[h2]Alessa Heather: PRT HQ[/h2]
A lot happened in the next few minutes. First off, Evelyn attempted to take the blame from Alessa, when there was really no point to her doing so, for she couldn’t have known what her projection would wind up doing. She... lost control of it, apparently? And not in the sense of losing control of herself, either; if it was literally out of her control, then she couldn’t be held to fault for that matter. Not the way Alessa could.

Apparently, though, Director Kens wasn’t punishing them for any of it. Or at least felt he wasn’t. To Alessa, being barred from patrolling was certainly punishment, though perhaps not the sort she was looking for - and sure, she understood that her mental health needed to be kept track of, but if that meant crime could just [i]happen,[/i] without any possibility that she could stop it? That was just torture.

...was it worse than the memory of that blood, though? Maybe not, when she considered it. She didn’t want to keep going back to that. Why was she still going back to it?

She was jolted out of her trance by Lillian. And, well, the younger girl’s speech got through to her. Sure, okay. Maybe she was putting too much blame on herself for events that, in hindsight, couldn’t really have been avoided. Could they have predicted there’d be villains there? Could they have predicted that... that Dean would...

Everyone else began to filter out. First Lillian, then Ira in tears, then Elliot with a grim expression... Alessa might’ve stood there for a little while yet, if Evelyn hadn’t exclaimed out loud about something before apologising to the director and taking off at a sprint. Which reminded her... she needed to go home herself. Yeah, that’d be... yeah, she ought to do that. She had foster parents. She ought to see them sometime.

‘See you tomorrow, Director... and I am sorry about the warehouse, I am,’ she ultimately insisted, taking her time to eventually step out of the room. She didn’t really want to be on her own, at the moment. Everyone was splitting off, and yet she needed to do something to distract herself... maybe she’d get on with those reports when she got back.

[hr]

[h2]Raymond Haywood: Icehouse Hideout[/h2]
It made sense that the Broker had some interaction with parahuman abilities. That was, perhaps, evident in how he was literally immune to them. What made less sense was his ability to interact directly with their source. “Passengers”, he called them. And apparently, control over a passenger gave one control over the host’s power - not to mention their brain. What a shame about Love Craft. And, in hindsight, about the alternate Whimsy, but then she couldn’t have been helped to begin with.

But, it couldn’t be helped. What could be helped was Ryan’s point-blank refusal to accept fault for his actions. Even a minute of inaction from one of the underaged would-be heroes could have led to a far, far smoother mission; instead, her presence allowed Overrun to draw them all back in, as she’d managed to delay them all long enough for him to appear. Equally, of course, it allowed him to remove Overrun as a threat permanently, or so it would seem. Not to mention, what PR? Surely he knew full-well that the entire thing would be twisted to make out like they had burned down the warehouse? Did the Protectorate even know anything had been stolen? Not if they hadn’t predicted they’d be there to begin with, for certain.

But no, of course Heartless had to justify himself, then storm off to avoid being criticised. Was he being petty about that? No, as the on-field leader, he had to make sure they kept up to standards. Saving potential future threats was not up to standard, something Drake clearly understood very well.

‘You certainly aren’t wrong,’ he clarified once Heartless had vanished. Best to let those who were in the right know they were in the right, it was good for morale. Speaking of which, Sofia seemed... listless. Apparently, he had to offer her morale as well. Well, why not? She’d let herself become a more useful asset in the future if she felt she could trust her allies; that was how it always worked in the army, after all. As she passed him, he put a hand on her shoulder, and merely uttered ‘You did a good job today. Well done.’ Simple, to the point. Something to make her feel good about herself.

By contrast, he didn’t feel good at all. He was still angry with Heartless, still angry about how the mission had barely avoided going off the rails. He needed to do something else... he had some spare money, didn’t he? Maybe he’d ask Matrix about some way of improving his gun some more. Maybe he’d figure out exactly what Matrix’s specialty was, and capitalise upon it... yes, yes, that appealed to him greatly.

[hr]

[h2]Alessa Heather: Home[/h2]
‘I’m home.’

The house wasn’t the most exorbitant in the world. The walls were mostly painted a singular sky blue, and the furnishings were fairly standard for a middle class family, all things considered. It was, however, more than sufficient, considering the family that lived there: a couple who had never gotten around to having kids of their own, and of course their foster child. Herself.

‘Hi, Alessa!’ her foster mother called from the kitchen, bustling in to greet her. In her forties, she was, with fair skin and dark hair, and surprisingly spry for her age. Perhaps that came with not having one’s own children, not having to deal with the difficult early portions of raising them properly. Her own mom certainly hadn’t been that perky when she was still alive. ‘I was just wondering if you were alright. I’ve been told what happened, dearie, and I’m SO glad you’re okay!’

‘Yeah. Me too.’

The woman who had claimed her as her child frowned then, clearly distraught by the blunt response. ‘Ah... listen, I know today might’ve been tough-’

‘Yes.’

‘...and, well, perhaps I don’t know in full exactly how difficult the work itself is. I know I couldn’t be a crime fighter, after all, ahaha…’ She coughed as she realised her joke had fallen flat. ‘Well, in any case, you know that whatever you need, if you want to talk about anything, ah, sensitive, then I’m here for you, my sweet.’

Her foster mother’s smile, somehow, was entirely genuine. Alessa ought to respond in kind. It’d be good for her to chat with her once in a while.

‘Not right now. I have reports to do.’

Alessa turned away from her mother’s somewhat distraught face and headed up to her bedroom. It’d be best to ensure the mission report was done by the time she got back in the next day, after all. That way, she wouldn’t forget to hand it in until it was too late, right? Or, for that matter, get caught up in.

In the bodies.

...she started putting pen to paper then. It was a distraction. Not much of one, but a bit of one.