Maanyo

In the wake of the invasion, Aar could not discern why he was still there.

The question was twofold, and it hounded him during Project Phoenix's team breakfast the following morning. There he sat, in a metallic mess hall dining chair, surrounded by the smattering of heroes who had bothered to show up, and he ruminated. Why had Aar survived the attack, and why had the Empress invited him to Project Phoenix in the first place?

Heroes had died the night prior. Before that legion of masked intruders had infiltrated the building, the number twenty had served as a point of pride for team members—the phrases "only twenty" and "an elite twenty" had passed the lips of heroes and reporters alike. Twenty had been an impressive number, a strong number; fifteen was weaker, and it tasted sour.

More women had died than men, though the female heroes had crept out of their room once the stairwell fight was almost over. The problem had lain in their plan to check the treasure vault; a group of seven women had descended to secure the area, only to find five highly trained intruders melting through the vault doors, katanas at their sides. One had sliced the Welsh woman through the abdomen almost immediately, while another had severed the cosmetic heroine's neck before she could apply her power-yielding lipstick. The remaining five heroes had defeated the thieves, but the Silver Fox's daughter had collapsed afterward, eventually bleeding out from a leg wound. Upstairs, toward the end of the main fight, two men had died in the stairwell—the intruders' numbers had run low, forcing the residual attackers to practice a dangerous, self-sacrificing technique. Because of this, they were picked off easily, but they lethally wounded the Silver Fox and Animalis in the process. Five heroes total had died; fifteen remained.

While Aar had lingered in Ms. Sato's empty doorway, unmoving and useless, everyone else had sacrificed. Perhaps if he had known that the battle was turning fatal, he would have joined the fight. But he possessed no combat training, no advantage on land; perhaps, even if he had understood the full ramifications of that night's attack, his actions would not have changed. Regardless, the memory stung like cowardice.

The mess hall had been filled with a dull whisper since Aar had entered, the weary heroes mumbling across long, plastic tables to one another, recounting their losses. No one had escaped unscathed. Somehow, an attacker had sliced shiny black scales from Obsidian's arm, and the hero was showing a reddened, inflamed patch of skin to the brunette sitting across from him. Kevin was severely concussed. One of Glacier's eyes bore a cloth patch, and the teenagers beside Aar murmured that a nunchuck had partially blinded him. Even those without visible wounds wore the trauma of battle in their stares, in their shudders when people spoke too loudly from behind, in their tears. Guaritore had entered her room the previous night crying and, to Aar's knowledge, had not stopped since. The mess hall itself, painted beige and flushed with fluorescent light, had acquired a quiet harshness that it had not possessed before. The heroes had conferred it upon the space, and Aar could only bear witness and remain silent.

Faced with this victory that felt like loss, Aar could not perceive his actions as anything but cowardice. Prudence had driven him upward, that and a desire to do something. His concern for Ms. Sato had justified protecting her, but his colleagues' bravery now seemed a more noble option. Aar would have lost his life in direct combat, almost definitely, but he should have faced that outcome regardless. The other heroes had willingly plunged themselves into extreme danger; better Aar had died than one of the valuable heroes, one of the brave ones. He could have saved the Silver Fox, maybe, by shielding him at the last moment. Or he could have accompanied the women to the vault, protecting Hips 'n Lips while she applied her lipstick, distracting the attacker who had wounded Crimson.

None of these outcomes were actually viable. If Aar had entered the fight, he would have died immediately and uselessly. He would not have saved anyone, much less distracted anyone; an untrained combatant is more a liability than an asset, and the smarter choice had been to find some use elsewhere.

Aar had selected the intelligent option, but he had not selected the honorable option. Therefore, he could not feel good about his choice; he likely never would.

These musings led Aar to the second part of his own question—why was Aar at Headquarters to begin with? A worthy recruit would have fended off the attack directly. As Aar left the mess hall and started toward the pool, where Ms. Sato's trainers awaited him, he pursued the back-and-forth between reason and self-disgust that inevitably followed:

No recruits should have fallen prey to that attack. Emergency procedure was to remain in our rooms behind locked doors; we were the fools who broke protocol. Being a member of Project Phoenix does not mean being equipped to destroy thirty mystery intruders in the middle of the night, particularly this early in our training.

But this is exactly what being a hero means. The project itself involves physical danger. You were useless, and another hero would have better filled your slot.

I am useless now. When I am trained, I will serve some purpose for the project—

What purpose will you serve?

Aar could supply no answer. He had assumed the project would involve some sort of underwater surveillance or infiltration—upon arriving at Headquarters, Ms. Sato had appointed him the Head of Covert Operations. But Ms. Sato herself had said that Aar's superhuman abilities were fairly specialized, and he could not fathom a project that required an extensive degree of underwater expertise. Aar could only help Project Phoenix a small amount at best, for one niche task, and then he would be as good as an ordinary human being. A human being trained in covert operations might have been more effective, in fact—his own mother could have filled his position better than he would.

All team members were important. Aar understood this; he understood that the Empress possessed a vision, and he understood that her judgment was sound. But when things went wrong, what good was the most carefully laid plan? When an emergency befell the Project Phoenix team, how well could Aar safeguard the others' lives? This was precisely why Ms. Sato had assigned him the combat training, but it was not enough. It could not be enough.

The Olympic-sized swimming pool was tranquil, greenish-blue water glinting in the wan light. Jensen leaned against the tiled wall near the entrance, and Sylvie was examining a monitor hanging inside the pool. Upon Aar's entrance, Jensen glanced up and nodded, no change visible in his weathered face. "Good to see you," he said, voice hoarse and deep. "Suit up and we'll get started."

In the dim locker room beside the pool, Aar lowered himself onto a wooden bench, placing his head in his hands. The trainers could not test his standard-condition capabilities if his mind was not standard-condition. He would only take a moment, half a minute to clear his head. Slowly, he blew out his leftover breath—eight seconds of air passed through his mouth, and six seconds flowed into his nostrils. Here Aar's thoughts usually left him, aided by his own focus on simple physical routine.

But his thoughts would not leave him, because Aar could not focus. The images still flooded his brain—the bruises down Hydroflare's arms, the deep laceration across Black Phoenix's face, the still corpse of Silver Fox—and the breath in his chest battled against him. People had died, and people had been wounded, and he had done nothing.

Why was Aar still there? Why was Aar there at all?

From the beginning of the project, Aar had resolved to trust Ms. Sato's judgment. She was a capable leader, experienced, with a mind literally beyond her years. But Aar's trust in Ms. Sato was not enough to salvage his trust in himself. He needed to speak to her, directly; only then could he understand the reason he sat within Project Phoenix Headquarters.

The testing session passed agonizingly slowly, though Aar's underwater movement was rapid. If the trainers noticed any furrowing in Aar's brow, any lack of focus, they did not mention it. They only issued commands, adjusted motion sensors, typed data into a computer far from the water. After a few hours had passed, the team broke for lunch, and Aar fled into the locker room to gather his strength. Before eating, he would ascend the Headquarters staircase—the same staircase on which five heroes had died—and he would learn the truth.

The air in the passage to Ms. Sato's office smelled of industrial cleaner. It bit at Aar's nose, and he moved more quickly, nearly jogging down the hall in an attempt to escape. At the end of the hall was a steel door, the nameplate emblazoned "Sakura Sato—The Empress." Before knocking, Aar paused, letting out another eight-second breath; then he rapped on the door and waited.

After thirty seconds had passed, Aar knocked again, more forcefully this time. His knuckles stung, but he shook out his hand as he lingered beside the door. Another minute, and no response had come. Perhaps the metal was thick, prohibiting sound from passing through. He recalled hearing the voice of Ms. Sato through her own quarters' doors the night before, muffled but distinguishable. Aar knew that she was at least in the building—Ms. Sato had passed him as he had entered breakfast that morning, leaving the mess hall with an apple in hand. If she were anywhere, she would be in her office

Aar twisted the doorknob. It was unlocked, and Aar pushed the door open gently, peering through the entryway into the lit space. The lights were turned on, but no one sat in the blue-felt rolling chair behind the impressive desk at the back. Perhaps she was in the restroom; but then Aar noticed the personal bathroom attached to the office, door open, no one inside.

She had gone to lunch. Muscles still tense, Aar turned on his heel and strode back down the hallway, descending the stairs once more and approaching the mess hall. From within came the noise of heroes and employees alike. Aar stopped in the threshold to examine the crowd—there were Jensen and Sylvie, and a handful of others he recognized, but not Ms. Sato.

He advanced toward his trainers, who raised a hand in greeting. The smile on Sylvie's face seemed to dim upon seeing Aar's expression, but Jensen only held his gaze and said, "What's wrong?"

"Ms. Sato," said Aar. "Where is she?"

Jensen looked down at the cheeseburger on his plate. "In her office, I assume."

He was avoiding eye contact. He knew something. "Jensen," Aar said, "where is Ms. Sato?"

"She's always in her office," said Sylvie, and Aar turned to acknowledge her. "During business hours, at least. She's here or in her office."

"She won't respond to my messages," Jensen muttered at last.

Aar blinked, and Sylvie's head swung to look at Jensen. "Pardon?" said Aar, voice clipped.

"I check in with her, every couple hours or so," said Jensen slowly. "She hasn't answered a single message I've sent today."

The world before Aar seemed to spin, and he seated himself in the chair beside Sylvie. "You're sure you sent these messages?"

"They were delivered. On my phone, you can tell if Ms. Sato reads 'em, too. She hasn't even looked at 'em."

The realization that Ms. Sato had left Headquarters was jarring. Where else could she be, if she wasn't responding to messages, if the trainers hadn't seen her? Finally Aar could hear the whispers around him, the names "Empress" and "Ms. Sato" echoing from dozens of mouths across the room. Not only had Aar's trainers not seen her, but no one who worked at Headquarters had seen her, either.

Sakura Sato had vanished.

Aar trusted Ms. Sato, deeply. Wherever she had gone, Aar believed that she was safe; he did not fear for her, nor did he question her reasons for fleeing Headquarters. What terrified Aar was that he had been left alone once again, left to answer an awful question with his own shaken judgment.

Why was Aar still there? He had absolutely no idea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reason

Amanda Palmer was seven the day she discovered that her name was shared with the wife of her favorite writer. Of course, that day was also the day that she discovered a fabulous singer and decided that just because a man wrote Stardust didn't mean that he had to be more known than the woman with the literal voice of a fairy princess. However, the spot for best singer had to be saved for her Grandmother, who would always find time to belt out the tunes to every Gospel during church, loud and bold and daring like every other woman Amanda had grown up around. Perhaps that was why she grew up knowing to every take shit from anyone and to stand her ground at any given moment--but perhaps too that was why Amanda never grew up finding herself relating to the passive stars in movies or the ones who never stopped to consider what life could be.

Timothy was, in a way, both timid and daring. He held all the qualities of the women from Amanda's church, yet he wasn't loud, he was scared to say anything to anyone more attractive than him, and for some reason, speaking made him tired. That didn't stop him from skyping Amanda at one am, however. God, if his insomnia is acting up I guess I can't listen to my audiobook in peace, can I? Nope. Still, a smile graced her cheeks as she pulled a t-shirt over her body and told her nipples to chill the fuck out.

"It's one am." Not exactly a hello, but they were beyond hello.

"I just got your message about what happened and I'm so sorry that some of your friends died, that's terrible! What happened? Like, isn't this day one or four or whatever of Superheroing it up there with the Phoenixes?"

She held up her middle finger as a one and started in. "First off, don't call us Phoenixes unless you want me to cut off that pathetic excuses of a mustache with a goddamn spork. Second, it's the job. We signed up to possibly die. Hey, it's not like we joined somewhere where people promised to keep us safe. Besides, babe, you think I started making friends? I don't need friends with anyone here."

From the glow of her screen, she could see her leg propped against the wall. It was sleek and black, the version that matched her skin the best, and she wanted to run her fingers across it, or to call for it and have it attached to her once more. But no, it stayed there, and she was content enough to remain in bed as Tim tried to come up with some reasoning or another of how he didn't mean that and how he really didn't want to lose his mustache as he thought it looked good enough.

"Besides," he went on, proving that (once again) breathing didn't seem to be necessarily important when someone wanted to get something out quick, "I'm just checking in on you. I heard things went wrong and I wanted to know about it."

"This is a top secret type of company that doesn't just talk about getting broken into--how did you find out about that, babe?"

The nervous chuckle was enough to make her wonder if that technical side of Tim had been ignored just a bit too much. "I, uh, found out? Anyway, you'll tell me about it anyway, so why don't you just go ahead and save us the trouble later? Oh! Wait, you weren't asleep before this conversation, were you?"

She laughed. "It doesn't matter at this point, does it?" Rubbing her dry eyes, Amanda wondered if the pinch was from her screens brightness, or from the lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Likely both.

"So, what happened?"

Splurging into a message was easy enough, and Tim seemed to listen well. The shitfest? Ah yes, well first let's talk about how none of the supers even tried communicating through it--even those two lame-ass brothers seemed to be having their troubles--and how I busted my ass down those stairs and god do I feel it today. The words felt right in her mouth and even better inside her mind, where the formation had time to change, to be rearranged into something smooth. What came out was not always intended, but Tim was gracious enough to pretend, and she was happy enough to keep providing details. A yawn pervaded her thoughts as she got down to finding the vault, but still not moving fast enough to catch everyone.

"While King said he'd gotten the others down there, I'm still certain he hadn't, because there's no way one person can be sure, and without another down there it's just screwed." Wow, that was a load of a sentence. Did we trade places, Tim? Or am I just going insane? Yawning again, she tapped her screen to make certain it kept loading. "But yeah...that's basically everything. Good enough for you, Tim?"

"Who's King?"

The image of a smartmouthed boy with too many freckles popped into mind. "Another super. Imagine Kendra, but male, younger, and filled with enough smartass ambition to fill a helicopter, and then you're almost there." Both laughed and the release of emotions left a warmth inside Amanda. "God, the people here are all full of themselves. No lie, they act like the main characters out of any of those stupid new movies...all the power to you, but at least interact a little more? I try, but I think the age gaps between a few of us make it hard."

"You've never been one to play well with others," Tim said. His face through the screen was all glasses and two percent eyes. Purple swelled underneath them, carrying the bags of weight that told her that he likely hadn't been taking any of his pills lately. "So, I finally went on that date."

"Yeah?"

Feigning interest was easy with Tim, and he took the time to go full on details about the boy he managed to pull into his bed. They met at a bar, drank and partied, had sex, and then actually texted each other the next day. A miracle if she's ever seen it, but what made it better was the smile that lingered on Tim, the way his eyebrows lit up with excitement as he spoke of Chuck-what's-his-face and how they had coffee and laughed about stupid social media trends and spoke of their jobs and lives. As always, Tim had dived in too deep too fast, but she'd wait to see if he'd sink or not.

"Oh! And my dog's got this cute costume for Halloween now and I'm certain that it's going to be the cutest whenever the kids come by and she runs out yapping and making them smile."

"Until you mean one who's allergic and ruin their entire night."

There was a pause, then his laugh again. "God, Amanda! You sure know how to ruin a good time. So, what's got you in such a mood? The attack? Something else?"

"I'm not sure." She paused, letting her tongue linger over her lips as she thought. God, what is different? It wasn't something she'd have noticed if he hadn't said anything. The difference lingered around her face, in her eyes, in her words, but it wasn't anything that she'd been thinking about. Was I? Is it just this late? What... "I'm not certain when the Empress was last around, honestly. It's been over a day so you'd suspect she'd send word but...nothing. It's like she just picked up ship and headed out. I'm sure she wouldn't just leave like that, certainly, but it's definitely odd."

Where is she? Despite an attack just happening, there was radio silence all around. The lack of communication was often cited as a reason that most things failed, Amanda knew that from her business alone, but just leaving a group of superheroes with questionable powers alone? I'm supposed to handle shit like Public Relations but what's that job mean when I can't do anything? Expressing it out loud didn't fix anything, but it did make Tim's concern grow.

"That's not right. You think she's out kicking ass without everyone else?"

"I doubt it."

I should talk with someone--maybe The Girl if I want to find out answers, but god, I can't stand anyone like that. While jealousy wasn't a good color, Amanda would skin herself before admitting that she thought another human being was more capable than she. Of course, there were people who excelled in far greater things. Fantastic scientists who held genius beyond measure, inventors who could create anything at the touch of a nose, singers who held the style and voice of pure gods, but those people weren't the type of business savvy leaders as she was. Amanda could win over anyone and accomplish anything, but that type of problem? No, babe. Not for me.

"If she's not back, I'll send an email."

Tim snorted. "You think she's going to answer an email?"

"No. But it gives me an excuse to stop by when she does show back up. I want answers. I'm not going to just be a clueless pawn in all of this--I'll at least be a smart one who knows their part." Amanda yawned, her eyes watering as their conversation lingered.

"You could never just be a pawn!"

"Spare me. In this game, anyone can be pawns. Lose the romantic view, babe. I may be great, but I'm the same as you in more aspects than you could imagine. Care to write me up an email draft? I need it to sound affirmative but also strong, as though I'm needing to talk but not needing anything in particular." She stretched, letting each shoulder roll. With every gasp there came a sigh afterword and the longing for her pillow to meet her ear and for the man on the other side of the screen to just shut up. Their friendship went far, but every conversation ended at some point. If that point doesn't come soon I'm going to wreck his fucking car.

After a pause, Tim returned her yawn and pulled away from the screen enough that she could see that he still was attached to his body. Glad you've yet to be beheaded. "You know, they already miss you here at the company."

"Yeah?"

"Do you like being there, working with them?"

Imagines of the top-notch training centers, complete with the vicious assholes who didn't know shit compared to her, and the stupidity of every child-like person who roamed the halls left shivers down her. "It's...all right. Inaya hasn't messaged me, though. I'm getting worried a bit."

"Don't be! Sometimes people don't message me for months and I'm never forgotten." Tim smiled and a pain rushed through Amanda. Oh, babe. I wish I could explain that to you.

There was so much she'd like to tell him, but the boy wasn't exactly someone who caught on easy. Timothy was an interesting man and one she'd never be able to break through to. It was enough that she tried. At least I'm here. Can't let him be all alone now. With a small smile, she flipped over to her side and let the phone rest on its stand. He's not all bad anyway.

"I'm tired, babe. Finish this talk in the morning?"

Tim's yawn was answer enough, but his mouth went to work on another two-minute monologue about how he hadn't meant to be keeping her up and that he just wanted to check in on her and how glad he was that she was okay and blah, blah, blah.

Let's just...let's just go to bed now. God, I'm certain that she'll be back in the morning with some news or maybe to start up with whatever the hell we're supposed to accomplish. With that, her screen dimmed and she put it back on the charger, leaving her body to the roll of blankets as she molded into the pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Beat

One of the most important things to know about Rajon Bey, is that he doesn't have an uncle.

Everything is running, but for him, time stands still. The Girl, Irene, flings herself at the rhinoceros leather corporate coach he is sat on, but lands with grace at full speed. "Haven't you heard about Sakura? Well you can't just sit around. Can't you rewind time and find out what happened to her?" she breathes for the first time. "Can't you try?" She speaks like a chipmunk, and that was before Sato went missing. Now she talks like a chipmunk that just learned Sato went missing, which curdles his brain and opens his eyes wide with perturbation. Before he replies, he tunes into the clock - broke no longer - and uses it to calibrate the natural human cadence. Tick-talk, tick-talk.

Calculated, though still slightly slower than what most would categorize as normal, he tells he has been, but that he needs to be left alone so he can concentrate. "It isn't very quiet here," she retorts, jumping back to her feet, and wiping her nose with the crook of her crocheted sweater. Snot - it's like tears, but with a few hours delay. Sato was found to be missing just a handful of minutes ago, or at least that is when the rebar started to reverberate with her name, each echo more forlorn. Hours ago, death was the tragedy. Rajon wonders if she was struck by a particular death, or just the waste in general. "Maybe you should go somewhere more private. If you aren't going to help find her, at least stay out of our way."

Do they ever think that maybe she doesn't want to be found? No sign of intrusion in her quarters, six deaths at least partially on her hands - a fact she could either be avenging, or running away from, and a selection of specifically her weapons taken from various storages. This he knows, because he was the first to see her empty quarters; last to share the word. He could tell her this, and how he guesses they've been ditched, but he kinda hates himself in this moment, so he doesn't mind that others join in.

On a tempered glass end table, which punctuates the davenport, sits a cardboard box of tissues - periwinkle petals ghost the design. He takes one before walking out. Back to his quarters, as was suggested.

As he's under the shallow arch which separates the lobby from the bloodstained stairway, the phone rings. And rings. And rings.

It's a rotary thing, bright red in a couture kind of way, and sitting on a reception desk he hasn't seen manned until Nora walks behind it to answer the call. "Hello? Yes. Yeah," she says, long pauses for the other side of the conversation between each word. "Rajon?" she calls out, and he can feel her looking at his back. "It's your uncle."

He turns back with a smile. "That's fine, Nora, tell him I'll call him back when I get to my room."

She does. "...he says your - erm - that your cat died."

"Oh," Rajon squints. "Yes, well, it's in a better place now."

|<<

"I was wondering if you knew who those bandits were? Or where they might be stationed? For personal reasons." 'Bandits' sounds way too pantomime, and 'personal reasons' sounds sorta suspicious. Rajon leans over a granite sink and stares at a man trapped in a sheet of glass. His eyes are sagging and chaffed to the flesh, back stunted from a night on an emergency room bed, freckles outta toothpaste spittle. Just as Rajon dips his head under the running faucet, damping his face with a shaking hand, the other man slams his face into the countertop. He looks up, and his reflection is still speckled with grime. "Hi Sak- Hello, Sakura, thanks for letting me in. I just have a few questions." Nothing sounds natural. He shoves a fist into his mouth and deforms it like it's putty. "Take me to those Jade screwballs, you headcase," he sputters out - kinda laughing, kinda whimpering. More water jumps from his hand (the one he isn't sucking down on) to his face; he doesn't even see it coming. He stuffs his face in an eggshell hand-towel and warms it with a teetotaler's drunkard's breath - something heavy and haggard, but substanceless.

Swaddled in an eggshell bedsheet, a room over, his cell phone purrs. Rajon gets his hand out of his mouth and shuffles over to it. The contact states simply: uncle. His saliva slick thumb mashes the big red hang-up button, but lifts back off it ineffective, and having left a snail's trail on the pixelated screen. He lets it ring. Phones you pointedly decide not to answer always seem to ring twice as long. It rings as he combs his hair for the third time, it rings as he slips into tennis shoes and ties them up in slack bunny ears. He waits at the eggshell door for it to stop. When it does, he slips it into his sweatpants pocket and leaves his eggshell room behind.

There's a colorful world out there. The outside of Sakura's room is painted a deep red. He knocks, and without even watching the door submit itself to opening, the hollow pounding tells of the lack of resistance. Inside, it stands out even more than the out. Relics and weaponry he can only assume are priceless sit on pedestals and in shadowboxes.

"Sakura it's nice to wonder-" A crack between window and frame lets wind in from the cold. It plays and tugs at one of the artifacts - something like a dreamcatcher, but deconstructed, and dangling sharp metal stalagmites, which knock into each other with an erring screech. Rajon errs. A gust rushes into the bedroom, causing a paper-thin katana to foible. Rajon foibles. "I hope it's not a bad time," he says, distracted by a glaringly uncapped pillar. From up close, he can see the lines traced in dust which tells the story of an object recently removed. The window is secluded - it wouldn't be ajar if it wasn't - it would then be either locked tight by Sakura, or blown open by some opportunistic crook. It looks out upon a tunnel of concrete, and eventually a concentrated drop of natural light. He walks down it to an extent, following the clues, and hearing the stories they have to spin with an ear surprisingly attuned to it all. It's doubtful that it was ever meant to be some great caper, just a stalling device to give Sakura some time to do as she pleases.

Rajon recalls how he joined Project Phoenix to expand his scope, not to babysit Cherry Bomb and watch his friends die from her enemies. This was meant to be the chance to do something truly great to nullify the truly terrible deed blemishing his family name. He surely remembers what he agreed to do to get it. By God, his phone won't ever let him forget what he agreed to do to get it. It rings again. "Sorry, It's my uncle. I have to not take this," Rajon says to no one, kills the call, and walks out.

Down the hall, he passes Irene. Just a little bit further down the hall, he passes Irene again, but this time they're moving the same direction, and she's screaming her head off.

>>|

Even before he opens the door, he knows something is up. It's unlocked. He's security; he doesn't just forget to lock.

"Ohh," Dr. Lee mocks, going with his planned introduction despite a muted, if any, reaction of shock from Rajon. "Did I catch you at a bad time? See, I tried to call you so you would have a bit of time to compose yourself, but you wouldn't have me. I wasn't able to find a cat on the side of the road, but here's a raccoon so you can see it one last time," he gestures at the furball with no head, wetting the bed with red. "Rajon, my boy, the man once known as The Beat. You haven't been paying your dues. You haven't been returning my calls. Time is up. Shame we had to - in case you don't already know - pull your plug this morning, or you could maybe do something about that," he says, very pleased, for someone waiting on collateral.

Rajon looks at him with the force of death; eyes eggshell and red.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Splendour!

DID NOT HAND IN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...and Kevin

DID NOT HAND IN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nora Belasco

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The light was too bright. Searingly so, white and shining as mornings in California (too sunny a place) probably always were. The sterility of the walls didn't help, reflecting the sky's gift against everything else in the vicinity, including Nora's eyes - oh, her eyes. An arm flung itself lazily over them, tan skin pressing against brow-bones. It was better that way. No dust multiplying in the sun's rays. No sun's rays. Pure and perfect bliss, and so sleep began to creep...

A slap of thigh meat hit the plasticky-fabricky material of the medical exam table, knee having slipped out of its bent position. Sensation of falling, but in that limb only. It thwacked and she flinched awake, sucking in air and expelling it angrily. I didn't sleep at all last night. The breathing became coughing. The coughing became hacking. The hacking became black phlegm, spat into a metal tin when all was done and finished. Nora leaned back, arm where it was, and moaned in quiet agony. Oh, fuck me. And not even in the pleasant way.

All night after the attack had been a hellish ordeal, and quite an unfair one at that. There were a few others in the medical clinic sharing in this plight, somewhere asleep behind curtains while the gory holes in their flesh recovered, but for the most part, all the team had to worry about was flushing out the adrenaline in their veins and the anxiety causing the shake in their wittle fingers. Now, Nora hadn't been shot, but having smoke formulate itself in, take over, and exit your lungs up through a now raw and choked esophagus felt a little bit like the impact of a bullet, she would think. Everything burned with every breath of air, every exhalation - and so not even she could find comfort enough to sleep.

She hadn't even asked for this. Would've left after flying out that window, too, but evidently it was a little hard to take off when there was a shitfest thriving in your airway.

And so she stayed here. Exhausted and pained and hungry - all the sustenance she'd had was some honeyed-down drink the nurse'd given her to ease whatever the hell was going on inside. What was going on, exactly? Hell if she knew. "I fuckin' regret this decision so muh-" And thus, the hoarseness was interrupted by a spasm of coughing and wheezing. Again, and again, and again. Was this what karma felt like?

A delicate voice donned in buttermilk tones brought calm between the violent waves. "You don't have it nearly as bad as it should be. Consider this a miraculous outcome, Miss Belasco."

Nora clenched her fist, feeling the tendons tighten against her forehead. "I started coughing up blood a little bit ago. And when I sneeze peppery-lookin' bullshit comes out."

"Ah," the wrinkled nurse said, "but your throat didn't close up like!" She clenched her own fist in dramatic fashion, lips popping in amusement. "Perks of being super, I'd say."

You know what'd be super? Not being super. I don't see anyone else with sooty lungs, unless we've got longtime smokers in here. She pondered if only to pass time. That girl with the one leg, probably.

A little while passed in as good as silence would get before another disturbance entered the room, long legs clicking under red hair. The boy cast a brief look to Nora, very brief, as any hospital visitor is supposed to do with anyone other than the person they are visiting. Acknowledgement without meaning it, and automatic pity. And then moving on, because it's not polite to stare.

There were no rules against the pitied patient watching the visitor, though.

She stared him down, eyes trailing the back of his head with every step he took. He squirmed a little bit, but perhaps that was just because Nora had pretty strong eyes. Obviously. But then he ducked behind a nearby curtain, and all was lost.

Nora returned her gaze to the ceiling, but the gentle murmuring of the two beside her was hard not to eavesdrop on with nothing else happening. "The hell do you mean she's gone?"

"She's just gone. Without a trace, no warning, no trail. Nobody knows where she is."

A pause. A shift of the scratchy blankets they supplied in the clinic - oh, Nora knew the sound well. "So you're telling me...that I just got myself shot for a woman who isn't even here anymore? She's just gone?"

"That's what I said about three times now, yes."

"The fuck?"

"Same," Nora inputted, not exactly meaning to say it aloud but, hey, that was just how it went.

Another pause. A shift of confusion, of people whispering to one another, and then a quick pop of a freckled face between the curtain. "Did you know?"

"Know about what?" Nora asked. Nobody tells me shit in this place.

"That the Empress is gone."

"Oh." Digestion of information. A dry and painful chuckle which was almost worth it. "Oh, lovely. Even the boss is over this shit." Another laugh which devolved into a cough. "Sayonara when the going gets tough! That's my cue to leave, then?"

"Nobody else is leaving!" This, from a new yet familiar voice belonging to a woman Nora would much rather love to forget. Merle's auburn waves bounced as she took long and frenetic steps into the clinic, struggling to catch her breath. Poor baby. "The Empress was enough, and I'm sure it's on strict business terms anyways."

Merle paused in the middle of the room, looking a bit like Miss Frizzle from that one show about the school bus that went through a colon once. Her glazed eyes fell over the nurse, and the freckled face, and then Nora, and it remained on her until the realization dawned. She walked over quickly. "I'm here in the morning, as promised. I heard about everything. Headquarters is buzzing and it will be for a long time. I see you've had quite the night? Enough to make you want to leave, apparently?"

Nora cracked her lips to speak, but nothing more than a long-winded wheeze came out. Helpless and burning.

The other woman took it as an opportunity. "In this time of need, we really need you to stay and help us. Please-"

"In this time of need, I really need you to get out," Nora managed, swallowing down everything that came up if only to seem less like a crippled bird under the watch of this generous woman. She wanted no generosity. She wanted sleep.

A fit of profuse blinking fell over Nora's eyes, something she couldn't control. Between the rapid flap of lashes she could see Merle bowing her head and another woman coming in to lay a dark hand on her partner's shoulder and then their lips moved but no words were felt against Nora's ears and instead she saw only Merle's exit and the steady approach of this new and colder woman like a blunted knife come to perform a jagged operation. Nora cast a look to the nurse, even, because of this sudden and irrational thought, but there was no intention to assist on those elderly features. A soft smile at the most. Wow. Thanks.

"Miss Belasco. You may call me Palila. I help advise the organizational team and have gotten word of your inclination to the idea of leaving. I have come to try to urge you off that course of action."

"The same way you tried to urge that other lady away from the SpaghettiOs, I hope?" Despite the miserable strain in her voice, Nora found some amusement in saying this, in watching the woman frown and smooth the stray hairs of her bun.

"I have a more solid argument this time. As you've likely heard by now, the Empress is absent, whereabouts unknown, and I believe we could bend your power to help us track her down, judging by the almost random nature of its existence. We here have reason to suspect that there is a possibility the Empress could be in great danger. Surely, that appeals to your pathos?"

Three words. "No fucking way. I'm done with this power. It's got me sitting here like a rock on this really uncomfortable bed. Also, I'd like to note that the Empress hadn't seemed to care that her team'd been in great danger last night. Should I really be so sympathetic?" Spurred by the adrenaline of an argument, Nora struggled to sit up straight, abdomen sore and fingers clutching the bed's material as though to strangle the air out of it. This way, they were closer to the same eye-level. Eye-level, eye-level, eye-level. She was sick of eyes.

Palila straightened, clipboard clutched tight to her chest. "Last night's attack had been unpredictable and, might I remind you, the members of this team all knew what they signed up for. It is not on the Empress that some of you were killed or injured. You signed a waiver."

"Oh, waiver my ass! These people, they don't think of the worst outcome. They don't dwell or fear it. They wave it off to make room for happier things. And even if that wasn't the case, it was my 'power' or whatever you wanna call it that landed me in here. I haven't eaten. I haven't slept. I hurt. I am in no mood to help you and I'm certainly not in the fucking mood to use it again and make recovery last even longer."

Nora had to wait a moment to catch her breath, as arguing was taking a whole lot of her, sucking the stiffness out of her shoulders and the energy from her chest. It was draining all the strength and fight in her. Her hands settled against her ribs as though to quell the burn behind them.

The other woman lost some degree of rigidity in her posture, too, weight shifting between legs. "I promise you this task will require no violence. It will be quick and painless. And it might be wise to consider that using your ability as a personal painkiller might also be within the realm of possibility." A pause. Palila took another step forward, eyes narrowing as though she'd caught on to a strand of thought and wasn't planning to let it fly away. "This power of yours, it could be limitless. Imagine all the things you could do if only you experimented! But you, Belasco, are a stubborn, stubborn woman, and because of that, you have no clue just how far to test your own limits. The rest of the team, they know themselves. But you," she flung an accusing finger, "know very little of what you can do. Don't you want to know?"

Teeth grinding, muscles creaking, shoulders rolling, topaz ring glinting in the morning rays - Nora stood. Getting to that point was bumpy, and the impact in her feet was harder than she'd've preferred, but the fact of the matter was that she stood level with Palila. Her breathing was coarse, but it was less from the smoke as it was from something a little more...inflammatory.

"Miss Palila, 'advisor of the organizational team'...hm." Nora's ash-smeared lips twitched. "I advise you not to assume what I do and do not know about my own person. Focus on your missing ticking time bomb."

Tick, tick, tick, tock! The next wave came, bending Nora over, down, until her palms were pressed against the thick mat and nothing existed except the violent force of coughing. It was the sort of cough that took claws and scraped along the soft inner lining of the throat and, oh, God, now she'd gone and gotten the damn thing dirty with wet blackened spatters. When it was over, her fist collided into the mat. Damn it!

A ringing silence entered the spacious room. Nora kept her head bowed. Was it even worth it, staying here? Was the reward at the end missing - and had she even been thinking about it last night, this morning, in this argument? No, she didn't think she had been. Go over it again. Lifetime seclusion, funds setting her off comfortably. They wouldn't find her. They wouldn't find her. New name, new identity, like a witness protection program, this headquarters had explained. When would she get that opportunity again?

Likely never. And how bad did she want the opportunity?

Think of open streets. A boy now a man walks up to you, reintroduces himself, and smiles - but that smile is full of malice, and he grips your wrist and screams a demand and then you are at the mercy of someone you hardly know anymore as opposed to someone you used to know very well but time alters many things and now you are absolutely stuck-

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

"Forget everything I just said," Nora forced. "Forget it all. I'll do it. I'll do whatever but never for longer than ten minutes and never anything that'll hurt me."

"Well. That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Palila asked this with a stunned tinge charring the edges of her tongue; she gestured for Nora to follow and began to walk.

"Don't test it. And we're doing this now?"

"Soon. What I think would be best is if we tried to use that power of yours to ease your...situation. And I want cooperation, so I'm providing further incentive. I'll request someone in the building to fit you with something a little more professional for our efforts instead of that set of straps and underwear. Might boost confidence."

Nora frowned, trying to hide the hobble in her step. "These are shorts. And I'm confident enough." She knew the woman wouldn't respond once she gave in to the eye roll; Nora herself wasn't fond of talking anymore, and instead attempted to keep everything about her body as stable as possible as they traversed the building, taking halls and turns and an elevator and then another hall.

One particular hall was just as pristine as the rest of the building: white walls, white floors, white ceilings. The wall to the right was composed entirely of glass, and outside, the city in all its glistening daylight glory was visible, the sun's glare reflecting off building tint and tiny speeding cars and the miniscule sunglasses of bikers. Nora found a comfortable distraction in watching the outside as she walked. It took away from the overwhelming scent of floor polish, at least. The city was certainly her element.

At some point, though, a large black bird came flapping by, ebony beak and ebony talons striking against the wind. The raven was pretty enough to block out the city. The raven was significant enough to steal Nora's attention. LA is full of these things, apparently. I wonder if that other one's still in my room, waiting for me at the door.

It was an amusing thought.

Until she blinked.

In the span of a millisecond this beauteous bird went from glorious flight to desperate spiral. Feathers burnt to ash in the light of a flame, orange and yellow blaze shooting past the window. Smoke trailed it; Nora gasped, and part of her began to move to the window as though to bust it out and let the bird find refuge in the shade of a safe place - "safe" place.

She blinked again. The flames diminished. The bird was fine.

It's okay, Nora. Just breathe. Breathe, baby. Breathe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Girl

Irene waited in the elevator for nearly ninety minutes before Splendour pried the doors open and pulled her out. He handed her off to his brother to help her get up to the residence while he went in to get the Silver Fox's body. On the way upstairs they passed one body in the lobby, two more in the stairwell, and one last one in the hallway of the dorm wing. The boy, Kevin, let her lean on him as her legs were shaking and her head felt heavy. She was in shock, and the second she'd made it to her room she locked the door and crawled into bed fully clothed, barely managing to push off her shoes before she clocked out.

When she woke hours later, it was to loud voices and clamouring beyond her walls. It didn't sound physically violent, thankfully. Irene pulled the blanket along with her and shuffled to the door. Out in the common area, she found a surprising sort of activity; people were leaving. Packed bags were on the couch and on the floor and their owners were standing around either saying their goodbyes or arguing heatedly. As Irene stood there still not quite fully awake, trying to process what she was seeing, Clint strode past her with Maanyo hot on his heels, and the two were practically hissing at each other. Maanyo managed to get out in front of Clint and put himself in front of the door.

"Get the fuck out of my way," Clint snarled.

"Listen to me—"

"You cannot tell me what to do!" Clint tossed aside his duffel bag and it looked like it was about to come to blows. Irene snapped to attention.

"Hold up!" she yelled, grabbing Clint's arm. "Everybody, stop a second!"

She drew attention, but not necessarily compliance; some were still gathering their bags up and moving towards the door.

"Where is everyone going?" she asked.

"Home," said the girl with blindingly white hair. "The Empress is gone."

Irene looked to Maanyo, utterly confused. He nodded and said, "She left no message or indication of where she was going. No instructions."

"So why stay?" Clint said.

"Because we said we would," Irene told him. She looked at Maanyo. "You're staying, right?" He nodded. "Everybody just hang on a minute, really. Please." She scanned the room quickly and spotted the two people she was looking for: Obsidian and Palmer. She pulled Maanyo over to Palmer as she gestured for Obsidian to join them.

"What is it?" Palmer asked.

"We can't let this happen," said Irene.

Obsidian rolled his eyes. "Why us?"

"Team leads," Maanyo said.

"That doesn't mean anything now," Palmer scoffed. "I have a mess of other things to do--as I'm absolutely sure you do too, Irene."

"We accepted the responsibility," Irene insisted. "It shouldn't matter if Sato isn't here now. We still committed to leadership roles." She glanced back at the room. Some people hadn't stayed to hear her out. She hoped they could catch them before they left the building and convince them. She turned back to her fellow authorities. "Doesn't it seem suspicious that she's gone with no notice or instructions, immediately following a serious breach in security? Whatever is happening, it is not over; it just got more serious."

"She's right," Maanyo said.

"We--I—" Palmer looked from Irene to Maanyo, exasperated. "Irene, you can't be serious. What about ADI?"

"The company won't be worth much if the world goes to hell in a handbasket." said Irene.

"A defense tech company will be rolling in it if the world goes to hell in a handbasket," Palmer shot back.

"I don't do business fucking up people's lives!" Irene snapped. "Do you?"

Palmer chewed on her lip, then turned away.

"Amanda, are you in or out?" Irene called after her.

"I'm in, whatever!"

"Then go talk to some people!"

Irene looked at Obsidian expectantly. She imagined with her clear general expertise and Maanyo's imposing figure, the pair of them looked quite persuasive.

Obsidian groaned and rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Think you can convince some of these guys to stay?"

"They might already be gone, but yeah, maybe." Obsidian moved towards the door. "I'll try."

Irene and Maanyo exchanged a look. He nodded. She turned to the chattering room.

"All right, please--excuse me? Guys, I—" She glanced at Clint, who shrugged at her in response. Irene clapped her hands hard as she stepped up onto the coffee table, yelling, "Everybody listen to me!" That got their attention. "Thank you. I realize the Empress is currently out of the office." The chattering started back up again as people fired questions at her. She spoke louder until they hushed. "But this does not mean that the project is over. We made a choice, we gave our words. We entered into a contract, and I never break contracts. So I need volunteers to clean up the broken glass, blood, and bodies, and I need someone who's handy with wiring to get the alarm system back up."

"Who put you in charge?" someone shouted from the back.

"I'm not in charge," said Irene, gestured with a thumb over her shoulder to Maanyo. "He is. Manny, you with me on this?"

"Yes."

"And he's with me on this. So come on guys, let's unpack our stuff and regroup here in fifteen minutes to get started." She gave them a thumbs-up by way of dismissal, and then turned to Maanyo for a hand down. "Thank you. I got them today on honor. Tomorrow you need to crack some skulls."

"I can do that," he said.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door open and close as Clint left. Irene bolted after him.

"Clint, wait!" she shouted down the stairwell after him.

"Don't call me that," he snapped, turning back to her.

"What else do you want me to call you? Glacier?" Irene stopped a few steps short of him, preserving a height difference that favored her. "You're not him."

"What?"

"You've built up this ridiculous persona, this 'Glacier,' and you live it up like a damn superhuman Kardashian. Your book tour was completely masturbatory and you know it." For some reason she'd been on the list of early readers for the book, but she'd never actually opened the copy they'd sent her.

"This," Clint hissed, pointing back to the door behind her, "is not a publicity stunt. This is not community service. This is some real as hell shit. Peace out, Girl Scout." He started down the steps again.

"Exactly!" She chased after him. "This is bigger than us, we can't turn tail, we have to face it!"

"I'm not cut out for this!"

"Clint! Glacier! I'll call you Juan Miguel for all it matters, just stop for a sec!"

"Fuck off, Irene!"

'Hell with this.'

Irene jumped a step and grabbed him to make him pause. They stumbled against the wall on a landing.

"Jesus, Irene, not on the stairs!"

Irene had had enough; she pulled him around, shoved him against the wall, and smacked him upside the head.

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"You listen to me, you moused-up doorknob! You soak up hero worship like a narcissistic sponge but when it comes to heroics you run like a damn child! Enough of this, Clint, you grow up right the fuck now!" Irene bent down and picked up his duffel bag. "Let's go."