[centre][h2]The Zenith - Medical Isolation Ward[/h2]
[h1]Above Boston[/h1]
[sub]21st January, 2011[/sub][/centre]

The woman’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t flinch. “First time in  while you’ve had the chance to vent?”

“We’ve all got our vices,” she said. “The little things that help us through the worst of it. Gaming isn’t the worst I’ve heard, believe me.” Dr Yamada chuckled. “As for me, mine is this. Helping people like you come to terms with their past and work through it.”

“Being a parahuman therapist is a unique experience. Everyone you deal with is damaged in some form - it’s the price you pay to do what you do.” She began offering pieces of information about herself, to seem more human and hopefully put the girl at ease. “What is important, is how you use those events and that power. Some go off the rails and hurt others for fun, like the people you met today. Others actually take a stand and put themselves in harm’s way over and over again with the end goal of making this world a little brighter.”

“No matter what, don’t forget that you are part of the latter group. Times were hard, sure, but you’ve soldiered on through it. That’s commendable, but you don’t have to keep carrying the emotional baggage around by yourself. The other Wards here are nice. Gestalt was referred to me in much the same state you are now, and although it took some work, I think she’s finally making some progress.” 

“So, your mother. Do you want to talk about her?”

[@Banana]

[hr]

[centre][h2]The Circus Maximus[/h2]
[h1]Victory Road[/h1]
[sub]21st January, 2011[/sub][/centre]

Into the room strode the king of the scrap heap - Pipeline himself. The crowd cheered almost unanimously, since he was their host and they were terrified of what he’d do if they didn’t. His platform was arguably the most basic of the lot, with his throne being a second-hand armchair. 

At his feet, Planck sat on the edge and kicked her feet back and forth, dangling them downwards as she usually did. Caustic and Black Kaze stood in the darkness at the top of the stairs behind them, watching the crowd and sizing up competitors. 

And then the room fell silent. 

Sickle-Cell strode in, and forced his way through the crowd. Wherever he went, they parted like the red sea, as the Covenant snaked through them. The chair on the podium was made of solid blood - although how it was made without his power was a mystery. Vegas sat on the arm, next to him, while Backdoor copied Planck, grinning like a buffoon underneath the porcelain mask. Gubbins leaned against the back of the chair, fiddling with some metal contraption, causing the crowd nearby to scatter. 

The atmosphere was suddenly that much heavier. Most spectators were gang members, and most gang members had lost at least a friend to the Covenant’s crusade into the underworld. Each and every person would have given their left arm for a viable shot at Sickle-Cell, but even without powers, he’d proven to be more than a match for most. 

Two empty thrones remained. The Consortium’s seat, and a new, pristine white one that had been an extra addition from the last time. 

[@Migyudon][@Duoya][@Lasrever][@Old Amsterdam][@SkinnyTy][@PlatinumSkink]