---

John wasn't particularly surprised she wanted to know about the Warmonger case, but he still felt his chest tighten at its mention. It wasn't something he enjoyed thinking about, even if it was the whole reason he'd come down to Charity Beach in the first place. Shifting in his seat to sit up further, the sheriff's expression visibly tightened as Detective Rose explained their suspicions. This was the first time anyone had mentioned the case's other contents aloud, even if Morgan had heavily implied that such a thing likely existed.

He didn't answer the question immediately, seeming to be mulling it over as he returned back to Pickett's Ridge and the Rusty Iron Motel in his mind. "I mean..." Doyle started with a shake of his head. "Suspicious, sure. We found Aldrich covered in his buddies' blood. Bunch'a bodies in his room, lookin' like they were fightin' over the money or..." John glanced over for a moment, lowering his voice. "Whatever else was in it."

"But uh, nah." He shook his head again. "Case was closed when we collected it. No way in hell to get it open, like I told your man Morgan. Everything's in my written statement." His eyes narrowed a little at that. He'd spent nearly a decade and a half as an officer of the law, and he had a generally strong grasp on the way things were done. With a case like the Warmonger one, it wasn't uncommon for there to be back and forth about who had jurisdiction, but information like his statement should've been available to another detective.

"How...exactly did you find me?" Doyle decided to broach the topic. Try as he might make it a casual inquiry, it still came off rather sharp and even somewhat accusatory. "Didn't tell Morgan where I was goin'. Ya'll havin' me followed?" He brought his hands together, watching Fujiko's expression carefully as he continued. "'Cause I don't much appreciate bein' followed."

---

Industrial Row
Charity Beach, Florida
1230 hrs
Saturday, June 11th

The motor of the Dodge growled with particular ferocity as Brooks took the turns and roads with little caution. Not speeding, particularly, but with all the care one would expect of someone of his particular position. One hand gripped the ripped up steering wheel cover loosely along the top, the other clutching a cigarette to Brooks's mouth, turning him into a fog machine of cigarette smoke. He was confident he knew where this one was. Boardwalk District, intersect of 26th Street and Boardwalk Row itself, big fuck off docks, couldn't miss it.

An idle hand turned to the beat-up stereo system. "-.3 FM, for all your classic rock needs." Intoned a smooth and calm voice. The ringing of the words in silence was followed by a relaxing drum beat, a moving bass line, strumming, and a sweet sound of harmonica. Returning his hand to his cigarette, he nodded. Neil Young, classic. One pop. Two pops. Not his stereo, it wasn't that beat up. A thundering pop assaulted his eardrums as he began to pump the brake, followed by three quieter. He pulled to the side of the street, brushing against the lip of the sidewalk as he promptly, and calmly shut the engine off.

His right hand went down to his waistband, revealing his trusty sidearm and in-line conceal carry holster. A check revealed the chamber occupied by a cartridge, and a full magazine loaded. This kind of thing wasn't usually his business, but these were close. Less than a block down, westwards. And what harm was it to see, anyways? What would the cops do, arrest him for rubbernecking? He popped his door, tugging his keyring along with him, closing and locking the door behind and starting towards the nearest alley as the streets around him seemed empty, with not even ghosts seemingly calling this place home.

He crept down the alleyway, past rat and mouse alike as he encroached on the position of the last shot. But it'd been minutes since then. Whoever it was could've been long gone. No, he had to see for himself. Whatever this was, it wasn't some driveby or gang shootout, five shots at least, accompanied by something big, something powerful. Immersed in thought, he crept past a dumpster, taking care to avoid any muck or small furry creatures, alive or deceased. But suddenly, something thrust over him at speed, a blur of orange and white which threw him off balance, pressing him against a brick wall and crouching behind a dumpster, a hand now on his sidearm's grip. "Huh-" He managed to rasp out, before collecting himself and peeking from behind the dumpster.

Nothing. His imagination? A bird? Possibly. But something told him that meant he was in the right place. And from the warehouse which the figure had emerged was his destination. Drawing a pocket knife, he pressed its blade into the gap in the latch on the emergency door, peeking into his small viewpoint into the warehouse floor.

Eventually, Drake and the lizard-man wandered off, and Grey was left alone on the bench with Albert, who was just finishing his hot dog and starting on a brown paper cup of fries. Out on the beach, the carnival was in full swing. Obnoxious pop music blasted out of enormous black speakers. In the distance, a local rock band set up on a small wooden stage. A food truck called "Garbanzo's Burgers" had set up at the edge of the boards where the fence parted; the smells of frying chickpeas wafted through the air. Grey's stomach rumbled loudly. They looked around and, shrugging, got up to walk towards the food truck. As they walked, they looked through the growing crowd: a few familiar faces jumped out at them. In an alley beside a shop selling novelty marijuana paraphernalia, Gonzo talked to two fraternity brothers wearing salmon shorts and matching black sunglasses. Gonzo nodded, and nodded his head towards the alley. The two exchanged looks, then followed him into the dark. Grey shrugged and got into line at the food truck. They would have a word with Gonzo later about being more discreet in the touristry districts.

---

^{Collab between @ayzrules and @Ruler Inc}
St. Mercer Hospital

---

As the door swung open, Chrissy shut off her phone and turned to face the nurse who walked in, who was, quite possibly, shorter than Chrissy was.

Well, that's quite an accomplishment, Chrissy thought wryly to herself, giving the other woman a casual once-over as she smiled a greeting. Those scrubs were...not what Chrissy would have chosen to worn, to say the least. But she supposed that the nurse had no choice, given the circumstances of her occupation.

If Andrew made us show up to work in fancy suits and dresses every day, I think I'd quit, straight-up, Chrissy mused silently. Pencil skirts and tights and blouses and blazers in L.A. heat? No thank you.

The nurse smiled a greeting and introduced herself. Kashmira seemed nice enough, though her accent made her voice a bit hard to understand, at times. No hate from Chrissy, though. She was sure that if she tried to speak whatever her native language was, she'd end up sounding like the whitest piece of white bread in existence. Or the way that the 'you know I had to do it to em' guy sounded in her head. Which was, of course, unfortunate, but sometimes it just be like that.

Chrissy nodded solemnly as she spoke. When she was finished, Chrissy mulled over her words for a moment before responding.

"I'm Chrissy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Kashmira," she began. She paused, delicately. "I'm glad that they are letting me talk to you, then. Thanks for agreeing to meet me, by the way. Now. Do you know anything about Kaia Gutierrez?"

Chrissy paused again, letting her words sink in. "She's an Instamodel. Dated Cody King for like, six months last year. Checked into your hospital last week, after overdosing on Happiness. Her natural hair is dark brown, almost black. Think Shay Mitchell's 'do. Right now you can't tell, though, because she got blonde highlights. She's like, pretty young-I want to say between twenty and twenty-three-and was at a beach party when she OD'ed." Chrissy frowned, trying to think of more things about Kaia that differentiated her from basically every other Instamodel out there. "Oh! She's got hella lip fillers. LIke, even more extreme than Kylie's. Nose job, too, though I'm not sure if you'd be able to tell. So yeah. What's the deal with her right now?"

Chrissy sat back, gauging Kashmira's reaction. Was the nurse going to tell her that Kaia's current condition was "confidential"? Chrissy hoped not. She'd really wanted to be in and out with the least amount of wheedling as possible. The Sephora at the mall was calling her name.

Kashmira could only help but give the reporter a sweet smile. As she tried to hide her disappointment because, first of all, she was under the assumption that this reporter wanted to know about Happiness... not the latest gossip story. While Kashmira was inexperienced; she knew better than to disclose such information. Patient confidentiality and all, after all. She dealt with such reporters.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kashmira made sure to slow down - people always said that she was hard to understand! But, she needed to make sure that quirk of hers didn't get in her way of saying this. "That is strictly confidential, I cannot disclose that information. Patient confidentiality is something I take seriously, very seriously - out of not because of my job, but out of respect. Please understand."

Fuck. Well, what was I expecting? Chrissy thought to herself, though her expression didn't change. It was not the first time something like this had happened to her, to say the least.

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Alright. Are you allowed to tell me stuff about the Happiness drug in general, then?" she said, switching tactics.

"That... I would gladly," Kashmira said with a smile - for real this time - as the reporter switched topics to something that Kashmira would gladly tell her. "Long as you promise to keep ... Kaia's name out of the article." The young Indian woman wouldn't stand it if she went around taking this information out of context - especially since the purpose of this interview was to help people. That was the right thing to do, right? Take time out of your day to make sure someone else's would improve.

"Now that's out of the way, the Happiness drug... I'm not sure, honestly. It honestly popped up a few months ago when I was still a new nurse, and now it's everywhere!" The nurse put her hands up in an overdramatic display before she continued. "It's like MDMA and heroine rolled into one but far worse - far too worse - I mean, at first the effects seem nice... euphoria, reduction of pain, bodily pleasure, serenity... but when it wears off it's like their zombies!"

Kashmira said for dramatic effect, but kept her eyes focused on the Asian reporter at all times - it was almost like Kashmira was looking into her. Force of habit. "You see... the drug is very addictive, and withdrawals can be... fatal. And when it wears off the user gets very aggressive and violent - almost like a switch in their head's been turned on. It's very bad."

Chrissy listened to Kashmira's explanation, pursing her lips slightly. "Damn. That sounds unpleasant." Chrissy reached into her purse and pulled out a sparkly pink gel pen, as well as a small notebook. "Mind if I write that down?" she said, scribbling the words MDMA and heroine, euphoria/bodily pleasure/serenity --> zombies, withdrawal = aggressive and violent down. She chewed on the end of the pen, thoughtfully.

"Yes, you may." The girl politely said.

"Okay, so what happens to someone when they OD?" Chrissy asked, her pen poised above the notepad.

"Their body gets overwhelmed by the drug as too much of it is sent through the body... then things start to shut down. The heart and lungs begin to slow down and then irreparable damage to the brain occurs due to lack of oxygen and... I may be getting too scientific. But, there was another effect that people believe to be linked to Happiness...."

This was all a... rumor. So far, nothing's been confirmed and what Kashmira was saying was, far as anyone else was concerned, speculation. But in her heart, she knew it was linked.

"... Sudden and spontaneous mutations and tumorous growths," Kashmira said. "Some people have been turning into... freakish versions of their former selves by the drug. And FAMA, officially, says that it's a bad power manifestation caused by overdosing. But I know, in my heart, it's caused by the drug."

"I see," Chrissy answered, noting down irrepairable damage to the brain due to lack of oxygen and sudden mutations/tumorous growths, freakish versions of former selves, FAMA lying (???). "So how long does it take to get better from OD'ing, then? Like, assuming someone who OD'ed had all the care they needed, what's the minimum amount of time that it'll take for them to get better?"

"... You truly can't" Kashmira said, "Even if oxygen to the brain is cut for a second; the damage can not be fixed. But I guess you regain consciousness after a day or two, and after a few weeks they'll be able to head home."

Chrissy's eyebrows shot up at Kashmira's response. "Huh. That's a bummer," she replied, writing a few things down before looking back up at the nurse. "What are people like after they regain consciousness? Do they seem, I dunno, normal?"

"Well... the drug will still be in their system so they're quite... difficult to handle. We have several people that had to be physically restrained. And they'll continue to act that way through the withdrawal process... if they survive."

"So they go crazy, or something? Is that what's happening here, thanks to Happiness?"

"In a way, yes," Kashmira said, "And nobody seems to care about what's happening - they seem more interested in which popstar is coming to perform in the beach and making money than the possible collapse of the city."

Chrissy let out a derisive snort. "Yeah. It's rough." She skimmed over her notes, briefly. There was enough info here to spin a story out of Kaia, patient confidentiality or not. Still, though, Chrissy had to try one last time. "Hey, Kashmira, thanks for all of this," Chrissy said, glancing up from her notebook. "It's a huge help."

"You sure there's nothing else you can tell me about Ms. Gutierrez here? I'm not with the L.A. Times or whatever, but I probably hook your hospital up with someone from there. You know, give this problem the exposure it deserves." She shrugged. "That is, if I have a motivating factor, of course."

Okay, so that was a bit of a lie-Chrissy didn't like, know know anyone with the Times. But she knew people who knew people, so like...it was basically the same thing, right? Right.

Kashmira smiled warmly.

"... No, there is not." Kashmira said... and there was probably a reason why her grandmother said her power was just so fitting for the girl. Hanumanta said she was the most stubborn young woman she ever met... and said that wasn't a such bad thing. Especially with how people would try to manipulate her. "You best give up now because..." She made a gesture to her mouth, pinching her fingers together and dragging them from one end of her lips to the others. Sorry, but not really.

Chrissy shrugged, again. "'Kay. Well, thanks anyway," she said breezily, standing up and stretching. "I'm sure you're busy. Don't wanna hold you up any longer. Toodles." Chrissy gave Kashmira a jaunty wave, and sailed out of the room.

"Goodbye, see you soon," Kashmira said with a smile. "You know where to find me if you have more questions."

Back in the parking lot, she went over her notes again, already composing a story in her head. But first, Sephora, she thought to herself, settling into the driver's seat and pulling out of the parking lot.

---

Back at her great-aunt's apartment, Chrissy pulled up a Word document, cracked her knuckles, and began working on a story to send to her boss-



Chrissy read over it once, loaded it up into an email, and sent it to Andrew. There. It had been a productive day.

---

^{Collab between @Saint Maxx and @Ruler Inc}
The Boardwalk.

---

So he had something in a box that they couldn't open - exactly what Makoto and REAPER needed! All they had to do was infiltrate the police station steal it, and they'd find a way to open it without damaging the contents and-

"How...exactly did you find me?"

And for all of Makoto's experience and ego, she overlooked one small detail that would have totally made or break her disguise. One thing that almost made her visibly flinch and thankfully she had the experience and intelligence to know such an act would basically be saying "Oh hey, I'm a liar, come shoot me!" While she got what she came for, more or less, she didn't want to blow her cover in the event that she has to deal with John again. Of course, Makoto had the perfect plan, she always did, after all. She smiled, as she said,

"Well, I am a great detective, after all," Makoto broke out into laughter as she had a hand to her mouth. "Oh, no; I was just in the area; there's a FAMA agent or two I need to talk with and I just so happened to come across you."

Perfect! Hopefully, her attempts at acting unsure of who he was at first would seal the deal.

Doyle was quick to join her in chuckling, the crow feet 'round his eyes tightening as he did. "'Course, course," he agreed with a short nod. After listening to Old Man Robbie's horrific excuse for jokes for the last ten years, John had gotten pretty good at faking a laugh. Somebody that knew him well could tell the difference, but to a stranger, it'd more than all likelihood sounds genuine enough. He shifted in his seat again, facing sideways so he could get away with looking out over the Boardwalk. Maybe he was an old, married man that didn't like making eye contact with a younger lady. Or maybe he was looking for these 'FAMA agents' that Detective Rose had supposed come by to see. It was hard to tell at a glance, and Doyle didn't give her much time before he was on the move again.

"That's actually quite the coincidence," he began, his eyes shifting back to examine hers, "I've been meanin' to get in contact with the feds about this same case. S'posed to talk to 'em at some point while I'm down here. Any chance you could introduce me? I always like to talk to the field guys when I'm tryin' to get a feel for a place. Too much bureaucratic, political crap when you're talkin' to the big dogs, y'know?" Doyle chuckled again before easing back into his seat, waiting to see how the detective would respond.

This was a tough one, Makoto had a strong feeling that John was catching onto her. He was a very smart man so that meant she had to be smarter. She had a brilliant plan cooking in her head, and she probably did the last thing John was expecting her to.

"... Of course," Makoto said with a smile. "They probably aren't here yet, though - but I'd love for all of us to be introduced to each other."

Doyle paused. He kept a slight, warm grin plastered to his face, but the gears in the back of his mind were busy turning. He could concede and return back to the hotel to shut his eyes for a little while. Alternatively, he was already thinking about sticking around for this 'festival' he'd heard about- at best he'd have company while he waited. At worst he ends up calling the bluff of some asshole cop that's been having him tailed since he left the station. It wasn't a hard decision to make, all in all.

"Sounds like a plan!" John announced, lightly slapping his palm down on the table. "I tell you what, I'm pretty hungry and I've got some extra cash to burn. Why don't I buy us lunch while we wait?" He asked, his grin growing longer as he felt himself growing closer to a victory. He might'a believed in the good Lord, but that didn't mean he believed in coincidences. And havin' some big city cop just stumble across him only an hour after that hairy conversation with Morgan was too much of a coincidence for his taste.z

Makoto just needed the bastard to turn his head for a second and she'd dive into a crowd or something. The only problem was that, again, he was a lot sharper than he looked. 'Course, she had a feeling that, while he suspected bullshit, he had no reason to believe that she was with REAPER unless there's something else the mighty Foundation Woman missed something else. Which was something she was going to take advantage of.

Lazy bastard.

Those were long terms that would be irrelevant. Makoto thought that maybe, maybe, it wouldn't be such a bad thing if he finds her out, so to speak. "Sure thing, I do not mind what we eat, long as it's good!" She smiled again. "I may have to make a phone call real quick, however."

"Sure thing." John pushed his seat out a way, making sure that eye contact only wavered every few seconds. People could feign and lie with their eyes for a while, but they were always the first sign that something was amiss. They'd be the first clue that something was wrong. "I'll go order while you do that. Anything you want in particular?"

"Could I get chicken tenders? Or a burger?" If Makoto was correct; John was anticipating her doing something, making some bold move to escape while his back was turned. The first rule to REAPER spying was subverting expectations above all else! Well, technically it was "don't get caught" but that was common sense! If John had half a brain he'd already been expecting the whole "they rescheduled" excuse, but her new plan was making him think she was bullshitting him to divert him from the truth. She pulled out her phone and typed in a few numbers before she put it up to her ear without even hitting call. Heh. She waited just a few seconds before she began speaking.

"Hello, hello, Fujiko Rose speaking," Makoto started off in her conversation... with nobody. "Can I speak with special investigator Williams?" It'd be funny if there actually was a special investigator Williams, but that was beside the point. The rest of the "conversation" was mere idle chatter before finishing it with. "Oooh, I see. Okay, it's fine with me, tell me when you want to reschedule, okay? Sure, goodbye." After Makoto "hung up" the phone, she stepped over to John and lightly tapped him on the shoulder with a smile.

"Ooooh, it seems my contact had an emergency somewhere in the city and had to cancel our meeting," Makoto started off, "If you'd like, I can give you a number to get in touch with them, but I think I'll get a move on...."

Take the bait, take the bait... Makoto had to think to herself as she tried to pull this bullshit. She was bullshitting bullshit! She should patent that shit.

He'd been dragging his feet to actually get into line, taking an extended period to 'decide what he wanted' while he eavesdropped on Rose's phone call. It picked up almost immediately, and she had a very fast-paced conversation with a 'Special Investigator Williams' that Doyle made a mental note to check up on later. Rescheduling wasn't exactly an anomaly in this line of work. Cops were constantly busy, and federal cops were somehow busier than that. However, after everything else that the detective had pulled? There was no way in hell that was genuine.

John turned around when he felt her tap him on the shoulder, his grin going so wide as to be comical in and of itself as she continued to weave her little story. "Just our luck, right?" He shrugged. It was by now that he'd dropped any pretense of pulling this woman's chain: there was a smug knowingness about him that was impossible to miss. "You really should tell your boss to send someone a little, ah, subtler next time." He chuckled again, his hands going to rest on his hips. "I might look like a dumb hick, miss, but y'know what they say about books and covers."

For a second; Makoto's heart started racing as she thought he had seen through the cover straight and knows she's a REAPER... but had to calm herself.

She needed to get information, then freak out!

"... I don't know what you're talking about," Makoto answered, feigning surprise and trying to play the part of a girl caught up in a lie. "I was just in the neighborhood, that's all. This is a... coincidence." She tried to play off her suspicions that he knew that she was a REAPER - at least until he says something.

He'd sprung the trap, and now she was floundering in it. It was always a beautiful moment to see someone try to squirm when they knew they'd been found out. The guilt on her face was as clear as day to John. He considered just sending her on her way with some choice words. Let Morgan chew her out for getting caught so easily by some dumbass small-town sheriff. But given how much time he had on his hands, and just how hard she'd tried to get away from this...What the hell.

Wasn't any harm in having some fun with it and maybe learning a thing or two.

"Why don't you take a seat?" John took a couple of steps toward the table and pulled her chair out, keeping his eyes on her as he moved. He quite intentionally kept his body between her and the exit for the time being. "Let's have a chat before this gets too outta hand. I'm sure you've got a good explanation for all'a this, Detective Rose. Right?"

"... Right," Makoto feigned shame as she was still trying to figure out if he guessed she's REAPER - well, there wasn't any reason for him to, but she had to keep the possibility up there. For now, she was Detective Rose... and she was caught for being a "shitty detective". "Fine, Mr. Hansen." She couldn't resist making the joke as she had a seat next to John.

"Fine, since I... gravely underestimated you, Sheriff Doyle," Makoto formally accepted defeat. "Let me give it to you like this; I've been ordered to follow you and ask you some questions about the case - I don't know - they don't believe you're telling the whole story." Makoto shook her head.

"Personally... I don't see you working with Warmonger, at all, but... what do they say? Orders are orders."

"It's...John. Not-" Doyle just shook his head, unsure if that was a joke that went over his head or if they'd screwed up so badly that the woman following him didn't even have the last name right. Given her performance here, though, he couldn't say it would surprise him. He deigned not to take a seat quite yet, choosing instead to lean on the table in front of her. A common tactic during interrogations. There was almost a primal instinct in humans to bend to power dynamics like this, so even inexperienced agents- like a police detective, in this instance- it'd be worth employing.

He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression darkening in nearly an instant as the seriousness of the situation took over. She'd been ordered to follow him and question him further about the case. She'd asked just about the same thing that Morgan had, so Doyle had to assume the idea was that the sheriff would spill his guts to Rose instead of Morgan because of of...what? She was pretty? He was almost insulted. "Right. Got that impression from your boss the first go around. I figured him for an asshole, though. Not a dumbass. This? This might change that." He sighed. His first real day in Charity Beach and he was already feeling the weight of the politicking and the bullshit on his shoulders. This was gonna be a long stay.

'Working with Warmonger.'

That was the phrase she used. It brought up the heat in Doyle's cheeks that flared up almost the moment he registered the sentence. Wrath wasn't the sin that John was the quickest to, but that kind of accusation made his blood boil. He unfolded his arms and slowly lowered himself closer to the detective, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Aldrich killed three of my friends. I watched him tear them limb from limb with his bare hands, right in front of me." John spoke carefully, as if on the razor's edge of bursting into a yell. He had to fight to keep himself contained at such a notion. "I don't know what about me putting a bullet through his eye makes you think I might've been working with him, but whatever it is, you're pretty God damn wrong, little lady."

Hook, line, and sinker. Not a single mention of REAPER, so Makoto was all clear; and again she had to fight the urge to sigh in relief. However, she had a part to play, and the REAPER knew her life depended on it. The sigh that escaped from her was not one of relief but of guilt and shame. "I don't think that you were working with Warmonger, it just makes no sense," Makoto started off, softly saying, "I get the feeling Morgan is hiding something, I'm not sure what, from us."

His anger fizzled out quickly. It was difficult to hold on to when the woman he was snarling at didn't have any skin in this game. Doyle brought a hand to rub up against his face as he pushed off the table so he could stand upright. "Yeah. Got that feeling myself." He admitted, letting himself drop back down into his seat. Morgan knew something about that case and its contents that John didn't, and he was more than a little invested in finding whatever it was. The only question left was what his motives were, and if Doyle could actually trust him. If he was having him followed...it didn't bode well for the detective.

"What do you n' your people know about that case?" John pivoted, hoping he could grab a little more information from her. "Certainly more'n I do."

What did she know about the case? Makoto had a few... options to play with here. But, sending Sheriff Doyle on a wild goose chase was the best option for Makoto. By the time he figures things out, "Fujiko Rose" will be in California! Ha! Makoto, though, knew she couldn't get cocky.

In her line of work; cockiness equals stupidity.

"I don't know much more than you do about the case," Makoto said, "But, I know that, during Aldrich's rampage through Charity Beach, he did a lot more than rob banks. I don't know the details because Morgan is keeping them to himself. I think it has something to do with one of the science firms in town...."

John reached into his pocket and plucked out a small notebook and a pen he carried with him everywhere. Physical notes always felt more meaningful to him than any of that digital garbage they had today. He flicked the pen open and looked up, meeting Rose's gaze once again. "You got a name for that firm?" He already had the list of banks that Warmonger had hit- everybody did, considering just how much destruction followed when Aldrich tried to rob someone. But there was never any mention of a laboratory. It could be the lead John needed to sniff out whatever it was Morgan was trying to hide.

"Creative Solutions Scientific Co." It was a random name that Makoto came up with - especially sense she knows John doesn't have a phone to look it up.

He quickly jotted down the name, adding a couple of lines of notes just underneath it. "Right. Thank ya for that." Doyle returns the notes to his pocket, satisfied with all he'd learned. Without much else to do here but continue to torture the poor woman, he decided to stand back up, offering her a hand and a triumphant grin. "It's been fun, Detective, but you've no doubt got places to be..."

"Places to be," Makoto cheerfully said. "Crimes to solve. Ha!" She made her own little corny joke before she stood straight up.

"No doubt," He chuckled. "You have yourself a blessed day, ma'am. I'll see ya around."

"You too," Makoto said as she finally walked away from Mr. John... he was a smart cookie, to say the least, but his types are still... green, none the less. He had no experience dealing with the likes of Makoto and REAPER and so that made this easier than it should have. Now all she had to do was make sure that Mr. John plays his part and stays out of REAPER's hair for the duration of her trip. Makoto pulled out her phone and hit contacts before she hit contact on her phone that said Cousin Micheal. Hitting call was easy and she placed the phone onto her ear as she waited for a response.

"Hello, Makoto," The Foundation Woman on the other end said.

"Oh, hi mom," Makoto playfully said as she walked back to the streets of Charity Beach. "I got the groceries."

After a few seconds, the Foundation Woman answered, "Excellent. Can you do a favor for me, before you go home?"

"Yeah, mom?" Makoto said.

"I'm going to text you a place in Spaniard Town I want you to go, it's time you meet your new boss."

---

---

After months of preparation, the annual event was underway. The Charity Beach Festival 2019! An event that was hosted once a year since 1998, and has been canceled only once (due to a hurricane hitting the city). It's a massive party that spans the downtown section of Charity Beach all the way to the beach, and the streets are lined with loud music and food. Above all else, on the beach itself a huge stage has been set up; where the mayor of Charity Beach has somehow, somehow, got a famous singer to come. Which has attracted people from all over the states... and gotten quite a bit of money into the city's pockets.

---

Downtown.

---

It was beautiful here!

After the whole incident with the robot and the REAPER, Drake went back to headquarters as Henry instructed and reported the whole thing. He left out the robot for its sake... but he has a feeling he should go look for the bot. He had a strong feeling that the last thing he wants is a murder bot with guns running around that can explode the head of REAPERs. What if the thing goes on a fritz and kills a bunch of people? Drake would... feel personally accountable for it because he didn't fry the bastard then and there. Ugh. If only the situation was different! Maybe another time; when he found Henry he would have a talk with the lizardman about what happened.

For now, Drake was eager to get back to work for FAMA, even though he was on "vacation" the director of this branch of FAMA asked him to keep an eye on the festival. And even though he didn't appreciate being a glorified security guard, he couldn't pass up a golden opportunity to make face in Charity Beach. Especially the since he's legendary Agent Dragon! He was wearing his typical FAMA armor that covered him from head to toe in all black as he wore gauntlets, vests, and whatnot - with lightning painted all over it. All nice and cleaned up from that fight with Abel gone wrong, and he was looking sharp.

However, the director set up two rules: no helmets, nothing bigger than a pistol. Which was dumb in a practical sense, but smart from a PR perspective. Drake merely stood by a stand as there were hundreds of people here... from everywhere really. Drake knew that a bunch of guys toting around guns in helmets would give the wrong image and push more people towards the ideology of the Savior Foundations and the "Metas are bad" rhetoric he heard so much. But, they have a much less threatening image in armor and having more subdued weapons at their disposal.

Then again, only a bunch of fools would pull anything... or REAPER. But, it didn't fit the M.O of REAPER in his opinion. Either way, it was time for Drake to go on patrol. He found himself a path where the crowds weren't so thick as he marched through it. There were all sorts of people here! Including some hot babes... Oh, yeah. He had to remember what Adam told him again. What was it? Oh yeah, as an Agent of RAVEN (or FAMA in this situation), he had a reputation or layer of professionalism he had to upkeep. Even if he didn't like it, or would rather be talking to a girl than walking around with a gun in this hot ass armor... he was, right now, the face of FAMA.

Though, he passed someone with their hands in their face as they twitched. He didn't get a good look at them - by the time he whipped around they were gone - but he had a bad feeling about them. But the crowd was so thick and mobile that he was unlikely to find them. For now... he was going to ignore that gut feeling and focus on another gut feeling of his; his stomach! Drake went to one of the hotdogs stand as he looked around at the menu.

When it was his turn he raised his finger at the hot-dog stand owner, an older man with a bushy beard and gut... almost like he's been eating a lil' too much of his own supply. Either way, Drake smiled as he said, "Hey, what can I get for you?"

"Hey, can I get an all-beef hotdog with sauerkraut?" Drake asked with a warming smile.

"For you," The man said as he reached inside to pull out a hotdog and put the various fixings on it. "It's free."

"You don't gotta," Drake said with a smile.

"No, I insist." The hot-dog dealer said with a smile.

Drake's eyes drifted towards his tip jar as he fished some money out of his pocket and put ten dollars in there. Way more than the hotdog, but Drake saw himself as the gift that kept on giving. The man looked thankful as Drake turned away and walked off, squirting ketchup on the hotdog. Taking a bite, he was instantly satisfied.

He just needed to find Henry.

---

^@Junkmail
On a highway downtown.

---

After Amanda's little breakdown, they decided that they'd take it slow. One step at a time. Amanda wanted to get to know the brand new Matt, but was he eager to learn about the new Amanda? What was more pressing was that; does he want to date the new Amanda? She wanted to date the new Matt, but at the same time, she didn't. She wasn't sure about it just yet. He suggested they go to the beach festival to go meet a friend of his; Israel he calls him? Whenever she heard his name, she couldn't help but think of that Denzel Washington movie. It sucked being a film buff sometimes! Though Amanda was excited to meet the dude, she wanted to get closer to Dexter above all else. Making up for lost time was the reason why she came here! The car ride was... regrettably, very quiet and uncomfortable; and when she was in quiet and uncomfortable situations there was one retreat for her: her phone.

The girl adjusted her hair in a playful pose as she put on a warming smile as she snapped a quick picture of herself. Instead of putting a bunch of filters on it; she placed the text CHARITY BEACH FESTIVAL #2019 and hit send. She decided to browse her Instagram briefly as she tried to distract herself from facing the truth. She scrolled down through selfies from her friends and family (When is that bastard Drake gonna post something!).

There was one picture of Charles (Or as he went by online CharliBmore), her younger brother with similarly spikey hair, wearing a white t-shirt and... jorts. Fucking jorts. She thought that she made it clear the last time jorts weren't allowed in the Blackmore family. At least, he looked kinda cute for once, doing a pose with a hand behind his head. He didn't put a caption on, lazy bastard. Well, Amanda scrolled through various selfies from her friends and family until she landed on one.

It featured her cousin, SwarmQueen_01, or Nikki. She was a cute lil' Asian thing that always dressed like a tomboy with short black hair... Amanda thought she would look so much better if she would stop cutting her hair and covering up that rack of hers. However, in this photo, she a massive wasp in her hand that looked like a tarantula wasp... and it was larger than her fist. She was holding it in her hand like it was nothing, and it had the caption: Too fat to fly :( Back to the drawing board.

Which made Amanda chuckle... Nikki was always mad sciencing stuff. However, Amanda thought it was too cool to keep to herself.. and perhaps part of her was desperate to break the silence. "Hey, Matt, remember cousin Nikki?" When the car came to a stop, Amanda put the phone over to Matthew and showed him the picture.

"Look what she cooked up in that lab of hers. Freaky, ain't it."

---

---

The apartment was somewhat dirty, though not cluttered. The ground was vacuumed, belongings were neatly squared away, but years of cigars and cigarettes had yellowed the walls and an inattentive landlord refused to replace the peeling wallpaper or cracked windows. The carpet was stained so many times over the years, it retained a brown color even if it was technically clean. The furniture was cheap, and that included the fold-out futon sofa and the small coffee table in front of it, the wood chipped in places. It faced a television that was probably made in the ‘90s and had poor resolution, and a young Latino man stared stone-faced at the images flashing on the screen.

It was the news.

His mother stopped watching the news long ago, she said, since they only played depressing content most of the time. She wasn’t wrong, but he fond it important to stay up to date on what nonsense they were peddling this time. But most importantly, it looked like he was finally getting someone’s attention. The image of a crowd of people surrounding a pavilion displayed on the television, and a masked figure in a grey hoodie stood above them before a podium with their fist raised. Israel smiled. A woman’s voice narrated the video as a brown haired woman appeared next to the cropped and shrunk video.

“…At 7:00 PM yesterday, a flash mob appeared in Downtown Charity of all places, adding one more to a long string of protests that have broken out over the past five years in a local anti-corruption and injustice movement. The protest was led by an anonymous spokesperson of the movement, calling for justice on behalf of the city’s impoverished. One of our reporters attended this rally, and here is what was recorded…”

The video ballooned once more, and Israel heard his own voice being played back to him.

“…We will not be kept down! We will not be held accountable for the injustice that they did unto us! We will not allow ourselves to be farmed like human livestock, taxed and siphoned to line the pockets of capital interests, or the bought-out politicians like—”

The video was interrupted before they got to the good part, and the brunette appeared again.

“This protest comes just days before the annual Beach Carnival, and has been a cause for concern among local business owners if this unrest will affect the tourism attracted by the carnival. Now tuning into one of our reporters covering the event, Bonnie Lauren. Good afternoon Bonnie, how are you doing?”

A live-feed from a camera downtown revealed a blonde hair woman in a shiny red dress standing next to an older, heavy-set African-American man in a fishing hat and Israel immediately frowned. He knew both of those people. The reporter, not personally, but the man…

“Doing great Danielle. I’m here today in front of the admission gate to the Beach Carnival, the skies are clear, the sun is shining, and I’m with one of the long-time local business owners Tyrell Jackson. Tyrell, you were just telling me that you’ve been working with this carnival for the past… twenty or so years?”

“Twenty-one,” Tyrell said with a nod, his voice was rough and gravelly. “Never missed a year, in addition to my regular business.”

“Which is the Snake n’ Boot Bar and Grill, right?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“So, in your experienced opinion, what do you think these protests mean for the carnival with them happening so recently?”

Tyrell cleared his throat and gave his take, “I just wanna say to all o’ y’all out there to listen – you can protest any time o’ the year y’all want, with three exceptions: the fourth of July, nine-eleven, and around the Beach Carnival. Businesses up by the beach like mine rely on the crowds it attracts to stay afloat, and anything that makes Charity Beach looks bad makes the carnival look bad, and that means less commerce for all of us. That’s is, normally… but these kids protestin’ the law, and the mayor, and police? Capitalism? It’s all part o’ this whole socialism craze takin’ the younger generation. Listen to what they be sayin’… defendin’ the downtrodden? Defendin’ themselves, defendin’ what’s theirs? The sounds just like the gang talk comin’ from The Boyz. Its just another gang, that’s all they be.”

“So you think that this might mean another gang like The Boyz or Red Crowns?”

“Maybe, or maybe they really are just The Boyz, and this just be some crazy new strategy they got goin’ on.”

“That’s all for today Tyrell, thank you very much.”

“Thank you for havin' me.”

“Back to you, Danielle.”

“Thank you, Bonnie…”

The television abruptly turned off.

It was bullshit, all of it.

It was no coincidence that Bonnie Lauren sounded and looked so much like Tomi Lahren; they were essentially the same person. They were a pretty mouthpiece with no brains to be used by corporate media. If she was good at anything, it was finding the right people to peddle their bullshit to the public. Tyrell was an old-fashioned black man like Bill Cosby, who fed into the idea that they had to conform to what was desired of them. They severed themselves from their colored identities long ago, and Tyrell fell into the trap of black conservatism. Not to mention all that he said was a lie; there was no way in hell that his beachfront bar in the nice part of town would suffer without the carnival. Even without it, he'd be able to support his grandchildren all throughout college.

But to compare the cultural revolution of Charity Beach to The Boyz was an insult. Israel lived in Los Costas, he was exposed to plenty of their kind and knew the differences. The Boyz used the same message in their outreach for support and gain more members to make money. Drug trafficking, gun trafficking, it was all about gaining power and controlling through fear abuse. They used addiction to ensure brand loyalty, the threat of violence to ensure cooperation.

No, the revolution was bigger and better than that. It was about change. It was about making a difference, opening opportunities, and exposing those who would do everyone harm. It was about fulfilling the promises that was made to every young American when they were children.

But it was a long road ahead, and as much as he loathed to, he had to play the part of the citizen until then. Israel slipped on his shoes and headed toward the front door. He called out to his mother, “Mama, I’m heading out to the carnival! Me piro!”

“¡Chao pescao!” She called back.

“¡Y a la vuelta picadillo!”

Israel opened the door and stepped out, letting the thick, heavy wall of Florida’s humidity hit him. In his striped tank top, sandals, and the hand me down fatigues, he was well accustomed to the weather. He combed his fingers through his hair, threw on a pair of cheap aviator sunglasses, and huffed a sigh as he double checked his pocket for his phone and wallet.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, “it’s back to pretending I’m a capitalist.”

---

---

The Boardwalk
Saturday, June 11th, 2:00pm
Interactions: Watching John Doyle@Saint Maxx and Makoto Koda @Ruler Inc

---

---

Using her thumb, she popped the lime into the beer and took a sip. It was the perfect beverage for a hot, drizzly day. She let the flavor of it consume her mouth before she swallowed the liquid down. She settled all four legs of her chair back onto the floor before lifting one of her legs so the ankle rested across her thigh. She toyed with the sole of the shoe which was coming off at the toes while she continued to watch her cell phone.

She became distracted when a young Asian woman appeared and started speaking with the Lone Ranger. She looked at them but briefly before her attention was back on the flip phone. She could overhear parts of their conversation. A case. Warmonger. Robbery. Death. Money. It was very intriguing and she wished she could get closer to listen.

After a short time, the woman took a call while the man shuffled his way to the line for food. She didn't think he had been that old! It became apparent that he was doing the same thing she was. Eavesdropping. Soon the gentle curiosity between the two turned to rage. Bobbi tensed in her chair and grabbed her half-full beer bottle, ready to break it over the man's head should it be necessary. As quickly as it happened the situation defused. Cops were freakin scary man. Soon enough they said their goodbyes and Bobbi calmed down by chugging the last of her beer.

Diana still had not shown. It had been nearly an hour. She texted the girl again and waited half an hour before deciding to wander the downtown area of Charity City. She discovered a flyer advertising a festival. Hot damn! Nothing like getting wasted with co-eds and the elderly!

---

---

The Boardwalk ==> Downtown
Saturday, June 11th, 3:05pm
Interactions: Drake Blackmore @Ruler Inc

---

---

Bobbi held a monster-sized cup that twisted around and was made of plastic. Inside of it was a potent hurricane that even made her dulled tastebuds scream in delight. She meanered, pausing here and there to play some games. There was one which was the classic test of strength and she grinned. She asked the man to hold her drink. Picking up the hammer, she hefted it over her shoulder and breathed in deeply. She could feel her connection to the Vault. The energy of it began to fill and swim around her muscles. And then she swung the hammer down hard. The tiny hammer attached to the board sped upward, hit the bell with a loud clang, and dented it before coming back down. The energy dissipated from her body.

Ooops.

"Co! So many apologies Mistah. Dunno mah own strength I guess." She joked with him cordially and picked out a small stuffed animal that looked like a slightly deformed alligator. It's eyes had been sewn on crooked and looking off into different directions. Its muzzle bent upward at an odd angle and its legs splayed out while being much too short for its body. She thought it was quite cute and the man tried to offer her one of the other gators that had been made properly. "Nah, Mistah. He be perfect."

She took her drink back and headed toward the crowds. It was then she spied a vaguely familiar face. Her own freckled one lit up with a bright smile and she jogged to catch up to the man. "Oi, Mistah Ice Cream Cone. I didna know you was an officah." She skipped into step beside Drake, looking up at him with excitement in her eyes. "Yer deh friend o' dat gatah man, no?" She sipped from her drink and offered some to Drake. Her eyes widened when she realized her mistake and she used the hand holding the stuffed gator (tucked up by her armpit) to give herself a light smack on her forehead. "Oi ye, ain't I just a goose. Po-po mans can't be doin' no drinkin' on shift. Apologies bon ami." She sipped her drink again. "You be lookin' for your friend, no?"

---

Charity Beach Festival.

---

Ain't she an odd one.

Drake thought to himself as he gazed upon the... tiny girl from earlier? She said some stuff to Henry before moving on but he didn't think too much about it. It was kinda weird if he had to be completely honest, but Drake wasn't the type to let first impressions ruin what could be a beautiful relationship! Of course, the girl wasn't all that bad looking if Drake had to say so himself. A short little thing that he could tell was kind of Spanish, she looked kinda trashy but Drake was fine with that. Skinny and not all that curvy... which were also things that Drake didn't have a problem with.

What he had a problem was with her... manner of speech. "Heh, someone's tryin' a little too hard." She talked with this ridiculous, over the top, accent that those in New Orleans put on to appease the tourists. Maybe there were people out there that did talk like this, but he wasn't convinced - Drake found it cuter than anything that she was forcing this accent for him! It almost forced a chuckle out of him - but he had to look super serious.

"Yer deh friend o' dat gatah man, no?"

Though that smile faded when Drake had to answer the question with a very flat look on his face. "... He doesn't like to be called that." He just had to say, which he admits was probably not the best opener but hey; he had to pay respect where it was due. "But, yeah, you're speaking to officer Drake Blackmore, FAMA special forces first class." Drake wondered why despite all the good he did for FAMA; never moved up in the organization past officer. Those bastards!

The girl offered him a drink and Drake would have declined himself but she went ahead for him. "Yeah, no drinkin' on the job!" Drake said... half-heartedly. If it wasn't completely stupid, he would enjoy just a little sip, but with REAPER and other threats out there; he had to be on tip-top shape at all times. Because whenever they tried to start something Drake would make sure he'd be the first person there stopping them!

"You be lookin' for your friend, no?"

Cracking out into a light chuckle that he quickly dashed away as to not look like he's laughing at Bobbi, Drake crossed his arms. "Nah, I'm waiting for the old lizard," Drake answered briefly. "Trust me, someone like him would find me in no time! But, in the meantime..."

Drake smugly grinned as he said,

"... What's your name? You don't look like you're... from around here."

---

Charity Beach Festival

---

---

After the interview, Kashmira was unsure of how to feel about it all, but she ultimately hoped the best. She was expecting someone more professional and less interested in riding trends but she knows that, somehow, the whole Happiness would get the exposure it needed! Either way, Kashmira finished the rest of her shift and got changed at work before she headed off to the festival. This was her first time attending it (she had to miss last year's) and she was excited! But also saddened that this would be the first type of celebration that she attended without her family - without Rashmika of all people! She attended a few American festivals but all she could do was feeling homesick. American holidays were nothing like the days she spent dancing in Gujarat, and all she could do was find solace in her fellow Indians.

The girl was sitting in a bus seat wearing grey Nike sweat shorts that had matching black Nike sneakers. She was wearing a matching grey Nike t-shirt with "JUST DO IT" and the Nike logo on it. Of course, Kashmira had her scrubs and other items in a backpack that she would keep very close to her. She, naturally, distracted herself in her phone and merely viewed her family's various social media accounts - and sometimes glanced at her coworkers and friends social media.

Though, while she was browsing she got a call on facetime.

RASHMIKA

Immediately, the girl was overjoyed that she got to see her sister's face again! It goes without saying that Kashmira hit "answer" on her phone. The first sight was her twin sister's face, which was almost an exact reflection of her own but with a few differences. Maybe her face had a slightly different shape, and her eyes weren't as big as Kashmira's but the similarity was still there.

"Hello, sister," Rashmika spoke in Gujarati, the language that the two of them found the easiest to speak in despite Kashmira's near-flawless English. "How are you? How is Florida treating you?"

"It's great, sister!" Kashmira answered. "The weather is beautiful, it's almost like it is back home..."

"Do you miss it, sister?" Rashmika answered.

"I do, I do," Kashmira answered honestly, "But, America is our new home, if grandmother made this place her home then so can we."

"I'd like to visit every once in a while," Rashmika answered.

"Grandmother said we shouldn't go back there."

"Do you really listen to her paranoid drivel?" Rashmika said, "I love our grandmother with all my heart, but we must live our lives sisters... she even has our parents believing her. The two of us could have been long married by now."

Kashmira nodded her head. Hanumanta was a very old woman, possibly senile and developing... "other" signs of age, but Kashmira still found wisdom in what she spoke. Though, she found it inconspicuous that her grandmother refuses to step foot back in India but never mentions why. She spoke of her adventures and the things she had done but never specified why she left after the death of her grandfather far before she was even born. Kashmira would press her on her secrets later on - because this was one thing that Kashmira would not let Hanumanta bring to the grave.

"If she says we shouldn't go there," Kashmira answered. "Then that's what we should do; she knows more than what we do and you know what happened..." It was something that the mere implication made Kashmira cringe and Rashmika feel guilt: the encounter with Abel. It was years ago but sometimes she still thinks about the thing and has dreams of it. Kashmira wishes she could just let it go, but...

"Very well," Rashmika said, "If that is your choice..."

The bus came to a stop and already Kashmira could see how amazing the celebration was! It was a vibrant, energetic, fair full of all sorts of people and suddenly an idea popped in that head of hers.

"Rashmika," Kashmira said in their native language, "I am attending one of their festivals... and I am feeling awfully lonely, want to keep me company, sister?" It wasn't as good as having her here in person, but she was willing to take the next best thing.

"Gladly, sister." Rashmika said as they remained on facetime.

Kashmira stepped out of the bus and she walked all the way over to the admission gates that were blocked off by the turnstile. There was a group of guards, police officers, and FAMA agents at the gates and one of which had a clipboard. When Kashmira was walking up she noticed that the guard made someone sign before sending them in where they received a note and a balloon... interesting? When it was Kashmiras turn she held the phone in hand as the guard asked,

"Name?"

"Kashmira Sarai." The girl said fast and the guard had on a look of bewilderment.

"... Mind saying that again a little slower?"

Kashmira nodded her head as she said her name again, "Kash-mir-ah, Sur-Rai." She was used to this.

"Hey, what's in the bag?" He pointed at her back bag before giving her a curious look... he silently gestured for the rest of them to come along.

"Oh?" Kashmira raised an eyebrow as she opened up the bag revealing her blue scrubs stuffed into the bag. "My work clothes, I just got done with my shift and wanted to come here and see the festival." Kashmira looked at the guard and was convinced he wasn't convinced.

"Empty the bag."

"What?"

"I said empty the bag."

Suddenly Kashmira felt a little nervous - there were at least five cops and other security all around her and she was all by herself!

"Be strong, sister," Rashmika said through facetime, and it appeared as gibberish which Kashmira felt didn't help her case that much. However, she was going to do just that.

"Could I at least get a table to set this on?" Kashmira asked.

"Empty it right here, right now. Or you're not coming in." The guard said before the young woman huffed and pulled out her scrubs after putting her phone in her pocket for a second. She draped it over her shoulder just so it wouldn't touch the floor but it became abundantly clear there wasn't anything in the bag.

"Satisfied?" She asked, trying to contain the venom against this racist bastard.

With a nod of his head, the guard nodded his head and signed her name as the girl gave him a very disgusted look as she stuffed her scrubs back in and marched past him.

The first thing that Kashmira did was pull out her phone and nearly shout, "Buckwass!", into her phone. He most likely didn't understand the comment, but Kashmira had to vent his frustration.

"Bet he would gladly let you past if you were a white woman." Rashmika laughed for a moment with her hand covering her mouth. "That's what I noticed; Americans are so scared of all the wrong people." Rashmika shrugged her shoulders.

"I just hope he'll, someday, change his ways."

"I hope so, too, sister," Rashmika answered, "But, I'd love to see this American festival." She said with a grin.

Once she got to the other side of the admission gate there was a stand with a bunch of balloons behind it and pieces of paper. They flagged her down and Kashmira walked over to them very curious with the hand in her hand.

"Hey, here's your balloon, don't lose it," The woman at the stand softly said to Kashmira, "You have to write something down on the paper, tie it to the balloon, and when the clock strikes four o'clock release it."

"Okay!" Kashmira said as she set the phone down so Rashmika wouldn't see what she wrote, before tying it to the balloon and picking up her phone and walking off with the green balloon in hand... her favorite color!

"This doesn't sound nowhere near as fun as our festivals," Rashmika asked.

"It isn't," Kashmira said, "Nothing will be as fun as playing with kites on the streets on Uttarayan!"

"So, sister," Rashmika asked, "What did you write?"

Kashmira shook her head into the phone, "Nope, not telling."

"Please?" Rashmika pleaded.

"I'll tell you when I let it loose," Kashmira answered as she walked around and saw all the stands and attractions that were just begging for her. "Besides... there is much fun to be had in the meantime."

---

---

The Boardwalk
Interactions: Drake Blackmore @Ruler Inc

---

---

He mentioned that Gator Man did not, in fact, like to be called Gator Man. She tapped her forehead with the butt of her palm again. Of course, he didn't. Hadn't she just been a bit insensitive? Like when kids called her Freckle Face in elementary. She could easily understand how something like that could hurt a person's feelings. Even if it was cool as shit.

The policeman introduced himself as one of the FAMA special forces. She whistled her impressment. She'd heard of FAMA before but it had only been a brief sort of thing. Where had she heard it? Around one of the fights? Maybe she had seen it? On a pamphlet in a docs office or something? She couldn't remember, but in the end, it hardly mattered.

"I just be doin' things all sortsa backwards today, don' I? Sincerest apologies, bon ami." She made a dramatic curtsey, dropping her alligator in the process. She scooped the stuffed animal back up. "Aww, poor beastie." Shaking sand from it, she finally said, "Mah names Barbara Kimble. Most jus' call me Bobbi. Pleasure to meet ya Officah Drake Blackmore, FAMA special forces, first class." She used her best, normal American, Midwestern serious sort of accent to speak his name. "And I'd love to meet yah friend too. He's jus' peaches." She tucked the alligator back under her arm and gave him one of her famous crooked smiles.

"As for where a gal like me be from. Good ol' New Orleans, Louisiana. Down the bayou. Mama was good ol' Creole woman and Papa was a mystery. Poofed hisself intah din air dat man did." She made a soft poof sound and used her hand to mimic something exploding before floating away. "What 'bout yerself Officah Blackmore? What's an updstandin' Yankee like you doin' this fah south?" She winked at him and sipped her drink.

---

Henry’s ears picked up a low scraping sound in the otherwise silent building. He followed his ears to face the general direction of the sound, turning around to the emergency exit door. He frowned, deciding that after what had happened, simple confrontation would be the easiest option.

He sighed, walking towards to door and grabbing it by the handle. He pulled- causing the door to strain before the latch eventually gave way and broke off from the door, exposing the peeping tom. Henry stopped, deciding not to press forward or approach the man any further than he already have. They both just looked at one another, in varying states of confusion and shock.

Eventually though, Henry decided to break the pause.

“Uh- hi?”

And so there was Brooks, a deer in the headlights, the door quite literally being broken open in front of him. He stood there, hunched, a pocket knife with blade deployed clutched in a right hand. The discovery of a massive fucking lizard prompted him to back to the opposing end of the alley, the hand clutching the blade close to his midsection, not that it’d be of much use.

And as the ragin’ reptilian broke the silence, a long silence proceeded soon after, Brooks’s eyes darting between his possible escape routes and Henry himself. Unsatisfied with the tight quarters and such a hulking potential foe, he simply played along, piping up in an accented voice best described as somewhere between choking on gravel and throat cancer, with the Appalachian dialect showing through in force.

“Woah, eh- Who- Who the hell’re you?”

Henry put his hands up, palms facing the man in an attempt to show him that he meant no harm. It was likely not exactly disarming, but it was better than nothing. “My name is Henry-” He said, his left hand moving to point at the FAMA insignia on his uniform. “I’m associated with FAMA. Heard a lot of noise and…” He trailed off, realizing that he was rambling. “Sorry for- surprising you.”

Henry breathed, allowing his hands to fall to his sides. “I take it you heard the shots too?” This was a difficult situation- because there were bodies in the building, and he had made a deal to help with Tiamat. He’d have to try to keep this man out of the building if he could- but if he found a way inside, he’d have to lie.

Shit, it was law. FAMA, no less. A risk he couldn’t take. “I did, yeah. Ain’t usually my business, but the shots were a little fuckin’ close for comfort.” He slowly and deliberately folded back in the blade on the knife, guiding it into a pocket on his jeans. He seemed on edge, almost if it wasn’t what he was expecting. Law already here, situation under control enough for a fucking greeter to meet him at the door.

“You alright?” Henry asked, seeing how things had played out, it was completely reasonable to assume the poor man was only a few steps away from having a heart attack himself. Henry decided not to press him for why this had decided to investigate the sound of gunshots and conflict. That was some textbook horror movie first victim shit- but this man was too old and smelt too much like gunpowder to be that naive. “What’s your name?”

Brooks darted his eyes, looking the reptile up and down, sizing him up perhaps. “Is’ uh, Jacob. Jacob Riley.” He seemed to relax a little seeing as the conversation didn’t start with his Miranda rights. Satisfying enough for him, he reasoned, playing into the officer’s questions. The edges of Henry’s lips curled up in a small smile at this.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jacob.” The giant sighed. “Listen, I’m going to be calling this one in in a few minutes. You should get going before the cleanup crew gets here. No reason for you to get caught up in all the paperwork and red tape.” he explained. He looked away, glancing behind him and cringing at the acidic smell of the rapidly deteriorating REAPER agent. It was strong enough that even the man could probably smell it now. Especially if he was familiar with the scent of dead REAPERs.

Eager to avert his own attention, Henry returned his gaze to Enoch. “You going to the festival tomorrow by chance?”

“Is’ Jake, what folks call me.” He clarified at first. “N’ yeah, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss that shit. Crowds ain’t to my fancy, but the food n’ hooch are worth it, yeah?” Brooks chuckled a bit, grinning to reveal teeth stained yellow, damaged by years of coffee and cigarettes. “Yeah, I ought get goin’.” The stench hits him. He knows it too well. To say something? No, play it cool. It’s a new life.

“It was, eh, nice meeting’ you, too, Officer- Henry, was it? Yeah.”

“If you see me there, I’ll buy you a drink. Think of it as an apology for scarin’ you.” Henry said. “Take care, Jake.”

“Real kind a’ ya’. You too, Officer.” Brooks gave his farewell, turning off towards his Dodge silently. His expression turned. Careless, Brooks. Fucking careless. New life and you were this close to throwing out the goddamn window because some shots and a fucking lizard man spooked you. Real smart. He slammed his car door, turning the key, before spinning the tires as he took back off to his original destination.

---

---

After Amanda's sudden arrival, the day passed quickly. It was a sudden and dramatic- but not entirely unwelcome change. There was something homely about having another person in his dwellings. She livened up the joint to say in the least, the house felt warmer than it was before. Perhaps that radiance was the nostalgic love he carried for her in his heart re-awakening. He does the polite thing, and gives her his room, deciding to take the couch as he is not yet ready to share that level of intimacy with her yet. When she was squared away, the young man excused himself outside. To escape the situation, not think at all, and overthink- he's not sure, as he finds himself doing all three not long after his feet touch the coarse beige sand. It's surprisingly peaceful now that the sun has gone down. Matt takes a deep breath of the salty gulf harbor, and the smell carries wistful memories from what seemed to be forever ago. This is where he had visited many times with his family, way back when he was still young and naïve and silly. This was also the place he had made his home two years ago, so long ago now that the memory seems airbrushed with a layer of rosy powder.

Matt isn't sure how long he stayed out on the beach. He returns to his home long after the sun has disappeared over the horizon.

Matthew suggests that they go to the festival. It's more out of necessity than it is desire- any reason to escape the small, claustrophobic home that was suddenly only so because of the nature of his relationship with the second person occupying it. And excuse to socialize, laugh, to ease the tension. As he drives, searching for parking, he cant help but notice the festival this years. The streets are filled with jovial people, families, children, friends, all meandering through the open air market with smiles and laughter abound. The cloudless blue sky stretches above the commotion, polished with friendly sunlight and the promise of the vacation season. There are booths lined up everywhere, with cheerful vendors selling everything from ripe produce to candies, fresh seaweed to glass vases. It was an annual event, the city has adopted an infectiously merry atmosphere that just can't be ignored. Even more so than in previous years.

He casts his eyes away from the window and finds himself caught on Amanda. The conversation had been... nonexistent- and she had done exactly what she always did whenever she clammed up: Distract herself with her phone. Matthew found himself smiling at the familiarity, but also noticing how beautiful she looked in the glow of the sunlight. She wasn't quite as green as she had been two years ago- she was a woman now. She was beautiful. He felt his mouth dry up and averted his gaze quickly when Amanda looked up from her phone.

"Hey, Matt, remember cousin Nikki?"

He opened his mouth to respond when she showed him a picture of an insect that was way larger than it had any right to be. His mouth dropped, instinctually saying "Holy-" and then following up with "Nope. Nope. Nu-uh." His grip on the steering wheel tightened and he breathed. He wasn't particularly afraid of insects, but he was mostly normal. That was a big bug. He sheepishly looked over at her. "You were always the brave one between us." he says, friendly mirth in his tone.

"But, yeah. I remember Nikki. How is she doing? Staying out of trouble I hope." he says, giving Amanda a knowing and dangerous, but friendly look. Referencing their... incident a few years ago.

He'll have to tell Israel about this one when they find him.

---

@Ruler Inc@Spoopy Scary

Present

---

It's midday. The sky has dressed herself for the occasion, traditional silk skirts the color of forget-me-nots. The sun hangs overhead like a warm, shiny button, the heat of a Florida summer in full effect.

It's a lovely backdrop, Henry thinks— almost like a canvas sewn together by messy cloud stitches. In her haste, the sky has scattered other fluffy clouds across the sky in an attempt to mask the imperfections. Charming, really— the sun has always been impervious to criticisms anyway.

Flocks of Seabirds and Pelicans dot the cerulean blue sky, casting the ocean, always in sight in the beach town, aglow with gold foam and small waves. The city in the distance shines bright as ever though, and Henry stands the Formica-topped tables in the courtyard of a small restaurant. The waitress told him the food wouldn't be much longer. He gave her a small smile and excused himself outside, and now he stood by the curb of the road, a half-empty glass of lemonade cradled between his palm. Simply enjoying the day— the salty ocean breeze making the otherwise hot and humid weather feel far more tolerable.

Unlike many other FAMA officials, Henry wasn't dressed up in body armor. The idea had been to give the public eye a view of FAMA that wasn't quite as militant as it appeared to be. Thus, he had been instructed to stick with to his regular officer uniform. He wore thick, form fitting grey spandex on his chest, padded with an extra layer of black body armor in some locations with yellow accents. It wasn’t particularly special or stylized, but it was comfortable and it fit him- two things that didn’t go hand in hand often. His legs were covered by cargo pants. His feet and tail, per the usual, were bare. It was the closest he had to casual clothing, really. Due to his size, mostly. As an official it fit the situation well enough. His full suit of body armor truly had no equal. It would make him appear more like a military juggernaut- an impenetrable wall of kevlar and gunmetal. For a festival it would be intimidating, and unnecessary.

He could have waited until five in the evening, but when he saw the festival lights and the bright colored food trucks, he couldn't resist coming a tad early, if only for nostalgia's sake. Vendors lined the roads, children, parents, and couples alike wandering about the area. It is crowded, and he struggled to get through without bumping into people. Eventually deciding to grab a snack rather than try to weave through the never ending tide of people. Now, here he was. Waiting for his food.

He notices fairly quickly that everyone is holding a balloon, all in varying shades of color. Some sit at benches, holding pieces of paper in one hand and a pen in the other, deep in thought. Other people already have their papers tied to the balloon, and are holding it tightly in one hand whilst talking amongst each other, laughing into the warm summer day.

Everything around him is joyous, people are laughing and the atmosphere is happy. Even so, he can't help but feel somber, no matter how hard he tries to cheer himself up. His eyes eventually come upon the concert stage, standing down near the end of the road. People mill about, getting seats early or simply enjoying the view. It is a beacon with a million brilliant sparkling lights that flash a wide array of patterns, inwards and outwards like a wave from the center towards the red and white coaches, in zig-zags and in bright alternating flashes. It stands empty, the festival’s show nowhere in sight, but it’s still beautiful.

As he brings his lemonade up to his face for a drink, he notices a nearby vendor calling out to him and approaching, dressed in the food truck’s uniform. Her hands are full of paper and balloons, and she finally approaches him, out of breath but with a cheerful smile on her face.

"Officer!” She says, having gathered that he was associated with FAMA given the large insignia on his chest. “I see you haven't gotten a balloon or a piece of paper yet! Here, you can pick what color you want!" The girl says cheerfully, waving the balloons in her left hand vigorously in front of her face. Henry opens his mouth to say something, but ends up simply staring at her, somewhat confused. Both by the question and how easily the woman had approached him, but luckily for him the girl notices.

"Oh! You're not from around here, are you?" She asks, in her chirpy voice. He nods at this, and the girl continues, "Well, you certainly look like you’re right at home in this weather.” She gestures to all of him, and Henry tightens his jaw. She either doesn’t notice, or does and chooses to move right along.

"So every year during this festival, everyone who's gets a balloon and a piece of paper. You're supposed to write a wish on the paper and at four, we all let the balloons go!" The girl finishes with enthusiasm while bouncing up and down, and nearly letting go of the balloons in the process. Henry, oddly enough, feels touched at the festival tradition. He picks a dandelion colored balloon, and nearly trades it back the moment he is handed it, but manages to restrain himself. He plucks a fancy piece of paper from the girl, who bounds off immediately after in a flourish of pale blue and white. One side of the paper is decorated with gold and red patterns, while the other is simply plain paper. He glances around, trying to find a flat surface to write on, opting to use the wooden support for the restaurant porch when he finds none.

He places the paper, white side facing him against the support, the string of the balloon tangled in his fingers. being extra careful not to put his weight against the structure. Many mistakes and accidental damage have made him quite good at this. He glances out at the road, then up at the sky, which is still clear as ever. He pulls a pen from his hip with his free hand. He absentmindedly clicks it in and out, thinking long and hard for a minute, trying to decide what to write. What did he wish for?

Henry hesitates for a moment, before his pen hits paper and he starts to write. He scribbles the wish in quickly but meaningfully, before returning the pen to his hip and rolling the paper into a small cylinder. He ties the end of the balloon onto the paper tightly, but not so tight so it doesn't crush the fragile paper. It's difficult with his meteor hands, but he doubles, triples, quadruple knots it just to be sure and tugs it to make sure it won't slip. When he is finally satisfied, he holds the balloon in one hand while staring at the crowd that mills all around. A multitude of colored balloons pass by, and he can hear the laughter of children as they talk to one another and their parents about their wishes.

"What did you wish for, Mommy?"

Laughter, high and charming like bells, "Honey, you're not supposed to tell anybody your wish, otherwise it won't come true!"

"Huh?"

More laughter, that fades as the two walk away from him. He stares at the paper attached to his own light yellow balloon, and smiles softly.

'Don't tell anybody, huh?' he thinks to himself, before looking up at the sky. He doesn't have much of anyone to tell.

The restaurant doors suddenly open, and a waitress sticks her head out, fluorescent light from inside the building spilling into and mixing with the day.

"Henry?" she calls out gently. "Your food is ready."

The great reptile was never one to shy away from the call of food. To him, the largest burgers and heaviest steaks were closer to finger food- but it was fuel in the tank. He had ordered a burger, grabbing his snack with a polite "Thank you." before he was out the door again. The burger, down the gullet before he had even stepped outside the building. It didn't take long for Henry to find Drake- his body armor smelt metallic and ionized. He was speaking to that odd girl from yesterday. At eating a hotdog. Typical, Drake always is either talking to a girl or has a Weiner in his mouth.

"But, yeah, you're speaking to officer Drake Blackmore, FAMA special forces first class."

Henry can't help but do a mental facepalm. That was quite likely the most boot thing he had heard out of Drake yet. The girl doesn't look too put off, though; just nods and continues talking. Drake – or should he say officer Drake Blackmore, FAMA special forces first class – listens. The girl's back is turned to him, but he's big enough that Drake can likely see him now. The giant gives him a curt but friendly wave as he approaches.

"Mah names Barbara Kimble. Most jus' call me Bobbi the girl announces as Henry gets closer. Henry gives Drake a look, like, See? That's how you tell someone your name. Drake's fairly good at recognizing unspoken communication, probably because of all the time they've spent together, so he'll likely get the message. The giant stops a few feet away from them, leaning against a palm tree that, despite being large and well established, still tilts some against his weight. He's been through this song and dance before, and if Drake was trying to get laid then Henry was going to let him finish shooting his shot before interrupting the conversation. He was many things, but he wasn't going to be a cockblock.

---

@Ruler Inc @EclecticWitch

---

^@Junkmail
On a highway downtown.

---

Immediately Amanda playfully jabbed towards Matthew.

"It's just a bug," Amanda says... being a Blackmore means that she was used to the weirder aspects of life in this crazy, crazy, world of theirs. To the point where a giant insect was as mundane as... a normal insect. Especially when Amanda was used to bugs from being around Nikki, and Amanda even used the power sometimes to help her create even crazier bugs. But, she was getting off track just a little bit and forgot the point of even showing him the pictures; starting a conversation.

"But, yeah. I remember Nikki. How is she doing? Staying out of trouble I hope."

"She's... been doing good," Amanda had to stop for a second and reconsider what she was about to say given the little recent incident that Nikki got into not too long ago. "She's mostly been in college back in Black Fall and practicing her power like the little mad scientist she is." Though she legitimately hopes that aunt Pamela won't be calling her one day in tears saying that a giant monster bug killed her daughter.

Part of Amanda wanted to probe a bit more on this "Israel" they were going to go meet, but another part of her wanted to be wowed by Matthew's new friend! Which was going to happen soon since they finally arrived at the festival and, wow, it looked like fun! The kind of festivals that they had in Black Fall... but less cool. The car came to a stop and Amanda was almost tempted to fly over and get started. But they didn't need that attention; the girl merely hopped out the car and as Matthew walked out a child-like excitement overcame her.

She walked around the car and grabbed Matthew by the arm and pulled him along, saying, "Let's go, slowpoke; this looks like a ton of fun!" She forgot that her strength was augmented by her power and was dragging him along probably a lot more than he'd like. They made it to the admission gate, and gave up their names before they were flagged down to a stand with a bunch of balloons.

"Hey, you, come here, newcomers?" The woman asked. "I see you don't have balloons."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "What's all this about?"

"So every year during this festival, everyone who's gets a balloon and a piece of paper. You're supposed to write a wish on the paper and at four, we all let the balloons go!"

Suddenly, Amanda was full of glee as she grinned at Matthew as she said, "Ooooh, Matt," She said, "Let's do it, I want the blue one." Blue was always Amanda's favorite color... and so was Drake's. The two of them had to more or less fight over the color blue because they both wanted things that were blue but they also wanted to stand out from each other.

Funny how sibling rivalries were.

Eventually, Amanda settled on a dark cyan balloon... and she was bent far over the table than she should be with her butt sticking out. Not that she wasn't doing it on purpose, she wanted to show Matthew how she "developed" so maybe he'd change his mind and let bygones be bygones. However, Amanda was still lost onto what to wish for... because she had a lot.

Oh, I could write for my dad back - but that's sooooo pity party. I could ask for my depression to be gone or better yet for my relationships with my friends and family to be magically repaired!

So much, and there wasn't enough paper in the world for Amanda to jot down what she wants.

---

^{@Junkmail@eclecticwitch}
Charity Beach Festival.

---

Barbara Kimble.

Or just Bobbi.

Drake thought it was a nice name, but it didn't have the ring to it as his name does. Drake Blackmore, it just rolls off anyone's tongue when they say it. Still, she seemed nice for the most part; just a little eccentric. Then again everyone's crazy in this world. Drake finished off the rest of his hotdog before focusing on Ms. Kimble, heh. She told him that she came from New Orleans, and part of him wanted to ask her how long has she been practicing her accent! But, he didn't want to be that rude. Still, Drake let his arms drop as he noticed Henry in the background, and smiled for a moment. He caught the look perfectly and was hoping that Henry wouldn't cockblock him again.

After the eighth time, it got annoying.

"Heh, Yankee; that's funny," Drake chuckled at the comment in a friendly manner. He figured if she was willing to share so much information about herself; Drake would do the same. "Because my dad was British and my mom's Japanese, but I grew up in Black Fall... nice place, just really cold in the winter, but when I joined up with FAMA I went all over the country. Where ever they needed me; I was there on the front lines."

He shrugged; he didn't mean to brag so much but he couldn't help it. He was the shit.

"Enough about me, though;" Drake started off. "Did you get your balloon yet? Could I show you where it is?"

---

---

The Boardwalk
Interactions: Drake Blackmore @Ruler Inc, briefly with Henry Olin@JunkMail

---

---

"Oh wow! Coloahful her'tige," she said lightly, sipping down more of her large drink. "Been truh Black Falls once o' twice. Mostly on dah wrong side o' the rivah. Smelled like fishes. Ah, I mahself ain't no fan of the cold, only been dere in dah heat o' summah. Yah see I am a delicate hothouse flowah." The bit about her being a flower was spoken with quite an exaggerated Georgian accent. She even used a hand to lay the back of her palm against her forehead and feign distress. The grin was back again as she then noticed the one person she had really hoped to see today.

Her grin widened and she waved as exuberantly as she could with a stuffed alligator tucked up beneath her arm. She then pulled it out and waved it a bit, as if to show it off. Like Henry might enjoy her dear prize. She hoped he enjoyed it as much as she did. Henry leaned against a tree and did not approach which spoke to her that he wanted not to join into the conversation. Fair enough. Perhaps he was a shy beastie and she wasn't going to press. Though she desperately wanted to. He was just so fucking cool.

Her attention was back on Drake. "Balloon?" She inquired, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Dere ah fuckin' balloons?" Her lips curled into a genuine smile as she moved the alligator to tuck it beneath her drink arm and grabbed Drake's hand. "Please lead dah way, oh mon cher officah o' dah law." She hadn't noticed it until now but many people had balloons and she was instantly disappointed she hadn't gotten one yet. Her alligator was obviously in need of some accessories.

---

---

Spaniard Town

The Charles Building was situated on the corner of Buford Highway and 14th street, across the road from a strip mall and a liquor store. It was a nice building, with a modern, pentagonal shape and brick and concrete facade. Wrap-around windows demarcated each floor, of which there were seven. The lawn outside was well landscaped and manicured: short, perfectly conical evergreen trees in terracotta pots lined the walkways, and small flower bushes bloomed by the first-floor windows. A small koi pond surrounded by smooth river rocks trickled quietly. The first floor consisted of a cafe and convenience store, with a bank of four elevators in the room's center. The walls were wood-paneled, the floors smooth beige tile. Behind a granite-topped desk, a security guard slumped in an office chair, looking up as each person passed, showing their ID for clearance, and then back down at her phone.

On the fifth floor of this seven-story building, in a glass-front office labeled "Gouche Informatics", the heart of REAPER operations in Charity Beach beated nondescriptly. Behind the glass and a small lobby with a white marble receptionist desk could be found a series of offices lining narrow corridors. In one room, locked from the outside with a key card, hundreds of black computer towers hummed in unison, making the whole room vibrate. The rooms were labeled with gold plaques, reading things like "Director of Quality Control", "Accounting Office", and "Programming Department". At the back of the office, at the dead end of a twisting hallway, sat an office completely different from the others. It was all black glass, tinted dark to the point of opacity, with a glass sliding door locked from the inside. The gold plaque next to the door read:



Inside, the office was trapezoidal, occurring at one of the points of the pentagon. Banks of windows flanked a large dark-wood desk with an enormous computer monitor atop it. The office was idiosyncratically neat. It was lit by fluorescent lights and a tall silver lamp behind the desk and a comfortable black office chair. A black rug sat beneath the desk at a perfect 90 degree angle to the corners of the room. By the windows, low shelves held books on programming and a series of manilla folders. One such self, the one closest to the silver lamp, instead held books of poetry and literature. A large fern sat in a white pot near the right window. On the back wall, behind the desk, another large computer screen showed an image of a tropical landscape, and below that three silver filing cabinets stood resolute.

Rachel Cantor sat in her comfy chair in front of the enormous computer screen and drummed her manicured nails on the edge of the desk. Calming electronic music played from a speaker under the desk somewhere. On the screen, several Word documents were opened in sequence, progress reports from agents around the city. The one pulled up currently was particularly grisly.

”Encounter with special target AMCC in the Industrial District. Casualties: 0. Fatalities: 3. AMCC last spotted east of the initial encounter. Agents have been deployed to identify the AMCC and track it.”

Rachel sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was a lot of paperwork to read today. Rachel had been working here for two months now, and with each day her patience wore thinner. This office job felt stifling compared to the work she had done before. The power and the trust the job came with— those suited her. The tedium of paperwork, not so much.

Suddenly, a ring came from the door. Rachel looked up (it was one-way glass, so she could see through) to see the doors swing open… by itself. Before the doors closed, Makoto appeared in a cloud of smoke on Rachel’s desk. With her legs swinging like a child, and she looked back at Rachel.

“Hey there, sweetie,” Makoto said with a warming smile, “Look at you, with your own office… in your own city! You’re making big moves, babe.”

“That’s not usually how people enter my office,” Rachel replied, jumping at the unusual sight of a woman appearing on her desk. Quickly, she reached for a coffee mug which, displaced by the woman’s appearance, had tipped and spilled over the side of the desk.

“Oh, I think the Foundation Woman briefed you on me, right?” She gave her a forced, toothy, smile that displayed all the woman’s teeth. “Agent Onryo, master spy, at your service!”

“I assumed a master spy wouldn’t announce themselves as such,” Rachel replied.

“Well, kid, it’s about time you threw those assumptions out the window,” Makoto also shot right back with a cheeky grin. “Y’know what they say about assumptions?”

“Yes, I have been to grade school before,” Rachel responded. She reached into one of the cabinets to the right of her desk and pulled out a roll of paper towels, then began to clean the spilled coffee. “Nonetheless, you are welcome here. I have set up an office for you just outside of this one, across from our President of Marketing.”

“Oh, I don’t need all that, sweetie,” Onryo replied with a wave of her hand. “I won’t be sticking ‘round that long, all that office is going to end up being is a storage for my equipment.”

And that was true, given how “mobile” Makoto was; she may end up staying here for like a few days before being sent to Australia or something to seduce a politician! “Thanks anyway.” She, nonetheless, had to thank her. However, she had to get to business.
“So our prestigious Director of Operations,” Makoto started off, “I am, contractually obligated, to inform you that I already completed one of my assignments! And I haven’t even stepped foot in this place for a few hours. We have a lead on the crystal that Warmonger snagged, and I intend on following it.”

Makoto started off before the bad news came in.

“However, we may have to deal with an annoying redneck sheriff getting in our way.”

“FAMA is an unfortunate hurdle in all our dealings,” Rachel replied. “I’m certain he won’t be a problem. What have you learned so far about the crystal?”

“For starters it’s white,” Makoto said before breaking out into laughter, “No, no, just kidding; it’s sealed in a case they can’t open without breaking it - as reported - and it’s currently in the possession of the police department… for now. If they found out there was a crystal inside, FAMA would take it and ship it to one of their vaults! And the Foundation Woman wouldn’t want that, especially when getting it would be easy.”

“Standard police should be a cakewalk,” Rachel replied, shrugging. “I can have an agent scope out the station’s security within a week and we can take it back. Considering your impromptu entrance just now, I’m assuming you won’t have any problem entering the vault?”

“Until I hit a wall and go like splat!” Makoto chuckled before she stopped. “But, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it… now I got a question for you; do you have anything to report to me?” Rachel thought for a moment, then nodded. She clicked through a few of the files on her cluttered computer screen until she came to a video recording. Then she turned the computer screen towards Makoto. The timestamp in the corner read “12:03 pm, 6/11/2019.”
The video began. It was security footage from the inside of a warehouse in the Industrial District, played at 2.0x speed. As it played, a silver blur entered the picture, pursued by three people in all black. A fight ensued, leaving all three of the black-clad people on the ground in horrendous, mangled form. Rachel paused the video, then zoomed in on the silver being in the video.

“I presume that you recognize this as the missing AMCC android,” Rachel said. “Just this morning, after several weeks of espionage, I sent a small team of agents to extract it from its hiding place. Things quickly decayed.”

“Oooooh, good thing I wasn’t in that team!” Makoto said with a raised eyebrow. She heard of the AMCC project and REAPER had made a robot - a freakin’ robot! - but yet the idiots in charge of the project never thought to once consider not making it intelligent enough to rebel. And now all of REAPER has to drop everything to find it because it was “one of a kind” or they’d “never be able to make another one”.

Bullshit, all of it.

“‘Course, if I was in the team, things would’a gone a lot better,” Makoto answered with a chuckle.

“I agree,” Rachel said. “Unfortunately, you have your own list of obligations and this chapter of our agency is particularly understaffed when it comes to powerful supernatural abilities. I have... considered hiring some outside assistance to deal with this machine. Our true nature would, of course, be shrouded in ample ambiguity.”

“... And that outside assistance is?” Makoto asked with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t like the whole “ambiguous” tone this gal was using. “You could always ask the Foundation Woman for more assistance.” She shrugged

“Too much REAPER blood has been spilled to clean up this vanity project,” Rachel replied. “I happen to know of a highly-capable crew of metahumans who, for a completely attainable price, can dismantle this machine without having to put anymore of our people in danger.”

“Ooooh, naughty,” Makoto said with a cheeky grin as she finally got up off the desk and stood straight up to face her “superior”. “The Foundation Woman would flip if she found out but… it’s a win-win for us, even if they all die horribly at the hands at a robot...”

“Then I guess we’ll have to make sure the Foundation Woman doesn’t get wind of this, then,” Rachel replied.

Then the question popped up in her head.

“... Who are they?”

“They are a particularly well-off family of metahumans I befriended many years ago. You know them, of course,” Rachel paused and clicked to a different window, revealing a Google Maps search of The Lucky Scale Hotel and Casino.

“..the Valos family.”

Makoto has definitely heard of the Valos family… they’re a big name in Black Fall and during her time there she definitely paid a visit or two to one of their casinos. On the job and off the job, of course. Out of curiosity, she dug up some information on them and that got her even more curious! But, she didn’t see them as the mercenary types except for one of them…

“Hmmm… sure they’ll bite?” Makoto asked, “They practically own Black Fall - what more could we give them other than a spot in our little… family.”

“Jonathan Valos has a hard-on for action and money. Last I heard his father had cut him off to curb his litany of unsavory habits. The others will, at least, come along to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed, even if money isn’t much their style.” Rachel looked down at the clock in the bottom right corner of her screen.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Makoto flagged off Rachel before she walked towards the door. “In the meantime I’m going down to the festival to… scope out some of our targets. I’ll get back to you.” Makoto opened the door before she disappeared in a puff of black smoke. Of course that was kinda bullshit because she wanted to have some fun if nothing else, but Makoto knew that a few of their targets would pop up at the festival… and she could definitely make use of that.

Rachel sighed and rested her head in her hands. That woman was going to be a pain in her ass. After massaging her temples for a few moments, Rachel looked back up at the search for the Lucky Scale. It was close, only about a mile away down where the tourists traveled in mindless herds. She reclined in her chair. Later, she’d have to give them a little visit, but she didn’t have the heart for it now. It was midday and she was tired and her coffee had been spilled all over her desk.

---

The Festival.

---

His head was killing him. But, he had a pink pill in between his fingers that he slipped into the clear bag and then into his pocket.

He always loved coming to the festival, especially when he was a kid. Even though he fell on hard times, he tried to stay positive, and that positivity came in the pink pill. He didn't know what it did but after taking it there wasn't a single negative thought in his head! He didn't have to worry about dropping out of college and getting a dead-end job at a supermarket, having no friends, and no wife and kids like he always wanted! He wandered through the streets of the festival with his head down and his hands in his pocket. His shaggy blonde hair did little to conceal the wrinkles, bags under his eyes, or the dirt on his face. He had on shorts and a hoodie... for some reason, he felt sooo cold, so that's why he put that on.

The man slipped the pill and could finally feel joy... but it faded away for a moment. He buckled forward for a second as she felt strange. His head was killing him and all he could feel was... rage. With every pound on his head, he noticed that black veins bled into his vision. He tried to go somewhere to calm down.

He held onto the balloon in his hand, it was hard but he did it.

---

^{@Junkmail@eclecticwitch}
Charity Beach Festival.

---

Don't blow this for me, Henry!

Drake thought to himself as Bobbi turned around and waved at the lizardman. Fortunately, she turned back to him and he had it all in the bag! Especially when she asked him to lead her to the balloons. He grinned as he knew that he had this in the bag, "Gladly, Bobbi," Drake started off as he gestured for her to come along. He vaguely remembered where the balloons were and he hoped that he would just find a clue so he doesn't look stupid. Fortunately, fortunately, he leads her straight to it through dumb luck (which was how he figures he gets through life). Straight to one of the tables, and he put his hand out as he said;

"So all you gotta do is make a wish, write it on the paper, and then we all let it go at four on the dot," Drake explained, before he looked at his watch. "... Which is coming up real soon so you better hurry up."

---

Charity Beach Festival

---

The beach festival!

Makoto stepped out of the taxi as she merely smiled at the sight of the place. It had great atmosphere; she'd say that much. The REAPER slowly observed all that was before her as she looked at the admission gate. She had to act naturally as she walked up smiling and the guard asked,

"Your name?"

"Amy Fujiko," Makoto came up with the fake name as she was granted entrance and was flagged down by people talking about a balloon. They told about making a wish and they'd let all the balloons go at four, and Makoto thought it was soooo cute. Like that Chinese thing where they light lanterns in the sky - but way more... American. Balloons were lame if Makoto had to be completely honest! But, she had a wish that she written down on a notepad and it was symbolic only for her.

Wendy.

After writing it down Makoto tied it to the balloon and quickly started marching. Makoto had to keep her eyes and ears open in case a mark or a target was here. Even if, admittedly, it was pretty stupid to go to a crowded event like this if you were hiding; it was also the perfect camouflage. This would be the last place anyone rational would look... but the first place Makoto would look. Either way, the REAPER merely held the balloon in hand as she looked as if she was marveling at the sight when she was actually just trying to see who's who.

Eventually, her eyes landed upon not one but two of REAPER's targets: Henry Olin and Drake Blackmore. Henry wasn't difficult to find and Drake wasn't too far away from him... with a trashy little thing but Makoto had to admit she had some face. Walking around them she could tell he wanted to bone her right then and there! Which would make her job much easier if he was like this around pretty women? Though, Makoto kept her distance from them; only because she didn't want Henry to catch her sent. That'd be a problem later.

Either way, Makoto was going to have some fun here before she reports back to the good ol' "Area Director".

---

^{Collaboration between @Ruler Inc and @Altered Tundra}
Charity Beach Festival

---

It wasn't long before Kashmira got hungry walking around this busy festival. It was also a tad difficult hearing Rashmika in all of this chaos. However, the Sarai girl noticed something; there was meat everywhere! From hot dogs to burgers... and the idea of eating meat was against her religion. It was... annoying. But it was something that Kashmira was used to; especially in New York. However, unlike in New York, there wasn't a sizable Indian population here in Charity Beach.

"Ugh, sister," Kashmira spook in her native language again. "They are only selling meat here."

"Well, you wanted to go to Florida." Rashmika answered with a playful chuckle.

Kashmira shook her head as her eyes laid upon a food truck. Not just any food truck; a pizza food truck with various hot and fresh pizzas on full display. Her eyes landed upon a whole veggie pizza and saw all the peppers and onions on top of it. Kashmira loved pizza, and even though she got the best pizza in New York; it was perfect!

"I found pizza, sister." Kashmira said with a smile into the phone.

"Oh, that's excellent," Rashmika said. "Tell me how it tastes."

She walked over to the pizza truck, which had black and red cushioned stools on top, and sat on top of it. An overweight white guy with an apron and gloves (thank God, Kashmira couldn't stand it when people handled her food barehanded!) asked her, "Hey, welcome to Jack's Pizza! What can I get for you?"

"Hello, could I get a slice of the veggie pizza?" Kashmira asked as she tied the balloon around her wrist.

"Sure thing!" The man said before handing her the pizza slice on a paper plate, and she left it on the counter... which Kashmira absolutely coated in crushed red peppers because she liked her food with a little kick to it. It was an Indian stereotype, yeah, but one that Kashmira couldn't say was too far off from the truth.

That same line had only seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. After the girl in front of her had gotten a veggie pizza, another would request a similar item, but this one was more cheese-heavy than what she had smelled pass her, the sight of an Indian woman holding it.

"Miss? Hello miss!" The man called out.

Ava had spaced out. She didn't realize her nose had followed the scent for just a tad too long, but when she finally returned to Planet Ava, she shook her head and walked forward. "I'll take a slice of the mushroom pizza," she said.

As the man smiled and nodded, he took what appeared to be a freshly-made mushroom pie and handed Ava a rather large slice of pizza on a paper plate. "There you are, miss," the man said.

With both a nod and a five dollar bill, Ava walked away. She quickly scanned the immediate seating area and the only available one was where she saw the girl from before that had the veggie pizza. Ava wasn't one to join practical strangers, but she couldn't necessarily be picky. She went and sat down across from her, giving her a courtesy nod as she dug into her pizza. Without even realizing it, though, Ava had made an outward appreciation for her mushroom pizza. Which elected a chuckle from Kashmira.

She didn't mind the company - not at all - and giving her friend a quick look; a white girl with brown hair that wasn't all that bad looking. Most of all Kashmira didn't think she would try to stab her - which was something she always had to be careful of here in Florida. Though, the girl didn't mind talking to people. "Hello, enjoying your pizza, friend?" She asked while glancing down at Rashmika on the phone.

"What making friends now, sister?" Rashmika sarcastically.

Halfway into another bite, Ava had to swallow what remained of the piece of the cheesy heaven before she lifted her head at the girl. She looked at her with a strange glare almost as though she was trying to figure out if that's how all people around here spoke. Ava didn't really make friends that easily, be it her nature to keep most things inwardly or just simply out of habit, yet this Indian girl wasn't shying away from speaking to her.

"It's pretty good, I suppose," Ava replied, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "I've had better, though. Harry's Place in Seminole Hill has the best pizza in Charity Beach. I dare you to disagree, but you'll probably lose if you tried to."

"Oh?" Kashmira said as a friendly smile grew on her face. "In fact... that's where I go to get pizza!" She energetically said - this was quite the coincidence, but Kashmira welcomed such things open armed!

"It still doesn't beat pizza from New York, though," Kashmira chuckled, "It's the best."

"Small world we live in," Ava commented, slightly laughing at the odds. She couldn't help but feel like this girl was wrong about New York Pizza. At least, she had tried some New York Pies that were cooked by the chef her family home had who spent time learning how to make New York pizza. "It's good, I'll give you that one, but nothing compares to genuine, Italian pizza."

Part of Kashmira had to snicker at the comment - mainly because there were a lot of Italians in New York! However, the girl didn't seem to be aware of that... oddly enough, so Kashmira wasn't going to chastise her on it. "Oh, I'd love to try it someday, sounds good," Kashmira started off, though she glanced at her balloon and realized Ava doesn't have one! "I see you don't have a balloon, did you miss the stand when you walked in?"

Was she serious?

Ava wasn't quite sure to make of that question. The notion of someone Ava's age having a balloon didn't make sense. Not that she was against balloons as a whole, but she grew out of that phase when she was ten. To save her from Ava's usual bluntness, though, she chose to answer with a little more tact than she usually did. "I guess I was distracted by the music and other festivities, but they aren't really my thing, anyway." She told the girl, taking a small bite of her pizza.

"No, no, you don't understand," Kashmira said, gesturing to the piece of paper she had wrapped on the balloon string. "It's apart of the tradition here... you take a balloon, write something down on the paper you wish to happen, then everyone will let them go at once at four o'clock!"

"Is it really?" She seemed surprised by this. Perhaps it was due to how Ava didn't really engage in the social events Charity Beach had to offer. She was much too busy for that. "I didn't realize this city was one of those places."

"... What do you mean?"

"How to phrase this?" Ava thought for a moment. "Like what you would see in those shows with the floating lanterns. I guess I didn't think this city was like those. Granted, I never once thought they actually existed." She found herself laughing when it sunk in.

"Oh? Oh." Kashmira chuckled. "I guess the Americans-" ...Kashmira knew she had to stop saying that to Americans "-try to invoke that image... have you ever heard of Uttarayan?" ... and Kashmira already knew the answer to that question, she was hoping, hoping, this girl wasn't a narrowminded American.

She had to think about it, but it did sound just a tad familiar. Maybe it was something she read when her father made her sit through boring lessons? She couldn't remember exactly when it was she had heard about this Uttarayan, but she knew what it was. "Isn't that the celebration of summer for the Hindu culture or something like that?" She asked.

"Yes, something like that," Kashmira was surprised this girl knew about that - she was honestly expecting to have to explain it to her. "The celebration of the transition from winter to summer, more or less, in the Gujarati region. However, it's more than just a festival."

Kashmira smiled.

"It's something that dates way back, " Kashmira started off, "It's where we exchange sweets and fly kites and people from all over the world come to fly their kites with us. But, it looks like I'm missing the point."

Kashmira looked down at her phone to see a quiet Rashmika... probably she wanted to let her do the talking.

"Kites fly high to represent our high aspirations and sometimes there are enough kites to block out the sky," Kashmira began. "Maybe that's what the Am- people of this town wish to... symbolize. And it'll definitely look pretty when we all let our balloons go!"

It was hard for anyone, let alone Ava, to disagree with that logic. At least, she couldn't find the mental energy to care to disagree with her. "You're asking the wrong person about that. I've hardly engaged in this town's traditions. This is honestly my first real day off in a long time," Ava admitted out loud too -- now that she was thinking about it, she didn't know the girl's name. "My manners have weakened since living here. I don't think I caught your name. I'm Ava," she said, smiling.

"Kashmira," The Indian-girl slowed down as she repeated her name. "Oh, friend, where are you from?"

Halfway into a bite, Ava nearly choked on it when she heard Kashmira's question. "I've been around a lot," she responded as quickly as she could.

"That doesn't really answer the question, but that's alright," Kashmira quickly said with a chuckle... She figured that going off her reaction, that was something she didn't want to talk about. Which was okay with Kashmira, but the girl knew that she told her a lot more than if she answered straight up. "Well, have you been "around" America a lot or have you traveled?"

Ava wasn't a fan of this fishing expedition that Kashmira seemed to be on. Why was she so curious all of a sudden? Could it be that she knew who Ava really was? She couldn't take that chance. It was bad enough she refused to use a different name than her given name, but Ava wasn't about to take the chance of revealing more information than she had to. If she could give this girl enough information without saying much, then it could potentially satisfy her curiosity.

"Well, I've seen enough of this country to know Charity Beach is a decent place to settle down in," Ava said, smiling at Kashmira. Who had to resist the urge to break out laughing.

She had a friend... Israel, he had some strong opinions about Charity Beach and its inhabitants. Mainly how corrupt and useless the police and leaders were - and Kashmira couldn't say that he was wrong. Nope. Not even in the slightest, but she could do was see it for herself. She went to Los Costas one day and saw how horrible it all was for everyone, and how everyone had the power to fix things... but didn't. It reminded her a bit of India. Of course, America and India were completely different beasts, but they both suffered from poverty and corruption.

"I wouldn't say it's decent," Kashmira said. "There is so much pain - so much - and suffering in certain parts of the city, and everyone is oblivious - or worse, ignores it. Have you heard of Happiness?"

"It's hard not to," Ava said quickly. "The drug is all over the city." Ava didn't like to think about how this drug was given such a contradictory name, yet it did anything but bring happiness. "You're right about most of everyone turning a blind eye to it or just pretending it's not a big of a problem than it really is."

"They just don't care, sadly," Kashmira started off, "People in this town are so... incompassionate, and,,, I am getting off track here."

She quickly realized that she would be ranting for hours and hours on end if she didn't stop herself there. She wanted to get to the positive part, "If they turn a blind eye to it - I won't. I've been working to the best of my ability to help people afflicted by it and their families, and I've been trying to get some media coverage for it." Suddenly her frown turned right side up, and she remembered all the good talks she had with Israel.

"See, I try to help people where it matters rather than complain about it! But again... I am one girl."

Ava was all smiles, especially when Kashmira talked about how she was helping others, until she said she was just a girl, causing her to grit her teeth. "Don't sell yourself short, Kashmira. Even one person can make a huge difference over time."

"But, I wonder..." Kashmira muttered in her thick accent. "People are dying day by day due to the drug - how many more are going to lose their lives before it ends for good."

The longer she talked to Kashmira, the more Ava recognized the person sitting in front of her. Save for the darker skin and eyes, she was practically like Ava was, though not as peaceful. Ava wasn't as nice, either. "I don't know. That's a thought for the police. The best we can do is try with everything we have to help those who have suffered and keep on suffering."

"Y-yeah," Kashmira said, as her hope returned to her. That was all they can do; Ava was right. She took another bite of her pizza and realized it was almost gone. Oh no! "However, I must ask; what do you do to help people, then?"

Yet another question Ava knew she couldn't answer truthfully. It would be a lot easier for her and make her feel a hell of a lot better to just say that she moonlighted as a vigilante that kicked the asses of various criminals who roamed Seminole Hill causing trouble, but that wouldn't be wise of her to do that. The key was for her to remain anonymous. "I volunteer at a few soup kitchens and donate my time to helping my neighborhood out. Or at least, I try to do it," she said, hoping it would be a satisfying answer for the curious Kashmira.

"Oh! I do too sometimes," Kashmira answered with a smile. "Perhaps we'll cross paths again someday there?" She asked, not quite a proposition but it was a possibility. She did hope to come across Ava again, but she also wanted to get a move on. She didn't want to bore Rashmika with her standing there staring at her while she made friends, after all.

"But, I must get moving, Ava," Kashmira said as she slid off the stool. "It was great to meet you, but I have much to see of the festival."

Ava nodded. "Guess I'll be seeing you, then. Try and have a little fun and don't focus too much on the bad shit going around town," Ava advised her.

"I'll try not to!" Kashmira said... but she knew that'd be easier said than done.

---

Boardwalk
Charity Beach, Florida
15XX hrs
Saturday, June 11th

Brooks sat under the fading blue, the rolling sky which in mere hours would give to a blood-red sunset, and finally dusk, a black night that, on this date in particular, would be so flooded with festivity and light that its pollution would blot out the stars, even the moon. An interesting thought, that such a thing as simple light reflecting back could entirely obscure the stars themselves. It made no difference to him.

He clutched a bottle in his hand, green and wrapped in a silver label. The bottle, ice-cold as it was, frothed from its neck as Brooks took swig after swig of its contents. He people-watched as he drank, crowds swirling around him, a balloon in every hand and a smile on most every face. But he wasn't here for the people. He was, as his word, here for the food and booze. But that wasn't really the truth, was it? It'd been months, even years since he'd had such an opportunity to appear publicly, without blatant fear or an entire personal armory. It was nice to get out sometimes.

As he brought up the bottle to his lips, he traced over an LEO - a law enforcement officer - standing nearby. FAMA, and were those- lightning bolts stenciled on? Shaking his head, he pursued the gulp of swill he was after, returning to his post of simply watching, basking in actually being in the public and not simply hiding among them. The FAMA officer walked away, accompanied by a woman. Trailing them with his eyes, something caught his attention. Namely the big fuck-off lizard leaning against a poor tree that seemed to be straining under his weight. Henry.

Brooks knocked back the remainder of the bottle, pushing his seat back from the table at which he sat - alone. On his way over, he tossed the bottle into a bin, before approaching the reptilian monstrosity.

@JunkMail

---

Detective Rose was gone, sent packing with her tail tucked between her legs. John lowered himself back into his chair, a satisfied grin on his old, rocky face. It'd been a productive conversation- gave him a whole hell of a lot more to work with than he'd had previously. He knew Morgan didn't trust him, and he had the name of a place where Warmonger might'a gotten that case of his. Doyle plucked his notepad from his pocket, scribbling down a few more notes as he mulled it all over. He hadn't a clue what he could'a stolen at a research facility. Certainly wasn't money. First thought was something like plutonium or uranium- might'a been that the case was sealed to keep in the radiation. But what in the hell could a bank robber want with something like that? To sell it on the black market? Was it really worth the extra trouble?

'Could be workin' for somebody...'

He made a note to start looking into criminal organizations active in Charity Beach. Start local and if he couldn't find any leads he could expand his range until he caught something. Wasn't gonna be fast, but these things never were. Might be worth trying to get a meeting with Aldrich...see if he'd be willing to talk. But...

'Don't know how keen he'd be to spill his guts to the guy that made him a Cyclops. More likely to try spillin' mine.'

There was something about this whole thing that didn't sit right with John. He couldn't put his finger on it, but somethin' about the case just didn't add up. There was no way that case should'a gotten open on it's way back to Charity Beach. If the cops did take it then why in the hell would they tell Doyle about it? Were they trying to frame him? That'd be ludicrous. 'Course, it spent most of its time in the care of federal agents- if they were the ones that took it then its contents were long, long gone and everything the sheriff was doing was a massive waste of his time.

And to make matters worse he was apparently bein' followed.

There'd be plenty of time later to stew on all'a this, and there wasn't much work to be done while he was sittin' here. Better to wait 'til tomorrow and enjoy the rest of the day. Normally for a shindig like this, he'd have his wife and daughter around. They'd enjoy it a hell of a lot more than he would, but he'd be happy seein' them havin' a ball. Marcus wouldn't wanna come- he'd stopped caring about going outside ever since his uncle bought him that Gamestation 600 or whatever it was called. John didn't understand it. He could barely sit still when he was his son's age. Spent every waking hour runnin' around the town and rollin' in the dirt and gettin' into trouble. Little too much trouble, to be fair; so maybe it wasn't all bad that Marcus liked that new age stuff.

Without Abi around to decide what to do he felt a little lost. There were a lotta people on the boardwalk. Plenty of, uh, activities set up 'round the place. But none of it really caught his eye. Most'a it looked like it'd been set up for families n' youngsters. An old man out here alone was a bit outta place. John decided to order somethin' he could eat on the go, figuring his chances of running into something interesting would increase if he wasn't just sittin' on his fat ass and chewing down on a taco stuffed with too many ingredients. Rising slow n' steady from the table he adjusted his shirt, making sure the badge on his belt wasn't stabbing him in his belly and that the holster inside his waisteband was still pretty well hidden.

Then he was off, hopin' to God somethin' exciting would come his way.

---

@Ruler Inc,@Spoopy Scary

---

All at once, Matt was being dragged around the festival. Amanda was talking and smiling and god- laughing her head off. It was intoxicating and dizzying and all he could ask himself was how empty he had felt without that being in his life. This girl shone like the sun.

"Hey, you, come here, newcomers?" a woman asked, approaching them. "I see you don't have balloons."

"Yeah," the woman beside him piped up, ever a spitfire. "What's all this about?"

Matt had lived here for a few years now and had taken part in the festival more than a few times as a child and as an adult. He opened his mouth to explain it to Amanda, but the lady beat him to it. "So every year during this festival, everyone who's gets a balloon and a piece of paper. You're supposed to write a wish on the paper and at four, we all let the balloons go!"

Amanda's face broke out into a smile and something inside Matthew wished he had brought Amanda her at some point all those years ago. "Ooooh, Matt," She said, facing him with wild and excited eyes. "Let's do it, I want the blue one." Matt choked somewhat at the beginning of her sentence, but quickly collected himself when he realized that she wasn't insinuating that.

Eventually, with a dark cyan balloon in her hand and a bright red one in his, they sat down at a table to write their wishes. She was bent far over the table suggestively, but Matt wasn't paying attention. He had taken out his phone and was sending a quick text to Israel.

We're at the festival. By the tables writing our wishes. Red and blue balloons. Just shout when you get there.

Matt slipped his phone back into his pocket. Walking right past Amanda's show and sitting down- focusing on his blank piece of paper in front of him. What did he want?

He looked at his hands, and realized with a childlike smile that he couldn't ask for a cool superpower- he had one of those. He had friends, one that would likely catch up with him soon, a home, a job, hobbies... He looked over to Amanda, realizing that he had everything he could possibly wish for already. The idea hit him like a ton of bricks while he was looking at her. A deep frown etched itself into his features, and he looked down, writing down his wish quickly and folding the paper several times so that Amanda wouldn't be able to read his wish.

---

---

@eclecticwitch@CaptainBritton

---

The Henry’s brow raised as Bobbi seemed to bounce between several directions at once. The crowds and activity on all sides seeming to gain her attention and lose it just as quickly- penultimately resulting in her doing a full one-eighty away from the conversation she was having. Henry’s jaw set when she saw him, expecting something along the lines of what had happened yesterday. He watched her intently, waiting for her to say or do something but was pleasantly surprised when all she did was raise a stuffed alligator above her head and waved it above her head. Henry was unsure of how to react to this.

Her attention was almost instantly returned to Drake, and Henry breathed a sigh of relief, his whole body sagging slightly against the tree further- which groaned under his weight. He looked up at the palms far above even his head and shifted his weight off of the tree some. He tugged at the balloon in his hands, enjoying the light bounce. He grunted- feeling a sudden weight on his tail. The appendage was almost entirely muscle and prehensile so he lifted it, curling it around his body and turning around to find the a small child that had stepped on him by accidently. The child scampered off with little more than a look, and as he returned his eyes to the ever shifting tide of people he flicked his tongue habitually. He frowned as he tasted the air. The scents of various body fluids, pheromones of all types, the ocean, alcohol and food. People all smelt very similar, but every person had their own discerning markers that set them aside from one another. They were imperceivable to the regular person, because it’s not like humans stank on average or anything. Drake smelt slightly metallic, as if he placed his tongue on a 9 volt battery or sucked on a coin. The girl he was talked to smelt like chemical of some sort. Sonya had the tinge of phlegm. Amanda smelt like, well, sex. And so on and so forth. He almost never forgot the indicative marker that attributed to a person. It’s why he was so good with names and never forgot someone- he couldn’t. Even if he wanted to.

There were two scents that he could discern that he had smelt before. They were too far away and too diluted by other, stronger smells to determine location or actual existence. The first had been an enigma to him for the longest time until Adam’s funeral- where he attributed it to be most like a mausoleum. Like something old, ripe and sour. Mildewed, almost. It was difficult to pinpoint, and even harder to define, but it was a unique scent. It put him on edge, but it was gone almost as soon as he smelt it. He narrowed his eyes at everyone and no one at the same time.

The second smell was much easier to attribute to someone, for he had smelt it just the other day. An interesting mixture of tobacco and gunpowder. Unlike the previous scent it was much easier to locate, as it got stronger with every second that passed. He followed his nose in the crowd, eventually coming upon the man in question- the curious cat himself- Jake. The man had the lingering smell of liquid courage, characteristic of this festival, that was likely making the approach easier. They hadn’t met by the most normal means, after all. He knew better than anyone that he was a difficult person to approach, both from a personal and instinctual sense.

“Jake Riley, in the flesh.” Henry boomed, mirth encompassing his tone. “Come to take me up on my offer of a free drink?”

“Yeh.” Came the accented response, “If’n you’re still good for it.” Brooks grinned. Characteristic of the man, him and his piece both assaulted Henry’s nose with senses. It was clear he was, as always, packing. Henry didn’t verbally reply, instead pointing to where he’d be so Drake and him could keep eyes on one another, and then motioning for the man to follow him across the street. The crowd quickly dispersed and then weaved around the gentle giant, who approached a tex-mex style vendor in a food truck. The giant placed his hand on the roof of the vehicle, leaning against it as he read the menu, much to the operators chagrin. He was trying to decide if he wanted seconds after his meal less than half an hour ago. When James caught up to him, he looked over to the man.

“Anything jump out at ya?”

Brooks’s two dull greens scanned the menu, lower lip curling slightly, as he ran his hand across his stubbled chin, an index finger particularly trailing his shrapnel scar.

“Fajita sounds good. Chicken, yeah? Could for for another brew if they got that, too.” Brooks nodded, looking over to the scaled man of meat. Henry cast a gaze to the cashier, fishing a plastic card out from his chest piece to pay. The man sent the order forward, and Henry shifted his weight away from the food truck, causing the shocks to shift the car back to stability.

“So, Jake,” Henry said as they waited for the food to be ready, sidestepping to allow the line behind them to put in their own orders. “Tell me ‘bout yourself. Normal people dont go checking out skirmishes. Usually they run the opposite direction. What makes you tick?”

Brooks internally froze. He kept his cool exterior, but inside he was thinking about his responses very carefully. “That’s a hard one, y’know. I guess I ain’t one to run away. Gunshots a block down the street. Hard to ignore, y’know? Figure you check it out, call law as need callin’, other than that I figure it’s a waste a’ your time to investigate a big heap of fuck all.” Bad answer, Brooks. You’re too buzzed for this. Henry flicked his tongue, tasting the air again in case the scent from before reared its head again, but continued the conversation.

“Fishy.” was all Henry said in response. He’d been in this game for almost as long as Enoch had been alive and wasn’t so easily fooled by the dismissive answer. That being said, he didn’t sense that James was someone he’d have to worry about. He had the right kind of air around him. It was difficult to explain, and difficult to ignore. “What brings you into town then? Certainly arent local given our conversation in the alley and your lack of, well...”

Henry tugged on his balloon, making the small and delicate object bob in the air by him for emphasis of James’ lack of balloon.

“Work. I’m with Maersk, at the docks. Supposed to be learnin’ how to operate cranes n’ shit, loading and unloading shipping containers.” Brooks played it cool, despite utterly fucking his cover from the start.

“And how’d you land that job?” Henry said, giving James a sly grin. He’d let the man dig himself the hole, if only to have a little fun before having him come clean. If only for his own sick sense of amusement.

“Shippin’ is a big industry, y’know. Always lookin’ for hands. Applied, n’ I got the job.”

Henry nodded, deciding not to press further on the matter.”Son, whatever it is that you’re running from- just remember that you have friends in town when it catches up to you.” he said, keeping his attention on the crowd and intermittently flicking his tongue more. “Cause shipyard workers, well, they normally don’t smell like gunpowder.”

Brooks froze, eyeing Henry up and down, his amicable expression having changed to one of suspicion, of paranoia. He remained silent, waiting for where Henry was going with this. Henry, noticing his silence tilted his head slightly, peering down at the man. He snorted, seeing his sudden attitude change. He must’ve hit the nail on the head. Huh, well that explains why the man had chosen to check out the scene. “Relax, Jake. If I was planning to do something, I’d have done it by now.”

Brooks lowered his voice cautiously. “So what’s your game, officer? I’m here, you got me.” Brooks darted his eyes, faking confidence and going on the offensive as he went through every scenario in his head.

“No game, friend.” Henry confessed. “Saw someone doing something suspicious. Figured I’d look into it. It’s my job.” he explained, continuing. “But I didn’t find you particularly suspicious. My intuition is usually pretty good, and I don’t get that sinking feeling that I usually do around unsavory individuals.”

The great lizard sighed. “Not that there is anything I can do even if I wanted to. You haven’t done anything wrong. The ball’s in your court. Suppose it’s up to you now- if I should have a reason to be concerned.”

“It’s behind me. Has been for a while now. Just wanna live my life.” Brooks clarified, sighing heavily. Henry smiled and gently patted him on the back. “Then consider me your new best friend in town.”

The giant looked up at his balloon and then down to Brookes and frowned. “You don't strike me as the type to get a balloon. But say you did, what would you wish for?”

“Y’know, I ain’t thought about it much. I guess I’d just wish to forget all the bullshit, y’know? A true new start, ignorance is bliss, yeah?”

That struck a nerve in Henry, who froze at the mention of forgetting the past. He looked over at Drake- who had done wonderful things for FAMA- really, but he hadn’t been tested yet. Not truly, at least. The things he and Adam had seen had broken most men- it almost certainly broke him. The grit necessary to come out alive, to steel yourself and mold into something less than human to simply survive- he hoped that Drake would make it out of the other end. The boy was like his nephew- and Henry was likely the closest thing to an uncle that the boy ever had. There was a pregnant pause, broken when Henry finally spoke. “Amen to that, brother.”

---

Beach Festival Backstage.

---

After a very productive morning and early afternoon, Chrissy was in her room, flicking through various social media apps when the sound of Aunt Jess rummaging around in the kitchen made her blood run cold.

Oh no, she thought, jumping out of her seat and sprinting outside.

In the kitchen, Chrissy's great-aunt was setting something into the microwave. Chrissy couldn't see what it was, but Aunt Jess could not be trusted with anything even remotely related to cooking. "Aunt Jess, what are you doing?" Chrissy hollered, running over to the microwave just in time to stop her great-aunt from turning it on.

Aunt Jess blinked at Chrissy from behind her glasses. "Just making tea," she said, and Chrissy glanced inside the microwave (why Aunt Jess was trying to microwave tea leaves, Chrissy wasn't sure, but...)

Sure enough, there was a mug, presumably filled with cold water and a tea bag. And...ah.

Chrissy plucked the spoon out of the mug. "I swear to god, Aunt Jess, you're going to kill us all someday," she grumbled under her breath, putting the spoon back into the cabinet.

Aunt Jess gave her a bewildered look. "What was that, dearie? Can you speak up?"

Chrissy let out a long-suffering sigh. "Nothing, Aunt Jess. Nothing at all."

*****

Later that afternoon, Chrissy and her great-aunt piled into her rental car and headed off towards the festival. Normally, Chrissy would have avoided that kind of event-the thought of all that corny festival stuff made her want to puke-but the mayor had invited Astrid Storm, also known as Sylvia Bertoose (the poor girl had a very unfortunate name, in Chrissy's opinion. It was no wonder she took on a stage name), and well...Chrissy went where the celebs were, is all she could say.

Chrissy was pretty up-to-date on this Astrid girl; she still looked like a pastel goth scene girl from 2008 who used 'rawr' and 'XD' and ':3' unironically. Gross. Didn't these people know that Avril Lavigne racoon eyes were so ten years ago???? Her music was also pretty annoying, in Chrissy's opinion; she'd had enough of white boy frat party music after one year of college, thank you very much.

But anyway, maybe she'd be able to find something she could turn into a story. Money didn't grow on trees, after all.

Chrissy pulled into the parking lot designated for the festival, muttering profanities under her breath at the complete lack of open spots. "You'd think that there wouldn't be anywhere with worse parking than L.A. Guess you'd be wrong," she grumbled to herself, deciding that she didn't give enough fucks to drive around the city like a headless chicken for an open spot and opting to squeeze the car into a tiny sliver of space between another car and the curb. Okay, so it wasn't an actual designated spot, but it was, uh, probably semi-legal? Right?

"C'mon, Aunt Jess, let's go," Chrissy said, stepping out into the blazing sunlight. She squinted, letting her eyes adjust to the light before giving herself a quick once-over with a compact mirror. Everything looked fine, from her high ponytail to her glossy, cherry-pink eyeshadow (which matched her sparkly pink platform heels).

Once they were inside the festival, Chrissy left Aunt Jess with some of her friends from Sunday night bingo or whatever and took one of the flyers advertising Astrid Storm's performance. Hmm, so it won't be for a little while. Wonder what she's up to right now?

Chrissy glanced at the time. Probably too early for her to be backstage already. Which leaves the tourbus, I guess?

Shrugging, Chrissy headed in the general direction that she thought the tourbus would be in. Back to the parking lot, I guess. Damn.

---

It was quite busy for the performance for the famous singer Astrid Storm... they were trying to get everything set up. Meanwhile, in the tourbus, there was a celebration of the singer's own coming up... in a white hummer. As it approached; a group of about four people including Johnny, Gabriela, Jake and Jaska Valos stepped out and walked up to the door where there was a burly bouncer keeping watch with his arms crossed. The chubby bastard was shorter than Johnny! Speaking of which Johnny gave him a cocky smile as he approached, and kept his hands on his pockets as the bouncer said.

"Sorry, Astrid said no visitors, no autographs," The bouncer said.

"Well, 'Astrid' invited us in for a quick visit," Johnny tilted his head as he replied.

"I said no, she don't want no visitors,," Was the only response from the bouncer, "Now ge-"

"PATRICK!" Astrid shouts could be heard from inside the bus, and Patrick looked back to see Astrid's face pressed against the glass. "FUCK OFF ALREADY! THEY'RE COOL!"

Patrick grumbled as he stepped to the side and Johnny couldn't help but send a toothy grin his way that was more powerful than any middle finger. Fucker better know his place! Either way Johnny stepped past him and opened up the door to the tour bus and stepped inside. And the first sight was a sight he hadn't seen in years; his sister. You see, after their time in the Academy Sylvia managed to convince Gabe and Jake to help her become a star! All while Johnny tried to become the next Vito Corleone! Well, better luck next time. His sister was wearing boxers and a t-shirt with her hair done and straight. She was sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and playing on her phone.

"Sylvia! Long time no see!" Johnny said as he put his arms out for a hug.

"Sup motherfucker," Sylvia said as she didn't even lift her head up from her phone. "Ya' got any weed?"

"Love you too, sister..." Johnny groaned as he looked off to the side. "Yeah, we smoked it all before we got here."

"The fuck?!" Sylvia shouted. "How could you do this to meeeeeee?" She asked.

"Jaska's afraid of heights," Johnny said, and Jaska confirmed with a nod. "And we had to calm his nerves somehow!"

"Besides," Gabe injected, "You're about to perform, you need a clear head."

"That's why I need it."

"How the hell did you end up performing in this dump anyway?" Johnny asked as he looked around. "Last time I checked the mayor told us never to return here."

"And last I checked," Sylvia started off, mocking her brother, "We don't listen to chucklefucks." She cracked a grin.

Sylvia shrugged as she leaned back in the couch, "Besides, I go where the music takes me - mayor asks for a famous singer to come and then I answer it. Call it fate."

"Well, I at the very least, hope fates gets us some good weed!" Johnny said as he took a seat down next to Sylvia.

While they were talking, the most silent of the group; Jaska Valos, had his ears wide open. He didn't have much to say, but his ears perked up when he heard a foreign sound outside; separate from Patrick, right behind him. It sounded like someone walking up and he knew what to do. He leaned forward and whispered to the group, "There's someone outside."

"Oh shit, another pervert!" Sylvia damn near shouted. "Johnny, go out there and-" She was cut off when Johnny put fingers up to her lips.

"Shush, stupid," Johnny silenced his sister. "They're gonna get spooked and do something stupid."

His instincts quickly kicked in and he took control of the situation. This wasn't the first time somebody set their eyes on the Valos family, but thanks to Johnny he made sure every attempt was either a complete failure, or their last. The latter was preferable given how it simply ties up any loose ends. But, even if it was just some drunk asshole off wandering he wanted to make sure, because safe than sorry. Especially when there's three of his siblings nearby. Call it paranoia, but there was a saying that Johnny liked...

... You're only paranoid when you're wrong.

"Keep talkin', we don't want them to get suspicious," Johnny quietly said, "I'm gonna snuff this mothafucka out." He slowly got up and walked out the door.

"Okay motherfucker," Sylvia tried to force cheer to try not to sound creeped out right now, "So about that time I leaked my nudes by accident...

Then they proceeded to talk as Johnny reached into his coat and pulled out his revolver that he had hidden in his suit. The metal object felt heavy in his hands, and he kept it in his hands as he gave it a brief twirl before he quickly walked around the tourbus. He hoped that he didn't tip them off; what he wanted to do was catch them red handed. A lot of people will start talking when they're looking down the barrell of a pistol. Eventually he turned the corner and caught their little pervert red-handed! And it was actually quite a surprise.. instead of some shithead sent from the mafia or somebody getting ready to become very intimate with a bottle of lotion, it was some cute little Asian thing in all pink. Honestly, the girl needs to, you know, vary her colors - because that's basic fashion - but everything else about her was just so alluring. Shit, he had to make a good first impression... which a instument of instant death didn't make. And in a display of his quick hands he hid it in the back of his waistband as he gave her a warming smile.

"Oh, hey there," He said smoothly, "Whatcha' doin' snooping around this poor girl's tourbus? Wanted an autograph? Heh."

Chrissy was trying to figure out how the hell her five-foot-two ass (okay, five-seven with her heels, but still) was going to get a peek into the tourbus through one of the windows high up on the sides of the bus, when some dumb brick meathead-looking guy came out from the side. At first, she thought he was security, given the fact that he was probably five times as big as she was and wearing a suit, but then he opened his mouth.

Johnny Valos. AKA the playboy son of one Jason Valos, a business tycoon who'd first risen to prominence through...questionable means. His son had gotten himself mixed up with the wrong people in New Orleans, was the last Chrissy had heard of him. He was no A-lister, nor was he Astrid Storm, but Chrissy would take what she could get.

When he began to talk, Chrissy resisted the urge to roll her eyes, not particularly impressed by the guy in general (how do you get as rich as the Valos do and still fuck up your life? That would always be a mystery to her), instead plastering the sweetest smile she could muster onto her face. "As a matter of fact, yeah. An autograph would be pretty nice."

Subtle, Chrissy was not. Oh, well. It wasn't like she was lying-there were people her contacts knew, back in L.A., who'd pay a month's worth of rent for Astrid's autograph.

Reaching into the mini pocket of his vest, Johnny produced a pen, "Where would you like me to sign?" He jokingly (well, half jokingly) asked.

Chrissy was a bit incredulous-just how big was the size of Johnny's ego? What was he compensating for, huh?-before shrugging and producing a pad of sticky notes. "Here's good. While you're at it, would you mind getting Astrid Storm? I'm a big fan, and getting her autograph too would be super nice," she said, keeping the smile plastered to her face.

Johnny's power worked amazingly in situations like this. While he seldomly used it in favor of pure skill baby, he found it useful for reading people.... in situations like this. Her aura was more of an annoyed, disguisted, color and Johnny could feel the power radiating off of it. He had a hunch that her insistence to meet with 'Astrid Storm' wasn't because she's "a big fan". Johnny still kept that cocky grin on his face as he signed down on the notepad:

𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷𝓷𝔂 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓼

He gave it back to her before saying, "Make sure you keep that somewhere safe, it's real valuable now." Before giving her a wink. Now that he knows a tad bit about how she's not really digging him... das cool. Not a lot of chicks dug him at first but once he got 'im in bed they were screaming his name! Still, he was hesitant about bringing Sylvia out to meet Pinkie Pie here, she might try to John Lennon her. "As for Astrid, she's busy getting dressed for the performance and you don't want to bother her now - her big show's gonna be in a few!" Maybe she'd get the hint.., maybe not, but Johnny was judging her reaction first.

Chrissy suppressed a long-suffering sigh and took the autograph from him. "Yep. Definitely. Thanks."

When Johnny mentioned that Astrid wasn't to be bothered, Chrissy frowned, slightly. Well, that was to be expected. "Aw, really? D'you think I could just say hi, then? It'll only take two seconds," Chrissy replied, crossing her fingers behind her back. Even if she could only get a quick peek into the tour bus, Chrissy was sure she could make a story out of it....and if not, well, she could always write something about how Astrid and Johnny were secretly hooking up with each other, or whatever. It honestly wasn't that implausible, now that she thought about it-Johnny seemed like the kind of guy who tried to flirt with anything that moved, and Astrid wasn't exactly, uh, conservative, either, what with those nudes of her that leaked a little while back.

"So? How about it? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Well..." So it seems that Pretty in Pink here was persistent. Well so was Johnny. If she wasn't going to take the hints - well, Johnny had to take drastic measures then. "Well, I'm pretty close to Astrid, so I could get you that autograph and more - hell, I could get her to spit in your mouth if you'd like!" Johnny chuckled at his own joke as he got closer to the mystery girl, as he continued, "But, for me to do something for you, you gotta do something for me... If you catch my drift?" It was a win-win for Johnny; she'll either slap him and walk away or he'll be eating Chinese tonight!

And Johnny loves Asian food.

Chrissy crossed her arms, giving Johnny a skeptical look. Is he implying what I think he's implying? she wondered to herself, incredulously. God. That's gross.

"Be more specific," Chrissy answered coolly, praying for a juicy direct quote to use in her next column, if nothing else. Either way, this was...a potential story.

Seems like the number one fan wasn't too big on the whole subtle interference thing... but Johnny noticed a change in her emotions. It was more of an intrigue, and curiousity. That made Johnny a tad bit curious, but he went along with it. "Airhead, you know exactly what I'm talking about - or maybe you ain't hear about what the lengths these so-called "Numbah-one fans" go to to get an autograph, baby!"

Chrissy couldn't believe that this guy was for real, but...

"Okay. So you're saying that you, Jonathan Valos, want to have sex with me, in exchange for Astrid Storm's autograph. Am I correct?"

"I mean a handjob would suffice but yeah."

Perfect. "Great. Nice talking to you, Mr. Valos." Chrissy tilted her head to the side, considering him. She decided to take the risk of Johnny knowing what line of business she was actually in (hint: it had very little to do with fangirling), and gave him a smug smile. "So would you rather have me print something about the son of the mighty Jason Valos asking for a handjob in exchange for an autograph, or will you let me talk to Astrid myself?"

Either way, I can spin something out of both things, she mused to herself. What should I title it? Something like, 'Son of Jason Valos asks for sexual favors in exchange for an autograph'? Nah, that's too many words. I'll come up with something later. Maybe I'll throw in something about an 'underage fan'? Because let's face it, I look twelve. Might as well take advantage of it

Johnny shrugged as he observed the girl's attitude change to smugness. Unwarrented smugness. This dumb bitch thinks she got the great Johnny Valos by a rope? Bitch please! Ain't no strings on Johnny Valos! She's going to leave here disappointed, with what's of her ego in pieces as she runs off! He grinned.

"I meean," Johnny flatly said, "I got all sorts of shit on the newpapers - socliting some broad that was called a dyke a few too many times will be the least of my concerns, baby!"

Though, after thinking about it - if he was going to be spending some time here; he'd rather not have his face on the papers, or whatever the hell this bitch was threatening. Because he has a looooong list of people he pissed off, and a few of them are willing to go the distance to get even. So, he knew that Pretty in Pink wasn't going to bite; so what the fuck was she good for?

"So, either you start tuggin' or you get your Pretty in Pink ass outta here - or I'm busting a cap in it."

Chrissy shrugged nonchalantly. It was not an ideal response, but she'd been through this before (unsurprisingly, she and her colleagues got a ton of bullshit, being in the line of work that they were in)...and that was an excellent direct quote. Oooh, maybe she could call this an exclusive. There weren't any other reporters around, after all, so for all intents and purposes, it technically was an exclusive. That's how it works, right? Right.

"Alright. Cool. See ya around. And you know, next time you try to get laid, maybe be less of an asshole about it?" she gave him an amused grin. "Can't wait to see Astrid on-stage. Tell her I said hi."

"Whatever, bitch." Johnny answered.

Chrissy shrugged one more time, spun on her sparkly five-inch heels, and headed in the direction she'd come in, whipping out her phone and quickly noting down what Johnny had said. Lemme see. Oooh, 'a handjob would suffice' was pretty good. Damn, I deserve a raise. Andrew doesn't pay me enough for the stuff I dig up.

Well that was weird.

Johnny merely shrugged and the window opened and Sylvia poked her head out of it, "Who the fuck was that?" She asked.

"I don't know, some weirdo, asked to meet you, threatened me with fame, baby! But I got rid of her."

"She was probably another super fan - wait, did you ask her if she had any weed?!" Sylvia damn near shouted to the heavens.

"Sylvia, keep it down!" Gabe piped in, looking around at all the people nearby.

"No, I didn't ask her that," Johnny shook his head.

"Why not?" Sylvia asked, "I woulda; totally let her in if she shared some. Woulda; signed her titty, too."

Johnny sighed.

"... You're a mess."

1 hour to the Festival.

---

Mister Kittle' sharp mew woke Meadow.

“What?” she yawned, “Can’t you see I’m sleeping?”

She rolled to the other side of the bed but the spotted Sphynx cat did nothing but meow again. “Jesus, okay!” she gave up and sat on the bed. A quick glance on the alarm clock showed she overslept — again.

“Two in the afternoon?” She yawned again and put her hand to her stomach, trying to stop the imminent rumble. “Let’s get something for us to eat.” Meadow’s studio apartment looked like it was hit by a hurricane. Her dining table full of documents and annotations of her current case, in one of the corners the armchair was covered by the clothes she had selected to use that week and the sink full of I-will-wash-tomorrow dishes.

She got up and jumped into the jeans she pulled under the pile of clothes. In her fridge, she found two pieces of pork steak, and she tossed one of the steaks to Mister Kittle and got a huge bite of the other.

Meadow was in Charity Beach for three days and already in doubt if moving was the correct thing she could have done. She hasn’t touched the case since she arrived and it would not be now, with the festival at bay that she would care. After all, she was new to the city, looking at what the city had to offer was in her plans.

"Stay safe, okee?" Meadow said to her cat while grabbing her car keys.

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