[center][b]Charlotte[/b][/center]
“Do you want to be an angel, mister?” giggled the small girl as she inched closer to a cowering man before her. At her side, a bulky figure wearing modified diving gear advanced aggressively toward the bloodied man. As it approached, the creature emitted deep moans, communicating its harmful intentions.

“No, no, please,” begged the man, his eyes darting around the ruins of the bedroom.

A light chuckle slipped out of the little girl. “Silly,” the sound that came from her was both innocent and eerie, as if two people were speaking in unison. “It’s okay mister. It’s our turn to be it!” The girl continued forward, Mr. Bubbles stomping behind her. As she neared, the man found the corner of the bedroom, the shadow of the girl engulfing him around a crimson glow. 

He held up his palms in front of his face defensively. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cried, choking with fear. “I-I didn’t mean it! Look! Not even a scratch on ya!” All the while the child continued to giggle, her small, sinister sweet voice ringing in his ears. 

The sound of a drill revving echoed from the small, confined room. 

“No! [b]PLEASE[/b]!”

“Are you scared?”

The man nodded profusely, frantically pushing his body up against the wall in a futile effort. In the background the revving grew louder and he could now see the Bid Daddy standing over the girl, it’s deep red glow showering down on him in a blinding light.

“Don’t worry, mister...soon…[i]you won’t be[/i].”

The light grew larger, drew closer. He could still hear her over the roar of the drill.
“Whaduy—[b]FFFFAAAAAHHHHH--!!![/b]” The tip of the drill punctured his stomach, churning its contents in a furious motion. The man could hardly spurt out another plea before its owner shoved the drill through his body. As his vision began to blur and his hearing deafened with a shrill ringing, he could still make out the small figure standing idly before him, laughing playfully. He managed to maintain consciousness a few seconds longer, crying out in agony, before his senses failed altogether and his body fell limp against the ceasing drill.
[center]~[/center]
Mr. Bubbles took a step back, allowing the lifeless body to fall to the ground with a [i]thud[/i]. The red light illuminating the carcass transitioned into a light green as Charlotte slumped down beside the body. She impaled the body with a syringe, oblivious to the blood pooling beside her. “Tag!”
A small stream of blood puddled around her knees, its sticky warmth catching her attention. 

“Hmp, Mr. B~~” she whined, looking up at her protector, “I can’t get the ADAM if it’s not [i]inside[/i] the angels, silly.” Her Protector groaned in protest.

Charlotte drained the remaining ADAM from the corpse before pushing herself up on her feet and used her hands to wipe the traces of blood from her legs. She licked a bit off before dipping her hands in a dirty puddle. Looking around the sad, dimly lit remains of her bedroom, Charlotte couldn’t help a sigh escape her. This is where she grew up, she remembered. This is where her real father would tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and greet her in the morning. That big, walking chunk of metal was not her father, nor could he imitate him. But still, she can’t help but attach herself to it. And she knew it felt the same. That woman’s plasmid may have reversed the conditioning, but she could still remember...still feel the bond between her Protector and herself. 

A yawn emitted from Charlotte as she jumped on her rickety bed. The mattress was stiff and springy and the covers were torn and lightly damp but it would make due. She sat on the bed, her short legs dangling carelessly from the side. She pulled the nipple of the syringe up to her face and ingested its contents. A sense of calm fell over her as she lie on her side, syringe in hand, and pulled the cold, thin covers over herself.

“Dream time…Mr. B…” she murmured before drifting to sleep. She felt the rumble of her Protector as it positioned itself at the foot of her bed, letting out a low groan before leaving the slumbering girl to rest. 

---
[center][b]Mason[/b][/center]
As beautiful as it was, Columbia was no peaceful promise land. Every day Mason Flint felt disgusted by its façade. The city truly is beautiful and in it lies so much potential. But it’s all interrupted by the mind-numbing preaching that blares throughout the streets. Mason had made a habit of blocking out the righteous chatter that managed to escape the walls of the local house of worship. He never could understand how those self-holy old men could make their voices carry so far. Maybe they have the place wired with speakers the transmitted the preachings. Nonetheless, he had to endure it ever since it was built a few blocks from his apartment. With his fist nestled in the pockets of his coat, Mason continued toward the school yard. He could already hear the playful cries of the schoolchildren, the preaching barely dull in the background. He folded his arms and let them rest atop the metal fence. 

In the distance, a small, brown haired girl stopped and waved at him. He couldn't help but wave back with a smile just as a woman caught his attention. She was eyeing him and immediately his expression dropped and he returned his hand to its previous position. He could feel himself blush as she quickly called the children into the building. [i]Oh, God…[/i] he looked up just as the woman closed the door to the back of the schoolhouse, still keeping an eye on him as she shut the door. [i]She probably thought I was a goddamned pedophile…[/i] He had only wanted to wait for his daughter to get out. Usually she would walk home with a friend so it was understandable that his face wasn't recognized. Today, however, was her birthday and he had promised to take her out for a treat after school. Glancing down at his watch, he realized he was fairly early and she wouldn't be out for another 10 minutes. 
[center]~[/center]
The ice cream parlor on Soldier’s Bay Main Street was unusually crowded today. As his daughter ran to the display case to choose a flavor, silver eagles in hand, Mason sat at a table outside the parlor. In his hand was a flier that read "The Songbird flies where the soldiers fight. Join him in protecting Columbia."

“Dammit,” he glanced up into the store to find his daughter half-skipping toward him, an ice cream cone in both hands. “Today of all days, McIntire?” He let up a cheerful grin as his princess settled herself in his lamp. He crumpled the paper in his hand but not before she noticed. 

“What’s that, daddy?” she asked curiously, taking her father’s free hand and closing his fingers around the base of the second cone. 

“Nothing, sweetie,” he assured. “Daddy’s gotta go see some friends. I’ll call your mother to let her know you’re coming over.”

He could hear the disappointment in her tone as she uttered out a hesitant “Okay.” 

Mason curled a half-hearted smile as he pushed the bottom of her cone slightly. She laughed, wiping the ice cream from her nose. Looking at her now, Mason’s smile grew and he remembered: this is why he left the Vox.