Adie looked out over the cliffs as the howling banshee scream echoed all around this remarkable place.

It had been years since they'd gone camping. Dad would load up the truck with tents, a little portable stove that ran on methylated spirits, sleeping bags, and they'd drive on out to some place or another... Camp Resolution when they were young, but then further afield to Eldorado out by Lake Tahoe as they got older.

This was why she was here. To get away from the constant reminders. The side-eyes. The suits.

Of course the hike didn't start that way. There was that strange Australian guy sitting in a chair in the middle of the path back when they first began. Sure, he seemed polite enough. But it was weird enough to draw attention to and to heighten her. It was like he was waiting for something or someone, but if she could go three months without seeing anyone in executivewear it'd be a panacea to the nerves.

A minitiarised drone soared out over her shoulder, beyond the cliff face and turned and snapped some photos. She returned to the path, and the change in the humm let her know the photos had been sent to her phone. They could wait though. She'd look when they got where they were going. She trusted the drone's programming to get some good shots. After all, she trusted the designer and programmer implicitly, they weren't going anywhere. She saw them every day in the mirror.

"Alright, Firebirds, campsite's just ahead." Miranda called out. She'd been invaluable so far, with the rapid info dump on all things new enrollees would need to know just starting out at the school - the Trials, a run down on the House system and offers that would be coming their way, and the H.E.A.T program.

"It looks like we're one of the earlier groups here. We'll find a patch to the clearing for our team, and it'll be two to a tent. After that, you're free to get to know one another as you help put dinner together. Nothing too difficult. We're having campfire pizzas. We've brought most of your common ingredients. Anyone wanting anchovies is going to be out of luck though."

Miranda turned to check on the team as they followed.

She smiled at Adie, "Nothing better for building comraderie than sharing fistfulls of cheese, eh? It's just up ahead."

Adie pushed on as their Faculty representative waded back through the group to check on everyone. She found their clearing and put her pack down. Putting her hands on her hips and taking in a deep gulp of the clean air, and looking deep into the darkest rain clouds she'd seen in a while. She checked her phone. Photos were perfect, as expected.

With the way the numbers worked, and Adie as one of the smaller teammembers she hadn't been given a tent to carry. She'd have to wait for one of the others who were carrying one to catch up in order to figure out sleeping arrangements.

Change didn’t have to weigh hard and heavy; so, he grinned back when someone answered him instead of leaving him hanging. He’d set the tent up; they’d make sure it stayed down. “Alright. Thank you, thanks.” He hadn’t cared who it was, but a smile was definitely better than a frown, and anyone actually willing to take on what he asked them to was someone he’d happily hope stuck around. Not… that he thought there was much choice. They’d all enrolled into team spirit to be folded up and squished together. He’d kind of liked that thought before. Still did. Assigned or not, meant he didn’t have to struggle through finding ways to meet. They were all here already. Might not make them friends, but at least he’d get to know someone. Friends… When the word echoed in his ears rather than his head, his expression turned bemused, not sure if he’d said his own thoughts aloud or if they were just thinking the same. Wasn’t going to turn them down though. “Okay. Yeah. Friends.” Friends were good. This one was tall and freckled and seemed confident; he could use more of that in his life.

But thinking about pizza toppings while ignoring the way the wind was screaming was really all he wanted to do just then, so he focused on that next. Pepperoni, sausage, and cheese were his choices, after careful consideration. Then, he put his in when Ariel pulled theirs out and was very much wondering why he was staying where he was by the time Hawaiian was asked about. He’d held out the pineapple container just in case Miss Friend was asking because she wanted some, then glanced towards the vegan question, not sure if… well… she was definitely looking at him. Wasn’t sure why, but it wasn’t hard to answer. So, head shaking and voice rising over the wind to be a little too loud himself, he did. “Vegans don’t like meat, right?”

Holding out the pineapple to her and her restlessness next, since she didn’t look too eager for the rest of what was on offer, he raised a shoulder in a helpless half-shrug at her confusion while making the same offer of pineapple to the black-haired girl who’d just sat down nearby before pointing to the oven. “It’s hot. But I’m watching my pizza so it doesn’t burn?” Despite the direct explanation, Lucas’ lack of certainty as to how well his meaning would be understood made it sound more like he was asking Kisha if that’s what he was doing. It was the best answer he had though. Or, well, the easiest one.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to try harder if she didn’t get it, wasn’t sure it was worth the effort, maybe she wouldn’t care. Maybe no one would… That’d be—“Huh? I dunno. Okay.”

He’d maybe gotten a little too good at not listening and a little too practiced at being confused. Didn’t realise someone else was talking to him until Stegosaurus echoed itself and then he ran through words stalling for time before he’d even tried picking up the rest of hers. Had to twist back her way to see where she was glancing before he found the context for her question under his arm and falling out of his pocket. “Oh! Yeah.” His grin flashed quick and crooked. “It’s my dad. He thinks they’re cool, like Spike, but I like the longnecks.” As he talked, he’d set the pineapple down and then paused with his hands in front of him as he looked between them and the small plush dinosaur, forehead furrowing. “Can you put it back? I’m sticky.”

He didn’t want to lose it or make it dirty. And his pizza was probably about ready, but he couldn’t move anymore until he was sure, absolutely sure, that the plush wouldn’t fall out. He also had no actual answer to the last question asked. He hadn’t been listening. He knew they were supposed to be pairing off because the tents had two beds, but whether Ariel had already been paired with him or if they’d simply taken him up on his offer, he didn’t actually know.

"Thank you." Haleigh replied to Katja, taking a place nearby the campfire.

As Katja spoke, Haleigh listened in silence. Though she did take a bite of her kebab every so often, it was clear that what Katja had said was having an effect on Haleigh. Some might've seen Katja as trauma dumping; ruining their kebab barbeque and "friendly" campfire. Regardless of what others thought, however, Haleigh understood every part of Katja's lived experience. It was relatable, after all, her own experience in Vancouver being similar to what she spoke of.

She thought of giving Katja a hug, or perhaps a pat on the shoulder. Something to let her know things are okay. Her teammate had already extended similar courtesy back at the auditorium, so it was the least Haleigh could've done. But given the fact that she was in a wheelchair, and that Katja was already distracted by Banjo's excess kebabs, Haleigh let the conversation move on.

That's right. I'm not the only one here with bad history. Can't forget that.

Making a mental note to talk to Katja later, Haleigh watched as the conversation shifted to Trace. They glossed much over their own history, like it was bullet points on a PowerPoint. But when it came to their power? The rest of the kebabs on her plate didn't quite seem appetizing anymore to Haleigh—a feeling that grew even more obvious as the conversation shifted to Trevor.

Who could fault her? Eating a meal during a horror show or movie was one thing. This was full-on body horror being put on display before her eyes, in person!

Finally, the introductions shifted towards Makenna. Someone who Haleigh really hadn't the pleasure of meeting or interacting much with, if even at all. Part of her hoped she had a "normal" ability as Makenna introduced herself. Or, rather, at least something that sounded normal in all this craziness. Something that wasn't "I can grow arms out of my back", for example. Thankfully, Haleigh found herself relieved that Makenna's power was that of sound, or more specifically the ability to control.

Once Makenna finished, Haleigh glanced around the campfire. Most of the team had already spoken, but there were some that hadn't, such as herself. Taking the opportunity while it still existed, Haleigh decided to speak up just to get it over with. They were going to have to know eventually, after all. Keeping her power under wraps was only going to endanger the rest of her team and others at the school.

"I suppose I should probably explain some things. Hi, the name's Haleigh, though obviously some of you already know that. I'm from Vancouver—it's not that far from here, actually. About a day's worth of driving by car. Anyway, my dad is a Mountie. You know, the guys in red, one of the stereotypes when one thinks of Canada. Mom, well..."

Haleigh paused momentarily, before deciding to skip over that point. It was a topic she wasn't willing to go into.

"The Cascades were his stomping grounds, so he frequently brought me on his trips. To hike. Camp. Just anything to do with the outdoors. I guess he rubbed off on me in the end since I became an outdoors blogger and spent time out there solo before... well, the incident. I don't like to talk about it, personally. It's difficult to when one day you're... 'normal', and then the next you've buried yourself alive and become the reason people could've died back home. When your neighbors decide you needed to die over something out of your control."

She looked down at her legs, before taking a deep breath. They needed to know.

"Some of you are probably wondering about the wheelchair, I figure. Honestly, I hate it. I would much rather prefer to walk. But I can't. Not without people getting hurt. It's something that's been hanging over my head ever since I developed this stupid ability. I could sink this island with a stroll. Destroy the school with a jog."

Haleigh grimaced, clearly fighting back her emotions.

"I don't want to be the reason why more people get hurt, so I guess that's why I'm here. Tad's helped me with this inhibitor thing of his, but..."

She trailed off, unable to finish her statement.

"So you metabolize sunlight?" he echoed, turning to Banjo, "That's so cool! I bet you have to ingest a lot more cholesterol to compensate unless it works independently of vitamin D synthesis. We can talk more about it later."

"Huh..." He stopped in his tracks. "I, uhh, didn't know you would know that..." He said to no-one in particular. Mainly himself. "Well, yeah it's independent of Vitamind D synthesis, actually, it's independent of everything. I think-- theoretically at least, it's independent of respiration. But that's a pretty big leap of faith to take, testing whether or not I can go without breathing when I juice. Oh, I... I call it juicing." He became aware he was distracting from the task at hand. "But yeah... yeah, anything else you want to know we can talk about that later."

Banjo's gears ran wild as he wondered just how much he'd been underestimating the football friends. And whether they'd caught on and were just too polite to say anything.

He shook it off and focused on what came next as the large South African sheila took centre stage.

”Well, guess it’s my turn. I’m Katja, but you can call me Kat if you want.” giving an apathetic shrug at the idea. ”My ability is density manipulation which means I can alter my own body mass and toughness. Basically I can turn myself into a human wrecking ball. Or punching bag, so if anyone needs a sparring partner who you want to try your abilities on, I’m your meisie” She punctuated that statement with a humorless chuckle before looking at Banjo.

”Guess I’ll follow your example and explain a bit more about myself. As most of you have probably picked up on by my accent, I’m not from this side of the Atlantic, not originally anyway.” Katja paused for a moment as she looked up to the sky and took a deep breath before continuing. ”I was born and raised in Bloemfontein. Now, that name might not say a whole lot to most of you, but a little over a decade ago there was a large anti-hype massacre over there. The munnies got to my parents and well…” She bit down hard on her lips, casting her eyes down for a few seconds before looking back at the people around the campfire with an awkwardly forced smile on her lips. ”I’m sorry for ruining the mood, just felt like the best moment to open up.”

”Anyway...” she took a shaky deep breath to regain her composure, hiding away her pain back into that deep corner before looking at Banjo with that same forced smile on her face. ”You euhm, going to finish that?” Katja said, pointing her thumb to the untouched plate belonging to the Aussie.

"Oh no..." Banjo thought to himself at first. "I didn't just bloody inadvertantly open the floodgates on some kind of mass-trauma dump by everybody in attendance, did I?" But as Katja continued her story, and even heavier, the details which were so painful they must be omitted, Banjo started to justify his decision to himself further. "Actually... this might be for the best anyway. Like I said. Finding stuff in common. A dozen randomly assembled hyperhumans, with the oppression and abuse that we generally face, the odds aren't too bad that someone here might be able to relate to losing parents over it. I mean, it's at least peripheral to you and Sparky McGee over there anyway, huh?"

Most surprisingly of all, when she finished, she threw a smile on and asked Banjo if he was done with his food.

Banjo chuckled warmly, and returned his own smile.

"Have at it." He said, handing her the whole plate, and pointing to the sky. "I filled up earlier." Beween the heavy cloud cover and the late hour, the sun was a barely visible seam in the darkness, but she'd get the gist.

"Well, she seemed friendly enough." He thought to himself. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Trace didn't poison that well." He scratched his chin in contemplation with his now free plate hand, before considering what he could do with the arm. "Give it a shot?"

He put his arm around Calliope, who tensed slightly at the sensation, before relaxing into it after making eye contact and confirming it was indeed Banjo who was doing it.

"Whoa... Ok. That was-- Good. This is... Things are working out. This is all good. People are talking. Nobody's trying to kill each other. Calli's sensing it too, maybe? This is good..."

Slowly the supercharged Holden V8 engine which drove Banjo's self-confidence started to up its revs.

“Bloody, ‘ell,” Trace grumbled. “I’m Trace Whitlock. They and them for the lot of you that didn’t get the memo. I’m from Sutton London. My dad is British Military, my mum is dead, and I was scouted for a professional football league before all this happened. And by football—RORY—I mean your fuckin’ soccer. Except better and with less bullshit.” They shrugged. “As much as my power goes. It’s easier to show you."

They pulled the back of their shirt up, which caused the front to ride up as well. Their torso was finely muscled, though far from the definition of Katja’s, and as pale as the rest of them. Their deep blue veins were obvious underneath. At first, it would be hard to tell what was happening in the light of the campfire, but it became apparent that a long limb started to form underneath the back of their shirt. At the end was a hand with fingers. The arm extended longer than a normal one should, lengthening out six feet in front of them. It was as pale as their flesh but didn’t seem to be made of skin. It looked to be denser and made of marble. While it bent in the middle, as if it had an elbow, there was nothing natural about it. The hand splayed its fingers and dove into the fire. It picked up some smoldering coals and held them there as if just holding a handful of rocks. It crushed them into a cloud of fine dust—easily—before dropping them back into the pit. The arm then crumbled away, landing on the ground like chalk before bubbling up as if someone doused it in vinegar before disappearing entirely. “That’s it. And I can produce six of those things.” They could do more with it, but they didn’t care to elaborate. Surprises might be fun in the future. Not to mention, they were already braced for whatever shit Banjo was about to spew.

"Oh, so the dead Mum thing. That wasn't just bullshit." He thought to himself. Trace'd dropped that nugget so glibly he wasn't entirely sure that was actually true at the time. He found himself relieved he hadn't fired back a "That's probably why she didn't move around so much." Especially after what he'd said before.

Oh... what he'd said before.

They were noticeably avoiding eye contact too.

Shit.

Then when they showed off their power he found himself realising the depths of those self-confidence issues he'd exploited to fire back at them. The guilt made his stomach churn. He was still mad. He'd still probably wind up running damage control on what they'd said before, if and when - god willing - that came up later with Calli. But he still didn't like what he'd done. The depths of shittiness... it wasn't equitable. He just wanted to hurt because he hurt, and that was the clearest way to do just that.

He wasn't going to have to fucking talk about this later with 'em though, was he? I mean, Trace knew the score, right?

The churning didn't stop.

"Well, shit..."

Trevor smiled at the group and gave a small wave.
"Hi everyone! My name's Trevor and I'm a H.E.A.T. program volunteer. My ability is..." He trailed off as he racked his brain for a good explanation. "It's easier to show than tell."

He reached down and placed his hand flat on the ground. In the next instant the skin of his arm started to disappear. Not into thin air and disappearing, it moved into the ground under his hand. But moving was also not quite the right word. His flesh was disappearing and reappearing in the dirt in a rough outline of his hand, then his wrist, and the better part of his forearm that filled in over a few seconds. At the same time, a mixture of dirt, rocks, and grass replaced the limb now half buried in the ground. He flexed his new fingers a few times as small bits of dirt fell back to the ground before taking a firm hold of his original arm and giving a firm tug to free it from the dirt. The arm dangled limply in his grasp as he gave it a good shake to dislodge any dirt stuck to it. He didn't seem to mind as drops of blood welled up near the lump of bone sticking out the top, but he was careful to hold it hand side down.

"I can move other stuff around too. It doesn't have to be part of me either. More importantly I'm with Calliope, cool name by the way. We should stick together."
By pure chance he happened to glance at Trace with all those arms behind her and gears turned in his head. Trevor looked down at his own disembodied hand and had to suppress a chuckle before he even started. This would be perfect, he just knew it. A joke would make her feel better after he spat with Banjo. Even at a distance it was obvious he was struggling not to laugh at his own joke as he tilted the severed limb in her direction.

"You seem like you got things handled but just ask and I'll be happy to lend you a hand."

Okay. So the guy who was interested in how his powers worked was called Trevor. If Trace wasn't lying before the other one was called Rory. With mental notes he started to piece together the names of those on the team, should they remain as such by the end of things.

He hoped so... wouldn't want to have to learn a bunch of new names.

He noticed Trevor didn't really share anything about himself of value. Was it shallowness, only really interested in discussing powers? Or was there something more there that was the reason why he really didn't want to share. Ten minutes ago he'd likely just chalk it up to a lack of depth, but Banjo had underestimated him already once, so now he wasn't so sure...

“Makenna, She began her introduction, shining smile at the ready as it came her turn. “Full merit scholarship Yale undergrad, treasurer of the Yale Daily News, and recipient of the Goldfarb Community Service award.” She paused for a moment, wanting so much it could have ended there. “Not that’s what any of you really wanted to hear about me.” She continued, still smiling as she folded her hands together, looking over the group.

“Four delta esoteric expulsive; vocal projection and mimicry. I can sound like whatever or whoever you want,” Her head tilted as she innocently lifted her eyes to the darkening sky above. “Or just a real screamer if it’s called for.”

With a final flash of white teeth, she looked expectantly to her left to continue the chain.

She rattled off a series of accomplishments like the rote recitation of her CV. Sure, Yale was impressive, even Banjo had heard about there. He knew they were an Ivy league school, bunch of schools famous for their prestige, and they had some weird thing with Harvard. He also knew they had a high end law school, and were known for business management and economics as well. But that was the sum total of what he knew. He supposed it was something to be proud of, and that Makenna was probably pretty quick to namedrop Yale to anyone new. It did after all pop up three times in the first complete sentence she'd bothered to say in his presence.

He wanted to redirect and see if he could get people back on track of actually sharing something meaningful about themselves, but Haleigh took to the stage and he immediately became mindful of criticising what people chose to share, particularly in front of the person who saw him chew out Inigo not that long before. So instead he ate his criticism, and listened in.

"I suppose I should probably explain some things. Hi, the name's Haleigh, though obviously some of you already know that. I'm from Vancouver—it's not that far from here, actually. About a day's worth of driving by car. Anyway, my dad is a Mountie. You know, the guys in red, one of the stereotypes when one thinks of Canada. Mom, well..."

Haleigh paused momentarily, before deciding to skip over that point. It was a topic she wasn't willing to go into.

"The Cascades were his stomping grounds, so he frequently brought me on his trips. To hike. Camp. Just anything to do with the outdoors. I guess he rubbed off on me in the end since I became an outdoors blogger and spent time out there solo before... well, the incident. I don't like to talk about it, personally. It's difficult to when one day you're... 'normal', and then the next you've buried yourself alive and become the reason people could've died back home. When your neighbors decide you needed to die over something out of your control."

She looked down at her legs, before taking a deep breath. They needed to know.

"Some of you are probably wondering about the wheelchair, I figure. Honestly, I hate it. I would much rather prefer to walk. But I can't. Not without people getting hurt. It's something that's been hanging over my head ever since I developed this stupid ability. I could sink this island with a stroll. Destroy the school with a jog."

Haleigh grimaced, clearly fighting back her emotions.

"I don't want to be the reason why more people get hurt, so I guess that's why I'm here. Tad's helped me with this inhibitor thing of his, but..."

She trailed off, unable to finish her statement.

So... she was in the chair for all of our sakes, and not hers. Well ain't that a kick? Trailing off added weight to everything she had just said and every passing beat was uncomfortable. Full of newfound confidence from how things were going with Calliope, Banjo decided it was his place to say something, even though he'd barely spoken a dozen words directly to Haleigh since being here. "Hell, none of us knew each other until only recently, so why not me?" He justified to himself.

"It's ok. That's what I guess a lot of us are here for..." He hid behind the "lot of us", it was complete bullshit in his case. He was here because he was dragged here. "...and you wouldn't be the only person here who's scared of what they're capable of. Truth be told, when I first heard about the 'Big Bang' and the expansion of the universe, I figured I'd be responsible for the heat death of the whole shebang." What he kept to himself, was that it was still a nagging belief he couldn't shake. But to others he knew it sounded ridiculous, so maybe that might be helpful here.

"Not everyone here has control over what they do either." He gestured to Sparky McGee. "But maybe with time you'll be able to run down the street, stop on a button, and rise the dirt you're on a thousand feet in the air. Like shaping a mountain or a cliff-face... things take time. Hopefully, unlike a mountain or cliff-face, maybe this won't take quite so long."

The ending was a bit clunky, but he wasn't really used to offering reassurance. He couldn't relate to the last part at all either. He had almost perfect control of his powers, in his opinion. In part because they were straightforward in nature, but also because as he'd said - his powers terrified him into respect.

Snapping selfies in LA was easy. Just find the light, and it was arid and sunny enough that you always looked good. Snapping selfies in Canada was like trying to take a picture in a child’s ball pit—it really was a toss-up on what sucked the most. Coop tried to get a picture on a scenic rock, but there were too many tree shadows. Then he tried to get a picture out in the open, but the cloud cover made it look like he’d put on a cheap “night filter” that B-movies used. He tried by a tree with his flash on, but it was just too dang green. It washed him out in the weirdest way. So, he just took a picture of the tree and posted it. “Me and the boys hiking in Canada. Hope moose don’t like Italian.” He then had a crisis of intelligence. Was it “moose” or “mooses” or “mises?” Also, do they eat people? After a quick couple of Google searches, he felt better about his choices. Well, except for the fact that he could be gored by a moose. But that seemed quicker and less traumatic than being eaten. Speaking of which—

Halfway through the trek, Coop’s stomach made a horrible noise. It was almost cartoonish in the way groaned. He turned a pitched red and fished out a protein bar from his pack. His pack was 60% snacks, 20% a solar-powered ring light, 10% an extra pair of socks and underwear, and 10% EPI pens (he hoped). He eyed the bee girl, again. At least moose goring would be traumatic and dramatic. His throat closing against his will seemed almost comical. “He lived as he died, trying to ask for help but instead flailing around.” Also, his corpse would probably not be cute. Not that corpses were cute—but—he just wanted an open-casket funeral. Cool. Cool. Cool. Why was he thinking about this right now?

Fortunately for his spiraling thoughts, they arrived at the grounds. He immediately set down his tent. “Man, I hope these tents were heavy because our personal masseuse is in them. I feel like an old lady in water aerobics. Hope I have slipped a disk.” He made a dramatic show of bending his back only for it to pop. “Oh hey!”

No more thought was put into the tent as there was talk about pizza and a portable pizza oven. O-kay, maybe Canada had more in common with LA than he thought. As others milled around, he made a beeline (agh! He needed to make sure he brought his EPI pen) for the food.

He had a large, if almost comically so, piece of his pizza hanging half out of his mouth when he was approached by someone. “Ever been camping before?” she asked. He’d been looking at the group that was clustered by the bee girl, which had included this girl. This girl that was still in the group, and also in front of him asking him if he’d ever been camping.

“Yeah. Used to go camping outside of LA as a kid. I mean the tents didn’t do that but it wasn’t bad. I’m sorry—” he trailed off as he shot his hand out to see if this second identical girl was actually there. He bumped up against her very solid body. “Whoops. Sorry! I thought you were a hologram or something.” His hand rested right below her shoulder but not too low as to be scandalous. He gently patted it as if he’d meant to do that the entire time. “So, what’s your name? I’m Coop.” He then traded pizza to his other hand to shake hers. He realized there was grease and cheese soaking it, and now it covered his left hand as well. In hopes of not smearing it all over himself, he leaned over to a tree and ran his hand down it. “Nature’s napkin?” he questioned, probably more to himself than to the girl in front of him. He then extended his fairly clean hand towards her—a few leaves stuck on it for posterity. “That’s very hot of me, I know.”

"With all due respect, you know very little about the situation so maybe just focus on your football throwing and let the grown-ups have a discourse," she said to Rory. "As for you," she addressed Iñigo, "I came over here offering help and you didn't even acknowledge me, let alone how rude you treated Banjo, who also only offered help. A simple 'no we have it' would have sufficed, but as you clearly didn't even know about the lever I'll wait for a 'thank you Banjo' instead. We're supposed to be a team and bonding and stuff and I'll be the first to admit I cringed at that aspect, but at least I am trying. Banjo was trying too, and you essentially spat in his face."

Calliope took a beat to calm down before she went on, acknowledging Rory now, "Sorry, Rory, about my grown-up comment. You meant well."

”You meant what you said.” Rory turned his gaze to Calliope for a moment, unable to mask the sadness in his eyes, before just turning away from everyone and walking out of the clearing for a moment. He could feel the emotion welling up in the chest and clawing at his throat. First sadness, then self-loathing. He was an adult now, there was no excuse for getting this worked up just because he was talked down to. Looked down on. Again. Just like it always happened. Because he was stupid. _{He was an idiot, and a burden. No one wanted him there, they had been very clear. He was a bad judge of character, he was a child. A big dumb child. Maybe now was just the best time to walk away…}

It took a second for Rory to realize his phone was vibrating in his pocket as he had lowered himself down into a crouch behind a tree, his hands clenched so tight the fingernails had drawn a bit of blood in his palms. He quickly brushed them against his shorts, before reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. A small series of texts were the only notifications.

>You made me a promise, Rory.<

>You’re not a quitter.<

Rory shook his head in disbelief, sliding the phone back in his pocket. He cleared his throat with a cough, rubbed his eyes to make sure there were no tears, and waltzed back into camp. William always knew what to say at just the right time. It was hard to tell if it was him being empathetic, or just making the most of his hype gene. Quite frankly, Rory didn’t care. He was right, like always. It was too early to give up now.

"So, what are everyone's thoughts on this team swap? I'll be the first to admit I had considered that possibility back at the campus. Now, I don't know. Hard to say if I think this team will flop or not on day 1. We didn't get off on the right foot, so maybe we can try to fix that now? I'm Calliope. My power is ice manipulation." She opened the floor to others.

Rory took a seat around the fire, opting for a spot away from Calliope as he happily munched on a fire grilled beef. As soon as the conversation turned to a discussion of abilities, Rory quickly scrambled to grab the pencil from his wristband. He flipped open the pad, and scrambled to write down Calliope’s power, as described. Calliope - Ice Manipulation. Bully.

"Everyone wants the chance to make a good first impression. There's an appeal to the swap in that alone. But it's not a simple reset," Cass paused.

"The adage of 'the grass is green where you water it' applies. We can stay on Blackjack, make the best of our situation and enjoy our time at Pacific Royal."

The smoke of the fire suddenly blew in his face causing Cass to cough before continuing.

"Or we give up on Blackjack and move to Eclipse or Firebird, either continuing with the same attitude or making the best of a new situation. There's no wrong answer and there's no right answer. It's Schrödinger's cat, whether it's alive or dead is dependent on your outlook." He had been talking too long, it was probably the most any of them had heard him speak.

Cass sheepishly rubbed the back of his head before holding a palm out. The familial sparks emitted from his hand before swirling together to become a small, glowing orb.

"According to Professor Roth and Dr. Lehrer, they call it volatile force manipulation." Cass mused before tossing it skyward, the orb exploding into fireworks.

"I'm not great at controlling it as I'm sure most of you have seen."

Rory paused, moving his head to eat the skewer being held in his left hand. He eyed up Cassander, who had spoken up. He was surprisingly well spoken, for someone who Rory hadn’t really heard say anything at all until now. He didn’t quite know what an adage was, or who Shrodinger was… but the gist was clear enough. And he was right. As much as deep down, Rory wanted to jump ship and hope for the best… there was no guarantee. If the teaching advisor was any indication, Team Eclipse wasn’t going to be any better. But as soon as Cass showed off his powers, Rory quickly wrote down his notes. It took him a second, as Rory’s teammate hadn’t said his name… but Rory matched the picture. Cassander - Volatile Force Manipulation = Fireworks.

Banjo spoke up. "Uhh... My names Banjo." He turned to look at Rory. "I uhh... know the official school documentation says 'Andrew Olyphant'. That's not my name. Only name I've ever known is Banjo. But they needed two names on the paperwork, and, well... yeah."

Oh, this is just going swimmingly, dickhead. Sack up. Before you put these jokers to asleep.

"Anyway... I've kind of always viewed my powers as 'something I can do' more than 'who I am', so maybe we can all bounce around and throw in something about ourselves as we go. Y'know, something a bit more substantial than 'I like Pez'. There's twelve of us here, maybe someone else here'll have it in common and we might actually see each other as people or somethin', or whatever."

"So, yeah. I'm Banjo, and I metaboli--" He turned and looked at Rory and Trevor and considered his audience. "I uhh-- eat sunlight and warmth, and my body takes it and makes me stronger, faster, helps me think a bit clearer, basically all 'round a bit better." He turned and looked at Sparky McGee, never flinching for a moment, staring at him in the face - straight down the barrel. "--And I've never known my parents. I grew up in orphanages and care facilities and bounced around schools for the vast majority of my life. In fact, I bounced around so much, I'm not exactly sure WHERE in Australia I'm from, or... I guess... my parents were from, because I've been pretty much all over. Or whatever. So who's got next?"

Well... let's see how that goes down.

Rory, almost immediately after Banjo spoke up, crossed out “Andrew” on his note card and replaced it with “Banjo.” He remained blissfully unaware of the subtext behind the correction. Banjo seemed to be in better spirits, or at least a bit more cooperative. The fun fact suggestion was a great idea, in Rory’s opinion. He listened intently, and scribbled down a few brief notes. Banjo - Eats sunlight. Stronger / Faster. Rory paused in his notes, looking up at Banjo. The thought of being able to think clearer, without all the distractions and urges muddling his brain, filled him with a sharp pain of jealousy. But as he focused in, he felt it wash away. The first heartbreaking story kept Rory distracted for a moment. He didn’t have any words of comfort to offer. He had just lost his parents… it was a different kind of pain than never knowing them. He finished out his notes briefly. Thinks better.

Waiting for Haleigh to take her spot around the campfire and looking if Banjo was done with his introduction, she took one last bite out of her steak before speaking up.

”Well, guess it’s my turn. I’m Katja, but you can call me Kat if you want.” giving an apathetic shrug at the idea. ”My ability is density manipulation which means I can alter my own body mass and toughness. Basically I can turn myself into a human wrecking ball. Or punching bag, so if anyone needs a sparring partner who you want to try your abilities on, I’m your meisie” She punctuated that statement with a humorless chuckle before looking at Banjo.

Rory quickly wrote down his notes on Katja. Katja - Density Manipulation = Wrecking ball or punching bag. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant… or how he would feel with a teammate turning into construction equipment in the middle of practice. Though he wouldn’t mind volunteering to be her sparring partner.

”Guess I’ll follow your example and explain a bit more about myself. As most of you have probably picked up on by my accent, I’m not from this side of the Atlantic, not originally anyway.” Katja paused for a moment as she looked up to the sky and took a deep breath before continuing. ”I was born and raised in Bloemfontein. Now, that name might not say a whole lot to most of you, but a little over a decade ago there was a large anti-hype massacre over there. The munnies got to my parents and well…” She bit down hard on her lips, casting her eyes down for a few seconds before looking back at the people around the campfire with an awkwardly forced smile on her lips. ”I’m sorry for ruining the mood, just felt like the best moment to open up.”

”Anyway...” she took a shaky deep breath to regain her composure, hiding away her pain back into that deep corner before looking at Banjo with that same forced smile on her face. ”You euhm, going to finish that?” Katja said, pointing her thumb to the untouched plate belonging to the Aussie.

Rory’s heart dropped. He wasn’t the smartest bulb in the store, but even he could piece together what Katja was trying to say. His parents had always mentioned the things happening abroad, and the hate people showed towards Hypes. Rory had experienced a bit first-hand, but learned from a young age to keep that hidden. But he knew he had no idea what Katja had experienced. No one deserved that. Rory’s dad has always said it was better H.I.T. stopped Hype criminals before others burnt all Hypes at the stake as witches. Katja knew what that meant more than he did.

“Bloody, ‘ell,” Trace grumbled. “I’m Trace Whitlock. They and them for the lot of you that didn’t get the memo. I’m from Sutton London. My dad is British Military, my mum is dead, and I was scouted for a professional football league before all this happened. And by football—RORY—I mean your fuckin’ soccer. Except better and with less bullshit.” They shrugged. “As much as my power goes. It’s easier to show you."

They pulled the back of their shirt up, which caused the front to ride up as well. Their torso was finely muscled, though far from the definition of Katja’s, and as pale as the rest of them. Their deep blue veins were obvious underneath. At first, it would be hard to tell what was happening in the light of the campfire, but it became apparent that a long limb started to form underneath the back of their shirt. At the end was a hand with fingers. The arm extended longer than a normal one should, lengthening out six feet in front of them. It was as pale as their flesh but didn’t seem to be made of skin. It looked to be denser and made of marble. While it bent in the middle, as if it had an elbow, there was nothing natural about it. The hand splayed its fingers and dove into the fire. It picked up some smoldering coals and held them there as if just holding a handful of rocks. It crushed them into a cloud of fine dust—easily—before dropping them back into the pit. The arm then crumbled away, landing on the ground like chalk before bubbling up as if someone doused it in vinegar before disappearing entirely. “That’s it. And I can produce six of those things.” They could do more with it, but they didn’t care to elaborate. Surprises might be fun in the future. Not to mention, they were already braced for whatever shit Banjo was about to spew.

Rory quickly scribbled down a couple notes for Trace. Trace - *They Them* - Pro Foot Soccer player. He didn’t quite understand why Trace didn’t just call it Soccer… but I guess the British changed the name when they started playing the sport. Rory looked up to see Trace starting to pull up their shirt, and instinctively averted his gaze to the fire between them all. Of course, the fire was bright and started to hurt his vision, so he blinked rapidly a few times and looked back towards Trace… only to see the long limb reaching into the fire he was just staring at. His mind kind of went blank, having to take a moment to reboot and comprehend what he had just seen. He eventually just scribbled down Grow 6 creepy arms.

"Hi everyone! My name's Trevor and I'm a H.E.A.T. program volunteer. My ability is..." He trailed off as he racked his brain for a good explanation. "It's easier to show than tell."

He reached down and placed his hand flat on the ground. In the next instant the skin of his arm started to disappear. Not into thin air and disappearing, it moved into the ground under his hand. But moving was also not quite the right word. His flesh was disappearing and reappearing in the dirt in a rough outline of his hand, then his wrist, and the better part of his forearm that filled in over a few seconds. At the same time, a mixture of dirt, rocks, and grass replaced the limb now half buried in the ground. He flexed his new fingers a few times as small bits of dirt fell back to the ground before taking a firm hold of his original arm and giving a firm tug to free it from the dirt. The arm dangled limply in his grasp as he gave it a good shake to dislodge any dirt stuck to it. He didn't seem to mind as drops of blood welled up near the lump of bone sticking out the top, but he was careful to hold it hand side down.

"I can move other stuff around too. It doesn't have to be part of me either. More importantly I'm with Calliope, cool name by the way. We should stick together."
By pure chance he happened to glance at Trace with all those arms behind her and gears turned in his head. Trevor looked down at his own disembodied hand and had to suppress a chuckle before he even started. This would be perfect, he just knew it. A joke would make her feel better after he spat with Banjo. Even at a distance it was obvious he was struggling not to laugh at his own joke as he tilted the severed limb in her direction.

"You seem like you got things handled but just ask and I'll be happy to lend you a hand."

Rory was very quiet as he watched Trevor use his power. If he was honest, he didn’t quite understand what he had just seen. I guess Trevor could replace his hand with dirt and rocks. It was a bit strange, and a bit gross. Rory didn’t even want to think about using that power. But he did agree with Trevor on sticking together. Most everyone seemed to be a bit more amicable. And Rory did give an audible laugh at Trevor’s joke. It was very clever, if not a bit gross. He quickly scribbled down a note on Trevor. Trevor - Rock Hand, DO NOT BORROW.

“Makenna, She began her introduction, shining smile at the ready as it came her turn. “Full merit scholarship Yale undergrad, treasurer of the Yale Daily News, and recipient of the Goldfarb Community Service award.” She paused for a moment, wanting so much it could have ended there. “Not that’s what any of you really wanted to hear about me.” She continued, still smiling as she folded her hands together, looking over the group.

“Four delta esoteric expulsive; vocal projection and mimicry. I can sound like whatever or whoever you want,” Her head tilted as she innocently lifted her eyes to the darkening sky above. “Or just a real screamer if it’s called for.”

With a final flash of white teeth, she looked expectantly to her left to continue the chain.

Rory felt a little awkward and embarrassed as Makenna spoke. She seemed bright and chipper, but Makenna’s little resume was incredibly impressive. She was clearly very smart, and Rory knew he was not going to be able to keep up with her. It would only be a matter of time before she would think of him as an idiot like Calliope. He jotted down his notes. Makenna - Smart - Voice Projection and Mimicry - Sound like anyone or Scream. Looking at Makenna’s entry, he wasn’t entirely sure what use that would be in training.

"I suppose I should probably explain some things. Hi, the name's Haleigh, though obviously some of you already know that. I'm from Vancouver—it's not that far from here, actually. About a day's worth of driving by car. Anyway, my dad is a Mountie. You know, the guys in red, one of the stereotypes when one thinks of Canada. Mom, well..."

Haleigh paused momentarily, before deciding to skip over that point. It was a topic she wasn't willing to go into.

"The Cascades were his stomping grounds, so he frequently brought me on his trips. To hike. Camp. Just anything to do with the outdoors. I guess he rubbed off on me in the end since I became an outdoors blogger and spent time out there solo before... well, the incident. I don't like to talk about it, personally. It's difficult to when one day you're... 'normal', and then the next you've buried yourself alive and become the reason people could've died back home. When your neighbors decide you needed to die over something out of your control."

She looked down at her legs, before taking a deep breath. They needed to know.

"Some of you are probably wondering about the wheelchair, I figure. Honestly, I hate it. I would much rather prefer to walk. But I can't. Not without people getting hurt. It's something that's been hanging over my head ever since I developed this stupid ability. I could sink this island with a stroll. Destroy the school with a jog."

Haleigh grimaced, clearly fighting back her emotions.

"I don't want to be the reason why more people get hurt, so I guess that's why I'm here. Tad's helped me with this inhibitor thing of his, but..."

Rory nodded as Haleigh spoke. It was nice to see a fellow Canadian on the team… though, quite frankly, he part of him was a little scared. The way Haleigh spoke about her powers, the more it sounded like a curse. He couldn’t imagine not being able to run around without destroying everything. He gave a sympathetic nod in her direction as he spoke, not writing anything down until she had finished speaking. Haleigh - Outdoor Blogger - Sinks things by walking, DO NOT USE.

Banjo spoke up next, and Rory took the opportunity to devour what was left of his skewer before it went fully cold. His impression of Banjo kept changing: he was hard to pin down or understand. But he was kind and compassionate. While Banjo was speaking to Haleigh, the talk of “being scared of what you’re capable of” resonated hard with Rory. Rory’s father was harsh and strict with him once he learned what Rory’s power was. The number of times he heard some variation of “you can never let your guard down and use it like an idiot” was so high that it outnumbered the times he had said “I love you.” That thought weighed Rory down for a moment.

Noticing the brief silence, Rory looked up to see a few eyes gaze in his direction. He hadn’t spoken up yet, and was only now slightly embarrassed about the playbook. He quickly slammed it closed, his leg shaking nervously as he took a breath. He looked up towards Trevor for some semblance of reassurance, before speaking to the group at large. ”Banjo’s right. Not all of us can control what we do. They let us work on that here, safely.” He turned his gaze to Haleigh, trying to offer a bit of a soft smile. His mother had always mentioned how useful her time at P.R.C.U. was in controlling her powers. Maybe it would help Haleigh too.

Rory placed his hands on his knees, willing his leg to stop shaking for a moment. It wasn’t very cooperative, sort of vibrating slightly still despite Rory’s efforts. He looked over to Calliope for a moment, his gaze turning cold for a moment as he did, before looking towards the others and letting his smile return. ”My name is Rory Tyler… My parents went here years ago. I live… lived in Ottawa. I’ve got a brother and a sister, they’re both twins here in the Collegiate program. I guess my fun fact is that I was a pretty good wrestler in high school…” Rory felt a little nervous at this point. He knew he was stalling from having to explain what his power was. He just flashed a smile, trying to make a good impression for those that didn’t already think less of him.

Rory flipped open the playbook and turned it to the last page, which was just a cut-out note in his Aunt’s handwriting with the name of his power. He read the note, and nodded. ”My power is Power Mimicry. I can borrow a power from someone I’m near for a short time… it’s why I’ve been writing notes down in this.” Rory held up his wrist, showing off the wristband and pocket playbook. ”I… I don’t really use it, honestly. Any time I do, I get really sick after.” Rory kept his nervous smile up, looking around to the others. ”So yeah… that’s me. Who’s next?”

A hike.

Perfect just what she needed after the long days she’s already had.

From having to fly in From Ontario to British Columbia just a day before, waking up far later than she should, missing her ferry ride, then having to take one later. Now to fan the flame that's letting off plenty of embers she reached just an hour before the opening ceremony, practically throwing her luggage right outside of the auditorium doors and hastily changing into her uniform in one of the washrooms.

Tista looked as unkept and out of sorts as she felt sitting in the auditorium as the welcoming ceremony went on. Drowning out the speaker's words she got lost in her own head until it was time to be off to the Intake house where she changed into her P.E. wear and meet up with the student advisor for Team Firebird as well as a couple other first years .

‘Now I must admit Firebird’s a pretty cool name’ she thought, giving a mental smile ‘Still don’t want to hike though’ she frowned now shuffling her backpack to a comfortable position.

After some walking, that felt like hours to Tista and listening to Miranda go on about trials, house offers and the overall training program. Not gonna lie, she felt on edge with all of that new information, and just hoped it never showed on her face or through her body language. She knew she wasn’t the best at keeping certain emotions in even when she desperately tried to, but as she continued a couple steps behind the main group she felt as though some of her nerves were drifting away allowing for her to walk the rest of the way to the camping site without much of a hitch.

Upon reaching the area in which they were meant to camp out she found a spot she deemed worthy enough to set up her tent, placing her backpack on the ground she got a tent and got to work.

Half way through fighting to get her tent set up right, she looked up and realized people were starting to socialize and having pizza. So she placed the rod that she had in her hand down and dusted off ready to go try and make conversation as she worked to fix up her own pizza.

“Hope they’ve got bacon, cause pizza ain’t pizza without some bacon.” She spoke out to anyone nearby with a grin on her lips, definitely trying to look approachable.

The drive from Orange County to Prince Rupert had been unusually quiet. Road trips for the Townsend family were usually a much more jovial occasion, but a melancholy mood had set over the four on this particular day. It was bittersweet, on one part both siblings were going off to school together, and on another, it would be the first time Arthur and Celeste Townsend had been without their children since the day their eldest had been born.

Normally the one to console everyone, the usually cheerful, chatterbox that was Alyssa Townsend didn't quite feel like herself lately. Another school year at yet another new school. It had been hard enough going off to the Alexandria Foundation last year, a lot like the days leading up to departing for the boarding schools of her youth, but this was still somehow harder. The Foundation's Institute had been unique, but it's location and protocols left little to be desired for someone who wanted to remain in touch with their family throughout the year. Alyssa was grateful when her father finally stood up to his mother and had Alyssa removed from the suffocating environment. But her first experience with a Hyperhuman-only institution left a sour taste in her mouth. She only hoped that Pacific Royal didn't do the same to her brother.

Alyssa's first encounter with P.R.C.U. had come from the two school's friendly extramural league. Attending an away game on the Canadian island, Alyssa had become enamoured with the rival school and began to beg and prod for her parents to transfer to a program there instead. With the discovery of her brother's own Hyperhuman abilities, and with P.R.C.U. being both a closer and more inviting institution, the Townsends' caved to their daughter's wishes.

In the driver's seat, Alyssa's father; Arthur, likewise drove in near silence, breaking only occasionally to announce when they were stopping or to sing along with the radio, even if only under his breath. Her mother, Celeste, on the other hand, kept trying to initiate conversations, only for them to call flat when neither of the siblings put any effort into carrying them. Every so often, Alyssa could hear her mother muttering prayers of protection under her breath, mostly for Alyssa and Oliver at Pacific Royal, but occasionally for them all whenever Arthur's lead foot got a little too heavy on the gas pedal.

After nearly three full days of driving the car came to its final destination. The four of them had arrived in the port city of Prince Rupert. Managing a smile, Alyssa elbowed her younger brother before she and Oliver climbed out of the back of the Range Rover.

The pier was crowded with people, most of which held signs that condemned Hyperhumans. The hurtful words and slurs were familiar, words that had come from Alyssa and Oliver's own grandmother when she had found out about first Alyssa's Hype-Gene and then again with Oliver when the youngest Townsend revealed that like both Alyssa and Celeste, he too was a Hyperhuman.

Pushing through the protestors, Alyssa shielded her younger brother, as the paid made their way towards the pier. It was almost odd that Pacific Royal didn't keep this location more private, shouldn't there have been H.E.L.P security to dispel the rabble? Thankfully, both siblings were able to board the ferry without incident, waving to their parents as the vessel made its way across the Pacific toward the hidden island.

"You're a long way from California, Townsend."

The red-haired girl looked up at the looming mansion. The steel slope of the roof, the ornate gables and the overall height of the building all pointed to it being from the Victorian Era. It was rare to see this far West, most of Canada's best examples were located in its central provinces. Toronto's Distillery District being perhaps the country's best-preserved example.

There was a lot of beauty in it, the history and what it represented not only to her but also to all Hyperhumans.

Not that Alyssa had much time to dwell on it. Since arriving on the island, she had been shuttled to the Administrative building where here and Oliver were assigned to teams. As a part of the H.E.A.T. Program, Alyssa had been assigned to something called 'Team 78 - Firebird' complete with a familiar-looking emblem on her student card. An armband bearing a similar but not identical symbol had also been issued to her.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I think this might be the wrong-"

"Sorry, it's an older design. Your team was a last-minute addition, so they're breaking out the overstock from five years ago. You'll get an updated one along with your house uniform."

Alyssa didn't get a chance to ask Oliver what team he had been placed on before the pair were whisked off to some sort of opening ceremony and escorted to separate seats alongside other members of their teams. United with the other students who she would be spending the year alongside, Alyssa tried to study each of them whilst listening intently to Dr. Lehrer.

She clapped excitedly and whistled loudly as the ceremony came to an end. The whole group was pulled aside by their faculty representative and her student aid who explained that because the team had such a hectic arrival that they'd try to give them some space and time to adjust and instructed the team to hike across campus to the Southern Plateau. Their faculty member, a Dr. Miranda Rivers, informed them a truck had been sent ahead with their belongings to lighten the load.

The walk across the island was fascinating. Surrounded by the island's unique vegetation, Alyssa's eyes darted back and forth searching for fauna while engaged in a lively conversation about the Lehrer Hyperhuman Classification System and its flaws with two of the Sierras. They had several fascinating insights into the argument that Dr. Lehrer and Kowalski's work, while valid and perfectly fine for a work of its time, should be re-investigated for further clarification and perhaps expansion to the classification system.

"I truly believe that either primary classification could include all eight secondary classifications. Or even do a sub-classification to further categorize Hyperhuman abilities. Like yourself, it's not simply just Somatic, it's Dynamic, maybe even Expulsive!" Alyssa energetically explained.

“I’m pretty inclined to agree. Most of what of the classification system, from what I’ve read, seems to come from an era where we were trying to explain and categorize the phenomena shortly after its presentation.” The first Sierra responded.

“I’m with her. Metaphorically of course. She’s me. Anyways- I think trying to shove a whole bunch of people into a few categories is a bad move. Think about it, Myers-Briggs is just astrology for people with a job. These categories are basically astrology for people who breathe fire or fart laser beams.” The second Sierra stated as the conversation continued between the three girls until they arrived at their destination.

Mulling around the campsite, Alyssa threw herself into making her pizza. Unable to limit herself to just one set of toppings, she divided the pizza into three evens sections. Mixing a white sauce and a tomato sauce, she created her base before mixing together mozzarella and provolone for her cheese. On the first third, she put chicken, bacon and sausage, before finishing with pineapple and jalapeños. On the next section went steak, red onions and mushrooms while the last section was pepperoni, bacon, green pepper, caramelized onions, and mushrooms.

Excitedly placing her masterpiece into the oven, Alyssa looked around for someone to talk to before spotting a familiar face. Her eyes lit up as she stepped forward, a hand shooting out to introduce herself.

"You're Adrianna Dahl! I'm a huge fan of your work. It's incredibly upsetting what happened to you." She chattered energetically, "I'm Alyssa Townsend, it's such a pleasure to meet you, Adrianna Dahl!"

It didn't take long before finishing up the second helping of kabab, which was still as delicious as the first. Iñigo was ecstatic for a third serving when they observed Banjo introducing himself to the others. That certainly caught their attention, and they were eager to witness another slaughter. But something in the air changed when he was brought up being an orphan for his whole life. It caused Iñigo to think of their little brother, who was all alone in the foster care system, probably wondering what had happened to his parents and older brother. And it also forced them to reflect on their unwarranted, cruel remark about someone who was only introducing himself to strangers in a rather cheeky (and somewhat obnoxious) manner...

Suddenly, Iñigo lost all interest in having that third serving.

Their mother would've been ashamed if she had seen her oldest son's conduct towards Banjo. He did not deserve to be called an "obnoxious tourist." ¿Por qué soy tan bastardo? Iñigo buried their hands into their face in great shame for their behavior, which was definitely deserving of being flipped off. Hell, they would've done the same exact thing. But realizing how despicable they were acting wasn't going to magically fix such an enormous mistake. Iñigo had to apologize, but they didn't know where to begin. So they sought out some much-needed advice from the faculty advisor, the one person they spent the whole day avoiding. Karma was such a fucking cruel mistress.

As Iñigo approached Jim, the older man held up a hand to Tad, excusing himself from their conversation. Turning to Iñigo, Jim motioned for the student to follow him, walking away from both Tad and the rest of the team.

"What can I do you for, Iñigo?"

Iñigo was admittedly still intimidated by him, given he acted like the guards back at the dentation center. It caused them to struggle with their words, afraid of being subjected to verbal abuse they've been accustomed to. "I... I coul- would like some guidance, sir."

"Oh?" Jim raised an amused eyebrow, clearly Iñigo's attempts to avoid him hadn't gone unnoticed. "What's eatin' at ya?"

Iñigo cleared their throat and answered the question without a second thought. "Well, i-its about owning up to my mistake. I know what I must do; I just don't know how to express it adequately, sir."

"Just don't do it expectin' forgiveness, the most adequate way to express something is to just come out and say it. Ain't no need to make it fancy, just mean your words and be done with it."

"I know that, and I'm not expecting it, sir." Iñigo asserted to the advisor and then kicked a small rock, sending it flying into the woods out of frustration. "I simply want it to be genuine, and the only way that's going to happen is if..."

"Stop dancing around it." Jim folded his arms.

"Respectfully, that's easier said than done in my case." Iñigo said in a solemn tone as he looked down at the ground with a frown. They went quiet, desperately searching for the right words to use. Then, they spoke up after a near minute of silence, their voice full of sadness. "I want to at least have a few days of serenity before everyone else on this island finds out. And that especially includes this team."

"You wouldn't be the first student to arrive here in orange, I doubt you'll be the last either."

Iñigo stared back at Jim, clearly irritated with his words of comfort, as they muttered under their breath, "I wasn't wearing orange, sir." Then, they crossed their arms and hung their head low in defeat. "And that's precisely why I've been keeping it a secret. Most people don't know or care about the difference between detainees and inmates. All they will think of is me wearing that jumpsuit and then wonder what "terrible crimes" I've committed to earn the attire."

"Then don't let them wonder," Jim firmly replied, "Perception is like a ship, if you let the waves guide it, you don't know where you'll end up. You have to take the helm."

Iñigo gave his advice some thought. "I can do that."

"One more thing, Iñigo," Jim said, stopping the student from leaving. Iñigo froze in place out of fear more than respect, slightly afraid of being reprimanded for their tone and attitude earlier. "You know that you can come to me, or Tad, if anyone starts to give you hell about your former attire. Tad's a lot tougher than he looks and a far more sound mind than I. He'll be running this school one day, mark my words."

"I will think about it, s-sir." Iñigo replied and dismissed themselves rather quickly, heading back to the tree to strategize on a plan. But that didn't last long on account of being interrupted. Surprisingly, the person responsible was the woman that vomited in front of Banjo earlier. She invited them over to the campfire, providing the ideal opportunity to join the rest of the group. Way better rather than awkwardly inserting themselves. But rather than introducing themselves right away, Iñigo turned their sights over to Banjo, ready to apologize for their behavior. "Before I introduce myself to everyone, I'd like to say something to Banjo about earlier. We can talk about it here or somewhere more private, whatever you want to do."