Karen had decided to get an early (for her, at least) night's rest after unpacking what little she had brought with her. Being human again after so many months had left her feeling almost sick, and so she welcomed the chance to get acquainted with her new bed. But sleep was difficult after going for so long without the need.

It was difficult to not feel like she was wasting nearly half the day by doing so. Just laying there, letting her soft and inefficient body recover from simply moving for a number of hours. She hated it.

BZZZZZZT

Her eyes shot open at the buzzing of her phone, it's glow having already started pushing back the surrounding darkness. She didn't need to guess who it was. Only one person generally bothered her this late. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to her--of course Malcolm would want to talk.

They hadn't really gotten the chance to speak in private earlier, what with everyone being eager to settle into their new rooms. She honestly had a few things to discuss with him as well. With a soft grunt, she awkwardly rolled her way out of bed and felt around for her trousers. Once she had finished making herself decent again, she used her cellphone's dim glow to navigate her way to their front door.

Stepping out onto the balcony, she almost expected to feel a cool night's breeze against her skin...but of course there was none. While the bioluminescent lights above made for a convincing emulation of starlight, there was no simulated wind in Poseidonis. It remained as temperate as it had been during the day, with any difference being purely aesthetic.

Making her way down the stairs to the street below, Karen folded her arms and leaned back against the wall of her dormitory, patiently waiting for Mal to show himself. Knowing him, he was probably already here.

What little hair he allowed to grow on his head still just slightly damp from hitting the showers after his workout, Mal silently trudged his way down the ethereally lit streets of Poseidonis towards the campus. Dressed far more casually than the norm- the jacket of his grey tracksuit open, gymbag slung over his shoulder and the lip of his Vanguard ballcap hiding a furrowed brow as he marched forward with trepidation concealed under years of practice towards the inevitable confrontation of his own making.

His powerful peepers quickly picked up on Karen's familiar figure, leaning up against the wall of her dormitory around his next turn.

'...Crap.'

This had been a lot easier over the scrying stone.

Just what the hell was he supposed to say?

Still, despite his doubts, the boy carried on without even a change in his gait. This conversation needed to happen- there was no way of getting around that. If not for Karen's sake, then his own.

"I choose to believe in Karen Hernandez."

The boy's own words from a few weeks back rattled around in his head. He had meant every word of it and still did. It was just a matter of getting her to believe that, too, a Herculean task in it's own right.

His feet moved on autopilot.

Goddamn, life was a lot easier back when his day to day routine was just defusing bombs and punching people in the face.

His feet came to a stop. It took the boy a half-second to realize that that was because he'd arrived at his destination, on the sidewalk and to his oldest friend's left, hand rising out of his pocket on habit to give her a little wave.

'Well, Mal. Time to nut up.'

"Mornin', Sunshine." The boy greeted with his usual little smirk, but much less volume, both due to the lingering fatigue of his workout and out of consideration for the girl's neighbours "Didn't wake ya, did I?"

"No, not really. It's kind of difficult to sleep again, after so long," said Karen, pushing herself off the wall of her dorm. Taking a few steps towards Malcolm, she immediately noticed that his muscles--particular in his arms--were taut against his skin. He had been working out, and rather intensely at that.

...The gym bag and track suit he was wearing also tipped her off.

Like with everything else, it had been some eight months since she had been to a gym or worked out. As her human body had been more or less in stasis, she could still be considered "in-shape". Unfortunately, her muscle memory hadn't benefited from this magical protection. It wasn't just exercise and combat her body had forgotten, either. Every movement on her part took effort. Everything she did felt weighted and unnatural compared to when she was Lady Arcana.

"Seems you're still enthusiastic about your training," said Karen finally, smirking. "And here I thought we were here to get away from all of that."

Then again, maybe the duties and responsibilities he was leaving behind were weighing on his mind as heavily as her own were right now.

The boy cocked a brow at Karen's words, but didn't let his trademarked smirk falter as he responded.

"Well, can't fault you on that. You know more than anyone I'm not exactly the world's greatest authority on having a decent sleep schedule." Mal replied as the blonde lamented her hard time getting some shut eye, though his head tilted to the side slightly at her apparent surprise that he hadn't let up at all in his exercise routine, fixing her with an expression ‘Really?’ ”...And this is the only body I have. So whether I’m working or not, I might as well keep it in working order.”

And to be fair, it wasn’t like he was really following his usual routine.

...He didn’t have a sparring partner, or a building to jump off of, after all.

”Yeah,” she said, folding her arms.

Moving to the short flight of stairs at the entrance of her dormitory, she cautiously sat down on them as if she might accidentally fall back into a deep pit if she wasn’t careful. Staring up at Malcolm, she gestured for him to sit.

”Human bodies really do require a lot of maintenance, don’t they?” she muttered, shaking her head. ”Constant cleaning, constant eating, constant sleeping, among other annoying things, just to keep something so fragile running.”

A slight snort escaped the lad at that.

”You make it sound like a chore.” Malcolm noted, taking the offered seat beside her and allowing his gym bag to flop to the ground in front of him with a definite thud. ”...But I don’t particularly recall you ever complaining when I was grilling lobster tails for ya... and I certainly don’t recall you having any gripes about passing out on my couch, snuggled up with the dogs.”

The boy shot her another quirked brow as he reached into his bag and pulled out two cans of somesort of Atlantean post-workout drink, dropping one in her lap in a show of ‘Just drink it, damn you.’

”You could forego hygiene though, if ya really wanted… but I’d be the first to tell you that ‘Dreadlocks and no Teeth’ would be a pretty bad look for you.”

Karen twisted the cap, listening to the hiss of the air escaping with a slight frown. ”You act like I can’t eat good food when I want to as Lady Arcana,” she noted.

”Do you?” Mal interjected

She glanced over to him. ”Well...no, I don’t suppose I have. Not since I haven’t had to pretend I was an adult, at least.”

Mal just kinda stared at her at that, Kasimir brow raised in full force but saying nothing.

Until finally-

”Karen- When was the last time you actually ate something?” It was worded as a question, but for all intents and purposes may as well have been an accusation.

Karen blinked at his question, briefly glancing up at the artificial twilight above. Of course, the answer was the same as just about everything to do with her having a normal, human life. ”...About eight months ago.”

She hadn’t eaten all day, now that she thought about it. She had been ignoring the slowly building ache in her gut this entire time.

”I was… too focused on settling in.”

That put a frown on Mal’s face, as he twisted the cap to his drink back on and set it down by his side. Resting his forehead in his hand for a second before settling on just pinching the bridge of his nose in lieu of an outright facepalm.

”...And am I going out on a limb here and assuming that you haven’t slept, moved or otherwise done anything that doesn’t immediately involve being the Wizard in eight months either?”

Karen shook her head. ”No. I’ve been staying in the Rock of Eternity, so I had no real need to do anything of the sort.”

After all, she had retreated there to get away from her life. Granted, she hadn’t intended to do so for eight months. Two or three weeks had been what was in her head at the time, she recalled. She had never been Lady Arcana for more than a day or two before that, and after the first month had passed she felt...different.

She felt numb.

”And in those eight months, you decided that sleeping, eating and being around other people was somehow below you?” The younger teen asked, brows raised.

Karen glanced down at her drink. ”...Yes. In a sense. I felt like such things were insignificant next to my duties.”

A low, eerily Zoey-like hum rattled in the boy’s throat at that as he stared his sister in all but name down. Karen might not recall it right now, but Mal’s memory was just as sharp Arcana’s, perhaps even moreso in some ways.

...And boy, did he remember that instant hostility he was met with when calling her over the scrying stone, though it would do no good to bring that up now.

”So, what made you decide it was time to pump the brakes, then?” He finally asked with a frown as he leaned back on the steps and his eyes turned upwards towards the artificial sky. ”...I know it couldn’t have been something like that insignificant talk you had with an insignificant guy like me.”

Karen returned his frown, looking away from him and the dormitory. She still hadn’t taken a sip from her drink yet. ”You said ‘what we become when we forget who we are is not worth the sacrifice’.”

”You saying that...it made me think,” she admitted, ”think about all the things that once mattered to me, but no longer did. I still refused to kill, but it was more about adhering to my personal doctrine rather than actually…caring.”

Karen then finally raised her drink and took a long gulp from the can. Swallowing the sugary drink with a heavy sigh, she continued. “After close to two weeks of dwelling on it, I realized that something had dramatically changed inside of me. By no longer caring about my own happiness, I ceased to care about the happiness of others. As long as I didn’t break my code, that was all that mattered.”

The boy’s eyes slowly found their way over to Karen, an unreadable expression coming across his features as she all but emptied out her heart right there in front of him. To his credit, it wasn’t the typical Kasimir brow or Zoey-ish, throaty hum that made up his reply, but rather the chorus of joints and the remnants of old bone-breaks crackling and popping as he calmly sat back up, wrapped a tired arm around the girl’s shoulder and gently pulled her close, resting his head against her own as he did so.

It really was impossible to stay mad at her.

”...Goddammit, Karen.” Malcolm finally stated, his voice somewhere between a laugh and an exhausted sigh. ”You are just the biggest pile of complications that ever was, ain’t’cha?”

For a brief moment, he simply stayed like that, before he finally released her with a gentle messing of her hair as he got to his feet with a slight grunt.

”Ya might wanna save that drink for later- on an empty stomach, you’ll be out cold in half an hour.” The Kasimir ward explained simply, rolling his shoulder in a familiar motion to relieve the pressure from an old injury from years back. ”And we’ve clearly got some things to do.”

Karen felt a distinct, fuzzy warmth in her chest when Malcolm laid his head against hers. It brought back memories of when they were kids; happy memories. She hadn’t felt a sensation like that since she withdrew to the Rock.

”Tonight?” she asked, glancing over to him. ”Aren’t most places closed by this hour?”

Granted, who knew if Atlantean society had the same rules or regulations that the surface did? ”And where exactly do you want to go?”

”When I was down here with Vanguard after the civil war, we had more than a few late nights. So we’d always wind up crawling back to the same restaurant after work to stuff our gullets so we could skip breakfast the next day.” Mal explained with a little shrug as he picked up his bag. ”One of our paramedics had the misfortune of falling head over heels in love with the owner, and, after jumping through a truly insane amount of legal hoops and laws that actually had to be written for the occasion, became Atlantis’ very first double-citizen when he married her.”

Mal shot Karen a wry grin at that, almost daring her to turn him down.

”So, incidentally, I have a lot of coupons that need redeeming. And a friend who just told me she hasn’t eaten in eight friggin’ months.”

Karen remained silent for a long moment, made all the more striking by the eerie stillness that permeated Atlantis at night. She would probably never get used to that--it just didn’t feel natural to her, the absence of weather despite technically being “outside”.

Shaking her head slowly, Karen stood. ”Alright. I can’t claim that I’m not hungry. Lead the way.”

In all honesty, her stomach ache was starting to get a little unbearable at this point. It would become a distraction if she didn’t do something about it.

A snort followed Karen’s acceptance of her culinary fate.

”Trust me, you’ll sound a lot less resigned about it once you taste Atlantean cuisine.” Mal explained offering out his hand to help Karen up ”I’m particularly fond of the strawberry shakes.”

It didn't take long to figure out where she was. All it took was another lungful of the gas, and after a bit of coughing he could Hear and See the city's directions. A long, winding crack in the road took him there, leading him through the snow covered Hell of brick tenement buildings to the bright Heaven of sleek skyscrapers, or at least the closest thing that could pass for Heaven in a town like this. Jury Street was a "high class" red light district, slummy dives and strip clubs disguised as cocktail lounges and exclusive nightclubs.

The city cried out the most when he entered this part of town, but he drowned it out with the thoughts of her. Shams. He wasn't too sure what had happened, those early days were fuzzy, getting used to using the gas and all, but all he knew was that their once productive partnership fell into shambles. All that Oscar wanted was to tell her it was better this way, he could tackle bigger problems than he ever could now. A part of him knew she wouldn't understand. He couldn't blame her.

He saw her there, bleeding out on the ground, a pool of blood under her marring the snowy sidewalk. It hurt to see her like this; the firecracker that she was, beaten down, tired... Dead, even. The thought made him clench his grappling gun tighter, and he may have sped up in his swinging just a bit at it. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was this: she'd die when she was damn well ready.

When he landed on the ground and stumbled over to her, looking so (dead) still and (dead) frail in the moonlight, the first thing he did was pull off his gloves off to place boney fingers upon her throat and wrist. There was a pulse, thank God. But if she stayed out in the cold without getting patched up, she'd be dead for sure. There was only one place he could think of to go. It had been a while since he had been there, but he knew the way. And if he had forgotten, the city could fill him in.

Her warehouse.

Picking up his former partner from the ground and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes ('Feels strange referring to her as that,' he mused internally), Oscar took his grappling gun from his inner coat pocket, aiming it at a nearby rooftop and firing. It was a good mile or so outside of Hub City proper and he had little time to waste. It was times like this he wished he had a fancy car or plane like Grim. But, of course he didn't, so he just had to do things the old fashioned way.

The Question set off into the cold night.

January 27th, 12:00 AM
Lycus Hall, room 312

bzzt. hssst.

It was nights like these that Virgil hated.

Surely after walking around, talking, and meeting people and experiencing new things, he'd be tired.

That was a lie, he was exhausted.

But his body wouldn't let him sleep.

It was because of all of those late night patrols with Richie and even a few other Bang Babies by the end of it that kept Virgil awake into the early hours of the morning, whether he wanted to be or not. He didn't want to hold anything against his best friend, but ever since Richie had joined the crew with his amazing brain, Virgil's long nights got even longer.

But now he was alone. Not exactly. Malcolm had stepped out a while ago, and Bjorn was handling himself as well as well could be. Maybe he was around, maybe he was popping up and surprising other people like he seemed to like doing. Regardless, it was quiet, dark, and Virgil could finally let his mind wander.

Into tech.

Sure, Richie was their lead engineer and scientist after becoming a Bang Baby, but it was initially just Virgil in charge of his own gear and tech. It was late nights like these where he could just kill the hours by making something new, or fixing something old. Or maybe just playing with a circuit board and watching the sparks fly.

Virgil had on his goggles from his Static costume on so he's be safe from the sparks. Electricity? Perfectly fine, but Virgil was still susceptible to other forms of plasma like fire and general heat. He could never explain why that was, given that electricity was arguably a more raw and dangerous form than fire. It would only make sense to some sort of immunity of extreme tolerance given that Virgil was a living conduit of energy.

Thoughts on it aside, he almost missed this. He had come here to get away from heroing, from the suit, but he really couldn't leave it behind. He was still here, wearing his goggles, relining his suit and testing new methods of creating and dispersing a shield. Perhaps the school's science labs were a better place for all of this, but after everything they had done today, he, Bjorn, and Mal, almost made the dorm Homey. In Virgil's little corner, he set up a makeshift workshop on his desk, getting back to the work he said he was taking a break from.

---

January 26th
Harper Heights
San Francisco, California

She was finally here.

After a full year and some of planning and laundering, Patty finally packed up and set out west. Her son was growing up well, happy and carefree of the life his mother led. She could have sworn that her son should have been a tad bit older, but apparently not. Maybe she just forgot his age every once and a while due to her busy life.

She had to remind herself that it was all just for her. This was for him, her little Tobias. These powers, her network, those gangs out there ready to be pulled into her own little mafia, all of that was hers to worry about. She wished she could pull out, could settle for a life in silence with her son on the California coast, but too much of her father was in her, instilled in her. The call of crime was too loud to ignore.

She snapped her fingers, the lights came on in the house she had acquired for her and Tobias. However, it wasn't a smart house that turned the lights on at the snap of her fingers. Five figures followed her into the house, saying little and following her every command.

She walked through the house, pulling the leather jacket off her shoulders and leaving herself in cargo pants and a tank top. One of them hung the jacket up by the door. Unfortunately, wearing an alien Scarab on your back made it difficult to wear a lot of clothes. She just had to dress light.

"Tobias, I'm taking care of business in my office, i'll be out in a bit, okay?"

She shouted into the halls, hearing a faint reply from her son. He seemed to take well to moving into the big city. She'd put him in the best school available, through her means of money, or other means of persuasion.

Walking down, she entered her office. It was simple, clean, and not yet completely lived in. All of her office supplies were there, but it lacked a personal touch that she would soon give it.

She sat down, the door was closed, and the room was inhabited by six people.

"I'm glad to see you could all make it." She spoke plain english, a common ground for both parties.

"We're honored that you hired us." The first of the five spoke. He wore a black and red jacket, his hair styled only like you'd see it in Akihabara. "After our... self imposed exaltation, we sought an employer to use our skills. We will not bring you shame."

"I should hope not." Patty leered at him. A young, handsome man promising not to bring her shame? A laugh, but she couldn't deny that the color-coded convicts had a certain panache about them. "I don't believe I ever got your names, or callsigns, for that matter. Your ad only listed your group name."

The young man in red smirked. "We're the Five Fighters. We were once the Six Shooters, but Kouta left because he didn't agree with his designated color. I'm Shotaro. Fighter... Red."

"Ken, I'm Fighter Yellow."

"Sakawa. Fighter Purple."

"Hana, Fighter Blue, at your service."

"Nadeshiko, Green Fighter."

They each introduced themselves simply. It wasn't hard to guess which colors they were. They seemed to wear them proudly in their outfits, even without costumes.

"Again, we are honored that you have chosen us. Our western style didn't fit back home, but here, we're sure to fit in among the Powered crowd." Shotaro bowed, followed by the rest of his team.

"You'll stand out, but in the best way." Patty smiled at them and leaned forward in her seat. "You'll be my hands in this operation, can you handle that?"

The nodded silently.

"Good. Now, get out there, make a name for yourselves. Disrupt the power structure in the local gangs. Casualties are at your discretion. With things being shaken up buy you guys at the front, I can handle things elsewhere, eat up any and all territory available. Understood? Now get out there."

Ah, good ol' Las Vegas. Lots of pretty bright lights and loud noises to distract people from the darker underbelly. And, boy, was this underbelly giving Arsenal a workout. For the past week or so, it's been back-to-back crime sprees. Your normal stuff like muggings and robberies, but then a bit of drug lab raids and gang-related shootouts. Leo's mornings were completely devoted to making more arrows to compensate with all the ones he'd been using up. But the amount of BANK he was making with this amount of stream time was immense, especially with that new code putting a stop to premature ends.

He even saw a few of his fans on the strip, when they saw him on a rooftop and called out. Sure, they were stream-sniping, but Arsenal didn't sense any malicious intent, so it was cool. Always nice to meet a few fans, sign some stuff.

It was just about the end of the broadcast. Arsenal hadn't found anything for a solid half an hour, and he was starting to run low on arrows from the last few run-ins. He took the camera off the chest harness and turned it to him, addressing the fans.

"Ah, jeez, that was a fun time, don't you guys think? Bringing bad dudes the taste of justice with a high-powered bow never gets old. That being said, nobody's showing up, and I'm running a bit low on arrows. So, without further ado, I hearby end-"

An explosion goes off a few blocks behind him, the camera catching the light and smoke. People are heard screaming in droves. Arsenal looks in the general direction of the commotion and turns back to the camera.

"... Well, nevermind, I guess."

He re-equips the camera and starts booking it over to where the screams are coming from, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. After a few minutes, he finds the source: a lot of debris covering what used to be the entrance to a hotel/casino named "The Tops". People were wounded, trapped under rubble, or just dead. Arsenal could hear the sirens in the distance as he made his way to the side of the building.

The emergency door on this side, surprisingly, was sealed, seemingly welded shut. That doesn't bode well. Arsenal started climbing the side of the building, grabbing nooks and crannies in the architecture, before making it to a hotel room balcony. As he climbs over and heads in, he makes a snide remark.

"Well, this might be a challenge..."

---

Arsenal opens the hotel room door and steps out into the hallway. Looked deserted enough. People were probably spooked. Arsenal walks towards the elevator and narrates to the camera.

"Looks like we're about to get into the action soon. Don't know what we're gonna find, but it sounds extremely dangerous. Again, I'll ask the children and faint of heart to stop watching at this point."

He unholsters one of his pistols and presses the elevator button. After a short bit of waiting, it opens, revealing 5 armed men in body armor with bandanas covering half their faces. There's a short pause as Arsenal and the 5 men stare in silent surprise at each other.

---

Arsenal listens to the elevator music as the elevator descends. It hits the ground floor with a DING, and he steps out, leaving behind the crumpled bodies of the 5 men, one of the with an arrow in his chest falling out of the door, the sliding door hitting him at regular intervals.

He unholsters his second pistol, making his way through the empty lobby. He'd heard voices coming from the Casino floor. As he neared the source, he could make out the voices more clearly:

"Now you listen here, you gaddamn sack o' shit. You own this establishment, right? So you're gonna take me and my boys to where you keep the money, or we're gonna start firing indiscriminate-like into that crowd."

"Whoa, whoa, l-let's keep this in the groove, hey? Smooth moves, like smooth little babies..."

Great. Hostages. As Arsenal approached closer, he saw a man standing at a corner with his back to him, wearing body armor and a bandana. Perfect. He'll just take a hostage of his own. Can't be more than 10 guys in that room. He'll be able to take them all out even if they don't care about the captured member. Arsenal turn the corner and put a gun to the man's head.

"Don't move! I'll-"

As Arsenal looked past the thug, he'd seen the hostages all grouped in a crowd, what seemed to be the owner of the casino held at gunpoint by another criminal wielding a revolver and wearing a hat, and by his count, about 30 or 40 other goons, all staring at him.

"... Oh."

The Cowboy spoke up.

"Well, looks like we got ourselves a Hero. HUGH!"

GRAB

Before he could react, Arsenal found himself grabbed and pulled back by a huge pair of hands, causing him to drop his pistols as he was lifted into the air. This guy had to be 7 feet tall and over 300 pounds of muscle. Next thing Arsenal knew, he was flying through the air, crashing through a window and into some sort of entertainment command center, bouncing off a console and hitting the floor.

Okay, okay. He wasn't expecting that many guys. His guns are gone, but he still had his bow and a few arrows left. Maybe he could use one of his-

STOMP

"Hugh" had returned and planted a boot on Arsenal's back, grabbing the limbs of the archer's bow and pulling back in just the right spot, causing the bowstring to start choking Arsenal. Arsenal can sense a MASSIVE amount of killing intent coming from this guy. Looks like it's one of those moments where you know you may or may not die.

Arsenal chose the latter.

He quickly pulled the knife from his vest and cut the bowstring. He'll fix it later. The limbs, no longer held back by the string, released the built up energy by shaking, surptising Hugh for a moment. Arsenal turned and stabbed the man in the leg, causing him to scream and recoil, allowing Arsenal to get back up and shank him a few more times in the gut. With a final motion, Arsenal kicked out his good leg and slammed the thug's head into a nearby console, finishing him off.

Music began to play throughout the casino floor. Guess Hugh's head must've hit play.

Arsenal's head began to fill with thoughts of OPEN FIRE, so he figured now was a good time to hit the deck and book it, just in time for a barrage of bullets to fill the air as dove out of the command center and hid among the vast slot machines.

"Spread out! Find that Sonovabich!"

Arsenal creeped around the aisles, and he saw a gun barrel of one of the men just around the corner. He rushed forward, pinning the man against a slot machine. Arsenal grabbed the lever and slammed as hard as he could into the thugs face, knocking him out as his landed in the chip receptacle.

7-7-7

Chips poured all over the back of the thugs head as the Jackpot sounded, giving away Arsenal's location. As another goon rounded the corner, Arsenal grabbed a handful of chips and threw them at the thug's face, disorienting him long enough for Arsenal to tackle the man into a craps table, taking a metal dice cup and slamming it repeatedly into his head, taking him down. Instinctivly, Arsenal grabbed the croupier rake from the table and turned around, spotting another goon turning the corner.

He knocked the rifle out of the thug's hands, using the rake as a staff, and began beating the bandit with it. Another henchmen, behind a poker table, readied his rifle and started firing at them. Arsenal held the rake at the thugs neck and used him as a shield as he approached the new enemy. The armor he wore helped in that regard, but he was definitely gonna feel that later.

RELOAD

Arsenal threw the rake and goon to the side, running full speed at the man, vaulting over the poker table and dropkicking him, knocking him over. Taking opportunity, he quickly finished reloading the rifle, chicken-winged the man as he started to recover, and threaded the rifle through his arm, creating a human shield.

This is when the rest of the henchmen finally started coming out of the walls. Arsenal never wasted a shot. They'd pop out of cover, fire in his general direction, and he'd take them out with one, maybe two. Accurate Semi-Auto beats inaccurate Full Auto. He'd been shooting so quickly, his human shield hadn't even been hurt yet.

SURROUND HIM

He quickly released his shield to reload, spinning him around to disorient him. Before the thug can react, Arsenal wraps the rifle sling around the guy's neck and twists the rifle around, resting it on his shoulder. The other henchmen all come out at once appearing in a large circle around them, opening fire on the duo. Arsenal spins them both around as he fires, taking down someone everytime he pulls the trigger. His human shield takes a few hits, but nothing the body armor can't handle.

By the end of it, him and his shield are the last ones standing. Arsenal unwraps the sling and hits the thug with the rifle butt, sending him to sleep. He throws the empty rifle to the side and starts to make his was back to the showroom where the hostages were.

FIRE

As Arsenal returned to the showroom, he dove behind a showcar just as a bullet whizzed by. A couple more pinged off the car as he sat behind it.

"So, you're some-sorta marksman, aintcha?! Well, pardner, I fancy myself a gunslinger as well!"

Arsenal looked over to the nearest cover, a display case with what appeared to be a metal coin styled as a poker chip. Waiting a moment, he ran out of cover and got a look at who was shooting him. It was the cowboy, a few dozen feet away, with his own human shield: the casino owner. Between him and Arsenal, the crowd of hostages all laid on the floor, not wanting to catch a bullet. The Cowboy fired, Arsenal dodging the first he knew was coming, but an unexpected second shot from a second revolver was already waiting for him where he dodged, grazing Arsenal in the arm. He dove behind the case, bullets shattering the glass.

"I got you all figured out, boy! You aint gonna dodge for long!"

This guy was good. And he was right. Arsenal didn't have any weapons. The next time he popped out of cover, he was going to get shot... He saw a serving tray discarded on the floor near his cover, but it was too far out for him to grab. Think, thinkthinkthinkthink...

... DING

Arsenal grabbed the coin from the case above him, retracting his hand just as a couple of bullets flew past. He weighed it in his palm, flipping it a few times between his hands before flipping it up and catching it. He has this in the bag now.

"Hey, Texas Red! What's the most you've ever lost on a coin toss?!"

"The hell you talkin about?!"

Time seemed to slow as Arsenal ran out of cover, aiming his shot. The first gun fired, and Arsenal flipped the coin at the second, narrowly dodging the first bullet as he ran to the tray. As the second gun fired, the bullet left the barrel, traveling through the air aimed straight at Arsenal, before hitting the metal coin midair, causing it to richochet, hitting a metal railing nearby, and ricochet again, hitting the Cowboy's hat. This sudden hit startled him, drawing his attention away from Arsenal, having grabbed the tray. He jumped over the hostages, spinning and throwing the tray like a frisbee, hitting the Cowboy dead-on in the face.

Arsenal quickly ran forward and delivered a superman punch to the Cowboy, sending him down for the count. He kicked the revolvers away and stood over him for a bit, catching his breath, before turning back to the hostages.

"It's alright, everyone. You can get up now."

The crowd stayed down for a moment in disbelief, but slowly rised and started to clap and cheer. Donations came rolling in and sounding in his ear, reminding him that this was all caught on stream:

RedJohnny ($50): That was beyond fantastic. It was like watching a music video to an amazing 80's song.

Flareon ($50): Top 10 Greatest Fighting Comebacks in Anime

Overcomplicated Tricycle ($25): Crimefighting Playlist feature when

Arsenal retrieved his bow from the command center. Oh, his poor baby. Good thing he packed extra string. As he made his way out of the command center, the Casino Owner approached him.

"Ring-a-Ding-Ding! You handled those guys like they were a couple of amateurs. On behalf of the The Tops, you have our thanks. You need anything?
Room, food, alcohol?"

"No, thanks. I better get outta here before the cops show up. You have a nice night."

"Of course. Just remember, you're always welcome at The Tops!"

Arsenal began to walk away, but then paused. He quickly turned off his camera and returned to the Casino Owner.

"Actually, uh, between you and me, there is a favor I would ask. Leonardo Cash from Star City. He's a real good friend of mine, and really took care of me. I want him at the top of your VIP list. Treat him like you'd treat me. But don't tell nobody why he's up there, got it?"

"Oh! Uh, of course! You got it, baby! Mr. Cash will have a great time whenever he comes around!"

Arsenal nods and goes on his way, picking up his FiveSevens on the way out. Score. He turns the camera back on and started narrating as he takes out his phone.

"Well, looks like the Camera took a beating... gotta fix that up later. Better wrap things up. As I was saying earlier, I hearby end the stream. Thank you all for tuning in. I'm gonna take a day or two off after that. Arsenal, out."

And with a push of a button, the stream ends.

He could've swore a moment ago it was Alkhatu all over again, the constant whirr of the helicopter blades, the blaring music, the beat of the machine gun as he delivered fiery justice onto the city. He jolted up, expecting to find himself still there. Instead all he found was himself in bed, the sheets over his naked form. "Hmmm... Something wrong?" the man next to him asked.

"No... No, just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you." David pulled himself out of bed, massaging his temples and grabbing the bottle of whiskey he kept on his nightstand for occasions like this. 'Just your past sins screaming at you to pay attention to 'em, Dave, nothing to be scared of.' He allowed himself a little chuckle at that. These dreams stopped being traumatizing months ago. Now it was just routine.

"You sure, Dave? You sounded spooked," the man, Alan, insisted, rolling over and picking himself up. Alan was a few years older than him, just another hookup in a bar. Most days he'd forget he even went to a bar last night, but David was getting better; he even remembered his hookup's name this time.

"I'm fine. Was just one of those falling dreams. I get 'em every now and again."

Alan quirked an eyebrow and for a moment Dave almost swore that he was a long lost relative of Zoey. "That's why you're drinking?"

David laughed. "No, this is just step one of my usual morning routine."

Seemed that didn't appease Alan, judging by the frown he wore now. "Listen, my last boyfriend was a vet. He used to have nightmares and he'd pull this tactic all the time. If you need to talk, I'm here."

David twitched a bit at that. A vet, eh? He was sort of one. Fought in an armed conflict, was willing to die for his cause (even if his was fairly bullshit), watched a few buddies bite the dust. If he had to be honest, he should have stopped mourning them a year ago. It was about time he moved on with his life. Stopped moping over dead men. But at this point, moping over his past failures was about as routine as brushing his teeth. No point in changing a part of your life if you're comfortable with it. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm serious, I'm fine."

David took another drink, then quirked an eyebrow. "... So, uh, boyfriend? Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I wouldn't go that far... Not... Not, uh, yet, anyway. We can... I dunno... See how it goes...? If you want, of course."

"I'm flattered, Dave, but... I don't think I could be with another man like my last boyfriend again."

"Oh... Okay. I understand."

It was a bit awkward after that. Alan gathered his clothes up and put them on, before heading out the door. David sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

'Ha! You just cockblocked yourself! Nice!'

"... Yep."

There was something wrong with him. He knew there was.

'Don't think about why people don't like you, Dave. They don't. Live with it. It's gonna piss you off but you know what? Fuck 'em. The angrier you are, the more damage you can do to Anarkee and all the criminals in this city. Speaking of, we should go do that, eh? Ehhhhh?'

"Fuck off." With those words, David pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. Hood continued to nag him, but he just ignored it. After brushing his teeth, he went into his living room, where he was promptly ambushed by Max, who jumped up and attempt to lick David's face. In response, the young man knelt down with a smile, stroking the dog's back as Max licked him. "Yeah, who's a good boy? You're a good boy, yes you are. You wanna go for a walk?" Max's response to that was a bark and a wag of his tail. "Alright, lemme get the leash."

A few minutes later, David was leading Max down the sidewalk. It had snowed the night before, casting a white sheet over the street. A few children were playing, building snowmen, having snowball fights, the usual. David cast a few looks at the scenes, finding himself smiling a bit. It felt good to know that even after all the pain in the world, from the One Week War to all that had happened after it, that people could still find something to be happy about.

Maybe that's what he was missing. He'd been such a downer these last few years, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be happy. Maybe that was Hood's doing. Maybe he was just naturally a depressive asshole. Whatever it was, he was sick of feeling like a buzzkill all the time.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that his reflexes didn't even kick in when he noticed a snowball soaring towards his face; it struck him, bits of snow covering his left cheek. The children across the street laughed, though it didn't sound mean spirited. Then, it hit him, how he could remedy this predicament he was in. David turned to the kids, a scowl on his face. "Oh, so it's gonna be like that, huh? Not even gonna give me a heads-up?"

The children stopped laughing. David tied Max's leash around his arm, before reaching down to scoop up some snow, and then throwing it in the direction of the children. One of them was struck in the chest. They all realized what was about to happen, and rushed to grab more snowballs, laughing all the way.

It was on.

David scooped up another handful of snow, running across the street with Max in tow and throwing the snowball at the children while they responded in kind. He managed to duck out of the way of a few of them, but some hit him. The scene in the street was a typical one on a day like this, snowballs flying and laughter filling the air. A young man who figures the world has taken all it can from him, and children who couldn't care less about what the world has in store for them, all joining together to have a snowball fight.

This really was what he was missing, wasn't it?

When it was over, David found himself slumped up against a wall, an ear-to-ear grin on his face and his gut hurting from laughing so hard. "Hey mister!" David looked up just in time to notice the snowball soaring towards his face. He chuckled as he wiped it off. The young boy gave him a goofy grin. "Thanks for playing with us."

"Don't mention it, kid."

The large bay door leading into the receiving area slid open, the rattling of sheet metal catching the attention of the gathered goons and bringing them to their feet. Hands went to weapons and eyes squinted at the sudden invasion of the light from the sunset before settling on the well-dressed manic figure sauntering into the warehouse.

"Hello boys!" Anarkee said cheerfully, nothing with a smile that her Angels recognized the boss and quickly put their weapons away. "I just flew back into town, and boy is that pilot's arms tired!" She said, holding up a hand and waving the disembodied forearms she held. A few nervous chuckles came from the gathered group in front of her. That was fine, this was just a satellite group. The main body of the Angels were back at the base, this is just where the bozos on the East Side debacle had been relocated. "Tough crowd, huh?" Anarkee mock-complained, tossing the arm to the floor and striding up to the nearest Angel.

"So where's Joey at?" She asked cheerfully, rocking back and forth on her heels. "I wanted to go over the New Years thing in person now that I'm back from my walkabout." The Angel swallowed hard, paling slightly. Good. Let them stew in their fuckup.

"I'm right here, Anarkee." A gruff-sounding voice said before his gruff-looking figure emerged from behind a pile of crates.

"Oh goody!" Anarkee said, all but skipping over to her purple-jacket-clad lieutenant. Let's head to your little office here, I'm sure you'll want to--"

"Nah, I think we'll discuss it out here, with the boys." Joey said, crossing his arms.

Anarkee's eyes narrowed. He could be running scared, not wanting to be alone with her. But the way he said that, and his posture... He was confident. Cocky, even. Interesting.

"Alright. We can talk out here." Anarkee said, leaning back against a crate. Joey opened his mouth and took a breath, but Anarkee sprang forward against and cut him off. "First of all JoJo my boy, you can tell me exactly what the fuck went wrong with my 'New Year, New Recruit' initiative. I know you emailed me but I'm just not seeing why you got run out of the East Side like a bunch of two-bit gangbangers instead of the goddamn Angels of Anarchy founding chapter." Joey began to interject, but Anarchy wheeled around to the gathered group and kept talking. "We were ready for Grim. We were ready for Watchdog. We were ready for other gangs. We were ready for wannabe heroes. We were ready for the damn cops! And yet, you guys got your asses handed to you buy a dude in a motorcycle helmet and a guy with a stick?! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!" She boomed, whirling back around to snarl at Joey.

"I-it wasn't just that, the helmet guy had guns!" Some unfortunate voice from the crowd behind her called. Anarkee twitched slightly before jumping forward in a flash and grabbing the gun off Joey's belt, turning and firing in the vague direction of the voice. One of the Angels screamed and went down, clutching his shoulder.

"YOU HAVE GUNS TOO! And Stick-Boy had a stick!" She retorted, tossing the gun behind her and hearing it clatter before Joey fumbled to pick it up. "Besides that, you all know what the plan was! No matter what, you stick around and fight to the end, make it clear that section of the city is ours and we will die for every inch they take! Instead, you turned and ran like scared sheep!" Anarkee practically spat the term, seething in rage before hearing Joey clear his throat behind her. She turned to direct her ire towards him...

And found herself staring down the barrel of his gun.

"Yeah... See we was thinkin' about that." Joey said, a sly grin on his face. "None of us really wants to die over the East Side, y'know? Figure we gots a big ol' warehouse here, full o' guns and gas and cash, why don't we just... Y'know, take it? Ain't much standing in our way aside from you... And now here y'are."

Anarkee regarded her presumably former lieutenant coldly, not even paying attention to the gun. Her calculating gaze tracked his movements, the positions of the other Angels, the boxes, the vents, everything. "Oh come now Joey..." She said softly, pasting a small smile on her pale white face. "Haven't I been good to you? I gave you a family here. A place you can indulge your psychotic tendencies. A nice purple jacket. I didn't ask much, did I? Only one thing." She stepped forward, directly under the oh-so-obvious vent. It almost pleased her when Joey shouted the order and she heard the hissing of gas as the heavier-than-air mist descended on her.

Anarkee took a deep breath, taking a moment to consider her options now tat she was obscured from view. She knew that smell, the color, the way the mist swirled together. After a moment, Anarkee stepped out of the cloud, grinning viciously. The gasping from the Angels behind her sent a shiver of satisfaction through her, but her attention was entirely focused on Joey now.

"Good mix, Mister J. Double dose of Fear with a shot of Apathy. Trying to make me beg and plead, squeal like a pig, is that it? Oh, what a waste. Not many would have known how to come up with that combination. But you don't scare me. And I don't need gas to make you all piss yourselves in fear of me." With those last words Anarkee tapped into her latent power. The fear was there, clouding the hearts of every Angel in the building. A simple task to just dial that up to eleven. She nearly barked a harsh laugh as she heard whimpering from the crowd and saw a damp spot grow on the front of Joey's pants.

"Now then. Give me the gun. And the jacket. And I'll give you some free advice." A cold smile was all it took now. Joey, entirely intimidated, stepped towards her and handed her the gun, which she tossed on top of a pile of crates. The jacket was next, being slung over her shoulder to hang on to until she found someone worthy of it. Anarkee closed the gap now, pressing the palm of her hand against Joey's chest.

He was trembling like a child, scared of the monster in his closet.

"Dont. Piss off. The Archangel." Anarkee hissed, loudly enough for the crowd to hear before she dug her clawed gloves forwards, ripping into Joey's chest. A moment later it was done, and Anarkee whirled on her traitorous subordinates.

"Line up!" She barked, watching as they fell into place like well-trained dogs. "Now then... Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe..."



By the time she was finished there were barely a half-dozen of the Angels left, all of whom were sent packing to spread the word about what had happened here. Anarkee stood in the middle of the carnage, smiling to herself as she took in the bloody tableau she had created. Hal, her second-in-command stood by her side.

"I'll get a cleaning crew in here by the weekend, come Monday you won't even know anything happened here."

"Make sure to leave the door unlocked."

"Of course, word spreads and the rest of the Angels could use a reminder as to who they work for. No cops though, and I'll keep word from spreading to Grim's people. Don't need that snout in our business right now."

"Good. And find out who Motorcycle Guy and Stick-Boy are. I want them. Either in purple jackets or their heads on plates, I don't care."

"Already on it. Speaking of plates, Ray's should be ready with your order in about ten minutes, you should have just enough time to get down there.

"Oh Hal, you know me so well!" Anarkee said, striding towards the door.

"A bit too well at times I suspect."

"Love you too, now fuck off and do your job!"

The top ten things Alias had wanted when she had passed out included a plane falling ontop of Fisher Brown's smug head, and waking up somehow having tied him up in a concussion-driven blind fury.

Unfortunately she woke up to neither of these things. She instead woke up to immense pain, again, and the roof of her warehouse. Familiar sight true, but not exactly a comforting one, more an annoying one because it meant that she really had just passed out instead of still going despite being intoxicated with a huge amount of every hormone that existed. She tried moving... well, she didn't know what she expected. The pain was incredible as seemed to be the usual at this point, so she didn't try moving anymore.

At this point Alias wondered how she had gotten here, had she dragged herself? No, she vaguely remembered making a phone call to Oscar and during that she was too tired to hold up the phone, so dragging herself was out of the question.

Oh, the phone call. That explained it.

Huh, this concussion was really making her brain work in mysterious ways.

The fact that the lower half of her right ear seemed to have been torn off was probably helping.

The pain was severe enough to make her groan repeatedly, like she was ill and dying. She closed her mouth and turned it into hissing through her teeth as a solution. She refused to look weak while in the same building as him. He was there right?

At the sound of a groan coming from where he had laid Shams down, Oscar opened his eyes behind his mask, jumping up to his feet from his meditative pose. As he made his way back to where he left her, he pondered what he should say, and regretted not thinking about that while she was out for hours. What could he say? It wasn't like he could pretend everything was back to normal, pretend she would welcome him back with open arms.

But as he saw her there on the ground, his inner turmoil seemed to disappear. He made his presence clear by making more noise than usual and allowing his shoes to clack against the concrete. Damn, what could he say?

"... You're awake."

Well, better than nothing.

Speak of the devil.

Alias turned her head, grunting as the torn remnants of what was once an ear sent a powerful shock through her head.

"Hello Oscar," she said, her words sounding less like they came from her chest and more like they came from her throat; breathy and weak. She managed to twitch her mouth into a frown when she felt the corners of her mouth trying to force themselves into a smile. "I know that at this point I'm supposed to thank you or share some pleasantries, but frankly I'm not in the mood. I just need to say one thing, and I want you to tell me honestly, as honestly as you can, got it?!"

She left a long pause for effect.

"Am I still gonna be pretty when this heals?" she said with a frown and with a stomach-deep voice.

Well, that managed to catch him off guard, enough to make him give a quick chuckle. "Trust me, nothing could sully your looks. But you do have to know something... You'll always be second fiddle to me in the looks department." He ended that with another laugh, and allowed himself to move closer and crouch down next to her. It felt strange, cracking a joke around her again, like nothing changed. And he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy it.

But still, there was one thing he needed to know that he couldn't get out of her while she was passed out. "I patched you up as best as I could, but you might want to go see a doctor still. I could take you there myself. But I do have to know something... How did this happen? What happened in the night club?" She seemed well enough to at least give a quick summary of what happened, and he could go deal with whatever happened while she was recovering.

Alias let out a half-groan-half-understanding sigh, though she didn't chuckle at Oscar's joke. She always was the funny one, he tried, but she was funnier. Well, maybe that was the residual anger she had at him talking, but it had been years, maybe it was time for her to calm down a little; he had just saved her life and all.

"No doctors, Brown's probably got every doctor in the city under his thumb and he was there to see me get these wounds." She looked over with a scowl that betrayed none of the pain she was going through. "If I go to one of his doctors I'll be strung along in his stupid game."

She waited a moment, hissing as her side flared up at the mention of Brown, goddamn crime wizard.

"Ever heard of Fisher Brown?" she asked. "I'm sure you have. He killed one of his own hitmen to get me to come to his nightclub. Apparently he..."

She barred her teeth. This was the stupidest bullshit she'd ever experienced.

"Apparently he met a wizard, and now he's a wizard. He has a drug, like the one from New York five years ago. It turned the whole club violent, they went after each-other at first... then they went for me."

She coughed, a small dribble of blood running down her lip and bouncing off of her cheek as it dropped from her face.

"They're planning to improve the... the magic drug, and turn it into a mind control pill that not even Lady Arcana could shrug off. I don't think that's possible but it's what he told me. That's the whole story," she concluded matter-of-factly. Oscar knew what she was about, he wouldn't mind her skipping all the fluff and getting right to the point.

Fisher Brown... He'd heard the name floating around but had never been able to pin down exactly where he was to deal with him. And she was right. It did sound crazy, but if there was one thing he knew it was that crazy shit was a normal occurence in this day and age. Plus, he got supernatural powers from getting high, so who was he to decide what was and wasn't crazy?

"... Then we'll need to handle this. And I know you're not going to like it, but I'm going to help you." He already knew she wasn't going to like it, but he continued on anyway before she could reject his help. "I know that things have... Changed... But I'm not going to just let you go up against this by yourself, especially if it's something that threatens more than just Hub City."

He paused, taking in a deep breath, then continued. "And you're already half dead. I'm not going to just watch you go up against this and get killed."

"'Kay," she said simply. "I honestly don't care if you help me, as you say I'm half dead and could use the help, but I'm sure I can handle myself. So if you get pissy and leave halfway don't bother trying to blame me."

She sighed and turned her head back so that she was looking at the ceiling. Great, now she had to try standing up. She wasn't going to ask for help, that wasn't her thing, especially from Oscar, she could aknowledge that she needed his help fighting a wizard, but she didn't need his help to stand.

Alias tensed her body and with all her might... slightly twitched before the pain became too much.

Okay, maybe she did need his help to stand.

"Sit me up please," she said, an authoritative tinge to her voice.

'Well... That was easier than I thought it would be.' It really was too, he was expecting at least some fight from her. As she asked (or rather ordered) him to help her to get up, Oscar stood up from his crouching position and grabbed her shoulders, lifting her up and putting her into a sitting position. "Don't go falling over again."

Alias let out a pained cry as she was pushed up, but she was able to sit up without falling at the very least. She pushed herself slowly, and managed to get onto her feet. She held out her hand, motioning for a cane or crutch or something and began to speak.

"We need to get a policeman, most of them are on Fisher's payroll, if we get to talking to one of them we can figure out where he is and what he's up to. Other than magic I mean."

Oscar, not understanding that Shams wanted something to prop herself up with, interpreted her holding out her hand as a sign to help her up. He acted fast, taking her hand in his and pulling her up carefully, keeping a hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Alright, a police officer. We can do that. Just, uh... No torture. I know how you are. No offense."

February 1st, 0437 HRS
Lycus Hall, room 312

Malcolm’s nose twitched a little. As he lay there, staring up at the coral-plated ceiling of his bedroom, eyes uncharacteristically glazed over.

Scorched hair.

Burning meat.

A faint, phantom burning in his nostrils, lungs and eyes he’d long since learned to associate spent napalm.

The boy’s eidetic memory was wreaking havoc on his own psyche to the tune of some demented internal clock. Counting down to the exact second a moment it would never allow him to forget, no matter how much time had passed. Forcing into his mind emphatic echoes of some trauma six years past in vivid detail- all the sights, the smells, the sounds… the rage.

A low grunt rattled in the boy’s throat as he forced himself upwards and off his bed, roughly throwing on his clothes and snatching up his gym bag.

Malcolm had been awake for exactly forty seven seconds today, and he was already pissed off.

It was his birthday, after all.

---

BANG! CACHINK! BANG-BANG! CACHINK!

Gotta love the Atlanteans; they’re an adaptive people.

BANG! CACHINK! BANG!

So quick to realize the merits of a leather sack filled with sand hanging from the ceiling you could beat the hell out of.

BANG! BANG! BANG! CACHINK!

Something Malcolm would’ve been immensely thankful for had he the mind for it right now; eyes vacant and face twisted into an unreadable, inhuman expression as he zealously slammed his bloodied fists into the rapidly-ailing sack of animal flesh before him with intensity that hadn’t waned in the slightest in the past four hours.

He should probably be in class, or studying right now.

He was probably going to have to apologize to Ms. Argos, the gym owner later.

...He also probably should’ve ate something today.

But today, at least, Malcolm didn’t give a shit.

Because Malcolm wasn’t there.

Because the lights were on, but no one was home.

”I might have to arrest you for animal abuse at this rate,” said a familiar voice, near the doorway. Karen stood there, a pair of boxing gloves under her arm. She didn’t seem terribly surprised at the small pile of battered punch bags off in the corner. ”You know that those are gym property, right? Zoey didn’t pay for them.”

Stepping towards him, she set her gloves down on a nearby chair. Her movements had become noticeably less awkward than when she had first arrived here, now merely resembling somebody that was dealing with a mild case of post-workout soreness. Claiming another seat beside her gloves, she began to carefully tape up her hands with boxing wraps. It seemed like she still remembered how to do that, at least.

”I’ve been looking for you all morning, you know,” she muttered. ”I should’ve guessed you were here.”

BANG! PFFFSSSSHHH...!

And another bag bit the dust.

”Cassiopeia Argos is a friend of mine. I helped her open this place.” Malcolm replied, perhaps a bit more tersely than necessary as he stared down at a growing pile of sand at his feet for what must have been about the fourth time today. ”I’ll make it up to her.”

Unchaining the now-thoroughly destroyed remnants of the bag from it’s mount and tossing it off to the side with all the others with an uncharacteristic roughness, Mal spoke again, still not facing the blonde behind him as he moved to go find another unfortunate bag to annihilate.

”What do you want?”

Karen had finished taping up her hands by this point, and was now working on lacing up up one of the black boxing gloves she had brought with her. Where she had bought them was unclear, but they appeared to be brand new, given their crisp sheen. ”I thought that exerting myself a little might help me feel a bit more comfortable in this body.”

”Also, I wanted to wish you a ‘happy birthday’, like I always do,” she added, standing from her chair and approaching the clearly strung-out teenager. Raising one of her now-gloved hands, she tilted her head to the side. ”Lace me up, please.”

A raised brow followed that statement, notably absent of the usual humour that went with it. But still, Malcolm complied.

”Not a bad idea.” The boy admitted, voice still cold but at the very least not outright hostile anymore as his hands worked the laces on her glove- apparently not at all hindered by their self-induced harm ”Best way to get used to having a human body again is probably to actually use it.”

Another brow raise followed as he finished, giving the glove a few experimental tugs to make sure it was snugged on just right.

”...Though, had I known you were coming, I might not’ve destroyed so much of the equipment.”

Ah, there it was. Just a slight tinge of the usual Mal.

...Even if it did take about four hours to rear it’s head.

”Thanks,” she said, turning to face the newly hung bag. Placing her glove against it to gauge her distance, she seemed a bit unfamiliar with their weight. Nevertheless, she assumed the ready stance she had learned during her years of training with Ted in Pankration. Aiming for the “body” of the bag, she unloaded a series of hard punches with made a distinct BANG, albeit quieter than Mal’s had been.

She then unloaded a hard kick on it, to far greater effect. Punch, punch, punch, punch, kick—that seemed to be her preferred routine. ”It’s ridiculous, how weak I am right now. I can barely even move this thing.”

”Well, it’d help if you remembered to breathe when you’re throwing a punch.”

Karen immediately exhaled, glancing over at Mal. ”...I keep forgetting. I’m still used to not having to breathe, period.”

A slight twitch of Malcolm’s eye followed that statement as he slowly backed away and undid his soiled handwraps, fishing through his bag for more gauze.

”Well, I guess being empowered by seven Gods will do that to ya.” Mal stated coolly, as he got to work replacing the bandages around his fists and wrists, not sparing a thought about the gummed-up state of his hands ”Make you forget all about the basics.”

Giving his freshly re-wrapped hands a few experimental squeezes, the scarred teen gave his work an affirmative nod of ‘Good enough’... before reaching into his bag again and pulling out a pair of slightly worn-looking leather punch mitts.

”Get in the damned ring.”

Karen quirked her brow for a moment, having clearly noticed his injured hands. She nevertheless complied, ascending the stairs of the boxing ring and pulling down the middle rope to squeeze through. ”It’s been a while since we practiced together.”

”Clearly.”

Came Malcolm’s terse reply as he cast a quick glance around the gym to make sure they were actually alone, before pulling out the capsule for his glow-hiding contacts and removing them from his noggin- it probably wouldn’t end well if Karen inadvertently put a shiner on his face with them in after all- and climbed the stairs to the ring, mitts held in one hand as his other simply clapped down on top of the corner post and heaved the whole of his body over the ropes with his considerable strength and bodily coordination.

”Well, Kare-Bear…” He spoke again, voice still not entirely clear of the sharpness it’d held all day, but somewhat getting there. As he shoved the leather mitts on and got into something resembling a ready-stance, those familiar fiery orange eyes locked onto the blonde for the first time in eight months ”...Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”

Karen immediately raised her fists, looking not too dissimilar to the boxing stance that Mal had been using only moments before. Pankration, after all, represented the ancient origins of what was modern boxing. Her eyes narrowed on his mits, she began to unleash one swift jab after another into them, occasionally throwing a full-on hook in for good effect.

Compared to her movements eight months prior, she was definitely a lot stiffer. There was clearly too much thought given to each attack. Perhaps it was simply due to her lingering unfamiliarity with her human body, or perhaps Lady Arcana was simply so impossibly fast that she seldom had to test her reflexes.

”Do you want me to kick, or no?”

”Do you ask permission in a fight?” Came Mal’s simple, mildly irritated response.

Karen stared at him for only a moment before sending a straight kick right into his left mit. She then continued with her succession of jabs and hooks, now occasionally mixing a hard kick in with the set. It was only after several rounds of this that she proved that to have taken Mal’s words to heart, quickly moving forward to seize the other teen’s arm and throw him down onto the mat with a hip toss.

”...I figured throws were alright, too,” said Karen, breathing audibly.

”Better.”

Mal, to his credit, though he saw that hip toss coming a mile away by reading the nerve-endings and contractions of Karen’s muscles, allowed it to happen… before shifting his body mid-air to land face-down, catching himself on his mitts before immediately spinning around and sweeping at her feet with his heel, not even showing the slightest hint of fatigue from his previous four hours exertion as he shot back to his feet barely a moment afterward.

”But still sloppy. Again.”

Karen landed on her back, staring up at Mal with a modest frown. Pushing herself up off the mat with her elbows, she resumed her boxing stance. ”Well, I’m eight months out of practice, after all.”

Continuing to mix up her strikes, kicks, and throws, Karen’s forehead eventually glistened with tiny jewels of sweat. It seemed the stamina of Karen Hernandez paled in comparison to that of Atlas, as she was panting rather heavily after “only” an hour of practice. A large drop of sweat slithered down her nose, dangling briefly from the tip before falling.

”How do you...keep this up for four hours straight?” she huffed.

At that, Mal’s mitted hand shot forward… and gave Karen a tiny little boop on the nose with the room of his padded palm.

”Practice.” He answered harshly, still remarkably calm and at ease, even through all his exertion ”And motivation.”

Lowering his hands and removing his mitts, the boy gave the exhausted Karen an appraising scan with his unnatural eyes before turning on his heel and heading for the edge of the ring.

”Let’s take five. Despite what all that shounen manga we read as kids taught us, training until you puke isn’t particularly productive.”

”Right,” said Karen, sitting down onto the mat near the edge as well. She had clearly not trained this hard for quite some time. She had always kept up her skills, but was never really pushed to achieve the levels of physical perfection that the Grim family had attained.

After all, she had the power of the Gods instead.

Magically summoning her water bottle to her outstretched hand, Karen took a long drink from the straw. ”I forgot to stretch, I’m now realizing. Ouch.”

A little snort escaped Mal at that, as he got on his belly, reached over the edge of the mat and fished his own drink out of his bag- a local favourite sealed in a magitech self-cooling can- and rolled back on his ass to sit beside his erstwhile training partner.

”Was gonna wait and see how long it took ya to figure that one out.” The scarred teenager explained plainly, just a hint of his usual charm forcing it’s way through the heavy murk of whatever it was that bothered him every year on this day. ”...On a scale of one to ten of hindsight and regret you’re probably around an… eight, am I right?”

Karen nodded, rolling her shoulder with a slight wince. When you didn’t stretch before a workout session, it would often leave you with muscles that felt like they were trying to tie themselves in a knot. A glance at her calve showed that it had assumed a rather unattractive shape in that moment.

”What a terrible feeling,” she noted, flexing her leg. ”I suppose that, too, is just a part of being human again.”

Glancing down at Karen’s leg for a moment and letting out something that almost sounded like a grunt of annoyance, Mal gently seized hold of the very clearly cramping extremity and pulled it over into his lap, spinning the blonde around on her magic little behind as well.

He did, however, have the presence of mind to fix the girl with a mildly mirthful glance before he got to work pressing on the nerves in her calf to ease the tension in her muscles.

”Not a word to Ophelia- We’d never hear the end of it.”

Karen smirked slightly. ”She actually asked about us. She seemed quite relieved to learn that we’re not an ‘item’.”

”Don’t doubt that.” Mal replied with a little smirk of his own even as his hands went about his task ”Call it a blessing or a curse, but I can see people’s brains at work.”

A little hum built in his throat as he shifted his middle finger to apply pressure to another nerve ending on the other side of her calf.

”And Miss Angelo-Blyth was looking miiiiiighty hungry when talking to you.”

Karen gently shook her head at this, scooting back against the corner of the ring. ”I could say the same with you and Hannah, though hers seemed more akin to a schoolgirl crush. She seems rather cloistered.”

They were roommates, after all.

”Should’ve seen the look on her face when she first realized who I was-” Mal mused as he gave Karen’s calf a few last little squeezes and presses before releasing his hold on the extremity. ”-Thought the poor girl was gonna have a heart attack.”

Popping his knuckles as he finished, Mal draped his arms over the ropes and leaned backward, exhaling slightly.

”All done, ya should be good to go now.”

Karen nodded, climbing to her feet and kicking the tip of her toe against the mat several times to test out her leg. ”Want to go another round, and then maybe grab something to eat? I’m guessing you haven’t had anything all morning.”

”Warned you about that Atlantean Cuisine, didn’t I?”

HE IS NOTHING

HE IS EVERYTHING

HE IS ONE WITH THE UNIVERSE

ONE WITH THIS UNIVERSE AND ALL OTHERS

HE CAN SEE YOU ALL

SITTING IN FRONT OF YOUR COMPUTERS

YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONES WHO WANT TO PLAY SUPERHERO

LET US PLAY A GAME

LET US SEE HOW LONG IT TAKES FOR HIM TO BREAK FREE FROM THE EMPTY

ARE YOU READY

SET YOUR TIMERS

GO



He is sure he exists. He is.

This place. He calls it the Empty. There is nothing. One might picture nothing as a black void.

He doesn't see that.

It just... Isn't.

He doesn't know his name.

All he can recall of his past are visions of death and suffering. He must have once been human, if these visions of war are any indication.

After all, war is a man-made invention, no?

He wants desperately to be human again.

With all he can muster, he wants.



He breaks through.

This... Building?

Cold steel walls. Concrete floor.

It's underground, stretching to miles below the surface.

It feels familiar.

He knows the people within. How? That he doesn't know.

He must alert them.

He must inform them that he's still here.

He has to get that across to them.

He wants them to know.

The lights flicker. They go out.

It's all he can do.

Time passes.

He is sure they do not know.

He gives up hope. And as he gives up hope, the lights flicker back on.

Failure.



His name is Frederick.

He remembered that. His name is Frederick Curie. Captain Frederick Curie. Captain Frederick Allen Nathaniel Curie. The third of his name.

He is gi- no, Frederick is giddy at the thought. Maybe he should just call himself Fred?

Yeah. Fred. That fits him, he thinks.

Fred has been piecing together his fractured memories one by one. He already remembers his past. He was a soldier.

But how did he find his way into The Empty?

Fred isn't sure, but he is sure that he will finally reform in the world.

He tries again.

He breaks through.



This building again. It must be how he got to the Empty. How did that happen?

It doesn't matter.

Fred begins to focus on reforming. He can do it.

He finds a room, a very familiar room (-he remembers a searing pain as his body disintegrated in a matter of seconds, his scream lasting until his larynx went-) that sparks memories of pain.

This is where he will reform.

Fred focuses.

He reforms.

Fred can't see into the rest of the facility anymore. He can't move. He is a large, floating, unmoving mass of... Something. Energy, he thinks.

He tries to make it look like him, like a human, like a-

"I heard it, just down here!"

Person. No no no, he hasn't formed yet, he has to be formed before they can find him.

He tries to make the energy look like his face, but fails.

The door opens.

Two men and a woman in blue clothing step in, "security" printed in white on the left breasts of their shirts.

"What... Is that?" one of the men asks.

"Help me!" he tries to say, but can't. He feels unstable.

"I dunno, but we should alert the Director," the woman suggests.

"Please! Before it's too late!" He can't say it. He tries to control the instability, his form fluctuating wildly.

"... What's it doing?" the second man asks.

He's going to blow.

"Run! Run!" He can't control it, he can't say what he wants, he can't save them, he can't-



He's back in the Empty.

Failure.

...

Some time passes, as much as it can in the Empty. Fred remembers it all. Metahumans. CADMUS. Achilles Heel. The incident, as he has referred to it as. Then he was here.

He doesn't care anymore. As far as he knows, he'll stay here for eternity. Trapped in nothing. That was always one of his greatest fears, that there was no life after death. He supposes now it's come true.

Maybe this is all his mind's last moments, slowed down so that every nanosecond on Earth would seem to last a million years to him. That is to say, he will never be free from this torment. Trapped in his mind for all eternity.

He doesn't exist.

Then it comes to him.

Cogito, ergo sum. 'I think, therefore I am.' He doubts his existence. That's a thought, and there needs to be something that is capable of thought to... Be. He was never good at this philosophy stuff, but he understands it, somewhat. And what he understands is that... He exists.

He is.

This was the last push he needed. He will make his return to the human world. After all, third time's the charm, huh?

With all the force he can muster, he makes his last push...



"How is Subject TG-093 growing, Doctor Eisenhower?" one of the lab assistants asks.

Doctor Eisenhower, in response, checks his clip board. "She's developing fast, almost fully grown now. By next year she should be an adult and ready for use."

"Hm. So this is what it'd look like if Grim and Tiger had a kid?" the assistant jokes, checking the containment tube nearby. A young girl of about 13 floats in a blue liquid inside it. Doctor Eisenhower only clicks his tongue in response, shaking his head.

Then it comes like thunder. Fast and loud.

"I think. Therefore, I am."

It says nothing afterwards.

The assistant pales. "D-doctor, what the hell was that?"

Doctor Eisenhower pales as well, for a different reason. "... Captain Curie?" he whispers in amazement.



A day later finds the employees of CADMUS continuing on as normal, if still a bit shaken by yesterday's mysterious disembodied voice, which many who knew him agreed sounded like the late Captain Curie. However, life goes on, and it seems as though that was a one time incident. A ghost story to scare the new workers, not something to dwell on.

In the storage unit of CADMUS was a long-forgotten piece of equipment known as the Dilustel Shell, designed for the abandoned Project: Achilles Heel. It would have carried the essence of Captain Curie, and was designed to look like his human body with some enhancements, once he reappeared. However, he never did, and so it went unused.

The eyes of the Dilustel Shell open.

Frederick looks at his hands, flexing the fingers. He smirks slightly. "... It's good to be back."



TIMERS OFF

FIVE YEARS EXACTLY

A NEW RECORD

The first week of classes hadn’t quite been what Karen had expected, based on her experiences from high school. Whereas she had been expected to shut up, listen, and write at her old school; here they expected all the students to actively participate in the class. Share their thoughts and opinions on the subjects being discussed, even perhaps offer their own insights.

It was strange.

Perhaps that was just how Atlantis was, however. At the very least, she seemed to be ahead of anyone else there in terms of magical knowledge, when it came to the students, anyway. She got the impression that her professor of magitech engineering had taken a particular liking to her.

Now laying back on her bed with a book magically suspended over her face, she calmly turned the page with a quick jerk of her eyes. It really wasn’t all that interesting—just cheesy chicklit, the kind she hadn’t read in over eight months. The kind she had always enjoyed. She figured reading it would help her get more in touch with her usual self.

Ophelia woke up in her own room, which surprised and pleased her. The only thing she didn’t like about passing out after drinking was that she never knew if she’d wake up in the right place. Actually, that wasn’t the only thing, her pounding head reminded her of another downfall. She groaned and pulled herself out of bed.

Shuffling over to the bathroom and taking a look in the mirror revealed she was still wearing the dress she’d worn last night, though she’d lost her shoes somewhere. She squinted at her face in the mirror, at least she’d had the sense to wash her face last night.

After a quick shower, Ophelia stood in the doorway of Karen’s room and leaned against the frame, hair wrapped in a towel, and her body wrapped in another.

”God. Do you know what time I got in last night?” she asked.

Karen glanced up from her book, relieved at the sight of the now clean Ophelia. She was starting to tire of the smell of booze. ”I was eating breakfast when you wandered in, so...probably around seven-thirty?”

”Oh….” She mumbled. ”You’d think I’d remember that.” Ophelia came in and sat on the edge of Karen’s bed.

Karen tilted her head at Ophelia for a moment, waving her hand to send the book over to her nightstand. Dressed in a simple green shirt, blue jeans, and black boots, her sense of fashion was rather mundane in comparison to the rather flamboyant girl sitting across from her.

”Memory loss is a good sign that you probably drank too much last night, said Karen, now sitting cross legged on the bed. ”You ought to take better care of yourself.”

Ophelia rubbed her temples. It’s not as if she had intended on getting so drunk, technically she never even bought a drink. She tried to remember the series of events that led her to stumbling into the dorm at seven thirty. ”I remember perfectly.” She lied.

”I went out and met a group of Spanish gentlemen at a club and they invited me I think to a more exclusive place down the street… Or there was something special about it. It was pink inside, like the lights. Then we all met a wealthy fellow who was throwing an after party at his penthouse off campus. It just starts to get hazy after I got handed maybe the tenth drink? Or maybe twelfth? I think I took some pills, but the fellow told me they were vitamins, and they didn’t look suspicious. I might have thrown up in his tiny tree. Bonsai? I think there was a cat somewhere. And someone throwing a bible? Oh it’s all a blur. I should find my phone.” She sighed, letting herself fall back to lay on the foot of the bed perpendicular to Karen.

”Wait, are you saying you were drugged?” asked Karen, her eyes widening as she leaned forward in concern. Seriously, who gives a girl vitamins at a party? Only, like, nobody. ”Did you get any of their names? Or rather, do you remember any of them?”

While it’s true that she had agreed to attend college to get away from the hero life for a bit, girls being drugged on campus was something she wasn’t about to ignore.

”Oh, well they didn’t drug me if I took it willingly. And I feel well enough other than the hangover. He may not have said vitamins, but he said it would be good for me… I think. And it looked like a vitamin if I remember.” Ophelia argued, rubbing her temples again and closing her eyes.

Maybe she should be more careful when she went out. She maybe had a false sense of security, knowing that she could escape almost any situation the moment she didn’t like it anymore. She never really had to worry too much about most of the dangers associated with partying or going out, but obviously she could afford to exercise a little more caution, and perhaps a lot more moderation.

”Here’s an idea.” She proclaimed. ”Tonight, you come with me. And by idea I mean that it’s happening. Please?”

She rolled to her side to look up at Karen and gave her the best puppy-dog eye look she had in her repertoire.

Karen folded her arms and frowned as she considered the implications of everything she had just been told by her roommate. ”Were there other girls besides you at that party? And were they also given those ‘vitamins’?”

”Of course, but I don’t think I could recognize any of them. And I’m not sure, unfortunately my recollection isn’t entirely reliable.”

Karen’s frown deepened. She could feel a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Everything about this just sounded really sketch. ”Fine, I’ll go; but not to party—I want to check out these ‘vitamins’ for myself.”

Malcolm probably wouldn’t be too happy that she was already getting involved in some potential campus frat boy conspiracy, but if there was some group of guys out there drugging college girls, then she couldn’t just ignore it. What decent person could? Still, if possible, she would try and resolve this without transforming.

Hopefully her little brother wouldn’t mind her borrowing some of his equipment in order to analyze the ‘vitamins’ once she had a few.

Ophelia rolled her eyes “Well, you’ll have to spend at least some of the time dancing with me.” She said with a smile.

”Do you have something to wear?”

Karen glanced over to the jacket slumped over a nearby chair, before looking back at Ophelia. ”Is there something wrong with what I have on now?”

Ophelia couldn’t help but laugh a bit, ”Not if we are going to a party in a Macy’s parking lot. I’m joking, the jeans look amazing on you, but I want to see you in something that shows off what a body you have. Show a little skin, something that’ll turn a couple heads.” She said and winked at her.

”I’ll go check my closet and grab some good options!” She stood up as quickly as she could manage, her excitement nearly overriding her headache, and went to her room, closing the door.

Of course, she didn’t actually keep her clothes in her closet. Firstly, the simply wouldn’t fit, and secondly, honestly what a hassle. She had spent a little time decorating her room to look like she lived in it, but most of her things she kept in her other closet.

With a blink she was there. Over the years she had decorated her Closet with furniture and rare pieces of art. There were bookshelves and paintings and sculptures along the edges of the space, and a seating area with a marble coffee table and a gold velvet duvan with matching armchairs. She also had a four poster bed towards one end, with glass end tables and a dainty but ornate glass vanity nearby. But her most prized items in her closet were the racks and racks of clothes. They all glittered and shined in their rows. She’d meticulously sorted them by brand, color, and style, in order to find them easily when she needed a quick outfit change, and it didn’t take her long to find exactly what she was looking for.

Another blink later and she was back in her dorm room having exchanged the towel for a fur coat, arms full of dresses. She carried them over to Karen’s room and dumped them on the bed.

"Take your pick!”

Karen’s eyes swept over the assortment of expensive looking dresses, each being far more extravagant than anything she would’ve normally chosen to wear. And considerably more revealing, not to mention. Glancing up at Ophelia for a moment, she scratched the side of her cheek.

”I’m pretty sure one of these used to be a pirate’s eyepatch,” she muttered, before picking out one of the more—relatively speaking—reasonable dresses. Taking it into the bathroom, she quickly undressed and set about the surprisingly arduous task of trying to squeeze her hips into the tight black dress.

”Are you...sure….this...ugh…is going to fit?” Karen called out from the bathroom.

That’s when it happened.

RIIIP!

”...Oh shit!” Karen gasped, the distinct sound of rustling being heard behind the bathroom door. ”Uh, I’m really sorry but, well…”

When the door swung open, Karen was once more wearing her normal clothes, but was now holding the little black dress, which sported a noticeable tear along the hips. ”I….don’t think this is going to work.”

Ophelia’s jaw dropped. “That… was a 2001 Dolce and Gabbana.” she took the dress back and looked like she might cry as she inspected the tear.

That was it, there was no way she’d let Karen try on another dress and risk losing it as well.

”We’re gonna have to go shopping.”

February 7th; 1:02PM
Lycus Hall

"Look, Rich. Something's going on here, I can feel it."

"Are you sure it's not your supersenses getting antsy from not being on patrol? Maybe it's the water pressure."

Some help he was. It had been little over a week after they had arrived down in Atlantis, and Virgil had been doing fine. Minimal sleeping, decking himself out in whatever he could get his hands on, and generally not accepting the fact that he was just a civilian again. Maybe Richie was right. Maybe it was just the fact that Virgil wasn't used to this. He needed something related to hero work, and maybe this was just his mind digging at whatever seemed like a case.

"Right." He shrugged it off and went to reach for his Shock Box. Richie had fine tuned it to make sure it would work in the depths of the ocean. "I'll talk to you later, Richie." And with that, he closed communications.

Virgil wondered where Mal and Bjorn were. Again, it was him alone in their room. Something was up, but he just didn't have anything on whatever it could be.

Bjorn Bjornsson brutally devoured a fish sandwich. His last class finished at 12:50, so he had made his way to the student center, where the student cafeteria was. He'd ordered a strange Atlantean word, which apparently meant deep-fried fish burger. It was pretty good, not the best he'd ever had, but if this was Atlantean fast food than he supposed that Atlantis had already beaten the surface world in that department. He finished his meal and meandered over to the garbage can, lazily tossing the paper plate in with a flick of the wrist.

The amount of eyes that followed him as he wandered was disconcerting, but he supposed that was what you got when you were a surface dweller at the bottom of the ocean. He decided to get something for supper early so he didn't have to leave the dorm when he got hungry. Laziness was okay, he was a college student now, that came with the territory. He fake-aimlessly wandered over to the coffee shop, hands in pockets and eyes pointed upwards. Maybe he should get something for the roomies. Yeah, that's a good idea.

"What would you like sir?" the woman behind the counter said, strangely formally for someone working at a coffee shop.

"Three bagels please."

---

Bjorn precariously balanced the bagels in his arm as he fumbled with the key. He tugged at it, trying to free it from his pocket over and over. The key didn't like this. It showed this displeasure by falling out of his pocket and onto the floor. Now Bjorn was in a predicament, if he bent down to get the key the bagels would fall.

He sighed and rapped his knuckles on the door, hopefully someone was home, if not he was gonna have to put the bagels on the floor. Even with the paper surrounding them, he'd rather not do that.

The young girl takes in a sharp breath, eyes shooting open. The pod containing her opens with a hiss, and she falls out and hits the cold, tile floor on her hands and knees with a wet thump, coughing violently in between bouts of vomiting up a frothy blue liquid. She falls backwards against the pod, not entirely sure what's happening. She hears excited shouting from beyond a door, "It's Curie! It's Curie!" She doesn't know what that means, nor does she really care.

All she can focus on is the hand a few inches from her face. She flexes the fingers, clenching them into a fist. Is this her hand? She looks at the other one, and does the same with it, then relaxes them into open palms. They're attached to arms, and those are attached to her, so that means it's her hand right? Probably. She looks down at the feet, her feet, attached to her legs. It's her.

Slowly, she begins to push herself up off the ground. Knees trembling, she takes an uncertain step forward. Then another. One more, more confidently this time. Soon she finds herself standing in front of a locker. Huh, this walking thing isn't so hard... Why'd she choose to go to the locker though? As she ponders this, a cold breeze blows in from a nearby vent, causing her to shudder and look down. In that moment, she realizes she is... Distinctly naked, and the slightly open locker contains clothes.

She slides on the sweater and slips into the jeans, the overly large clothes barely clinging to her tiny form, though providing some protection against the cold. As soon as she's done, she begins to make her way to the door, through which she heard the voices. It takes her a moment, but she finally pushes it open once she's ready, and finds... Nothing. Just an empty hallway, as cold and sterile as the room she was just in.

She begins to wander through the facility with no destination in mind. It's mostly empty, which is strange considering how large it is, but she easily evades any people she runs into. She has no clue why she feels like she needs to keep away from them, but she does anyway out of fear for what they'd do. Again, she doesn't know what that is, but she has a feeling she doesn't want to find out.

Before long, she finds herself standing in front of a big metal door at the end of a hallway. A metal panel with a button is next to it. This must be an elevator, right? Where does it go? Figuring she'd find out, she presses the button. She doesn't feel like heading any deeper into this place, once she gets in there she'll need to head up... Wait, how does she know that up is the way out? This is really weird. Maybe she should just head back to the pod thing-y she was in, that'd be nice, right? But something in her head tells her that staying here will only lead to something really bad happening.

Her inner turmoil comes to a screeching halt at the sound of a ding as the metal door opens, revealing a smaller room. She steps inside, looking at the panel inside which has... A surprisingly large amount of buttons with numbers and letters on them. It's kind of overwhelming compared the single button on the panel outside. Taking in a deep breath, she presses the button labelled 'ground' and hopes that's the right way.

The elevator shoots upwards, so quickly she stumbles and nearly falls from the sudden speed. Not ten seconds later, the door opens with another ding, and she's nearly blinded by the sudden flash of light. Her eyes adjust, and she sees a lobby with glass walls that allow sunlight to filter through. Sunlight... Sunlight! She's outside! Well, almost.

Nervously, she steps out, and begins to walk towards the door. She makes it pretty far, at least halfway, before she hears a female voice behind her. "Um, sweetie? Are you lost?" She freezes and turns around, looking up at the portly middle-aged woman with wide eyes. What is she supposed to say? "Honey? What's wrong? Did I scare you?"

"U-um, no... No, I'm not lost."

The woman crouches down to be at eye level with her. "Are you sure? You look pretty confused."

"I just came in here to use the... The bathroom. I was just leaving."

"Okay... Are you okay? Do you have any parents?"

Well, she doesn't, so she might as well tell the woman the truth. "... No."

"Oh? Do you have a home?"

Again, she decides not to lie, and shakes her head.

"Oh..." The woman looks saddened by that. "... I was just getting off work. Do you want to come stay with me for a while? I can help find you a home."

She had no clue why this lady was offering a random child a place to stay, but she had nowhere else to go and this lady seemed nice. Wouldn't hurt to stay the night at least, right? Putting a smile, the girl says, "Sure."

That was how she found herself in the backseat of a mid 2010s sedan, a bag of clothes from a store to her side and a Little Belly Meal in her lap as the nice lady pulled out of the drive thru of a Big Belly Burger. As she drove, the woman began to ask all sorts of questions. "What's your name? Do you know?"

"I don't think I have a name. What's yours?"

"Marilyn... Do you really not have a name?"

In response, Stacy nodded her head. The woman sighed, as if in sadness. "... Do you know how old you are?"

"... Thirteen, I think."

"Did you ever have parents?"

Now this question was a bit troublesome. She'd have to tell a little white lie, because she knew she'd be in big trouble if she told the lady where she really came from. "I don't think I ever did... I've been homeless as long as I can remember." Marilyn seemed even more troubled by that. She didn't know why it was such a big deal, but then again she didn't really know what was up with people considering her entire existence consists of the last hour.

It wasn't long after that that the woman parked her car in front of an apartment complex. The young girl stepped out of the sedan with the woman, looking up at the facade with wide eyes. It was so... Nice looking! And clean! And not all cold and heartless like that other place! "This is where you live? It's so cool!"

Marilyn just laughed and shook her head at that. "It's not that great, but I'm glad you like it." The two of them went into the building and up a few flights of stairs, before entering the woman's apartment, which was decorated with little nick-nacks and had a really cozy feel to it. The girl really liked it. "You can go get dressed in the bathroom, it's that door right there," Marilyn said, pointing towards a door on the right, which the girl entered.

It took her a moment to step out of the oversized clothes, occasionally tripping over herself, but once she was done putting the new clothes on was easy. Marilyn must really like the color purple, because most of the shirts and the one jacket are that color. Some were just plain color t-shirts and sweaters, others had little cartoon characters on it. One had a lightning bolt on it which sparked some level of recognition in the young girl, but she couldn't tell from where...

The girl stepped out of the bathroom in her new clothes, and walked over to the kitchen table where Marilyn was sitting. A radio was playing a song, and Marilyn motioned for the girl to come over and sit in the chair across from her to eat, which she obliged. As she began to eat her burger, Marilyn began to talk about names. "You really do need one in this world... How about Karen?"

That sparked more recognition in her, and she had a distinct feeling the name wouldn't fit her. "... I don't think that really fits me."

"Okay, how about Zoey?"

That was even more familiar... Where had she heard it before, and why did she feel like it didn't fit her either? She didn't know, and simply shook her head.

"... Emma?"

This name didn't make her feel good. It wasn't right, not at all, not at all... "I... I don't think that one works either..."

As if to answer their question, the song on the radio hit the chorus: "Stacy can't you see, you're just not the girl for me!"

The girl looked at the radio, and smiled. "I like that name, Stacy! That can be my name." Marilyn laughed loudly at that, causing the girl to frown. "What's so funny about it?"

"N-nothing... Nothing... That's a good name. Stacy it is, then."

Stacy. That works.

"Here, let me get that for you!" said Karen, stepping in front of Bjorn and his arm full of bagels. Placing her hand in front of the doorknob, she muttered, "Open."

With an audible click, the lock was disengaged and the door swung open. Gesturing for him to go ahead of her, she offered Bjorn a slight grin. "Good thing they haven't Mage-proofed these, huh?"

Inside, Karen was quick to spy Virgil--Mal's other roommate, jamming on his headphones. That was probably why he hadn't heard Bjorn. Offering him a quick wave, she surveyed the room carefully in search of her objective: Mal's forensics kit. Hopefully, wherever he was, he hadn't taken it with him.

"Don't mind me, you two, I just need to borrow something from my little brother," explained Karen, now shifting through Malcolm's stuff. Maybe under the bed, or something? She didn't want to waste too much time here; she still had to go shopping with Ophelia before the party, after all.

February 7th; 1:22 PM
Lycus Dorm, University of Poseidonis, Atlantis

Sounds, motion, Virgil could have sworn that he felt it, but he passed it off as just false-positives. He was too busy listening to music and tampering with tech to notice a knocking on the door and it eventually opening. Only when it did open did he register other people inside his dorm. It was Karen and Bjorn. He passed the two a wave, but paused his music as he heard her talking again. Bjorn came in as well, and waved at his dormmate also.

Something about borrowing something from Malcolm, it seems. Virgil didn't care all that much, but he figured he'd be nice and try to help anyways. "What are you looking for?" He set his shockbox down and unplugged his headphones. Virgil didn't like to pry, but there was something certainly different about Mal and Karen compared to other people. "Couple heads lookin' around for something is better than just one."

Maybe Mal got sneaky and hid whatever Karen was looking for with someone elses stuff. That would certainly be a Mal move if Virgil figured right.

"It's a black case. Pretty distinct, really," said Karen, now glancing under his bed. She didn't want to just outright tell him that it was a forensics kit, since he would probably wonder why Mal had one...or why she wanted it. She wasn't about to be the one that compromised both of their identities.

Feeling her cheeks grow red as her stomach grumbled, she could easily smell the bagels that Bjorn had bought. Ever since Malcolm had taken her out to eat on her first night here, she had become rather addicted to Atlantean food. For whatever reason, everything they served just seemed to be so much better than anything on the surface. She would really have to learn some of their recipes before she returned.

"It's about suitcase size, but hard plastic," she elaborated.

February 7th; 1:24 PM
Lycus Dorm, University of Poseidonis, Atlantis

"Look..." Virgil grew a little red, looking around and away from Karen sheepishly. "I get y'all are close and everything, but a man's black case is pretty personal. But I mean, if he's cool with it, then..." he didn't really know where he was going with this topic of conversation, but regardless, he decided to join in on the hunt. "Oh, a suitcase... Right."

"What's in it anyways?" Virgil didn't really want to know about Mal's tastes, or perhaps he was completely wrong and just making a fool out of himself. He could have sworn that he had seen Malcolm tugging around something like what karen was describing on moving day. He just couldn't remember where the young man had placed it. Maybe it was just best for them to ask Mal about it. There was a lot that Virgil didn't know, and though he was trying to find out, he wasn't going to pry too hard into things. "Yo, B. You wanna help us out too?"