In an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district was active this night in Charity Beach. It was a rainy night with a drizzle, so everyone was naturally forced indoors. Of course, even though it was raining, the antics of the Boyz could be heard throughout it.



A young man with shaggy blonde hair and a rather disheveled face said, as he dug through various drawers and other storages desperately looking for his sweet, sweet stash, with two of his other generals sitting on the couch watching TV. The disheveled female he called Joygirl, who had a strange fog coming out of her mouth as she watched Joyboy with her eyes. While the taller gentleman that was scrawny as the rest of the boys, he called The Fool, merely kept his attention on the TV. However, it was only a matter of time until Joygirl finally spoke up.

"... I hid it, you idiot."

Joyboy came to an abrupt stop as he looked at his general, and asked, "Why?!"

"Because you have to check up on the labs and do a grand speech and we don't have time to cart your high-ass around." She replied with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, yeah, right, right!" Joyboy said with a smile. "Thank you for reminding me!"

Joyboy looked around as he finally reached for his mask... a silly SpongeBob mask that he decided to wear as a joke that'll soon strike fear in the hearts of Charity Beach! Or something. He quickly put it on as he decided to walk out the doors to his secret lair... he walked through the halls and all he saw were people wearing aprons and nothing but their underwear (some even omitting the last part) as per usual marching through the halls of The Boyz' headquarters. He made his way to the primary lab for Happiness and he walked in and everyone was wearing gas masks with various lab equipment such as test tubes, gas tanks, and other chambers that the Boyz stole.

He and his two generals marched his way past them until he got to the room he wanted... a massive room that had shelf after shelf of pink pills wrapped in zip lock bags or other such containers. There had to be thousands of them and Joyboy could only look and marvel for a moment...

"... WHY THE FUCK AREN'T WE SELLING THIS?!"

"We are, actually," The deep voice approached them from behind and they were greeted to the shirtless form of Big Dong Travis, and he had his mask on as he said, "So fast, actually, that this supply will be out by the end of the week."

"Ah, good! Dragons, you better make sure they send the dough up the ladder this time!" Joyboy said as a devious grin formed underneath his mask.

"But, we have two problems," Joygirl said with an irritated look on her face underneath the mask. "First, the Red Crowns have decided to get in on our business and stole a shipment of Happiness that was supposed to go out of town." She said.

"What the fuck?!" Joyboy said, "After we bought all those guns from them they fuck us like that?!"

"Not just that," Big Dong says, "But, the pigs have started to pick off our dealers, and word on the street is that FAMA's catching onto our secret."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Joyboy says as he massages his temples because today was not a good day. "This is why I need my weed! You all can't just drop all of this shit on me without giving me one puff!"

"I don't care what you think, Austi-" Joygirl tried to say.

"JOYBOY!"

"... Yeah, right, Joyboy," Joygirl said as she put her hands on her hip. "We need to go to war because we can't let shit like this slide - we'll have everyone who thinks their dick's big walking over us in no time and then we might as well turn ourselves the fuck in."

"Hey! The last thing we want to do is draw attention to ourselves like that! We're gonna have the feds all up our asses if we do that!" Joyboy made his objections very clear.

"But, we have a reputation to keep," Big Dong said. "And we have to defend what's ours."

"It's about time we stop this self-righteous bullshit Joyboy and stop wasting our money on schools n' shit-"

"Hey, fuck that!" Joyboy shouted, and interrupted her making his stance clear. "We're the Boyz, we fight for the downtrodden and sell all this shit so maybe, maybe, things will be less shitty!"

"Either way, all of your Boyz are waiting for your word at the stage," Big Dong said as he planted a hand on Joyboy's shoulder, "Make them proud!"

---

A large and empty warehouse that the Boyz usually use for orgies and a sleeping space was turned into a makeshift stage made out of cargo crates and he had hundreds of Boyz standing before him as his audience. It made him feel like a real fuckin' supervillain! And that turned into a dorky grin underneath his mask as he walked up to the "podium" (which was actually a wooden crate). Joyboy's Dragons stood at his side looking badass as The Fool had sand floating around in his hand, Joygirl had an AK-47 strapped to her back and had her hand firmly on the strap, and Big Dong had his arms crossed.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen!" Joyboy shouted at the top of his lungs... which didn't reach the Boyz in the back.

"Hey, what is he saying?"

"We can't hear you!"

"Speak up asshole!"

Eventually one of the Boyz threw a megaphone onto the stage and it almost hit him in the face... and Joyboy didn't ask questions. Sometimes life just hands you a megaphone. You gotta take a bite while the fruit's still ripe.

"Alright, hello ladies and gentlemen!" Joyboy shouted into the megaphone, "Can you hear me now!?"

"You look like an asshole!"

Joyboy frowned.

"Alright, so I love how my Boyz have grown! We're stronger, better, and more numerous than ever - we even managed to kick some douchebags off their turf!" Joyboy started off before he reached into his pocket, "And it's all thanks to Happiness!" He threw a pocket full of pink pills into the crowd and almost immediately they started fighting for it whether they wanted to take it or sell it.

"But like any tall poppy, people are gonna come to try to cut ya'!" Joyboy said that made Joygirl facepalm. "The Red Crowns, the Feds... they don't get us as I get us! We're the underdogs here, the poor boys and girl that didn't grow up with the same shit we have been dealing with since day one! They hate that we're coming up and that they can't stop us. They're getting an army ready for us as we fucking speak!"

Joyboy shouted with all the passion he could muster, but he wasn't done.

"So let those motherfuckers come, because the second they show up, we'll have an army of our own! They'll be shittin' themselves a tsunami when they see us with our guns out! Ready to slap 'im silly with our gigantic dicks! Make them regret the day they fucked with..."

Joyboy paused for drama, as he flicked the megaphone into the crowd to somebody saying 'Ow!'

---

---

The day is beautiful, perfect overcast for the next annual Beach Carnival that is totally not a contrivance for the whole cast to go there and nothing will go wrong.

Nope. No siree bob.

---

Baybridge, Washington. FAMA West Coast Headquarters.

---

---

"Come on, Max, say it ain't so!"

Drake said as he leaned over the desk of Maximilian Cornell, who was a massive, broad-shouldered man at six-five and wore a professional looking black suit. He had both of his hands folded in front of him with his eyes closed as he casually nodded his head.

"Chairman Schmidt has decided that we need some time off from work. I'm not sure if he wants to disband Task Force RAVEN altogether, but we should probably use some time to ease off."

"I mean, I'd rather be transferred to a city that really needs us like Black Fall or-"

"He said time off, Blackmore," Maximilian Cornell stood straight up and firmly placed his hand on the table. "Look, this is a good thing for all of us. Maybe you should connect with your family and relax for a while."

"Like you'd be relaxing, heh," Drake said. "Second RAVEN reforms you'd be rushing to get all of us back together."

"... You're right." Maximilian said with a smile, "So don't relax too much, Agent Dragon."

Seeing that he wouldn't get anywhere with Maximilian Drake choose to finally just concede and just accept this stupid "mandatory vaction" that Chairman Schmidt demanded they all go on. Fine, if he wanted all the bad guys they would otherwise stop to do whatever they please then that was on him. Drake never takes breaks when the world's in such a poor state, but maybe that's his problem. Drake walked through the halls of FAMA headquarters with his hands in his pockets as people walked by.

There are people out there living their lives, and having families, and all Drake could do was feel like he was looking through the glass. He could use a girlfriend to continue the Blackmore line! Of course, when Drake stepped out, he stepped into the freezing cold. Burrr, Washington sure was cold. He eventually made it to his vehicle, a Lamborghini Lm002, and sat down inside. He immediately turned on the heat as he rubbed his hands together.

One thing's for sure,

If he was getting forced to go on vacation he sure as hell wasn't going to spend it here. He realized that he had a pamphlet sitting on his seat and saw FUN AND RELAXATION FOR EVERYONE IN CHARITY BEACH. Heeeeeey, he remembered that place. Sometimes dad would take the whole family for a vacation there and it was objectively better than taking a vacation anywhere else because he remembered it fondly. And he got his first taste of poontang there.

He hasn't visited there in decades, he would love to see how the place changed.

Charity Beach, Boardwalk.

---

In about two days Drake found himself in sunny beaches and beautiful women!

He dressed simply in camo-print cargo pants a white t-shirt with a massive gold chain on and some nice sneakers. Don't forget your sunglasses! He walked alongside the boardwalk with ice cream in his hand and got reminded of the good old days... and, soon, how they were long gone. He almost saw a vision of himself about a decade ago with the rest of the Blackmores and... Adam was alive. He paused for a moment and looked sullen as he stared off into the beach. He walked off to the edge of the boardwalk and leaned onto the fence that overlooked the beach and he saw all those people having fun.

And wondering where all the fun went for Drake...

---

The Emperor Hotel, Downtown Charity.

---

---

Now, the Emperor was a location owned by the Valos apart of Jason's aggressive push down south where the fruit was ripe. It was a massive five-star hotel that was situated right next to the dog river and overlooks the entire fuckin' town. The Valos bought it from the original owner and have been rolling in the dough since! Of course, the entire Valos family thought that they should... spice up the place. Mainly turning the lobby in a scenic bar with red carpet, black tongues, and fancy chandeliers. Jason Valos, the aging patriarch of the Valos family was sitting at one of the tables playing with the drink in his hand. He was focused on it as he was lost in his thoughts. With his wife at his side, and the Valos all over the place.

"... May I ask why we're hanging around in one of our own places? Why don't we see the rest of Charity Beach, dad?"

Broken out of his reverie, Jason's eyes opened wide as he took a sip of his drink before he answered, "We're here to meet a business partner of mine." He said.

"Wow, I think someone's missed the definition of vacation," Johnny said with a cocky grin that he might as well trademark!

"When there's money to be made, you never pass it up," Jason said with a grin of his own. "You gotta remember that it's just another day, you need to keep your eye on the prize."

"Can't argue with that," Johnny said, "Since you didn't immediately say Jiao-Long or a Liu... I'm going to presume this is one of our... other associates? But please tell me it's not a Montague or something!"

"No, but I wouldn't be surprised if Papa Montague walked in here," Jason said before he took a sip, "He's that type of person that wouldn't let something go down without at least getting a look at it. It's somebody... new."

Hmph, Johnny just couldn't stand people who couldn't mind their own business, but in this world, everyone thinks everyone's else' business is their business until someone comes snoopin' up their tree. "Oh boy, I'm ecstatic to make a new friend!" He said.

"So am I," Jason said, "Now I have to ask that you go keep yourself busy, but remain in sight. I'm going to need you to intimidate them if necessary."

Johnny knew where and when to keep his head down, and now was one of them. He could only smile at the fact that dad was getting heavy-handed with new friends! So scandalous! It made Johnny think that ol' Jason was getting desperate. However, Johnny did what he did best and slink over towards the bar with his sunglasses on. He grabbed himself a seat as he carefully sat down and waited for the bartender to come his way and he ordered a martini.

"... So, who's dad gonna meet?" A girl asked him that he immediately recognized as his younger sister Gabriela. Whom was a tougher looking girl with burn marks on her face and hands, and an eyepatch, but they got her into this red dress with a black suit jacket that would almost look professional... if it wasn't for the boots, she gave him a playful look as he answered.

"Somebody knew, I bet dad wants to keep it a surprise," Johnny said.

"Could be somebody he knows we won't like," Gabe said, "He probably stuck his dick in the wrong woman and made another one."

"We oughta put a paperclip on the end of it because there's already too many of us," Johnny said as he took a sip of his drink with a smile. "Let's lay low for a second, you know what they say about assumptions?"

Gabe nodded her head in agreement but didn't say anything and she took sips of her own drink. An Asian woman walked into the room and bent over as she whispered something into the ear of one of the other guests in the room. They didn't care not for what she was doing in there, but they both agreed her ass looked amazing in those pants and bending over. They both smirked.

"Good thing Jakey isn't here," Gabe said, "He'd be all over that."

"And I thought Mr. Yellow Fever was in a committed relationship with the Liu Princess." Johnny answered, "But that ass might make him have second thoughts."

Suddenly, someone yelled out,

"... KID GET OUT OF HERE, FREAK!"

The bartender shouted at the youngest member of the Valos, Jaska, who was sitting on the barstool just asking for a glass of water. Though, due to his demonic appearance with bat-wings, a long-bladed tail, razor-sharp teeth and claws... a lot of people are afraid of him. And he obviously looked hurt by the statement. Immediately Johnny made it clear, what he thought by slamming his hand on the counter.

"Hey, peon! I don't care who you are, don't talk to my little brother like that!" Johnny shouted back just as loud.

"Who the fuck do you think you are rich boy!?" The bartender shouted at him, "You can't just bring kids into my bar and then yell at me!"

"... You mean my bar, dickhead."

"What?"

"The motherfucker that signs your checks and I'm about to sign your letter of termination if you don't back the fuck off." At this point, Jason was giving him a scathing look that made the bartender immediately back down. Johnny thought that was funny and could only give him a cocky grin as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. "Now, to answer your question..."

Johnny jammed a hundred into his tip jar as he said, "... I'm Johnny fucking Valos, nice to meet cha'. Mind gettin' me another drink?" The bartender receded as he got Johnny's and then Johnny smirked as he turned to Jaska. "You okay, Jaska?"

"Mhmm..." Jaska said.

"I know you want to eat the bastard but I think he'd taste bad," Johnny laughed "You are what you eat and he's a dick!"

Jaska laughed, "But, thank you, Johnny."

---

St. Mercer Hospital.

---

---

It was yet another busy day at the hospital. Ever since the Happiness outbreak... their hospital became a lot more crowded. Kashmira walked through the halls of the hospital as she went past room after room of addicts that have overdosed or the drugs have ravaged their systems! And if they weren't taking the drug, the withdrawal made them crazy aggressive and hurt people. It was truly a mess. And yet, the government has the power to end it all and yet... they don't. Kashmira shook her head as she continued through the halls of the hospital.

Worst of all, the drug was hitting a demographic that was most at risk. Kasmira entered the room and nearly surprised the primarily white family with the tiny Indian woman wearing scrubs, as they were expecting a white nurse. She smiled at them as she introduced, "Hello, my name is Kashmira, and... I regret that we had to meet under such circumstances." She said with an incredibly thick Indian accent.

Kashmira glanced at the blonde-haired teenaged boy stretched out on the bed with IV tubes connected to him and was covered in bandages.

"What's wrong with him?" The father of the group said, a stern making with an army veteran hat.

"He has... overdosed on Happiness, I'm sorry to say," Kasmira said after looking at her chart. "Fortunately, he in stable condition but... the drug nearly killed him, and we will have to hold him for weeks, possibly months." She shook her head.

"How did he even get on the drug?" His mother asked.

"It is hard to tell, but EMTs tell me he was in a party when he overdosed," Kashmira said, "But... from tests, it seems he was taking the drug for quite a while, possibly months."

"This is bullshit," their father hissed, "We didn't raise a drug addict low-life. This is what he gets."

Kashmira was utterly horrified by the statement, "Don't say that. He is young, he is impressionable, and he didn't deserve any of this." Kashmira clutched the clipboard in both hands as she said, "Nobody deserves this and... sometimes these things happen. People hit lows and they decide to use these... drugs to help them, not realizing the long-lasting effects."

"Then maybe they should toughen up, I went through hell and never had to take a single drug to get through it!"

"But," Kashmira was about to say but then she stopped herself, "Oh, I am getting far too passionate. Here are some forms you all must sign." She handed the family a clipboard and a pen, and after signing it Kashmira took it and smiled.

"Okay, I'll be right back." Kashmira quickly took the form to get put into the system and decided to take a brief break in the break room. She made herself a glass of water and sat down. The room was pretty nice and well furnished and allowed her to relax as she leaned back and slipped out of her shoes and put her feet on the table... closing her eyes.

"Hey, no sleeping on the job," A voice playfully said to Kashmira as she opened her eyes to see an enormous woman, one of the nurses there who had her hair in three massive braids and the rest of her hair was short. She had a husky voice.

"Oh, hello Samantha," Kashmira said.

"C'mon, I told you, my friends call me Lash," Lash said with a smile as she sat down. "What? Job's got you down, too?"

"Mhmm," Kashmira said with a nod of her head, "It's crazy, people are dying, and yet people can be so... incompassionate about it. People are hurt and you can only blame them?"

"Well, some of these people can't help but blame themselves," Lash spoke about the addicts, "But, honestly, I think after some point the drug's doing more thinking than these people so we can't really blame them...."

"I just wish there was some way we can bring an end to this... but I have a feeling this might get worse. Much worse." Kashmira lamented.

"Well our hospitals so overcrowded, we had to start turning people away, nobody knows how the fuck to deal with this, and we're running on both treatment and morale; how can it get any worse?" Samantha asked.

"... and now it's definitely going to get worse."

"Well, chin up, nurse," Lash said, "There's some big wig journalist coming from L.A to interview me about the whole crisis and everything that has been going on. We can get some exposure and maybe someone will start giving a damn."

"Oh, that's incredible!" Kashmira said.

".. and I want her to interview you instead."

"Um, what?!" Kasmira said. "I... I can't do it. I can hardly speak English! And I- and I..."

"Stop making excuses, Kash," Lash said with a smirk, "Ever since the whole epidemic started you've been busting your ass trying to help people and you do know a lot more about Happiness than I do... so I think you'd be better as our 'face'."

"But..." Kasmira realized that Lash was right, and right now, they needed their best being the face of the hospital during the whole crisis. "... I'll do it." She nodded her head.

"Good," Lash smiled, "She'll be here soon."

---

Black Fall - Phillips Autogarage.

---

---

Just another day another dollar. Amanda was underneath a car doing work, looking dashing in her black jumpsuit as she was turning a lugnut here and there. Somebody walked up, saying, "Aaaaaaamanda!"

"Hey, I'm trying to work under here!" Amanda said.

"Don't worry about it, I just need to talk with you." The woman said and Amanda shook her head as she slid from the skateboard she was on top of and saw a massive woman who was standing over her... or more accurately; her crotch.

"... You know how I feel about this view, Nakala." Amanda grumbled as she sat up and looked at the massive African-American woman with a head full of thick dreads and of course a huge rack that Amanda was jealous of.

"Oh, want a closer look?" Nakala teased as she got even closer.

"When we close." Amanda teased, as she stood up to her feet and dusted off her jumpsuit, "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, are you really going to go down to Charity Beach of all places?" Nakala skeptically said with a raised eyebrow as she put a hand on her hip. "Especially with all the shit that's going down there? My mom said that FAMA is preparing for war."

"Yeah, I gotta meet somebody I haven't seen in soooo long, y'know," Amanda said, "... and I'm tired of vibrators."

"... Then make sure that, whatever you do, you change your power first," Nakala said in between laughter as she bumped forearms with Amanda. "You'll break his pelvis."

"You say that like it'd be such a bad thing!" Amanda said with a catty grin. "But, I don't care what's going on down there... I'm going to make up for something I shouldn't have."

"And that is?"

"Drift away from the one, y'know," Amanda said, "My man was so tall, dreamy, and had a bi-"

"Yeah, t-m-i," Nakala said.

"Says the girl who bragged about crushing a guy's pelvis!"

"It was funny." Nakala shrugged her shoulders as she said, "Looks like I can't change yer mind, Amanda. Sooo lemme cut you a deal... you can go early and I'll finish up everything here."

"Thank you... but what's the other end of the bargain...?" Amanda asked.

"You'll see when you get back here." Nakala winked, and Amanda winked back.... before she took off out of the garage.

Charity Beach - Detmer Residence

---

After taking a plane, then a taxi, then an uber... Amanda finally arrived at Matthew's house carrying like three giant luggage bags like it was nothing!

... Until she limbered towards his door.

It's not as easy as it looked, but then again all Amanda had to do was walk a few more feet and she'd run into her precious Matt. Who she hadn't seen in God knows how long... finally arriving at the door, she knocked on it three times.

... and now she waits. The second he opens the door, the very second, he was going to get a reminder of Amanda Blackmore he was never going to forget!

---

Sometime a few years ago...

---

What Matt has always liked about Florida is how gently and subtly it eases into autumn.

True, it's mostly tropical year long, he corrects himself, with buttercup summers and temperate springs. But when fall and winter comes along, the region settles into a cooler sort of warmth, like a stream bathed in golden sun. It's hard to explain, but Matt has missed it nevertheless.

Jacksonville isn't very far now. He'll be to his new home within the day if he keeps up the pace.

It has been a quiet midmorning, white sunlight filtering in through the trees and flooding the small clearing where Matt had stopped to rest overnight. The grass is spotted tortoiseshell green from the shadows cast by the leaves, and there are millions of shy white daisies stitched into the verdant carpet.

Humming in slight amusement, Matt reaches for his backpack, rubbing leftover sleep off his eyelashes. His dreams had been vacant last night—he can't remember exactly what had happened, but all he knows is that it was very cold, very dark, and very quiet. The silence had been unnerving.

The half smile that had been on his mouth smoothes into a thin line.

His hand delves deeper into his backpack, rummaging around for a bottle of water and something to eat. But, as he reaches for a bar of chocolate, his hand brushes something...soft. Looking in, he suddenly realizes: it's a rose. From the funeral.

With careful hands, Matt takes the wilted flower from inside the bag. The days had taken a toll on the flower, whose petals are now a starved dark red. Curiously, Matt pinches one of the petals between his thumb and forefinger, velvet in the center but slightly dry at the edges now, and tugs it off before letting it drop into the grass.

She loves me, she loves me not.

Within minutes, Matt carefully dismembers the rest of the rose, one petal at a time, creating a lopsided halo in the daisy-covered grass. Dark angels robed in heavenly white.

Like velvet little corpses, he thinks with slight morbid fascination.

You tell me.

Presently, a light breeze drifts through the clearing, rustling the trees and the grass with soft, invisible fingers. The leftover rose petals lift slightly in the air before falling back to earth. The daisies however, young and bright with life, all seem to release their delicate petals into the wind's embrace; at once, the clearing is filled with tiny white parachutes, and Matt can almost imagine them calling out—"goodbye!", "goodbye!", "goodbye!"

And, in the midst of their farewells, Matt smiles, a somber curvature of his lips, and whispers something too— a farewell of his own. To his family, to his old life, to her, he isn't sure which.

---

752 McAllaster Drive.

Matching the address engraved on the mailbox to the one scrawled on his slip of paper, Matt stops in front of a modest looking home. Well, house would be overselling it. It was more like a bungalow or a beach cabin than it was anything else. The residence itself was small, but the location was wonderful. It was little more than a few hundred feet from the water. He'd have to take shelter elsewhere during hurricane season, he thought begrudgingly.

The front yard is a small patch of green bordered by a short but aged picket fence, the white paint chipping in some places and patched up in others. The walls of the house are covered by a spider-web of ivy, and there is an old ash tree near the gravel driveway. Two old rusted bikes, one red, one blue, lie propped up against each other under the porch, if you could call it that, of the cabin's entrance in some attempt to protect the bikes from rain and weather directly. They were chained to the house's structure in some attempt at security, but Matt doubted that anyone had been here in a long time. What must have originally been brown shutters have faded to a light beige color, and the front door is a pale rendition of a once vibrant yellow.

Matt thinks to himself to his memories of this place when he was much younger when he notices the haphazardly parked bikes. He makes his way up the pathway to the front door. He wastes no more time and raps sharply on the door; tap, tap, tap.

There's no answer, of course. Not that he was expecting one. But always best to check for squatters. He fiddles with his keys, and wastes no time letting himself in. Upon entering his new home, Matthew habitually takes out his phone and messages Amanda that he arrived safely along with a picture of his new home. He waits one, two, five minutes. But his phone is silent.

Matthew sighs, resigned. With a heavy heart he sets his backpack and phone down on a dust covered table and begins the process of adjusting to his new life.

---

The present

---

Matthew absentmindedly and methodically partakes in process of chopping carrots.

It was one of Florida's many humid, overcast days. The skies intermittently blotching out the sun and threatening to rain like a mother threatening to take away their child's favorite toy. Matthew didn't have work today, so he had spent his morning doing some fishing and was now in the process of preparing food for lunch.

Matt held the knife with his dominant hand, gripping the blade with his index finger and thumb on the blade. His subordinate hand held the carrot firmly, his fingers curling in to protect them from receiving any accidental cuts. With the tip of the blade maintaining contact with the board, he raised and lowered the blade in an amateur's recreation of the tap chop technique. Matt was no master chef, but after a few years of living alone he had learned how to do most tasks himself. There was a soft tapping on the door that went largely unnoticed- the man thinking that it was little more than his wind chime in the breeze, maintaining his focus on his task. The second went much the same, but the third knock was much more pronounced, causing Matt to look up from the cutting board towards the door.

He wasn't expecting any visitors, at least as far as he was aware of. He got few to begin with, as his little home was nestled away in a small hole in the wall offshoot of a fairly sparse neighborhood. The area was more trees and leaf-litter than it was homes, and there wasn't a single paved road within a mile. A shock with through his body, and he looked down at his hands, seeing that he had sliced a thin and shallow cut into his gripping hand's index finger while he was distracted. He cursed, more in surprise than in pain, and put the knife down. He squeezed his injured finger with his uninjured hand, applying pressure to the slight wound, and knocked the faucet lever with his elbow to turn the sink on. When the water was running he released the injured hand and let the water wash over it.

"Just a minute!" He called, knowing he was taking some time to answer the door.

The water washed the excess blood away, revealing skin that was already scabbed and mending. He sighed, and shook the pain out of his hand. He reached for a hand towel and dried his hands, then started towards the door. In one motion he turned the knob and pulled the door open, speaking before even registering who was actually at the door.

"Little late for girlscout cookies, y'all aways seem to find me though. I'll take-"

The rest of the sentence dies in his throat.

"Oh my-"

Two wide brown eyes, lit golden by the weak sunlight that had at once pushed through the overcast, stare directly into his frozen face.

"Amanda?"

He remembered receiving a text from her for the first time in months saying that she was going to be visiting, but she never told him when or why or how.

"-—it's you," he murmurs, and suddenly, he really is home.

He eventually invites her inside, and they sit facing each other across a wooden coffee table, a pitcher of water sitting stagnant in the center like a proverbial barrier of some kind. It's surreal— they've spoken once or twice, yet the silence isn't strange or unfamiliar at all; instead, it's filled with questions, it's filled with longing, it's filled with a strange sort of hope.

Matthew pours her a bit of water, and he clears his throat cautiously before speaking.

"I had no idea you were visiting so soon."

He had changed a lot since she had seen him last. His hair was longer, his skin was tanner, words are smoother, tone sensibly deeper, yet it still held a lilt of energetic youth. His broad hands surround his own drinking glass and it suddenly seems ten times more fragile. It's not that he doesn't know what to say; it's just that he has too much to say.

Where have you been, all this time?

"Where have you been, all this time?"

---

Sometime a few months ago....

---

"Got any threes?"

"Go fish."

There was a sigh on the other side of the communicator and the edges of Henry's lips curled up into a sly smile. But they soon fell as there was a celebratory chuckle on the other side of the com.

"Got any sevens?"

"Damn."

They played on an honor code. One they had both agreed on. And it worked. They each carried their own cards for times like this.

"That's a book for you." Henry sighed. He was now losing. Badly. Some days peanuts, some days shells.

"Punch it, lizardman."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..."

There was a moment of silence between the two. When suddenly some other FAMA agent chimed into their chat.
"These channels are for FAMA business only. Go Fish is not FAMA business."

Henry frowned.

"One banger eight turbo."

That meant channel 18. Eli grumbled and signed off from the channel they were currently on.

Henry sniffed, and whipped his snout with the sleeve of his suit. He was currently standing in a grocery store, perusing a stand full of pamphlets. He absentmindedly put his cards away, focusing on the task at hand. His index finger dragged along the various colorful and bombastically written pieces of paper, his claw bending some sheets as it caught them, but otherwise seemed to refrain from choosing from any of them. Henry didn't particularly like the idea of any of this. He then switched to channel 18. Eli was coughing.

"The fucking sign in noise scared the shit out of me-" Eli said in between coughs.

Since the incident that was the Verthaven disaster, Eli worked to take Henry off the streets. Initially he had been in Black Fall, now no longer a special agent and instead Agent Greenfield's spotter. One of the safer jobs- as he was now out of the line of fire in just about any place he would be realistically located. Greenfield, or Sonya as she had insisted he refer to her as (in the nonmission area), was good. Really good, and it was really nice to actually have someone who was in his same skill and experience bracket to work with because god damn it made life so much easier. The thing was, Henry was never really one for easy life. He largely did nothing, simply conversing with Sonya and Eli as they both did their jobs, feeling particularly redundant as he did so.

One pamphlet caught his eyes. It wasn't quite as vibrant as the others, having a somewhat more reserved and modern design to its features. FUN AND RELAXATION FOR EVERYONE IN CHARITY BEACH. it read across the top. He hummed, tapping the paper and then pulling it out daintily with his thumb and index claws. He unfurled the paper to get a better look at the pictures and text.

"What's Charity Beach like, Eli?"

There was another pause as Eli cleared his throat. He could hear some tapping on the other side. He imagined the lanky nerd at his so called battle station- tapping away on glowing keys in a dark room with a few others hooked up to their own computers and talking to their own operatives. His hair was probably a mess and his skin was probably extra pale. He could only imagine the bags under his eyes. The last several days days had been especially tough on everyone. And to be honest, it kinda sucked.

But, Eli is an insomniac. It's why RAVEN had hired him back in the day, and now FAMA. Henry often went for thirty consecutive hours or so without sleep on a semi regular basis. And Eli tended to be awake that amount of time no sweat. This gave the two a lot of time to bond as friends and co-workers when they were first paired together. Henry wasn't sure how often he slept. All he knows is the man is a genius, the insomnia isn't healthy, and he owes him a few beers.

"Just looked it up. It's in Florida, FAMA's got a base there, I'm sure there's plenty of eye candy and-."

Henry sighed. "Guess I'll go there then."

"Quick choice," Eli commented. "What sold you, the weather?"

"No."

"Henry, c'mon man."

"I know you already put me down for transfer there."

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence between the two. Despite their friendship, there was a solid chance Eli wasn't going to be paired with him again and Henry didn't like that much. The man's concern for Henry was extremely heartfelt, but Henry was a hunting dog by nature. Yes, a dog. Just not the kind you pet. He didn't enjoy the idea of simply retiring or calling it quits. Everyone knows you go to Florida to retire, then die.

"I'm just... I think they need you over there is all. The Happiness drug is taking hold. There's gangs and, well, you're the best around." Eli said, trying to justify his action.

"I'll miss this, is all." was all Henry said back.

There was another pause.

"So, got any ones?"

"Fuck you. Yes."

---

Henry was renowned for taking no vacations, so when his name had appeared in the FAMA transfer list, it had gotten out quickly that FAMA had finally broken the beast. Him, and the name 'Blackmore' showing up also raised some eyebrows.

Henry's included, when he stared at the list of individuals who had transferred to the Charity Beach FAMA location in the last thirty days. He frowned, and made a mental note to track the kid down and see what was up with it later.

"I don't know… I still think the coffee in the little shop off Clyde Morris is better. Nothing is imported or stuck full of preservatives there; they grow their own coffee beans and make it all from scratch. No one can make coffee like that lady. What's her name?"

He took a drink and lowered the still-steaming cup. "Carla."

"Yeah, Carla. Such a sweet thing… Did I ever tell you about the time she…"

Henry listened as the little old lady rambled on, continuing her seemingly never ending story, but he didn't stop her. He never stopped her. After everything they'd been through, he didn't think he'd ever tire of hearing another person’s voice. So she talked and he listened.

It was around midday, and the heat and humidity of Florida was finally at it’s peak. Henry basked in the warmth, more comfortable than he had been in years. He’d heard many things about the hot, sticky climate of sunshine state, but the locals obviously paid it little mind because streets were still full of people milling about. Men paused at store windows to look at possible gift ideas, women juggled bags as they herded children past stands selling hot chocolate, and lights strung up in the trees and around the storefront doorways twinkled merrily in the fading light. It was the summer season, the heavy feeling of rain already beginning to fill the air as the daily three o’clock storm built.

He had decided to come to Charity Beach about a week ago. Ever since his return from Verthaven, he'd been busy training and maintaining himself and the areas he worked. So much so that, despite his annoyance when scheduling told him that he wasn’t due to work for another week (something about duty days and mandatory transition acclimation leave) he had almost forgotten what it was like to have a cup of coffee and people watch. He tuned his ears and averted his eyes listening to other conversations in his area rather than the ever talkative lady.

"Maybe later we could go ice skating? I overheard some people talking earlier about how tonight was the first night it'd be open."

How about that, an Ice rink in Florida. Suppose there’s demand everywhere.

"Mmm… Hope you like snow cones, cause you’re gonna be eating my snowflakes."

"You're going down, Ethan."

The way her eyes lit up convinced him that ice skating was right up her alley. And that she never had been able to deny a challenge.

A child's tearful crying cut through the otherwise happy noises of the evening and he automatically looked to the sound. The girl had flopped to the ground and was throwing an impressive tantrum complete with flailing hands and feet, while the mother crouched down and scolded her. His mouth quirked, remembering a time when a six year old him had done something similar, but as the mother picked up the child and slipped through the crowd, his eyes drifted to something that caused the smile to fade and his back to straighten.

Drake Blackmore, in camo cargo pants, a white shirt, with a gold chain. Henry winced at the man's outfit, genuinely pained for the man's lack of awareness. He looked to the lady and gave her an apologetic smile. "Excuse me, ma'am, I have to go." The lady, suddenly stopping from her story, smiled brightly and waved him off. He fiddled with his pants, fishing out a few dollar bills to pay for his drink before setting off after the Blackmore.

When Drake went onto the pier, Henry hesitated, but continued- the wood groaning under his weight. He stopped a few feet beside Drake but did not lean on the fence, deciding that placing his weight against the flimsy guard rail would be a great way to end up going for a swim.

"Long way from home, Blackmore." He greeted. "Small world, huh?"

June 9th, 7:00PM

The loathing came in bursts sometimes. Grey stood there in the empty warehouse, leaning against the railing of the second-floor catwalk and looking down at the gathered assembly of morons they called comrades, and it struck. It hit like a swarm of hornets, needled the base of their neck and the tops of their shoulders. They wanted to run away, go home and say it was too hard, it was too much to handle. They wanted to run home to Baltimore and climb in bed with their Joey and sleep until the morning reached through the blinds.

But Grey didn’t do that. That wasn’t an option. There was too much money on the line to mess this up. Instead, Grey looked down at the blue plastic Gameboy in their hands and drowned themselves in distraction— Tetris, as usual. The scowl on their face felt like a permanent fixture these days. Down below, three men sat in a circle around a glass bong. The acrid smell of marijuana floated through the air like smog and mixed with the ever-present reek of urine, alcohol, and body odor. Off in the corner, a trashy rap song played from a boombox in front of a crowd of young men all tripping on Happiness. They all laid in circles on the ground, laughing and moaning and smiling Joker-esque grins. Grey hated that drug more than anything else in this god-forsaken place. The labs smelled of harsh chemicals and the addicts lumbered around like limp zombies, their constant laughter echoing through the cavernous warehouse.

“You want a hit Grey?” a man called from the circle below. It was Enrique, one of Grey’s subordinates in the Boyz. He was a short, fat Latino man with a mop of curly black hair on his head. He spoke with a cuban accent. Grey made no reply, only scowled deeper and tried to look like they weren’t paying attention. Some grumbling came from below.

“You gotta lighten up, my brother,” Enrique called. “Put that fucking artifact down and take a load off! The boss ain’t paying you to sit around and be a grump all day!”

“Don’t call me ‘brother’,” Grey replied in a monotone, not looking away from the screen. “We’re not friends.” He rotated a straight piece and dropped it onto the left side of the screen— Tetris.

“Ah fine, fuck you then,” Enrique replied. “You think you’re so much better than us because you got some dumb fuckin’ mask and dress like a travesti.” Grey lowered the Gameboy. One of the other men in the circle around the bong picked it up and took a deep hit.

“The fuck did you just call me?” Grey’s voice echoed down, tinged with anger.

“Oooooh,” one of the men in the circle said in the ton of a 3rd grader when someone is called to the office. He was a skinny and weak-looking guy with a mess of brown hair, a long beard, and eyes that flitted around constantly. His clothing hung from his gangly frame like bloated flesh on a corpse. They all called him Bible Bill. He called himself “The Second Christ”.

Grey turned the Gameboy off and put it in their pocket. They walked to the end of the catwalk and down the stairs to the concrete floor of the warehouse. The stench of piss and marijuana was stronger here than before. Off in the distance, someone laughed raucously. They approached the circle. Enrique fell back and crawled on his hands and feet.

“Hey brother, I’m sorry,” Enrique said. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Honest.” Grey stepped through the circle, kicking the bong over as they did so. The water spilled in the direction of the third man, a red-haired miscreant with bad teeth and gigantic tinted goggles taking up most of his face. He wore a Miami Heat jersey with a horrible yellow stain going down one side. Grey approached Enrique, who had turned onto his knees and struggled to his feet. Before he could get away, Grey grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and pulled back hair. Enrique slipped and fell onto his back. Before he could react, the four-inch heel of a black leather boot rested on his throat.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” Grey said monotonously. “If you ever say that word again as long as you live you’ll end up in a mental institution chewing on your own tongue. Is that understood?”

“I-,” Enrique stuttered, short of breath. “I-yeah, yeah I fuckin’ get it. Won’t happen again b-boss. Sorry...” Grey’s boot hovered over the man’s throat. Suddenly, their phone pinged loudly. Boot still over the man’s throat, they pulled their phone out, a sleek iPhone 8. On the screen was a single notification. The app was a simple black box with “.io” in the left corner in white text. Grey scrunched their face up and signed into the phone, a seventeen-letter password, and scrolled to the third page of apps. The black square was on the third page of a folder titled “Misc.” It had no name under it and would not show up if searched. Grey clicked on the app and put their thumb on the home button. The phone buzzed and a white screen appeared with two words of black text in that same monospaced font:

Drake_Blackmore

The two words blinked three times. Then the app crashed and the phone turned off.



Grey thought for a long time. Then they moved their foot from Enrique’s throat and turned back towards the other two, who were cleaning up the spilled bong and salvaging as much of the weed as they could. Enrique laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavy.

“Albert,” Grey said to the man with the goggles. “Clean your shirt.”

“Oh yeah sorry boss,” Albert replied, pulling out a plastic bag. Inside were several dime-sized nuggets of weed. “I’ll do it later tonight.”

“What even is that stain?” Grey asked. “It looks like...vomit?”

“Sauce from an everything dog from Brunhilde’s,” Albert replied. “It’s got mustard, relish, ketchup, chili, onion powder-”

“That sounds carcinogenic,” Grey replied. “Don’t tell me about it anymore.” Albert shrugged and began to grind a nugget of weed with a small metal spice grinder.

“To each their own, I guess,” Al mumbled. “We still got a few hours ‘fore we’re on duty, right?”

“Yeah, Joyboy doesn’t want us on the streets until it’s safe,” Grey replied. “Cops have been getting wise, especially in our part of town.”

“Alright,” Albert said, still grinding the weed up. “I’m gonna pack a new bowl. You want some boss?” Grey sighed hard and looked around.

“Fuck, I guess,” Grey said. They found a spot on the floor around the bong that was...cleaner than the rest and sat cross-legged. Enrique lumbered up, limping a little, and sat down across from them. Across the room, Grey heard a commotion of obnoxious laughter.

“RANDY JOHNSON!” someone screamed. The sound of a shattering bottle then broke the laughter.

“FUCK,” a different guy screamed. “MY FUCKING ASS!” Grey groaned.

“Alright, who did that?” Grey shouted across the room, turning their head.

“Robbie fucked Gonzo’s ass up again!” a chorus of voices shouted back.

“Oh fuck you guys!” Robbie shouted.

“Robbie! What did we talk about?” Grey shouted back.

“I know...I have to control my anger... sorry boss!”

“Don’t apologize to me! Go take Gonzo to the med bay! And make sure there’s not any blood left behind!” Grey turned their head back towards the bong, which Albert was now lighting. They took their glasses off (round and clear with gold frames) and put their head in one palm.

“And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee” Bible Bill said, staring off into the distance. “for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.”

“I’m a fucking babysitter,” Grey groaned.

---

Present-Day

Grey walked down the boardwalk wearing high-cutoff jorts and a pink blouse tied off at the midriff. A straw hat rested atop their mess of platinum hair and round blue sunglasses covered their eyes. It was a nice warm overcast day, and a cool wind blew across the boards from the ocean nearby. The sounds of children laughing echoed from the carnival and mixed with the sound of EDM and trap music coming from the kitschy weed-themed shops on the boards. Grey sat down on a wooden bench by a light pole and watched the seagulls circle overhead. Off in the distance, a loud bell rung from a carnie’s booth and a little girl screamed with excitement. Albert walked across the boardwalk from a shop and sat down next to Grey. He wore the same Heat jersey as always, albeit freshly laundered, and a pink bucket hat covered in marijuana leaves. As he sat down, he munched on a large hot dog covered in a strange yellow sauce.

“How do you stomach that shit,” Grey said cattily.

“Look bro, I don’t hate on your organic vegan quinoa shit. Let me eat my hot dog in peace.” Grey grumbled and rolled their eyes. They began to look out at the people walking down the boards until they came across a man with spiked black hair. He was leaning on the fence of the boardwalk, looking out sunset and licking an ice cream cone. Grey opened their phone and looked at the picture he’d been sent. The face and hair matched exactly. Quickly, they deleted the picture, scrolled to “Misc”, and opened up the black app again. This time, a keyboard appeared on the screen. They typed three words:

Sighting_confirmed_Boardwalk.

The whole screen blinked, and the app crashed.

---

John rode into town with the wind at his back and his gun on his hip, and though he wasn't looking for trouble, it wouldn't be long before it found him. The journey to Charity Beach had been a long one. He'd kissed his wife goodbye in Pickett's Ridge when the sun had already been down for an hour, so Doyle had the pleasure of spending the ride in darkness. There was little to accompany him other than the grainy country tunes of 104.3 FM, and he'd gotten tired of those an hour ago. Now he rode in silence, save for the hum of the engine and the dull roar of his tires on the pavement.

Part of him wanted to head straight to the CBPD Headquarters. He wanted to do his part of the job as soon as he could, put the onus of the work on the locals so he could be outta there nice and quick. John wasn't opposed to traveling, but after everything that happened in the Ridge, he just wanted to be home with his family. If only that pesky sense of duty didn't keep getting in his way.

Any desire he had to go right into the belly of the beast was dashed when he glanced down at the blinking series of numbers on the dash. 3 AM. Not exactly the optimal time to be doing interviews and filling out paperwork. Doyle ran the back of his calloused hand up against his eyes and choked down an obnoxiously persistent yawn. Too late to work. Too late to fill the void in his stomach. The only thing he could do for tonight was to find somewhere to lay his head. Luckily for him, there was a hotel on every corner 'round these parts, so it didn't take long for him to pull his Chevrolet Caprice into a barely occupied parking lot. John climbed out of the black-and-white vehicle, grabbing his hat from the passenger seat as he did, and started toward the front office.

The hotel's lobby was small, yet sleek and modern. Cream colored walls contrasted well with the slate gray carpet. Odd paintings that didn't seem to mean anything, in particular, sat beside even stranger sculptures. The furniture looked like wood but turned out to be plastic on closer inspection, and it was all drenched in a dreary black. It was all a little too modern for Doyle's sensibilities. He'd take a log cabin over this place any day of the week.

What really bothered him though was not the interior design, but the people.

"Come oonnn, chica, you'se can't be this fuckin' boring!" A young gentleman with greasy hair and a scraggly excuse for a beard was leaning across the check-in desk, his tattooed arms spread over its surface as he got up into the receptionist's face.

The receptionist was a head shorter than the man, but given the prickly frown on her freckled face, John could tell she wasn't the least bit intimidated by him. "Like I said, I'm working, so you can fuck right off." She hissed, her hands hovering close to something hidden underneath the lip of the counter.

Another young man accompanying the first let out an ugly, hyena laugh. "She's got some bite, Hector!" The pale skinned specter heckled, ramming his elbow into his Hispanic buddy's ribs. He was shorter than his compatriot but much wider; he either ate too much or spent too much time at the gym. Doyle couldn't quite tell which with the baggy clothes, but he was leaning toward the former.

Hector didn't back down, his unwashed smile only growing wider. "Alrightalrightalright," He started with a wave of his hand. "Clearly, you can't afford the product, so's I'll cut ya a deal: gimme a blow and I'll give ya half-off. How's that sound to ya, chica?" He asked with a wink and a nod as if he was the most generous junkie on the block for that one.

The receptionist stood up on the tips of her toes, practically pressing her nose up against Hector's as she did. She stared right up into the dealer's bloodshot eyes without so much as blinking. "I've got a better one: how about you two leave before I cut your dicks off and shove it up your asses-" She started, though the last word seemed to catch in her throat as her eyes flickered over Hector's shoulder.

"You gentlemen havin'a nice night?" Doyle called a little too loudly, drawing every eye in the room back to him. He didn't cut a very intimidating figure in his campaign hat and olive green pants, but the very visible holster on his hip more than made up for it. "S'pose it'd be mornin' by now, though, innit? What're you boys doin' out so late?"

The stumpy blond one ripped around like a rattlesnake, his eyes lighting up with surprise, followed quickly by a touch of mischief. "That we are, sur!" He responded in a flanderized, mocking drawl. "N' how're you doin' this fiiinee night, cowpoke?"

Hector eyed his friend nervously, tugging a bit on his sleeve. "Hey, uh, B-man, I'unno 'bout this." He tried to mutter, though it came out loud enough for everyone this side of the Mississipi to hear. "He's got a badge, man-"

'B-Man,' or Bjorn as his parents, unfortunately, decided to name him, either didn't hear his friend's wise words or he elected to ignore them as he stepped up closer to the sheriff. He had his thumbs stuffed into the front of his pants and his head tipped back so his chin jutted out like he was a rooster sauntering around the yard. "He ain't from around these parts. Can't ya tell, Hec?" Bjorn lifted up a long, fat finger and flicked the edge of Doyle's hat. "Ol' ten-gallon hat here ain't got no jur-is-dic-tion here. Ain't that right, sur?"

John said nothing for a moment, holding Bjorn's gaze as he contemplated the situation. He shifted around to face fully toward the lanky blond, letting the silence hang long enough for 'B-Man' to begin to look uncomfortable. Only then did the sheriff finally speak. "Felony battery of a peace officer," He started, "that's, what, five years in prison? Slap a possession with intent to sell on top'a that n', well...you're lookin' to be in a spot of bother, ain't ya, sir?"

The specter of a man's face managed to get even paler, believe it or not as if he'd just realized he was stepping up to a lawman. His realization manifested in him stumbling backward and nearly tripping over himself, his hands moving up defensively in front of him. "H-hey, hey, I didn't batter nobody! N' I never done drugs in my life, man! I know my rights!" He stammered.

"That right? Why don't we all take a seat n' wait for my buddies down at CBPD to show up n' sort this out, then? I'm sure if ya didn't do anything wrong then there's no reason not to wait around." Doyle said with a smirk.

By now Hector had swooped in from behind Bjorn, wrapping an arm around his buddy and physically dragging him toward the door to make a quick exit. He seemed the soberer of the two, despite the redness in his eyes, and he was lucid enough to know they'd best leave. "We didn't mean no's trouble, señor, honest-"

"Yeah, yeah, just get outta here, will ya?" Doyle waved them off, turning his back to the two men as they burst out of the door and made their getaway. John whipped back around and shouted, "N' you leave this little lady alone from now on, y'hear?!"

A long, frustrated groan came from behind him. The receptionist had her head buried in her hands, her red locks draped over her face like a curtain. She kept it there for a few seconds as she mulled over whether or not she could live the rest of her life in this position. It was eventually decided that she'd need to return to reality, however, and she let her hands fall back down onto the desk. The disgust on her face was more than apparent. "Did you just unironically call me a 'little lady?' Ugh."

Doyle's eyebrow shot up, caught off-guard by the common. "Scuse me?" He asked, closing the distance between himself and the hotel's front desk. "I apologize fer not bein' hip enough for you, but a little gratitude wouldn't be unwarranted for savin' your keester."

"Oh, my hero. What would I do without you?" She snorted, her arms thrown out in a wide display before they came crashing back down on the desk in a heap. She was a young woman, probably around college age, if John had to guess. She had a plaid shirt on over what looked like her uniform polo, and her name, Sarah, printed on the shirt's nametag. "The only harm those two'll ever do is to their brains with all the shit they ingest."

"You knew those two?" John was quick to ask, resting an elbow on the desk.

Sarah shrugged, too busy looking down at her computer to meet his gaze. "Duh. Homestead Inn isn't exactly a popular hangout. Hector's a fuckin' creep and Bjorn's a lonely loser. They couldn't hurt anybody if they tried."

Doyle plucked a pen out of a basket on the desk and began to clumsily flip it between his fingers. "So you know them from school?"

She blinked, her eyes shifting away from the computer to glare at the sheriff. "How'd you know that?"

"Didn't," John shrugged, tapping the pen on the desk. "Was a question. What were they trying to sell you?"

"Insurance." She snorted. "What do you think?"

"Weed?" John pressed, and Sarah answered only with a laugh. He frowned, confused, and decided to set the pen down. "What?"

"Dude, seriously?" She asked incredulously, only to notice the dumbfounded look on Doyle's face and start into another giggle fit again. "Did you just get here?"

"...Yes?" Doyle groaned, clearly agitated about being led around. "There a point to this?"

Instead of responding Sarah just shook her head. "You'll find out soon. So," she shifted her position, dropping further back in her office chair. "did you come in for a reason? Here to arrest my boss for not dealing with the roaches, orr?"

"Roaches-" He blinked, only to realize she was trying to mess with him again. "No, no. Need a room. Don't know how long I'll be here."

She started to poke information into her system, asking a series of questions to fill out the entry form. It didn't take much more than two or three minutes before she was handing him his keycard and pointing him down the hall. "There ya go," she nodded. "try not to trip on any of the drunks on your way out in the morning. Don't know why, but they like to sleep in front of the door. Just kick 'em a little and they'll scatter."

"Ain't this supposed to be the nice part of town?" Doyle asked, slapping the keycard against his palm as he stepped around the desk and started toward his room.

"Once upon a time. Have a nice night!"

---

Harvest Hills Apartments
Charity Beach, Florida
1200 hrs
Saturday, June 11th

He twirled the keyring on his index finger as he struggled the distance from the elevator to the room door, glancing at the white walls of the hallway. They had scratch marks, cracks in the drywall, and even some outlines of where graffiti had been painted over. Nice place, he thought to himself as he traced the brass numbers nailed to each door whilst limping himself down the hallway. It was a long enough walk, compounded by his gait which he had newly acquired, albeit temporarily.

And finally he found it, the numbers on the white door listing '531' in faded brass number stencils. Shifting the duffel bag on his back, he jammed the key into the door, turning it with a distinct click, before trying the knob. He spilled inside quickly, closing the door behind him, making note of the three different locking mechanisms he had to play with. How foreboding. Gazing upon his new residence, he took in the whole single room and a half he had to work with. A single bed on a simple flat frame, a couch with a coffee table, and a bar-counter with a microwave and minifridge haphazardly balanced atop it, both plugged into a nearby outlet. But what's not to forget about the bathroom. Well, one could say 'room', but it was a toilet located about a foot and a half in front of a sink, leaving a narrow passage to a comparatively tiny standing shower, the shower head seemingly having a constant drip of water.

How quaint. He smirked, internally reasoning that it was better than some bunkhouse shared with thirty other Marines. Shrugging the duffel bag off his shoulder, he let it fall to the mattress on the bed, before giving way to the couch and sinking into the horrifically patterned cushions. Reaching into his waistband, he dislodged his pistol from its inline holster, sitting it on the coffee table and leaning back once again. Did this place have rules against smoking? He couldn't remember, he'd signed the lease in such a hurry, not wanting to spend another night in a roach-infested motel on the outskirts of the city. Now at least he had a roach-infested place to call his own.

Sidetracked once more, he returned to the matter at hand, reaching into the shirt of pocket of his blue patterned button-up and producing a packet of Camel filterless reds. Placing one of the carcinogen tubes between his lips, he struck up with a Bic lighter jammed into the carton along with the cigarettes. Billowing out a cloud of foul-smelling smoke, he pondered his next move. He already had a job lined up, and after that Charleston business, he hoped this was it. There was no way they knew he was alive after that, and he had the scars and limp to prove it. His plan wasn't sound in entirety, but it sounded good in his microscopic skull raisin of a brain. Work at the docks, live your life, and kill anyone who might know or report you.

He glanced down at the pistol sitting on the coffee table. He really needed to clean that thing. Did he even have a gun-cleaning kit after last time? Dish soap would work in a hurry to soak it, but he wasn't even sure this place stocked that. Reaching forward, he grasped the firearm in his hand, thumbing the magazine release and glancing down at the ten cartridges tucked within, before inserting it back into the weapon and pulling the slide back halfway, confirming the round in the chamber. He double-checked the thumb safety before holstering the pistol, bringing himself back to a standing position with a pained grunt. They really didn't have to fuck up his leg like that, did they?

He popped his neck, before glancing down at his second-hand cheap digital watch. 1:15. He didn't start work until bright and early tomorrow, but as for scoping the place out, there was no time like the present. Spinning his keyring on his index finger, he limped over to his duffel bag, throwing open the zipper. Reaching in, he found his intended target at the very top, producing a grey curved bill baseball cap with netted back. He fit it over his unkempt mop of hair, adjusting the velcro strap on the back, before nodding silently, making for the door, on course for the beach and boardwalk district.

---

The CBPD Headquarters was a beautiful building by all accounts. Built of grey bricks, glass, and tempered steel, it was purposefully made to 'fit in' with the rest of the district's towering skyscrapers and ornate corporate offices. It was all a little too grandiose for John. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed when stepped into the sprawling lobby earlier that morning. The mountains of paperwork they'd handed him the moment they knew who he was did little to ease his worries. Questions on questions, many of them quite personal in nature. Some of it was information he'd hesitate to share with his wife; yet they assured him it was all quite necessary, so he reluctantly filled it all in.

If he might've thought things would get easier when he finally got to speak with an actual person, the sheriff was wrong. Oh so wrong.

Detective Morgan was a rough man. He had a sharp, hawk-like nose and a smile that could kill a flower. A pair of round, ugly glasses sat on the tip of his beak, accentuating his pair of even sharper eyes. Thin as a wire though he was, Morgan carried a presence about him with his every movement, like a vulture looking for just the right moment to snatch up its prey. And here, trapped in this tiny, grey interrogation room, Doyle certainly felt like his prey.

"Did you or did you not allow Aldrich Leblanc, the Warmonger as you insist on calling him, kill three of your deputies? Did you or did you not fail to apprehend him before he could go on to kill another six civilians and injury twenty-eight more?" Morgan spoke with an accusatory tone; the same one Doyle had used on many of the criminals he'd spoken to over the years. It was...quite the experience to be on the other side of it.

John wasn't going to take that sitting down. He pushed back his chair and stood, his hands gripped tight around the edge of the table in front of him as he and Morgan locked eyes with one another. "You got a lotta nerve talkin' to me like that!" Doyle roared. "I take down the guy you n' your boys let run rampant fer, what, eight months? And this is how you thank me? You think I wanted that asshole to kill my people?"

Morgan didn't back down. "I don't know, Sheriff, did you?"

"Go to hell." John snarled. "I come down here to help you with your investigation n' this is how ya treat me? You got a screw loose up in that fat head'a yours or are you always this awful?"

The detective went quiet and finally broke eye contact, moving to unlatch the briefcase he'd set down on the table when he first walked in. He pulled a cream-colored file out and slapped it down in front of Doyle, tapping on the paper with a sharp, boney finger. "Did you open the case Leblanc carried with him?"

"Course not. Not like we could anyway; lock on that thing was nothin' like any I've ever seen." Doyle fell back into his chair, dragging the file up in front of his face. A picture of the stolen case sat front and center. Its exterior was fat and chrome-ish, covered in small lines and bearing a handle on the top for easy transport. What caught John's eye, however, was the locking mechanism on the front of the case. No keyhole, no keypad, no fingerprint analyzer, no combination, no keycard. None of that. Just a little black square with a silver dot in the center. Doyle had no idea how somethin' like it would work.

"Someone managed to get it open in the time between you collecting it as evidence and it being transferred back to us. The only people to touch it were you and your boys, the Feds, and my people- who'd already found it open." Morgan's demeanor shifted after that. He got quiet. Slipped back into his own chair, his eyes fixated on some point in the distance. Some question must've hung on his tongue, but something was stopping him from asking.

John furrowed his brow, staring down at the words in front of him yet barely comprehending any of it. He was too busy mulling over what Morgan had said. Somebody had managed to get that case open. "Did they take something?" John asked after a moment, his eyes flickering up to Morgan's face. The detective didn't meet his gaze for a few, elongated seconds, yet even after he did he chose not to answer the question.

The sheriff of Donovan county leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice as he did. "Detective," he started, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. "what was in that case?"

Morgan's mouth fell open but no words came out. He sat there like that for a while, awkwardly squirming. Nothing like the man that had been holding Doyle's ass to the fire not but a few minutes ago. After what felt like an eternity he finally got up from his seat, packed up his suitcase and started for the door.

"Detective-" John began, but he wasn't allowed to finish.

"I'm going to need you to stay in town for a few more days, sheriff." Morgan turned around, his lips contorting into a terribly ugly grin. "I'll give you temporary jurisdiction while you're here, but I'd recommend taking a...short vacation while you're in town. We're known for our beaches here, after all. I'll contact you when you're needed again."

---

---

John Doyle sat at a little restaurant on the boardwalk, a half-finished cola in one hand and his flip phone in the other. The sky overhead was dark and gloomy, threatening to make the day even darker and gloomier by dropping a bit of rain on everyone's heads at any moment. His straw hung out of the corner of his mouth as he fumbled to press the tiny buttons on his phone. He hated texting. Always seemed like a waste of time to him; why text somebody when you could talk to them, after all? But when he'd gone to make the call he'd felt his stomach twist around inside of itself, so now he was stuck plinking away with his fat old fingers at a tiny keyboard. He'd make sure to talk to his family later that night, but at the moment...

He just needed time to think.

Once the message was off into the void Doyle tossed his flip phone down onto the table just a little too hard. There were a million different thoughts rotating through his head. A million different attempts to explain just what in the world was going on. Something had spooked Detective Morgan- bad. And John could tell from spending just a few minutes with the guy that he wasn't the type to be spooked easily. Warmonger had been a dangerous man. An evil man, even. But...something about the stuff he stole...

John let out a loud, overexaggerated sigh. He took a long sip of his cola, the cold liquid bubbling in his mouth like he'd poured a bunch of poprocks onto his tongue. He couldn't remember how long it'd been since he last tasted the stuff. His doctor had insisted he switch to something less caffeinated and sugary, and John had been good about it for the most part. Only drinking some variant of tea. But he figured he'd earned a cheat day by now, 'specially with everything that was going on. Besides, the soda reminded him of his youth- all those days he'd spent at the diner with his friends chasing girls and ghosts and all other manner of frightening things.

Maybe he didn't need time to think. Maybe he was thinking too much.

Doyle pushed the brim of his hat up. He'd swapped out of his uniform, leaving it in the hands of the hotel staff so they could get some of the muck off of it. Now he was stuck looking like a regular ol' civilian; as regular as a man in a cowboy hat and boots could be in a place like Charity Beach. Though given how odd everyone here seemed to be, he wasn't all that out of the ordinary. He swore he'd even seen a giant lizard walkin' down the boardwalk earlier.

---

Boardwalk.

---

It wasn't terribly hard noticing Henry Olin walking up, he saw the scaly white giant at the corner of his eyes and couldn't help but smile. He remembered Henry for long as he could remember (then again his memory was pretty shit) and always had the same warm smile he had for him decades ago. He remembered meeting Henry. Then shitting his pants. But after a while, he stopped shitting himself and learned to appreciate the Lizard. All the family functions they were apart of and... Then he remembered a certain holiday party that went so, so, wrong. He moved past that and then hopped off the railing as he turned to face Henry.

"Yup, Mr. Olin, real small world," He extended a fist to bump, "Last time I heard you were stationed in Black Fall. What? Did they send you here to catch Florida-Man?"

He took a lick of his ice cream as he looked across the area, he saw all sorts of people - many of them giving them looks - but one stuck out: he was exceptionally gay. Just the way he walked with those stupid looking glasses and hat... and those boots. Oh God. He could feel himself getting gayer just by looking at him. He shook his head, he's seen far weirder - and he was going to see weirder shit.

"And I got transferred here for a little while after a mission gone bad...." Drake looked at the ground in shame as he spoke in a low tone, "... We always had that bastard Abel and he fucking changes the game."

---

Matt's House.

---

Matthew was evidently surprised, yeah.

Amanda was definitely dropping a lot on him by showing up, and she knew that. She would probably feel the same, but there was something overcoming her upon seeing Matt. As attractive as ever, with his own place and all. So while he talked she could only help but crack a smile. When the last word left his lips, Amanda floated up to Matthew and planted a deep and passionate kiss on his lips. She was gentle with her hands... because she didn't want to break him with her super strength. When she released Matthew she began to realize how impulsive that was because... she didn't feel the same as she used to when she kissed him.

"Where have I been?" Amanda... didn't know how to answer that question. Because for the last couple of years, she didn't know. She barely recognized herself when she looked into the mirror! Still, she had to bullshit an answer or else Matt might take her to a therapist or something! "Ever since... he died, I had to take some time to myself. Soul-search, they call it. It was... nothing against you, Matt! A girl just needed her time." Amanda dramatically wrapped her arms around herself as she turned away.

"I hope you understand! But, we can always make up for lost time, I promise."

---

There was a muffled 'mmph!' sound when Amanda's lips crashed into his own. A combination of uncertainty and surprise creating the abrupt sound in response to the equally abrupt action. He catches her wrist firmly as it came up to caress his cheek, and when Matthew looks up at her from his seated position his heart nearly stops, the water slipping out of his hand and hitting the carpet floor- pooling around his feet before sinking into the carpet. Amanda doesn't let go, just removes her lips and gently pries his hand from hers, But, we can always make up for lost time, I promise, she says softly, and after all these years she really hasn't changed much, not with those same eyes and smile and hair and oh. Oh.

He's abruptly dizzy and his world tilts dangerously, the sounds of his ceiling fan and the empty glass hitting the floor blurring into a whirling ambiance and it's like tunnel vision, he can't see anything but her, can't feel anything but her hand still wrapped around his wrist, anchoring him and uprooting him all at once, and suddenly everything is comets and supernovas again, dazzling and breathtaking and terrible, it's you, it's you, it's—

That's just the way it's always been though, what did he expect; he builds, and Amanda swings and knocks it all down. Her face contorts in some sort of self doubt, and Matthew doesn't know how to feel about that. The he is suddenly rushed back to reality. He doesn't know how, but somehow, miraculously even, he pulls himself together, every trembling and shaken piece included, and rushes to clean up the mess she- he had made.

He stands up abruptly, almost knocking into her as he does so, only to stumble as he knelt down to pick up the now empty glass. As he grabs the empty container, he realized that he had taken a while to reply to her. "No, no, yeah I-" He breathes, trying to grasp the air for words that are barely forming in his throat before being regurgitated in an attempt to redeem this failure of a conversation. She was so much more put together than him right now. All melodrama and class that was characteristic of a Blackmore. Retrieving the glass, he dared to take a look up at her, and sighed in relief upon seeing that she was turned away from him. He scampered to his feet and into the kitchen, eager to put some distance between himself and her right now. Matthew unceremoniously deposits the glass in the sink, and tries to busy himself by finishing what he started with the carrots, only to cut himself again. He cant concentrate.

What was she thinking, that foolish, stupid, beautiful, outdated, brilliant... he stops, takes a breath —who was she to unceremoniously drop into his life from god knows where and expect them to start where they left off? Here she is many years older, perfect and successful and everything everyone has ever expected her to be, but then she comes along all smiles and earnestness and fuck—suddenly he's back where he started.

He's angry and agitated and frustrated because he's angry and agitated—it's irrational in theory, but Matthew has long learned that his life doesn't follow any book, any rule. Eventually however, he finishes his task and no more words had been exchanged between the two of them- the silence that follows after becomes overbearing, pressing down upon them. Matt knows that Amanda is thinking the same thing; neither of them want to open the floodgate, in fear of re-opening wounds and creating new ones. What had caused their fall-out? Where had those last few years disappeared to? How had they severed their connection without even knowing it?

Deciding that the process was much like ripping off a Band-aid, Matt slams his blade down onto the table and faces Amanda directly; it's hurting him to not have answers. It's hurting him that she no longer seems to care.

"You disappeared for years Amanda," he says, his voice low. "In fact, you and I stopped talking after I left for Florida. Here." He searches her face, so different from what he remembers, and yet so familiar. He wishes he could just have it all back. "I mean, we did talk to each other now and again I guess, which was nice because I got to hear from you again, and for a while I thought we were okay..." A lump is starting to form in his throat. He pushes it down forcefully. "But then we just stopped talking! No phone calls, no visits, nothing! I mean, granted, I was busy, and you were busy and, I know... I just- I thought." He waivers slightly. "I thought we had something real." Matt looks out the window, suddenly losing his nerve and averting his gaze, choosing to look at the clouds building in the distance through the window pane. "Don't you... don't you remember those nights we'd spend together of your roof? The papers you'd help me with? Science class? Together?"

---

@Ruler Inc

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---

The Palm Leaf Motel, Downtown Charity
Saturday, June 11th, 11:09am

---

---

The Palm Leaf existed on the edge of downtown Charity. Close enough that you could walk into the town but far enough away that its trashy, old visage would not scare away anyone who had actual money to spend. It took the traditional route of dirty, uncared for motels with lax rules. The office lived at the center of an "V" shaped building. On each side were rows of doors, five on each with a parking space outside of each door. Beside each door lived one large window that had bright floral curtains to hide the goings on within. The curtains perhaps should have died in the seventies. The building had peeling white paint that showed that it might have once been something that looked like terracotta beneath. The roof had a few shingles missing and the orange color had dulled from weather and sand. It now appeared to be a burnt sort of color similar to a moldy orange that gave it less of the Spanish vibe the building had once flourished in being. The doors had been replaced recently but were made of a feeble, light wood that wouldn't have held back anyone attempting to break-in.

Lucky number seven had a bike covered in a canvas tarp sitting outside of it. Inside the room, on an old creaky spring mattress bed, slept a young couple. The sheets, stubbornly stained with fluids of past guests, were in great disarray providing hints to a night of passion between the pair. The man rolled over in his sleep and wrapped his arm around the small woman beside him. Slowly he nuzzled the back of her freckled neck and his hand snuck up beneath her tank-top to close around---

Panic filled her as she awoke to a larger presence fondling her. Instant reaction was a balled up fist dug into the palm of her other hand and an elbow forced backward at him. Her elbow connected with the man's nose and she felt the crunch of it breaking rather than hearing it. The man cried out, holding his bloody nose as he stood naked from the bed. Bobbi sat up, rubbing the stinging feeling caused by the impact away from her elbow. "What'd du fuhk you do dat for," he shouted as best as his banged-up nose allowed.

Bobbi pulled the sheets back and crossed her arms over her chest with a well-practiced scowl on her face. "Ya scared me!" she responded with great irritation. "De fuck are ya still doin' here? E'ray couyan knows tah leave before de light." Her travels had done little to dull the New Orleans Cajun accent with which she spoke.

"I fell asleeb dammit! And I thought some mornin fun would-" She cut him off with a wave of her hand and a sour expression.

"Nah, I didna invite ye tah be stayin'. Get de fuck outta here." Bobbi hopped out of the bed and started throwing his clothes at him. When she ran out of clothes, random objects in the room sufficed. At long last, she had forced him from the room, naked and bleeding. He threatened to call the cops as he grumbled and mumbled outside of her door. She rolled her eyes, knowing full well the fool wouldn't. "Fuckin' couyan," she huffed as she flopped back in the bed.

She had come here to visit an old friend who said she was in trouble. And by an old friend. Well it was more of an acquaintance. Ah, she should be real with herself. Diana was an old drug buddy. And when there was trouble it meant she was deep into drugs again or was being hunted by someone demanding money from her. Or both. And here Bobbi was, coming to uncharacteristically save the day. Even being here for Diana was something she wouldn't have normally done. But here she was, new and improved Bobbi. Out to save the world or some shit.

With a sigh, she got up from the bed, dug around in her bags, and popped open a light orange, plastic med container. Two blue and white capsules spilled into her hand. She closed the bottle and tossed it back into the bag. Before heading into the bathroom, she popped on the little clock radio. At first, there was static and then music filled the room.



Bobbi rocked her way into the bathroom, popped the pills into her mouth and swallowed them down with a handful of water from the sink. She caught her face in the mirror and grimaced. She looked like someone threw a raccoon into a trash compactor. Her eye makeup was smeared over her face and made her look much more tired than she was. With a shrug, she turned on the shower and waited for the water to get hot while she peed.

---

---

The Palm Leaf Motel ---> The Boardwalk
Saturday, June 11th, 1:25pm
Interactions: Briefly @JunkMail and @Saint Maxx

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---

Her hair was still a bit wet from the shower when she left the motel. It looked like rain so she decided against riding the bike to the boardwalk. She called a taxi, finding that might be a much more comfortable ride. Through her pay-as-you-go phone, she tapped out a quick text to Diana before shoving it into the pocket of her jean shorts. She leaned her head back against the seat and crossed her scrawny chicken legs. The outfit the tiny girl had chosen was rather simple - cut off jean shorts that stopped just above midthigh and black tank with a skull bedazzled into it. She had cut it up further so that the sides came down low and showed off much of her mid-drift and what little womanly advantages she had from that angle. She had stuffed her feet into old and beaten combat boots that looked about ready for the trash bin, and a black baseball cap that advertised is was from Louisiana sat upon her head. Beneath the shirt, she did wear a black bandeau as it was generally frowned upon by law enforcement and grumpy middle-aged women to show off side-boob or nipple.

The taxi could not go too far into the boardwalk so she had to walk a little way. The sky threatened her by dropping tiny spots of rain on bare skin every so often. She didn't much mind. Bobbi yawned as she approached the little restaurant on the boardwalk. On her way, she passed by a giant lizard. "Cho! Co Mistah!" She whistled loudly and waved. "Laissez les bon temps rouler!" She blew a kiss before walking the rest of the way to and into the establishment. She passed Cowboy Bob on the way. "Dig ya threads, Mistah," she commented in passing.

Unfortunately, it seemed Diana had not appeared just yet. Bobbi indicated there would be two, was seated and ordered a Corona right away. She leaned back in her chair as she pulled out her phone again to ask where her friend had gotten to. As she quickly tapped away on the phone she chewed her lower lip and her brows furrowed in concentration. The chair was now on its back two legs as she pushed a knee against the table, rocking forward and back.

The crisply cool water of the creek soothingly chuckled among the rocks on a late spring morning. The dense verge of forest on the opposite bank was teeming with song birds, their voices adding to the relaxing splendor of the location. Above the creek ran an old steel truss bridge, only a few beams still maintaining a couple of stained, faded flecks of pale blue paint, the rest the slightly mottled, dusty rust-red. Duncan was hunched next to the stream, flexing his fingers in the water, wincing slightly as the water bit into the abraded bark of his skin. Wringing his hands together, he made sure he hadn't broken any bones, before slowly rising and shaking the water from his hands. Closing his eyes, he saw the distorted face of what was a man; and grimaced. It wasn't the first man he had nearly killed, he kept trying to remind himself that they were traffickers, of humans and deltas. Everyone from kids, to any Delta with a power they could sell, were they really human?

Yes.

"Murderer." It fell from his lips with weighted breath as he crouched, bringing his hands to his temples. He likely was. The gurgling gasps of agonal breathing...He could hear it, echoing in his mind. He could see the room, the single dim light bulb, the child with sunken eyes, malnourished, yet so despondent, they didn't even seem to react to what they witnessed. There were three others he found in the chaos that came next. He left the two he escaped with outside of a hospital, and took off.

Electronic chirping pulled him out of his own head. He retrieved the phone from the pocket of his jacket, to watch it shut off from low power. A deep breath dragged in, shuddering, before he released it. "Need to move," whispering to himself, helped to motivate his mind. Rising, Duncan pocketed his phone, and looked over the serene view one last time, hoping previous night wouldn't tarnish this memory. Turning, his heavy boots tearing up some of the dew-wet grass, and sandy soil, as he climbed the embankment back to the road, where his beat up International waited. He paused to check the rear bench, clean. The bloody rag was now floating down the stream to wherever it may end up. He rounded the front of the large truck, and climbed into the driver's seat, the door slammed closed, with a bit of a rattle. The engine fired with the raucous clatter of an old diesel, and he pulled away. Heading south.

Following the last things he had coaxed the man to say, "Radko. Charity Beach."

---

Duncan was still unsure exactly what he felt about Florida, the heat and humidity were strange, though the intense sunlight did make him feel more...alive somehow. He wasn't sure if he really photosynthesized anything, but he did feel like the bright sun invigorated him much more than normal, back home in Alaska. Still, he reclined on the bench, overlooking the beach from the boardwalk, his head exposed, with the dull brown scale-like bark-skin soaking in the sun, his dull yellowish-green hair, close cropped, shaven on the sides. He wore simple clothing, the lightweight, long sleeved hooded shirt of light grey, and a pair of durable blue jeans, over work-worn steel-toe boots. He took a sip of the bottled water he carried, and watched the people below. He was genuinely curious what this festival was going to be like, and torn between hoping nothing would happen, or that some idiot would decide that tonight was the perfect time to abduct another child, so he could have another chance of getting another lead.

Grey stood up from the wooden bench and walked over to the gate at the edge of the boards. They looked out past the sea of carnival tents to where the ocean lapped away at the sand. Their phone buzzed again, but it was a Messenger notification this time, not the app. The text was from someone named Rachel.

"Is he there?" the text read.

"Mhmmm" Grey responded. They got back an emoji with hearts for eyes.

"Can you send a pic? ;)" the texter responded. This was all scripted, and Grey knew the drill.

"No lol that's weirddd" Grey replied.

"Oh come on! Just one?" followed by the kissy-face and crying emojis. Grey rolled their eyes. This bit was so played out at this point that it wasn't even amusing. Grey looked over his shoulder as the lizard-man approached. Good lord he was massive. Grey had never seen a metahuman quite like that one. Full-body transformations were rare.

"Ugh, fiiiiiine. But he's got a big hunky friend who's in the way." There was a few moments of silence.

"Friend? ;)" Then a thinking emoji.

"Ew no, he's literally a lizard." Grey ad-libbed that line. There was another few seconds of silence from the other side.

"so...the pic?" Grey frowned. They had hoped the entrance of a new metahuman would dissuade their contact, but apparently not. Slowly, Grey turned their phone in the direction of Henry and Drake. While looking out at the ocean, they discreetly took a crooked picture with their right hand and then, pulling it back to center, opened Messenger back up. They sent the picture and waited for a response.

"What'cha up to boss?" Albert said from behind. Grey jumped and turned around.

"Mind your own business," Grey replied monotonously.

"Jeez, I'm just making conversation," Albert replied. "Why do you look so jumpy? Someone creep you out?" Grey turned back around and looked down at the sand.

"There's a lot of strange people in this world," Grey said. "but it's not like we're ones to talk."

---

Charity Beach University - Days Before

Charity Beach University was THE university of the city. It was publicly run, so practically anyone could attend. The area was halfway decent, though with the sudden rise in Boyz activity in the area, the local students who lived on campus were rightfully afraid. The school's Dean made sure to put out a warning and asked the students to take the necessary precautions. It was quite unfortunate really. Late night parties and alcohol induced binges decreased dramatically since the Boyz gained more prominence in the area. Not to mention, school authorities have been on high alert, enlisting at least an extra 50 or so security personnel. And they've been cracking down on happiness. Any student caught with the substance on campus would be immediately expelled.

Not long ago, a student was recently arrested for killing a girl on campus while under heavy influence of the drug. And it didn't help that he was a meta-human. Rumors around the school were that he had somehow turned her body inside out. It was gruesome apparently, though few actually witnessed the event or the aftermath. A vigil was held for her in the middle of campus.

It was early morning, a light mist saturating the air and palm trees that frou frou'd with the wind. Jean was exiting from her A.M. biology class, a bejeweled mug in one hand, her books held tightly to her chest with the other. She looked at the vigil of unlit candles as she strolled past it, her pace slowing to a turtle-like crawl. A gaze of melancholy set in. This drug was ruining people. Not only those who took them, but those who were victims of the substance abusers as well. She felt heavily regretful for the unfortunate girl. A life prematurely snuffed out. This was the way of the world, but it didn't have to be this way. Did it? Is this just how the world turns?

"Jean...."

She didn't respond. The young woman was lost in her own thought. They transcended the present moment as she gazed deep with the frame that housed the picture of the now deceased girl. A freshman. Poor thing.

"Jean!"

The girl jolted, turning to face the figure who stood before her.

"Yes yes yes! Huh?", she stuttered.

A boy with glasses looked at her curiously, then to the vigil of the freshman girl and back to Jean. "She was a friend of yours?"

"Uh.." Jean hesitated, "Oh, ummm...no. It's just. Unfortunate."

He nodded, but didn't say anything, both of their gazes falling back to the vigil in an unscripted moment of silence. He looked away from the vigil first, reaching out to touch Jean's shoulder. "You sure you okay?"

Jean shook her head, turning back to the horned rimmed boy with a subdued smile, "I'm fine Tony." she said softly, "Anyways, were you able to procure the camera?

The boy looked at her with a devilish grin, nodding fervently as he reached into his backpack for the device. She looked at him with a bemused smile. He sure was sprightly this morning, she thought. And then when he pulled out the camera, she understood why, her hands almost dropping her books and tea to hold it in her grasp. She gasped, moving closer as he held it up in front of them for display, showing her all the buttons and cool features. "It's lovely..." she cooed at him, but more so at the camera if we're being honest.

"The first pic should only be equally as lovely then." he jested flirtatiously. She chuckled, shaking her head, "Focus please. This is for our project."

"How can I?", he continued, smirking.

"Try your hardest. I believe in you." She relented sweetly, before suddenly reaching into her pocket to answer her buzzing phone. Tony took her tea mug so she could hold her phone.

"Yes Papa?" she answered politely.
"Think you can make it home this weekend pumpkin?", Papa Montague asked her, his voice almost in a begging tone. She was the only person he talked to in this way.

Jean sighed, "Papa...I have an exam coming up. Plus I'm taking extra shifts at the Vet Clinic. I don't know..." she breathed, feeling bad for her dad. Mama treated him like an annoying teen sometimes, so Jean always kind of felt bad for him. Their family dynamic felt more like a matriarchy, but only those who saw them behind closed doors knew of this dichotomy.

"Please?" he continued on, whimpering. Jean hummed, "Ummm...what's the occasion?"

"A potential business venture. Wine. Food. But mostly wine. And food.", he joked.

"Tempting..." she teased, "But you've never asked me to sit in for one of your business gatherings before. I mean...I've never even met the Valos and you mention them all the time."

"Well this time it's special. And the Valos will be in attendance. Even your Mama has agreed to tag along. You know how she can be when it comes to any type of substance that isn't medically prescribed. And there's going to be plenty of alcohol, so you know its a big deal if she's agreed to be in the vicinity."

Jean frowned, shaking her head as though exasperated by her fathers playfulness, "Papa..." and then she realized her classmate was still standing there, waiting on her. "I've gotta go. I will be there okay? But only for mother's sake. I don't know if she's got the strength to hold your leash."

"Atta girl! See you soon sweetie! Be careful out there." She understood what he was referring to. The Happiness Craze.

"I know...Bye Papa" she finished, pushing the phone back into her pocket, smiling in an amused kind of way.

"Well..." she started, looking back to Tony, "Sorry about that."

He smiled, "No worries Jean. Enjoy your time with your family. I'll get a head start on the project."

Jean looked at him, beaming, "You're sweet Tony. Thank you. Be careful okay? It's not the same around here." she said softly, retrieving her tea back from him.

He nodded, staring at her as she walked off. Just staring...

---

The Emperor Hotel, Downtown Charity - Present

As most knew, the Montague family was small. Sebastian Montague Sr, Morgana Montague nee Labeau, and their precious daughter, Sebastian "Jean" Montague Jr. Everyone within the rich people sphere knew that Sebastian Sr. had a child, but most had assumed that he had a son due to the naming. He ran with it for years in fact. It worked back then when she was much younger and androgynous. Back when her hair was cut short and kind of tomboyish. Her father had always told her to play along whenever he had this rich people gatherings at their penthouse suite. Plus, he'd always wanted a boy in secret, so it worked out for him until she came of age and his son was actually a daughter. Little did he know he'd actually have a daughter to can become a son. He was always bemused by this particular power of hers. He still wanted her to run with it on occasion since most people didn't know his daughter could do that. For the few people that knew of his daughters meta-human capabilities, they simply knew of her ability to heal others, similar to her mother.

The three of them sat in the luxury vehicle as the chauffeur made his way to the Emperor Hotel. Jean's head was resting on her mother's shoulder, their arms clasped around each others lovingly. Morgana tapped her daughter's head as to pester her, "Wait. You have 2 C's?"

Jean nudged her mother with her elbow, "Temporarily. I'm working extra hours at the Vet Clinic. I might have taken on more than I can chew. But....we'll see."

Her mother sighed, not going to press the matter any further, "Well, that's good I suppose. Could be worse. Any cute boys at least?"

"Mama please. I barely have time to juggle work and school. Let alone a boy."

Morgana just scrunched her face, resting her head on Jean's head as the Emperor Hotel came into view.

"Speaking of boys...You should do that thing you can do. Then they'll really think I've had a son all this time."

Jean gasped, laughing "PAPA!". Her mother gave her father a sinister look, "Do not listen to him."

"Don't worry..." Jean reassured her.

"Good" she said relieved, tightening Jean's hair which was placed in an adorable ponytail.

As the vehicle came to a halt, Montague Sr popped his knuckles and straightened out his suit, Morgana coming to fix what he obviously couldn't. Jean was suddenly nervous. She often got this way when she was meeting new people. Her mother often referred to her as a wallflower. This was accurate, much to her chagrin. This was the primary reason why she was still single and always has been. She was too shy to talk to boys and usually brushed off the ones who tried to talk to her. Call it a defensive mechanism if you will, one that's proven mighty effective so far.

When the front doors to the hotel opened, a butler greeted them, one that was familiar with Montague Sr. Her father dapped the butler, prompting an embarrassed expression from her mother. Jean simply giggled quietly to herself. She always found her father's behavior to be amusing for someone of his stature and age. He was surprisingly down to earth once people got to know him outside of a boardroom. Perhaps a bit too down to earth though.

Jean walked shyly behind her mother, holding her hand like she did when she was a little girl. It was hard to break habits, but her mother didn't mind. This was her little miracle after all.

"Jason!" Montague Sr. roared affably to the Valos patriarch, stepping up to give him one of his signature business daps. He gave a wink to Jason's wife and then turned around to face his two beautiful ladies, "You've met my wife Morgana."

"Nice to see you all again" Morgana said, her voice slightly stern, but her expression calm and polite.

"And this is our daughter. Sebastian Jr.", he said proudly.

Jean looked at him sideways, her face turning flush, "Papa please..." she mumbled sheepishly. She then turned to Jason, his wife, and whomever else may have been at the table, giving them a meek smile, "Hello. You can just call me Jean."

"Please..." she added playfully, her cheeks still beat like a rose.

---

The portion of warehouses in the middle of the Industrial district were all almost universally abandoned or condemned -- their previous owners abandoning them for more favorable positions offering easier access to other districts and areas along the edges of the industrial district. This was a veritable wet dream for Tiamat, as few people traversed the streets. The area was too trashed and polluted for the homeless to wish to take up residence, and more well-off residents plain had no reason to go there. She knew, however, that it would be the first place a search party would check.

And it seemed she was not incorrect in that assessment. She had climbed into a large stack to get a superior view of the area, and she had almost immediately spotted the small squad of men going from warehouse to warehouse. When she had zoomed her vision in on them, she counted a total of five men, one clad in the armor of a REAPER mercenary. Looking over the others, they all appeared to be local thugs, presumably well-paid to get them to follow along. They were clad in whatever they could put together, local civilian-grade guns.

Tiamat didn’t judge them too hefty a threat: the main issue would be the mercenary. They were carrying a particularly distinctive weapon, some form of anti-tank rifle, perhaps. It looked like a new model, and Tiamat figured it had been designed specifically with her in mind. If that was the case, she could not afford to let the mercenary get a shot off. She needed to take out all of them quickly and cleanly, then get them out of sight.

If she failed to keep their presence and their death hidden, REAPER would have a lock on her location. She waited until the squad entered into another empty warehouse, before climbing down the stack with an extreme rapidity. She jumped across the densely-packed rooftops, getting a much closer position on the opposite side of the street from the warehouse they were searching.

She took cover, and peeked out a small mirror on a stick. She had made it earlier, as seeing an area without being seen from that area was always useful.

“You heard that too, right?”

“Of course I did. How could I miss it?”

There was a pregnant pause as the two thugs taking point, one armed with a shotgun and the other with a poorly maintained AR styled civilian rifle continued bantering with one another.

Nerves. the agent thought to herself. Paying little mind to the conversation between the rather disposable people in front of her. A nudge from her side drew her out of her thoughts when the man to the left of her began to try to get her attention.

“You never told us what we’re tracking.”

He had been quiet this whole time, not asking many questions and keeping mostly to himself. He was eying her firearm cautiously and the thumping sounds from earlier had likely set him off. The thug behind him piped up before she could answer.

“Something big, obviously. You don't carry a gun like that for a driveby.”

She opened her mouth to quiet the lot of them, as talking was both unnecessary and problematic. But stopped when she saw the glint of a mirror in an odd place above them. The agent whistled, getting the attention of the rifleman in front of her. She pointed up at the oddly placed mirror and the rifleman, having put two and two together raise his gun and fired two shots, soundly smashing the mirror and then knocking it away from its resting place further than it already had been from the first shot.

Tiamat moved into action, knowing she’d been spotted. With a roll, she slammed out of the cover, going into the open on the rooftop as she grabbed hold of her pistol. The agent barked out to the thugs, “Keep it down! Don’t let it get any shots off!” She proceeded to emphasise this by lifting her rifle and taking a shot at the robot. It whizzed by Tiamat, and the agent began to cycle the bolt.

Tiamat, by this time, had left her roll, and had her pistol out. Her first priority was to line up a shot on the agent, and she did so with eagerness. A massive crack filled the air as a slug was propelled from her pistol, and in less than a second, the slug landed home.

The slug slammed into the faceplate of the agent, and, ionizing the metal, travelled into the agent’s head proper. Her brain also ionizing, the massive influx of heat created a gruesome result -- her head exploded violently into gore intermixed with rapidly cooling plasma.

Several more shots rang out from what remained of the search party, two of them hitting Tiamat in her torso. One thug scrambled for the firearm that the agent had been carrying, diving to her body in an attempt to use her weapon- thinking it might save them. A second shot from Tiamat’s pistol ended his hopes, and Tiamat then holstered the pistol.

She unsheathed the polearm that rested on her back, and flicked a switch on the panel centered on the handle. She jumped off the roof as the blade began to violently glow, and she charged into the last three thugs. They shot wildly, many of the bullets going wide from the unexpected charge.

The blade met the first thug, and it swiped through him like a hot knife through butter. His clothes caught fire, and before he fell Tiamat was to the next thug. She executed the same maneuver. The last thug began to run, firing behind him.

Tiamat turned to him, and picked up the AR that had been dropped by her previous victim. She fired the rest of the mag with one hand into the last thug, a synthetic scream of anger coming from her mouthpiece.

The area fell silent. Tiamat stood in place for a moment, turning off and sheathing the polearm, as she relaxed slightly. She looked around, thinking, I made too much of a mess. Too loud. Fuck!

Now she had to get them back into the warehouse. She continued to give glances all about her, deathly afraid that somebody would come running to see what the noise was about. She grabbed the first two bodies she saw, the agent and the thug she had cut in half. The thug’s intestines sloughed out and dragged across the ground, leaving a streak in their wake.

She looked at it and suppressed panic. She had to get it clean, one way or the other, and fast. She’d deal with the streak later.

---

"Last time I heard you were stationed in Black Fall. What? Did they send you here to catch Florida-Man?"

Henry gave Adam a large, warm smile and lightly tapped the boy's fist with his own meteor sized hand. In so many other cases, with so many different people, he was treated in some way that wasn't himself. At the Charity Beach FAMA barracks, he was saluted and treated with respect, but he never enjoyed the way that people snapped to attention whenever they saw or heard him coming. As if he was a superior rather than an equal. Granted, several years ago he had operated as a very high ranking official and he maintained that ranking even now- so he couldn't exactly fault those around base. It just made things difficult for him in that it was hard to make friends with anyone because of that bittersweet deference that trailed around them and stuck like some stench. It made them closed off, and worse: It made him unapproachable. More than his appearance already made him.

"Kiddo, c'mon. Are you seeing me? I am Florida man."

A child sped past the docks, paying little mind to the rest of the world until her eyes feel on him. Henry, in that moment realized that it wasn't a child, but a girl. She lackadaisically dropped her jaw and shouted... something that he couldn't understand, but for all his many years of experience was likely an insult. Some quip designed to hurt him, or to get him to some emotional rise- to prove that she was better than him because she was human. Perhaps she thought herself untouchable, or was just plain ol' stupid, or both, to think that provoking people was a good idea. He didn't know or care much. His lips curled up for a moment, revealing the tips of his foremost set of teeth, but then he took a deep breath as the offender disappeared into the crowd. He released the breath in a mighty sigh, deep and rumbling- likely even tangible to Drake, who was close enough to feel the sound.

"And I got transferred here for a little while after a mission gone bad.... We always had that bastard Abel and he fucking changes the game."

Henry gave Drake a somber smile for his benefit, gently patting the young man on the back in an attempt at friendly or even fatherly comfort. He came in contact with a lot of bodies, and handshakes, and smiles, and laughter, and friendly moments. But a friend is something different. Drake and his family had certainly earned his respect, but much like his father- Drake was a friend. People who saw him as a person first rather than an agent, or an official, or a superior, or least of all a beast were hard to come by. He couldn't even recall the last time someone had been happy to see him until this conversation. Henry's face contorted into a deep frown at that thought, but elected to deal with his sense of suppressed depression later. Right now, Drake deserved his full attention.

"Sometimes you can't win 'em all. Think of it as a vacation you're being paid for. You'll get him. Not a doubt in my mind."

He considered offering to invite him back to his table with the little old lady when his attention was stolen away by a far more demanding source. The sound of an acute and powerful pressure differential, the whiplash crack of red hot metal, the sound of thunder. Gunshots, and something else- equally unnatural but distinctly alien. They were soft and distant, barely discernible from the sounds of talking people and the waves of the ocean. He doubted anyone else in the area had even heard it- but his senses were preternaturally powerful. Henry cast a look down to his friend, who likely recognized the look on his face. They had served together in Black Fall- Drake probably had some semblance of an idea of what was coming. They were facing the water now, so they were facing East. The shots were behind him.

West- no, Northwest.

"Gunshots- and something more." Henry stated, as if Drake would take it as obvious. Given their relationship, that probably wasn't too far from the case. "Northwest of here. Wanna come with?"

Drake, unlike Henry, wasn't in uniform. But what would that matter among friends? It's the invitation, the thought, that counts. Plus, the white giant would love to have Agent Dragon along. For old time's sake.

---

@Ruler Inc
@WrongEndoftheRainbow

---

^{@Junkmail@eclecticwitch@WrongEndoftheRainbow}
Boardwalk.

---

"So you robbed a convenience store with a snake while naked?"

Drake asked, as finished off the ice cream... and just decided to throw the cone into the trash. He crossed his arms as he had a cocky grin on his face. Florida Man was a scourge to the nation and FAMA had to defeat him soon as possible. It was great that Henry was here, while he missed his bros on Task Force RAVEN; Henry was the next best thing. Though, some chick sped past them and said something in European or something to Henry... Drake had no clue what she said or what language it even was - he only had the barest idea of Japanese from his mother and father's conversations (apparently Adam learned it just for her), but even then any native of the county would probably laugh at him. He wondered what the girl said, and was tempted to ask her - he came here to Charity Beach partly for the babes. But, Henry moved on just as Drake should have by this point and offered him some words of advice:

"Sometimes you can't win 'em all. Think of it as a vacation you're being paid for. You'll get him. Not a doubt in my mind."

Drake smiled, not cockily this time. Abel was probably the most dangerous man in the world right now and while Drake didn't have the power to stop him right now; he will find it. And if he can't do it, then he'll help someone who can, one way or another; Abel is fucked, and so is REA-

Even though Drake's hearing wasn't superhuman like Henry's, even Drake could hear the gunshots and the weird sounds. It sounded Metahuman, and while Drake wasn't in uniform, he doubts the director of this city would mind if he lent a hand. "Course, Agent SNAX... is that supposed to be "Snacks"?" Drake asked with a raised eyebrow. Well, if Drake stayed out of direct gunfire he wouldn't have to worry too much about the bullets.

"Eh, doesn't matter, should I transform? I can be right there with my lightning form!" Drake asked, but he also weighed how... unstealthy that form is. "Or... Sonya's form could be helpful..."

---

^@Junkmail
Matt's House.

---

Just as planned.

Amanda thought to herself even though this wasn't her plan at all (she never goes in with a plan). Matthew was definitely thrown off by what she did, and Amanda didn't know if that was a good thing. Honestly, Amanda was unsure if the magic that they had was still there... it wasn't the same. The two had changed, or did they? He left Black Fall for Florida! He's got his own place, but here Amanda was; still living in the Blackmore estate the same place where she always has. But, she had to focus on what was important; Matthew Detmer right now, and she knew that these interactions are crucial to salving their relationship.

"You disappeared for years Amanda, in fact, you and I stopped talking after I left for Florida. Here. I mean, we did talk to each other now and again I guess, which was nice because I got to hear from you again, and for a while, I thought we were okay... But then we just stopped talking! No phone calls, no visits, nothing! I mean, granted, I was busy, and you were busy and, I know... I just- I thought. I thought we had something real. Don't you... don't you remember those nights we'd spend together on your roof? The papers you'd help me with? Science class? Together?"

A tear almost fell down Amanda's cheek, she wondered if she became numb after father's death. She... used to spend so much time crying over him that in time she got so used to the feelings of sadness that anything "less" sad didn't elicit the same response out of her anymore. Maybe if she was with Matt, maybe if she went to Matthew for comfort everything would have been better. But yet, it wasn't. There was a sinking feeling inside of Amanda that knew that their... separation, was all her fault. She thought about Matt and wanted to talk to him, but she just didn't, she didn't know why.

"I remember." A tear fell down Amanda's eye, and she wondered how legitimate it was.

"I remember all of it," Amanda mouthed out the words. "I... honestly can't blame anyone for our lack of communication but myself. I should have called, but the longer I wanted, the more I thought that it was too late and that you met some girl with big titties and forgot about me. I know I was hurt over... over his death, but I can't blame all of it on him."

Amanda took in a deep breath.

"Look, all I can say is... I'm sorry. I want to try again, I want to fix things, and if you don't then I'll gladly be out of your hair. I promise."

---

^{@Aeolian@DocRock}
The Emperor Hotel, Downtown Charity.

---

"... Speak of the devil." Jason said underneath his breath as he laid eyes on Sebastian Montague. The disgusting rich man whose name was known all over this town like Jason's name was known all over Black Fall. Except Jason can probably say his reputation in Black Fall is more favorable than Sebastian's in Charity Beach. He immediately stood up and faced Sebastian Sr with a smile. "Hello, Mr. Montague, what do we owe the occasion to? You wanted to get out of the heat?" Because you're definitely going to be in the fire if you get in my way. Jason thought to himself as he smiled at Montague, but he landed his eyes on his daughter. Pretty little thing... his daughters were better looking, though.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart," Jason said as he extended a hand to Jean. "I'll call you Jean, it's better than the name this egotist gave you." He playfully (even though he actually meant what he said) spoke to his daughter, and jabbed a thumb in his direction.

The second they walked in, Johnny had his eyes on them. It was a force of habit for Johnny since when you're a crook, you gotta keep your eyes wide open. Even if it's a bunch of rich people, he couldn't help but look them up and down. Older white guy in a suit, blonde-hair, wife in a dress (or as Johnny saw her: Milf in a dress that belonged on the floor) and their... Daughter. An average height, skinny, white girl, but she was definitely pretty. She looked all shy, and cute and stuff - probably a real freak in the show. My goodness, she was definitely a treat.

"Oh my," Gabe said next to her. "Are they the people Dad was supposed to meet?"

"Going off of 'what do we owe the occasion to'... take a guess," Johnny said to Gabe with a smile as she groaned. "Look at their daughter, though. Cute, right?"

"Eh, she's not that cute," Gabe said with a shrug as she shrugged.

"What? Do you think she'd be better with burn scars?" Johnny asked before Gabe him a flat face. "Well, either way, I know what I'm going to be doing tonight; her."

"Heh, I bet I'd have better luck," Gabe answered with a grin of her own.

"Wanna bet?" Johnny asked, "If she lezzes, I'm going to kiss the Liu cow."

"You're on." Gabriela said, "And you and that girl would make a great couple."

Johnny gagged before the two nodded and walked over to the group - he was told to lay low, but... Johnny never listens - especially when there's pussy involved! Johnny had a cocky grin on his face as he put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Oh, Dad, ain't gonna introduce your kids?" He laughed. "Johnny Valos, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He said with a smile.

"Gabriela Valos," Gabe crossed her arms, and her burn scars were relatively hidden underneath her jacket and gloves. "Just call me Gabe, loves."

"You're only seeing one-fifth of the Valos family," Jason injected. "Let's just say I was a busy man over the years!" He laughed for a moment and his wife, Gabrielle, could only shake her head.

"But, we're most excited to meet you," Johnny said to Sebastian. "You look..." He looked her up to down. "... Nice." He meant to say "very out of place," but that wasn't very disarming. "Mind if we let the old timers chit-chat and we talk somewhere else?" Johnny grinned at Gabe, hopefully, Ms. Montague will take the hint.

Then Johnny will beat Gabe.

---

"No, look, Varun, what I am trying to say is that Cody King's ex-girlfriend just got hospitalized for taking too much of Happiness-yes, that's the ecstasy rip-off-and if you could you please just get Andrew on the phone?!"

Chrissy would never, for the fucking life of her, understand why Andrew insisted that they keep all work-related conversations to their office's ancient telephone line. Like, for one, handhelds with actual wires were so 2000s, and secondly, hello???? Who in their right mind didn't like using iMessage?????

But in the end, it was Andrew who paid her, so she had to play by his rules. Though that didn't mean that she couldn't complain about said rules, of course. Loudly.

Andrew came to the phone. "Chrissy?" he said, his voice tinged with surprise. "What's up?"

Chrissy rolled her eyes. Trust Varun, that useless sack of bricks, to be so incapable of conveying a message that she had to repeat herself twelve times before he would even register that she was trying to talk to Andrew, not him. Chrissy blamed it on the fact that he had been in IT before he somehow found his way to a tabloid, writing celeb obituaries-Chrissy's uncle was in IT, and, well...an expert public speaker he was not.

Chrissy twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "Yeah. Hi. Cody King's ex-girlfriend was hospitalized for taking too much of that Happiness stuff. I'm checking it out."

Chrissy could practically hear the wheels turning in Andrew's head. "Which ex-girlfriend? The goth indie singer or the Instamodel? Or was it that Disney star?"

"The Instamodel. You know, Kaia Gutierrez." Chrissy snorted. "Neither of them have very good tastes. Everyone knows that Kaia's the fakest girl around. And don't even get me started on Cody. What was that Ebola joke he made the other day? Jeez."

Andrew let out a huff of laughter. "Yeah, well, let me know what you find," he replied.

"Sure thing. How's my fill-in doing?" Since Chrissy wrote a daily gossip column, her boss had decided to hire a temporary fill-in for the months she would be in Florida. Chrissy had only met the guy twice before she left; he was aight. A bit loud, but aight.

"Joe? Oh, he's alright. September tells me that he's still upset that you wouldn't give him your list of informants, you know."

Chrissy laughed. "Hey, you know how it works, boss. I am sworn to secrecy."

Andrew muttered something under his breath. "Yeah, right. You got anything else for me?"

Chrissy fiddled with one of her sparkly gel pens. "Yeah. Tell September I'll text her about some Kaia pics later. You remember when we found her high school yearbook photos, right?"

Andrew chuckled. "Yes. You're going to make her cry."

A cheeky grin spread across Chrissy's face. "That's the plan, Andrew. Talk to you later." Chrissy hung up, still grinning. The tabloid she worked for had exposed Kaia as the single fakest Instamodel in existence after Chrissy helped one of the photographers, September, get her hands on yearbook photos...where Kaia's figure looked noticeably, ah, different. To say the least. One thing was for sure: her nose = fake. Her boobs = fake. Her lips = fake. Anyone who believed Kaia when she said they were "natural" = fucking morons.

Of course, Chrissy wasn't usually this much of a hater-a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do-it was just the hypocrisy of Kaia's "OMGZZZZ #natural #selfie #nofilter" Instagram captions that made for her 1) unreasonably angry, and 2) salivate like a dog going after a bone. Those pics were tabloid gold. She'd ripped the Instamodel a new one a few months ago...and Chrissy wasn't about to let Hollywood forget about that scandal. Neither was Andrew, apparently.

Well. One thing was for sure: Chrissy would not be on Kaia's Christmas list any time soon.

Chrissy yawned, padding over to the kitchen and starting a pot of coffee. Her great-aunt was glaring at a carton of eggs. Chrissy sidled up behind her, plucking the carton of eggs out of her hand.

Aunt Jess looked up. "Chrissy? What are you doing?"

Chrissy pressed her lips into a thin line. "I do the cooking," she said, firmly. "You burned the lasagna again last night. You're staying away from the stove," she continued, grabbing what she would need to make scrambled eggs.

Aunt Jess, who was half the size of an already fairly small Chrissy, mumbled something undoubtedly cranky and ornery old lady-ish in response, though she obliged. Thank the Lord and Buddha and our savior Jesus Christ, Chrissy thought to herself. Normally she's a lot more difficult.

Aunt Jess was half-deaf, half-blind, and could not be trusted anywhere near 1) a stove (or an oven, or a microwave) or 2) a TV remote. How many noise complaints had they already gotten because Aunt Jess was incapable of keeping the TV volume at a normal level???? It had to be at least ten now, right?

Chrissy fixed them up some breakfast, did some chores around Aunt Jess's cramped apartment, then started getting ready for the rest of the day. She didn't have much going on-just a quick visit to the hospital to try to get some info on Kaia, maybe a pit stop at the mall (she had a Sephora coupon, somewhere), then coming home and ordering takeout with Aunt Jess before catching up on what was going down in L.A.

By the time Chrissy finally decided on an outfit for the day (magenta spaghetti strap tank top bedazzled with rhinestones, cute pleated black skirt, fishnets, combat boots with five inch heels as a 'fuck you' to all the haters), did her make-up (sparkly pink eye-shadow, lip gloss, mascara, etc), and made sure that Aunt Jess was settled in with five hours of Jeopardy on replay, it was time to go. She headed out the door and hopped into her rental car, sticking the keys into the ignition and pulling out of the condominium's parking lot.

The traffic was not exactly pleasant, but it was nothing compared to L.A rush hour. Chrissy found a parking spot, quickly checked that her hair, which was twisted into two twin French braids, hadn't gotten too terribly messed up on the ride over, before getting out of the car and making her way to the hospital's lobby.

The hospital seemed like a busy place. Chrissy waited in line for her turn at the reception desk, impatiently checking the time. Just after 12 PM. Okay, not bad. I told them, what-12:15?

When it was her turn, Chrissy gave the dude behind the desk the most pleasant smile that she could muster. "I'm Christina Li," she told him, "with the L.A. Informer. I have an appointment with one of the nurses."

Chrissy tapped her hot pink nails against the surface of the desk as the receptionist pulled up the info. "Got it. You're all set," he said, printing out a name tag for her. "Go to this room, here," he continued, indicating the sequence of letters and numbers underneath her name. "Use the elevator down the hall, and get off at the second floor. It should be to your right once you get off."

"Thanks." Chrissy peeled off the backing and stuck the name tag to her shirt, striding away and towards the elevator the receptionist mentioned.

Once she found the room, Chrissy pushed the door open and took a look around. It seemed like a pretty standard conference room or whatever, with a long, rectangular table in the middle and spinny office chairs around it. There was a coffee machine in the back. Chrissy plopped into the nearest chair and spun around a few times before checking her phone. Her friend September had texted her the photos-perfect.

Oooh, I don't think I've seen that before-and-after before, Chrissy mused to herself as she dragged her fingers apart, zooming in on one of the shots. She let out a low whistle; apparently, Kaia's latest nose job had been rather...unfortunate. Holy shit. Wow. What is her nose doing, melting into her face? Jeez. That girl really needs to find a better doctor-preferably one with, like, ethics-or her next gig is going to be an episode of "Botched". Bye-bye, Vogue covers. Yikes.

Maybe that's why Kaia had OD'ed; one of the twenty plastic surgeons she had on speed dial fucked up her face. Hell, in her shoes, Chrissy probably would have done the same thing.

---

@Ruler Inc

---

"I should have called, but the longer I wanted, the more I thought that it was too late and that you met some girl with big titties and forgot about me. I know I was hurt over... over his death, but I can't blame all of it on him. Look, all I can say is... I'm sorry. I want to try again, I want to fix things, and if you don't then I'll gladly be out of your hair. I promise."

Matt blushes, the heat crawling under his skin and blossoming ever so slightly under his cheeks. Then, suddenly, out of no where, he begins to laugh. A loud, breathless laugh. He laughs at himself. He laughs at her. He laughs at their confessions. He laughs at them.

Finally, when his hysterical euphoria calmed, Matt looks over to Amanda, though there is also warm concern mixed into the mirth. He rubs at his eyes, spilling over with crazy tears, and turning away to dab at his eyes with the tail of his shirt.

"We're both messes, aren't we?" he asks when he turns around, his eyes still somewhat glassy but twinkling. Matt nods, gulping in deep breaths. He leans forward, elbows on the counter, his hands cradling his face. Matt glares at his hands. "When you left...I didn't know what to feel. I will admit that I was a dense idiot— hell, I still am a dense idiot— but Amanda, you did meant something to me. I matured with you. I will admit that with all my heart. You, without even knowing it, had shown me that life wasn't all about screwing around. At least not entirely."

He looks up and his eyes are unwavering. "Maybe I am simple minded. Maybe I am dense. But when you left, something in me changed." He pats his heart lightly as he spoke. "I didn't say anything back then because I cared about you. I really wanted you to find yourself. I wanted you to be happy." His fists clench. "But when you left, just like that? You and I... we had stumbled through the dark forests together for so long. We had grown together. I thought to myself: Wasn't that more important? her happiness?"

Matthew pauses, backtracking for a moment. "Okay. I...I guess I understand. You left for a reason, and I respect that. But then I needed to move on too. I made a lot of friends, I did. I'll have to introduce you to this guy Israel. Anyway, if that's the case, then yes. Yes, you're right, you aren't the only on in my life anymore." His forehead wrinkles, depressing the skin between his eyes. "But you wrote a chapter into my life that I know I can't live without."

There is a silence between the two of them. A pregnant pause that preludes to something more.

"I- don't know if I can promise anything. I want to. I do." he says, "But I do want to fix things, too." He sighs.

"A lot has changed," he continues, and the words have never rung clearer.

Matthew walks out of his tiny kitchen, approaching Amanda for the first time in this interaction's evolution. Slowly, he sits down next to her, seemingly debating for a moment before gently placing his hand on Amanda's, his rough hands feeling the weight and form of hers for the first time in years. The residual laughter bubbling in Matt's chest automatically halts as his heart screeches to a standstill, screaming something is happening, something is happening!

"...And a lot hasn't," he whispers. After another second of searching her face, Matt lets go and reaches for large mason glass containing the water he poured for them earlier. He sips the now-lukewarm beverage. Matt exhales in a breathy rush.

He sighs and givens her a small smile. A bright, embarrassed grin, and it's such a youthful, Matt-like grin that Amanda suddenly realizes: they really haven't changed. They've certainly trekked through many different paths in the past several years, but in the end, they always return to square one: traveling down this road—their road—so many times now that it's as simple as breathing. She's like a book to him, with a worn out spine, pages folded, comfortably heavy in his palms. It's something he can hold on to, these shared memories, and the weight actually means something; it reminds him of everything he's done, everything he's learned, everything he's achieved.

It's been a long time, but he already knows all the words by heart.

There's no need for bookmarks here; the page numbers are simple. He could flip to them with his eyes closed. So, smiling, Matt leans back against the couch and shuts his eyes for a moment. Doing just that.

Across the table, Amanda watches quietly, her lips curving up at the sides. "What are you doing?" she asks when curiosity finally gets the best of her.

Matt shakes his head and focuses his eyes back on her. They're bright and alive and everything she's ever imagined them to be.

"Remembering," he whispers softly, as if it explains everything.

And somehow, it does just that.

---

Written with: @Ruler Inc, @WrongEndoftheRainbow

---

"Course, Agent SNAX... is that supposed to be "Snacks"? Eh, doesn't matter, should I transform? I can be right there with my lightning form! Or... Sonya's form could be helpful..."

“Course it does. Have you see my fat ass? I dont keep this figure by dieting, y’know.” Henry replied, the edges of his lips curling upwards. He was self aware enough to know that in the military or the military police, showing weakness or distaste for a nickname was the best way to be exclusively referred to as that nickname. “Had to change it after someone put me down as a recommendation and asking for a callsign reminiscent of my own.”

There was more gunfire, and then silence once again. Henry returned himself to the matter at hand, but not without a quick quip. “C’mon Drake, you’re telling me a special agent like you can’t think on the fly?” he said, flashing a dangerous smile to the Blackmore and taking off in the direction of the sounds. He knew that in either form, Drake could easily keep up and overtake him any day of the week- but Henry’s senses would make him the bloodhound, and he would need to follow the lizard to the source regardless of which form he chose.

“Yeah, just wanted your… opinion, first.” Drake said, before ultimately deciding to be subtle. What was it Adam always said? Assess the situation, or don’t go in head first shooting lightning everywhere. Okay, Drake took in a deep breath as his skin coloration changed to a dark-blue color, with black spots all over him. He grew massive eyeballs and huge bulbous fingertips… and people looked on in horror and amazement. Had some degree of familiarity with this form, as Sonya gave it to him accidentally… and kept giving it back to him whenever he lost it to annoy him. So he knew the basics, and it’s greatest strength....

… He’s got hops. Drake hopped high up into the air onto the nearest building and continued hopping as he followed after Henry. He probably had a better idea of where it was than Drake, so he’d trust the older Agent’s judgement.

Henry took off running, at first on two legs, but then transitioning onto all fours as he picked up the pace. He swerved from the sidewalk to the road as he exceeded twenty and then thirty miles an hour as to become less dangerous to pedestrians. Henry was the size of a car, and was now moving almost as fast as one, so for all intents and purposes he elected to treat himself as such. The gunshots were long gone now, with the only sounds being the regular hustle and bustle of the city. But the scent of blood and gunpowder was strong. Any normal person would have difficulty tracking the skirmish so quickly, but Henry and Drake were no normal people.

Henry arrived first, since he was tracking for Drake. His gallop slowed as the scent of iron and death grew stronger. Eventually, Henry stopped altogether to survey his surroundings. He was in the industrial district, nearing the warehouses. He raised his nose to the air and flicked his long forked tongue. He was in the general vicinity now, and his sense of taste would be more effective than his sense of smell. He followed his tongue to a warehouse, taking note of the scattered brass and bloodstains- including a very prominent streak leading into the warehouse. There were bits of shredded tissue, and the blood was dark red. It was impossible to tell exactly what type of injury the owner of said blood had sustained, but it had been grievous in nature.

Meanwhile, Drake Blackmore had finally landed at the entrance; Henry was a lot faster in a straight line than he was, waaaay faster. However, Drake had finally caught up and cautiously approached the warehouse. To say that he felt a little naked was an understatement; his armor was like second skin to him! However, with Sonya’s enhanced senses at his disposal, it was hard to get caught off guard.

Henry shook, being brought back very suddenly to the events of Verthaven. He shuddered, but pressed forward. Reaching for his belt and removing a large and heavy flashlight. He turned the light on, and took a breath- pushing the warehouse doors open. In the warehouse proper there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary, other than the lights being faulty or smashed -- which wasn’t unusual for older warehouses. Along abandoned boxes and pallets, though, hidden in nooks and crannies weapons and bodies could be found. They seemed hastily abandoned, though with some degree of thought placed into keeping them concealed from casual sight. Henry approached one of the hiding spots, and with one arm, slid the boxes and pallets a few inches away. He stopped when the contents they were hiding dislodged themselves with a wet splat at his feet.

“Jesus- okay.” Henry said, both horrified and surprised. He had seen things like this before. Many, many times. Not exactly this type of butchering, but seeing people in this… state was not something he was a stranger too. Yet, every time he felt his stomach twist when he saw it. They even had some of their heat signatures left. Their bodies were still warm. This would be a lot of paperwork.

The white goliath knelt down by the corpse- noting that the body was headless. Or at least, it was mostly headless. There was a piece of metal lodged in the skull cavity that had cooked it from the inside out. It had been a quick, clean kill. But that’s not what interested him. What interested him was that the body bore the telltale signs of a REAPER agent. Black, military grade body armor, well armed, based off of a destroyed high caliber weapon of some sort that had also been stuffed in further back- behind the body. He flicked his tongue, confirming his suspicion as the faint, caustic smell of chemical was also in the air. REAPER agents oftentimes dissolved, and corrupted after death- making it impossible to identify the individual. Henry stood up to his full height once more. REAPERs were no joke. Whomever killed this agent was obviously good at what they did, because there were other bodies around the room. He could taste them.

He heard the clanking of the Warehouse door being opened and turned his head, ready for anything, but visibly relaxed when he saw that is was Drake that had entered the building.

“Welcome to the afterparty.” Henry said sarcastically. “Careful not to touch anything. Don't want anyone thinking that we had a hand in this when we call it in.”

Drake merely huffed, “What? Do I look two?” He sarcastically asked as he looked around. Henry let out what could only be described as a muffled ‘Sorry’ in response. There was a body on the floor clad in black armor by Henry that Drake almost immediately recognized with all the encounters with it; REAPER. He almost smirked, as the REAPER got what he deserved… but he had a question that was on everyone’s mind.

“... Real question is who killed him?” Drake said as he crossed his arms. “I don’t think the average Floridan has the skills or resources to pull this off.”

Metal creaked above them, dust falling from the rafters. Before either of them could shine a light up into the rafters, Tiamat jumped down. She slammed into the ground just behind Drake, her polearm unsheathed. Within a moment of landing, she had turned on the polearm, and it rapidly began to glow.

The heat was unbearable, and with its proximity to Drake, was likely to leave a burn. Henry could easily feel the residual heat coming off of it. Tiamat told Drake, “Don’t move,” before looking over at Henry. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“The fuc-” Drake shouted as a… fucking robot (???) fell from the sky in front of him, holding a hellish weapon right in front of his face. Okay, this thing was definitely hot, too hot for him to handle. He tried to think of a way out of it… he had his electric form, but the problem was that, by the time he transformed, it would be inside of him and he didn’t want that. He looked at Henry as he tried to suck it up… fortunately, Sonya’s form gave him a layer of slime that made heat less effective. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean immune, and that was so hot that it was drying him up.

Henry froze. Instantly being brought back to Verthaven again. But in Drake’s place, was Adam. He couldn’t let this happen. Not again. Despite the scaled up and modified P90 strapped to his hip being a tempting option, Henry elected to raise his hands instead. He was beginning to smell the burning.

“Move the weapon. You’re hurting him. Stop that and I’ll answer your questions.” the behemoth replied.

Tiamat looked both of them over, assessing weapons, before saying, “First, big lizard, drop your weapons and radio, kick them away, and then your friend will do the same. Then I’ll give you space, okay? Not a moment before.”

“Only weapon I got here is the only thing stopping you from melting me, bud.” Drake added flatly.
Henry did as told, simply reaching down and slicing the strap of his firearm with his claw, then kicking it towards Drake and Tiamat. “Your turn.” he said.

Tiamat paused for a moment to survey Henry further, before, satisfied, kicking Drake in the behind to force him over to Henry, before unholstering her pistol and pointing it at the two. “Now, who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Are you okay, Drake?” Henry said, raising his hands instead of reaching down to help him up. As much as he’d like to help his friend, making any unnecessary movement in this situation was less than optimal.

“... My ass.” Drake groaned when he finished stumbling over.

Henry looked up at the offending robot, who was now aiming a gun at him. He could cover the distance between them in two- maybe three steps. He didn’t know what the gun was capable of, but it probably couldn’t kill him. At least not outright. The issue came in that he was not looking to chance it today. Not on Drake’s dime.

“Thank you. FAMA Special Agent Olin.” Henry said, meeting the robot’s gaze, or at least, where he thought it’s gaze was. He slowly lowered his arm to point at the badge on his chest, over his heart to prove his allegiance. “We specialize in metahuman affairs. We followed the signs of the shots. Noticed you killed a REAPER agent. Thanks for that.”

He was talking too much, and he knew it, but he was also attempting to deescalate the situation. “We’re not with them. Please put the firearm away. There’s been enough people killed here.”

It was Drake’s turn.

“FAMA Agent Drake Blackmore,” Drake introduced himself. “And we can talk about this; we don’t need to fight, shoot each other, or any of that.”

“Last time I was told that by a FAMA agent, they reported the encounter, REAPER got word, and Chicago was swarming with them. So forgive me if I’m going to play it cautious.” was all Tiamat said, before continuing, “Now, are you going to report this? To anybody?”

“You’re just going to have to trust the good guys to do the right thing.” said Henry. “If you’re looking for protection from REAPER, we can offer that. I can offer that.”

She shook her head, saying, “You really have no idea how widespread REAPER is, then.”

“I know for a fact that I know them better than you think. My associate here was recently targeting Abel himself. Isn’t that right, Drake?” Henry cast his eyes down to Drake, then back up to the robot.
“Yeah, there ain’t nothing more than I want than that bastard behind bars,” Drake growled… but he was wondering what in the world this robot’s been through. “You gotta trust us, we can all get to the bottom of this.” He depowered, his amphibian skin turning into smooth flesh.

“Just put the gun down. We don’t have to have a conversation this way.”

“Yeah, and let me guess what happens if I follow you to wherever your HQ is: REAPER gets word, and you aren’t prepared to repel a massed assault. The only way I can stay here is if nobody knows about these bodies.”

“Then don’t follow us back to base. You don’t trust us, fine. Give us the opportunity to earn it. Just put the gun down.”

Tiamat continued to hold the gun up, responding with a angrily modulated sentence, “You think I haven’t heard that before? I’ve been on the run all over the world since I could first move, and you really think that’s a-”

Henry moved, 4000lbs of mass accelerating faster than it had any right to. With one hand, he grabbed the firearm where her hands held the pommel, clear of the barrel. But he did not attack her, or even move her hands.

“You asked me to drop my gun. I did. I’m asking you to put the gun down, too. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He stepped in front of the barrel of the gun. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

“Henry!” Drake shouted as he transformed into his lightning form. Electricity danced off of his skin, striking the wall, as the electricity engulfed him from head to toe. Eventually he looked like a being of electricity. A orb of electricity formed on his hand.

Tiamat continued to hold up the gun after he placed himself in front of it, but though her finger trembled lightly on the trigger, she did not pull it. However, her polearm remained close in a free arm, brought to a defensive stance in response to Henry getting close. She heatedly said back, “If FAMA gets involved, REAPER knows where I am. If they catch me, I go to a REAPER facility to be picked apart, to get at their goddamned superweapon knockoff, and I will have to endure having my mind picked apart to figure out why I didn’t just kill everyone they pointed me at.”

Henry bore the heat of the weapon, refusing to move. He also heard Drake change forms. The robot was now disastrously out gunned. What he did was a risky move, and he knew it, but it would allow them to negotiate on their terms.

“Then FAMA won’t get involved. FAMA Agent Olin will.” he said, his voice smooth, attempting to appeal to the robot’s sense of reason. “When I report this, FAMA will be told that it was gang warfare over the Happiness drug. FAMA cleans it up, and you stay under the radar.” he explained. “Drake and I help you stay out of REAPER’s hands. It is after all, in the public’s best interest.” the lizard said.

“I’m going to let go of your gun now. Please don’t shoot me.” the giant said, releasing the gun and stepping away from the robot, back over to Drake, who was still sparking dangerously.

“Shoot him and I fry you.” Drake affirmed Henry for a moment, as he was definitely.

Tiamat slowly holstered the gun, keeping the polearm out as she eyed Drake’s electric orbs. “Get rid of the REAPER agent first. Word of that gets out, and they’re going to investigate.”

“The agent will dissolve in a few hours.” Henry said. “I’ll wait to report this, you dump the armor in the water when the body is gone.” the giant sighed. “Thank you for putting the gun away.”

“I’m going to keep my routes open in case this entire thing goes bad,” Tiamat simply responded back, backing away. “You better not be lying.”

Henry rumbled, the edges of his lips curling upwards. “You should probably get going, big iron. Don’t worry about us- if we need to talk to you, we’ll find you.”

Tiamat did not hesitate to take advantage of the offer, sheathing the polearm after flicking it off, before grabbing hold of a wrought-iron pillar and climbing it into the rafters. She then made her way out of a smashed skylight. With a few plumes of dust shook from the ceiling as she travelled above it, she left the scene.

Drake crossed his arms as he observed the whole scene, staying silent. He closed his eyes when the robot made her “get-away” and then he depowered. He inhaled, “... REAPER will probably investigate this no matter what we do.” Drake muttered.

Henry, finally breathing in what felt like forever, simply sat down. “Yeah, they probably will.” He said. He looked at his feet, thinking for a moment. “I owe you a beer, by the way. For that rush there. Sorry about that. Tried to catch her monologuing.”

“It’s cool, I was thinking of something way ballsier,” Drake scoffed, Henry grinned at the comment. “But, we have to deal with monsters, super-terrorists, gangsters and now...Robots? Heh, never a dull moment, right?”

“Shoulda seen it back in the day. Things used to get weird.” the great lizard stood up finally, having sufficiently relaxed. “You should get going- see if you can bring a cleanup crew back since I dont have a radio on me. I’ll make sure no one comes by.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to get to HQ,” Drake said as he shifted back into his electric form again. “We’ll meet up again at the festival, yeah?”

“As if I’d ever miss the opportunity to party with a Blackmore.” Henry said, smirking. He waved Drake off. “Now go on, get!”

He smiled as he took flight through the same exit the robot took. Part of him was tempted to go looking for that robot but he had a gut feeling that they’d cross paths again.

And he won’t be the one with a sore ass next time.

---

^@ayzrules
St. Mercer Hospital.

---

"Don't worry about it, Kash." Samantha tried to assure her friend.

"We're already late!" Kashmira said as she paced down the hallway trying her best to get to the conference room in a reasonable amount of time before the reporter gets bored. Thankfully, the room came in sight and Kashmira smiled in relief as she finally, finally, could get some exposure for the whole Happiness craze! This was exciting because she was finally making a difference in the whole bullshit. Kashmira, before she stepped in, got stopped by Samatha putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I trust you, I know you can do this, Kash," Samantha affirmingly said. "Break a leg, give her something to write about." Those were some supportive words, but Samantha's next action threw her off. She gave Kashmira smack to the behind, not super hard... but definitely enough to throw her off. She jolted as she tried to fight down her reaction but she knew that Samantha noticed it. She awkwardly laughed and had the craziest, overplayed, a smile on her face with her mouth wide open ear-to-ear.

Without further ado, she opened the door and the familiar conference table came into sight... with an Asian woman in the first chair playing on her phone. She figured that this woman was the reporter she was meant to meet. She was a pretty girl - not as pretty as Kashmira herself - and very stylish, too. Kashmira wished that she could look so good on the job... she briefly awkwardly looked down at her scrubs and shook her head. Though, when she raised her head, she gave the reporter a friendly smile.

"Why hello there, you're the reporter from L.A? It is a pleasure to meet you," When she spoke Kashmira's accent was very thick and she spoke very fast, so even though her English was exceptionally good; she was hard to understand. "I am Kashmira Sarai, I know you probably came to meet someone else but she thought it'd be best if I talked to you... I've done the most research on the current issue this city is facing, and she thought that I should take her place."

---

^@Junkmail
Matt's House.

---

"We're both messes, aren't we?"

Amanda could only silently mouth out "... Yeah." Honestly, she didn't know what the hell was wrong with her anymore, nor did she try to find out.

"Okay. I...I guess I understand. You left for a reason, and I respect that. But then I needed to move on too. I made a lot of friends, I did. I'll have to introduce you to this guy Israel. Anyway, if that's the case, then yes. Yes, you're right, you aren't the only one in my life anymore. But you wrote a chapter into my life that I know I can't live without."

... Did he get another girlfriend? Amanda just had to ask herself as the words made her lift her head up a bit. She didn't really know what to say for once in her life... and could only hang her head in guilt because all of this... this... is all her fault. She shouldn't have left him behind and should have tried to keep in contact as she grieved. Hell, she didn't just cut him off, she cut almost everyone out of her life that wasn't Nikki or Nakala. She hasn't talked to or seen Drake in years, Victoria and she had limited contact when she comes home for summer vacation, and she and Charles keep their distance. Everyone is grieving in their own way.

He leaned up against the sofa and Amanda was wondering what he was doing. Not a word left her lips until she finally just comes out and says it. "What are you doing?" She sounded a lot blunter than she intended, but she got the answer.

"Remembering."

Suddenly, that was the tipping point for the already remorseful Amanda. She broke out into tears and they went flowing down her cheeks onto the floor as she sobs. Resting her hands onto her face, Amanda couldn't contain the flood of emotions.

... I'm a mess.

---

^{@Saint Maxx}
About 12 kilometers over Charity Beach.

---

There was nothing better than private flying. The best feeling in the world!

Makoto sat on a leather seat in a jet that was completely empty except for her. The view was beautiful up here! She always loved flying and these fancy cheeses she was shoving into her mouth was a bonus. She moaned in delight as she closed her eyes for a moment...

"Madam Koda," Makoto's eyes shot open as she saw two men in dressed suits standing in front of her. One held a laptop underneath his arm, and then he nodded his head as his partner said. "The Foundation Woman would like a word with you."

"Oh, sure, love hearing her voice," Makoto grinned as the laptop was placed on the table in front of her after the cheese was moved. Makoto crossed her legs as the servent raised the monitor and turned it on and after a few moments booting up, a shadowy figure that was definitely one of a woman appeared... and she appeared to be eating icecream out of a spoon.

"Hello, Onryo," The Foundation Woman spoke and her voice was digitally altered to the point where it was impossible to make out what her original voice sounds like.

"Hi, mom," Makoto said with a snicker, "What do I owe the occasion to?"

"Do you know your assignments, Onryo?" The Foundation Woman said.

"Well, for starters, REAPER has tracked like ten targets here!" Makoto said with a grin as she took a bite out of a cheese cube. "You need a top agent to handle all of it!" She chuckled as she put her hands behind her head.

"But, that's not all I want you to deal with," The Foundation Woman said as she put the icecream down and folded her hands in front of her, "As apart of our efforts to expand into Charity City, we have elected a 'supervisor' - I'd like to use the words... Area Coordinator - for our operations in the city. Her name is Rachel Cantor...."

"Aaaaaaaaaand?" Makoto excitedly asked.

"... I would like you to keep an eye on her."

For a moment, Makoto felt deeply insulted by the request. She wasn't some amateur or greenhorn - she was a master spy that killed dozens of people with her wits alone! This was just beneath her! Makoto almost laughed.

"I know I may be getting old," She started off. "But I don't think I'd be a good babysitter, I'm not good with kids." Makoto scoffed it off.

"I know," The Foundation woman replied, "But, she is young, inexperienced, and above all else... Zealous."

Rachel Cantor was a name that Makoto heard a few times, and she was like one of those Allegiance zealots! She wanted Metahuman superiority and was no different from, say, the Pure. Makoto wondered how a girl with such powerful views got to be the supervisor of such an organization. Then again, they were terrorists and crazy ones at that, so nothing's off the table for a REAPER.

"She wants Metahumans on top." Makoto said, "She got the right idea... but, I know our bosses won't appreciate such sentiments."

"They won't, which is why she's unlikely to move up from here..."

"I mean she's already the supervisor of her own city! How bigger could you get?" Makoto laughed.

"Irrelevant," The Foundation Woman answered. "But... I trust her leadership abilities, she has proven herself to be a very effective leader, but for whose cause is the question?"

Makoto smirked devilishly.

"For now, your task will be to follow any orders as given," The Foundation Woman commanded. "But, if she gets too out of line, make sure to report it straight to me and I will make sure that she is... disciplined."

"With whips and chains?" Makoto flatly asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You know what I mean, Onryo," The Foundation Woman said, "Just remember, she may be the 'supervisor' of the area, but she is not your boss. The orders you receive from me override her, and I want all those targets eliminated before you leave the city. Understood?"

"Crystal."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss. That is all, Onyro." The transmission ended and the man in the suit folded up the laptop and walked back into the cockpit. Makoto kicked her feet up onto the table as she rested her hand on her fist. So it looks like her time in Charity City will be quite... busy. Most importantly, she'll have a lot of stuff to kill, and a lot of fun to be had. Thankfully, the plane landed around this time so she knew the fun was about to get started.

Airport > The Emperor.

---

The plane deployed it's landing gear and landed on the runway, after a few minutes the stairs deployed and the two men and suits walked out before Makoto did. Jesus, it was hot! "They weren't kidding about that Florida heat!" She said to herself as she playfully fanned herself. Thankfully, Makoto came prepared and wore a tank top and cargo-shorts. The two men stood in front of her with their arms behind their backs.

"Your items are in the vehicle," One man said, as a black car rolled up. "And your ride has arrived." He opened the door for Makoto and held it open, expectantly waiting for her to get inside.

"My goodness, you guys certainly know how to treat a lady, right?" Makoto said as she stepped inside and he closed the door behind her and the car drove off. Downtown Charity City looked beautiful, and if she didn't hear about this place being a giant shithole, her first impression would be a lot better. Honestly, Makoto could see herself living her if she had a husband (or wife) and kids! Then again, Makoto didn't have time for anything more than a good ol' fashioned hump n' dump, so those were pipe dreams. Though, she did have the latter.

Eventually, they ended up at her destination and she could only help but marvel at it; The Emperor Hotel, a tower in paradise. When the car stopped, she couldn't help but look up at it... it's so big. The car stopped and the two suit-wearing men stepped out as they dragged her near-literal mountain of luggage. It wasn't her fault that she so much shit to lug around. The woman walked into the Emperor and quickly checked in and glanced at the huge bar on the first floor. This would be great during her downtime, but she walked over to the elevator with the two men and she stood in there as the doors closed.

"So," Makoto spoke to break the silence. "Nice weather, ain't it?"

She got no response and the doors opened and the two men carted her items to her room... number "218". She liked it. Makoto opened the doors and didn't even bother unpacking the luggage because she has so much stuff, and she travels so often that... it's easier to leave everything packed. So she put both hands on her hips as she looked at the room, it was a real fancy, massive, room with a huge bed with thick sheets with a wine bottle not too far away. Floors and walls were carved out of beautiful brown wood and she had the perfect view of the city with a balcony.

So, Makoto took off this dirty t-shirt and shorts and was down to her underwear as she walked over to her bed and sat down. She pulled a stylus out of her shorts real quick as she stared at her phone, thinking of where even to. If she was going to make sure all targets were out of the picture, she better get started sooner than latter. At least before Lil' Miss Pillow Princess decides to start slinging orders around. On her phone there was an app called "FFFFFFNG" and she pressed it and a list appeared.

// UPDATED: Keep tabs on city director.
// Eliminate Drake Blackmore.
// Investigate possible lead on James Brooks and eliminate him if found.
// Interrogate John Doyle on Warmonger.
// Investigate deceased REAPER.
// Eliminate Henry Olin.
// Investigate lead on AMCC Model.
// Keep an eye on The Boyz.

Oh boy, her assignment list was just her killing people! What a fun month this was going to be. Of course, she knew that she would need a bit of time to accomplish this list of goals set aside by the Foundation woman. If she had, to be honest, finding Henry Olin and Drake Blackmore wouldn't be difficult tasks. She could probably easily kill Drake; lure the young horndog into a trap and blow his head off. Henry was going to be a lot harder. Given the fact that he's a lot bigger and stronger than Drake, and he has enhanced senses that would make stealth hard... she heard that the bastard went toe to toe with Abel and came out with a few broken bones. So a head-on confrontation would be all but impossible, her best bet was to take a team of REAPERs and ambush him and fill him with holes. But, it didn't matter how or when she killed them; just that they were dead by the time she left Charity Beach.

James Brooks and the Robot were going to be the difficult ones. For starters, she had to find them, but she was a master REAPER. Finding stuff and killing them would be easy - hell, she could probably just shoot Brooks in the back of the head while he was sleeping. But the robot, the robot, man. Makoto wondered why in the hell they didn't just send Abel after the bastard with how high-tech and armed (heh, get it?) the bastard is. Makoto would need an entire team of REAPERs to bring the bastard in, and she knew those scientists would have a hissyfit if they damaged their precious hardware.

Though there was one task that would be more tedious than anything; Warmonger. She heard the guy rampaged across Charity City one time but bitched out when the going got too tough for him. He fled to some small town and got taken out by a normie sheriff! What a bastard. But, she heard that he had something that REAPER wanted; she didn't know and neither did REAPER.

And that was the problem.

So, even though she should probably save this for last given it was the easiest, she figured that time was running out given Warmonger's trial in a little while. And so Makoto stood up and opened up one of her luggage bags with a little gift from the Foundation Woman.

The Boardwalk.

---

Now, Makoto underestimated the Floridan heat again.

But, she would have to bear it given the disguise. She wore cargo pants with steel-toe combat boots, a suit-vest and a raid jacket that had "Charity City Police Department" on the back. It was hot as hell, so hot that Makoto considered going into the Dark in order to get away from it. She shuddered for a moment as she walked across the boardwalk, again she found herself wishing she had a family to enjoy this place with. However, Makoto had to stay focused on the mission; that would happen someday. Her REAPERs tracked John Doyle to this place and given his file it was probably going to be way harder to find him than one would think.

He was an old white guy in a cowboy hat.

Though, she found someone who looked like him... and Makoto pulled out her phone for a second to confirm it; she looked at a picture of John Doyle and he was close to John Doyle as she'd get! Or a look alike. Makoto smiled warmly as she decided how she was going to approach this; especially since if he was sharp as she thought he most likely already noticed her. She approached him with a warm smile as she put on a very convincing Japanese accent as she said,

"Hello, Detective John Doyle?" She asked, acting as if she was unsure of who he was, "Hello, I am detective Fujiko Rose from the city's police department, how are you doing?" If this angle didn't work, then maybe she can use her feminine wiles to get him talking. There's nothing that a white guy loves more than an Asian chick. She wished that this shirt of hers showed more cleavage, that'd really get him interested.

---

John had just about finished his drink when a stranger came sauntering by his table. A young woman in...combat boots that spoke in a thick accent Doyle couldn't quite place. Certainly wasn't from around here. "Well uh," He sat up slightly, his old bones creaking as he reached up to tip the brim of his cap. "Thank ya kindly." He said, watching her for a brief moment as she took her own seat somewhere behind him.

He considered striking up a conversation with the young lady, more to pass the time and distract himself from his thoughts than anything else. After mulling it over for a short time he decided against it- better not to bother anyone and stew in his own business. John slunk back into his seat, returning to the terrible posture he seemed so intent on sticking to.

Some ghost of feeling touched Doyle's forehead, like a long and sharp tendril weeding its way into his brain. It itched at his mind, a painfully uncomfortable thing, and it dragged to the forefront a series of ear-piercing, childish giggles and the crash of the sea against the sand. John whipped his head around to look about the boardwalk, damned sure he was hearing it right beside him. Course the beach was way too far out for that and the only kids he could see were quietly devouring some ice cream cones at the shop next door. The pounding sensation in his skull was so intense that his hand had snaked its way down to the revolver on his hip out of instinct. But it was all in his head.

"Damn." He breathed, forcibly placing both hands, palms down, on the table in front of him to keep them from wandering away of their own accord. He waited there until the laughing and pounding of the surf against the beach came to a close, and the pain had eased away. Until his mind had quieted once more. "What in the hell was that?" He muttered to himself, bewildered and a little afraid. He'd had friends that came back from the war that talked about hearin' things, but...but it'd never been John. He'd always come back okay.

'Might be high time I find one'a them therapist types.'

He was still stuck in his little world after the episode until he heard someone say his name. It snapped him out of it right quick, even if he looked a bit disheveled as he met the eyes of another Charity Beach detective. A lady, this time. Wasn't too bad on the eyes, either, if he was ten years younger n' didn't have a ring on his finger. "Good'ta meet ya, Detective." Doyle greeted, pushing up from his chair to offer her a handshake.

Doyle was a more than a little surprised to be meeting another city detective so soon. He'd only finished speaking to Morgan a little over an hour ago, so the chances that there was new information were slim at best. On top of that, he hadn't told anyone he'd be down on the boardwalk, so everything about this little meeting was...strange, to say the least. But John wasn't going to mention it. Instead, he waved to the seat opposite his. "You wanna take a seat?" He asked, falling back into his own. "I don't mean'ta sound rude, Detective, but what's all this about?"

---

^{@Saint Maxx}
The Boardwalk.

---

To the point old man, I like it.

The thought almost immediately popped up in Makoto's head when he asked what it was all about. She had to keep that signature smile off her face as she took a seat next to him. She briefly looked around as she crossed her legs - there were hundreds of different people here on vacation here! Kids were skating past her... but the best part was that none of them were paying any attention to them. So, long as she keeps a low profile they'd go about their days as if they didn't hear anything!

"Ah, to the point, I see," Makoto - or rather her alias Fujiko - said with a warm smile. "I'll do the same; it concerns the Warmonger case..." She trailed off for a moment as she waited to see his reaction. Warmonger was a sore spot for a lot of people -, especially in this city. He had quite a silly name - like he was a comic book villain! - but because of his actions, he was quite feared regardless of it. If he didn't go down he would have been perfect for REAPER - but Abel and the Foundation woman had a change of heart given how easily he went down.

Oh well.

Makoto continued with her explanation, "We have reason to believe that Warmonger and his crew were in possession of a lot more than the money he stole from the bank... but nothing has been found yet. Did you see anything like another member of his crew or anyone suspicious in the area? Or did you see anything else... suspicious or otherwise in the motel room he was held up in?"

It was a simple set of questions... she had to play up the ignorant angle a bit more. Of course, if he was smart he would start questioning her, but nothing Makoto hasn't handled before. Worse comes to worst, she'll have to get a little... aggressive to get what she wants. Long as she gets her information "Fujiko Rose" will disappear and when he asks the CBPD they won't have a clue in their heads what he's talking about.