#lillaxtrigger

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 21

The bustling New York streets flow with the usual daytime commute that stroll through as smoothly as clockwork, unbeknownst to them all of the powerful mob boss that they walk alongside of; the man donned in the zebra patterned business suit being the psychic of time himself. In Tury’s clutches, he carries an unassuming onyx black suitcase that glistens against the beating sun; its anonymous contents locked from whatever prying eyes may wish to peek within. Though he walks alongside his fellow New Yorkers like any other, his icy cold glare remains locked to the streets ahead; a sharp and focused stare where upon a single glance would let anyone know that this guy in the fancy patterned suit was serious about his job. His gaze to the road ahead however falters when upon hearing his stomach let out a pleading gurgle, checking his watch for the time almost instinctively as soon as he was aware of his growing hunger; the face of his watch reading to him of the time being “11:34”. From his watch do his icy eyes scan across the street he stands in the midst of for anywhere he could grab a quick bite to eat; a small burger restaurant with with only outside accommodations catching his eye, the joint only having a single room form the employees to work and cook in.

His belly beckoning him for a bite to eat, the timely psychic marches to the ordering window and sets his black suitcase aside; the employee manning the window going through her usual lines in asking: “Welcome, sir. May I take your order?” After a moment to peruse through the menu, Tury takes out his wallet from the fold of his business suit and states: “Yes, I would like to order the spicy chicken sandwich with extra pickles and a medium salad as the side.” “Would you like a drink with that?” the woman behind the counter ask. “Just a lemonade would suffice; thank you.” “Alright, that’ll be $6.20.” Taking the intended amount from his billfold, he hands the money over for the cashier to take; the employee putting the cash in the register before she claims that: “Thank you, your order will be ready in a few minutes.” The transaction in progress, the timely man reaches down for his black suitcase in content with simply waiting for his meal; but is concerned when his palm fails to feel the handle of the case. Tury’s cold glare drops to the concrete where he had set his case find it having been pilfered from where he placed; and though his visage hides it well, his concern starts to grow into worry.

In almost an instant, a bright white flash explodes out from the timely psychic’s body to engulf the surrounding streets; everything around him slowing to a complete and utter stop. The people strolling through the streets, the pigeons flying overhead, even the cars that run across the road; all of it frozen in the realms of suspended time. Having brought the world around him grinding to a halt, Tury turns back towards the very streets he walked in searching for whatever unfortunate fool dared to swipe his suitcase; carefully inspecting every single person within his peripheral vision. Its not until catching the sheen of onyx black that he discovers both his suitcase and the thief that dare attempted to swipe his stuff away. Taking his precious case be a rather grungy teenager, seeming to be no older than 13; her choice of lightly torn and dirty apparel leaving the impression that she was not under the best circumstance. Nevertheless, the glare in the timely psychic’s razor sharp eyes made it clear what his intent against the girl was.

Tury’s aura of white fades away to let the gears of time resume their eternal ticking; everything that had been encompassed within this pale shade moving once more. The cashier that attended to the timely psychic emerges out with a tray of food in her hands and finishes their transation with: “Here’s your food sir, hope you come to eat again here at-” To the employee’s puzzlement however, there stood not even an iota of the man in the zebra patterned business suit standing anywhere behind the counter; glancing over to the outdoor tables and benches to find no trace of him anywhere. “Sir?”

Breaching from the flowing river of daily commuters and city goers, the rugged teenage girl takes a detour through a small street lined with apartments, occasionally glancing back for if the guy she swiped from attempted to follow. Even with how many times she peers over her own shoulder, the girl sees not a sign or soul of the suitcases owner anywhere behind her; the teen nonetheless taking a random turn down one of the street corners. In her venture across the cluttered apartment district, the teenage girl takes every corner she possibly could in the usual pickpocket’s intuition of possibly being tailed; the thief looking back with every turn in checking if her usual suspicions were on point. Its upon the last turn that she stands right behind the corner to check one last time, peeking around the brick wall to find not a single hair of the man she swiped anywhere among the unkempt and dirt ridden streets; a sigh of relief escaping from between her lips as she resumes her trek.

The door to a dingy little apartment opens wide as the pickpocket teen lets herself in, the first site she’s greeted to being that of two boys; an older one and a younger one. While the older one peruses through a spread of papers and documents littering the coffee table, the younger is left to constantly type away at his laptop while sitting on the couch; both of them looking over from their respective tasks to happily greet the girl: “Yo, sis. How’d it turn out?” the older one greets, giving the girl a hug. “Got my hands on a guys briefcase. Should’ve seen the weird ass outfit the dude was wearing.” the teen girl answers. “You pop it open yet?” the younger one then asks. “Nah. Guy’s got a good lock on it; premium stuff. Whatever’s inside here, that zebra suited stiff sure as hell doesn’t want getting out.” “Gimme a sec, I’ll take it.” the older brother then request, taking the suitcase off the girls hands.

With her older brother taking care of the suitcase, this leaves her to sit on the couch next to her younger bro and ask: “So, how much money did we get out of the last piece of info we sold to those news vultures?” “Not a lot, the most we got out of that local ham market scandal was about 100 dollars.” “Just that much? Man, that ain’t nowhere near enough to take care of the bills. How the hell those bastards over at the outlet think a story like that’s only worth that?” “The collapse of a local ham market doesn’t grab as much attention as the more eye catching headlines.” “Don’t they care about the market and the disasters this would bring.” “Those guys only care about the ratings that will rake in the cash.” “Dammit…” “Hey, sibs. You’re gonna wanna come look at this.” the older brother then tells them; both the young girl and little boy prying themselves off the couch and head towards the kitchen.

Coming into the kitchen, the two find their older brother staring down upon the contents of the open suitcase spilled all across the counter; documents, names, phone numbers, receipts, and small baggies of pills and white powder. “What is all this?” the teen girl wonders. “This here’s...drugs!” the older brother claims, inspecting one of the baggies filled with white powder. “Cocaine!?” “Sis, who’d you say you nabbed this case from again?” the younger brother asks. “I...just got it off some stiff dickhead waiting for his food.” “That ain’t the only thing here.” the older brother then returns their attention to.

Among the pile of papers spread across the counter, the older brother pulls out from underneath little slips showing some names and money amounts, reading one of them out to list: “Simon Clasgo, Italy, 30 pound shipment of morpheme. Total- $5,300!?” Flabbergasted over the insane amount of cash shown in just one of these little receipts, the teen girl swipes another out from the pile to read out: “Shintido Asumoi, Japan, 40 pound shipment of crystal Meth. Total conversion– $6,890!?” Wanting to read off a piece of this, the younger brother jumps up tot he counter to take a receipt for himself; read aloud for it to say: Alihandro Mariniata. Mexico, 200 pound shipment of...Krokodil? Dang, this boy’s got his fingers in everywhere. Who is he?”

Curious the man they had pilfered this evidence of international drug trade off of, the older brother takes a little peek to one of the documents to find common name attached to them all; reading this collection of papers belonging to: “Tury Ploticola.” “Ploticola? That a knockoff brand of coke?” the youngest of them guess. “You’ve seriously never heard of the name Ploticola before?” the older brother claims. “I’m ten, what you want from me?” “The Ploticola’s are supposed to be behind the biggest Tire industry in the U.S. Every car driven today was made in a factory they own. They’re one of the richest family names in the country.” the teen girl explains. “They’re super loaded; what the hell’s one of them doing in the international drug trade business?” “Who cares!? I mean a big business heir caught running a drug shipping racket: you know how much dosh this treasure trove of dirt’s gonna get us? Those vultures running the news might pay thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands for this.” the youngest brother claims. “Well have enough to get by for at least several month. Maybe even enough to get us out of this hovel. That guy was packing a goldmine; this might be the best day of our lives.” the young girl cheers with an overjoyed grin. “A shame that it shall be your last.” another voice threatens them with.

Upon hearing this threatening voice does the trio swiftly towards the living room, astonished to discover the very same man the teenage girl stole from; Tury’s icy eyes glaring to the three with cold and calculated intent. “Oh shit!” the oldest of them exclaims. “Didn’t you make sure you weren’t being followed?” the younger brother questions his sister. “I did! I didn’t spot anybody following me on the way back.” she assures. “Listen, Tury? Just take the briefcase and leave. Swear we won’t tell a soul about this.” the older bro pleads. “A desperate bargain I cannot accept. The moment you three rats trifled through my briefcase was the proceed necessary for your death warrants; a contract signed to forgo your lives in exchanges for your permanent silence.” the man in the zebra patterned suit declares as he starts to near.

With the man before them menacingly approaching, the frightened siblings inch away with every step Tury takes; their backsides soon rubbing against the cold beige wall. Cornered by their menacing intruder, the teenage girl between the trio reaches under her jacket whilst warning their encroaching foe that: “You better fuckin stop! I’m-I’m warning you!” Yet her warning is wordlessly ignored as the man continues to near; his piercing cold eyes locked to the teenage girl. With her only warning having been spurred, the girl pulls out a pistol from the depths of her coat and aims directly for the man’s head; a bright white light blinks before her eyes the moment she pulls the triggers. Her anxious fright churns to utter dread when the flash quickly subsides to see her shot having not their sharply dressed intruder, but rather her own older brother; the bullet having pierce right through his head. The young girl is paralyzed with an overwhelming mixture of confusion and terror as she watches her beloved brother collapse onto the floor; the blood pouring out from his head staining the living room carpet. “Danny!?”

Hearing the panicking outcry of her younger brother beside her, the young girl turns back to find her youngest sibling trapped in their timely psychic’s clutches; the little boy struggling to free his head from the man’s grasp. “Put him down!” she demands from the man, returning her aim back at him. “...It’s funny how people claim that the prospect of youth is wasted on the young; be it recklessness or utter apathy. Though there is plenty of other ways one can have their precious time robbed; allow me to demonstrate. Upon these words, the teenage girl stares on in shock and horror as her little brother starts to rapidly grow and age within the man’s very clutches, swiftly reaching a height of which would rival his older brother. From adolescence to adulthood, every passing second she watches another year’s worth of age be ripped out from her younger brother; his youthful visage soon fading and giving way to thick facial hair. From middle aged to elderly, what remained of the brother’s young complexion wrinkling away as is very skin withers and shrivels; the rapidly grown senior unrecognizable to the little boy he once was moments ago. Yet even when in his twilight years does the acceleration of time refuse to cease; the little boy having been turned into a withered old man rotting away before his sisters very eyes. When the last of the little boy’s time had been robbed from him, Tury finally lets go of his head to let what remained of his aged and lifeless body fall to the floor; his sister crumbling to her knee’s upon witnessing the bizarre and tragic end to both her brothers. “Jaden…” she utters among her broken disbelief.

Having behold what could only be described as a nightmare come to life, all the teenage girl could do in her moment of disturbed terror and grief was gaze up to the same man who had ended the lives of her brothers; the only word to escape from her mouth as the psychic of time approaches being: “Why?” It’s nothing personal, really.” claims Tury, resting the palm of his hand upon her forehead. “Its just business.” The moment Tury’s bright pale aura runs across the teenage girl, her entire body begins to dissolve into nothing but dust; not even a trace of her to remain as her ashes spill across the kitchen floor and mix with the blood of her brothers. Veering his eyes away from the grizzly site, Tury turns his attention over towards the contents of his stolen brief case; taking a brief moment to gather the documents and receipts that had been spilled to put them back where they belong. Its while recollection his precious paperwork that the businessman suddenly hears the front door begin to open; Tury’s timely white aura flaring up as he jerks his sites over to the door.

The front door leading inside is flung open as a burly man lets himself in, demanding to know: “What the hell is going on down here, I-” His braggadocios demeanor sinks along with his stomach upon discovering the terrible aftermath, letting out a frightened shriek as he fumbles to the floor in his shock when witnessing the remains of the three siblings; his ass cracking the shards of broken glass that litter the outside. Aside the apartment complex, the timely psychic strolls off through the streets with his black briefcase back in hand; adjusting his tie as he casually walks away from the scene of the crime like it was just another part of the workday.

Much later around that same day, the setting twilight sun shines down upon the more poor neighborhoods of the city; where its poverty was plain to even the briefest passerby to see. Though the streets are left dirt and grime ridden, the homes and place of businesses are kept moderately clean by those dwelling within; them work hard and seemingly endless with no help in site. And even if their surroundings and homes are mired in neglect, those living among these streets still find happiness and joy within nonetheless; the teens dribbling basketball in the court, playing baseball in the middle of the roads, the little kids playing pretends. Even some of the adults, despite their financial trouble, keeping their chin up among the hardships as they go about their daily grind and mingle with their neighborhood. The positive vibes exuding in the streets was a testament shown that even midst the struggles of life, joy and radiance could be found even in the most unfortunate places.

Among the dozens of homes and stores that lines these struggling streets, one door standing between these buildings exudes a deep crimson aura from behind its aged wood; a bright light pouring out as the purple psychic and his air solidifying accomplice step out from the other side. While Wedsle steps down the small flight of steps coming down into the streets, Tuesco on the other hand fails to see then coming and winds up falling flat on his face in tripping down the stairs; the purple psychic completely forgoing his partners brief misfortune to instead continue to stroll through the streets. “Ah! Ha-hang on!” he psychic of air requests, pulling himself off the pavement walkway to quickly catch up with his purple partner. Just when the door both of them had emerged from is moments away from closing, a small foot pokes out from the other side to stop the door from shutting.

After wiping off the gravel and dirt off his clothes, Tuesco catches up to the purple psychic and sarcastically thanks him with: “Gee, way to help a guy out back there. Really appreciate it.” “Eh, don’t mention it.” Wedsle whips back. “I...Did you drag me all the way out her to just insult me?” “Tempting, but no. The years must be catching up to ya because I can’t think how else you’d forget why we came out here. Mind going through the briefing again with me?” “Well, as far as I remember, you pulled me away just as I was about to have some dinner and told me we were going on a little trip. No ifs, ands, or buts.” recounts Tuesco. “Aw, what’s the matter? Already having those senior moments in your mid 40’s? That’s real tragic.” “Well, sorry. I can’t really remember what you said this trip was about when you only told nothing but jack shit. I assume we’re going after something related to this Dr. December fella you guys are all on the lookout for.” “Not something, someone. This outta bring back some good times from your police days; cause like looking for an escaped crook in the vast depths of the urban jungle, we going on a manhunt today.” Wedsle corrects. “What!? Don’t those psychic psychos usually try to kill you guys? Why we prowling around for that sort of trouble?” “Cause this psycho in particular just got back from his clinical visit with the dear daddy doc, fresh out from the ward with a set of newly evolved powers.”

“That fast! Thought you said its been two weeks since you guys had that spat with your bosses. Is it one of those scion guys you talked about!?” “Nah. I would’ve took more of my crew with me than settle on your old greasy pork buns.” “And you sure that the two of us are enough to take this punk on?” “Long as there ain’t any loose ends that we didn’t see coming, we should be alright.” Wedsle proclaims. Yet to neither of their knowledge is their a third in their little assassin outing, as the light magenta of the sound controlling kid wafting through the air behind them; Sunny keeping himself a ways back from the duo as he stalks them through the sunset streets.

Their first stop among this local venture into this impoverished neighborhood was at a local bakery, where the two men partake in the shops freshly baked goods; Wedsle letting out a satisfied moan as he enjoys the fluffy texture of a fresh baked croissant. “Its always the local shops that make the best tasting shit; none of that corporate mandate jizz to get in the way of the love and passion put in every bite.” he comments. “You said it.” Tuesco agrees, Weds glancing over to find the air solidifying psychic biting into the filling of a cream donut. “Always worth the wait to get the stuff piping hot out of the oven.”

“Guess the old mantra rings tried and true. You can take the cop out of the fatass, but you can’t take the fatass out of the cop.” Weds belittles. “Boy, I’ll have you know that I used to put myself through a healthy training regime every weekday morning before I went to work; these calorie filled treats were my own little reward afterwards.” “Really, how that little routine working out for ya?” the purple psychic asks him, lightly slapping at Tuesco’s slightly chubby stomach. “So I put on a couple pounds, I can’t help it that my whole routine had to be put aside for more pressing matters.” Tues claims, giving his purple partner an accusing glare. “Ain’t nothing stopping you from picking it back up, isn’t it?” “You know, if we have to work together, the least you can do is not be such a jackass about it.” “Gee, your right? How could I forget how much jackshit you’ve contributed to our cause?” “You want contribution, I’ll give ya a contribution.” the air controlling psychic snaps back, finishing the rest of his donut as he gets up from his seat.

From where they had situated themselves, Tuesco waltzes right over to the counter as he swallows what was left of his pastry treat; lightly hitting his chest before he confronts the young man behind the cash register. “Evening, sir. You wanting another donut?” the cashier asks him. “Oh no no. One really is enough for me, thank you. Can chow down on as many when getting around my age. Let me just say that whoever made them has a real knack for getting the cream filling just right. Good stuff right there.” “You-you think so, cause I’m the one usually in charge of making those.” “Son, you got hands that could rival world class chefs if they can make sweets that sweet.” “Oh, its really nothing; I just usually line the dough with sugar as I mold them. Nothing special.” “Well, you mind if I tell you something that is special. I ain’t just out here taking a detour through the latter parts of town for the food, let me tell ya. I’m actually out in these parts looking for somebody.” Tuesco admits. “Oh, like who?” “Let me ask you something, kid. There been any suspicious activity happening around here lately?” “Uh, what uh- Why are you wanting to know?” “Just part of a tip I heard going around that the guy were looking for might be around.” the air solidifying psychic elaborate, flashing his police badge from underneath his jacket. “Um...I don’t know if I can say anything about that stuff. Not with “people” around.”

“Son, I’m gonna level with you. Who were after goes further than doing ill gotten trade with your run of the mill gangster; there could be lives put in jeopardy if nothing is done.” “What!? I don’t know if I still can-” “Relax kid, I ain’t putting pressure you can’t handle on ya. I just need you to tell me if there’s been any bizarre happening around these neighborhoods. Surely a bakery around here of this kind of quality and traffic has had to have heard some tidbits.” assures Tuesco. “Well...I do keep hearing about fires that break out around here. Used to happen several months back, heard about this one couple that got caught in the blaze with their son only having made it out. That was before it just suddenly stopped; thought whoever was starting them might’ve gotten caught. But as if it were a returning curse, whole pyromaniac routine got picked back up; this time much more thoroughly. These blazes apparently left nothing behind this time around; not even any bodies.”

“Wow. Sounds like some sick puppy’s having a little to much fun with fire.” Tuesco remarks. “Its not just fires these block have been dealing with, we’d been getting words about flash freezes happening in people’s homes.” the cashier adds. “Flash what?” “Freezes. The inside of homes suddenly becoming blistering cold out of nowhere; everything inside feeling bone chilling to the very touch. It feels so painfully freezing to people that they race right out of their homes to escape the cold.” “You think it’d be colder outside if your place is that freezing?” “That’s the other scary thing. Its comparably a whole lot more warmer outside than it is inside. Completely average temperature stepping out; but the moment they step back in, it feels like a portal to the snowy mountains of Antarctica. I’ve even heard about some people dying from hypothermia in their sleep due to the lethal drops in temperature.” “Any idea what could be behind those.” “Not a single clue. It doesn’t make any damn sense no matter how you try to spin it. I’ve sometimes lost sleep wondering if our place’ll be the next to get hit.” “I sure hope not. Hate to see good, hard working people like you be troubled by this plight.” the air solidifying psychic claims, digging into his jacket pocket to pull out a couple slips of cash. “A little tip for the tip.”

Taking the cash right off the man’s hands, the cashier watches as Tuesco strolls right on back to the table his purple partner sits at, holding the most smug grin he could show as he sits his ass back down. Wedsle on the other hand lets out an irritated growl before he’s practically forced to ask: “Fine, What’d the sexy twink say?”

“You know who this guy is!?” Tues then exclaims, both he and Weds taking their conversation out from the bakery and through the streets. “Oh yeah. Cranking up the heat one moment, freezing to frostbite the next. I definitely remember running into that wannabe gangster; cracker think’s he’s hot shit with controlling the temperature.” “This guy got a name?” “Hmm...You know, it’s been so long, I can’t honestly remember. Guess it shows how little the dipshit mattered.” Wedsle states. “You sure your not having a senior moment of your own?” “I’m a decade younger than you, gramps.” “You’d be surprised how early dementia can set in.”

“Anyway you spit the shit, least we put a face on our man of the hour. Only thing left to put on him is a place.” claims Wedsle. “You ask me, best place to start would be those homes that got burned down. Might still be some clues lingering around the sites of the fires.” “Oh yeah, good idea. Let’s go waste hours digging through charred wood and destroyed furniture for hints that likely got burned to ash in the inferno; well thought out plan.” “Hey, I’m not hearing you come up with any suggestions. The only thing you’ve been dealing out is a ton of lip.” Tuesco fires back. “We’d have way better luck prowling through the places that got frozen over; ice is a hell of a better preserve than fire.” “As if you’d know the first thing about investigating a crime scene. A punk like you probably can’t tell the difference between a homicide and manslaughter.” “Homicide, manslaughter, what’s it matter; motherfuckers dead either way. Besides, if there is one thing I know, its how to piss you off.” Wedsle argues. “Seems to be the only thing you know.” “Yeah, well; least I don’t need an expired badge to do what I know best.”

“What the hell is your problem with me, anyway? I’ve only been with you guys about 2 weeks now and the most I got out of you has been nothing but snide glares and demeaning contempt. Nobody else’s given me so much of a hard time; so what is it about me that pisses you off.” “Do I need a reason to look down on a pig painted in blue?” “You’re beefing with me cause I used to be an officer? I ain’t even with them anymore.” “The stray swine usually squeals the loudest.” remarks Weds. “I...Look, I know you haven’t had the best run in with officers back in your adolescence, so I ain’t blaming you for being apprehensive to some degree. But that shouldn’t mean you have to dump all your grievances on me cause I was once with them.” “You know what, you have a point there.” Weds admits. “Cause you can act like it all you want but...What?” “I don’t have to shit on you a lot just cause you were an officer. Little bit of a worn out excuse at this point.” “Well...I’m glad that you-”

“Nah, think the real reason might be cause watching you treat all this like your still on the force pisses me off.” Wedsle instead accuses. “Excuse me?” “That time you wandered right into an alley and waltzed right into an ambush, the way you flaunt that badge around. All that shit’s enough to tell me you still hold the same pride and bravado like every other boy in blue, thinking they’re the only one’s standing between good and evil; hell I’m betting you miss having a piece on the side of your ass.” “That’s what an officer does...At least-” Tuesco attempts to argue. “You thought that’s what they did? Must be rough processing what you thought of as a just lifelong career being nothing but one big overinflated drug laundering racket.” “Shut up! I’ve been with them for over 2 decades; you don’t know what the hell your talking about!”

“Oh, trust me. I’ve been watching how those pigs treat people for just as long; you’ve never seen the way those bitches in blue act around people who they think lesser of. Nuance be damned, they see you do something they think is wrong; that’s enough of an excuse for them to wail on you. Steal a loaf of bread to eat, try running a little street hussle to make some dough, or even just looking at them the wrong way; they’ll make up whatever excuse they can to feel whatever sense of superiority they want to have over you. They can cross as many lines as they want to, and their pals back at the station’ll pull as many strings as they can to cover for them. But step out of even a single centimeter of that same line, that’s enough of a reason for them to make your life a living hell. They’re as much of a gang as every other in this city; except they get to legally abuse their power. Long as they look like they’re doing their “Job” around everyone, they don’t give a fuck about anyone else but themselves and the boys above them.” rants Weds.

“You’re...You’re wrong. Our motto “To protect and serve”, its one we’re supposed to uphold. They’re might be some rotten apples in the bunch, sure, but at the end of the day, they keep the streets safe!” Tuesco objects. “You think they’re keeping these streets safe? Then why don’t you go askin around; hear for yourself what the people of the streets themselves say about’em.” dares Weds. “Fine!” Riled in a huff by the violet psychic, Tuesco marches away from the purple prick he had just finished arguing with; refusing to so much as look back a he takes the turn back around the corner they came from.

Hehe, like to see how little faith that fatass gets for the boys in blue around here. Bitch out there wandering around looking for a handy in an arm amputation ward. Smugly confident in Tuesco’s futile endeavors, Wedsle turns back towards the direction of the street he was proceeding; the purple psychic swiftly glancing back around when catching something around the corner of his eye. At the opening of an alleyway does he come to spot traces of magenta aura slithering out from deep within; Weds letting out a frustrated sigh when instantly recognizing whose colorful aura this belongs to.

Wedsle enters inside the hauntingly quiet alley, the magenta power he seen leaking out from inside wafting through the air and coating the boxes, trash bags, and cans that litter the walls. And though his stalkers familiar aura does indeed cover most of what sits within the alleyway; it takes little from the violet psychic to notice most of it concentrated around a pile of garbage bags stacked on top of an elevated plank of wood. Weds waste little time in dealing with this situation as he takes the lid of a nearby trash can and tosses it up towards the fire escape above; the ladder unlatching from the stairs and crashing down on the other side of the wooden plank. The weight of the ladder bearing down upon one end of the board, all the trash sitting on the other side is flung up into the air; Sunny uncovered from the cluster of bags as he’s hurdled with them.

Gazing downwards, the psychic of sound find himself plummeting down towards the concrete floor with little in the way to stop his descend; the only thing he could do was close his eyes and brace for impact. But seconds pass and the young boy doesn’t feel the cold hard pavement, opening his eyes to find himself dangling upside down and just an inch above the ground; the kid steers his sites down to discover Wedsle having caught him by his leg. “Couldn’t hide your aura any better?” Yet just as the boy was about to speak, Weds lets go of his leg and let him fumble to the ground with a soft thud; the soundly psychic letting out a pained hiss before uttering: “Ow!”

“Sunny; you’re supposed to be back at July’s place, the hell are you doing out here?” the purple psychic questions him. “What, I can’t come with you guys on one of these dangerous, life threatening missions just cause I’m a kid?” “Yes! You even hearing yourself when you talk!?” “Everyone else gets to do stuff while I have to sit back in the safehouse all day. That’s not fair!” the sound controlling kid complains as he gets himself back up. “That’s not even…”

Rather than further scold the boy over his rash decision to follow them out here in the middle of the wayward urban jungle; Wedsle instead kneels down to his level as he simply tells it to him straight with: “Listen, kid; I admire your gusto, reminds me of the little ankle biter I used to be as a kid. And as somebody who was once a kid left in the streets himself; take from me. You’ve only seen half a fraction of the uncaring hell this city can be. Things get a lot worse with the bastards we’re dealing with too; I’m sure I don’t haveta explain to you how nasty some of these psychic’s can be. Think about if I was another motherfucker who found you hiding among those bags; most of them wouldn’t think twice about doing you dirty.” Hearing this statement come from the violet psychic, Sunny can’t help but look away in his upset demeanor; only hearing Weds continue on how: “Raw facts here is you ain’t nowhere near prepped enough to take on half the shit we’re up against on the daily. Ya can’t fight. Your barely trained on how to use your powers. And you don’t even know the first thing about protecting yourself from the influence of other psychic’s. You’re not ready for this shit, kid.” “What about Tuesco? He’s only been with you for about 3 weeks and you let him go.” argues Sunny. “That swine is a grown ass man; he at least got the basic’s down. He’ll be fine. You on the other hand…”

Breaking off from this little talk does Wedsle clutch the boy by the back of his hoodie and lift him right off his feet; Sunny flailing around and squirming in his grasp while Wedsle takes him over to the nearest door. “Hey!” “Your preteen sphincter is going straight back in the safehouse and staying there. I got enough shit to slog through today, I don’t need to be a babysitter on top of all that.” the purple psychic claims, taking one of July’s red keys out from underneath his blazer. “I can’t go back! I won’t go back!” “Don’t test me, boy. I’ll toss you in tied together with discarded dental floss if I have to. Done it before. I can do it again.” Just when Wedsle was about to use the key to the safehouse on the door before him, he suddenly feels an incredible stinging pain surge from his crotch; his ballsack having been kicked by the same kick he held in his hands. Overwhelmed by the surprise nut shot, Wedsle grabs at his crotch as the grip of his other hand loosens; Sunny taking the opportunity to slip right out from the violet psychic’s clutch and run out from the alleyway. “Dammit!”

Weds stumbles out of the alleyway to gauge out along the streets, looking down every single direction for any sign of Sunny. Alas, no matter which way he checked; across the road, along the walkway; finding only a twinkle of his magenta aura for him to trace. Once the pain in his testicles begins to subside, the violet psychic bolts through the streets in his hurry to find the little guy. Sneaky little shit doesn’t know what he’s getting into. He winds up running into that temperature turning dipshit, he’ll be as good as dead.

Having stormed away from his antagonistic purple compatriot side, the psychic of solid air marches through the sidewalk in a huff; his thoughts still stirring over Wedsle words against the police force of New York. What’s that purple punk even know? I’ve met and worked with plenty of good officers back in my day. Are there some dirty cops, sure? Are there some that abuse their position, where isn’t one of those in any job position? Have some of them been in cahoots with drug ring mobsters behind my back all these years and tried to kill me off?...Well maybe a couple… Sure! The city’s crime ring’s got their fingers in the one’s here, bribing them for protection and immunity, working with super...powered...drug lord and their...goons…What am I talking... B-but that doesn’t mean the police as an institution are corrupt. At the end of the day, they’re still looking out for the little guy, the every man, the average Mr. or Ms. that gets up in the morning and goes to work like everyone else. I mean, if the police weren’t hear to protect and serve the people; then what are they hear for?

When turning the corner ahead of him, Tuesco comes to discover a terrible site haunting that very next street; the psychic of air beholding the aftermath of a 3 story house fire, scorched in burning black. A closer inspection of the scene shows the walls burned away to show the exposed inside of the destroyed home; where furniture and appliances once stood now lies only piles of soot and ash. What pieces remained exposed to the open air emblazoned beyond any recognition of what they might’ve been. The support beams holding the home together, scorched deep and whittled away, akin to a flame burning away the matchstick it been lit from; seemingly one push away from collapsing.

How thoroughly burned the former home was wasn’t the only strange detail he noticed from the site, for the several buildings beside it show deep black scorch marks inflicted all across their brick faces; the blazing burns having tretched across the middle of the neighborhood. But its when returning his sites to the home the flames erupted that Tuesco discovers yet another bizarre discovery; beside the scorched grass in front of the home, the walkway leading inside from the street had been warped and twisted from their former flat shape. What stood as a path to the home was plagued in blistering boils and dips, like the stone walkway had melted into a bubbling mass; eventually cooling to leave it in the shape its in. His work as an officer made it clear to Tuesco that house fires were a tragically common accordance here in New York, having seen his fair share of sites. But this, this seemed to have been no ordinary blaze. No regular flame would leave half of the neighborhood blackened; or hell, even melt the stone to a boiling sludge. Knowing the menace that plague these lower end streets, it was clear to him who was responsible for this.

“Tragic, ain’t it?’ he then hears somebody ask from behind. Spooked by the sudden voice, Tues swiftly turns back to find these words having come from a middle aged man, one beholding the same tragic scene like he had been. “All my years living around here, never seen a house fire rage so fiercely; like the very fires of hell erupted out from inside that home.” “You know you used to live here?” asks Tuesco. “Yeah. A couple and their girl; knew them for a while. Seemed like the careful type, looked pretty happy too; least til the night of the fire.” “D-did they make it?” “The girl and her father escaped unscathed; but the mother, bless her soul. As the flame had erupted to its climax, the mother and the girl were trapped among the wreckage. She manage to dig her daughter out from underneath a table that had fallen; but didn’t have it in her to make it out from a piece of the second floor that collapsed on her. The slab of floor too heavy for her and her husband to lift away, so she pleaded with him to take their girl before the building collapses. Both he and the girl had escape from the inferno, but could only watch in horror as their home had collapsed. By the time the fires were put out, the wife was no more; nothing but the charred remains of a body.”

“Oh my god…When did this happen?” “A couple nights ago. That night when the streets were peaceful and serene as can be, the home out of nowhere burst in an explosive inferno; the flames encompassing the house in mere seconds.” “That fast? Have the other fires around here been like this?” “Only recently. When folks are just inside sound asleep in their beds, boom! Heavenly peace to hellish chaos in the blink of an eye. Don’t know if its faulty wiring or the old gas lines around these parts to blame; but its got everyone in the district on edge, thinking they’ll be hit next.” “If they’re that scared, why stick around? Why not move?” “Ain’t that easy to just pick up and leave, especially with the housing in the city. Most folks around here can’t make enough money to go anywhere else. As if the billing wasn’t the only thing we had to worry about.” the man concludes before departing.

Peering towards the rest of the neighborhood, Tuesco finds most of the people living here having taken stuff out from their homes and put them in their cars and trucks parked along the sides of the road. the pillows and blankets inside them suggesting that the residence have been sleeping in their vehicles every night, not wanting to meet as fiery of an end as their neighbors had. It all began to illustrate how much of an impact this looming terror had inflicted upon the people of this district; the site of seeing people and families living in terror emboldening Tuesco to continue his investigation into stopping this menace.

Hurrying through the streets in desperately searching for where the sound controlling kid scurried away to, Wedsle comes upon an intersection laced with a mixture of homes and businesses strewn across the streets; with people coming in and out among the end of their commute. The purple psychic however finds not a single hint of where Sunny could’ve gone to hide, with not even a glimmer of aura to track him. God dammit! Lost him! Wouldn’t have told him to hide his aura if I’d knew he pull this shit. The hell is that kid trying to prove? He not listen to me tell him bout how he ain’t ready to tackle another psychic? He try going head to head with that douche cracker and he’ll be more screwed than the young victim of a rough ice cream truck driver…Are ice cream trucks still even a thing? Knowing time is of the essence here, the violet psychic pulls himself together with a calming breath to think of his next course of action; gazing through the streets to see the locals going in and out of the businesses. Chill, Weds; lots of people everywhere around here. Somebody had to have seen where the little scrot scurried off to. Just pull yourself together and ask around.

As a group of people emerge out from inside of a locally owned cafe, one of them looks over to find the purple psychic approaching them; the rest of them stopping as Wedsle starts asking them with: “Hey, hate to pass the opportunity to ask any number of you damn fine guys and gals for a night on the town before eventually going to town; but I got a kid I seriously need to find running around here. Looks 12, dark green hoodie, blonde hair?” “What, you lose your son?” one of them questions. “Yeah, sure, lets go with that.” “Think I saw a little guy like that going around the corner of the dance hall.” another of them chimes in to states, pointing over towards a sizable building named “The cosmic Dance court”. “Thanks, hope to see you shake what your mom’s gave ya in there someday.” the violet psychic leaves with, racewalking towards the same corner they lead him to. “You..too?” one of them halfheartedly returns the odd compliment with.

Around the corner of the dance hall, Wedsle almost instantly spots the remnants of Sunny’s magenta power fluttering in the soft evening winds; the violet psychic following after the traces of sound controlling pink in hopes of catching up with the boy. In pursuing the trail of solid pink, Weds tries a more careful approach so as not to give the kid the chance to scamper away, weaving around the passing people and around the bends until inching closer towards the little figure cloaked in the silencing pink. Once closing in on the kid, Wedsle clutches at the shoulder and turns the boy around; exclaiming how there’s: “Ain’t no point in running, kid. Can’t risk you being out...here?” Forcing this figure to turn his way, Weds finds the silencing aura not to be blanketing the boy they stem from like he thought, but rather of another young boy; one that looked not even remotely close to Sunny in the slightest. From this sneaky sleight, a woman swiftly approaches to pull the little boy away from him and demands to know: “What are you doing to my son!?” “Uh...” Oh, you sneaky little smartass. “So-sorry about that. Thought you’re boy was the kid I was lookin for.” Weds admits, backing away before bolting right past them both.

When out from the close call, the purple psychic continues through another part of the district in searching for where the little kid may have ran off to; asking anybody around that would give a damn to listen if they had seen him. Though a few people manage to point him in the right direction, most everyone else he questions claims to have seen not a peek of Sunny anywhere. Yet in the middle of gathering information over the whereabouts of the boy, the violet psychic can’t help but flirt with some of the locals he asks from. Not a man or woman he hits on returns his attempts, instead inflicting only, at best, awkward rejection, and at worst, some slaps and punches straight to the face.

Heading down another part of the streets, Wedsle is left to rub at the sores around his face from where he had been staunchly struck away; the violet psychic letting out a disgruntled groan as he continues his search. Okay, maybe asking for ass to tap after wondering where they might’ve seen a little kid might not be the smartest way of words. Kind of come off as a careless jackass, at best. I mean, what else would you think if a guy came up to you wondering where you might’ve spotted a little boy running around, then ask them if they wanna get down and dirty in the ditches. Hell, I probably wanna turn every hole of theirs inside out like they were an Ancient Greek practitioner of modern forbidden pleasures…This a real nice neighborhood.

Shortly after ruminating of the mistake in his dialect, Wedsle finds a man standing at the stoop of a home, watching some kids play some street hockey in the middle of the road; this guy gazing over to the approaching purple psychic and asking: “Whoa, you alright, man? Looked like you got through a botched face fixing surgery.” “Yeah. Hey, not to put up any red flags for child protective services to worry about, but you see a boy in a dark green hoodie skulking around here; about 11 or 12, real quiet kid.” “Hmm...Caught some of the kids here talking with somebody like that a little while ago. I only caught the face of the little guy before he scurried off. Looked really familiar too. Saw the little dude strut off down to the end of the street before taking a left.” the guy informs. “Kay, thanks for the tip.” thanks Weds, heading off towards that same direction.

In the middle of strolling off towards the end of the street however, one of the kids playing in the streets walks back on the sidewalk and approaches the man at the steps; Wedsle overhearing the girl ask him: “Dad, why didn’t you tell me Sunny was coming back?” “Oh, that’s who he was? Didn’t even know he was around.” “What!?” both of them hear the violet psychic blurt out. In the matter of an instant, Weds darts right back to the steps the man sits upon, nearly fumbling over in his frantically sudden return; before kneeling down to the girl and asking her: “You know the kid!?” “Yep. He used to play with us around here. Haven’t seen him since his house burned down seven months ago. You know what happened to him?” asks the girl. “Tabby, go back to play with the other kids. I need to talk this guy for a sec.” the father sternly orders his daughter to do.

A saddened sigh leaks from the man’s mouth as he watches his girl return to the other children to resume their game; Wedsle returning his sites back to him and questioning: “The little guy really used to live around here?” “Along the other end of the district, yeah. Used to be a happy little guy living with his parents like the rest here. Course, then the fires started to happen; their house being one of the first that got hit. Can’t say I got the details; but while he escaped all fine, the couple weren’t so lucky. Fire rescue found them both burnt to a crisp.” “Jesus…” “After everything, child welfare took him in and we haven’t seen him since. Hate to think why the poor kids back here.” laments the man. Fuck. No wonder he was actin like a little shit. Probably thought about sneaking out soon as he heard where we were stopping. And from the sound of what went down, he might’ve known who we were looking for before we even did. I get how he’s feeling, but still; fighting that bastard by himself is suicide. And if the kids looking for clues, then... “You know where he used to live?” asks Wedsle.

Whoa, nelly! Tuesco is left in gaping awe over the chilling site that lay before him, beholding an apartment building plagued with blistering cold ice; the outside of the building entombed from top to bottom in bone freezing frost. From within the building do long stretches of solid ice plaster out from every open window and door, reaching from the rooms to the buildings next door; almost as if the freezing chill from inside was attempting to invade the other homes. Even when so much as attempting to go near the complex, the air solidifying psychic feels a numbing chill crawl all throughout his skin opposed to the mildly average temperature he stands in. The haunted feeling of a realm of ice having spawned from the depths of nowhere to leave behind a piece of its arctic wrath comes to mind; so oppressive in fact, that Tues is helpless to but cough and wheeze among the frighteningly chill air wafting from within, forcing to step away from even the face of the building. Its all encased in so much ice. How does this much even form? What kind of intense force of nature could do this?

Its when following how far the frost stretches across the neighborhood that he discovers the site of a woman resting inside the safety of her car; the girl tucking in with her blanket and pillow as she starts to bring the seat down. Before the young lady could let the relief of sleep to momentarily lift her woes away, she hears a sudden knock come from the driver side window that makes her jolt up from the flattened out seat; the woman looking out to find the air solidifying psychic tapping at her window. Her initial surprise deflating, the lady rolls down the window a smidgen; the warm air within seeping out from the crack alongside the woman’s words. “Sorry, I ain’t got any money to spare. You’ll have to try somebody else.” “What? No, I’m ain’t some homeless guy. I was just passing through and couldn’t help but catch this over sized ice cube standing right in the middle of the neighborhood. Do you have any idea on what that’s about?” “Oh, my house? Yep, real site for sore eyes, now. Can barely even step back in to grab the rest of my stuff without feeling my skin freeze up.” claims the woman. “I imagine with it being so cold from out here. You have any clue how this happened?” “Couldn’t say. All I remember was waking up in the middle of the night feeling like the Northern tundra’s were breaking in my house; the temperature colder than any winter I’ve ever felt around this city, and it only kept dropping. As I rushed out of bed for the door, the floor felt icy cold under my feet, slippery and slick like going over a frozen pond. When I tried to escape, found the doors and windows frozen shut, refusing to move an inch no matter how much I tugged at them. So with no other idea’s, I had to smash one of my windows open just to worm my way out back into the fresh open air; wound up cutting my foot on the glass; stung like hell, but at least I was finally warming back up.”

“Wow. That must’ve been a real heart attack, waking up at midnight just to feel that sort of cold. You see anything else that night?” Tuesco further questions. “Too busy getting my ass outta there to see. But right after I got out and everyone else was racing out from their homes to check on me, saw one guy bolt the other way. Didn’t really catch what he looked like, just that he looked dressed like some classic gangster. Seemed weird, but like it mattered. I just can’t wrap my head around what happened to make the place that cold. Doesn’t make any sense.” “Have the police said anything about this?” “Phfft! Your kidding, right? Called those blue bastards to come out here about a dozen or so times, now. Haven’t seen a single blue boy even bother to show.” the lady claims. “Nobody? That doesn’t make sense, they’d have to have least send somebody to investigate.” “You don’t come around here much, do you?” Tues then hears another voice ask him.

Gazing towards the voice, the air psychic finds one of the neighbors from the other side of the street coming out; a man in his late 40’s with a plate of meatloaf resting in his hands. “Hey there, Andy.” the woman greets. “Evening there, Masha. How you holding up out here?” the man questions, handing the plate of meatloaf to the woman in the car. “Meh, could be better. Tried to go back in to get some of my stuff, only manage to get myself some clothes and some bedding. Can’t even spend a minute in there to get the rest before I feel my blood freezing over.” “You don’t have to hunker down out here in your car. Come stay over at our place while you sort this out.” the guy offers. “I don’t think I’d even fit. Your big family already has to live in such a small house, and I need to get up early in the morning for work. I-I don’t wanna bother.” the young girl politely declines. “You can sleep on the couch. Sure my wife won’t mind.” “I’ll think about it...You know, I really can’t thank you and the rest of the block for helping me out like this; the food, the clothes, the hygiene. I don’t even know how I could start repaying you all back.” “Don’t sweat it, it’s what neighbors do.”

“Hang on, so the police haven’t been showing up around here at all.” Tuesco returns the conversation to. “Not a single damn time. Every home that gets scorched or frozen over, nobody’s seeing a sign of those dicks.” the woman reiterates. “Probably for the best. Anytime those dudes come around here, it ain’t for anything good. One of my boys told me about him and his friends walking through the street, doing nothing but hanging around, and was getting tailed by this one cop car. My girl even told me about seeing her friend arrested after being stopped by a couple of em while cruising around; told them that they found a bag of blow in the trunk. I know my daughter ain’t a liar, taught her better than that; and she said that there wasn’t a trace of that stuff anywhere in there when she checked.” the guy defends. “I mean I know some dirty cops do that to fill a quota, but-” Tues attempts to argue. “Oh, those fuckers do a lot more then planting to ruin lives. Just hear this.”

Moving a ways around the woman’s car, the man takes in a deep breath before shouting out to an open window: “Yo, Kurt!” Upon those words does another man then peek out from the window to gaze down to them and respond: “Something up, Andy?” “Tell this guy about your last nasty run in with the fuzz.” “Yeah. I was coming home from work, when these two cops came up and accused me of some graffiti tagged around here. Didn’t know what the hell they were talking, so I started walking away. That’s when they tackled me to the ground and cuffed me on the spot, saying I was “resisting arrest” or some shit. Fucking spent the night in the click cause of that.”

“Think that was one’s bad?” all of them then hear chime in, peering to the neighboring window to find another man peek out. “I got into a traffic stop with one a month ago. Maniac pulled his gun on me cause I reached down to pull up my pants; thought I was gonna die that night.” “I got cuffed for suspected drunk driving. Kept telling them that my steering wheel was a bit sensitive, but they weren’t hearing it. Didn’t even bother with the breathalyzer, just threw me in the back of the car to spend a night in the drunk tank.” “Those bastards took my son!” they then hear someone below exclaims, peering down to find the scorn coming from this old woman standing in the street. “He was doing nothing but helping this nice lady with her bags, but they thought he was robbing her and pulled their guns out. He panicked and tried to run, but they just gunned him down and shot him dead like some kind of animal. I can never see the smile on his face again!”

These gruesome tales of police brutality and abuse was far from the only personal experience Tuesco hears, for neighbor after neighbor emerges out from their homes to share their terrifying first hand accounts with the boys in blue; each recount that he’s told being more horrific and heartbreaking than the last. All of these numerous first hand experiences told to him begin to paint a more tyrannical and monstrous picture for the police, sharply contrasting against the ideal and protective nature he had cultivated for so long; the two opposing depictions grinding in his mind like a pair of stuck gears.

From around the corner of another street, Wedsle gauges through the block ahead for any remains of a home that once stood alongside the others; glancing up to the sign above to see the name listed and confirming this to be the right one. Got the street right, but I ain’t seeing any burned buildings. Ain’t no way it got torn down and replaced, not in a neglected district like this. Not even too sure the kid would come near here, probably bring back to many bad memories of what… In pondering over Sunny’s whereabouts, the violet psychic peers down the other side of the street to find the charred remains of a home set close to the corner of the block; its scorched wood left grayed from the elements.

A thick apprehension builds in Weds as he starts to near the former home, almost as if predicting with certainty that the child he seeks will be waiting among the remains; a thought that he wishes not for, but knows too well will be. And lo and behold, in front of the destroyed house does the violet psychic see the kid he searched for standing in the middle of the scorched leftovers of a once happy home; now left as nothing but a grim reminder to the tragedy the boy had suffered. “Hey kid. You gonna be alright?” Wedsle softly greets with. Yet to these words does the little boy refuse to give any back to the violet psychic, simply glancing back to see him before returning his eyes to the rest of the home.

“I heard about...what happened here; about your folks. I’m not gonna demand you to explain what happened like some pushy dipshit; I get if its too much for you to recount. Guess all a son of a bitch like me can ask here is...If you need somebody to lean on.” To these comforting words, Sunny fully turns back to face the Weds; his cheeks running red from the tears streaking down his welling eyes. Approaching the crying kid, the violet psychic kneels down to the boy’s level and invitingly opens his arms to offer him condolence; Sunny almost instantly coming in to feel Wedsle warm embrace. Like an emotional damn bursting open, the kid lets his reserved and quiet demeanor dissolve to unleash the overwhelming devastation he held within flood out; the boy loudly sobbing as he relieves in Wedsle’s violet glowing warmth. “You’ve been holding onto this for a while, haven’t ya? Refusing to let it out to keep yourself from being seen vulnerable. Must’ve been agony to not let it out for so long…”

“It was Wednesday.” utters Sunny. “Huh?” “It was a Wednesday night; I woke up to smell smoke. Got out of bed and rushed to my parents room to warn them, but didn’t see either of them in bed. Before I even wondered where they could be, I suddenly heard mom and dad screaming from downstairs. While I raced down the steps, I saw the fires starting to grow, they were already spreading through the living room. When I looked in the kitchen, that’s when I saw it all. My parents, writhing on the floor, covered in flames. And staring down to watch them burn, was him. That man you fought when I first saw you. I can’t forget the smile he made as he walked towards me, the fire engulfing the dinning table as he slid is hand across the edge; like he was setting on fire with his touch. My legs frozen in fear as I felt his burning hot hand reaching towards me, like being seconds away from being thrown into an oven. When he was just about to grab me, my parents sprang up from the floor and held him back; even as they were burning alive, they didn’t want him to touch me. While they were keeping him back, they both shouted at me to run outside. I ran out as fast as I could, hearing that man’s angry screams as I jump out the door. Before I could shout out for help, I turn back to see the whole house explode in flames. I shouted for my mom and dad for hours as the fire rose; but no matter how much I called for them, they never came. The man from that night, his evil smile. I know he started the fire that night and took my parents away, but I never could figure out how. It wasn’t until I snatched that weird rock that gave me these sound powers and I watched you fight him that it became clear to me. It was from there that I swore he’d paid for what he did.”

Its after this heap of tragic backstory that the kid feels Wedsle pull him away; a shiver running across his body as he looks up to see the purple psychic staring to him with his piercing purple eyes. “Is his blood truly what you want?” “I can’t go back. I won’t go back to the safehouse, not if he’s out here still threatening other people’s lives.” Sunny concludes. “Then its a promise, he’s a dead man walking.” Wedsle proclaims with a confident grin. Hearing the conviction behind the man’s declaration, the despair haunting the boy starts to clear from the violet light radiating across the purple psychic; both of them sharing the determination to deliver this long awaited fury.

The setting sun eventually sinks into the horizon as the twilight sky darkens to nightfall; the district blocks glowing alight from the street lamps set along the concrete path. Underneath the glow of these lamps, Tuesco wanders the baron sidewalks as he is left to stew upon the first hand experiences that the people of these neglected neighborhoods with the N.Y.P.D. All those stories the people back there told, all the bad run ins they had with officers. If it was just a couple people, maybe they’d be exaggerating; but it was almost everyone in that neighborhood. That’s too many witness accounts to chalk it all up as one giant lie. I’ve been on the force for years, and I’m only hearing about this now? News of one bad apple or two that abused their position would pop up, but not something of this scale. How in the hell did misconduct this frequent and concentrated go unresolved for so long? Don’t any of the boy’s in blue around here care about any of this?

The air solidifying psychic’s train of thought derails when his ears catch a disturbance from the other side of the road, peering over to see a lone officer standing next to a stopped car; Tuesco eavesdropping right in the middle of the spat to hear the driver reject how: “I told you, already. I just got my turn signals fixed today.” “Then why the hell’d I see you make those turns without them on, huh?” the cop pesters. “This is a 5 mph zone. Plenty of other cars turn down here without there signals.” “I ain’t wanting to hear your excuses. You made a turn with blinkers off in the middle of the night and could’ve run someone over.” “There’s light’s everywhere! There’s no way someone can’t see me going 5 mph in a street this bright!” “Sir, I need you to come with me.” the officer then demands. “Are you serious!? What for?” “Driving with faulty turn signals.” “You gonna arrest me for this!? That’s bullshit!” “Sir, step out of the vehicle.” “I have the receipt for fixing my signals! Let me get them out for you and you can see.” the driver insists, reach up to the car visor overhead; the compartment stuffed with papers and receipts.

Before the driver could even open up the visor, the officer panics and suddenly pulls out his firearm on the guy; aiming the gun at the driver as he demands more harshly to: “Get out of the car, now!” “Whoa, what the hell, man! Take it easy!” the driver exclaims. Witnessing the scale go from 2 to 10 in but an instant, Tuesco looks to the scene intensely in seeing the distress in the drivers eyes; his cerulean aura flaring from his body as he watches the officer force the man out from the car. The hell is that jackass doing!? Both of the guy’s hands are clearly visible! Plus the visor he was reaching for is way too thin to hold any kind of dangerous weapons up there. This twitchy officer just saw him reach for something and freaked out. And riled up like this, this trigger happy jackass could interpret any reaching motion as a sign to fire.

“Quit pointing that thing at me, man! I ain’t done anything!” the driver pleads, laying against the hood of his car with his hands behind his back. “Like I’m falling for that shit! Pulling the old “reaching for your papers to pull out a gun” routine.” “What are you talking about!?” “Don’t play dumb with me. All you bastards are the fucking same!” the wound up cop berates, further pushing him against the car. Sliding along the slick hood of the car, the driver slips right off and falls flat onto the pavement; the officer still keeping his gun aimed at him while the downed driver lets out a pained groan. “Don’t move!” demands the cop. “Ah...my side.” the driver utters, putting his hand to his side as he tries to get off the ground. “I said don’t move!” the cop again fiercely orders. Glancing back to the officer standing next to him, the driver is left utterly paralyzed with dreadful terror as he can only watch the paranoid officer let out a loud yell before beginning to pull his gun’s trigger; the man tightly shutting his eyes as he braces to be shot.

The ear piercing crack from the gun echoes beyond the street and across the district, disturbing the near tranquil night the neighborhood enjoys. Despite the gunshot clearly being heard across the block, the frightened driver feels not even a bit of searing hot led anywhere along his body, opening his eyes once more to find the officer who shot at him left speechlessly baffled. The smoke coming from the gun’s barrel was evident that he had indeed pulled the trigger, yet the bullet he fired was nowhere to be found. When the driver attempt to resume pulling himself off the cold concrete, the anxious policeman again unloads his weapon upon him; not one of his bullets however so much as touching his target as sparks instead scatter from the very air between them. All of the officer’s bullets ricocheting off of what seemed to both of them as nothing but thin air.

Breaking off from this spooky phenomenon, the officer darts back towards his cop car as the driver he pulled over scuttles back to his own vehicle; the driver peeling right out of their as soon as he gets back behind the wheel. When the officer returns to the police car, he lets out frustrated growl as he shifts the stick from park and stomps on the gas to take off after the driver. “Fucking ain’t getting away!” he screeches, speeding through the neighborhood. But his furious pursuit after the man ends as swiftly as it starts when his car ends up harshly crashing before it could even reach the end of the road. The officer, dazed and confused, groans in pain as he looks back up to see what he ran into; left only more perplexed when seeing nothing in front of his wrecked cruiser but the open road. Before he could even start to question the bizarre events that had transpired, the officer slumps against his wheel as he finally loses consciousness.

Strolling up to the side of the totaled police cruiser, Tuesco opens the driver side door to check on the cop inside; relieved to find the boy in blue with no serious injury from running into the block of solidified air he had conjured. In looking to the unconscious officer, Tues reaches to the officers badge and rips it right off his uniform; looking to his reflection held in its refined golden sheen a moment before letting it drop to the ground. “Better off changing your career, kid.” he suggests. Right on the cusp of this scandalous situation however, another begins to brew as Tuesco’s attention is drawn to the sky above; a column of thick smoke rising out from a just a few blocks away. Given the incidents he had been told of before and the what he knows about the man they hunt for, the air solidifying psychic wastes not another moment to race towards the ongoing site; knowing that it was their temperature controlling foe reeking havoc.

Raging within one of these once humble homes where those inside could find comfort and relief from the would beyond its walls, now heralds nothing but an uncaring inferno that consumes all it spreads to; furniture, walls, ceiling, appliances, and other possessions engulfed in the searing blaze. Midst the fiery chaos unfortunately, those that called this abode their home remain trapped among the fiery fury; a man frantically pounding against a door as the flames creep up upon him. From the other side of the door can cries of children be heard, the man continuing to beat his body against the door’s hard wood as he hears one of the pair of girls on the other side screams how: “Dad, I’m scared! The fire’s getting close!” “Just hang on, baby’s! I almost got this door down.” The father’s distress suddenly skyrockets when hearing one of his kids let out a terrified scream, lunging to the door and tackling against its face with all his might; yet the weight of his body isn’t enough to so much as put a crack in its durable wood. “Agh!” “Oh my god, who are you!?” he then hears one of them yell. “Girls!?”

Getting himself off the hallway carpet, the guy is shocked when seeing the door he tried to break down being struck from the other side; each slam against it breaking and bending its wood. The father stands back as more of the door is broken off with every pounding strike it sustains, being rammed into several times before it shatters right off its hinges; the doors wooden pieces scattering at his feet. Beyond the busted doorway do a pair of little girls come racing out to their fathers side, the two kids embracing their father tightly as he looks to the doorway; a middle aged man holding what appeared to be a smokey gray block with handles walking out from the fiery bedroom to greet with: “Evening.” “What the... Who the hell are-” “No time, escape now! Follow me!” blurts Tuesco, dispelling his battering ram before racing down the hall. Though the man is rather puzzled and a little concerned over how this stranger broken into his children's bedroom, the searing flames encroaching upon them make it clear that this wasn’t the time to be so suspecting; the dad picking up his girls before following after their unexpected rescuer.

Trailing behind the air solidifying psychic, the father stops when he and Tuesco come to a part of the hall ahead barricaded by terrible flames; the shag carpeting engulfed in a thick sheet of blazing hot fury. “There’s not a chance we can get through this. We need to find another way out.” the man recommends. “This ain’t no sweat. Just a second here.” Tues assures. Commanding his cerulean blue aura to slither up to the black clouds gathering against the ceiling, Tuesco blankets this suffocating smoke in his power to morph its very molecular structure; the formless dark clouds above crystallizing into a thick slap of solid black. When the solidified smoke had been fully formed, it drops down on top of the blaze underneath to quell its furiously hot rage and clear the path ahead for them. “Come on!” the air solidifying psychic exclaims, hoping right on top of the freshly formed slab to hurry ahead. The father is left somewhat cautious over the slab of solid smoke that he had just witness form before him, carefully stepping his foot onto its smokey black surface to judge weather it was safe to walk across or not. “Dad, the fire!” one of his daughters exclaims, looking back to discover the fires encroaching behind them. The threatening heat of the house fire nearing, the guy again disregards his skepticism to instead hurry across the smokey black bridge and over the patch of flames; feeling not a single ounce of the flames heat pass through the thick slab of black.

Out of the hallway, all of them come right into the living room to discover a part of the roof above having collapsed in the middle of the room, with blazing chunks of debris barring them all from the nearest exit. “Dammit! That’s the only way out!” the dad distresses. “Never fear, the oxygen oxidizer is here!” Tues proudly declares. “...What?” one of the girls utters. Despite the wind being blown out of his attempt of a heroic presentation, Tuesco hurries over to the giant mess of fallen ceiling while vacuuming the smokey air around him, transforming the noxious gas into a tough and sturdy crowbar. The psychic of solid air jams one end of the crowbar under a larger piece of debris before trying to pry the chunk off from the rest of the pile, the middle aged man clearly struggling to so much as budge the huge piece of burning house away.

While straining himself to lift the debris out of the way, Tuesco suddenly feels the load he tries to lift feel a little lighter, peering over to find the dad at his side and clutching the crowbar to lend his own strength. And together, with their combined efforts, the air solidifying psychic and the doting father lift the hefty piece of debris off from the rest of the fallen ceiling; the chunk rolling aside just enough to lend a way around the burning living room and straight out the front door. “Get moving!” Tues demands, holding the piece of debris up from falling back. “What about you!?” the dad worries, returning to his kids. “I’ll be alright! Just move!” Without so much as an ounce of hesitance, the man scoops up both of his daughters and makes a beeline straight out the door; looking back for just a moment to yell out to the psychic who saved him: “Thanks a bunch!”

Glad that’s taken care of, now to just wedge this just right and- Before Tuesco could conjure the air needed to hold the chunk of ceiling up, his attempt to escape is thwarted when a blazing mini table is thrown across the room and slams against the piece he held up and knocks it into the wall; the air solidifying psychic quickly backing away before the loose chunk could roll overtop of him. After evading the tumbling piece of house debris, he peers back towards where the fiery furniture had been chucked at him from; Tuesco astonished to witness the shape of a man walking among the roaring flames. This figure emerges out from the fiery inferno to show themselves to the air solidifying psychic, revealing a man donning a pink hoodie and sideways tilted cap that glares to Tuesco with a smarmy and wicked grin; the bright orange aura seeping from his body showing itself more intense the very flames he stands within.

“Shit, ain’t this a helluva site. Wake up out of my power nap to test drive my supped up skills, and the first thing I catch is some old fuck playing superhero like he’s some overgrown jizz stain. The hell you doing out here, gramps?” the fiery foe question. “Guess that’d makes you the menace who thinks he can go around terrorizing these good folks.” the psychic of air accuses while getting back on his feet. “Come on, think I deserve more street cred then getting called a menace. I ain’t dealing any of that weak shit; I’m the real top G right here!” “You call putting people in danger and destroying their livelihood street cred!? Are you for real!?” “Real as real can get, bitch. Sense coming out of my little doc appointed snooze, I’ve never felt more alive. I can fucking feel the difference!” this man claims, the fire around him swiftly evaporating as thick crystallized ice takes its place. “Temperature ain’t something I just order around like some skank hoe anymore, I got my hands tight on the dial. In fact, might as well just be the dial with how far up I’m in on mother natures honey pot! Fahrenheit? Celsius? Those weather reporting cocks are better off calling them by the top G they follow; make some scientific tag along with my name, like Randy units or some shit!” “The only thing they’re gonna be calling you is a monster!” Tuesco insults.

#lillaxtrigger #original writing #stories

[princesscallyie]

About the chart, it says that Ryu has wind powers and that Rai has fire powers. To be honest, I thought that it would be the other way around based off of personality. Seeing how Ryu is energetic and like playing sports and Rai is the kind of cool and calm, but if you mess with him or his loved one, he'll kick your ass.

Sometimes it’s interesting to switch it up from the expected ;)

#lillaxtrigger

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

Not to sound rude here, but do you have an alternate account on here that posts just the comics?

Nope, sorry, not on here. 

If you want just the comics, go to Tapas (that’s where all the links labeled COMIC lead to.) You can sign up with a free account and just get notifications when the comic updates.

#i know i post a lot of stuff besides the comics #but I like the interactive quality of it #if you are tired of my stupid commentary #that's what tapas is for #chekhov answers #lillaxtrigger-stories

[lily-orchard]

How many dicks can you handle at once?

Five

#lillaxtrigger-stories

[laylaylamode]

Don't forget about Young Hope by Lillaxtrigger, AJ-THEGREATEST's Callyieverse stories, and Vino-Lerrej's Callyieverse stories about Melvin. They are all on DA.

Thanks!

#ask #anon #thanks anon!

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 20

Among the recesses of a shadowy chamber does a single light flicker on to unveil Daydra sitting underneath its glow, dressed in nothing but bruises and cuts all throughout his body while bound tightly to a chair; the man of magnetism overwhelmed with fright and terror as he calls out in the void that: “Please, you gotta believe me. I know my crew is running late on the monthly quotas; but just give me a little more time and I can whip them into-” “Eh, don’t fret over that. Business is the last thing I wanna hear you bitch about.” a disguised voice assures from the shadows. “Then why? Why drag me here?” From the darkest depths does a figure donning a mask depicting a ghoulish visage with no pupils; a sinister chuckle coming out from the other side of the mask as this man glares down upon his bruised and beaten captive. “Oh Daydra, my dear deviant. Our sonata is far more personal than you can ever understand.”

“Boss, y-you know I’d never do you dirty. Even when you stuck me down in the slums with all those rats, I never thought once to turn traitor on you.” “But treachery is part of the piece, my magnetic mister. Our muse of tonight.” the boss claims, flicking at Daydra’s forehead. “For you see, the underlying text of our subject is your run in with a band of traitors; one’s that had mined your mind for valuable nuggets of knowledge.” “I didn’t even get the chance to report on that, how did you even...Those motherfucking rodents of mine. I give them the chance to dig their way out of that shithole and this is how they repay me!?” seethes Daydra. “Their loyalty to this syndicate remains more straight to us then they are to you. But let’s not discuss of the how and get back to the what.” “What?”

“That’s the spirit. All I wanna know is what; what came out of your pretty little mouth while they had you hogtied?” “Nothing boss, I-I swear.” the magnetic man desperately pleads. “Phfft! Like you got your sorry ass nabbed by these worms after they beat you silly and all they make you talk about was nothing? Do you sincerely think so little of me to think I would buy that?” the masked man asks him, clutching at the top of Daydra’s head. “I mean it! Those dicks didn’t make me say anything about our operations. No sellers, no imports, no nothing!” “They had to have made you sing some songs; so you better spill it, before I make something else of yours splatter.” “All they had me discuss was what I knew about Dr. December; it wasn’t even that much.” Upon this claim does the man of magnetism feel the hand clutching the top of his head pull away, Daydra gazing up to his masked interrogator as he hears the boss think aloud: “Dr. December? I knew they aimed to take back the stone, but this directly? Wedsle, you violet jackass; you have no idea the pit of hell you drag your crew down towards. Still, they’ve pulled themselves out of similar deathtraps. If they actually succeed in killing him for the stone, that’d be a real problem.”

“I don’t...I don’t get it. Why be so concerned over a man whispered as nothing more than a myth?” Daydra asks. To this question, the masked man bursts out laughing maniacally; the polarizing psychic sitting before him unnerved as he hears his interrogators cackling echo out beyond the surrounding shadows. “Seriously, Daydra? A man so passionate of learning about others with psychic abilities, and you still think that December’s nothing but a campfire story the little pieces of fresh meat share as they sit on their asses stuffing smores down each others throats? Thought a guy as persistently studious as you would’ve known better by now.” “You mean that he’s...But the experiments, th-the rumors of his powers, his body, even his lair; they’re-” “Yep, every single one. They’re not tall tales of technological terror, they’re as real as you and I.” “Oh my god…” the magnetic man utters in dreadfully utters. Its among this moment of terrifying realization that a goofy ass ringtone cuts in to shatter the dreadful mood; the masked man letting out a little chuckle as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone; all before he says: “Oopsie, meant to set it to vibrate. Just gimme a sec to take this, m’kay.”

Backing a little ways into the shadowy void, the masked man holds his phone up and greets who was on the line with a: “Well, how to you do, Tu-tu!?” “How many times must I tell you to not refer to me with that?” the guy on the other end states. “Sorry. One of us wanted to use code names whenever were among the underlings.” “Can you use a name that’s less demeaning?” “How bout Tootie, that sound any better for you?” the masked interrogator jests. “I...Gah! Have you secured Daydra, yet?” “I was just in the middle of a friendly conversation with our well seated and snug guest. He just got done telling me about a previous chat had with some of our former employee’s. And you’ll never believe what they asked him about.” “What did he say?” the man on the other end of the call wonders. “He was just about to tell me what they gossiped about our good doctor.” “Is that so? Then I suppose I should let you get back to your discussion.”

“Before you hang up, I gotta ask; how are things going on your end?” “Preparations for our hibernation chambers are proceeding smoothly. Once we receive a second dose of the stones power, we will be safely hidden against any threats while under the evolutionary process.” “What about the scions, they up yet?” the starry interrogator follows up with. “The good doctor predicts that they will awaken from their comatose states soon. After they finish adjusting themselves to their enhanced abilities, I’m sure they will be more than adequate in contending to our previous employees.” “Sounds good to hear.” “Indeed. I will be tending to a few more loose ends before we go under ourselves. I’ll leave you to your end of business before I state that it’s time.” “When you say what I do as business, it sounds pretty bland. I like to think of it more as visions into ventures.” “Whatever you say, just be ready for my word when the time comes.” “Will do.”

With these parting words between the brothers, the masked man hangs up to fiddles with the settings of his phone; the magnetic man bound to the chair behind him demanding to know: “Just what the hell are you planning to do to me?” “Hmm, what will I do? The possibilities are practically endless for me. The way one looks to a blank canvas in the midst of deciding their first stroke of the brush, the decision paralyzes me.” “What are you on about?” “...Let me show you what I mean.” the masked man tells him. From the disguised interrogators body irradiates a starry night power that seeps into the surrounding shadows, engulfing the darkness in its spacial influence. Before Daydra’s very eyes does the void around them melt away similar to block of ice under the mercy of the scorching sun; the shadows dissolving to reveal a site most fowl.

Beyond the mercy of the void does the magnetic man behold in horror contorted abominations that of which once held human like features; their bodies and features warped in impossible shapes for any person to realistically hold. Limbs and fingers shortened or elongated in different positions, torsos mangled and torn, their faces twisted beyond any recognition. Daydra was struck beyond belief, having been dragged into what could only be described as a body horror nightmare come to life. “Lo and behold, my personal gallery of people; each one of them carefully crafted and molded to my very visions. You see, running an organization as tightly knit and coordinated as ours isn’t as luxurious as its portrayed in media; it needs constant care and meticulous attention so it doesn’t fall under its own girth. And while some embrace that slog by burying themselves in their work, I on the other hand find myself partaking in realm of artwork and creativity to ease the stress brought on by the grind. When I find a muse in the midst of the commute, I can’t help but whisk them away to mold and craft them to what I envision. Let me show you some of my personal favorites.”

Remaining bound to the chair, the polarizing psychic beholds the spot he was tied to be dragged over to one of the grotesque sculptures. It was a strange feeling to realize; but it was as if it wasn’t him or the chair that was being moved, but rather the spot he sat upon; the very space he occupied itself. After being moved over to the heinous figure, a chill runs down Daydra’s spine as he looks to its twisted visage; its mouth widened to that of inhuman proportions, with nothing else left besides its gigantic smile. “A first for one of my treasured sculptures, I dub this piece “Unrelenting joy”, reflected in their unwavering grin. Twas a somber day in the midst of a chilly fall; the people surrounding me irradiating misery and sorrow. I know not what manner of tragedy had befallen the city to leave such a saddening imprint; but among them was but one man that stood among the sea of doom and gloom, one so happy and carefree that it brightened the spirits of those he had passed by. Such magnifying charisma and charm inspired me in the midst of this dreary outlook; I just had to capture such radiance.”

Drifting away from this distorted statue, the man of magnetism holds back the urge to vomit when presented with another; the polarizing psychic terrifyingly speechless as he’s presented with the site of a mass composed of two figured fused together by their very flesh. Their entangled visage holding a set of four eyes, yet no mouth; their limbs wrapped around one another tightly. “One piece that I particularly enjoyed crafting; “The lovers”, depicting a couple immersing themselves in eachother’s compassionate embrace. The muse befallen upon me when I was in the middle of a grocery store, perusing through its shelves for what juice to pick. It was among the particularly busy day that I come upon the site of a pair embracing one another passionately in the middle of the aisle. Their arms cradling each other, entangling their tongues voraciously. And while all else gazed upon this promiscuous couple with a stew of disdain, disgust and jealousy, I had behold a love so fiery and strong that it could simply not be contained. It was upon this site that I was determined to capture such love, bring their melding emotions to life and express their passion for each other in a rapture of eternal coitus.” A tingling terror overcomes the magnetic man as he stares upon the mixed heads of the fused figure, one of their eyes glaring down upon him.

Veered over from that grotesque piece and right to the next, Daydra is left ultimately stunned in bottomless dread as he gazes upon the misshapen body of a young woman. The fright and terror in her foggy eyes was clear to see in her pale visage; her mouth left agap, as if she was screaming from her very soul. The way her legs were crossed, the way she held her arms up; such bodily expression was more than enough to tell that her last moments were pleading for mercy. “My proudest work. Never in my life have I been able to capture such raw emotion since. It was a Thursday night summer evening, the night bringing forth a much needed refreshing breeze through the city. It was weeks since I felt a spark of creativity surge through my brain, wondering when I would come upon my next inspiration in this drab and droll urban jungle. I had just finished slaughtering this man who thought to skip out on his dues, standard affair for mobsters. But upon that night was it not the man that drew inspiration for me; but rather, the girl that was with him. She had just witnessed her lover being contorted to a fine twisted mess, her eyes darting between me and what was left of him. I have never witnessed such raw and disparaging terror before, her body quivering in paralyzing dread. A genuine gaze of utter terror, I could practically see the woman’s life flashing in her eyes. I refused to let such a muse escape me. I knew in my heart that such an astounding expression of fear needed to be immortalized.”

Drips of freezing sweat run down the polarizing psychic’s head as he stares upon the hope shattering fright the figure’s visage held; Daydra’s own mind racing as it threatens to veer into that very same dread. It skyrockets as the magnetic man is turned back over to his masked interrogator, who slowly approaches with a handful of starry night power and states how: “I hope that a peek through my private gallery has lend you the motivation to remember what you had discussed with those traitors. Else I may have to take out frustration out from these fruitless endeavors against a fresh, blank, canvas.”

The bustling city lights that glow among the Manhattan night streets compliment the countless art pieces strewn throughout the city’s artisan district; with statues, murals and graffiti displayed along the sidewalks, roads, and walls. The numerous pieces around the way show off a myriad of art styles ranging from the conventional to the abstract; even dipping in the puddles of bizarre and uncanny, all for the sake of expression. It was definitely a somewhat overwhelming site to take in as you walk through. But even among this district of artistic display and spiritual expressionism does their still prove to be shares of grounded business set in between the lines; case in point being a good chunk of the psychic traitors sitting in the outside area of a fast food joint; Satette chowing down on a delicious barbecue bacon burger with Frida and Thursotte watching her. While the dimensional psychic simply sips on the large soda she had ordered with her chicken nuggets, Thurs on the other hand can’t take a single bite of his salad as he’s left in awe of the pieces of art strewn outside the joint.

Frida can’t help but stare as the lively psychic sloppily chewing the saucy burger held in her hands, getting barbecue sauce and bacon everywhere while devouring it like a voracious dog in the midst of eating a juicy slab of beef. “Jesus. Slow down, girl. The burger ain’t going anywhere.” the dimensional psychic warns. “Sorry. It’d just been a while since I’ve tasted the sweet ambrosia of honey smoked barbecue sauce. I don’t know what they put in there that makes it so savory and sweet, but its gotten me hooked like a severe ecstasy addict...In fact, it wouldn’t shock me much if that turned out to be the secret ingredient.” claims Satette, her tongue slurping up the sauce across her mouth.

“Speaking of juicy secrets, I know you and Tuesco got around in getting some good intel off that guy you both caught, what sort of shit you fished out from him?” Sat then brings up. “Well, we wound up getting a good deal of info out of the polarizing piece of shit. We wound up getting out of him a couple of detailed tidbits about the dear Doctor’s powers, he didn’t know a lot about where he’s laying low. So, Wedsle called in someone who might.” “And that wound be?” “Somebody we’re supposed to meet around here tonight.” states the dimensional psychic. “In the art district?” “Not my first choice either, but what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know. Meet up around a back alley, around the slums, or even in a dingy warehouse. Really anywhere else that doesn’t draw as much attention as whatever sort of corner of the human psyche possessed people to make stuff like this.” Sat goes, pointing over to a terrifying portrait of a screaming Vince McMahon made out of chewing gum. “I swear I can hear him screaming into the depths of my soul.” she follows. “Weds said something about all this weird shit drawing attention away from the average crusty dealings we go through. Guess with stuff like this, I kind of see his point. I mean why bother looking at what’s going on around you when you’re too busy gawking at a statue of Jennifer Love Hewitts singing at the top of her lunges with a bloody crouch. Don’t even wanna know what possessed somebody to make that.” Frida claims. “Can’t you get sued for making stuff like that?” “Not if its labeled under parody.” “That counts a parody!?” “I don’t know either.”

“Can’t imagine how anybody would be mesmerized by dumb crap like this, right Thurs...Thursotte?” remarks Frida. When hearing nothing from her chaos triggering partner in crime, she glances aside to find the young man utterly entranced by the collection of art that decorates the streets; Thursotte’s eyes sparkling with wonderment in seeing the pieces displayed. “The shapes, the colors, it all speaks to me in ways that I’ve never imagined before. It’s so...beautiful!” he babbles. “Wow, uh. I…didn’t think you had any interest in this stuff.” claims the dimensional psychic. “It’s been a really long time since I got the chance to take in and appreciate art pieces like this, to really wonder about the interpretation behind their creation. Feels like a relief for me after the terrible brushes with business and death I’ve endured.” “I didn’t think somebody like you would appreciate art; seeing as you tend to the order of how things work instead of why they were made.” “You think you wanna be an artist when you get back home?” Satette then suggest. “I’m...not sure. I never really thought about it as a career, really.”

While her two friends continue discussing their plans once it was all said and done, Satette is compelled to gaze over to one of the art pieces lining the streets as she finishes up her BBQ burger with a strange site catching her eye. The lively psychic finds held in the sheen of a metallic statue a woman with silver locks donning sunglasses and a pale gold overall dress, staring at the three of them intently from beyond the reflection in the piece. From the figure in this reflection, Sat peers through the surrounding streets in figuring out where this woman was spying on them from; yet glancing down both ways of the road does she find not a single sign of the woman anywhere among the passing people. Looking back over to the woman in the reflection, Satette can’t help but wonder who this mysterious woman watching them was. But before she could ponder of the nature of this strange reflection, a small crowd casually waltz right past the metallic statue; as soon as this crew of tourists walks right aside the art piece, the gold suited woman within the reflection had vanished. Disappeared without so much as a trace.

As the lively psychic stares to the metal figure that she saw this woman in, the call of her friends begin to break down her puzzling enthrallment; Satette finally shaking off her bewilderment when she hears Frida call to her with: “Yo, Sat!” “Dah, uh...Ye-yeah?” Sat returns to them with. “You doing okay, there?” Thursotte worries. “Yeah...What-what were we talking about?” “What you wanna do after taking over the seedy underbelly of the big apple?” the dimensional psychic reminds. “Oh...Guess I really haven’t thought much about that. There’s just so much I want to do for this city; I wouldn’t know where to start.” “I mean I can’t blame you; there’s just so much to correct. Stop selling drugs to kids and the impoverished, mending the ties between the psychic’s caught up in this whole storm. I imagine the rest of you guys got a real work load ahead of you once we take the top of the criminal totem pole.” claims Thurs. “Yeah...Makes me pretty tense thinking about all that now.” Satette admits. “Hey, Don’t stress about it. If it gives you any solace; you got Weds and me to lean on. Hell, if there can be two bosses, why not three, right?” Frida comforts her with, her words bringing a smile to the lively psychic.

Emboldened by their combined resolves, Satette finishes up the rest of her mouthwatering burger before rising up from her seat and requests that: “Come on! Lets meet with our informant while the night’s still young.” As the trio depart from their table and head into the artistic district, not one of them notices a forth having spied on them from the background; the same woman with sunglasses Satette had witnessed before dwelling in the fast food restaurant window. After watching the three head into the creatively decorated streets, the light of a passing car shines against the window this spy hides within; the lady having vanished as soon as this light fades.

Down in the boulevard of artistic integrity, the psychic trio stroll on their way down the polished marble streets to where they tend to meet their informant; their attention drawn to the graffiti painted against the buildings and the sculptures strewn around the streets. To the paintings plastered on the walls do some depict numerous scenes of the worlds natural beauty, including lush green clearings, thick woodlands, and vast sand dunes. While others hold murals of characters and animals ranging from realistic to borderline imaginary. The statues and sculptures set between the buildings held shapes ranging from the effigy of people to abstract geometry the likes of which sprawl out or seep in to one another; some resembling waving flames, to others taking the form of odd strings cobbled together.

Though taking in the artist merit of these pieces, the lively psychic among them catches site of the very same lady she had seen before, held in the window where one of the murals we’re painted. As soon as Satette spots this mysterious stalker, the woman retreats out from this window; Sat left with a mixture of puzzling worry. While drifting her gaze over to a shiny bronze effigy holding the shape of a man with several arms sprouting across his body, she’s again shaken when seeing the very same woman within the reflection of the statues face; Satette only catching a brief glimpse of this girl before she vanishes, like somebody delving into the depths of a foggy lake. The lively psychic’s worry only grows as she turns her attention over towards a fountain held in the middle of a small square, witnessing the same woman dressed in pale gold within the surface of the water; this lady tipping her sunglasses down to look back at with her orange eyes before disappearing once again.

“Guys, you two getting the sensation down your spine when being watched.” Sat finally speaks up with. “Occasionally. I sometimes get the weird sense that there are others beyond the scope of our very understanding observing our supernatural exploits as if nothing more than a brief respite from their eternal boredom, seeing us as nothing more than fictitious entities held in the chronicles of a predetermined narrative… I don’t like thinking about it, it makes me feel existentially paranoid.” rambles Thursotte. “...No, Jesus...I meant like were being stalked.” “You seeing some recurring faces?” asks Frida. “Just one. A woman I keep seeing around here wearing sunglasses and yellow overalls, saw her in a window, some statues even in that fountains water.” claims Sat, pointing over to the decorative fountain in the middle of the plaza. “Another psychic?” Thurs wonders. “Maybe. I-I don’t know.”

“Psychic or not; if we do got someone tailing us; then it’d be best for us to split. Take some less obvious routes towards where were heading.” the dimensional psychic proposes. “Do we have to? If it’s just one person, then I’m sure the three of us should have no trouble taking them on.” mentions Thurs. “Assuming she’s been following us for a while now, there would’ve been plenty of chances for this bitch to pounce and take us by surprise; but not once while we had our guard down did she try.” “Well, yeah. Even with the element of surprise, three against one aren’t good looking odds.” “True, but there might be another reason why she’s choosing to hide and wait; we might not be the one’s this prowling piss sipper is after.” Frida proclaims. “I get it.” Satette interjects. “She’s letting us lead her right to the informant.”

“Exactly. But we ain’t letting that happen and here’s how. Sat, you take the east route and around over to the northern end of the district. Thurs, you’ll be heading to the west side, circle towards the gallery.” “What about you?” asks Thursotte. “Me? Think I’ll fancy making a little detour through the southern streets. Sounds like the best place to be if our uninvited guest tries her luck with me.” To this end do the trio make the split from the art district’s main street and each go their separate ways, none of them aware of the very stalker they had attempted to trip up dwelling within the shinning marble tiles they stood on; the woman in the pale gold overalls wearing a wicked smile as she vanishes within the polished surface.

Out into the west side of the artisan district, Thurs strolls towards a collection of buildings that host a number of galleries and shows of various art forms; the wide windows on the side lending him a peek of what pieces lay inside. While you had the more traditional museums that presented paintings and statues, others have opted to break from the mold and host more experimental pieces. One had sculptures made from bent scrape metal and trash, another hosted light shows and holograms to express graphic art no real piece could cultivate; all of these previews had him thinking back to the conversation he had with Frida earlier.

For so long, I’ve bee fascinated of the ins and outs of what makes the world tick; the sequences of the world that govern our lives.  Be it machinery or the behavior of animals and humans, no matter how hectic it may look, I thought everything followed that law of patterns. For my young adult life, I sought to make sense from what seemed like a cruel maelstrom of chaos; I thought if I did, I could tackle whatever troubles come my way. But look where all that got me; pushed down to the bottom after climbing so high, all my efforts for a better future in vain. Even knowing that I would have been pinned for that scam of a start up company, there were too many variables and factors at play among that entire mess that trying to make sense of it all would’ve been like finding a piece of hay in a giant needle stack...or does that saying go the other way around? But then there’s the world of art.

Stopping in the middle of gallery way, the young man peers to a building containing a myriad of abstract art; all made from colors and shapes the likes of which hold no concrete recognizable geometry or patterns of hue. Clashing colors, nonsensical structure, not even any familiar elements to wrap your head around. Art doesn’t have to follow a single rule regarding pattern or rules whatsoever...But there’s a strange beauty to that. Instead of clashing with the chaos, art revels in it, harmonizing with its unpredictable flow; like a powerful earthquake ravaging a still oceanside. The water divides, yet it continues to flow into the cervices of the land; more and more water streaming through the fractures caused by the chaotic tremor until it forms into a mighty river branching out from the very sea it came from.

His trip down the junction of self reflection takes him towards an enclosed building hosting an amateur art exhibit, strolling straight through the steel door and into its baron halls to find housed within sculptures made from miscellaneous broken objects like pieces of plastic and scrap metal; stuck together to create sculptures with a wide range of forms. People and animals, everyday tools and appliances, even familiar machines and transportation. These sculptures, despite their discordant appearance take forms familiar to the human perception, holding some control over the cobbled and broken mishmash made from it. Physical proof of chaos being reshaped and molded into an orderly form.

Yet in between these recognizable sculptures, Thursotte finds standing among them abstract and out there pieces made from similar mixtures of busted trash, taking on more abstract and out there forms to contrast their fellow pieces. Discordant geometry folding in and splintering out against one another to create indescribable shapes. No matter how much the I stares to these particular pieces, no matter how I try to fit them into what shapes they make up, nothing about their very forms conforms into what I’m familiar with; unbound by sequences and rules beyond even the sculptures own conventions. Discordant chaos in melded from the familiar rather than for it. It doesn’t care what we as people think of its existence, it simply does.

Among viewing some of the more bizarre sculptures among this less than popular gallery, the young man spots something strange held within the metallic parts of these pieces; beholding on their surface the image of a silver haired woman with sunglasses and golden overalls faded in. Was...that there before? Why even put the picture of a lady in the metal like that? Is it some kind of statement about some people trapped in the storm of chaos and discord that looms over our very lives? It isn’t until he watches the picture of this woman turn her head right over to him that he snaps out from his artistic introspective and swiftly backs away from the strange sculpture; the lady in the strip stretching her arm out from the depths of the metal for a glowing red aura to come breaching out. From this pool of strawberry red power does that same arm emerge out from the other side, brandishing a pistol aimed squarely towards the young man; Thursotte making a mad dash over towards the cover of another statue as the firearm blasts at him. The bullet streaks across Thurs’ face as he delves behind one of wider sculptures, leaving him with a shallow slit across his cheekbone. The young man covers his cut while peeking out to watch the arm that shot at him slink back into the metal strip; the woman within it vanishing into its depths.

That definitely wasn’t part of the exhibit; no amount of artistic expression can make an arm come out from the surface of a statue and try its luck shooting you. And the woman underneath that piece of metal; her sunglasses, her gold overall dress, it fit Sat’s description down to a tee. I thought she was just hallucinating from the stress, but now I can’t deny it; we were being stalked this entire time. Frida might’ve right about this lady, she was laying low so we could lead her right to our informant meetup. But why come out of hiding and go on the offense now? Did she somehow figure out we were attempting to throw her off? All that to take in and it still doesn’t get in to what this woman’s powers may be. She poked her arm out from underneath the surface of that sculpture, kind of like how Frida does when phasing out from walls. But she didn’t slide away, she vanished; almost like she was diving down into a pool; it might look similar, but this lady’s playing on a different set of rules. Whatever those rules might be, it’d be suicide to try and find out in here. My best chance right now is getting back outside, give myself more room to work with.

Having his fill of both the abstract artistic experience and this newfound gallery goer, Thursotte sprints straight towards the same steel door he entered from; the discordant psychic clutching to turn the handle only to find it to not budge an inch. No matter how much or how hard he jerks the knob around, the steel door leading back out stays locked tight. Locked!? The door was wide open before, who the hell locked it!? Most of these big city art galleries are free to just walk into, aren’t they!?

Just when discovering himself trapped with his assailant inside the amateur art gallery, it goes from bad to worse when an arm suddenly emerges out from the surface of the steel door’s shiny face to clutch at his shirt collar; Thurs pulled closer as he witnesses the woman in the golden overall dress from earlier rise out before him. Pulling her other arm out from the door’s face, she takes out one piece of a set of claws to slash down upon him; Thurs ducking underneath her swinging assault for the claws to swipe against the wall. Catching his foe wide open, Thursotte grabs the girl from underneath her arms to yank her straight out from the face of the doorway; the young man tossing the silver haired woman down onto the smooth concrete floor.

Before the chaos inducing psychic has the chance to so much as approach, the woman in gold overalls jumps back onto her feet with a pistol in hand; Thursotte shoves his hand down into his pocket to toss out some pocket change at her. The woman holds her arm up to her face to swat away the collection of coins, none of them doing so much as bruising her; the lady swiftly pointing the end of her weapon towards the man before her. Faced on the wrong end of the pistol, Thurs holds his hands up and shouts to her to that: “Wait, you can’t shoot me! You won’t know who we’re meeting!” This statement is enough to keep his assailant from immediately unloading her pistol mag into him; the woman with the shades keeping her finger on the trigger. The girl in the golden garbs before her having not put a hole through his head yet, Thurs begins to ease his breathing as remains calm against her. Okay, good; that stopped her. But I can’t relax yet, need to keep peddling at her while my money works its magic. Gazing past the lady holding him at gunpoint, Thurs watches the coins he threw out at her roll out towards some of the sculptures behind her; the cents infused in his own discord inducing power. Knowing full well that his influence will take a minute to cascade, he opts to stall his foe by continuing to claim how: “That’s who you’re really after, isn’t it? You put a bullet in my brain and that’s one less chance to find out where we’re supposed to meet them.”

Lending his coins some more time to roll with, the quarter among them taps at the leg of a statue resembling that of a person; this small tap making the sculpture come tilting down towards one of the other pieces. The person shaped collection of scrap and plastic falls upon another statue to spread Thursottes orange power into it; the cluster of trash shuffling around under the statues weight to make one small piece of scrap come hurdling out towards another shaped like a bicycle. Hit with the piece of metal, the bike rolls off its base and towards more of the statues; its handlebars catching a couple of them by their holes to send them tumbling down towards the woman with the gun. The silver haired woman is only offered a moment to glance back at the collection of sculptures as they collapse down upon her; pieces of scrape and plastic sent everywhere as the mass of them bury the golden girl under their weight with a hefty crash. “Yes!” Thurs cheers. His moment of triumph is little hampered when one of the heftier pieces of plastic flies right into his stomach, the young man kneeling down and clutching his belly as she claims aloud how: “Could’ve been worse...Still a win.”

Once the pain in his gut begins to subside, Thursotte pulls himself back up and hurries past the spill of junk he had a hand in making to races into the rest of the gallery. That downpour of junk might slow that lady down, but it ain’t gonna stop her; I gotta find another way out of this gallery before she gets out from under there and guns for my hide. As the accident causing psychic hurries further into the gallery, one slim piece of metal atop the pile reflects against the light fixtures above. Under the surface of this metal does the woman with the silver locks watch Thursotte take the corner, all before she delves down into the face’s slick sheen and disappears.

Contrasting with the harsh concrete buildings that she typically surround her, Satette strolls along the glistening marble path through the artisan districts botanical garden; the lively young psychic beholding the lush garden beds and blooming bushes cut in numerous shapes and sizes depicting both common shapes and others abstract. Among these tended bushes and flowerbeds stood effigies of both people and animals alike, some standing tall among themselves and others carved working together; their polished surface reflecting the surrounding city lights.

Though the statues of marble interest her little, Sat wanders over to the finely tended bushes to stare at the flowers that bloom across its surface; their vibrant colors complimenting the lush green leaves coating the bush. Despite the bush itself having been trimmed to a specific form, the flowers on the other hand hold themselves to no such convention, sprouting from the bush to wherever it wishes. Such uncontrolled growth was contrast to the uniform way the bushes had been trimmed; perhaps an analogy of how nature weaves its way into the lives of human society, sprouting wherever it wishes despite our attempts to maintain an orderly appearance. Or...maybe the guy trimming these bushes thought the flowers just looked good, who knows.

Beyond the neatly trimmed bushes is Satette’s attention then drawn over to one of the flower beds; a collection of colorful roses, lilacs, poppy, tulips, freesia, and anemone all arrange together to make an entire rainbow made from their petals. It was amazing to see that even among the depths of this corrupt concrete jungle, that natural beauty like this can still flourish; carving a path of life for itself despite the odds against it. Pondering this artistic analogy over the pervasive nature of this blooming foliage makes her think back to the conversation she had with Frida and Thurs not too long ago; both of them concerned over her plans for the mob after taking control of it. Of course there so much needed to be done in setting things right among the drug trade; cease pushing them on kids, the poor and unfortunate, how to go about tending to what psychic’s are left, the list was long. But what about after fixing all of that would we do with our newfound and illicit power. There’s so much we could accomplish, so much we could make better for New York.

Amidst the streetlights that shines upon the flowerbed, Satette snaps out from contemplating her future when a shadow slithers across the petals; the lively psychic glancing up to discover the site of an arm brandishing a gun emerging out from the surface of a marble statue. Her hands already deep in the flower bed, Sat swiftly runs her aura through them to erect a thin wall of stems and petals just when the gun cracks off a shot; the psychic of life ducking down to avoid the bullet. Underneath the veil off her flowery wall, Satette springs out from cover and leaps behind one of the closest marble statues, peeking behind its polished rock to see the arm belonging to the same girl in the golden overalls she had seen before as she slithers back into the depths of the statue. So I wasn’t losing my mind, this bitch here really was stalking us the entire time. But how, and from where?

From the very polished statue that Satette hides behind, the lively psychic witnesses the same arm as before breach out from a part of the sculpture the street light shines against; the hand swiping at her with a set of deadly steel claws. Before an inch of these claw could so much as slice across her, Sat stops the arm wielding them with the small bouquet of flowers she snatched up from the flower bed she had retreated from, using their stems as string to hold back the limb from lashing out at her; trickles of scarlet dripping down as the tip of the claws brush against her cheek. Sliding underneath the protruding limb, the lively psychic pulls against the strand of stems entangling her foe to drag her out from the depths of the marble statue; the woman with the silver locks slicing off the stems entangling her arm as she fumbles across the grass.

Knowing full well what this mysterious psychic intentions we’re, Satette digs her fingers into the soil to infuse her natural green aura into the lawn, morphing the freshly cut grass into deadly green blades that rend through the dirt while after the girl dressed in the golden overalls. Her foe’s steel claws prove tougher than these sharp, but thin lines of grass, the silver haired woman simply slashing them to nothing but pieces. As the confetti of cut grass flutters onto the ground, the mystery woman aims her pistol straight against Sat; the lively psychic bolting across the garden as her foe unloads her magazine. Satette delves into the cover of a thick garden bush trimmed into the shape of an orca, using her natural green powers to smoothly dive inside among the thicket.

Poking her head out from the top of the carefully trimmed garden bush, Sat peers back to find her enigmatic enemy having vanished from where she stands, finding nothing around but a part of the polished marble path cutting through the grass. Where...where’d she- Feeling a hot piece of led graze beside her head, the lively psychic jerks her head over to see the girl in the golden overalls peeking out from the surface of the marble walkway stretching around the bush. Before the silver haired assassin could crack out another shot at her, Satette commands the orca shaped bush to uproot itself from its planted spot and swim through the soil as smoothly as the sea; the lively psychic remaining partially buried in the bushes body as her mysterious foe continues to fire at her. Among evading the barrage of bullets, Sat has her shrub leap right over a part of the marble walkway as she gains some distance away from the woman firing at her; the life psychic peering back to find her foe slithering back down into the depths of the polished pathway.

Approaching one of the birch tree’s that make up this artistically crafted garden, Satette leaps out from within the sea mammal shaped bush and up into the treeline; the lively psychic climbing to the top of the mid sized birch for an eagle eyed view of the botanical park. Looking down from atop the lanky tree’s crown, Sat scours for where girl in the golden overalls may prowl, all the while she wonders of the nature of her enigmatic enemy’s abilities. Even though she might operate on different rules, its nothing that new; almost similar to how Frida traverses across walls. But so far, this gaudy golden girl’s only been popping out from the marble walkways and statues set around here. Why specifically the marble though? And even then, when I was taking cover behind one of those sculptures. If she freely move through them, then she could’ve attacked me at my backside; but she instead opted to pop out from aside where I hid instead. Right on the side the street lights shined against, but why on that side? What’s it about that part of the statue she could only pop out from. Earlier, I caught her snooping from in a window, a sign, even in the water running through the fountain. What’s so special about these sorts of surfaces that she can only travel through?

...Wait. Another look down into the artisan botanical garden, Satette fails to find even a single trace of the silver haired assassin anywhere among the park; not around the bushes, not among the flower beds, not a trace of her within the marble statues. Where the hell’d she go?

Several blocks away from the lush botanical garden, the girl in the golden overalls surfaces out from within an apartment window, gazing down from where she breaches to find the third of her group of targets wandering among the graffiti plastered city block. Having located the last of her three pursuits, the silver haired assassin slinks back into the depths of the shimmering window, biding her time to wait until her true target shows themselves.

Strolling among the graffiti district block, Frida can’t help but take a gander to some of the pieces left plastered across the walls; the dimensional psychic admiring the effort and time it took to craft these striking and vibrant murals made with nothing but spray cans and the bold visions of their creators. Though Frida herself didn’t hold much of an artistic eye as Thursotte had expressed, even she could appreciate the detail and color choices that make each of these pieces pop among the usual bland urban atmosphere. One piece of graffiti she fancies being one depicting an entire crowd of protesting people melded together into one mass standing against a clean cut and towering man in a business suit of rivaling size, staring one another down among a venue of a polluted and broken cityscape. Another the dimensional psychic spots being a collage of animals and creatures of all sorts of sprouting from the planet, like one big explosion of lively proportions; a piece of which possibly signifying the diverse species of  the Earth sharing the same origins. And finally does Frida’s sites come to a collection of words and phrases crafted in the usual urban graffiti like style; the kind of grunge tag one would usually find plastered among the streets beyond. Weather or not one would find these tags deplorable or not, the technique and effort put into the craft behind them was nothing to scoff at; even the most uptight and snooty of citizens can’t admit that the work put into them was far from amateur. Perhaps it was the reason why the blocks around here were dedicated to these spray painted beauties.

But despite cultivating a more appreciative side towards the arts, her cultural growth is forced on hold when a figure suddenly jumps out from the window one this building; the girl in the golden overalls breaching out from the depths of the glass and lunge down at her with a set of steel claws. Having little time to dodge away from danger, Frida reaches into her jacket to pull out her pair of handguns and uses their slides to stop her foe’s descending slash; the pistols solid metal proving effective in blocking the sharp claws. Made to face off against this close encounter, sparks go flying the dimensional psychic continues to block the silver haired assassins constant swipes with the metal of her firearms; her enigmatic enemies swift movement making putting a piece of led in her at point blank next to impossible. The numerous tourists that peruse through the artistic streets, doing nothing but beholding in the graffiti plastered walls, start to disperse as the two women rumble; clearing out the street gallery in but a matter of moments.

Gold overalls, silver hair, shitty shades. Yep, matches Sats description right down to the tee; guess we were being followed after all. This bitch’s quick too; can’t even hold my guns out to aim. Long as I’m on the defensive like this, can’t do jack shit, and seems like she knows it. Though Frida remains firm in block off the gold dressed assassins slashes, some of her foes unrelenting swipes manage to slip around the metal slides of her handguns to streak across the dimensional psychic to leave behind bleeding gashes across parts of her body. Dammit, I’m slipping! Need to make distance and fast!

Among holding off the golden overall girl’s relentless assault, Frida flips one of her handguns in her hands to have the handle protrude out before she swings the weapon out; the butt of the gun smacking across the silver assassins face. The girl in the golden overalls left momentarily stunned by the unexpected pistol whip, Frida follows with a kick straight to her foe’s stomach, knocking her away to make some distance between them. The dimensional gunwoman takes aim against the silver haired assassin tumbling away from her, watching as the gold girl fumbles down to a stray puddle left standing in the street. But before Frida could pop a piece of led into her assailant’s head, she’s flabbergasted when witnessing the girl in gold sink into the puddle completely; as if the body of water was far deeper than it seems.

Still left taken aback by her foe’s miraculous escape, Frida dashes over to the same puddle that she watched the woman in gold slip into. The dimensional psychic reaching into the reflecting water to find it as shallow as it appeared; a puzzling predicament that leaves her understandably confused. Yet the gunwoman knows that there stood little time to ponder over the nature of her enigmatic enemies power, for she looks towards the windows closest to her find her silver haired assailant swimming through their glass. Frida fires out against the windows in hopes of nailing the golden girl, but finds not a trace of her assailant among the shards that shower the streets. Try as long as you want to hide wherever the hell you’re in, I know you’re gaudy golden ass can’t stay in those windows forever. The way you crawl around in that glass, the way you cleanly slipped into that puddle? Might not know what else you can dive into, but it doesn’t matter. If your power work even remotely like mine, then I’ve already found you’re Achilles heel. Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to come up for air.

The silver haired assassin draws in a deep breath as she surfaces out from underneath the edge of a polished car door, gazing through her surroundings as she slithers back out into the physical world; the tussle that ensued earlier clearing the streets of any lingering tourists and visitors. But despite the graffiti plastered blocks being baron and empty, not a hint of the gun wielding woman could be found anywhere around; almost like she disappeared without a trace. Nevertheless, the girl in the golden overalls is fully alert as she carefully roams the streets, sticking to the spray painted walls in going through the artisan blocks. Approaching the corner, the silver haired assailant peeks behind the graffiti covered wall to gauge at the streets that wait on the other side; the scene seeming as void of any lingering onlookers as the one she had finished traversing through.

But just when wondering where her gun toting foe was lurking, the golden girl suddenly feels hot led pierce through her shoulder; the woman’s blood splattering against the tags that litter the wall. After taking the piece of led, the assassin swiftly leaps behind the corner before another one could find its way in her; narrowly evading a stray shot that cracks off against where her head was. Once behind the safety of the solid wall, the silver haired assassin glances back around the corner to try and survey where the shot had come from. Strangely however, she could find not even a sign of her sniping foe anywhere around the streets; not on the sidewalks, not around the corners, not even up along the rooftops. Nevertheless, the direction the bullet had struck her shoulder didn’t lie, she has to be hiding somewhere in those streets. Aiming to discover where this sneaky sniper sits for her, the girl with the golden overalls dives into the depths of the nearest window; hellbent on uncovering and holding her to find her real target.

From the lowest parked car bodies to the highest hanging windows, the silver haired assassin surveys down and around the stripe of graffiti lined street for even a sign of the wall merging gunwoman and scans through the spray painted walls for where she may hide. All of the bright colors, all of the abstract and distorted shapes making the murals, it was practically an assault on the vision for somebody to rapidly take in all at once; almost forced to look away from the bigger picture to keep her eyes from straining any further. Along with her eyes hurting does the woman’s breath draw short, compelled to emerge out from within the depths of a shining statue on the side for air. The very moment that the silver assassin pokes her head back up into the real world, a piece of hot lead grazes across the top of her ear and ricochet against the statue’s bronze surface; the crack shot forcing her to return into the depths of the statue. From the other side of the statue’s surface, the girl in gold glares out towards where she felt the bullet had come from, staring out towards one of the graffiti covered walls plastered across this block of the district. But no matter how much she strains her sites through the colorful spray painted portraits and murals, the silver haired assassin fails to find so much as a hint of the wall sliding sniper anywhere.

Seeing little sign of her gun toting foe among the spray painted streets, the gold girl retreats back into the depths of the bronze statue, unaware of the dimensional psychic hiding among the graffiti itself. In the middle of a wall sprayed to depict a crowd of people singing together among a raging storm, Frida emerges out from in between the painted mob to take in her own breath of fresh air; the dimensional psychic looking towards the bronze statue that she had seen her silver haired assailant delve into. Puddles, glass windows, even shiny statues. There’s some pattern to it; I know it.

Peering over towards the corner where she had shot at the golden girl first does Frida catch something left upon the cold concrete in her foe’s hurry; the dimensional psychic sliding across the mural and over to the street end to investigate. Carelessly dropped on the ground was a bright sky blue billfold, left haphazardly behind by her foe as she scrambled towards cover. Opening up the woman’s wallet reveals inside an ID firmly placed behind a piece of plastic; revealing the name of their enigmatic enemy. Secra?

A sense of worry haunts the amateur art gallery as Thursotte wonders through its halls, holding an anticipating sensation as the extent of his mysterious assailants abilities still remaining unclear to him; for all he knew, the girl in the golden overall’s could appear from anywhere at anytime. And with such, his biggest concern was simply finding a way out of this artisan maze. Though but even among about 10 minutes of wandering through the 2nd floor of the gallery does the young man only find in his search more amateur and abstract sculptures and scrape metal statues set through the halls; all with not a single way out to speak off. No doors, no windows, nothing.

You think they’d install an emergency exit in case the place went up in flames. But nope, not even one. Kind of a dick move, really. Like are New York art galleries so concerned with the whole aesthetic and experience that they think putting an emergency exit in the middle would clash with the art pieces? Or, maybe they converted this building into an art gallery and the fire escape was already just out of the way. Either way, it has to be a safety violation of some sort. I get wanting to take in the art at its fullest, but that shouldn’t be an excuse to risk your life over it; or really any one’s for that matter. Pretty screwed up to do so.

Amidst pondering to himself over the lack of any feasible exit, the young man inhales a sharp gasp when finally coming upon a way out from this gallery of this artist labyrinth of amateur artwork; a window leading outside at the end of a hall holding rough looking statues made from rugged, craggy carved stone. Rather then wonder the significant of these oddly made effigies and sculptures, Thurs makes a dash straight towards the gallery’s window, swiping a small slab of rock held by one of the sculptures he races by; the young man determined to smash his way out through the fragile glass.

But his urgent evacuation is thwarted when witnessing the silver haired assassin breaches out from the windows glass; Secra brandishing her claws as she lunges out at Thursotte. With little time to evade her, Thurs instead holds the slab of carved stone in his hands up against the girl in the gold overalls to block her vicious steel claws; sparks flying across the wall as the assassins weapon streak across the rugged rock face. Having stopped his foe’s initial swipe, the chaos inducing psychic almost immediately starts to dash away to make distance between him and the assassin. Thursotte sprints towards one of the nearby effigies as the silver haired assailant pulls out her handgun and fires, with the shots are deflected by the slab of rugged stone as he hurries behind one of the stone statues. From behind the sculptures rugged rock, Thurs peers back to see the golden girl delving back into the depths of the window; slipping effortlessly into the glass as easy as a pool of water. I can’t keep fighting her like this, not without knowing what she can do.

Yet before the young man could even have time to think over the nature of his enigmatic enemy’s power, he suddenly feel a sharp pain pierce through the back of his ankle and peers down to see the same woman surfacing out from the polished wooden floor at his feet; the silver haired assassin having slashed at the back of his leg with her set of lethal claws. Just when priming to swipe at him once more, Thursotte acts fast and throws to slab of stone in his hand down upon the woman; the silver haired assailant swiftly retreating back into the polished wooden floor as the piece of rock breaks into dust that spreads across the floor, the young man who threw it down quickly scales to the top of the statue he had hid behind, hanging on the head like a chimp as he glares towards the rest of the hall. The window, the metal statues, now the floor; just where the hell is this woman gonna pop out from next?

Thursotte quickly gets his answer when a part of the statue he stands atop of sudden breaks off from a bullet coming from behind, looking over to discover the girl in gold shooting at him from a part of the floor untouched by the stone dust; the young man swinging right behind the sculpture as he coats its stone in his own chaotic orange aura. Thurs pushes the giant effigy down from its pedestal and send it tumbling down, breaking apart against the floor for the orange glowing pieces to scatter all across the gallery; a couple of them smacking against the other statues to knock them down in a domino like fashion. As the remains of these statue scatter all across the gallery floor, Secra dives back down into the polished wooden floor just before the stone’s dust could reach her.

Among the destructive discord does one piece of a statue go flying across the hall to end up smashing straight through the glass window; Thurs almost immediately taking this opportunity to make a full blown mad dash towards the broken open window before his silver haired assailant could strike once again. The young man leaps out from the broken window to emerge back outside, the few people outside witnessing his urgent escape watching as he sprints off through the streets.

Racing away from the amateur art gallery, Thursotte dashes over to the start of an outdoor gallery containing die cast metal statues the likes of which made from the most shimmering silver to the greatest glistening gold; each one of them sculpted into the shape of abstract figures and shapes resembling contorted people and animals. Yet there stood little time for him to admire the complexities of these metal pieces of art, as the golden girl pursuing him emerges out from the polished surface of one of these statues to lash out at him with her claws. Thurs rolls off to the side in dodging her pouncing lunge and tosses out a left over rock from the statues he broke earlier at her; its stone coated in his chaotic orange aura as it flies towards a hollowed out bronze statue in the shape of a sphere. With nothing but a small tap from the wayward pebble is a bronze piece of abstract art knocked off its pedestal and sent rolling across the courtyard; snagging some of the other silver and gold sculptures in its wake as it comes barreling towards them both.

While Thurs opts to simply dash out of the way against the oncoming mess of shiny statues, he watches the silver haired assassin on the other hand leap right towards the oncoming collage of mangled metal; watching closely as Secra delves into their reflective surface with ease. The confidence she displayed when diving into the oncoming mess of metal stood out to Thurs as something of an important note. In the gallery earlier, she shown a similar lack of concern when all that junk was about to fall on top of her, almost like she knew she’d come out of it unscathed. And yet when I chucked a piece of rock down at her, she didn’t even risk it and immediately dived back down into the floor.  Even now, why merge into the metal statues instead of the ground under her feet? There’s definitely a difference, but I need to make sure its what I think it is.

To this end, Thursotte remains vigilant towards the other statues still standing among the courtyard; all the while he digs his hand into the outdoor gallery’s soil for a fist full of dirt; waiting for his foe to appear out from one of their shiny surfaces. Its then that he spots among the collection of sculptures a handgun emerging out from one of the golden effigies set along the side of the courtyard; the young man instantly sprinting away as the firearm is unloaded his way, several of the bullets drilling into the soil as the man she shot at sprints behind one of the benches.

From behind the gallery’s bench, Thursotte watches the collection of shining statues around him carefully for where the woman may pop out from next; clutching the dirt in his fist tightly as she anticipates the silver assassins next move. Its then that his attention is drawn to the metal frame holding the bench’s wood to see something within sliding underneath its polished iron; Secra soon breaching from the depths of the metal to lash out at him. Yet to the golden girls surprise does the young man manage to evade her lunging swipe, almost as if he predicted that she was going to come at him from so close; Thursotte clutching at her wrist to uproot her out from the depths of the polished iron frame and throw her out into the open.

Flung out in the middle of the courtyard, the silver haired assassin swiftly gets back up just as Thurs charges against her; Secra dashing out of his away just as the young man comes swinging at her. Once evading his swinging assault, the girl in the golden overalls lunges right back at him with claws at the ready; Thursotte constantly dancing around her constant slashes and swipes. But even when consistently evading the sharp edges of his foe’s steel claws, a couple of swipes can’t help but sneak their way through and tear through his clothes to leave behind shallow gashes and wounds across his body. In retaliation, Thurs kicks her in the stomach away from swiping range, tumbling across the floor and away from swiping range. In the middle of pulling herself up, The silver haired assassins eyes is alarmed when seeing her target dashing after her and starts to look around for a swift escape. Her eyes widen when she finds herself having been kicked near one of the many shimmering statues that make up the outdoor gallery; the girl in the golden overalls leaping out towards the silver sculpture of a centaur being rode by a man.

Mere moments when the golden girl was about to slip into the surface of the silver statue, its reflective hide is muddied by a splatter of mud and dirt which cakes it in a thin layer; Secra slamming her head against the statues hard silver instead of cleanly diving into it like usual. Once shaking off the blow to the head, the golden girl glares back to find the dirt having been flung by her discord triggering target; Thurs’s palm covered by the clump of soil he had held in his hands moments ago. Though his palms were left soiled and dirtied, Thursotte’s smile was confident and clean; a grin of which his foe takes as the tables beginning to turn. Looks like my little hypothesis was right on the mark. It might work similarly to other abilities I’ve seen, but I’ve figured out the one key factor on what her powers work on. There’s no doubting it now; though she can phase into surfaces as cleanly as water to use as portals, those surfaces have to hold a reflection.

To this end does the chaos inducing psychic thrusts his hands into the dirt once more and starts to sling clumps of soil all around the statues that make up the outdoor gallery; the clumps of flying dirt infused in his bright orange power as icing on the cake. The golden girl frantically sprints all across the outdoor gallery as dirt is flung everywhere; the shiny statues she attempts to retreat into splattered in soil, clumps of mud, and dirtied beyond their previous luster. More opportunities to escape close the longer she stays in this gallery of statues, and such, darts through the yard, desperate for a way out. Its among her moment of hopelessness that her eyes beam, the shimmering surface of a presentation board standing over at the edge of the gallery. Before any specs of soil could so much as be careened its way, Secra darts towards the ordinary glossy sign and leaps into its reflection; successfully making her dramatic escape.

Finished flinging as what could be described as a mounds worth of dirt and mud, Thursotte climbs out from shallow hole left in the middle of the outdoor gallery; preparing to throw down against his silver haired assailant on more fair grounds. But his hype starts to deflate when finding no sign of the golden girl standing anywhere among the muddied sculptures and statues, glancing over to the side to find the glossy sign presenting the gallery rippling like water. Oh…Well, least I fended her off.

But just when after fighting off one problem does another quickly sprout up; a gang of officer rushing on the scene and charging straight for him; one of them stating that: “You’re under arrest for defacing public artwork!” The swarm of officers coming his way, the dirtied young man makes a mad dash out of the outdoor gallery and through the rest of the streets in hopes of outrunning them; refusing to so much as even turn back as the cops chase after. Hope Sat and Frida can figure out this woman’s tricks as fast as I did.

Peeking out from the surface of the botanical garden’s marble walkway, the silver haired assassin looks across the tree’s bushes, flower beds, and statues that make up the finely snipped courtyard; partially emerging out from the path’s reflective face as she scans through for any of her life controlling foe. But even among the wide open spaces encompassing the garden, Secra can see not head or tail of Satette anywhere among the foliage. A sly grin then stretches across the golden girl’s face when spotting from behind one of the polished statues does she see slight glimpses of a shadow, swiftly sinking back down into the reflection held in the marble path.

Surfacing out from where the light shines against this same marble sculpture, the girl in the golden overalls slithers over to the back of the statue with her claws raring to dig into the flesh of her enemy; the silver assassin feeling the edges of her weapon pierce into what she slashes at. The reflective psychic’s confidence shatters when her eyes adjust to the darkness and finds what she swiped at not be the flesh of her foe, but the hard bark of a birch tree; the tree reformed to resemble the silhouette of a person. Just when realizing on how she had been duped, the rustling branches of another tree draw the assassin’s attention towards its crown, where Secra witnesses the lively psychic leaping down towards her. Pulling her other hand out from the depths of the statue, the gold dressed girl whips her pistol out and quickly fires out towards her descending enemy. From behind Satette commands a line of thick wood to slide out from behind her to guard against the barrage of bullets; the birch’s thick hide proving effective against the firearms ammo.

Failing to stop her foe’s rapid descent, the silver assassin attempts to withdraw back within the depths of the polished statue’s reflection; her desperate escape stopped as she feels something stuck against her arm. Quickly peering back to her other arm, the golden girl discovers the blade of her claws lodged within the wood of the birch tree she slashed at, stuck within the thick bark no matter how frantically she tries to pull it out. And before she knew it, Satette was dropping right on top of her, swinging a log of thick hard birch right down upon her head; the hammering hefty blow dislodging the assassin’s claws out from the reformed birch tree. With her weapon freed from the birch’s bark, the golden girl quickly slithers away into the polished statue’s reflection before the lively psychic could strike at her once more.

Reemerging out from another marble statues a ways across the garden, the reflective psychic lets out a seething hiss as she rubs her head from the blow she just took; Secra checking her hand to find its palm stained in scarlet. The golden girl then turns her attention back towards where she fled, shocked to find the lively psychic who had struck her in the head having vanished without so much as a trace; a circumstance that indeed puzzles the assassin as she looks across the rest of the courtyard for her. The left side of the garden holds only strips of flower beds accompanying the walkway, planted for a peaceful atmosphere among visitor’s stroll across the courtyard; while on the right stood the collection of finely trimmed bushed shaped in various people and animals. Though among these cut bushes there lies conspicuous patches of baron dirt left with nothing but several holes across its surface, as if somebody had uprooted what had been planted there before.

Its during her little look across both ends of the garden that she suddenly feels something course and rough slither across her upper torso, glaring down to discover a bramble of bush winding from the bottom of the polished statue she was halfway submerged in; the shrubs swirling limbs entangling across the silver assassins body similar to an octopus capturing its prey. Her struggle in escaping from these floral tentacles only worsens as the thorns strewn across the bush vines scratch at her skin, making multiple shallow cuts throughout her body. Entangled in the whirling bush of thorny vines, Secra gazes out to see Satette charging at her from across the garden; the line of birch wood she possesses transforming into a sledgehammer with a head covered in splinters. Desperate to escape before she could feel the lively psychic’s stinging swing, the golden girl jerks her claw out from the bush’s clutches and starts to slash at the vines wrapped around the rest of her torso, ripping and tearing at the natural ties that bind her to the marble statue as Sat swiftly approaches. Once swiping away the last of the vines entrapping her, Secra makes her slip back into the polished statues reflection just as Satette comes in swinging right at her, managing to escape before the splintered hammer strikes against the sculpture.

The statue’s polished marble breaks apart as Sat’s hammer hits its surface, its pieces scattering across the well cut lawn and the nearby flower beds; the lively psychic surveying the rest of the garden for where her silver haired assailant may have scurried off towards. Along the marble pathway does she spot glimpses of her reflective foe swimming under its surface, noticing how she only appears midst the sheen running across its polished face; this phenomenon she observes lending her some guesses on how her enigmatic enemy’s power tends to work. With this understanding does Satette kneel down to the grass and begins to spread her aura all across the garden’s lawn, redistributing the blades of grass and flowerbeds to envelope the walkway and for the other bushes to whorl around the statues; the lively psychic making sure that every inch of their reflective surface is covered in the overgrown foliage. Let’s hope I’m right on this.

Secra’s means of resurfacing tightly wrapped in thick overgrowth, she hurries across the reflections of the garden for any polished piece of marble that bares a reflection against the light; her breath running short as she desperately searches for somewhere to surface. Yet among every piece of reflective marble that encompasses the courtyard was covered from base to tip with a thick sheet of natural plant life, none of its blades or petals of which lend any reflection for her to emerge from. Though the silver haired assassin might’ve been able to race to a reflective surface outside of the garden, her urgent retreat mixed with her diminishing air makes such a feet at the moment impossible for her; Secra would surely drown before she could reach over in time. But among her increasingly hopeless circumstances, the golden girl discovers a beacon of light midst the breathless darkness; a marble sculpture crafted in the shape of a giant flower unmasked by the invading overgrowth. Without so much as hesitating about this, Secra frantically swims over towards the baron piece of the reflective marble as the last of her breath wavers; the silver assassin quickly rising to a part of the sculpture to take in a much needed breath of fresh air. Though in relieving her air problem does another quite literally sprout up from under her, thick vines made from grass, flowers, and bush enveloping the floral shape sculpture; strands of which were already entangled around the golden girl arms. “Gotcha now!” she then hears the lively psychic exclaim.

From the where she had been snared, the reflective psychic sees Satette making one more charge towards her; transforming her hammer of birch into a splintering pike with a skewering tip. Realizing that she had fallen right into her foe’s clutches, Secra attempts to reaches out for her claws to slash at the natural ties that bind her; the vines that entangle her arm refusing to so much as let her get so much as a finger out. With no time to wriggle her way out from the floral net, the silver assassin instead leans her head over to her bare shoulder; her sunglasses sliding down from her eyes and onto her the side of her head. The very moment that Secra’s shades touch the bare skin of her shoulder, her entire body starts to be slurped into the reflection like water to a drain; her body dislodging out from the ensnaring vines that once grounded her to the statue. Watching this unexpected escape unfold, Satette hurdles her birch pike out to the fleeting golden girl akin to a javelin in a bid to pin the reflective psychic down; the rest of Secra’s body slipping into the reflection of her sunglasses, leaving for the thrown spike to pierce only through her shades.

Approaching the flora covered flower sculpture she had caught her silver assailant against, Sat looks down to the a piece of the broken pair of shades that were left behind in the unexpected escape; their glass shattered to pieces upon being smash by the hard birch she threw out. Inspecting the shards of darkened glass however, she notice driplets of scarlet left behind along the sharp edges; a sign that her daring escape might not have been as clean as on first watch.

“You!” the lively psychic then suddenly hears from behind, breaking her attention away from the shades and turn right around. Glaring at her from behind stood a short man donning a robe and turban, beholding the overgrowth that now plagues the ravaged sculpture garden. “The garden, the flower beds, the statues! Did you this!?” he demands her to answer. “Uh...Kind of.” “This...All of this is just….Gorgeous.” “…What?” “The natural flora overrunning the man made statues, the bushes entwined and twisted beyond a comparable shape, the flowers swirling beyond their placements and coating the walkways. All of it feels so raw, so unfiltered, so real. A testament of nature refusing to contort to human standards. Answer me! What had compelled you to amass such a realistic depiction over the takeover of nature?” “Um...Global warming…” she halfheartedly answer. “Hmm...Of course. The wrath of nature against the advancement of man. I see it now! Don’t move! My colleagues this wondrous marvel.” the artistic reviewer proclaims. But as soon as the man was out of site, Satette instead decides to sneak away from the undeserved praise resulting from her skirmish; racing out of the botanical garden gallery as fast as she could. Just walk away Sat, you ain’t nowhere near ready to make up a story that explains away all this.

Breaching out from the reflection of a dumpster’s reflective side, the girl in the golden overalls lets out a pained hiss while rubbing the back of her foot; the back of her bottom ankle left cut apart in a strange fashion, similar to the way glass tends to break. The laceration only being minor though, the silver assassin opts to simply work through the pain instead of treating it; gazing out from the alleyway she had spawned into to discover having returned to the graffiti covered part of the district. Secra remains cautious when peeking out from the alley, remembering the trouble she faced last time she scouted in between these spray painted streets, rubbing the part of her shoulder where she had been shot from. And again, no matter how much she looks among the graffiti can she find not even a single trace of the wall merging sniper. But in the very brief moment that she steps out into the streets is she accosted by that very same threat; a speeding bullet streaking right against the side of her hand. The silver haired woman keeps herself from letting out even a peep as she slinks back into the alleyway, diving right back into the shallow reflection on the side of the dumpster.

The golden overall girl swims across the glistening sheen of the windows and glossy signs strewn across the district in searching for the wall slipping psychic; scanning across the tag plastered walls of the apartments and shops that make up the artistic district. But like last time, the brightly colored and abstract murals make searching through their spray painted brush work a terrible strain to the eyes. No matter how many times she attempted to look within the funky and stylish graffiti art for any sign of her 2 dimensional foe, the silver haired assassin couldn’t stare at all the colors for more then several seconds before she has to look away. Tension rises as her breath begins to again run short, but prolongs her need to surface back up; for she knows full well that the moment she breaches from the reflection to catch her breath; a wayward bullet could be waiting to go straight through her head. And so, the reflective psychic swims across a dozen or so shimmering surface in hopes of making enough distance between her and Frida; across windows, signs, car shells, and water puddles all across the street.

Its soon enough that her air finally runs out and she’s forced to return to the corporeal world, breaching back up from the depths of the car’s sideways mirror to catch her breath; Secra sticking her head out from the mirror to take in a much needed inhale. Yet even among this brief moment of reprise is she not safe from her foe’s aim; a bullet streaking right past her head and hitting her ear. Fighting through the intense pain from having her ear shot off, Secra peers over towards where the bullet had been fired to discover her sniper perched in a graffiti plastered wall depicting the head of a man and woman melting into the silhouette of a little kid. With knowing where her sharpshooting foe now hanged from, Secra slinks back into the other side of the mirror.

Sliding back in the surface of the brick wall, Frida slithers across the painted face over towards the neighboring mural; the dimensional psychic striking poses so as to blend into the piece so well, that she would likely be mistaken as a part of its design. A strange stealth technique that she has a little bit of fun with as she makes goofy and unassuming positions. Never in my life did I think I’d find myself enjoying a piece of work so much as to be a part of it. Eat your fucking heart out, you limp dick art professor from collage; Saying I’d never hold any artistic merits to contribute.

The dimensional psychic stops her slide across the pseudo street gallery at the face of a local restaurant, the graffiti sprayed above showing a crowd of people dining upon and smorgasbord of Italian dishes. Frida emerges out from the surface of the graffiti for both a breath of fresh air and to reload her pistols magazine, all the while she keeps a sharp eye out for wherever her reflection hopping adversary had scurried off to. Yet no matter where along the streets she looks, the wall merging gun woman can’t find even a hint of the bitch’s tacky golden overalls or silver hair in any of the windows or car shells strewn across the street. Where the hell’d she go then?

Its among searching for the reflection traversing psychic that her attention is drawn to the side of her own handgun, the glossy sheen wobbling around in a strange, but familiar way that the likes of which worry her. Just when she starts to realize what swims in the reflection of her gun’s metal, another gun appears out from within the surface of her own firearms; unleashing a flurry of bullets a point blank against Frida. Even with most of these shots having missed and hit the wall, one manages to graze past the side of her head and nearly hit her eyes; the dimensional psychic quickly tossing her weapon aside to stop her foe’s finger from shooting another bullet. Watching her discarded firearms fall, Frida sees the hand and the gun that came out from it start to slither back into the sheen it emerged from; the wall merging psychic determined not to let her foe’s bullshit slide as she aims her other pistol down towards her descending weapon. Though this golden bitch had to take multiple shots to so much as graze her, it only takes Frida one to shoot right down at the retreating hand; the bullet hitting the silver assassin’s hand right in the finger and forcing her to let go of her weapon, all before Frida’s gun could even hit the ground. “Try pulling that shit with my baby again, bitch! See what happens!” the wall merging psychic.

Her satisfying moment of inflicting karma the takes a concerning turn when coming out from the restaurant, a woman gazes up to the mural overhead to discover the dimensional psychic quite literally inside the brickwall; Frida quickly wandering what to say as the woman’s curiousity gradually to shock and terror. “Um...Bonjour, I am art.” Frida halfheartedly feigns in saying; the lady she speaks letting out a panicked scream as she points to the woman in the wall.

“So yeah, after I slipped out of making another part of the public freak in a horrified spiral of mass hysteria, I kept searching around for that silver haired skank in case she was still hanging around; no luck. And judging from all the bruises and cuts she took, I’d say she won’t be stupid enough to try the direct approach on us again.” the wall merging psychic finishes explaining to the rest of the crew. After their shared quarrel against their reflective foe, the trio chose to stop and rest within the comfort of small cafe hosting a collection paintings and miniature statues.; the few other patrons around them showing concern over their small cut covered bodies. “Reflection, huh? Guess from the places she popped out from, it makes sense.” Sat adds. “Still, it sounds like she was trying to fight with all three of us simultaneously, maybe trying her luck in getting one of us to spill the freshly opened can of generic store brand kidney beans.” theorizes Thursotte. “We were several streets away from each other while she fought all three of us, too. Scary to think how quick she could get around while swimming in the polished sheen of everyday surfaces. That kind of travel time would give even the average midnight street racer fueled on a lethal mixture of energy drinks and back alley bought amphetamine a run for their money.” Sat states.

“There’s has to be some way we can pin down and finish her. I don’t think I could take glaring at every reflective table, sign, and mirror around me without the paranoia of an assassin coming out to pop a piece of led through my brains for the rest of my days. Life has already handed me enough to deal with, thank you.” “Thurs is right; we’re not out of this haunted house of mirrors yet. I’m almost certain our little scuffle didn’t deter her enough to piss off; betting she’s watching us talk among ourselves as we speak.” supposes Frida. “Is there any way to contact our informant to reschedule?” Satette asks. “Even if there were, its too late. We’re supposed to meet them in about an hour.” the dimensional psychic states. “An hour!? She could be spying on us right now for all we know; that’s nowhere near enough time to sus this woman out!” Thurs points out. “I know, and what’s worse is where were supposed to meet up. Of all the shitty luck we had to be served tonight.” Frida “Wait, where are we meeting them?” asks Satette “Just finish your mocha’s and you’ll see.” Frida suggests.

Slurping down the last of their caffeinated beverages, the psychic trio depart from the small art hosting coffee shop; the other patrons in the cafe left a little worried from their roughed up presence. Nevertheless do they all try to brush it aside and simply return to mingling one another. As a pair discuss among one another over the fresh, hot button topics of video games, one of them lifts up their porcelain cup to finish up the last of their caramel latte. Sipping the rest of the drink reveals to him what appeared to be a person hiding within the polished cup’s finish, a woman with silver hair holding numerous wounds and cuts across her body; the brief glimpse of this unexpected figure shocking the guy to the point of him choking on his drink. Once he coughs up the last of his caffeinated beverage, the man gazes inside the cup again to make sure his eyes didn’t lie, but his left only more perplexed when finding nothing but drops of his caramel latte within the cup.

“You gotta be fucking joking?” Satette curses, beholding where they’re meant to rendezvous. Beyond the twin doors, the trio stood among the entrance lobby of a museum sized art gallery housing statues, sculptures, and painting from centuries past; all of which protected behind transparent plexiglass sheets, material well known to stop even the force of small firearms. The reinforced glass was not the only surface within that held reflections cast by the lights overhead; the floor of the museum made from marble polished to a fine sheen, to such a degree that it nearly reflects those that stand atop its surface. “This is where we’re supposed to be meeting our informant!? The lobby alone has more reflection and polish than the vainest beauty salon in New Jersey. Hell, the only things missing is the lingering stench of cheap hairspray and the complete lack of artisan refinement.” “So many reflections, there’s no way we would be able to tell where that woman could ambush us?” points out Thursotte. “Yep; it’s borderline comedic.” Frida deadpan jokes.

“What do we even do? It’s not like the three of us can cover up all of this.” Satette further questions. Pondering of how they could counter their reflection swimming stalker, Thurs’ gaze is drawn towards the light fixtures hanging underneath the ceiling windows; their luminescence flooding the lobby with their brilliant glow. “Wait...maybe we don’t have to.” he claims. “You have an idea?” the wall merging psychic asks. “Kind of. Most of the reflections are coming from the lights over us. Shutting those off might level the playing field.” “A good start; but still, gonna be tough drawing the prowling piss colored bitch out from hiding; especially with the ass beating we served her the first time around. Playing cautious here would be her best bet.” “So, we got less than an hour to take this bitch down before she ups and claws our guy, apex predator style? Honestly, not the hardest thing we’ve done.” “That’s the spirit. Now lets get to work.”

Upon this determined call, the trio prepare to head into the depths of the historical art museum; their confidence entrance halted when stopped by a man wearing a staff uniform, with a roll of tickets attached to the side of his belt. “Tickets please.” he requests. “Oh uh, right. How much per ticket?” asks Frida, pulling out her wallet. “$20 each.” “Twenty!? Are you for real!?” “I thought public art museums didn’t charge admission.” Thursotte claims. “I don’t make the rules, I’m just made to enforce them.” “Fucking upkeep mandates. Government should be funding this stuff, not make us fucking…” the dimensional psychic crumbles, her and the others digging through their wallets to scrape up enough cash.

After cobbling their funds together, the three manage to have enough for the three to be granted entry into the museum; the guy at the booth swiping up the cash away and quickly counting the amount up. “Enjoy your tour.” he greets after finishing. “Yeah, sure.” the dimensional psychic coldly leaves with as she and the other’s head in. “Can’t believe we had to burn $60, at an art museum no less. That’s just plain robbery.” Thurs complains. “The paper thin line between amoral scams and legit business practices erodes more and more every day.” summarizes Frida. “Eh, I already nabbed about $80 from his fanny pack.” Sat whisper, showing the cash hidden in between her fingers. “That a girl.”

Once splitting up from the girls, Thursotte is left to stroll through eastern end of the ancient art museum, gazing upon the collection of old artwork from famous artists of centuries past lining the hall with obvious hints of nervousness. Not just simply because of the fact their silver stalker could emerge from practically anywhere around him, but of the paintings and sculptures displayed all across the hallway; the only protection they hold of any outside harm being the thick plates of plexiglass covering them. The old guitarist, Pablo Picasso. Cafe terrace at night, Vincent Van Gogh. Flaming June, Frederic Leighton. Ecstasy of Saint Teresa, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The Burghers of Calais, Auguste Rodin. Mile Pogany, Constantin Brancusi. Wow! This place pulled out all the stops when coming on its art collection, most of these pieces are pretty dang old and expensive; no wonder ticket admission is so high.

Approaching one of these famous works, the young man can’t help but look upon the apparent age of these pieces with wonderment, brushing his palm against the glass shells that shield them. Yet behind that mystique lie an inherent worry, one that shakes Thursotte deeply. If that woman stalking us grows impatient again and tries to subdue me, I don’t know how much I can circumvent my powers away from these works of art. Once that domino effect starts, there’s hardly anything that can stop it; uncaring of who or what dares to cross its chaotic path. Even when behind there thick shells of plexiglass, the hand of discord is fickle and strong. If I’m forced to fight her off, I can’t guarantee the sanctity and well being of these well crafted pieces; I don’t know if I could live with myself if any of them were caught in the crossfire. Worried over the welfare of this collection of sacred art, the psychic of Murphy’s law heads out from that part of the gallery and proceeds around the corner; all the while a pair of familiar eyes watches him from within the reflections of the plexiglass.

Around the Northern end of the museum does the wall merging psychic silently peruse across a part of the hallway displaying an assortment of finely cut jewelry and metals crafted from around days of centuries past; their shimmering, well polished surfaces lending Frida further concern and paranoia. As if there ain’t enough shiny shit around here to hurt my eyes, and that’s not even getting started about the plexiglass covering everything. Props to the admin for going the extra mile not stinting out on security like some money grubbing, curved pig dick, but it leaves me in a bit of a bind. Plexiglass is one of the strongest, most solid transparent materials to work with, used a lot in making bulletproof trucks and tanks; make a panel even a few inches thick and it’ll be enough to stop a magnum without suffering even a dent. I doubt most of the small stuff from my arsenal wouldn’t put so much as a scratch on it. Even if I manage catch this gaudy golden bitch out, nothing’s stopping her from escaping almost anywhere else around here; she could easily surprise me. But that tacky trash taint ain’t the only one that’s got surprises up her sleeve.

Walking a little further down the gallery’s hallway, a sense of suspense begins to build when the dimensional psychic finds herself standing among the crafted ornaments and jewelry on her own; not another soul around to appreciate the finely crafted decorations and jewels extracted from the annals of art’s history. The deafening silence among this part of the hall was all too perfect of a moment for their silver haired stalker to potentially make a move, and Frida knew it; her hand held close to the flap of her denim jacket. Her eyes constantly dart across the eerily empty corridor, searching for any sign of wherever her reflective foe may lunge from; none of the polished surfaces she see’s rippling even a single wave from within their tough exterior.

Its midst her careful inspection that the dimensional psychic catches something swimming within the depths of the marble floor beneath her feet, quickly peering down to witness Secra begin to rise up towards the surface. Frida leaps aside where she sees the silver haired assassin and takes a pistol out from the inside of her jacket, keeping it aimed towards that part of the marble floor and waiting for the moment the golden girl breaches the surface. Yet when intensely waiting for her foe to emerge, Frida is instead struck at from above as her silver haired assailant plummets down before her slashes her claws against the gunwoman’s arm; Secra dipping down into the marble floor before the wall merging psychic could so much as flinch. Frida jerks her site up towards where the woman had dropped from, peering to the ceiling to find the windows installed above reflecting the museum lights against their clear surface.

Its when realizing where her enigmatic enemy had descended from that she aims her hand gun towards the roof of the gallery, unloading the bullets in her magazine to fire at the windows above; the windows glass raining down upon the floor and clear cases. Panicked screams suddenly erupt out from around the corner of the hall right after the shots go off, the outcry coming from the other museum patrons. Shit! I was so busy trying to sus this bitch out, I didn’t think about the other people waltzing around here. No doubt even hearing a single gun go off in a place like this would make anyone flee and phone the cops ASAP. Best to wrap this showdown quick before it turns into a shitshow.

Everyone that had been admiring the collection of old pottery across the museum’s western wing were now hurrying out towards where the came; the banging they had heard a second ago urging them to streak right past the shrub planted in a pot along along the wall and escape for the exit. Each of them too worried over the gun shots to pay any mind to the strange bush that had grown within one of the pots. Its when the coast was clear that a natural green glow commands the shrubbery arise and split open, revealing the lively psychic having hid inside; Satette gathering the mass of foliage as she carefully climbs out from inside the fragile and old piece of pottery. When just about to step off the stand holding the pot up, Sat starts to lose her footing and tumbles down towards the floor; the stand along with the pot she hid in falling down with her. Though the lively psychic just straight up flops onto the hard polished marble, the ancient pot the young woman had climbed out from is caught before it could smash against polished surface like she had; the ancient porcelain cushioned by the same soft shrubby Sat had used to hide in. Putting the pedestal back upright, Satette places the pot back at the top of the stand it had been displayed on; the young woman breathing a sigh of relief from this piece of artistic history being saved. Yet there was no time to cheer from this swift save, for a set of rapid footsteps urges the lively psychic to hurry through the halls before whoever approaches could find her.

Taking a couple of more turns through the museum’s west wing, past the polished collection of ancient pottery, Satette soon comes to a lone door set along the dead end of a hall; its face plastered with caution and warning signs to veer the average patron away. While one sign set on the door clearly states “This door is not a fire escape!”, another claims that this door was for “Employees only” along with a couple of electrical hazard warnings. It was more than obvious to the young woman that the controls for the buildings electric stand beyond the door, wasting little time to reach for the knob to let herself in. But like all critical control rooms of moderate importance, the door leading inside was locked tight; the knob refusing to budge an inch no matter how hard Satette attempts to turn it. Of course its locked; why would it not be. It’d be pretty much asking for disaster to leave it open for any curious or mischievous little gremlins to wonder inside and play with the electrical panel. Nothing fun await for you on the other side of this door, kid; only painfully stinging zaps and potential cardiac arrest.

Could just try and break down the door, but it sounds like there’s enough of a commotion going on as is; wouldn’t want to risk incoming security to rush in and pile drive my ass down against the marble. Pretty obvious to just find where they keep the key, but the clock was already against us enough;  skulking around for it would take far too long. In pondering of another way to slip through the other side of the door, her attention is drawn to the growth of shrubbery coating her arms and torso like a jacket made from a forest hermit, the smaller branches poking out from the sides being as thin as needle holes. Maybe I don’t have to.

A strange idea in mind, Satette reaches out towards the doorknob once more as she coats her sleeve of shrubbery in her own natural green influence; the lively psychic commanding the small roots of the branches to slither across her fingers and into the door’s lock. The tiny cluster of wooden branches squirm within the metal hole like burrowing swarm of worm; Sat occasionally twisting them with a gentle turn to feel if they had mimic the intended locks key. Come on, need to get the right shape. After a few more moments of letting the tiny shrub branches meddle inside the doorknob’s lock, Satette ears perk when hearing a distinct click coming from inside the keyhole; the lively psychic grin from ear to ear as she twist her hand again and feel the knob finally give in and turn. Holy shit; that worked!? Can’t believe the branch didn’t snap off. Looks like this lady ain’t gotta blow money on cheap ass lock picking sets that break from twisting inside a single lock; got something way stronger then whatever kind of urine soaked sandstone or aluminum Chinese factories make those from.

Satette quickly opens the door and proceeds to let herself in, the light from the hallway behind her flooding in to show inside a dozen or so panels line with diodes, switches, gauges, buttons and wires; all of it most likely holding control over the electricity that flows all throughout the building. Beyond just a couple steps approaching these panels, Sat stares to the collection of controls while wondering of how to go about simply shutting the lights off. An electrical engineer would know more of what every button and switch set on these panels would likely do, but I sure as shit don’t. You think the people who install these would label them for anyone to use, or at the very least leave a sign telling you what they all do. But nope, nothing, not even a single damn letter. What the hell is your deal electricians, think your too good to let the rest of us fiddle with what you tinker with? Or is it some kind of trade secret thing that you can give in full, else risk getting ass blasted by your supervisor.

Trying each and every button and diode to see what they do would be a bitch and a half to slog through, one haphazardly mixed with the constant conundrum of wonder if you turned that dial or pulled that switch yet, only to do it and remember you tinkered with it a moment ago because they don’t fucking label or color code these damn things. There has to be another way to skip the bullshit buttons and just skip to the power outage. Perplexed of this is her attention again drawn to the shrubbery she wears like a thick green coat, using her powers to unravel one its sleeves enveloping her arm to watch the branches within wriggle around; their thinly roots as thin as needles. Eh, you know what, fuck it!

Frida remains tense while constantly peering across the gallery of cut jewelry and finely polished décor displayed; her finger ready to pull the trigger at the moment her reflection hopping foe emerges. The panicked screams and shouts that had echoed across the hall had ceased, leaving the Northern wing of the museum eerily quite; the gunwoman inching towards the beige painted wall as she keeps her eyes peeled. Its among this brief moment of tension that the golden girl makes her move; Secra breaching out from the marble floor beneath her foe’s feet to slash at Frida’s side; the dimensional psychic quick to act as she merges into the wall beside her to evade her silver assailant’s swipe.

As Frida climbs towards the top of the beige museum wall, the plexiglass set beside rapidly ripples as the visage of her foe comes rising up to its surface; the silver assassin breaching out from the bulletproof glass to thrust her claw into the very wall the 2-D woman dwells. The 2nd dimensional psychic stops herself just before she slithers up to where her foe’s claws plunge, swiftly evacuating the face of the wall before the sharp steel slashes down upon her. Though Frida isn’t just insistent on evading her silver assailant’s swiping assault, clutching at the same arm Secra slashed at her with to drag the reflective psychic down with her; both woman plummeting back towards the museum floor.

Despite being baited out from the plexiglass’ reflection, the girl in the golden overall is little worried over it; the polished marble floor beneath them both close enough to let her simply delve right back into the dimension of reflection. Yet instead of splashing down within the marble floor as smoothly as water, the silver assassin instead harshly falls down upon its hard face as any other surface. Left stunned both emotionally and a little literally from her reckless impact down onto the hard stone floor, the silver assassin pries herself to look down to where she had crashed upon and is astonish to discover that part of the polished marble floor having been painted down with a layer of non reflective black paint; the shadowy splotch of jet black refusing to give so much as a glisten against the museum lights. Alarmingly confused over where this black spot had came from, the golden girl quickly looks back to where she had seen her wall merging foe had descended with her from; discovering a can of black spray paint held in one of Frida’s hands.

The reflective psychic quickly starts to roll off from the black splotch in hopes of retreating back into the marble’s polished surface; Frida pulling herself off the floor to take aim towards the fleeting gold wearing girl. Just as her silver assailant was moments away from escaping into the floor’s reflection, the gunwoman cracks off a shot at her and manage to hit her right in the thigh; the golden girl letting out a pained yelp as she delves back into the safety of the reflective surface. “Gotcha, bitch.”

Its in that very moment that the light fixtures lining the top of the gallery walls then suddenly blink out, leaving the entire hallway as pitch black as the New York night sky above; the entire museum once glistening with reflective brilliance now left standing as nothing but darkness. Its within the shadows that now haunt the museum, Frida’s eyes start to adjust themselves to the inclusive void; soon able to see among the darkness that encapsulates its halls. Damn, got dark fast in here. I can hardly see anything past my bare hands. Whatever Sat did to the power box had to be real effective.

Out from the endless sea of darkness do two security guards bust through the door leading into the electrical room, shining their flashlights inside while wielding batons; one of them demanding aloud: “Hands up! Stay where you are and we’ll what the hell...” Their alarmed rush quickly deflates when finding nothing dwelling in the power room but length of branches and leaves rooted all throughout the control panels; every button, diode, switch and wire entangled in the mess of shrubbery that covers every inch of the wall. “What the hell am I looking at here?” “I can’t tell. Looks like mother nature got up with a hangover and threw up what she had last night all over the wall.” “Augh! This is gonna take a week to pull out and fix.” “Yeah, hate to be the electrician stuck with this…Smells nice in here though. What is that lilac?” “I think that be azalea.”

Blindly stumbling throughout the eastern wing of the darkened museum, Thursotte keeps his arms held out as he slowly navigates through the shadows; his eyes starting to adjust to the darkness as he tries to figure his way around. Kind of kicking myself for not suggesting some sort of warning ahead of time; like maybe give Sat about 10 or 15 minutes before she cuts the power. Would’ve given more time to memorize the layout of these halls so none of us are literally stumbling in the dark here. Too little too late now. Only thing to do is hope my eyes adjust to the shadows before I wind up tripping over something- Among his regretful hindsight does the young man suddenly fumble down from what felt to him like a gap in the middle of the floor, feeling himself fall before smacking against the face of a plexiglass case; all before he flops down onto the cold hard marble floor. Important...

While pulling himself off the freshly polished floor, he witnesses an open gloved hand reach down to him from the depths of the down; Thursotte taking this offering hand to help him up without so much as a second though. “Oh, thank you. I can hardly see past my arms around here. But what are you still doing here, I thought everyone else ran off when they heard the-” His thankful demeanor swiftly transforms into fright when pulled up to the face of his helping hand, their face disguised by a wonky looking Elmo mask; the unexpected site nearly causing him to scream in a panic. The masked person holds their hand over Thurs’ mouth before so much as a peep could slip out. “Shut up, man. You wanting both of us to get whacked?” the disguised individual tells him. “Sorry. Just got a little spooked by somebody in an off brand Sesame street mask skulking around in the dark.” “I’m not fucking skulking I just…Listen; your name’s Thursotte, right?” “Yeah, but how’d you...Oh, you must be the informant were supposed to meet.” “Yep, Weds put me up to finding out more about the Technological director of the New York crime syndicate. You guys better appreciate this; this December guy doesn’t leave behind that clear of a trail to follow, had to delve into some really old, real analog archives just to figure out where his lab is hidden. Turns out its somewhere out in the-”

“Hold on, before we keep going; I gotta know. Who are you and why the mask?” Thurs then interrupts to question. “Seems pretty obvious. Can’t have the dicks I’m blowing my whistle to figuring out whose head to blow off.” “Okay, l-let me just reiterate a bit. Why “that” mask?” “I can’t just go telling any smartass that has the time to question the way I go about doing my business; especially with people that could be eavesdropping on us at any…” the masked individual tries to at first dodge his question with; their confidence diminishing when finding Thursotte looking at them with an odd glare. “It...was the cheapest one they had at the Halloween store.” “There it is.”

Though the scales have been tipped more in her favor, Frida remains vigilant peering throughout the shadowy gallery of the museums Northern wing; her finger kept at the trigger of her pistol as she keeps her aim forwards and steady. Hardly a spot around here that this golden garish bitch can pop out from now; but that doesn’t mean I can’t let my guard down. Lack of reflections aside, I ain’t out of this polished art show just yet. Even within the dark recesses of this museum, this silver shrill could pop out from the darkness at any moment. But as long as the shadows stick around here, I think I can handle whatever comes out from around the corner.

But alas when coming around said corner, she is caught off guard when a blinding light suddenly shines in her direction; the wall merging psychic covering her eyes as she hears somebody before he orders her to: “Put the spray can down.” Gazing beyond the light, Frida discovers standing before her a museum security guard aiming a bright flashlight right at her; the man further stating to her how: “Thought you could just sneak in while the power was out to pull your little prank, well you just wait right there while…” In the midst of accusing her of vandalism, the guard’s nerves quickly climb when spotting the pistol she holds in her other hand; the security officer swift to pull out a gun from his belt holster and aiming it right at the intruder. “Drop the gun, now!” he sternly demands.

Though Frida could simply merge into the floor to make her escape from this predicament, an alarming detail crops up when looking down to the marble floor; the flashlight in the guards hands lending the polished marble a stark reflection that begins to softly ripple. “My man, the flashlight! Turn it off, now! You don’t, things are gonna get ugly real fast!” she tries to warn him. “Some punk like you isn’t gonna go threatening me. Put the damn gun down, now! Don’t make me say it again!” Left forced at a standstill by the stubborn security officer, Frida can only watch as her reflective foe breaches from the reflection between her and the guard; the officer left utterly frozen in terror as he witnesses the girl in the golden overalls appear out from under him. Before the museum guard could snap out from bewildered terror, the silver assassin lunges out with her claws at the ready, lashing out at his neck and cutting right into the side of his throat.

“Shit!” Curses Frida, taking aim towards the silver haired assailant. Try as she might to shoot down the golden girl, the flashlight’s intense blinding glow tremendously impairs her aim; her bullets only hitting the unfortunate security guard in the scrambling chaos. With the museum guard about to drop dead, Secra takes the chance to swipe both his flashlight right out from his clutches before she starts to flee down the hall; keeping the light shining at Frida to keep her sites off her. Her aim impaired by the incredible bright light, the gunwoman fail to line her sights onto her fleeting foe; the golden girl keeping the light onto her until she races right around the corner. Her blindness finally subsiding, Frida’s eyes once again adjust to the darkness to find nothing in the shadows with her except the bleeding remains of the unfortunate security officer; his gun having been pilfered from his grasp. Dammit. Looks like she ain’t risking it anymore. Gotta find this tacky taint before she ends up finding the others.

“Is that seriously where Dr. December’s supposed to be hiding?” Thurs can’t help but ask. “Yep, every piece of evidence and receipt I dug up on the guy tells me that’s exactly where he’s scuttling.” the masked informant assures. “That’s so stupid. Like you have to have grown up on James Bond movies to think that’s anywhere close to a practical location.” “I mean with all the shady shenanigans I’ve heard that guy do down there, practicality is probably the last thing on his mind.” “Fair point. Guess you can’t be the mob’s IT guy without having a good hidey hole. But still, down there; that’s like in the middle of the-”

Putting their conversation on hold, a bright glow suddenly disperses the darkness surrounding them; both Thurs and the masked informant gazing up to witness what appeared to be a flashlight careening through the air. The light winds up getting caught in one of the metal decorations suspended on the ceiling, the light hanging downwards akin to an overhead spotlight. “Is that a flashlight?” the informant wonders aloud. Veering his eyes away from the bright light overhead, he returns his gaze towards the marble floor they stand upon; the young man utterly alarmed when witnessing their silver haired assailant rapidly rising to the surface of the polished surface.

With very little time to give so much as a warning to the masked person, Thursotte rashly pushes the informant right out of harms way; all the while able to say little more than: “Look out!” In the brief moment that the informant is pushed aside, the girl in the golden overalls breaches through the floor to slash out at the masked individual; her claws instead swiping across the flesh of Thursotte’s shoulder. After fumbling onto the hard marble, the informant looks back up to see the silver assassin halfway submerged in the polished floor; the reflective psychic turning right over to aim at the masked person with the very same pistol she stolen earlier. The second she pulls the trigger however, Thurs kicks the gun right out from her hand and cause her to misfire; Secra delving back into the depths of the floor. “What the hell was that!?” the masked informant exclaims. “Forget it! Just run!” the young man demands them to do. Taking Thursotte’s advice, the masked informant races towards the other side of the hall as swiftly as they could; the young man she leaves behind glaring back towards where he kicked the gun over to find the firearm missing. Wha-whe-where…

Frantically looking across the museum gallery hall, Thurs sees his reflection swimming foe emerge from the surface of a mirror placed over the entrances archway; the silver assassin holding the perfect venue as she pulls out the pistol and takes aim towards her fleeting target. With their silver assailant held so high up and his arm slashed up, there was little the young man could do but watch on in dire terror for the moment the golden girl shoots the informant where they flee. “No!”

A loud bang then echoes all across the gallery hall; the silver assassin gleeful anticipation dropping as hard as bricks when the reflective surface she partially swims in shatters to countless pieces, with a torrential downpour of scarlet red raining down alongside the shards. In the last moments of consciousness that she is able to hold, Secra glares out towards the other side of the hall to where the unexpected bullet had flew in from; discovering the wall merging psychic she had fought with moments ago having fired at her with nothing but the last shot of her trusty pistol. “Bullseye.” cheers Frida.

The portal the golden girl stood within now broken to pieces, the upper half of her body that peeked out into the corporal world plummets to the floor; her severed half drowning within the inner dimensions of the reflective world. Though relieved over the close call, Thursotte lets out frightened yelp when witnessing the torn upper body of their foe flop onto the floor in front of him; with her blood and guts gruesomely spilling from her torn torso. A traumatizing scene for even the toughest motherfuckers to behold. “Oh my god!”

“Thurs, that you!?” he then hears a familiar voice call out to him from the corridor. From beyond the stretching darkness that encompasses the corridor ahead, Thursottes lively partner emerges out from shadowy hallway to approach; an urgent worried tone present in Satette’s words as she goes: “What the matter? Is the assassin here!? I heard you screaming from across theAAAAAAA-” Her questions swiftly morph into horrified screams as she looks down to the partial remains of their reflective foe laying between them; the pool of crimson coming from the woman’s severed torso spilling across the polished marble floor. “Holy shit, Thurs! What did you do!?” “I-I didn’t S-she just fell in front of me, I-” stutters Thurs.

“Thurs wasn’t the one who made the mess this time.” both of them here the voice of their gun toting friend defend. Plummeting from overhead, the dimensional psychic delves into a part of the marble floor next to them to safely land; quickly breach back up to the surface as smoothly as a jumping dolphin before she further claims that: “That’d be me.” “How even? Like what the hell you’d do to her for her to end up like that?” asks Satette. “Well, turns out our silver assassin here wasn’t as untouchable as she tried to be. During our last scuffle in the streets; I noticed one particularly bizarre looking gash she suffered on her ankle; pattern of the cut sort of looked like broken glass. Part of her ankle must’ve got caught while plunging in somewhere before it shattered to pieces, and that’s when it hit me. Try imagine getting caught in the middle of an instant closing hatch; with how fast it shuts on you in the middle of going through it, it might as well be a makeshift guillotine, splitting whatever’s caught cleanly in two.” “Cleanly being the more absent description.” Sat mentions. “Yeah, I gotta be honest. I didn’t expect it to be that...effective.” Frida admits, glancing over to the gruesome scene.

“Either way, our immediate threats taken care of. Hopefully, it’ll be the last time those mobster fuckers try their luck in messing with our guests.” the dimensional psychic then claim. “Where even are they? We combed through this whole museum and they didn’t show up.” Sat complains. “Oh, they already left. I just got finished talking to them about what they found out about Dr. December. Hated our discussion being cut short the way it was; I could tell that under the mask, they were a caring person.” “Really? I came in at the last second. You’re gotta fill us in.” Frida requests. “Did they figure out where Dr. December’s hiding?” asks Sat. “Sure did, and you two are gonna laugh when you hear where his lab is at.”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 19

The faces of the buildings making up the tourist spot are rend asunder as the cement that makes up its brick walls comes lunging out after the fleeting purple psychic in the form of needles; Wedsle racing across the cobblestone path while evading the numerous points emerging out from the brick buildings. Before he can get escape the evacuated part of the iconic street, his retreat is thwarted when witnessing the concrete sidewalk along the sides of the path extend out in the form of stretching pieces reminiscent of strands of clay; these extensions weaving across the streets and latching upon the buildings to sow a thick web of concrete. Now trapped in the thicket of this unknown danger, Weds peers back to witness apendages of cement stretching out towards him from every direction like white tendrils having cornered its prey; the purple psychic frantically looking around for any form of escape. I might not know what exactly this fuckers controlling, but I’ll be damned if I let them corner me like this.

Among peering through the approaching strands of turquoise coated cement is his attention drawn over towards one of the many restaurant standing along the side of this part of Stone street. Within does he find no trace of the turquoise power that runs through the stretches of concrete; perhaps his only means of fleeing from this web of malformed pavement; yet his means of escapes is paved with peril, with numerous strands of wriggling cement threatening to pierce through his flesh. It’ll be close, buts its the only reliable bet I got. Just need to plow through this like like the average work week of a BBC porn star.

Waiting not another moment for the countless strands of molding cement to gang up on him, Wedsle makes the sprint over towards the broken glass door in attempting to escape; the tendrils of flowing cement standing in his way thrusting their finely carved tips at him upon his approach. Though successfully evading the initial few thrusts of the cement needle barrage, that changes when one sneaks their way up on him and plunge itself into his arm; the purple psychic fighting through the piercing pain as he swiftly breaks the pike off in his mad dash. Almost there! Closing in on the evacuated establishment, Weds witnesses the pavement set before the restaurant begin to bubble and boil like a frothing stew; several bars of pavement quickly erupting out from the surface of the sidewalk in effort to impede his escape. Though they’re numerous, these thin lines of cement don’t look sturdy, which is why Wedsle refuses to stop his mad dash towards the inside and braces himself to tackle through.

The violet psychic busts through the thinly strands of concrete as he careens past them and into the emptied out restaurant; Weds swiftly turning back to see the countless other lines of cement after him. Watching the numerous snakes of cement slither closer and closer, his eyes are drawn to the top of the door when noticing a draw chain hanging over the front side of the restaurant; this chain attached to a metal bar stretched out to both ends of the wall. A metal roll up wall!

Realizing what was hanging above him, Wedsle springs up to tightly clutch the draw chain; the pack of cement strands thrusting towards him all at once. Moments before this rapid collection of pavement could reach him, the violet psychic jerks the chain down to let the metal roll up wall tumble down and completely shut the front end of the evacuated restaurant; the rolling wall slamming down onto the ground with a loud thud. Wedsle backs away from the wall as the dozens of cement strands slam against its metal face, putting dents into the barricade with every single hit; the violet psychic preparing to make another brake for it as they seemed dead set on busting their way in. But after wailing against the wall for a few more moments, the banging suddenly stops; Wedsle perplexed over why the collection of cement lines suddenly ceased pounding.

Regardless of the reason however, it at least gives the purple psychic a second to breath; leaning against the side of the nearest table as he tries to figure out the nature of his mysterious foe’s powers. Bones and pavement? What the hell do these two things have in common. They’re both white, hard, and can’t feel a thing; sort of sounds like an old British navel officer feeling dead inside from the horrors of humanity he had witnessed. But it can’t be that simple, can it? There’s gotta be something more; if they had control over one or the other, they wouldn’t have attacked me with just bits of cement. The whole sidewalk and walls would’ve been coming at me then, not just pieces of them. It’s like whoever is behind this is reaching out to some specific substance held in the bones and the concrete, but what’s something that could be found in both of those?

Frustrated over this awkward predicament, Wedsle slams his fist against the top of the table he leans on; some of the silverware falling from their plates and clanging onto the tiled flooring. Even if I figured that out, it ain’t like knowing that gets me anywhere close to who’s behind this attack. Haven’t seen anybody out in that crowd with the same aura as those pieces of cement. Amidst pondering of who could be behind the strings controlling the cement strands, a loud snarl makes him jump away from the table and frantically look around for whatever sort of terrible monstrosity could have let out such a harrowing outcry. His alarm drains away when peering down to realize the source of this growl was come from his stomach. Oh, its just me belly. So busy running for my life, I didn’t notice. What’d these motherfuckers serve?

A grazing look over the table to see what platters were laid out across the restaurant, his jaw drop when finding nothing to eat but fish and seafood; the salt ridden lobster and skinned trout making his stomach churn. Fucking kidding me here!? Of all the joints I had to scramble into, it had to be a damn sea food restaurant! Seriously can’t stand how it tastes in my mouth, feels like chewing on a weird form of soft sandle wood. Don’t even get me started on how puffy and fleshy the crab is! Fucking gross! Spurred away by his personal distaste of the nautical dishes, all that remained among them was the sides and vegetables that came with them’ the plate closest to him holding a bowl of green beans alongside a serving of fish sticks. A standard kids meal these kinds of places usually serve. Eh, close enough. Set on chowing down on the bowl of green beans, Wedsle takes up the closest spoon to scoop up a bunch of them right in his mouth, their soft smooth texture letting him chew on them with ease. Hope that kid’s doing okay. With weird psychic’s like this skulking the place, who knows what other kind of weird shit him and Sat ran into. Better for us to gang up on whoever this cement slinging shit hole is at once, then we can get to work on finding-

Upon the cusp of these worried fueled thoughts does an incredible sharp pain surge across the side of his mouth; one that nearly makes him fumble onto the table as he clutches his cheek. What the fuck!? What!? Why does my feel like something digging through it!? What the hell kind of green beans were those!? Clutching the side of his mouth, the purple psychic suddenly feel something puncturing through his face; gazing into the decorative mirror hanging beside the wall to find tiny threads burrowing out the other side of his cheek. Wedsle opens his mouth wide to peer within, making the terrifying discover of where these dangerous threads had sprouted. The green beans, whatever was in the green beans had sprouted out from under them and wormed their way over to the side of his mouth. The violet psychic agap over these events, he can’t help but let out an agonize scream as these small strands of white wriggle out from the flesh of his cheeks.

The tension tightens as Satette holds back the dagger brandished by the young boy by the clutch of her rose palm guard, the fear in his eyes held behind his faux aggressive glare plain to see. “Kid, just chill for a sec. I get your scared, but I swear I ain’t gonna-” But before she could finish, the boy pulls himself and his weapon away from her and scurries back behind the middle counter; Sat quickly bolting right around to try and stop him from fleeing.

But the moment she peeks behind the counter, Sat is caught off guard when the kid takes lunges at her with his weapon thrusting towards her stomach. With little time to evade his lunging attack, the only thing Sat could do was hold her other hand out against the oncoming knife; the lively psychic holding in her pained screams as the blade pierces through her hand. Rather then pull her hand away from the daggers cold steel, Satette instead clutches past the weapons guard and to its handle; the preteen boy that stabbed her caught off guard as the young woman jerks the knife out of his very grasp.

Left disarmed from his risky assault, the sound controlling child darts across the dirty kitchen to make his escape; Satette pulling the knife out from her hand before she starts to stitch the wound closed with the thorns of her rose. “Just hang on, man, you’re not getting it!” she attempts to plead to the fleeting kid with. But her words fall on deaf ears as the boy races for the back door, mere seconds away from dash outside and getting away. And left with her stabbed hand to tend to, there wouldn’t be another chance to catch up with him once she was done; so she finally just straight up shout: “Do you want to see Wedsle again!?” The mere mention of the violet psychic’s name is enough to stop the kid in the middle of making his exit out the back door, turning his sites back over to the woman he had just plunged a dagger through as Satette further goes on about: “Both of you took down that one guy that could control temperature when you met him. Then while you were sneaking around that food drive, he saved your hide again from that shadowy son of a bitch that was after you.”

Despite recounting to the kid of these event, he still remains apprehensive against the young woman telling him all this; his eyes wandering back and forth between her and the doorway. “I get how scared you are right now. I know as your brain is going a mach 5, you’re wandering if what’s coming out of my mouth is true. Believe me, I’ve been in your same shoes; I get how tough it can be taking people by their word when words don’t mean much. What use are words in a world that doesn’t listen?” Although the lively psychic’s speech does reach to him, the kid remains cautious nonetheless; keeping his hand clutched to the knob as he shuts the back door.

From where she kneels, Satette discovers drops of scarlet dripping down from underneath the young boys oversized coat sleeve and onto the floor; the lively psychic pointing out how: “Your arm’s bleeding; was it from that fall you took earlier? If your still gonna leave, at least let me patch that up before you run away; it’d bother me to think of a homeless kid was sneaking around with his arm bleeding like that. Just look.” Heeding to the young woman’s request, the preteen boy look back to see Sat hold one of her hands out for her. The lively psychic presents the stab wound in the palm of her hand stitched shut with the stem of her rose. “It ain’t perfect, but its holding pretty well. There’s still the petals left, I bet I can use them on you as like a band-aid. Just let me see your arm, please.” Presented with evidence of the skill in her abilities, the kid fully turns back to cautiously approach Satette; the boy pulling his arm out from the sleeve of his oversized coat to show the part where he bleeds. Diagonally strewn across his forearm, crimson seeps out from the child’s limb and trails down his wrist; dropping down to stain the dirt ridden tile floor in his blood. “Okay, not as I was imagining; I can work with this. Just grit your teeth and gimme a second.” requests Sat.

The lively psychic clutches the preteen boy’s arm as she holds the petals of her rose over his gash, gently setting  the plant matter across his cut; the petals blending among the leaking scarlet. Satette infuses her power into the rose petals and commands their leaves to stretch across the flesh of his forearm; the boy biting his lip as he endures them weaving into his skin to patch his cut and absorb the blood. “Almost…” When the kid’s gash was covered by the rose’s petals, Sat withdraws her grasp from his arm and lets him stand back; the young psychic of sound taking a moment to breath as he looks to the evidence of the woman’s patchwork. “There we go. Sorry about the stinging, but that outta stop the bleeding long enough for your arm to heal.”

“I won’t force you to come join us, but I really think you’d be better off back at our safehouse. You’d really like it. It has almost everything; furnished living room, fully stocked kitchen, comfy beds, clean bathrooms. I mean the host is a little wound too tight; but he’s not bad. I-I promise. What do you say, wanna tag along?” The mere mention of these accommodations are enough to make the cry begin to weep; his salty tears mixing with the spots of blood red stained against the tile floor. But even with these promises told, Satette is astonished to see the little guy shake his head no. “What? Seems like a much better deal than roughing it in the streets; Why not?” The child refuses to answer with his reason for denying her invitation and simply continues to sob, rubbing the side of his neck as he looks away from the young woman standing before him. “What’s the matter? Can’t you say what’s wrong?”

Though there are word that escape from his mouth, the dread and terror painted all over his face make it clear for her realize the fact that: “You can’t say anything at all, can you?” The preteen’s eyes open wide as he confirms that to be the reason behind his silence by shaking his head up and down; the lively psychic pondering for a moment before attempting ask: “But I don’t get it. How come you can’t say any…” Its in the middle of questioning him this that she finds the kid eyeing her with a frustrated glare; Sat nervously chuckle as the realization swiftly hits her. “Right, sorry. Stupid of me to even ask. Uh…”

The lively psychic starts to peer along the counters as she wanders around the dirty kitchen, opening every drawer and cabinet to rummage through dusty silverware and pans rusty pans; miffed over finding nothing but broken utensils in the mix. “There’s gotta be something here you can communicate with. A pencil and some paper, a keyboard?.” Satette slams the last drawer she looks in shut when her dig for something the kid could talk to her with leads to nothing, letting out a frustrated sigh as she hops over the counter and returns to the partially renovated dining area. The kid’s site on the other hand is drawn to the pans and utensils Satette had discarded in her look through the cabinets and drawer, wondering how he could uses these abandoned kitchen tools.

Frida hurries across the surface of the penurious districts rooftops, leaping out from the wall of one and into the face of another as she flees from her magnetic foe; the gun woman glancing back to witness Daydra making an impossibly bounding leap across the 10 foot gap. Careening through the air, the magnetic psychic uses his laser pointer to cast forth a negative flow of magnetism out past his pursuit and against the door of a roof vent; all the while he infuses his clothes in a positive force. The opposing ions embedded in both of these strongly attract one another with enough of a pull to send Daydra darting down towards the roof vent at frightening speeds; swiftly passing by and getting right in front of the runaway dimensional psychic.

Leaping out from the surface of the rooftop, the dimensional psychic almost immediately pulls out an uzi from the inside of her jacket to use against the magnetism manipulating man; Daydra ripping the grate out from the vent hole to throw at her. The gunwoman dives back into the surface of the rooftop to evade the flung grate and breaches right back out to unload her uzi clip upon her foe; the magnetic psychic racing across the roof to take cover behind the concrete roof access. Seeing her target take cover, Frida remembers the tactic he used last time and peers back to witness the vent grate careen back from behind her; the gunwoman delving into the roof’s surface to avoid the returning piece of metal.

Surfacing from the rooftop, she suddenly feels herself being forced right out into the open; her magnetism manipulating foe pulling her out from the safety of the 2nd dimension with one hand as he clutches the vent grate with the other. Uprooting the woman out from the roof, Daydra throws her against the wall of the roof access, where his blue hue coats its concrete; the magnetic psychic engulfing the vent grate in a red power before he tosses it out towards her like a discus as his foe slams against the hard wall. The dimensional gunwoman holds her uzi out against the grate as it comes flying fast at her, managing to stop the thin edge of aluminum from going through her chest; Frida however left pinned against the concrete wall and over the roof floor by the intense magnetic pull shared between it and the vent cover. She struggles to keep the edge of the steel grate away, as the intense attracting force between it and the roof prove stronger; the covers thin side inching closer and closer to her breasts with every passing second.

Trapped between the enclosing piece of steel and concrete with her weapon aimed towards the floor, Frida acts fast and fires a burst of bullets out from her uzi; each of these shots merging into the floor and streaking across the rooftop surface. Out of the few bullets does one of them fly right over towards the edge of the roof in just the right ankle she needs, commanding the led to breach out from the side and towards the magnetic man; the bullet piercing straight through her foe’s arm. The unexpected shot from the side catches the master of magnetism off guard and disrupts the focus he puts in keeping the force between the grate and the wall strengthened; Frida taking the opening to push the vent cover off her and drop down to the roof floor.

After looking down to the bullet wound in his arm, Daydra peers back over to witness his dimensional foe slide underneath the door leading down into the building; a gleeful grin stretching across the man’s face as he races over to the roof access’s door. Going for the knob, the magnetic psychic swiftly discovers the wooden door to be locked tight; a dilemma that will take him only a moment to solve. He slaps the face of the rooftop door before he shoots his laser pointer over towards the building across the street; overwhelming the two with opposite magnetic forces. The psychic of magnetism pumps so much protons into the wooden door, that it starts to be violently pulled from its frame; its rusty hinges crumbling apart as its harshly forced towards the building. It takes but a few moments and an abundances of magnetic force to rip the wood door violently out from the frame and send it careening towards the building across the street; the door’s aging wood breaking to pieces as soon as it collides against the complexes brick wall. Daydra can’t help but let out an anticipating giggle as he heads down the building’s stairwell, giddy over the prospect of chasing after the dimensional psychic.

Down from the door and into the spiraling staircase, Frida slither from one set of steps to the other in her hurry down through whatever sort of building she slipped into, knowing that the magnetism manipulator wasn’t too far behind. Dammit, this dipshit can close the distance faster than I can make it. Even if I could put a couple clean caps in this guy, I don’t know how long he’ll would last with that many bullet wounds; fucking freak could bleed to death before I could even get him to talk. Maybe a shot from one of my pistols if I was careful could ground him, but the bastard made damn sure I wasn’t seeing those again anytime soon; I ain’t got nothing else up my sleeve that would help me bag the guy in one piece. Need a new strategy here if I wanna bag this bitch.

Among her descent down the stairwell, the dimensional psychic finally reach the bottom, emerging out from the floor to find herself having broke in the bounds of some sort of factory; forgotten by those that manned its assembly lines and machinery long ago. A glance over to the grimy conveyor belts does she discover hooks and prods adorning the chains held above, the tips of these tools holding a gnarly substance of which stinks to high hell. Across the wall, the dimensional psychic spots a set of stacked cardboard boxes, left soiled and wet by whatever they may hold. From the holes left in these boxes crawl out maggots and flies by the dozens, flying around what was stuck against the assembly line tools. What the hell kind of factory was this?

A look over to the nearest wall, Frida spots a cork board with papers plastered all across its face; some of them torn to pieces while others hang intact. Approaching the board does the she then notice one of them holding a list of employee’s covered by many other slips of paper; the dimensional psychic brushing those papers to peek at the list. The top of this employee list holds a logo holding the stylized picture of a cow in a butchers outfit standing alongside the title: “Beefy butch’s butchery.” Frida swiftly starts putting the pieces together when seeing the facility’s name; the hooks and prods above the belts, the soiled boxes harboring the maggots and flies, it all made sense now. This ain’t a factory, its a meat processing plant. In this very moment that the gun woman suddenly hear the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side of the door behind her; Frida peering around for anywhere to hide among the forgotten factory floor.

A sharp blue hue envelopes the stairway door before it is pried off its hinges and pushed off the frame; Daydra coming out on the other side with his gloved coated in the same shade of blue. He holds an intrigued smirk across his cheeks as he stares across refinements of the meat processing plant, fanning away the fowl smell of rotten meat that haunts the floor’s air. But the foul smell fails to deter him from proceeding through the abandoned factory, gazing across the belts and machinery that once produced countless pounds of beef in all different shapes and sizes. The psychic of magnetism passes right by the bulletin board without so much as a thought, unaware of the woman he prowls for hiding behind its frame; Frida peeking out from the bottom of the board to see him waltzing along the conveyor belt in his search. The dimensional psychic peers to where he strolls towards to the numerous machinery and cages that hang along the ceiling above him; the poles and hinges holding them up left rusted from the years of neglect. The equipment suspended above start to give Frida an idea, one that she starts to enact on as she slides out from behind the cork board and scale up towards the ceiling; slithering behind the manager’s office as Dayrda glances back.

Daydra lets out a small chuckle as he brushes his hand against a machine along the conveyor belt, coating the piece of equipment in a hue of red while aiming his laser pointer over towards the managers office; the side of the square room swiftly enveloped in blue as soon as the laser hits it. The amplified magnetic fields between the two start to up heave the machine off the belt; the screws keeping it rooted helpless but to bend under the overwhelming magnetism pulling the equipment away. A loud sequel echoes across the floor before the hefty piece of metal is ripped off the belt and sent hurdling towards the manager’s office, violently crashing into the square space and effortlessly shattering the entire room off from the wall.

Watching the remains of the office space crumble apart and plummet onto the floor, Daydra looks to what was once the inside of the office, now left as nothing chunks of aged polyester, for any remote sign of the dimensional psychic; yet among the rubble stood not even any sign of her. Clearly disappointed over the lack of anything from this endeavor, the magnetic psychic continues his stroll through the assembly line; the woman he thought was inside the office hiding behind a chunk of it left hanging along the wall. Having narrowly avoided the crashing piece of equipment flung by her foe’s powerful magnetism, Frida hurries her ascent up towards the factory roof, hoping he doesn’t try and throw anything else her way.

“So this guy you work under, Daydra; it sounds like he knows a lot about what psychic powers the people here have. You think he might know something about this Dr. December guy?” wonders Tuesco, looking down to the crook caught under his slab of solid air. “Are you kidding; Daydra’s obsessed when it comes to weirdos with those kinds of fucking freaky powers, he knows about everyone in this city that has them. If there’s anybody around here that knows a damn thing about this December dick you’re looking for, it’ll be him.” “Sounds like a good lead, think you can point me over to where he hangs?” the solid air psychic then request. “I don’t know.” the goon claims, Tuesco letting out a growl as the aura in his hand flows out. “I’m serious, none of us know. The guy doesn’t tell a damn soul where he’s wandering around. He just tells us he’ll be out and we won’t hear from him for days, sometimes weeks. A little torn on that really. On one hand, it’d be nice to get the others off their asses and help with our operations. But on the other, the guy creeps me the fuck out; don’t know why higher ups thought of sticking us with him”

Before Tues could question the pinned crook any further on the matter, a boom loud enough to make the smaller buildings tremble reverberates all across the district; both him and the guy he has trapped under his solidified air looking around for where this tremor came from. “What was that? What did you guys do?” questions Tues. “That wasn’t us, I swear! Where just fentanyl dealers.” “Sounded like it came from that a way. You know what’s back there?” the air psychic asks, pointing towards the west. “J-just a couple of apartment buildings and an abandoned meat factory.” “There any demolition going on there?” “None that I heard of.” “That sounds like a good place to go snoop.”

A destination set, the newly recruited psychic set off over towards the western end of the neighborhood; the goon squirming under the slab of solid air as he shouts: “Where the fuck you going!? Get whatever the hell you got off me!?” “Oh, uh. Don’t sweat it, the block over you should dissolve in like an hour...I think. You’ll be fine, trust me.” Tuesco mentions as he takes the corner away from the hideout. The goon trapped under the slab of solid air stops squirming around as he lets out a defeat sigh, dropping his face onto the grass before going: “Maybe dad was right, the extra cash ain’t worth this shit…I wonder if the Walmart close to the neighborhood is hiring.”

Every footstep the magnetic psychic takes in his search through the meat processing facility echoes all across the entire floor, nearly holding a rhythm alongside the flies that fly around; but he pays neither of these facts any mind as he focuses on uncovering the dimensional psychic. Inside some of the steel barrels, underneath the conveyor belts, even behind a few of the packaging equipment; Daydra scourers over a quarter of the facility for any hint of where his 2-D foe may be cowering, holding little to no luck in his efforts. Just when wondering where else she could have crawled away, his attention is drawn to the lightless ceiling overhead when seeing one of the pieces of machinery hanging overhead lightly swing back and forth around against the chains suspending it. No doubt a by product of him launching a ton of steel into the managers office; but to sway in that particular way? Conspicuous.

Underneath the veil of shadows spread above, Frida slides across the surface of the ceiling; past the steel beams holding the top of the building together and across the numerous broken florescent tube lights to reach a hefty piece of metal equipment hung by set of steel beams screwed into the ceiling. Poking her top half out from the ceiling’s surface, the dimensional psychic inspects the screws keeping the machinery suspended; the years worth of rust covering their metal. It likely wouldn’t take that much to break them off with a couple of well aimed potshots. Hell, not even that much; a rock lobbed just right could probably knock this whole thing down. But how to drop this thing on this creepy cockhead without him noticing? Could use a suppressor on a sniper rifle, have to be pretty far for that; not to mention he’d hear the shot right away, even with a suppressor.

“Intrigued by the age of this place?” she then hears beside her. In her alarm, she jerks her sites over to discover the man of magnetism standing next to her, hanging upside down onto the surface of the; his shoe’s enveloped in a red power which attracts to the spots of blue along the ceiling. “It is rather tragic to see. The inner workings of this production plant now left to rot among the careless neglect; its shining steel now caked in red rust.” But rather than let the magnetic man ramble, Frida surfaces out from the surface of the ceiling to drop back down towards the factory floor from dozens of feet down; Daydra dispelling his negative magnetism coating the ceiling to drop down after her.

When descending to the floor’s cold concrete, Frida shifts into its second dimension of the conveyor belt to save herself from nasty fall; the dimensional psychic slithering across the side of the line in her efforts to make distance. Daydra meanwhile aims his laser pointer to the floor while enveloping his clothing in a positive magnetic force, patching the part of the concrete in the same force to slow his plummet to a soft hover; the man of magnetism weakening the fields until he safely lands. The magnetic psychic looks to the conveyor belt that his dimensional pursuit had delved into, watching with an amused glee as she scurries across its steel side in an effort to gain some distance; a wicked smile painted across this man’s face as he strengthens the positive force held in both the floor and his shoes. With a pushing take off forward, Daydra glides across the factory’s floor with the slick grace of an ice rink skater, swiftly beginning to close the gap between each other.

Once getting back the inches against his pursuit, the magnetic psychic strengthens the polarizing force in both the floor and his shoe to make a bounding leap high in the air; Daydra dissolving the force before aiming his laser pointer to a piece of equipment suspended overhead. He pumps a ton of positive force into the hefty metal equipment before pointing his laser over to the conveyor belt Frida slides across, pumping an opposing field into a part of the belt she approaches. The power in these attracting force emboldens the piece of metal above to break from its hooks and plummet down towards the factory belt like a descending meteor, Frida stopping herself just short as the equipment crashes down to the conveyor belt and break off the piece she was moment away from crossing. With her path forward quiet literally broken off, the dimensional psychic breaches from the steel belt and makes a leap over towards the other side; her jump across the broken gap thwarted as Daydra himself comes hurdling through and knocks her right out of the air.

The man of magnetism hurdles Frida across the meat plant floor and over towards the catwalk, where the dimensional psychic slams against the side; her hand clutching the catwalks railing before she could fall to hang on. Among gathering her sense, she peers out to where she had been tossed and his alarmed to find not a sign of her foe anywhere. Its not until spotting traces of a laser glowing across the air that she follows its light right overhead, discovering the magnetic psychic sticking to the wall above the very catwalk she hangs from; Daydra imbuing his laser with his power to shoot across the plant floor. Frida takes this brief chance to fire her uzi against the magnetic man; the brief flurry of bullets rocketing upwards to the hand he holds, not just rending parts of his palm, but breaking the laser pointer he wields into useless pieces. The magnetic field manipulating man lets out a harrowed shriek as the holes pierced through his hand burns, the remains of his laser pointer raining down past the woman who shot her; his outcry transforming into a vengeful growl before he springs off the wall and away from her.

In watching her magnetic foe flee, Frida catches the glimpse of several objects coated in a red hue careening towards her; a slew of sharp hooks and blades meant for meat cutting equipment hurdling towards her at breakneck speed. Thinking little of it, the dimensional psychic simply lets go of the bent railing to drop down to the floor below and evade being skewered by the storm of cutlery; the gun woman gazing above in her descent to see the catwalk magnetized with an opposing blue force. But her swift relief of dodging the collection of cutlery is short lived as she then feels something constantly stab her back, pieces of plastic and copper darting towards the catwalk above as fast as an upside down hailstorm.

Looking back to the steel walkway does she discover what had erupted against her back; the pieces of plastic and copper that stung her being from the laser pointer that she had broke, covered in a red coloring. Dammit! This prick’s more cunning then I expected, and here I thought he was just being a creepy freak; he must’ve had a lot of time to practice his power if he can think to do stuff like this. Who know’s what other sneaky ass shit he’s capable of pulling off. I can’t let my guard down against this douche, not even for a second; else I’ll wind up joining the other unlucky bastards In the CIA that were KIA’d.

The purple psychic lets out incredibly painful grunts that echo across the evacuated restaurant; the white tendrils pierced through his cheeks wriggling out from the other side of his face. Wedsle opens his mouth wide before plunging his hand in, scooping out the peas rooting their way through his cheeks with but his fingers; rooting out the vegetables and the tendrils breaching them. Once scooping all the tiny peas out from his cheeks, he rubs the part of his face they dug their way through to feel the pin sized holes they had left behind; each of these wounds seeping out blood that drips down from his jaw and onto the tiled floor. Along the floor does his site drift to the mess of peas that were burrowing through his mouth moments ago, Weds’ skin crawl as he watches the tendrils of white piercing them wriggle and flail around; all of them enveloped in a line of turquoise aura. What the fuck is even happening anymore? Bones, cement, now fucking peas!? None of this makes any sense! Just what the hell is this asshole even in control off!?

The violet psychic is left with little time to ponder of this, as he looks along the table beside him to find those same strings of white burrowing out from the fish left on the plate; the tendrils far more abundant and vast than with the peas they prodded before. When Wedsle starts to back away from the emerging swarm of white worms, he accidentally ends up bumping into the side of another table behind him; a glass left at its side tipping off and shattering onto the floor. Upon this slight mistake do the collection of white tendrils come lunging out from the leftover fish and towards the purple psychic; Wedsle bracing to take their stings as they rapidly near. But no such assault comes as he feels nothing stabbing through his flesh; Weds looking back to see the swarm of white worm veering away from him and to the floor. Following where these tendrils stretch, he finds them reaching down over where the glass cup had broken; the strings feeling across the sharp glass shards left scattered across the floor.

Curious if this nothing more than a freak accident, Wedsle swipes a plate left with nothing but bits and scraps of  food from the table beside him and hurdles it across the dinning room like a frisbee; the porcelain plate shattering to pieces as it drops down to the floor. The moment the plate hits the ground do dozens of the white tendrils burst out from the pieces of seafood sitting atop the tables nearby, all of them lunging to the pieces of broken porcelain scattered; the stings slithering across and feeling around the shards as if searching for something. Though he knows little of these mysterious strings of white, Wedsle was beginning to get a grasp over what urks them; and how their master might be trying to sniff him out. You think that listening to the shit I’m stirring around here’ll be enough to gank me? Then lets see how much that works out til you gotta come out to check.

Keeping his mysterious foe’s method of hunting in mind, Wedsle slowly and cautiously starts to tip toe around the several tables set within the dinning hall; the purple psychic careful to make every step he takes as quiet and soft as possible. From the numerous unfinished seafood patter do dozens more tendrils emerge out from the cooked and breaded meals, stretching out from the fish and down off the tables onto the tiled floor. The purple psychic can’t help but watch these countless strings of white wriggle along the floor like the tentacles of a deep sea beast, feeling its surroundings in the hunt for its pray. Beyond these tendrils stands the potential saving grace out from Wedsle’s sticky situation; an alcohol bar stocked with dozens of drinks along its shelves. Not hard to imagine throwing several of those all over the place should trip up whoever’s pulling these semen strings, might draw them out to see what the hell’s going on in here.

Part of a plan being drawn up, the violet psychic resumes to cautiously sneak towards the sprawling mess of wriggling tendrils that slither before him; careful to tip toe over and around every white string that crawls across the floor. His breath short, but silent. His nerves wound, but controlled. His eyes darting around, but remaining vigilant to the strings at his feet. Wedsle remains calm and collected in snooping through the mess of writhing strips of white. He’s then forced to stops dead in his tracks as he feels one of these tendrils slide up from his shoe and along his pants leg; the violet psychic ceasing from even the slightest twitch as the strand of white climbs from his leg and up to his torso, silently holding his breath altogether to keep this lone string from discovering him. Simply waiting for this single tendril to slither off him was not an option as his breath draws short, feeling the urge to refresh his lungs with every passing moment; the purple psychic’s eyes frantically darting around for an escape from this predicament. Thankfully, he spots something that can aid in drawing this gnarly groper off him sitting along the table he stands beside; a pepper shaker left next to an empty plate picked clean of any scraps.

Carefully does Wedsle reach down towards the shaker as the strip of white slithers from his upper torso and over to his shoulder, worming around the sleeve of his blazer and down to the hand he reaches for the pepper with. Every inch of skin the tendril crawls across, Weds freezes like a statue to stop them from recognizing him; his fingers brushing along the pepper shaker’s aluminum rim, just mere centimeters away from his grasp. His breath running short and the slithering tendril reaching towards his hand, the violet psychic opts to flick the shaker with his fingers to knock it over onto the table; the pepper rolling across the table until dropping down from the side. As soon as the lonely pepper shaker hits the floor, the strands of white surrounding him all lunge straight for the spilled condiment; the string enveloped around him swiftly slithering down from his arm and all the way down off his shoe to join the rest. Wedsle quietly takes a much needed breath of fresh air as he swiftly resumes sneaking over to the bar, relieved to have the frisking piece of string off him. Think that compared to all the other promiscuous encounters I’ve had...it might not have been the worst actually. I mean without the overwhelming threat of death looming over, that situation could’ve lead to a helluva fun time worth remembering. Certainly a lot better then taking that online ad for an electric heated dick pump; felt nice at first, but then it started to really burn really fast. I still feel the scorch marks around my shaft.

Past the swarm of white strings, Weds sneaks his way around to the back of the open drinks bar; the hatch separating the sides left open, likely from the bartender scurrying out when shit started hitting the fan. That leaves the dozens of fine alcoholic beverage sitting on the shelves utterly unguarded; an entire smorgasbord of drinks and mixes ranging from the standard beers and whiskey, to the finely kept wines and tequila’s imported from seas abroad. For someone who even lightly fancies themselves sipping down the occasional drink; it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to plunder the unmanned bar of its riches. But rather then partake in the flavor these drinks provide, the purple psychic swipes one of them right off the shelf and lobs the bottle right over the counter like an explosive caber; the glass and the booze it holds spilling as soon as it hits the floor. Like fluttering moths to a kindling flame, several more strands of white breach out from the seafood set around where the glass bottle shatters; the mess of tendrils slithering down to the floor and feeling through the spilled whiskey and shards of glass. Meh, never really was into drinking, honestly. Can’t really get past the bitter taste.

The violet psychic was nowhere near done recklessly spilling the collection of drinks as he swipes up another random bottle filled with tequila and tosses it across the dinning room; the drink hurdling right into the side of a table, knocking over both it and the dishes resting atop it. The overwhelming commotion urges the tendrils near to be drawn towards the site of the spill; their heads stabbing through the table’s wood like spears piercing flesh. Yet Wedsle gives them little time to assess this situation as he plucks another bottle from the bar shelf and throws it towards the wall; the hefty bottle of wine careening into a hanging mirror, its broken shards mixing with those of the bottle and the drink it contained. More of the white strips emerge out from the nearby platters and slither over to the wall, feeling across its painted surface and what was left of the mirror. Again and again does Weds nab another bottle of booze from the shelf to toss across the restaurant, the shards and alcohol spilled spawning dozens more tendrils out from the meals set along the tables; these strands slithering through the dinning area, with some tangling among one another among the chaos.

After throwing out several more bottles of the assorted alcohol, the purple psychic reaches over to the shelves to toss out another, only to feel nothing behind him but the shelf’s polished wood. Wedsle glances back to find the bar shelves baron of any more bottles of booze left to break; the assortment of wines and tequila’s that were housed on the shelves now broken across the entire restaurant, with their contents staining the floor, tables, chairs, walls, even the air with their alcoholic stench. Now with no more ammo to help stir up the scene, the only thing left for Wedsle to do was simply lie and wait for the master of these countless white strings to show themselves. He ducks underneath the bar for cover, patiently hiding way until his mysterious foe decides to take a look inside; scooping of the broken remnants of a dropped beer bottle to use as a weapon.

That outta be enough of a shit storm to get this bastard to come out from hiding; just only a matter of time now. But still, with all these jizz colored tentacles wriggling around, just rushing for them won’t end too well; I’m better off waiting til they wander over to the bar. It’ll be the perfect moment to leap out and jam this broken glass straight in their throat. The smell of alcoholic along with the welling tension fills the restaurant air as Wedsle patiently awaits for the puppeteer behind these white strings to reveal themselves, keeping himself silent and broken beer bottle in his hand clutched tight.

His soundly strategy seems to start coming together as he soon catches the sound of a door opening, slowly peeking out from behind the bar to look towards the kitchen doorway and discovering the identity of his mysterious foe. Enveloped in a thick turquoise aura stood a woman with light brunet locks donning an emerald bomber jacket, gazing throughout the emptied seafood establishment to behold the mess of spilled drinks and knocked over tables that her strings slither over. The turquoise lady struts out from the kitchen and around the tables and chairs left standing through the dinning area, stopping at one of these tables and perusing through the partially eaten selection of fish and lobster left behind in the patrons hurry. Taking the fork left beside the dish, she helps herself to a piece of the platter and picks out the piece of lobster flesh along the end of the plate; the woman in the emerald jacket takes a small bite out of the lobster and shows dissatisfaction over the taste.

Her eyes glow alight when glancing at the center of the table, spotting a selection of condiments and sauces held in a thin steel basket; smacking her lips as she reaches over for one of these condiments. The woman’s fingers slide past the salt and pepper, over the mayonnaise and around the sauce, veering through until coming to the bottle of ketchup sitting behind them. Swiping the ketchup out from the basket, the turquoise lady holds the bottle over the piece of lobster and squirts out a bit of the condiment onto it; the mysterious woman chomping on the rest of the seafood for another taste. The odd blend of savory lobster mixed with the sugary ketchup, a combination of flavor the likes of which make her moan out in satisfaction; all the while Wedsle watches on with perplexed anticipation. A woman of strange tastes, and even stranger powers; an interesting brunet to be sure. Shame its looking like one of us won’t be making out of this establishment with their throats intact.

Wedsle then ducks underneath the bar as the lady in the emerald jacket turns her attention towards the rest of the dinning area; finishing the last of the ketchup covered lobster as she wonders through the restaurant. The first thing to catch her eyes were the abundance of broken large bottles and littering the floor, mixing with the puddles of alcohol and wine staining the patches of carpet beside the booths; the turquoise psychic making the apendages retreat from the shards of glass. The labels left engraved in the broken shards making it clear that these weren’t just regular, store bought beer. With this held in mind, she peers over to the bar station along the side of the establishment; their shelves picked clean of every drop of alcohol. But left on the bar lies a glass of fine grape wine, having only been sipped a few times as there sits plenty more of its violet nectar within the vial; this lonely glass was enough to compel the girl to approach. Underneath the counter, the purple psychic looks to the reflection of a steel keg sitting under the shelves to witness his turquoise foe nearing; the grip he holds the broken beer bottle with tightening as he prepares for his moment to strike.

When coming to the alcoholic bar, the woman takes up the unfinished glass of violet wine and moves it around in her hand to let it swirl around in the cup; the fruity aroma of grape and vanilla wafting from the drink tempt her to partake in its splendor. She lifts the fresh wine to her lips and tilts the glass to pour the drink into her mouth, raising the beverage higher as she guzzles down the sweet purple nectar; every inch the lady lifts her drink showing her neck more until it stands fully exposed. There! Now! Wedsle wastes not another moment with is foe’s guard down and rises out from the cover of the bar brandishing the broken beer bottle, the turquoise woman spitting the wine back out as she left aghast seeing her violet target leap out from the shadows. The purple psychic thrusts the jagged edges of the broken bottle straight towards her exposed neck, splatters of crimson red spilling against the polished wooden counter top.

But what seemed like what should have been checkmate for Wedsle turned into confused terror, his eyes widening as he looks to where the blood had seeped from. Trails of scarlet drip down not from the woman’s throat, but instead from the back of the purple psychic’s own hand he holds the bottle with; shrapnels of jagged glass protruding out from back of his hand. The violet psychic pulls back his bleeding hand as he fumbles away from woman in the emerald bomber jacket, peering to both his palm and his foe’s throat as he sees the results of his thwarted counterattack. While his flesh had been pierced by the bottles glass, the neckline of the woman he attempted to stab was left completely spared of any such punctures; the jagged edges that the end of the broken bottle held smoothed out. But how!? How in the hell did she even…

Once the alarm that overcame turquoise woman disappears, her dissolving shock turns to seriousness as she dumps the last of the grape wine out from the glass in her hand; the violet drink spilling onto the floor with the mixture of other alcohol. Its after the last drop of wine is poured out that the woman envelopes the glass cup in her turquoise power, crackling as its transparent surface morphs in the palm of her hand; Wedsle pulling the beer bottle out from the inside of his hand as he witnesses his foe transform the wine glass before his eyes. The cups spherical bowl shrinks away as it thins itself down to a fine line of glass; its smoothed surface pinching off and stretching to craft a paper thin edge, one that pails in comparison to the crude jagged edges that her foe had attempted to stab her with. What once was nothing but a standard wine cup, meant to only hold beverages and drinks of all sorts, the woman of turquoise power had reformed its frail glass into a finely sharp blade; its acute razor edge held against the violet psychic. “You gotta be fucking kidding!?”

Along the side of the renovating restaurant’s dinning area, Satette crouches down and stares to a can of bright blue paint with a roller sitting right beside it; her eyes looking across the wall to find it almost painted the same color. Maybe he could paint words on the wall to talk? The walls hear look about finished though, and they only got a roller to use; doubt they’d bring a paintbrush. But just as she was stumped over finding another way the kid could communicate with her, a sharp clang echoing across the restaurant jolts her back on her feet and has her frantically look across the dinning hall as the loud banging continue. Satette’s alarm wanes a little as she finds the noise coming from the kitchen and peers beyond the serving window to see the preteen striking pots and pans set along the counter with kitchen utensils; the rusted kitchen tools enveloped in his bright pink power.

The lively psychic darts back into the kitchen to swipe the spoon and spatula out from the kids hands before going: “What the hell are you doing!? You want people to find us in here?” The preteen boy is undeterred as he takes a pan from the counter and another spatula from the nearest drawer, putting his aura into the two as he repeatedly hit the metal patty flipper against the bottom of the rusty pan to make noise. “I don’t even…” Seeing young woman confused over what he was attempting, the kid puts his finger over his lips before he points to the bottom of the pan, wordlessly telling her to quiet down and listen. And though she is still perplexed over what he was doing; Satette nonetheless complies as she leans against the counter and lets him continue banging onto the pan.

The lively psychic ponders what manner of idea this kid has in beating against the rusty iron of the kitchen pan, reminded of a little toddler using spoons on a set of pots like a drummers kit. He can’t just be making a racket for the hell of it; what’s he trying to do? Curiously staring at the little kid as he repeatedly bang the pan, her ears catch something odd in between each it; the clanging beginning to echo different with every strike; contrasting different parts of the clanging to make it sound like somebody attempting to recreate the way a mouth says certain letters. Wedsle said something about this boy being able to control sound. Could be he trying to… “Oh, I get it. You’re changing the sound coming out of the pan to try and talk.” he claims, one that proves on the mark as they kid shakes his head up and down to confirm this. “Brilliant idea. But I don’t think you’re gonna sound out most letter by just banging on a pan. Maybe with something else, like a…”

The kid is puzzled when seeing Sat scuttle over to the open drawer and again scours inside, shoving aside many other discarded utensils and silverware while uttering: “No...Come on,  they have to have something like that...Here!” Upon her exclamation, the boy peers over to watch Satette pull out from the back of the drawer a soldering torch; its flame pipe left coated in a layer of dust and dirt. The young woman unscrews the empty gasoline can from the pipe and blows the dirt and whatever else out from the inside before stating to the kid how: “You can blow in this and turn what comes out into vowels. And uh…” Waltzing over to the sink, Satette rummages through the grimy plates and silverware left abandoned before she reaches right down to pull out a wine glass; its inside still left stained with bits of alcohol. “Use this to make sounds you can’t with the pan. Like this.” The boy is intrigued when watching the woman brush her finger along the rim of the glass, hearing a distinct tinging coming from the cup; the kid shaking his head up and down with a hopeful smile.

Placed across the counter be the pan and spatula, the pipe of the blowtorch, as well as the wine glass; each of them set for the boy to create letters so that he may communicating to Satette. “Alright, got it all set up; now we can get down to business. First up on the table, why’d you try doing me in?” The young woman stands patiently as the child starts uses the makeshift instruments sound out letters, blowing in the pipe, tapping the pan, and rubbing his finger along the rim of the glass as he uses his psychic power to change the tone and volume to sound out words. The particular way he molds the noise echoing out from these instruments lending to form the sounds of letters, leaving Sat to put them together in saying: “H-e-l-d. Held...H-o-s-t. Host. A-g-e…Held host age?…Oh, hostage! You’re were forced to because they’re holding somebody hostage! But who?” Getting the first question out of the way, the sound bending kid returns to the set of kitchenware to continue relaying the sound of just two letters to the lively psychic. “M-e. Me?...They’re holding you hostage? But your standing right here; I don’t get it.”

Annoyed over the lack of understanding, the boy resumes fiddling with the rusted and dirty kitchenware to form more letters for her to hear; Satette herself putting them together to say: “P-s-y-c-h-i-c t-h-r-e-a-t. A psychic put you up to it, huh? Probably one sent by the crime mob. Right?” The preteen confirms her suspicions with nodding agreement, with this answers making the lively psychic seethe; the kid inching away from her as she growls: “Those motherfucking bastards; trying to make a little kid kill somebody. What the psychic using to threaten you?” Returning over to the set of old and rusted kitchen instruments, the boy again uses them in tandum with his power to alter the sound coming out of them; Satette following along in saying: “C-a-l-c-i-u-m. Calcium, like the mineral. B-o-n-e. They put some bone in you, where at? T-h-r-o-a-t. So its inside your throat. That must be why you can’t talk. Well don’t worry, if it’s inside there, I can fish it out. H-O-W? You saw what could do with that rose, didn’t you. I can do the same with animals and people too.”

Hearing this claim from her, the kid wraps his hands around his own throat as he nervously gulps; clearly apprehensive over what Satette is ultimately suggesting. “Hey, I know how scary and painful that sounds. But I won’t do anything else but get that bone out; I swear. You trusted me so far, why not one more time?” Left with little other options to think of, the sound manipulating preteen gives in to her proposal and holds his hands away from his throat; the boy pulling the collar of his coat down as the lively psychic approaches. “Okay…On the count of three.” Sat states, holding her hand out towards the kids neck. “3...2...1...here!”

The psychic of life lightly taps at the child neck to let her natural green aura envelope around it, the skin and muscle holding the throat together unraveling like threads and floating right above the boy’s body; the wind pipe, jugular veins, even the bit of his spine every part of the human throat hovering before Satette. Gotta make this quick. Hold him like this for too long and he could die. Where the hell is that bone? Sat swiftly peruses around the spine, along the side, and within the muscle for any abnormalities among the bones and muscle that make up the inside of the psychic child’s throat, searching for any hint of another psychic aura hidden somewhere around. It wasn’t until she glances to the boy’s vocal cords that she discovers what ails him; a small splinter of bone prodding against the side, coated in a thick turquoise power. There! The young woman is quick to reach past the throat muscles and pluck the troubling splinter right out from the side of the vocal chords; the psychic of life crushing the minuscule piece of calcium between her fingers. Having extracted the small piece of psychic influence out from the kid, Sat immediately starts to put his throat back together; piecing the bone back and weaving the muscle around it to turn the boy’s neck back to normal.

The moment the child’s neck is whole again, he takes in an urgent gasp of air as he falls to his knees; loudly panting as he puts his palm onto his throat. With no immediate problems cropping up from her strange form of surgery, Sat lets out a relieved breath as she dispels her aura from the child’s neck, resting against the kitchen counter as she sighs: “Glad that went better then I expected. With that splinter out of your throat, I imagine you shouldn’t have any problem talking now.” Incredible relief washes over the boy as he rubs and presses his voice box to feels not even a bit of the bone planted in him; the calcium gag muzzling his vocal cords was really gone. “Still, it doesn’t make much sense whoever gagged you to put the shard against your voice box of all places. Wonder why they thought to-” Before pondering any deeper on this, she feels the boy wrap his arms around her waist; Sat peering down to find him hugging her tightly as he weeps against her dress.  A warm smile stretches across the young woman’s cheeks as she pats the weeping childs head; the noise bending kid’s sobbing wails echoing out from the kitchen and across the restaurant as he stands to realize that his voiceless nightmare was now over.

The silence that haunts the meat processing plant is broken by the occasional piece of falling metal, with a sharp clang echoing across the entire factory floor after falling from the ceiling; the harsh clang ringing in his ears as Daydra hovers across the floor. Emboldening the magnetic field in his shoes with a deep blue hue against the blue across the floor, the man of magnetism moves along the factory floor like a roller rink; the psychic doing the occasional spin as he looks around for his surface phasing pursuit. “That laser pointer was a gift from my mom, you know; it cost her nearly 60 dollars. I swear when I find you, I’m going to make you pay for it with your life. Maybe get some more out of whatever organs you have left when I’m done with you. I’d take your guns off too, but the pawn shops around here are cheap as hell.”

Underneath a conveyor belt that her magnetic pursuer hurdles right over, Frida hides on its underside away from him; the dimensional psychic watching her foe careen through the factory none the wiser. Even without his little toy, this asshole’ll still be tricky to take in alive. Without any non lethal weapons on me, figuring out another way to pin him’s gonna be tough. Its while pondering of away snag and bag this man of magnetism that she looks down to the conveyor’s rubber belt she emerges from, feeling its rough and rugged texture against the palm of her hand. Despite its age and looseness from the conveyor belt, the strong rubber proves just as tough and durable as the day the factory had first opened; its reinforced integrity lending her an idea.

Leaping up high above the factory, Daydra magnetizes his glove to the metal steel beam bove from; the high vantage point lending him an eagle eyed view of the entire meat processing floor. In peering across the conveyor belts and the tools attached to them, the magnetic psychic holds a gleeful grin when spotting traces of sky blue aura underneath the stretches of steel; an obvious sign of her presence among the factory floor. To this end can he not help but let out a little chuckle before claiming aloud that: “You’ve had to be on edge for your profession nonstop, but the endless grind has dulled your minds blade.” From the bottom of the beam, the magnetic man swings over to the edge as he keeps his sites locked to the trail of cyan blue glowing across the factory floor; continuing to warn how: “And eventually, be it your firearms or your own mind, every weapon under mountless stress…” In the flash of an instant does Daydra reverse the magnetic pull shared between his gloves and the ceiling support into thick deep red; the man of magnetism launched from the ceiling and down towards the glimmers of sky blue. “Must shatter!” In what was only mere moments, Daydra hurdles down towards the blue light to uncover his pursuit standing among a collection of intersecting conveyor belts; his confident smile waning as he finds the dimensional psychic not showing even a glimpse of astonishment. “I’m not as dull as you think.” defies Frida.

Just a few mere inches stood between the gun woman and her careening foe as the magnetic man’s foot gets snagged in something, completely halting his lunging assault against her; clenched tightly against the top of his foot was a line of thick rubber to stop the bastard right in his tracks. And just when he was beginning to realize the blunder he had dropped in, the belt his foot was snagged in jerks Daydra away to send him flying like a rock to a slingshot; the magnetic man hurdling right where several conveyor lines stood. Hanging from the side of each of these conveyor lines be several rubber belts, pulled of the lines and run across the second dimension of the assembly lines side. The moment the guy careens into the awaiting web of belts, Frida tightly tugs to the one clutched in her hand to make this web come raveling together to ensnare the magnetic psychic in their tough rubber hides; Daydra spinning as the belts envelope his body and catch him suspended in the air.

With her polarizing pursuer snagged in her trap, the dimensional psychic firmly ties the end of belt in her hand onto the side of the closest assembly line; all before approaching the magnetic man weaved in her web of rubber. “Kay; not how I saw this interrogation starting, but I’ve honestly seen weirder. Now that I got you nicely tucked and snugged under these belts, we can start going over what you know about what you know about our man of the hour. I’d loosen those lips if you wanna make this process as painless as possible. Bet a factory like this has to have some pliers meant to pull out bone laying around here; I’d imagine they’d make pulling your teeth as easy as picking apples off an orchard tree.” Yet before she could get out even a single word after this warning, her pinned pursuer lets out a howling guffaw that echoes all across the factory; Frida worryingly puzzled as she gazes upon the magnetic man wriggling around in rubber cocoon.

“The blood not going to your brain or something, is it? The hell’s so funny?” “Amazing! And here I was beginning to be disappointed. But your wit and cunning are as sharp as your aim. Its no wonder you climbed the ranks of the CIA so effectively. Seems my research has yet to fail me.” claims Daydra. “There a point to you bring up your obsessive stalking disorder or what?” “Oh, absolutely. The irony here is simply hilarious. While I may know much about you, it seems you know very little about me.” “I practically got you tied around my little finger; what else do I need to know?” wonders Frida. “Let me demonstrate.”

Shimmering out from between the rubber belts entangling, a deep blue aura glistens across most of Daydra’s clothes; a positive field so potent and intense that it glistens across the entire factory. In watching this force glow from her captive, the dimensional psychic finds the magnet man being pulled skywards and peers up towards the ceiling to discover a strong red power coating the load bearing beam. “Your kidding, right? You really think you can rip yourself out from those belts. Buddy, there industrial grade thick rubber; the stress those lines were made to stand ain’t anywhere near the kind of force you can-” As if to specifically contradict her, the belts wrapped around her ensnared enemy are stretched to their limit and begin to tear apart under the overwhelming magnetic pull. “Oh...I-I guess they are pretty old.”

One by one do the belts keeping Daydra down snap in two against the powerful magnetic pull compelling his clothes and the metal beam above; Frida aims the tip of her uzi right to the magnetic man’s head and demands him to: “Cut that shit out, now! I mean it, I’ll-” “You’ll what, make me the swiss cheese to your ham and pineapple sandwich? Please, I more than know why you’ve refused to put a bullet through my head by now. Without me, your chances of discovering the whereabouts of Dr. December are next to none; why else go through the effort of entrapping me instead of blowing my brains out?” “So what, you don’t think we can’t figure that out ourselves?” “Oh please, I know this isn’t just about me. In the research I’ve conducted over you, I’ve figured you out as someone who takes pride in the work she accomplishes; a woman who recants over leaving a mission unfulfilled. You were trained as an asset; a weapon to be used for the government. The fulfillment in being of use to others, the desire for accomplishing the task at hand; its the only thing keeping you from falling into despair. How do you think the others will look at you coming back to them without even a sliver of hope to offer? What use is a gun that can’t fire?” Daydra’s words prove to cut deep as the gun woman’s aim trembles, with her finger utterly frozen on the trigger; struggling to fire her uzi despite being only inches away from the man of magnetism.

The last belts holding the magnetic psychic down finally succumb to the pressure inflicted by the opposing fields and snaps in two, letting Daydra rocket up towards the ceiling at breakneck speeds; Frida finally snapping out of her hesitation and unloading her uzi clip against her fleeing foe. Her trigger finger is too late however as not one bullet out from the weapon manages to hit her escaping enemy as he rise to a conveyor belt suspended above; the magnetic mobster catching the side as he dulls the polarizing force tugging him up, landing on top of the line as he concluds that it’s: “As I thought.”

Through the serving window does Wedsle leap out from the dinning area and straight into the restaurants kitchen, ducking under the counter to evade the swarm of thrusting white strands that pour out from the other side. The purple psychic quickly rolls aside from the pursuing strings and springs up to the stove top, swiping a pan off the skillet to swing against the lunging strands; the piece of fish on the skillet that was cooking on top flung aside. In but a single sweep, the numerous lines of white that threatened to thrust themselves into him shatter to pieces against the pan’s hard steel; the swarm of broken white tendrils riling back as they flail wildly. A vengeful grin stretches across Weds cheeks as he now holds a way of fighting back against these invasive appendages, taking his charge brandishing the pan as an assload more of them slithering through the window.

Not one out of the white strings stand a chance against the pan’s bottom as the violet psychic comes in swinging at the flock of strands as eagerly as a baseball wielding maniac is to skulls; all of them reduced to powder as Wedsle flails the pan around, cutting their numbers down with every hammering sweep. It isn’t long before the collection of tendrils that gave Wedsle so much trouble in the dinning room was smashed to dust, leaving nothing but powder spread across the kitchen floor; the purple psychic triumphantly chuckles from making quick work of them all before he taunts aloud: “That all the jizz strings you got, bitch; or you fancying pull another out from under the table? You’re call.”

Gazing into the reflection of the boiling pot, Weds finds the turquoise psychic coming out from the corner of the stove with blade of reformed glass in hand, lunging from behind in an attempt to plunge her sharp blade into his back. He quickly flips his pan around to hold it upside down and holds its hot steel to his back; sparks flying as his foe’s glass sword slide across the bottom of the cooking tool. Her plunging assault blocked, the woman in the emerald bomber jacket fumbles across the kitchen before catching herself on the counter, looking back to see her violet foe swipe the metal lid of the pot beside him; Wedsle brandishing the lid as a shield against her glass sword and jests: “Lets see which stands the kitchen heat better; that deformed glass cup, or trashy ass makeup job.”

Holding better against his foe in the emerald jacket, Weds charges at the turquoise psychic with the pot lid held firmly against her; the glass wielding woman leaping onto the top of the counter just as Wedsle tackles into it. She sprints across the kitchen counter top as the violet psychic swings his pan at her, the cooking tool missing the lady as she hurries towards the cutting board; Wedsle chasing after as she reaches her hand for the trout left uncut. As soon as she clutches the piece of fish, she runs her turquoise power all over its body and extracts more strands and the bone from its very flesh; transforming the collection of white material into a set of hooked claws. Witnessing her purple pursuer approach, the lady lashes her new claws against his steel shield; the bone weapons reaching around the pot lid and hooking the handle of the cap. Hooking the pot lids handle with her claws, the woman in the emerald bomber jacket yanks Wedsle shield out from his clutches before she slashes her glass blade down upon him. Her fragil sword breaks into pieces as Wedsle strikes its glass away, scattering across the kitchen counter. Just when it seemed as if the purple psychic had the chance to counterattack, a piercing pain overtakes him when the woman bone claws plunge into the side of his torso. Before the turquoise woman could dig her claws any deeper into him, the purple psychic strikes at her hand and knocks her grasp away from her bone hooks; Wedsle quickly backing away to the other side of the kitchen and away from his bone bending foe the moment she looses her grip.

Leaning back against the counter, the violet psychic grits his teeth as he pulls the hooks out from his side and crushes their frail bone with his bare hands;  the shards of fish bones crumbling from his grasp and to the floor. “No glass, no bone, no nothing: looks like you’re out of options, fish bitch. Unless you got another trick to pull out your ass, you’re as cooked as fresh cut salmon.” boasts Weds. His braggadocios claims only make the turquoise lady smile as she reaches her arm over to the fridge right next to her, hitting the side of the door to open it wide and unveil within the ice box a full stock of assorted fish, vegetables, and sauces in bulk; intended to serve to customers. Realizing the tables he worked hard to turn have suddenly jerk back in his foe’s favor, Wedsle can’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose as he lets out a frustrated sigh; remarking aloud: “I feel like somebody out there’s just fucking with me at this point; I don’t know who, but it’s someone. Like this shit shouldn’t happen every single-” Yet there is little time for the purple to reflect on this particular reoccuring predicament as a thick turquoise power envelopes everything in the fridge, the bright bluish green glow overtaking the kitchen; an all too clear sign for Weds that shit was about to go down.

In the alleyway behind the seafood restaurant, the backdoor leading in busts to piece as Wedsle rams his way out; the wooden chips and pieces of the door scattering across the concrete as the purple psychic bolts out to the cobblestone streets. Out from the doorway he had plowed through does the woman in the emerald bomber jacket leap out after him; the collection of bone matter and glass she gathered taking in the form of a long neck, malformed skull of a dragon across her arm. The turquoise psychic casts her dragon skull after her purple pursuit; its spinal neck uncurling from her arm as the head bares its sharpened fangs. When reaching the end out of the alleyway, Weds swiftly turns the corner moments before the skull of the dragon could bite down upon his flesh; its teeth instead digging into the corner itself.

Racing back to the main road lined with numerous shops and restaurants, Wedsle quickly checks around for so much as a sign of someone else as hurries across the cobblestone walkway, failing to find even a soul left anywhere among this part of the freshly washed armpit of wall street. God dammit! If I knew this bitch didn’t just have bone under her spell, I wouldn’t have cleared the whole fucking street out; there’s barely anybody left out here to siphon pants shitting terror from for dozens of yards. I ain’t got nothing else to fight back with, and I’m getting real damn tired running around; more so than usual, really. How much blood did I loose getting shanked so much, 7 ounces...10? Could’ve been more, hard to tell feeling so lightheaded.

Wedsle fleeting hurry through the shopping district comes to a harsh end when the fangs of the dragon skull bite at the back of his leg, leaving him to fumble onto the cobblestone street. After rolling across the bumpy stone, the violet psychic peeks back to see the nasty cut left behind and hisses; Weds barely even able to so much as move it from the condition it had been left in. Left with his leg torn into, Wedsle can only brace himself as the malformed dragon skull is thrust at him once more; its teeth priming to chomp down on him with just a single bite.

The fangs of the skull would not bore into the purple psychic’s chops however; its neckline strangled and its jaw forced shut by thick slivers of flesh and plant matter. Just as she’s perplexed of what holds her dragon at bay, the turquoise psychic along with it are flung back by the meat and are sent hurdling across the shopping district; the lady in the emerald jacket using her dragon arm to reach at a nearby street light to stop herself from careening onto the street.

When catching herself from taking a harsh fall and landing back onto her feet, the woman wielding the dragon skull peers out from where she had been chucked to witness a newcomer standing in front of her purple pursuit. Across this interloper’s arms were masses of pulsating thick meat and vegetables spliced together to create sleeves that come together from strands of muscle to form bone shard flesh cestus; all enveloped in the young womans potent natural green aura that flares in the young woman eyes as she stares ready to rumble. “Yearitle, is it? You have some pretty nasty eggs down in your overies if your having a little orphan kid do your dirty work; sticking that bone shard in his neck so he couldn’t even plead for help. You can collect all the calcium you want, bitch; none of its gonna stop me from scrambling your fucking eggs into an omelet!” swears Satette, an intense green power flaring in her eyes as she stares her foe down.

Sparks light across the factory floor as they fly from every hook, every guillotine, and every mallet Daydra uproots from the assembly line to cast towards the fleeing dimensional psychic; Frida phasing into and sliding across conveyor belts whilst evading the pieces of equipment flung her way. Flung at such terrible speeds, the miscellaneous equipment lodges itself into the steel making up the assembly line with enough of a punch to cause them collapse; yet the gun woman’s agility proves better as she leaps out from the plummeting belt and dive right into the other. Frida’s efforts to retreat start to pay off as she nears the end of the factory; the wide wall standing before littered with cracks and fractures that the dimensional psychic could easily slip through. “Giving up on the hunt so easily now that you’ve become the prey? Truly irony non more fitting for the cast out of the CIA.” Though this comment proving brief, it’s ultimately is the final straw Frida can take as she leaps out from the belt’s 2nd dimension; the wall merging psychic aiming her firearms against her magnetic foe as she careens through the air.

Just when the gun woman is tempted to pull the trigger and unleash lead on this dipshit, a storm of metal shards and meathooks hurdle out from nowhere to slash across her body; several of them sticking themselves into her back rather then zipping by. This unexpected barrage of slashing metal has her plummet down towards the factory floor. What!? But how!? When did he- Glancing to her backside does Frida find the source of this surprise assault, that being pieces of the laser pointer left stuck to her back; their deep blue hue responding to the red field enveloping the mess of metal hooks. That sneaky motherfucker still had the laser pointer pieces magnetized; they were just so weak, I didn’t notice they were still on me.

Struck down by the surprise barrage of metal, Frida plummets towards the factory floor and hurdling to a pile of cardboard boxes; the stacks let out a sickening squelch as the wet cardboard breaks to let burst a mess of spoiled meat products. Ribs, steaks, beef, hamburger and hot dogs spill out from the boxes to splatter onto the cold, dusty pavement floor; the dimensional psychic sliding down from the pile of wet cardboard as a rank stench permeates the stale processing plant’s air. The dimensional psychic slowly pries herself from the meat juice coated floor as she resists the urge to vomit, swiping away the bits of rotten food that had fallen on top of her; all before she tries to reach over to the pieces of metal and hooks still impaled in her back.

But before she could so much as attempt to worm out a single one of these shards, the man of magnetism lands onto the catwalk above her; a sharp piece of cutlery pulled from the conveyor belt in his hand. “First your decommission, now your decapitation; how far the government’s dog has fallen!” boasts Daydra, coating the butchering blade in a thick red before hurdling it after the downed dimensional psychic. The one sided meat cutter descending towards her at incredible speeds, there’s little time for Frida to escape into the floor; Frida holding her uzi’s out in hopes of softening the incoming blow.

A sharp clang echoes across the factory floor, a loud banging slice that an employee would hear from the bovine guillotine line in the facilities better days; the familiar ringing lies however. Frida lowers her uzi’s as she looks on perplexed to what transpires, seeing the cutting blade left held in the middle of the air; not hovering, but seemed like it was stuck on something invisible standing between it and Frida. Daydra is left just as shockingly puzzled looking down to his magnetized blade left plunged into what seemed like nothing but thin air. “I...I don’t understand; the cutter was magnetized to the hooks in your back. Wh-what did it get caught on?” “Frida!” they both then hear shouted overhead.

Peering directly above where the sharp cutlery was embedded, the two of them discover a middle aged man coated in cerulean blue standing in the middle of the air; Tuesco looking down to the dimensional psychic and worrying: “You alright there?” “Tuesco!?” Frida can’t help but question. “Here in just the nick of ti-” he tries to boast. But in the middle of bragging, he swiftly falls short as he winds up slipping off the top of his invisible pillar and tumbles down onto the concrete floor; a pained hiss seeping through his teeth as he pries himself off the pavement and assures that: “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“What the hell are you doing here!?” the dimensional psychic first asks him. “Well, after I got down from the roof you left me on, I thought about setting off to do a little of my own investigating; and the trail lead me right on over to the source of this neighborhood’s drug problem. After feeling such hefty guilt weighing on their backs, they were kind enough to tell me who was running the whole show.” “You...did all that on your own?” “Of course I did. I might’ve not been a beat cop, but that didn’t stop me on a good number of investigations.”

“How fascinating.” the magnetic man states, creeping out from behind Tues and giving him a good scare. “Standing in the air like that, you must’ve made a pillar to stop the cutter dead in its tracks. But of what?” “I’m guessing you gotta to be Daydra then?” “Hm? Oh, yeah. Just-just gimme a second.” the magnetic psychic tells him, wondering over to the invisible pillar to feel its surface. “So smoothly cut, so toughly sturdy, yet invisible to the naked eye. But what…what is it made of?” Both the air solidifying psychic and Frida are left creeped out watching their foe intensely study the column that Tuesco had fallen from; him looking over to the dimensional psychic with questioning confusion, Frida simply shrugging for him as she was just as lost. “You…” the man then turns back with, a curiously wide stare in his eyes. Leaping away from the pillar does Daydra clutches Tuesco by his shoulders and rapidly shakes him while he demands that: “You have to tell me! Tell me what you’ve done to conjure this pillar! I must know!” “Holy crap!? What’s this guy’s damage!?”

Freaked out by his foe’s overzealous nature, Tuesco is quick to push the magnetic man off him before putting his hand up between them; Daydra watching intently as Tues’ cerulean blue aura swiftly slithers through the air. The magnetic man is in intrigued awe as he sees the air around them be sucked into the aura like a powerful vacuum; the cerulean power molding into a giant square slab. The moment the chunk of solid air was formed, the psychic who made it tackles the face to send it tumbling down upon their magnetic menace; Daydra too caught up in his fascinating discovery to get out of the way in time. The moment the thick board of air falls onto their foe, Tuesco darts over to the dimensional psychic and sweeps her off the floor and onto her feet; both running as fast as they could away from the magnetic man.

Despite being trapped underneath the slabs underestimated weight, Daydra can’t help but let out a giddy little laugh; similar to a kid coming down the stairs on Christmas and anticipating for what toys could be underneath. “Incredible! Trapping the surrounding air in a vacuum to transform its compounds into solid matter; I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Raising his palm up in the air, he envelopes his leather glove in a thick layer of blue, drawn to the deep red that coats the catwalk he stood above earlier; their magnetic pull prying Daydra out from underneath the hefty chunk of solid air. It wasn’t long before the man of magnetism was was freed from the slab’s crushing weight, hanging onto the bottom of the catwalk by his glove as he can’t stop chuckling. “A power like that in capable hands could be a true force to be reckoned with. I must know; I must know what he’s capable of!”

“Alright. You sure your okay?” Tuesco asks the dimensional psychic. “Stopping asking and just pull it out.” demands Frida. Exposing her back for him, Frida bites down on the bottom of her lip as Tues pulls out the hooks and shards embedded into her to keep herself from screaming; all while hiding in the janitors closet. He lets out a relieved sigh as he discards the last piece of metal, claiming that: “I think that’s the last of them. How are you holding up?” “I’ll be alright; they didn’t go that deep. But we’ll worry about that later; right now, I need a way to bag and tag this bastard so we can interrogate him.” “Can’t you just shoot him or something?” “I only got lethal weapons on me; almost everything I have’ll blow a hole through this dick’s body.” “That whole arsenal and you seriously don’t got a tranquilizer gun in there!?” questions Tuesco. “I didn’t think I needed one in our cut throat predicament; but I might not now that your here.” claims Frida. “Huh?” “That column you stood on practically stopped that cutter right in its tracks; pinned down that piece of shit too, because he couldn’t magnetize the solid air you made. I think we can catch him if we play our cards just right here; the moment he slips up, stuff the son of a bitch in a box. Think you can do that, Tues?” “I...I don’t know.” “What’re you talking about?”

“I was up here thinking that it’d be just standard procedure like up in midtown. But this, this is way worse then I could’ve imagined. What I saw while I was looking for clues, I don’t think I could forget. You were right about me, I’m way out of my depth here. I’m nothing like you.” “You’re right. You’re not like me. I can hit a shot 12 feet off the broadside of boulevard, you can’t. I’ve spent years learning my way around an assortment of weapons, you haven’t. I’ve been to places around the world and gained new experiences, you didn’t. But you know what else? I didn’t investigate or follow clues to get here, you did. I wasn’t bothering going after the whole shebang putting this place down, you have. And I can’t catching this freaky fuckhead without killing him, but you can.”

The gun woman’s words start to perk the psychic of solid air out from his slump as Frida continues on how: “We both have our own strengths and weaknesses to work with. Importance aside, both of our jobs had us on teams to cover those weaknesses for us, all so we could use our strength to the fullest.” “Yeah...Right…I think get what your saying. You cover for my weakness, so I can use my strength and catch our perp.” “Exactly. I got a plan up cooking up here that could use some of that strength; but you need to follow every word that comes out of my mouth. I’m your acting chief today, got it!” “Yes ma’am!” Tuesco salutes. “Good to hear. Now, lets bag and tag this polarizing piece of shit.”

The noise of squelching flesh and clacking bones could be heard echoing across the cobblestone path as Satette  brawls against Yearitle through the briefly baron armpit of Wall street; the turquoise woman thrusting the stretch of her dragon skull arm after the lively psychic. When the heads sharp fangs attempt to bite down upon her, Sat takes hold of the skull by its jaws to keep its mouth from clamping down; the muscles held in her meat gauntlets tensing as she pries open the dragon’s jaw. Its thanks to the extra muscle in her gauntlets that she shatters the teeth of the beast with nothing but her clutches; the calcium controlling psychic reeling the head of her broken dragon skull away.

While reforming the remnants of her busted dragon head, the woman in the emerald bomber jacket jabs her fingers into the concrete sidewalk; dragging her nails across the pavement to unleash a shockwave of white claws that rend through the streets. Satette slaps her muscular gauntlets against the pavement as she swiftly stretches them out to let her leap over the rending wave of slashing white, careening through the air as she transforms her mass of meat and plant matter into an arm brandishing an impaling horn. The lively psychic plummeting down towards her, Yearitle molds the collection of bones she holds into a razor sharp scythe; the bone brandishing woman evading the thrusting horn to slash at the arm which holds it. In but one swift stroke, the calcium controlling psychic cuts through the muscular flesh Sat wields, with pieces of its flesh splattering against the building beside them.

Though the flesh of her weapon had been slashed clean through, Satette rolls with the punches and commands the piece of meat she wields to slither along the neck of her foe’s weapon; the strands of muscles coiling around the sliver of bone marrow that was its handle. The neck of the bone blade fails to stand up to the muscles crushing grasp and shatters to pieces, sparing head of the weapon itself which drops down to its maker. Yearitle leaps up to take the severed head of the scythe and reforms the blade into a forked pike, thrusting its ends down to plunge right into Satette’s chest. The splintered bone impales into her dress, plunging into the soft flesh of her foe with ease; the calcium controlling psychic giving a satisfied grin upon thinking this to be checkmate. This doesn’t prove to be as much of a finishing move as Yearitle hoped for, as the bone impaled into her isn’t enough to stop Satette from slugging the turquoise woman right in the mouth with a beefy blow; the emerald jacket wearing woman fumbling across the sidewalk.

When rising back from her fall, the turquoise psychic peers back to the woman she staked to witness Satatte pull the splintered bone straight out from her midsection; parts of Sats dress ripping off to show the front of her chest completely covered in a thick layer of fleshy tissue. “Meat vest!” the lively psychic enthusiastically exclaims. But Sat’s enthusiasm wavers when finding her foe looking to her with a disgusted glare; prompting her to go: “Don’t look at me like that. It’s a neat idea.” To this can Yearitle only shake her head to her, as if silently telling her that “It isn’t, it really isn’t.” “Oh, whatever.” Satette simply shrugs off, putting her hand over the meat over her midsection. Out from underneath her torn dress does she pull out the beefy muscle covering her front, transforming them into a cluster of arms that stretch out after her calcium controlling foe.

Shaking away his wounded stupor, Wedsle awakens from his daze to find himself slumped against the steel of a street lamp; his crimson trailing away from the middle of the road like somebody dragged him over. He then finds exactly who had pulled him aside when peering over to discover the sound controlling kid looking down upon him with a mixture of worry and fright; the boy’s terror contrasting with the purple psychic’s soft smile he wears gazing up to him and greeting him with: “Hey kid; glad to see you again. Sorry it took us a little while to come get you, a lot of shit we had to wade through these past few weeks. And things look like they don’t seem to be getting any better. Figure we come and nab you before it all goes into the fan at terminal speeds and we all wind up with a lot of it right in our mouths. You get what I’m saying here?”

But rather than verbally answer Weds, the kid takes his hand out from behind to present a slab of fresh muscle and meat, all while enveloped in Satette’s signature natural green aura. Sort of looked like a piece of meat stew you’d hold in your hand and chow down like a piece of pizza. “Oh...Guessing that means you met with Sat, huh? Told you to give me that so I can be patched up? Happy you got to meet her. Bit a screw or two loose up there, but she’s hella nice. Headstrong and determined girl. You know if I didn’t wind up meeting her, I don’t think I would’ve had the guts to start all this shi-” Yet before another word could so much as escape from the violet psychic, the kid throws the chunk of meaty muscle right in his face with comical slap; Wedsle grunting from the chunky beef hitting him right in the nose before he goes: “Kid, what the hell!? You can’t just slap a man with your meat like that! You’re only what, like 11! I’m not-”

Again is the purple psychic’s speech cut short when slab of meaty muscle thrown upon him starts to unravel into dozens of strings that slither across his body; Weds himself shuttering as these countless strands of flesh worm their way into his body to heal up his numerous gashes, effectively replacing the tissue lost in a matter of moments. Once these strips of of meaty muscle were done patching Weds’ wounds, the cuts and slashes left across his body were sown shut, covered in spots of fleshy orange. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

The purple psychic pulls himself off the cobblestone road to then feel the side of his blazer being tugged back, glancing over to see the sound controlling kid trying to pull him away. “What, no; Sat went the other way. Ain’t no way in hell were letting her have all the fun.” Opposed to Wedsle’s eagerness to return to the fray, the boy on the other hand is hesitant on even approaching the direction the fight went and tempts to flee as he inches away. “Kid, you shouldn’t run away from your problems; shit’s like some persistent predator hunting for its prey, they only gonna sniff you out sooner or later. You wanna stop’em, do what any real hood beat cop would do when feeling slightly threatened and react with ridiculously overblown violence; but I’d suggest a little more rational and patients then what those oinkers would put into it. Nah, down in the depths of this urban jungle, only way this is ending is with blood on the pavement; you wanting that to be your blood?” Wedsle’s words of encouragement prove enough to get the kid to cease his tempting retreat and look back to see the violet psychic offering his hand, the shaken confidence held in the child beginning to return as he reaches for the awaiting palm.

Plunging her fingers into the nearest wall, the woman in the emerald jacket pulls out the concrete held in between the bricks and gathers the calcium within; all the while Satette forms the meat she wields into a reaching hand after her. Transforming her collection of calcium, Yearitle slashes at her foe’s stretch of flesh with a set of deathly claws that tear through the arm like butter. And reaching down with her other hand, the bone bending psychic infuses her turquoise aura into the sidewalk to reform its surface into a barrage of lunging spears she casts at her open foe. These pikes would fail to reach their target however, as the stretch of muscle and meat they streak past would lunge out in tendrils and entangle around their necks; the muscles swiftly engulfing the meager bones in but seconds. Similar to a komodo dragon swallowing its prey, bones and all.

Refusing to back down, Yearitle extracts the calcium from the parts of her foe’s fleshy weapon she cut to pieces and incorporates it into what bone matter she wields; the turquiose psychic witnessing the fleshy weapon of her foe incorporate the calcium spear into its body as it rushes in on the offense. Against the incoming mess of meat does the bone bending bitch form the calcium she wields into a sturdy shield to block Satette’s mass of muscle; Yearitle holding her self firm as she pushes the beef back. Sat’s stretch of meat parts open and like the jaws of a mouth, baring the parts of broken spear as the teeth as she commands the head to bite down upon the edges of her femur reforming foe’s defenses; the fangs of the maw chomping down with a loud crunch. Yearitle struggles to move underneath the power of her meat manipulating foe’s mouth like grasp; her defense proving not as calcium enriched as she thought as the shield she hastily made start to fracture under the pressure of the lively psychic’s jaws. Peering to her feet, the bone bending psychic finds the concrete she stands on stripped of what calcium she could wield; her side showing to be just as deficient in her element as the brick wall had been picked dry.

Just when it seemed that Satette had this child exploiting piece of shit pinned, her situation sours as her mass of muscle begins being torn asunder by sharp slivers of white calcium that spin from underneath like a blender; Satette feeling these whirling blades tugging at her cobbled together collection of flesh. Threatened to be pulled into this blender of sharp bone claws, the lively young woman unravels the muscle hugging her arm to let the rest of it be swallowed by the whirlwind of white; fumbling to the floor as the mass of bone and flesh explode. Getting herself off the cobblestone road, Satette finds the street covered in bits of flesh and bone resulting from the meaty eruption; some splattered on the walls, others on the windows; even some strands left dangling on top a couple of street lights. Shit, street cleaners got one helluva day ahead of them. I’d demand a pay raise.

Among the mess of meat that cakes that part of the shopping distract, the lively psychic spots her calcium controlling enemy, bare of any bone to fight back with, attempting to make a break for it; Yearitle sprinting down the cobblestone path to take the corner at the end. Satatte doesn’t hesitate to follow after her foe, determined to make due of her promise to scramble her ovaries into a well balanced breakfast. But making the most important meal of the day is unfortunately put on hold as she follows her foe around the corner, only to discover on the other side a crowd packed full of tourists and shoppers alike; the lively psychic failing to make out the bone bending bitch anywhere among them.

Infusing the floor underneath him and the shoes with the same red magnetism, Daydra skates across the factory ground as smooth and gracefully as a trained roller bladder across the surface of a skating track; glancing across the lengths of the conveyor belts he darts beside in searching for his pair of prey. It isn’t long however before one of them leaps out from the cover of darkness to attempt an assault, Tuesco springing out from behind one of the belts ahead as he forms a sledgehammer from the air; the man of magnetism strengthening the power of the magnetic field shared between his shoes and the floor to make a bounding jump out of his way. When right above of the air solidifying psychic, Daydra shifts the hue of his shoes to a sharp blue to make a swiftly descent down towards his foe; Tuesco manifesting a shield overhead before the magnetic man could stomp down upon him.

Despite blocking his foe’s lethal crash down, Tuesco struggles to keep the magnetic man up against him as the fields Daydra empowers continue to pull towards one another. The strength the psychic of air is pinned comparable to that of a hydraulic press, slowly crushing him under its increasing weight. “I wager an old spud like you hasn’t been a psychic for very long, have you? The way you utilize your power is passable, but it’s nowhere near refined enough; forming from the air only simple shapes and tools. Our age may lie otherwise, but the experience between us is night and day. How I wish to see time and practice sharpen your abilities to a fine polished sheen; but alas, there’s little room for such indulgences in my line of work.” the magnetic man boasts. “That’s a real shame.” goes Tuesco. “Hm?” “You’re pretty much right on one thing, I’m still pretty new to all these psychic shenanigans. Barely know anything about holding my own in this kind of fight. But that don’t really matter one bit when an old dog like me’s still got some reliable tricks.” “Really? And those would be?”

Right then does the man of magnetism suddenly feel a hefty weight brought down upon him from overhead, a burden so heavy and sudden that it brings Daydra to his knee’s; it felt as if an intense girth had clamp down against his body. “The element of surprise.” Looking up to what had fallen on top of him, the magnetic psychic is baffled to discover his enemy’s cerulean blue aura holding the form of a thick flat slab attached to a rod it slid down from; all of which conjured from Tuesco’s very fingers that hold his shield up. Try as the man of magnetism might to push the piece of solid air off him, its tremendous weight pins him down right where he stands; Daydra failing to budge even an inch out from this as he holds up the hefty chunk with but his skinny arms. “You idiot! Don’t you realize this added weight will only hasten your crushing demise! Fighting against it and my magnetic force will only assure your death long before mine!” “That a bet your willing to take, buddy.” Its in really thinking about his predicament for a moment that it starts become worse off for him. The magnetization he holds crushing his foe beneath him keeping him pinned down underneath the heft of this slab, his skinnier frame contrasting with the man under him; not to mention the woman he had been pursuing before still lurking around. Both the irony and the odds were plain for Daydra to see.

Tuesco’s burden starts to lessen as the magnetic force underneath his feet disappear and lighten the load he holds overhead, taking the moment to catch his breath as he lifts up his solid air and his foe that air clamps down on. This moment of reprise however is less than brief though, as his site is drawn back up to the magnetic psychic above him, witnessing his foe infuse his shirt and pants in a red hue; Tuesco preparing for anything as the red enveloping his foe above swiftly thickens.

Both shirt and pants coated in the same magnetic forces, the two articles of clothing explode in a repulsing blast that knocks away all that was near; the wave pushing the slab of solid air off of Daydra’s back and lending him the chance to slip out. Once springing out from the air solidifying psychic’s clamping trap, the striped magnetic man leaps over to one of the conveyor belts close by and clutches onto its side, rapidly infusing his gloves and the steel of the belt in the same thick blue hue. The moment Daydra lets go of the belt, he’s sent hurdling back toward the man who moments ago had pinned him, keeping his legs straight as he’s drives his feet right into his foe’s stomach; the overwhelming blow knocks Tuesco right up into a set of stairs leading up to the catwalk.

Before the magnetic man could lunge in to try and finish Tuesco, a hot piece of led pierces right into Daydra’s ankle and brings him to his knee’s; the polarizing psychic peering to where the bullet was fired to discover the gunwoman he had been chasing before positioned in a wall along the side of the processing plant, aiming the end of her sniper rifle at him. “Hands up, or the next one goes through your head.” she warns. “Oh, please; don’t tell me this was your grand counterattack. Sick your lackey on me long enough to get a good sniping position over me? I honestly expected better.” Daydra doubts as he sticks his gloved hands up. “Better or not, I got you in my sights either way. So keep those hands where I can see them!” “My hands? As you wish.” the magnetic man complies with a sly grin.

But in mere moments before the dimensional psychic could so much as flinch, Daydra encloses his gloves in a bright red hue before he’s suddenly lifted towards the ceiling above; the man of magnetism hurdling straight up to the roof beams coated in a powerful blue force. “Dammit!” curses Frida. When she frantically aims her rifle up after her rising foe before pulling the trigger, the sniper bullet that she shoots just misses the man by a couple of inches; her target flying up to behind a suspend piece of hefty equipment for cover.

From the ceiling beam onto the back of the heavy machine, Daydra envelopes it in a thick red power to have be pulled back towards the metal beam he was on a second ago; the chains suspending it clanking around as its lifted to the ceiling. The moment the giant metal part touches the ceiling beam, the magnetic field engulfing the equipment swiftly shifts from a thick red to a sharp blue; the instant switch in polarization launching the giant conveyor belt attachment from the roof and down towards the dimensional psychic like a plummeting meteor. Frida slips right out from the wall before the giant piece of metal comes at her, plummeting back down towards the factory floor as the iron equipment crashes into the wall she came from.

Among falling towards the ground is Frida left ultimately vulnerable as she sees the polarizing psychic launching himself right at her with a sharp piece of machine cutlery in his grasp; a maniacal smile plastered across his face as he aims to plunge the blade into her. Yet Frida can’t help but crack a confident smile in this moment of checkmate against; her assuring smile throwing him off. When just several inches away from each other is the magnetic man’s careening assault thwarted as Daydra suddenly smacks into the very air between them, as if he had collided head first into an invisible solid wall. Atop the catwalk over them, Tuesco stands looking down to them as he holds onto the invisible column that he had finished creating with his cerulean blue power. “Got em!” Almost instantly upon impact is Daydra rendered unconscious from the head on blow to his head, left only to fumble down towards the floor; the magnetic man landing harshly on top of a stack of soiled boxed meat with a squelchy thud.

Descending down to the ground herself, Frida shifts into the floor like a training Olympic diver to soften her landing before quickly surfacing out; the dimensional psychic watching as her air solidifying partner slides down from the pillar he stopped their foe with. “Didn’t do too bad for a rookie there.” she complements. “Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve come up with baiting him the way you did. Purposely leaving yourself open to making him run head first into my pillar. I didn’t think it’d work.” “Relax, you did fine. Really pulled through on your end.” “You think so?” “Course.”

“Not that I ain’t glad your thanking me, but I feel like I should be saying sorry instead.” Tuesco claims. “For what?” “You were right before, I’m way too out of my depth here. Things out here don’t work like they do when I was on the force; but went ahead acting like they did. It wasn’t until I went around doing a little digging how severe of a problem the mob truly is. After when seeing what could happen to many other if they’re not stopped, no wonder you left me on that roof.” “Yeah, in hindsight; just stranding you up there might’ve been a little harsh. But it sound’s like its getting through your head. We’re not just doing going against the mob as a power grab; we’re fighting for this city and people that live in it. Glad you’re finally starting to see that.” “Thank you, ma’am.”

Their touching moment is put on hold when they look back over to the man they had just knocked out, watching the boxes of meat he landed into collapse and bury him. “Do you think he’s dead?” Tuesco wonders. Underneath the pile of smelly cardboard boxes can box of them hear a pained moan from underneath, Frida assuring how: “Nah, he’s fine.”

Gazing into the depths among one of Stone streets busy shopping districts, the lively psychic is utterly frustrated from having lost the calcium controlling psychic within the depths of the ignorant and clueless crowd; a restless growl seeping out from between her teeth as she continues to peer through. Can’t find a trace of that boney bitch anywhere; no sign, no aura, nothing. If she gets away now, I don’t doubt she’ll rat out how we got the kid with us and try and sniff us out through him. Dammit! Don’t got much other option on me. Gonna have to dive after her.

“Don’t go in there!” she then suddenly hears Wedsle warn, causing her stop from taking another step and look around. “Weds? That you? I ain’t seeing ya; where are you?” “Talking to ya through the kids powers; everything we say’ll be funneled only between eachother.” “Like what, a sort of psychic rendition of two cans on a string thing?” “Pretty much? You ever wonder how that works, anyway? I read somewhere that it’s due to vibrations, but it has to be more than-” “Why you telling me to stop? She’ll get away.” “Bitch ain’t planning on it. I can definitely see her waiting in the crowd; trying to bait you into a deathtrap.” “Wait, you know where she is!?” “Yeah, but being careful through here’s key if you’re aiming to nail it to her where the sun don’t shine. You need to follow my words right down to the fucking letter, got that?” “Right, just lead the way.” Satette complies, going right on into the awaiting crowd of shoppers.

Within the hectic crowd does the calcium controlling psychic hobble deeper among the tourists, with some of the passerby’s left concerned by her bruises; some even outright asking her if she was alright. Yearitle nonetheless remains silent and patient among them as she lays waiting for her foe to step into the mob; the moment that the life bending woman dives into this crowd will be the time to turn this mob into a deathtrap. Once deep enough into the fray, she’ll be helpless as the bones in everyone around here will be plunged into her flesh, every femur, every wishbone, and every single rib skewering her alive. When that bitch is left as nothing but the centerpiece of an entire bone bramble, that purple prick and that kid’ll be next.

Her patient plan to lure the lively psychic into the depths of the touring mob takes a rather disastrous turn as the turquoise psychic is suddenly struck through her chest from behind by an impaling pike made from meat and bone; the grotesqueness weapon infused in Satette’s natural green power. Mortally wounded by the unexpected appendage of flesh, Yearitle peers back to discover the spikes origin coming from the body of a random tourist behind her; their flesh swirling out to plunge their bones into her. A look past this tourist does she find the man beside them with his body morphed to thrust his own flesh into the other. Past that guy can the same be said for the woman next to him, with a dozen other forming a line of impaling tendrils and bones that stretch all around her; all of them enveloped in the lively woman’s power. In her dreading fright, she question how in the hell her life controlling enemy had managed to sniff her out among this packed crowd of people; her gaze drawn upwards when noticing a tint of magenta pink wafting through the air. When recognizing this discoloration, she follows its trail to the top of the buildings overhead and finds her guess over its source to be right; the kid she had stuck under her command funneling the voice of the purple psychic she attempted to take the life of.

“Did I nail her?” asks Satette, her hand plunged into the side of an unsuspecting tourist, twisting a sliver of their body to pierce into and burrow into the others to control in a chain. “Yep, Bullseye’d the bitch right in the back.” confirms Wedsle, a smirk on his face as he looks down to the dread plastered across his attempted assassin. With their calcium controlling crook taken care off, Satette pulls her powers in reverse and makes the tendrils coming from the chain of people withdraw themselves away from one another; the damage done in the process being fully healed as the lively psychic pull her power away from the crowd, like there was never any signs of bodily harm to begin with. After Sat withdraws the last of her power from the first guy she forms back to normal, a terrified scream rings through the shopping district as the woman in the emerald bomber jacket among the collapses to the cobblestone; everyone surrounding Yearitle kneeling down to check on her, only to find her having succumb to her fatal impalement.

Coming back tot he world of the waking, a pained grunt sounds out from Daydra as he awakens to the site of a bright light; his eyes adjusting to find this light belonging to a florescent light buzzing above. Beyond this luminescence does he find himself within the confines of a closed off room somewhere in the processing plant, evident by the stacks of discarded labels and logo’s shared by the boxes of meat and a couple of broken parts from the belts. When attempting to make for the door, he finds himself entombed in what felt to him like a box he fails to see with his naked eye; forced to stand upright with his arms tightly packed against his sides. “Comfy in there?” he then hears a familiar voice ask him. From his struggles does the magnetic man witnesses the gun woman he attempted to pursue step out from the dark corner of the room; Daydra almost immediately demanding to know: “What-what is this!!? What did you stick me in!?” “Nothing much, just a box made of solid air. Partner in crime of mine made it nice and snug for ya.” “Let me out of this, right now! Or I swear I’m gonna-” “Gonna what, magnetize something to fly right at me? Fat fucking chance there, mate. Long as your stuck in that square, you ain’t attracting anything.”

“What...what are you planning on doing to me?” he then questions. “Depends. You start singing like a canary about Dr. December, you fly free.” “An interrogation? You don’t even have anything to torture me with. What, you’re gonna bring your friend in here to make some pliers or something.” “Nah, new meat like him seen enough for one day. But you got a point, no pliers to pull teeth out, no car battery to hook to your testicles to. All we got laying around here is some rotting slabs of meat and rusty equipment. Eh, I ain’t too worried; I’m sure I can think of something to do with all those that’ll get you squealing like the pigs they processed.” To Frida’s vague, but intimidating threat, the entrapped magnetic man can do nothing but gaze to his interigator with perplexed fear, the only response he could come up with was to utter: “...What?”

A couple of blocks away from the armpit of Wallstreet, Satette and Wedsle have taken the kid to the closest fast food restaurant to sit down and chat with the sound controlling kid; both of them left speechless as they watch the little boy scarf down the meal they bought for him. Large fries, bacon burger, soda, apple slices, even some nuggets; all of it beginning to disappear before their eyes as its shoves right in the boy’s mouth. “Jesus, little guy; slow down. You’re gonna wind up choking.” Satette warns him. “Yeah, chill. I get you might’ve not ate in a couple days, but at the speed your stuffing yourself, your stomach and lower intestine are gonna pop like confetti. Trust me, seen it happen.” Wedsle adds. “You’ve...actually seen that before?” “11 times as a matter of fact. Always heard the pop before they die too.”

These harrowing words of warning are enough to get the boy to momentarily cease shoving fries through his face and swallow them all at once; needing a moment to catch his breath after downing so much food at once. The noise bending boy reaches over to his drink to wash down the rest of his food, all the while he hears Weds state how: “So, yeah. That’s pretty much why we’re wanting to take you over to our place; get some rest, some food, a nice shower; just somewhere to keep your head down until this shit show’s all over.” “I know how all this sounds too good to be true coming from a couple of former mobsters. But considering one of them tried making you put me on ice, we figured it’d be a helluva lot better deal for all of us if you laid low for a little bit. What do ya say kid, sound like a good deal?” To this can the kid not help but nod as he slurps down the rest of the fountain drink, letting out a loud burp as soon as he was done guzzling it all down. “Looks like you have a little more room in there for dessert. Why don’t you get yourself something nice off the menu?” Sat offers, pulling out three dollars from her pocket to hand over to the kid.

A glimmering enthusiasm in his eye, the boy hops right out from the booth and swipes the money right out from the lively psychic’s clutches before he races right back in line; leaving Wedsle alone with her to speak up with: “Weds. Be honest with me here. Don’t tell me we’re putting this poor kid to work for us. With the sort of bull we had to put up with, the last thing I want from him is to end up experiencing that sort of bleak cruelty we did at his age.” “Don’t sweat it, we won’t.” Wedsle simply responds. “Cause I don’t want another emotionally fucked up kid growing up in this-...What?” “Yeah, same here. New York city already has enough people like us with screwed upbringings scuttling around and either turning to self destructive habits or take it out on your poor average joe. None of that solves anything, it just makes everyone’s life worse while the rich fat fuck faces causing the shitshow keep raking in the dough. You ain’t gonna really satiate hunger by eating the hungry; And this kid ain’t gonna be a part of the problem that put him on the streets in the first place.” “And...if he says he’s up for it?” “Tough constipated shit for him. Doubt even a partially corrupt adult would want to put a kid like him through what we’re doing.”

Coming back from the register, the kid returns with a freshly whipped up chocolate milkshake in his hands; already having slurped a quarter of it down before he even got back to the table. “Chocolate shake, huh. Nice choice; tasty, sweet, rich in milk and calcium.” Sat claims. “Don’t say calcium.” utters Weds. “Right, sorry.” “I’m thinking of avoid milk for a while just out of spite.” “Yeah, me too.”

“So, anyway. Since we’re gonna be having you around. Calling you kid’s gonna get real old, real fast. You got a name we can stick you with, or are we gonna have to do that ourselves? Trust me, you don’t want that; got called a bunch of pretty humiliating stuff when I refused to give mine.” the purple psychic claims. A pop comes out from between the sound bending boy’s lips when pulling the milkshake straw out, smacking his mouth to savor the chocolate frosty concoction before looking over to the pair of psychic’s who helped him; the kid finally greeting them both in a typically childish, but raspy voice. “Just call me Sunny.”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 15

The deafening blare of car horns reverb all through the early afternoon city roads as a whole line of traffic stretches out block after block; a couple of them peeking their heads out through the windows in hopes of discovering what might be the hold up. And though most of them sit too far to really see what clogged up traffic, those closer towards the end of the hold up find a couple boys in blue redirecting the slow traffic away from what appeared to be the scene of a car accident.  Though most people would rule this out as any normal accident, those on the scene are all too aware of the car not being anywhere something it could have crashed into, the lone crashed car with its front scrunched up sitting squarely in the middle of the road. There was practically nothing nearby it could have possibly ran into, yet the state the vehicle was left in suggests otherwise; a conundrum that stumps even the brightest of officers investigating the scene.

One officer his her eyes wander over to the boarding complex that stands aside this accident, the strange detail of most of the buildings windows being left agap soon coming to him; the young guy turning to another cops on the scene and question: “Hey uh, you know what’s up with that boarding house?” “Oh that, yeah. Got a couple reports of some weird things going on in there; most of them being about people running into stuff that just ain’t there.” “And the windows?” “Lotta people couldn’t get out, said something about things they couldn’t see blocking them in the middle of the halls. Wound up having the fire department called to help them climb out.” “And that’s it? People run into invisible walls and nobody’s investigating further?” “Chief’s orders. Probably doesn’t wanna waste resources on what just is likely a convoluted prank.” the other officers chalks it up to. This answer leaves the fresh meat curiously unsatisfied as his attention turns back towards the complex, one of the closed windows baiting his attention as he witnesses a shadows streak past from within.

Along the other side of the block where this boarding house stands does psychic in violet peer out from beyond the shadows he and the others hide within; a slight hiss seeping into his teeth before relaying: “Got a couple of cops sitting just outside around an accident. Looks like there gonna be there a while.” Slinking back into the alleyway shadows, Wedsle turns to the rest of his crew left within the veil of the dark and asks the psychic of life among them if: “So you sure this is the right address?” “Pretty sure. Its about as much as I got out of Tuesco.” “Think you can do a double check; tune in and get some more details?” “I’ve tried, but he’s not answering. I don’t know why? I’m not even sure if he’s in there anymore.” “Even if he ain’t, probably a good idea to check for any clues this guy might’ve left behind.”

“Guys aren’t you forgetting about something?” they then hear Thursotte bring up, both Weds and Satette glancing back to find an unconscious Frida resting on his lap. “Frida hasn’t woken up since we got off the subway. I think she might need medical attention.” “Yeah, cause I’m sure the modern American healthcare system would be more than equip to deal with a case of psychic feedback recoil. Honestly, the mob would be doing us a favor gunning our asses down with the bill the hospital would stick us with.” Weds sarcastically denies. “Relax, Thurs. She’s still breathing, I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. But we need somebody to stay behind and watch her while we move in and comb through this apartment complex.” states Sat as both her and Wedsle start to trek out from the alleyway. “Wait, what am I supposed to while you guys are gone?” “Probably best to keep your asses down and outta site. Even if the heat don’t recognize ya, doubt seeing a guy dragging around an unconscious woman through an alleyway’s gonna give any good impressions.” Weds warns as both of them make their way out of the shadows. “...Wait...What’s that...What’s that even...Oh...Oh dear god.”

Underneath the afternoon shade do the two psychic approach the boarding house, taking their time in skulking through the shadows as not to alert anyone that may be watching. From shadow to shadow do both of them traverse and hop through, all the way around to the back of the complex; Wedsle swinging open the back door while stating that: “Right, lets make like a quick buck tossed to a trashy hooker in downtown Vegas and get this over with before we catch something.” Though when attempting to enter the building through the back door, Wedsle is unexpectedly rejected from entering, slamming into something before he falls back onto the cold concrete and going: “Nagh! The-the fuck happened? What’d I run into?” “I...don’t know.” claims Sat. Gazing to the open doorway, both of them discover what had barred them from making their way was...nothing, nothing they could see so much as stood in their way.

Perplexed by this literally unforeseen obstruction, Satette takes her turn to approach the open door in a far more careful and slow fashion; the young lady holding her hand forward as she nears. Just short of the doorway does she then feel something stand in her way, brushing the palm of her hand against what felt like a solid wall. “The hell is happening?” she hears the purple psychic behind her question. “Hmm...Tuesco mentioned before how people around him were running into stuff they couldn’t see. It sounds like he didn’t have much control over where they appeared. But its a good sign that he’s definitely here.” “Still, if the back door’s clogged, then we’ll have to think of another way in.” “I think it’d be pretty easy for me to slip in through one of those open windows.” “Oh yeah, I’m sure nobody in that traffic jam’ll notice a fully grown woman crawling up along the wall of a building in broad daylight.” the violet psychic sarcastically claims. “Well then that just leaves us with breaking in through the roof.” “Gonna be a little hard. Side of this building don’t have any fire escapes.” “Then we’ll just have to make our own.” she declares, looking over to the dumpster standing opposite to the boarding house.

Peering back to this dumpster as well, Wedsle attention is drawn to a shadow chittering right behind its hefty steel; the violet psychic turning to nod to his lively partner before they both start to encroach upon the dumpster on both sides. When upon sneaking to each end of the dumpster, the two peer behind its metal and are perplexed to discover there be nothing scuttling through its back. Its when peering down to the bottom of the dumpster that she realizes where their potential tool had scurried to, witnessing its fuzzy tail slide right along her purple partner in crime’s leg; Wedsle soon starting to panic when feeling the little guy scurry underneath his pants. It takes everything in Weds to not scream out while the furry dumpster diver scuttles all underneath his clothes; the lively psychic rushing to his side as he inadvertently runs into a wall and falls onto the ground. Satette doesn’t hesitate to dunk her arm into the violet mobsters purple blazer and reach across his body to nab the little fuzzy guy by the tail, jerking her arm right back out as fast as she could to pull out a full sized raccoon from underneath Wedsle clothes.

The furry little mammal in her grasp, Satette uses her influence over living tissue to morph the raccoon’s very being into something they could use to ascend to the roof; its body unraveling apart as its bone structure shifts to its head and the rest of its body turns into a rope like strand. Hurdling the head of the small fuzzy mammal up to the roof, its gnarled teeth and rib cage hooks onto the edge of the boarding house as easily as a grappling hook; Sat and Weds wasting no time in climbing up towards the top of the building. Though the lively young girl ascends up the rope like flesh with no trouble, Weds proves a tad disgusted over feeling the raccoon’s insides brush along his palms as he grasps the rope. “You know, it still amazes me that you can even stomach doing shit like this.”

Its when making it to the top of the boarding house that the lively psychic returns to the little fuzzy guy to its original form; the raccoon perched atop her shoulder letting out little chitters as she departs with: “See ya little guy.” Before she could finish however, the purple psychic snatches up the fuzzy trash mammal and dunks its furry ass straight back down towards the alley they had found it; Wedsle watching as it plummets down and land on top of a pile of trash bags before scurrying away. “We hardly knew ya.” “Wedsle!” “What? Little shit; could’ve bit my balls off.”

Left alone in the shadows of the alleyway with the unconscious Frida, Thurs makes an efforts to keep both her and himself concealed within the vial of darkness to keep unwanted eyes at bay; the young man making sure that Frida is left comfortable and letting her rest against a pile of soft trash bags. When not peering across both sides of the isle for any one watching, Thursotte can’t help but look to his resting partner with remorse and regret. Everyone out here’s giving it their all, doing everything they can in their fight against the mob. But then there’s me; they’ve all done so much to get me this far, but I’ve barely done anything in return. Most I’ve pulled off is just cause accidents that conveniently helped out in small pinches. Even against one of the bosses, best I did was simply fending him off while Frida took potshots at him. If I could turn the tables from what chaos my powers cause, calling that a contribution's towing the line; there’s no doubt I’m the weakest link in the chain. Upon this moment of pitiable self reflection does he glare down to the palms of his open hands, their thinly soft exterior revealing the lack of experience behind them. Compared to when he peers down to Frida’s own hands, her palms left scarred and thicken from her years in both CIA and the mob; if those hands could talk, boy would they have some stories to tell. Frida just got done save a whole train full of people, and what did I do? Just acted as bait for a bunch of knock off freaks. I know they would say otherwise, but I can’t keep going on close calls like this. Sooner or later, my luck’ll run out and it’ll wind up biting me in the ass; or even worse, one of them.

Among contending with the facts of his own folly that he winds up spotting someone in one of the cars stuck in the traffic jam glare to them from their side view window; the worry in this driver’s eyes plain to see. Oh god! I was so busy looking back and reflecting, that I didn’t even see one of the drivers looking our way. What could they even be thinking? Some guy in a dirty alleyway leaning down to an unconscious woman, you don’t have to think that hard to make the worst assumptions. Best be grabbing Frida and booking it outta here.

When scooping up the unconscious psychic into his arms, Thurs’ is alarmed when seeing the driver watching him beginning to open the door and start to step out from the vehicle; this development being no better warning for the young man to make a break towards the other end of the alley. “Hey, stop!” this driver demands from him, the woman getting out from the car as she sees the young man make his scampering escape. Distressed over the scene of this supposed kidnapping, the woman peers to the officers controlling the traffic jam ahead and grabs their attention with. “Police! Police! Come over, quick! I just saw somebody run off with a knocked out woman. I think it might be a kidnapping!”

Scampering across the calmer side of the streets, Thursotte hurries as fast as he could away from the scene; the unconscious psychic he carries in his arms making it rather difficult for him to sprint at full speed. Why does she have to be so heavy? It ain’t like Frida’s fat or anything, she pretty lean all things considered; so why the hell is she so hard to carry around. Back around the street corner that he had fled from, a couple of cops emerge out from the alleyway to spot Thurs carrying the unconscious woman away; one them demanding that he: “Stop right there!” No, the police are already on me! Gotta pick up the pace! “I said stop!” they shout out to him as they watch the man scurry into the inside of a small abandoned office.

When stepping right in through the front door, Thursotte sets the woman down for a moment to attempt and barricade the door; the young man glancing aside to find a bookcase sitting next to the door and quickly gets to work knocking it over. With a swift tackle to its side does Thurs manage to knock over the wooden bookcase against the door, its wood pounding as the officers on the other side struggle to get through. That won’t hold them long, and I can’t get too far carrying Frida around with how surprisingly hefty she is; only chance we have now is to try and find someplace to hide til we can slip away.

It only takes a few more tackles from the officers to successfully push the haphazardly knocked over bookcase barricading the door; the two cops rushing right in with pistols at the ready and aimed directly before them. Yet the pair of police lower their firearms when discovering not a soul standing in front of them; this development leading one of the officers to silently signal to the other hand gestures that direct the other to move towards the left, all while she takes the right. The pair split apart to cover more of the abandoned offices’ ground as they start their search, both of them checking under and over every knocked over table and ruined cubicle that they come across; all the while gradually moving closer towards a broom closet at the end of the room.

Out from the slight open door does Thursotte peer out from the small crack to watch nervously as the officers searching for him grow closer with every place they check; all the while Frida remains resting against the wall next to him. Sweat runs down the young man’s forehead as the gears in his head spin for a way out. They just keep getting closer; it won’t be long before they make there way over here and find us. Glancing back into the very closet he and Frida hide within, Thurs fails to find any other way out from its confines; nothing but three solid walls and a ceiling making up the inside of this janitors space. Why did I have to run in here? There’s barely any other way out. It ain’t like we can make a break for it either; for one reason or another, Frida is way to heavy too run while carrying. We’re practically cornered like this.

Before the severity of the situation could make him begin to panic, Thursotte takes a moment to take silent, but calming breaths as he assures to himself that all of this is not as hopeless as it may seem. Don’t panic, Thurs. They haven’t caught us yet. Frida might be down for the count, but the same can’t go for me. There might still be a way to slip out of this as clean as a freshly polished whistle. Causing an accident in here might slow them down enough to give us a chance to escape. Another glance through the very broom closet both of them hide within, it doesn’t take long for the Murphy's law inducing psychic to find something he could throw out; reaching over to a broken piece of a mop stick yielding sharp broken plastic tip along the end. I really hate doing this to the two of them though, they’re just doing their duty as far as they’re concerned. But at times like this, there’s barely any other choice. Determined to make his escape with Frida from this dead end, Thursotte infuses the broken plastic rod with his own chaos triggering essence as he holds the piece like a javalin spear; taking aim towards the corner of the ceiling adjacent to the officers. Please don’t make the whole building come crashing down.

Upon this plead, the young man throws the piece of the plastic handle as hard as he can and sends it careening towards the other end of the office; the sharp end plunging into the wall by its sharp end with loud thud. The sound of the piercing end lodging itself into the wall catches the attention of both officers; the two glancing over towards the stuck in stick before turning their attention over to the door of the broom closet. One of the officers then shows hand signals to the other to let them know that she was making her way over, while the other waits with their weapon at the ready, a plan that they take to while Thursotte peeks out from the crack of the door. No! That only gave our hiding spot away. What am I supposed to do now!?

Yet in his moment of panic does a faint glimmer of hope show itself; behind the officer taking aim from afar does Thurs see the aura he enveloped the piece of rode he throw with start to spread through the roof of the office, with cracks quickly beginning to spread across the ceiling. Knowing his powers beginning to take hold, the young man quickly shuts the door to the closet; a site of which urges the approaching officer to hurry to the other side of the door. When she attempts to try and open the door into the closet, the officer feels somebody on the other side keeping it from being opened; Thursotte on the other side pulling against the police woman as hard as he could. Come on! Just work already!

Left fed up with whoever was on the other side pulling against her, the officer brandishes her firearms and aims the gun directly at the door; her finger sliding against the trigger as she threaten to fire. But the police woman hesitates when hearing the sound of crumbling debris along the other side of the room and peers back to discover the ceiling right above her partner caked in large fractures; threatening to collapse upon him. Forgoing whoever may be in the closet, the cop makes a mad dash towards her fellow officer as the ceiling above starts to give way; the other officer alarmed when seeing his partner rushing right at him. Yet there’s little time to question or answer as the police woman racing right towards him makes a charging tackle against him the moment the ceiling starts to come down; whole chunks of the roof falling as plumes of dust and debris cloud the office air.

When all finally grows quiet and sound, the door to the broom closet slowly creaks open as Thursotte steps out to peer at the results of his powers and his astonished to discover half of the ceiling having fallen onto the ground; all with not a sign of the officers that were pursuing him. Oh...oh wow. That...was way more then I thought it do. Jeez. Really hope those two are okay. Its then that he notices a part of the rubble left shuffling a clear sign of the two being at least still alive. Oh thank god. They’re alright. His relief instantly vanishes when watching one of the officer’s arms burst out from the pile of destroyed ceiling, a clear sign he ain’t out of trouble just yet. Wait no, they’re alright! Crap! I need to book it, fast!

Rushing right back into the closet, Thursotte scoops his unconscious partner up from the floor and into his arms; using every bit of strength he could spare to lift her up before he start to make his way out. But when coming back out from the closet, the young man is alarmed when finding one of the officers having partially dug themselves out from the rubble; the officer pulling out his other arm in an attempt to fire his pistol at them. But alas when heaving his hand out from under the debris and taking aim, the cops is surprised to find his state issued firearms relieved from his grasp; the police man swiftly turning over to comb through the rubble for his weapon. Thurs wastes no time in taking this chance to make his escape and makes a hefty sprint deeper into the building with Frida in hand, all while the other officer starts to dig her way out from under the fallen pieces of roof.

All remains hauntingly quiet within the confines of the bordering house, the only thing the two former mobsters hear reverb across the hall being the sound of their own footsteps as they stroll through the hallways. “Jesus. This place really has been cleaned out, hadn’t it? Can hear a fucking pin drop with out quiet it is?” Wedsle states. “Makes it feel real eerie in here. Tuesco might be the only one left in this building.” claims Satette. “Less witnesses for us to deal with. Hate to fuck up some pour guy that happens to see us in here.” “Still, we can’t let that make us careless. We still don’t know where our guy might be hiding. But if the invisible wall was any giveaway, its that he’s at least still kicking.” “Yeah, but with the mob on his ass, that might not be the case much longer. From the way you put it, he sounds at least decent. Pretty sure a guy like that won’t wanna be on the side of this city’s drug problem, and when they hear that, they’ll waste no time leaving him as nothing but another corpse to add to the pile.” “All the more reason to hurry up and fish him out of here before things start going sou-”

The tail end of their conversation is suddenly interrupted when the lively young psychic runs into what felt like a  wall; Wedsle stepping back as Sat falls to the floor. The young lady rubs her forehead as she gets back up and looks to what she had inadvertently ran into; and like Wedsle before her, sees nothing at all. Yet when approaching with her hand out does she once more feels the touch of solid wall brush against her fingers; quickly concluding that its a: “Dead end. Lets look for another way over.” But much to her surprise when approaching her purple partner in crime does she again feel the smooth texture of another invisible wall stand between them both; Satette tumbling back against the first wall before going: “No! No! NO!”

Darting right against this newfound barrier splitting them, Satette bangs against its invisible surface in hopes of breaking through; Wedsle standing back with his fist raise as he orders her to: “Back off Sat, Imma bust this bitch this down!” With but a single purple shrounded fist, Wedsle strikes against the wall enclosing his lively partner within this trap of unseen walls with as much force as he can; Satette hearing the entire hall tremble from the impact his punch bestows. Yet for how much effort he had put behind this punch is there only a crack in the middle of the air to show for it, the violet psychic flailing his hand about as he goes: “Damn, real solid shit there. Can’t get enough rage juice from the people nearby to put a dent in. You think being stuck in a traffic jam would make more people pissed. I don’t know. Let’s go another round.” “How bout we not. We’ll be here all day if you try busting through every one of these walls that get in our way.” “Then how the hell you getting out?”

Wondering the same thing, a simple glance above has her find an air vent hanging above; the perfect way to escape from this little jam. And as she leaps up to the vent and pull off the grate, she suggest that: “Lets just split up for now to cover more ground. Probably have a better chance of finding him anyways.” After watching the young lively psychic worm her way into the air vents, Wedsle takes a 180 back the way they both came and assures aloud that: “Eh, whatev’s. Place looks cleaned out by now. Ain’t like there’s anybody else in here.” Unbeknownst to the violet psychic however is his claim proven wrong as a figure could be seen skulking among the other side of the hallway; their glowing magenta eyes glowing alight among the corridor’s dark recesses.

The thuds and bumps that Satette makes in her crawl echoes across the inside of the ventilation shafts as she makes her way through; constantly spitting out all the dust and cobwebs that get in her mouth as she treks. The seemingly limitless dirt and grime is not the only piece of trouble she has to contend with though, as the vent reveal themselves to be a much tighter fit than she had anticipated; the grime built up along the sides being the only thing letting her squeeze through. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Why is it so dirty up here? Practically decades of dust and cobwebs just caked in these walls. Even if this is a far cry from what vents look like on TV and shit, there still has to be somebody that comes up and clean. This whole vent’s a whole fucking fire hazard waiting to happen!

Satette is thankfully spared from struggling through any more of this foul aluminum tunnel when a vent beneath her gives way and has her plummet into the confines of one of the boarding homes apartments; the coffee table underneath splitting in half against her rough descent. This small set back doesn’t slow the young woman down however as she shakes off her stupor and rise from the remains of the living room table, making a causal stroll for the door. Whelp, never doing that again. Least I’m out. But her troubles only just begin when heading for the door and bumping against yet another invisible wall that stands in her way; Satette rubbing the bridge of her nose as she reaches over and feels the wall’s smooth texture. God dammit! How many walls are up and around here!? Can’t even get out the front door!

The conventional exit out of the question, Sat returns her attention to the apartment she had dropped in see if there way any other way out; one way immediately baiting her eyes being the window left open on the other side of the room. Venturing across the living room does she carefully peek out this window to discover herself among the side of the building closest to the scene of the car crash; the people sent to tow the wrecked car away practically swarming the streets. Some are left troubled as they move aside several sections of the road in getting to the destroyed car; bystanders confused over these towers stepping aside what appeared to be nothing at all. All of them are then astonishingly perplexed when they see a couple of them fall to the ground when bumping into more of these walls invisible to the naked eye that surround the wrecked vehicle. Agh...Can’t try my luck climb over to the next window. Someone’s bound to see me.

Her search for another way out has her return attention to the very apartment she was trapped in, scanning across the room for anything she could use to aid her escape. Satatte’s eyes widen when upon finding a whole line of potted plants hanging from the ceiling, with their stems drooping down from the soil and down towards the floor. Jackpot. Yet when jumping up to snatch one of these plants off their hook, the glaring fact of their neglect was obvious; the leaves and buds that decorate the stems left withered and dry from the lack of water and nutrition. Man, come on. How the hell am I supposed to use these dried out babies? Just how long were the people living here absent?

Being plainly obvious what these withered plants desperately need, the lively psychic strolls over to the open kitchen to set one of the plants down into the sink and turns one of the knobs. But another roadblock shows itself when not even a drop of water comes out from the bottom of the faucet; Satette rubbing her finger against the tap to find it left utterly dry. Gah! No shit they turned the water off, why’d I think they wouldn’t have? Dammit, what the hell am I supposed to do now?

Among pondering of an escape out from this apartment is her attention drawn to the dry stem of the plant; its the veins swirling around the withered stick resembling to her vessels robbed of sustenance. She then pulls up the sleeve of her hoodie covering her arm to gauge a better look to her wrist, finding dozens of colorful veins that make up her body; an idea slowly beginning to form in her head upon these to observation. Could that even work?...Its a long shot, but what is there to try?

Deciding to put this unsure plan into action, Satette takes the stem of the plant and uproots the wilted green right out from the dirt of its pot; dirt scattering across the floor as she holds the roots of the plant to her other arm. Really hope this don’t do any long term damage. Satette runs her psychic aura across the dying house plant to hold it under her command; the first act she has this withering plant commence is to drive its roots through her skin, with the young lady letting out a pained hiss from her gritted teeth. Digging through her skin and into her wrists veins, the tip of the roots start to feed off the very blood that flows through her body; the stem and leaves of the plant regaining color as they absorb more of the lively psychic’s essence. Sat’s breathing starts growing more shallow the more blood she has the houseplant extracts from her body, the terrible numbness she feels growing worse.

Its when feeling fatigued enough that Satette finally commands the roots of the plants to withdraw from the inside of her arm with a splatter of scarlet staining the kitchen tile; the young lady nearly collapsing from the dizzying sensation when drawing the plant out from her body. Oof...Drawn a bit too much juice there. Better be enough for it to...Woah! A glance to the plant that she had just finished feeding reveals its veins to now hold lines of crimson along its natural green body; the blood now circulating through its tendrils and leaves giving the earthly plant a far more supernatural complexion. Holy shit! It actually worked! This puppy right here’s practically good as new. Can’t believe that all that was from my arAggggh! Peeking back to the arm she had drawn blood from, she’s dreadfully alarmed to find the her lustrous youthful skin having been left wrinkled and withered from all the blood she had extracted from it. Oooh...Ooh man…Arm over here looking like a donation drive having gone horribly wrong. Better not let any of the blood I put in this thing seep out.

Finally having cobbled together a tool she could use, Satette turns her attention over to a wall left bare of any decorations or pictures hung up; the young woman taking a moment to look over towards the window once more. If I saw through the window right, then there should be another apartment right next door; just gotta bust through this wall and the search will continue. She wastes no time in putting the blood nurtured houseplant to use when shoving its head right against the side of the apartment, commanding its branches to plunge into the drywall and spread out from within; the foundation of the wall crumbling to pieces as the plant roots through the inside. The plant nestled within the confines of this side, it takes Satette only a little nudge to make that part of the drywall collapse within mere moments; the stretched out branches of her plant retracting as she steps through the hole and into the neighboring apartment. When trying the door for this living space, she is relived to find it completely free from any unforeseen obstructions or obstacles of any kind; strolling right through the corridor and down the hall. I doubt Tuesco meant to trap any of these people in their own homes. Probably thought he had to hide himself out somewhere in here to keep from hurting anyone else. But once I find him, I can tell him out to start willingly control where these walls wind up.

The harsh sound of thin plaster wood breaking apart reverb across the halls as Wedsle breaks down the door to one of the rooms of the boarding house; the violet psychic peering beyond the open doorway to find not a soul left dwelling within its empty confines but the furnishings held inside. Dammit, still nothing. Where the fuck is this guy even hunkering down at? Having found nothing in his inspection, Weds decides to simply move on from this hallway he had combed through, leaving behind nothing but a corridor full of busted down and broken doors shattered to pieces.

The eerie quiet that haunts the halls of the boarding house is disrupted as Wedsle makes his rounds through the corridors of the building; the violet psychic turning the corner to find yet another hall filled with doorways like the last. A site that he’s gotten used to by now checking around every apartment in this building. But something was slightly off around this corridor, a lingering odor wafting through the air; it smelled refreshing, natural, almost a woodsy fragrance. Rather bizarre to smell such in the middle of a musty boarding home like this; perhaps a scented candle being lit, a sign of residence maybe.

Curious of such does the purple psychic decide to follow this natural aroma through the hallway, passing by door after door in pursuit of where this scent originates; the smell growing its strongest when coming upon the second to last door along the left of the hall. Though when attempting to make his way inside, the violet psychic quickly discovers the door lodge shut by something on the other side; its oak wood refusing to budge no matter how much Wedsle pushes against its face. Oh no, another locked door. Just like the countless other’s I’ve broken into in this damn building alone. Whatever will I do.

From the cusp of this sarcastic pondering, Wedsle then makes another shoulder tackle against the door, expecting it to break down like the rest of them; but suddenly feeling something sharp poke against his side. Its when backing away from the door that he discovers what had stabbed at him; beyond the stagnant and broken remains of the door’s wood prod out several jagged spikes covered in thick bark. The-The actual hell? What even is this? Are these branches? The hell are branches poking out the door for?

Realizing that simply brute forcing his way inside won’t work, Wedsle instead decides to break into the next room over with a charging tackle; the purple psychic astonished to what he discovers held within the neighboring apartment. Prodding through the wall adjacent to the other room does he find it strewn with the countless more branches out from the other side. Wedsle takes the time to give the root and branch covered wall a closer inspection, peering to the dozens of fractures that fault its structural integrity; the natural woodsy scent he had caught earlier strong when sniffing against the cracks.

There’s way more of them around here then at the door. What’s even going on in there? Is another psychic doing this shit, or is it even psychic stuff at all? Determined to find what lies with the room on the other side, Wedsle thrust his fist into the cracks that adorn the drywall and easily bust a hole through the fragile face; a plume of the forest like scent puffing out from the wall. From this hole does the violet psychic continue to punch numerous more through the drywall, all until he makes one big enough to squeeze through. As Weds worms his way through the hole like a string to a needle, it becomes obvious what lead to the overgrowth burrowing through the confines of the apartment when peering inside; the purple former mobster left taken aback when upon discovering what lies within.

Spread throughout the room be countless winding roots and branches that had wrapped themselves around and across the furnishings, appliances, and walls of the humble home; the roots constricting all that they cover like a nest of serpents. The branches that stretch across the room bare their own fruit as well, round and beat red skin; all of them originating from a thick tree held along the edge of the apartment. It was obvious from the site alone that this was no mere house plant, this tree having somehow fully grown within the confines of this small boarding house room. Either psychic’s shit’s afoot here, or this tenant has a hell of green thumb. What even grew in here?

Wriggling his way fully in the small abode, the first thing Weds inspects being the fruit that bares across the tree’s branches, picking one off to closely look to the bud underneath; its red skin hard and leathery to the touch. Despite the fruits seemingly tough hide, it takes little for the violet psychic to split open the piece of fruit with but his bare hands; the countless juicy bits held within cluing him in of what exactly he holds. Pomegranate? Out here in New York? Usually find these kinds of tree’s on farms or somewhere in the Himalayas. Not in some gardeners apartment; least not one this huge. Its while pondering of this tree’s fruit does he suddenly jump when hearing a soft growl directly below him; his guard dissolving when realizing this was just the gurgling in his stomach. Oh...Guess we didn’t really get much to eat back down in the subway. Probably wouldn’t hurt to grab some of these to snack on later.

Thinking of his and the rest of the crew’s appetite, Wedsle picks off and packs away as many pomegranates as his violet blazer could stuff; carefully making sure none of them burst as he stores them away. Come to think of it, didn’t Sat say something about being able to talk to this Tuesco guy through a plant he had in his apartment? I wonder… After her finishes stuffing the pomegranates away, Weds thinks it best to brush past the many branches that make up the tree and wander into the next room over; the mangled remains of a mattress, plastered in tree roots being the first thing to greet him. Geez, starting to see why the guy ain’t here anymore.

The blatantly unbearable living conditions aside, Wedsle strolls right into the overgrown bedroom and moves straight for the night stand along the corner of the room; brushing past the smaller branches that stand in his way towards the edge. Finding the top of the nightstand covered in the same vegetation that plagues the rest of the apartment, Wedsle rips off the vines covering the shelf to pull open its drawer; the purple psychic digging through the contents of the nightstand for anything he could find to hint of this guys identity. As he prowls through the tenants personal belongings, Weds fails to notice one of the knobs adorning the dresser starting to glow a faint magenta aura encompassing its hard brass; the knob trembling more and more as its light grows stronger with every passing second.

Its after enough digging through does the purple psychic give a small grin upon finding something worth of note, pulling out from the depths of the drawer a leather gray wallet adorned in gold plating. Jackpot! Lets pop this thing open and see who our man of the hour is. Doing as such, Weds slips out card after card found within the tacky looking wallet to soon come across the man’s drivers license; the purple former mobster letting out a little whistle when finding this man sporting a short ginger haircut and a naturally proud completion. Eyes: gold. Blood type: B positive. Age...46? This guy? Damn, holding himself pretty well. Potential D.I.L.F material right here. And his name is...Tuesco Bageal. Nice! We got ourselves a winner folks. Too bad he won the shittiest prize ever conceived, a months stay in an overgrown hovel; personally, I’d just stay home and watch-

Among these jesting thoughts over the fate of their potential new recruit, the violet psychic suddenly feels something strike him against the back of the head; Wedsle swiftly turning back and ready for a fight as he barks: “Who the fuck’s the...asshat?” Though when glancing over is he left perplexed when finding not a soul in the plant riddled bedroom with him; peering down to the brass knob rolling against his knee; Wedsle picking the hard knob up and peeking along its neck to see pieces of smooth wood still attached to its screw. Beyond the knob is his attention drawn over to the dresser when realizing the hole left along one of its drawers, the dresser adorned with brass knobs similar to the one he had found. Did that knob just…

Yet before he could ponder any further of the connection between the two, he catches in the corner of his eye something rapidly glowing a bright magenta light and glances over to see it being a picture frame hung on the wall; the frame depicting a pair of police officers huddled together against a cop car. But there be little time to appreciate the picture as it suddenly comes flying off the wall and bolting right towards Wedsle like a flung throwing star; the purple mobster ducking underneath the bed before the flung picture frame could hit his head. The careening frame shatters to pieces from it harsh impact against the wall, leaving behind a dent in the wall as the glass rains down onto Weds. Guess the party hasn’t died just yet. Best make my exit before the house starts to come down.

A peek out behind the cover of the torn bed does Wedsle discover this same aura he had seen toss the picture frame over slither across the walls; Weds trailing the aura around as it slides into the closet. Seeing a chance to make a break for it, the purple psychic leaps out from behind the bed and makes a break right for the bedroom door, but is left wide open as the door to the closet swings open and unleashes a flurry of metal clothes hangers toward the purple psychic; their jagged bent edges threatening to stick themselves against him. Though he manages to evade the first few of the hangers that come his way, he ultimately can’t avoid the entire barrage as one broken hanger after the other plunges into his chest; splatters bursting out from the holes in his jacket as he’s sent straight through the bedroom window. Crashing through the window glass, Wedsle is sent plummeting from the second floor and drops down upon the roof of a parked car; his body denting the top of the vehicle from the sudden descent.

The sound of the crashing fall attracting a couple of bystanders, they see the purple intruder left lying on top of the car with broken hangers embedded in his chest; a couple of them peering up to where he had fallen to see a glimpse of somebody in a familiar blue uniform with a glistening badge adorning their chest. A couple of them are left a little curious to see if the man that had fallen from there was truly dead, and so slowly and cautiously approach the man in hopes of telling; most of them immediately backing away in fright when Wedsle suddenly jerks up from the crushed car roof alive and well. The first thing the violet psychic does when getting off from atop the vehicle is pull out one of the hangers stuck in his jacket; the sharp ends he pulls out covered in a vibrant dark pink juice. Pulling apart his purple blazer and looking inside, Weds finds the sharp hangers having plunged not into bare flesh, but rather the hard leathery skins of the dozen of pomegranates he had stowed away within. Peering back to the window above does Wedsle find his psychic attacker having slunk back inside, with not an inch of them to see glistening in the light.

Pretty close call there. Any of them had gotten my side and my blazer would’ve been smelling way different. Lucky break aside, this proves that we ain’t the only psychic’s in that building scouring around for our man, and their powers weren’t the only thing that peeked any interest. Can’t make any mistakes on what that asshole was wearing, that was definitely a police uniform; and that shiny pin, tacky piece of shit like that’s gotta be some sort of chief badge. Not much of a surprise the mob’s got a psychic among the fuzz; with how deep they got their dicks in NYPD prostate as is, they might as well have jizz seeping from their mouths. Even if I don’t know who this pig is, there’s one thing that set in stone; they ain’t walking out from the slaughterhouse alive, not after the stains they got in my favorite blazer!

Dry huffing and wheezing are all that escapes from Thursotte’s mouth as he carries the unconscious dimensional psychic through the abandoned office building; Frida surprising weight making it rather difficult for the skinny young man to flee as fast as he could alone. A glance back does he discover the pair of police officers continuing their pursuit after him; one swiping away the ceiling debris off her shoulder as they both close in. Agh, they got out already! There’s no way I can outrun them. Come one, Thursotte, think fast!

Peering to what lies ahead, the young man spots his saving grace in the form of a sideways standing desk and an office cabinet right next to a fractured piece of the hallway wall; all of these factors coming together practically begging for another accident to take place. As soon as closes in on the discarded pieces of office equipment, Thurs runs his psychic energy through his foot and knocks the sideways desk down with but one swift kick; this in turn causing it to fall upon the cabinet for both to then crash right into the cracked wall, the impact of the two hitting the wall causes the fracture to stretch up towards the ceiling.

Upon noticing the cracks spreading above do the pair of officers stop right in their tracks and immediately back away as fast as they can, witnessing that part of the ceiling come tumbling down in an avalanche of aged debris. Their pursuit having been cut short, the pair of police dash out away from the wrecked corridor as one of them goes: “There’s gotta be another way!” “Right, he ain’t armed. Lets split up to cover more ground.” When hearing the officers on the other side proclaim of this, the accident triggering psychic swiftly resumes his race down the hall with Frida still in his arms; Thursotte’s mind going a million miles an hour formulating a plan to escape. If they’re splitting up, it won’t be long before they wind up cornering me. Gotta get back outside as fast as I can and hope that I lose them.

Hoping to find a way out from this dilapidated office space, Thursotte heads deeper into its winding, maze like halls and corridors to escape from the pursuit of the people in blue; his arms beginning to tire from carry Frida’s unassuming hefty weight around. It isn’t long in his fleeting dash that he sees a shadow coming from around the corner, no doubt one of the officers attempting to corner them; the young man swiftly looking around for wherever he could hide both himself and the woman he carries. Among their immediate surroundings does Thurs find a cabinet, a pile of office chairs, a broken copier, and a room with a giant inside window next to him; his mind frantically wondering which of these he should hide in.

When the shadow fully grows does the officer it belongs to emerge out from around the corner with his gun at the ready; aiming the firearms down the hallway; the officer lowers his weapon however when failing to find even any sign of activity anywhere within the corridor. Rather odd, especially having just heard faint footsteps coming from around this very corner. Curious over the footsteps he had heard a moment ago, the cop makes his cautious approach through the darkened office hall, keeping his weapon at the ready for if, or when, their perp may be feeling brave enough to ambush him out from the blue. Though still rather on edge, the officer nonetheless moves in past the broken copier and over to the rusty cabinet; pulling its drawers out one by one for if their pursuit had decided to hide. When finding no one held inside the cabinet, the police officer turns his attention over to the pile of discarded office chairs resting around the corner; slowly approaching to reach over and clutching one of the seats by its leg. In one swift jerk does the cop heave one of the chairs out from the rest to cause the entire pile to collapse, revealing not a soul hiding underneath their mold covered plastic. Even from this however is his search through this hall not yet over, his eyes darting to the meeting room right beside him. Beyond its broken inner windows, the cop scans the room for even a sign of a presence anywhere among its dust ridden table and walls; his guard resting when seeing not even a footprint or disturbed cloud of dust anywhere in site.

Failing to find even a hint of either their pursuit or his captive, the officer breaks off from the scene to continue through the rest of the decrepit office space; leaving behind what he thought was nothing but leftover equipment that not even scalpers would take. When the cop turns the corner and leaves behind this part of the hallway, a panel of the copier starts to budge and shake as something inside the piece of office equipment begins writhes within; the piece of plastic falling to the floor to let Thursotte, who was hiding within the hollowed out inside, catch a breath of slightly fresher air. Its after regaining his breath that he tries to worm his way out through the small opening the panel had covered; the young man having to painfully bend his body in ways so he could squeeze out. Man...How the hell do acrobats bend their bodies without going through worlds of agony.

When upon freeing himself from the inner workings of the copier, the first thing Thurs does is move towards the door leading into the meeting room; the accident triggering psychic peering behind the door to find the unconscious Frida, right where he had left her. Something tells me these cops aren’t too used to chasing around suspects like this. Probably their first day. A quiet grunt seeps out from the young man as he scoops the slumbering gun woman back into his arms; careful to remain silent as he takes shallow breaths while carrying his partner further into the office.

The two of them don’t make it far into the building before Thurs suddenly backs away from a corner he had nearly turned to; his back held against the wall as he peers over to what stands on the other side; the other officer that had chase him into this very building, searching through with weapon at the ready. Its when the police woman the glances his way that Thursotte jerks back around the corner, hoping that she hadn’t caught a glimpse of him; his gut starts sinking when hearing approaching footsteps from around the corner, know it be the very same cop tempting to check where he hides. Not this again. Think fast Thurs.

Coming right around the corner, the officer is greeted with the site of nothing but a hallway left with nothing a dozen of the discarded boxes and packages, some big, others small, all of them stacked against one another as they line the walls of the office hall. Certain that she had seen somebody peer out from the other side of the corner, the officer starts her search for them with all the boxes lying around; believe that a handful of them were big enough for somebody to hide inside. Knocking over the other smaller boxes, she obviously starts with the biggest ones in the pile, tearing apart their cardboard to uncover what or who may be sheltered within. The officer comes to nearly regret this as the first box she tears open holds a family of rodents, the cop rapidly backing away as the rats she uncovered scurry and scatter down the hall.

When the officer gets over the little surprise, she returns her attention back to the other boxes that stand and wait in the hall; taking a more cautious approach as she reaches for the lid of another. She slowly unfolds the top of the box to not disturb what may be hiding within; yet relaxes when finding nothing of worth within, simply only a couple of dust balls and some rat droppings. She puts her guard right back up though when find there be only one more box big enough for somebody to realistically hide in and carefully approaches the container with gun at the ready, keeping it aimed to its cardboard as she nears. But when approaching the office box however, her trigger finger itches when seeing it starts to tremble, as if something was waiting inside and ready to come running out; the officer holds back the instinct to fire as she reaches for the boxes fold and quickly flaps them open with gun aimed. The police woman then lowers her weapon when finding nothing inside but a raccoon slumbering inside, backing away as the little trash mammal springs awake to leap out from the box and scurry through the hall. With no other boxes big enough for a person to believably fit into left in the hall to speak of, the officer decides not to so much as humor peaking into the others and decides simply move on further into the office maze; leaving behind what could be many more surprises awaiting her.

When her footsteps could be heard no more, a tile of the ceiling start to slide open; a pair of eyes peering out from the shadows to gauge the scene. When the coast proves clear, Frida’s unconscious body comes sliding out from above as a pair of limbs hold her by her arms gently lift her down onto the floor; Thursotte following suit as he slips out from the roof like a dropped piece of yogurt onto the floor, the hallways shag carpet cushioning the fall. This’d be a lot easier of Frida woke up already.

Along the southern side of the boarding house, Satette continues venturing through in her search for the man still held within its walls; holding her hand out in case of any invisible walls that stand in her way. But the oddly placed barriers are not the only thing that ails her during her trip through these corridors, for her breath starts to grow more shallow the deeper she heads into its south wing. Air’s getting pretty tight; wonder why? When the palm of her hands feels a solid flat surface invisible to the naked eye stand in her way, the lively psychic simply steps around the unseeing wall rather then try to break it down; the young woman feeling her way around what felt like several more walls as she makes her way through the hall. And with so many of these walls popping up, Tuesco’s gotta be close. Poor guy was stuck in here for so long, with nobody around to talk to since the whole building got evacuated. Probably went a little stir crazy with all that on him; its a wonder how he’s even still alive.

In her little pondering moment do the countless invisible walls finally cause a roadblock in the lively psychic’s wall, running into one big enough to bar her from going deeper within the boarding house. These walls have presented themselves was at least a sure sign that he’s still alive; if not, I’d imagine they would’ve dissipated by now; and their frequency of appearance might indicate that he’s somewhere close. The lingering dizziness swimming in her head rears its ugly head again as Satette suddenly looses her balance and falls against one of the invisible walls close to her; this sensation having her glare to the scarlet sapped arm entombed in the overgrowth of a houseplant, its inner veins running in read. Lets hope he is at least.

Rising from her blood drained stupor, Satette veers her attention over to the door right next her and reaches over for the knob; the other side holding the way down into what seemed like the basement of the building. She is tempted at first to scoff at the idea that Tuesco could be hiding within the basement as she nearly shuts the door, but a sharp ting echoing out from the dark underground recesses makes her think otherwise. He did say something about being stalked by a couple of strange guys, hiding in some basement would probably  be smart. Its this thought that makes Sat start to delve down the steps leading into the dark basement, leaving behind the secure light of the hallway above to risk entering the dark depths below; all the while the young woman attempts to keep herself from passing out.

From the bottom of the stairs does the young woman proceed into the shadowy stone halls of the basement, the hard concrete walls showing their age with countless fractures stretching along the walls. Cracks down her are pretty damn big. Just how old is this building? The air down here’s practically more stiff than the walls here.

Its not long in her trip through the underground depths that these halls lead into a room holding several of the equipment that tend to the utilities above; the water heater, the furnace, the electric box, and an entire web of piping and wires stemming across the ceiling above. Next to these installed home utilities be plastic containers holding miscellaneous stuff within, and several pieces of decorations meant for differing holidays, a couple of them like the Halloween fencing holding dangerously sharp pointed ends. But its not what’s in her surroundings where the danger lies, for the combination of blood loss and the ghastly thin air held within the basement starts to weight upon the lively psychic to such a degree, that she can feel herself again on the verge of passing out; the young lady having to spread her legs apart to actively keep herself from falling over. God...I can barely even think. Better ditch the plant.

Running her natural green influence across the houseplant rooted in her arm, Satette commands it to return the blood she had it borrow from her; its body swiftly withering away as its nutrients are drained back into Satette’s body. The lively psychic herself seethes and grunts as she forces the crimson back into her circulation system, gritting her teeth against the pain that surges through her body from her blood being reintroduced; the sensation making her legs tremble and nearly collapse onto her knees. Yet despite the overwhelming blood transfusion, Sat fights off the urge to pass out as the blood from the plant is absorbed back into her body. Its after a few more moments of enduring this that every once of scarlet she had injected returns, leaving the simple houseplant as withered and dry as how she found it; the young woman pulling out its small dehydrated roots out of her arm before tossing the plant aside. Feel somewhat better now, least I ain’t feeling like collapsing every 10 seconds. Still, air here’s feel pretty tight. Better get Tuesco out of here and get out before I-

Her thoughts are put on hold when she again runs into another of the numerous invisible walls that plague the boarding house; rubbing the part of her face that ran into it as she hits the wall’s smooth visage. God dammit, how many more of these damn walls are there!? Like the walls she had ran into before, the lively psychic reaches her hand out to feel around these unseen barriers; navigating through the invisible maze as she makes her way over to the next hall on the other side of the room, all the while a faint magenta aura slithers across the walls. Among finding her way through this small maze of sightless walls, she jumps when hearing something crash down beside and peers over to find one of the plastic boxes having fallen over and spilling its contents; sets of silverware and broken plates littering the hard stone floor where it had dropped. God, way to give a girl a heart attack; this whole place is practically falling apart. This better be the last nasty surprise this basement has to offer.

Upon the cusp of this thought does she then feel a piece of cold steel brush against the side of her head; the young woman glancing over to witness a man with ginger hair and rugged stained clothes hold the end of a pistol against her temple. “Don’t you dare move.” this man simply orders. Shit! Maybe ditching that houseplant as soon as I did wasn’t such a good idea. I’m practically walled in here having nothing to defend myself with. Where the hell did this guy even pop out from? Unless he might be… “Easy there. I ain’t here to hurt you.” Satette attempts to calm the man with. “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before. You all keep coming in here thinking I’m not as smart as I look; moment I turn around, you’ll probably try and plunge a knife in my back; like hell you bastards are gonna shank the likes of me, I’ve already had a helluva tough time being stuck in here for nearly a week and a half, constantly running into invisible wall, getting harder to breath, and all with nothing to eat but pomegranates.” “Pomegranates?” “You go tell the dipshit that sent you and the rest that Tuesco Bageal ain’t into whatever that you guys are trying to get me into. I just want out of this house, dammit!” “So it is you! Tuesco, just put the gun down. I swear I ain’t trying anything.” “The hell makes me supposed to believe you.” “Because I know that you gotten kicked off the police force for all these walls appearing around you. I know who those people that have been stalking you are from. And I definitely know that the tree in your apartment ain’t just any normal sapling.”

When these facts about him are presented in full to the man, he pushes the young woman away; letting out shaken breathes as he demands for her to answer: “Who are you? Why do you know about all that?” “Come on, Tuesco. Just put two and two together already. You gotta at least recognize my voice.” A moment to ponder off what the young woman claims do the pieces finally click for him, his eyes widening with surprise as he goes: “You’re...You’re Satette?” “The one and only. Was getting worried you’d skip the guessing and just put a piece of lead through my head… Anyway, lets hurry up and get you out of here, get you a change of clothes; maybe a shower to wash away that rotten fruit smell. Then we can start on-” Her reassurance is put on hold when seeing the man she had come to find again aim the end of his pistol right towards her head; the former police officer stating that: “I’m not going anywhere.” “Man, make up your mind. You wanna out of here or-” “Not until you let me in on what the hell is even going on here. What are these walls? Why hasn’t anybody come in and rescue me. Just who the hell has been sending these stalkers to me these past several days?” “Oh, guess getting caught up on all that wouldn’t hurt, uh...W-where do I even start?”

Surrounding the car where Wedsle had crashed down upon, police officers inspect the condition of the car’s roof as others question the bystanders that witnessed the incident; one cop reviewing to a man that was on the scene that: “He got flung out through that window?” “Like a limp ragdoll. Came falling out and crashing onto the top of that car. Something nasty must’ve happened up there, cause he came out stabbed with broken coat hangers too.” “Weren’t there people saying he went and walked away?” “Yeah, couldn’t believe it myself at first; but then I wound up getting a peek at what he had under his jacket. Bunch of big red fruits with stems on the top wound up tanking those stabs for him. What’d somebody call them?” “...Pomegranates?” “Yes! Yes! Thank you!” “Uh, you happen to see where he went or…” “Not really. Scampered off way to fast to see where he disappeared to.”

Yet what neither of these innocent bystanders realizes is that the very man that they had seen scurry away was not that far, rather having returned to the back of the very boarding house they have seen him drop down from; Wedsle peeking out from within the veil of shadows the back alley bestows to him. Good, none of them are the wiser. Gives me more time to get back in there before that hanger throwing pig piece of shit inside can make any more moves. Determined to stop their mysterious rouge officer, the violet psychic makes a beeline straight for the open back door; his eager advances put on hold when running into something unforeseen standing in the doorway, quite literally in fact as feels the smooth texture from the wall that had blocked their way in from before. Fucking invisible wall shit.

Backing away from the seemingly open doorway, the purple psychic turns his attention up towards the roof of the building, remembering how they broke inside the boarding house the last time. Got in through the roof, but how’d we get up there in the first place? Its then that his attention is drawn over to something scuffling around in the alleyway with him, turning over to a pile of rustling garbage bags; Wedsle stands back and prepares for whatever may lunge out from the collection of trash. His guard lowers however when witnessing nothing but a lone raccoon scuttling out from under the pile of trash, small mammal letting out a fierce growl as it stares standing its ground against him. Oh yeah! Sat turned one of these little bastards into a piece of rope and we climbed our way up. Wonder how I even forgo how its flesh felt on my palms. Don’t think I can pull something like that off though, gonna need to think of something else. Wonder if I can- But before they purple psychic could ponder of any way he could worm his way back in, the small trash dog suddenly lunges out and latches onto his face; Wedsle stumbling and flailing about as the little monster constantly scratches and bites at him.

Right outside the alleyway do a few of the pedestrians nearby hear his struggles and peer around the corner to discover him being attacked by the ravenous little trash dog; one of them letting out a frightened gasp before fleeting over to the police. When managing to pry the little guy off him and hold the raccoon by its tail, Wedsle starts to panic when hearing the sound of multiple people beginning to approach the end of the alley; his mind racing on how to drive the nearing crowd away. An idea springs to mind when looking to the little rodent he holds in his hands, the garbage digging little guy still flailing about and trying to claw at him. You know what, maybe I can use you after all.

The very moment one of the officers comes around the corner and into the alleyway, they are instantly greeted by the site of the raccoon careening directly towards him; the cop flailing about and running into his fellow officers as the little garbage mammal claws and bites at him. It doesn’t take long for the other officers to help get the little raccoon off their friend and toss it aside, the overgrown rodent scampering away from the scene as soon as he lands.

“You okay there?” one of the police asks. “Yeah, I think so. Just some scratches.” the man that was attacked states. “What the hell was that? Why’d that raccoon come flying out for?” another wonders, his attention returning to the mouth of alleyway. “Probably somebody thinking they’re funny.” “Outta bust their ass for pulling that kind of shit on us!” one of them threatens, marching over towards the beginning of the alley.

Yet before the daring beat cop could even approach end of the alleyway, she stops dead in her tracks when hearing one of them demanding her to: “Stop.” The other officers turn back to see that desperate outcry coming from the one that had been attacked by the raccoon; pleading to the others to: “D-don’t go in there! Pl-please!” “What’s the deal man?” “Yeah, there’s plenty of us. Might just be one guy over there.”

“I really don’t know what, but something in the pit of my stomach’s telling me to stay away from that fricken alley. There might be a lot more than one of those little pests hiding away in there.” the officer that was attacked claims, a violet aura running across his body. “Don’t be ridiculous. Raccoon’s don’t travel in packs.” “Not unless its mating season. You know how many of them gather together during that time? I’ve seen them get real nasty around then. You saw how that one jumped at me, raccoons don’t lunge like that unless something’s going on.” Glancing back over to the entrance of the alleyway with this cautious warning in mind, everyone that stares to the mouth of the alley feels something bad bubbling in the pit of their beings; like every inch of their body was screaming at them to stay the hell away from there. “I mean, if one of them has rabies, it could get real ugly.” one of them warns. “Egh. Whatever, just...lot of weird shit’s been happening around here. Better clear the area to be on the safe side; let animal control deal with this shit.”

The edging paranoia and worry convinces the officers to retreat from the mouth of the alleyway and start to redirect the people crowding around away from the boarding house altogether; none of them left aware of the violet aura flowing through each of them. Wedsle can’t help but let a sly grin etch between his cheeks as he watches the pack of officers cowardly make their retreat; his violet aura having successfully fended off the nearing crowd before they could discover him. This’ll clear the place out at least. It’d give me the window I need to sneak my way back in. Seeing one side of the outside having been cleaned out, the purple psychic emerges out from the shadows of the alleyway and gazes up to the countless open windows that line the wall of the building. Only question is which window.

A few buildings down from the boarding house, there stands a much wider avenue holding miscellaneous trash,  a couple parked cars, and a dumpster beside the dilapidated wall; the brickwork seemingly on the verge of collapsing at any moment. The single door adorning this wall is suddenly flung wide open as Thursotte comes charging out with Frida in his arms; a hopeful smile stretching across the young man’s face as he sees the light of day. Finally, back outside. “I heard something from over here.” he then hears echo out from the building he had just emerged out from. And they’re right on my tail. Need another place to hide and fast.

Out from the dark recesses of the abandoned office building, the pair of officers emerge out from the doorway with their pistols at the ready; both of them aiming down their sites as they peer to each end of the passageway. Finding not a soul standing around in the large alley with them, the two make their way over to the parked cars, hoping to catch their perp hiding behind or in one of them. When approaching the vehicle parked along the other side, one of the officers takes a look underneath their beds in hopes of finding at least one of the hiding beneath, yet finds next to nothing under the pair of cars. The other officer then decides to peer through their windows, thinking that the two might’ve hid inside; but alas does she find nobody dwelling within either of the vehicles.

Behind them do neither of them notice the lid of the dumpster alongside the building behind them slightly lift up; Thurs peering out from the dumpsters dark depths and watch the pair of police inspect the vehicles. Glancing back to the dimensional psychic that hides in the trash with him, he finds no signs of Frida snapping out from her coma anytime soon; a fact he remorse with a soft sigh. Should’ve been there for you, maybe things would’ve went different then.

His lingering regret swiftly morphs into alarm however when peering out through the lid to find one of the officers looking his way, grabbing the attention of the other cop and pointing over to the dumpster they hide inside; Thursotte quickly making the lid drop down and crawl into the corner. Oh god! They saw! They saw! They saw! They saw! It’s only a matter of moments before they check in here. If I don’t think of something now, we’re doomed. Come on, Thurs. Put that college degree to work and think of something. With his brain moving a million miles per hour, the accident causing psychic remembers back to the overall structural integrity of the building he came out from; hell, the wall behind him was practically riddled with cracks and tears in its bricks. That might just work. We’re both held up inside this steel dumpster, so we won’t get caught in what falls. Really hope those officers don’t get caught in the fall, but at this point, I got no other options. Its now or never.

A plan set, Thursotte coats his body in his own unique orange power gets to work setting it in motion by lunging right into the side of the dumpster, causing it to smack into the wall of the abandoned office. Both of the cops from the outside witness the container hit against the wall, one of them staying back with her weapon aimed as the other cautiously nears. Thurs nonetheless refuses to stop flinging himself against the wall, having the dumpster he dwells him repeatedly beating against the brick wall it stands behind; every slam the steel box makes into the building behind him, he pumps more and more of his chaotic psychic influence from the dumpster into the wall. Further spreading the fractures held on its face.

The cops partner is just a few more inches away from reaching over and opening the dumpster when she begins to notice the office wall start to tremble, alarmed when seeing whole chunks of the brick work start to come down. Realizing the wall was but moments away from collapsing, the officer demands that her partner: “Get back, now! The wall’s coming down!” From the police woman’s word does the other officer peer up to witness her warning to be true, the entire wall beginning its tumbling descend against him; the cop makes a frantic dash with the slabs of brick coming down around him. Even with his desperate race away from the descending wall, the officer still winds up getting caught in the fall as a sizable piece of debris plummets onto his legs; the overwhelming weight crushing him down. “Ed!” the police woman screams as she rushes into the resulting dust.

Beyond the shroud of the debris dust, the officer finds her partner halfway trapped underneath some hefty pieces of brick and immediately starts on digging him out, shoving chunk after chunk of wall off until he was free. “Can you walk?” she urgently asks him. “My leg...I think its broken…” To this end does she then lift the officer right off the ground and holds him by his shoulder, her partner limping as she guides him out from the avenue and claiming: “Don’t worry. I know I hospital that ain’t far from here. We’ll have you patched up in no time.”

Having listened to these events unfold from within the safety of the dumpster, a relieved breath escapes from the Thursotte’s lungs as he finally starts to relax and slump against the garbage bags underneath. Oh my god! I actually did it! I can’t believe I actually escaped from the cops! Like to see the look on Sat and Weds faces when they hear this, they probably wouldn’t believe me. In any case, might be best to hope on out of here before the stink of rat droppings starts to seep into our clothes.

But when attempting to escape from the confines of the dumpster does a new problem start to rear its foul ugly  ass when trying to lift the lid; Thursotte finding the lid to suddenly be hundreds of times heavier then it was previously. What little effort was needed to lift the lid of the dumpster before now out felt as if it had required herculean strength to so much as budge; combined with how much he had been carrying the oddly hefty woman through the office building and he practically had no strength left to spare. Agh, why is this so heavy all of the sudden!? Why can’t I… The wall, it fell right on top of the dumpster. There’s gotta be an entire pile of bricks on top of the lid.

This disheartening realization has him tremble onto his knees and lean against the side, the young man putting his hands against his face when failing to think of this consequence to his little plan. Dammit…I’m such an idiot. I was so distracted from getting the cops off our back that I didn’t think this would happen. And now look, trapped in a prison of my own design. Its in his moment of self deprecation that his sites turn over to the dimensional psychic resting in the corner; her carefree slumber contrasting with his own staggering worry. Some help I turned out to be. Now both of us are in a far worse pickle than before. Seems like all I ever do is mess things up for everyone...even myself.

“I’m genuinely sorry someone like you got dragged into this whole mess, but seeing how the mob are sending people out to you, its way too late for that.” Sat finishes off with, all the while the tip of Tuesco’s pistol is aimed squarely against her. “All this wound up happening cause you snatched their stuff out from under them? Your kidding me!” “I was hired to. You think I would’ve known that it would spiral into all this?” “Tell that to my career! 15 years in the police force down the crap bowl cause of some freak accident! And if that wasn’t enough, squatting down in this damn boarding house like a god damn hermit, having nobody but people wanting a bullet through my brain for company. My life is in ruins!” “Yeah, we’ll so was mine!...Twice...Both times losing somebody I loved...” the lively psychic blurts, her voice breaking down when admitting to her tragedy. Tuesco’s aim wavers upon this tragic confession as he continues to listen. “I’m not gonna stand here and pretend to be some kind of self righteous puritan and say that you need to join our cause for the greater good. If all you wanna do is leave this psychic shit behind, then I won’t blame you. But the least I can do is make sure that the people who ruined so many lives don’t wind up taking any others. If you come with us, I can show you how to keep your powers under control and work to give you an escape so you live a normal life again.”

The genuine plea from the young woman makes the former officer break his pistols aim from her as he lets out an upset breath, taking a moment to ponder all this over before Tuesco then asks: “Wh-where would we even start with the whole psychic stuff? I mean, do you even know what your doing?” “It’s all still relatively new to me, but I’ve been getting the hang of it. One thing I’ve found works the best is knowing what part of this world you can control; after that, it’s all a matter of mental fortitude.” “Th-that’s it?” he wonders, putting his pistol back in its holster. “Not really. But let’s not worry about all that for now and just work on getting the hell out of here. If I remember right, then the way out should this w-” Midst turning back to attempt and make her way out from the dark depths of this basement, Satette’s efforts are stopped when running face first into yet another invisible barrier that plagues this complex; the unexpected wall tripping her up and making her fall to the floor. “Agh! Fucking invisible ass bitch!” “I’ve had to deal with this for a month now, how do you think I feel?” Tuesco remarks.

Pulling herself off the cold basement floor, Satatte shakes off the unexpected bump and starts to holds her hands out to feel around the transparent walls; Satette feeling a couple of passageways among the invisible maze that surrounds them. “You notice anything strange about these walls. Like what they might be made of or something?” she then asks the disheveled man behind her. “Afraid not. I was way too busy squatting around, gathering food, and dodging assassins to really think about it.” “They can’t just be made of nothing. It has to come from somewhere. Just come over and help me feel our way out of this.” Its upon this request that she suddenly feels something small graze past the back of her head, Satette letting out a sharp yelp as she clutches back where she had felt it; the young woman turning back towards the former officer and barking: “The fuck man, you could just say no!” “I...I don’t even have my gun out.” he defends, patting the holster he had stowed away his standard issue pistol. “Then what even…” she wonders as she peers through the room; her attention drawn to the shards of dinnerware spread across the side.

The alarm she feels only intensifies when finding the pieces of glass and porcelain emitting a strange magenta glow; this light leaving Tuesco rather curious as he approaches the shards. “What the hell is-” “Get down!” Satette demands as he tackles the disheveled man towards the corridor behind him. In that very moment does the whole mess of sharp kitchenware shards suddenly launch out from the floor and  towards the two of them; the pieces zipping across the basement room like pellets coming out of a wide spread shotgun. In their swift careen across the room, a couple of them wind up sticking themselves into Satettes leg as she and Tuesco tumble into the corridor. “What the hell was that!? Why’d those glowing pieces of plates suddenly come at us!?” he panic’s. “Seems I ain’t the only psychic that snuck down here.” “What’s that even mean!? What’s going on!?” “No time to explain. We need to climb back up before something else comes lunging at us.”

Before the two could rise from the floor, a pungent odor suddenly permeates their sense of smell; one that causes the life bending psychic to wince as she pinches her nose. “Ahh! God, dude, you really need that shower bad!” “That ain’t me! Body odor doesn’t smell like that. It almost smell like...Oh no!” Swiftly getting back up does the former police officer peeks out from the corridor to look over where all the shards of dinnerware flown to, discovering a couple of them having pierced into the gas heater hooked up to the ventilation. His worries skyrockets however when seeing some of them having cut a couple of the wires hanging across the ceiling; all with a few noticeable sparks coming out one of the ends.

To this gas explosion waiting to happen, Tuesco does a complete 180 and bolts deeper into the corridor while warning that: “Oh god. This place is about to blow!” “What!?” But when trying to get back on her feet, a sharp pain surging through Satette’s leg makes her trip up; the young woman glancing back to discover a couple shards of porcelain stabbed through the back of her ankle. Hearing her let out a sharp hiss, Tuesco stops to turn back and see the blood trailing from Satette’s leg as she tries to crawl after him; the former officer not even hesitating to race back to the injured young lady. The disheveled man helps Sat off the cold basement floor and immediately resumes his fleeting escape through the corridor with the lively psychic on his shoulder; Satette limping on only one leg in hopes fleeing the scene fast.

Yet their efforts in leaving the basement before disaster strikes are left in vain, a wayward spark leaking out from the cut wires delving into the collected gas seeping out from the tank is all it takes to light the basement ablaze; an explosive flame erupts out from the basement room and flies into the corridor after the two. Having made it only several feet down the hall, Satette and Tuesco can only watch as the flames rapidly approach; the former officer putting his hand out towards the inferno in hopes of shielding the woman in his arms.

The force of the gas tank explosion proves so overwhelming that half the block trembles, every car and building neighboring the boarding house lightly quaking from the aforementioned boom. Wedsle nearly falls to the ground as the pavement beneath his feet rumbles; the purple psychic tumbling to the wall and hugging its brick face as the quake starts to die down. “Jesus!” he yelps. When the trembling ceases, Weds peers back towards the apartment complex to find one of the windows closest to the ground letting out a column of gray smoke. The hell is happening down there?

Her eyes shut tight, Satette starts to open them once more upon being spared of their fiery demise to peer at the man that had held her up; the overwhelming shock in his expression being the first thing she sees. Its when turning her attention over to what has the former officer so astonished that her face makes the very same expression; both of them beholding a gray, transparent wall having barred any of the erupting flames from reaching them. “What...What is that?” she questions. “I don’t know. I stuck my hand out and it just appeared out of nowhere.” Reaching her hand out to this new wall of gray, the smooth texture of this barrier feels frighteningly familiar; akin to the other invisible barricades she had been constantly running into. “Feels exactly like the others, except it looks more clouded. Warm to the touch too.” she reviews “I can barely make out the flames on the other side. Like trying to see through a cloud of smoke.”

Its from this brief comment from the man that the all the pieces in Sat’s head start to come together, the walls being invisible to the naked eye, all of them appearing out of nowhere, the air around them thinning out; all of it makes her think aloud: “What if that’s what this is?” “Huh?” “The barriers you’ve been making. The way they just randomly have been appearing out of thin air. What if that’s exactly what they’re made of?” “So then this gray wall here is…” “Smoke, Tuesco. It’s the smoke from the fires. It must’ve solidified as soon as it touched your hand and blocked the rest of the flame from reaching us.” “So if this wall is made from smoke, then the others were just pieces of the air?” “I don’t know what else they could be.”

The young woman’s hypothesis over the strange phenomenon that had been plaguing him thus far urges the former policeman to gauge his eyes to the palms of his hands, left to ponder over the true nature of these newly developed powers he had obtained. Could that really be it? Was it just nothing but solid air? These pondering thoughts circulating through his mind like fresh oil through the engine of a car, the young woman looks on in awe as a cerulean glow courses across Tuesco’s body; this aura focusing within the cusp of his hands. Within these very palms does the air around them both gather like a vacuum, the aura crawling along his hands shaping itself into a ball as its surface transforms from a flowing power and into a solid round object. When all of Tuesco’s power fully transforms does the blue colored aura disperse all at once; leaving behind nothing but what felt to the man as a basketball sized sphere held in his hands. The former police officer is left amazed as he feels across the newly formed ball’s satisfyingly smooth surface; the flattened bottoms his palms and fingers visible underneath.

“No way.” he utters. “And that’s how its basically done. We can practice later if you want, but I suggest we save that for later before this whole building comes down in a smoking hot mess.” Sat proclaims, struggling to stand back up with the shards of kitchenware in her thigh. Just when the young lady was threatening to fall from the harsh stinging sensation coursing through her leg, her tumble is stopped as Tuesco catches her moments before hitting the cold hard floor; Satette letting out a relieved breath as she looks up to the former officer who caught her. “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.” he coldly responds with, keeping the lively psychic propped up on her working leg.

Guess I can’t really blame him for still being upset; having to carry the girl that ripped him away from his longtime career. Though given how deep the mob have their fingers in the police force, this might be for the best. If things keep going our way, the least we can do is help him stay out of sight and keep him out of their hands.

“Where are we even going?” she then asks him. “When you wind up spending a whole month trapped in just one building, you tend to figure the in’s and out’s of the whole place; this basement has another way up from here. Course, it doesn’t really put us anywhere near an exit, so we got the long way ahead of us. You think your leg’s got enough in it for the trip?” “Oh yeah. I’ve been through worse than this. Don’t worry.” “Good. Cause this here’s the first step.” Tuesco states, stopping short of a small ladder leading up to a trap door.

The first to make the climb up the short ladder, the former officer opens the latch of the trap door to let the light of the first floor comes flooding into the dark basement. But before he could ascend out from the smokey depths of the basement, the top of Tuesco’s head winds up bumping into yet another invisible barrier; the former cop’s grip nearly slipping as he recoils down from the unexpected barricade. “Dammit!” he curses. “You alright?” “Yeah. But we have a problem. This is the only other way out from the basement. Unless we wanna risk going through the fire and the flames, we’re screwed.” “Maybe not as much as you think. If that wall right there was made from your powers, then you can definitely destroy it. Just do what you did when making that ball, but think of break it instead of making it.”

From this tidbit of advice does Tuesco climb back up to the top of the little ladder and place the palm of his hand against the bottom of the barrier barring them from climbing any higher; its hard, flat bottom satisfyingly smooth to the touch. Like the way he had done so before, the disheveled man sharpens his focus upon this barrier standing between them and the way back up; his cerulean blue aura shimmering through the cold dark halls of the basement as it slithers onto the surface of the barricade. Tuesco then begins to concentrate for this wall’s demolition, the invisible box trembling as his dark blue power worms through its stone hard surface. And in only a matter of seconds does this unseen obstacle crumble apart and release in a burst of compressed air, the blast of wind being a refreshing sensation compared to the terrible smell plaguing the basement. “I can’t believe this.” “Better start believing, buddy. Its only gonna get more bizarre from here on out.” Sat advises, climbing out from the basement with him.

Stewing in not just the dark recesses of the alleyway dumpster, but within the depths of his own self loathing, Thursotte sits nestled in the corner made from the pieces of cardboard boxes and discarded office paper. Its among his silent dejection over his own under thought blunder that shuffling could be heard echoing in the very trash bin he had inadvertently trapped Frida and himself inside; no doubt a rat or bug rumbling around in search for a scrape of food. His first assumption of these sounds fly right out the window when hearing a familiar voice groan; one that immediately reels him out from his depressed slump. “Frida!?” he exclaims, pulling out his phone to shine its light through the inside of the dumpster. Aiming his phones glow to the other side of the bin, Thurs is left ecstatic when witnessing the dimensional psychic awaken from her comatose slumber; Frida shaking off what lingering weariness as she utters: “Thurs, that you? Where are-”

The very first thing the young man does upon his friend’s awakening is move right over to give her a big old hug; the dimensional psychic taken off guard by the unexpected show of affection before she wraps her arms around him to hug back. “Geez. Was I really out for that long?” “I-I just...thought you would’ve never woken up; not after Wedsle said you put everything you had in flattening the train to save us.” “Gave me one hell of a migraine, that’s for sure. Where are the other’s?” “They had to go off in getting that Tuesco guy and left me to watch you while you napped. And some job I turned out doing. I barely manage to evade a couple cops through a shut down office building with you in my arms. Only to wind up-” “Hold the fucking phone! You hauled me around while two cops were on your ass!? That’s insane! I didn’t think you had that sort of upper body strength to lift how much I got packing.”

“Um...about that. Not to sound rude or anything. But hauling you around was a lot harder than it looked. You got a good figure, but it felt like I was lugging around a whole arsenal with me. What was with that?” “That cause you were.” “Excuse me?” “See, a quirk with my powers is that though I can affect their dimensions, they’re initial weight stays the same. Like if I slip a rock into a shirt, both of them would drop down about as fast as the rock would. And considering how much weapons and ammo I got stuffed underneath my clothes, it ain’t hard to see why you had such a hard time carrying me around.” explains Frida. “What!? How much heat are you packing!?” “Hmm. Last I checked, about say...70 pounds worth of ammo here.” “70 pou- You’re tell me you carry around a whole 70 pound arsenal in your clothes at all time!? Christ, woman; no wonder you’re so fit!” “Oh stop, this is nothing.”

“You’d have definitely would have done a lot better than I did. Had the idea of making a wall topple on this dumpster to keep those officers from catching us and didn’t think of a way to get out. If you hadn’t woken up, I would’ve doomed us to to die in this steel coffin.” “Thurs, come on. You’re selling yourself way too short. I mean...managing to lose a couple of cops while carrying someone as heavy as me around, coming up of a way of getting them off our backs. I mean it wasn’t perfect; but with all you pulled off here, you’d give stuntman John Bernecker a run for his money.” “Who?” Thurs ponders. “Point is that; you’re capable of a lot more than you think. I want you to remember next time your feeling this down in the...literal dumps...to remember all that you’ve done for everyone. Okay?” “Yeah...Thanks Frida.” “Don’t mention it. Let’s just go find the others before they get themselves killed.” the dimensional psychic tells him, holding out a hand for the young man. When Thursotte clasp hold of the woman’s grasp, Frida merges into the surface of the dumpster side with him so they can slip out from under the lid with ease; unhindered by the broken brickwork keeping the bin closed tight. Passing right underneath the pile of rubble burying the dumpster, the two emerge out from the cold hard concrete for Thursotte to led her back towards the boarding house.

Compressed air bellows across the empty complex’s halls as Tuesco dispels one invisible wall after the other with his newfound psychic powers; the former cop still left baffled over how easily these once seemingly impenetrable barriers were for him to destroy. “All this time. I could’ve walked right outta here all this time, and all it took was nothing but a little concentration.” he awes. “Glad you’re getting the hang of it. Pretty sure with some practice, you could make and break more than just solid slabs of air. I bet you could make just about anything if you set your mind to it.” “Thanks…” the former officer halfheartedly claims. Satette knows well from his cold thanks that he still hasn’t fully warmed up to her quite yet. Shouldn’t be much of a surprise when you’ve been stuck in a building for about a month with the only company you’ve gotten being people wanting your head; really, anybody would be on edge from all that. Better off trying to get him comfortable. “So, you got any plans when you-”

Yet the moment for idle chatter is swiftly snatched away from under them when witnessing a couple of strands of magenta aura streak right over head; both Tuesco and Sat watching as this power slithers into a couple of the pictures hanging along the walls, each of them beginning to violently tremble as the aura engulfs them. “Uh oh!” “What? What’s happening!?” “Get down!” she demands.

Without so much as a warning, one of the picture frames comes flying right off the wall and shoots towards the two with the force of an Olympic player tossing a discus through the air. Both of them quickly duck down just in the nick of time for the frame to careen right over their heads and smash straight against the other side of the hall. Though when seeing the other pictures on the verge of being shot off the walls, Satette gets behind the former officer and orders him to: “Make some cover!” “Right.”

Thrusting his hands out before trembling pictures, Tuesco quickly focuses on erecting a shield that both he and Satette can hide behind; his mental will commanding the air before him to gather as his aura molds its form into a slab of cerulean. His dark blue power finishes solidifying the air into a thick shield as the pictures are flung right towards them; the wall of air proving more of a matching against them as their glass and frames shatter against its smooth hard surface. “What was that!?” he frantically questions. “It was just like back down in the basement. Those shards that came flying at us were covered in the very same aura those pictures were. There’s somebody in here with us that definitely doesn’t want us to leave.” “What kind of sicko would want us to stay in a hole like this.” Tuesco questions.

“Now is that something you should be calling an old friend?” both of them then hear somebody from behind them. Swiftly turning back are the two alarmed to behold a lone officer in blue aiming his pistol against them; Satette preparing to rumble as Tuesco stands slack jawed and denies with: “I don’t believe this.” The letters etched in his police badge this man proudly wears on his uniform glistens from the light fixtures above; letting everyone know that this man is the proud chief of the NYPD: the former officer’s voice trembling as he recognizes this man in particular as: “Martin!?”

“A hello to you too, pal. How’s life been treating ya?” greets the officer. “It’s been a little down, you know...since you fired me.” Tuesco replies snidely. “You know this guy?” the lively psychic buts in with. “Met in police academy. Bailed me out whenever I got in trouble. We’ve been friends til he gave me the pink slip.” “Ouch.” “Aw come on, pal. Don’t take it so personally, you were just getting in the way was all...literally, your in the way. Can you move a bit so I can blow this bitch’s brains out?” the chief requests.

“What are you even doing here, Martin? Thought you guys gave up on me a while ago.” “Me? I was just in the neighborhood on duty, higher ups got me pinned to go after that this raggedy little bitch and the rest her motley crew. They just so happen to have scuttled their tails right on over to this here boarding house. Had a hunch they’d make their way here, so I hitched a ride on over with a part of my squad responding to a couple of car accidents.”

As the pair of middle aged men are in the middle of this little catching up, Satette manages to spot a potential escape nearby, glancing over to discover an open door set between them and the police chief. From the sound of things, this guy ain’t aiming to do anything nasty to Tuesco yet. And as I stand right now, I’m practically defenseless, with next to nothing I can use as some kind of weapon. Only option I got now is to make my escape and meet up with the others. Hope Tuesco doesn’t take this the wrong way.

From in between the chief and his former follow officer, Sat takes her chance and makes a sudden bolt towards the open door along the side of the hall; something that takes both men by surprise. Yet Martin is left confident despite the young woman’s unexpected dash; the chiefs body letting out a bright magenta glow as he punches the wall beside him, denying with: “No you don’t!” Out from along his body does a string of magenta aura swiftly slither across the wall and rapid envelope the very doorway his perp approaches; this power commanding the door to swing shut right in Satette’s face with enough force to fling her against the wall opposite.

“Agh! Martin, what did you just do!?” Tuesco frantically asks in his astonishment as he rushes over to the young lady. “You like it? Just a little something I can do with kinetic energy. I can hit one thing and make the momentum from the impact go into something else. Little confused about it all at first, but I got the hang of it. What I can do ain’t the hot button issue; really, its what your gonna do that’s interests me.” “I don’t understand.” the former cop laments. “What’s there even left to get anymore? The chief of police having psychic powers? Should be obvious by now who the “higher ups” he works for are. If the mob got their fingers in the police force, then this pig’s practically the top pork chop!” Sat warns as she swiftly bounces off the wall and returns in front of the disheveled man.

“Martin, is that true? You really working for the drug syndicate?” Tuesco confronts the chief with. “I can’t lie to ya, pal. The moment I found out about all this, it was more than obvious who the winning team was at this point. I mean they just got done wiping out the last of their competition who stood in their way for years overnight.” “You’re welcome.” Sat chimes in with. “They’ve got the numbers, they’ve got the money, they’ve got the power. The mob might as well be clutching this city in the palms of their shadowy hands. You seriously believe a bunch of dejected clowns like her’s got any chance of standing up to them?” “So you’re okay with them hurting innocent people!?” Tuesco barks. “So a couple of nobodies wind up getting screwed over. Think that’s gonna be the case for the rest of us? As long we don’t poke the bear on all this, we’ll be just fine.” states the chief. “Martin...”

“I know how all this sounds Tues; but trust me, we’re all better off just staying in line. It’s why I went through the trouble of coming out here, so people like her don’t end up dragging you straight to your grave.” “Sounds to me like your nothing but a pussy ass coward whose given up.” the lively psychic condones. “Call it what you want. As long as it helps me live another day. What say you Tuesco?” “What?” “Pretty sure I can pull a couple of strings to make that pink slip I was forced to give you go up in flames and get you back on the force. Hell, I’ll throw in a promotion and a pay raise; that outta make up for any hard feelings, right. You ain’t even gotta do that much. Just move out of the way so I can splatter this woman’s brain matter all over the walls.” “You...You...” “Tuesco?” the lively psychic utters glaring to the former officer to see the uncertainty in his eyes. Left at the precipice of this newfound road, a choice presents itself to the former officer, one that ultimately decides what future Tuesco may live. To forsake the woman beside him and return to the falsified glory of the badge, or continue against this trend that sways the path of the police force.

Though before he could even have the chance to ponder upon this ultimatum, a strong and smokey scent intrudes to his nostrils; the former cop taking a couple whiffs before asking the others: “You...smell something?” “Quit playing games here, Tues, and just answer the...Hang on.” His attempt to pressure his former coworker into making his choice is put on hold when realizing Tuesco to be right; the chief taking a few sniffs of the air to smell the same smokey scent as he wonders: “What is that?” Following this suffocating smell, the officer glances back over to the corner he had come from to discover a line of smoke crawling across the hallway ceiling; the chief is then left at a panic when seeing this smoke come from blazing flames rising up from the floor, continuing to grow out from the carpeting.

Their uniformed foe distracted by the rising flames, Satette clutches Tuesco by the hand and makes a rapid leap down the other side of the hall; swiftly stepping aside the invisible wall the former officer had constructed earlier. The police chief is quick to glance back and aim his firearms against the two fleeting suspects, pulling the trigger to pop off a couple rounds; the bullets stopping in the middle of the air as they hit the barrier. “Dammit!” he curse, beginning his pursuit.

Making a sharp turn around the corner, the two race through a hallway decorated with pictures and a couple green potted plants laying alongside the doors of the apartments; both of them zipping right past it all as Tuesco claims that: “Downstairs should be right around this corner.” Yet when coming around the corner in question do the pair stop dead in their tracks as they stare down to what awaits for them at the bottom of the steps; the entire lower floor of the apartment complex blazing in a raging inferno from the rising flames. “Dammit, what now!?” Sat shouts. “One of the apartments. One of them might be unlocked.” Tuesco then quickly suggests. Upon these words does Sat dart right over to one of the apartment doors to try and find if it was locked; the knob refusing to turn no matter how much she twists against it. So hoping across the hall on her one uncut leg, Satette tries her luck in opening the neighboring doorway; yet instantly repels her grasp away from the knob as she feels its metal scorching hot to the touch. No doubt a sign of the flames having invaded the apartment on the other side.

But when limping over to the last door along the side of the hall, the young woman freezes up when witnessing the chief pursing them come right around the corner; the officer pointing his gun straight towards her as he shouts: “Got ya!” The officers aim however proves to be not as precise as Satette stumbles back from him line of site; the fired bullet hitting the side of the hallway as the lively psychic falls against the other opposing wall. Yet this isn’t the sort of one up on her foe that she may think it is, for from the bullet hole left behind do strings of magenta slither across the walls and slip into the picture frames and décor along the hallway. “Look out!” Tuesco warns her. “Stay outta this, Tues.” Martin demands from him.

Witnessing the several pieces of décor fly right off the walls, Satette pushes herself away from the incoming picture frames as she pulls herself off the floor; just in time to see one of the potted plants on the side come lunging right for her. Knowing full well the officer behind her would shoot at her the moment this barrage ceases, Satette holds her hands out to catch the plant coming straight at her hand and swiftly turns back towards the corrupt cop; holding the plants pot out against the chief just as he fires his weapon. The pot holding the plant shatters into shards from being fired upon, spilling the soil stuffed within and letting loose the very plant that it holds; Satette quickly plucking the plant right out from the air and aiming its tip directly towards the officer. “Checkmate, piss pig!” she declares, running her aura through the piece of foliage.

Though her power courses through this vine of green, not a single leaf from its stem so much as budges from its influence; a setback of which leaves Sat perplexed as she shakes the piece of plant around in hopes of waking it up or something. Its when taking a closer inspection to this strange house plant that she finds its green leaves shimmering far more brightly than any usual plant would and realizes that: “Is this plastic!?” “Um...Rubber, actually.” Tuesco sheepishly informs. Presented with this small, but crucial set back by his perp, the police chief lets out a satisfied little chuckle as he returns his guns aim towards the young woman’s head; boasting at her how: “Who’s in checkmate now, you slippery little bitch.”

Just when the officer pulls the trigger of his gun, a small burst of compressed air suddenly goes off against one of the officers eyes and cause him to misfire, his aim flinching and making his bullet going straight through the ceiling. Taking a peek back to the other side of the hallway does Satette then see Tuesco conjuring up little pellets of solid air, those of which he flicks towards his former fellow officer; these pellets releasing their stuffed oxygen upon the eyes of the chief of police. “Run!” he demands from Satette. The young woman heeds his order without any hesitation and leaps right off the floor towards the door beside her, twisting the knob and letting herself slip into the apartment within; the chief of police shielding his watering eyes from the air pellets.

Upon the other side of the apartment she breaks into, the lively psychic’s eyes glow with hope when discovering this apartment holding a window leading back out to the streets; Satette immediately making a hurrying limp over to her only means of escape. Yet in her haste does all the punishment and trouble she endure finally start to take its tole as a dizzying sensation suddenly overcome her and the young woman falls to the floor. When she pulls herself off the apartment living room carpet, Sat peers to the back of her leg to see the drops of blood she that had leaked out from her wounds. Jeez, with the blood lose and thin air, I can’t even stand up too fast without falling flat on my ass. “Stop fighting me on this, Tues! Don’t you get that I’m just trying to help you!?” she hears the officer shout out from the hall; slowly inching over to the doorway. Left with little recourse to take over her dizzying situation, Satette starts crawling towards the open window in her desperate bid to flee.

The scene developing around the apartment complex starts to worsen as the fires that had erupted from the basement now enveloped more than half of the building in its fiery grasp. Wedsle stands on the other side of the street as this blaze continues, gazing towards every open window not yet having been engulfed in this terrible inferno. Couple more minutes and the whole place’ll go up in smoke. Come on already Sat, where the hell are you?

Yet in his moment of weary uncertainty do his eyes spot someone peeking out from one of the second floor windows, no doubt to him it being his lively partner in crime. Though his relief is retracted when noticing Sat struggling to pull herself up to the windowsill, a clear sign that something was terribly wrong in her attempting escape. Dammit! There’s no way in hell I can get up to her before the whole place go’s up in flames. Among this dilemma does the violet psychic feel the bumps along his purple jacket and peeks inside to still find the batch of fresh picked pomegranates still stowed away in his inner pockets; some of them still left intact after his previous spill out from the window. Maybe I don’t have to.

“So...Close…” the young woman utters, struggling to rise up to the windowsill. “But not close enough.” she then hears a familiar voice behind her denies. The first thing that Sat sees when gazing back be the small barrel of the chiefs standard issue pistol aiming down at her; rubbing away the last tears in his eyes from all the air blasted against them. “Just inches away from slithering out only to get caught at the last second. Real shame.” “Please, cops like you don’t have any shame. You just care about saving your own ass.” “From the way I see things, there ain’t really much choice. The hell you even expect a leech like you to do against a whole criminal syndicate of psychic mobsters? You’d been better off keeping your head down and let the guys up top do what they want.” “I…I won’t... Despite the dizziness and sharp pain coursing through her body, the lively psychic starts to slowly pull herself off the floor and stand to face the officer “I refuse to let monsters like you keep hurting people.” “Whelp. Can’t say I didn’t try.” the police chief sarcastically laments, his finger sliding against the trigger.

Yet when mere seconds away from pulling the trigger upon the young woman, the officer is suddenly caught off guard when a jacket of purple comes flinging out from the window behind her and unravels to show what had been stored in its inner pockets. Pomegranates, more than a half dozen pomegranates that go flying. “What the hell!?” the officer perplexes. Satette puts little effort into questioning where these hard shelled fruits had come from; rather instead deciding to take the chance that had been bestowed to her and kicks the jacket full of pomegranates towards the officer; all of them berating against the man. Stumbling back from the barrage of fruit, the chief looks down to see the dark pink fruit spilled all across the floor and lets out a little laugh; picking up one of the pomegranates off the floor and boasting: “You seriously gonna believe these little things are enough to bring a guy like me down?” “Its only a matter of time.” Sat quips back.

Feeling something wriggling in his grasp, the corrupt chief peer over to find the fruit he had caught begin to violently tremble in his grasp; the officer holding the piece of fruit back as it erratically quakes. After a few short moments of shaking in his grasp does the hard shell fruit unexpectedly burst apart in a violent explosion of juice, seeds, and shell fragments, all of which pierce through and lodge themselves in the officers very flesh; Martin lets out pained scream as he finds the blast having left his hands as nothing but a broken mess. “Fresh produce of the day. Fruit so plentiful, you’ll be covered from head to toe.” Satette jest, pointing down towards the man’s feet. Taking a glance down there himself, the injured officer is left overwhelmingly terrified of the nearly dozens of pomegranate that litter the ground at his feet furiously quaking like the ones before; the officer can only scream as he’s forced to accept his fruity fate.

All of the pomegranates blow apart to unleash a torrential explosion of dark pink juices all over the apartment; the force of the blast causing Satette to careen right out the window and fly right back outside. Though initially ecstatic upon having finally escaped from the dingy worn and blazing boarding house, the joy swiftly evaporates when finding herself dropping down from the forth story; all with nothing but hard concrete waiting for her at the bottom of her fall. “Shit!” Wedsle curses out as he races for her

But just when the purple psychic realizes he can’t make it to her in time, something along the surface of the wall comes slithering up after Satette and emerges out from the walls very face; his figure catching the plummeting young woman before she could hit the hard stone side walk. When peering out to who had saved her right in the nick of time, the lively psychic is overjoyed to find the dimensional psychic; having awoken from her comatose slumber. “Frida!” she exclaims with a huge smile on her face ecstatic to see her friends own soft grin once more.

“Hey, just in time.” Wedsle hears out from behind, turning back to discover the accident triggering psychic approaching. “Thursotte? How long was Frida up?” “She just got up and is ready for action.” “Slept in pretty late. Fun’s practically over.” the purple psychic claims, both of them staring towards the burning building as Frida slides Sat back down to safety. “But if you want, you can stay for the after party.” Stomping hard onto the ground beneath him, Wedsle makes the manhole cover between them pop right out from the ground like a cork being sprung out of a wine bottle; Thurs staring down into the depths of this newfound hole and wincing from the stench. “Ugh, the sewers? Can’t we just take to the streets?” On the cusp of this question do the wails of sirens echo out all across the block; their ear piercing screams growing closer each and every moment. “That answer good enough for ya.” “Nrrrgh” Thurs growls, starting his descent down into the rank tunnels.

“You girls joining or what.” Wedsle asks both of the woman that approach the hole. “Give us a sec, keep your dick in your pants.” Frida tells him. Slowly lowering the young lady in her arms down onto the ground, the dimensional psychic gives Satette a moment to get back on her own feet only to see the lively psychic slightly stumble about. “Can you walk?” “Yeah, ain’t too bad. But we can’t bail out just yet; Tuesco’s right behind me.” “The hell’s taking him so long.” wonders Frida, both of them glaring back to the blazing boarding house behind them.

Within the confines of the apartment that Satette had just been blasted out from, the former officer is left mortified over the aftermath of the explosive fruit punch; Tuesco glaring down beyond the mess of splattered pomegranates to discover the chiefs lay torn asunder. The blood oozing from his wounds mixing in with the dark pink fruit juice that stain the rug. “Martin.” he sheepishly utters, hoping to bait even a single response out from the chief. Despite the terrible scene laid out before the man, there was no time for him to so much as grieve, for the scent of suffocating smoke grows with every passing moment; the former officer glares down the halls to discover the roaring flames encroaching upon him. No better sign for him to make his escape than any. Tip toeing right over the body of his former fellow officer, Tuesco makes his way right over to the open window and peers down to find the young woman that has guided her thus far wave at him; his attention more drawn to the four story drop that waits for him on the other side. “Wait, how did you even-” the disheveled man ponders, the sudden click of a pistol interrupting him.

Swiftly turning back towards the inside, Tuesco discover his former superior not down for the count quite yet; the police chief pulling himself of the pomegranate stained carpet to slowly get up onto his knees. “Martin! You’re alive!” “Yeah...But you take one step out that window, and the same won’t be said for you.” threatens the downed chief. “Martin, please. Y-you don’t have to do this. Come with us, we can escape from this city together.” “You still don’t get it, do you Tuesco. It doesn’t matter how far we run, it doesn’t matter where we hide; those freaks from the mob ain’t gonna stop hunting us til were dead and buried. People like you and me are just tools to them; paying no second thought to replace us when we break or defect. They don’t care who or what gets in the way of what they want. It’d be easier for all of us if we just do as they say and live the rest of our lives under their boot and heel; praying to god they don’t find us worthless one day and decide to dispose of us.” “Martin...Is this what it all devolved into, serving those that we’ve sworn to protect people from? Acting as little more than lackeys for a criminal empire? What happened to the man who share my hopes and dreams of taking down the bad guys and saving people from disaster; like those shows we used to watch when we were teenagers.” “He woke up. It’s time you do the same.” declares the chief, preparing to squeeze the trigger of his pistol.

“Wait, Martin! Don’t!” the disheveled man attempts to warn to his former superior. But when just moments away from pulling onto the trigger, the wounded officer coats the firearms in his magenta aura and aims the tip of his gun directly towards the ceiling; the police chief unloading every single bullet left of his gun into the roof above them. With every piece of led shot into the ceiling does a strand of dark pink power slither all across the inside of the apartment, splintering apart to seeping into the dozens of objects, pictures, and decorations that make up the splattered room. From each and every angle within the apartment does every little piece comes careening at Tuesco at breakneck speeds; the former officer’s only option being crossing his arms in an attempt to endure the barrage.

With every single piece of small décor and miscellaneous items that beat themselves against his body, several other bits and pieces seemingly bounce right off Tuesco’s head and ricochet across the apartment like bullets out of a gun; a few of these pieces zipping straight towards the very officer that had launched them. Left with no way to move away from these swiftly approaching pieces, Martin is forced to taste a piece of his own onslaught as several knick knacks and trinkets beat against him with all the power of a bullet storm; a few in particular proving to be the final nail in his coffin as some pens and glass shard stab themselves across head, chest, and abdomen.

The last of the momentum transferring onslaught having finished, Tuesco drops his guard to look upon his former superior as the chief collapses into the dark pink and crimson stained carpeting; the former officer looking down upon Martin with pitying eyes. Though left quite battered from the barrage, none of the pieces of décor flung at him leave any terribly lethal bruises behind; his head left completely unharmed as his aura envelopes around the helmet of solid air he had constructed.

Upon releasing the compressed air around his head, Tuesco veers back towards the open window and is taken aback when finding Frida hanging on the windowsill waiting for him; the dimensional psychic going: “Easy there, gramps. Satette told me to get you down.” “Gramps? I’m in my 40’s, thank you very much.” “That’s budding grandpa age, man. Like around when your grandkids pop out fresh out the pussy kinda fresh grandpa material.” “How are you even-Agh!” Tuesco ponders while glancing down behind the woman, surprised to see half of her merged into the wall. “You just gonna stand there gauging at me with that thousand yard stare, or you aiming to climb down from this example of poor electrical maintenance currently happening.” “Uhh...Right.” Taking one last look to the man he had once served under, the man he thought of as his brother in arms; Tuesco can’t help but look back with saddened pity as he watches the encroaching flames encloses the chiefs lifeless body; this site being the last he takes before he takes Frida’s hand and makes his escape from his burning abode.

#lillaxtrigger #original writing #stories #street smarts

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 26

The glistening moonlight beams past the countless branches composing the depths of a wild forest, shining down into the fall atmosphere to spotlight upon a lone woman sitting against the bottom of a rocky incline; her eyes darting to the darkest corner when witnessing somebody step into the light. Out from the shadows steps out a blonde gentleman whose pale skin glistens in the night, licking his pointed fangs when discovering the site of the woman in the umbra light. “Ah, Jennifer. What a pleasure.” he cheers with melancholy. “Jack! You came? Why have you followed me?” “I had to see you again. I needed to see you again? When you left, I felt pieces of my soul leave with you.” “Jack, you don’t understand. I had to leave. If I didn’t, he would rip you apart just to get to me.” “He?”

Their attention is then baited to the top of the rocky incline, where upon another figure steps out from the shadows to present himself to the moonlight; a muscular shirtless man with a hairy chest and beard staring down to them both. The vampire gasps when gazing to the man’s bare chest and exclaims out: “Jacob! You foul monster!” “Indeed Jack, it is I. Your werewolf rival, I shall win the heart of dear Jennifer. “Curse you and you’re gorgeous man pecks, you fiend.” Their argument swiftly subsides when the werewolf lunges down from the top of the cliff towards his vampire nemesis, Jack preparing for his approach as he bares his fangs.

“Wait, so the vampire hates the werewolf for being in love with the same girl and the lady can’t decide on who she wants to fuck?” questions Wedsle, sitting next to Tuesco on the couch as he looks on to the movie in suspense. “Its more than that. Its a story about the complicated bonds between lovers and a centuries long rivalry between species. Its not just a matter of love, its a matter of dominance. A metaphor for which of their species holds the right to exist and take charge into the future. Fighting not just for her, but for their worlds.” the middle aged former officer dramatically express. “So its just two dudes fighting over a woman? That’s just fucking stupid. This whole ‘will they won’t they’ shits just boring. Why don’t they all just fuck eachother and be happy. Just have a threesome already, that’d solve everything. Building up sexual tension, start making out while one of them’s ramming her ass while the other deep throating her. That’s real male bonding right there!” Wedsle rants. “You know, I just wish you wouldn’t perverse what few things I have left in life that bring me joy. You already did it with the NYPD, can’t you leave the sanctity of tween drama unsullied for me?” begs Tuesco. “Alright, Christ!” “Thank you.” Simply a few moments to enjoy the movie are all that Tuesco could have before the violet psychic again opens his mouth with: “Just saying: centuries old grudges can’t stand up to the raw sexual energy of an all out orgy.”

The door leading inside the room flings open as Wedsle shovels out from the other side, all the while Tuesco constantly demands that he: “Get out already!” “Alright fine. God. Leave you to coo over your shitty tween crap by yourself, Jesus.” the purple psychic claims as he’s forced to exit from the bedroom. Waltzing away from the bedroom door, small hisses and grunts slip from between Wed’s clenched teeth as he still feels the burns and bruises from his confrontation against a defeated foe; the layers of bandages, cream, and new patches of skin having yet to temper his pain. Christ. 3rd degree burns aren’t something to screw around with. No wonder it fucks people’s lives over. If I had to live with this for the rest of my life, I’d consider pulling the plug. Even with all the new skin and organs Sat help graph on me, still hurts like a bitch. But if the burns don’t end up killing me, the boredom will; gotta be something to do around here to massacre the time.

It while waltzing through the hallway that he comes upon a lone door left a crack open, with his cheeky curiosity compelling him to peek at what may lie inside. On the other side of the slightly open door does he come upon the site of the lively psychic snuggling up to her girlfriend like a love starved cat, having been thought to have perished at the hands of the mob. A comforting moan escapes her while cuddling to Janna’s side, claiming how: “I can’t believe this is happening. Its like waking up from a nightmare, only to find the dream you had the other night came true. I’m glad its this one instead of the one with me being a bears face for a week. Not not even the bear itself, just the face. I don’t know how else to explain it.” “I missed you too Satsy. All that time snooping around, scooping up tidbits of information for you guys, every day, I thought of being with you again. It pains me knowing how much leaving me has hurt you, but having made it on the other side beside you was worth it.” Its upon hearing this that the day their apartment engulfed in hellfire ring in her mind, the image of the burning carcass left in their flaming bedroom flaring in her thoughts.

“A…about that. In the apartment, in our bed; I saw a body. It was burnt beyond recognition, but I thought for sure it was you. What else could it have been? How are you here even?” Sat compels her lover to answer. “Well, I think it was inevitable with what you and Wedsle were planning that the mobs goons would go for the throat the first chance they got. So we brainstormed a contingency plan for when they pulled the knife out.” “Wedsle?” “Yeah; he warned me ahead of time that they would be coming, so both of us whipped up a little ruse for when those bastards sent their goons to doorstep. He’s the one who thought of rigging the place to blow, but I was the one who thought of making a fake body out of discarded meat from a butchery he robbed. Don’t ask me why he robbed a butcher shop, he wouldn’t elaborate.” “Wedsle, knew the whole time!” “Well, yeah…Did he not tell you about all that?” “No! I…Why wouldn’t he say anything? All this time, I thought you were dead and he just stood there and let me think that. I was in pieces about all that, I can’t believe he-”

“Sat Sat Sat Sat!” Janna suddenly pricks, cradling the lively psychics cheeks. “I know there’s a lot that’s going through your head right now, and there is for me too. But lets not go through all that right now. Its obvious you’ve been putting yourself through a lot, and I know you not doing it for nothing. But girl, please slow down. Take a deep breath. I don’t want you to collapse on me, not when we just got each other back. Let just enjoy this while we still have it, because I don’t know if or when we’ll lose it again.” “Janna…” sobs Satette. Their gaze attracting one another, both the lively psychic and Janna comes together to share in each others warmth; their lips pressing together in line with their tight embrace. All the worries and questions seem to melt for the both of them as they enrapture among eachother; like nothing else existed besides themselves.

Outside their passionate show of love for one another hide the perverse purple psychic, peeking into the room from the other side of the cracked open doorway; grinning with perverse glee as he slides the camera of his phone through the other side of the crack. His chance to capture this growing intimate moment however is suddenly slanted when feeling himself being pulled away from the crack of the door; Wedsle soon finding himself face to face with the contemptuous glare of his wall merging partner in crime. “The hell did I say about peeping into people’s rooms?” chastises Frida. “C’mon Frids, you’d deny a man of watching the payoff on the other side of that door.” “I’m keeping you from ruining the moment those too clearly need right now. Janna just got here, after all.” “Just got here? Bitch’s been with us for about half a week and hasn’t even started on decrypting all of Decembers files. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck here for weeks with jack shit to do while my burns heal; least she could do is put on a show as a way of saying thanks.” “If yer feeling that bored out of your damn mind; why not get your self a drink? Pretty sure the new kidney Sat grafted on you should be ripe and ready to abuse. So leave the two lovebirds alone, kay?” the gunwoman suggests, shoving Weds away from the door. “Jeez, fine. Everybody’s gotta have a stick up there ass about private monogamy today.”

The small light of the kitchen fridge blinks on as Wedsle pulls open the door leading inside; the purple psychic growing irate as he peers through every shelf of the ice box. “What do mean ‘there’s no wine left’.” he questions, glancing back to Thursotte waiting on the other side. “I mean there’s not a single drop of wine left. July used the last of it when sauteing the pork we had the other night. Said it would give the dish a refined pallet or something along those lines.” the chaos triggering psychic reminds him, waiting by the microwave as it cooks what spins inside. “So that’s what that grape aftertaste was. I though all the 3rd degree burns were fucking with my head.” “There’s plenty of beer left in the pantry.” “Who the hell keeps beer in the pantry! The whole point of keep in the fridge is to numb the shitty taste.” curses Weds, slamming the fridge door shut.

“Ya know, on the subject of keeping; I can’t help but ask: Why did you keep Janna’s whereabouts a secret from Sat? I get why Janna couldn’t, but why you? Almost seems like there’s no point.” asks Thurs. “You mean besides the fact we had our hands full trying to find out where December was hiding? See, I know how shitty and callous this is gonna sound, but I needed Sat to focus on the job at hand; can’t have here thinking straight if she knew her sapphic sexual lover was still out there waiting for her. Hell, she probably would’ve snuck out by herself to try and look for her, raising indiscriminate shit along the way. Lord know’s what the mob would try knowing she was by herself; they’d be brain dead not to take advantage of that.” “You’re saying Sat can’t be by herself?” “I’m saying we needed her head in the game. Hated keeping it from her though; its why I thought now would be the perfect time to call the bitch back in the house.” “Huh, interesting way of thinking.” Thurs claims. “There was almost no other way I could think of to make it work. We ain’t dealing with some bad neighbors here, Thurs. This ain’t a game.” “Well, I hope Sat’s prone to understanding it as much as me.”

“Yeah…Alright, if I can’t get smashed, I can at least indulge myself in some good frozen pudding dessert. Where’s that last piece of flan I’ve been keepin in here?” Weds goes, turning back to take another look in the fridge. “Uhhh…” As if right on queue, the microwave finishes cooking whatever was inside and automatically opens its door, presenting within the last piece of flan that Wedsle seeked. The purple psychic himself is left silently irate over this, doing little more but to stare furiously back and forth between Thurs and the piece of dessert. “Uh…I…wanted to try a piece.” he meekly claims. “And you ran a piece of cold dessert through the fucking microwave?” “I have sensitive teeth. Cold food hurts me.” “That’s it. I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“Yo, July!” Wedsle suddenly shouts, prompting the keeper of the abode to appear out one of the kitchen cabinets. “You don’t have to shout at me. I’m right here.” he states. “Key. Now.” “Alright, you’re funeral.” the psychic house keeper proclaims, handing Wedsle one of his own bright red keys used to enter and exit from the safehouse. “Wait, where are you going?” wonders Thurs. “Out. I need some fresh air, a bit of a buzz, and hopefully a hooker or two to take the edge off.” “But what about all the dangers you said were waiting out there. You said yourself we had to play it safe.” reminds Thursotte. “Listen here. I’ve been stuck with almost nothing to do but dick around and deal with my burns for the past few weeks. If I don’t get some sun in the next hour or so, I’m going feral.” he warns, stabbing the key in one of the kitchen doors. Upon the key being jammed in the lock, the door glows alight with shining red as it transforms into a completely different door.

As he takes the key out and puts his hand on the knob, Thursotte again attempts to compel to him saying: “But you’re burns haven’t fully healed yet. If you’re going out, at least bring somebody with you.” “Thurs, chill. Long as I lay low, those mob bastards shouldn’t even know I’m out.” “Well, what am I supposed to tell the others?” “Uhhh…” “Wedsle, are you in here?” they then hear being echoed from the door on the other side of the room.” “Make something up. Tell them I’m jacking off somewhere, I don’t know.” the purple psychic hastily advises before slipping his way out. As soon as that very same door turns back to normal, Satette comes out from the other side and into the kitchen; the lively psychic briefly peering throughout the room before looking to Thurs and asking: “Hey, you know where Weds went? I gotta talk to him about something.” “Uhhh…”

From the other side of the psychically conjure door does Wedsle step down from the stoop of an antique shop, looking ahead to find himself standing in a normal urban neighborhood decorated with homes, apartments, and local shops; the standard fair you would find in any residential block of the big apple. The first thing the violet psychic does when finally outside is take in a big whiff of fresh air, a grin forming on his face as he exhales. Ah, the fresh, palatable smog. The cold hard concrete, the constant car horns, the occasional far off gunshots, the meth heads tweaking out in the middle of the Supermarket parking lot. Its been too long since the atmosphere of the urban streets have enraptured me in their gritty, raw charm. Stepping out from that overbearing stuffy safe house and back into the arms of the open streets, I know the first thing I wanna do.

Gaily strolling along through the hardened streets of the Big apple, Wedsle gleefully strolls right past the front of a strippers club and right into the ice cream shop right next door; waltzing right up to the counter to request: “One chocolate dip strawberry cone, please.” “You want sprinkles with that?” “Meh, don’t matter.” Waltzing right out from the ice cream parlor with a delicious scoop of strawberry bathed in chocolate syrup, the violet psychic strolls right back towards the strip club; barging right in to request: “One fellito from your finest employee, please.” “You prefer guys or ladies?” “Meh, don’t matter.” Coming right out from inside the strip joint moments later, Wedsle throws away the paper cone he ate his ice cream with in the trash, slurping up the last of the strawberry dip around his cheeks. Man, busting out a nice fat one while enjoying a nice strawberry chocolate dip is just the peak. Having your tongue orgasm the same time as your cock, its like ascending on another plane of existence from pure ecstasy alone. A relaxing sigh escapes from between his lips as Wedsle turns the street corner; his peepers prowling around for whatever shenanigans he could get into to shake off his cabin fever.

And its upon laying eyes on a nearby bank that he discovers it in the midst of being robbed by a couple of masked people barging right out the doors with sacks filled with cash; scurrying right into a car parked right at the curb. Turning the key to attempt and start the vehicle, the two robber are swift to find its engine refusing to so much as rumble, much less start with a roar; failing to ignite no matter how much the key is turned. Its when gazing into the reflection of the side view mirror that they discover the purple psychic standing right next to them; their gaze growing cold as he jingles the wires needed to start the engine. Without so much as a warning from him, Wedsle scares the absolute shit out of the two by punching straight through the window; both of the robbers paralyzed with fear as he shatters the glass into pieces. Yet rather than turning his hardened fist against them, the purple psychic instead reaches over to one of the sacks of money and swiftly yoinks it right out from inside the car. A rather startling and unpredictable turn of events which leaves the robbers stunned as Weds waltzes right off with the pilfered bag of cash; blowing the two of them a kiss as the sound of approaching police sirens echoes not far off. That very bag of loot is tossed right on top of a counter top, where the employee on the other side left concerned and perplexed by the generously dubious donation as Wedsle makes his exit; the purple psychic giving a thumbs up as he leaves the animal shelter.

Continuing his ventures through the streets of New York, the violet psychic comes upon a most troubling site: man in a business suit in the midst of being robbed by a few muggers, left with nowhere to run as they corner the guy at the end of an alleyway. Just when they are about to lay a beating down on this guy do they then turn around to discover Weds standing at the open end of the alleyway. Their gazes sharpen as they stare one another down, the hope in their victims eyes sparkling as his violet savior approaches. But upon noting the man’s wallet one of the muggers has and discovering him to be part of the IRS, a small detail of which flips the script for the violet psychic. The suited man’s hopes are thoroughly crushed as his thought to be purple hero join in on his muggers and start to beat him against the wall; two of them holding the their victim by his arms as Wedsle takes gut punch after stomach blow on him. They revel in shaking down this government money spend hog whilst punching him down to a bruised pulp; gleefully chuckling as he high fives the muggers.

Strolling further into the depths of the big apple with a fat stack of cash in hand, the violet urban adventurer ponder of what to do with his ill gotten gains in the eyes of the law; glancing to the shopping district for what he could buy. He puts his little shopping spree on hold however when peering to dead end street to find it filled with rugged homeless people, stricken with neglect and hunger beside a commercial street. Looking down to the fat stack of cash he had recently acquired, tempted to simply give his earnings to those who need it more. But would it be enough, he wonders. Its in pondering this that his attention his baited to a big truck labeled with name of a big food company drives right past to him towards the commercial district, soon compelled to follow after the truck as it heads towards one of the supermarket.

Out in the back of one of the supermarkets, the truck full of canned goods parks near the loading bay before the driver within unbuckles their seat belt. Yet before they can hope out to unload their cargo, the truck driver suddenly feels somebody tap at their shoulder from behind. They turn back and are alarmed to find the purple psychic sitting right beside them in the passengers seat, giving them a sly grin just before pushing the driver right out from the vehicle. Before the former driver could realize what had just happened, the truck they’ve been shoved out of suddenly peels out, streaking across the parking lot before driving right on out of there; the driver left to explain where their stock just up and went.

Back within the dead end street the group of homeless people walk among, their melancholic routine of neglect and despair is shunted aside when a wayward truck streaks right into the neighborhood and crashes straight into a brick wall. Gathering around the wrecked vehicle, the crowd of pour unfortunate souls watch as Wedsle stumbles out from the drivers seat and towards the back; their luck taking drastic turn when the purple psychic opens the cargo to let spill stacks and stacks of canned beans, vegetables, fruit, meats, and other assorted foods for the poor and hungry to feast upon. Their fortunate streak only grows as Wedsle makes it rain green from atop the crashed truck, all of them frantically clutching fist fulls of bills as they flutter down.

With a wave of his hands and a pep in his step, Wedsle hums his way around the urban blocks with a smile on his face; his rough and stressed demeanor having taken a complete 180 since earlier this morning. Man, being a certified menace to society was just what the doctor ordered to take the edge off. The sensation from the healing burns are only mildly irritating now. I’m feeling better already. But there ain’t a chance in hell I can just pack up and go home now, not while the day is still young, and when sunlight is cracking through the city smog. There’s gotta be more hell to raise somewhere in the core of this rotting fruit of a city.

And coming upon the corner does the rage controlling psychic end up spotting something that baits his eyes; the gathering of a large crowd at the gates of a small mansion, swinging around protest signs, chanting slogans and phrases against their adversaries. A typical strike against – and unfair living price. From one of the manors gargantuan windows is the owner of the home visible from the other side; a bitter middle aged man dressed in a polo shirt and dress pants contemptuously looking down upon them all with a glass of wine in hand. Yet despite their outrage, it seems that their strike had lasted for several days at best, evident of the tents, sleeping bags, and coolers. And from the looks of things, it seems that there has been very little progress made since then. No signs of the opposition letting up anytime soon. At least, not without the right push.

Thinking he could shift this little domestic situation into overdrive, and with next to nothing better to do on his day out, Wedsle decides to lend his support to the cause by seamlessly infiltrating their ranks. Blending in among the various protesters in their ongoing struggles; injecting himself in their situation with: “Rent strike, huh? Nice, I can get behind that. Fuck private owned property.” “Yeah, a bunch of us have been asking our landlord to lower rent due to our stagnating wages. But he ain’t hearing any of it, saying that “We ain’t working hard enough.” or “He doesn’t give handouts.”, crap like that.” the ginger haired man leading them all elaborates. “All while he’s snug and warm in his little dollhouse. Bet the little pussy bitch never worked a day in his life.” chastises Weds. “So that’s why we’re out here, making our voices heard. Refusing to cow tow to price hikes in the face of economic decline.” another of them state.

“Nice, how’s that been going?” the purple psychic asks. “Well, he hasn’t even come out to talk to us so far.” “What?” “Yeah uh, everything we’ve tried to negotiate with hasn’t worked.” “Well, what all’ve you been trying?” “We’ve been sending notes, petitions, contacting news sources.” “Have you tried mailing a pipe bomb to him?” Everyone gasps in astonishment upon the suggestion, one of of them wondering aloud: “You’re kidding, right. Does it look like any of us can afford to be in jail?” “You can barely afford to have a home. The hell you got everyone riled up here for if all y’all gonna do is pussy shit. You wanna get a douche bags attention, I’ll show ya how to get it.”

His eyes striding across the concrete beneath their feet, Wedsle sets his sites upon the broken chunk of a concrete block just big enough for somebody to lift; the purple menace reaching down to heave the hard cement brick right off the ground with but a single hand. A brief moment to aim is all he needs before pitching the hard block straight towards one of the manors windows; the chunk of concrete nearly hitting the landlord square in the head, a close call which makes him retreat into the depths of his home. A wave of utter shock surges through the rest of the protesting crowd as they look upon the display of damaged private property; the unexpected act of vandalism prompting the red headed leading them to stare out to the violet psychic and shout: “Are you out of your mind!? Why would you do that!?” “Why not do it? The fucker in their ain’t giving you all the same courtesy you all’ve been handing out, so why try and play nice anymore!? Why not scoop up the heaviest things you see and just pelt his tacky as doll house of a home!? Let’em know none of you are screwing around anymore.”

The violet psychic’s boastful words encourage the rest of the protesters to scoop up whatever bits and pieces of concrete they could reasonably pick up and just start chucking volleys of pebbles and rocks right over the gate to pelt the landlords manor with; some of them finding it a bit difficult heaving up some of the heavier chunks of cement only to end up tripping up. “No! Stop! We said we wouldn’t resort to this!” the ginger pleads. Having stirred the froth of anger and fury bubbling from underneath this striking crowd against such a money hungry vampire, Wedsle can’t help but let a satisfied grin stretch across his face; the justified chaos and disarray a beauty to behold for him.

That same smile swiftly deflates upon the sound of police sirens approaching, with almost everyone ceasing fire when hearing the incoming blares. “Its the cops, run.” one of the strikers screams, prompting the others to scatter akin to a family of badgers scampering from their exposed nest. Quick to arrive among the ongoing disarray, the horde of police officers charging straight in to tackle what ornery protesters they could catch among the chaos; the other strikes left with little choice but to flee against the overwhelming wave of cops threatening to arrest them.

Having fled a few blocks away from the rustling scene, Wedsle hides along the side of an apartment complex while peering back to the front gates of the landlords manor; some of the protester that had failed to escape in time being shoved in the back of police cars. The purple menace planning on skidaddle before any of those cops try to manhandle him in their wagons, he attempts to sneak off on out from the district entirely; reaching down to clutch the red key stashed in his pocket. Think I had enough fun for one day.

Though before he could so much as look for a door to use his key on, a hardened fist comes straight out of left field to slug Weds right in the face; the unexpected strike knocking him flat on his ass. “Ah! Who the fuck-” Peering up does he discover his assaulter to be the ginger haired man that had lead the protest, his enraged glare suggesting that he was none too happy about the stunt the purple punk had just pulled. “Oh, hey. Glad to see you got away, red head. I was just about to head on home to-” “What the hell is wrong with you!?” the striker then exclaim. “What? Is it a little bit too early to party?” “Too early to…You just threw out months of hard work, got some of my good neighbors arrested, and made us look like nothing but a bunch of vandals.” “Easy man, vandalism laws out here in the big apple aren’t that bad. I’m sure they’ll only get, what, like 3 or 6 months?”

“That’s not the point. Do you have any idea how long it took to rally everyone up for this. Countless month of negotiation, bargaining, and promises; right down the god damn drain! You think any of them are gonna risk what little they have left to just end up getting tossed in the slammer?” “Its not like your little petition party was doing anything productive. Least with what we were doing, it was scaring the shit out of the bastard.” claims Wedsle. “At the cost of people’s livelihoods?” “Their livelihoods were already spiraling out of control.” “And that’s why we can’t stoop to breaking the law.” “That’s why you have to break the law!” rebuts the purple psychic, a statement which leaves the ginger man at a loss for word. “Most people who break the rules don’t do it for shits and giggles; they do it cause they’re desperate. Why care about the world around you if the world isn’t willing to do the same? Why cowtow to what sort of arbitrary laws dickheads put in place if it only serves them and them alone. When all you have in life are the clothes on your back and the fragility of your own life, you bet breaking the rules is what people should be doing.”

Before the red headed man could so much as let another word out from the violet psychic’s speech, a voice calling out from behind him baits his attention over; hearing them say his name with: “Harold! Harold!” A peek back behind himself, the man discovers a young boy scuttling over to the two of them, the kid taking a moment to catch his breath as Harold asks: “Kenma! What’s wrong?” “Its my dad, the cops dragged him into their car and drove off. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell mom. What do we do?” desperately pleads the kid. “D…don’t worry, bud. A-as long as we stick together, I’m sure we can sort all this out and get your dad out of the slammer…” Suspending his sentence does the red head peek back to the purple punk, with hints of reluctance clear to see in him as he adds: “Even if we have to do it by any means necessary.” “That’s the spirit!” cheers Wedsle. “And this gentleman behind me is gonna help us.” “What?” “Think its fair to lend a hand after all the needless commotion and chaos you ended up causing, isn’t it?” “Phft! Fine.”

Along the length of a descending a stairwell, Wedsle is lead by the leader of the protesters alongside a small crew of other strikers; the purple punk among then stating aloud: “So your Headquarters is in your apartment complex’s basement.” “Is that a problem?” “Conspicuousness aside, not really.” At the end of the set of steps lies a locked door, of which Harold pulls out a small key to try and unlock; the protesting leader fiddling with the key lock while murmuring: “Come on…Come on…Deh…Turn…turn already…Why won’t this- Got it!” Beyond the doorway do all of them pour into the basement, where upon Wedsle surveys the condition of their homey little hidey hole; finding most of what you would expect in a typical buildings lower floors. Water heater, furnace, old boxes, hard concrete; the only thing different being the chairs surrounding a table with documents and maps, not to mention a cork board with phone numbers and deposit info. “Welcome to HQ, waters are in the fridge right there.” welcomes Harold. “Not the worst basement I’ve been dragged into. Least its clean.”

While the rest of them gather around the table, Wedsle wanders over to the fridge sitting in the corner and fancies a peek inside while going: “Whelp, if I’m gonna be hear for a while, might as well get comfy. Where’s your drinks.” wonders Wedsle. “You mean like alcohol?” “Yeah, wine, liquor, really I ain’t too picky.” “Sorry to break it to ya. There ain’t a drop down here.” one of the protesters claims. “The hell? Not even the cheap shit?” “Does it seem like we can afford to get smashed?” asks Harold. “Not with that attitude, you don’t. Ya just need a bit of creativity. Imma check back here and see what else you might have.” the purple punk states, making his way towards the open bathroom.

The moment that the violet psychic was out of earshot, one of the protesters speaks up to their leader over the current situation: “So, not to doubt you or anything, Harold. But why did you see it fit to bring that guys down here with us after you just got done arguing with him?” A hefty sigh seeps out from beneath their leaders breath as he plops his ass down on one of the chairs, admitting to his peers: “Hate to say it, but he was right about something. Everything we’ve been doing so far has done next to nothing to get our landlord to budge. All the legal stuff we’ve tried has either been shut down or ignored entirely. As reckless as that purple punk’s little stunt was, at least it got his attention; so he might be onto something. Even if we feel like we don’t want to.” “Knew there had to be rubbing alcohol in here. Wonder if this shit can be mixed.” they hear Weds shout from the bathroom. Peering back do the protesters watch Wedsle venture from the bathroom with them bottle of rubbing alcohol and back to the fridge; the violet psychic perusing inside for a bit before pulling out a bottle of grape juice, pouring the rubbing alcohol into it. “And I really don’t want to.”

Tasting his freshly made concoction of medical liquid and dollar brand grape juice, Wedsle shutters from but a single sip of of the deep purple cocktail as he finally joins the other strikers, letting out a brief grunt before judging. “Damn, more of a bitter punch than I thought. Kinda like it actually, not to bad for bootleg cocktail. Maybe needs a bit more cough syrup.” Baiting their attention back to him with a faux cough, Harold returns the conversation back to the matter at hand with: “So, new guy. How do you think we should go about convincing our landlord to lower our rent.” “Glad you finally asked. I was thinking something along the lines of-” “Without getting anybody hurt.” the leader interrupts to add. “Well, I think we could-” “Or killed.” “Damn. Really busting my balls here, mate. Still, I think I can work with that. Plenty of ways to gain leverage on somebody without inflicting bodily harm.” “Like?” “Well…”

Within the comforting confines of his manors living room, the landlord leisurely watching on his 90 in, 8K TV while sitting in his ultra plush recliner; a combo which leaves the man entranced in relaxation. Yet he is suddenly broken out from this stupor when hearing something break from right outside, the landlord shaking off his daze as he pulls himself off the chair and venture to the window. Peering out from the window overlooking his backyard does he then discover what caused such a loud ruckus, glaring down to the site of some of the protesters breaking some of his decorations; the statues he had installed reduced to pieces against their blunt weapons. Against this act of vandalism is the man quick to draw out his phone and dial the police, determined to not let these piss ants get away with their crimes; something that the cops are quick to fulfill as they rush into apprehend the perpetrators. Despite their efforts, about half of the rabble rousing protesters manage to escape from the long arm of the law, with Harold leading them all out over the fence.

A steaming hot platter of glazed ham, mashed potatoes, and baked vegetables sitting on the other end of the dinning table, the landlord plops his rear down on the empty chair as he stares down to the delectable spread of dinner laying before him, scoping up the silverware beside it eager to dig right in. Mouthwatering juice seeps out from the ham as he jabs the fork into its side, reflecting the lights above as the piece of meat is guided towards the man’s opening maw. His chance to enjoy the delightful blend of saucy goodness is suddenly put on hold when catching the sounds of a shuffle not too far away; the noise baiting his attention to the door at the end of the dinning room leading into the kitchen. Off from his chair and away from his meal, the landlord cautiously approaches the door to peek out through its window, witnessing on the other side some of the protesters raiding his kitchen; all of them pilfering every ounce of food they could from every shelf and cabinet they could reach. Rather than burst in and attempt to confront so many people on his own, he is again inclined to reach for his phone to call the authorities. The police waste little time in coming to apprehend all of the food looters, the protesters scrambling away from the pursuing police in a frenzy with whatever meals they could carry; Harold leading them all through an escape route among the chaos.

Laying ideally in a fresh drawn bubble bath, the landlord sinks in the frothing mixture of his warm water and rose scented bubbles as both the bathwater and the ambient candle light wash over him in a blend of relaxing euphoria. He is quickly fished out from this blissful experience when the sharp echo of broken glass suddenly perpetrates his ears; the landlord rising out from the frothy waters to step out from the tub and check what was happening out from his bathroom. Peeking out from the crack of his washroom door, he discovers the source of the noise to be from intruders having broken into the confines of his home, attempting to procure his finely bought decorations and furniture. A transgression of which he refuses to let stand as he brings out his phone to alert the local authorities. It takes police little time to storm in and arrest those breaking and entering, with Harold and Wedsle left with little choice but to bail out through the window.

“Okay, so not a single one of those schemes worked. Really thought the third time would be the charm.” the purple psychic reviews. “But that’s alright. We still got uh…” Peering around the basement table, the violet psychic counts how many protesters are left standing among them; pointing out to each one as he silently counts. “5? 5. 5 of us left. Did some of us get caught, sure; but that sure as hell shouldn’t stop us. I was thinking than next we could maybe try-” “You seriously still think we can keep going, after all the people we got tossed in the can?” Harold then interrupts. “Hey, you only need one man to make a difference. Besides how many people got arrested, like 2, 3?” “There were about 18 of us here this morning.” “Oh…well jeez. Still, at least it seems like that pricks taking you seriously now.” “Yeah, and look where it got us. We should’ve just moved.” the leader sighs, parting from the basement table as he heads for the stairs.

“Wait, really? You gonna give up, just like that, after only three tries?” compels Wedsle, following after him. “This isn’t some game, you jackass. These are people’s lives we’re talking about. I don’t know about you, but I can risk the livelihoods of what people are left standing. I can’t sleep at night knowing that people were dragged away from their loved ones in a fruitless effort. I won’t throw what good people I have left trying to tear down an unbreakable wall.” he claims. “Alright alright alright. I see what your bitching about.” the purple punk claims, quick to stand between the leader and the bottom of the steps. “So let me at least offer you a proposition before you throw in the towel.” “Come on, man.I already told you that I ain’t-” Harold starts to reject.

“No no. See, that’s the beauty of it. You and the rest of your crew won’t have to even lift a finger. Just let me and a couple of friends I got take it from here.” “You’re kidding, right? You seriously expect me to put my faith after all your little plans have been leading me and rest of us down here in nothing but trouble?” “Fine, if your that apprehensive, then maybe you can come with the plan. Whatever stitched together brainchild you birth out of the labia folds of your mind, we’ll follow every step. That good for you.” Upon being asked of this does the protesting leader peer back to the table behind him to see who all he had left, unfortunately finding nothing but elderly, some kids, and one scraggly fellow sitting in the corner; a poor spread which makes the guy let out a begrudging moan and admit: “Okay, fine. I had this one idea on the back burner for a bit.” “That’s the spirit.”

After such a long and rough day dealing with so many incidents behind its walls, the evening sun finally sets upon the landlords abode as the last of the twilight gives away to the city night life; the man of the house stumbling his way into the bedroom as he disrobes. Approaching his deluxe sized memory foam mattress in nothing but his underpants, he lets out a comforting moan while slipping underneath the silky smooth sheets, laying blissfully as if he were on top of a serene cloud. This peaceful landlord is but moments away from slipping out from the bustling realm of consciousness, when a sudden loud clank from outside drags him out from comfort; the man of the house compelled to take his phone with him as he investigates. From outside his bedroom doorway, the landlord peers through the depths of his dark hallway in judging where the unexpected crash had came from; when in the corner of his eye, he spots the glimpse of a shadow snaking around the corner. Despite not knowing what may have broken into his abode in the dead of night, the landlord still has a pretty good idea who they may be and is quick to dial the police; all the while carefully prowling where the shadow slithered.

Out from the hallway and into the dinning room, the landlord cautiously walks beside the length of the table as he scans the room; the streetlights outside glistening through the window to provide ample luminescence. “I know you vandals are in here.” the landlord claims, his raspy voice echoing across the near empty room. “I’ve already called the police. They’re on their way. And just for good measure, I’m having them stop by the apartments to flush the rest of you out. I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

Upon this threatening remark is he suddenly spooked by the site of a small quarter rolling across the dinning room floor; his eyes following the small coin as it makes its way over towards the fireplace, nicking against the base of its stone structure. And despite only inflicting the smallest of taps upon the bottom of the fireplace, from the small fracture it left behind do the cracks rapidly grow and grow, stretching across the stone brick until the length of its neck begins to crumble to pieces. Whole chunks of the fireplace collapse and crash onto the dinning room table and chairs, reducing eloquently carved wood to nothing but broken splinters in the blink of an eye. This terrible accident happening just a few feet before him, the old landlord scampers across the mess to run out of the ruined dinning room; his panicked screams echoing down the hallway he hurries down.

From the depths of the hallway does the landlord hovel his way into the study, peering throughout for any signs of disturbances or break ins that may have accord; the streetlights from outside shining through the windows in providing slices of illumination. Glistening against the light from the other side of the living room sat a double barrel shot gun with an elaborately carved wooden butt mantled on the wall; the landlord quick to scurry over to the weapon to arm himself, with his aim wandering around while he hollowly threatens: “Don’t think I don’t know how to use this! I’m within my full American right to defend myself, if have to!”

His aim trailing off to one of the windows, the landlord aims the barrels of his weapon over to one of the curtains when noticing a pair of shoes exposed along the bottom; the shoes slithering up the wall as soon as they’re spotted. Quick to pull the trigger does the landlord unleash an entire blast of pellets that rends the curtains apart, with the harsh recoil nearly knocking him down to the floor. When he recovers from his shotguns blow back, he glances over to the curtains to find its silk surface crumbling away. The man can only back away in growing terror however, when finding nothing hiding behind the ruined curtains. His first instinct being to retreat behind the recliner in hopes of hiding from whoever, or whatever, may be haunting his abode; the landlord peeking from the top to survey where this enigmatic intruder may appear next.

What he fails to predict however is feeling something clutch at his ankle; the unexpected grasp making him fall flat on his ass, in which he discovers a hand from underneath the seat tightly holding onto his foot. Having already spent the slugs of his shotgun, the landlord resorts to turning the weapon around to try and beat the hand off with the butt in a desperate bid to escape; the disembodied hand lets go to instead grasp at the handle of the weapon. Try as the man may to retrieve his weapon from the mysterious intruder, the gun slips out from the landlord grasp before he ends up tumbling back to the wall behind him. As he shakes off his brief bump, he can only watch as the hand he struggled fighting back slip back into the depths of the chair, dragging his precious firearm underneath with it. He races back to the seat to reach down and flip it upside down, only to find practically nobody hiding underneath; no arm, no hand, no gun, nothing.

The landlords breath grows ever more shallow and ragged among these escalating occurrences, making him simply back away from the flipped furniture as he frantically looks through the study for whatever may happen next. His tingling terror only gets worse when he suddenly feels somebody behind him tap at his shoulder; the man quickly peeking back only to see not a soul standing behind him. Just as he ponder what could have baited his attention, the landlord suddenly feels something tickle the top of his head; the guy jolting his eyes back to discover nothing fluttering above. The landlord begins to tremble around the room as these rapidly occurring incidents leave him more and more paranoid. Its among his worsening fright that he witness a pair of arms slither out from under his own sleeves, reaching out from within his shirt to then grasp as his neck; the landlord struggling to pry the pair of arms off as they begin to strangle him. Its in frantic desperation that he tears off his pajama shirt in an attempt to pry the arms choking him away, the limbs letting go as he takes off his tee and tosses it down onto the floor. Once discarding his comforting shirt, the landlord lets out a yelping squeal as he makes a mad dash towards the way out of the study; a person emerges out from underneath the inside of the article of clothing to watch them flee.

The landlords frantic scurrying trails him back into the confines of his manors living room; the shadows that encompass the room broken apart by the streetlights flooding in, reflecting off the onyx black screen of his gargantuan TV. Yet these snippets of illumination fail to ease his dread as he wanders through, rapidly peering across every corner of the room for any other frightening figures that invade his home. Its among his scared trance that the landlord witnesses somebody prowling through where he came, this intruder donning a thick, purple hood, black leather gloves, and the mask of a demon, one whose eyes stare upon him with their deathly radiant violet glow. The man recoil at the mere site of the monster’s visage, retreating back as the invader lumbers inside; his back side bumping into the shelf of decorative swords behind him. Quick to pry open the glass case containing one of these weapons, the landlord brandishes the blade directly towards the approaching intruder, warning to them: “Stay back! I’m warning you!” The demonic masked man is unfazed however by this threat as they continue to prowl closer and closer, clearly showing that they refused to be frightened by the edges of the landlords weapon.

Seeing the intruder take one more step too many, the landlord is prompted to take a daring charge against them with sword in hand, wildly swinging out to the invader with no regard to aim. Effortlessly evading simply one of these wayward slashes, the purple invader drives his knee directly into the man’s stomach; a blow which makes him loose his grasp upon the decorative blade he wields. Snatching up the sword right out from the landlords grasp, the masked intruder grabs him by the arm before tossing him against the wall; the man grunting from the impact before falling back down to the floor. A glance back to the violet invader, he watches them take the weapon he had confiscated from his grasp with both hand to bend the steel of the blade; the sword cracking up enough to snap right in half, nothing left but a broken hilt the intruder discards.

“You think you can just get away with this Harold, breaking into my home to terrorize me? The police are already on their way, they’ll be here any second now. And when they get here, I’ll make sure you and the rest of you ungrateful hooligans rot in prison for the rest of your days.” the man threatens. Out from the brash threat does the living room’s Television suddenly springs to life, letting the screen’s vivid light banish the darkness crawling through the quarters. What that very screen presents to the landlord is something that utterly baffles him. On the TV rolled a live feed of his apartment complex which the tenants had dwell, revealing the protesters that had accosted him being awoken by officers in the middle of the night; each one that hadn’t been tossed in the can talking with them from the front of their own apartment doors. The landlords perplexed terror only skyrockets when he finds the man he accused the intruder of being among one of these shown to him on the stream; Harold dressed in casual pajama bottoms discussing with the police from the foot of his own bed.

The realization of the intruder he’s face not being one of his agitating tenants begins to sink in as his bravado crumbles away, the landlord finally giving in to the lingering helpless terror that spread through him like a descending chill. That dreads only grows as the demonic masked intruder continues to approach, their rising shadow looming over the man as they lumber closer with the tip of the broken blade in their hand. “P-P-P-please, don’t come any closer.” he begins to plead, the looming frighten finally beginning to set in. “If, y-you’re with the protesters, just tell them th-they win, okay. I’ll lower their rents from now on, just don’t hurt me!” His pleads yet fall on deaf ears as the masked figure only grows closer and closer; the violet glow shining out from underneath their mask reflects off the landlords pupils, with those peepers shrinking as the intruder aims the broken tip of the decorative sword towards his head. “Al-alright fine. I’ll drop the charges so that the rest of the tenants can go free! Just stay back!” Seeming to ignore the plea for mercy, the masked invader thrusts the tip of the broken off blade right towards him, the landlord closing his eyes in preparing to be impaled. Hearing a harsh stabbing sound right beside him, the landlord opens his eyes as he peeks over to find the tip of the weapon having been jammed right into the wall just by his head. The man then looks ahead to realize the masked intruder accosting him having disappeared, vanishing without so much as a single trace left behind; the landlord left bawling in the corner from all he had been through that very night.

From the other side of a bright red doorway, the figure in the demonic mask enter through with two others at his side; the invader clutching at his mask to pull right off his head as they enter into the psychic safe house. “Whew…Damn, didn’t think a mask would make me so sweaty.” Wedsle claims, taking off the mask. “Still, didn’t expect it to feel so…natural. Like putting on another face that feels right. Maybe I’ll wear it next time I’m at a strip club and see who’s interested.” Behind him follow both Frida and Thursotte, the wall merging inspecting the elaborately carved shotgun she had pilfered from the landlord as she lists off its features: “Smooth trigger, nice and sleek carved finish for the butt, finely polished 416 stainless steel…Holy shit, the intricacy of how the twisted barrels shaped. You are too good to just leave up on a wall. I’ll give this bad boy a good home.”

“So, you just decide on a whim to participate in a protest for an apartment complex for somewhere you don’t even live, for strangers you barely even know…for fun?” reviews Thurs. “Hey, had to kill the boredom somehow. And what better way to massacre the time than taking part in a socioeconomic uprising. Teach that old bastard to raise rent on the poor.” “You think we might have gone a bit overboard with scaring him though?” “If we scared the shit out of him good enough, he’ll remember this night for what few decades left on this Earth he has. Beside, most landlord are just leeches.” “Letting people live in places you own for a price isn’t as unfair as you think.” July then intrudes. “I mean, I let all of you live here rent free. I technically am a landlord.” “Yeah, but you guys don’t build the houses, you just buy them up and make people pay you to live there.” rebuts Wedsle. “I literally made the room we are standing in with my mind!” “And we all appreciate your contribution to the cause.” the violet psychic thanks, waltzing right through the door leading into the kitchen.

“Okay, but why? Why go through all that trouble for people you barely knew?” “Because, Thursotte. I like to think I am a man of the little people. Somebody willing to humbly aid those which this world rails in the ass with a 7 inch barbed pole. Isn’t that why people start shit in the first place?” boasts Wedsle. “…You wanted an excuse to get out of talking to Sat, didn’t you?” July then accuses. “What!? Of all the insensitive nerves. How could the two of you think so little of me as to…” Despite his feign attempts to protest this accusation, it was clear to the violet psychic that neither of them were buying his whole faux noble spiel, forcing Wedsle to drop the act to instead questions: “Wh-what the hell am I even supposed to say to her? “Hey, Sat. Sorry about faking your girlfriends gruesome death and lying about it behind your back for months now. Hope you’re not mad enough to wanna psychically castrate my testicles and sow them to my mouth.” Doubt she’s gonna take all that with a slap to the wrist and a kiss on the dick.” “Wedsle, I’ve known you for years. You have done way worse.” July then points out. “Maybe to some poor soul in the back of a dark midnight ally, but not to one of my mates. Again, what do you want from me?” “Just tell her the truth. I’m sure she’ll understand when you explain why you had to take so many measures.” suggests Thursotte. “Probably…or we could probably bury it and hopeful never have to unpack all those shitty talking prompts for say…until I die.” the purple punk then proposes, a suggestion that has both July and Thurs’ eyes rolling.

“Now, the hell are we eating tonight. If we’re eating out, I know the perfect place we can-” Cutting himself short, he finds something that he had been dreading to face for a little while, somebody that he didn’t want to see, but knew that it was an inevitability. Sitting atop the counter before him be the lively psychic alone in the kitchen, hopping off onto the floor to approach him. “Oh, Hey Sat.” the purple punk nervously greets. “Wedsle, we need to talk.” she claims. “Okay, okay…but I just remembered that I left something back in the other room. Lemme go get it real quick.” Yet faster than he could even blink does the door behind him slams shut, the violet psychic soon finding it locked tight from the other side. Oh, those dickheads.

A glance back over, the violet psychic is astonished to find Satette standing directly in front of him, fixing an accusatory glare against him that wordlessly demands some form of explanation; bits of anxious sweat run down his forehead as he is forced to stare down to here. Easy, Weds. You can get through this, just act natural. “Uh…So…You and Janna settling in alright? Done anything…kinky…or what?” he blathers out. Not that natural, you fucking man whore.

“Why did…” the lively psychic begins to utters. “Why…?” “Why didn’t you tell me…about Janna? How all this time, I felt all alone thinking she was…gone?” Being questioned of this baits out a disheartening sigh from the purple punk, prompting to shake off his initial weariness to explain: “Sat, you know why I had to fake her death, right? Considering how much were against the city’s superpowered criminal syndicate, it was the best I could think of.” “No…I mean, I get why you had to…I’m saying out of all the people to keep it from, why me? Don’t you think out of everyone, I deserved to know?…That all my actions didn’t get my girlfriend murdered? You watched me spiral into a wreck knowing the whole time she was alive. Was it just…funny to you!? Cause I sure as hell ain’t laughing!” “That’s not it!” he then harshly retorts, a response which makes Satette step back.

After a moment to calm himself down, Wedsle then calmly continues with: “Believe me, woman. It ate me up watching you sink like that. Hell, I was even thinking about letting the cat out of the bag early sometimes so it don’t suffocate and die. But if I did, you’d obviously wanna see her. So much in fact, that I was paranoid you would sneak out going to look for her, even if it was by your damn lonesome. And god knows the mob wouldn’t waste a second taking that silver platter.” “So what. You think I couldn’t take care of myself?” “I was thinking Janna couldn’t.” Weds then claps back with, something which leaves the lively psychic stunned.

“I ain’t saying you’re a bitch. I’m saying that the mob would’ve figure out who you were looking for sooner or later and would’ve found her before you did. I didn’t wanna risk that. I couldn’t risk that. All that planning after the whole stunt would’ve been burned up to hell and back. And hey, given how Janna got out of this pretty much unscathed, I’d say that gamble was worth it. You got your fuck buddy back, and we got somebody helping us decrypt December’s files. Everybody wins, right?” he reviews, a statement which leaves Sat mildly despondent and upset. “Look, it was shitty of me keeping this, I ain’t fightin that. And really, I’d have told you sooner if I could, believe me. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Seeing his justification for hiding Satette’s girlfriend from her for so long doing little to satisfy her, Wedsle takes in a deep breath before proposing: “Tell ya what. How bout I let you get one off me, no string attached.” “Excuse me?” Sat is quick to reply. “Slug one out on me. Blow off some steam and gimme a taste of the pain you’ve been feeling. I mean it. I wound up hurting you, so I think I should let you maim me. Feels like its the best way we could be even.” “Wedsle.” “Come on. You know me, I can take it. Ain’t gonna let some slight burns and a busted ribs keep me down. Take the biggest swing you got, I swear to ya I won’t get-”

In the matter of an instant does the violet psychic suddenly feels an overwhelming sharp pain in between his legs, with Satette having driven her foot deep into Wedsle testicles; the unexpected blow crumbling the purple punk to his knees as he grabs his crotch. It genuinely takes Wedsle a couple seconds to feel through the crotch shot as the stinging sensation makes him tremble, having to have a few moments to breathe. Among processing the horrible sting inflicted upon him, he peers up to gaze upon the lively psychic looking down at him, obliged to grunt out to ask: “We good?” Leaning down to the kneeling purple punk, Satette plants a soft smack on the cheek as her soft touch relieving a fraction of Weds’ anguish; the lively psychic declaring: “We good. You want spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?” “Sure, just let mine drop back down first. Ooh…Holy shit.”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

[lillaxtrigger]

Beaming down from the desolate shadows of an empty dark room, a single light spots down upon the deeply coveted stone of psychic potential; its cracked glass casing glistening against the descending glow. “The psychic stone. An artifact capable of unlocking the true potential of one’s own mind, bestowing those blessed in its glow an incredible power the likes of which are capable of transforming our very world.” Stepping out from among the dark, the violet psychic, plastered in gauze and a couple of casts, swipes the precious babble off the table and admires the little rock encased within, celebrating of how: “And its back in our clutches. Back from the bowels of the mob’s stomach. I mean, its kinda worse for wear. But hell, nothing but a little spit shine and glue can’t fix. What matters is that its in our little corner of town.”

In the blink of an eye is the surrounding void cast away as several more light fixtures overhead illuminate; Wedsle covering his eyes from the invasive glow as he’s revealed to be standing in one of their hideouts offices. Gazing to the other side of the brightly lit space, the purple psychic discovers Frida standing next to the light switch, retracting her finger away from the flip switch to ask: “All great wins. Hooray for us. Now what?” “Ain’t it obvious. We use the stone to power up and overthrow the bosses.” And how you suppose we make that play out?” “Well…um…” “You even have a plan?” “Shut the fuck up! I’m work shopping one.” exclaims Wedsle.

“Do you even know how we’re supposed to power up with that pebble? Hell, do you even know how you did it?” further questions Frida. “Uh…a bolt came out from the crack and shocking me in the head. Next thing I knew, I had one of the worst migraines in my life. Worse than any hangover I felt after a wild night at a swingers party.” “Gross.” “Any who, I couldn’t tell ya what got it this little mcguffin to spark. Could’ve been anything for all I know. Either way, just being out of the mob’s hands is an advantage enough. Better off not having anymore of those bastards being boosted.” Its then that the door leading out from the small office space suddenly bursts open, Thursotte leaping out from the illuminated hall on the other side with exasperation painted across his face. “Guys, you two ain’t gonna believe what I just found out; you’re gonna wanna come and see this.” he urges.

Gathering beside the chaos triggering psychic, Frida, Weds, and Tuesco watch as Thurs sits staring at the monitor of a computer; the screen displaying a myriad of locked files and documents upon looking through. “This is about as much data as the thumb drive I plugged into the laboratory’s server got. Most of it is encrypted, but I did manage to scope out some files that weren’t.” he elaborates. “You managed to keep that? Thought the doc would’ve swiped it back the moment you got caught.” the purple psychic wonders. “I figured the same thing, which is why I put it somewhere him or his drones wouldn’t have thought to look.” “Where would you even keep it?” Tuesco can’t help but wonder. “Let’s just say that when you spend a couple of months in prison, you tend to pick up some tricks you wanna use when sneaking stuff around; preferably if its isn’t something bigger than a couple inches in diameter.” “What does that uh even…” “He’s talking about using his prison wallet.” answers Wedsle. “Ew.”

“What’s a prison wallet?” they all suddenly hear an adolescent voice ask, the trio glancing back to find the Sunny standing right behind them. To the young sound controlling kid’s innocent wonder, a devious smile stretches across the violet psychic cheeks; proclaiming that: “I’m gonna tell him.” “You better not.” Tues threatens. “What are you all even talking about?” “We are about to review what was on copied on the thumb drive.” Thurs gets them all back on track with. “Ooh, can I see.” the boy pleads. “Thurs?” the air crystallizing psychic wonders, looking to the young man. “Meh, all the files we can browse through right now are nothing but documents. Nothing graphic or anything.” “Aw, boring.”

“Well, you might find it all a little less boring when I pull up the visitation records the doc’s been keeping.” mentions Thurs, turning right back to the computer monitor. Displayed on the screen be a full spreadsheet documenting showing a list of months followed by a slew of numbers, each of them categorized from intrusions, meetings, and abductions. Scrolling down near the bottom of the list, the jinx triggering psychic points to a 5 put underneath intrusions. “See this? The server jotted the five of us down not long after we broke into the lab. Assuming no one else didn’t stumble in there by accident, then this list should be accurate.” “There a point to showing us this?” wonders Wedsle. “Look just a month back. Under meetings.” Thursotte hovers the mouse over the very spot he brings attention to, the square standing between last month and how many visited. “4? Guess we weren’t the only one’s making a clinical visit.” Frida figures. “Question is who would even willingly go down to that metal factory of nightmares?”

“Are you for fucking real?” Wedsle then butts in with. “Come again?” “All this time, we thought December was nothing but some shitty urban barrel fire tale told to make lackeys piss themselves. The only people who knew he was real without a doubt were the same one’s he worked under. Who else could it be?” “The bosses!? If they went down there while they still had the stone…Oh god.” shutters Thurs. “But who were their plus one’s? Doubt they’d just lead anyone down there.” questions Frida. “I got a couple of ideas, but can’t be too sure. There anything else you dug up about this, Thurs?” “Nothing that’s unencrypted. Without some way to break the locked files, this is about as much as we can view.” “Dammit! It ain’t like any of us are that tech savvy either. If we can’t access the data. We can’t tell what their next moves’ll be. We’d just be taking pot shots in the dark.” Tuesco summarizes

“None of us can crack this code, but I know somebody who could.” assures Wedsle. “What the- when did you even…If you knew someone like that, why didn’t you say anything before?” questions Thursotte. “Because their anonymity was a priority, had to be with all the info they’ve been shoveling through; scooping up bits of handy intel in between the piles of cow shit. Plus, that they’re not exactly the action type; they’re more of an informant than a fighter.” “Informatio- Hang on. Was this the masked guy you had us meet with in that art museum?” Thurs points out. “The same. While we were all gallivanting through the city like a bunch of drunk collage dropouts, they we’re behind the scenes practically navigating our cobbled together vessel of criminal antics. How you think we figured where our little living megaphone was camping out?” confirms Weds, scuffling the sound controlling kid’s hair. “Of course, with how dangerous things are gonna get out there. I say its time we bring the bitch of a sniffer dog in.”

“So, how are we gonna meet up with them?” wonders Frida. “We aren’t. But one of us will.” “The heck does that mean?” follows Thursotte. “With how dangerous gathering info about the mob was, their identity and whereabouts were top shit. They find out where or who they were, the syndicate wouldn’t waste anytime putting them down and shutting them up. Which is why I had them take so many measures, and why I plan on sending someone to meet them with; somebody they’ll know for sure is with us.” “And, who do you have in mind?” the dimensional psychic asks, a little smirk forming across the side of Wedsle face.

Reverberating out from one of the safe house’s bedrooms be the grungy, repetitive guitar strums of a slow song coming from Satette’s phone; the lively psychic herself left simply laying in her bed to vaguely stare into the darkness that encompass her quarters. Mellow guitar strums and blinking shadows are all that she can bring herself to process among drowning in a swirling froth of ennui, rubbing the properly patched up wound where her arm used to be. As she lies buried deep among the mind numbing gloom, a regrettable sigh can’t help but escape from her; a sign of how she wonders why she continues, despite how much she lost.

Quite frankly demolishing this depressing respite, the door leading out of the bedroom suddenly busts down against the encompassing might of the purple psychic’s ass kicking foot; the unexpected break in causing Sat to fumble right off the side of her bed. Letting himself in, Wedsle starts to constantly flip the light switch on and off as he loudly blares out: “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, bitches. Time to make like a slick backed pimps cash cow, climb out from the cesspit of pity parties and get yer ass back out in the streets!” “Agh, Weds!? You couldn’t have at least knocked?” “The other’s tried knocking for your unresponsive short term depressive labia for the past few days without so much as a peep. Figure I’d skip the formality and skip straight to dragging you outta this nest of pathetic sadness.” “No, thanks. I’m not in the mood.” grumbles Satette, crawling back onto her bed.

A small sigh seeps out from his mouth as Wedsle approaches the bed to sit on the side, resting his palm atop the young woman’s shoulder and consoling how: “Look, I can see what you’re going through, taking the L and losing your arm. Feels like the whole world around you is caving in while your left to slowly drown in this bubbling black tar of defeatism. I’ve felt the pools gradual sticky pull more than once, I won’t lie; but there is always a way to swim out from the sadness and wash off the tarry splotches of lingering despair. You wanna know how?” “Hm?” “Its by getting off your ass and getting out there like a freshly motivated prostitute still humoring future hopes and dreams. Switch that daily dose of depresso for a cool cup columbine coffee, preferably with a dash of sugar and creamer. Just not the kind in the back though, time’s turn that sweet nectar into chunky custard.” “Hm.” “Besides, even if you don’t wanna, I can just drag you out by the only arm you got left.” “You wouldn’t.” she finally turns over to him to respond with. “Oh Sat, you’ve seen me do way worse.” This tad bit of persuasion is enough to motivate the lively psychic into climbing out from her bed and stand once more; stretching her arm and legs as she requests: “Just gimme 10 minutes, kay?” “Atta girl. Get back out there and kick your depressive episode right in the pussy.” motivates Wedsle, making his way out the bedroom door.

Shutting Satette’s bedroom door behind him, the purple psychic glances over to find Frida waiting beside the door; the gun wielding woman worrying “Weds, you sure the girl’s ready to get back out there?” “The informant specifically requested to meet up with her, she has to go.” “Tell that to her crippling depression.” “Trust me, Frids. When she meets up with out special guest, that frown is gonna turn upside down in the blink of an eye, and maybe then some.” The dimensional psychic can’t help but let a concerning groan slip over Wedsle’s assurance; Weds himself noticing the little signs of anxiety as she turns over Sat’s bedroom door. “Damn, Frida. You seem a little more uncharacteristically anxious than usual. I typically see you saving that sort of helicopter parent shit for Thurs, and even then, it ain’t anything like this. What’s up?” “What the fu- Nothing. Okay. Fuck off.”

“Oh okay, now I’m starting to get it.” “The hell are you talking about.” “Its practically written all over your face. You’re upset over Sat losing her arm on your watch, aren’t ya?” Though she didn’t wish to display it, her faux indifference was easy to see straight past; the way her eyes trail over to the door. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up too hard about it. Ya destroyed the lab, got his files, killed the doc, and got everyone out of there alive. Considering how much you had on your plate, you handled all that pretty damn smoothly.” “Not as smoothly as I hoped. Everyone got caught cause of my piss poor planning and had to be bailed out by a fucking preteen. If Sunny listened to me and didn’t drop in when he did, none of us would’ve made it out. Told you I wasn’t leader material, and what that girl in there lost proves it.” “Frids, come on, you-”

Their conversation is suddenly cut short as the door beside them opens up; stepping out from the dark bedroom being the lively psychic, dressed and ready to go. Not a word is shared between the trio as Satette simply walks right past them; the despondent fog blanketing her pupils making it abundantly clear how utterly defeated she feels. Her dejected display of gloom and doom further lowers Frida’s spirits; the dimensional psychic seeing first hand how utterly affected by the loss of her friend’s arm was. “Sat, hold up…” Wedsle attempts to stop her with. Despite in earshot of the purple psychic, his call goes unabated as Sat simply meanders around the corner. Hoping to salvage what he could out of this depressing circumstance, Weds turns back around to try and heave Frida out from her own funk; yet is left disappointed as he discovers the wall merging psychic having absconded as well. “Fuckin, jeez. Thought one moody woman was enough on my hands, now I got two to deal with.”

Contrasting against the harsh depths of the urban jungle, the towering concrete walls and constant car horn honking are replaced with wide open sky, natural green tree’s, and bird chirps that make up the peaceful vibe of one of the big apple’s suburban Burroughs. The rough apartments of brick and stone cast aside in place of small personal homes; the tree’s and foliage, once suffocating among the pavement, spread more thoroughly among the stretches of house yards lining the suburbs. Hell, there were even some small gardens being cultivated in some of the backyards that could be peeked into.

Strolling along the sidewalk of this stretch of inner city suburban life, Satette peers across the street with the same gloomy gaze she had when leaving the safehouse; the drastic change in her surroundings doing little to quell the crumminess looming over her. But not everything was as well as this little slice of suburban life would lead you to, for she soon comes upon a young woman walking right by her; the lady’s tired and pale visage showing her to not be doing so hot. It felt as if this sickly woman was barely aware of her surroundings as she stumbles around in a dizzying haze, left dressed as if she had just gotten out of bed with nothing but a shirt and some sweatpants on. Neither of them so much as say a word to one another as they pass by; but something does end up escaping from the woman’s mouth as she suddenly lets out a giant sneeze just a few feet away from the lively psychic, leaving Satette to back away as she lets the lady pass by.

This cautious step back ends up distracting her to not pay attention to a tree planted along the sidewalk, the lively psychic unwittingly gets her foot caught along an exposed root and starts to fumble. Without so much as a thought does she try to save herself by reaching over to the tree standing to her right, yet realizes all too late the lack of her right arm; leaving her to just fall right onto the hard concrete sidewalk. The obvious pain from the fumble aside, this little screw up is what makes it dawn on her how seldom used to her missing limb she truly was; her own body not even adjusted to the change as she still felt as if her arm was still there. God dammit…

Appearing out in the aftermath of her fumble, Satette peers over to witness a palm being offered to her; the lively psychic taking the helping hand to let it help her pull her back up and discover the hand belonging to a middle aged man, concerned over her fall. “You feeling alright there, missy?” “Yeah, just a few scrapes. Nothing serious.” she assures. “You sure that all? Somethin’s telling me that little tumble wasn’t only thing getting you down.” the man then questions. “Sorry, but I’m a little too busy right now to trauma dump on some random stranger I bumped into.” “You at least got time to talk about your recent arm accident.” the middle aged man suddenly points out, an observation of which makes Sat stop dead in her tracks. “How do you know it was recent?” she sternly asks him. “Its practically painted all over your pretty little face. The bags of eyes, the unkempt ragged hair, the utter despondency. Seems like your suffering from a case of the blue’s right there. You wanna take a break and talk about it.” “The hell does someone like you know what I’m going through?” Satette defensively questions. “I know more than you might think.” claims the man, waltzing over to the side of the tree.

Leaning himself against the small tree’s bark, the kind stranger reaches down to one of his legs and clutches to its ankle; Satette left astonished as she watches the guy pull the lower half of his own leg right off. Presenting this does he reveal the bottom of his leg to be nothing but plastic; a prosthetic serving to replace a part of the foot having long since been lost. “Jesus! A fake leg?” “Yep. Got caught in an accident around my early 30’s that left my leg a balled up scrunchy; had to be cut off so this bad boy could take its place.” “Jeez. I didn’t know. Now I just feel like a huge bitch.” she reluctantly admits. “Don’t be. I felt around the same way as you when it got cut off. Depressed, frustrated, felt like my whole world was falling apart. Shut out everyone that tried to help. Course that was years and years ago. And you wanna know the difference between then and now?” “What?” “Some friends, some joy and most importantly, time. It took me time. Admittedly, more of it then I thought, but still.” After taking a bit of a moment to pop his prosthetic leg back on, the middle aged man pushes himself of the side of the tree and continues with: “Time might not heal all wounds, but it heals more of them than you might think. Maybe let that ruminate with ya for a bit.” The encounter with the cheery middle aged man coming to a close, Sat simply watches the guy stroll back into his daily commute; putting her hand in her dress pocket as his words stick to her.

In the depths of her own pocket does she feel something tucked within and starts to pull it out, Satette taking out a folded slip of paper to soon begins to unravels its several crevices; the process somewhat cumbersome to manage with only a single hand. When she does eventually unfold the small slip of notebook paper, Sat flaps the piece around a bit to straighten it out to make out the words written; a message inscribed to the lively psychic tell her of the objective at hand. “Sat, in case you’ve been too busy wallowing in the bottomless self pity and depression oozing out from the crevices of your own brain and forgot why the hell I sent you out wandering around the middle of an inner city suburb, I wrote down what’s gotta be done for ya. You can thank me later. For now, due to the sensitive nature of our informant’s safety and anonymity, the best course of action for them to know without a doubt who they meet with is to cause a little bit of a commotion down here in this little slice of white picket fence disgrace of modern neighborhood street design; it is only then our informant shall reveal themselves to you. My advice is to take a page out of Thursotte’s strategy guide and cause an accident to happen the only way you know how. P.S: No matter how shitty it all may feel, never forget what we’re fighting for.” Fighting for? What the hell are we fighting for anymore?

Breaking her out from this somber moment is she baited from the small note when the voice of a child calls for her attention; Satette peering up from the note to discover an upset young boy urgently compelling for her with: “Hey, miss; you got a sec!?” “Hey, kid, chill. What’s with all the stress?” she returns with. “My big sister got out of the house when I was supposed to be watching her. There’s no way she can be out here being as sick as she is?” “Jeez, sounds urgent. What’s she look like?” “You’d know it when you see it, She-she-she looked pretty pale, tired, hair’s a mess, only got a shirt and sweatpants on. Uh…” “Oh, I just ran into someone like that. Looked pretty out of it while they were stumbling around the corner back there.” “Thank you so much!” the boy appreciates, bolting right beside the lively psychic and towards the sidewalk corner behind her. “Hol up, you…need a…hand?” Satette tries to offer, her voice stumbling the further the boy runs. The kid far too focused on catching up with his sickly sister, fails to hear her request as he hurries right around the corner; Satette letting out a disappointed sigh upon her aid being spurred. Yeah, guess somebody with just one arm wouldn’t have much hands to give. I mean, what’s a disarmed bitch with nothing meaningful left in her life like me good for anyway.

The lively psychic’s is suddenly drawn to a horde of trucks that roll past her; each of them hauling hefty construction vehicles and equipment on their beds. Curiosity doesn’t spark what all this equipment was for, that is until after the trucks turn the corner of a four way intersection, where upon a small crowd slowly marches from the other side of the road. It was obvious that this small crowd wasn’t made of some gathering onlookers; not just their upset demeanor and the way they step in stride after the trucks, but the signs most of them raise up holding bold slogans and phrases of disagreement and denial. This was no mere batch of watchers, no; this was a full blown organized protest. Its this development right here that peeks her interest and gets her to follow after to see what this might entail, following after the disgruntled mob

In the midst of following both the mob and in turn the trucks they pursue, Satette can’t help but notice the natural flourishing green’s of the neighborhood being uprooted and torn asunder by some of the heavy duty equipment rampaging through chunks of the tree lines and fields; forcing the small wildlife that called such places home to flee from the wrath of these machines. It wasn’t just the animals that were left to endure this invasion, no. For the surrounding plants, trees, shrubs, even lines of grass that shared these rare spots of soil were losing their natural vibrancy; their color drained away as they were left to wither as nothing but pale, dry, husks. This gradual decay looming over the neighborhood like an infection, it was obvious of why this gathering of good samaritans banded together in the fact of this tragedy in the making; but what against remained to be answered. What manner of rapidly escalating progress was worth carving such a wound upon this quaint little neighborhood?

The lively psychic’s brief venture following the protesters comes to a sudden end as she accidentally bumps right into one of them, keeping herself from falling over again as she finds the crowd having stopped their march. Satette backs away to gauge a view past the mob and see for herself what they had been rallying against. From where she stands does Sat discover the protest taking place right in front of a number of buildings and large pipes being constructed by dozens of workers, carefully planning and building across a leveled field sitting right along the edge of the inner city suburb. Beside the construction site stood a billboard declaring that this project was: “The future site of the Kelito chemical plant. Redefining energy production since 1978.” Kelito, like the big energy corporation? They can’t be serious. These greedy fucks are trying to muscle their way in through small suburbs now? You think a company that big’d have other, better places to build another site. Is the city that desperate for energy that they can let these jackass’s leisurely bulldoze around people’s homes?

Venturing her gaze away from the ongoing protest is her attention then drawn over a small concession stand set up next to a truck parked along the side, the stand advertising the sale of locally grown produce harvested from this very neighborhood. Though such a small inconsequential background detail typically doesn’t bait her attention, her growling stomach beckons otherwise and compels her to approach. Probably should’ve ate something before I left. Do I even have any money?

Upon approaching the quaint little stand as a couple of the protester depart with some fresh snacks to chow down on, the old lady serving the produce looks to the lively psychic with a warm and welcoming grin as she greets with: “Hey there, sweetie. Care for a little snack in these trying times.” “Um, sorry. I don’t got any cash on me.” “Nonsense. All of it’s on the house. You youngins will need the energy keeping up the good fight.” she claims, offering Sat an apple. “Oh, thanks.” Nabbing the piece of fruit from the old woman’s grasp, the lively psychic waste’s not another moment to chomp down through its skin and take a chunk right off; the apple juicy sweet nectar flooding her mouth with its tasty splendor with every bite. “Ooh, damn. This real good. What’s in it?” “Nothing special, I just grew it right in the comfort and care of my own backyard garden. Been growing fruits and vegetables since I was a little girl. There’s a hint of love in every bite. But I’m not sure how much longer I can go on saying that, not with this new fangled chemical plant muscling its way in and tearing up the neighborhood.” she laments.

“About that. Why of all places does a big corp like Kelito so eager to build along the side of a little neighborhood.?” Satette questions. “I’m not completely in the know about it all; but from what I heard, the city’s power generators are incredibly out of date and aren’t providing enough energy. So the city offices enlisted Kelito to help update the structure with their own facilities, and they think the big field along the edge of our neighborhood is the perfect place to set up shop.” “That can’t be legal; building something like that so close to a suburb.” argues Satette. “Unfortunately, what’s legal and what’s right doesn’t matter much anymore nowadays. Whatever loophole they found, they’re exploiting to no end and back with a seemingly unending well of money. As long as the cash doesn’t stop flowing, there’s not much the authorities are willing to do to step up for people like us.” “Big energy’s stepping on the common folks and the government’s just turning a blind eye. No wonder everyone’s so pissed.”

“Yes sir, and its just getting worse by the day. I don’t know what else those corporate creeps are doing around here; but it hasn’t just been effecting trees and plants. Some people living around here even have been getting very ill since they started building here; vomiting, diarrhea, pale skin. These blocks have been through their fair share of flue season’s, but it was never anything this severe.” People here getting sick? Its upon the old woman’s recounting that Sat then remembers the pale sickly woman she had encountered when first coming to this slice of suburban life; her sickly demeanor now making a lot more sense. Does she live around here?

“Take a little look over there for me.” the old woman then tells her, pointing towards the corner of the block. “See that house? The one boarded all up?” Directing her attention over to one of the quaint little homes lining the corner of the block in question, Sat finds the house plastered with nailed on planks and boards all over the windows and door; the big plank of wood attached to the front compelling people to not break in and enter. Its yard drained of color, its tree’s withered and dead, and its shrubs baron and dry. “That run down one?” Sat wonders. “That’s where Mr. Yukon used to live. He used to be the life of the party every time the neighborhood had a shindig for New years, 4th of July, Halloween almost every holiday all year around. If there was a party, he’d be there to turn it into a night to remember. But ever since the plant started to be built nearby, the less we saw of him. Found out he caught one hell of a bug one day and came out less and less, figure he didn’t want anybody catching what he had. But it soon got bad enough for him to be carted off to the hospital; and after that, his home had to be boarded up. Nobody’s seen him since.”

“Oh my god.” “And its not just him, several more people had to move due to this strange bug going around. If Kelito doesn’t stop tearing up our little corner of suburba to build this new energy plant, the whole neighborhood will be forced to move. A lot of people around here worked to get this quaint little life away from the terror of the inner city, and I can’t afford to pack up and leave.” “And, that’s why you’re out here? Sharing the produce you picked for the people trying to fight back?” the lively psychic summarizes. “Precisely. I might not have as much pep in my step as I used to, but it warms my aging heart to see the people of today fighting for what they hold dear.” For what they value, huh? A look to the bitten down apple she holds in her hand, Satette discovers that she had chomped down close to the core of the humble little fruit; the seeds at the center nestled in the crevices of the middle. From the core of the apple, the lively psychic than turns her attention over to one of the excavators brought along one of trucks driven here; the hefty metal machine thrusting its claw near the roots of a towering tree. “Hey lady. How much produce are you packing?” she asks with a confidently sly grin.

Plunging its claws once more into the tree’s soil, the powerful excavator swipes through the dirt to expose its vunerable roots; the hardened wooden veins sticking out from the bottom of the oak. The worker inside pulls at the lever controls to command the digger’s scoop to slowly lower down towards the tree’s roots; its steel claws inching closer to the base. Yet the hefty machines neck would suddenly cease lowering as a harsh grinding could be heard screeching out from within the excavator itself; the levers that the worker had been manning refusing to budge. “The hell?” Curious of what the cause of the machine’s malfunction could be stemming from, the construction worker hops out from the excavators booth and ventures over to the back of the vehicle; the source of the trouble spotted when finding strands of green slithering out from the back panel. Upon popping open the hood, the worker lets out a confused grunt before calling out: “Uh…boss. Might wanna come and see this.”

Entangled through the gears and pistons of the machines inner workings run several stretches of healthy green vines, with their length baring plump grapes spanning all through the inside of the excavator; some of these fruit having burst to spew their juices right on some of the crucial parts. Staring down to this odd practice of sabotage be a man in a slick back haircut donning a short sleeved yellow business tee plastered in black highlights; his piercing glare down upon the mess making it clear that he was less than pleased. “What the fuck am I looking?” he asks aloud. “I…I don’t know, boss. One of the protesters must’ve ran some vines they pulled from their backyard through the inside while nobody was working.” one of the gathered workers guesses. “Should we postpone the excavation to call for another digger?” another question. “You’re joking with me, right? With how long it took to deliver this one? Our schedule’s tight enough as it is, and we can’t afford to waste another day over one of those chanting dipshits sad excuses for sabotage. Weed and clean it all out and get the excavators back up and running; I want this ground leveled by tomorrow. Lets move people, daylight’s burning.” the construction boss orders with a clap. Though disgruntled over their superiors hasty demands, the crew starts getting to work in fixing up the broken down excavator; a time consuming effort of which the lively psychic watches as she snacks on a couple of grapes.

Suspended high above the ground via the hook of a crane be a bundle of steel frames, being delivered on a plank of wood about three floors or so towards the top of the constructing building; some of the workers standing up that high signaling the crane driver to maneuver the hard steel. But trouble begins to brew as the neck of the crane unexpectedly stops just short of some feet near the building, as the sudden stop causing the wooden plank holding the frame to tremble with enough of a jerk to send the steel pieces sliding right off and plummeting towards the ground below; those workers nearby fleeting as the frame crashes down. “Jesus!” one of them exclaims.

Among the brief moment of terror and fright does the man in the yellow and black business shirt cut his way through the gathered workers in attempting to assess the situation, demand: “Move, move! What happened!?” Sharing in the site the rest of his crew partake in, a sharp gasp escapes from his mouth when discovering the damages, approaching the site to take a closer look as he exclaims: “Oh my god!” To his horror, the boss nears the mess to discover the steel frame having been bent from the drop; its straight lines harshly curved down. “The damn steel frames all busted up! What the hell we’re you numbskulls doing!?” “It ain’t our fault, boss. The crane just froze up out of nowhere. But don’t worry, nobody got hurt.” “That’s not the problem. Do you all know how long it took to special order this frame? Now I gotta call for another one and that could take half a week. Which of you was driving the crane?” he demands. “I don’t think the driver was the problem, boss.” one of the workers claim, his eyes glued to the hefty piece of equipment. “The hell does that mean?” “Just look.”

Returning his sites back to the construction vehicle in question, the construction manager’s eyes widen upon discovering a long stalk of green slithered tightly around the neck of the crane; the piece of foliage stretching out from machines base. Though the strangest detail to stand out being the fact that from the lengthy stalk can plump red tomatoes bee seen having sprouted, one of them falling off the vine to land right in the boss’s grasp. Closely inspecting the piece of fruit, he finds it to be no different from any other ripe tomato, with its bright red skin reflecting the sunlight. A strained growl escape from him as the manager spikes the perfectly good piece of fruit down onto the ground, splattering against the hardened dirt; a clear display of frustration he brushes aside as he orders his crew to: “Weed it all out from the crane to get it back up and running. We ain’t gonna let whatever shit someone’s pulling here slow us down.”

Nestled atop a tiny mound of soil stood a patch of planted daffodils; what petals remained clinging on to the top of the stem as they attempt to hold onto their vibrant colors. Yet is their noble stand against all odds is threatened as a monolithic machine treads its way, with its wide head effortlessly tearing through the grassy plains; the daffodils petals quivering as the bulldozer draws near. The moment that the vastly huge vehicle is about to violently shovel through the lonely patch of flowers, a terrible metallic screech echoes from underneath the bulldozer as it suddenly comes to an unexpected halt; the worker driving the machine hitting her face against the glass window upon being flung from her seat. “Augh! What the he-what just happened!?” she harshly questions, climbing down from the driver seat to inspect. Taking a gander of what could make the massive machine she had been driving stop so suddenly, her irritation swiftly turns to disbelief upon beholding the root cause of the problem; her utter surprise urging her to call for: “Boss, there’s something else!”

Entangled across the treads of the hefty bulldozer be hard strands of wood running across the gears and wheels of the machines steel bed; the hard roots enveloping the frame to to prevent the treads from moving another inch. “And, this what you found when it stopped on you, right?” the man in the yellow and black business shirt recounts, staring down to the damages. “Yeah, I didn’t see any sort of leftover roots while I was driving. It’s like they just turned up or something, its freaky.” “Come on, that’s crazy. Like roots can just pop out from the ground? Quit making stuff up.” another worker mocks. “Nova, I’m being serious. These last couple attempts of sabotage aren’t like anything we’ve seen before. I doubt those all those protester could do something this bizarre. None of this is natural.” the worker beckons to the boss. “Hmm…You might be onto something there.” Nova agrees. “What say the rest of you take your break while I do some maintenance on this hunk of junk right here?” “You sure, boss?” “Course, think everyone needs a breather after the back to back incidents. Just take 30 while I take care of some stuff.”

Left with little to complain over, the crew of construction workers split for their break and leave their superior alone with the entangled bulldozer; Nova himself waiting until each of them were out of sight before he turns to the construction vehicle. But one pair of eyes he doesn’t expect to watch him be those of the lively psychic herself; Satette laying low around the corner of a nearby house as she intently watches the construction boss approach the side of the dozer. Kneeling down to the vehicles treads, Nova reaches for the mess of the roots entangling its wheels and tightly clutches to one of the wooden strands; Sat’s suspension sky rocketing when she witnesses a bright green power seeping out from the construction worker manager. No way. Coursing out from the boss, the potent green power surges directly into the hard oak roots plaguing the hefty piece of construction equipment; the lengths of wood beginning to shrivel up and wither underneath the influence of this gnarly aura. He’s a psychic!?

The once healthy and thick pieces of root, within moments, are left as nothing but crumbled and dry sticks; twigs that the manager tugs out from the inside of the machine with extreme ease. A satisfied chuckle leaves the boss as he jerks out the last piece of shriveled wood; his special kind of supernatural touch having reduced all of the invasive roots clogging up the bulldozer to nothing but a pile of dead sticks. What the hell did he do to them!? The last of the roots pulled right out, Nova climbs up to the seat of the bulldozer and turns the keys to fire up the engine, stepping on the gas to see the construction vehicle moving like normal once more; the patch of daffodils crushed under the machine’s terrible weight as it flattens the land they stood to level. Confirming the heavy bulldozer to be back up and running, the construction manager turns off the machine before hopping out, waltzing away with satisfied confidence.

Left curious of what the boss could’ve possibly done to the mess of roots she had planted, Satette prowls out from side of the home to step out from the shadows; slowly nearing the bundle of withered sticks Nova had just finished uprooting. The lively psychic reaches her hand over to the pile of dried up twigs in an attempt to inspect closer, but is forced to reel her fingers back upon feeling an overwhelming heat radiate from their withered bark! Ah! God, that stings! What did that slicked back dickhead even do? Yet despite the mess of withered twigs being incredibly smoldering to the touch, there crackled exterior holds not even a single ember among their dried out wood; just left as shriveled and sapped of color as the rest of the flora around this part of the neighborhood. Can’t believe that a psychic was behind all this. The construction crew hasn’t even reach far out from hear, and yet the surrounding tree’s and plants are all dried up; there’s no way they could make the neighborhood turn gray when they’re just building over stuff. But what’s a psychic doing all the way back out here? Is he with the mob too? Whatever the case, its clear that he’s the one behind the decay of this slice of suburba; how is yet another question to be answered. A construction crew boss like him has to have a trailer or something parked around here to camp in during the day; surely the dude has to have some sort of documents or connections stowed away in it.

Secretly stalking the construction boss across the site, Satette sees the slicked back dipstick of a manager waltz his way up to a humble mobile trailer parked right along the edge of the yard; just as the lively psychic had predicted. What she failed to predict however were the dozen or so construction workers leisurely sitting between her and said trailer; each of them enjoying their well earned break chowing down on their packed lunches. Okay, no problem. Ain’t nothing you hadn’t tackled. Might be a little rusty, and a tad handicapped. Never stopped me before; even when people begged me not to.

Sticking to the shadows sprawling along the side of the site, Satette slithers her way around the numerous workers leisurely enjoying every second of their downtime; not one of them so much as notices her weaving across their eyes. For the most part, this demonstration of stealth was pretty simple and straight forward; hiding behind hefty equipment, avoiding prying eyes, slithering through when nobody was looking. Nothing she hadn’t done before. Of course, that swiftly changes when coming to the last stretch between her and the manager’s trailer; with next to nothing for her to conceal herself from the open. Practically anyone on the site could see her approach the trailer along the small piece of open space; it almost seemed impossible to come near it without a pair of eyes casually glancing her way.

But Sat’s own eyes then discover a small window of opportunity when spotting a power line spanning from one of the electrical poles, all the way right to the side of the boss’s trailer; veiled in some plastic covering standing in between the line and the eyes of the workers. Well, that’s one way close the gap stealthily enough. Course, actually getting up there and shimmying through is another story. Laying so much as a finger on those lines could fry me right up into a juicy beef patty…maybe a slim beef patty. There’s gotta be some way to get across without turning my ass into crispy fried bacon. It’s when pondering of a way across the lines that she lays eyes upon the remains of a small tree; its body withered and soiled away into nothing but a dry husk, no doubt plagued by whatever the construction boss had inflicted. Such a lifeless husk of wood would normally be of little use to anyone in her case, yet to the lively psychic is only a matter of how to use it.

Even with her years of dexterity practice, Satette shows to have some trouble scaling the electrical pole, even when holding onto and stepping on the stakes planted on its side; the lack of her other arm making the climb quiet cumbersome. And its in the middle of her ascent when reaching for the iron stake above that her grasp unexpectedly slips; Sat instinctively attempting to reach out with her none existent arm in trying to stop her fumble, yet to no avail. A cruelly timed reminder over her lack of her other limb. Her legs closest to the electrical pole, Satette manages to bend them around the stakes underneath to save her hide, slamming her back against the pole’s hard wood rather than fumbling back to the ground; the lively psychic holds her tongue in trying to not grunt or shout from the hitting her back. Fucking phantom limb syndrome.

Its after recovering from that near debacle that Satette makes it to the top of the electrical pole, hearing the audible hum of power that surges through the thick black wires just a few feet away; that thick black wire spanning across the edge of the site and right over the boss’s office trailer. Reaching to her back, the lively psychic pulls out a piece of dried out wood she took from that withered tree; the bark across the limb left with very little vibrant color to speak off. Yet even in its decaying state can Sat feel some kick left in this small little stick and courses her power through the twig; the natural green aura reconstructing the piece of wood into a curved hook. Placing both of her feet down onto the same iron stake, the lively psychic makes a brave leap up and hoists her wooden hook up to its electrical wires, successfully dangling onto the power lines without invoking its shocking wrath. Got it. Now just to shimmy across to the trailer with my other… Its her sudden judgment that she glances to where her arm used to be, followed by looking to her other arm as the realization begins to sink in for her. The lack of another limb making it impossible for her to simply inch across the power line. Oh..well dammit. Seems I didn’t think this all the way through.

Things end up getting worse as she gazes up back to find the electrical line starting to unravel, no doubt from all the excess weight it was never meant to carry. Oh shit. Acting quickly, Satette morphs her wooden hook to envelope around and clutch at the unraveling power line, the transformed branch firmly grasping the wiring just before it snaps. Despite its withered appearance, the small wooden stick manages to keep its grip onto the power line as Sat falls; the lively psychic swinging across the side of the construction site while keeping her mouth shut. Even with this blunder however, she quickly closes in onto the construction boss’ trailer and lets go of her morphed wooden hook. Yet when attempting reach both hands out to land gracefully, the lack of her other limb ends up making her mess up the landing and winds up crash and tumbling to the back of the trailer. Ouch… The trailer window above her clicks before it suddenly slides open; the manager of the site sticking his head out for what could be causing such a commotion; Nova finding not a soul standing outside that could make such racket. Seeing nobody else right out his window, the construction boss ends up shrugging off the noise and closes his window back up, unaware of the lively psychic crawling underneath his trailer.

Pacing back and forth in the small trailer space, Nova steps over the crumbs and coffee stains littering the floor; a mess which the manager is inclined to simply ignore as he’s himself was scattered and worried while conversing with somebody on the phone. “I-I know…I know…I know…Look, I…There’ve been some setbacks, but I guarantee you, the project is coming along nicely and will be done on time. Yes, I know how important this is supposed to be to you guys. The protesters are enough of a pain in the ass; think they might be tampering with the equipment as of late.” Nova leans against the side of his desk as he lets the person on the other end of the call continue to speak, which was littered with piece of paper and used pens; some of them sliding off to the side as he responds with: “You know how we can’t just “take care of them all” like some common hit, not just out here in the public…Of course I haven’t just been laying down and taking it. I’m sure you of all people know how discrete you gotta be when uprooting the weeds that pop up every now and again.”

Pushing himself right off the side of his desk, the construction manager waltzes right over to the window and stick his finger in between the blinds, peeking outside for his sites to rest to one of the nearby houses left in disarray. “Manage to finally drive out this one guy that’s been a thorn in our side; the guy that rallied the people around here into protesting. Some old rando named Yukon or whatever; should’ve seen the look on their faces when he got hauled to the hospital.” Nova’s vision drifting over to the crowd of protesters, his eyes lock to the old lady providing freshly picked fruits and vegetables “I imagine a couple more of those cases’ll get the rest of those shout picket sign shits to scatter like cockroaches. Remind me again why you had me set up a site like this out of the blue?…Power shortage? First time’s that’s happened for us in a while, but what happened to what you were using before…Alright, alright, fine. Just say its a secret. No need to get so hostile on me, man. Just gimme about a month or two, March. I know the rest of the mafia needs it now more than ever. I swear I’ll get this plant up by this season. Alright?…Alright. Cool talking to you.” Hanging up the line, the construction boss stows his phone back into his pocket as he strolls on over to the door, opening up and stepping out as he tells his crew that: “Alright. Eatin times over! Back to the grind people! Chop, chop. Got a lot to catch up on if we wanna make the quota.”

Once the manager slams the trailer door behind him, that was the queue for a sliver of wood to begin sawing through the floor and carve out a sizable hole from underneath the trailer; the cut circle popping out as the lively psychic lifts her way in. Climbing inside the little office trailer, she begins to look around for whatever may tell her of the manager’s next move; no doubt the first place to look for something that crucial and fresh being the drawers of his desk. I definitely didn’t miss hear him. That slicked back douche had one of the scions on the other line. The mob higher ups must be desperate to get a source of power up and running if they’re risking to build in an open neighborhood. Now with December and his lab washed away in the briny blue, they’re scattering to get control back in the tech side of the city. Still doesn’t say a damn thing about who this guy is and what he did to make part of the place as drained and gray as a lifeless husk.

In among rummaging through one of the boss’s desk drawers that Satette ends up finding something intriguing among the usual documents, and office supplies; the lively psychic pulling out what appeared to be a strange radar with a metal wand attached to the top. On its face was an analog screen and a meter displaying numbers ranging from 10 to 500; the back depicted more clear information showing the name and model number of the device. Something called a Geiger counter. Weird name. Sort of looks like one of those tools hazmat people use in movies when trying to measure how toxic..someplace is…

Its from this stray thought that the nature of her foe’s power starts to become clear to her; left to think back of the sickly young woman that was wondering through the streets; the way the surrounding plants withered and decayed, how the old woman described how that one guy got sick and had to be taken to the hospital with his place boarded up, and how the wood felt hot to touch even without it being on fire. All of it. Every seemingly random incident lead to a single conclusion. Oh my god, the son of a bitch is radioactive! He’s been using radiation to kill all the plants and tree’s to make it easier to build over. He’s been poisoning the people living here to drive them all away and demolish their homes! That’s it, this slicked back rat bastard has to die!

The midnight moon rises high in the pitch black sky as the clock strikes the late hours of the night; the construction site left entirely baron and empty, with not a single worker, or protester for that matter, left in site. Though most of the site lay blanketed by shadow, one source of luminescence glows among the surrounding darkness as the manager’s trailer stays alight; Nova left stuck at his desk with a mound of paperwork to sort through. When a long yawn ends up escaping from his lungs, the construction boss reaches over for a cup of coffee left sitting at the corner of the desk and takes a little sip; the nuclear psychic withdrawing his lips from the rim of the mug upon noticing the drink having lost its refreshing warmth. Nova remedies this by clutching the sides of the cup with but one hand before surging his radioactive energy into the drink; lines of steam wafting up from the surface of the liquid in just a few short moments. Its from this that the boss takes another sip from his mug of coffee to feel the assuring warmth once more, letting out a satisfied moan as he guzzles the drink down. His little sip blows into a full on spit take when a loud metal thud suddenly echoes from outside; Nova left with strands of coffee drooling down his mouth as his eyes lurch to the window.

Stepping outside to see what might have caused such a loud racket, Nova closes the door behind him as he peers out into the dimly lit site; the manager finding not a soul in his immediate surroundings. His suspicion still lingers as he continues away from his parked trailer to venture deeper into the shadowy site, positive that the commotion he heard was no meager accident. “If its one of those picket sign pricks doing this, I swear to god.”

The cool night air flows in from the open roof overhead as Nova makes his way into the partially constructed plant building, looking through the shadows infested within. Raising but a single finger, the construction manager disperses the encompassing darkness with the light of his own nuclear energy; the shadows fleeting from the small radioactive green glow. His light reveals nothing worth of note among the scattered construction tools and standing scaffolding; his suspicion slowly deflating as he finds not a piece of evidence of tampering. That is until the construction manager uncovers a rather odd display, coming upon a ravel of oak wood having entangled itself in one of the forklifts; Nova letting out a frustrated sigh as he approaches one of its branches.

Clutching against the mess of wood, the construction manager begins to erode away its strength with doses of radiation like he had done with the bulldozer before; a task of which leaves the him unaware of a dark figure encroaching from the shadows with a stake in hand. The figure surreptitiously inches closer and closer as they raise the splintered stake, preparing to plunge its wood into the boss’s back. Finally lunging to the man from behind, the figure thrusts the stake towards the man’s back; but is utterly caught off guard as the tip of their weapon suddenly erodes away into a stump. The piece of harmless eroded wood prodding behind him, Nova swiftly turns back around with a handful of lethal power in the palm of his hand; the deadly green light reveals the attacker to be the lively psychic as she leaps away from the radioactive swipe. Satette fumbling onto the tiled floor, she beholds the nuclear construction manager look down on her with baggy, yet sharp eyes. “He he he he he, I figured that the kind of shit I had to unravel couldn’t be from any of those sign swinging shit stains; had to be the work of another psychic. Didn’t expect that psychic to be a wanted traitor, though. Man, things might be looking up for me real soon. The scions are flip when I send them them you’re charred body.”

The dastardly green glow in the man’s hands growing brighter, Satette quickly pulls herself up and dashes away just as Nova throws out the orb of radiation down at her; the lively psychic narrowly avoiding the nuclear blast. His intruder threatening to escape, the nuclear psychic gives chase after Satette as she darts throughout the floor of the site; the young woman hurdling over iron poles, around stacks of boxes, and leaping across patches of wet cement. Despite in pursuit of the woman wrecking his operation, the construction boss is careful to not disturb the pieces of the site he passes by, giving Sat a bit of distance to work with. The lively psychic spends the gap bolting over to a ladder to climb up to a set of scaffolding standing against a partially constructed wall; her lack of a second arm making the ascent somewhat slow and cumbersome. And seeing the site intruder having such difficulty rising up the ladder, Nova begins to conjure a concentration of nuclear power in the palm of his hand; a dose of radiation he casts after the lively psychic.

Using nothing but the command of her own psychic power, Sat has lines of wood root slither out from behind her dress to form a hard bark shell to coat her back; the thick oak shield tanking the radioactive blast for her. Despite feeling not one bit of nuclear power inflicted upon her, the lively psychic is still astonished when finding her makeshift shell left as nothing but sawdust from the blast alone; a strong warning to further cement how dangerous this man was as she frantically hurries up the ladder. Finally scaling to the top of the ladder, Satette hops onto the scaffolding suspended against the wall and darts across; all the while hearing the nuclear psychic tails after her

In fleeting from the construction manager pursing her, Satette finds another ladder waiting up ahead and starts to reaching out with the intent on scuttling right on up; soon retracting her grasp when recollecting how slow she was climbing up the first ladder. Rather than risk making herself an easy target struggling to climb up, the lively psychic instead zips right on by and darts straight towards the corner of the wall; a seemingly ineffectual bid in her escape as Nova again fires out a ray of toxic green at her. Yet when racing to the other end does Sat make a bounding leap towards the corner, planting her feet onto the wall and jumping right off to the length of scaffolding above her; narrowly evading the oncoming ray of radiation as it blasts against the corner.

From kicking off the corner of the wall and landing right onto the next set of scaffolding above, Sat continue to bolt across as the nuclear psychic below continues to give chase, all the while Nova pursues after. Its in the midst of hurrying across the wooden boards that Satette comes across a big iron wrench left littered in the middle of the way and casts a vine of ivy to wrap around the length of metal; tossing it right out and slinging it right back towards the construction boss like a Against the oncoming piece of steel flung straight at him, Nova catches the wrench right in the palm of his hand before clutching the line of greens of his lively intruder; the construction manager sending a deadly dose of radiation crawling across the vine and surging at the woman on the other end. Witnessing her string of healthy ivy withering away against the deadly green power, Sat is left with little choice but to severe the green vine with nothing but her own teeth, harshly gnawing on the ivy until it snaps in two. Having broken the irradiated tether just in the nick of time, Satette hurries down the other end of the scaffolding towards the ledge of the unfinished wall; the lively psychic left with little recourse against her nuclear nemesis chasing her but to risk it.

To the construction boss’s surprise, the lively psychic makes an all or nothing leap off the end of the scaffolding and right over the partially constructed wall; Satette peering down to find herself plummeting down towards nothing cold hard concrete. With what little sliver of living ivy and tree wood she had left to spare, the young woman combines them into a string of foliage she casts forth at an excavator left broken nearby; what weeds remained in its inner workings withered and dead. The other end of the natural rope wraps around the neck of the large vehicle and swings Satette right over the placed pieces of pavement, effectively sparing her from splattering onto the concrete. Her little close call lasts not that long however as the sliver of rope unexpectedly snaps in half, leaving her to her rough descend down back to ground level and tumble across the side of the site. Though left with a couple of mild scrapes, the young woman pulls herself up to find having made it out relatively alright; not a single broken bone or gash to be felt anywhere on her.

But her ordeal is nowhere near over as the doors to the building behind her are kicked open, with the nuclear psychic surrounding himself in a potent green aura as he steps out to continue pursuing after her. With no natural resources left to defend herself with, Satette’s only course of action is to flee from the chasing construction manager; the young woman darting towards the edge of the site blocked off by a picket fence. Approaching the piece of fencing, Sat springs towards one of the construction vehicles left parked close to a towering stack of cinder blocks; kicking herself off both the machine and the set of blocks back to back in rising to the top of the fencing, flipping right over the top of the tipped fence with but one graceful leap.

Hopping right over the picket fence, Satette lands within the backyard of one of the homes neighboring the construction site; the abysmal state of the lawn clear to see as making it all up is left rotted and dry away against the invading influence plaguing this slice of the suburbs. Even the few trees left standing in the middle of the yard left as a hollow shells of their former, flourishing selves. Good lord, this is way worse than I thought. There’s barely anything to work with here. Not a blade of grass or branch left alive anywhere in this yard to work my magic on. Just how long as that radioactive wretch been dosing this poor neighborhood in his radiation?

Yet their proves little time for Satette to ponder over this matter as the wooden picket fence behind her is suddenly blasted apart; the unexpected explosion sending the lively psychic tumbling across the backyard until hitting the side of the house. After pulling herself off the side of the suburban home, Sat gazes back to the smoke left from the blast; a sharp dread setting in as she watches the nuclear psychic stepping out from the clouds of dust. With little to no other sensible course of action for her to take, Satette bolts towards the edge of the abode and hurries down the side and to the front; all the while the construction manager behind her fiercely pursues after; every step he takes burning footsteps in ground he steps on.

“The mob kept me in this shitty pencil pushing job for 6 years, you know? All cause they wanted agents in some of the various industries.” Running across the side of the humble home, Nova plunges his radioactive fist into the buildings walls and tears through its very foundation; the wood crumbling apart against the nuclear psychic’s power. Chasing the young woman straight to the corner of the home, he scatters what pieces of the wall he had built up tearing through the side right at the fleeting intruder; every single chunk of wall shot out left covered in flesh burning radiation. Satette is swift against the thrown out collection of foundation coming at her from behind and throws herself behind a solid bark of a dead tree; though its branches brittle and stripped of leaves, wood proves as hard as ever. “Day in and day out, stuck with stacks of paperwork. Leading around a bunch of muscle headed idiots!” From behind the tree does Sat sprint off towards the house next door furthest from the construction site, hoping to build distance between her and her pursuing nuclear nemesis; the lively psychic swerving right around the home’s front porch.

The site construction boss feverishly after her, Sat leap right over chairs and sliding underneath tables as Nova fires out waves of deadly radiation at her; every blast eviscerating the outside furniture to splinters. “And what do I get from it all, what do I fucking get from the people at the top!?” Vaulting over the railing at the end of the porch, the lively psychic rolls across the yard and hurries towards the next house, frantically sprinting from home to home as quickly as she could away from the chasing construction boss; every abode she zips by, the color in the grass and plants begins to return. “Nothing, zilch, nada, Jackshit!” Its when around the sixth or so house that the lawns, tree’s, and other plant finally start to regain their vibrant color and health; this finally lending Satette an opportunity to stop running and start fighting.

Stamping down on the healthiest patch of grass she see’s, the lively psychic sends her natural green power surging throughout the front lawn just as her nuclear nemesis nears; the blades of grass coiling up through the legs of the construction boss like a bunch of snakes capturing their prey. Against this sudden snag, Nova unleashes a surge of radiation from his body which starts to erode away the enveloping blades of grass; the green strings reduced to withered straw in just mere moments. “Got you right where I want you!” the lively psychic exclaims. Those few meager moments are all Sat needs to race over towards the lawns tree and manipulate its thick, lively branches to all bend out and thrust out after her ensnared enemy; their gnarled pointed tips lunging after him like a host of hornets thrusting their stingers to that which disturbed their nest. Yet not even one of these branches would find their way impaling through the man’s body; for the nuclear psychic unleashes a powerful burst of radioactive energy so thick and potent, the tree’s limb are shriveled to frail sticks in the blink of an eye. This small, but intense wave of radiation saps the color and life of all it comes in contact with, every inch of foliage and insects in but a few yards surrounding the nuclear psychic left as nothing but as withered and lifeless gray husks; Satette left backing away in utter dread just being a few feet away from this terrible wave of intense radiation. his“I’m the reason those goons have any sway in the energy scene in the first place.” That inching retreat turns into a full blown sprint as she immediately starts to scurry away; Nova letting out a gnarled growl as he resumes pursuing her, declaring aloud how: “But once I get done microwaving your body like a cheap TV dinner and send it straight to them; they’ll finally have to promote me, and I can kick this fucking mind numbing bean counting position straight in the rectal passage. Hell, they might even make me a scion bringing you in. I can picture it now. Nova, the scion of plasma! Nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Dammit, I had no idea this crazed fruit loop powers were this intense; constantly flailing all that nuclear power like its a toy on Christmas day. I can’t just run away from this bastard now, he’ll turn this small slice of the suburbs into a fallout zone just looking for me. I can’t even get near this slicked back dip shit, let alone touch him; everything I try throwing at him, he just radiates away almost instantly. Meanwhile, he gets even one shot on me, and I might as well be thoroughly screwed. If the initial blast doesn’t kill me, the intense radiation poisoning will. There’s gotta be some way to break through this asshole’s radioactive defense and hit him right in his core.

But its while distracted pondering of a way to end this toxic manager that she fails to see the path ahead make a sudden descend and trips down a small grassy incline, fumbling down towards a big community garden filled with lush and healthy flower bushes. And its rolling down to the end of the hill that the someone ends up unknowingly stumbling right in her way, Sat involuntary rams into this poor unsuspecting late night garden goer as they both collapse to the ground. Shaking off the initial dizziness from the clumsy roll down, the lively psychic starts to pick herself up as she takes a gander over to who she had quite literally ran into, surprised to find it to be somebody she had came across into quite recently. Letting out a sickly moan lie the pale woman the lively psychic had ran into when she first arrived in this little humble suburb; her shirt and sweatpants dirtied with grass stains and patches of snot. Wow. No wonder your lil bro was so panicked; this is way worse then I thought. Don’t even look like you’re even all there. Her growing worry over this woman’s condition morphs into escalating panic when she catches site of glowing green peeking out from the top of the hill; Satette scoops up the sickly sister as she scurries over to a big mess of shrubs set on the side, delving deep into their thick brush to hide away from her approaching nuclear nemesis.

From the top of the small incline does Nova slide his way down to the bottom, intently glaring across the humble community garden for a single sign of his pursuit dwelling among the lovely assortments of planted flowers and shrubs. And coming to the bottom, he would find there to be a lot more foliage than he first saw atop the hill; almost half the block having been reserved for this lush and beautiful garden. No doubt it would take a painstaking eternity to uncover the woman he chases after, and that’s if she’s stupid enough to stay put; it’d be a no brainer to simply sneak away while busy digging somewhere else. Of course, posing as a construction manager for so long can teach you a couple of good tricks in scoping stuff out, and a sly mischievous grin cracks as he thinks of a way to apply that strategy here.

In the palm of his hands do sparks of deadly green aura ignite into a pulsing glow of intense radiation; a radioactive power so dense to cause an eerie low hum to echo across the garden. Once concentrating so much nuclear energy into a single point, Nova casts this mass of power as an intense toxic green wave to wash across a massive part of the community garden; the countless flowers and plants withering to colorless husk when struck by the deadly power. Every petal and every leaf strewn through these plants robbed of their vibrant life in but seconds, left so decrepit and irradiated as they simply fall off their dying stems and branches. Yet even with their lush natural coats stripped down and their now frail limbs exposed to the chilly night air, there sits not a sign of the girl he had pursued down here; not even a piece of charred remains to speak off.

His initial disappointment over his lack of discovery is shunted aside when he catches the sound of something falling behind him; the construction manager swiftly peering over to find it being nothing but a normal little boy having tripped against one of the branching roots littering the garden path. It was obvious from the kid’s distraught and frightened demeanor that he had caught Nova in the act of ravaging the community garden with his unnatural nuclear powers, attempting to sneak away quietly while still distracted. “Hey, kid. Let’s chat a bit.” the construction boss menacingly requests while turning to the child. Witnessing the young boy get up to try and escape, a dangerous green glow flares in the palm of Nova’s hands preparing to toss out the concentrated mass of nuclear power to snuff out the unexpected snooper.

Yet his efforts to silence the child are unexpectedly thwarted when the large bush beside him, left spared by the wave of life sapping radiation, suddenly lunges from its spot at the nuclear psychic; its dozen branches rapidly extending to out the construction boss right out from the community garden. The boy’s dreadful fear crack when witnessing among those branches being the young woman he had ran into while searching for his sickly sister just this morning; the limbs of the bush seeming to follow her command as they lash out against the man. He’s left watching in awe from the bizarre display as the pair careen across the neighborhood in almost superhero movie like fashion.

Its following off this brief and unbelievable moment that the kid’s eyes are drawn right to the base of the elongated bush, shocked to find his big sister laying behind the elongated roots. “Sharry!” the boy exclaims, rushing right over to the girl’s side. Awakening from her sickly slumber, the teenage girl shakes off her stupor and comes to the site of her little brother kneeling down to her; his worried glare being the first thing she notices. “Brent? What’s going on?” she asks, rising from the grass. “You wound up wondering out of the house and I had to go look for you. Y-You’re not gonna believe what I just saw. There was a…” he recounts, cutting himself off when gazing to the teenage girl. “A…what? What are you looking at? Is there something wrong with me?” “That’s the thing? You look fine. How do you feel?” Contrasting to her unkempt and stained pajama’s, the teen girl’s complexion stands vibrant and glistening; every evidence of her ever been ill vanished. “I feel…great. Better even.” “You were as pale as a ghost this morning and barely even awake. How is this possible!?” the boy questions.

Among hurdling right over the countless homes across the nightly neighborhood, Satette lashes out to her nuclear nemesis with a twig ripped off from the bush she launched at him with; a line of blood spitting out as the splintered end of the stick strikes against Nova’s face. Before the construction manager could lash back at the lively psychic, the two end up crashing straight through the roof of an evacuated home; the former residence now surrounded by several signs to deter entry and to warn of radiation.

When the clouds of dust and mold settle, Nova comes to and discovers himself standing right in the middle of a desolate and mildly run down living room left with messed up furnishings and stained floors; the dirty pictures framed across the wall depicting a vibrant and happy family. The poor condition of this home is not what baits the construction managers attention, for he instead is drawn to a small shadow retreating from the other side of hall door way; a detail he eagerly rushes towards the enigmatic shadow with a ball of nuclear power ready in his hand. But when leaping out to the other side of the corridor, his enthusiasm wavers when finding the shadow belong to nothing more than a meager rat; common vermin that simply scurries away from Nova’s appearance. Letting out a disgruntled snarl, the construction boss stalks his way down the hallway in search of wherever his lively pursuit may be dwelling; unaware of the woman he seeks peering at him from the cover of a cracked open door.

Retreating away from the other side of the door, Satette backs away into the small guest room she hides within; feeling a chill run down her spine as she bumps her back into the end of the wooden bed frame. Stepping up to the moonlight shining out the window, Sat looks over to a dirty vanity along the side of the room to realize how pale and ill she was starting to look; a literal reflection of how she feels on the inside. Oh damn. Its only been in me a few minutes and I’m already looking like a ghoul. Gotta pass this down soon, or toxic work management of the year prowling out there won’t be my only problem. This little stew just need one more ingredient before its delivered. To this end does the lively psychic then brings the splintered stick she had struck her foe in the face with to her own visage, the drips of blood scratched out from the bastard glistening against the moonlight. Without so much as any hint of hesitance does Satette slides her tongue across the small branch’s rugged bark to the drips of crimson staining its wood; smacking her lips as she gets a good taste of the scarlet liquid. Hmm, so that’s what iron deficiency tastes like.

Prowling out from the eerily quiet and baron hallway, the construction manager comes upon an odd site when entering the kitchen; the dinning table sitting in the middle littered with plates of food, having been left with partially eaten breakfast now covered in ants and bugs. Seems as if the family that had lived here recently had been forced to evacuate from the premises in quite the hurry, frantically enough to not even take one last bite of what was once a damn fine breakfast spread. But regardless of the mildly gnarly site left behind, Nova looks over the spoil spread of eggs, milk, gravy, and bacon and towards one of the cabinets standing on the other side; its door occasionally trembling from something dwelling within. The manager gathers radiation in his palm as he cautiously approaches the shut cabinet door, anticipating for the woman he searches for to spring out on the offense. Curling his fingers around the handle, Nova swiftly swings the cabinet open while aiming his radiation down to what may be inside. Yet what leaps out from within wasn’t what he thought it to be, fumbling back when a lonesome squirrel scurries out from inside and scampers down the hall he came from; the construction manager taking a disgruntled breath as he disperses the concentrated radiation from his hand.

As the squirrel scuttles down the rest of the hallway, it races right past one of the doors left cracked open, with the lively psychic peeking out from the other side of the bathroom. Need to get up close and personal to give out the special little surprise I got wrapped up for this slicked back dipstick, but it seems like he’s not gonna be falling for the sudden distraction tactic again anytime soon. If I try to rush him without some kind of protection, I’ll be cooked faster than a piece of bologna in the microwave. But everything I’ve thrown at him has just blasted away and crumbled into dust; there has to be something that can resist this dude’s toxic personality.

Glancing back into the very bathroom she hides inside, Sat suddenly spots a lone little cockroach crawling across the moldy tile floor; the little bug scurrying away and squeeze itself right underneath the door of the bathroom closet. Opening the door to that very closet is she taken aback when discover the astonishing site dwelling on the other side; an entire colony the pests scurrying across about every shelf within the small space, with some of them scattering out from their home now left exposed. To such a grotesque site that would make about anyone’s skin crawl, Satette rather ponders over this uncovered nest of terrible pests; the young lady snapping her fingers as she suddenly comes up with an interesting solution on countering the cancerous construction boss.

Cracking open one of the home’s many other doors, the construction boss barges his way through and is upset to find himself back into the living room that he had crashed into; pieces of wood and drywall falling out from the hole left in the ceiling. Nova is left a little more than frustrated over having wound up going in a circle; a seething growl escaping from his clenched teeth before he starts to conjure concentrated super radiation in the palms of his hands and shouts that: “This is starting to get irritating, okay. I got a ton of work to file for tomorrow, and I can’t spend all night playing this shitty game of cat and mouse, So quit jerking my dick around and drag your ass out here, before I make this entire house go supernova.”

The moment that Nova witnesses a figure charge at him from the other side of the living room, he fires a ray of nuclear energy upon them; a blast of which sends them tumbling back against the wall. Yet instead of staying down a sizzling under the lethal dose of fiery hot radiation just smacked upon them, the darkened figure instead immediately gets right back up to make another attempt lunge after the manager. Nova backs away as he fires out another blast of radiation against the encroaching foe; the strange being’s crawling skin tanking the blast as only little piece of its body fall apart. Seeing the lumbering terror holding the shape of a person continuing to near, failing to be quelled by sparks of his deadly green power, the construction boss focuses his power into both of his hands before clasping them together to unleash a wave of intense radiation. Taking the intense blow of radiation straight to the head, the strange wriggling figure is pushed back as the side of its head is stripped away; the construction boss watching the beast arise once more and his astonished what he discovers. Underneath the wriggling mass of darkness does he find the very same woman that he had been prowling for among this abandoned abode glaring back at him; the mass of bugs that had shielded her from his nuclear power reforming. “Are those fucking cockroaches!? You’re sick, woman!” “Not as sick as all the people you poisoned! Its time you get a dose of your own medicine.” the lively psychic deflects, charging after her nuclear nemesis.

The bug coated psychic of life continuing to lash out against him, the toxic manager makes a constant retreat from every single lunge that Satette swings at him, retaliating back at her with small and swift waves of radiation; every nuclear slash inflicted upon her tanked by the collection of cockroaches coating her body. Despite her veil of vermin shielding her from the deadly doses of radioactive energy that Nova repeatedly strikes at her with, pieces of Sat’s protective coat are stripped away from every blow; the dozens of cockroaches scalped off her left charred to a crisp against the pure nuclear assault. And it wasn’t long before the lively psychic’s armor of insects begins to thin and crumble, forcing Satette to compel what bugs remain to scuttle around and shield her from the more direct attacks; this development failing to deter her constant approach as she inches closer and closer to the site manager. Once finally closing in enough against the toxic construction boss, Satette thrust her only arm towards the man to drive the tip of a splintered twig right into him; Nova left flinching as the end of the stick digs straight into the front of his shoulder.

Yet this successful plunge past her nuclear nemesis's radioactive defenses fail to stop him from retaliating; Nova driving his fist right into the stomach of her armor before firing out a terrible blast of nuclear power upon her; the force of the blow powerful enough to send Satette careening right into the living room wall. Slamming against the side of the room hard enough to leave cracks behind in the wall, the lively psychic falls to the floor as the last of her coat of cockroaches scatter away and past around their countless charred brethren that litter the floor. What cockroaches he had fried loudly crunching underneath his feet, the toxic construction manager slowly approaches the lively psychic as he grabs the small stick that she had stabbed him with; Nova winching as he up heaves the twig out from his shoulder.

“Did you seriously think that a bunch of bugs and a damn stick would be enough to put a big shot in the making like me down. You have any idea who you’re dealing with here!?” the construction manager exclaims; reducing the twig to nothing but splinters in the palm of his hand. “I know exactly what you are. Just another loser with power who thinks they can trample down on all the little people and get away with it.” rebuttals Satette, glaring up to the nuclear psychic. The toxic construction boss can’t help but burst out laughing from her description, beaming a striking sinister smile down upon the woman as he proclaims how: “Welcome to the real world, sweetheart. The best things in life are for those who stamp down on whoever or whatever they can in their quest to the top of the food chain. From the most powerful politicians in the country, down to the smallest snot nosed brat winning an art contest; everyone does it in one point in their life. Scaling over the countless bodies of all the losers that litter the side of the mountain of life just for a chance to make it all the way to the top. Might sound nihilist, but hey, that’s the way the world turns.”

“But it doesn’t have to be.” Satette refutes, a deflection which deflates her nuclear nemesis wicked grin. “For every sociopath willing to step on others to get what they want, there’s countless other’s holding each other together. Even among the worst of times, people stand with each other in the face of life’s struggles and aspirations. If one of us falls, the others around them help pick us right up. Even if it means if they have to sacrifice their own sake for those they care for.” Speaking this words of inspiration does she think back to the old woman providing her well grown vegetables to the numerous protesters standing against the construction of the power plant threatening their homes. “From the frailest, all the way to the sturdiest pillars, every single piece of a community matters. The smallest of neighborhoods, the biggest of cities. A team of two, to an entire band of thousands. Even if its a small rag tag group of nobodies wanting to make a difference.” To proclaiming this is she reminded of all the people that she had stood by in the face of countless dangers and foes; Frida, Thursotte, Sunny, Tuesco, Monty, and Wedsle, their hopeful smiles solidified in her mind and fueling her determination. “We can stand with one another in the face of adversity. And its about time I remembered that.” “Tsk, yeah? Well let me show you where your cheesy little lesson about teamwork got you.” the radioactive manager offers, aiming his palm square against the young woman as sparks of radiation gather in his hand.

Even when these sparks of nuclear power swell into dangerous bellows of radioactive energy, Satette remains steadfast against the growing threat of this toxic power, Nova left puzzled upon seeing the lively psychic crack a smile of her own. Its when pondering of her positive outlook in the face of certain doom that he starts to notice his arm having lost its natural vibrant color; the radioactive manager disperses the power gathered in his hand to discover his skin left as pale and cold as a corpse. “What?” But its among his now colorless skin that he finds the veins underneath his skin swiftly beginning to darken; the discoloration running from up the that very same arm growing worse from underneath his short sleeved business shirt. “What the hell?” When ripping off the side of his shirt, Nova’s confusion escalates to dreadful panic upon finding the wound left on his shoulder having worsened; the flesh of his body rapidly decaying to the point of chunks falling right off his very bones like pieces of well cooked pork.

“What the fuck!? What the happening to me!? What did you fucking do!?” he shrieks to the woman. “I did exactly what I told you I would, and given you a dose of your own medicine. You’re about to pay for all the people and plants around here you’ve been poisoning; and all of it stemming from one of your victims.” Recollection the brief run in Satette had with the sickly sister back in the community garden, its revealed that while hiding under the cover of the shrubs that the lively psychic had taken the teenage girls ailment and had stowed it away in the temple of her own body. “That doesn’t make sense! My own radiation shouldn’t be effecting me at all! How the hell is it doing this to me!?” “I knew as it stood, that girl’s radiation poisoning wouldn’t do enough on you. So I had idea of modifying the little bug into a full blown virus, one that exclusively sought to devour a specific strand of DNA; all that I needed was just one little morsel to get it hooked.” Satette then thinks back to how she had slashed at her nuclear nemesis, drawing some drops of blood from the cut she had inflicted across his face; lathering the end of the bloodied stick with her own sickly saliva. “After my little pathogen gets done making a meal out of you, it should die out alongside the last of your wicked ambitions. The moment I got close and jammed that stick in your sorry shoulder, your death warrant was signed on the dotted line.”

“You…You goddamn cu-” the toxic construction boss curses, attempting to approach the lively psychic. But just taking a single step towards the young woman would have Nova suddenly fumble down onto the floor; his dreadful panic swelling into borderline horror upon looking back to witness a truly terrifying site; the manager’s leg having been so corroded as to split his foot away from his own leg. Oozing from the sleeve of his pants be the frothy sludge of his own flesh, melting off the joint of his very bones; a site that more than solidified his grizzly fate. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was meant to work my way up from the bottom, working undercover for the mob in this shitty pencil pushing job until I took my rightful place as the new scion. But to die here, to this fucking tree hugging bitch!?” he blathers as portions of his body melt onto the floor. “Sorry bud, seems like your contracts been terminated.” Driven to the brink of fury over his toppling situation, the radioactive manager thrust his partially melted hand straight at the woman who had set his demise; the bones of his fingers reflecting the glow of nuclear power that he conjures in his very palm. The lethal dose of radiation soon evaporates however, as Nova finally succumbs to the merciless hunger of the virus; the radioactive psychic that had brought terror and scourge to this little slice of suburbia left to sizzle in the broth of his own melting body.

This nuclear nightmare having been finally brought to a close, Satette lets out a deep sigh as she slumps against the living room wall; ultimately relieved that she had survived the highly infectious encounter largely unscathed. Holy shit. That was pretty rough. If I hadn’t thought of that whole virus trick, I’d have been cooked for sure. But I can’t lay back and relax just yet, not while there’s still one last bit of work to do.

From the dusk of twilight does the light of the morning sun break upon the city, shining upon both the tallest skyscrapers to the humblest of little homes. Yet on this day, along the edge of a humble inner city suburb, all stands quiet as dozens of onlookers gather; protesters, construction workers, and many others behold what stands in place of the power plant. From base to tip is every inch of the partially constructed building left entwined in blooming tree’s, flowers, and other lively foliage; enveloping the floors, the walls, and beams in lengths of living flora. The tree’s standing with bark abundantly thick, the flowers, so spread and vast. From in the middle of its dead brethren, this spontaneous garden stood tall in the middle of the source of its very blight; a display of nature trouncing upon its sickness. To the unexpected and almost miraculous display of nature do the protesters and neighbors alike all roar out together in a celebration; their gleeful cheer over the end of their plight echoing all across the suburbs. “Whelp. Guess this means the project is canceled. No amount of gardening tools can get through all that.” one of the workers declares. “I’m just worried how Nova’s gonna take this. He’s gonna be so pissed.” “Meh, who cares. The guy’s a fuckin prick.”

The outcry of triumph reverberating across the block and beyond, one such woman who hears this roaring cheer is none other than the one who nobody will know had steered the course of their livelihoods; the lively psychic having delivered them all from being driven from their homes in the face of the radioactive scourge. Expelling a long, loud yawn from her tired grin, Satette wonders out from the concrete walkway to approach the front of one of its humble homes, pulling out the glowing red key from her dress pocket. Coming upon the door to the home, Sat slides the psychic key right into the keyhole to transform the ordinary door into one to lead her back to the safe house.

She’s reaches out and is moments away from turning the knob, when the grasp of another suddenly clutches at her arm; Satette swift to back away from the hand, only to calm herself when finding that grasp belonging to their enigmatic informant donned in the mask of a famous children’s television show character. “Oh, right. I was supposed to find you. Sorry, just had to deal with a lot recently.” she apologizes. “I can tell. I’ve wanted so long to come see you again, especially with all you’ve been through. If only I could’ve come clean and comfort you earlier.” the mysterious masked informant laments. “Alright, wow. Leaning a little hard aren’t you?” “Well, what else do you want from me? Its been eating up inside thinking about what you must’ve been feeling all these months now, all that time we’ve been apart.” “Whoa easy, just…who the hell are you?” “Really? You haven’t figured out who I am yet? I can’t believe you didn’t put the pieces together by now, Satsy?” “Sat…Satsy…” the lively psychic utters.

Reaching to the silly mask used to cover their visage, the informant pries the veil of her anonymity away to present to Satette the woman underneath; her long brunette locks unfurling from underneath the hoodie as she’s finally able look upon the psychic she had so deeply yearned for with her naked jade eyes. Wells of emotion surge within every fiber of Sat’s being in beholding the informant’s caucasian visage; tears of swelling joy running down her cheeks as she recognizes the woman standing before as someone dearly beloved once thought lost. Satette, so shaken to her very core, that she can’t help but tremble as she whispers in hopeful disbelief: “Janna…”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

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New Season of Street Smarts dropping this week.

The season which will conclude the psychic Saga will premier this Friday.

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

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The scions of the Mob

Three important characters from "Street Smarts" that act as commanding generals of the criminal syndicate, the highest in command standing below the boss. Each of them hold the terrifying power of transmuting a state of matter into whatever relative matter they desire. To the left- May: the scion of solids. A brash, strong, and cruel woman able to transform the weakest of rocks or wood into the mightiest and densest of iron or steel and vice versa. To the right- August: the scion of liquid. A reluctant, but committed woman with the power to change whatever liquid she touches at will; letting her transmute the safest of waters into the most corrosive acids, or even worse. To the bottom- March: the scion of gas. A selfish and greedy man who clawed his way to the top of the syndicate; holds the horrifying power to conjure the deadliest of gases known to man, all from the very air we breathe.

#lillaxtrigger #street smarts

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The street Smart Crew

First time drawing in a while. Practicing on digital with my new drawing laptop. Figured to make something with the characters of my current series.

#lillaxtrigger #street smarts #artwork

[lillaxtrigger]

Changes

I decided to make a small change with the way I us this blog. This one shall be used for general posting, the other one shall be used for keeping my writing projects, essentially switching them. Wanted to come out with this so there's no confusion.

#lillaxtrigger #update

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smart: Chapter 23

The swirl of a loading wheel spirals all across the screen before the scene shows the inside of a baby’s bedroom; an ear piercing bawling can immediately be heard as soon upon entering. Standing aside a changing table, a man nervously looks down to a crying infant as its diaper soils with disgusting brown sauce. “Honey, The baby wont stop crying. And I don’t know why.” Yet despite beckoning for another to come to his aid, the man baits no response outside the bedroom; left to only gaze down to the baby on the table as it wails harder than before. Panic starts to set in as the infant’s nappy rapidly swell by the second, leaking out a fowl mixture of feces and piss; the baby’s crying harder and louder as its diaper expands. The guy watching all of this unfold quivers as he can do little but watch the situation escalate. The problem reaches its climax when the bottom half of the infant violently erupt in a geyser of red and brown mix of poo and pee, gushing out from the baby’s blown bottom and spray all across the entire; the man becoming hysterical as he watches this nightmarish chaos unfold. “Oh my god, there’s shit everywhere! Its all over the fucking walls!” the guy screams.

All of this madness was displayed from the TV screen set along the end of the safehouse’s living room; his demented program holding the eyes of both Frida and Thursotte as they watch from the comfort of the repaired and patched up couch. “You know, I sometimes imagine what my life would be if I simply chose different interests and careers; maybe then I would be sitting here watching a show about a baby expelling a geyser of shit, piss, and organs.” wonders Frida. “I just wonder if this is okay for Sunny to watch.” Thurs follows with, looking down to the sound controlling kid sitting on the floor as he intently watches the show. “Oh my god, Harold! What have you done to our baby!?” a woman’s voice shrieks. “I don’t what happened! He just shat himself to death!” “Its on the floor; its in your mouth, our baby’s colon is in your mouth!” ‘Belughrhheueeuheu!” “Meh, I’m sure the kid’ll be fine. Gotta lose that childhood innocence eventually.”

“What streaming service is this from, anyway?” asks Thurs. “I’m afraid that its not possible to install any streaming service down here.” Mr. July then informs, Thursotte yelping as he scoots back when the host pops out from between the cushions. “Can’t get anyone in here to install it without compromising the location.” “Then...what are we watching?” “Sometimes, my thoughts, memories and dreams stream themselves into whatever visual output happens to be plugged in. I don’t know why it happens, it just does.” the host admits. With the horrific realization of the show they were all watching was in reality a sick peek of their hosts psyche, Thursotte peers back in horror as the scene they behold looms to the parents of the exploded infant; the spouses shouting threats as they point their guns towards one another. “You sick son of bitch! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” the wife swears. “Not if I blow your brains out first!” the husband threatens. The bangs and blasts of firearms ringing out from the Television, Thurs constantly shifts his sites from the show and over to their enigmatic host; their blood curdling screams causing the young man’s stomach to plummet.

Amidst this terrifying respite, everyone’s attention is drawn to the door as its kicked wide open and see Satette entering the living room as she lets out an exacerbated sigh; her dressed covered in stains of scarlet and bits of meat. “Shwew. Glad I got that mess worked out.” “Sat!” Sunny exclaims, all three of them rising from their seats. “Is Wedsle okay?” “Oh sure. Real messy biological stitch job, but I managed to patch him up. Weds would’ve wound a lot worse had Mr. July not had all the compatible organs on hand.”

“Organs? Like actual human organs?” Thursotte questions. “Oh, yes.”answers July “Where did you even...” “I harvest them from people I lure in here.” “What!?” “How you think I can afford my collection of imported furniture?” “Oh, that’s what those are. When I found them in the fridge, I thought they were sheep’s bladders. Had this weird craving for haggis one night and used those; I could hardly tell.” “Frida, you ate them!?” Sat questions. “How was I supposed to know they came from a person?” “Why would you keep organs in the kitchen fridge!?” Thurs demands out of their host. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you happen to find any other cold storage I could use?” Mr. July snidely claps back with. “I want to go see him!” Sunny demands, zooming right past them all and through the door Sat came out of.

Following after the little sound silencing squirt, everyone else pours into the bedroom to find their violet leader nestled comfortably in the embrace his bed, with most of his body wrapped in gauze and bandages; Wedsle watching them all come in with a cheeky grin. “Hey, Weds. You feeling alright?” first asks Frida. “Well, I recently had the pleasure of a woman exploring my body...just not in the way that I hoped.” “Okay, yeah. You’re fine.” “Now, it might take about a week or so for all the new organs and muscle tissue to properly integrate to your body. But after that, you’ll be as good as new.”

“A week, are you serious? We don’t have that kind of time.” the purple psychic objects. “Whelp, tell that to your recovering immune system; but if its even a tiny bit as stubborn as you, I don’t see it listening.” jests Frida. “God dammit!” “What’s got you bent, Weds? Relaxing in bed for about a week? I don’t see the reason to be so ornery.” Thurs asks. “It’ll be any day now before the dear doc hears about the location of his lab having been leaked. And once news of that reaches his ears, Dr. December’s gonna be out of there faster than your shadier relatives on Christmas. Pilfering and picking every single thing they can before flying south for the winter. We might as well kiss our one chance of taking back the stone goodbye, because we’ll be sorely screwed.”

“Wedsle. I’m so so so sorry. If you didn’t fight for me back in my old neighborhood; you wouldn’t be this hurt.” Sunny sobs. “Kid, quit with the water works; we were after that bastards head, anyway. Avenging your folks was just a nice bonus.” assures Weds “But what are you gonna do if you can’t even get out of bed?” “Eh, don’t sweat it. Weds might be out of commission, but the rest of us ain’t.” Sat declares. “Xcuse me?” “You don’t gotta worry a hair on your violet greasy hair; just leave getting the stone back to us.” “You mean just throw you all guys down into the biggest wolf den in the whole woods? I don’t think so.” denies the violet psychic. “We haven’t had problems with any of the other crap you’ve sent us on; Why not?” Frida further questions. “That was all just small shit. This is a whole ass septic tank.” “Even so, its like you said. Time is of the essence, and we can’t stand here waiting for it to flush down; we need to get down in here and clean the…I-I don’t know where I’m going with this whole plumber analogy. But the point is we need to get down in there now.” reinforces Tuesco.

“Ugh! Fine, you guys got me pegged. There’s not chance in hell I’m rocking my cock off in this condition. But I ain’t sending you down in the ditches with your thumbs up ya butts. Even if it does wind up sinking,  there still has to be somebody taking the wheel. That somebody’s gotta be real lean mean machine, someone I’ve seen take names and kick ass all the same. It has to be someone I’d know for a fact would gladly dive down a fox hole of explosives and dig themselves out just to finish the job. But most importantly, they have to be somebody I trust on every single facet. And I’d feel the most comfortable that being-” “Wedsle, I’m touched. I mean I’ve only been with you guys for about half year now, but to think you seeing that highly is-” Satette says with a warm smile. “Sat. I was gonna say Frida should take the lead.” Weds correct. “Oh...Yeah, I guess that makes more sense.”

“Okay, we got a lead; but what about a sitter? We need somebody here to watch over the little guy right here while the rest of us are gone.” brings up Tuesco, tussling Sunny’s hair. “What!?” the boy denies. “Good point. He obviously can’t come with us, but we can’t just leave him here with Wedsle either.” Satette adds. “What the fu- Why not?” “Physical complications aside, leaving such a young and impressionable child behind with somebody so perverse and with an ambiguously amoral compass might not be the best idea.” argues Thursotte. “Oh sure, when the rest of you teach him something, its an important life lesson. But when I do it, I’m suddenly contributing to the delinquency of a minor? Well maybe some delinquency is what a kid need in this cruel, hopeless, and greed fueled world, you ever think of that?” “I’m sure that July can keep a hawks eye on the little squirt while were gone.” claims Frida.

“This isn’t fair. The rest of you get to break into a secret lab of a mad scientist while I’m stuck here doing nothing. Why do I have to get left behind?” “Sunny, this ain’t some kind of old video game or cheesy campy late 90 action movie.” Satette starts to explain. “How this mission turns out could determine the fate of not just you, not just us, but everyone living in this city, maybe even beyond. I know you don’t wanna hear it, but we can’t focus on that while making sure you stay out of trouble. I’m sorry Sunny, but you can’t join us, that’s final.” The decision cemented over the matter, the kid’s face quickly turns sour before he stomps out of the room; everyone flinching as he slams the door behind him.

The lively psychic lets out a weary sigh from how miffed the boy became lamenting how: “Maybe I should talk with him.” “Meh, he’s been through worse, he’ll get over it. Besides, there ain’t no time to. The earlier you guys break into the dear doctors lab, the better chance the psychic stone can be pilfered from his vaguely artificial mitts. You all need to be like a pick pocketing hoe after stealing from the guy she banged. Be swift, be stealthy, be uh…striking. We might not know a thing about Decembers lair aside how to get in; it could be big, it could be layered with traps, it could fuck you all over six ways from Sunday if your not careful. And not in the fun way where you get to meet new people either.” “Weds, come on. Like that’s stopped any of us before?” Sat reminds. “It didn’t then, and it won’t now. Take my word as a former CIA agent, I’ll make sure that little bauble gets back in our hands before the doc know’s its gone.” “Alright, I know your words are worth their weight in pounds of imported cocaine. With you as the second in command, I know you’ll lead this motley crew of criminals and rejects out into the horizon of the fresh open sea.” “Yeah, you can count on it.” the 2nd dimensional psychic assures with a hint of false confidence.

Though Frida is ultimately assured of her dedication to take the crew down into the bowels of the doctors lab, splinters of doubt bore into her mind as she leads them all through the tunnels of the city sewers; none of them able to notice her worry as they all steer clear of the unsanitary dangers around them. The rancid river of piss, the slippery sides they walk upon, the foul stench haunting the very air; all of it encapsulating an experience each of them deal with differently. While Frida meanwhile was too caught up in her own thoughts to take in any of the sites, sounds and smells around them, Thursotte on the other hand is, as expected, repulsed by the mixture of grueling sensations; the young man pinching his nose as he fans away the foul stink. Tuesco on the other hand finds his own solution to repel away the horrendous odors that plague the tunnel they travel across in the form of a bubble of solid air encapsulating his head; the transparent dome keeping the terrible stench of the sewers at bay.

“You’re gonna run out of air in that thing, you know that right?”Thurs warns Tuesco. “I got about 20-25 minutes in this thing before then. I’m sure we’ll be up in the doctors lab by that time. You sure you don’t want me to make you one.” the air solidifying psychic offers. “No thanks, I actually prefer to breath. Even if that air is crusty sewer smell, its still air.” “What about you Sat, you want a bubble to breath in.” Tues then asks, glancing back to the lively psychic following them. “Nah, I’m good. It ain’t that bad for me, really.” she turns down. “What do you mean it ain’t that bad? We’re walking right beside a literal river of urine and feces; how the hell are you not heaving?” wonders Thurs. “Well, my dad used to be a sewer plumber back when I was a kid; and every night when he got back home, he smelled pretty close to this. I guess I just got used to it. Feels more nostalgic than anything.” “That’s not something a person should freely admit to being used to.” Tuesco advises. “Either way, I’m just hoping we don’t have to ravel through this place much longer; I’d rather take the sense of danger than the smell of poo and pee anyday of the week, you know what I’m saying Frida...Frida?”

The words of Frida’s partner baiting her out from her funk, the 2 dimensional psychic shakes off the looming sense of worry and respond with: “Ye-yeah. Sup Thurs?” “You’re spacing out a lot; are you doing okay?” “Oh yeah, sure. Never better. You?” “Frida, come on.” Thursotte further pushes, an obvious sign he knows that she’s not feeling all that well. A cautious sigh escapes from between her lips as she gives out the tough and cool act to admit: “Its just...There’s seriously a lot riding on this. I’ve had my share of escaping from sticky situations, babysitting some of our, uh, less competent partners.” “I can still hear out of this thing you know.” Tuesco claims. “This meanwhile is a lot bigger than those.” “Come on, Frids. I’m sure something like this isn’t that different from a mission in your CIA days.” “Maybe, but those times, I was always taking orders from whatever head of operations I was assigned to. Now, I’ve been put up as the head, and I’m not sure if I’ll make a good one. I’m a sniper, not a leader. Like, what if I get one of you guys-” “Hey, hey, Frida.” Thurs then returns her attention with. “Just, think back to when you were with your old team. From the way you described it, it sounds to me like everyone on your team was like one giant contraption; each of them playing their part to get the task at hand done as smoothly and efficiently as possible. If your feeling like its too much, just remember that your part of that same unstoppable machine just like every one of us.” “Thurs...that’s seriously some of the cheesiest shit I’ve heard come out of your mouth. But...a little bit of dairy sounds like just the thing I need to build up my backbone.” claims Frida, her words bringing a hopeful smile to the chaotic psychic.

Right on the cusp of this uplifting pep talk, Frida’s eyes widen when looking back to discover a shadow lurking around the corner behind them; her smile vanishing while she silently nudges her head around to return her teams sites to where they came from. Upon everyone at once glancing back at the same time, the shadowy figure darts back into the corner; an obviously suspicious notion that whoever is following them doesn’t want to find out. Knowing they’re being followed, the gang carry on through the sewer tunnel like as if they never saw; a farce of which lends their stalker the confidence to continue tailing them. Yet in the middle of attempting to quietly follow the four, the shadowy stalker trips against what seemed to be a bar of solid air and is sent plummeting into the flowing sewer river; all of them peering back to watch with cathartic glee their stalker flailing in the foul water.

Their satisfaction immediately shatters as they see the figure be carried towards them; the fair bits of light atop the tunnel revealing them their stalker having been the sound controlling kid thought to have been left back at the safehouse, coughing and hacking as he desperately stay afloat. “Sunny!?” Thursotte exclaims. Realizing this, Satette is the first among them to delve into the sewer river and swim after the flailing young boy, paddling across the waters as fast as she could in hopes of making it to Sunny. Just when moments away from sinking into the flowing river, the kid is lifted out from its dirty depths by the lively psychic and is swam back to the side of the tunnel; safely dragged back onto the tunnels solid walkway.

Once back on the tunnel path, Sunny hacks up what water manage to slip into his mouth in struggling to swim, all the while the others gather around to make sure he was alright. “Easy, kid. Breath through your nose.” Tuesco tells him, kneeling down to pat the boy’s back. After a couple more moments of coughing out the last of the water, Sunny does what Tues advises and breaths through his nostrils; slowly but surely recovering his breath. “You good there?” Thurs asks him. “Agh...agh...yeah.” the kid finally speaks. “You sure.” “...Pretty…pretty sure.” “Glad to hear your alright. So, now that we’re sure that your all hunk dory, can you answer one question for me?” Sat calmly states. “Yeah. Wha-” “What the hell were you doing down here stalking us!?”

“Its just.... Why do all of you get to help while I have to stay cooped up at the safehouse.” “We’ve been through this already. This ain’t some trip to the playground, we’re down here doing some serious shit. Its not some game you think you can just barge your way in. Lives could be at stake.” tells Frida. “I know it isn’t. But I-.” “Kid, we’re not going through this again. Get your butt back to the safehouse before Wedsle knows your gone.” Tuesco sternly orders. “That’s why I want to help!” the boy then exclaims. “What are you talking about?” asks Satette. “Wedsle’s in the shape he’s in because he took down the monster that killed my parents. Its cause of me he’s not down here with you guys on your guys’ most important mission yet. I can’t go back up there to face him, not after all putting himself through all that for my sake. That’s why I’m not gonna leave. I won’t leave. Not until I make it up to him.” Sunny proclaims, standing back up on his feet. “Sunny, we know you mean well, but we can’t risk bringing you where we’re going; you could seriously get yourself killed. He might not admit, but it’d devastate Wedsle knowing you needlessly risked the life you have ahead of you.” Thursotte explains.

“Hang on a sec there.” Frida then cuts in with, staring down to the kid find the determination held in his eyes. “You sure you want in on this, kid?” “Yu uh.” the boy goes, putting on a brave face. “Frida, are you really thinking about letting him come along with us?” wonders Sat. “He seems willing. I don’t see the big deal.” “The big deal, woman! Is that we’re debating on taking this 10 year old child down with us into a precarious life and death situation! Are you gonna stand there and tell me we should drag this poor kid down with us!?” staunchly objects Tuesco. “I’m 11!” “I’m surprised your so against this, Tues. You said yourself you witnessed this boy shatter hard solid ice with nothing but the vibrations of his whistle. A power like his could save us plenty of precious time and energy breaking through some of the security the doctor no doubt has installed. Choosing to forgo such a unique skill set in this precocious problem we have ahead of us sounds a little foolhardy, don’t you think?” elaborates Frida. “You can’t be serious.”

“Frida, even if his powers could help us sneaking through Dr. Decembers Lab, do you even think he’s ready for something like this? I mean, we’ve only had a couple days to teach him the basics. He’s only been with us on just a few jobs; bringing him down here on the biggest one we’ve been on so far, well…” Thurs then chimes in with. “Thurs, you’ve been with us on some of the craziest, life threatening situations back when you had next to no idea on how to use your own psychic powers, and it didn’t stop you from growing into a force to be reckoned with. If the overly cautious little bitch you used to be can grow into a helluva typhoon, then we got nothing to worry about with this kid. Plus, he’s been surviving on the streets for about uh...how long?” summerizes Frida. “About 4 months.” Sunny answers. “4 long grueling months and come out of that relatively okay, he’ll definitely be alright with us. Right kid?” “I saw a homeless man get stabbed to death for a sandwich once.” “Besides, it’s like you said, each one of us is just one part to a whole unit; so him around is like an add on to make this machine run better than ever.” “I don’t think your taking my uplifting analogy the right way.” states Thursotte. “Come on, Sat. You know how much he could help out. Back me up here.” Frida requests to the lively psychic. “I...I don’t know if I feel alright with this. He’s so young, and if something happens, well…”

A weary sigh seeps out from between Frida’s lips as she moves over to stand before the rest of the crew, all before declaring that: “Okay. I didn’t wanna pull this dick move, but it seems I gotta. We need every advantage we can get breaking into Decembers lab, and I ain’t gonna stand here and piss them away. Wedsle left me in charge of this ship, and as long as I’m acting captain, the kid’s coming with us. That clear?” Upon the dimensional psychic putting her foot down, Tuesco’s demeanor harshly bitters as he walks past while simply uttering: “Crystal.” Both Thurs and Sat don’t fair much better with her as they follow the air solidifying psychic, remaining silent with upset and disappointed glares; ones that Frida tries to bare before peering over to the sound controlling kid and ordering to: “Well, come on, kid. Got a real bumpy road ahead of us.” With an affirming nod, Sunny joins the rest of them in their trek through the tunnels of the metropolitan sewers; the fresh sensation of confidence the dimensional psychic had been boosted with wavering once more.

Their trek through the filth ridden tunnels remains as dank and damp for around several more shafts and turns; the dark and moist atmosphere weighing down upon them until coming to a break in the tunnels brick walls. Planted right in the middle of their path, perched against the tunnel wall, stood what seemed to be a mechanical control panel made of sleek chrome; one that seemed as if it had been installed relatively recently. “I’m not that much of an expert on sewer system architecture, but I’m sure something like that isn’t supposed to be there.” Thurs claim. “Yeah, even for the Manhattan tunnels, this seems pretty far fetched.” Tuesco agrees. “What do you think that panel’s supposed to be for?” then questions Satette. “Lets see and find out.” suggests Frida.

Curious of what could be within the enclosed control panel, the dimensional psychic comes up to the bit of tech  and slaps her hand across its locked lid; Frida run her arm across the panels 2nd dimension to slip into the keyhole. She constantly prods through the inside of the lock in hopes of cracking the control panel open; but instead of hearing the crack of the lock breaking, all Frida hears is the harsh crack of electricity as she’s shocked from within the keyhole. The others are quick to come to her aid as she pulls herself out from the depths of the keyhole, all of them saving her from taking a nasty dip in the river. “Jesus! Frida, you okay there?” Thurs worries. “Yeah, yeah. Just didn’t expect that. Least with this shocking revaluation, we know we’re on the right track.” “Booooo!” Sunny jeers, holding a thumbs down to her leaders cheap ass pun.

“Well, we found the gate. Now we just need a way to break the lock.” Tues then summarizes. Its then that all of them hear the distinct sound of a false cough, baiting their attention over to the lively psychic standing next to them; who starts to brag how: “Not to brag but, I fancy myself a little bit of a lock pick prodigy; had my fair share of breaking into doors, safes, even the occasional drawer before I joined up with you guys.” “Not doubting it Sat, but I don’t think even the best lock pick in the world could break through; long as it’s holds the lethal voltage of a comic book villains joy buzzer, no pick is picking at that electric hazard.” “Maybe not with some regular pick, but the one I’ve just got might.”

Confident of such, Satette waltzes over to the mysterious control panel as she conjures a pinch of natural green aura upon her finger, poking at its keyhole to send a smidgen of her power crawling within. “And 3, 2, 1.” she chimes as she steps back from the box. Upon the end of the countdown, Satette’s friends are astonished to see the strange control panel suddenly lets out vicious sparks from underneath its steel lid; the box momentarily crackling and banging before a plume of smoke blows open the panel lid.

“What the...how in the hell did you-” babbles Frida. “Let me answer that by asking you all something. What do you think that the river beside us is filled with?” the lively psychic follows with. “Poo and pee?” Thursotte first answers. “Uh, yeah...W-what else?” “Flushed down incriminating evidence.” Tues then claims. “I guess that can be true, but that’s not what I-” “Water!” Sunny the jests. “No! Just let me-” “Well, quit dicking us around and say it.” Frida then demands. “Bacteria, this river is swimming in bacteria! God, I thought that would’ve been simpler.” laments Sat.

“The heck does biology 101 that gotta do with this?” Tues follows with. “See, while I was fishing Sunny out from a fate that some people would have nightmares of, I went and beckoned to some of the more active germs and microbes that hung around some of the grimier parts of the river. I figured something so small and eager to infect could come save us in a pinch; I didn’t expect a pinch this shocking and so soon.” “I get it.  You commanded the germs to worm through the lock and disable the electric trap.” “Great, so what’d your little germ gesture get us?” the dimensional psychic brings the conversation back to.

From beyond the vial of smoke against the control panel, all of them are amazed to suddenly see the tunnel wall move apart; its brick face nothing but a visage to cover the chromatic steel steel it was actually made of. Beyond this false wall revealed a hidden elevator sporting the exact same chromium steel, its doors slowly parting to present up its cold and uncaring inside. “Huh’ that’s convenient.” Tues comments. “Too convenient. Almost like the doc’s inviting us in.” suspects Satette. “Well, we don’t got much other options on the table. Think we should take it?” Thurs questions. “Even if the doc got the place rigged, this might be our one and only chance to get in So, invited or not, we gotta take it.” Frida decides. Their minds set on taking this obvious ploy, the motley crew step right into the inviting elevator’s cold chromatic steel chamber; each of them feeling a foreboding and tense sense of worry upon stepping inside.

As soon as the chamber’s doors shut tight, all of them feel the elevator descend, some of their stomachs churning as they sink further down into whatever unknown depths they’re whisked to. It’s among waiting for their stop that all of them suddenly feel the chamber cease its decent, the crew bracing themselves for whatever may rush out at them from the other side of the door. But rather than the pair of doors standing before them sliding open, the floor beneath them instead parts from beneath their feet to make them plummet down into the depths of the abyss; the light of the elevator disappearing in the darkness as they fall.

“Everyone, grab onto each other!” Tuesco demands. Quick to hold onto one another like the air solidifying psychic advises, they suddenly feel their descent come to a sudden stop; all of them hearing Tues let out a relieve sigh as he says: “Wow, can’t believed that worked.” “I can’t see a damn thing, what’d you do?” asks Sat. “I got a light, hang on.” Thurs claims. With the push of a button, a small flashlight expels a beam of luminescence to pierce through the darkness; lending them a slice of vision among the shadows. Thursotte aims his small light upwards for the light to shine upon the others; all of them holding onto one another as they hang in the middle of the air. Suspending all of them be the air solidifying psychic suspended at the top; clutching against a freshly made pipe of solid air he had constructed between the shaft walls. “Are all of you okay?” Tues asks them. “We’re fine. A bit shaken, but in one piece.” Frida reports. “Talk about pulling the rug on us. A little announcement would’ve been nice.” Sat snides.

“Whelp, seems we wound up stuck in the middle of this shaft;  only two ways to go, up or down. Which one, Frida?” Thurs then questions. “Uhh…” A look around the part of the chromatic shaft all of them were suspended in, the dimensional psychic’s attention is brought to a pair of doors a little ways below them; the sliding doors meant for where the elevator would’ve stopped. “Looks like our ride’s gonna resume to its destination. Those doors down there are just tight enough for me to squeeze everyone through.” On Frida’s words does everyone grow strangely quiet, the dimensional psychic peering to the others as she wonders: “What’d I say?” “Nothing. I just feel like something’s missing.” claims Thurs.

Out from the other side of the elevator doorway, the dimensional psychic slides out from the tight space between the twin doors with the rest of the crew in tow; all of them taking in a breath of fresh air the moment they pop out of the wall and spill onto the floor. “You know, it feels kind of weird not having Wedsle around making about 7 dirty innuendo like an immature teenager.” Satette states. “That’s it.” claims Thursotte.

As all of them peer to which part of their foe’s layer they slipped into, they are astonished to discover standing before them several hallways made from slick metal walls, with lengthy wires that slither and slide across their surface in different directions. A look up to the ceiling shows them a myriad of pipes of which pulsate as something glowing within moves down their insides. Even the floor was no mere solid surface, for underneath its glass panels can small robots and machine be seen crawling along like an ant colony. Just the hallway alone was enough to lend the impression of all of them having not broke into any simple facility, but rather the inner of a giant machine. “Wow. This is all very...futuristic.” Thurs claims. “Feels like we’ve broke into a sci fi spaceship.” comments Tuesco. “Wow. This looks so cool.” Sunny awes.

“This place is so big; the stone could be anywhere. We’re do we even start to look?” wonders Sat. “The doc’s gonna realize is little rug pull didn’t pan out as well as he hoped, so that doesn’t leave us with much time to scour through every inch of this faux future hole. I say splitting up to cover more ground is our best bet here.” suggests Frida. “Frida, considering the kind of first impression this place’s already given, you sure that’s the best idea.” worries Thursotte, glaring down to the little insect like automatons that scuttle underneath the glass. “Alright, how about two groups? You tag along with Sat, so while both of you go bust some of the doors down around here and see what sort of sick surprises are waiting inside. I’ll be taking both of the other boys with further down into the shaft with; see if maybe our prized mcguffin is somewhere deeper inside. That sound better to ya?” “Can I give a second opinion?” Tues tries to interject. “Nope.” Frida shuts down.

Clutching both the psychic of air and sound by their shirt collars, Frida jerks both Tues and Sunny back to the elevator door with her; the three shifting into the door’s second dimension to squeeze through the space between. “Come on, boys. We got some “Weee!” cheers the kid. “Wait, I’m not ready-” Tuesco exclaims. The three slurp through the crack in the twin doors as cleanly as water draining down the sink, leaving both Sat and Thurs to peruse through the hall of this floor of metallic majesty; the lively psychic left a tad concerned as she turns to Thursotte and wonder: “So...You think Frida’ll be okay watching Sunny?” “Ehhhmmeehhmmeehh...I don’t know. If she’s as good with children as she is with her guns, then we got nothing to worry about.”

Sliding down the darkened wall of the elevator shaft with both the boys in hand, slips into the crack of a small vent and slithers across air ducts as cleanly as a serpent; the two she drags with her holding their breath as she takes them across the tunnel. Its coming upon the first vent she see’s that the dimensional psychic delves through the grate to pop out from the other side; the trio dropping down into the room the vent leads. The first of them to land, Frida catches both of her crewmates before they can fall to the floor; Sunny and Tuesco taking in breathes of fresh air as they rise back on their feet. “You know, a little word of warning before dragging us to who know’s where couldn’t hurt.” the air solidifying psychic complains. “Whelp, now you know how I felt in my early CIA years. Everytime I got an assignment, something that could go wrong, often did. Helped me stay on my toes all these years.” Frida comments. “Where are we?” Sunny being the first to ask.

Peering into the room that they had dropped into, their astonishing surprise swiftly reinflates when discovering themselves to be in the corner of what seemed to be a bigger part of the laboratory housing a dozen of the insect like androids that they’ve seen earlier. The mechanical bugs swarms along piles of miscellaneous stuff that range from household objects, discarded trash, even some biological matter, all that the insects tear apart and break down into material they then carry to receptacles along on the side of the walls; a bright tan light shining from within the disposal as it opens. “What are those things doing?” the boy wonders aloud. “Don’t know. Don’t matter. Only thing we need to worry about is sneaking through without any of those bugs spotting us.” advises Frida. “Are you kidding? There’s so many of them, though. We’re lucky they haven’t swarmed us yet. How do you expect us to do that?” Tuesco stresses. “It doesn’t look like they even know we’re in here. It’s like they don’t even care we broke in.” the sound controlling kid claims. “All the more easier to paruse right on by, grab on.” the dimensional psychic orders, holding her hand out to the two. Grasping at their team leaders hands, both Tues and Sunny take in deep breaths as they’re both pulled into the wall beside them with Frida; the trio sliding across to go over the debris the swarm of robotic insects break apart.

Though the majority of the android like bugs scuttle across the piles of unsorted garbage across the floor, there is about a fraction of them crawling across the walls in their seemingly never ending task; carrying the balls of garbage they collect down into the shoot that line the sides of the chamber. Frida swerves around the insects that scuttle along the walls as she tugs both of the boys with her across the room, constantly making turns in evading where they crawl; Tuesco and Sunny struggling to hold their breaths as they’re whipped around. While traveling across the face of the chromatic wall, one of the insects crawling down ends up touching Sunny’s foot as they slide by; a discovery of which immediately makes the robotic bug start to dig through like the pieces of garbage below. Feeling the bug drilling into his ankle, the sound controlling kid instinctively disperses his aura to silence his shouts of pain; that same aura unfortunately forcing him out of the wall and back into the 3rd dimension. Tuesco forces himself out from the wall as the boy plummets towards the floor, quick to cast his cerulean power down after the boy in hopes of catching him in the nick of time. The air beneath the boy crystallizing, Sunny is caught in a sling of solid air moments before he could descend down upon the swarm of metallic insects below; Tues suspending the boy as Frida keeps the both of them from falling. “You okay, kid?” Tues asks. “I think so. It didn’t get that deep.” Sunny assures, rubbing the spot of his shoe the bug dug through. “Glad to hear. Just hang on.” grunts Frida, straining to pull the two of them back into the wall with her.

Once pulling both of her crewmates back into the safety of the second dimension, wall merging psychic slides further down the wall until coming upon a grate platform on on the other side of the hall; the trio emerging out from the side to stand atop the catwalk that holds nothing but a lone door. “Phew, almost threw my back out with that.” claims Frida, stretching her backside out. “I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t know I’d come out the wall the moment I tried to quiet my own screaming.” the kid apologizes with. “Don’t sweat it. Happens to the best of us.” “Um, no. I think some sweat is worth perspiring here.” Tues cuts in. “Gross.”

“Just look at his leg. If I didn’t catch him in time, those scrapers would’ve scrapped him to pieces. You starting to see why bringing a defenseless kid down here with was a horrible idea.” the psychic of solid air chastises Frida with. “I can help you guys, I swear, just give me a chance to-” “Nah, he’s got a bit of point.” the dimensional psychic admits. “You reckless bi- I do?” “Yeah, can’t believe I missed such an obvious over site. If the kid here gets in a snagged, there ain’t much he can do to fight back. But, I think I got something here that should keep you safe.”

Burrowing among the inside of her denim jacket for a brief moment, Frida takes out a modern style pistol to present to the boy; Sunny gazing to the firearms with a sense of wondrous curiosity. “Cool, a street glock.” “Okay, no!” objects Tuesco, swiping the weapon out from the kids hands. “Hey!” “So, I’m gonna have to be the only rational adult in the room and say no to giving the 11 year old child a loaded handgun.” “We’ll how else do you expect him to defend himself down here, whistle real loud and hope the sound somehow causes a malfunction in their circuits?” “He shouldn’t even be down here in the first place!”

Its while the adults are arguing among themselves that Sunny’s attention wonders over to the part of the disposal hall they had just finished traversing, alarmed to discover chunks of the chromatic wall shaking off; steel wires and tendrils wriggling out from underneath these sheets of steel. “Uh…Ms. Frida!” the boy utters. “So he’s a bit on the young side, does that mean he can’t prove himself?” the gun woman counters. “This isn’t about pride, its about putting him in danger.” argues Tuesco. Once soon popping out from the shiny steel wall, the wires underneath the sheets of metal starts to rapidly weave among each other as they form into pairs of fin like wings. “M-Mr. Tuesco.” Sunny again attempts to grab their attention with. “So your idea of proving himself is to be needlessly put in mortal peril? He’s been through enough already.” barks Tuesco. “You saw how the kid looked at how beat up Weds was after avenging his parents, you think he should try to resolve those mixed feelings and let it fester into guilt?” Emerging out from the backs of these sheets of steel be thin, but sharp tails that hold a tan sparking glow right against their tips; that same beige glow matched in their stingers as that bubble out from the other end; the several security drones coming together into a flock of hovering steel manta rays. “Guys, look!” the sound controlling kid screeches.

Their glowing beige tails aimed to the three, the flock of mechanical manta whip them out to let loose a volley of bright beams from their tips; both Frida and Tuesco finally paying attention when the barrage of blasts start raining down upon them. “Oh shit!” the dimensional psychic exclaims. “Stand back!” Tues demands, leaping in front of them as he holds he erects a barrier of solid air. Tuesco’s transparent barricade fends off the barrage of beams effectively; though it doesn’t stop the swarm of metal manta from advancing after them. “Flee now, fight later!” he states. “See, now we’re on the same page.” Frida compromise. “We’re are not through talking about this!” Taking the sound controlling kid by the hand, Frida and Sunny hurry through the door behind them, racing out of the disposal chambers with Tuesco following after; the flock of mechanical manta ray delving into the door to pursue the intruders.

A couple more of those mechanical manta swim across the hallways that stand several floors above; their steel wings letting them float across the chromatic corridors in search of the intruders they were deployed to find. The doors lining the hallway slide open as they hover over to lend the security drones a brief peek inside for searching through the facility, only to find nothing awaiting within. Behind one of these doors does one of the manta peer in, unaware of the intruders it seeks standing right next to it, standing closely against the walls beside the doorway. As soon as the fish themed security drone enters a fair ways into the room, both Satette and Thursotte cleanly slip back out into the hall and sneak around the corner. Peeking out around the hall they just crawled away from, a quiet sigh escapes from Sat’s mouth when watching the last of the metal manta glide away. Its among searching across the hall behind her that the lively psychic discovers something slide inside one of the open doorways; the part of its body she had caught draped in electrical piping and wires that drag across the floor. Silently does Satette grab her partners attention and direct them over to the door she had seen the thing slither through; Thursotte following her as they both sneak to the door.

Coming upon the closed chromatic door, they inspect the face for any kind of way to open it back up, only to find nothing but an electronic keypad taking the place of a lock. “Oh jeez, a digital lock? There’s no way we can break through it, not unless one of us is some kind of secret super hacker or something.” Thurs claims. “Well, I might not so much about computers, I do know a little something about some pretty nasty bugs they can get.” states Satette, reaching her hand over to the keypad. From the lively psychic’s arm, a colony of miscellaneous bugs comes crawling down to her hands and crossing over to the digital pad from her fingertip; the insects squeezing their way through the cracks to make quick work of the lock, with with the inside of the digital pad sparks and crackles. “Where the hell did you get those bugs?” “Sewer.” “Uh...You’re right, stupid question.” Thursotte admits, the chrome door sliding open before them.

As soon as the two step inside the mysterious chamber, the doorway leading out suddenly slides shut on them with a loud thud; Thurs turning back to try and force the door open, only to no avail. “Dammit! We’re locked in!” he exclaims. “Don’t sweat it, Thurs. We can bust our way out if we have to.” Sat assures. “Hmph, a feat I would be fascinated to observe.” “What, you don’t think I can do it?” she argues. “Sat...That wasn’t me.” Thurs then shutters. “Then who…”

“Your partner is correct.” both of them hear a synthetic voice confirm. “The steel consisting of my domain was constructed to be stronger than platinum. An expense necessary for the research and experiments that I conduct down here.” “Your domain. Guess that makes you the dear doc we’ve dug down here to defeat, huh?” Sat assumes. “Indeed. You currently speak to the master of this technological fortress. I know I’ve garter a reputation out upon the streets above, countless of your kin referring to me as something of an urban legend. Let me put your doubts to rest that you speak to the very same man whispered in shadows. Let me introduce myself as Dr. Delco December!” the voice proclaims.

“Where even are you?” asks Thursotte as the two gaze out in the room before them. “Yeah, too much of a quivering pussy to come out and take us on face to face?” taunts Sat. “Oh, if only you two were aware.” the doctor responds with glee. “But I know why you all have foolishly decided upon yourselves to infiltrate my den of ingenious prowess; to pluck the stone of psychic power out from my grasp. Rest assured that what you desire is close at hand, but you lot are moronic if you think I will simply hand it over to you.” “Yeah, tough shit! We’re getting out of this tacky sci-fi looking dump with the stone weather you like it or not.” the lively psychic declares. “I must admit, your eagerness is admirable. Perhaps with that gusto, you two can aid me in running some experiments.” the doc insists.

Its in that instant that the rest of the room the two stand within flashes brightly, the shadows departing to unveil a pedestal holding what appeared to seemingly be an ordinary big battery. “A car battery?” Thurs wonders. “Indeed, but one I modified to harbor an incredibly potent power source: cold fusion generator. The output just one unit alone can produce constant power to entire city block.” “That’s, amazing! But how can you-” “However, I know full well this city holds its fair share of leeches that would kill for a source this powerful, a contingency I’ve fully prepared to counter. You see, there exist companies and corporations out there that dump countless sums of money in protecting their precious energy grids, which is why I’ve cut the middle man of security straight out.”

Suddenly protruding out from the side of the seemingly ordinary car battery, a line of electrical raceways and wires comes shooting out to whip its charged end towards the two intruders; Satette and Thursotte leaping out of the way before the wires strike the ground and unleash a blast of lightning upon impact. Glancing back to the battery, both are astonished to see more and more of these electric tentacles sprouting out from its surface; raising itself off from the pedestal to stand against them with its elongated wires and pipes. “You see, while I was designing the method of which this battery could connect itself to different power grids, I thought to myself that such methodology could be used as a sort of security system in of itself; it kills what wretches leeches attempt to pry it away and operates at peek efficiently, you couldn’t ask for a better deal.” “Well, when you put it like that…” “Thurs!” “What? I mean he’s not wrong.”

The rest of the battery’s wire flailing about, the chaos inducing psychic rolls aside as another of the batteries whips comes barreling at him: Thurs evading its crackling end by the skin of his teeth. Against the stream of electrically charged wires, all the pair could do was evade their fury; the countless crackling tentacles constantly thrashing about forcing the duo to stay on the evasive. “Nrgh. There’s just too many wires flailing around for me to even get an inch in.” Sat regrets. “Maybe not from you, but I’m packing something that can take way more than a measly inch.” Thursotte claims, digging inside his pants. Just as the battery was on the verge of slithering after them, a single bullet is shot directly into its plastic casing; the bullet lodging itself in its shell as its knocked back. A glance back to her partner in crime, she finds the bulllet having come from a pistol that Thursotte wields; the tip of its barrel smoking from the fresh shot. “Huh. You know, I don’t know why I was expecting something completely different from the way you said that.”

Despite the octopus like robot taking a piece of led right to its side, it takes little time for it to simply rise and once again lash out at the two; Thursotte almost immediately firing at it again as it nears. Yet the two or three more bullets he puts into the battery isn’t nowhere near enough to halt its approach, the machine not even so much as phased as it continues to whip its wires upon them. “Crap! What’s that thing even made of?” he complains. “We gotta find some other way to bust through it, else it’ll only be a matter of time before we get-” the lively psychic warns. Amidst her dire warning, one of the tentacles crackling charged ends up whipping against her side to inflict its lightning like wrath upon her; the young woman letting out a painful shriek as countless volts of electricity runs through her body. “Sat!”

Below the deeper parts of the laboratory, a few mechanical manta float across the stairwell and down the corridor before coming upon an intersection in the hallway; one of them takes to the left as the other goes right; all the while the last goes straight. Unbeknownst to any of them is that the intruders they hunt down were hanging above them the whole time; Frida and the boys dwelling within the surface of the pipes above. Seeing the coast clear, the trio emerge out from between the pipes to drop back down to the floor; all of them taking in their breathes before Tuesco claims how: “Looks like we finally gave them the slip.” “Shame my silencer wouldn’t work down in a place this cramped. Shoot one down, a dozen more would swarm us in no time. If we weren’t on doing stealth, those dinky ass fish’d make great targets.” admits Frida. “They looked cool though, think I’ve seen some of those things on a field trip to the aquarium once.” Sunny mentions. “Still they’d look cool shooting a laser through your head?” the dimensional psychic then asks him. “Yeah, probably.” the boy states without so much as a second thought. “...I like you, kid.”

“You know what else’d be cool, us making it out of here with all of ours intact.” Tuesco says. “Good call. Soon as we nab the stone, we’re bailing out of this hole.” Frida claims. “Yeah, I’d say sooner than later, preferably with him out of here.” “Come on, you’re still on that. The kid says he wants to stay, so he’s staying. Don’t know how many more times I gotta say it.” “I shouldn’t have to say it! Even if he’s willing, a boy his age isn’t ready for something this danger. For god’s sake, I bet you didn’t bother coming up with a game plan before we went down here, did you?” “I’m more of a go with the flow kind of woman.” “Well, that kind of on the fly thinking might’ve worked with you so far, but it ain’t gonna slide down here. There’s so much riding on this, that without any sort of strategy on our hands; we might as well be buried down here.” “Okay, okay. I might be having something going on in the back of my head. It’s just a hunch, but I’m pretty sure of it. You know that big room with all the spiders we came out of?” “Yeah?” Tuesco responds. “Well, they all can’t be toiling away, breaking all that shit down just to toss out again. Wherever they’re chucking it, it’s gotta be somewhere critically important.” “I get it, we stop them; it’ll mess things up around here.” Sunny guesses. “See, kid’s already on the ball. Maybe you should share some of his enthusiasm.” suggests Frida.

“You three won’t get the chance.” all of them then hear somebody deny, each of them gazing around for where this voice may be coming from. “The only way you all are leaving my lab is through the waste processing.” “Your lab? Guess that makes you the dear doc we dug down here to pilfer from.” responds Frida. “Indeed And I’m to assume you three are the rest of the traitorous lot that my bosses had allowed me to experiment on.” “Allowed? So that means-” Tuesco states. “That’s right. Both of them knew it was only a matter of time before you people worked up the courage to infiltrate my lair to take back the stone; so they gave me their permission to do whatever I wish to you all. Believe me when I say I have so much planned for you all.”

“Tell us where the stone is, right now, you cretin!” shouts Sunny. “Don’t think I’m gonna give it to you so…Is that a child? Did you all seriously bring a child down here with you?” “This kid’s got way more to him than meets the eye. You know the saying, big things in small packages?” compliments Frida. “I seriously can’t believe you people, taking a kid down here. I mean, I heard your lot was idiotic, but this is borderline reckless.” “I mean he’s not wrong.” “Not the time, Tues.”

“It doesn’t matter, any who are sent down here are subjected to testing purposes; and I have a rigorous schedule ahead for you all.” Upon this conclusion do pieces of the walls that make up the intersection around them start to come out, with what seemed to be eels of chromatic silicon slithering out int the hallway; the aquatic life form based drones lunging towards their with their maws line with buzz saws. “Split!” the dimensional psychic demands, Frida escaping from the swarm in one direction as both Tuesco and Sunny flee down the other.

Popping a few more shots against the remarkable self defensive battery, Thurs find none of his bullets so much as penetrate through the portable power source’s outer hide. With several of the battery’s spark charged tentacles hurdling his way, he rolls right out of the way as he dips his hand back in his pants, pulling out another mag as he prepares to discard the other. Just when he was about to reload, a loud groan draws his attention back to the side of the chamber to discover Satette slowly waking up from her shocking blow. “Sat!”

Discovering his lively partner still with him, Thursotte is quick to toss his empty magazine out at the flailing robot; the battery effortlessly whipping it away and sending it hurdling overhead. The young man is nowhere near deterred as he fires his weapon right up at the careening empty pistol mag; the bullet he fires out encapsulated in his thick orange power that spreads to the mag upon being struck. Upon being shot, the discarded mag is redirected to hit the pedestal that their electrical foe had risen from; the pistol mag impact combined with Thurs chaotic power causing the stand to tumble down into some of the batteries wires.

With the marvel of power management caught under the weight of its own stand, Thursotte races over to his fallen partners side while the battery was struggling to squirm its way out. “Sat, are you okay?” he first questions, kneeling down to help the lively psychic up. “Agh, man that’s a nasty shock. Probably doesn’t help that I’m still moist from the water.” she claims. “Hmm...Hey, you know that trick you did with the germs back up in the sewer?” “Yeah. But this over glorified car battery tanked about a handful of bullets. Doubt we’re breaking through it anytime soon.” doubts Satette, watching as their mechanical menace start to worm its way out from under the stand. “Maybe we don’t have to.” Thurs assures her.

Seeing the octopus like android slip its wires out from underneath the knocked over pedestal, the two immediately split as the battery lunges out for them;  thrusting and flailing its exposed wire tentacles at them both. When seeing some of the crackling whips streak after her, Satette hops to the side of the chamber and kicks off its chromatic wall to leap right over the barrage of electrical tendrils; the young woman careening across the mess of exposed wires and stamping down upon the battery itself. Stepping atop the power source, Sat kicks off its side to send it tumbling against the very same wall she jumped off of. Among their electrical enemy’s stumble does its tentacles part to expose the same spot where Thurs had shot it before, the pistol bullet still lodged in the battery’s thick shell. Thursotte waste’s not another second to take aim at that very same part and unload his pistol against the machine’s tough hide; one of the bullets successfully managing to strike the same place the other did, burrowing its brother deeper into the batteries hide. “Got it!”

Reviling back from the potshots of led, the mechanical beast thrashes its exposed wiring towards the same man who had fired at it; its crackling arms suddenly freezing up mere moments before even a single end could so much as scratch him. “Guess you still need to put this puppy through a couple more beta tests, Doc.” taunts Sat. “Yeah, seems you still got a couple bugs to work out.” adds Thurs, kicking the whips in front of him aside. Among the part of the battery’s protective shell that had been shot at, several minuscule insects scuttle their way in from the burrowed bullet hole Thursotte had made a moment ago; the bugs crawling into its inner workings causing the mechanical menace to freak the fuck out and wildly thrash about. “Nice comeback.” the lively psychic compliments. “Hehehe, thanks. I’ve been waiting to use it since I got down here-”

Despite the invasive insects plaguing its insides, the octopus like android refuses to simply shut down and instead starts to frantically flail all throughout the chamber; its electrically charged wires thrashing everywhere. “Whoa nelly! Guess it needs one more shock to the system.” Ducking right underneath the whips that come careening their way, Satette makes a lunging dash at the thrashing piece of technology; the lively psychic leaping around and over the bundles of wires that flail her way. When narrowly dodging one of these crackling whips, Satette holds her hand out towards the tentacle as a scaly serpent slithers out from underneath her dress; the snake, coated in her natural green power, wrapping around the insulated parts of the electrical wires to jerk the tip of the sparking strings towards the very battery attached to it.

The moment she finds the compromised part of the machines shell, the lively psychic shoves its own lighting charged limb right into the bullet hole; the pieces of led still lodged inside providing a perfect path for the wires current to loop right back around to the very same place it spawned from. The electrical feedback loops all around from the battery back into its hardware, making the entire machine rapidly growing hotter as it quakes violently;  Satette makes her escape with a bounding jump as the battery explodes in a burst of sparks. Landing right beside her fellow partner in crime, Thursotte backs away as the snake she used to finish off their electrical enemy slithers up from the lively psychic’s arm; the serpent sticking its forked tongue out as Sat pets the top of its with her index finger. “Where did you even get a snake?” “Sewer.” “What?”

Along the chromatic corridors, Tuesco races through the polished steel hall with Sunny following behind, the sound controlling kid keeping up as fast as he could while being careful to watch for any other nasty traps. Its coming upon a four way intersection that they make their stop and hide behind the one of the walls; the air solidifying psychic peering around every corner before noticing a couple of the manta drones nearing. Tuesco holds the boy back as he pushes himself against the wall, hiding around the corner as the pair of aquatic based robots simply float by without taking the corner the boys hide behind. Once the pair of mechanical manta are out of site, Tues lets go of Sunny as both him and the kid continue their way through. But when attempting to proceed along one way, the psychic of solid air turns back to see Sunny heading down the other hallway; Tuesco swift to catch up to the kid before going: “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Where do you think you’re going?” “That trash room we came in from is this way.” “Well, I’d rather wait til we find a safe route out of here for you this way.” insists Tuesco. “But Frida said-” “It doesn’t matter what she said. I ain’t just gonna putting you in any more danger than you already are.” “That’s... that’s not fair!”

“You’re right. It isn’t fair. It ain’t fair somebody as young as you got roped in this whole mess.” Tues then mentions, a concerning response of which calms the kid down a tad. “A kid your age shouldn’t be worrying about the weight of the world on his shoulders. You should be out there enjoying your youth while you still have it; playing basketball, hopscotch, video games, or watching movies with your friends. Not wasting it being tied up in all this cruel and confusing grown up stuff. Maybe we can’t bring the life you had with your folks back, but that doesn’t mean you should throw away the rest of it, dammit. You only have so much time to be a kid, and I think you should enjoy it while you’re still one.” “I...I guess I see what your saying, but-”

Before the young boy could speak his mind over the man’s spoken intent of this situation, the slick steel of a mechanical manta suddenly slithers between them, making their their hairs standing on end as a whole swarm of droids swim right beside them; neither of them so much as moving single muscle while the wave of metal manta rays simply float by. Yet despite literally passing some of the intruders they feverishly search for, not one of them so much as turns or glances to either of them; the wave of aquatic creature based robots simply hovering through the hall before turning around the corner. “Those things...they didn’t even glance at us. How? Why?” “Maybe they just didn’t hear us.” suspects Sunny. “Wait, so you’re saying you made us both silent?” “Yeah, since we were talking, I thought to put up a sound line so that only both of us can hear each other. Not sure why they didn’t see us though.” “I think it’s because they couldn’t. If those pseudo sea creatures can’t see, then maybe they’re running off of some echolocation sensors.” “Echo what?” “Sound; the manta rays were following our sounds. God, no wonder they sniffed us out so easily earlier when Frida and I were bickering.”

“That’s great. If they can’t find us while I use my powers, getting around her should be real easy.” Sunny claims. “Hmm…I still don’t think you should be-” Tues weakly attempts to rebuttle. “Come on, you got any better ideas? Even you have to admit that’s our best bet.” After a moment or two to ponder over this newfound discovery, a worried groan can’t help but seep out from Tuesco as he finally relents with: “Alright. If it can keep you out of harms way, then I’m willing to go for it. But I need you to promise me two very important things for me, okay?” “What’s that?” the kid asks as the psychic of solid air kneels down to his level. “One: if things get hairy in any way, I need you to run and hide. Don’t think about me, don’t think about the mission. I want you to escape the moment the situation turn sour; is that clear?” “Fine.”

“And two: when we get through all this and we all make it back at the safehouse. I need you to swear that you won’t try and sneak with us on one of our missions again; you gave us plenty of heart attacks to last a lifetime. Can I get that from you?” “...Yeah…I promise.” “Good.” Tues says, patting the boy on the shoulders before getting back up on his feet. “Lets hope you don’t let us down, kid.” The solid air psychic’s words drag the sound controlling kid out from the shell of self defense to instead carve out a smile to reflect his joyous determination, following Tuesco through the rest of the hall as he cheers: “You bet I won’t!”

Among another part of this set of corridors, a couple of other manta hover across a part of the corridors lined with sliding doors, each of these doors shifting open as the security drones check to see if there be anyone within. Their highly advanced sound based dictation sensors however detect not so much as a ting anywhere in the chamber. But slithering right overhead of the mechanical manta ray, the dimensional psychic scuttles right over the doorway and hides up among the pulsing pipes that line the top of the ceiling. So close to the metal line, Frida can’t help but hear the feel an intense chill coming from what flows coming from inside. The aqua based droid soon breaks away from the chamber to resume its patrol with its brethren, failing to so much as notice Frida having slipped right over it. With the coast clear, the gun woman descends down from the pipes above and slides back down onto the floor; her attention however still fixated on the pulsing pipeline overhead.

Curious of what flows in these chilling pipes, Frida trails their length across the chromatic corridor, following their pulsating flow around corner after corner through the hallway. Its after about several twists and turns across that her pursuit has her halt in the middle of a lengthy stretch of hall; her gaze beckoned upwards to discover all the pipes from each end of the hall spiraling up within a darkened hole left in the ceiling. Simply standing under it was enough to lend the dimensional psychic a slight chill, as if all the cold that the pipes were carrying were spilling upon her. Regardless of the freezing chill that pours from the depths above, Frida wastes no time merging herself into the wall to climb above to the shaft, determined to find where it rises to. The spine tingling chill she initially felt only intensifies as she scales the pipe lined shaft, the sensation comparable to standing in the middle of a fresh winter day with but only a light jacket to shield from the bitter cold.

Its enduring this chill among her ascent that she manages to rise up to the other end of the shaft, phasing out from the side of the hole to find herself standing in the middle of a massive chamber encompassed with a bright beige glow. Though the light relieves her from the chilling cold, she gazes to the source of the luminescence and is she astonished of what could expel such a heat; Frida standing in awe to behold a massive cluster of computers suspended together by the dozens upon dozens of pipes tightly wrapped around them. The incredible heat fuming from these machines countered by the bone chilling cold pipes that envelope them was truly a strange feeling; like the forces fire and ice were locked in an endless conflict. But why? Why for something this huge? Its wondering this that she starts to notice some of the wires that wind out from the countless computers, each of them stretching out from the cluster to the chamber walls, suggesting their power and data being carried across to other parts of the lab. Regardless of what this cluster of computers does for a facility this massive, even Frida knows that it must be incredibly important for it to not just needed to be cooled by these countless cool pipes, but whatever information they may send through all the wires strew about.

Realizing the importance of this giant piece of technology regarding this facility, the gun woman reaches into her denim jacket with an excited grin before pulling out a military grade rocket launcher; the armament already loaded with a highly explosive rocket. Frida’s trigger finger practically itches as she aims the powerful explosive towards the cluster of computers, excited to finally have an excuse to us this bad boy. Yet despite her eagerness to launch the portable missile like a kid lighting a box of fireworks, she begins to come to her sense upon realizing what may happen if she decides to blow her payload on this thing now.

This giant technological tumor might be the only thing holding this whole place together; blowing it up to high hell while we’re all still in here ain’t ending too good. Still, setting it to blow could be our best bet. Ain’t got any other explosives with me, so I gotta find another way to do this, but how? Pondering of this is her attention then drawn to the dozens of pipes strewn across the chamber with the cold radiating from their metal hitting her ankles; a sly grin starts to form between her cheeks as the feeling lends her a devious idea.

The slick metal of a chromatic door slides open to let both Tuesco and Sunny back into the side of the trash processing chamber from whence they came, walking to the edge of the catwalk to gaze upon the swarm of robot spiders on their never ending, thankless job of breaking down what material drop down. Despite the upset intervention from when the trio had first broke in earlier, the arachnid androids are unfettered by the brief interruption and keep to their task like clockwork in dragging the carved debris to the glowing beige shoots. The spiders unfortunately are not the only machines that roam throughout this facility, for floating among them be several of the mechanical manta patrolling along the length of the chamber; their auditory sensors picking up whatever foreign intrusion may come their way. “Okay, here’s how this is gonna go down. I need you to hang on my back while masking our sound while I go across clogging the shoots set around here.” Tues summarizes. “Is that it? I think I can do way more than that.” “This isn’t up for debate. I’m not putting you through any more danger than I have to. Now just grab on and don’t let go.”

Letting out an upset groan, the sound controlling kid hops up onto Tuesco’s back and wraps his arms around the  air solidifying psychic’s shoulders; Sunny conducting a thin sheet of silencing aura to mask themselves with. The kid safely stuck to his backside, Tuesco makes a bounding leap right off the catwalk and drops down towards the heaps of garbage below; an unexpected play that leaves Sunny panicking. But before the two of them could crash down into the piles of trash, their plummet comes to a sudden halt as Tuesco stands in what seems like the middle of the air. But when the sound controlling kid gazes down to what suspends them above the line of garbage, he discovers a pair of columns erected underneath his guardians feet. One careful step at a time, Tuesco walks across the waste processing facility one solid air stilt at a time; the kid hanging onto the psychic’s back as tight as he can.

While standing high atop his solid transparent stilts, Tuesco gathers the air around them to construct a long necked shovel that he thrusts down against the collection of trash beneath his feet; the shovels sharp tip piercing the hardened garbage quite effectively as it scoops up a big chunk of the stuff. With a heap of trash in hand, the air solidifying psychic chucks the chunk of trash right towards one of the open beige shoots; the garbage lodged right against the opening. Wishing to be safe than sorry, Tues cocks his shovel back before swinging its solid head right into the big piece of debris further down the shoot to choke it. The shoot successfully backed up, the psychic of solid air proceeds to repeat this process with every other shoot the two of them see, stuffing and choking every opening across the processing chamber.

“How you doing back there?” Tuesco checks in on Sunny with. “This is cool and all, but why do you get to have all the fun? I wanna throw trash at private property and not get arrested for it.” the boy complains. “Kid, this isn’t fun. It’s a matter of life and death.” “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep score or something. Be better than just hanging off you doing my best impression of a backpack.” “Just keep up the barrier and we’ll be fi-.”

Their brief exchange suddenly takes a drastic turn when one of the mechanical manta rays ends up hitting against the sound controlling kids side; the strike knocking Sunny off of the solid air psychic’s back and sending him tumbling down the piles of trash below. Acting fast, Tuesco swings his long shovel after the young boy in hopes of catching him; Sunny just barely clutching the tool as he slides down its neck, stopping just short of crashing into a mess of busted up plastic toys. The kid curls his legs as the arachnid androids that crawl across the debris dare not scuttle up to him in their duty to break down what trash falls down here, hoping that he won’t be mistaken for one. Peering back up to Tuesco, Sunny is alarmed to see his sound proof aura dissipating from the man that holds him up; the sound of his breathing and grunting beginning to echo across the chamber. The noises that Tuesco makes involuntarily bait some of the nearby manta his way, a distressing situation that starts to escalate as the gathering drones aim their glowing stingers towards them; the psychic of solid air left with no way to defend himself as he keeps Sunny suspended above the garbage piles.

Just when the swarm of mechanical manta Ray was ready to unleash their wrath upon Tues, a wayward bullet suddenly streaks by and strikes one of the drones with a resoundingly sharp ting; a clang that redirects their aim away from the psychic of solid air before releasing their fury. Glaring back down the neck of his shovel, the psychic of solid air is astonished to discover the bullet having been fired from the pistol in Sunny’s hands, the same one Tues thought he had confiscated before; the firearm’s boom having been silenced by the kids muffling magenta aura. Against the rays of these fake sea creatures, the lone drone is eviscerated into chunky metal piece that scatter down to the rest of the trash below; the swarm of arachnid androids beginning to break them down just like any other bits of garbage.

This close encounter successfully averted, Sunny quickly climbs up the length of his guardian’s shovel to return to Tuesco’s side; the sound controlling kids magenta aura again restoring their words to only private conversation, the first words Tues shares between them being: “I thought I took that away from you.” “I picked it out of your pocket while you weren’t looking.” “Sunny!?” “I had to pick a lot of pockets to scrape what I could before meeting you guys. Are you that shocked?” “Young man, when we get back home, we’re gonna talk about this pilfering habit you picked up.

Along the upper levels of the facility, both Satette and Thursotte book it through the chrome corridors as quickly as their legs could carry them; all the while hotfooting it away from the several manta machines that tail after them. In her attempt to slow the school of faux sea creatures, the lively psychic casts her reptilian whip against the pursuing armada as the head of her snake opening wide as it careens at one of the drones; the fangs of its maw piercing through the machines chromatic steel and locking it onto the sewer serpents jaw. Sat whips the length of her snake around to send the mechanical manta it bit down crashing against its fellow drones, cascading into one another to take out about a third of the chasing swarm. Though when Sat tries to reel her slithering whip back to her side, its return is violently thwarted when a stinger emerges out from the swarm to stab the snake right through the middle of its lengthy body; the poor serpent inflicted with such a nasty shock of the manta’s beige power that its fried to partial ash. “No, Slipknot! You had so much to live for!” she cries, the remains of her snake slipping off her arm. “You named it?” questions Thurs. “He was meant for slithery success down in the sewers. All the rats and bugs a boy like him could eat.”

There proves no time to lament for their small loss, for what remained of the pursuing pack of mechanical manta start to fire out volleys of beige beams at the two of them; the fleeting duo ducking, weaving, and leaping away from the barrage of blasts behind them. “I-I think mourning your dearly departed pet will have to wait. Unless you got something else up your sleeve, we’ll be next.” Thursotte warns in the middle of dodging. “I do got one more trick up my skirt, but it might take me a minute. Think you gotta come up with ass pulls this time, Thurs.” “Don’t refer to it like that. You’re starting to sound like Wedsle.”

His turn to step up to the plate with his own brand of abilities, the chaos triggering psychic pulls out his pistol to use against the tailing mob of mechanical manta; his aim drifting away from above the swarm and towards the part of the corridor ceiling ahead of them. “Uh, Thurs. The swarm of superficial sea creatures is behind us.” Satette reminds him. “I only got a couple more shots on me here. Trust me when I say I need to make them count.” “Do you even trust yourself?” “Barely, but what else is there to put it in at this point.” he admits, coating the pistol he wields in his orange chaotic influence.

Blasting out from the head of his gun, Thursotte fires a shot right into a glass panel held along the chrome ceiling and breaks into the circuitry behind it; the piece of led embedding itself into the delicate electrical wires and boards. Quickly jerking the pistol over to the hallway wall, the young man again spends a bullet through another panel to damage the circuitry it poorly shields; sparks flying across the computer boards upon being shot at. With the final piece of his guns ammunition, Thurs unloads it down through one more glass panel left embedded on the very floor they race over, shooting into another piece of circuitry like the rest. “That’s was it!? That was your big brain play!?” blurts Satette. “Wait for it.”

Pouring out from the three bullets that Thursotte had fired out, his orange aura floods across the lengths of circuitry that line the inside of the chromatic corridor; the spreading power encapsulating the entire hall in a hue of deep orange. Aside from the captivating hue, Thurs’ infesting power immediately gets to work on making countless errors and mistakes occur all across the complex circuitry; electrical screw ups of which send the corridors in chaos as the dozens of glass panes they explode in blasts of scattering shards and plastic. Among the relentless cascade of computer malfunctions, the pursuing school of manta ray machines are torn asunder as they’re caught within its fury; their chrome shells stabbed and slashed by the scattering chunks of sharp glass and circuits. Even with the ongoing concocted chaos thinning the army of dastardly drones that chased them, the duo are left in the midst of the raging storm as they shield themselves from the relentless rain of shattered glass and electric sparks. Desperate to escape from the furious downpour of orange madness that plagues the hallway, Satette’s site catches a doorway left open in the middle of the hallway; the pair darting straight inside the room without so much as a second thought.

Dashing out from the hectic hall and into the unassuming room, Thurs and Sat slam the sliding steel door behind them to shut out the discordant disarray on the other side; the two breathing easy once out of the chaotic maelstrom. “Well, I guess that’s one way to clear a place out. A little bit too close of a shave to be honest.” Thurs concludes. “At least we got out of that shit storm, better to find ourselves in...wha-where the hell are we?” wonders Sat, peering further into the chamber they had both rushed into.

Within the rest of the room do the two come to discover standing before them a big computer terminal that hosts about a dozen or so displays across the wall; the information and data processing across the collection of screens mesmerizing to the naked eye, a site of which beckons Thursotte to approach. “The hell is this?” wonders Sat. Coming to the computers keyboard, the young man rests his hands upon the keys to trigger a couple of the screens to blink back on; Thurs reading some of the information that’s displayed and concluding how: “This seems to be a sort kind of computer terminal meant for personal use, maybe for the doctor? Wonder what I information I can fish out of this?” “Do you even know how to work that monstrosity?” Sat questions. “I might not be some kind of ingenious computer expert. But I know my way around a PC well enough; all a matter of looking in the branches. Hmm...I think documents would be a good place to start.” he affirms, tapping away at the terminals keyboard.

Thursotte’s interest is peeked when finding the documents resting in the file to not be titled as one would expect; relying on an assortment of numbers and symbols to refer to them instead of any conventional words. When attempting to crack open a couple of these mysterious files however, he is swiftly denied access as a window pops up to claim how they are locked behind an encryption. “Dah! Figures most of these are encrypted. Ah well, nothing we can’t sort out later.” Upon this digital dilemma, the young man delves into his pocket before pulling out a small USB stick decorated with a chic sea blue design; Thursotte plugging the stick right into one of the terminal’s ports before returning over to the screen. “What’re you doing?” Sat can’t help but ask him. “Oh. That informant we meet up with back at the art museum told me to download what files I could when we got down here; said they could decode whatever info the doc got on here to read and use.” “And how you figure that’s gonna take?” “Well, seems there’s a lot to gather here. The amount Documents and spreadsheets alone look pretty numerous. Best guess I got for you is...20 minutes, tops?” “20 minutes!?  There’s ain’t no way we can wait that long. Frida and the others are further down looking for the stone and who know’s how long we got til the jolly old doc finds us.” “I think December will be to preoccupied dealing with the cacophony of chaos we caused back in the hall to be worried about us. I’d just sit back and take a breather while I work on transferring these files.” suggests Thursotte.

With there being very little for the lively psychic to do during this moment of technological thievery, she leans back against the cold chromatic wall and lets her sites drift to the other displays that line the wall; dozens of pictures, video feeds, and data running across their screens. The stream of ongoing information was almost impossible to look away from; all the live security video, downloading pictures and texts, and the abundance of information coming in, some of it from places she had been to before. Was this how the criminal mob gathered their intelligence?

Its while staring into the stream of endless data that she spots something strange swimming in the stream, catching glimpses of static blobs bubble out from the stream of downloading data; soon finding more of these little pieces of static broiling across these screens. From the numerous displays do countless more of these little formless blobs come crawling out from the woodworks, cobbling together into clumps of static; their amorphous shape starting to form into swimming sea creatures.

But the lively psychic’s alarm bell’s don’t start going off until she witnesses these frightening fish begin to slowly breach from the displays; their heads and fins surfacing out from the screens as they float over towards the young man messing with their nest. “Uh...Thurs.” “Hang on. I think I’m starting to uncover a whole smorgasbord of info here. Company CEO’s, upcoming politicians, international officials. These guys have a whole web of connections here.” Distracted by the bevy of intelligence he was discovering, Thursotte is left clueless over the school of predatory static creatures that prowl towards him; their static maw’s opening wide to reveal the numerous rows of teeth lining their jaws. Realizing verbal warnings will not reach him in time, Satette springs into action and hurries to her occupied partner in crime; her natural green aura commanding the hide of a scaly beast to emerge out from her back. The tail of the lively psychic’s scaled creature the first part to lunges forth as the static sea monsters threaten to bite down upon her partner in crime, wrapping around Thursotte to swipe him away from the monster’s fuzzy maws.

Tugged back to Satette’s side, the chaos inducing psychic is left astonishingly frightened over the budding blobs of static bubbling out from the terminal’s other screen’s all of them beginning to congeal together as they breach into the physical world. “What the- What even are those things!?” he exclaims. “The latest innovation in antivirus technology.” they hear Dr. December begin to elaborate. “For countless decades, programmers the world over have sunk their efforts into keep up in the unending battle against the waves of virus’ and malware that plague our modern age. But this conflict can only go so far as long as the borders between the virtual world and reality stand; that all changes with the innovative bond of psychic power and technology. From reverse engineering the code of a catastrophic virus, one originally designed to target and delete critical data, I have breathed new life into its design and forged its code to electrically output through the hardware of whatever machine it has been installed in order to hunt not just malicious software, but the very fiends that use them. I have forged the perfect anti virus program. The perfect predator.” The last of its form boiling out from beyond the computer screens, all of the static blobs conjoin together into one mass; one that molds itself into the image of its namesake. The ruthless great white shark. “That’s so fucking cool!” Sat exclaims in hyped awe. “You’re gonna be thinking twice when its sinking its teeth in us.” reminds Thurs, the terrible static shark lunging at them with its maw agap.

Just when the crossbred terror between technology and psychic power was on the cusp of rending the two before it to shreds, the rest of the scaly creature hiding underneath Satette’s dress emerges out to clash against the terror of the ocean; the maw of the shark held back up the mouth of a large alligator. “King of the sea, meet the queen of the swamp. 7 feet of scaly terror that prowl the marshlands for its next meal; a terrifying hide with an even worse bite. Let me give a warm welcome to the lockjaw Alligator. I call her Linda.” the lively psychic introduces. “Where did you even get an alligator!?” Thursotte exclaims. “Sewer.” “That doesn’t make any possible sense!”

With her alligators powerful body, Satette shoves the static shark against the wall of the chamber; the whole room quaking from the overwhelming impact. “Forget sense, we got more important things to worry about. Are the files still downloading?” she asks. Bolting right back over to the screen he had been jerked away from, Thurs checks the progress window to discover the download process still proceeding; claiming how: “About halfway done. Got about 10 minutes.” “10! Are you for real!?” the lively psychic barks, smacking the static sharks swimming assault with the tail of her gator. “Its countless gigabytes of files, Satette; get off my back!”

Out from the opening the countless pipes climb up, Frida descends out from the hole and cleanly dives into the corridor floor below like a pool of water; the gunwoman breaching out from the 2nd dimension to stand back onto its metal surface. Whelp, got all that up there set and rigged to blow. Say that it’s got about uh...an hour, maybe less before the whole thing begin to melt. So that’s about how long we all got to get the stone and get outta here before those processors are blasted. Might wanna give the crew a heads up before shit’s launched right into the fan.

Thinking of this, the dimensional psychic pulls her phone out from the depths of her denim jacket and taps at Thursotte’s contact; Frida putting it up to her ear and hearing the dial tone ring. But while waiting for her partner in crime on the other end to pick up, the dial tone starts to contort as the pitch of its mild blare warps wildly, almost like a broken radio’s attempt to grasp hold of a fleeting signal. An effort that would go to waste as the phone’s tone stops entirely. The fuck? Why’d it...What was… When trying to pull her phone back to check what might be the problem, the dimensional psychic feels the device pull against the side of her head; refusing to let go no matter how much she tries to pry it off herself. Gah...What the hell is up with my…

Amidst struggling to tug her phone away, the chromatic wall beside her catches her attention as she discovers a beige light glowing in its reflection; the dimensional psychic noticing a couple of strange details about this newfound luminescence. That light! Its just like the glow that was coming from all those computers up there. Same one that the drones floating around her got too, not to mention the shoots back in the room with those spiders. Thought it was all just decorative lights before, but now with it coming from my phone… Frida starts to approach the side of the wall to see what could be behind this unexpected glow; a deep dread setting into her as the reflection begins to clear. She discovers this beige glow coming from her phone to be a powerfully potent aura that disassembles her device and threads its electrical wiring into the side of her face. It’s aura! It’s psychic aura! And its controlling my phone!

Realizing the severity of these escalating developments, the dimensional psychic frantically tries to jerk her weaving phone off the side of her head; its wires starting to burrow into her ear as she repeatedly pulls the device away. The manipulated piece of tech stubbornly refusing to let go, Frida leaps at the wall and merges into its 2nd dimension in hopes of forcing her phone to finally pull away; her sky blue aura conflicting with the beige power running through her phone and uprooting it out from the side of her head. The last of the phones wires flushed out from the dimensional psychic’s flesh, her phone drops from her head and down onto the floor; the aura that plagues the gadget refusing to fade away as it springs after its former owner once more.

Before even a single loose wire could reach any part of Frida, the gunwoman swiftly pulls out her trusty glock and spends about half of her magazine putting several holes into her rogue phone; sparks and plastic flying across part of the hallway as the bullets take whole chunks out from the device. Smoke and sparks wafting from what remained of her phone, the bright beige aura that infests the device withers away as the last of its power fades with it; Frida popping what was left in her pistol before reemerging out from the wall. Whelp, there goes the heads up. But the relief she feels in felling her rouge phone falls short as a beam of beige barely brushes her backside; the dimensional psychic glancing back to where the ray had been shot to witness a dozen or so of the mechanical manta chase after her, with their stingers constantly firing off more of their beams. Too bad they don’t seem to give any heads up.

Racing along the second dimension of the steel walls that make up the chromatic corridor, Frida slides through the hall as swiftly as her power may let her as over a dozen or so of the mechanical manta remain hot on her tail; several more of the dastardly drones popping out from the walls to join the pursuing swarm. Out from the growing school of droids, one of the Manta lunges forth at the dimensional psychic as its stinger pulsates a bright beige light; the fake sea creature thrusting its tail into the wall to unleash a jolt of psychic power across its shining steel; the spreading shock inflicting its intense jolt upon the flat gunwoman sliding on the wall. Such an overwhelming surge of power coursing through her forces Frida to eject herself out from the 2nd dimension and instead flee from the chasing sea creatures on foot.

Pointing her pistol out to the school of mechanical manta behind her, the gun woman unloads a full magazine against the swarm as she attempts to outrun them; her bullets simply denting their hard chromatic bodies. Frida’s situation goes from bad to worse as she peers back to find herself coming up to a dead end, with not a single crack, vent, or crevice for her to slip away into anywhere lining the walls ahead; nothing for her to see but slick shining steel. The dimensional psychic stops just short of the wall before she turns back to face the rapidly approaching school of steel sea creatures, with the dense swarm of drones too thick for her to slip through. The reality of her entrapment starting to sink in, Frida faces the nearing school of mechanical manta not with dejected hopelessness, but a fiery determination while reaching into the inside of her jacket. Don’t know if my big dogs here can maul them all… From the depths of her denim garb does she pull out a pair of AK-47’s to aim against the incoming swarm of steel drones; her glare shifting from worry to determined as she prepares to unload everything she’s got. But I’ll let them damn well try!

“Got about 5 minutes left on here. Once its all downloaded we can break on out.” claims Thursotte. “Sounds like a plan, just let me finish grinding this piece of fish into thoroughly chewed sushi.” brags Sat. After evading the ghastly maw of the sea beast, the lively psychic see’s an opening to strike and quickly capitalizes, charging right towards its exposed side with the mouth of her own monster wide open. Clamping tightly down against the hip of the static shark, Satette’s alligator digs its jagged fangs deep into its fuzzy flesh with such a terrible bite; akin to a natural guillotine. Against the predatory reptile’s sheer jaw strength, the artificial shark can not withstand the awesome pressure and is crushed within its mouth; the static sea beast shattering to pieces against such a frightening force. “Yes!” she cheers.

Satette is sadly quick to retracts her celebration as she beholds the pieces of static floating around her start to reform, witnessing their amorphous bodies molding themselves to reform into a school ravenous piranha; their small mouths lined with small, but sharp teeth perfect for tearing meager flesh apart. “Dammit! Thurs?” “Almost there.” Thurs claims, nervously watching the progress bar tick towards the end. Right as the young man tells her this though does another window suddenly appear to interrupt the download, one which questions the existence of a duplicate file and asks weather to discard it or not. “What the...Wh-why are there copy files on this thing already? No.”

Though their small and sharp razor teeth bite down upon the gator’s body, its thick leathery hide proves far too tough for them to puncture through; Satette able to shake them all of with abundant ease. Its while the school of piranha are stunned that Sat thrusts the head of her reptilian weapon to gobble them all up with one big sweeping scoop, nearly taking the entire school of nibblers in the alligator’s maw.   The lively psychic’s attempts to quell the static blob start to waver however when her giant scaly friend lets out a pained roar; the swarm of piranha she had just swept into its maw having reformed themselves into clusters of barbed sea urchin, with their barbs pricking across the inside of the beasts mouth. The head of Satette’s monster flails about as the urchins are flung out from the mouth of the beast; the collection of prickly balls congealing together once again back into a massive static blob. What emerges out from this crackling mass next be several wriggling tentacles as the middle of the blob transforms into the head of a kraken; the squid casting its numerous arms after the lively psychic and her gator. Despite the mouth of the reptilian beast managing to clamp down upon a few of the monsters writhing tentacles, the rest of them envelop themselves all across both the alligators scaly body and the very same woman that commands it. Both of them are left no match against the elastic limbs as they jerk and tug at every part they could, beginning to violently tear the two apart from one other.

“Aaaand...Done!” Thurs exclaims, seeing the progress bar finally complete. Reaching down to pull the USB stick right out from the port, Thursotte stashes the stick in his pants as he dashes away from the terminal, going: “Got every single byte of crucial information about the mob all on this little drive. Now we can get back to searching for the-” His happiness immediately shatters upon beholding the site of his partner having fallen against the might of the  static squid, Satette having been pried of her scaly beast as she struggles to free herself from the iron grasp of its crackling tentacles. “Stone?”

Clutching tightly onto his guardian’s shoulders, Sunny remains firmly hanging off of the air solidifying psychic’s back as Tuesco continues to shovel the garbage below to then fling and stuff into the glowing beige shoots; the sound controlling kid making sure to keep his aura up and enveloped around them to mask their presence from the noise sensitive drones. Yet their efforts to clog up the processing chamber run into another gap as Sunny start to feel an odd sensation flare against his own back; the psychic of solid air hearing all the grunts coming from the boy he carries and asks: “What’s the matter back there?” I don’t know. I feel something crawling on my back. It feels like its digging through my clothes.” “Can you see what it is?” wonders Tuesco. “I think...Just let me-” the young boy states, turning his head as far back as he could. Straining his neck to turn halfway around, Sunny is able to turn over enough to see just a piece of his own backside and catches glimpses of something scuttling back behind there; the kid’s stomach dropping when realizing what had hitched a ride with them. “Tuesco! It’s one of those metal spiders! It got on me!”

Once having burrowed through the final layer of Sunny’s clothes, the arachnid android then begins to dig against the skin of his back with its small laser; the sound controlling kid letting out a painful outcry as he shrieks: “Its burning my back!” “Hang on!” Desperate to aid his young ward, Tuesco tosses aside his solid air shovel to snatch Sunny by the shirt collar and hold him up to behold the mechanical menace that harms the boy’s back; the robotic spider threatening to burrow past the kids skin. Tues is quick to whack the arachnid android right off and send it flying across the chamber, slamming into the chrome wall. But among this close call does another swiftly turn its head as what remains of the young boys clothes rip away and send Sunny plummeting down to the piles of metal spider infested garbage below; the magenta aura that masked their sound dissipating from the air solidifying psychic as he shouts: “Sunny!”

Tuesco starts to gather the air around them as he drops down off his stilts and descend after the boy, crystallizing the oxygen to conjure a big headed shovel in one hand and a long pitchfork in the other; the psychic casting the shovel down to scoop the boy right out from danger. Falling in the oversized dirt spoon, Sunny’s descent stops just short of him being a mere inch away from the nest of arachnid androids; the boy peering up to see his guardian hanging in the middle of the air by the lengthy trident he had thrust into the wall beside them.

Thankfully saving the boy from the mechanical mass of spiders, Tuesco tosses him right back up into the air like a flung pancake before dropping down himself; the solid air psychic manifesting a pair of springs beneath his feet before dropping down to the floor. The crystallized coils bend in from impact against the chunks of debris and spring back out before any of the spiders below could crawl after him, letting Tuesco bounce back up after the sound controlling kid he had lobbed up. Reaching after Sunny, the air solidifying psychic snatches the boy out from the air before casting his cerulean aura down to the ground below; quickly creating a big transparent pillar for him to stand on. “Glad that went well!” he claims. “Not as well as you think. Look.” warns Sunny, pointing behind them. Looking back towards the part of the chamber corridor they had just came from, they discover popping out from the walls a building school of alerted manta rays feverishly darting after them; firing out a bevy of beige blasts from their tail as they approach. “Oh geez! Hang on!” Leaping off of the pillar of solidified oxygen, Tuesco gathers the air below to create a big wheel to roll right over the mounds of gathered garbage and away from imminent danger; the swarm of robotic arachnids that foolishly try to climb up being crushed to scrap under the terrible weight.

Tearing across the trash facility on the top of a wheel of solid air, Tuesco and Sunny roll through its lengthy corridor as the growing school of mechanical manta pursue them; the several bumps they go over slowing their escape. “They’re not stopping!” claims the boy, attempting to mask their sound with his aura. “It won’t work, kid. Pretty clear to them we’re in here by now. Ain’t any noise canceling force in the world that can make them just quit.” Tuesco states. “Tues, I’m sorry. If I’d had just held on better instead of trying to do something else, this whole situation wouldn’t have snowballed like this.” “Hey, don’t sweat it; you did way better then I gave you credit for. And silencing that pistol to draw the manta away from me, making the bullet clank off that piece of scrap metal real loud. Pretty neat idea.” “You think so?” “Absolutely. You’ve been full of surprises since we first met you, Sunny.” “Thanks. I think I’m finally getting used to these sound powers.” “Don’t thank me yet.” the air solidifying psychic warns.

Peering to what lies ahead of them, a shocking terror sets in for the young noise controlling psychic as he discovers them rolling towards nothing but a dead end waiting; the other side of the garbage processing chamber holding seemingly no other way out. “Why is there no door on the other side!?” the boy shouts. “Probably didn’t expect people to come out this far. I mean, since we’ve been seeing nothing but robots in here, it makes sense.” “Too bad we ain’t; what do we do!?” The solid air psychic slinks his sites up and down the chromatic wall they approach in frantically looking for anyway they could escape from this situation; his eyes locking to an air vent left placed in the middle of the wall. And though salvation is on the horizon, a glance back to the horde catching up to them assures that crossing into their saving grace isn’t guaranteed; Tues peering back to the boy holding onto him. “Tuesco!?”

“Kid, I might have an idea. But you need to do what I say, think you can follow that?” he asks the boy. “Anything, just name it.” “Get in my arms and curl yourself up.” Doing as his guardian instructs, the boy climbs over from Tues’ back and over to his waiting arms, coiling himself up in the fetal position as tightly as he could. “Like this?” “Good. Now take a deep breath.” Sunny draws in as much air as he could while remaining huddled up, alarmed suddenly feeling an invisible force enclose upon him; the solid air psychic having encapsulated the kid in a shell of solid air. Realizing he’s been trapped in a prison of his guardian’s making, the sound controlling kid looks down to the man holding him with a gaze mired in worry and concern; a stare to which Tuesco can only smile to and say: “Good luck, Sunny.”

Taking a bounding leap off the wheel, both of them lunge across the snippet of the corridor and towards the vent against the wall; the psychic of solid air chucking the boy in the shell of oxygen as hard as he could. Sunny crashes against the vent face with enough of a bash to bend the grate a ways inward, helpless but to watch as Tuesco conjures a hefty mallet from the air around them. The former officer swings his transparent hammer against the capsule encasing the kid and breaks him right through the grate, with the solid air shell shattering from the immense impact. “Tuesco! No!” Plummeting down the shadowy shaft, Sunny desperately reaches out for the vent’s opening as he descend into the dark abyss; the last site he witnesses being the Tuesco’s departing smile moments before the overwhelming mob of mechanical manta ray swarm swarm upon him.

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 22

The pillar of rising smoke wafting through the night sky haunts the lower income district, reaching high enough to be witnessed by all that live among its many blocks; the site drawing the residence out from their homes to watch the dark puffs fly from a distance. Concern and distress churn among the humble folks that were moments ago sleeping away the night; their growing worry and panic obvious to hear as they say to one another how: “Is that another fire? That’s the 3rd one this week.” “It looks like its coming from the southern side.” “Yo, my bro lives up over there!” “My daughter and her husband just moved around that block!” “I thought we were done with this. Why does it keep happening!?” “The whole district is going to turn to ash if this keeps up.” “I have nowhere else to go. I can’t afford to move.”

Among the gathering crowd do Wedsle and Sunny gaze upon the rising pillar of suffocating smoke; the sound controlling psychic staring to the column in near paralyzing terror, his pupils quaking as intensely as his own feet. “That much smoke outta nowhere couldn’t have come from just any normal house fire...Think that’s him?” the purple psychic wonders. “It has to be. Those flames came from the same man, I know it.” Suspecting the source of the inferno to be from the very man they seek, Weds heaves the kid from the ground and sets him over his shoulders before taking off towards the towering column of suffocating smoke; a couple of the districts residence staring at the two race towards the scene with anxious terror.

Taking the charge against this temperature controlling bastard, Tuesco dashes while gathering the smokey air surrounding them to create a thick gray baseball bat; the air solidifying psychic swinging his freshly made weapon down towards his fiery foe as hard as he can. But before the gray bat could even crack against his foe, Randy catches the smokey gray club with only his bare hand; Tuesco feeling a powerful chill run across the weapons he wields. A line of sudden frost then quickly creeps across the bat to Tues’ grasp; the psychic of air feeling the sheet frost’s chilling sting run across his hands, forcing him to let go of the smokey bat to retreat. A pained hiss escaping from his clenched teeth, Tuesco looks to the palms of his hands to discover the biting cold having left them pale; feeling nothing but a bitter cold numbness left. “Neat trick.” he hears Randy compliment, looking back to find his callous cold controlling foe inspecting the thick gray weapon. “Turning the air solid like that. Think that gives me an idea.”

Tossing the smoke made weapon aside, Randy decides to lunge after the air solidifying psychic as patches of ice emerge within his grasp from nothing but thin air; the pieces of cold ice swiftly growing into the shape of a thin razor blade. Tuesco is quick to erect a barrier of solid air to block his foe’s frosted weapon, watching as the frail ice shatters apart against the slab of crystallized smoke. Tues’ successful block is brief as the shards of ice rapidly spreads across the slab’s surface, forcing the air psychic to back away before he could get caught in the growth. Watching the middle aged psychic cautiously retreat from the festering frost, Randy stamps his foot against the hardwood floor to cast out a blazing inferno after him; Tuesco kept on the defensive as he conjures another barricade of thick solid smoke against the incoming wave of flames. Despite the wall of solid smoke stopping the scorching fire from burning him, Tuesco’s barrier heats up fast under the blaze; the surface of his own wall far too hot to so much as touch and is forced again to back away. Before the air solidifying psychic could have the time to think of a plan to put this punk down, the temperature controlling terror leaps at him from the side and he thrusts his fiery palm against him; Tuesco only having enough time to create a thin shield to keep his foe’s fingers away. The moment that Randy slaps the palm of his hand against the layer of air however, the pressure from the spontaneous combustion violently blows Tuesco back.

When sent careening right into the kitchen, a terrible pain courses through Tues when he slams his back against the edge of the counter; the blow nearly making him fall to the floor as he keeps himself standing. Midst his near fall is there even less time to catch his breath as a flurry of frosted tipped icicles fly out after him; Tuesco bolting aside to evade the storm of deadly ice. When bolting to the other side of the kitchen however is he unfortunately met with only more roaring flames that bar his way, engulfing most of the room in their fury. The air solidifying psychic knows the encompassing inferno isn’t the only danger to worry about as he peers back to witness his foe of flame and frost leap into the kitchen. But rather then preparing for what the punk may plan to do, Tuesco instead quickly goes on the offensive and is swift to conjure several balls of solid smoke, throwing them all at his fahrenheit foe in a short volley. Against the oncoming barrage of solid smokey sphere, the temperature tuning terror kicks against the wall beside him to unleash a freezing frost to rises out from the side into the form of a block of ice; the barrage of balls failing to break through the icy slab. But just blocking Tuesco barrage didn’t contend the growing frost, as it continues to rapidly spread all across the side of the kitchen; crags of ice bursting out from this swarming spread as it reaches towards the psychic of solid air.

The rapidly forming ice sprouts from the wall with such vigor and force, that it pushes Tuesco through the kitchen window and hurdles him right into the burning homes backyard; the middle aged psychic rolling across the grass before crashing against the side of a decorative statue. Letting out a groan as he gets back up, Tues looks back towards the home to see temperature controlling terror coming out through the backdoor; stepping across the blazing back porch without suffering so much as a burn. The moment Randy steps down onto the lawn, the grass he walks on bursts into flames with every left step and freezes solid with every right; a sign of the dangerous power he holds control of. This already ain’t looking too good. I can’t get even a lead in against this guy while he’s been tossing out whole blizzards and firestorms; doesn’t even look like he broke a sweat too. I don’t know if I can take him, but I sure as hell can buy enough time til backup arrives.

Among his approach, the fahrenheit foe stamps down upon the grass with his left foot to send forth a bevy of bellowing flames to ignite the rest of the lawn; Tuesco is quick to scamper up the decorative statue set in the middle of the garden before the scorching flames could reach him. Even from atop safety of the stone garden statue, the fiery wrath of the roaring inferno could be felt as it spread all across the backyard, swift to engulf all in its fury; it was in watching the fire burn that he realized to have made a grave error. With the blaze blanketing about every inch of the backyard, there was nowhere for Tuesco to escape; the distance between him and the safe concrete edges too great to make. He was trapped in the midst of a terrible firestorm, and the wicked grin Randy wore while watching him cemented it. And midst attempting to figure his way out, his nose picks up a repugnant stench wafting just underneath his feet and peers down; Tuesco left frighteningly shocked to find the very statue he stands upon beginning to melt away under the surrounding fiery blaze. The middle aged psychic’s brain runs at mach speed under the overwhelming situation, desperate to try anything in saving his sorry skin from being burned alive. The structural integrity of the statue finally gives as its melted to molten liquid, the imbalance throwing Tuesco right off and sending plummeting towards the fiery yard; leaving the sick pyromaniac responsible to gleefully watch as he falls to his demise.

Randy’s sadistic grin shatters when beholding what he sees next; Tuesco taking the first step in escaping from this hopeless situation, right atop a single tile of crystallized oxygen, formed in the middle of the air. Before this one tile could plummet down to the inferno below, the middle aged psychic takes a bounding leap upwards and constructs a similar sheet of solid air from under his higher foot. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot; Tuesco creates a chunk of crystallized air to jump from with every step he takes; ascending one step at a time towards the roof of the building next door. To rise out from the fiery blaze, Tuesco had manage to, in a quite literal sense, walk on air.

Snapping out of his astonished disbelief, Randy lowers the temperature in the palm of his hand until he conjures a spear of ice from the air to throw it out towards his fleeting foe like a javelin; the thin spike of frost hurdling after the escaping psychic of air with an acute whistle. Witnessing the icy pike tear through the fiery updraft to pursue him, the air solidifying psychic makes a bounding leap as he gathers the waving heat rising around him; forming the hot air into pair of hooked clamps. The moment the frosted spear flies right beside him, Tuesco clamps down against its ice as hard as he could and rides it higher towards the rooftop above; the spears frosted tip digging into the apartment complexes brickwork. From where the spear had plunged does he simply swing up to the ledge of the roof and scampers off; the fiery foe he flee’s from letting out a seething growl upon his escape.

“Think your so fucking smart, don’t you!?” growls Randy, the flames around him disputing as blistering cold frost quickly begins to take its place. From the freezing grass encompassing the lawn do clusters of icicles begin to form, upsetting the ground beneath as it breaks apart from the frost. In the matter of an instant do the layers of ice erupt from the earth in the form of glacier pillars that launch their creator towards the roof that his foe had fled. Pieces of the lawn burst from the backyard and into the sky from the eruption; each one plagued with a supernatural flame or frost that scatter all across the block. The parts of backyard that had been blasted out from the eruption plummet down towards the other nearby homes; the abodes bursting into flames as the fiery pieces of earth crash down inside, while the blistering cold chunks that land against the roofs spread their slithering frost. “Like to see your wrinkled dick stand up to my storm!” Randy yells.

Among the streets of that very same block, Wedsle and Sunny watch as the temperature tuning terror lands atop the apartment building before giving chase to the air solidifying psychic; Weds surprised over the size of the icy crag that launched him skywards. “Holy shit! He made that much ice that fast!? I only saw him make embers and frost last time I beat his ass! This ain’t a power boost, its a whole fucking evolution.” “I don’t care what it is, he’s dead!” the sound controlling kid exclaims, bolting towards the complex they seen him land atop of. “Absolutely not!” the purple psychic staunchly objects, catching him before he could race right in. “You promised I could kill him!” screams Sunny, flailing around in Weds clutches. “I promised he was a dead man; I didn’t say shit about you going at him, especially not with the kind of heat he’s got packing. You’d just get yourself killed!” “I don’t care! He killed my parents!” “You think your folks would want you to throw your life away?” argues Wedsle, this statement making the boy stop fighting him. Once the kid ceases struggling, Weds release his grasp from his shirt collar and watches as the boy collapses to his knees; Sunny shaking from the conflicting emotions as tears drizzle down from his eyes. “What do I even do, then? If I can get revenge for them, whats the point?” he sobs. “You wanna do right on them, then start by looking over there.” the purple psychic demands, pointing towards the rest of the street.

Peering towards where Wedsle demands him to, the young boy witnesses a dozen other people racing out from their homes to escape the flames and frost that plagued them; able to only watch in terror as their safe havens are torn asunder. “Those people there are just as terrified and confused as you were back then. Helpless to watch as their homes and livelihoods crumble before their eyes.” “What...what do you want me to-” “You know how pants pissing frightened they all are, desperately searching for any escape from this living nightmare. They need a helping hand, now more than ever.” “They’re not gonna listen to me, I’m just a kid.” “Then give them something they wanna hear in this hour of need.” Wedsle advises as he marches over to the apartment they seen their foe leap atop of. A look back towards the panicking people and Sunny could tell they were waiting for the sounds of this cities civil servants to save them, yet knows the fire department could take several minutes to show up; the fright they display showing them eager to rush towards whatever they could perceive as approaching safety. “What they want to hear, huh?”

Rushing across the rooftop of the apartment complex, Tuesco glances back to witness his fahrenheit foe descending after him from the night sky like a plummeting comet; even engulfing his shoe in a fiery blaze while falling with plans to deliver a flaming stamp down. The psychic of solid air acts fast to erect a barrier between him and his descending enemy to stop his fiery descent; and though he manages to keep the flaming foot at bay, the force of the kick nonetheless sends them both hurdling through a glass sunroof right behind him. Along with the shards of broken glass, both Tuesco and his fiery foe crash down into the apartments recreational room; the game tables, chairs, and exercise equipment breaking against them as they fall. Though the vicious fires from his foe’s foot makes the slab of solid air blistering hot to the touch, Tuesco powers through the searing heat to shove the temperature controlling terror away; Randy sent flipping through the air before landing on his feet.

The pieces of blazing furniture they’ve broken amidst the chaos scatters all across the room and spreads the flames throughout, blanketing the recreational room in a terrible inferno in but mere short seconds; all the games, toys, and exercise equipment within swallowed by the all consuming fires. Though he manages to get back up on his feet, Tuesco is for some reason left on the verge of exhaustion as his breathing proves labored; the psychic of solid air ironically having difficulty breathing among the rising smoke. “What’s the matter, gramps; the years catching up to ya? Or can’t you handle the hot bars I’m spitting at ya?” taunts Randy. “Do you think this is some kind of sick game!?” Tuesco barks back. “A game? Nah. If it were, I wouldn’t be bored right now. Guess there’s only so many new tricks an old dog can do before it comes back around to being a musty old mutt. Its about time I take a page out of the dog shelter and finally put you down.” Threatening to do such, the temperature tuning terror conjures a thinly pointed shard of ice as he makes his lethal lunge against the solid air psychic; Tuesco raising his hand in an effort to erect another blockade against his frosty foe’s approach.

Out of nowhere then does the rec room door suddenly burst off its hinges and is hurdled towards the celsius controlling menace, striking Randy right out from his lunging assault and slamming him against the wall, with the face of the door toppling upon him; Tuesco breaking his sites away from the taken down dastard to look on towards the doorway. “What the hell?” No sooner than when the broken down door been thrown at him, a furious flame swiftly slithers across its hard oakwood; these raging fires covering the entire slab of wood before reducing it to dust in mere moments as the frost flaming fighter rises up from its ash. “Alright, who’s the fucking asshole who-” he growls, his anger subsiding into gleeful anticipation when discovering who stands inside the doorway. “Well, shit. Aren’t you a son of a bitch with a nasty itch?”

Entering past the broken down doorway, engulfed in a thick hue of purple power that quells the raging flames in his path, Wedsle marches inside to come face to face with the very man they had been searching for; his staring violet eyes radiating past the wafting smoke and orange flames. “Never thought I’d see you again, not since you and your pose thought you were too good for the rest of the gang.” “And I didn’t think those snicking dick would be desperate enough to use you as a test subject; seriously think they’ve gotten better results from an actual guinea pig. Because evolved or not, your still the same shitstain you always were...you.” “Y-...Bitch, you forget who I am?” the temperature tuning psychic questions, sounding genuinely insulted. “Nah, nah. It’s...Well, I’m been pretty busy these past several month pilfering more pussy than you’ll ever see in your lifetime, that I can’t bother to remember every single hoe I fuck over. But wait, gimme a sec to guess. Hmm...Know it starts with an R...Rodent, right?” “It’s Randy, you purple pricked dick!” his fiery foe screams, the flames around him intensely bursting in his fury. “Close enough.”

Midst his flaming outburst, Randy is quick to take a bit of a breath to quell his fiery fury; the flames surrounding him calming down with him in kind. “You know what, I ain’t even that mad your here. I actually couldn’t ask for better timing. Just got done warming up playing with this wrinkly sad sack of shit right here; and now I’m feeling red hot and ready to rumble!” Yet rather then entertain the arrogant ramblings of this flaming douche any further, the violet psychic instead walks right over to the wrinkly sad sack Randy had insulted; looking down to him and offering a hand up off the floor. “You good?” Wedsle asks him. “Yeah, just need a second to breath.” claims Tuesco, taking his violet partners hand. “Are you fucking ignoring me?” their foe utters. “Wedsle, about earlier, I went around and-” “Imma stop ya right there. As orgasmic it would be to deal out the classic “I told you so.” and bask in this schadenfreude like load. We still got work to do around here.” “What do you mean?” “Take a little look outside and you’ll see.” Wedsle requests, pointing over to one of the rec room windows.

Like Wed had suggested, the air solidifying psychic peers out from the apartment complex’s window to peek to the rest of the neighborhood; Tuesco left utterly horrified of the ongoing site he discovers. “Jesus Christ!” From where he stands does the psychic of solid air discover several of the homes that make up the neighborhood block engulfed in frightening fahrenheit forces encompassing frost and flames; some of the people who called these abodes home still trapped and forced to face the terror of these extreme temperatures. “Wha- how! Why! What do we-” “I’d forget the how and why. You’d be better off focusing on what?” claims Wedsle. “What?” “What should be happening, right now?” “I mean, somebody probably called the fire department by now. But even if they get here in time, they’re not equip to deal with all this. Hell, even if the cops bothered showing up here, there’s no way any of them could make it through. Firefighter, rescuer, police officer, there isn’t a civil servant anywhere in this city that can get all those good folks out alive.” “That’s a load of shit. You’re standing right here, aren’t you?” “M-me? I can’t get all of them myself, I-”

“Before you stormed off like a little bitch, you said an officer’s motto was to “protect and serve”, didn’t ya? Even after finding out how much crooked cock the boys in blue are guzzling down, you still held that idea firm; refusing to change your mind about what a cop should be instead of what they are. You think any of the pigs squealing around here are gonna stick their fat rolls out for any of them.” “Around here...no.” Tuesco reluctantly claims. “As a former officer, tell me what they should be doing, then.” “Going in there and saving as many lives as they can.” “And if those stains of chickenshit ain’t got the balls the do it, then who will.” “I...I will!” “Good, now go out there and show those sons of bitches what an officer of the law should be.” “Yes sir!” Tues proudly complies, leaping out the window. Dropping down from the top floor of the complex, Tuesco casts forth his cerulean aura down towards the street as it vacuums up the surrounding air; his dark blue power crystallizing into a slope he use to roll back onto the ground.

Watching the stubborn middle aged man he had argued with earlier that same day race towards the burning and freezing homes not just to save those in need, but to uphold the example of what a good civil servant should be in Tuesco’s eyes brings proud smile to the violet psychic. Godspeed, you old piece of bacon. Godspeed. “You done spewing all that sappy shit?” Wedsle hears his frost and flame foe jeer. “Cause I’m gonna make you regret sending your little lacky away. The only thing that withered old shit’s gonna come back to is your frosted and burnt body. They’re gonna stow you away in a plastic wrap after I get done cooking you, freezing you, rinse and repeat, like a cheap ass TV dinner!” “If a TV dinners all your planning to dine down tonight, then I think I’m gonna whip you into something better; a real satisfying dish with plenty of cathartic spice.” the purple psychic comes back with, cracking his knuckles as he prepares to beat this flaming douche down.

Against the doorway of a home plagued with encroaching frost, Tuesco takes a readied charge as he commands his power to vacuum the air around him; going as fast as he could while crystallizing the collected air into a thick battering ram. With how much room he took before coming at the home, the psychic of solid air busts his way in through the ice coated door with just a single swinging lunge; the door’s face no match for the battering rams solid hard head. The very first thing Tues notices upon breaking in the abode being the drastic drop in temperature inside, with just the living room spine tingling cold enough for him to see his own breath; goosebumps erect all across his skin from only the first few moments of stepping in this unwarranted ice box. Within this cold slice of the arctic does Tuesco pick up the sounds of loud banging reverberating from across the hall; the knocks desperate and frantic as someone trapped deeper within the home pleads for anyone to: “The door and windows are frozen shut, get me outta here!” Upon the call of distress, Tuesco immediately springs into action and sprints down into the hallway where the pleading outcry had come from; the middle aged psychic beginning to have some trouble breathing as the air in the hall grows freezing thick.

Regardless of the near suffocating frost plaguing the home, Tuesco presses on towards where he hears the distressing calls come from; the psychic gathering the chilling air and morphing it into a fire axe before demanding that the person on the other side: “Stand back!” Taking a mighty swing down against the frozen shut door with every once of strength he can muster, repeatedly striking against its wood with the weapon to chip away at its frosted face; cracks spreading across the icy door with every single swing inflicted. With one last hardy swing, Tues manages to bust his way through to free the prisoner on the other side; a man leaping right out from the bathroom and exclaiming: “Oh my god, thank you!” “Don’t mention it. Is there anyone else trapped in here?” “Just my kids, my wife, my pets, and my parents down over there.” the guy claims, pointing towards the rest of the hall. Down the other side of the hallway, several doors loudly bang and knock repeatedly as this trapped on the other side cry out for help; Tuesco lets out an exacerbated groan before he rushes off for the other doors with axe in hand.

Out among the streets meanwhile do the people, awoken from the chaos and forced out from their homes, frantically look around for their loved ones in hopes of them having made out of the fiery and freezing abodes; the discord beginning to amplify as the roads and walkways start to become congested with ornery panic. But cutting through the snowballing hysteria, the residence suddenly hear a fire siren start to go off throughout the block, drawing their attention towards the end of the street. And though they yet to see any sign of a firetruck or similar emergency service, all of them hear a booming voice call out to them from around the corner; informing them: “Residence of this area, please remain calm. Follow the sound of my voice to be escorted out from this neighborhood so that the firetrucks may proceed.”

Regardless of the legitimacy over the words that beckons them, the people nonetheless follow the announcing voice in attempting to escape from this maelstrom of flame and freezing phenomenon; including those that Tuesco had just rescued, who race over to towards the corner like the others. The psychic of air himself is left perplexed as he looks across the block, finding not even a budding sign of an emergency vehicle anywhere around; no sound or light of a siren anywhere piercing through the night streets. Despite there being no sign of emergency services anywhere in site, the residence go right around the corner and continue away from the frosty flaming madness; all the while not one of them catch the site of Sunny hiding behind one of the trash cans. Utilizing his powers over sound, he shifts the tone of his own voice to resemble that of an announcers voice, cracking up the volume and casting it out towards the other end of the street while claiming to them all how: “Rest assured, we will secure the well being of your loved one’s. Simply remain calm and along the other side of the block.”

Swiping at the air around him, the temperature controlling psychic conjures tiny ice shard out from seemingly nowhere until they take the form of finely tipped icicles; the spikes cast forth against the purple psychic that charges after him. Randy forming a smile as he watches the finely frosted pikes pierce into his foe’s flesh, directly skewering into his arm, shoulder, and the side of his waste. The son of a bitch’s smug demeanor doesn’t last long though as Wedsle barrels through the flurry of sharp shard in a ramming dash after him; Randy attempting to halt his assault by erecting a chunk of ice between him and his opponent. Even with how moderately thick the slab of ice he created was, the violet psychic regardless, bust right through his cold defenses and tackles right into Randy, plowing him right through the wall and into the building next door.

Quite literally breaking into the facility next to the apartment, Wedsle continues to barrel through wall after wall with his fahrenheit foe; Randy letting out a sharp yelp with every wall he’s plowed through. Sick of being used as a human battering ram, the temperature tuning terror quickly turns the heat up to unleash a scorching wave of fiery wrath that burns against the purple psychic’s blazer; Weds throwing the flaming douche aside just as the heat singes his skin. Sent hurdling through the room they had crashed into, Randy is immediate to turn up the heat to enough of a degree to combust everything that he careens past; igniting the place in a furious inferno in only a matter of moments.

As soon as he lands back onto the floor, the psychic of fire and ice snatches up an ornate lamp sitting atop a side table and quickly heats its glass to a crackling degree; the lamps body bursting from the overwhelmingly hot temperature and shot out towards his violet foe with the violent force of a shotgun blast. Though a couple of the seering piece of glass ending up digging into him, Wedsle ducks right underneath the cover of a stone coffee table to evade the full brunt of the bursting glass; the purple psychic then picking up the hefty piece of stone furniture before leaping towards his frosty flaming foe. Furiously descending down upon the temperature tuning terror, Weds hammers the weight of the stone coffee table down against Randy with enough of a slam to shake the whole floor; the tables surface swiftly heating up to a fiery degree enough to feel horribly hot to the touch. Yet despite feeling the blistering burn radiating off the stone he stands atop of, Wedsle refuses to move an inch as he’s determined to crush his combustible combatant; that is until he starts to feel its stone start to give. Rather than cracking and crumbling underneath the force of the weight set upon it, Weds witnesses the tables stone begin to liquefy under his feet; Randy sadistic grin uncovering as the table melts away into bubbling lava. So before the piece of furniture could completely melt into slag, the purple psychic takes apart what was left of the table to hammer down upon his fiery foe once again; slamming the stone pieces down with enough of a punch to break the very floor beneath them.

The floor crumbling underneath them, the two psychics plummet into an evacuated apartment lined with chic furniture and paintings; some of the pieces of ceiling that litter the floor bursting into flames when making contact with the drips of molten hot lava. From the broken remains of a kitchen table, the violet psychic pulls himself back up just in time to see his fahrenheit foe do the very same from the top of a broken tv; Randy prying himself off the flat screen as he goes: “Guess I’ll admit one thing; all the gossip the street rats were spewing about you might not all’ve been nothing but hot steamy shit after all.” “Tough that I can’t say the same about you, though.” demeans Weds. “Motherfucker must be blind not seeing the tempest of temperature I’ve shown.” “Call this bull a tempest, its barely a fucking breeze. Oh what, one touch from your finger and you can make anything spontaneously combust? Ain’t that different from the paper plane piss you pulled. You can freeze the water molecules in the air to make solid ice? Old fart I got in my gang can do that and way more than the fragile ice cubes you shit out. So the stone gave you a boost, all I’ve seen you do with it is pull the same kind of crap you’d already done. Evolved or not, your still the same wannabe gangster I made my bitch I did back then.”

“You don’t like the icy bars I spit out? Then how about I show some piping hot ones I’ve been practicing. But how bout I throw some facts at ya first. Ya know what the deal with weather is?” question Randy with a sinister smirk. “Little out of left field, but I’ll bite. What the hell kind of Jerry Seinfeld setup you puking out now?” “I know you never went to school, so I’ll take this real slow for your purple prick brain to process, kay? There’s a thing about the temperatures that mother nature likes to throw around like some used pads after her period. Some crazy shit can happen when she recklessly tosses out a couple of hot fronts and cool fronts together.” “There a point to your bitching, or you just trying to delay the mandated rectal surgery you’ll need after I get done shoving my foot straight through your sphincter?” “Oh ho, trust me, Weds. You’ll get your answer in just a sec; but first you gotta answer something for me first. You know what happens when those winds smash head on into eachother?” the temperature tuning terror asks his violet foe; a great heat gathering in one of his grasp as a bone chilling cold builds in his other. “...A sudden burst of global warming?” jests Wedsle.

After stretching both of his fahrenheit infused hands out as far as he could, Randy harshly claps his palms together to combine the intense cold and heat; a sudden burst of strong violent winds bellows out from his grasp and is blasted straight towards the violet psychic. Try as he might to withstand the overwhelming winds, Wedsle fails to stand his ground against the ravaging storm as he, along with some of the other furniture in the apartment are flung through the window; the purple psychic being sent careening across the street and towards the house on the other side, crashing straight through the solid brick wall like a wrecking ball.

The thick frost plastered along the face of a door shatters as something on the other side constantly bangs against it; the last of the ice falling apart as the door itself is busted open; Tuesco leaping right into the ice plagued room it leads in with an elderly woman peeking out from behind the doorway. “Okay ma’am, so where’s your baby.” he asks her, the old woman hobbling past him. “Here he is.” she claims, going over to the corner of the room. Nestled atop a comfy plush chair, a small dog shivers among the frightening cold, with its fur plastered in stinging frost; the only thing escaping from its maw being quiet whimpers. “Oh, oh, come here, Scampers!” the elderly woman coos, scooping up the half frozen canine in her arms.

With her little dogs ball of nearly frozen fluff in her clutches, the air solidifying psychic escorts the old woman out from the icy abode and back onto the streets; the pooches quiet whimpers growing loud upon taking in the comparably warm city air. Before the Tuesco could turn towards another of these homes in hopes to save whatever survivors may still be inside, his ears catch the sound of a commanding voice booming out from across the other side of the street; one that commands whoever was left to: “Please remain calm and escort yourselves to the other side of the block.” And though the sound of emergency services arriving on the scene maybe a relieving one, that relief swiftly expires when looking back to see not a sound or shine of a siren glowing around the corner. Prone to investigate, his own alarms start to ring when discovering not the flash of the city’s emergency services out from the other side, but rather the mystical glow of a magenta pink aura that wafts through the air; this power carrying the same booming voice that directs everyone away from danger. That color...ain’t that from…

Tuesco is compelled to trail the shimmering rays of magenta around the block, where upon turning the corner, he finds those that had helped escape fleeting towards the other side. All the while that very same commanding tone keeps directing them away from the scene of chaos. Tempted to find where this tone originates, the psychic follows not the voice itself, but rather the magenta aura that accompanies it; Tuesco trailing the wafts of power across the side of a stoop. Its hiding around the corner of these steps that he finds the sound controlling kid cast his power out across the block and altering the sounds that comes out from his own mouth to match a more serious and authoritative tone. “We assure you that we’ll do everything in our power to make sure your loved ones are safe. Just remain calm and we shall...!” Sunny speaks, cutting himself short when looking back to see the psychic of solid air staring upon him.

After a brief moment of akward silence, the kid quickly springs up to try and scamper away; his attempt thwarted when running right into a conjured wall of solid air. “Ow! What are you doing!?” the boy shouts. “I was just about to ask you the same thing. The heck are you doing out here kid?” “Wedsle told me to redirect everyone out from this block, so I-” “Wait, Weds know’s your here and didn’t bring you back to the safehouse!? Oooh, I’m gonna give that purple punk a piece of my mind when he finishes dealing with that guy. Of all the reckless stuff, dragging a kid into this mess?”

Amidst his little upset over this development of potential child endangerment, a piercing shriek could be heard echoing out back from the rest of the burning and freezing homes; Tuesco returns his attention towards the collapsing neighborhood while claiming to Sunny that: “Dammit, we’ll deal with this later. Right now, I need you to go with everyone else and wait where its safe.” “Let me come with you, I can help.” the boy pleads. “Absolutely not. I’m already risking my own neck racing in those fires and icy tombs without proper equipment. I’m not about to let you risk yours.” “Just hear me out; maybe neither of us have to.” “What does that mean?”

From within one of these combusting complexes, a couple on one of the top floor apartments are trapped in the corner of their bedroom as bellowing flames slowly consume what little was left around them; both woman huddling together as the inferno encroaches upon them, taking solace in each others embrace before they meet their end. Its then in their moment of despair of hopelessness that they begin to hear a distinct ringing be heard from where they sit; their eyes baited to the window beside them as he begins to furiously vibrate, with cracks beginning to form across its surface. Against this high pitched ring does the glass that make up the window suddenly shatter; the couple reeling back as the shards scatter into the approaching flames. “Hey!” both of them then hear, the two woman peering over to the busted window frame to find the air solidifying psychic. “How’s ya’ll evening tonight?” Regardless of how or why this random broken through their window or how he climbed his way up to their apartment, the two woman are quick to dart for him before the fiery flames before them could encroach; both of them growing astonishingly cautious when finding Tuesco standing on seemingly nothing at all. “I know how this looks, but I’ll take you down slow and steady. Trust me.” the psychic of air offers to them. Between staying among this all consuming inferno and trusting themselves with this bizarre stranger, the pair of woman cautiously climb out from the window to begin their descent down the air crafted ladder from the top of their apartment; the couple frighteningly nervous taking step after step down the invisible set of steps. “Easy now, you two are doing great. Take each step down at a time.” Tuesco walks them through on their way down.

Once they reach down to the safety of the streets, the air solidifying psychic watches both of the women he helped down hop off the transparent ladder and flee to the corner of the neighborhood; the sound controlling kid approaching to hear Tuesco compliment how: “Nice idea with the windows; tuning the pitch of sound high enough for it to break them. I wouldn’t have pulled those girls out in time busting through the glass myself.” “Thanks. I thought that if I could change how my voice sound, why not the pitch of it? I bet I can brek more then just glass with it.” “Eh, I don’t know.” Tues doubts This moment of doubt subsides when glancing over to the home neighboring the complex that Tuesco had just got done climbing out of; its brick walls plagued with a line of freezing frost rather than a flurry of flames. The air solidifying psychic can’t help but discover this thin sheet of ice left just about fractured and cracked, as if its once rock hard surface could now crumble apart from even the lightest breeze. “Oh don’t worry. I think you’ll end up shattering your own expectations.” assures Sunny

From within a small office space in one of the buildings, a pile of debris left along the edge of the room starts to quake as what was buried underneath awakens; the mound of bricks and drywall breaking apart as Wedsle busts his way out from underneath the hefty house material. The violet psychic shaking off the dust in his hair as he rises from what’s left of the pile. Fire, ice, now wind? All this douche needs is a spot of earth and we’ll have the making of a mid 2000’s animated adventure fantasy cartoon...Or at the very least one of the many contenders that tried to ape off of its massive success.

Immediately upon digging himself out from that little stumble, Wedsle dashes out from the bosses room and into the rest of the office space, preparing for whatever sort of celsius shit his foe could pull on him; the purple psychic left a tad perplexed when looking around to find not even a hint of the jackass’s sideways gangster cap anywhere among the broken cubicles. Huh, you think with all the blabbing and bitching about his power boost, he wouldn’t pussy out. Gotta try and be pulling an ambush on me. Before the violet psychic could peruse the rest of the office space for his fiery foe, he instantly feels a terrible chill run up his legs as he’s stopped dead in his tracks. Weds glances down to his feet to discover them entrapped in a sheet of crawling frost, the invading ice keeping him glued right where he stood. Following this is his attention drawn over to the side as he discovers his fahrenheit fluctuating foe swiftly dashing towards him with the speed of a twister, all while Randy brandishes a spear of bone chilling ice.

Glued to the spot by the frost freezing his feet, all Wedsle could do against the oncoming icy weapon was lean his body lean off to the side to direct its tip towards somewhere less vital; the temperature tuning terror impaling his weapon into the flesh of the purple psychic’s shoulder. The charging momentum built from the thrusting assault breaks Wedsle frosted feet off the floor as he’s shoved across the office space, all until Randy runs both his spear and the man he pierced against the face of a wall. The celsius controlling cretin can’t help but let out a howling guffaw as he pins his violet foe to the wall; Wedsle himself uttering pained grunts as the frost from his foe’s spear worms its way into him, feeling the ice’s blistering sting as it spread into his body. “You’ll be left as nothing but a grape flavored ice pop after I’m done flash freezing your sorry ass! Its the least you deserve after humiliating me twice now!” howls Randy.

Yet this fahrenheit flinging fucker’s swagger starts to waver as he watches the man he pins to the wall jerk his impaled shoulder around, with streams of crimson drizzling across the frozen spear from the open wound with every sway. Randy’s confidants shatters in tandem with his icy weapon as Wedsle breaks the piece of his spear holding him down with one last mighty heave, snapping the twig of ice with his own strength. Despite a part of his freezing foe’s frosted spear still left pierced into his shoulder, Weds immediately jumps at the chance to rush in and drive his fist directly into the flaming douche’s side; Randy vomiting out a bit of his own blood from the furiously violent impact. The psychic of frost and flame is sent careening across the office space and crashing through several of the set up cubicles. Fumbling down upon a pile of broken office equipment, Randy lets out a gurgling moan as he’s left clutching at his recently punched in kidneys; all the while Wedsle confidently marches towards him as he cracks his knuckles to humble him on how: “Please, every time you stepped up to bat, you always come out with your dick swinging and your loads missing. If this really is the third time I’m gonna bust your bitch ass up, then you better not miss again. You do and it’ll be strike three, I’ll make sure to take you right the fuck out.”

Under the terrible high pitch cast by Sunny’s transformed whistle, the rock solid ice plaguing the inside of another home crumbles to shards against the boy’s morphed frequency; Tuesco starting to scrape away the layer of broken ice plastered against one of the doors “Wow.” the psychic of solid air utters, amazed over the destructive power behind the amplified whistle. “Yep, if you turn the vibration up high enough on sound, you can break almost anything.” the sound controlling kid claims, breaking off the last of the frost enclosing the door before reaching for the handle.

The two of them speed out from the fiercely frosted home and back out into the warming neighborhood streets, taking in much needed breathes of the comparably fresh warm city air. “God, that was unbelievably cold. It took a lot out of me to whistle and not pass out.” “Yeah, air that chilly’s pretty thin. But I think this girl here might be the last occupant in this neighborhood, so we don’t got anything else to worry about.” “What about that girl? She isn’t looking to good.” points out Sunny. The young girl in his arms feeling icy cold to the touch, Tuesco gazes turn to distressing worry upon finding her breath shallow and her very skin pale white; the child barely able to let out only a couple of brief, quiet groans. “Its bad, but I think with how many more people around here injured and hurt in their escape, actual ambulances had to have made it out here by now. The best we can do for her now is race on over to the rest of them and hope they can save her.”

Time of the essence, the pair dart straight towards the corner of the street where the other residences had been escorted; Tuesco racing out towards the neighboring street as fast as he could, yet can’t help but realize the kid behind him lagging behind as nothing but rough coughs are all he can let out. The distance between them growing, the psychic of air peeks back to ask if the Sunny is: “You holding up okay, kid?” “Yeah. Just need to catch my breath is all. I’ll catch up.” Despite worrying over leaving Sunny out here in the middle of this chaos of fire and frost, Tuesco knows full well the little girl he holds in his arms is in dire need of medical attention ASAP; the former officer left with little option but to simply trust the kid and resume fleeing around the corner. The sound controlling kid himself takes in slow and steady breathes; in and out, in and out, in and out, all to replenish both his lungs and his body from the smoke and cold. With steady breathing, Sunny’s cough finally subsides as he takes another needed breath of fresh air; ready to head over towards the corner to rejoin Tuesco.

But before Sunny could continue to where the air solidifying psychic had run to, he stops himself when something comes crashing down onto the street in front of him; the child initial worry morphing into dread as the dust settles and he discovers who had fallen before him. The celsius controlling menace that had destroyed his home and took his parents rising up from the solid hard concrete road as a heated growl seeps out from between his clenched teeth, the murderous man glaring up towards where he had fallen as he curses out: “Cocky bitch ass motherfucker! That purple piece of shit ain’t gonna get away with screwing with...me?”

Randy’s rage subsides as he look over to find the young boy gazing upon him with paralyzing dread, taking the moment to claim to the kid how: “Hey kid, feel like I know you from somewhere.” Against this man’s intimidating stare, the kid’s magenta power coats his body like a defensive shield to silence his footsteps as he slowly backs away; the deafening silence along with the color of the boy’s aura reminding him of who this kid was. “You...same brat that threw shit at me when I fought that purple prick before. I’ve been dying to get my hands on you, kid.” the man of frost and flame threatens with a sadistic smile.

His eyes locked to the kid standing to him, the temperature controlling terror start to creeps towards the boy as his own fiery orange aura flares; the air in the neighborhood growing more blistering cold with every he takes towards the child. The air itself was not the only thing beginning to freeze; Sunny afflicted with utter paralyzing terror upon the site of the same man who ended the lives of his loving parents; the wicked grin this monster wore being the very same one he cracked the night he set his home and life ablaze. Try as the kid may to snap out of his dread in hopes of running away, the terrifying memory of that night flash before his eyes and keeps his legs locked; Sunny’s breath fogging among the dropping temperature as the murderous man inches closer and closer. But in a single brief moment as this villian closes in, the sound controlling kid snaps out from his fright and reaches into the pocket of his coat to fling out some loose change at the Celsius menace; Randy clutching at the side of his face when one of the dimes ends up hitting him square in the eye. “Agh, you little fucking cum stain!” he curses out, forming a lethally sharp icicle in the palm of his hand. Enraged by this partially blinding trick the kid pulled over on him, the psychic of frost and flame pounces towards Sunny as he swings the deadly tip of the icicle down towards the boy.

In that moment is the temperature tuning terror’s assault thwarted as a pair of arms slither out from behind to hold him at bay; Sunny peering over to discover his violet guardian holding the flaming bastard back with a nelson hold, keeping Randy from thrusting his icy dagger down upon the boy. “The-the fuck!” “Christ, with how much you kept bitching on about wanting my ass fried; I didn’t think you’d forget about me that fast. Swear, you got about as much attention span as a goldfish; or am I thinking of memory? Meh, insulting comparison works for you either way.” “Get the fuck off me!” shrieks Randy.

“Wedsle?” Sunny utters, staring over to the purple psychic as he holds the fahrenheit foe back. “Beat it, kid. I ain’t done bullying this bitch yet.” Weds order. “I can’t...he’s-” “Get it through your head already. You can’t take this guy.” “I’m bout to take way more than him if you don’t get your ass off me!” shouts Randy. “But, my mom...my dad...” “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going through your head right now, Sunny.” the violet psychic then claims, a statement of which snaps the sound controlling kid out from his fright. “Seeing this son of bitch that burned both your folks alive; I know you want more than anything to make his last moments a living hell like he did to them. But think back to how they’d kept this dipshit back to let you escape. You’re really gonna throw their sacrifice away just to get a shot as this fucking loser?” “The fuck did you just call me, you bitch!?”

“But if that ain’t enough, if your still wanting to give this guy an ass beating for the shit he did to you...Then let me deliver it to him. I’m going postal on this shit bag anyway, better off dropping all the anger you bottled up with me; I’m make sure this monster gets what’s coming to him. That good enough for ya?” Wedsle encouraging words are enough to finally melt away the paralyzing terror that plagues the young boy; Sunny’s buckling legs beginning to steady as he looks to the purple psychic with a confidence. “Make him pay for every piece of it.” says Sunny, a request which makes Weds crack and confident smile. “You sappy shits done already, or am I gonna haveta-” Before the fiery douchebag could insult the two of them any further, the purple psychic holding him from behind starts to violently twirl him right around like a cheap ass ragdoll; soon chucking him across the block and sending him slamming into the brick wall of a burning building. “Glad you finally see you come around. Now you better split; I got a feeling a real shit storm’s about to hit these streets.”

Upon Wedsle words, Sunny sprint off as quickly as his 11 year old legs could carry him; the purple psychic watching the boy escape around the corner before turning his attention back towards the scorching son of a bitch he just threw. “Whelp, you heard the kid, Randy bo bandy; looks like you ain’t getting out of this neighborhood alive.” “Like I’m gonna be done in by a bitch like you. Now that I’m on the psychic power expansion plan, I got plenty more juice to burn!” the temperature tuning terror proclaims, his orange aura wildly flaring. Fahrenheit fluctuates wildly as Randy’s suffocating power spreads all across the neighborhood block, igniting some standing buildings in spontaneous flames at the same time spreading ice plagues the rest; the clashing temperatures rupturing into an incredible storm of flame and frost that encapsulates everything within in its fury. “And I’ll be damned if I let a purple piece of shit like you curbstomp me in the pavement!”

Surrounded by a maelstrom of temperamental temperature, Wedsle flees from the raging burst of flame spewing from disastrous inferno that burns across some of the homes; the fires proving so scorching hot, that the road in front of them begin to melt away into molten rock. Though the purple psychic succeeds in evading the full brunt of these fiery flares, the overwhelming heat radiating from them is enough to leave behind mild burns from simply passing by alone; the scorching sensation he feels akin to a blast of super hot steam across his skin. In escaping from these furious flames is Weds drawn towards the frost plagued abodes standing among its flaming neighbors in hope of relief, yet is wrought with more trouble as the scorching heat is swiftly replaced with bone chilling cold; the violet psychic feeling his very skin sting when coming close to the collection of icy homes. But just when he attempts to flee from the ice plagued buildings, trails of frost come slithering out to catch Wedsle in their freezing grasp; the purple punk glued to the chilling concrete as the ice that keeps him locked crawls up the rest of his figure. The more of his body is coated in this frightening frost, the further the inside of his body starts suffer; the painful numbness lending the sensation of being in the middle of an antarctic blizzard. Yet even with this thick slice of winter wrath threatening to freeze him over, Wedsle persists in brute forcing his way out to persevere through the stinging chill and push through the frost; the sheets of ice enclosing him crumbling away against the violet psychic’s strength.

Upon shattering his frosted tomb, Wedsle witnesses a huge chunk of thick ice careening towards him at the same speed intensity of a fired cannonball; his violet aura intensifying as he prepares to strike back against the oncoming piece of glacier. Channeling the negative emotions he’s gathered into his fist, the purple punk bust apart the hefty hunk of ice with but a single punch; Wedsle peering beyond the freezing mist left behind by the broken ball to discover his foe of frost and flame glaring to him in shock. The moment the temperature tuning terror sees Weds after him, Randy erects a massively thick slab of ice before him to send sliding towards the approaching purple punk. The violet psychic makes a bound leap right over the sliding slab of ice, the amazing feet of which leaves his fahrenheit foe unfazed.

Out from both sides of the neighborhood, countless icicles come bursting from the faces of the building and stretch out towards the airborne Wedsle; the numerous frosted pikes stabbing him across his body to suspend him in the middle of the air. Even with the numerous icy spikes puncturing him, the purple psychic stubbornly refuses to drop as he breaks off one of the icicles dug in one of his leg and prepares to throw it back towards the same man who conjured them. Watching Weds ready to chuck his own icy spear back at him, Randy raises the heat against one of his palms while lowering the cold upon his other, parting his hands as far apart as he could. When the purple psychic tosses the frosted tipped spear at him, psychic of celsius hard claps his hands together to make the heat and chill in his palms combine; the opposing temperatures clashing to create a powerful twister to blow across the block. Even with the overwhelming winds blowing against it however, the force behind Wedsle’s throw lets the icy spear cut straight through local tornado like a bolt of icy lightning; the psychic of frost and flame struck down when the icicle plunges into his side.

Agonized screams and grunts are all that can escape from Randy’s mouth in feeling the chilling sting of the icicle left in his side, fighting against the pain while pulling the spike of ice out from his body. Once rooting out the frosted tipped spear out of himself, the temperature controlling cretin is swift to raise the heat of around his hand before he slaps the lacerating hole left behind; the man of frost and flame biting his lip among burning away his wound. A few seconds of suffering his own scorching heat, Randy pulls his palm away from his side to find his puncture having successfully been seared shut; the burn patching up the hole to keep any more of his blood from spilling out.

Once having tended to his wound, the celsius psychic looks out to a thick mist left behind from the clash before him to discover the shadow of his violet foe confidently marching towards him; Randy rising from the cold hard concrete as the purple punk encroaches out from the freezing fog. “Couple of lucky shots and you acting like your on top of the world? Bitch, I know you went through worse shit then me, that’s why Imma scorch that swag shit you got going on as soon as I…The...the fuck!” taunts Randy, his boastful words waning as he sees his foe step out from the fogs cold vial. Emerging out from the thick icy mist, its revealed to the temperature controlling cretin how much of his assault that the purple punk had truly endured: Wedsle body covered from head to toe in blistering burns, bruises, frostbite, punctures, and other injuries the likes of which would be far more than enough to put any normal man down 5 times over. Even with his body as beaten up as it is, as much of a sorry shape he’s in however, Wedsle outright refuses to so much as buckle under it all and boldly stand against his fahrenheit fluctuating foe; all the while glaring upon his enemy with a visceral violet glow.

“The hell is this!? I’ve thrown about everything I had at you; fiery flame, freezing frost, chunks of ice and bursts of fire; and your piss purple ass is still standing!? How the actual shit handling fuck are you not dead!?” the psychic of fire and ice shouts. Gazing upon his own palms, Wedsle begins to realize the extent of how far he had pushed his own body fighting against this flaming douche, evident of the multiple blistering burns and stinging frostbite caked across his arms alone; a fact of which he can only respond with: “To be honest, I ain’t really too sure. Might be all the heightened adrenaline coursing through my body, could be my power keeping me from dropping dead; I couldn’t tell you. But regardless of how, I already told you the reason why. Sunny wanted you dead, so I’m not dropping until you are!” “Like hell I believe you put yourself through this just for that little cum stain; for this shitty ghetto neighborhood!” “Of course you don’t, and its why you ain’t gonna climb out of this hellhole you dug for yourself. Cause all you ever thought about this whole damn time is your sorry self.”

“Tha-that’s a load of chickenshit! I got the elements in my hands, the hell’s a bitch like you have!?” Randy shouts. “Take a look at my aura to find out.” Peering into the purple power that exudes from his foe’s figure, a terrible chill runs down the temperature controlling crook spine when discovering within Wedsle’s aura dozens of confused and furious faces; every one of which scowl upon the very site of Randy. “Ya see them? Its all the sadness, worry, confusion, distraught and anger felt over the people of this district you’ve wrought. All the good folks you’ve scared, the people you’ve upset, the lives you destroyed. All the animosity and grudges you’ve stewed in this community Imma shove down your damn throat!” “So what those roaches are pissed at me, think I give a flying fuck!” blurts out Randy, his body betraying his statement as it refuses to cease trembling. “Seems pretty clear to me. For god’s sake, you look like your seconds away from pissing out an entire tsunami in your pants. I’d be laughing if you didn’t look so pathetic. Guess it doesn’t matter how much power you flaunt around, you’re nothing but the same pitiful wannabe asshat underneath every ounce of it.” Wedsle savagely belittles. This last insult cutting deep against his ego is what finally drives the temperature tuning terror over the edge,  Randy maddeningly stampeding after the purple psychic in a ferocious whirlwind of fire and frost; Wedsle boldly glaring upon him while the angered arsonist screeches: “I’ll fuck your shit up, you purple piece of shit! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Those that had escaped from their fiery frosty fate are left in dreadful awe upon the terrible storm of conflicting  heat and snow that ravages their neighborhood; surely knowing that whatever may have been left behind before the maelstrom was now swallowed by the chaos. A torrent of terrible dread crashes upon the air solidifying psychic when perusing through the evacuated crowd, he finds not a sign of either the sound controlling kid or the purple punk anywhere. Peering back towards the tempest of temperature ravaging the neighborhood block, he is relieved to see the boy fleeing from the ensuing celsius chaos; Tuesco rushing over as Sunny approaches to say: “Oh thank god. When I didn’t see you anywhere, I thought you got caught up in that big explosion. I wouldn’t even know what to say to…Where’s...where’s Wedsle?” “That monster was about to burn me when he stepped in and stopped him. He told me to get out while he finished him of. “He’s still in there!? That jackass!” Hearing of his purple partners recklessness, Tuesco is compelled to rush right back into the fiery frosty maelstrom that rages across the block; with Sunny tempted to follow after him. “Hang on!” he pleads.

Blown away by a sudden bellow of clapped wind, Wedsle is sent flying across the street towards a home plagued with festering frost; the sharp icicles protruding out from across its brickwork he careens to threatening to skewer him. But positioning himself at just the right ankle, the violet psychic slips right beside all the icy spikes and land against its face and starts to slide down; Weds gazing down to discover a slippery slope to dive down from there. The slick slope launching him back across the streets he flew from, Weds comes flying in fast after the temperature controlling psychic; Randy frantically attempting to conjure a pillar of ice in hopes of stopping the purple punks careening assault. The celsius cretin is only able to create a slab of ice before the Wedsle comes hurdling at him like a heavy mortar, the violet psychic breaking through the icy barricade before kicking his fiery foe right in the chest; Randy coughing up a bout of scarlet from the blow.

Still conscious from the torpedo kick, Randy retaliates by stomping on the road to erect a glacier of blunt ice that strikes his violet adversary away; the temperature controlling terror gleefully watching Wedsle be hurdled towards one of the neighborhoods burning buildings. Despite careening towards an apartment complex melting away in a fiery inferno, Weds tucks his legs in braving the approaching flames head on; the purple punk kicking out when landing against the partially melted wall. Even with the molten stone singeing away at his shoes to scorch his feet, the violet psychic springs himself off the melting wall with enough of a kick to break its face to pieces; the chunks of molten brick raining down in the streets as Wedsle comes flying at his fahrenheit fluctuating foe once again. Darting through the air at such astounding speeds, there’s little time for Randy to even attempt to evade the purple psychic’s oncoming assault; the wannabe gangster struck directly in the side of his waist before he even had time to know it.

The kick to the waist pushes the psychic of frost and flame to his limit as he turns the heat in his hands to skyrocketing temperatures; Randy shoves his hands against Wedsle chest before unleashing a fiery blast of volcanic magnitudes, engulfing the purple punk and the streets behind him in an overwhelming inferno. The temperature tuning terror lets out a maddening cackle as his thick orange inferno lathers the streets before him in their all consuming molten destruction; shouting into the sea of flames of how: “Who’s the wannabe gangster now, you fucking purple cock sleeve! Long as I got my fingers up in mother nature taint, there ain’t a chance in hell anyone can-” Randy’s deranged howling is abruptly stuffed right back down his cocky throat when out from the wall of furious flames suddenly emerges the same man he thought to have blasted to cinders; Wedsle lunging out from the infernos of hell while engulfed in a thick violet rage. “Fuck me!” “If you insist!” the purple psychic roars. With but one mighty swing of strong and focused fury, Wedsle drives his fist straight into this celsius controlling cretin head with enough of a punch to cave in his face; the purple psychic breaking through Randy’s skull and smashing at his brains.

Weds watches the flaming douchebag he just drove his fist right go flying across the block from the blow, his fahrenheit foe’s body wildly flapping about in the air until it comes crashing back down onto the road. “Sppsssppsh...Ssphel...Memmmmamam…” he hears the pathetic excuse for a mobster mutter, these rambles being the last Randy rambles before succumbing to his massive head trauma. The temperature controlling terror having finally been downed, Weds stands looking down upon Randy’s mangled visage as the flames and frost encompassing the neighborhood start to dissipate; the purple psychic’s breath labored from the daunting challenge of putting this frost and flame plaguing maniac down. That’s weird...Not dead yet and there we go… The last of his power and adrenaline fading away, Wedsle himself passes out from overwhelming exhaustion and collapses back onto the hard concrete road; the violet psychic laying unconscious just a couple feet away from the monster of a mobster he had just ended.

The smoke and mist that plagued the neighborhood begins to subside as Tuesco and Sunny searches through its devastated streets; the psychic of solid air frantically looking around before stumbling upon both his purple partner and their fahrenheit foe lying in the middle of the road. The psychic of solid air is left in total shock over the horrendous condition of the two among this horrendous aftermath, dreadfully concerned over the sorry state Wedsle had endured; bruises, burns, fractures, frostbite and lacerations abundant all across the purple psychic’s body. “Holy...!” utters Tues as he kneels down to check on him. “Wedsle...Ca-can you hear me?” Sunny pleads. Their rapidly building dread deflates when hearing the badly bruised and burned purple punk utter a quiet, but pained groan; Tues letting out a relieved sigh upon evidence of Wedsle still being with them. “Oh thank god.” Past his initial relief, the air solidifying psychic scoops his battered and blistered ally right off the cold hard concrete; careful to hold the Wedsle gently in his arms as not to make most of his mortal wounds worse. “Lets get you back up to the safehouse and patch you up.”

But when ready to march out from the ruins of this once quaint and humble neighborhood, a fierce uproar could be heard coming from around the corner; both of them glancing back to discover the crowd of people that had been escorted out of harms way. The sorrow and horror in their eyes plain to see as they all behold to what remain of their once safe havens from the grueling grind of everyday life, now left scorched and soaked among the aftermath of this concentrated supernatural disaster; anger and rage quickly broil from this overwhelming despair as they march through what remained of their neighborhood. “Oh jeez!” utters Tuesco. Dashing away from the encroaching crowd with Wedsle in his arms, the sound controlling kid masks their footsteps as they escape under the veil of the smoke and mist wafting through the neighborhood.

Despite being inflicted by such hefty head trauma, Randy still holds on to some semblance of consciousness as he gurgles underneath his caved in visage; coherent enough but to only watch the crowd of people, the residence whose homes, livelihoods, even families he had so callously destroyed, swarm what little of him remained. Given the oppertunity take out their aggression, their grievances, their hatred, rage, and visceral vengeance upon the same man that took so much, each one of them inflict their share of pain upon the pyromaniac; the psychic of fire and frost being torn asunder by the same people he tormented.

#lillaxtrigger #original writing