[IC] Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - [CLOSED]

Deleted

[Lord Wraith]

Deleted

[Hound55]

"You haven't done this before, right? To me, I mean?"

Banjo's words hung in the air, directed at the H.E.L.P psionic who'd brought him in 'just for a chat', that seemed a lot more like a psych test now that he was in it.

That 'just a chat' had now turned it's focus towards a mental scan to try and find whatever remnants they could of his parents, scattered floating in the ether of his memories.

"No." Summer Carlyle replied softly. "That would be deeply unethical."

"Yes, I'm sure that the school which seems to want to make us boots on the ground soldiers in some kind of battle over public opinion would neither do anything deeply unethical or ever ask anything deeply unethical of you either."

Her lips pursed at the assertion, she opened her mouth to speak and--

"Yeah, you could drive a truck through that hesitation, so I'm guessing that was right. Still, agenda's are aligned on this one so have at it. Let's see what you can find. Just... steer clear of any moments where I'm alone in my dorm from about age fifteen onwards. Those are 'Banjo's times'."

"It doesn't work like that. It's guided. You're going to be with me all the way."

"Even better. Then it probably makes sense if we start at the beginning..." Suddenly he found they shared a space with no walls, flickering echoes surrounded them.

"Huh. So this is my mind is it?"

"This is how you choose to perceive it presently."

"Wait, so I can like change up the decor and that in here, eh?"

"You can. With time and some effort, yes. Psionic's tend to have a little more influence on the mental-space than other's but that's because they tend to spend more time in these places. Practice makes perfect. But your influence in here is probably going to be most effective when you model areas within here on places you're most intimately familiar with. Those kinds of changes will hold form better."

"Maybe I'll leave it as is for the time being, then. Bit of a fixer-upper, but--"

"Well, how about if we start over there?" Summer pointed down a pathway to where a huge scene was playing out.

"Bit specific. What makes you want to start there? Bit intimidating..."

"The biggest ones tend to seem big because they happened when you were so very small. And if you were small, then those would be the earliest memories, yes? When you were still around your parents?"

"Well, makes a sort of sense really, then, I guess. Alright. Let's go. Guided, right?"

"Right."

Banjo hooked Summer's arm with his own and started down the pathway, as the memory unveiled itself all around them.

He was in a chair. His little legs couldn't reach the ground. They dangled tapping against the wooden legs of the dining room table after each swing.

"How old am I there... I don't remember any of this?"

"Yes..." Summer hissed in a hushed whisper. "Evidently you do." She gestured all around them. The kitchen seemed blurry, and a figure moved around as a walking blur. They kept a close watch as it moved, impossible to distinguish, they could only see the outline of where the figure had been after it moved. The blur not only encompassed the person, but the surrounding kitchen around them.

"Tell me what you're seeing." Summer asked gently. "I can see these things too, but sometimes it can distort perspective if viewed through someone else's eyes."

"It's-- a female. I'm guessing... by the gait. Her walk. My mother?"

"If I had to guess." The H.E.L.P psionic confirmed.

The small child flung peas and corn with his spoon, with a big smile on his face.

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAN-DJROOOOOOOOOOOO!" The blurred figure called out, it's voice echoed from a thousand miles away, distorted as if it was being called through water.

"Ban-jo hafta see if I can gettem in my cup." Explained the boy. Everything was laid out in front of him, but the cup seemed so distant for the small child.

Another blur swept through. It rushed through the door next to the kitchen in a frantic. It's speech wachn't through water. It was rushed and faint. No words were discernable. The voices gave Banjo a headache. The entire scene was starting to give him a headache.

"Let's see if we can clear that bit up before, shall we?"

Summer stepped up and wound back proceedings.

".puc ym ni metteg nac I fi ees aftah oj-naB" "!OOOOOOOOOOOORJD-NAAAAAAAAAAAAB"

"We're going to speed this next bit up, play it a bit faster. See if we can lose some of the nostalgic distortion."

"An-Drew!"

"BanjohaftaseeifIcangetteminmycup!"

"So... Andrew. Would seem your name is Andrew. 'Banjo', maybe it came from you not being able to pronounce your name correctly." Summer clarified.

That didn't sound right. Not the Andrew part. That seemed to make sense. But he felt like he'd been called it before and after. Like he always had been, a nickname he'd received and could just say it easier than his birth name.

The blurs came back, and with it the pain, the headaches. More intense with the increased speed of the playback. Banjo called out in agony and the pair returned, finding themselves not in the house, not in the mental space, but back in her office.

"What the Hell was that? Why does it feel like someone just took a jackhammer to right between my eyes?"

"Well, I understand why you asked me that question before... And I assure you, you're safe here, Banjo. I haven't been poking around your memories."

Banjo didn't care at the moment, he was awash with nausea, and the pain that was right behind the space between his eyes.

"But SOMEONE has pruned them. There's something there people don't want you to remember."

---

"Do you know why I called you in to see you, Banjo?" The last word seemed to stick in the prim and proper man's mouth. Almost like it held a silliness that he didn't want to lower himself to utter, lest his participation be mistaken for support.

"Well, it's not because you wanted to say the name 'Banjo', that much is for sure." Banjo thought to himself.

"I suspect for the same reason the pricipals of most of the other boarding schools have wanted to pull me away and speak to me separate from the rest. Concerns over my disciplinary record and you're seeking some kind of assurance that it'll be different in the future."

"Oh yes?"

"Yeah. And I'm not going to be giving you those assurances."

"No?"

"Nah." He shook his head with a broad smile across his face. "See, I can't. It's in my nature. As Popeye would say I yam what I yam. I do what I do. I am defined... by me. And telling you that I'm not going to do a thing when it may just be innate. I'm not going to do that."

"Is that so?" Jonas Lehrer had rocked back and was polishing his glasses now.

"Yeah, let's just chalk it up to me having too much respect for you to lie to you like that, sir. It'd be... distasteful." A shit-eating grin crossed the youth's face. Bullshit meter was swinging heavily in the 150% range with steam coming off it.

Jonas replaced his glasses and seemed to grow inches taller as his posture changed from leaning back to leaning forward.

"I called you in to speak to you, Banjo--"

"--Because I like to take the time to speak to all of our new addition students. Nothing more. I like to lead off with that question, because I find, it turns out to be a pretty good Rorschach test for how our students see themselves. You'll get alpha personalities who'll come in here and think the reason they've been called in is because they think I'm pushing forward the hopes of the next generation on their specific, very special, backs. You'll get beta personalities who'll come in thinking the reason is because they're expecting me to repeat some kind of spiel about the expectations of the school, that we're all pulling together, that every person has their part to play in creating a community which forms the bedrock of the education which will sculpt future minds, then you get those with questionable disciplinary records--"

Banjo's ears started to get hot. He'd underestimated the situation, but waited patiently for his opportunity to reply.

"--who basically feel they've been hauled in here to confront their own past, repent and swear that they'll try to do better in the future like they've been dragged before some kind of parole board hearing."

"And that brings us to you..."

"Who came in, of the belief that you'd been brought in because of such a disciplinary record. But claims to be completely unrepentent. That your own behaviour is bound to repeat. That it's innate. And that you're incapable of change."

"And I'll tell you, with my own specific field of expertise, I could spend well over an hour lecturing you on this and still not adaquately hit on JUST HOW MUCH I know that to be untrue based on the monumental weight of empirical evidence that I've had in the field over the years."

"It's actually quite laughable. That you would come in here and suggest that. Either that you ACTUALLY believe that, or that you think so little of me that you expect me to. It leans to you really not being briefed at all on me, or this place."

"For example, did you know that the campus used to be an old miliitary Academy?" The Chancellor finally left space for a retort. Banjo wouldn't pass it up.

"USED to be?"

"HA!" Jonas let out a singular laugh. "Yes. Good one."

That felt off to Banjo. Stilted. And both student and teacher let the silence weigh heavy in the room. "Had he just... deliberately set me up for that one?" The older man smiled. Not just radiating with warmth, but with a twinkle in his eye. as if he knew what game was being played and he was telling Banjo that he'd be more than up for it at any time. The weight of the silence was becoming uncomfortable now. Banjo decided to try and see if he could knock him off balance.

"You know who my parents are, don't you?"

The smile widened further, and the twinkle once again.

"When you go out, can you let the next one in?"

Next one? Banjo got to his feet and slowly walked to the door, looking back at the older man. That wasn't a line? He wasn't the only one called in up here? He opened the door to see a long line of waiting new students. Banjo made eye contact with the one sitting closest to the door and with a subtle raise of the eyebrows and tilt of the head, told her it was time to go in now. She passed him whilst Banjo held open the door and contemplated everything that happened in the past few minutes.

"Oh and Banjo?" Jonas said, bringing him back into the now as the next student took his seat. "The door please."

Banjo slowly closed the door behind him, but not before seeing one last twinkle as the older teacher met his gaze through the right lens of his glasses, a wry grin curling on one side of his mouth.

"Now, do you know why I called you in to see you--" he caught, just as the door clicked shut behind him...

---

B A N J O
B A N J O

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

he Homecoming Trials #1.02: You haven't done this before, right? To me, I mean?

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: N/A

Banjo's bored face seemed to sink into his fist, propped up by the elbow on the desk. He drummed the fingers of his other hand rhythmically at the desk.

It was boring times in the "down hours" at the Collegiate library. The occasional student returning fiction books they'd borrowed for their own recreational reading in the holiday weeks between semesters had work down to scarcely a trickle. Early-birds had already got on their texts for the coming course-load, and the average student wouldn't make a move on getting their own until next week. So here he sat. In the dead spot.

There had been a few cohorts of giggling high school girls who'd found the strange new creature - who looked around their age but spoke with the accent from a faraway land and would be attending the university this coming year - interesting. But they weren't the kind of girls he had in mind when he was told he'd be attending this school.

He began to think it may have been a mistake to have gotten himself kicked out of the university library role.

Even if their rubbish bins are ridiculously flammable.

Truth was, he hadn't even tried to do anything this time. It kind of just happened. Then all of a sudden he's stomping out the fire, and questions are being asked about how it started and... well... yeah. He'd already been enough of a source of irritation for the librarian already. So THAT'S what must have gotten him kicked. I mean, he was pretty sure the librarian hadn't actually SEEN him accidentally starting the fire in the first place. So it must have just been holding a grudge.

He sighed audibly.

The collegiate librarian sent him out to re-stack the three books which had been returned and to go check the order of non-fiction again.

He couldn't imagine it would have changed significantly from the last time since there was only one person who'd come in the library since he'd done it last time. And they'd just come in to dunny dash and leave.

Another sigh.

Banjo wrapped his wrist around his loose fitting tie, and held it aloft like a noose, dragging himself off to the task at hand.

---

Banjo slowly trudged his way to the stadium. He was yelled at numerous times by faculty members to speed up, lest he be tardy, which only had the result of making him take his time all the more.

The sun was wonderful, and almost enough to tempt a man into soaking it all up. Almost.

When he finally got there he saw nothing but full seats, and shrugged to the staffmember who was watching the aisle. Looks like he'd be standing.

He winced at the cacophony of bagpipes blasting behind him, as he turned back to face the stage.

"All stand for the national anthem!"

Banjo let rip with a heartwarming, if slightly off key, rendition of 'Advance Australia Fair' to the music of 'O Canada', crunching a few lines in spaces they wouldn't fit and even tacking on chunks from the second verse which nobody ever sings in to fit, once he'd run out of words. Very creative, if not melodic.

Who knew this school would be able to awaken his patriotic spirit..? He seldom sang the national anthem at all back home.

The surrounding faculty didn't seem to agree.

The Chancellor of this rocking establishment came out to the kind of raucous response that you would expect a cult leader or at least tv evangelist would receive. Which was enough to draw a cocked eyebrow out of Banjo.

"...And as our returning students know, today signals the start of the Homecoming Trials. For our incoming students, you will get the full Pacific Royal experience as you compete in your assigned teams for the weekend for the honour of being the Homecoming Royals. These trials will also determine your house placement, so be true to yourselves and give them your all."

The crowd burst into applause as Jonas turned to accept a torch that was handed to him. Standing up from his seat, the House Canis faculty member; who Cass recognized as none other than his guardian's brother, Aiden Roth, suddenly ignited the flame with his heat vision. With the torch lit, Dr. Lehrer turned towards the bronze Chimera, lighting a flame in each mouth of the statue.

"Let the 2023 Homecoming Trials commence!" Jonas shouted into the din of cheers. "All incoming students! You are to return to the Intake House before proceeding to the Southern Plateau. New students should proceed in their assigned teams. You will find a package on each of your beds containing everything you will need for this weekend, including your physical activity uniform. You are to report to the Southern Plateau by 1500 hrs and in this uniform. I wish each of you luck and look forward to seeing with House calls you home!"

@Lord Wraith

Students had started to rise and file out of their seats. Pouring out of the stadium and casting Banjo adrift on the raging torrent.

"Long time hyperhuman; first time caller. Never been to one of these shindigs before, so just out of curiosity, how many of us WILL you be sacrifing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?"

- -|◄ FIRST	-	-	-	|| NEXT ►-	-	LATEST ►|

[PatientBean]

The crowd before him roared like thunder before a lightning strike. He had to admit to himself he felt like a lightning rod, there to take the full brunt of the oncoming storm. Senator Garcia de León looked through the curtains at the room full of reporters, concerned citizens, angry parents, scared populations with questions and pitchforks armed in equal measure. Garcia took a deep breath and then another one. Lupe Tillman, Garcia's advisor, knew that signal. "Sir, it will be all right. You know what questions to answer and which ones to redirect. You have your talking points. It's going to be all right."

Garcia chuckled half-heartedly. "Am I that easy to read?"

"When you have been working together for a few years, you pick up on each other's tics."

"I shouldn't be so easy to read. This is going to be a bloodbath."

"Sir, with all due respect, the nature of this is-"

Garcia held his hand up. "Tell me honestly Ms. Tillman, how would it look to you to see a representative of your home, one who has been very vocal about the hyperhuman issue, have a child who obliterated the town square in what can only be described as, and I am quoting the paper here, 'Christmas Gone Serial Killer'. Ice swept up everywhere, the fountain exploded, and snow on the ground in the middle of Summer. Then, have your child sent to Canada to some school for hyperhumans in a clear vain attempt to appease people's fears while also coming across as an asshole for essentially kicking your child out of your home. The very home that was on the cover of magazines with their family front and center, looking picturesque and who now dons the cover of the National Enquirer. Honestly, Ms. Tillman, would you vote for that person again?"

Lupe stood quiet, debating the answer, which she knew was the wrong thing to do. Garcia took that as an answer. "I am already kicking myself for what I was forced to do to my daughter. I already lost my son, I do not want my daughter to hate me too."

"With all due respect sir, I don't think she hates you."

"You didn't see the look in her eyes after I told her what I had to do. A father should comfort his child when she is scared. And here I am sending her away."

"Sir," Lupe started, "It is, by all accounts, a great school. She is smart and dedicated. She'll thrive there."

Garcia had wrestled with those very same points in his mind. "If this continues, I will be going to war against my own child. These people were scared of hyperhumans before the events in the town square, now they are even more concerned. What do I tell them?"

Lupe looked at her clipboard, filled with responses to various questions. She had no real answer for this. "Tell them the truth sir. You are scared and confused also. You clearly love your family and anyone in your shoes would see this as a tough decision. They'll back you up."

Garcia nodded. "I know. And that is what upsets me most of all."

Garcia moved the curtain aside and stepped out to the podium as questions were hurled at him. Flashing lights from cameras blinded him. He heard racial slurs mixed in with fear-dosed statements. He held his hands up to silence them but it only seemed to drive them wilder. He waited for a beat before slamming his hands on the podium in front of him, silencing the masses.

"You have questions and I can only hope I have the answers. We are in a crisis that does not seem to have an end in sight. Most of you are scared, worried, anxious, stressed. I sympathize. I understand. I also have concerns. Concerns that don't seem to be cared for by those in office. Hyperhumans are a threat. I said that before when I was first campaigning and many have asked if I still hold that to be true given recent events. I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that I firmly believe hyperhumans are a threat. And I plan on tackling this threat head on."

---

C A L L I O P E
C A L L I O P E

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

he Homecoming Trials #1.01: I expect perfection

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: N/A

"Now, do you know why I called you in to see you, Calliope?"

Calliope sat across from Jonas Lehrer after stepping foot inside his office. A young man had stepped out before her and Calliope gave him the once-over. He reeked of what she supposed he might have considered "Bad Boy Appeal". Calliope had seen it time and time again. As soon as he was out of eyesight she forgot he existed.

It was a survival instinct. Calliope knew she was a fish out of water here. That was odd considering the school was for hyperhumans like herself. But she knew she would be judged by others and that thrilled her. She wasn't here to make friends and form long-lasting connections to her peers. She was here for one purpose: to learn all she needed to and help change the world's view on hyperhumans. That already made her public enemy #1. Add on top of that her destruction of her hometown's city center, her father's view on hyperhumans as a whole, hell even her gender, her race, her sexual orientation, made her a target in many circles.

"I expect this isn't simply to get to know a promising new student so let's cut through the bull. Respectfully, Mr. Lehrer"

Jonas chuckled lightheartedly. "A breath of fresh air, Miss de León. I liked to get to know the new additions to my school and, as I told the last young man you briefly met on your way in, that question often tells me much about the student. I already have your file, Miss de León, so you and I both know why you are here. The youngest child of a U.S. Senator who grounded his platform on the rhetoric that hyperhumans were and are a continued threat. What is it with America and using perceived threats as stepping stones for power?"

Calliope let the question hang there because she knew no answer would be satisfactory for either of them.

He continued. "It was rhetorical. It's not like this country isn't without its issues. Be that as it may, this school is an environment where I hope to see the students thrive. Arm them with the tools necessary to achieve their goals."

"Arm them for war, you mean?"

"What do you mean?"

"I looked into this school before my father even considered sending me here. I know its history. It used to be a military academy correct? Just how much of that old history has been changed or has it just been altered, polished up, and painted with new colors?"

Jonas smiled. "A good question. And one I hope you find the answer to in your time here. We are done. Can you send the next one in on your way out?"

Calliope took a second to meet his eyes. She couldn't read them, not right away. She decided that could wait as she stood up and stepped out, allowing the next student to walk in. She couldn't help but feel like she just went through her first test here, even before classes started.

---

"It's basically ensuring the teacher you are assigned with has all of the tools they need. Copying, stapling, grading. If they ask for coffee, you get them coffee. This isn't like the movies where the teacher's aide helps change the lives of the students. You do the work quickly and efficiently. Understood?"

Calliope hadn't figured the job would be a cakewalk. Though she was still not thrilled at the prospect she would have to put in work to a school that, by all accounts, should be able to afford to hire the staff necessary to meet these needs. But Calliope bit her tongue. She nodded to the administrative woman in front of her.

"You should find out who you are helping soon as classes will begin quickly. Got to get through the Homecoming Trials first though. Big deal around here."

Calliope had learned all she could from the school, but she had to admit there was much she did not know. The Homecoming Trials was one such area with limited information. She understood the basics, of course. Word got around.

It was just one more hoop to jump through.

---

The opening ceremony was everything she expected. She stood for the national anthem of a country she didn't call home and listened as Mr. Lehrer droned on about the Homecoming Trials for the new students as Calliope scanned the crowd in front of her. Faces ranged from a mix of excitement to boredom. Soon they were let out to meet with their teams before the event. As she got up, she heard a voice call out asking about sacrificing. Calliope couldn't help but smile at the question. She looked to see where the voice came from and caught that it was the same guy she saw leaving the Chancellor's office before she went in. Mr. Bad Boy himself. Well, at least it tracked.

Perhaps this school would be entertaining after all.

[psych0pomp]

---

【ＴＲＡＣＥ】
【ＴＲＡＣＥ】

_{Location: Sub Location such as a room or specific building, - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials #1.01 Not so Special^TM

---

_{Interaction(s): Banjo @Hound55}

Previously: N/A

Special. That’s what they’d said. That Trace and their ilk were special. Then why the fuck were they currently knee-deep plunging a toilet that a jackass had clogged up? The school year had barely started. Unless this was a brick of cocaine, then Trace didn’t know what the hell could have destroyed the plumbing so quickly and efficiently. Unless one of the kids around here could literally shit cocaine. If that was the case, Trace needed to see them.

When the water finally gurgled and receded into the bottom of the toilet, they exhaled. “The year bloody fuckin’ started, and here I am unbothra’n a fuckin’ loo.” They tapped the handle for good measure, and everything acted as it should. They took the plunger back to the laughable janitor’s cart then dragged that back to its little hidey-hole. Despite this being a school for special kids, they could still be kids. If they knew where the secret toilet paper was hidden, then no one was safe.

Trace was used to this sort of labor. They’d stocked shelves for years and had to do sanitation work when someone’s child decided to flush the contents of their mother’s purse down the toilet. At least then they could go back to their flat, wallow on the sofa, and watch the telly. No, today they had to head to the Opening Ceremonies and pretend to give two shits about Canada. Though, at least the drinking age here was reasonable. In the US it was bloody fucking 21. They were old enough to die in and out of school, but not have a beer in peace?

They quickly exchanged a few pieces of clothing, not really wanting to be packed in with the rest of the students wreaking of hard work and urinal cakes. As much as the beret was blasphemous to everything that Trace stood for, they still sat it atop their head. Going outside was akin to—well—there was no catchy euphemism here—they would burn instantly. They even carried an umbrella with them as pretentious as that seemed. Trace didn’t know if they could get melanoma, but they didn’t want to tempt fate. They already did that once, and now they were a fleshy, marble statue.

The armband with a card symbol felt a little much. “Blackjack” was what it stood for. Trace felt like they were in a dystopian teen novel. Would they have to stand in the middle of the ceremony and give some unique salute to show that they were the Special One ^TM? Trace had read a glut of those stupid books while at their previous job. Their boss—which ironically was their brother—was a stickler for “screen time.” So, they’d grabbed a cheesy novel off of the rack, paid their couple of pounds, and immediately got sucked in. It was real sad. Trace lowered the sleeves on the jacket and pulled at the long skirt that was punctuated by the shiny loafers. They’d kill for some combat boots. Hell, they’d kill in some combat boots.

They popped the umbrella as they passed the threshold to the outside, glancing over at their fellow classmates. Trace definitely wasn’t the protagonist of this teen dystopian novel. They hadn’t had time to form any friendships with their other Blackjacks, but they knew one thing: none of the others had any physical deformities and all of them had cooler powers than them. The only one that came close to being as off-putting as they were was Trevor, and he could pass for normal if you didn’t squint.

Nah, the protagonist was probably the stoic girl that didn’t talk much because she had some sort of Tragic Backstory^TM that led to her silence. Or maybe the girl that was rich, smart, and pretty—very pretty. Or the mysterious, angry boy that seemed to hate everything, even hygiene and manners. Trace was from South London, but even they weren’t belligerent for belligerent’s sake. Or the other pretty girl, who wasn’t as rich but a lot nicer. Trace would probably still choose the frigid one over her, but wouldn’t complain if she got a chance with either. Then there was the good-looking boy with dark hair or the other five/six good-looking boys with shaggy blond hair and a disposition^TM. And let’s not forget everyone’s favorite buff Afrikaans aunt. She was probably less protagonist material and more the beloved rival. Trace didn’t know where they sat in all of that.

They did know that they had to sit somewhere in the physical world where a lone shadow from one of the metal poles crossed over a seat. Sure, it was only a minute slice of shadow, but they’d take something over nothing. They also kept the umbrella popped much to the chagrin of the people behind them—maybe. They didn’t know how much their classmates loved opening ceremonies. They were asked to stand for the Canadian anthem, something that shouldn’t go well with international students. Trace just hummed “God Save the King” under their breath as other people sang. They did catch a snippet of someone belting out entirely different lyrics. Probably the edgy, gross boy in their class. They rolled their eyes—not that anyone could tell.

The whole spiel about trials leading to their initiation into a house had less dystopian teen vibes and more “a certain magic boy book series” feeling. “Oh boy. I hope this Harry Pottah fevah dream drops the TERF, or I’m fuckin’ out of here,” they muttered to themselves. But that seemed to be the end of the entire shindig. As they stood, brushing the back of their skirt off they overheard the gross boy go off. Again, they rolled their eyes. “So cool,” they called out. “Look everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before!” They then grumbled, “fuckin’ wanker.” They’d kept it in for as long as they could. It was hard, sometimes, to not gag at the contents of a toilet, especially when it crawled out and grew vocal cords.

---

[Carlyle]

"There's the witch! Get her!"

The memory was firmly etched into her thoughts. It wasn't her fault, she'd frequently try to assure herself. It wasn't her fault. But no matter how much Haleigh stressed or tried to convince herself, the reality was that she was the reason people had gotten injured—people that could've very well died.

Haleigh's gut figuratively twisted. Part of her wanted to die. She didn't want to be a "freak", stomping around like she was the Hulk or some other character from Absolute Comics. She wanted to be normal; to be just another regular, everyday person. Yet those days were long gone, perhaps since Haleigh had been buried alive far in the Cascadian mountain range. What could be considered "normal" was now replaced with people who could launch explosive light orbs out of their hands, scream loudly enough to sweep someone off their feet, or other such things that would've seemed unnatural to the everyday populace. And now, perhaps in a cruel twist of fate, these very type of people were the only ones willing to help her in her moment of need.

She'd rather run away, never to be seen again, as difficult as it would've been with her hyperhuman powers. But deep down, Haleigh felt that it'd been foolish to turn down willing assistance. These people, H.I.T., or Hyperhuman Investigative Taskforce, seemed to have the tools and people to help her, or at the very least understand her condition. After all, those who have likely lived similar experiences probably had some of the answers she was seeking.

Maybe it was a worth a shot giving H.E.L.P. and their superhuman Hogwarts a chance in order to figure some things out. Haleigh still had her doubts, but anything that could keep her from hurting anyone else was worth trying.

---

_{Location: Kitchens & Auditorium - Pacific Royal College -}

The Homecoming Trials #1.05 Quaking with Fear

---

_{Interaction(s): Cassander (indirectly)}

Previously: N/A

Peeling potatoes.

Haleigh was told that H.E.L.P. and the P.R.C.U. had the ability to help her. Yet here she was, peeling potatoes for a food service-sized breakfast. Admittedly, she felt it was a slap in the face; to be told they had the tools to to assist her hyperhuman condition only later to be ordered around like she was a poorly-paid line cook at a fast food joint. The menial work was definitely preferable to plunging toilets or other disgusting work, but it nonetheless still felt insulting, like she had somehow got the short end of the deal they had made here.

Looking across the room, she watched a fellow student peel away at the same potatoes they had been carving away at for what seemed hours. Cassander, Haleigh believed his name was. Supposedly they were to be on the same team, Team 21 or otherwise known as "Team Blackjack", being grouped up with another nine students attending the university until graduation. The nickname certainly sounded a little corny, Haleigh thought, but it wasn't that much of a big deal.

Peeling another potato, Haleigh felt tempted to chat Cass up, to make small talk about the endless pile of potatoes they had been told to peel and mash up or some other topic before deciding against it. She wasn't ready to open up to her fellow teammates or other people in general just yet; the horrifying thought of her power accidentally maiming or even killing someone, even more so someone she could call a friend, still hanging over her head. It'd break the last bit of hope she still had if it ever happened.

Eventually finishing up with her part in the daily food prep, Haleigh went to wash up and exchange her apron for her blazer. Had it been any other day, she would've already disappeared off into the school gardens; the closest her wheelchair allowed her to the nature she loved but also the somber silence of solitude. But today was different. Today was to be the start of the Homecoming Trials, a supposedly grand event to further help the students of P.R.C.U. find their place within the school's community. She'd have rather skipped it if the option was there, finding it a bit too dramatic for her tastes from what the faculty had told the student body. Given everyone was required to attend, however, Haleigh decided to roll with the exotic fanfare and followed a large pack of students towards the western side of campus where the opening event was to be held.

Taking a more wheelchair-friendly position once inside the auditorium, Haleigh sat in silence as she waited for the event to commence. She glanced around the building in boredom, looking for anyone that was to be part of her "team", but with so many students in one area, it appeared impossible to pick out a singular face that she knew.

"ATTENTION!"

Haleigh snapped to attention, focusing on the booming voice coming from the stage as it filled with faculty representatives and other members of the school.

"All stand for the national anthem!"

A moment of panic overcame Haleigh, as her body moved to stand up in reflex. Her heart raced, droning out the Canadian anthem and the subsequent speech, while her hands gripped the handles of the wheelchair, firmly planting herself within the seat before her power hopefully had a chance of activating.

No, no no no no, She begged herself, her eyes clinched shut in fear. Please not here, not here!

"All incoming students! You are to return to the Intake House before proceeding to the Southern Plateau. New students should proceed in their assigned teams. You will find a package on each of your beds containing everything you will need for this weekend, including your physical activity uniform. You are to report to the Southern Plateau by 1500 hrs and in this uniform. I wish each of you luck and look forward to seeing which House calls you home!"

Haleigh opened her eyes, looking around the auditorium. Everything seemed to be in place, and no one seemed to be hurt. She looked down, realizing that she had still been buckled into the seatbelt, a simple safety measure to help keep accidents like this happening. Breathing a sigh of relief, Haleigh sunk back into the wheelchair.

Fucking hell. Just... fuck me.

[Zoldyck]

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials #1.06: Heavy Bagage

---

_{Interaction(s): Banjo (Indirectly), Haleigh}

Previously: N/A

Katja awoke with an audible gasp from her slumber. Again, as with every night, the nightmare had returned. It seemed that she would be eternally cursed with reliving the worst day of her life every time she went to sleep. She had initially hoped that going to an environment where people like her, Hyper-humans, were accepted would lessen the frequency of her dreams. But alas, after nearly a week at Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, this hope seemed to be in vain. It’s not like she hadn’t accounted for this. It’s why she picked the bottom bunk after all. Given her limited experience, and thus control, over her power, Katja might accidentally trigger her abilities and suddenly increase her mass tenfold. And if that happened, you wouldn’t want to be in a bunk bed beneath her.

Sitting half upright in her bed, Katja looked over at her phone to check the time. She cursed under her breath as she saw that it was still two hours before the bugle call which would announce the official start of the school day, again. Controlling the urge to throw her phone away in frustration, she reached below her pillow to get the one item that would always calm her down. It was a silver beret pin. It had the shape of a rook chess piece, behind which were two crossed Mauser rifles and it was overlaid by two big Cs. It used to be her father’s back when he and her uncle still worked for their private security firm back in South Africa. Gripping it tightly in her hand, she put the pin close to her chest and felt her post-nightmare adrenaline subside.

Having calmed down, Katja got up from her bed and put on some running clothes. Given how she was awake long before the dress style was enforced, she could afford to spend some time outside of the uniform.

Even though she’d only been here less than a week, an early morning jog had already become part of Katja’s daily routine. It helped to get her acquainted with the P.R.C.U. campus, plus it gave her some time for herself. There hadn’t been a lot of interaction with the other people in the dorms yet, as most people were probably trying to feel out the situation. Still, here she was on her own and she could focus on her run and studies.

While the semester hadn’t officially commenced as of yet, Katja did try to get a headstart with studying. One of her electives had been History, preferably military history, and so she was currently listening to an audiobook detailing the African conflicts during the Cold War. She knew it was a bit of a niche topic, but there was something interesting about the asymmetry of these wars that made her think about how these tactics would be applied if…

“Kak” Katja cursed to herself as she had forgotten about the time due to being completely lost in thought. Running back on the double, she returned to the dorms with just enough time to spare to take a quick shower and then getting dressed in uniform before the morning call. After opting to go for the kilt, as that seemed to fit her hard rock minded fashion sense the most, she went on her way to start her daily community contribution.

---

For her community contribution Katja was placed into the Sanitation bracket. She was relieved to hear that she’d be responsible for cleaning duties at the library instead of having one of the shitty tasks like cleaning the toilets. It was a mostly mindless job where she could just turn her brain off and go on autopilot mopping the floors and emptying trash bins.

Mostly. Because some asshat decided earlier that it’d be great fun to light one of them on fire. Dealing with that proved to be quite a pain in the ass, as not only did it require replacing, Katja also had to help with the administrative hassle that came with it, which meant working over time. Luckily classes hadn’t started yet as she definitely would have missed half of the class, if not more.

She had no real idea who the culprit was, as she wasn’t told by the library staff. Still, that wouldn’t stop her from thinking about it. If I find out who was responsible for that mess… Katja tightly wrung the handle of her mop as if emphasize the point to herself.

Luckily the amount of trash fires today were at the much more tolerable number of zero. So after she had finished mopping the floor and emptying the bins Katja finished her assignment with a few minutes to spare.

As she walked through the Collegiate part of the library she spotted one of her team members, the blonde Aussie, as he was restacking some books. Katja could have sworn he had said something about working at the University wing. Since he worked here, maybe he’d know more about who caused the trash fire. Shrugging to herself she thought she’d ask him about it later when she had the time.

Now though, it was time for the main event of the day.

---

The stadium was already packed by the time Katja arrived. Most of the more senior student teams seemed to be sitting together, so she tried to find some sign of her own team members. Unfortunately finding any of them in this sea of students turned out to be as easy as finding a needle in a haystack. So Katja quickly gave up on finding any of her fellow team members and just found a random empty seat somewhere close to an elevated stand.

Soon after, the ceremony would begin.

Katja slowly rose to her feet when everyone was asked to stand up for the national anthem. While most sang or hummed along, there were some in attendance who sang their own country’s national anthems. Even over the crowd she could pick out some Australian loudly belting out his own anthem, which made her smirk. But only for a second. Katja herself would keep her lips tightly shut. She had no love for any of the Mundane nation states, as they had shown little love for her. Perhaps Canada was different, but given her experiences in South Africa and the United States, she was highly doubtful about that.

Dr. Lehrer took the stage after the anthem was finished. Katja had to admit that he was quite a charismatic man, and she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t enjoy his speech. The time seemed to fly by during his speech, making Katja almost forget her sense of time. But she was pulled back to the present when Dr. Lehrer announced the commencement of the Homecoming Trials with some pretty impressive pyrotechnics that wouldn’t be amiss at a Rammstein concert.

When Katja turned around to head back to the Intake House to prepare for the trials to come she spotted a familiar face: Haleigh Crawford, a fellow member of Team 21.

As Katja got closer to her, she noticed that something seemed off. Even Though they hadn’t interacted a lot before, Haleigh didn’t seem to be the person to become anxious because of a little trial. Yet here she was, seemingly stressing the fuck out. Seeing her like that… Katja couldn’t just ignore it.

After quickly running out of patience waiting for the file of students to slowly shuffle out of the stadium, Katja used her imposing physique to -carefully- force her way through towards Haleigh. While she received a few angry glances, none really spoke out against the tall girl. As Katja got closer she gingerly raised her hand to get Haleigh’s attention so as to not unnecessarily startle her

“Hey,” Katja said in a soft voice as she squatted down next to Haleigh, “you alright sus?”

---

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[Roman]

"Aaah, Miss. Calder. I've been expecting you. Please, have a seat."

Dr. Lehrer gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk, smiling warmly as he made eye contact with Luce. She stood in front of the door, still clutching the doorknob behind her back after closing it, the corners of the wooden embellishments digging into her shoulder blades as she leant against it. Lehrer's office felt oppressive and uninviting, in stark defiance to the good doctor's warm demeanor; wooden beams spanned the ceiling, and the walls were raw brick with splashes of shelves and cabinets across them, housing transparent clocks, endless folders, anatomical diagrams with attached notation, and framed displays of pinned insects. Butterflies were fastened belly-up, wings splayed out, all laid bare for examination by scholarly eyes. Luce felt a pang of empathy.

She cleared her throat and stepped forwards, releasing her white-knuckle grip and sitting quietly in the plush leather. Her knees were locked fiercely together and she knotted her arms across her chest; it looked like she was shrinking inwards, imploding in an effort to avoid the unavoidable conversation. Jonas simply let the silence hang in the air, his eyes twinkling with a knowing patience. Eventually, the silence grew too loud.

"You wanted to see me, Dr. Lehrer?" Luce managed, her voice croaky and breaking. She avoided talking these days, preferring to observe and analyze, trying to predict a conversation or a situation so she could better fit into it. Leading had never been her strong suit. Her brothers had been better at that.

"I want to see all our students, Lucille. I enjoy meeting all P.R.C.U.'s fresh pupils for the first time; it's refreshing to have our first conversations, free from preconceptions."
Jonas smiled again, and Luce attempted a smile back, thin-lipped and uncertain.
"I do like these conversations to be driven by the students, though. I find it benefits both of us more than a traditional interview."
Luce nodded, still holding that wan, tight-mouthed smile, still keeping her arms coiled across her.
"So, Lucille. Why do you think I called you in today?"

---

_{Location: Community Farm - P.R.C.U. Campus}

The Homecoming Trials #1.07: In Vivo

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

The early-morning sun was warm on Luce's back as she knelt over the soil in P.R.C.U.'s greenhouse. Beyond the glass panes she could hear the low hustle-and-bustle of students and faculty coming and going - things were busying up these days in the run up to the opening of the semester - and also the occasional chirp-squawk from the seabirds that inhabited the isle; but in here they were muffled, and with a little bit of focused attention Luce could tune them out and concentrate solely on the seedbed in front of her. She could shuffle along, inch by inch, sidling her small bag of tools along with her to plant, water, prune, re-root, and in doing so work herself into a comfortable rhythm and achieve a sense of peaceful calm. Around her, all manner of produce sprung fruitfully from the earth: tomatoes, cucumbers, carrots, asparagus. Right now she was tending to some aubergines that she'd planted last week, and that had begun to sprout healthily.

'Exposure Therapy', Dr. Mercia had called it. Gardening was well regarded as therapeutic and a good, centering activity, teaching valuable skills while also allowing allegory to take hold in a patient's mind; but for Lucille, it doubled as a way to become more comfortable in the outdoors and around wildlife again, albeit in a far more controlled, low-scale manner as compared to braving some of the forest trails that populated the acreage surrounding the academy. The idea had been floated, for certain, but Luce had turned full-face at the idea of it; the trees loomed like spectres in the distance anytime she moved between buildings on campus, and the thought of approaching them, willingly offering herself to be devoured by the forest once again, was far more than she was capable of bearing.

Gardening, as it turned out, was a suitable middle-ground. Luce had been forced, like the rest of the student body, to take a community elective to assist in the day-to-day running of the university, and when the topic came up in Luce's weekly sessions, Dr. Mercia had practically forbidden her from taking any of the indoor electives. They'd compromised, and much to Luce's surprise the greenhouse had quickly become a home-away-from-home - or home-away-from-dorm-room, from her perspective - and she often found herself toiling away at the dirt in her down-time even outside of allotted community placement hours. She had developed a surprising aptitude for it, and Luce would often feel a rush of pride when seeing some of the fruits (and vegetables) of her labour appear in the canteen.

Luce was interrupted from her green-thumbed meditation by the trumpeting call that signaled the day's start, and she stuck her trowel firmly in the dirt next to the tomato plant she had sized up for pruning, marking her place for when she returned. She stood, and quickly discarded the academy jumpsuit she'd been provided; beneath was the day's uniform, pressed and pristine, if now a bit rumpled around the knees where she'd been kneeling. She touched a hand to her 'Blackjack' armband, delivered to her temporary dorm just the night before. It represented so many unknowns, so many uncertainties, but also a fresh start, a chance to learn who she really was. Organized education hadn't suited her in the past, but P.R.C.U. wasn't exactly aligned with how the rest of the world approached a formal academic institution; there was opportunity here to seek a new beginning, and discover where she was supposed to be.

All she needed first was a deep breath.

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[Lord Wraith]

Deleted

[Jarl Coolgruuf]

_{Location: P.R.C.U. - Dundas Islands}

The Homecoming Trials #1.01 Semi-Secret Identity

---

_{Interaction(s): Calliope, Banjo, Trace, Haleigh, Katja}

Previously: ---

"Why do you think I called you in here, Trevor?" Dr. Leher asked.

Trevor paused for a moment and furrowed his brow in thought. Was he in trouble? No, he couldn't be unless everyone in the line behind him were also in trouble somehow. It had to be something obvious and mundane. There's no possible way the school had found out about what he'd been up to before arriving. As much funding as P.R.C.U. had up its sleeve they couldn't be everywhere at once, right? He absent mindedly rubbed his thumb across a patch of shiney metal in his forearm no bigger than a dime. The metal wasn't embedded into his skin like shrapnel, more like the metal was part of him.

"To do some paperwork?" he asked hesitantly.

Dr. Leher shook his head with a smile.
"Nothing like that, all your paperwork has been taken care of. Your file is very much in order. I just like to get a chance to know a little more about new students." He glanced at a computer monitor on his desk and scrolled down a bit. "You are from Kansas City, Missouri, correct? So I'm sure you have read about the hyperhuman vigilante the press called the 'Tin Man'."

"Personally I was never a fan of the name." There was a moment of quiet before Trevor loudly cleared his throat. "Not that I have a personal stake in that or anything. I'm just saying they could've been more creative for a guy who can turn his body into whatever he finds lying around."

Dr. Leher's smile turned slightly more upward in what Trevor guessed was amusement.
"Is that so? What makes you think that was his specific ability? The police never could agree on exactly what they were dealing with. It's the main reason they took so long to call us in. If they had not been so late in asking for our assistance we might have been able to find out who this masked vigilante was before he went to ground. Oddly similar to your own hyperhuman ability, now that I think about it."

Trevor tried to swallow but ended up in a coughing fit that lasted a bit too long. Eventually, he managed to scrape some words together in his head and force them out of his mouth.
"Are you trying to imply I'm that guy? Well, sir I'm not. We just have similar abilities or maybe we don't. How would I know about his ability? I just heard a rumor about it and maybe the guy was just doing what he thought was right who are they to judge?"
He threw the words across the desk as if they might keep Dr. Leher's thinly veiled accusations at bay.

The doctor raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"I'm not accusing you of anything no need to get riled up. As for your comment on vigilantism..." His smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a hard, thin line as he steepled his fingers in front of him. "We strongly discourage such behavior here. While that young man may have been doing what he thought is right, I would advise him to not repeat his behavior if I ever have the chance to speak with him."
Dr. Leher paused to let that last sentence hang in the air. His stare became pointed and Trevor shifted uncomfortably in the doctor's gaze as panic swelled in his chest. He gripped his chair with sweating palms and tried to stop his heart from beating clear out of his chest.

He knows. Oh shit he knows. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit he knows. This is it. The police are right outside and they'll bust in here and I'll be locked away until I rot. No, scratch that. They'll put me in jail until the jail rots on top of me and then they're gonna move me to a new jail and then-

"I would also tell him that we have several, much more constructive and I do want to emphasize legal outlets for such proclivities." Dr. Leher added as he slid two pamphlets across the desk to Trevor, "But he is not here so I might as well give these to you."

Trevor's gaze flicked down to the pamphlets in front of him.

"Hyperhuman Emergency Response Operations, join today and become a H.E.R.O.!"

"Hyperhuman Investigate Tactical Unit, join today and solve the problems no one else can!"

The covers showed a number of uniformed men and women posing behind flags with the symbol of their organizations and various images of agents performing their jobs. Trevor seemed reluctant at first to touch the paper as though it were some kind of elaborate trick, but slowly reached a hand out and gathered them up. The realization of what had just transpired filled him with an odd mix of relief and dread. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Trevor nodded politely and mumbled a quick thank you followed quickly by a half baked excuse about having another appointment. Dr. Leher chuckled and gestured to the door.

"By all means, don't let me keep you, but I strongly encourage you to do further reading. The Bureau is an excellent career opportunity for anyone with the right skills and a good head on their shoulders."

Trevor stiffly waved goodbye and did his best impression of a nonchalant walk past the other students lined up in the hall. Unfortunately, he's terrible at impressions and ended up half marching half jogging until he rounded a corner.

---

---

The ceremony was actually very nice in his opinion. Not that he would ever admit it, but he thought he looked pretty damn good in uniform even if the imprint of the rosary around his neck broke the flow of the undershirt just a bit. Plus, having a dress code was a small price to pay for room and board, especially if it looked this good.

He was about half way through a hearty rendition of the first line of the Star Spangled Banner when he realized everyone else was singing a completely different song. Also some people were staring at him. The realizations that he was supposed to be singing the Canadian national anthem and that it hadn't even occurred to him this would be the case both hit him in the forehead at once like walking into both halves of a double door at once. He opted to remain silent for the rest of the anthem, staring at his shoes and resisting the urge to see if his ability would let him displace the ground beneath him and sink into the Earth. He could only hope and pray no one he was going to be teammates with had heard that.

As Dr. Leher took the stage, Trevor tried his best to look at the stage without obviously avoiding eye contact and it seemed to work. Sticking to the back of a crowd has its advantages. Still, he managed to spot a few people with the same card-themed arm band included with his own uniform and cringed. They had definitely been in ear shot but hopefully they wouldn't recognize his voice, especially the British one. He doubt they'd ever let him live that down.

Better to rip that band aid off now if they did...

And so he made his way over to the gathering crowd of his teammates and waved in greeting. Ideally something friendly and welcoming would fall out of his mouth. Something charming and maybe even witty. Yeah, charming and witty sounded good. He gave his friendliest smile as he approached the group.

"Hey all! Looks like we're teammates. I hope we don't actually have to play cards. I'm much more of a soccer guy myself."

Nailed it.

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[PatientBean]

Cameras continued to flash as reporter after reporter lobbed questions at him. Some were honest, looking for factual information on his platform and what he intends to do surrounding pressing issues in the state. Some were looking for statements they could take out of context and warp his message. Some were hoping to make him look like an idiot. He had wandered these waters before.

He pointed at another reporter. A woman with auburn hair and glasses. She looked presentable and serious. He hoped her question would be one he wouldn't have to walk a minefield to get through.

"Judy Bloomfield, New Mexico Today. What are your plans for handling Hyperion's Children?"

That was a name he heard more and more. At the start, they weren't worth much. He had tossed their name in as a way of stirring up voters, but now they were a full-blown threat. And they fueled hatred of hyperhumans. They were an easy target. Calliope flashed through his mind briefly before he answered. "They are a threat to our way of life. If they were peaceful I would say let them speak. But I believe they are nothing short of a terrorist group recruiting many hyperhumans to thair cause."

"And yet, you sent your daughter to a school within their reach?"

"I sent my daughter to a school where she would thrive and be looked after."

"The school that was formerly a military academy. Is that a message you want to send?"

"The school is one of the best in the world for working with hyperhumans. I only wish we had more options for them so they could be educated amongst their own and learn how to manage their....unique qualities so they can rejoin society."

"With all due respect Senator, those who lobbied for segregation most likely said the same thing."

---

---

C A L L I O P E
C A L L I O P E

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials #1.02: This is the best we get?

---

_{Interaction(s): Cassander, Trace, Hayleigh, Katja, Lucille, Banjo, Trevor}

Previously: I expect perfection.

It wasn't long before the bad boy's simple comment exploded into conversation amongst a few of the other students. Calliope glanced around and noted they all wore similar armbands like hers. This, by all accounts, was going to be the team she would be working with.

This was the best they got?

It wasn't like Calliope planned on forming lifelong bonds with the people. But she expected more than some douchebag commenting like he was on an all-male podcast that talked about women like objects, some British chick immediately calling someone a wanker, and some other girl in a wheelchair possibly having a panic attack.

Calliope rubbed her temples. She could feel the ebb of a headache coming on and this would not serve her well during these Homecoming Trials. Another boy spoke up, seemingly trying to cool everyone down or bring up some camaraderie. Calliope tried to stifle a chuckle, but couldn't hold it in. "Yeah everyone, let's all hold hands and sing Kumbaya together!" The sarcasm underlying her words could cut someone, but she was getting fed up and she hadn't even gotten through the first day. This was not at all what she was expecting when she came here. But she would make do.

She had to make do.

One of the other guys there spoke to Banjo before walking off with the other students. Calliope took the time to follow suit. It would serve her well to get familiar with the campus. She left the other Blackjack armbands to sort themselves out. Who knows? Maybe they would gather themselves and prove to be a strong, reliable team.

Calliope would not hold her breath.

As she walked and looked around, she noted the different buildings, the planned architecture. The subtle message the school was trying to speak "We are just like other schools. Please, overlook our history!" Calliope was all too familiar with that back home. New Mexico wasn't one of the worst states, by far, though her father made sure they had their own issues.

She kept thinking back to her talk with Mr. Lehrer. There was something about him. It was a mixed bag. She felt like he was holding secrets back but also that she could trust him. Though she knew not to trust anyone here. Not yet. Trust was weakness masquerading as a strength. She would not be burned. Not again.

Calliope had walked for a bit she hadn't realized she came to a fountain with that guy from earlier standing in front of it. He looked like he was deep in thought. Against her better judgement, she walked over and looked at the fountain. "I guess it's nice to look at, but I wouldn't be caught dead having my likeness used as a roundabout way of saying 'look at me, I have money to burn in a world where people are dying on the streets'." Calliope closed her eyes after she said it. God, she could really be a bitch sometimes. "Sorry, we don't know each other and I may very well be insulting a person you like." She debated walking away before she swerved the other foot into her mouth. She needed to get back to a calmer headspace if she hoped to excel in whatever these trials were to bring.

[webboysurf]

Sometimes, the world moves so fast that days feel like a blur.

Rory stood in silence as the crowd dressed in black quickly began to disperse. The rows upon rows of gravestones were some of the only company left as the teenager stared into the darkness of the open grave. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, mindlessly crumbling and ripping at the paper program for the service. By this point, Rory had run out of tears. This wasn't unexpected. There had been months of pain and deterioration leading up to this. By now, he was just empty. There was a shifting sound from the grass behind him, and Rory slowly turned around. Aunt Morse stepped up to her nephew and held him tight. He just stood stiff for a moment before reaching a hand up to pat his aunt softly on the back. She leaned back and kept one hand on his shoulder, looking her nephew in the eyes. "Rory, let's get you home, ok? The twins are already in the car. It's getting late."

Next thing Rory knew, it had been days. He stood in the empty living room of his family home, devoid of the furniture and sophisticated art that always just looked like paint splotches to him. He shuffled his feet as he sulked towards the kitchen, flicking off the light switch. His eyes lingered on the colored scratch marks on the door-frame leading out into the hall. It felt wrong to leave those memories behind, and this place. Next thing Rory knew, though, he was behind the driver’s seat of his mom’s beat up minivan pulling into a parking lot. He stared up at the dull gray slab of concrete they called an apartment building. He took a deep breath, hands gripping the steering wheel tight. The sun had already set in the horizon, and the only lighting left in this parking lot was a solitary humming streetlamp. Rory grabbed the bag of food from his passenger’s seat and got out.

Turns out a medical degree didn’t come with cooking lessons.

The blur began to fade when he was startled by the sound of a thick manilla folder getting slapped onto the kitchen table in front of him. It was late again, a few weeks after the service. He raised an eyebrow, looking up to his beaming aunt who set a cup of coffee down next to him. “I know the last thing you need right now is me to be breathing down your neck about this, but I have to mail the materials tomorrow to get enrolled this late in the game. The question is… what do you want?”

Rory opened up the folder, and slowly exhaled a held breath as he recognized the logos and designs on the pamphlets and brochures at the front of the pile of documents. The logo was the same as a sweatshirt his mother wore all the time, from her alma mater: Pacific Royal Collegiate and University. Rory flipped through some of the papers, until his eyes locked on to the H.E.A.T. brochure. That was the program his father had mentioned. His eyes turned back towards his aunt.

“I… I think I want to give it a shot.”

---

_{Location: Kitchen and Stadium - P.R.C.U. Campus}

The Homecoming Trials #1.11 : What the Hell is Kumbaya?

---

_{Interaction(s): @Jarl Coolgruuf}

Previously: None

“... Down at the body shop, doing something unholy…”

Rory Tyler bobbed his head and tapped his feet as he sang quietly to himself, the sound of his words dulled significantly by the high pressure kitchen faucets running at full blast. He wasn’t at all displeased to be working as a dishwasher, working through stacks of dirty dishes on a line at the scrubbing section. He relished the opportunity to put his strength to good use in some small capacity, facing each bit of hardened egg or cheese with a ferocious determination to make sure the dishes were scrubbed off to be stacked and reorganized. He recognized a couple of his new teammates peeling potatoes in another part of the kitchen when he walked in. Guess it took a lot to feed this many students.

By the end of his shift, Rory’s hands ached. He pulled off the yellow rubber gloves he had been wearing and rested them on the edge of the large sink area, stalking towards the exit. He had already been walking back to his room when he looked down to realize he was still wearing a black rubber apron. He quickly ran back to the kitchen, bursting in and throwing the apron over one of the hooks as he grabbed his blazer. He had changed into the fashionable jacket and was nearly out the door again when he heard a small thud, turning around to see the apron had fallen to the ground. With a small grunt and a few extra seconds spent gingerly returning the apron to its appropriate hook, Rory was back out racing for the intake house to grab his gym bag.

---

Rory stood in front of the rock climbing wall, taking a deep breath as he looked up at the intimidating climb. He double checked his harness, and dipped his hands into a small bag of chalk and rubbed his palms together to spread out the chalk. He took a few deep breaths as he tried to parse out the best path up, before just shaking his head and beginning his climb. The beginning was easy, as he steadily got a few feet off the ground without much pause between each step up. But as Rory looked above him for an easy handhold, he found the grips were all spaced farther out. He stretched out one arm, fumbling as he kept stretching farther to clasp one of the grips. His fingers just barely caught on to one, and his muscles ached as he began to shift his weight. He lifted a foot up to latch on to one of the grips, only to feel his foot give way as his shoe failed to gain the right traction. Rory hung for only a second before his outstretched hand’s grip gave way, and his body dropped slightly. His remaining hand grip wasn’t strong enough to keep him upheld, so Rory dropped a couple feet before the harness caught him. Rory looked down to see he was barely hovering off the ground, and sighed as he was lowered down by gym staff the rest of the way. Rory quickly assured them he was fine, and ready to try again.

---

Rory rushed into the stadium nosebleeds, smelling faintly of peach scented soap and his hair clearly still wet, as the assembly was starting. The call to stand for the Canadian national anthem made Rory feel at ease and helped him blend in, despite the stern looks from faculty manning the doors as he entered just as things were starting. He mumbled along with the national anthem softly as he quickly grabbed the nearest sea near the few faces he recognized, each sporting the signature “blackjack” armbands. He tried his best to pay attention to the boring speeches, but quickly grew bored of the presentation. He began tapping his right index and right thumb together, trying to match the cadence of the voices that practically droned in his head. Before long, he was startled to hear everyone beginning to stand up… along with a few interjections:

“.. how many of us WILL you be sacrificing to your gods in this thing for a good harvest this year?”

“Look, everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before! Fuckin’ wanker.”

Rory felt his body immediately tense up, innately feeling the tension begin to boil. Banjo’s outburst didn’t make much sense to him: there were gods at this school? Rory had read some book back in middle school about something kind of like that. It would be cool of his teachers were gods. But he didn’t like the idea of getting sacrificed to one of them. Rory also didn’t recall gods being mentioned in Harry Potter.

“Hey, they may have said it. But we were all thinking it.”

Rory’s brow furrowed. What were they all thinking? Did everyone else know about the gods? Was Rory the only one who hadn’t put together the pieces?

“Hey all! Looks like we’re teammates. I hope we don’t actually have to play cards. I’m much more of a soccer guy myself.”

“Yeah, everyone, let’s all hold hands and sing Kumbaya together.”

Rory smiled slightly at Calliope’s “suggestion,” completely dodging the sarcasm with the expert precision of someone far too excited at the thought of having some actual friends for once. He called out as people began to disperse. ”Calliope is right… maybe some ice breakers would help!” He shot a sincere smile to whatever teammates weren’t rushing away, but couldn’t help but to feel a bit dejected at the shift in mood. Trace was gone, as was Calliope. Cassander had left as well, while Katja and Haleigh seemed to be having a bit of a moment. Rory turned his gaze to Trevor in particular, walking over to his new teammate and slapping a hand on his shoulder. ”Calliope is right, Kumbaya might be a better warm up activity… whatever that is. I’m totally down to play soccer, but I don’t think that would be best for… well… all of us, you know?” Rory tilted his head slightly in the direction of Haleigh and Katja, a warm smile still plastered on his face.

Rory watched as more people were funneling out of the stadium, and quickly patted Trevor one last time on the shoulder in reassurance. ”I’m gonna head back to the intake house and get changed. I’ll meet you there, man.”

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[Hillan]

I think it's clear to see, I'm trying to run away from my own two feet. If I don't touch the ground, there's not a soul on earth that could track me down.

Axel was outside that morning, making his way to the alumni village. He had been here before, two years ago, after he and his dad had their little road trip to Crestwood. He had seen the campus, the village and even the dormatories. Gotten the whole tour ahead of being asked to come here. Mister Lehrer had extended his hand with a warm smile as he welcomed him into the 'family'. But frankly, at that point, Axel had had enough of this kind of family. He was more interested in grounding himself with Talia. Living a normal, mundane life. Living down to earth seemed like a good plan. Down to earth. That was exactly what she had always asked of him - to be here, and now. On the ground. With her.

There are things you cannot do, not even for the people you love. Objects are set in motion, and once an object is in motion, it shall stay in motion. Axel was now back in the village, not to come by to knock on the fancy door that adorned his father's lodge. He wasn't there to pop in, tell Viktor

"Hi dad, I'm recently divorced, is it cool if I come and crash on your couch before I start school at your work?" and then swig a couple of beers on the sofa before he'd pass out. It was too late to decide to jumpstart the father-and-son rodeo. He had done his part, and it would be up to his father to do the next.

He was there to see another alumni of the school. Theron Demetrios. The only hyperhuman who had ever made any sense about their place in the world. Theron sat on his porch, drinking a cup of coffee as he saw Axel walk by. He greeted the young man and nodded to go around back, into the lawn where another student was also waiting around. Theron smiled, this wasn't the first 'training' session the two had, but it was the first one where another student besides Axel was involved.

Axel shook the girls hand, she was a foot shorter than him, in good shape and had long silver hair with blue undertones. He nodded politely as he did away with presentations.

"Axel, this is Maeve Summerhold, Maeve, Axel Bordeaux"

"Like Vik-" she began.

"That's a touchy subject." Theron interrupted before Axel could fumble the session by awkwardly explaining his relation to the man a few blocks away. "Axel has been here a few times since he moved to campus. Nobody ever taught him to fly, he taught himself. It is impressive. Yet flawed. Flight isn't like speed or strength - which you both have in spades. It's unintuitive. It's about breaking down barriers as humans - mammals, even. We haven't been able to fly so our perception of flight is jaded. Either by animals or machines, or by fictional stories about mighty beings who could break free of the shackles of gravity." Theron spoke, and as he finished, he lifted off the ground, a few feet.

"What do you mean, exactly?" Axel asked

Theron smirked. "None of those things captures the sensation. Newton tells us that an object set in motion stays in motion until affected by an outside force. Movement on the ground can only ever go in one direction. A boxer learns that the single most important part of throwing a punch is what?"

"Comfiting to sending all of your weight into the punch. Moving with the motion. Getting leverage off the ground." Maeve spoke, and Theron chuckled. "Exactly. Leverage off of the ground. You two are the only students at campus who are able to fly unassisted, like me. It's been a gift, but flight is so much more than a power. It transforms life itself. The greater conciousness of humanity cannot comprehend it. Not truly. It is my honest belief that by inspiring others in the way that this freedom can inspire us - we can change the world." Theron spoke softly, nodding for the two of them to join him in the air. Maeve flew first, as Axel soon followed. They flew around for a couple of hours, chit-chatting. Staying within campus grounds, but a decent bit out of sight for all but the most astute of skygazers.

Upon arriving back in the yard of Theron's lodge, the professor smiled at the two students. By looking at the sun in the sky, he knew what time it was, Axel figured it was also part of the lesson he was trying to teach. The semester was about to start, Axel was a freshman, Maeve was a junior. They were both due to be off in any minute.

"We do not need leverage from a singular direction. Newton could never imagine the world like we see it. Flight is absolute freedom of mobility, of movement. Movement is life, after all." He nodded, throwing a bottle of water to each of the younger Hyperhumans, who were quite winded from their flying endeavor. Axel was older and had had his powers for longer, but Maeve was certainly far more formally trained, able to fly a lot faster.

Theron piped up again after taking a sip of water himself, looking at the two spent students.
"When you are out there, remember that your powers shall allow you to take a fight from an approach nobody else can match. You could throw a punch from any angle, not just as a jab or an uppercut. Professor Roth, or indeed Bordeaux Senior will teach you that certain issues are to be handled as directly as possible, but there are times where perspective makes a difference between saving a life and taking one."

"For the rest of the day, I want both of you to remain airborne as much as possible. Consider it philosophy homework."

---

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Island, Western Coast of Canada}

The Homecoming Trials #1.01: Don't touch the ground

---

_{Interaction(s): @PatientBean, @Lord Wraith}

Previously: None

He had been blowing off seeing Mister Lehrer since he got here, intended to do so after he had gotten a little more settled in. Last time he had met him, Axel had been angry and disrespectful. Pumped full of adrenaline and far from ready to face what he was. He had mellowed out in the last couple of years, he would like to think.

Instead, he had fixed himself out of his training clothes from the mornings flight session. Dressed in the appropriate attire, Axel began moving to the infirmary. He was tending to the overexertion wing of the ward, that is, hyperhumans who had overextended their abilities on campus and now lacked vital minerals and electrolytes at best - at worst, they were missing blood or calcium. Axel was tending to a speedster who had ran until he fainted. Providing him with an IV. Axel cursed as the puncture wound from the needle kept healing before the IV fluid could enter his bloodstream.

"How do we fix this?" He asked to no-one, before he remembered the training he had gotten when he signed up for this job. Using an inhibitor would have made sense - but it was pretty clear that putting an inhibitor on someone else without their consent was a violation of their integrity and grounds for severe disciplinary actions. Most hypeabilities provided the person with incredible healing abilities, so disabling them would do more harm than good in terms of injury. While perpetually hovering about four inches off the ground, he moved towards the supply cabinet. Getting out a needle labeled with a toxic symbol and a single letter, he opened the package and attached it to the IV. This time it entered the skin. It was a specific poison that would in the short-term distract the antibodies in a Hyperhuman immune system, allowing the IV to enter the circulation of the barely conscious speedster. The bag that Axel hung up above the medical bed had three clear letters on it. "HZE"

He tended to a few sprained ankles and popped one guys shoulder back into place before it was time to head to the ceremony. But first, he need to change clothes. Heading home, he remained in the air, getting a few stern looks from people, one guy in particular blasted him a finger-gun. He never quite got used to people not freaking out upon seeing him use his after all rather mild powers. Out in the real world this had always cause him trouble. Things were truly different, he supposed.

As he changed clothes and got ready to head to the ceremony, he felt different. He was tired in ways he hadn't been in a very long time, not since he had taken Talia to the roof of the world, that was one of the few times he had truly exerted himself. Well, that and Crestwood. He slept for a week after returning to New Lilith.

During the ceremony he remained in the air, fatigued. Flying above the stadium thanks to the open roof. Having a retractable roof seemed overkill. As Jonas's speech got longer and longer, he found himself short of breath. Theron met his eyes and nodded in approval. Axel looked to the side, and on the other edge of the stadium he saw the blue-haired girl, Maeve. He waved awkwardly. She did not seem nearly as bothered as he was by their homework. It sparked a competitive edge in him, and he felt a second wind coming on.

The speech ended, he stayed in the air chit-chatting with Maeve as he side-eyed his father, leaving the stadium along his fellow faculty members, talking to some of the older members of his house, Lynx. Maeve's friends were calling her as she bid farwell of Axel, who was about to return to his room - completely forgetting about the rest of the activities planned for the rest of the day. On his way there, he stopped in the air above the particular fountain.

She took his attention. He had seen the statue, back in Crestwood. He had seen it from the ground. But from up high? She looked different. Something about her looked different. Sadder. On the ground, he spotted his bunkmate Cassander, and a fellow member of their little strike force-to-be. He was coming down, not entirely intentionally, he was losing steam once more.

"I guess it's nice to look at, but I wouldn't be caught dead having my likeness used as a roundabout way of saying 'look at me, I have money to burn in a world where people are dying on the streets'." The girls spoke and Axel landed right next to the two, without much fanfare in doing so. He looked up, the fountain turning into her again. By the time he landed, his ears were ringing so he couldn't make out the following statement. A grim look on his face, he piped up.

"Her name was Vanessa, she was killed, brutally. They all were." Axel was panting quite heavily as he sat down, catching his breath.

He really should have pocketed one of those HZE bags, a bag in box of that stuff would have done him good.

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[Hound55]

“So cool,” A mocking voice called out in retaliation to Banjo's comment making Cass' head spin as he tried to locate the nearby voice.

“Look everyone, at the cool boy challenging the system. He’s so edgy. No one’s evah thought to do that before!”

Suddenly Cass wished he had been able to ignore the voice as his eyes located the source. While Trace wasn't the least human-appearing Hyperhuman that Cassander had come across on campus, they were the ones he saw most often and their inhuman eyes and borderline transparent hair still gave him pause. Cassander was often guilty of wondering what Trace had looked like before their Hype-Gene exploded. Most of them got off 'lucky', at least in a manner of speaking. Hyperhumans were often attractive, retaining their youth longer if the faculty were anything to go off of. But cases like Trace were what propaganda makers focused on, branding them all inhuman monsters.

Following suit with the rest of the student body, Cass stood from his seat. Taking a second to brush himself off, more out of habit than actual necessity. The campus grounds were kept nearly immaculate, though the older teen would be lying if he said he hadn't put together that the students themselves were the ones doing the bulk of the menial labour. His eyes wandered back towards the center of the stadium, starting towards the woman who had introduced Jonas and the man himself whom she was talking to.

Cass' eyes were suddenly pulled across the bleachers as he watched a blonde amazon make a beeline for a familiar face he knew to be Haleigh Crawford. The wheelchair-bound girl had been assigned with him to aid in the mess hall and the two had spent more hours familiarizing themselves with various produce than either had anticipated coming to a school for 'gifted' youngsters. That said, barely a word had been spoken between them, but as low of a bar as it was, Haleigh was still the closest thing Cassander had to a friend on campus.

All the more reason Cassander's protective instincts kicked in when he realized that the amazon wasn't simply moving towards Haleigh out of the same familiarity, but because something was wrong. Cass had already planned on offering Haleigh a hand with her wheelchair, though the girl now kneeling beside the other teen definitely had him 'outgunned'.

Jumping over several rows of seats in front of him, Cassander tried to close the gap to get to Haleigh before being suddenly halted in his tracks. The sight of the familiar spade emblem on the amazon's bicep made Cassander realize that the blonde bombshell was more of an ally than he originally realized and that perhaps, he didn't need to play hero today. Awkwardly stopping, he hoped no one had seen his saviour complex override his common sense. Taking one last look to ensure, Haleigh was in good hands, he felt his cheeks burn for a second as his gaze lingered too long on the teen knelt beside his kitchen buddy.

“Fuckin’ wanker.”

Cass's attention was quickly brought back to his surroundings as he heard Trace continue to complain about Banjo before being caught in the wave of students moving toward the exit. He briefly locked eyes with Banjo who looked like he was about to respond to Trace before Cass allowed himself a half smile and responded.

"Hey, they may have said it. But we were all thinking it." He raised his hands dismissively, cobalt-coloured energy accidentally crackling through his fingers betraying Cass' manufactured calm demeanour. He was a little on edge and not just because of the situation moments ago with Haleigh, or the slight confrontation just now with Banjo, but because he had no idea what 'Trials' they were about to experience.

---

He tilted his head at Cassander. Trying to end a fight, before it starts...

Not bloody likely.

A wide smirk spread across Banjo's face, directed at the blonde youth. As if to say 'Get a load of this.' He turned back to the British girl of pale complexion, and called out.

_{"What's that?! There's too many people! You have to speak up!"}

And with that he cupped his hands over his mouth as if miming a loudspeaker, then added a second set of hands over and beyond the invisible first pair. Then a third set. Before rotating his hands at the wrists and throwing Trace the double birds, with a big shit-eating grin across his face.

The crowd started to thin as they left the confines of the stadium. And with it he drifted slowly back into the group, if only to double down on the way he'd left the sheila from the armed forces if she attempted any other form of comeback.

But her ire was pre-occupied with a more egregious insult on her person. Namely Americans were referring to soccer as 'soccer'.

He was about to lean in and triple down with some of his own thoughts on soccer, when he picked up a complete absense of irony. They weren't doing it to get her goat at all.

And then the whole thing became dangerously close to starting some kind of social arrangement.

So Banjo backed up quietly and got the Hell out of there.

---

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials: # 1.13 Dickheads, Defectives and the Dilettante Dernier cri

---

_{Interaction(s): @psych0pomp}

Previously: You haven't done this before, right? To me, I mean?

Banjo ran down the back path to the Southern Plateau laughing his arse off. He didn't care if nobody else would find it funny. He was going to take the opportunity to take the piss out of their little ceremony, and was imagining the facade on that four-eyed Chancellor Lehrer cracking like a cheap mirror.

The laughter cut short as he was stopped in his tracks by a familiar face.

One of the few faces he knew which COULD count as familiar.

The man who'd brought him here, and had been the middle man between Banjo and every single boarding school and care facility he'd ever attended. The man he referred to as The Butler, since he'd never been provided with a name.

"Hullo there, what's this joker up to?"

"Fancy seeing you here. In a chair which doesn't belong out here and you would've had to bring yourself. On the round-the-back way to the place I HAD to go..."

"Yeah. It's almost like I know you or something... So, what are you doing?"

"Going to Homecoming Trials." Slowly the smirk returned to his face.

"You know what I mean. Dressed like THAT?"

"Whatever do you mean..?" The older man sighed, dealing with this kid had long been like getting teeth pulled. "I'm dressed in PT clothing to the letter of the dress code requirements. No more, no less."

Banjo was standing before the man wearing nothing but a pair of black speedos with the P.R.C.U stripes down the side.

"You see, the phrasing of the dress code allows for the wearing of speedos, and whilst it specifies aquatic activities as a potential time for when these optional alternative items of PT uniform MAY be worn, it doesn't specify that they can't be worn during other PT activities, nor what those exclusionary PT activities may be. I was even considering just wearing the trunks and going with wearing the speedos on my head, but why not just cut out the middleman? Soooooooo..." He gestured at himself.

"What about the armband..? I know that's normally optional as well, but I'm pretty sure it's required to identify teams during the trials. Got you. You can't worm around that one. He pointed at Banjo's bare arm.

"You're right, it is usually optional with this being a clear exception. But I'm not worming around anything. I'm wearing it."

"What, no you're no--" Banjo reached for the waistband of the speedos, about to retrieve something or reveal something from within. "--OK, mate. I'll take your word for it." Raising up both palms and looking away.

Another deep sigh left the mouth of the older man.

"Why? Why are you doing this? The Hell is the matter with you?"

"Just... taking the piss out of their big day. Were you at that assembly thing in the stadium? Bunch of brainwashed tykes with the combined power to level a continent. What do I want to have anything to do with this place for? Hell, you and me, we'll probably up sticks in a couple-a months anyway. That's what usually happens."

"Yeeeeeah naaaaaaah, kid. Hate to break it to you, but I just bought a place up here. Makes a nice change from renting for all these years, just waiting for when we'd have to pick up and go at a moment's notice. We're in here for the long haul."

"Or at least until I get expelled..."

"HA!" The older man ejaculated a single laugh. "I'd like to see that." He dug into his wallet and pulled out the last of his Australian currency. Ten crisp blue ten dollar notes, with the image of A.B. Paterson on them. "Hundred bucks says you can't do it."

"Challenge accepted." Banjo replied with a wry grin.

The Butler shook his head. "It wasn't a challenge. Think of it more as me informing you of a universal law of physics that you were previously unaware of. It's not a thing that can be done. And before you think about making your little Uni library fire thing any bigger, understand that this school has had over two dozen students just to my knowledge who have had it within their power to burn a school, or even a city down without a single match, who all had tenuous little control over their powers at some point... and the school still stands."

"You heard about that, huh?"

"Yes, mate. I heard about it. And did you ever wonder why, when you started a fire in the library in your first week, the immediate consequences was to send you to a place with younger, more vulnerable students?"

"I figured it was a punishment."

"Pleeeease... this place has ways to punish you that you haven't even dreamed of yet. That wasn't a punishment. It was the absence of a punishment. It was a message."

"Well then I guess I'll just have to get creative."

"You don't get it, kiddo. You aren't dealing with pragmatic, mercenary schools who are taking you for the tuition fees, realising they've bitten off more than they can chew and decided that the hassle you bring isn't worth the money. You're dealing with idealists. You're not going anywhere. They might make your life a living Hell if you try and do it to them first... but they won't be kicking you out."

"You mean I'm stuck with these dickheads and defectives for four fucking years?!?"

The Butler rocked back in his chair. "Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight."

"Part of the whole hyperhuman thing. I can take the cold."

"I'll reiterate. 'Said the lad wearing only a pair of budgie smugglers to an event that'll run overnight... surrounded by the only co-eds who he's just realised are going be the constants who he's going to have to interact with over the next four years.' You might not 'be bothered' by the cold, but does that mean your... ahh... body doesn't respond to it?"

"Whaddo I give a shit about them for regardless, four years or not?" He said out loud, before breaking it down and thinking about it. Sure, the handy white maiden would probably give him some shit about it, but that'd just give him the opportunity to return serve... and he'd left so much on the shelf last time, he was honestly kind of just itching for another shot. He was pretty sure half of the female contingent in the group he was stuck with were gay, other than the one who was older and wore a ring and Calliop--

"Oh. Oh shit."

Banjo spun on his heels and beat tracks to get back to the Intake House for a quick-change with however little time he had left. Thankfully most had probably already left.

The Butler leaned back in his chair and basked in the warming B.C sun, a wide grin crossing his face. "Ahhhhh. It is good to lay down some roots and have a home again..."

- - -

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[Tackytaff]

"You can't possibly expect me to drink all this."

Hannah had brought a fishbowl to the group's table. It was filled with a bright red semi-translucent drink, and Makenna could smell the sugar in the concoction, something of a feat given the dizzying amount of alcohol.

"All yours baby-girl!" Cheered the blonde, pushing the over-sized glass directly in-front of Makenna and offering a wink. "Got them to make it just for you, figured you should get a little reminder of home on your first night of drinking. Southern spirit and all that." Hannah's usual barely detectable accent was played up to a degree of ridiculousness by the end of her speech, the girl was already near plastered and the night had barely begun.

"C'mon," Bemoaned another voice from another sashed bridesmaid. Jenny was plucking at the cheap plastic tiara on Makenna's head. "How else are we going to get you on stage?"

As though on cue the speakers above them gave out an ear splitting bow-out as the current karaoke participant attempted and failed to hit a note.

"God they're terrible," Jenny threw her head back laughing after she'd recovered enough to uncover her ears. "Please Kenna, we beg you- end our suffering."

"Please," She scoffed, though her face warmed from the indirect praise. "I'm certainly not going first- or alone."

It earned her an eyeroll and another push of the drink towards her. "As our beautiful bride commands- Shall we show her how it's done?" Hanna asked, offering a hand to Jenny and the pair worked their way to the stage.

The drink was sickeningly sweet, a hurricane, Hannah would call it later. A Mississippi novelty, Hannah told her upon returning. That alone might have been enough to dislike it. Makenna joined the idle chatter of the three remaining bridesmaids while the other two began a string of duets. They'd been feeding her drinks all night, and she'd given in more times than she'd expected. It was a devious and dirty trick, the way her entire bridal party worked as a group to queue up her favourite songs, topping off with tacky 80's power-ballads they knew her to be unable to resist.

So it was Makenna found herself in front of a bar filled with some fifty-odd people, microphone in hand and the first notes of I Have Nothing blaring out from behind her. She couldn't quite recall how she'd gotten there- nor was there time to think long on it before the lyrics began scrolling on the screen before her.

"Share my life-" The rancorous cheering from her table covered the bulk of the first entire verse. Four more straws had been added to the over sized drink, and they were making the most of it. For all the embarrassment that came with it, Makenna found confidence in the support of the others and began truly belting the chorus. A love ballad. It was a bit much, even for a bachelorette party, but it was Carson Makenna thought of as she sang, but her grandmother. Their many evenings over an old record player, memories of happy nostalgia easy to get lost in. She chalked it up to the delusion of alcohol, but it felt as though the entire audience had gone silent to listen to her.

"I have nothing, nothing- NOTHIN-" The final loud note before the end of the song- and the speakers blew out again. Reflexively Makenna buckled over to cover her ears, only to realize she couldn't hear in the first place. The music had stopped, and when she looked up to the rest of the bar, she saw chaos. Half the furniture and people were blown clear across the room- and glass was everywhere. Under all the tables and a sea of the stuff behind the bar and under where the windows should have been. Dully, Makenna was aware of a damp warmness running down the sides of her neck before collapsing to the floor.

---

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials #1.01: Where You Are

---

_{Interaction(s):}

Previously: N/A

It wasn’t as though Makenna was unfamiliar custodial labour. Her first job had been washing out the back washrooms and kitchen of a greasy rest-stop on weekends. Except even after that experience she swore she’d never suffer through that indignity again. Now she found herself bent over the toilets of the women’s upstairs bathroom some six years later. She wasn’t even getting paid. Part of Makenna had wondered if her mother somehow interfered to ensure her daughter was assigned to nothing other than sanitation for the first entire month of classes. Of course such a feat would require the bitch to actually show an interest in Makenna’s academics, or worse still, acknowledge her existence in the first place. At least scrubbing proved a decent outlet for frustrations. She had enough to get rid of after all. As if the ever looming yet unseen monitoring of her mother wasn’t enough she had to worry about roommates, an entire cohort of wayward young adults, and some damned tedious sorting trial- as though the hours and hours of psych evaluations hadn’t told the board more than enough about each of them.

There wasn’t time to do much else besides shower and change before the assembly. Another pointless formality. All of them had been debriefed of the intake process half a dozen times over. She surveyed those around her as the foreign anthem played, making out the familiar faces of the intake house and decidedly avoiding eye contact with any she found. Most were younger, all immature as least as far as Makenna saw it. She’d worked hard to develop a respectable social circle in her old life; three of her bridesmaids were pursuing doctorates already- only pushed backwards into a rag-tag group of rejects.

As the ceremony ended a group of them began to… congeal together at the stadium exit. Makenna hurried past them without so much as a second glance. She could smell Calliope’s bougie perfume as she brushed her shoulder. Sharing a room with the brat was already testing the limit of her false politeness and cheer.

She managed to wait the entire trip back before checking her phone. She knew better than to expect anything; not that it did anything to quell the pathetic hope in her heart rising only to be crushed each time. Unthinkingly, her thumb pressed Carson’s name on the recently dialed screen, bracing for the too-familiar voicemail message.

Except it rang. Four full times, and just Makenna had begun to hold her breath, there was a pause in the tone.

“Hullo?” There was an awkward beat, where Makeena half expected the rest of the recording that failed to follow.

He picked up her slack; “Ken? Sorry I’ve missed your calls- that time difference is a real bitch.”

She’d hated the nickname since the moment he’d first said it on their third date. But it made her misty eye-ed to hear him say it after so long.

“It's me,” She manged to confirm before needing to clear her throat, and turning up the smile until it could be heard in her voice. “Been trying to get a hold of you for a couple days now. There’s this… Thing.” It was always awkward bringing up anything PRCU related, it was too close to all the things they’d put so much effort into avoiding. “An excursion, a sort of boot-camp I guess. Might get really busy-”

The other team blackjack members had caught up to her head-start and made their way back to the intake house. Calliope the first to trickle in, and closely followed by the pale Brit.

“Makes sense, think you’ll-”

“Sorry, I'm going to have to hang-up.” She said, suddenly intent to end the conversation before any of the others overhear details of her personal life. “I just wanted to say bye- but I should be able to slip in a call when we get there.”

There was another pause, this time from Carson. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve just gotta go for now. We’ll talk tonight. Promise?”

“You got it.” All the certainty of his delivery was voided by the hesitation that came before it. Not that there was anything she could do about that now.

“Love you,” She said as goodbye, her pleasant smile turned pinched but voice still jovial over the phone.

“You too.” Was his reply, and they both hung up.

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[Mao Mao]

---

The visitation area was one of the places Iñigo Giménez-Pozo frequented for the last five months. Guards usually made a big deal whenever he left his cell that it just became a procedure. One guard would wait to escort the detainee to their destination while the other fastened an inhibitor onto them. Whether they were heading to the cafeteria or the library didn't matter to the guards. Or how often trips to the infirmary were for recurring migraines and nausea—the result of frequent inhibitor usage. But as expected, the guards didn't care about the state of an illegal hyperhuman. Like many other detainees in the detention center, Iñigo was subjected to verbal and physical abuse from them. There conveniently was no evidence of their wrongdoings to file a complaint against them.

And detainees that push forth despite the threats and intimidation tactics often find themselves deported or in solitary confinement for weeks. That was how Iñigo ended up in solitary for one week. On the sixth day, he began to feel his sanity gradually slipping away. The constant noise of pounding against the metal doors and windows that kept him up during the night wasn't helping. His mind would've been lost on the third day if it wasn't for his ability. The very thing that got him condemned by society and tore his family apart was keeping him sane. And with each use, Iñigo understood its benefits and limitations better. Then, while altering his right hand to appear slightly wrinkled, a lone guard opened the metal door, holding an inhibitor in his hand before tossing it to him.

Iñigo smiled for the first time in days.

Waiting in the visitation area for a half hour was nothing compared to a week in solitary. Iñigo followed his attorney into one of the secluded rooms and sat on the plastic chair. There was an absent expression on the attorney's face while pulling papers from his bag and placing them on the table. Before he could ask if he was alright, two complete strangers in professional wear entered the room and approached the chairs across from him. Iñigo turned to his attorney with a nervous look, whispering a question about their presence. One of them was an older woman with her graying hair in a neat ballerina bun, wearing a decently expensive navy blue sculpted suit. She also pulled out papers from her leather bag, along with a laptop, and placed them next to her on the table.

The other was an older bald man in a black lazio suit, staring at them as if trying to listen to their conversation. But he was confident and poised with no emotion like he had done this act over a dozen times. Iñigo looked back at his attorney and started getting up from his seat, which was when the older man cleared his throat. His arms were now resting on the table as he spoke with an authoritative but soft-spoken voice. "I suggest remaining, Mr. Giménez-Pozo; you'd be interested in what we have to offer."

---

_{Location: PRCU - Western Canada}

The Homecoming Trials #1.15: New Arrival

---

_{Interaction(s): N/A}

Previously: N/A

There were eyes on the new student upon his arrival on campus, which was hard to avoid. Students and faculty alike stared at the stranger dressed in a blue prison jumpsuit with canvas slip-on deck shoes. Of course, it didn't help that he was the only person with an armed escort consisting of two guards. Their presence was required to "complete the transfer of custody over to the university from United States soil." But the arrangement never considered how humiliating it would've been to be paraded around like a hardened criminal for everyone to judge in silence. It wasn't helping that the inhibitor was causing the worst headache imaginable ever since arriving on the island. And, as almost expected, those sensations worsened upon entering the Administration Building.

Inside, every student waiting by the chancellor's office was immediately staring at the new arrival. One of them even took a discreet picture of him before acting all innocent. Iñigo Giménez-Pozo glared angrily at them before staring down at the floor in defeat; he was too exhausted to respond accordingly. The office, for the most part, didn't stand out to a former university student other than being more vintage. He kept staring down, minding his own business as the guards approached the chancellor to receive confirmation of the transfer. And with the sound of pen on paper, Iñigo officially transferred from one prison to another—but this one was more liberating in a sense. He heard the guards leaving the room but didn't notice the chancellor had taken off the inhibitor.

"I'd normally begin with a question to better understand my students, but..." Jonas Lehrer sighed and discarded the inhibitor into the small trash bin beside his desk. For a brief second, subtle sullen lingered in the air that would've gone undetected if it wasn't obvious. It was defused by a warm, soft smile from the chancellor. Iñigo admittedly felt awkward with the sudden shift towards a more sympathetic environment after living in a dentation center for five months. It was quite bizarre to experience. "...you need rest. I had my assistant set up an appointment at the infirmary for a check-up tomorrow. Your uniform is on the desk, along with your belongings. And the opening ceremony will start soon if you're up to attending it. Otherwise, you can rest for the day in your room."

Iñigo went over to the desk and seized the plastic bag containing only a photo of his family that was originally in his wallet. The rest of his belongings (his wallet, phone, and clothes) were declared "lost" months ago by the dentation center. A complaint was filed, but there wasn't enough information for them to reach a decision. Nevertheless, he was relieved to see the photo untouched by those bastards. "Gracias." Iñigo said softly before cursing at himself for the accidental slip-up in language, all ready to apologize.

But instead, Jonas shook his head and said without any hesitation in his voice, "It's no problem, Inigo."

---

By the time Iñigo changed into his school uniform and arrived at the stadium, the opening speech had ended as students went to their designated teams. He was assigned to Team 21, known as Blackjack, and scrambled toward the other members hoping the others didn't notice the late arrival. As he got closer to the group, conversations were already taking shape. And it was quite daunting for someone that didn't have many buddies back at the detention center. Sure, there were visits between his lawyer and chats with his remaining friends over the phone. But those were nothing compared to informal talks with complete strangers in an unfamiliar environment. So instead of initiating a conversation, Iñigo waited for someone else to do it while relaxing near a planter.

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[Lord Wraith]

Deleted

[psych0pomp]

---

_{Location: Intake House - Pacific Royal Collegiate & University - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials #1.17: The Collegiate Circle Jerk

---

_{Interaction(s): Trevor @Jarl Coolgruuf, Rory @webboysurf, & a passing mention to Banjo @Hound55}

Previously: Not so Special^TM

Trace was quickly reminded as to why they were glad they’d been ejected from secondary school like an ill-timed roman candle—a lot of air but a very tired fizz out. The way out of the bleachers became clotted as a few people slowed down. They all brandished the “blackjack” armband. One boy—Cass it might have been—announced that Trace was right. Of course, they were, but they didn’t languish in the praise. Instead, their attention was drawn towards the loud one—Banjo—as he pretended not to hear them. Only to contradict that point by flipping them off. “That’s practically a Sutton greetin’ there. Tell me what otha’ tame ass jokes you have. Going to call my mum fat? Go ahead. Though, I should warn you… she’s dead.” The way Trace said that was the same as someone saying the sky was blue or that crabs were nippy. As if it was a well-known and constantly regurgitated fact.

Banjo moved toward the group with the confidence of a cat that just finished in the shitter, but Trace’s attention was called away by Trevor. He arrived on the scene with other stragglers who only loitered momentarily before disappearing. He plainly stated that he enjoyed soccer… as if Trace wasn’t standing right there. They couldn’t be more obvious if they were a neon vest that said “Brit.” Then the dark-haired, traditionally handsome boy came up, patted Trevor on the shoulder, and agreed to play soccer.

“Right. Look. I don’t care what you call the damn sport in your yankee hick backyard. But just do me a favah’ and call it football around me. Thanks.” They glanced over to see that Banjo was gone and shrugged. “Well, it looks like the annoyin’, gross one left with your communally shared brain cell so that’s my cue to get out of here as well. You two chaps enjoy your mutual wank. I’m off to go get dressed.” They pulled their umbrella tighter to themselves as they backed away. “You know, so I can get sorted into the Slytherin House propah’.” They gave a little faux salute before turning on their heels and leaving.

Everyone in this damn class was handsome. Trace knew that not all hyperhumans possessed cinema-worthy good looks. There were some like them, and there were some that were far worse. None of them were in the “blackjack” class, though. As soon as they passed the threshold into the Intake House, they made a beeline for where they’d been staying. It was very temporary, but it was a lot more space than they ever had while living with their brothers and dad. Speaking of which, along with the package that sat on their bed was a picture. Trace had been waffling doing something with it. It was one of the few family photos where everyone was in it. Thomas I stood over the lot of them as the patron of the family. Though imposingly tall, he didn’t radiate toxic masculinity. Instead, he seemed to represent the old saying that “still waters run deep.” A very quiet man that could fuck something up if pushed into it. Then there was Thomas II, tall like their dad but with the darker brown skin and black hair of their mother. He smiled wildly for the camera, leaning over Timothy—who was the spitting image of their father with much paler skin, brown hair, and lighter eyes. Trevor and Terrence were somewhere in the middle, and while not twins they actually looked like they were related to each other. Then there was Trace, back before they changed. Naturally brown skin, dark black hair that was long and curly. They had paler eyes like their dad and his very Anglo-Saxon nose. But their chin and cheeks were definitely their mother’s, and they were the only thing that they kept.

Trace patted the picture before laying it to the side. Better get changed before their roommate decided to come in. It wasn’t that they were shy or anything, but they didn’t want anyone to gawk as the rest of their body looked as pale and lifeless as their face. The last thing they wanted was the Scooby Doo gang called to investigate a ghost when it was just Trace naked.

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[Carlyle]

_{Location: Auditorium - Pacific Royal College}

The Homecoming Trials #1.18 A Tall Tale Lie

---

_{Interaction(s): Katja @Zoldyck}

Previously: Quaking With Fear

"Hey," A voice called out. "You alright sus?"

Haleigh looked upwards towards the voice, locking eyes with a tall—no, towering— muscular woman. Katja, Haleigh believed, her name was. She hadn't quite yet had the chance to interact with Katja, nor did she know much of anything in regards to her power. What Haleigh did know was that the two of them had been sorted into Team Blackjack, though that was obvious to anyone by the spade-adorned armbands they both wore as part of their uniform.

"It's... I'm fine, thank you."

It was a terrible lie, Haleigh knew. She had never been good at lying, and it was hardly in her nature to do so. Regardless, Haleigh struggled with the truth, unable to properly admit to Katja that deep down she was afraid. Afraid of herself but also of what she might do or who she may harm. Innocent people had already been put in danger by Haleigh, albeit unknowingly at the time. Even now, one potential misstep could've easily buried everyone in the auditorium.

She began to wonder if she should've taken the offered inhibitor instead of the wheelchair. It would potentially save lives, surely. But was it right for her to suffer at the expense of others?

"We... We better get going," Haleigh continued, turning her wheelchair around. "Don't want to be left behind by everyone else."

[Jarl Coolgruuf]

_{Location: P.R.C.U. - Stadium}

The Homecoming Trials #1.19 Friendship is Hard

---

_{Interaction(s): Trace, Rory, Haleigh}

Previously: Semi-Secret Identity

Well that could've gone better.

Was it something he said? Other than calling soccer "soccer" of course. His district championship medal and state finalist trophy were from soccer games not football so the uppity brit would just have to live with it. They probably didn't even play soccer, but if they did he would be happy to kick their ass on the field. Save for sports terminology, everything was suddenly in question. Maybe it had been the suggestion of soccer in the first place? Probably. He kicked himself internally for not reading the room better. It had never been his strong suite but usually he did better than this.

Soccer. In front of the girl in the wheelchair? Genius dude. Now everyone thinks you're an asshole.

Turning to Rory he gave a slight nod and smiled appreciatively. At least one person didn't seem too off put by his slip up.
"Yeah, sounds good. I'll see you there and I'll bring my ball unless you've got one you wanna use."

Noticing the girl in the wheelchair, who's name he was moderately sure was Heather but wasn't confident enough to say that name out loud, seemed to be leaving, he made sure to speak up before he missed the chance.
"Hey! Um... I'm really sorry about the whole soccer thing! he called after her. "I probably should try thinking more before just saying stuff. Maybe we could play Fifa some time if you have a console of your own since I forgot mine back home. Of course it doesn't have to be Fifa it can be whatever. I'm down for anything."
He smiled, more then slightly embarrassed as he rubbed at his forearm.

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[Zoldyck]

_{Location: Pacific Royal Collegiate & University, Stadium and Intake House - Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean}

The Homecoming Trials #1.20: I Want Out

---

_{Interaction(s): Heleigh @Kuro, Trace @psych0pomp}

Previously: Heavy Bagage

"It's... I'm fine, thank you." Something was off about the way Haleigh replied, but Katja couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. She was sure that the wheelchair bound girl looked distressed just a moment earlier. But looking down at her now, Hayleigh looked more embarrassed than anything. Had she really misread the situation this much?

Katja could kick herself. She didn’t mean to make the other girl feel embarrassed, Katja just wasn’t used to interacting with people a whole lot and apparently she just prematurely jumped to conclusion. But Hayleigh already turned around before she could apologize for causing the awkward situation she created. Katja bit on the inside of her cheek out of frustration at herself. It seemed like she had a lot to learn about reading other people.

She looked at Hayleigh leave for a few seconds before going after her. After catching up with Hayleigh, Katja put her hands in the pocket of her blazer and walked casually next to her as they left the stadium. She felt a bit too awkward to strike up a conversation with Hayleigh, instead she fell back to one of her older coping mechanisms and started whistling a song her mother used to sing to her.

Katja spotted a cluster of their fellow team members as they got close to the intake house. Having had enough awkward encounters with team members for this day, Katja decided against joining in whatever conversation they were involved in and headed straight for the intake house. She didn’t really know if Hayleigh was still with her or if she’d stopped to join the rest of the team.

Honestly, she was looking forward to the Homecoming Trials. It sounded like some sort of physical aptitude test, given how they had to get their PE kits on. This excited Katja, as unlike dealing with other people, physical activities were much more her forte. She did wonder what kind of activities they’d get to do though. Combat seemed a bit unlikely, as it’d be hard for a school to excuse their super powered students beating the shit out of each other. Plus, how would you fairly regulate fights between people who can bench trains face off against people who can talk with plants?

The thoughts about the Homecoming Trials had Katja absentmindedly opening the door to her dorm room, trying to look for her PE kit. She honestly should have knocked, and would have if not being distracted by her thoughts. But she didn’t and now she walked in on the pale shape of another team member, Trace.

”Oh fak!” Katja exclaimed in surprise as she immediately cast her eyes down to the ground and tried to move back behind the door. She honestly hadn’t seen much of anything. For all she knew Trace stood there fully dressed in a short sleeved shirt and shorts or whatever, but she didn’t want to take the risk by double checking. I’m really faking sorry… I should have knocked. I… She let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

This day was going swimmingly…

---

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