---

Raymond Blum stared down at his phone, staring at the leaked images of the aftermath onboard the N-train. Violence was a necessary part of the job, but there was a reason they kept it hidden away from the public. Out of context, it just looked like a massacre onboard a train.

"What, what is it?" Pandora asked, having only started paying attention once the Assistant Director started getting agitated about something. Like a moth to flame she rose from her chair and hovered over his shoulder.

"Oh, shit, indeed!” Pandora barked a laugh. "Well, how unfortunate for you. That little incident on the train got leaked. Too bad."

A bead of sweat ran down Raymond Blum’s forehead. He tightened the grip on his cellhpone. “Two of your teammates are dead, Pandora.”

Pandora set an elbow on his shoulder, pouting. "I suppose they are.”

“I’ll not have you making light of it.” He turned to face the audacious woman, shrugging off her arm and pocketing his cellphone.

"Oh, please. Don’t act so high and mighty. This entire bloody thing is just-”

“I’m not sure what the policy was under the previous director, but I hope you won’t forget that I am your superior.” He cut her off with a stern look.

Pandora shut her mouth, raising an eyebrow.

Blum continued. ”Upon debriefing, I learned that you elected not to act immediately, instead choosing to let others go in front of you. Despite your experience and having the highest ranking power on your team. I was only going to bring this up in private, but since you seem intent on not showing me or your fellow Heroes respect, I might as well show you the same courtesy. Since your slot on team missions can be filled with someone more useful and proactive, I’ll be having you sit out the next mission. Please make your exit.”

Pandora bit something back, glaring at the Assistant Director. He met her gaze. After a moment, the woman moved past him and out the door. Raymond Blum cleared his throat and looked to the other heroes. ”My apologies.”

He turned his gaze to Blitz. ”Mister Baeth. I figure I’d also take this opportunity to remind you on HERO’s policy on self-defense. While your elimination of the targets within the train was technically legal, it’s not the kind of conduct I’d like to see continue. I know things can get pretty hectic in the line of fire, and your enemies were certainly dangerous. But as someone with a great deal of physical power like you, I know a little restraint can go a long way. I’m not asking you to fluff their pillows, but in future, don’t let your emotions get the better of you. The more people make it out alive, the better.” The Assistant Director explained. ”Concussions and broken bones are recoverable. Dying, not so much.”

As Raymond Blum considered the implications of the leak and the future it had on HERO, he regained his composure, adjusted his tie, and cleared his throat.

“Regardless. I won’t be taking any further disciplinary action. But if we want to fully succeed on these missions, it’s important that you don’t let the enemy divide you. Their only strength against us is our lack of vigilance. Now, we’re going to move onto our counter-attack.”

A projector canvas came down from the ceiling. Director Steel, poised as ever, entered the room. Blur Rabbit, Stray, Enkidu, Kanati, Gematria, Fortune’s Son, Nilin, and Spark Gal had all been asked to assemble in the briefing room alongside Dawnbreaker, Blitz, Europa, and Dead Man.

”Law enforcement officers. Despite mixed results in our last batch of missions, the ball, as it were, is now in our court.” She said. From the ceiling, images were displayed on the white canvas. They showed four primary locations. Three images were marked in blue. One was marked in red.

”Our primary mission is an investigation into the attack on Michelle Lewis. The attempt on her life sobered her up, so to speak, to our investigations into her and her cohorts actions. Heavily inebriated at the time, her eye witness accounts of her own actions were shotty at best. Four pieces of information were provided to us via her input.”

She pressed the button of a remote she had gotten from seemingly nowhere, and the blue dots lit up with information.

”Her own record and camera accounts show that the last thing her and her friends did was ‘raid’ a convenience store for ‘more booze.’ This is Sahara Snacks. They caused a great deal of property damage here, and the cameras were destroyed as a result. One to two of you will be deployed here to investigate.”

“Next, an underused port. Cargo containers used to be moved on and off ships from this location, though preliminary scouts show a lack of activity in recent months. A perfect place to operate something illegal. Michelle Lewis reported breaking open several cargo crates to see what was inside, though again, her memory is spotty. A small team of you will be deployed to search the area.

“Thirdly, an abandoned seaside warehouse that used to be used for storing pharmaceutical supplies. Michelle Lewis went there for reasons she didn’t want to elaborate on, though she insists that whatever it is they didn’t do there, it wasn’t there fault. Yet another select few of you will be deployed to search area. All of you will maintain telecommunications contact throughout the mission, incase evidence needs to be cross referenced throughout the multiple locations.”

“Finally, she gave us a word. Lighthouse. She can’t remember where or how she heard it, but the word quote; ‘creeps her out now’. This will be our primary mission. Assistant Director?” She indicated the taller man.

Raymond Blum stepped forward, indicating the red dot on the map. ”Sam Everette may have escaped, but she didn’t leave without clues. The nuclear bomb she was attempting to secure was potentially being sold to an anti-mutant supremacist group called the Order of Pure Citizens.” Derision entered his voice. ”Or ‘Oops’, for short.” He chuckled, glancing at the stern Director and clearing his throat.

”OoPC is also attempting to muscle into the fight pit market. As you may know, illegal bloodsport is all the rage these days, and is used as prime recruiting ground for ‘promising’ villains. Right? Whoever controls these fight pits will have steady access to eager, desperate people with powers, willing to fight and be hurt for money. Combine this with their desire for a nuke, and it’s clear that OoPC are looking to forward their agenda via leverage.” He cleared his throat.

”This clubhouse, the Rainy Day, is highly suspected of being the location of a fight club. Members of the Rocketeers were also spotted in the vicinity, furthering the connection between Ms. Everett and these eclectic douchebags.” The Assistant Director said.

”Your mission here is pretty simple. Locate and arrest Kilroy Evans. He is both one of many managers of the fight club, a member of the Rocketeers, and has strong ties to OoPC. If you can get him, we can squeeze him for more intel.” He showed a mug shot of a particularly greasy looking man.

”Your secondary objective is to shutdown the fight club, kicking serious ass in the process. There may be many persons of interests within the building that are secondary objectives. Arrest them if you can. We have the jump on them this time- there’s no evidence to suggest that they know we’re coming.” He said. This plan was a good one. They had to act fast in both instances, sure. Both to not lose any leads left behind by the Michelle Lewis case, and so that the Rainy Day fight club doesn’t go back underground. But they still had the jump on the enemies of peace in Castleburg.

”Your teams have already been assigned. Rest up, take the night off, you move out tomorrow evening at 4 o’clock PM. 1600 hours.” He set dossiers on the table. On them were their assigned teams.

”If any one of you have any thoughts or concerns, be it about the roster or about the mission, the Director and I will be hearing them now.” He said, folding his hands behind his back. He shot a glance towards Director Steel, who nodded, silently saying: ‘not bad’. Raymond Blum stood up a little straighter.

The day of their next mission would be arriving faster than they thought.

---

Lucas almost leapt out of his chair when the assistant director dismissed Pandora like that. Were they really forcing her to take leave? She had done nothing wrong. Sure she wasn’t the nicest hero, definitely not the nicest person. But if she hadn’t been there, the entirety of Castleburg might have been experiencing nuclear winter right now. Sure she was rude, she had even been talking back to the assistant director right now, but she was no less a hero because of it.

Despite his disagreement, Dawnbreaker couldn’t just argue with HERO like that and Lucas knew it. Instead, he slowly returned back into his seat without speaking up. He just had to sit back and watch her walk out. The assistant director knew what he was doing, he had more info on the matter. At least, Lucas would have to trust that.

For the rest of the address, Dawnbreaker did his best to keep full attention. Only breaking it to stare daggers into the back of Blitz’ head when hearing about the death count. He couldn’t believe the death count was mainly caused by his own side. How could someone who kills so freely ever be considered a hero? Such a person should not be said in the same breath as heroes, Dawnbreaker thought.

---

At the end of the address, Dawnbreaker was quite eager to begin the next missions. Hearing about the Rainy Day club and the mission to shut it down made him excited. He was waiting for the moment he could get some revenge on Ms Everette. It was time to show them that no one escapes justice. The moment played through his head like a movie with cinematic shots of him finally defeating Sam. It sounded perfect.

But then he looked on the roster.

Dawbreaker - Mission Coast Guard

This must have been some kind of mistake, Dawnbreaker chuckled to himself. He was perfect for taking down that night club of crooks and criminals, but not investigation work. No one looks at Dawnbreaker and pictures Sherlock Holmes, so there is no way they put him on it.

"Hey, uh, I think you have a typo on this sheet here. It says I’m Mission Coast Guard?" Dawnbreaker spoke out.

“The rosters are double and triple checked. A typo isn’t possible I’m afraid.”

Dawnbreaker was quick to take out his phone under the desk and text his handler at the Starbright Foundation, Heather Golding. She was a nice old lady and she would definitely fix it if he asked.

"Hey Heather, hope you are doing well." Dawnbreaker texted. "Got a small problem with the HERO roster, they seem to have accidentally put me on some investigation mission? Could you fix that mistake up for me."

After a short pause he got a reply. “Sorry DB. Orders from the big guy himself. Enjoy your sleuthing.”

Starbright had taken him off the nightclub mission. Sure he knew the reason behind it, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. Looks like he had to suck it up and just try his hand at detective work. Still, he couldn’t stay mad at Heather. "Ok I understand. Thanks Heather." He texted back, concluding the short conversation.

There was no crying over spilt milk, he would have to make the most of the situation. Looking at the team, he was by far the most high profile hero there. It was important to keep that appearance.

Dawnbreaker stood up and walked over to the meeting point. He then waited for the others on his team to come over, holding his trademark confident stance. He hadn’t met most of the people on that list. He had seen that one new guy from the Starbright Foundation. What was that guy's name again, Gerome?

Dawnbreaker only really knew Stray, one of his old academy teachers, who was here for some reason. He would have thought the guy would be retired by now.

---

The building was dilapidated and abandoned, windows shattered years before Stacy ever owned the place. Graffiti lined the outside and stood proud for at least a decade, and just looking at the structure could cause someone to start sweating and hurrying to pass it by.

Within, however, things were clean and orderly - a small oak desk and several office chairs adorned the ‘office’, with a dozen or so similar chairs right outside the barely intact door in the ‘waiting area’. All things considered, it seemed like the person behind this moved in only a day before.

And that’s exactly what happened - this was one of Stacy’s more rundown properties, one she had bought in Watervale purely for the land, only for it to turn into a terrible business investment. Far from the roads, out of sight, and already have destroyed - not exactly the best place for a business.

Perfect place for criminal activities though.

Outside her office door were at least a dozen applicants for her ‘Villain Team’ - the group that would assist her in world domination, or whatever cliche goal she sets her mind on. She hadn’t even thought of a name yet, so that would probably need to come first though...

“Next applicant please!”

Outside of the office, Abby rose from her hard plastic chair and brushed the dust off of her dress slacks. Finally. She had been waiting here forever, it seemed like, although it had really only been an hour. The grande mocha frappuccino she had bought that morning had long since been finished, and she was itching for a puff off her vape. If it was her turn, that meant that she could leave soon enough. And hopefully get a job, but whatever. If this didn’t work, she could always rob another liquor store to pay her rent. That usually worked.

It certainly seemed to be her turn, because nobody else was standing. Abby could barely hold back a smirk. Good. They probably couldn’t match her anyways. With that, Abby opened the door and entered the office room.

The door swung shut quietly, and Abby appraised the room- and her potential employer. Simple. Basic… underwhelming. Nothing to turn her nose up at, though. She grinned and pulled up a seat, adjusting her domino mask as she did so. It wasn’t something she’d usually wear, but she had replaced her usual ski mask with it today to be presentable. Other than that, she wore black dress slacks, a polka-dot collared shirt, and flats, with a purse by her side. Interviews were supposed to be business casual, right?

Abby held out a hand to Stacy and put her elbow on the table, still smirking. “I call myself Duplica. It’s nice to meet you.” She then leaned back in her chair, acting with all the fake swagger of an insecure teenager. “If it isn’t obvious, I can self-duplicate. Any other questions?”

Stacy frowned slightly beneath her own mask, although the papercraft blocked her mouth enough to cover the movement. She’d need to work on Duplica’s manners… but without a doubt, a duplicator would be more than useful in the future. Besides, villains weren’t exactly known for their workplace etiquette - Stacy could learn to adjust, if she needed to. She shuffled some papers around on her desk, more so to fill the silence and give herself time to think than to actually organize anything.

“Impressive - duplication is always a useful ability. I have several questions, such as your upper limit of Duplicates and level of control, but those can be saved for when you are actually hired.”

No sense lying to the girl - most of the respondents to the interview had been quite… inadequate. Hair manipulation, slow healing factors, and even some strange-looking fellow calling himself ‘The Shocker,’ who just seemed to be pretty tall and strong before Stacy dismissed him. Even if she was inexperienced, Duplica offered versatility that the others did not.

“Rather, I am more curious about how you’ve prepared yourself for this meeting - do you have any weapons on you? Have you mapped out your points of escape? If I was really some Hero who laid a trap, how would you avoid capture?”

Stacy leaned back in her chair and coughed slightly, realizing that her last question might make Abby uncomfortable.

“Hypothetically, of course. As long as you are in this building, I guarantee your anonymity and security.”

At Stacy’s surprisingly detailed questions, Abby sat up a bit straighter in her seat and began to think. She hadn’t been expecting questions of this detail from a villain, but just from the woman’s mannerisms and her compliment on her power, she knew she wanted to impress her.

“Of course I have contingencies. Who wouldn’t have contingencies?” Abby scoffed, although she sounded the tiniest bit nervous underneath. I have a gun in my purse,” she started, slowly. It wasn’t a lie, but it was something she hadn’t been planning on revealing. “There’s one clone in the waiting room, and two outside. That’s how I’d escape. I told them to come running if I scream, and three people together are more than enough to take your average person down. I…” She hadn’t really thought about escape routes. Shit. “There are a couple windows I could jump out of. Clones could cushion my fall.”

Stacy nodded as she listened, the colored slips of paper on her mask shifting slowly. It was good that Duplica had a gun, although Stacy doubted that the young girl was especially skilled in its use. At close ranges, even a complete novice could horribly injure a person with no Durability enhancing powers. And thanks to her clones, she had covered back up fairly well - she was right in her statement that three people could take down most.

At the very least, Stacy had no doubt that three people could take her down, even if she could reach her own gun in her desk before she was attacked.

“Smart choice - you should always carry a weapon on you, even if you feel safe. I learned that before I even entered the criminal world.”

“And, while I wouldn’t describe your escape plan as safe, I have no doubt that you’d succeed. As long as you’re not running from someone with a vehicle or movement power, of course. But even in that case, screaming and alerting the others in the waiting room would ruin any advantage a trap would have.”

Stacy gently raised her hand from the desk, as if to punctuate what she was about to say.

“However, you’ve revealed information to me that you would want to keep hidden from others. I know you can create at least three clones, and that you do not have any direct line of communication - you need to scream to get their attention. You can also generate them fast enough that you can break a fall from a second-story window - enough to dissuade a direct approach.”

“Of course, telling me this was not really a fault of your own. I asked you, and you were in the right to tell me - this is an interview, after all. But in the future, keep your plans close to yourself, and anyone you are involved with. People are far more cautious of an opponent that is armed, and even more so when they know they have a plan.“

Stacy reached into one of the drawers in her desk, and grabbed a plain, white business card inside. It lacked any insignia, phone number, name, and anything else one would expect of a similar card - instead, there was simply an address, which led to one of Stacy’s Laundromats in Watervale. She then handed it off to Abby, as if their 5-minute interview was enough to come to a final decision.

“Congratulations - I would be more than pleased to accept you into my operations.”

“You could stay here if you like and wait for me to finish the other interviews - it would be a good chance to meet your future coworkers. Otherwise, please go to that address in three hours, and you will be able to meet them there.”

Abby’s mouth twitched with badly-concealed surprise. That was it? Just 5 minutes, and she was in? Weird. It sounded almost suspicious.

Or maybe she just nailed the interview that hard! Her look of surprise morphed into a victorious grin, and Abby took the card and pocketed it. “Awesome!” She stood from the chair and smoothed her slacks. “I’m gonna go. No offense… but I don’t really wanna stick around. See you then, boss.”

---

A few moments later, Mallory Doyle lumbered into the room. Standing at a staggering 6 feet, 4 inches, the woman was hard not to notice. Disheveled brown hair hung down in front of her face, which was shadowed by the hood of her hoodie. She took a seat, but it was a little too small. Frowning, Mallory hovered over the chair, holding it by the handles and trying to adjust. This quickly grew frustrated by this process and shot back up to her feet, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. She glanced over at her potential new employer.

“...’sup?”

Stacy leaned forward in her own seat, frowning beneath her mask - she had chosen to bring foldable chairs due to convenience, but it seemed like that had bit her back when it came to some of the larger applicants. That ‘Shocker’ fellow from earlier had the same problem as Mallory.

At the very least, she wasn’t making a big deal about the lack of seating. Agreeability was a plus for an operation like this...

“Not much. May I please have your name, Ma’am? And while I’m asking - I would also be pleased if you could let me know about your power, before we continue.”

“Pfft,” the interviewee began. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to say ‘not much.’ You seem pretty busy to me.” She rolled her shoulders.

“Uh, yeah, anyway, my name is Mallory Doyle. And I’m made of strings. You can just call me Mal, or whatever.” She added with a shrug, clearly impartial to the subject. Seemingly glazing over her oversimplified explanation of her powers.

Stacy attempted to refrain from sighing - she didn’t expect to be given this person’s actual name. Perhaps they simply didn’t think of a villain name yet, or it wasn’t very important to share their real name - whatever the case, Stacy now needed to be sure not to spread that information around. If she was lucky, it was just an alias and it would be cleared up at a later point in time.

“Looks can be… deceiving, Miss Doyle. Really, this is more of formality rather than an actual interview - not to mention paperwork is pretty easy when no one is turning in resumes.”

“And while I’d prefer to be more informed of your powers, keeping that information close to your chest is a habit that is good to get into - I don’t need much more than you’ve given, anyways.”

Turning into string - obviously some form of transformative or shapeshifting ability. While Stacy knew nothing about it’s limitations or capabilities, it could prove especially useful for traversal and reconnaissance…

Stacy turned to her computer, one of the few things that actually sat on top of the desk other than the various sheets of copy paper. Opening a Word document, she was prepared to begin typing.

“Do you have any preferences for this kind of work, Miss Doyle? Robbery, Assault, or something else that you have experience in?”

“I don’t need references, of course, but I’d like to know what you’re used to.”

Miss Doyle scratched the back of her head, reaching her hand under her hoodie. She took another glance around the room and then focused back on the woman sitting behind the desk.

“Yeah.” She said.

This time, Stacy did not repress her sigh. Normally, she was a fan of people with few words - they didn’t put up much of a fuss and were great conversationalists. It was quite difficult to learn more about someone like this, however…

Stacy spared a glance at the metal chair folding chair in front of her - it was fairly small, but if this woman was unwilling to talk…

“Miss Doyle, could you please break that chair in front of you? I don’t mind how, so long as you don’t damage my desk in the process.”

Doyle furrowed her brow, looking between the interviewer and the chair. She stood up straight from her leaning position and glanced to the door she had entered from.

“Uh, sure.” She said. She took a step forward and extended out her palm. From the center of her hand emerged a loop of string. Miss Doyle closed one eye, lining it up. Then, her entire left hand came away, becoming a bundle of white strings. They lashed out and latched onto the chair. Wrapping around every leg and support, Mal brought her elbow in and “clenched her fist”, as it were. The chair was crushed as the strings squeezed tight, a few bolts coming loose, some metal bending under the pressure. Once she was sure the chair was no longer usable, Miss Doyle reached her arm out and the string receded into the hole where her wrist used to be. Her hand reformed and she held it briefly.

“...I’m not payin’ for that.” She added, but it might have been an attempt at humor.

Stacy nodded, any hint of possible amusement hidden behind her mask.

“Of course - I do not have much use for these chairs after today, so it is fine if a few are ruined.”

It was not like Stacy had expected - rather than rely on her brute strength and working against the weak points of the chair, like Stacy expected she might, Mallory relied on her power in order to crush it using the pressure of her ‘strings’.

Seeing how her power operated directly, Stacy felt much more comfortable in assessing the woman before her. Stacy just needed to put her questions into actions, rather than words.

“One more question before we end the interview, Miss Doyle - If I asked you to do the same thing you did to that chair on a person’s arm or leg, would you?”

Stacy stared at Mallory directly, her expression hidden behind the darkened lenses of her mask.

“Yeah.” Mallory replied simply, checking her hand for holes. She looked back at the mask, raising an eyebrow and thinking for a moment. “I mean…” She hesitated. “No, yeah. Yes.” She jabbed an affirmative finger at the woman behind the desk.

This time, Stacy’s amusement was easier to notice - just a small chuckle, but considering the last time she really laughed was over a year ago, that was pretty impressive.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I doubt we will be in a situation like I suggested for quite some time. I was asking just to see if you would be willing to do some of the other things I would ask of you while working with me.”

Just like with the previous applicant, Stacy reached into one of her Desk drawers and pulled out one of the same, near featureless cards.

“This address leads to another, more secure location - please come there in around three hours, and you will be able to meet your coworkers and discuss your pay. Alternatively, you could stay here until I am done, and I can drive you there.”

Stacy looked at the crumpled folding chair next to Mallory, and grimaced slightly at the thought of moving it later.

“If you do go, however, please take that chair with you - there should be a dumpster in the alley to the right of the building.”

“Sweet,” Mallory said. “Uh, to be clear, I’m not, like, a sicko or anything. I’m not excited to cut people’s arms off. But, y’know, I’ll do it.” She looked down at the broken chair, poking at it with the tip of her sneaker.
“...Yeah, I really don’t have anywhere better to be in the next three hours. I’ll stick around.” She unfurled her hand and used the strings to gather the broken chair, and then slung it over her shoulder like a backpack.

Once the discussion was over Mallory left the room, carrying the broken chair. That was easier than she had expected. She knew this whole little scenario was legit thanks to her sources, but it was not what she thought it would be like. She was expecting at least a couple of goons.

Stacy didn’t say anything to Mallory in response, simply nodding her head in acknowledgment. She could say that amputations weren’t on the table, and as long as Stacy was leading operations they wouldn’t be, but the reassurance wasn’t what was important. Mallory’s insistence that she’d be willing, albeit reluctant, was preferable to Stacy rather than a cold-blooded monster who’d do it without a second thought.

There was a trait that mattered far more than any power or experience - Obedience. And unlike Duplica, Mallory seemed to have that in spades. Stacy didn’t have the first clue why, whether it be some inborn trait or just desperation, but it didn’t really matter in the end.

Villains in the shows and movies were always missing a crucial factor in their hiring process - Loyalty. Stacy wouldn’t make that mistake.

---

Unfortunately, the next few hours had been fairly fruitless when it came to applicants. More of the same - goons from other gangs looking for a big break, debtors trying to find a nice source of income, and delusional people trying to send some kind of message. Some of them even had decent (although in Stacy’s opinion, somewhat generic) powers… but they weren’t what Stacy needed.

It seemed like Abby and Mallory had been a coincidental hot streak. Stacy organized her papers and began packing up - she’d been hoping to hire at least three members, but she could always hold auditions at some later date. Maybe scoop someone up from the Bruisers - she heard they were having some difficulties recently, and she felt that Midas knew a thing about aesthetics.

“Well Miss Doyle, we shouldn’t keep our coworker waiting too long. Let’s leave-”

As she was talking, Stacy heard some sound coming from the waiting room. Almost like a… scurrying. All the applicants had already left for the day, so Stacy had no clue what could have caused the noise, other than a rat or some other animal…

“Fuck was that?” Mallory asked, taking a couple steps towards the door frame. She pushed the door open and peaked into the waiting room.

Alright, this was it. He’d been waiting hours for this moment, but it was finally time for his badass entrance! Carefully, silently, he removed one of the panels of the roof and peaked his head out. They were looking towards the waiting room, perfect! Right below him was his target, the chair. Thankfully, the one string lady had obliterated had been replaced, so he wasn’t aiming for a sharp, shrapnelly mess. Everything had lined up, and now it was time to put all his planning to work.

And so, he dropped down from his spot in the roof, planning to fall perfectly into a seated position in the chair. Upon contact with the chair, his perfect form immediately fell apart because metal chairs hurt apparently, his limbs sprawling across the dented seat before he slid down to the ground in a writhing lump.

All in all, far from the worst way to meet Marco Shaw for the first time.

"Oh! Oh jesus! Oh it hurts! I-it’s bad!"

After a few more seconds of rolling around and regretting his poor decisions, he eventually managed to collect himself enough to get back up, grabbing the desk and leaning on it for support.

"Ok, so I’ve been listening to the interviews for the last few hours, and I’m interested. So I’m in! You’re welcome!"

He paused briefly as he shakily managed to stand without the table, turning to face Stacy and Mallory.

"Ok that’s not necessarily true actually, ‘listening’ might be a little too strong a word. I’ve been hearing the interviews. I might’ve been a bit too distracted to pay attention to a good chunk of them."

Mallory didn’t outwardly react. She turned back into the room to look at her new potential employer. “Some guy just fell outta the ceiling.”

Stacy nodded at Mallory’s statement, before turning back to the strange man that just appeared. She had heard about dynamic entrances before, but the only impression this guy managed to leave was a strange one. Seriously, who hides in ceiling panels, other than stalkers?

...Well, the robbers and gentlemen thieves in the movies sometimes hid in air vents, but that was different.

Stacy reached into her desk, this time pulling out the gun that she had been eyeing every time a scarier applicant came into the room. Of course, compared to a trained professional, she would be quite a poor shot - but she had a few months practice, and at this close range, she could shoot this mysterious person.

Stacy raised her voice a few decibels, but it had the same monotone as her normal speaking voice. As she did so, the pistol was immediately pointed towards the new arrival.

“Please state your name, any powers or skills you may have, and what you were doing in my ceiling.”

She felt a lot more comfortable with this situation, now that she had a weapon. It helped that Mallory was there as well - Stacy didn’t feel like killing some homeless person, so she could drag him out if he didn’t pass the interview.

"Ok, first off, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t yell at me." Marco said. "Not sure if you noticed, but I just went through a bit of a rough experience there, could really do without the extra stress. Also you should probably actually work on that if you didn’t, seems like pretty poor form for an employer to not notice when their employees are havin’ a rough time."

He grabbed the chair as he spoke, moving it back into its normal upright position he’d just knocked it out of, and sat on it backwards, leaning forwards onto the back.

"So, let’s get started." He said, tilting his head up as he thought through Stacy’s questions. "My name is Marco. I can teleport when no one’s looking, to any other spot no one’s looking, and people forget about me after a day. Sometimes two if you’ve got a good enough brain. Don’t worry though, I’ll introduce myself again tomorrow. And I was up there because you said I could live there last time we met. Which might I just say, I’m hurt you’ve already forgotten..."

Stacy kept her gun trained on the guy that just appeared, not wavering through his response. If Abby was rude, then this guy was just annoying as hell… Luckily, Stacy didn’t really care about that. What mattered more was what he said.

The teleportation was fine - she’d seen a speedster during the interviews, and he would have been able to fill a similar niche if she called him back. What intrigued Stacy was the second part of his power. If he was telling the truth, then he would be a great addition - someone people can’t remember, committing a crime? That would be great for robberies...

But he was also living in her property for who knows how long, and was saying that she had talked to him before - which Stacy really doubted.

…Well, it didn’t really matter. His power was useful, and if she did agree to let him live in this abandoned building, then it was no skin off her back. She kept the gun locked on him, but began moving closer.

“I’m going to pat you down for weapons, and you can’t take anything with you other than your clothes - I don’t want the police to come to my place of business. If you can keep still and quiet, then we can see if you’ll get that job.”

“And if this doesn’t work out, here’s a tip for your next job interview: Don’t drop from the ceiling after interviews are over.”

"Still and quiet? Hell of a lot you’re askin’ of me, don’tcha think?" Marco said, reluctantly allowing himself to be searched. "But hey, if you do decide you don’t wanna hire me today, I’ll keep your advice in mind when I apply again tomorrow."

Stacy finished the search as quickly as she could, before retreating back behind Mallory. At the very least, her gun was no longer pointed at Marco. If he had a wire or tracker of some kind, it would have to be in a particularly… intimate location, and Stacy doubted Marco was the kind of person to do that. He was, in all likelihood, just not very bright.

“Alright, my car is parked nearby - I don’t want this distraction to make us late.”

The thought of just ignoring this guy crossed Stacy’s mind. But if he really could alter memories or something similar, he’d just apply again the next day like he said he would - dealing with him while she could remember his behavior was the smart thing to do.

And besides - she was desperate to get this started as soon as she could.

---

While the abandoned building was decrepit and clearly been out of use for years, the laundromat they had just entered was clearly well-used and taken care of. Even though they were still in Watervale, the difference a few miles made to the quality of the buildings in this city was staggering. Hell, the building could almost be described as pretty by comparison

Almost being the keyword. After all, it was still a laundromat - Washers and Dryers lined most of the walls, and the smell of detergent and bleach hung in the air like a vapor. Dry Cleaners in the back rooms weren’t much better, like kerosene… Clearly, the employee didn’t clean up when Stacy said he could leave early today.

Stacy flicked on the lights, leading the others to the basement. It was primarily used for storage, but there wasn’t exactly much to keep around. A few containers of cleaning solution, a bench and some chairs, the odd tool or battery - really, it was just a big empty room that was only used by her employees to sleep or make out, or whatever else they do when they should be working.

Stacy motioned for the three to take a seat and began speaking, the slips of paper on her mask growing more animated as she did so.

“I’m pleased to have you all here - As I’ve yet to introduce myself, I will do so now. You may refer to me as ‘Confetti’.”

“As you are aware, I have gathered you all to act as enforcers. Your job will entail robberies, Crimes against the public order, and hindering operations of both HERO and ICOSA.”

“In exchange for your services, you will be paid in cash, in amounts depending on the difficulty and danger of the task I assign you. Typically, this will range in the thousands. Alternatively, either for convenience or if you are worried about unreported income, I could provide you with a card and private account.”

Marco raised his hand.

Stacy eye’d Marco from beneath her mask, speaking as she did so.

“I am also willing to provide housing, if you lack that at the moment.”

Marco lowered his hand.

“If the dangers of the tasks I’ve mentioned are too great for any of you, you may leave now - your privacy and safety is guaranteed, so long as you do not report anything you’ve heard to the authorities.”

Stacy paused briefly, and when no one got up, she continued her long-winded monologue.

“Excellent. If any of you have any questions or requests to make of me, please let me know now.”

Abby leaned on a wall in the back, a Juul in hand and her skateboard leaning on the wall beside her. She (and the room- she had been smoking in there) reeked of a sickly sweet blue raspberry scent. She had been waiting here for about 20 minutes. She was a bit annoyed that she had- time was always a strange thing with villains- but now that she had seen her new coworkers… well, she was still annoyed. Freakishly tall girl and malnourished-looking, bad-smelling man seemed like they would be a drag to work with. Somehow, Abby guessed that housing comment was directed towards him. Really? Confetti had just hired a random homeless guy? How desperate.

Abby made a grimace at the word “enforcers”. Seriously?

“I didn’t sign up to be somebody’s goon,” Abby remarked. “I thought this was going to be… some sort of team thing. Something more equal. Not like a gang boss and his enforcers, y’know?” She tossed her vape idly in the air and caught it. “Doesn’t a team need a name or something? We’ve got some good material here. Freakishly tall girl, homeless boy, and me. Hm. What could it be?” She put her fingers to her chin almost as in thought, sounding sarcastic, almost, like she really didn’t care. Or she was just making fun of everyone.

Mallory turned over her shoulder, furrowing her brows at Abby. “Hey, fuck you.” She said from the chair she was sitting in.

Abby made a very fake giggling noise at that, and shook her head. “Oh, you’re so funny, aren’t you? We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Mallory felt a spike of anger stab into her spine, but she suppressed it. She instead made a confused gesture. “The fuck?” She glanced back at Confetti, then to Abby.

“Like, fun? You know what fun is? It’s that thing when you do something you like and you like it and it’s fun? Yeah, that. We’re totally gonna have it, if you know what I mean.”

"Well, before you two rip each other in half, I’d just like to say it’s so nice to finally meet you in person." Marco said, the expression on his face clearly showing how hard he was trying to keep himself from laughing. "I’m gonna go ahead and guess that you are who I’m thinking of when I say that. Replica, right?"

He gestured back to Mallory.

"Don’t worry about Mallet there, it sounds like her anger gets the best of her sometimes. You should’ve seen what she did to that poor chair, just because Stac-, Confetti asked her a simple question! It was terrible!"

“It’s Duplica. But it’s alright, I forgive you.” Abby’s voice dripped with venom. It was clear she didn’t. She hated it when people got her name wrong.

Mallory glanced back and forth between the two, looking genuinely baffled for a moment. The anger made itself apparent, though, and she shot up to her feet, knocking the chair on its side with a crash. “Do you two have a fucking problem with me or some shit!?” She asked, rising to her full height and taking a step forward.

"Good god, she did it again!" Marco shouted, a mixture of poorly faked horror and sadness on his face as he pointed at the chair she’d knocked over. "Will nothing stop her in her rampage against all of Chairkind?!"

His face quickly returned to a smirk again after a second though.

"But yeah nah, I’m pretty sure Replicant has a problem with everyone. I, on the other hand, am merely a lovable scamp. No problems with any of you! Mostly.”

Despite fear shooting visibly through her face (Jesus, this woman looked tall and angry), Abby laughed high and loud. She smacked her knee. “Oh god, you’re taking this so seriously! I’m just poking fun at you, you know ribbing you. There’s some banter going on here. Just roll with it, Amazon. Nothing to get angwy about here.”

“And again, it’s Duplica. I didn’t catch your name, though. Any chance I could get it wrong, too?”

"Well, if you’re really so interested, sure! I, my miserable, vapid friend, am the amazing Mar-”

”Shut the fuck up!” Mallory shouted, her voice echoing. “Holy shit! You’re so fucking annoying!” It wasn’t clear exactly who she was talking to. Probably everyone. She grabbed the sides of her head. She looked between the girl and the boy with wide eyes. Whoever talked next was in trouble. Her fists were clenched and she was grinding her teeth together. Even worse, it looked like she was literally coming apart at the seams, the skin of her face becoming disconnected and loose in a few places as the white strings that made up her form began to lose tension. The string loops writhed in the air like worms beneath dirt.

Abby eyed Mallory nervously. It belatedly occurred to her that she didn’t know what this girl’s power was, which could be concerning. But, still… she got that rush that one gets when meanness hits in the exact right spot. Abby definitely wasn’t going to give up now- she couldn’t back off and seem weak. Instead, she giggled, high and nervous and mocking. “Chill out! Jeez, you’re really overreacting. I hope you’re not like this on the battlefield, for all of our sakes!” Abby laughed again and ran a hand through her blonde hair. “Sorry that I’m annoying you. Didn’t realize you got so easily annoyed. Maybe you should work on that? You know, on your anger issues? Looks like you have them. Or maybe that’s good in this business, I wouldn’t know. I don’t have ‘em.”

Mallory locked eyes with Abby. “Okay.” She said, eerily. With that she began to storm over the girl with long, fast strides. She reached her hand out, and it dissolved into a mess of grasping, cloying, thin white tendrils.

The loud ringing sound of a gunshot pierced through the room. Stacy was standing calmly, arm pointed up and at the roof, although beneath her mask she cringed slightly. She had to remember to wear earplugs next time she planned on using her gun.

“We should probably calm down - after all, it is like Ms. Duplica said earlier - we’re a team. And I’d prefer it if we could have our first meeting, without it dissolving into bickering among each other and hurling insults.”

Lowering her hand and holstering her gun, Stacy continued. Normally she’d be more reluctant to shoot a firearm in a residential area, but she’d soundproofed the basement when it was first built… And to be honest, gunshots probably weren’t too uncommon in Watervale.

”Now… Can we all apologize to each other and act with some professionalism? We are coworkers, after all - and the last thing I’d want is for workplace… complications. Especially before we finish our introductions.”

While Abby did start the conflict, and Marco helped, Stacy didn’t excuse Mallory from what was happening - if she hadn’t stepped in to stop them, Stacy might have been reduced to 2 villains instead of 3.

And to be honest, she’d rather have Mallory get rid of Marco instead of Abby.

Mallory paused, a few feet from Abby. Her hand reconnected into its normal state. She was shaking, but quietly she exhaled and turned back. She trudged over to her seat, flipped it back onto four legs and sat down, crossing her arms.

Abby rolled her eyes, although her heart was thumping from that extremely close encounter. What the hell even was that power? “I… apologize. I was just joking, though! But I’m sorry.”

"I’m not and I wasn’t. I’ll give you a break for now though, because when it all comes down to it, I’ve gotta admit I’m really liking this team. Great dynamic."

He turned to Stacy.

"You’ve got a good eye for fun people Stacy! Talented, a little more questionable, but definitely fun!"

Mallory’s eyes widened, and she began tapping her foot. “...You’re gonna have to help me out, here, boss.” She begged quietly. Maybe she should just leave. Mallory felt wound up, and she was barely keeping herself under control. And this fucker just wouldn’t shut up.

“Mr. Marco, I’d appreciate it if you could act with more tact. Purposefully egging on your coworkers is an easy way to earn a bad reputation.”

Stacy spared a glance in Mallory’s direction.

”And if you do not feel like you are capable of that, silence will work just as well.”

Stacy suddenly felt the veracity of Marco’s powers were finally revealed - she had never told him her name. Or, more specifically, she didn’t remember telling him her name. She must have told him when she (apparently) agreed to let him live in the roof of her building… Suddenly, she felt much more threatened than annoyed. If he knew her identity, she needed to keep him on a much shorter leash - at least, until she had managed to win some loyalty. Plus, it’d be easier to tell if he’d turn traitor and if she needed to put a bullet in his skull.

Stacy sighed.

“Alright, where were we? Ms. Duplica, you asked about team names? Unfortunately, I have yet to decide on one - I felt it would be more appropriate if we chose one after interacting and getting to know each other...”

‘But now, I’m having second thoughts.’ Stacy thought. If they nearly got into a fight after just a few minutes of talking, who knew what would happen in a debate over their name. Really, Stacy didn’t have the creativity to come up with a name on her own - if she didn’t think it would piss them off, she’d have just looked up a name on one of those silly online generators.

“Any other questions? ...Maybe an introduction?”

Mallory shot her hand up. While Confetti talked, she seemed to have calmed down a little. “My name’s Mallory. And, holy shit, yeah, I have anger issues, okay? Fuck. I mean- I mean- it’s not like I was planning on hiding it. I just didn’t even get a fucking chance to even say one word before-” Mallory cut herself off, making a frustrated hand gesture and groaned.

She swore again. “Sorry.” She grumbled, rubbing her face.

”Thank you, Miss Doyle. I’m glad you are informing us about this topic, and I am sure that our coworkers will be both receptive, as well as accommodating.”

Stacy didn’t really believe this - however, maybe by saying it, Abby and Marco would feel motivated to avoid stepping on toes.

“This is a good time to share information that may cause issues in the future, if anyone has something to say. Or anything you may think is nice to know - medical information, perhaps?”

Stacy had planned to just let them fill out a survey with their blood type and medical conditions at a later point in time, but getting that out of the way now would save her the effort. She thought about mentioning Marco’s Memory Manipulation, but that would probably be better coming from him. She didn’t really know much about it in the first place, so talking about it would just end up causing unneeded confusion.

”I’ll do the same - Many of my associates have described me as ‘distant’ or ‘cold’. I prefer ‘professional’, but apologize in advance if my actions may upset any of you.”

“Ah, I get it. Hopin’ to figure out my weakness and get me outta the picture straight away, huh? Well, can’t say I blame you.” He said, grinning at his employer/landlord. “Oh well, I’ll tell you what I can. Like I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted, my name’s Marco Shaw! I can teleport anywhere as long as nobody’s looking at me or the spot I’m teleporting to, and people forget who I am after a day or two. Here’s the bit you were hoping for though Boss, people knowing who I am is the only thing that keeps me anchored to the real world. If nobody remembers me, odds are I’ll end up slipping into the void with no way back. So that’s why I have to make people feel strongly about me, and unless any of you have some tips for how to make someone fall in love with me in a day, rilin’ all of you up is my only option.”

His grin grew a little wider as he rocked back and forth on his chair.

“Of course, I also do it because it’s really fun. Not starving to death in the space between spaces is just a nice little bonus.”

Abby stared, dumbfounded, at Marco for a moment. Then, she laughed. “That is an insane power, dude! So what, I’m just gonna think you’re a stranger in a couple days? How can I be on a team with someone I forget? Should I what, set a reminder in my phone? Not like that face’ll stick out to me again, no offense.” Abby thought this was hilarious, for she was laughing with her head thrown back now.

Eventually, she stopped laughing and wiped tears from her eyes. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’m Duplica. Although since I know all your real names… Stacy, Mallory, and Marco, I guess I should share mine. It’s Abby. Spelled A-B-B-Y, for any illiterates present. But that’s not what’s important. What’s important is my power. Basically, I duplicate myself.” Abby stopped talking to make a sharp whistling sound. At the sound, three exact replicas of herself, masks, clothes, gun and all, emerged from the corners of the laundromat- two even came out of the washers and dryers.

“I got here early and hid them for some dramatic effect. Sorry not sorry.” Abby grinned shamelessly. “I can create up to 18 of these bad boys- sorry, girls, at a time. Any more gets a bit… well, messy, but I find that 18 works just fine for my purposes. Basically, they do whatever I want. They’re all dumb as a rock, though. No free will of any sort. I’ve never actually taken one apart because I’m uninterested in doing surgery on an exact version of myself, but I suspect they have very minimal organs. If any at all. They’re just… well, puppets. My little brainless me-slaves, I guess you could call them. They only live for a few days at most, but they’re just as strong and durable as another human.” Abby waved one of the duplicates over to her. “You! Come here!” she barked.

The duplicated walked over dutifully, without a single expression on its face. Abby smiled. “Kneel.” It did. “Now stand.” It did. “Now do the Renegade dance.” It started dancing, still emotionless, although its dancing was very good.

“Good, good! You’re awesome at that.” Abby patted her clone on the head, almost motherly-like. Then, she pulled the gun out of its holster on her waist. She handed it to the clone. “Now shoot yourself in the forehead.”

The clone raised the gun to its forehead, its expression still blank, and pressed the trigger without hesitation. It went off with a resounding bang, and even Abby winced as she was sprayed with blue goo as the clone turned back to goo. The other two clones stood stock still in the background.

“Woo! That was a fun demonstration!” Abby plucked her gun off the floor and holstered it again, a wolfish smile on her face. She bowed to her shell-shocked audience. “See. Total control. Cool, huh?” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

Mallory’s eyes widened, she scoffed slightly in disbelief.

Stacy nodded her head in response, wiping a small amount of blue goo that had splattered on her mask from the suicidal clone. It left a stain on her paper mache mask, but her clothes were at least untouched - and those were honestly harder to clean than it was to make a new mask.

“Well, I’m glad that we could all get to know each other better, even if it was a bit… messier than I would have preferred. I’ve prepared dossiers for each of you, containing some of the materials and information you will all need for our next meeting.”

Stacy passed out the cheap clasp envelopes to everyone in the room, before returning to her position in the front of the room. Inside each were a burner phone, several addresses to abandoned buildings and laundromats that Stacy owned, and a questionnaire, asking various medical questions.

“Please keep the phone on you at all times - that will be our primary means of communication, and they have all of your numbers in the event you wish to talk to each other. If you need a safe house or lack a place to sleep, please visit any of the addresses I have provided.”

Stacy paused for several seconds, checking her own burner phone to make sure that she had saved each of the numbers. Verifying this, she turned up again.

“I will text you all with our first job within the week - if you need a costume, or have any further questions, you can contact me and we will be able to meet before then. I will be leaving now - if any of you wish to stay here, please leave a note for the night shift employees. There is a couch in the break room if any of you are sleeping here.”

And like that, Stacy simply left. She didn’t even lock the store up behind her - it wasn’t like she cared about a robbery, especially when she was doing much worse, legally speaking.

“Haha, that was horrific.” Marco said, the smile still wide even on his now notably bluer face.

---

Travis seemed to be one of the more distracted people present in the meeting, lightly massaging his head as Blum spoke to them. His head ached from the few drinks he had the prior night, barely enough to get a man half his weight drunk.

'Why'd Scales make me pound shots with her after seeing me tipsy...'

If he felt worse, he may have taken Director Steele's offer of paid leave. But considering how most people would probably leap at the chance to get a month-long vacation, the Directors may end up being short-staffed. Just the ticket Travis needed to show them that he was a team player! Maybe they could go on a HERO sponsored picnic afterward, or Blum could teach him how to fish-

"Oh. Oh, Shit."

Travis refocused on the meeting, which had taken a sudden change in tone. Pandora leaned over his shoulder, peeking at the news that had caused such a reaction.

"Oh, shit, indeed! Well, how unfortunate for you. That little incident on the train got leaked. Too bad."

Travis knew beyond a doubt who had spread the news about the N-Train incident. Hell, he kind of expected her to do it - just not so soon after it happened.

'Already? Barely a day?'

Travis buried his head further into his hands at the news. The sound of Blum's chastisement of Pandora and Blitz, as well as the rest of the meeting, quickly dimmed as Travis remembered the events of the prior night.

---

---

The air in the night club was nearly unbreathable, a complex mix of blood, alcohol, and sweat that almost made Travis sick to his stomach. Several people eyed the masked fighter as he sat at the bar, a reptilian-woman sitting next to him finishing another shot.

“Why the hell are we here, Scales? I just grew back my tooth, like, an hour ago. I’m not fighting tonight.”

She signaled for the bartender to pour her another, and spoke as the tattooed and scarred man behind the bar did so.

“Because you got fucked up! Terry was busy today, but me and Bomber could have come and been your cheerleaders or someshit. Doesn’t help that you won’t tell us who messed with you.”

“...Also fighters drink free tonight. Least you can do is let me mooch off you.”

She muttered the last part under her breath, quickly slamming back drinks Travis couldn’t stomach even if he wanted to. Travis grimaced. Lying about his job as a Hero felt wrong, but it had to be done. At least two heroes died today - if his friends knew he was one, they would rat him out in a second to get him fired.

And there was no way Travis could let that happen. It was only his first real mission, and he was already hooked.

Scales rose to her feet, her usual grace somewhat muted after her drinking binge.

“I think I see Flail Snail - gonna go ask how his shell is feeling this week. Be right back, Roachie.”

The air in the night club was unbreathable, blood, alcohol, sweat, oh and look was that someone’s vomit? Still Night Owl could think of no better place to pass the time for now. She had to mull over what to do with those train photos and there was far too much foot traffic on the street to do anything subtly.

Night Owl would look out of place in a nightclub like this. Her smaller figure and higher end looking costume would stand out as someone to mug. Most knew better, but for those who didn't, Bulldozer followed closely behind. His stature was made all the more intimidating by the new mechanical contraption on his shoulders. This alone cleared up the confusion that harming Amelia was off limits.

”While I have the spare time, I would like to see that new device in action against a real fighter.” She addressed Bulldozer while finely tweaking her mask back into place. ”You can punch through walls all you want, if you can’t land a hit well…”” Night Owl cut herself off, something was wrong about the night club. Very seriously wrong. Her eyes began to glow a bit as if her power was tracking someone, but she wasn’t trying to. Night Owl furrowed her brow and focused around what could have caused it. Then, as if only a glimpse has popped up, Orange.

In the swirl of awful smells there was a familiar scent that visualized before Amelia only briefly. She went to follow it and saw the faint trail get slowly more defined as she slowly paced around the dingy night club. Orange, from the N Train incident, the person who had kindly splattered half their body around the place and then walked out like it was nothing. How did they still have the energy? It didn’t make much sense at all.

Nearing the end of the trail it was consistent and easy to follow. Looking across at the bar, Night Owl spotted Roach with the trail leading directly to him. She made sure to slink away out of direct line of sight before continuing to watch. So, Roach was at the N train massacre. That explained how the orange figure could just walk out of there. But it raised far more questions.

Why was he at the N train massacre? Whose side was he on? It was safe for Night Owl to assume that he was working with the Rocketeers. But then how was he able to get away when the others became stains on the train car walls? And why would he reject her invitations to work under her and then go and work for the Rocketeers. There were too many questions to count and she wasn’t going to get answers sitting back like this.

”Dozer, I want to talk to that one at the bar. I’ll be in the private meeting room in the back, bring him over there.”

Night Owl left to talk with the owners. Usually it was only a matter of money to use the rooms out back. It was a good way for criminals to do less than legal business in private. The cost may be high to some, but it was only spare change to Amelia.

---

Bulldozer put his hand on Travis’ shoulders from behind while Travis sat at the bar. ”Would you like to follow me?” Bulldozer asked the question in a manner that was cold, distant, and very direct. This was not a question where no would be accepted. ”The Night Owl would like a few words.”

Most people would probably be a little intimidated by a man wearing machinery that wouldn’t look out of place in a construction site on their shoulders - but after enough rounds in the pits, you kinda get used to things. Travis was more worried about having to replace his outfit again, having ditched the clothes he wore on the N-train because of the blood stains, but Bulldozer’s demeanor and request quickly eased his fears.

“Lead the way, Ellen Ripley.”

Bulldozer didn’t comment on the reference, instead directing the masked Travis to a small room at the back of the club. Travis didn’t really mind too much anyways - he barely remembered the Bulldozer despite the numerous Brookside cage matches that they had participated in. If Travis couldn’t remember this guy’s name, he wouldn’t fault the Bulldozer for not picking up on a name from a movie that was nearly 80 years old.

The thought of telling Scales where he was headed crossed his mind, but when Travis saw her making out with some random girl neither of them knew, he felt that she probably wouldn’t notice him missing for a bit.

---

What pose would look most intimidating? The thought ran through Amelia’s mind as she tried different poses in the chair. She thought back to how her dad would conduct meetings but the environment of business and the criminal would differ greatly in appearance if nothing else. No, the Night Owl persona needed a new set of guidelines to approach from.

While continuously shuffling around in the chair. Amelia heard the door open, her eyes briefly went wide in panic as she realised she was not prepared at all. Instead she quickly made her mind up to lean back with the chair on an off angle to the table. She occupied her left hand by twirling her dagger around in it. By the time the door opened fully, she was in position but she could only hope Roach did not hear the slightly panicked shuffling.

The room Travis and Bulldozer entered was about as private and barren as could be in the nightclub, having only a few metal chairs and a single table to decorate its interior. While far from soundproof, the windowless room managed to dim the music of the nightclub to a much more reasonable level, allowing the occupants to hear one another without shouting. And more importantly for Travis’s growing headache, the scent of alcohol was overwhelmed by the metallic odor of dried blood that dotted the floor.

Clearly, these rooms were used for a lot more than just business negotiations.

Travis slid into the nearest chair, moving it slightly so he could face Night Owl more directly as he spoke.

”Glad to see you’re doing well, Night Owl. Have any luck with your, uh, recruitment?”

It was always a bit rare to actually mean that phrase when you were in the pits - maybe between friendly rivals, or the owner to a jobber that takes a dive. Other than that, you wanted people to be doing as bad as possible.Less of a risk of killing each other that way.

But Night Owl didn’t fight, and she was always friendly. Or at the very least amicable. She had attempted more than once to lure Travis into serving as one of her goons, like Bulldozer. If he hadn’t already filled his application to HERO, he probably would have accepted her offers - unlike the various gang leaders and villainous ‘masterminds’ that Travis had met during his time in Brookside, Night Owl wasn’t batshit crazy.

Or at the very least, was much better at hiding it.

”I’d offer to get you and your friend a drink, but I don’t really trust what they serve here… It seems like you have something important to talk to me about anyways.”

”I’ve had my successes.” She nods over to Bulldozer who closes the door and stands by it. ”I am still looking to hire more, but I’m not here to offer you the same thing yet again. In fact, I’m just here to talk. I have taken a liking to you and I would like to think we are friends at the very least.”

Night Owl took a bottle from under the table with two glasses. It was a whiskey bottle, probably the highest end brand you could purchase from the nightclub. Amelia had seen her father do this before with his business partner friends coming over to the estate. It seemed right to do the same here. She half filled each of the small glasses before sliding one over to Travis and setting the bottle on the table.

Night Owl looked at the surrounding room. ”However, I apologize for the scenery. I was expecting something with a little more decor, and a little less… blood.”

Travis felt a bit relieved at Night Owl’s intentions. It was always a little awkward to say no to someone, so knowing that she wasn’t still trying to recruit him was good news. He gently pushed the glass back towards the better dressed woman.

”Oh, uh, I can’t really drink - real bad lightweight... ”

’…And I don’t know how I’m getting home.’ Travis grimaced, reminded that his ride here was already drunk..

Night Owl raised her eyebrows a bit, hidden behind her mask. She was surprised he would turn down such a thing. Most of these Brookside thugs were drawn to alcohol like moths to a light were they not. But then again, it's not as if she had seen the Bulldozer drink.

That left a bit of an awkward position, because she did not intend to drink her glass either. So what, were the two glasses just going to sit there the whole time. No, that wouldn’t look very professional to commit such as faux pas. Amelia took the glass in her other hand and took a small sip.

She almost gagged, what was this stuff? Do people really drink this? It's disgusting. She placed the glass down and just managed to get the small sip down while hiding her grimace. Amelia made a mental note to herself, ‘avoid whiskey, very disgusting.’

”Thank you for the offer, though. And the choice in furniture isn’t really your fault, so don’t worry about it.”

Night Owl drew her attention back to Travis. She had almost forgotten she had company and an image to keep.

A few seconds passed in silence, Travis desperately thinking about what to talk about. He quickly defaulted to the basics, eager to alleviate the silence.

”You do anything interesting recently? I went to the aquarium a few days ago.” He eyed the blade between her fingers. ”... Maybe knife throwing lessons?”

”Hmmm, haha, I actually have Roach. It is probably not surprising to you but I am not from Brookside initially.” Night Owl did not look directly at Travis while saying this. Instead she had her gaze casually rested on the knife she twirled in her hand. ”A lot of the time, I feel like a fish out of water here. But lately I have been talking to the charming people around here and you could say I have started to care for them.” A lie. ”When you spend time around here you get all sorts of rumors coming your way. In fact, I heard a pretty interesting one that happened just this afternoon.”

Night Owl shifted her head to make direct eye contact with Travis, slowly and methodically. “The Rocketeers tried to do a hit on the N train. Now most of them will be having funerals in the near future, close casket I’m afraid, courtesy of HERO. Shameful, isn’t it?” She was fixated on Travis now. Any change in his expression would not go unnoticed.

And his expression did change, despite Travis’s novice attempts to hide it. He paled and looked off to the side to break eye contact, clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand.

”M-must have been pretty big, if there were heroes instead of just bots. Though I have to admit, pulling a train heist seems a bit cowboy-esque…”

Internally, Travis was now cussing out his friend for dragging him here. How the hell was Night Owl connected to the Rocketeers!? She didn’t seem like a follower or in need of the money, and she wasn’t crazy enough to actually use Plutonium.

”You also hear any rumors on what they were after?”

Bingo. She had him now. Although his apparent lack of support for the Rocketeers was off-putting. Why was he there?

”Oh I imagine it would have been quite big. I do happen to like the idea of a ragtag group of cowboys in an era where robots can take on ten regular men. As for what they were after, your guess is as good as mine. Must have been something worth the risk.”
”What’s the matter Roach?” Night Owl said with a smile and a far friendlier tone that the situation would suggest. ”You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She then started laughing. It would have come off as quite cute, if the situation and setting were in a place other than here.

Seeing the shift in atmosphere, Travis nearly began to laugh as well. If she didn’t know, then it must have really just been a conversation topic! ”Sorry about that, it just seemed like a pretty grisly topic… haha...”

Night Owl’s expression then went serious immediately as she took hold of her dagger and threw it away from Travis. It stuck into the soundproofing foam that was sparsely lining the upper parts of the wall. Travis could hear Bulldozer lock the door behind him.

”Roach, I want to be your friend here. But friendships require honesty. Why were you there?”

”Friendships also need privacy, last time I checked. How did you know I was there?”

Misdirection was the new name of the game. Travis couldn’t tell her the truth - if Night Owl knew he was a Hero, being in Brookside fights was out of the question. Hell, she may even try attacking him despite their friendship. Though, while he didn’t know her power, he felt pretty confident in a fight where she threw away her knife, and only had one guard...

Or he would feel confident, if they weren’t right outside the door to a nightclub, filled to the brim with illegal fighters and criminals. One of whom knew his real identity. Getting fired from HERO was a best-case scenario - worst case, he gets murdered as an undercover hero, or is given cement shoes and tossed in the docks.

”Were you stalking me or something?”

Probably not - Travis really wasn’t that big of a deal, and she said she had given up trying to recruit him. But he needed to reach for anything that let him avoid that question of ‘why?’.

Night Owl had him. Her smile widened to an evil grin as she stood up with her hands on the table. Travis was much like a fish who had taken the bait and was yanked out of the water, Night Owl only needed to reach out and take. Everything was exactly right, she held all the cards. Travis’ pathetic attempts at deflection would have no effect at all. She looked directly at him to see the fear behind his eyes. Then she would take everything.

Amelia saw the fear behind his eyes. Why wasn’t she happy? Why couldn’t she look upon the situation she had created a smile knowing she had the upper hand. Why did she feel… bad? Her smile gradually faded back to a more somber look. What was happening to her?

”I just don’t want people to start thinking the wrong things. You made it out of that place when most of the Rocketeers ended up dead. Someone could get the wrong idea and think you were part of HERO or something.” Amelia sat back down into her chair and leaned back once more. ”Things aren’t going to be too good for heroes around here for the next few months. Just make sure no one makes that mistake.”

Night Owl gave a nod to Bulldozer which was followed by an awkward silence. For a moment, Travis would have no idea what that nod had meant. For a good ten seconds, nothing happened. Then Night Owl raised a hand in frustration and soon after Travis could hear the door behind him unlocking and swinging open. Bulldozer stood beside it, holding the door open.

For a few seconds, Travis was stunned. There was no way that bullshit attempt at deflection had worked - Night Owl looked like she was ready to knock down his hastily built defense in seconds, and now she was just letting him walk away?

This… wasn’t how things worked here. Where was the monologue? The extortion? Not even a threat of bodily harm?

Travis sat there, confusion dominating his expression. Why would a villain, someone who Travis was specifically employed to dislike, letting him walk free? She had to know that he worked for HERO, and she could put him right under her thumb if she wanted to. It’d be easy - just threaten to reveal it to the nightclub, or the police, or even HERO themselves. The best henchmen were ones you had blackmail on.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t make any sense at-

’...I want to be your friend here…’

Travis stood up slowly, the metal chair squeaking against the cement floor as he did so. It took a few tugs to remove the knife from its place in the soundproofing foam, but once it was clear, he gently placed it on the table in front of them.

A friend.

”Thanks for the warning, Night Owl. It means more than you’d think.”

Pulling out a piece of gum and a pen, Travis tossed aside the sweet and began to write out a phone number on the wrapper.

A supervillain wanted to be friends.

”But if you need any more rumors like you got about the train, or any help that is up my alley… Well, I might be able to lend a hand.”

Travis slid the paper to the villain, putting the pen back in his pocket, right next to the Burner that Travis had given Night Owl the number of.

Amelia hadn’t watched Travis while he did any of that, she simply looked down at the table. For some reason she focused on the two glasses. How could she be so weak? Her father would have never let this guy walk. When someone is in the palm of your hand like that, you squeeze them for all they’re worth. That is how you get things done. And yet, she decided to just let him go. For nothing.

But then Travis placed the gum wrapper in front of her and she looked up to face him. Was he looking down on her? Pitying her for the weakness she just showed? That must be it. And yet the worst part about it is that she felt compelled to accept his offer. ”I’ll give you a call if I need you.” Amelia said with a half smile. ”You can go now. I think we’ve finished here.” She gestured to the open door.

Travis looked down at Night Owl as she motioned to the door. He wasn’t smart when it came to a lot of things, but people were supposed to be something he was good at.

He snatched one of the glasses of whisky and drank as quickly as he could, coughing violently as he finished it and slamming the glass back in its place. ’That was a terrible decision’ Travis thought, as he immediately felt his body loosen up and throat begin to burn.

”Do-*cough*-Don’t be a stranger… Okay?”

Travis started heading to the door, his gait a little less graceful than it was coming into the room. He gave a nod to the Bulldozer, and paused at the doorway to turn back.

He had basically agreed to conspire against HERO, with a villain that he had only met a matter of weeks ago, solely because she called him her friend.

And he was the one who initiated it. It was easily the stupidest thing he’d ever done. It beat out trying some Nova and nearly overdosing. It beat fighting in cage matches that, half the time, ended up becoming deathmatches. It beat joining an organization dedicated to stopping crime, and having two coworkers die on the first mission. But at the end of the day...

”See you around, Night Owl.”

What else are friends for?

Amelia watched Travis walk out the door then Bulldozer close it behind him. She looked back down at the two glasses, one now empty of whiskey. She was so ready to send them flying at the wall in a rage the second Travis left. For her weakness, for just letting him get away. But she could only look at the empty glass and chuckle to herself. He didn’t have to do that after all, but he did it anyway. Maybe this all wasn’t so bad after all.

With a genuinely pleasant smile, Amelia picked up the other glass of whiskey and instead poured it onto the ground. Whiskey does taste like shit after all.

---

---

...Not the best night, all things considered. Scales forced Travis to take two shots of Tequila with her when she noticed how unsteady he was on his feet, and he ended up getting a ride home in Flail Snail's pickup truck. Travis was nearly late to the meeting this morning, cleaning the slime that he dragged into his home...

Oh, and the whole 'offer to work for a supervillain' thing. That was a few degrees worse than having to steam clean his carpets this morning.

No, this was fine... It could be a lot worse, in all honesty.

'Can't get in trouble for something if you just don't get caught...'

All Travis needed to do was avoid letting it slip. He could do that! If he could buy beer with a fake ID, he could lie to a multi-national organization about conspiring with villains and beating the shit out of criminals for money. Hell, the last part was basically his job description already!

Yeah, Travis could do this...

---

Travis could not do this.

DEAD MAN - Operation Buzzkill

Normally, Travis would be ecstatic to be on the dangerous mission. Subtlety was never really his 'thing', and while it'd be cool to talk to Bomber at his job, kicking ass just had a certain thrill about it...

Or it would have a certain thrill, if it wasn't the Rainy Day.

The Rainy Day clubhouse was one of a dozen or so major fight clubs in Castleburg, and easily one of the most prominent. Everyone went there at least once or twice in their career, from big shots like Titan to newbies on their first night out. It was an excellent place to go if someone wanted to make a reputation for themselves in the pits or get hired for some side gig.

And it was also littered with people who knew everything about Roach.

Sure, he wasn't the most popular in the pits, but information about powers got disseminated fast, regardless of status. It made sense - if you're gonna fight someone, you wanted to know everything they could do. Unfortunately, that meant that if Travis got hit, and his power was too noticeable, then it'd be easy to draw a connection...

The thought of asking to be moved to the other mission briefly crossed Travis's mind, but he pushed it down just as fast as it appeared. He didn't have an alibi, and it would look way too suspicious considering how obedient he's been so far.

...So the plan was to somehow go to a fight club filled with villains, kick a bunch of ass and arrest a manager, all while avoiding getting hit as much as possible.

Travis frowned, almost pouting. This was shaping up to be even more difficult than the N-Train. So far, the biggest thing he had going for him was the fact that he probably knew the people they'd be fighting, and he had a team to rely on...

A team consisting mostly of people he didn't know at all... shit.

"Hey there, not sure if we've officially met yet!"

Travis waved at the nearest boy, a white-haired man around his own height.

"You're Graham, right? I saw that we're on the same mission - you can call me Travis!"

Pandora had taught him a valuable lesson on reading the mission report... or, in this case, opening it to a random page. Just so happened that 'Enkidu' was the first hero he flipped to in the report - so he'd also be the first Travis makes friends with.

"Just wondering if you can show me around, or introduce me to folks. Not sure how new you are, but yesterday was my first mission, haha..."

Zachary was lying on his too-small couch, his head upside-down as it hung off one of the armrests while his body was bent in an L-shape so that his legs would hang off the back of the couch. The TV he was watching was also upside-down, so as to accommodate his perspective, not that there was anything good to watch right now. The show he was watching was a documentary about the Misfits, a group of ragtag heroes who had saved Castleburg just as many times as they had destroyed it. It was something he had already seen, so he was only half-paying attention to it while also scrolling through his phone. Sadly, there was also little in the way of interesting recent events. There was something about a train accident and terrorists being involved, but few details were given. Zachary sighed, lethargic with boredom.

The documentary had just gotten to an interview with Sir E. Brum when it began to ring. Caller ID didn't list the number, so it was likely a call from work. Finally, something to do, Stretch thought as he put the phone to his ear. "Y'ello y'ello? Talk to me," Stretch lazily greeted the caller. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure. Oooo, that's not good," He nodded as the details came in. A new mission had come, something about an fighting club oopsie and how the team needed to capture the manager. "Alrighty then, I'll be there." Hanging up, he straightened himself up and made his way to a drawer. He then began to rummage through it, picking out the equipment he would need to be ready for his upcoming mission.

The Rainy Day club is infamous among the Castleburg underworld for its wild atmosphere. Here, the music blares loud while garish neon lights flash overhead. All sorts of substances pass freely among the patrons of this club, and it’s common knowledge that an extra five slipped to the bartender will guarantee that your ID is always valid. The club is packed tonight- more so than usual.

The line to get into the club snakes all the way down the block. By the time our heroes get to the front of the line, an hour has already passed. It’s pitch dark along the dingy Brookside alleyway. The bouncer, a tall, heavily tattooed man takes down his sunglasses to stare at the group. “IDs, plea-” Then, his eyes land on a certain someone in the group. “Yooo! Nevermind, broskis, go on ahead.” When someone tries to hand him the fee, he shakes his head. “Nah, nah. Free admission. Enjoy yourselves.” He winks, and opens the door into the club.

Inside, the club is pumping. There are two visible levels. The first, where you stand, is a typical nightclub. There’s a large bar, a dance floor, and speakers. It’s packed shoulder to shoulder on the first level. The second level, however, looks to be less crowded. There are several buff-looking guys standing at the sheet metal staircases leading up to the second floor. The second floor seems to have been installed after the building was built. The supports hang down to the bottom floor, along with what seems to be the main draw of the club- a plexiglass pit that hangs down from the second floor with a flat bottom. If anyone has ever been inside, they would know that the plexiglass is in reality a two-way mirror.

Access to the second floor seems to be regulated- the bouncers at the entrances are only letting in certain people- but you might notice that bills are frequently exchanging hands.

There’s not a fight going on right now, but there’s a holographic list of future fights near the bar. The next one, between Katastrophe and The Gorgon, occurs in fifteen minutes. There’s a QR code for betting next to the leaderboard.

”You’ll be splitting up into three teams,” Blum had said before deployment. ”One for Sahara Snacks, one for Eastside Docking, and the other at the abandoned warehouse. Investigate all three areas for clues. Keep in touch with the other teams over the communications devices.”

Sahara Snacks was the last place to be hit. Tacky as all get out, the desert theme gas-station/ convenience store is painted with fading desert themed paint. Props most likely collect dust in a closet somewhere. The owner insisted on re-opening the place as fast as possible. Currently he stands at the front desk himself, for some reason there’s no cashier.

Fortune’s Son and Gematria: Interview the owner and search the place. Be subtle about it. See if you can find anything the police might have overlooked. Track down any leads you might discover. Then, re-unite with one of the other two teams depending on which one does or doesn’t need backup.

Next, the teenagers went out of their way to break into and disturb an abandoned warehouse. They were all tight-lipped about what exactly occurred here, though they insist it has nothing to do with the assassins sent after them. Preliminary reports show X-200 related disturbances in the area. Could be Leftovers. Investigate the warehouse and then report back to the Eastside Cargo team a few blocks away.

Dawnbreaker and Stray: The warehouse operation is your responsibility. If there are Leftovers that prove difficult to handle, call for backup unless you think you can handle it.

The warehouse is large and made of bricks. Metal garage doors remained locked up tight, though broken windows line the place and let the sun stream in. There's no obvious way in that doesn't involve breaking something down or crawling through something.

Finally, the Eastside Cargo area itself. A sprawling complex of low buildings and stacked cargo crates. The teenagers visited here, and in their drunken stupor claimed to have stumbled upon something. The gates are easy enough to get by. Spread out to cover more ground, or stick together. Listen to see if any of the other teams can give you any clues from what they find.

Kanati, Heatsink, Blitz, Europa. Dropped off by car, your team are the boots on the ground for the primary area of interest.

Assistant Director Blum and a team of agents are on standby.

---

Dawnbreaker had worried that his recognizability would interfere with the investigation. Certainly, he wasn't going to wear normal clothes while he was on duty. So eyes around the scene could easily spot him. But when he approached the dilapidated warehouse, those worries were put to rest. Aside from the odd homeless person down the road, no one was here. Dawnbreaker preferred an audience, but he wouldn't let it jeopardise a mission.

Dawnbreaker was all too aware of his company. He was teamed up with one of his old teachers from the academy, Mr Lindall. Mr Lindall was one of the harsher teachers at the academy and certainly seemed to still have his wits about him. But he was old and it took Dawnbreaker by surprise to see him still on the HERO roster for this mission.

Ask him a few months ago and Dawnbreaker would have said the man would be dead weight with his age and low ranking. But Starbright mentioned there was more to him, he was more powerful than he let on. Dawnbreaker doubted this meant something minimal like Stray was secretly C tier instead. No, there was something more to the man. Starbright wouldn’t mention it otherwise. But what was it? Would he see it on this mission? Or is he just dead weight after all?

"Taking a break from the academy eh, Mr Lindall?" Dawnbreaker said nonchalantly while scoping the front of the warehouse. He wasn’t a particularly good investigator but gave a decent attempt to look for things that were out of place. "You don’t get to see many heroes of your age running about. I think it’s quite impressive if you ask me. Most heroes don’t get to grow old. Particularly ones that don't retire first." Dawnbreaker realised that the last remark may have come off too negative. Finally, he looked back to Jeremy “I don’t intend to retire either.” Dawnbreaker added with a smile.

Checking the warehouse doors, Dawnbreaker confirmed they were locked. As the report said, there was no obvious point of entry. He looked up at the broken windows lining the warehouse, well above head height. Crawling in through some air vent sounded… dirty, and it certainly wasn’t his style. Dawnbreaker would fly in. If there was any threat in the warehouse, a rain of tiny glass shards would work as a perfectly startling entry.

Dawnbreaker turned back to Jeremy and offered a hand. "It seems pretty barren out here. I can fly you in if you want."

---

Garish lighting scarred one’s eyes, afterimages of searing spotlights interspersing with disco balls and lasers, while one’s organs vibrated in sync with the heaving of human bodies, with the thrumming of overblown bass. Illicit substances traded with handshakes and shared pipes, from self-rolled cigarettes jammed with personal mixtures to oversized constructions of glass and steel that looked more at home in a chemist’s labs. The DJ, six-armed and heavily-pierced, roared out with the ferocity of a barbarian into his megaphone while his feet turned the records and adjusted the dials, four massive screens behind him practically blinding those closest to him with shotgun blasts of hypnotizing visuals. Overhead, the sprinkler systems turned on and off in erratic bursts, eliciting squeals as cold water touched burning skin, the lack of proper ventilation gradually turning the place into a humid hothouse of human fumes. The energy of the Rainy Day Nightclub, frenetic and bursting at the seams, perfectly exemplified all of humanity’s worst inhibitions, vices running rampant within the damp, underground cesspool.

And Regina loved every second of it.

Dressed like some sexual deviant of a doctor, in which her labcoat did absolutely nothing to hide the cybergoth combination of leather straps and metal studs wrapped around her lithe form, the woman leaned against the bar counter with a long, satisfied sigh, her pale green bangs clinging stickily to her pallid skin. The devil-motifed mask she had over her lower face glowed in the gloom with each exhale, curious vials of sanguine liquid attached to both sides fizzing within the glass. Though her obsessions may have made her out to be some psychotic workaholic who modified herself until her physiology barely resembled that of a normal human, that didn’t meant Regina was bereft of all human desires. Having fun, every once in a while, made her feel as young as she was, while keeping an eye on all the dirty little aberrants running amok in Brookside kept her own designs creative too. Sure, her colleagues had useful mutations, but these people? They had interesting ones.

Not that she was here for pleasure alone. A trail of evidence and information that her little darlings had collected over the last few days pointed towards this nightclub in particular as a place of interest. Nuclear weaponry and anti-mutant supremacists, how spicy! If there was a way to finesse things so both issues could be solved without this wonderful little petri dish being turned into a warzone like the train, that would be wonderful too. Perhaps a bit of tracking, a bit of subterfuge, a bit of poison…

She pulled her mask off, revealing thin, bloodless lips and a tongue that stretched on for too long, before taking a sip of a vile little concoction that the bartender brewed up, one that’d probably blind half the imbibers if they drank more than three shots of it.

…but, as expected, Steel’s still got her shit together.

A hiss escaped before her lips. Her thumb pushed a stray strand of hair of her eyes as she caught the glances of those that entered the nightclub. And, with the languid grace of someone accustomed to not giving a shit, Regina raised a glass towards them.

A toast, to the imminent closure of the Rainy Day Nightclub.

Stretch walked in with the group into the nightclub, feeling the full brunt of the nightclub's noise and air. To say the atmosphere was lively was an understatement. To Stretch, the nightclub literally felt like being inside a thunderstorm. The music was thunderous, the air was thick with moisture, and he thought he could feel static in the air despite his semi-nonorganic nature. In other words, Stretch loved it. He had spent many days simply wasting away at home, at his part-time job, or on relatively low-level missions, and such activities bored him to tears. In contrast, the night club itself was an overdose of excitement and euphoria, threatening to envelop his mind in its atmosphere. Sadly, he was still on a mission, so he kept his enjoyment to a minimum.

Following Carmilla to the bar, Stretch couldn't help but stare at her. He had read what publicly accessible files he could find of everyone in his team prior to the mission date. Out of everyone, her information interested him the most. Much of it was confusing, particularly with the time periods and her age conflicting, and various bits of unfamiliar terminology in the documents. The important bit, however, was that she was much older than she looked. He was only beginning to feel the effect that a long lifespan had on his psyche, and was lost in his own life. Although it was clear she had taken a much different path in life than he did, perhaps she would have some of the answers he was seeking.

Sitting down on a stool, Stretch gestured to the bartender and ordered a shot of the same drink Carmilla had. Giving it a curious look, he proceeded to down it, and almost immediately felt it like a film covering his brain. He normally didn't feel the effects of alcohol, but this concoction was clearly of a different sort. He placed his head on his left hand, feeling the dizziness take him, but thanks to his body's abilities, it soon passed. Looking back at Carmilla, he asked, "Ms. Milla, how did you stomach this poison?"

It was good Stretch was sent for this work. Lethal and lackadaisical as the old-timer was, he had both a semblance of control with his mutant capabilities and was unlikely to turn people into paste, compared to a couple of her other less-restrained colleagues. She smiled thinly as his expressions revealed just how little he cared for that shot of literal garbage, and propped up her head with her hand as she blew loops of pink fumes through her mask.

“I’ve had the opportunity to dissect and study the livers of a few Slavic gentlemen before,” she replied, her free hand drawing lines through the air. “The human body’s ability to adapt is truly marvelous, and though I’m personally against the notion of converting my outer flesh into something sturdier and scale-like…” She sucked in her gut and gently stroked the base of her ribcage. “…well, even I’m not so shameless as to expose my organs of my own volition. If you’re referring to the taste though? It’s just an experience, Mr. Williams.”

Briefly, she caught the bartender’s eyes and raised two fingers, then closed her hand into a fist before extending her thumb and her pinky. A moment later, two new drinks slid towards them, tall glasses of some red, pulpy drink, with a slice of lime on the rim and lumpy ice cubes click-clacking at the surface. Carmilla took one of herself, pulling her mask down again and gesturing the glass towards Stretch. “Just you today? Or did the dear director send more?”

Another sip. Pungent and spicy, with a near-caustic burn that ended up numbing her tongue. Sichuan peppercorns? She smiled. Trust places like these to be inspired with their selection.

Ariel greatly ponders to herself, delving into the mundane doings and goings of her life and kids. The road is quite light today, making her travel to Lincoln Elementary very fast. After going through multiple street lights and signs, Ariel pulls up with her extremely old car in front of the elementary. Ariel turns her attention to finding her kids, albeit such a task is quite simple as Ariel is often the last person to pick up her kids due to the distance between the apartment and school. Given this, Ms. Parker (the elementary teacher for both Ariel’s kids) is the one that normally stays back to watch over Mary and James.

Ariel steps out of her car and greets Parker with a wave before crouching down to talk to her kids.

“Hey! How’s school today?” Ariel asks.

“It was great! We had a science experiment and there was a big explosion and then there was foam everywhere!” James tells, jumpy from recollecting on the memory. Mary is also the same, jittery.

“That’s wonderful!” Ariel says happily as she rubs the hair of James.

“Why don’t you two head back to the car. I have to talk with Ms. Parker for a few seconds,” Ariel politely asks. James and Mary nods and then quickly make their way to the car.

“They look up to you a lot, you know - you being a hero and all,” Parker notes, shifting weight from her left to the right leg.

“Ye, I know. They always tell me that they’ll be heroes one day - fighting against the big badmen and saving the world,” Ariel chuckles at the comment, enjoying the imagination and ambition of her kids.

“Mary told me that she was motivated to punch Billy due to the recent video of you absolutely decking that kidnapper a few weeks ago,” Parker says as she digs into her purse, handing over a tin-can of lubricant.

“And before I forget, thanks for taking care of the dog while I was away. Don’t forget to lube those joints.”

Ariel finds it odd that Parker just has a whole can of sealed lubricant in her purse - even if it was just a simple gift of gratitude. Ariel looks at the can and then herself, reminded of her metallic body. Whilst Ariel has grown used to living in her current state, it is still a surreal experience to think of the past to the current - from flesh to metal. Ariel ponders for a few seconds and then refocuses to Paker.

“Nice, you even got my favorite brand. I should be going now. I’ll see you at that principal meeting,” Ariel teases, making her way back to the car.