January 10th, 2109

"Oh, Nellie Bo'belly!"

A thick stack of documents slapped Nellie's desk. She barely reacted to the rude interruption and had every intention of focusing on the computer screen.

Up until her coworker shimmied his way into her personal space and seated himself on her lap, an arm looping around her shoulders. "Nu-uh, don't you dare try to ignore all this excitement, honty. I need your assistance." A coy smile made his immaculate goatee twitch, though it was nothing in comparison to the sleek masterpiece of his jet black locks.

Nellie heaved a groan and reclined into her chair. Naturally, her friend followed the motion and took this opportunity to give her an up close view of his pout. "Carter... I love you like nobody's business but please, please, please spare me. Just for tonight," Nellie whined.

"Madam!" Carter's rebuttal was just as pathetic--no, it carried a tad more flare than Nellie's, but that wasn't a surprise. For as long as she'd known the eccentric member, theatrics always came to him swifter than breathing. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. "Don't do me like this, honty! My skin! My flawless face! How can I go on without my beauty sleep? I have standards to live up to and that's not gonna happen if I gotta slave over these files all by my smexy lonesome."

"I'm not doing you in any sort of way, considering I don't have the right equipment for your tastes," Nellie chuckled. With a grunt, she sat forward, maneuvering the grown man's weight with surprising strength and reaching for the documents in question. She skimmed them lazily. "So what're we talking, Aunty C? Dimension jumping thief? Banshees disturbing the peace in some picket fence neighborhood?"

Carter pressed a finger to his lips and hummed. "Hmm, yeah no. I sorta kinda had to kill an entire crackhouse worth of Mutants. Turns out the junky lifestyle was just a cover up." He paused. "Well, mostly. Some were real deal crackheads--you know I can spot those from miles away, honty." The more Carter spoke, the paler Nellie became. Sweat smeared her keyboard.

"J-Jesus Christ, Car. How many were there?" She couldn't imagine jumping head first into a pit of vicious Mutants, especially not for a base found among the shadiest underbelly of Trent City. Granted, she had complete faith in Carter's skill as a Pure Blood field agent; despite his overwhelming personality, garish style of dress and questionable activities outside of work, he was one of the most revered operatives around. Nellie couldn't even begin to count how many Mutants he'd slayed since her initiation into the program three years ago.

"Like five. Not that many."

Nellie shot Carter a look.

"More like ten... Fifteen?"

The stare refused to budge. Carter heaved a groan of defeat while hopping out of the woman's lap. "Fine! Twenty-six! But you cannot blame me for any of that! You know how I get when I'm coffee deprived!"

Nellie held up a hand. "You know what? I've heard enough," she muttered, a hint of a rasp making her lungs crackle. She placed that same palm atop Carter's paperwork. "We'll do half and half, alright? After this, you owe me. Big time." She was fully prepared for the squeal that escaped Carter, but nothing could stop the affectionate smile tugging at her lips. Absolutely nothing. She loved Carter like family.

"Yaaaas! Thank you, honty! You won't regret this; I'll have you set up with a bad bitch and properly laid within the month, just you wait."

Her coworker would've rattled on about this topic for hours if given the opportunity. For some torturous reason, he lived for meddling in Nellie's love life, despite it being nonexistent to begin with. Luckily, she was spared further embarrassment when another Pure Blood strutted up to her cubicle, ruby red lipstick staining the rim of her To-Go cup. "Nellie? Mr. Creed's asking for you. You might wanna jog a little."

The suggestion struck a lightning bolt of anxiety through Nellie's system. "Uh... th-thanks, Sheryl. Will do," she wheezed, the tightness in her lungs worsening. As she stood and ruffled through her pockets, a long whistle escaped Carter.

"Oooh, gurl. You are in trouble. What'd you do to piss off head honcho?" he asked.

"Literally have no idea but if I die, I just want you to know..." Nellie rested a hand on Carter's shoulder, something morose kindling in her soft blue eyes. Her best friend cupped that same hand, falling into the somber mood of their skit like a seasoned professional.

"Go on, honty. Spill. I can take it."

"Your zipper's down."

"Excuse--"

Before Carter could crank out another syllable, Nellie fled and left him to his own baffled devices. The Pure Blood checked his crotch, only to roll his eyes immediately after. His zipper was perfectly intact. "All this lying and it ain't even in my bed with a snack of a man on the side. You're not funny, Nellie Bo'belly!"

On the contrary, Nellie believed herself to be hilarious.

}:{

Running to Mr. Creed's office was the dumbest decision Nellie could've made. The burning in her lungs became unbearable and each inhale felt worse than an icy blade carving out her throat. Sucking in one last breath, she forced herself to full height and wiped as much sweat as she could from her flushed cheeks, though she managed to jab herself in the eye with a knuckle.

"Nellie... Nellie, please. Stop being a disappointment for two minutes," she whispered to herself miserably. She took in the door before her with bubbling trepidation; if Sheryl had warned her to move as swiftly as possible, then that meant her boss's patience was riding on thin ice.

Great. Perfect. Really. Just what the doctor ordered for Nellie's crippling anxiety.

She retracted her inhaler with shaky hands, desperate to smother the flames eating away at her organs. Just as a dull pounding crept up to her temples, the discomfort altogether weakened. One puff. Her heart rate slowed. Two puffs. The headache dwindled into a manageable throb. Three puffs and a soothing numbness coated her nerves. "Hokay... Alright. You've got this, Nellie. Just another person like you. We're all human here. Yep." She gulped. "God help me."

Finally, she knocked and jumped back when a grizzly roar shook the glass. "Who is it!"

Nellie's sweat output doubled. "N-Nellie King, sir? You asked for me?"

A grunt struck her ears like the swing of a bat. "Hurry up and get in here."

As Nellie entered, she couldn't help but soak in her surroundings as if this was the first time she'd been inside Mr. Creed's office. Of course, that wasn't the reality, but the experience never lost its novelty. In place of the boring porcelain plaster walls that she was subjected to day in and day out, the office was boxed in with maroon leather padding. A collection of clocks dangled from the walls, stood tall in corners, and lined the edges of a finely carved mahogany desk. Each device emitted soft clicks that were disturbingly in sync, yet the tails of their echoes seemed to grow rather than die, and taunted the hollows of Nellie's bones. Many Pure Bloods theorized that the office was built with sound insulation in mind and could even amplify someone's bowels if they remained still long enough.

Hence why Nellie absolutely hated meetings with Mr. Creed.

That and his incredibly intimidating apparel. The man in question was seated astutely at his desk, his monstrous frame hunched over and bearing his weight on the poor piece of furniture. It creaked in tandem with the interlacing of his thick ropes for fingers. Dull brown eyes pierced clean through Nellie like spears. "Have a seat, Nellie. We need to discuss your... position," he rumbled.

Fuck.

Of all days Nellie expected to get fired, she never thought it'd be today. Deflating, she obeyed and plopped into the chair. Beforehand, her sweater hid a majority of her torso but now, as she existed under the heavy gaze of Mr. Creed, she shrunk even further into herself like a turtle. It was by the grace of gods that she managed to respond. "Um... What about my position?"

"It's changing," Mr. Creed said, running a thumb across his plaque to rid it of imaginary dust, "You fought tooth and nail to play it safe in my program, Miss King..." Against Nellie's accord, her nails curled so deeply into her jeans that a sting rippled through her thighs. His program... Something about that tiny slip up made her bloodstream boil, but she remained quiet. "But I'm rather sick of it. You have potential to do more for the Pure Bloods. I'm certain your parents would attest to this if they weren't six feet under."

Bland. Straight to point. Little sensitivity for the topic. Nellie had half a mind to feel insulted, but his lack of care was far from surprising. She vaguely wondered how far a man could tread into the death of another's parents, even with the cushion of being a "family friend".

Like Hell Nellie would ever feel comfortable enough to call him Uncle Creed.

"Richard founded the Pure Bloods. Gave us the motto that we live by to this very day. All men are created equal. Outliers are expendable. And Marissa..." A poor excuse for sympathy infected the man's sigh, clenched fists coming to rest on his lap. His hairless scalp wrinkled with the arching of his brow. "Such a soft woman. Too soft, even with the brilliant technology she provided us. I suppose that's where you inherited the jelly spine from."

"I..." Words failed Nellie. She couldn't fathom how to respond without accidentally stepping on eggshells. A personal pocket dimension encased the office, cutting off all connections with the outside world, barring all means of escape. Why did this feel so much like a trap? As if Mr. Creed challenged her to commit a single misstep?

In a twisted spiel of mercy, Mr. Creed didn't allow her to finish. "But I digress," he said, "You're aware of the public viewing tomorrow. We'll be making our partnership with the TPD official." And solidifying the Pure Bloods' power over every single authority figure in the city, but Nellie kept that unsavory truth to herself. "Everyone will be watching. Citizens... and Mutants. Security will be tight. Reputations will be upheld." He pinned Nellie down with a meaningful glower. "And you'll be there. Right next to Chief Wilhelm and Detective Kolkowsky. You're the last living remnant of this program's origins, so it's only common sense."

Nellie could've sworn time stopped. Cotton filled the base of her throat. "Um... I--sir, I'm honored, truly." Her nails, which had found a home in the leather of her seat, peeled themselves free like ancient duct tape from asbestos. "But wouldn't a star member be more suitable? Like Carter? I'm not even a field agent--"

"Yamanashi has an objective. This is yours." The finality in Mr. Creed's voice slammed into Nellie like a frigid torpedo, decimating any and all protests teetering on the tip of her tongue. There was no denying nor overlooking the chill in the air.

Nellie had no room for argument.

Her shoulders slackened in defeat. "Yes sir. I understand," she muttered, gaze trained to the hardwood between her feet. Her boss stood, his staggering height reminiscent of an oak tree reaching for the stars.

"Good." In a surprising flicker of motion, he pulled a pocket watch from the breast of his blazer and read the time. A satisfied scoff rolled under his breath, before stowing the item away. "Could've been faster. Get out and get back to work."

Utilizing her last drop of composure, Nellie restrained herself from sprinting to safety until she had stepped out of Mr. Creed's office.