[h1][b][i][color=Orange][center]Michelle Diggby[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/3531db303e1441d73c4141f6a4000642/tumblr_inline_p8i358uH9g1rys58m_250.gif[/img][/center]
[hr]
[center][color=Orange][b]Location[/b][/color]: Human Resistance HQ: New York City, New York.
[color=Orange][b]Skills[/b][/color]: N/A[/center]
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Michelle continued to refuse to be shown her true life, part because she still had doubts and part because she was worried about what could actualy be found. Michelle's shaky relationship with identity itself meant what ever she was shown might be very carefully curated, it was entirely possible they'd diverged so much only childhood memories prior to her gaining her powers could be relied upon.

Michelle attempted to commit her thoughts to paper, but it was a mess. Random, scattered ideas littered the page, uncharacteristic of her usual style of writing, but ther was so much to say and no way of know what to put down first. She, A Red Guard, chasing turncoats into the belly of the human hate machine to find out who was manipulating reality. She let it spill out in the book, ink captured deep in the fibres for future Michelle to examine and draw conclusions and enlightenment from and present Michelle could rest.

She snuck back to her bunk, careful to not disturb any of the shiv weilding mutophobics. Michelle was fortunate in that one regard, that you couldn't determine she was of the superior race without her say so. A little smirk crawled across her face as she rolled in, relieved of her moral and ethical quandries and ready for a good night sleep.

Madison, Washington Avenue. 7ft in the air. Dad's short hair between her fingers. Marching through the bitter winter night, chanting to keep the cold at bay. She was having fun making noise with them, more fun than others. This was serious for them, they were here to send a message, here to be heard. You could tell by their faces. Some of them had signs, Daddy had a sign. Michelle couldn't make them out, not even the one dad handed her. It was Michelle's dream, but she was a mere passenger and the dream compelled her to hold it up. A roar from the crowd, a sense of pride and belonging filled her. 

She was going to say it.

[color=orange]"Fuck off Muti-"[/color]

Michelle woke with a start, nearly braining herself on the top bunk, the someone else's flithy words still on her tongue. Her sudden movements hadn't appeared to have disturbed anyone, except one in a distant bottom bunk. In the dark all she could make out was a pair of eyes, glistening dully in the reflected light of the moon. They bobbed almost inpercievably, as she nodded slowly. Atleast she was making friends.


[b]December 11 2020 7:00am[/b]

[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vN6CE2Dmi-s]Practice[/url]

[b]December 11 2020 8:00am[/b]

Sitting with her accordion had cleared her head somewhat of her bizarre dreams that plagued her sleep. Individually they were manageable, but the reoccuring themes across all of them felt like more than just a coincidence. This was beyond her remit, Michelle told herself she couldn't absorb Novikova's powers by osmosis and so the dreams were just that, dreams. That horrendous imaginary world existed only in her imagination, a manifestation of her own fear of the real unknown world.

Breathe Michelle, we're getting to the bottom of this. 

[color=orange]"Stealth team, I've made a career of walking in, taking whatever/whoever I want and walking out again unnoticed."[/color]