its mark and instead colliding with a nearby lamppost, consuming the metal and blinding the once-dull illuminance forever.

Humankind was renowned for its ability to aim its throws, but if his location was unknown to that attacking Esper, then the dangers they represented were low, any shot of that strange substance diverging from his true direction. It was the beastly European that was at the forefront of the obstacles that could halt his retreat.

Gandharva's left hand unconsciously moved to his waist.

If they got any closer, then he would need to deal with them as quickly and elegantly as possible.

He continued to run, rapidly turning a corner into a dark alleyway. He had a destination in mind, a place where he could rendezvous with his comrade. Relying on a public arena to mask his movements was undignified, a risk that could as easily turn upon him if he were to make a single misstep. However, the Dianoid was the chosen location for his rendezvous. It would simply have to do.

The explosion threw dust up into the air with crack like thunder, clouding the area a thick veil. The heat radiated out with it, a the water and particulate trapping it in like a choking sauna. It was mostly focused on propelling away the blonde attacker, but his foe still would've been walloped with a wall of heart and sound on top of the kinetic pressure. Mostly unharmed, for sure, but a little dazed. Enough tinnitus to wreck anyone's evening. Removed from the pain, now, the explosion seemed oddly... Quiet.

"T͠hat̸ ͜s͡o͜uǹds l͟i̧k͜e ͢A-͞LAW̶S͘ ta͢lk."

Umeko stepped silently out of the cloud, eyes almost audibly locking onto her target. Her hair was a mess, blown back with strands standing up as though an electric shock had run through her whole body. She'd rocked back on her heels, slapped head on with the kinetic energy, but it was like the heat hadn't touched her; unlike Dhṛtarāṣṭra her skin hadn't reddened at all. Steam had begun to condense again to moisture on her skin, wherever dust clung to her, but the vapor still radiated off of her as though something still kept the air around her from cooling. The Japanese student shook her head, trying to regain some sense of consistency to her hair, and continued her slow advance towards the athletic blonde.

"And this," She continued, shrugging off her vest before draping it over a nearby chair. The air crackled where her fingers brushed the metal, picking something up off its surface, but she persevered undeterred. "Is a twenty two thousand yen vest that I'll need to have dry cleaned. Strike two."

"And you took a shot at Brennan. Strike three. Kid, he tries to run, grab him." The kickboxer's weight had transferred to the balls of her feet, each step a smooth transfer of potential energy on silent tread. She leaned forward a little, something in small smirk playing about her lips turning predatory. "Call this an armed intervention."

Her right hand blurred, whipping the pair of scissors in her hand end over end in the blonde's direction with unnatural force. Potential turned actual and she lunged, low and controlled, with supernatural speed toward the assailant seeking to cover as much ground as possible before he could react. He'd been hit on his left shoulder, he was unconsciously favoring that a little. That was where she'd focus her attack. If he swung that leg she could shift and take it on her right shoulder, it'd hurt but she'd had worse. She just needed to get one jab in to put him at a disadvantage.

Brennan skidded to his halt, the resultant screeching of shoes and black scuff marks on pavement only further loosening the bonds that tied the humans of the 21st century to their primal, knuckle-dragging ancestors. By now Brennan Griese, he of the black-and-gold hair and bloodied dress shirt, bore more in common with the violent Aurignacian culture of evolutions gone by than he did with the assumed human that he was chasing after. Were he in any fit shape to rationalize his anger at the figure whose violent mugging he lusted for so hungrily, he would no doubt have found it in him to laugh at the vast well of Cro-Magnon-esque rage that had welled up inside him. After all, it was he who had counseled Umeko to be patient, not let a little corpse get to her, leave things to the authorities. But that was before Umeko had fallen into the sinkhole; that was before he had started the chase. The thrill of the hunt was upon him now.

The scent of blood was stuck in his nostrils.

Perhaps it was more apt to call Brennan Griese a Neanderthal than a Cro-Magnon, for Neanderthals were a capable, hardy race, possessed of knowledge that the more primitive, angrier ancestor to humanity lacked. A Neanderthal might have been capable of dressing itself in the bloodstained Gucci that Brennan was sporting this evening; a Neanderthal had the hunting methodology and survival instinct that a Cro-Magnon may have lacked. In fact, humankind as defined today was actually evolved through the interbreeding of Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons - interbreeding which, in fact, was founded upon a mix of respect for the Cro-Magnon's violent natures and pity for their lack of comprehension in more social matters.

The same interbreeding was in fact taking place tonight in Academy City, between the Homo sapiens Brennan Griese and the doomed subspecies Homo sapiens otaku.

Or, interbreeding would have taken place, if they hadn't stumbled upon the goddamned corpse.

The hunt was all that separated Brennan from his apartment. The hunt had to end - in victory. He had to feel his teeth in the other esper's neck, and soon. Luckily, he was more Neanderthal than Cro-Magnon, and knew how to hunt with tools.

Having noted that the specks of blood and pus spraying from the mangled corpse were forming a trail, Brennan Griese was able to note that the trail had suddenly branched off the main sidewalk and out of the lights of District 15. They were in an alley, which made Brennan's bloody grin expand a notch. Alleys were the perfect places for a good beatdown, as any County Antrim boy worth his bloody knuckles knew all too well. He also knew that there were plenty of places in an alleyway to stop cold in your tracks, press against a wall, and let a lad outrun you before heading back to the main road. He needed visibility.

Luckily, in the 21st century, any fucking knob with a good phone in his pocket could lend you that. On top of that, Brennan knew enough of cities to know what was on the side of many a building that comprised an alleyway.

The labyrinthine pipes that supplied those buildings. Such vulnerable little faucets that stretched on for a block. Vulnerable little faucets with all that water...and all that pressure.

Brennan weighed using his hand, but that would smart even for him. A kick would be a safer bet, but...

Ah, fuggit.

Deez shoes are already well 'n' fooked.

Brennan Griese stood in front of the nearest faucet, his body stripped of fear by the thrill of adrenaline, and sang the first faucet in the alley some sweet chin music. Two related, and equally fortuitous, events occurred within a second of each other.

First; the water in the open pipes was pressurized beyond what the pipes were meant to handle, and as it traveled down the line of buildings, the pipe system began to pop off faucet after faucet, spraying the alleyway with highly pressurized water.

Second; Brennan Griese himself, standing at ground zero of the hosing down from hell, took not just the blast of water head on, but also the force of the faucet itself popping into his diaphragm at an unhealthy range of psis of force. He absorbed the force as fuel without complaint, even though the affected spot would probably smart in the morning with Umeko's snoring, drooling head balanced atop it.

If the force of the water that now sprayed through the alley in half a dozen makeshift geysers hadn't knocked the other Esper off his feet, the water would no doubt leave an outline that could be picked up again. And for that, Brennan Griese had just the thing.

Aforementioned good phone in his pocket, the glass on the back of the phone's surface cracked from pressure but nonetheless still containing a lens capable of flashlight mode.

With a beam of light now emanating from the device in his shirt pocket, Brennan Griese began to sprint through the water, down the alley, in the direction of his prey.

---

It took a moment for Shion to process everything that seemed to happen after she came to a stop. A nearby rooftop seemed to collapse, the first to take her attention. Then the shouting of an older boy with an annoying accent, accompanied by what seemed to be usage of his ability. She watched in stunned silence as the boy appeared to stop a moving bus only to out-speed it down the street. What the hell kind of absurd power is that? This man monster was quickly followed by one of the others who didn't run off firing some sort of liquid in his general direction and another person flying into the possibly collapsing building.
The heat was getting stifling.
Shion returned her attention to the injured boy at her feet, tearing her mind away from her extreme discomfort and towards helping what seemed to be the victim of some attack. Was it planned? Were the other people there involved? She didn't know or particularly care, she decided, before squatting down to check for injuries on the boy. "Hey. Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

---

@NarayanK

Taro wanted nothing more than to continue his object-based assault on the criminal, but the girl in the room beat him to the punch. "Kid!?" He exclaimed as she left him with a contingent request. As far as Taro could tell, this girl seemed around the same age bracket as him. He did not appreciate being referred to so diminutively; 'kid' had connotations he did not like. But however the phrase might have miffed him, there was a more important task at hand, and Taro intended to see it through. He would have much preferred to be the one beating the criminal himself, but this arrangement would have to do.

As the woman engaged the man, Taro readied a number of chairs and computer monitors from the area. If the lady was to be knocked down, then Taro was going to follow up by smothering the villain with his various office implements.

@Crimmy@Krayzikk

Bang remained quiet, though the world around sounded less muffled as time passed. He eventually heard someone talk to him, though he found himself unable to respond immediately.

He then shook his head. It was a bit hard to talk, even if he was able to get out a small "Help" before. He didn't want to strain himself too much. A trip to the hospital did sound pretty enticing at the moment, though.

@DarkWolfX37

Dhṛtarāṣṭra - Night, School District 15, Inside Office Building

"Only when Academy City is governed under the A-Laws can permanent peace be accomplished!"

His luck with opponents seriously blew. It just was not fun when the other kept 'no-selling' his explosions. He wanted to be the centre of attention, make a distraction with a big boom, easy, but explosions were 'a no-go' with her around. She looked like she was getting stronger and faster with every hit, which was 'bad juju'. If his reflexes slowed even a bit, then her knockers would be knocking him on his ass, right? So he pushed himself into overdrive, body jerking back with equally unnatural motions as her attack began. He had to 'think on his feet', right? Get even the tiniest extra bit of space, no matter how much his back burned.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra couldn't just attack. Any movement forth, and the psychokinetic would 'pelt him with tomatoes' and turn his body into the colour of tomatoes. Any attempt at just trying to 'skedaddle' would make tomatoes out of his eyes. And there was no real time to get around those.

He only had seconds. Less than that.

Minimising his movements was important, right?

One foot left the floor. His body was falling back like a collapsing tower. Scissors literally missing him by a hair. Except now there was no way he could physically control his body by himself, yes. She would be on him like 'jam on toast' within seconds, right? It was a very last-ditch plan. Catalyse. No explosion this time. He did not know whether or she would be delayed enough, but the floor between them began to collapse, a massive gaping maw opening up into the level below them. It would take him down too, but that was fine.

His back burned again.

Catalyse.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra spun through the air towards the shattered window as the newest explosion's shockwave carried him painfully away from his enemy. He was minimising his movements, but using that did not mean he was moving, right?

"GREAT BOOSTER!"

Dhṛtarāṣṭra's back screamed with fire, the overwhelming pain overtaking all other feeling.

However, it would be his 'ticket outta here'.

As he fell from the building and into the night, his baggy jacket burnt away. The source of his unnatural, sudden and jerking motions revealed itself.

The jetpack's thrusters ignited.

Dhṛtarāṣṭra took to the skies.

"Sayonara!" he managed to bite out through a grimace. "I will be going Ahead!"

---

Gandharva - Night, School District 15, The Alleyway

He had underestimated the savagery of the European. The makeshift geysers had taken Gandharva entirely by surprise, their unannounced assault having nearly rendered him little more than a useless clump of mangled flesh, a collection of proteins that would not even be suitable for a dog to feast upon. Yet he had managed to survive, although if his competence (or lack thereof) remained as it was currently, it was unlikely for him to continue doing so. As heavy a blow it had been to his dignity, the bruised ribs were a greater consequence of the unexpected (and unwanted) change in his fortunes.

How inelegant of him. In order to survive that attack, he had been forced to shameful methods, using the corpse he carried as a shield to bear the brunt of the powerful jets of pressurised water. Even now the mangled woman's remains laid atop of him, pinning him against the cold and wet brick walls in the darkness of the alleyway. If he were more of an optimist, then he would have attempted to continue with the retrieval of the corpse, but it appeared that he would need to discard what was proper and follow in the footsteps of his comrade.

This was a situation that could have been avoided had that woman been less careless. It was truly vexing to know that his injuries and their discovery by third-parties had been brought about due to her simple inability to carry about her duties with the correct procedure. It should not have been their duty to rectify her mistakes.

And now, that was growing to seem more and more impossible.

The only silver lining was the damage the body had taken over the course of his escape.

Gandharva allowed light to shimmer around him once more, his eyes squinting shut as he calculated the angles at which the rays would be allowed to bend. The water would still impact him, making his discovery far easier for the torch-wielding savage that he could see approaching. Thus, it was necessary that he performed the calculations as quickly as possible even as he escaped. His pursuer's powers were not defined to him as of yet; to engage would simply be far too much of a risk.

Even if he was to shame himself by fleeing, there was no victory in inelegantly throwing oneself at an unknown.

With the water still roaring around them, Gandharva pushed the corpse off his body, heaving to his body with a hiss that he held inside. He would need to revise his judgement of how intense his injuries had been. Now that he had found his way onto his feet, the pain had only become greater. He gripped tightly with his left hand as he staggered away. The beam of the torch had yet to land upon him, but the calculations were already being performed within his brain.



An Esper, in most situations, would unconsciously perform them as they sought to impress their Personal Realities upon the World itself. That was a luxury he was lacking, particularly in this shameful state. He righted himself as he slowly walked backwards down the alleyway, energies focused on the core aim of maintaining his own invisibility perfectly.

The body had been abandoned. Maybe it would be bait, maybe not.

However, his invisibility was now perfect. It would serve as cover for his escape. That was the only choice he possessed. Each painful step was not allowed to disturb him.

Taro was taken completely off guard when the villain enacted his final, explosive plan. The initial force of it ruined his balance and concentration, causing him to lose his grasp on his arsenal of office equipment and stumble around briefly. By the time he regained his composure, the villain was already absconding making a....joke as he left? Taro did not understand the emphasis on "Ahead", and he didn't need to in order to make this man fall to earth. But he did need energy and concentration to do so, and between the first explosion winding him, his daring catapult into the building, the cuts and bruises and knocks and just about everything he had suffered, he just didn't have it left in him to effect any telekinetic restraint. Taro sank to his knees, quite dejected. There was nothing glamorous or even unique about this failure.

After a moment to regain his composure, he spoke to his chance companion. "Well, there's not much left for us but to leave. I for one am going back to where we started, as I know at least one of us suffered a nasty blow back there. Care to join me?" He gestured towards a sturdy desk that he was levitating to the window. It was big enough for two to stand upon, and while all this fuss and bother had taken a lot out of Taro, he was sure he could manage a safe descent down to the ground. After that, he would rejoin the others and await professional assistance.

@Krayzikk @Crimmy

Brennan's giddy smile unfurled with catlike laziness - or, rather, with the deviousness of the cat that was about to shove some highly fragile family heirloom right off of the counter.

The teen's phone swept over the alleyway twice once he saw the shimmer around the waterlogged corpse disappear; he seemed, for the moment, satisfied that the scavenger had left its scraps unattended to. But he had only advanced three slow steps towards the body, tucked without grace into one of the sides of the alley. It seemed that the Irishman feared an ambush. And then:

fweeeeew-wiiip

The whistle was high and fierce, cutting nimbly through the sound of the spraying water.

"I don't give a fook about you," the student stated matter-of-factly, touching his vest and straightening it out as best he could. "Or least not whatever t'is you're on about tonoight. Now, I'm a reasonable lad. My only groodge here's me food, me vest, and me phone repairs. Other den dat I couldn't give half a squirt o'piss if you slept in yer own bed tonoight or in that dumpster roight dere wit' your clavicle broke in quarts. And I can't squeeze a lick o'cash outta dis broad, neither. So let's do some business, yeah?"

The thick-brogued devil appeared to be doing math. With a confident smile, he finished his calculations and stuck his left hand out, palm open and outstretched, his right hand in his pants pocket.

"Ninety thousand yen, tossed into me waitin' hand, and we can both call ourselves a lil richer for dis exhilaratin' experience, huh?" he cajoled, fingers tightening around an invisible stack of bills and then uncurling. "Academy City's all about the fookin' learnin'."

Following behind the mad Irishman, Junia was amazed to find he had not only found their invisible foe but also assault them. It was almost as if some invisible force had favored him in doing so, provided he did not possess convenient powers of invisibility detection. Funnily enough, it appeared he had gone to such great efforts only to acquire recompense for his damages thus far. Junia would almost admire such mercenary behaviour, if she wasn't doubtful that this assailant of theirs was carrying around the equivalent of nearly 850 US dollars on hand. Even among those that carried cash nowadays, they didn't tend to carry so much for no reason. "Hey, why stop there? I think I saw enough to make up half a million on them. Go for gold." She called out to the Irishman mockingly. She had no idea if they had any money on them, especially as she still couldn't even see them, which begged the question as to whether this guy was confident in his ability to find the man or just a moron.

Her interest ultimately lay with the corpse that lay effectively forgotten and abandoned. The best thing she could think of right now was to take it from here and turn it over to the authorities once they arrived. That was the best revenge she could think of against those that had fought so hard to wrench the body from their sight. Admittedly, as she prepared to drag it away, she too considered an ambush, but she decided to take the chance. Perhaps she could count on the Irishman's godlike perception to protect her, if only so that he could secure his tribute.

@Plank Sinatra @Crimmy

@Avant@Plank Sinatra

Gandharva - Night, School District 15, The Alleyway

He took umbrage at the sheer gall of his pursuers. Their usurious fixation on their own selfish, materialistic gain in this nightmare of a situation was utterly ridiculous. Even if he was relieved in the slightest by their disinterest towards the innovations of the body (now little more than the waste produced by a half-rate slaughterhouse), the fact that they were demanding him to debase himself further in this dark, waterlogged alleyway was simply without dignity. An inelegant, mercenary desire for more yen.

Gandharva, still cloaked perfectly within the night, did not speak out, his quiet footsteps - drowned out by the continuing spray and dripping of water from the ramparts - moving him slowly further away from the two. Although they were unlikely to pinpoint his location in the suffocating confines of the alleyway, the covetous Caucasians could still strike at him if they so wanted. The projectiles of the weasel-eyed one may not have been accurate, but the narrow shadows of the neighbouring buildings did not provide much protection from a lucky shot or any possible spray. He was certain on the water having washed away his scent, nullifying the animalistic nose of the greedy evolutionary throwback, but his power was more dangerous. If Gandharva's conclusions proved to be correct in identifying the Euroweeb's speciality to be one regarding kinetic forces, then a single movement could spell his defeat.

Gandharva despised the path his logic was taking him. It was now a question of pragmatism; had there only been an individual, he could have attacked, but it was not within his abilities to pull out such a victory. The attempt to utilise the body as a decoy was unsuccessful, as the savage considered the pursuit of pretty to be of greater importance. It was a night utterly devoid of any elegance whatsoever, and the impugning of his dignity refused to subside.

His goal was a clear one: successfully escape to the Dianoid for the rendezvous. Retrieval of the body was originally paramount, but the damage to it and the unexpected resistance meant that it would have to be discarded. He simply needed to leave his pursuers behind, and the horrid night would be over.

If handing over their money was what was necessary ...

This was all her responsibility. It was her failure to perform the cleanup. It was simply the just course of action to foist the payment onto her.

Bank details were remembered. The cheque was quickly written, the scratching of a pen quietly audible in the alleyway. And into the dimly lit circle produced by the phone torch, the slip of paper became visible.

It was done.

He was already moving away.

Brennan snatched the cheque deftly from midair and beamed at the sight of it between his middle and ring fingers. He'd heard the sounds of the pen scribbling away from down the alleyway, but he was a man of his word, and on top of that he knew that soon Kawaguchi would be frothing from the mouth, arms and legs splayed out, muttering helplessly about how it was time for her to be a Gundam. He had to get her home.

"Cheers, lad," he called out to the invisible man who he'd thoroughly made his bitch, waiting for the sounds of footsteps to carry out of the alley and back into the street. When he did, he turned to the girl from the sight of the accident who had tailed him, now trying to swoop in on the corpse like a vulture. He brandished the two fingers that carried the cheque at her menacingly, and then tucked his payment underneath the collar of his shirt.

"Nobody carries cash around anymore, ye doomb sloot," he chastised, even as he picked up the corpse by her remaining arm and slung her over his shoulder with mild chagrin. "Deeeere's a girl, easy at 'em. An' as for you, you fookin' cotton candy throwin' fookin' degenerate, don't you ever talk to me or me corpse ever again. I don't like people takin' credit for me work."

Adjusting the body so that she rested more naturally over his shoulder, Brennan began to gingerly carry her back towards the place that the students had discovered her, giving her the classic carry generally reserved for bad drunks or wounded soldiers.

Allowing the Irishman to take the corpse, more than fine to have him do the work for her, a slight smile came Junia as he walked off in a huff. She had found an easy target indeed. "Oh but you're completely right!" She began, following after him, entirely unfazed by his veiled threat and determined to nettle him some more. "It IS beyond stupid to think someone would carry cash on them." She told him in the same mocking tone he had apparently utterly failed to recognise earlier. "Just as stupid as it would be to expect someone to carry a checkbook on hand these days. COMPLETELY idiotic, I know!" She could barely remember the last time she had seen or heard of a cheque. While he might have been vindicated by the fact that he found the only criminal in all of Academy City, and perhaps even all of Japan, that carried a checkbook while stealing corpses, let alone at any time, it did, by this man's own words, only make him a lucky idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

"I would be careful cashing that cheque, if I were you." She continued as they exited into full view of the others. "I mean, a cheque given to you by an invisible criminal in a dark alleyway? It might not even be legitimate. Or even if you manage to cash it, it might come from a completely illegal source. You might just end up in a jail cell for all your trouble." It struck her that it would have been the perfect moment for that man to exact some revenge on the Irishman by writing him a cheque that was completely worthless. If it hadn't occurred to him, then these criminal folk must be equally cowardly and moronic. But, knowing how things had gone so far, Junia was fully expecting whatever invisible force that was favoring him to create a series of contrived coincidences that resulted in the Irishman coming off smelling like a bed of roses. It was almost as though they were characters in a story where the author was blatantly favoring his little pet.

@Crimmy @Plank Sinatra

"1. I said don't talk to me ever again. 2. I said don't talk to me ever again. 3. I ain't ever in me life met someone so fookin' mopey about carryin' around cash. We live in de tech capital o'da world, with fookin' sooper-dooper government ATMs, and you'd rather carry around notes than a fookin' debit card? Don't get angsty wit' me 'cause I'm harder to effectively moog than you are, sweetheart."

The bus was still stopped, having an automated accident protocol it no doubt was adhering to until Judgement finally arrived on the scene. Brennan dumped the sopping wet, mangled body he'd retrieved onto the general area where the group had found her before going to stand on his own blood splatter, proudly standing up in front of the bus as the last visible traces of kinetic energy left his hair and eyes.

"Hey, you 'appen to see where an angry lil cosplayer, bout yay high, no sense of self-awareness, scampered off to? Oi, Abaranger! Get your fookin' arse out 'ere, I wanna get 'ome!"

"That's not even a fitting reference."

It wasn't hard to hear the Irishman, even up here. Not that Umeko was paying much attention yet. Shitty pun aside, she was furious about that asshole getting away. She could have had him. His continued retreats proved he couldn't take her in a fight, she could have had him if he hadn't had a fucking escape route. She noticed the desk offered by the younger student, but declined to hop up on it; she'd already had to drop one story today, dropping another wasn't going to matter. Her boots were already fucked.

So the Japanese girl simply stepped out of the window, scowling to herself as she landed; bending her knees and spreading the landing dispersed the force out to three points. The sound her ability took care of, though apparently it wasn't able to take the heat out of her expression.

"Bastard got away. Shitty jetpack under his coat. This is why I say I should take things from the lab with me." Someone was already helping the most affected member of their little party, so Umeko walked over to her bags to verify that her purchases were unharmed. Nothing was to be done about dinner, another mark against the night, but if anything had happened to her bags... "Good work getting the body back. I'm not going to ask what happened to your vest. Or the bus. Or the blood. I want to go home."

She gestured back up to the window.

"Kid with the desk saw everything important. He can report it."

Night, School District 15

Though it had felt like an eternity, there had barely been fifteen minutes since Bang's fateful call connected to 119, and with the passing of those hands on the clock, so did the police pass into the alleyway where the assembled teenagers had made their discovery. They filed out of their windowless stage wagon in black helmets and padded suits, the dark rifles gripped within their hands almost blending in with the night. Antiskill's duty was first and foremost the protection of Academy City's students from any form of Esper violence, and after the explosive end to Bang's call to the emergency services, they were very much intent on ferreting out the lay of the situation and those responsible.

"Can we ask what happened here tonight?" asked one of them, replacing his weapon for a notepad and pen even as his comrades set up a perimeter. His face was obscured by the tinted visor of his helmet, adding to the professional and aloof demeanour he seemed to exude as he spoke to the gathered teens.

Meanwhile, the ambulance finally arrived, wheels screeching to a halt nearby. The paramedics were the first to exit, and upon surveying the situation, immediately made a beeline to Bang, whose injuries were clearly to be prioritised. They would check up on the rest of the teenagers soon enough, making sure that none of their injuries were too severe. Also present was the 119 operator - recognisable by her voice - a short girl wearing a paramedic's cap who had come to help out.

In the end, however, the body would be delivered into the hands of the authorities, the injured into the care of the hospital system, and once the questioning was over, all were free to go, with the understanding that further questioning may be involved, particularly if suspicious individuals contacted them once more. And so, the events of the night were brought to a close.

---

Night, School District 15, the Dianoid

The metal key emitted a successful click as he pushed it into the lock. The safe house door swung open, the lights within spilling out into the shadowy corridor in which he stood, refracting against the prismatic carbon that the Dianoid had been constructed from. He did not flinch at the sudden illumination, the bright glare that bounced against him merely one more source of irritation in this disastrous night. After the disgustingly undignified events that he had been forced to experience, Gandharva simply did not possess the energy or patience to respond to such minor problems. In any other circumstance, they would have been magnified, but against the galling behaviour of those two cackling Caucasian pursuers, such little things simply could not compare.

He trudged into the safe house, hair still soaking wet from the events in the alleyway. It was done. At the cost of his dignity, the inelegant nightmare of a night was finally over. There was little more that could surprise him, little more that he wanted to be surprised by. Gandharva only had one goal on his mind as he removed his shoes in the entryway: to get a shower and head straight to bed.

"^1.おかえり!" exclaimed a voice ahead of him. Gandharva glanced up. His comrade had jocundly emerged from a room, a cup of instant ramen and chopsticks in hand. It was clear he had returned earlier. And ...

"Why are you shirtless."

Gandharva could not muster the energy to even pose it as a question. The casual, lackadaisical behaviour of his comrade was well-known to him, but to discard all upper wear for no apparent reason? Where was Dhṛtarāṣṭra's sense of dignity? For what purpose would he be traipsing half-naked in the apartment like a slightly-prudish exhibitionist?

"I needed to use the jetpack, you see?" explained his comrade, turning around to show Gandharva the burns pockmarking pale skin. "It really 'made a cat's breakfast' out of my clothes, right?"

There was a pause as Dhṛtarāṣṭra tapped the back of his chopsticks against his chin in thought.

"That is how they say it, yes, no? It might be 'dog', right?"

"I do not speak English." And yet his comrade continued to ask him such questions.

"Ah well." Dhṛtarāṣṭra shrugged as he pirouetted back to face Gandharva. "How was your night, friend? Did I 'get the heat off you', as they say? Hopefully?"

"A symptomatic rabies carrier and a woman of order Rodentia attempted to extort money out of me."

"That's not good, yes?" Dhṛtarāṣṭra was still casual, but there was a certain businesslike air that had draped itself over his half-naked body. "What did you do? Did you 'cut your losses'? You don't seem very 'worse for wear', right?"

It was a choice he despised the necessity of having made, but his pragmatism had won over his sense of elegance in the heat of that moment, and though he regretted everything involving that alleyway and those two individuals (particularly the fact that he had been forced to such a irritating state), there was a certain catharsis in foisting the spotlight onto her. It would not impact her financially, but it was a responsibility she would need to take on. As she should have far earlier.

And it was that he told to Dhṛtarāṣṭra.

"Prolly a bit morbid, you think? And it might 'shine a light' on her too."

"She will be fine."

"Hopefully. But that will one hundred percent be 'very suss', right? Especially if Antiskill 'gets their mitts' on it, yes?"

It was a possibility, but for Gandharva, he would simply have to bring about a more elegant solution to their issues later on. At this point in the night, he was far too exhausted to deal with such things.

"Maybe," he replied, walking past his comrade. "But let it wait until morning."

"Oh, you don't want 'some grub'?"

All he wanted to do was shower and sleep until dawn.

---

^{1. TN: Okaeri means "welcome home".}

Hazama, Harumi

---

Safe, in her dorm at last.

Though tired, and feeling slightly dirty from the patch on the front of her vest, Harumi did not go for her bed nor her bath, but went first towards her computer. Her camera, safe and sound from those dirty grubby grabby hands back there, can now safely dispatch its load onto her computer's memory, where she would process and select the appropriate picture for tonight's latest and hottest scoop. Fatigue and fear drained from her body, as focus took over. Once more, she was just a journalist, doing her job, and writing about the story she had gained.

There wasn't much she could do, however, save writing about a possible story, and that she had found someone dead in an alley with the promise that she will investigate further. Posting it upon her site, Harumi glanced over several of the social networks she kept tabs on, noting that there was already rumours of what had happened back there.

Despite everything, she could still feel that delicious chill upon her back of the thought of the story she could potentially get from this. After, of course, she took a bath and take a well deserved rest.



Taking care to disguise herself as well as she could, Harumi tied up her hair in a short ponytail, putting on the cap and oversized vest on. She was going towards one of the more underdeveloped part of the city, to meet one of the Skillout gangs she was in contact with. It wasn't just for information this time however, for she felt that last night's event would open her up to being next. There were things the Skill Outs could obtain for her that she could not normally get. Things that could help her if anyone did target her.

The Blue Wolves gang, though not really large or that influential, was the ones she was going to meet. Or at least, one of them.

Nodding to herself, Harumi finally went out of her dorm, confident that she was, at least, harder to identify at first glance.

Kawaguchi Umeko was having fun with her toy.

The couple had walked home, Brennan's arm around the slumped, sullen shoulders of his partner, in relative quiet after the excited atmosphere that had dominated the majority of their date night. The discovery of the corpse had been a turning point of their night, and Umeko had borne her failure to capture her target as a personal affront. Only the delivery of pizza to replace their lost sashimi had even come close to putting a smile on the otaku's face.

That and, obviously, the survival of her boxes of plamo. She had cracked open one, a Perfect Grade (something that Brennan believed he had more experience with than Umeko ever would) and had been fiddling with it contentedly for the last hour after changing her clothes and settling down at the small coffee table in front of their television.

Brennan was watching her from the balcony, deep, dark blue eyes inscrutable as they gazed inside the apartment at her. Unlike Umeko, he hadn't changed out of his battle-stained clothes. Only his vest had been removed, and the top few buttons of his shirt, stained with blood and water, tattered by automotive collisions and pressurized water, had been undone to reveal the scrapes and scratches dotting his torso and neck. It was an August night, warm with a slight breeze; the weather was more calming on his minor injuries than any bandage would have been, and the wind slipped through the gaps in his shirt and collar gently. It was playing with his hair, too.

It was soothing.

As soothing as the current motion of his fingers. He had taken the cheque his prey had given him and folded it in half horizontally, balancing a heavy coin in the middle so that he could mimic the coin's rolling motion with the slip of paper less awkwardly. It wasn't working the way he wanted it to, given paper's tendency to rub along the fingers. But it would've looked cool if he'd managed it.

He was mainly just enjoying the nighttime. And watching Umeko.

"You're looking broody."

The Japanese native's eyes barely moved from the table in front of her. The model table, if you asked her. Not usually taken up in its entirety, but with the size of this kit... All was in use. The lighting kit was set aside, right now was assembly. Clip, trim, sand, buff. Clip, trim, sand, buff. It was relaxing, after the night she'd had. The pizza was, too. And how Brennan watched. But quiet wasn't the over-the-top-Irishman's way, so being this quiet was unusual. So, after a while, she commented. In the pause after it, she finished sanding one more point and looked all the way up, out at the balcony.

"An odd sort of broody." She continued, cocking her head slightly. "What's up?"

"M'not broodin'. M'the one in a good fookin' mood 'n' not bustin' meself up over some fookin' nobody mook," Brennan teased, grinning impishly and crossing his arms across his chest. "I just wanna watch ya work for a bit, das all."

Brennan took one long look at the lights of Academy City, still burning bright even after midnight, promising a wealth of new discoveries and adventures if only he hit the streets again. It was tempting to lean backwards over the railing and land on those streets below, not to return until after dawn.

Instead he pushed his body forward, off the railing, and walked inside to sit across the table from his partner, looking down at the table - and the shorts she was wearing underneath it - as she built.

"So explain to me what da fook I'm lookin' at here."

"Exia. 1/60th scale. The lighting kit there will make it light up when I'm done." Umeko, oblivious or at least not paying attention to any alternate reasons for the view, tapped the pieces in front of her lightly with the flat of her blade. Whether the comment about the night's earlier events even registered was unclear, after he'd asked about her work. "This bit here is the start of the torso. It'll be about this big when I'm done."

"Not sure where I'll put it yet..."

He watched her go on like this for what felt like hours, clipping and sanding and creating her little robot from parts. Brennan couldn't be sure when either of them fell asleep.

---

At some point, he must have crawled to the couch to have something to rest on. Around the same time, Umeko must have crawled over to come and rest on top of him.

Brennan had slept in the same ruined clothes, while Umeko in his her t-shirt and a pair of shorts looked like she had derived all her comfort from leeching his in her sleep. He pushed one of the otaku's toned legs off of his waist and rolled onto the floor with a dull thud, landing upon his elbows and pushing himself up. When Brennan woke up, he woke up all at once, unlike his more catatonic partner. He looked down on her for a second, smiling faintly, before walking to the apartment's bathroom for a long-overdue shower.

Nngh.

The couch felt like sandpaper. ... No, actually, that was sandpaper. Pinned between her cheek and the couch. When did that...? Right, she'd fallen asleep building Exia. That explained the dreams... She'd have to make a mental note to revisit the potential of GN technology. One day. Once her current projects were done. Which would be forever, but maybe the tech'd be there by then. It was way too early for this anyway.

Slowly, Umeko cracked one eye open. Then the other. Something was still off. She hadn't been by herself when she fell asleep. So where did the Irish bastard go... A yawn, and the first stages of movement. She propped herself up enough to take a quick look around the apartment. No immediate signs. Her Exia was on the table, though, looked like she'd made some good progress there. But no sign of the Irishman. So she cocked her head a little, listening closer, and there was the answer; the shower was running. He hadn't taken one the night before, undoubtedly he'd gone to take one this morning instead. And he wasn't back yet, so she couldn't be too far behind in terms of waking up. Brennan'd be back when he was done. In the meantime, she really needed something to drink. Mouth felt as dry as the sandpaper. Milk should be in the fridge...

The Japanese girl stretched with another yawn, and slowly pushed herself to her feet. First, she glanced at the table; the pieces assembled looked good. The last couple were a little rough around the nub marks, she started to doze off while sanding she guessed, but nothing she couldn't fix up a little later. First she needed something to drink. Once upon a time she would've worried about making noise, but now she couldn't if she tried. Her bare feet padded silently across the apartment floor towards the kitchen, while Umeko tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes. Tea would be necessary, soon. Or coffee. Something caffeinated. But that would come after. She sleepily pulled the fridge open, grabbed her carton with the other hand, and idly poured a glass. Carton was getting light, she'd need to make a grocery run later. She had a headache, after last night. What a bizarre turn of events. Definitely something not to try and puzzle out before she finished waking up.

"Brennan," She called out, sipping from the glass and glancing towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. He could probably hear her. He had good hearing. "We're going to need a grocery run. More Musashino. And cereal."