[h3][color=98fb98]September 9th, 2XXX[/color][/h3]
	Scott's head was buzzing and flickering. Well, that was new. The base of his palm pressed against the point where the bridge of his nose and his brow met. Rising from the remnants of toast upon a paper towel, he balled up said paper towel and tossed it into the garbage. Taking a moment to look around the familiar, modern looking apartment with white walls, Scott let out a sigh. He had seen the news report earlier. Now it was around nine, and he began making his way out.
	"G'morning Scott," a somewhat older man in a suit with frilled epaulets waved as he stood by the door.
	"[color=98fb98]Morning George,[/color]" Scott replied to the doorman, giving a slight wave.
[hr]
	While walking down the street, smelling the scent of baking pizza and hearing the sounds of old washers and dryers running- a combination of sensations so familiar that it was lost on Scott how bizarre a pair it really was- he suddenly froze. He felt a sense of danger, concrete cracking and falling from under his feet. But wait, everything was fine. Scott's heart stopped for half a moment as he looked around. Despite everything being fine, he was sure he had sensed a threat of falling from a ceiling while climbing, despite being on the ground. Then again, only minor. He saw, well, [i]someone[/i] falling, much more slender than himself, landing safely beside some scruffy looking dark-haired girl, then nothing.
	Scott took in a breath, then let it out. He was a little confused, well, more than a little. Continuing to walk, Scott began to look around. He hadn't actually heard anything, nor seen any plume of dust. It was barely even visual. He idly flicked himself in the head. Was his super-power malfunctioning?
	A few minutes later, as he approached the crowd- [i]hotdog[/i]. '[i][color=gray]What?[/color][/i]' He shifted his gaze. There wasn't even a hotdog stand in sight, nor did he have one. But he could have sworn that he detected an attempt to take food from his hand. He let out a sigh, then continued to approach the stage, falling in line with the crowd.
	He expected to see someone with whom he was familiar, so he was keeping an idle eye out for someone he knew. Suddenly, he heard the sharp clacking of dress shoes behind him. Despite the crowd, the cadence of the gait was rather distinctive.
	"Oh, Mr Yi, so glad you're alright," a voice spoke.
	Scott turned around to see ESU's mathematics department head, Curt Connors.
	"[color=98fb98]Professor Connors, I'm glad to see you're okay,[/color]" Scott remarked, extending his hand.
	In response, the man's shoulder rolled, the suit shifting with an odd sound. The sleeve began to extend, only for it to fall in front of him. There was a look of something akin to remorse on the professor's face, shock spreading on Scott's visage.
	"[color=98fb98]I'm... I'm so sorry,[/color]" he remarked, sheepishly offering his left hand instead, which the professor then took, giving a welcoming shake.