Hound55

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

@Hound55 I'd be happy to co-GM something if you need a co-GM.

@mattmanganon

I reckon I'll be alright. Just figuring stuff out now.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Sep>

You say that like it's a bad thing. I still have the Skype chat logs from a dozen years ago; current versions of the members of this community are an improvement over past models.

@Retired

I'm still buggy. They're just different bugs.

Except for the original bugs I couldn't figure out, which I now call "features".

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

<Snipped quote by Bounce>

Getting married and starting a new job really didn't work for RP time either.

Gross, are we all adults now?

@Sep

I'm old. Chronologically. As in orbits around the sun.

I wouldn't describe myself as "mature" or "adult"...

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Sadly, the demands of parenthood just keep getting the better of me.

I was hopeful I could carve out just one day a week to write, but maybe by the time the next one rolls around.

@Bounce

Moving house (finally been able to buy a place!) next week, give it a couple of weeks and if nothing else has started, I might see if I can get something rolling.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

The silence was so deep it had its own personality.

Sullen and cold, depressive and obstinate. An unyielding, intimidating silence that stared into each of them and dared them to break it.

Big Steve was stretched across a lounge. Banjo was staring at a door with a furrowed brow from a chair, as he had been for a few minutes. Alex was watching him nervously from another chair.

The fourth bedroom.

Banjo was trying to play out a conversation in his head.

But how can you plan out a conversation with someone you haven't spoken to in years?

And it's not like it had been much of a fruitful dialogue at that, on that occasion.

The answer was he couldn't. No matter how much thought he put in, he had no idea what direction this was going to go. He was going in blind, which wasn't something he liked, but there was nothing he could do to change that at this point.

With a sigh, he got to his feet.

"I wouldn't..."

"All things bein' equal, I wouldn't either."

"Should you really..?"

"What's the alternative? Someone's gotta. It's not fair otherwise."

All four in the dormitory were headed for the Foundation. In Alex’s case, after many excited conversations with his family. Thrilled to go to the home of the Force.

Banjo and Big Steve were far more conflicted, and remained reticent to not bring their exuberant roommate down. Banjo had his experience from the Trials and what he'd heard from people who attended, and Big Steve was just generally more skeptical by his very nature. If they were at all right, he’d find out soon enough anyway.

"What'd you say her name was again?" He asked Zimmerman as he put his hand on her door handle. It was fittingly cold.

"Shanna. Shoshanna Tannin. But I don't know that you should..."

Banjo turned the handle and cringed as the door swung open, giving an uneasy toothy grin. Red light escaped the room, and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: Strigidae Dorms, P.R.C.U - Previously}

Human #5.033: Do You See What I See?

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Harper Baxter (@Qia), NPC roommates}

Previously: Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again? (No way! Get Fucked! Fuck Off!")

Harper walked just outside the main dormitory hall, her hands clenched tight at her sides. The campus lay silent, the unnerving hush amplified by the school’s looming closure. In truth, the quiet came as no surprise; most students had already packed up or left, leaving the grounds nearly deserted. Still, the emptiness gnawed at her, underscoring the sense of finality she hadn’t wanted to face.

“We’re almost there,” her guide murmured, their tone gentle but distant, as though they, too, felt the awkwardness of this moment. Harper nodded, managing only a stiff acknowledgment. Her thoughts were still tangled from her last moments with Haven, and she didn’t have the energy to form words of gratitude for someone she barely knew. She hadn’t planned for any of this—not the argument, not the fallout, not the heartfelt goodbye that felt like a final one.

And definitely not this uncomfortable visit to Banjo’s.

The cool metal of Banjo’s door handle met her fingers as they came to a stop, her knuckles whitening as she hesitated. The fabric over her eyes may have hidden her blindness from others, but it couldn’t conceal the vulnerability she felt. Standing here, on the threshold of someone’s personal space, felt like stepping off a cliff without knowing what was below. Harper waited, hoping for some unseen signal to propel her forward, something to tell her this wasn’t a mistake. The signal came in the form of her guide clearing their throat, the sound more of a polite nudge than anything else. “Here we are,” they said, their voice low, as though the quiet had seeped into their words too.

“Thanks,” Harper whispered, barely above a breath, her voice betraying the uncertainty she fought to keep down. She heard their footsteps retreat down the hall, fading into the distance until the oppressive silence swallowed them whole. Alone again.

For a moment, she just stood there, her hand still resting on the door handle, frozen. The weight of the past few days—no, the past few hours—hung heavy over her, and it seemed to press harder the longer she stayed in place. She hadn’t been to Banjo’s place before, hadn’t even really spoken to him outside of team-related matters. Now she was here, asking for his help, and the strangeness of it all tugged at her, making her second-guess everything.

The thought of turning around flared briefly, the urge to retreat to her room, shut the door, and lock herself away almost overpowering. But there was no safety net waiting for her this time. She’d already said what she’d needed to say to Haven, and Aurora… Harper didn’t want to think about Aurora’s disappointment right now.

And, worst of all, there was Katja.

As she’d listened to Katja’s words, Harper had felt a pang of sympathy she wasn’t sure she wanted to acknowledge. Katja’s confession was raw, each word tinged with bitterness, a taste Harper knew all too well from her own moments after the trials. The anger, the shame, the crushing sense of responsibility for her team’s suffering… it all felt painfully familiar, wounds that were still healing on her own heart. But what had struck Harper most wasn’t just the hurt in Katja’s voice; it was the way so many seemed ready to cast her as the scapegoat for every downfall, from PRCU’s closing to the chaos at the dance. Deep down, Harper agreed with Katja on one thing: she shouldn’t have to carry the burden of blame for every broken piece of their world.

And yet, another truth lingered there, and Harper couldn’t shake it. Katja might not deserve all the blame, but her choices hadn’t been without cost. They’d left their own scars on the team, ones that didn’t fade easily. Harper struggled to reconcile the good intentions Katja had spoken of with the reality of her actions, the unintended damage that had rippled through each of them in ways they were still coming to grips with. Katja’s remorse seemed genuine, but Harper found herself wondering if Katja truly grasped the depth of what her silence had cost them all, how it had chipped away at their trust, making it that much harder to feel safe around each other.

Swallowing hard, Harper raised her fist and knocked softly on the door, her pulse quickening in the seconds that stretched out unbearably. The pause after felt endless, as if time itself had slowed just to mock her. Finally, the door creaked open, and though Harper couldn’t see Banjo standing there, she could feel his presence. The air between them coagulated with an awkward tension that made her skin prickle. Or maybe that was just her—projecting her unease onto him. She swallowed again, the words catching in her throat before she forced them out.

“You… offered to help,” she said, the words slipping out almost reluctantly. “So… I’m here…for help.”

“Uhh… He’s busy with…”

An interior bedroom door opened and Banjo stepped out along with a flare of escaping red light, he tilted his head with wide eyes, and sighed deeply at the difficulty of what he’d just endured, before raising his head and seeing who Zimmerman was addressing at their front door.

“Yeah… Yeah, I did at that. Guess let’s get this show on the road, eh?” He first addressed their guest at the entrance.

He walked past the large man who lay prostrate on the couch, occasionally turning pages on a comic that was spread across the floor.

“Yeah, don’t– ever– go in there…”

“I told you…” The larger man mumbled, not looking up from the floor’s reading material.

“Still needed doin’...”

Zimmerman pointed to Harper standing at the door, as if he hadn’t already noticed, as he crossed the living quarters and brushed past her on the way out the door.

“Y’know ya didn’t have to knock. Could have just yelled out in the hallway or elevator for us.” He said, turning back and realizing that Harper still hadn’t moved on from the door. “Ya comin’ or do I have to carry ya?”

“Um…no thanks,” Harper replied, cringing slightly at the thought. She took a cautious step away from Banjo’s door, then another, each movement hesitant as she aligned herself to the direction of his voice. Her fingers brushed against the fabric covering her eyes, adjusting it almost compulsively, as though the motion might steady her nerves. The silence around them felt thick, amplifying every sound—the shuffle of their footsteps, the faint rustle of clothing—each small noise becoming magnified in the emptiness of the hall. She opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, then closed it again.

After a few more paces, she finally managed, “Your…roommates seemed like a lively bunch.” Harper felt the clumsiness in her words almost immediately. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the self-consciousness that clung to her. “I, uh, didn’t expect you’d have to wrangle a whole crew just to make sure I don’t walk into a wall.”

There was a pause, and Harper felt her face grow warm. She realized too late that her attempt at humour might have sounded more like self-deprecation, a clumsy attempt to downplay her own discomfort.

“Bundle of nerves in that place right now. The one who opened the door’s a comics nut and he’s thrilled to be goin’ to the Foundation, because of the Force. The other you saw, is… a lot more wary but doesn’t have a whole lot of choice… and the– well... A whole lot of raw nerves goin’ round at the moment.”

He waited for her to catch up.

“Prob’ly not much different from everyone in general at the moment, anyhow, I guess. Nervous people makin’ big decisions earlier than they’d have liked.”

His own thoughts on the matter were irrelevant to polite conversation, to whatever extent he was capable of making polite conversation.

He had no idea of Harper’s plans and thoughts on the matter at hand, and cared even less. An offer extended both out of guilt and for the projection of guilt - as teammates drilled down on Katja, and one another, where he would be the one willing to extend help.

He was actually surprised the offer was being accepted in the first place. Especially considering it was put forward to Baxter of all people. But now that it was, he wasn’t going to have his bluff called. She was probably just relishing in the opportunity to bark orders, boss him around and tell him whatever he’s doing is wrong, he figured, remembering the force of nature hyperconfident life guard who brought her own bullhorn to proceedings.

Harper let out a small, shaky laugh, feeling the weight of her own present and past decisions settle more heavily on her shoulders with each step. Choosing to become a diagnostic radiologist had felt like a solid path forward-a decision she’d made long before arriving here. It had been a way to stay in control, to make sense of the strange illness that had plagued her in childhood. She’d always assumed it was behind her since the manifestation of her abilities, a thing of the past never to haunt her again. But now….

She glanced in Banjo’s direction, suddenly grateful that he didn’t pry, didn’t push her to explain herself. Somehow, that made walking beside him easier. It helped to make the moment feel less strange, less loaded. And for the first time since the dance, she felt as if she could lean on someone who wasn’t her family, even if- or especially since- that someone was a near stranger.

_{It reminded her of Calliope.}

“You know…” Harper began, then paused, the words catching unexpectedly in her throat. She wasn’t why she’d started or where she’d planned to go with it. But Calliope’s name hovered just behind her lips, a bit of doubt holding it back. Still, that tug, the need to say something was there. Anything to release a bit of what had been building up inside.

“The thing I wanted to say before the whole…thing with Katja was that…you guys kind of became my family. My home. And I think as long as a person has that, they will be ok.” Her voice wavered again upon realizing how much she wanted that to be true- for herself, for her team, for everyone who’d been hurt by recent events. “ I went to her too, sort of like this. Just…not really knowing why, but needing to feel like things made sense. Or that they’d make sense again eventually.” She trailed off, her eyes lowering despite not being able to guide her as they always had either way.

“So, when I say I appreciate this…I mean it.

He felt the rage slowly fill him once again. The anger for himself he’d had since the Trials, and he realised just how easy it would have been to just pour it all over her. A person he had little time, nor energy for, and sighed deeply as he grabbed her door handle.

“She cried for him, you know? Her lover, her last breath, barely a whimper by the end as Father took the last of her life,”

“I went without family for two decades. It took five years for someone to talk me into seeing any kind of benefit to it.”

“And it came from someone who’s own experiences of family, frankly sounded like a bloody nightmare.”

“Didn’t need it then. Don’t need it now.”

He wasn’t her. Never was. For better or worse.

“And if you keep sentiment like that to y’self, I won't be obligated to ignore it. Now c’mon. We got somethin’ to do.”

After all, he had little doubt if roles were reversed, she’d have been looking to put Daedalus in a grave.

He couldn’t do that, for better or worse.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

The real villain was the communication gap all along.

Meta.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The A.R.C., Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean - Present}

Human #5.018: Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again? (No way! Get Fucked! Fuck Off!")

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): Blackjack and Eclipse}

Previously: Ship of Fools

"I won't attend your funeral, Olly."

"Well, I'd hope bloody not... It's likely the place he'd go scopin' for next on his list..." Banjo furrowed his brow, wondering if he'd really be dumb enough to walk into something like that with Haven in light of everything, or if he was just using it as rhetoric.

"If you want justice you can get..." He hesitated. Sensing someone else approaching.

"Why not start with her?" Rory's eyes expression and intonation darkened.

"Come to finish the job, Kruger?"

Banjo took another deep pull of his beer, not knowing where this was going.

"Been out high fiving your Orcinus pals? Or were you busy leaving flowers for Hyperion?"

Banjo started to run through what could have possibly brought this on.

Where they found Haven. The same way Hyperion found his way onto the campus... Katja knew where it was. But that wasn't exactly a lot to go by. And in all honesty, it wasn't the kind of connection he could expect Rory to form all on his own, unless...

Banjo remembered the aftermath. Jim came down hard and demanded to see him after.

Debrief.

So you've been Jim-Bob's bold little detective sergeant, eh, Tyler? And when exactly were you plannin' on tellin' any of us about this?

As much as he knew he wouldn't be trusted, nor would want anything to do with the faculty and their machinations, he burned and bristled slightly that it was Rory - of all people! - who was given this task. As if he wouldn't have been far better suited. He drowned those thoughts with another deep gulp.

"A few days ago, I just wanted answers. I wanted to know what they could have promised you that would have made it so easy to turn on us. How you could have possibly chosen the janitor over your own team. Or if you thought leading us to where Haven was kidnapped would make up for nearly getting her killed the first time. If you thought playing the hero then would make up for what Harper, Gil, and Calliope went through. Or if you even fucking cared."

He bristled again at the use of Calliope to be a bludgeon, when she wasn't here to speak for herself.

Then darkened even more at the reminder that she wasn't here to speak for herself, and where she may well be... Another deep gulp. The fog couldn't come fast enough. Everything was too clear.

"But you know what... I don't care about answers anymore, Kat. Or excuses. I can't stop you or hurt you. I can't do anything!"

His emotions palpable. An impotent rage.

"The only justice, Kruger, is that you're alone. Hyperion and his children are dead and gone. There's no more Pacific Royal, no more Blackjack. You've burned everything to the ground. No one loves you."

In that impotent rage he was throwing whatever he could to hurt. It's all he wanted to do at this point, Banjo thought to himself. He's not even saying anything at this point, its just all pain.

"Not even Amma."

Fuck.

The guilt rose in Banjo, as he rememebered pushing Gil over in her direction, the conversations shared between each of them regarding her.

The support he'd lent both of them in pursuing her, despite still having never discussed what exactly happened with Katja after he pushed her on.

Cleo was trying to interject, getting drowned out by the barbed words, probably not aware that this was almost part and parcel of how they tended to operate. alright, maybe not to this extreme. But Blackjack had never done thinngs in halves or less than dramatically.

Best of bloody luck with that... He thought, taking another pull.

“Shut the fuck up Tyler,” Baxter hissed. “You don’t get to speak for her just because you’re hurt. You don’t get to throw Amma’s name around like you know what she felt.”

Banjo related to the sentiment. He felt similarly when Calli's name was getting thrown around.

“I am not defending you,” she attempted to voice to Katja, before firing back at Rory, “But you don’t get to say no one loved her. And you sure as hell don’t get to act like she didn’t care.”

“Don’t talk about the dead like you fucking know.”

"Hmm... Probably just Baxter's own hangup with death." He mused to himself. "Close to right though, up til the finish. Or close enough."

”Stop!” Cleo yelled out then, unable to take any more, a strange aura changed to an ominous shade around her. Banjo wasn't familiar enough with her or her power to make sense of it. ”Why would any villain need to send their swords to cut us down? We do it to each other.” Cleo dug her fingers her head, which did little to lend to her stability right now with Banjo, but did raise his sympathies beyond just 'this person is unfamiliar with how this team works'. He wanted to stop things just to prevent more pain. ”Splintered, broken, separated.”

Sundered, He couldn't make sense of it.

“What good is it to hate each other now?” she asked; her voice hollow and cold. Unlike her. Unlike Cleo. Warmth all but gone. She stared around at the eyes that looked back. “You create the Hell that chews you up.”

The choice ofword stung him like a hornet.

She took a breath and closed her eyes before issuing an apology to the group, who had clearly hurt her.

”I don’t... I’m sorry… Cleo uttered, grabbing her belongings in a confused scramble before making tracks in the sand, her skin pulsing with the faint glow that began evaporating away.

“All right. Angry sad’s okay, but that sharing isn’t caring.” She was immediately joined in kind by another of her team. Logan or-- nope. Lucas. More than a few beers deep, but it was Lucas. “Can I miss your home too? Mine are full of ghosts now.” The third member of Eclipse helped him to his feet by the arm, and followed Cleo down the beach.

“Harper, you have absolutely no right to speak to Rory like that. Not even a little bit.” Now Raw looked to hold court. “You’re completely wrong.”

“Because if Katja did care about us, and I mean truly cared, she wouldn’t have sided with a goddamn terrorist.”

That much didn't ring true to him. Clunky conclusion.

“During the Trials, I was warned that one of us was still loyal to Hyperion and was responsible for trapping us inside,” So much anger. Banjo considered what he was seeing and her own empassioned response and chalked it up to betrayal being another type of abandonment. “I didn’t want to believe it, thought it was a trick of the simulation, but now, I know that it was true, and it was you.”

She took another beat to stabilize and deliver a sharp line to the much larger woman.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done?”

“You betrayed us, Katja, and for what? Some warped vision of the future that was sold to you? Do you even understand the lives you’ve put at risk? The people you’ve hurt? The people you’ve killed?”

Raw looked down at Baxter, her friend, ensuring that her words would reach her loud and clear.

“I’m insulted that you think she cares about us, Harper. You weren’t here when Hyperion attacked, you don’t know what it was like.”

She once again returned her focus to Katja.

“People like her tried to take everything from me, again.”

“You think you’re doing what’s right,”

“You think you’re on the ‘right side,’ don’t you? But one day, you’re going to look back and see the destruction you’ve caused, the lives you’ve ruined.” Aurora’s gaze burned into Katja, her tone cold, final.

“And by then, it’ll be too late.”

Banjo staggered to his feet from the soft sand, and picked up the heavier of the two cartons.

"Far as I can see it..."

He pulled another beer clear and opened it.

"Katja, I failed you."

"Before I came to this island, I'd never even heard the term 'mundane'. 'Mundy' was just a day of the week, back where I'm from..."

"I actually... wasn't exactly sure I heard you right the first time I ever heard you use it. Because I'd never caught the context for it before."

"But then that's because we came from completely different places. Had completely different experiences."

He slapped the sides of the carton whilst he swayed and spoke.

"I grew up almost entirely around regular humans. Bouncin' around my entire country. I've been threatened by them, had some try to sell me out, had some try to throw me to the wolves... but I've also had them befriend me. Much as anyone has befriended me, I guess... And even save me." Faces and memories from countless schools flashed before his mind's eye.

"You never had that. And they were responsible for the worst day of your life, when you had everythin' taken from you."

He paused. He didn't need to say it. She knew what he was thinking.

That now, on that, perhaps he could relate.

"And I knew that. And that's why I failed you. Because I never cared enough, when I knew my friend felt this way... to tell you how I knew the way you see things with them was wrong. They're not monolithic, Katie. No more than we are. They're just... people. Bumblefuckin' their way through life. And the humans you dealt with, well they were just a bunch of scared people who got riled up and turned lynch mob by extremists, and set loose on the innocent."

"If ya can't empathise with that at this point, Katie, I don't know what the fuck else to say."

He turned to Aurora. For her talk on 'right sides' and betrayal of team, having put his finger on where it didn't seem to ring true. Afterall, he suspected that in Katja's own head, she was doing all of this FOR them, in her own motivations.

The road to He-- well, yeah. Good intentions and all of that.

"That's the thing, 'Raw. You can't treat this like it was an intellectual decision, because it wouldn't have been. It's an emotional one."

It would've been. It had to have been. It's what he preyed on most with his efforts to amass more numbers.

"And one I never did anythin' about. I'm pretty sure I probably wasn't the only one. But fuck it, I'm only responsible for the shit I do."

"So yeah. I failed ya, Katja. Try not to act special. There's a lot of that goin' around with me right now."

"And whilst I've never had any problem with stirrin' the pot. It all seems pretty pointless that anyone I do that with right now can just cut and run tomorrow anyway. So bugger playin' 'stacks on' with the rest of ya. Guess I prefer a captive audience. I don't intend to spend the last few hours in the place that I've spent more time than anywhere else in my life with this tedious bullshit. Miss me with that."

And with that he started to trudge down the beach towards his horse, before turning to talk back over his shoulder.

"Oh, and Baxter! Can't be fuckin' easy packin' in your state, if you need any help gettin' your shit sorted, whatever your decision. Feel free to knock. Same bloody House bloc anyway, not like I won't have the time."

"Afterall... I never bloody unpacked in the first place."

Seeing the direction he was headed for his horse, and the Eclipse trio were aligned he decided to jog on after them and say something.

Afterall, Zimmerman would throw a hissy fit if he had the chance to mention him to Cleo and didn't.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

"Owwww!" I whined, rubbing the back of my head and untangling myself from my chair.

"Heh-HA! Whadda spaz!" Flash guffaws in that instantly identifiable and irritating manner he has.

"Sir, could I go to--"

"Absolutely, Mister Parker." Came the instant reply, before I could even finish the sentence. He scrawled on a Hall Pass and handed it to me, with the intent I go to sick bay.

"Oh, whatta rip! How come Parker gets to cut out while the rest of us have to--"

"Chalk it up to a four year unblemished record of honesty, good grades and stalwart effort, Eugene."

"Ehhhh... not worth it."

"And since Mister Thompson seems to have such eagerness to have the opportunity to turn those grades around to earn the same goodwill... Surprise quiz." Papers began to fall to desks.

"Oh, Come On!"

As I open the door and turn back to look at the class, rubbing my head and the phantom pain it should presumably hold, I briefly hold Flash's eyes for a fraction of a second.

But it was more than enough.

"Thanks a lot, Parker. You're dead meat."

Great. So I guess I've got that to look forward to.

Minutes later I'm swinging down towards the Financial District and the Battery, trying to put all of this behind me.

I've got to come up with better excuses than pratfalls. My dignity's not going to be able to take much more.

---

S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N

---

Oh, I should probably give you the hows, whats and whys. Bigshot journalist that I'm trying to be now...

...alright. Bigshot newsmedia website administrator who they presumably let me write the occasional thing, because they actually want me for the other things I can do.

Don't know the Hows and Whys. About to find that out, I guess.

But the what?

Extreme flood warning. Swells over twenty feet coming from Manhattan, bearing down on Liberty and Ellis Islands. Liberty Island apparently taking the brunt.

Only thing is... I'm looking at a bright, sunny day.

So those hows and whys. They've got me peaked. Piqued?

They've got my interest piqued. And me swinging for the peak of a stupidly high building to do something less than sensible. That's it. That's the way that goes.

"Pe-- Spider-Man, Spider-Man, Spider-Man... This is a reeeeally bad idea."

As I lean back in the saddle, every wall-crawling fibre of my being stretching the full tension of the webs, that are about to slingshot me across the water, my gums flap as they do when the tension of the moment isn't lost on me.

Two miles. It's two miles from The Battery to Liberty Island.

I've had Spider powers for-- less than two weeks, in some capacity? There's no chance that this ends well.

"This looks like a job for-- well, if I'm being honest, Superman. But since this isn't his city, I guess we'll see what the resident web-slinging representative can do about this."

I release and the webs fire me across the water.

"Oh... I am... I am going very fast. And down. Too down. Too much down!"

I see a ferry beneath me, and manage to tag it with a webline, and with a hard yank using my other arm as leverage, I give myself a little more loft just before I would have splashed down into the Hudson.

"Probably should have tried to land on that ferry..."

Whizzing by at a flat trajectory, my eyes almost pop out of my head as I see a woman run past me on my right.

"Overtake on the left! Tourists! Not gonna... try and catch me? Well, alright then, I'll figure out the water landing by myself..."

This is not going to be fun.

Then I see it. Ahead, small at first, but growing fast with the speed I'm moving at. A tugboat. Small, and looking even smaller from how low and heavy it was sitting in the water.

I'd like to say I aimed, but physics wouldn't be that complimentary to me.

I manage to raise my hands in front of my face, just before I slam into the side of the tugboat.

Shocked people turn and stare.

"Now..." I say, panting heavily in shock. Both hands and feet pressed firmly against the hull. Almost too stunned by what happened to move.

"Did anybody see how I just did that? Because I'm gonna want to know how I just did that."

I jumped off to solid ground and started lending assistance to soaked tourists, who were being rescued by the two women already there. Directing them to the higher ground that Lanterns were providing.

"Also, I'm pretty sure I--" I pat around my hips. "--I did. I'm gonna need for some of you to spring for the ferry the other way, because I'm pretty sure that won't work on the way back, and I left my wallet in my other pants. Cabcharge? Somebody spot a Spider-Man an Uber? If we all just throw in a buck this should work out easy..."

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Well... post here is my next call to business. Hopefully today, if not, tomorrow.

Commencement: A Foundation Institute RP

Banjo avoided looking down at his high-mast trouser legs, trying to play it off.

Then he heard it. They all heard it.

The twisting of metal coming from what gave the group shelter above.

A blast of ice. It moved on leathery wings. It came for them.

Paisley. Hyperion. This.

As Banjo felt the accumulated warmth of the dance floor lift to the sky, diffusing to the cold air outside, he saw a rapidly closing window.

Whatever came next he'd need to have his wits about him. Leg be damned.

"Tell ya Mum I'm sorry, Zimmerman..."

He stepped forward into the vacant space as the crowd rushed away in search of escape.

"...I don't think ya suit's gonna make it."

There was no sun. Only the warm atmosphere. But that wasn't insignificant. People had been leaving to get air all night. The A.R.C was generally designed for training on a smaller scale, and while it could be used for larger events, this was a party with the entire senior class, catered by juniors, chaperoned by staff. People were close quarters in the dance floor, and there were crowds of huddled masses in other pinch points like the bar. A lot of bodies, a lot of heat.

The thing plummeted to the floor, it cracked a panel and was backlit by sparking circuitry from the damaged and glitching structural inner-working of the A.R.C.

It seemed distracted, looking for someone.

Paisley. Hyperion. This.

He took two steps forward. He'd need space for what came next.

"He--! _{mmm-mmm mmm?}"

A hand slapped over his mouth from behind.

_{"Shut. The Fuck. Up."} He felt a weight dragging him back. Big Steve didn't have any hyperhuman strength, and quite clearly had never set foot in a gym, but he did still have height and weight on the smaller Australian who was also far from his physical peak.

_{"I'm not dying because you draw its attention this way."} Banjo held out a hand at the night's sky. He could almost see the accumlated warmth frittering away, and the best possible window for getting back to his full self drifting off into the open air.

Big Steve pulled him back around a potted plant by the bathroom door.

"You're lucky I didn't freeze your bloody arms off..." He growled.

_{"Keep it down!}" The larger man hissed. _{"And it's still less than THAT thing would do."}

They watched as it froze students and blocked the exits with ice.

<sub>"True enough, I guess."

"So what... your plan is to just hide here? That's a terrible plan. Even if you don't care about anybody else, how long do you think it'll be until he thinks to look here?"</sub>

Things like that. Monsters. Whether Paisley or... whatever the fuck this thing was... they're like a force of nature. The cyclone, the tornado, maybe it doesn't hit your house today... but that's just today, and by it's own 'grace'. Whatever 'grace' you can attribute to a monster.

_{"It won't ever look this way if you Shut. The Fuck. Up."}

Big Steve seemed to huddle over focusing inwards.

None of that rang true to Banjo.

_{"Who--? Who the fuck are you, anyway..?"}

The large one next to him just rolled his eyes.

_{"You really do get dumber when you haven't powered up for a while."} He seemed exasperated, but not just by his behaviour. Which was the general Banjo effect. But as if he'd explained this too many times already.

_{"We've been through all of this before. For someone who's supposed to be smart, you really seem to be willing to think you were put in our dorm by coincedence..."}

---

Banjo had returned to the dorm. It was only the second time he'd been here. The first occasion he'd simply dumped his stuff in his new room - which was Zimmerman's old room, before he so swiftly relocated him - and left.

"But your name's not Steve..?"

"No."

"Explain again."

"Well, there's another Steve in Civics class..."

"You say 'Another Steve'. I notice you keep sayin' 'Another Steve', but your name isn't Steve. It's--"

"--Marcus!" Alex called out from the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

"Marcus. You keep sayin' 'Another Steve' but your name's Marcus."

"It's just easier."

Banjo squinted up at the taller boy. An otherwise perplexed look on his face.

"The other Steve is smaller. So they call me 'Big Steve'."

"But what-- possible connection do you have with this other kid called... 'Little Steve'?"

"No. They just call him 'Steve'. 'Steve' and 'Big Steve'.

Banjo rubbed his brow, things weren't getting clearer.

"But YOU'RE not a bloody Steve. He's--"

"I like it." He said. "Sounds good. It-- sticks with people."

"BUT YOU AREN'T STEVE. YOUR NAME IS--" Shit... it was gone again. What was it again? He knew he was bad with names, but this was--

"--Marcus!" Alex happily repeated, before continuing to rinse his mouth out.

"That! Your name is Marcus!"

"Don't you choose to go by 'Banjo'?"

"..."

"Fine. Whatever. You're Big Steve. Not--" He threw a hand up.

"Marcus."

---

"Come on... I told you mine."

"Yeah. Y'did. More fool you."

"Come ooooooon. I know it's something that makes you stronger. I heard."

"That's a gross oversimplification."

Alex sat there actively waiting for the expanded explanation.

"No. That's part of it. Yours is straightforward. Electromagnetism. Zzzzzzzap. Mine's more complicated. It takes too long to explain and confuses people." He lied. Trevor got it in seconds, and he hadn't exactly inspired him with his sparkling intelligence otherwise over the course of their time.

He just couldn't be bothered. All of this was too much effort for people. What's the point he was only--

--oh. Going to be stuck here for the next four or so years.

"I'm a blindspot." Spoke the other presence in the room, from the corner reading a comic book.

"Basically, I have a latent and active power that can eat away at people's memory of myself and has a... minor effect on telepaths on a psi-level." He turned the page.

"Not that powerful, though. If they're aware and focus, and have any kind of real power... well, I'm pretty weak with it."

"My parents had pictures up all around the house, I suspect, more to remind themselves that I existed and to keep checking on me, rather than for sentimental reasons. Both have my name tattooed on them as wells. There were more than a few calls from school to remind them to pick me up over the years as well."

His voice was flat and his delivery dry and matter-of-fact, as so frequently was his way.

"Is it harder to explain than that?"

---

She looked nervous, waiting for him outside of the dorm bloc.

It was cute and brought a smile to his face as pretty much everything about her did.

"There you are! Umm... we need to talk."

"Oh hu-llo. Don't know if I like the sound of that. An ambush?" He held his hands up in jest of surrender.

"Please Banjo, this is serious."

Not so serious that she'd use the other name yet, but he could still she was strained and getting that way in her plea.

"Then we'll get through it. We always do. What's the problem?"

"I know you've been treating the therapists you've had to see over the years as just-- well, you play your silly games..."

He bristled slightly at the description, but it wasn't enough to argue about.

"But as I've told you before a few time, I still feel that mine can do some good. So I'd like it if you could respect what I have to say next."

"Yeah, hun."

"Well, at our last session we've had some level of... new findings, which we identified. My therapist feels that if I'm to be honest with our relationship, I should let you know as well, now that it's become apparent to this point."

"New findings. Like a breakthrough?"

"I certainly wouldn't describe it that way, no. But I'm worried, Andrew. I don't want you to think less of me."

He straightened up.

"I told you. Anything it is, we'll get through it. That's what we do. I meant it."

And with some trepidation she told him, and at the end he held her. Still not sure what to make of what he'd heard. Because what else could he do?

^{________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

_{Location: The Beach, Dundas Islands, Pacific Ocean - Present}

Human #5.010: Ship of Fools

^{_{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}}

_{Interaction(s): NPCs and Beach Blackjack, Raindance and Eclipse Crew}

Previously: High (trouserleg) Fashion

His options had dwindled.

He'd just come from the Legal Wing after a conversation with Professor Onassis.

Somehow his plans for earlier had leaked. He wound up in a 'spontaneous' conversation that happened to remind him that he was not in possession of a US work Visa, nor would he have an address that would fare him well for such an application to be made at this point.

True enough. He could imagine an immediate rubber stamp denial for any documentation with a 'Dundas Island' residential/mailing address.

And then was further reminded that even if he did get documentation approved, the United States might not be the safest place for him specifically if he were to travel there. The implication of him having a target on his back for anyone who may just want to get into the good graces of a certain US Senator, in a world where favours were currency.

In addition to this, he was only in Canada on Student Visa, and it was difficult to imagine any other institution across the entire country who would consider a transfer from that University with the Dundas Island address.

It was the first time he felt excluded because of what he was and a place he attended as opposed to the laundry list of things that he'd done or been suspected of doing.

If her were unable to transfer, and the term on his student Visa expired, deportation awaited him. And he suspected that could well be a death sentence if there was any truth to what he'd been told.

It would be a shame for him to not get his law degree at this point, he was told. And probably his best bet for finding a stable life later somewhere or other as well.

Banjo could barely muster enough care to mumble in response throughout. His mind had already been made up regardless, and it had nothing to do with a piece of paper which told him he was capable of something he already knew he could do.

Onassis imparted upon him that at times it had been one of his deepest dreads that Banjo might one day pass the BAR and fulfil his potential in advocacy. But that he must admit that whatever he thought of the youth he remained one of the most impressive natural legal minds he'd come across in his experience as an educator.

Banjo, seeing there was nothing more of value coming but meaningless sentiment, merely grunted and left the room.

---

It spoke.

Everyone was frozen now. Even those who weren't in blocks of ice.

"Hello, mothers."

There was almost a cold bitterness to the word. Their delivery to the two Blackjack women left all paralysed in the moment.

Banjo scratched and clawed through the fog to take what he could from the moment in his present state.

Big. Flies. Mentos freshmaker breath. Strong. Claws.

It had the augmented form of the one who'd been leading the construction on this year's Trials. Whatshisname. Not-my-supervisor.

But with wings. Wings and very, very large claws.

Katja. If he could run interference on the breath, she was their best bet. He couldn't see her in the crowd.

And then it spoke again and the fog consumed his train of thought, leaving him to try and make what he could of the new information.

“I’m afraid, I need you both to come with me.” It's speech was clear, prim and proper. Far from what you'd expect from a mindless beast.

“The father is expecting you both,” The paternal name not seeming to hold the same level of disdain or resentment.

“I’d be happy to dispatch any interlopers who dare challenge the Chernobog.”

Gil may well have been the actor, but Cassander Charon took it as a cue. He called out a quippy warcry and threw himself into a full frontal explosive attack.

And when the flash cleared, and the fog rised, the beast had him by the throat.

Big. Flies. Mentos Freshmaker Breath. Strong. Claws. Deceptively quick within it's range. Durable. Very durable. Out of my weight class even at my best.

He went from "Maybe Katja" to "Only Katja" very quickly. His mind not considering beyond blunt force in its present state.

Then Torres stepped forward, pleading to the man and not the beast. Her power loosening the grip on Cass' throat and dropping him to the floor.

The beast said the man was all well and good but didn't have claws like these. And demonstrated his point.

But her act opened up the opportunity of alternatives.

Something other than brute force?

"Mothers, come." The cold delivery once again returned. “Before I have to embarrass anymore of your… friends.” A mist of frigid air burst from its nostrils as it snorted in some kind of huff.

“I’m getting impatient.”

Something was off.

It seemed to identify Rory and openly challenge him.

Rory seemed to try and form a plan, co-ordinate and communicate it directly in front of the beast.

Surely he's not going to...

He openly tried to borrow Amma's power and tell Haven to run on his signal, and there's telegraphed playcalls and then there was this...

“There will be no running.”

“And there will be none of this.”

“If you run, I will break both your wings and your legs.”

“Like this.”

It almost seemed to revel in what it new it would be able to do to them. Dismantling them. Anticipating and responding.

And it was fast. For someone so big it seemed almost too fast. Faster than Katja, Banjo figured. Probably not faster than me if I was running at full steam... but I wouldn't want to coast or play with it.

Brute force seemed like less of an option with every passing minute.

“You think her to be your ally?” The beast gestured to Amma with its horns. “Perhaps the woman you knew here is, but Tiamat is not.” Its face slightly turned into a cruel smile.

It was playfully cruel. In ways he never saw from the form before the trials. It assured them that man was dead. Banjo believed it.

There was talk of names, which lost Banjo. He could barely keep his head around anyone's chosen name at the best of times. He spent the time spying his surroundings.

“Tiamat, you have a mission to resume.”

“And you’re coming with me, Dove.”

And that struck home. That was after the Trials. He felt convinced there was no more point appealing to the man. He was gone by then. He couldn't have known. He wasn't the one 'behind the wheel'. This beast. This monster. This Chernobog.

---

Banjo looked devastated. Quiet rage and vitriol pumped through his veins where warm-blooded humour once flowed.

He stood in front of the house on the Alumni village. A few moving vans scattered along the noticeably quiet street, that was so often bubbling with life, energy and a sense of community.

"Oh! G'Day, kiddo!" The older man called from his house.

"They run you out too?"

"I-- may have made a few trips to the mainland and came up with some money." The details of how exactly and why, left vague just as they had been back home when he'd disappear and did likewise. The exact marketable skill he possessed never spoken, but for whatever reason, whatever the amount, he seemed to be able to make it happen.

"It's too hot here now. I wouldn't be game to make anymore here as it is." He said more than he usually would, the leak perhaps coming because he viewed Banjo as old enough to have some sense of where it came from.

"That said, I went big enough and hard enough that I won't have to for a while..."

"Had to... since I can't exactly sell up, when I piss off. Trust me mate, you don't want to be known as one of the ones who stuck around from before, when the types who are looking to exploit a bargain get here."

Banjo kicked at the dirt. Everyone running again. He'd done it all of his life but for some reason it seemed distasteful now.

"Sold the boat though. Well... upgraded."

"Upgraded?"

"Yeah. Ripper boat but the 'Dawny Fraser' didn't seem fit for purpose so much anymore."

He turned and looked back down at the pier.

"See that big bastard there?"

"You mean behind that massive..."

"Nah mate, it is that massive one there. Say hello to the 'Thorpedo'."

Gracefully sauntering out of the house in a wide brimmed sunhat stepped Margot, greeting him with pomp and ceremony.

"Why Hellooooooo, isn't it a delightful day for an outing? Will you be joining our boating party?"

Banjo turned and glared at the older man. "Are you out of your--?"

"They were gonna put her in a home, mate... A lot of these people... Didn't have much better waitin' for them. So I managed to buy up an old smaller cruise vessel that's in decent nick. Or former cruise vessel. Regular humans aren't the only ones who can gouge a hype for a bargain from a forced Government sale..."

He shook his head thinking of the logistics behind what he was doing, as well meaning as it was.

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many nutbags are joinin' you on this Ship of Fools for your three hour tour."

"A doz--" "Three hour tour." Banjo interrupted.

"Are you done..? About a dozen and a half."

Banjo emitted a low long whistle.

"Twenty people. Including sweet Lady Dementia over there. Scurvy, rickets or a storm..? What's gona claim you first?"

"Don't call her that... So am I saving you a seat?"

For the first time in a while Banjo emitted a laugh. A growl of a cackle with almost no mirth, at the absurdity of the question.

"Ha ha ha haaaa... No bloody way. I'd have a better chance stickin' around here and waitin' for the lynch mob to arrive, only I'm not doin' that either."

"So what are you doin'? Or did you just come up here to laugh at my well-meaning efforts, mate?"

"Well, I know you said WE don't have boat money, or buy a home on the alumni village money, but that YOU have boat and alumni village money..."

"Aww here it comes..." The Butler straightened up, waiting for the younger man to cry poverty.

"I haven't asked you for much of anythin'... in about two decades."

Widening smirk crossed his long-suffering minder's face.

"Yeah, yeah... out with it. I think I see where this is goin'."

"I need to you to buy me somethin' and I know you're not goin' to want to, or even understand why I'm askin'..."

The Butler reached into his pocket.

"I think I'm way ahead of you on this one..."

The older man held out a phone in his palm.

Banjo looked surprised.

"The promise I made... was with the guy who used to run this place. To keep the kids who went here safe. Or... you know... the terrorist who was impersonating him. I guess I don't know exactly which one of them it was with in the end... Still my word's my word. But with the school gone belly up. I trust you at least know enough now to not get yourself into TOO much trouble doing anything even stupider with that?"

Banjo took the phone and weighed it in his hand. It felt lighter than he thought it ever would.

"Y'know... if you don't make me promise not to do anythin' stupid, then we really don't ever have to pretend to ever be disappointed..."

The older man side-eyed with a screwface.

"But yeah... I know well enough to leave THAT alone. Think I've got enough people out for my blood as it is without adding more to the party."

"I mean... thanks and everythin'." He said, quickly pocketing the device before he changed his mind.

"But that wasn't actually the request I had in mind..."

---

"Pity, I wish there were more of you."

It dispatched the Gils in seconds. As they fell by the way side his mind steeled through the fog once more to divine strategy from the chaos.

No blunt brute force. Another way...

The cables sparking with electricity, the floor panel glitching with presumably exposed wiring beneath.

Zimmerman.

You like heroes... Now's your chance. He thought to himself. Watching the beast's footwork and the glitching floor panel with a sharp focus.

<sub>"Don't you dare. I know what you're thinking."

"I juice... maybe the leg has enough in it. I hit the opening. Slam through the panel. Draw its ire. Zimmerman steps in and fries that prick with every volt this place has from behind."</sub>

The panel. It's feet. It turns to keep powered seniors in its sightlines. The larger man hissed back.

<sub>"And you said my plan was terrible. You don't know how your leg is going to be. You don't know if you could be quick enough, and you certainly don't know if Alex won't freeze up in the moment. If it goes bad you'll kill all three of us."

"It's killing people now. He's out in the open."</sub>

A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. Banjo would have to freeze him to try, was the implication.

_{"I won't let you. Anyway... look."} Big Steve looked to distract him again. His focus was wondering and waning. He turned to keep up with events and got drawn back into watching.

And then two stepped to the fore.

---

"I'm in, but I've got a condition. Non-negotiable. You jokers are supposed to be all about respectin' personal flair, preference and caterin' to the individual. Time to put ya money where ya mouth is..."

His hollow grin grew into a wide leer, as he spoke to the recruiter.

"Well, I've... certainly never heard a request like that before. And I-- well, I can't imagine it'd be very good--"

"That's the condition. Run it up the flagpole. If ya can't do it, I'm not interested... But if you're claimin' that the Foundation caters to the individual, like you all always seem ever so proud to go sprukin'..."

He jogged back down the corridor and out to the day.

His leg was fine. The day after the incident at the dance he grew tired of waiting - tired of ruining his own life on a what if? - and juiced in the warmest part of the afternoon sun.

Now it was fine, and he was left wondering how long he could have done that and been fine. How if his mind was running at full capacity, his body at its peak capability, would things have played out the same way they did.

It was a fresh torture from the one he'd previously been experiencing after the trial, and one that thanks to his renewed focus, never gave him a moment's respite.

He skirted around the A.R.C complete with its tape and new skylight feature, as he jogged off to the farm.

He pushed on to the stable and pulled a handful of sugar cubes from his pocket.

"I've got good news and bad news. Good news is, old mate bought ya for me. Much as someone can own another. So you're stuck with me now."

The pony hoovered up the cubes, whilst Banjo rested his forehead on his namesake.

"Where that's gonna be, I guess we'll see."

"But I'm not leavin' you here in this foresaken place with these parasites of hyperhuman misery takin' over, that's for damn sure. I've seen how they treat places and things when their blood gets up, I'm not subjectin' you to that. No way, no how."

---

Alyssa and Luce stepped up to the moment. There was some sense of relief since he knew at least the pair of them likely had some kind of experience with something like what they were looking at.

_{"Yes! Get off of me, they're keeping it busy. There's a window!"}

The beast started to justify itself and spin. It had not chosen bloodshed it claimed, it defended itself when it was engaged in violence by others.

...clearly not addressing the hyperhuman popsicles in the room. It'd make a good lawyer with that attitude.

"I would dare say, this has been fun though."

There was a playfulness to its cadence. Cassander Charon leaped back into the fray, as ever was his wont. An outburst from the Chernobog.

Then Haven stepped forward to surrender herself, to end the violence.

“Take me and end this.” She offered gently, a tear diluting the blood on her cheek. “Please, no more suffering.”

Banjo ripped a shoulder through and broke free from Big Steve's grasp. Looking to make his move under the cover of the myriad distractions. He threw a hand up to signal to Zimmerman, but what came next glued his feet to the floor.

"Mother,"

"“It’s too late for that now.”

A winged girl was strapped to a surgical table in the middle column of the top row.
He recognised the sound of Haven’s own voice in her screams, and the sound of a bonesaw.
The angles didn’t provide the best view of the winged girl, but just how many winged girls did he know? – and the screams certainly confirmed it.

Banjo staggered, his chest churned and he felt he was about to vomit everywhere.

“Father only needs your blood.”

Another useless appeal to the man echoed from somewhere beyond Banjo's notice. He was lost within the moment.

“There is no Robert left,” A truth Banjo already knew. “Only Chernobog. You couldn’t save Robert, anymore than you could save any of those who left. Those who never made it home.” A laugh followed the cruel statement.

The cruel statement. The laugh. Playful cruelty. A darkness revelled in.

“She cried for him, you know? Her lover, her last breath, barely a whimper by the end as Father took the last of her life,”

A playful cruelty.

“‘Andrew!’ It was for ‘Andrew’, ‘Andrew, save me,’.”

His mouth fell open. The cadence.

"Banjo, I... hear a voice..."

"...hitting every insecurity I have."

"The voice of my anxieties. A depressive manifestation. She says it sounds like it may be dissociative..."

"The Trials."

“I can’t believe I was ever that weak.” “Really? A panic attack right now? Couldn't handle not being the center of attention could you, Princess.”

"It hates me. Hates my hapiness. Our happiness. It hates you, but still says that you'll find out horrible truths about me and that you'll leave. That I'll never be good enough."

"I have an idea!" "Look, twinsies!"

He turned the puzzle pieces in his head.

“She cried for him, you know? Her lover, her last breath, barely a whimper by the end as Father took the last of her life,”

“‘Andrew!’ It was for ‘Andrew’, ‘Andrew, save me,’.”

_{^"--Calli..?"}

“Go to Sheol,” A stark voice penetrated what seemed to be a moment of absolute silence and snapped him from his paralysis.

With a flick of her wrist, Alyssa hurled the disk like stone through the air, the object sticking the Chernobog, transferring the rune to the beast. Pushing herself, Alyssa scrambled to Haven’s fallen form, tackling the girl out of the way as the Chernobog began to glow.

A sphere of energy burst forth from the rune before a vacuum began to consume the creature.

"NO!" A scream. A roar. The desperation palpable. It scratched and clawed against the inevitable. Clutching at an existence, for what to Banjo, must have been a second time, and watching it get torn from a grasp which even claws could not cling to. It snatched at half of it's mission and dragged her off to wherever this 'Sheol' was.

The stark silence that followed was palpable. People were scared to break it. As a few tears penetrated in muffled moments it became clear that whatever that was, it was now over.

Now they just had to live with it. Those lucky enough to still be able.

---

His pony was tied to a post down the beach. He barely had the give-a-shit to hide it anymore, but then people had enough on their minds its presence never came up to require an explanation. Or rather there was pity over his loss. People seemed unwilling to broach, well, anything with him in the days since.

He leaned on two cartons of beer for personal use that the Speakeasy was all too willing to offload to a regular from the island and university. In the coming days all remaining assets would be seized regardless, better to see it go to a person they knew rather than the scavengers from the mainland.

He'd been chain-skulling beers throughout, and juicing periodically to keep the booze inside him with the rest of the poison.

Painful silences and teammates he could barely face.

He hadn't looked at Haven since. He visited her in the Hospital a few times before she regained consciousness, but all interest in doing that again dissipated the second he was informed that she had woken up.

His leg was fine now. How long could that have been the case, if he'd bothered to try? Even if he went to early and always had a limp, he still would have been using his power often enough to have the wherewithal to see through such an obvious ruse.

And it had been an obvious ruse, hadn't it?

Calli had been all too eager to believe her family might actually come together over a shared tragedy, but if his mind anywhere near as well as it usually did, that pragmatic cynicism of his would have shone right through the paper thin trap they set to see the pit beneath it.

His mind which wasn't working to capacity because he got lazy and stupid in the Trials.

How many died? How many maimed, because he didn't see what was right in front of him?

His short-handed team had joined numbers with another decimated team Eclipse. Brothers and sisters in Tragedy.

"Katja's coming this way."

A statement of the obvious, designed to breach the painful silence. But not as obvious in Banjo's case who hadn't noticed due to the fog he brought down over his own head under weight of beer.

He never spoke to her about Gil, Amma and his actions. What could be said? She had kind of withdrawn herself since then anyway, not that he could blame her or anybody for that. It's not like the sentiment wouldn't be understandable.

“I think… I think I miss my home.” Uttered one of Cleo's teammates.

Home.

Home was dead. He didn't have a home. Even if this place wasn't getting shuttered he still wouldn't have had one.

All he had was anger, guilt, and a laundry list of things to do and accounts to settle.

He opened another beer.

People looking to cling to people. It made sense. After all, if it didn't he wouldn't have asked for the pony down the shoreline. When tragedy strikes, people want to cling to the safety of the familiar and that which they still care about at all. He didn't know if he could say that about all of the present company, but enough of them he guessed.

“This was…is my home…” Baxter spoke up. Some weird shit had since happened to her eyes, but she wasn't exactly one of those he cared enough about to find out how or why. “It’s the only one I’ve known since my parents died. And I... I don’t think I’m ready to let that go.”

Baxter couldn't take the silence. Predictable, he figured. Looked like this was going to be the 'So what's everybody doing now' talk, presumably.

“Maybe I don’t know where I’m going next, but whatever that looks like…I don’t want to do it alone. I don’t want to lose my home.”

He pounded another beer, and spat on the sand. He was going to have to juice again soon or things could get messy. He clung to the fog a while longer.

Cleo picked up on the direction of the conversation as well. "I'm... going to join the Foundation,"

Mentally he made a note of there being someone he would be familiar with.

“You’ll be safe there.” Lorcán replied with a saccharine lie. Addressing the emotions of the person making the statement rather than the facts of what was said.

“We’r-” He hesitated. Cobbling together a thought, or questioning the truth of his first statement? Banjo thought. “I’m,” He corrected before continuing to speak, “I’m going to Crestwood Hollow tomorrow to stay with Cass and Ripley.” Referring to his family.

“My parents thought it best if I was aware from here while the dust settles and they get their affairs in order. They’re going to be trying to get jobs to keep the house in the village. If that doesn’t pan out,”

Banjo thought back to what the Butler had said about 'don't want to be known as one of the ones who stuck around from before, when the types who are looking to exploit a bargain get here.' But decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I guess, we’ll all move to Crestwood Hollow and live with my Aunt and Uncle until something permanent works out.”

Family. Must be nice.

"We don't mean to disturb you," Two people came over, seeking some kind of company, comraderie or likeminded sentiment. Banjo didn't have the stomach for it and peeled off. He wandered down to the shoreline to juice and piss into the sea. Not something he'd have done if Calliope were still in the picture, but that wasn't the case anymore.

When he came back he saw the girl handing Gil something small and metallic, as he caught a glint of a reflection.

Perhaps sensing his lack of desire to deal with them, they finished their conversation and bid them farewell.

He felt directed silence. It seemed they took his departure as less apathetic and more an aggressively sought absence. Or at least that was how he took it. A request for his thoughts.

Well, people didn't have to not-ask twice...

"Daedalus..." He spoke the unspoken name of the last few days.

"He's still out there, and there's only one lead left. The Foundation. He's known there. He's from there. We didn't even know about him until we had contact with there. The suffering he'd caused. And what little we've learned has mostly come from there."

"I can't promise you safety. But then, I pretty much feel anyone who claims they can promise safety to any of us at this point, anywhere, is lying to you. But that's the only place that holds anything even vaguely recognisable as justice."

He couldn't even bring himself to look in Haven and Rory's direction as he spoke.

"I know I've never had much of a prosecutorial side to me... But I'm gonna go to the Foundation. I'm gonna drag him out of whatever hole he's hidin' in, and throw him in a deeper one, so dark that he forgets what the sun looks like."

"And when that prick looks across the bench, after bein' told he doesn't get to breathe free for the rest of his natural life. He's gonna know it was ME. And he's gonna know exactly how and where he fucked up."