N o t A S i n g l e S t a r
_________________________________
@Zoey White
“The hell do ya’ think you’re doing private? Stop staring at the migrants and get back to work!” A six-foot tall leathery tan skinned man in full ABU’s roared at a younger grunt of a man.

The youngling’s eyes widened as the reverberations echoed throughout his skull. “Y-yes-sir! Apologies!” He nodded his head for a moment, stalling in habit of awaiting an order before doing anything. Which was of course a mistake.

“What are you waiting around for? Get a move on limp dick! There is shit for you to shovel!” The sergeant continued to shake his head in disbelief, reaching his hand up to his cap drawing it away to reveal a cleanly shaven but very-gray head.

“They said they’d let anyone in twenty years ago. And here I am witnessing the stupidest people enlisting. I’d be half tempted to send these simpletons to the frontlines if they didn’t have families to feed.” He scowled, snorting airily through his nostrils before spitting at the brown clay below.

Meanwhile, in a Coffee Connection located a short drive off base two enemies of the state sat at a table together. The shoppe itself was quite busy, making it much easier for such people to blend in and converse in discretion. On one side of the table was a much-much older man with long whispy-white hair who shuffled playing cards with magician like grace. The other was a young miss, seemingly just reaching the mid-twenties, maybe. They were both dressed quite plainly to further blend in, the elder fellow in a simple plaid overshirt and blue jeans, the woman in a sunflower print dress and black high-heels.

“So shall we talk about about ‘that plan’?” The elder man leaned forward, elbows resting on the table with a mug of steaming coffee idly in hands reach.

“No, I planned on meeting some creepy old geezer at a coffee shop because I’m looking for a sugar daddy. Yes, that is the purpose of this meeting.” The woman spat venomous words to the man, she sat stiff with her hands upon her lap clutched together.

“My apologies for trying to spark conversation, dove. Have you met with the contact on the base y-“ His question would be cut short by the disrespectful raven-haired girl across from him, her emerald sights cutting straight into him.

“Meet them, handed them the ‘package’ and he shall hand it to ‘Akasha’. He will then plant the ‘package’ at the doorstep and ‘ring the doorbell’ so that it will be moved to the desired location. Once that has been followed through, I will contact ‘Akasha’ one final time before heading home.” The girl’s expression was resolute, battle-hardened, despite her appearance this wasn’t your average texas woman who went to Starbucks and shopped at HomeGoods.

The elderly man nodded, gulping down the rest of his coffee and sliding his chair out from under the table. “Very well, then if I’m not needed I guess I’ll be on my way. My hopes are with you, that this goes off without a hitch. God bless you, Vanessa, and the church appreciates your willingness to serve in his name.” The old innocent man’s eyes flashes sinister for a moment. This woman was just a pawn, he cared not for her life or her part in this plan. Just that she knew her part to play, and knew it well enough that his job would be all the easier.

But just who exactly was this Akasha character?

“#2, the higher-ups said that we would be meeting a pretty young girl today. Sounds like tasteful company, don’t you think?” The handler was a slim, tall, tan-skinned individual in a very stylish dress suit. His medium-length brown hair dangled warily into his vision and he stared across the bedroom at the Number he had been charged with watching.

---

“Report?” The incredibly built man in white and black uniform sat alone at a small wooden table, a small teacup in his hand. His hair was a few brown, nearly combed to the side. He was handsome for a military man, chiseled marble would have done him justice.

“Sir, negotiations with both Warsaw and Kiev have failed. Forward Units will be advancing through Romania, and then the elite squad will split in two and attempt to dispel their reinforcements at the border.” This plain looking person making the report held brass upon his chest, he was a person of leadership. This meant that the JoJo looking fellow he reported must have been much farther up the food-chain.

“I like that plan, take a Templar with your troop. If you lose it I’ll send you straight to the Holy Spirit. But if you make it home successful and with it intact, I’ll make sure the Pope hears about your victory directly.” The handsome man smiled wryly from ear to ear, pristine porcelain teeth flashing masterfully up at the officer who spoke to him.

“Your words move me, Sir Theo IV. But that is not necessary, although we do appreciate the support of his grace. I am doing this for my people, and my country.” The man spoke briefly and bowed before exiting the intel room in haste.

Theo frowned heavily as the officer marched out with ease. The grip of his gloved hands squeezed at his teacup as he raised it to his lips and dipped quietly. “I wonder how my father is doing in the States. I’m sure the Americans are much more entertaining than these small-minded people here.”

---

@OwO
“The hell do they think they’re doing marching through here like we are some expressway bridge? We have our own problems.” A shorter Romanian boy with a brown-leather cap spat in anger.

“It’s not like we have any say in it. We rely on the church for food, men, and various other important things that are required to run a country.” Responded another Romanian youth, though this one had a buzzed scalp and his ears must've been cold.

“Who even says that? ‘Various things to run a country’ you talk weird as hell dude.” Cap boy snapped back, his eyes squinting into slits of anger.

“Go run the information to the Captain like a proper courier, would you?” Buzz-cut boy lost interest in the argument, averting his sights and speaking in monotone.

The blonde-haired capped Romanian boy scoffed as he turned on his toes and marched through the snow towards a singular large concrete building. It had no windows and no other entrances besides a wide steel double door. He reached such a place and brushed the powdersnow from his black mesh jacket before giving the door three loud knocks.

A gruff voice loud enough to be heard quite audibly from outside screamed. “Enter!” And on note, the door unlocked allowing the courier passage into the skif. It was barren inside, guards stood at the door and empty desks littered its innards. The boy kept marching along until he reached the room at the very southernmost end, saluting the hulking baldman who sat at a desk doing paperwork.

“A message from the clergy, sir!” The boy spat the words out quick, this superior officer must have been one who liked things quick.

“Hand it to the black suited man in the next room.”

Next room? He quietly turned, looking to his right seeing an unassuming wooden door with a cross neatly placed on its centermost. The boy dropped his salute and made his way to the directed door, extending out a hand to grasp a bronze handle with the utmost anxiety. “Come on in, we don’t bite!” A sing-song tuned voice chimed through, wafting away bits of anxiousness as the boy stepped inside the room. It was much more lively than the rest of the building, bobble heads, pictures, and a chunky blonde Romanian man sitting comfortable within his swivel chair. “The troops will be advancing through here within the next few days, am I right?”

The boy quickly nodded. “Yes sir!"

He turned on his boot heels and headed out the way he came in. Meanwhile the suited man spun to the unnoticed figure sitting idly in the opposing corner of the room. Devious eyes glistened as he stared at the sickly looking girl, and then an vile smile plastered across his face. “What do you say #6, are you prepared to spill blood in the name of god?”

---

@ERode
Smoke, gunpowder, blood, the screams of burning innocents. This was once a prosperous city, but now the dirtied hands of god had finally breached the border of Finland and made headway into the motherland. They had developed new weapons to deter the invading forces, drones piloted remotely from Moscow that patrolled the borders on a daily schedule, pseudo-mecha all terrain tanks that seemed to be pulled from Star Wars or some sci-fi movie albeit. But nothing could prepare the prideful Russian forces for what was to come.

“Our first airstrike was successful. Though if we keep bombarding their homes, we won’t have any people left to convert to the cause.” A white uniformed very decorated military man, in shoulderguards and even a gold embroidered cap spoke cordially to the woman across from him. She was middle aged, platinum blonde hair, wore glasses, and even surprising was dressed casual in a white button up and plain black jeans.

“So, do suppose we should send ‘it' in to clean up the rest? We’ve been testing ‘it’ quite thoroughly and I know my #13 would have no problem sweeping through those pitiful fucks.”
A smile of pride shined its way into the woman’s red-painted lips as she thought of the massacre that may transpire.

“Language, Miss Augustine. I understand you are a representative from the church, but this military operation under my control and I want this to be an absolute victory. If I need to keep sending air raids, I will, but those things are an uncertainty and I can’t have that.”

The woman chewed at her lip in withheld frustration, painted pink fingernails tapping along her chair for a moment as she searched her thoughts for something that may change the general’e mind. But she came out empty-handed, and simply released the oxygen from her lungs in a pained sigh of acceptance. “Very well, but if you do change your mind. You know how to find me.” The woman offered the man a dignified bow, arm placed over her heart as she did so. She would soon after be making her way out of his quarters, stepping down a long hallway where a single younger figure stood. His hair was raven black and wore an accordingly matching black uniform.

“Lets go. We are going to meet up with the leader of the Operations Unit in Finland. Hopefully he isn't an incapable fuck like this one was.”

---

@Kazemitsu@Rune_Alchemist
Two grown, seasoned looking soldiers property decorated in grime and scars alike laid on their stomachs atop an old abandoned bakery. They were in enemy territory, no contact with the reinforcements that would be showing up sometime tomorrow to assist them. The Operations Unit really did get the short straw pretty frequently, and this was one such occrassion.

“Who are we waiting for, exactly?” The dark-skinned soldier quietly asked.

His partner quickly smacked the back of his head. Eyebrows raised with deep brown eyes staring back at him that could almost speak for themselves. ‘Q U I E T!’. But the question did burn in the back of both of their minds. They had been undercover few days preparing for the mission, and now they simply had to wait on this specific building while laying low. How very uncool.

But then their questions would be answered, as two dark-clad assailants scaled the building-side. They were both very young, too young to be soldiers for this type of job.

The dark-skinned soldier then began to go off again. “Are you serious? What the shit are we supposed to do with two punk kids? Last I heard the church didn’t do child soldiers?” He spoke so quickly that he ran out of breath, he pulled himself up to sit and look up at the two figures rather disappointed.

“They’re not 'kids' man.” The soft-spoken man with curly brown hair and an olive complexion spoke, squinting at his companion and shaking his head. “We are glad to have the backup. Since Portillo over here left a bad impression I guess I shall get you two up to speed. You obviously know the Catholic Church’s disdain for Russia, well, we are here to raze the Hermitage. Our job is to infiltrate the lobby, disperse of any security, plant explosives which shall be delivered tomorrow, and escape to the west border. Simplified enough? I don’t know how knowledgeable you things are on this stuff.” The soldier flashed them a half-humored smile, scratching through his hair nervously.

---

@Melkor
We have been receiving numerous reports of missing children throughout areas of the city. While the police believe that it may be human traffickers, our sources are telling us that they are indeed murders due to evidence found at a residence nearby one of the families. The scheduled curfew 10:00 will not be affected, though, please report any information you might have to one or the many Public Safety kiosks placed throughout the city.

The Public Safety Commission branched off of the police force to focus less on crime and more so on improving the well-being of Japanese citizens. You would think the two are the same, but that is hardly the case. While crime is a lot more prominent with the city being so packed, more people struggle with making a livelihood and finding a place to live than anything else in Japan. The Public Safety Commission task themselves with finding jobs for the unemployed, building makeshift homes for those without one, and just overall upkeep of the city while the government worries about bigger problems.

“Ma’am, might I offer you some bubble tea?” An A.I controlled restaurant host rolled over to the black-suited woman, she was very intimidating to look at standing taller than most men with a rather jacked body. “No thank you, boba is bad for you.” She responded with a flippant wave of the hand to dismiss the robot.

The handler sat alone in the tea shop, hands interlocked in thought with beads of sweat developing at her brow. She was stressed, incredibly so, and the pistol at her waist made her all the more threatening because of it. The denizens of the tea shop avoided her like a leper, wary eyes glancing over her imposing figure as if she were a monster herself. But she wasn't a monster, though she did misplace the monster in which she was tasked with maintaining. A laptop was placed atop the small table she sat at, the screen graced with privacy glass to prevent any wandering eyes to see what exactly she was doing on such a device.

It was a profile labeled #5 with several incident reports and information revolving around its creation and the incident of that day. She was a handler, but her curious mind got the better of her on most days. But I guess this time it got the worse, as she had lost contact with #5 for some time now. The creature was much different than its brothers and sisters, the church had nearly deemed it a failure because of its grotesque appearance but some of the more shady clergymen saw potential in it. As a weapon, of course.

---

@TruthHurts22@Eleven
[i]Swiss Neutrality, the main principle of Switzerland's foreign policy which dictates that Switzerland is not to be involved in armed conflicts between other states. This policy is self-imposed, permanent, and armed, designed to ensure external security and promote peace. And it seemed to do something of that sort for the nearby countries, Spain being the exception. France had followed suit, the ruling powers intermingling with Switzerland to a strange degree and with France's economic boom it probably benefited Switzerland either way.

"You are to do nothing more than sit and watch, understood #7?" The fair-skinned man in a black and grey dress-suit barked down to the white-haired girl. His emerald sights widening in an uncanny fixation on her, struggling to withhold his one views and follow through with the orders he was given.

The two sat within a large, beautiful, ballroom though it was filled with finely decorated dinner tables with diamond bright glasses and angelic tapestries. It was empty at the time of their arrival, though slowly but surely more and more suited figures would enter the room. People of differing ages and backgrounds, though all of them bore the cross of the Catholic Church somewhere on their being. This was a large meeting of some sort, and while the territory they stood in was neutral it did not mean that the holy men couldn't discuss their plans in such a place.

"Welcome, my fellow faithful men and women! We are gathered here as guests to witness an event for our eyes only. The Clergy assures you that this room has been sealed, all identification has been thoroughly checked, and there is absolutely nothing to worry about! Now, let us get on with the entertainment!" The clergyman looked more like a ringmaster of some circus, an all-white suit with a matching top hat and a cane? Who the hell uses a cane as an accessory in this day and age? But what was more interesting is the stage at the forefront of the ballroom's curtains being drawn to reveal several naked men who were incredibly beaten and bruised. Their faces were veiled by a black silk bag, and two black-suited men stood at each side of the stage with long ceremonial swords.

"Please! I have a family! I'll give you any information you want, I was an informant for the U.S military there must be something you need to know." Shouted a lean freckle-skinned male, body-hair revealing what was likely a ginger mane atop his head.

"Give it up, Wellman. They don't want our information." The man at his direct left stated bluntly, his own farmer's tan showing signs of a working lifestyle. Were these civilians?

It was then that the #7's keeper started to fidget, he hated traditions like this. His green eyes shifted around the room until they caught something interesting, someone familiar, and he grabbed 7's wrist as he stood and began to lead her to the opposite side of the ballroom. This of course caught many of the participant's attention but he didn't need to worry about them. He instead found a seat next to another man dressed similarly to himself. "Been a while, Friedrich. Haven't seen you since the island, how ya' been?" He casually slid into a social interaction with this man, his own blue sights peeling from the fellow keeper towards the small girl at his side. "Do not discuss the island in public, Emmanuel.". His words were like a dog snapping in defense, but he loosened up a bit after making the hostile statement and then gestured to the well-dressed young boy who sat next to him at his left. "#10, do not speak to your sister." His words were definite and punctuated, there was no room for defense.

Number 2 was laying in her bed ontop of the sheets, staring up a phone. On it were pictures of very rich, very famous people exploring the Amazon jungle...or what was left of it. The brunette had long hair was tied into a ponytail by a black and gold ribben, The hair splayed out in every which way on the pillow her hed was resting on. She was wearing a sports bra beneath a flowing, loose brown shirt. The sleeves had fallen off her shoulder, and the bottom of the shirt had ridden up to just above her unpierced navel. Right beneath that was a pair of denhim short shorts kept low by a white belt. Adorning her feet were a pair of slick, black thigh high boots. The woman couldn't have been more than twenty years old, and seemed to have an affinity for hearts. On her left shoulder there was a black and white outline of a heart shape, and beneath her left eye there was a small red heart. Mostly hidden by her sports bra and shirt, there was a pair of battle serpents duking it out between her shoulder blades. Besides that, there was a pink flower just above and to the right of her belly button, and one could see a pedal from the thing poking out from beneath her shirt.

There were also two black and gold wrist thick wrist bracelets above each of her hands, and both of the lobes of her ears were pierced with two golden rings. The late teenager on the table had a very clear aesthetic she was going for, and she contrasted greatly with the handler in the nice suit. Her large, dark brown, almost grey eyes drifted lazily towards him. From her perspective, he was standing in the middle of her upward facing boots. She furrowed her eyebrows and made a sneer with her lips.

"What? Tasteful pretty young girl? Is that a euphemism or something? Christ, man, you're a weirdo." #2 responded, and it was impossible to tell whether or not she was being playful. With that being said, she cast one last longing look toward the Amazon rain forest, and tucked the phone into her back pocket. Standing from the bed, she ran a few fingers through her hair to make sure it wasn't totally frazzled. Her boots made deep, satisfying impact noises on the floor as the rubber heels made contact with the wood.

Marching boots. Fort Hood, Texas. Place was full of military types of course. Most of them pretty handsome in uniform. The foliage wasn't unworkable. There were the trees planted by the base, and the grass was mostly well maintained, though the outside world had as much brown grass as it did green grass. For some reason humans were hell bent on planting grasses in places where that type of grass wasn't meant to live. The concept of weeds was literally made up, and every day they sprayed poison into the dirt because one type of plant is viewed as bad, and the other type is viewed as good, for literally no reason. Whatever. Getting out of the bed had messed up her shirt even further. She went to adjust the straps but didn't bother pulling the thing down, and it had ridden up to show most of her midriff, including the entirety of the pink flower tattoo. It was one of her favorite flowers and her favorite tattoo.

She approached casually, making a gesture of 'let's go' to the handler, whatever his name was.

---

Cold.

Russia, was cold. What the hell. Not even her cloak could really keep it all out. Ah, she wanted her warm, humid, little hovel back already. These stone buildings, people, fresh open air...utterly irritated her. She wanted to rip it, watch it all decay, rot into nothing. Urgh, why did she even let these people push her around? Pathetic. She should just eat all of them. They'd probably go good in a stew. Just melt their flesh, rot it away...put it in a pot...

#11 licked her lips as she reached the top of the building.

A nice stew would do wonders for warming her up, wouldn't it? She stared maliciously at the two humans. Heh, they smelled good. Maybe one going missing wouldn't hurt, would it? Heheh, no no, but they'd get mad at her for potentially hurting the mission. Well, at least she was in a semi-good mood imagining how'd they taste sauteed, boiled, and put in a delicious smelling stew. And then the weak looking one had to put her into a bad mood again. He'd be cooked. Alive. Slowly flayed. Roasted? Yes, that sounded delicious.

"Eeeeeh?" Eleven was the first to respond, her raspy, dry voice muffled under her mask. Things were they? "Kahahahaaha! Explosives, huh? They want to use explosives! How primitive. Just let me in there and kill all of them, heheheh!" She took a few threatening steps forward, a wide, toothy grin under her mask as she stared at the nervous soldier, cocking her head to the side and making an exaggerated motion with her arms. "I'd clean them up really good. Not a single trace left...gobble every single one of them up, Kahahaha! Not a single," She leaned forward more, he could probably smell the stench of decay and rot coming off of her easily now. "trace left." She made a wet slurping sound like she was loudly licking her lips as she stared at him.

It did seem like a simple enough task. Too simple, really. Why even be called for something so frivolous?

"...keh," She chuckled, taking a step back. "You don't worry your delicious little flesh over it. After all, we're made for this sort of work, kahahaha. What do you think, Three? Seems simple enough. Security will be easy."

---

#10 had been expecting boredom.

When his keeper had torn him from his work, saying they needed to leave for an "important Church meeting", 10 was not pleased. He was to abandon his passion to attend a stuffy gathering of old priests talk about their affairs? While he was still in the throes of his muse, no less! 10 had most of his mind set on ditching Friedrich somewhere along the way and taking to the Parisian rooftops. But his keeper was not one to be left lightly, and so there he sat, his brow furrowed as they waited for the ballroom to fill, twiddling his thumbs beneath his cape in a way that was aggressively pointed at Friedrich.

But then the curtains where drawn, and 10's aggravated fidgeting paused. Less of a meeting, more of a show? His lips curved upwards, scowl becoming a smirk, and he sat a bit higher in his seat to watch the proceedings.

"How are things in Italy, Seraph?" 10 said, his gaze turned to his so-called sister, casually ignoring the order from his keeper. "Is our wondrous Church treating you nicely there?"

---

Romania wasn't a very nice place. Saddled directly between Russia and Italy, if there was to be any conflict within its borders, Romania would be crushed, mangled, and turned into scrap for the war effort. It, along with Belarus and Greece, formed the sole defense of any naval attack. Still, the precipice of war hadn't yet decimated all of Romania. At least, not where she had been placed.

Six had been placed in Romania for as long as she could remember. She was an agent for their interests. Whatever they said, she did. Not that she had a choice, anyways. Every question they asked gave no room to refuse. Not that she could refuse; no matter what she thought, she would always answer with a curt nod. There was no defiance in her. Her alien feelings of longing were discarded when they came up. What else could she do? She did what she was told and that was the only thing she did. It was the only way that she could survive.

When the young boy entered, she had, like always, been waiting for her next orders. Sitting alone in the corner, she had preoccupied herself by tossing a steel crocheting hook in the air, only to catch it on the way down. Then the question came. The answer to which was the same as always: a curt nod, barely making eye contact with her handler.

She grabbed a vinyl satchel from under her chair. Her little bag of tricks, to say the least. Consisting of mostly random knickknacks that she'd taken from previous missions, it was a helpful little bag of things. Although she didn't show it to her handler, she was giddy about her mission. Even if it was only temporary, even if she had to kill someone, it was the only brief period of time that she could call herself free.

St. Peterburgh, Russia
21:00 // JANUARY, 23

Julius had no issues with the cold right now. Thick boots, good overcoat, a form fitting gambeson on underneath, and insulated leather driving gloves. Not to mention a hood to block some of the Russian wind. His 'fighting gloves' were tucked away at the small of his back. Despite not feeling the cold very much it never hurt to be prepared! As he and #11 scaled the building he could hear someone muttering up top. Huffing he silently pulled himself over the edge in a strangely fluid movement.

Both Promised Children gave the soldiers a look. Julius' was alien looking considering those animalistic and wolf-like eyes. The soft-spoken one shushed up his comrade, who had badmouthed the pair, but he wasn't doing much better. #11 spoke, her voice dry and muffled, about letting her in there to just wipe out everything via her Decay. She seemed to slurp at the thought, probably drooling at the thought of eating people. Reaching out Julius placed a hand gently on her shoulder. The younger Child would know his grip well.

"Relax, Sister." He said, his voice strangely deep. It didn't match the package, he was a very athletic looking man and that voice sounded like it should be coming from a mountain! "She has a point on the explosives. Primitive, and they come tomorrow. We're here right now." He stated as he took his hand from Suty's shoulder and crouched down to look at the two soldiers.

"If there's no other option, then I'll zip in and scout out the place. Tell you how many security so we can all act accordingly. Julius continued, his eyes getting good and bright and his tone changing to something more friendly.

---

Seven was in a chipper mood today.

She was allowed to wear a pretty dress, one that was pale pink and had flowers embroidered on the hem, with matching shoes and headband. This time, she didn't mind that she had to wear a boring old cross around her neck because she could pretend she was wearing the pretty diamond necklace her friend was wearing yesterday. Seven would have taken it, but she had been clumsy and got blood all over it. She didn't like it very much after that.

More and more people started filling up the beautiful ballroom they were in, and by then, Seven was delighted. There was nothing she liked more than being surrounded by lots and lots of people who were all friends in the making. She had to make sure she was controlling her light, though. Sometimes, when she gets excited, she forgets to turn it off and it attracts people without her meaning to. Other times, she accidentally spreads her excitement to everyone else, and that gets her in trouble too.

But today, Emmanuel said she must only sit and watch and she wants to be a good girl for him. Emmanuel was one of her favorites, you see. She's not allowed to make him like her, but she knows he does anyway.

Seven paid little attention when the actual meeting began, mind wandering as it tended to when boring people talked. There was a moment that did pique her interest though, when several men were brought out to what she imagined was the stage. Seven sat up and tried not too giggle as she stared at their state of nakedness, and was particularly interested with the man whose torso was whiter than the rest of his body. It amused her how it looked like he had an invisible shirt on.

Sometime during the meeting, Emmanuel got up and grabbed her wrist to lead her somewhere. Seven readjusted it so she was properly holding his hand; she liked it better like that. Before she could wonder where they were going, a familiar tug at her heartstrings let her know. It was a feeling she'd get only when her precious brothers and sisters were around. Breathlessly, she looked around, and right there like she expected, as dapper and handsome as always, was her brother.

This is why Emmanuel was the best. He knew she missed her siblings, so he brought her to see one. They got seated next to them, and oh, Seven had so many stories she wanted to tell Ten. About all the friends she's made, the ones that have become a part of her and thus her best friends forever, and all the new places she's seen.

Ten's friend was mean though, not like her Emm, and he wouldn't let Ten talk. Not that Ten ever listened to mean people! Seven felt herself beaming, proud that her brother would risk the wrath of his friend for her. She knew what happened when you disobeyed, however, and she wanted to make sure that her brother would not get punished.

Before responding to Ten, Seven looked to Emmanuel, through lashes and big puppy dog eyes, asking for permission—for both herself and Ten.

If Ten's mean friend still wouldn't let them talk after that, then she'd just have to do something about it.

---

Tokyo was crowded. Densely packed with people for miles. The island country had lost a third of its landmass to rising sea levels; all the while the same rise caused nearby countries to migrate to Japan. Now there was no way to move without bumping into someone else. No one but the super rich owned homes anymore. The Japanese people had been forced to live in incredibly small apartments. The beds' area were comparable to that of the apartments. Efficiency homes were mansions compared to the closets the men and women of the Land of the Rising Sun were forced to live in.

Number five couldn't help but think it was the Land of the Setting Sun. Especially since he had arrived. And it was he. That's what his Father had called him. The man in the white coat. Five had never been told to call him that, but what else does one call their maker? Though, Five never possessed any defining male characteristics, he trusted that Father knew best. And the red girl who took his and his family's blood had called him by male pronouns as well. They used to call each other family… until it happened. Some of them died and some got hurt. It became mentally easier to refer to each other with their numbers. Five couldn't remember what he was called before they started calling him 'Five'.

"Mom, where are we going?" The small child holding Five's hand asked in the high pitched and nervous voice only a child could convincingly make.

"Home dear. We're going home." Five smiled down at him with his best imitation of affection. He could make his face imitate any impression he could fathom… but Five learned that without what they called a soul, his mimic was imperfect. He held the boy close as they made their way through the crowd. The perpetual crowd. Damnit. Why did the kid have to speak? Reminding Five that he was there and bringing him out of his thoughts. They were the only way! Damned kid... Five smiled at the boy once more but underneath the mask… underneath the stolen face that allowed him to pass in society was a look of longing and desire.

All Five could think of was the succulent juices and the delectable taste of iron as the blood flows over his tongue… The satisfying tear as he removed the boys limbs, one at a time. And of course the screams. The most beautiful music… a symphony of terror.

"Ew! Mom stop that!" The boy wriggled in Five's iron grip. Apparently Five had leaned down and started licking the boy's hand. Passersby had taken two looks at the slightly bizarre sight but then paid it no mind. The boy, all of probably six, had acted in the only way he knew how - trying to free himself, to no avail.

"Sorry sweetie! I just saw some dirt and wanted to clean you up! My big boy!" Five used his other hand to ruffle the boy's hair as they kept squeezing through the crowded streets. Few cars were still in operation due to overpopulation.

"Stop!" The boy was giggling. So happy, so innocent and yet so mistaken.

The urge was growing and they were twenty minutes away from the boat… Five took a deep breath, feeling the warm and humid air fill his lungs. He could do this. He had to do this. Otherwise Father would be upset with him. Father wouldn't want him to expose himself here. A passing man bumped into Five's face with his belly as Five was reaching for the boy's hair. The smell was overwhelming. The aroma of fat and sweat. Sweet smell of blood even with no wound.

He picked the boy up and put him atop Five's shoulder then started to run. Five knew it wasn't illegal to run, perhaps strange, but no one would stop the two. He knew he couldn't make it to the boat, but there was somewhere else he could go. Though, running here was much slower than running without the crowd.

Progress was slow, but people seemed to make way more oft than not for the crazy woman with a giggling child on her shoulders. The boy was having the best of times; screaming in what Five could only describe as delight. How the boy would long for that feeling.

They finally arrived at the apartment. "Where are we? This isn't home…" Five had let the boy off of his shoulders. They were on balcony thirty-seven G. It wasn't much of a balcony at fifteen square feet, the climb to the balcony had taken a few minutes but the boy wasn’t paying attention until now. They were three-hundred and seventy feet above the ground below. The people looked like writhing heap of ants.

"Oops, I forgot. We needed to go to my friend's apartment first!" Five tried to inject a bit of cheerfulness into his voice. It wasn't too convincing. His smile had faltered.
The hunger was getting to him.

The boy looked at his mother's face with concern. Five was jealous of that face, he could never pull it off. "Are you okay? You're acting funny…" The boy reached out for the monster’s hand and grasped it tight with worry.

Oh no… if the boy started calling out for help then Father would surely be upset. That was the last thing Five wanted to happen. He quickly opened the door and shoved the boy in. The door slammed shut as quickly as it had been parted.

Five had been given one of the larger apartments. It was one-hundred square feet, ten by ten. The seating folded away into the wall, making way for the bed or the kitchen. Now it was all folded away leaving a larger than average empty space. The walls, flooring and roof had been fitted with heavy duty soundproofing material. Special consideration had been taken into account with Five so no neighbors would hear his orders from Father. A plastic layer had been placed above the cushioned floor. The boy rumpled it slightly when he was thrown in.

The look on his face was fear as Five's hunger started taking control of his faculties. His mimic began to falter. He could no longer picture the boy's mother and his face started to melt and his skin began to darken. The eyes fell away under the skin, it seemed, and the mouth widened but not in a grin. His ears and hair and distinct features went the way of the eyes.

Throughout the whole transformation the boy couldn't stop screaming. Meanwhile Five had finally relaxed, reverting to his base form always felt like releasing a pressure that would otherwise be unfit for the public. He had been told to hold in his 'gut' was the word they used to describe it. Five wasn't sure if he had a gut but he liked to think that he understood.

The boy's throat had gone dry and his screams stopped. Five took one step toward the boy who instinctively backed himself into a corner. His legs were still trying to back him away even though he'd hit the wall. In a swift motion, Five reached over and seized the boy's arm. More screams.

There was a certain pleasure in the sound. Five couldn't get enough. The smell of the boy’s fear activated the pleasure centers in Five’s brain and without thinking he grew and dragged the boy, screeching and writhing, to the center of the room. The mass of shadow formed all around the boy creating an additional layer of soundproofing. The screams picked up with new fervour when the long and jagged teeth formed. As though some mad magician had entrapped the boy and them began shoving swords into the cage. But this was no act. And all at once, the dark prison slammed shut. Back into Five’s base form.

The boy was a part of him. It took five a few seconds to breathe normally as he moaned in delight. Then he began to sob. He was too quick and didn’t get to savour the kill and the taste… his hunger was sated. For now. But he knew in a few hours he would have to kill again.

All of a sudden, with the advent of his mind and faculties, he realized that he hadn’t made contact with his handler in hours… had it been hours or days? Five wasn’t sure… he just knew that it was four children ago, including his most recent victim…

#13 closed his Kindle, leaned his head against the wall, and basked in the glory of that stanza.

Humans were one thing, but their creations were another. #13 found it beautiful, that such war-like creatures could create such wonders. His brethren and himself, as well as all the art in the world. Was it divine inspiration that brought forth such works? Or was it the dual nature of destruction and creation that inspired such beauty and tragedy? There was nothing as boring as an artist with a pleasant life, after all. Content pigs were pleased merely with lying in the muck, and wars always pulled forth something new. The mother of invention was necessity, and necessity showed itself most when nations fought for survival.

What then, would arise from this conflict, devoid of heroes brandishing spear and shield, devoid of duels that shone with savage valor? Only despair and cruelty, tears shed amongst boundless tragedy, for that, #13 was certain.

The raven-haired youth let out a sigh, his inkstone eyes affixed upon the view beyond the windows. Smoke bloomed, fires licking the frozen blackness. There was more illumination than a winter night suggested, spoiled snow reflecting the crudeness of war’s present reality. Not a champion in sight, merely nameless, unrelated souls who sought to escape death behind rows of pseudo-mechs only to be set upon by missiles from the skies. The generals who he had claimed the heads of were not men of valor and wit. The machine-knights he had torn to shreds were without soul and passion. It was tragic. It was meaningless. The only thing that would come out of this war would be some tearjerker memoirs, but that was mere surplus. If only the Russians could join the folds of the Church. That would be nice. Surrender would end all these meaningless casualties.

And then he could be sent somewhere else in the world, in search for a human like one in the myths. Maybe Japan would be good. A real life, modern-era samurai who could cut through steel with his relic of a katana might be something to enjoy. Or Somalia? He’d heard that there was a legendary mercenary there, a blind badass who operated in the dead of night, throwing poisoned darts with pinpoint accuracy to take down whole platoons. But it wasn’t in #13’s hands. And that was saddening.

More saddening was that his keeper’s generous offer to end this pointless conflict was rejected.

As she approached, he straightened, the smouldering rings in his eyes shifting slightly towards the military man further beyond. Slowly, #13 lifted up his index finger, before drawing a line against his throat and directing a questioning look at his keeper.

Replace him?

No, didn’t seem like they were this time.

Without a word, he fell in step with her. Finland, was it? That was a new place. Nordic nations were pretty in the winter, weren’t they? Perk of the job, it was, to be so widely travelled at such a young age.

#13 slowed down his steps, enough that he was behind his keeper now. Surreptitiously, he opened his Kindle and began reading again.

Hm.

Not too much on Finnish mythology, was there.

N o t A S i n g l e S t a r
_________________________________
@Zoey White
The perverted handler stood dumbfounded with a mouth agape as she responded to his kind words by calling him a 'weirdo', the nerve of this creature. "Antoine Gaudi is not a weirdo, rather, I'm a purveyor of fine things. And I would classify beautiful women as 'fine things'. Now you, I wouldn't even classify you, #2 as a woman."

His dark eyebrow raised as her figure began to walk towards the door, not quite knowing where the hell she thought she was going or what the directives from the church exactly were. These higher numbers were beginning to act like pubescent teenagers whom thought they knew everything about the world, when this was hardly the truth. But Antoine was not the type of person to get worked up over such meager things, and instead just followed 2's guide and approached the door politely stepping outside before politely speaking in a faux tone.

"An outsider will be giving parcel to the perso we are meant to meet, then they will meet us outside a convenience store called The Silver Dollar. The one with all the tacky Texas-themed gift shop decorations, horrible place, but once I get that package we can move on to the second part of the plan. Which I will not brief you on yet, due to your behavior." He smirked wry from ear to ear, goading the tattooed creature with a fixation for flora almost to confrontation. They themselves were able to secure a home on base through the church, and it served as a base of operations right next to where their operation would take place. It were almost as if god himself wished for the tragedy that would soon occur to happen.

A small black pickup truck sat in the home's driveway, which is the destination that Antoine intended for them to make. He made his way to the drivers door and waited for #2 to enter the passenger-side before putting the vehicle into drive and taking to the road. The base was heavily guarded but they both had proper identification to move around Fort Hood freely without issue. They passed waving families with smiles, stopped as a gas station to refill the tank, and then they would make it to their destination. That cursed convenience store with a cowboy aesthetic.

“Now, we wait for our company.”

---

@OwO
Constantin maintained the shit-eating grin as he rose from his chair and stepped towards the girl placing a heavy hand atop her head. His bare hand creepily sifted through 6’s black hair for a moment before grumbling to himself and making his way to the door of their office and quickly making his way out to speak to baldy.

“Two hours, I want that stolen Hagglund and a patrol or competent men. Make it happen if you know what’s good for you.” The handler commanded the Romanian captain life a peasant boy who lived to serve, and to Constantin he may as well have been. The bald officer stood and stared with a look of disgust, but he was obedient and saluted the man without question.

“The girl, I mean it. It is staying here, correct? We are allowing the church to move their troops through the countryside and if things go south we need insurance.” The captain maintained his composure, eye contact strongly set with Constantin’s. But then he looked over to 6, his sights searching for her emerald pupils to perhaps see if she could ah e some sway in this decision. Futile.

“Guards, you heard my order yes? It sounded quite urgent don’t you think?” The handler slit his azure sights so thin that they nearly shut for a moment, and then his right hand traced down to his waist plucking a steel dart from a small pouch and tossing it swiftly in the captain’s direction. The thin sharp projectile slid right through the membrane of the captain’s jugular, blocking off his airway and allowing blood to begin to flood down into his neck.

The handler’s sights returned to 6, he was eager to see her reaction as always. She wasn’t a very vocal creature, and this, whenever he could get some form of reaction it brought him joy. “And this is why we don’t talk back. Now one of you men, please make sure the things I requested are here. Two hours, I’ll expect them near the entrance of this god-forsaken base.”

They would make their way down the hallway, passing several armed Romanian men whom simply watched with a pained grimace upon their face. Reaching the single double-door Constantin pressed through allowing the icy winds of outside to enter the building for a moment. The man would frown as painful winds smacked into his face, and his march would turn into a wade as his boots transitioned from carpet to snow. He didn’t know how to drive, so it would be a good five to ten minute walk in the freezing temperatures till he reached the holding center near the entrance. Just the thought of it made him shudder, but then an idea!

“6 dear, would you travel along ahead to the entrance gate for me? Get one of the guards to send a car so I don’t have to walk all that way. I’ll reward you if you can do it then less than five minutes. What do you say?”

---

@ERode
“This, this is why I hate men. #13 do you know what makes a great leader? Resolve. That man in there? None of it, he’s just some brown nose who sucked asshole to get where he is now. Don’t end up like him, even if someone makes it seem really appealing!” Augustine snorted in disgust, this place, it smelled of stupidity.

The woman’s rampage was not over yet, she marched herself directly to a public-use phone fixed to a wall with a small bench in front of it. The easily side-tracked woman audibly huffed and puffed in infuriation and reached her painted fingertips to crunch at numbers, constantly looking at #13 with a look that would translate to ‘You agree? You better agree’. She didn’t want the young creature’s approval, but there was just something comforting about others agreeing to outrage.

“Saint Augustine. Identification Number 1231. No I don’t need funds, I want to speak to Theo! If you don’t get his pompous ass on the phone in thirty seconds I will reach my— Theo? Yes, I made it to Murmansk safely. Yes, he told me that the air raids would suffice for securing the border. Well I figured, if you’re going to send three numbers to Russia you may as well get use of them. The Hermitage, okay, I understand. No, nobody is listening but #13. Yes sir.” She slammed the phone back against the wall cracking the plastic device with ease as she did so.

She rose from the bench and continued her advance out of the building. The clacking of her boots against the tile floor would grow fainter and fainter as she calmed down over time. But as they reached the glass doors of the building’s entrance #13 would notice a large helicopter awaiting their arrival. A soldier held two pairs of ear protection, an adult and a kiddy sized, extending them out to the two parties before giving them the thumbs up. Their destination had already been set, and it was a long trip via helicopter. As the two entered the Augusta Bell 212, all sound other than than the roar of the propeller blades was cancelled out. It could be a serene flight, or it could be chaotic. Either ways the view would be amazing, but the cold- dear god the cold.

••SETTING CHANGE // Varkhaus Military Bass, Finland

---

@Kazemitsu@Rune_Alchemist
Both soldiers rolled their eyes at the two who had been sent for their mission. They really did have bad luck! Two really strange creatures, emphasis on the strange, to contrast the just two normal dudes who happened to be really good at special operation missions. But they had heard rumors about the Promised Children and what they were capable of, so who were they to dictate what they did?

“Hold on, as much as I’m sure you two are capable of taking on more enemies than the two of us. There’s a reason we are doing this discretely. For one, if the Russians find out they sent you two here they are likely to send all kinds of attention to this city and that’ll make it harder for the people coming behind us. Second, we actually have zero intel on what type of protection the building has. I say, we go quiet and do things as planned— but if shit hits the fan, you two can do whatever you want, I’ll probably be dead anyway.” The dark-skinned operative went on for a good while on his speech about the mission, impressing his friend enough to nod with purses lips and a hum in acceptance.

“I’m for that, what about you two?” The compatriot asked politely, maintaining his level-headedness because the two numbers who arrived didn’t seem to be sane. His friend had seemed to get his head on straight, which lifted his spirit a bit. They were in enemy territory after all, and going off trying to get killing sprees probably wasn’t in the best interest of the humans who had people that would miss them. Not that #3 or #11 would care about all of that.

“We w-rrrr. Arrival in 02-rrrr”

Each radio received the same message simultaneously broken message. It was nearly showtime, and the two soldiers started to prepare at the moment static entered their radio channel. They dropped back to the concrete and began to unzip their backpacks pulling out black face masks and coveralls for their uniform. There was no more time for chit-chat.

---

@Melkor
The muscular woman had finished her research and snapped her laptop shut in a rush. Standing and packing it into the satchel hoisted across her chest, she walked straight to the single cashier in the shop dropping the few cooks onto the desk in front of them and exiting. She didn’t even have a lead on 5, which I mean, it’s hard to find one when he is designed the way he is. Maybe she should call for help? No, she just worked her ass off the climb the ranks and even landed the job in Japan.

Henrietta Tattenbaum would not fail her first and only mission! She would hunt this motherfucker down and make him heel like the creature he was. The only reason she had gotten herself into this mess was because of her leniency. Strictness, sternness, and a bunch of other words would definitely need to be exercised when she got her hands on him.

Tokyo was just filled with way too many people, and due to 5’s ability he would quite literally flourish in this environment. It was his perfect hunting ground, and the only thing that would get him caught is a mistake. Which is what she was relying on him making, so was it a race against time? Would the Japanese Police find him first, or would it be her?

“Ma’am, do you know the area where those children have been going missing? I’m actually with the Public Safety Department, would you guide me to that part of town so I may investigate.” The tall woman towered over the elderly Japanese woman, she looked petrified by the woman’s appearance and seemed to accept mostly out of fear.

This part of the city was packed with large apartment buildings and alleyway housing establishments. It would be rough, but she would need to be one step ahead of the police if she wanted to catch 5. They had more manpower, but she had time, and she knew 5 better than most. Her eye was drawn to a tall shabbier looking apartment building. This is where her investigation would start.

---

@Eleven@TruthHurts22
There was only a few moments of peace before the handler of #10 drew his katana. People at the table widened their eyes in attention of the man’s aggressive outlash, but what is more interesting is the high pitched frequency that was emitted by the man’s sword. Not many would hear it, but those with an acute sense may sense the piercing reverberation in emitted. It is likely that not even 7 would hear such a noise, after all, the weapon was not meant for her and thus it would serve no purpose for her to register such a thing. But to 10, this frequency was the absolute worst. His teeth would ache, mind throb, but most importantly his body would become so weak that it would be difficult for him to even speak. A tailor-made deterrent specifically for the promised child he was charged, it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

7 on the other hand would get off a bit easier. “Does the bird wish to be put back in its cage?” Emmanuel bluntly spoke directly to the fair-complexioned promised child, his sights not even offering her the attention that his words would carry. She would know what this meant, minutes, hours, days, locked up with minimal stimulation. This was true hell, no television either!

While the children were being punished, upon the stage was a completely separate event to behold. An execution. The men who held the ceremonial swords took steps until they stood behind a bound man. The two whom spoke were the first selected. Large men in white suits and pants came from each side of the stage driving a heavy-handed punch into the gut of each of them causing them to fall to their knees. The executioners would then hold up their swords, speaking something not quite audible to the audience to themselves before driving the swords down upon their necks to release their heads to roll down the stage.

The guests who stood closest to the stage even may have gotten blood on themselves, but still they stood. Everyone but #10 would likely be standing as the audience roared into an applause, whistles and cheers even being heard. But Friedrich nor Emmanuel partook in these applause, rather both looked quite somber in this moment. “May you find rest.” They both quietly muttered in unison in those final moments.

Number Two flinched. Anyone socially inclined would be able to tell that she was hurt by Antoine's denial of her personhood. Suddenly self-concsious, Number Two pulled her shirt down to cover her tattoos and not skin. That seemed like a bit of an escalation, she thought to herself. I was only teasing, right? Why do I care so much about what this moppy haired loser thinks? He's nothing to me. But it didn't matter, because she did care what he thought. So Number Two said nothing.

The brunette listened to the debriefing and when Antoine did his little power play, she clenched up again but only briefly, trying her best to conceal her emotions.

"Well, your loss Antoine." She said, and convinced herself this was true. Compliant, she stepped into the car and closed the door. With a smile she gave a wave to the people as they drove by. They saw her, and assumed she was a woman. Sure, they were different in some ways, but alike in so many others.

Soon, they made it to the Silver Dollar, and seeing it brightened her mood. It was so delightfully tacky. She decided to shoot a little back at Antoine. Just a little, to make herself feel better. "Oh, Antoine, you're so pompous. This is great." Number Two was quick to go inside.

She greeted the shop's owner and took a look around at all the gifts. Finding what she was looking for, Number Two donned an extraordinarily cheap cowboy hat. Placing it on her head, she leaned up against a wall and pulled the brim over her eyes. When Antoine looked at her next, she dramatically tipped the brim up with her index finger. "Howdy, partner." She managed to keep a straight face, squinting at Antoine like she had spent all her days wrangling cattle under the hot summer sun.

---

"Are you a dumbass number three?" Eleven exhaled, a long trail of brown mist coming from the corners of her mask. He was lucky he didn't lose a hand. "One, you never tell an agitated person to calm down. Two, that is not what we're here for you thin-skulled philistine, keheheheh!" She looked over the hermitage across the street, narrowing her eyes at the building. "Surrounded by idiots, keheh!"

Of course, what the soldier had said she had already considered. Those were the orders after all. If they were doing things discreetly, then it was because they couldn't be found out. Either pinning the blame on someone else, or they were discreetly making the way for someone else. Simple enough tactics, really. A third grader could come up with it. No intel though? What was this, amateur hour? You think they'd have something, but she supposed that's what they were here for. Cavalry and all that. How annoying. At least maybe she'd get some dinner out of this.

"Of course, that's what we're here for." Eleven responded, turning her attention back to the humans. Her voice was only mildly less psychotic sounding. "Nothing more, nothing less. You want this place cleared out, it'll be done. Easily." But the next moments that followed, made it clear they weren't going to be very conversationalist. Static came over the radios, all receiving the same garbled message.

"...dinner time then, number three, keh-heh." She followed the soldiers down onto the concrete, a thin trail of mist following behind her as she landed. She really needed to change her bandages and robe. They were already old, and showing signs of wear and tear, and this little mission would be a good excuse to get new ones.

"A little tidbit of help for you," She flashed the humans a sideways glance, only sparing the humans one courtesy. "...if shit does hit the fan, my little snack-cakes," She chuckled. "And you're not as stupid as to throw your life away, then you best either run to three or...well anywhere else but me, really, keh-heh." Eleven began sauntering over to the hermitage, her footsteps marring the ground below with thin lines of brown rot. "...oh, and leave any locked doors to me, keh."

#13 bobbed his head along whenever his keeper turned in his direction for validation, but he didn't really care otherwise. Maybe that made him a bit of a brown-noser too, meaninglessly agreeing with the judgements of his leader? Naw, couldn't be. After all, nodding to the words of the buxom lady wasn't going to promote him to #12 or whatnot. Listening half-heartedly to whatever she said, just enough that he wouldn't be caught offguard if she suddenly tested him on it, the two made it to the helicopter without incident. Pleasantly, the propellers were loud enough to drown out whatever else the woman may have said, and #13 sat himself snugly in the seat as they took off. Occasionally, he looked out the window, marvelling the scenery that rolled on by. Other times, he read passage or two, drowning in eloquent phrasing and subtle rhythmn. Still more times, he glanced towards his keeper, the bitter cold's effects evident in how she vibrated in place, pale flesh paler.

Well, maybe he was just imagining it. The heli itself shook, after all.

But it came easily for #13 regardless. Expression neutral, the youth shrugged off his own uniform's coat, sniffed his wrist in an attempt to see if any unpleasant odors emanated from himself, before offering it to the woman. No smile, no words, just a proposal of sorts. It'd be bad if she got sick, after all. More so than if he became sick.

Did Numbers get sick? He heard somewhere that low-IQ individuals were less prone to disease, but wasn't that just because sports-inclined individuals were in better health and shape than the bookworm types with their frail constitutions and bulging brains. Something else to read up on, if he could get access to it. Regardless of whether or not she took his coat, he left it on his knee as his inkstone eyes found the glowing screen of his Kindle once more, quietly passing time as Finland neared.

---

Vomit. That's what Six more or less wanted to do when the fat bastard sifted through her hair. Still, she restrained herself from instantly spewing over him. That defense mechanism had vanished a long time ago. After he had made his way to the front of the office, Six had found herself with a brief respite where she wouldn't have to acknowledge his presence, especially since they were talking about things that didn't concern her.

Of course, that respite quickly faded as ugly threw a dart directly at the throat of a poor captain. It wasn't a large wound, no. One that he probably wouldn't have died from, anyways. Almost everyone had two pairs, so as long as he kept pressure on it, the thin point would have been nothing more than a cruel lesson. Of course, the fat bastard looked back at her in an attempt to goad any reaction. She gave nothing in response. She reacted like a dead fish to him, always and forever.

As they made their way out of the office and into the hallway, Six made an effort to—as the fat bastard was looking away—walk up to the partially injured captain. As he nervously kept one hand around the dart's tip in efforts of slowing the bleeding and the other looking for any loose cloth to apply pressure to the wound, Six placed her hands on the captain's traps and pulled herself to his neck. Her tongue slowly dragged along his neck, collecting that blood that spilled. To the captain, she gave a slight smile. It was more than the fat bastard had ever received.

Walking past the rest of the Romanian men, Six paid them no mind. The thick doors opened and a frigid blast of winter wind struck them both head on. Inconvenienced by this, the fat bastard sent her to get a car. As much as she would have wanted the fat bastard to suffer in the snow, it was much easier if she just bit her tongue and did what he said.

Quickly, she ran out into the snow. The cold didn't bother her too much. No, she was used to it. Plus, she always had an extra layer on beneath her regular clothes.

---

And again, that ringing. That God forsaken ringing that thrummed throughout his body, rattled his organs, made him feel like a string doll being unraveled one sharp tug at a time. Barely a groan escaped him as his head sunk to the table, his body limp and trembling.

He wanted it to stop.

He wanted it to be over.

He wanted to hurt.

As the gathered crowd stood and applauded the gory display, 10 lifted an arm, slow and stiff and shaking like he was a hundred years older, and reached for his handler. But instead of striking - 10 couldn't lift a fork, let alone attack even the feeblest of people - the tortured boy grasped the hem of Friedrich's coat, and let his arm fall heavy. The telltale sign of a plea. For 10 to stoop so low as to beg, it was an obvious symbol of submission. Not one that would last, but one that would hold, at least for the moment.

---

^{｢ Geneva, Switzerland | January, 23 ｣}
The sight of Ten, crumpled up and trembling and forced into submission, was heartbreaking. Why were they forbidden to speak to each other? They haven't seen each other for so long, and still they continue to keep them apart. Seven's hands involuntarily curled into angry fists; in the depths of heart, hatred swirled and effervesced, threatening to spill over and be released.

But then her Emm mentioned her cage and she froze, turning even more pallid with dread. The thought if it—the isolation, the darkness, the silence—makes her sick to her stomach, and it was all she could do not to lurch. She looked at Emmanuel teary-eyed, a distinct look of hurt flashing across her features, but said and did nothing more, besides shaking her head to show her compliance. The miracle fizzled before fruition and everyone's emotions remained their own. In her excitement at seeing her brother, she had forgotten that Emmanuel's love came wrapped in threats and pain. But it didn't matter.

He is the only constant in her life. He is her favorite.

Seven gave Ten an apologetic look and made no move to help him, ignoring every impulse that screamed for her to do otherwise. No, she will sit and watch, and do nothing more. Perhaps they'll be rewarded for their obedience later. For now, Emmanuel was mad and she wanted… no, needed to make him like her again.

Turning her attention back toward the stage, Seven watched the execution with little interest, barely even registering the grotesquerie taking place. She stood along with the rest of the audience mechanically when they all rose to applaud, holding onto Emmanuel's hand as an attempt of a peace offering. Neither he nor Ten's friend seemed as happy as everyone else, and she had to remind herself not to do anything about it.

After a while, when she thought it was safe to, she asked Emmanuel, "will Ten be okay?"

“Several new cases of missing children have been reported in the last twenty-four hours bringing the toll to nine.” The news lady made a perturbed expression as she spoke. Five saw in her what he always knew was in him. She had to fein the expression and she couldn’t truly feel the emotion she was trying to convey… she was like him… “I hope, I pray, that these children are found and returned safely to their families and those responsible are brought to justice. Because that’s all we can do as the police investigate the incidents; we can hope.” The feed cut off as the commercials began.

Five unfolded his dark legs from seiza and stood. His face was nearly human. He had all of the features one would expect a human would have but they were just wrong. Slightly off and hard to explain why. Five would have to improve his memory if he wanted to exist in society for longer than a few hours at a time. Especially here where it wasn’t easy to hide. If he wanted to change form, it would be in the open and he would have to come up with clever ways to not be seen, else he would start a panic. He hadn’t had any communication with Father for any of his siblings but he knew that no one wanted a panic.

The cushioned, soundproof, floor had molded around his legs leaving depressions. It slowly began to conform to the rest of the ten by ten space. Five was nearly completely hidden in the room when he turned the television off and stowed it, depriving the room of the only light source.

His face changed again as he tried to remember all of the details of the mother’s face. The one he had kidnapped the boy from a few hours ago. The face that formed was a mess - bits and pieces were from different faces. The eyes didn’t match and the mouth drooped to one side as though he were having a stroke. He knew it would take time to master his own memory.

In the meantime, he was hungry.

St. Peterburgh, Russia
-- // JANUARY, 23

Julius cut his eyes over to Eleven and gave her a dull look. "You forget my Miracle. I also said relax, not calm down, you're making the humans tense." He stated before returning his attention to the two nameless soldiers. Why did the Church pair the two of them together? She was abrasive and fairly simple, always seeming to forget what he could do. The two soldiers could be excused, they clearly weren't briefed on anything important. Their eye roll got an eyebrow twitch of agitation, but he kept it back. Don't kill them yet.

Emphasis on yet.

Eleven went on a tangent, God she talked a lot. If she weren't 'Family' he'd have torn her jaw off by now to silence her. While the soldiers talked Julius ran his hand down his face and gave out a loud an exasperated sigh. "Discreet is what I do. There are shadows everywhere." He said as static came over the radio. Seriously? All the tech to make the Promised Children and no one could make quality radios? Such bullshit.

Well it was showtime, the two soldiers were getting ready. Eleven was scaling the building to get to the Hermitage after saying it being dinner time. Julius melted down into his own darkened shadow and zipped off over the edge and to the building. Every shadow was linked thanks to it being dusk. Unless someone was looking really closely at the shadows he moved through he was indiscernible.

Night time he was strongest, everything was a shadow or shrouded in darkness. Daytime he was 'weaker', having to think more about where he could perform his Miracle. This Hermitage was such a place with all the lighting inside. It was simple to slip under the door, but navigating the building was annoying because of how the lights were positioned. Still, he went as fast as he could to get to the security room this place undoubtedly had.

N o t A S i n g l e S t a r
_________________________________
@Zoey White
"Quit fooling around, the person we're waiting for should be here soon."

Antoine shook his head, his squint acquainting itself with 2 as it always has in the past. Though he too passed the time in the shop by browsing the cheap and poorly made wares, specifically around the sombreros. There were so many different colors, some with little charms, others with cloths wrapped around their brim, it was quite the distraction to take your time and check each and every single one of them. One in particular even caught his interest, a standard brown-woven sombrero with small pieces of bone fixed all along its rim. Morbid, surprisingly what Antoine found fascination in, and even more likely what brought him to take upon his current occupation. But his thoughts would be interrupted by the sudden appearance of an individual in his peripheral. A small figure, young, no older than sixteen years old were his age determination accurate.

"You guys are early! Super-mega early, I didn't expect y'all to be here till midnight or later. Well, I even had to sneak past my mom 'n dad. So here I am, now, shall you rustle your pet on over here so we can start things?" The young pink-haired teen's words were high in pitch and pepped out innocently, though a hidden venom could be heard right beneath the surface.

Antoine held himself in check, dropping the sombrero and offering the woman a curt nod in acceptance to the pink-haired assailant. His sights would make their way to 2 and he cleared his throat to catch the promised child's attention. His head would dip towards the single door of the shop, gesturing to her that they should all leave the facility effective immediately. And as they began this venture, 'Akasha' would make her way quietly to 2's side as they exiting looking up upon the creature with childish eyes of both admiration and curiosity. Quietly the pink haired girl muttered just in earshot of the eldest sister of the promised children. "You've grown quite a bit since I've last seen you, haven't ya."

As they made their way to the alleyway on the storefront's eastern side the group tucked themselves close to the concrete checking for stray eyes before beginning their discussion. Akasha's cat-shaped backpack was slung out in front of them, it had a strange smell to it, though its contents were already known to Antoine and he looked upon the bag with a content look of purpose. His expression tended to be amused most of the time, but when it came to 'real' business it lost that joyous look and instead was replaced with a inhuman blankness. The time of fun and games was over, they weren't in the land of the Alamo and Cowboys for nothing after all. The roles they had to play were being called upon.

"The car is around the back. 2 will be in charge of defending us if things get loud, but if it gets too dangerous we run. Being captured is not an option, if by small chance we are detained, I am to execute 2 and then myself to prevent any intelligence from being leaked over to the enemy. Are we solid?"

"Solid like a rock, Antoine. I shall be accompanying you two to the target, and assisting in the deployment of the weapon-- Should the enemy disclose our location before I am able to activate it, we flee. It'll be my head if it doesn't go off, but the two of you aren't my priority, as long as that's clear I say we get this show on the road."

---

@OwO
As 6 reached the base's entrance she would be graced by the presence of several armed men standing around a similarly unmarked concrete building and the perimeter's barbwire fence that surrounded the area for several miles in every direction. One such armed man mad a quick jog up to six, waving 'all clear' to the five or six behind him to signal their guard to be dropped. The approaching guard was in the similar grey fatigues that the rest of the troops had, though he had an extra layer on to stave off the cold, a black fut trimmed overcoat and a fur trimmed cap to match it.

"We heard from HQ that you were coming. Aren't you supposed to be supervised? Ah, well, that's not my place- your extraction will be here shortly." The soldier seemed to not have much time for isle chit-chat, but there was of course something else that needed to be communicated to him before 6 could rest comfortably. It's not that she needed that reward, it's just that her handler was an insufferable piece of shit and no wiggle room could be gathered here.

//6 notified the Romanian soldier about the car

Eventually she would reach the concrete building with a few armed men, it was cold, and they had likely been outside for tens of hours. Their faces were red, brows and lips nearly iced over, they must've had it pretty rough. But then again, they likely were compensated quite well for guarding a facility like this throughout the day and night. The entrance gate stood right next to this building, it was nearly a hundred feet in height and reinforced with hardened steel beams to prevent and unwanted entry. The location of this base wasn't even marked on any maps of Romania, it was near the mountains, very-very secretive. What was the purpose of this place again?

B o o m . . .

And then disaster struck. A distant loud reverberation throughout the snowy earth, it shook nearby trees, and soon after a trail of smoke. It was an indeterminate distance away though, though the rumbling caused large amounts of snow to fall from the cliffside down to the ground below. What could have caused this? The guards were now alert, all of them, setting their vision to the sights of their rifles and moving out from their post looking outside the barbwire facets. They didn't see anything at first, though one unlucky guard would gasp for a brief moment as his eyes caught something peaking behind a tree and before he could notify his fellow men the Romanian man's head burst like a microwaved grape.

"Cover! Cover! Get the kid inside!" A black-haired guard screamed before firing aimlessly into the woods. He didn't know what had killed his squadmate but he would get his revenge. Which is what he thought, but this would be a slaughter for your average soldier, and the moment he himself caught a glimpse of the harbinger that would also be his end. His eyes leaked sanguine, a sharp screech would emit from the mans ears maddeningly loud. But only he could hear it, only he could see it. Was this one of those shared spectral phenomena that people experienced? An other-worldly creature that had briefly been passing through our dimension and some unlucky individuals saw his quick transgression? No, not in this storybook. A short blonde-haired soldier would attempt to grasp 6 by her hand and lead her inside the metallic door of the concrete building. But if she stayed outside for a brief few moments and watched was was appearing, the promised child would see a shackled figure calmly walking towards the base and in the distance behind them, the snow-train that Six's keeper had asked for.

---

@ERode
13's handler accepted the article of clothing silently, donning the overwear with a modest thankfulness that would be noticed upon her face for the most brief of moments. She snuggled into it, she missed Italy, the weather there never really got this bad. She too watched out from the side of the transport helicopter, the mountains, the small rural towns, the resilient wildlife, it was beautiful to see. She even managed to catch a glimpse of a family of reindeer as they passed overhead. But these moments of glee, sightseeing from safety, and sentimental bonding between promised child and handler. Would be short-lived.

F w o o s h . . .
B o o m! . . .

A rocket-propelled grenade made contact with the rear of the helicopter. The area had been marked as secured territory to the pilot, but had his information been wrong? He couldn't think right now. He needed to act now, making sure Saint Augustine and #13 were safe was his main priority, making his way roughly from the cockpit with parachute backpacks as quickly as he could. The Helicopter was quickly beginning to descend in a merry-go-round of smoke and flames. The icy cold would be quickly forgotten and replaced with the heat, and memorable smell of gasoline. Augustine seemed relatively calm, even assisting in securing the parachute pack to the boy's body. "When you jump! If I'm not there when you land, stay put!" Her finger extended and waggled like a lecturing mother in 13's face before she turned back to the pilot and quickly secured her own parachute upon herself. The woman who's figure was mostly kept in check now had black smoke-trails around her porcelain skin, hair unkempt and dirtied, glasses had long flung off moment ago, and now was the time to jump ship and hope for the best.

But what waited for them after that jump? The base wasn't for miles, and they had passed a nearby town minutes ago. But was the town even occupied? Mental notes were taken by the woman as she jumped from the helicopter and her body fell towards the earth faster and faster, and then the pullstring of safety was tugged and the tapestry unveiled slowing the long fall to her snowy death. But in the distance she would see 13's parachute taking him to the east, and her the west, separation of the keeper and her charge. Adrenaline pumped through the woman's veins as she prepared herself for a hunt. "Land. West. Mark. 13. Safety. Move. Move. Move." Slowly, slowly, and then her boots would touch the frosted earth, digging into the ground as she braced herself. She unraveled herself from the parachute, took a deep breath and without any hesitation began to sprint in 13's direction.

She was fast, faster than any human with her figure should've been. But the winds would've carried the light-framed promised child a good distance away, even at full speed it would take several minutes to even get to where he landed. She told him to stay where he was, but if the enemy got to him first he would need to react somehow. The snow and the cold made it painful to move at the rate she was, her face burned from the cold and her red-stained lips cracked and bled. This was a worst-case scenario, Saint Augustine began to well up with rage and confusion. If someone leaked their movements to the enemy, she would tear their fucking head off with her bare hands.

---

@Kazemitsu@Rune_Alchemist
The soldiers had completed their wardrobe change into heist garb. As the two creatures had already taken off towards the building, the two men silently hoped they wouldn't blow their own cover and ruin the mission. The Hermitage was a national treasure and the enormous, beautiful building held within it countless other treasures as well. Art, relics, historical documents, needless to say the location was of the utmost important to the Russian populace. And the government as well, so there was no way in hell that the building would be left unprotected at this hour.

They would need to approach the building from the rear, as while there is a courtyard at it's entrance, the sprawling waterfront at it's face would make it too difficult for reinforcements to approach for backup. A painted concrete wall blocked the infiltrators from passage. Well, it deterred most but these weren't your run-of-the-mill art thieves breaking into the grandiose building of historical significance. Even the operatives of the church's faction easily scaled the wall, a grappling hook was tossed up for ease of climbing. The two ski-mask banditos then crept under the shadows near the wall, one watched for cameras and marked their location with a high-power laser pen, the other held a suppressed pistol and shot something that was 'not quite a bullet' at each of them. This ammunition didn't outright destroy the cameras but instead caused them to malfunction, interfering with the video feed of the cameras that looked their way. It was a small number, perhaps the security was high efficiency rather than 'high quality'.

Things were going well, like one of those spy films. Even the operatives were speculating the reasoning of the lack of security detail outside the perimeter. Perhaps they were inside? The two made their way to the southern wall of the building, helping eachother onto the window-ledge and working together to cut the glass from it's frame. They then carefully plucked the delicate structure, placing it carefully onto a shelf inside the facility itself. The dark-skinned operative raised his radio and pressed the button at its side to speak. "Infiltrated south-side, second floor, #3 is likely already inside. #11's position is still unknown, though no alarms have been sound. Over."

A broken voice would then speak back. "Copy th-sss." The radios were really broken up today, did the budget shrink or is there just a lot of interference?

On the first floor, 3 had easily slipped into the shadows slipping from one crevice to another searching for a security room. This of course wasn't on the ground floor of the building as that was where most of the most beautiful pieces of art and history had been located. Which also meant that this floor was where the most security should have been. But still there had been no personnel on this floor, a complete ghost town, not a soul in visible sight. Something was strange? A place of this much importance should have had atleast some form of defense, privately owned or military protecting it. "And so, the lambs have come to their slaughter." An elderly Russian quietly muttered to himself within the forementioned security, quietly, alone, confident. The man's rough, dirtied hands reached out and his index finger pressed a black button before him. The museum would hum to life, music, lights, animatronic soldiers in their historical section, the bears in their nature walk, but more importantly the guards would be activated and every exit within the facility would be sealed. The twenty-some guards hummed to life with near-organic movement, remotely given a directive from that person within the security room. [//H U N T _ PROMISED _ CHILD]

---

@Melkor
Tattenbaum looked frustrated, she was so tired, having not slept in the past three days and constantly being on the move. Maybe she would utilize some of those funds the church gave her to rent a room in this building and see if anything turned up. She liked that idea. Finding herself in the lobby of the building there was a small lounge area with a television and several couches, and then opposing this area was a large desk with one young Japanese girl it. The native looked unamused, bored, and likely tired as well, kindred spirits Henrietta thought to herself. "How's the demand on the rooms here? Is there the possibility of me getting one in such short notice?" Henrietta spoke unintentionally in monotone, though the short-haired desk girl seemed to not care much rolling her eyes even. "We have a few rooms on the higher floors, but they're expensive." She quickly retorted, twiddling her pen against a paper on the desk mindlessly.

"I'm with Public Safety, I can afford it." Henrietta then quickly slid her plastic card unto the desk, causing the unhappy desk girl to raise a lone eyebrow quite high upon her forehead. The native's eyes than snapped shut, quickly placing a hand upon the card and sliding it behind the privacy ledge. "Very well, that'll be 4,839,097 yen." She responded dryly, the amount not really catching the handler's attention as something else had caught her attention. The smell of blood. She didn't notice it at first, but as she grew closer to the building's elevator the smell because just strong enough for the bloodhound of a woman to pick up from her olfactory glands. Her eyes widened and her pupils slit to that of a carnivorous animal. Hunt. The thought raced in her mind, constantly, itching at her skull like a thorn just beneath the skin.

"Excuse me, but have there been any new patrons within the last few days?" Henrietta asked, energy refilled anew as the irony taste lathered itself upon her tongue. "Uh, no- Just you within the past month. People cannot afford housing these days, Gaijin." She spat rudely, rolling her eyes once again and quickly swiping the woman's card before handing it back. "And make sure you scan your ID chip at the door, that'll work as your key from now on." She feigned a plastic smile before lazily dropping the card within the handler's palm. Henrietta simply flashed a fake smile back before making her way to the elevator, only stopping to realize. "You didn't tell me my room number, bitch!" which the woman cordially responded. "Room 102-B, B for yourself, Bitch."

The nerve of these miserable Japanese. She thought to herself as she finally entered the metallic elevator and pressed the blue-glowing '100' button on the touch-screen selection display. Quickly the machinery hummed to life, closing its doors before rising her up, it took a few minutes to actually get up there. Enough time for her to calm down and collect her thoughts. But then the door opened and the scent was, gone? Had 5 left a trace of evidence somewhere near the lower floors or did she just get some rogue smell, or perhaps she's looking too much into this and her trail is completely off. Someone could have been wounded on the first floor, though this was unlikely as lots of people would likely leave and enter there. But those thoughts would have to rest, as she reached her door and extended her wrist out to the scanner above the doorknob unlocking her room. "Well, I'll rest for now. And then I should probably notify HQ, then the real hunt can begin." A maniacal grin formed upon her face as she stepped towards her bed and faceplanted onto the white sheets, and immediately knocked out.

---

@TruthHurts22@Eleven
"Say, you two are handlers right?" A distant voice ringed out in the distance, coming particularly from someone near the stage. Ah, it was the ringmaster looking fellow whom spoke earlier. The guy who seemed to organize this gruesome event. He donned a mask now, a creepy white one with a shoddily painted smile. Eerie more than anything, and the tension could be seen on both men's faces. Friedrich however seemed to respond defensively, grabbing the chair 10 sat upon and effortlessly sliding it behind him. He may have been strict, but he was a protective keeper. Emm on the other hand while ignoring 7's question looked at the man with contempt, his hands lazily found their ways into his pockets leaning in towards the jester of a man. "You already know the answer to that question, Gabriel. Now if you wouldn't mind, we will be on our way sir." He nodded cautiously to the man, gesturing to 7 to carefully stand and be ready to leave. "Leave? When we prepared a feast for our beloved children? You know the Pope requests they never go hungry." He spat back, his facial visage hidden by the white mask, but he maintained a constant stare in particularly 7's direction. "And you must let them fulfill their purpose after all, they were wrought upon this earth to punish sinners."

Friedrich rested his hand on his sword's handle once again, his sights set anxiously upon the masked man. The loud and lively ballroom had gone silent. This was the land of neutrality but right now, these two men felt like they were in enemy territory. Why did they need to come to this god-forsaken event anyway, did the higher ups have a death wish for them? Their thoughts raced and tension only grew by the moment, the masked man stood still for a great while until he himself began to laugh boisterously. The two handlers were not amused, flat guarded expressions set undivided attention upon him. This was not some simple clergyman, God's Strength, that was the title given to the man the church titled Gabriel. What his name was before that day did not matter as he had reached the upper echelons of the Catholic Church. He held authority over these handlers, but that did not mean that their mission and his aligned.

"10.." Friedrich’s free hand pulled a needled syringe from his pocket, filled with dark-red liquor. The arm attached to the hand that grasped Nikolai's coat would have the needle puncture through to his skin, quickly injecting him with substance that would heal his senses as well as a jolt him with about five espresso shots worth of energy. "[i]Head back out the entrance, don't let anybody who comes after you stop you." Friedrich’s eyes peeled back to 10 for a brief moment, the look of determination quite intense upon his expression.

"7, go with him.. Only use your ability if someone gets close." Emmanuel calmly spoke to the small white-clad figure nearby, though, there was something strange in the handsome keeper's tone. But still his attention remained fixated on that masked man.

Gabriel would then snap his gloved fingers, and within moments numerous 'but not all' of the guests within that banquet would begin to don the same smile mask as he. They were armed with guns, crowbars, machetes, weapons of every type. And the festivities would swiftly come to an end as the individuals seemed to slowly creep towards the groups table. Luckily none of those sitting at the same table as the keepers had been part of this scheme, instead recognizing the situation and getting the fuck out of the way. But the danger of this situation should have been well-recognized at this moment. And Nikolai would quickly draw his katana again, this time not setting off the sonic mechanism before screaming "Go!" And upon the last uttering of his words, the mob of people would come rushing in their direction. Like a hungry pack of Hyenas.

---

@Vocab
"What a lovely night. Not a single star in the sky. Don't you think so, Tindalos?"
A man robed in white and black spoke kindly to the small feminine creature, the road they walked upon had been dirtied beyond recognition with filth of every sort. Most had locked themselves away from the world at this time at night, but the two monsters creeping within the night embraced the pitch-black darkness as a cloak of security. Was it safe for a man of the cloth and his pet to openly walk the streets as such an hour? Together they had hoped not, and if they had it their way danger would find its way to them.

It wasn't long until a group of angered youths found their way upon the two. Dressed shabbily, unkempt, mucked from days without shower, homeless, meaningless individuals. They were armed with cheap handguns, a nailed bat, and a bicycle chain, almost like a scene out of that one movie. What was it called. "Don't mind me for asking this, I'm American. But are you guys the Warriors?" The priest happily laughed at his own joke, reaching his rosary-endowed hand up to his head scratching through his unnaturally white hair comfortably. The priest then shook his head dejectedly, what a shame to lose so many youths, they could likely make loyal soldiers of god were they given the change. But innocent blood needed be spilled, that was their purpose in this god-forsaken country after all.

"Before you answer that, I have a question. Would you tell this holy man where your boss might be located? There's no way this many young men are being kept alive by eating rats and stray dogs. If you answer I'll let-- Oh~ shall we say, two out of the ten of you live? My young daughter here hates to be wasteful, finishes her plate every time! But if I ask her to, she will spare you. Now what do you say?" The priest smiled uncannily, extended canines clearly visible to the disgruntled youths.

"Fock uff, ye' old shitbag. I'll bash ye' brains 'n then sell y' little twat to some other old shitbag." The baseball bat bearing youth spoke, his hair dyed mismatch green and black some time ago and his brown roots had long grown in. A horrible sight for any to see. But this was exactly the answer the priest had wished to hear, and with a silent grace his hands came together in prayer. And he would nod to the promised child who accompanied him, giving her the 'go ahead'.

Number Two frowned. Quit fooling around? Antoine never knew how to have any fun. All he cared about was fine art and classy ladies, or whatever. When Antoine was distracted with the sombrero, #2 stuck her tongue out at him and smirked at her own sillyness. Placing the hat back on the shelf she waited, her eyes wandering around the shop. Eventually, the person they were supposed to be meeting arrived and she was nothing like #2 expected. Pink hair, school girls outfit. Couldn't have been out of middleschool. Which retroactively made Antoine's comments about beauitful women and tasteful company all the creepier. Humans weren't like #2. They weren't full adults until they existed on the earth for 18 years. Before then, there brains were all mushy, stupid, and innocent. Not like #2. The little girl was older than #2, technically, but #2 was far more developed physically and mentally. As far as humans went, most of them were stupid until they were in their 30's. Thirty actual years on the planet. Far, far too long. A third of their life, most of the time less, wasted on being mushy brained juveniles. Not like #2, who had a long time left to use her intelligence and her youth.

Well, hypothetically speaking. The little girl called her a pet and like always, #2 had to comply. So maybe she didn't have as much time to make use of her advanced development after all. Most of her life had been executing upon various shadow schemes #2 couldn't even begin to really care about. Probably some plot to rule the world or whatever. Silently, #2 wondered what it would be this time.

The child asked about her growth, and #2 just smiled. She could see it in their eyes. When someone knew who #2 was, they always treated her as lower than themselves. Just a tool. A creature. This child most likely saw #2 as a baby, which couldn't have been more than 5 years ago. Before #2's brain was developed enough to develop conscious memories.

Soon, they were all plotting their evil schemes in the alleyway like the bunch of deliquents they were. Number Two wished she had money, so she could buy that cowgirl hat. Antoine got that creepy look on his face, and apparently this child was coming along with them. If they're captured, #2 is dead meat. That's how it always is. The Promised Child is always first to die. Despite how rare they were, they were always expendable. They probably could just make more. Who knows how many of them were out there? Her heart ached as she thought of her brothers and sisters, but she had to push the thought out of her head. Antoine says he'll kill himself too but she always suspected he would do anything to save his own skin. Either way, it didn't matter. If he really was a true believer in whatever cause they were fighting for, #2 would have even less respect for him than she already did.

They probably wouldn't tell her what was in the bag. It didn't matter what they were fighting for. #2 was just expected to go along and kill whoever they wanted. And she did. She always, always did. It was just how life was for her, and how it always would be. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them excitedely. Her heart rate beginning to rise, because this could be it. This could be the time #2 finally bites the dust. She knew it wouldn't be, but...it could. That made it a little exciting.

"Right. Just say the word, I'll murder whoever the fuck you want. Men, women, children, cute little puppies." She said with faux-enthusiam. #2 wasn't exactly dressed to kill, but hey, make do with what you got, right?