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[center][url=https://www.instagram.com/mrelbank/]{image source}[/url][/center]
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[*]Responds to "Mole". 
[*]Visibly 7-12 years. 
[*]Enigmatic child non-indigenous to the recent area, apparently without company of familial relatives. Witnesses reported "Mole" entering the Regional Medical Center at [REDACTED] and being escorted into a back room by a staff member. "Mole" exhibited polite, inhibited behaviors distinct to their presumed age range. No other details on the subject are known. 
[*]A sharpened fragment of crazy lace agate juts from the middle of his left hand.[/list]
[hider=Abilities associated with 'agate']
[list]
[*][b]Fortification Manipulation[/b]; ripples form at their feet—seismic waves, and yet not an indicative sound; the forest floor is dappled like a pool of liquid rained with stones, and as the child flinches backwards at their own power, the marked earth shifts. A reflexive upsurge of silt, dead leaves, and soil, curtained by a cloud of debris, and a wall reaching up to their forehead settles with a confirmatory this, henceforth eclipsing them, exciting them. There is motive in their approach, dry palms pressed against the thick barrier and thin lips spread in a hysteric smile—they wanted one better, taller, maybe even wider—and their wall groans at the audacity. Unneeded, it promptly collapses in another cloud of deep brown dust, the earth visibly undisturbed, the child forever changed.

[*][b]Fabricated Reflection[/b]; the ceiling lurches at the weight of the sandbag, hauling back like a disoriented opponent, before gaining their footing on the old remnant of rope and swooping back towards the child. As it falls, it bounces, ever slightly, on the suspension, a worn burlap sack brimming with sixteen pounds of packed sand. The child snarls, arms crossed protectively over his face, and the ripples return, dancing not on the cold concrete beneath his toes but on reality itself. A stripe of incandescent, undulating circles, at the will of his upper arms, glowing white, form a floating shield.  Said shield catches the sandbag; it bounces off dully, startled and interrupted, though momentum brings it surging forwards again and again. With ever crash, the child notices his shield growing gradually looser, the white light dapples pulsating more chaotically and moving further apart. When the truth reaches them, they are left staggering backwards, the bag crashing through, nearly colliding with their heaving chest. The assault is only avoided when the child falls onto their back into a pile of straw. Embarrassed, determined, and gritting their teeth, they pull themselves onto their feet.

[*][b]Indiscriminate Ascension[/b]; there are shouts ineluctably echoing behind them in the tight lightless corridor but they can barely discern them as ecstasy rises and absorbs them like the red pounding in their ears. The yawning elevator shaft is a pearly gate in their mad dash and the bellowing deepens as reality loses lines, telltale shades, the regal mahoganies of the dilapidated hotel. The beasts in blocky black uniform line the walls. Their plastic shields extended, they fly forwards. These men will cut the cables, they know, and it matters little, for with an unbroken pace, they leap into the empty hole and land palms and soles first on the opposite wall inside. Their disbelief is hot on the child's back, and with the same hysteric smile, they scale the smooth surface, splashes of light emitting from every inch upwards until they vanish.
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