[sub][h3][center]Archie[/center][/h3][/sub][hr][i]"Archie, can you hear me? It's Natalie. I'm here. Because we made a promise to each other to never let each other go too far. Remember that?"[/i]

It's desperate, it's needy, it's paranoia wrapped in fear with anxiety on top.

It saw her, but it [i]saw[/i] her, what she was those days ago in his mind's eye. He felt her touching his hand in her beautiful homecoming dress that was dirtied because he, a silly, stupid country boy decided to take her to a bonfire rather than a dance.

[i]"Archie, please."[/i]

It's a name, it's a calling, it's a worry, it's an ask, it's a prayer to a god he doesn't know if he believes in but would happily sacrifice everything to if it meant that he didn't have to be [i]this[/i].

It was weird. When the giant fought, he didn't remember the details. He certainly didn't remember the fear. The reptile was strong, fast, fierce. It would bounce back from nearly everything short of anti-material ordinance. It didn't think, or feel, or care if people had families or thoughts. It was driven by pure and unadulterated desire to survive and dominate. Archie, on the other hand, was just a man. A young man who cared too much and thought about too little. He could be manipulated and hurt and there was sometimes nothing he could or would do about it. The world goes white. The scent of iron burns in his nose.

The searing pain in his shoulder returns as if he'd been shot again. The mammoth reptile steps back and away, but doesn't immediately turn. The adrenaline, the pain, the scent of blood fills the air so thoroughly it tastes like he's sucking on a coin. It’s too silent, it's too loud, it's too bare, it's too raw, it’s too broken, it's too bloody. For the first time in his life Archie, the real, human Archie is at home in the reptile's body, in control rather than held over by emotion, but unaccustomed to the sensory overload. He bellows, pounding the ground on accident with a meteor sized fist. He didn't turn back to his human state, but he didn't have to. Within moments of the giants retreat the doors to the launch bay were opened, and the reptile was filled with enough sedative to put an elephant down by the first wave of guards. Archie went down hard, and did not get back up again.

The first on the scene was Gennedy, who directed first-responders to the prone forms of the girls. Lynn and Amelia were already being loaded onto stretchers and hauled off to the hospital, and the survivors of the launch bay wouldn't be far behind them. The world was spinning. Everything was too bright, too fast, too sudden. Healers were working overtime, not spread quite as thin as they had been during the breakout but the injuries were just as severe.

[hr]

[CENTER][SUB][I]And drop me down to the dream below, 'cause I'm only a crack in this... [/I][/SUB][hr][H3][B][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRGSHvlu9Ss]C A S T L E    O F    G L A S S[/url][/B][/H3][/CENTER][hr]
Gennedy puts the phone down, and sighs into his hands. Utterly exhausted.

It had been five days since the incident that had rocked the world, and The Promise was reeling as much as parahumans down on Earth were. The world had all of its preconceived notions of that the space station was, shattered during the attack- which had been live streamed from the perspectives of several of the shooters. The world had seen what happened before they had even cleaned up the bodies. Thousands of people watched their children die, or be injured. The PR department was likely experiencing what could only be described as a nightmare in real life.

But the worst came with how the world reacted to it. Sure, there were those that reached forward to help. Donations, charity, words of endless affirmation... but it was drowned out by what felt like an overwhelming outcry. Parahumans were, in the best countries around the world, second class citizens. Similar enough to the far more common humans to not be outright exterminated but different enough to be detested. A successful attack on what had been considered the most secure establishment from external pressures in human history had bolstered the confidence of other groups with similar ideologies to The Silent Court's. Rather than direct the resources and energy into dealing with that caused such syndicates to rise (which was to say, the lack of proper relief from incidents), Parahumans- the easy scapegoats that they were, were blamed.

Too dangerous to themselves and the world around them. Too destructive to property and person. A person with power abused it and thus invited the challenge of power. The rate at which academy programs were attacked increased, and it seemed as though the world was returning to a level of strife that it had not seen since the days when Parahumans first appeared on Earth.

The world was changing again.

Academy programs became more militant across the board. What had once been establishments that taught power control, were now also teaching self defense like they were some sort of special forces unit. The Promise had been no different- except martial law had become a fact of life. When The Silent Court had struck, their attack came in two parts. The first had been the attack, but the second had come later. Food, water, medical supplies… they had been compromised or destroyed or hadn’t even delivered at all. Supplies were spread thin, and after the incident rationing had become a necessity.

You got your food and water from a designated place at a designated time. What had been over the counter medication required clearance. People were to be indoors after a certain time. The works.

All things considered, the last one had been less a result of the attack and more so an upscaling of the ongoing manhunt that Jacob Radvi had pioneered before he had gotten himself shot in the skull. The evidence he had submitted had been compelling enough to warrant some degree of investigation, but now the world’s eyes were on him, and the search had intensified.

Gennedy groaned, and ran his hand along his beard, and then returned to his paperwork. [hr]

[sub][h3][center]T H E   P R O M I S E[/center][/h3][/sub][hr]

"Mister Black, White, what do you think about endings?"

[b]”Necessary.”[/b]

[i]”Bittersweet.”[/i]

A little boy places his paintbrush down on his easel, and sighs. He turns around on his seat to face his father figures. "I was reading about the concept of the hero and the clown. How the hero struggles against unbeatable odds in spite of it. And how the clown exists to mock the hero's struggle. Sometimes I think that the desire to control works against the hero."

Black and White just glance at each other.

[b]”The concept of ‘control’ varies greatly.”[/b]

[i]”For many, it can be... poisonous.”[/i]

Matthew hums.

"I'll have visitors soon, seeking control, I feel."

Matthew turns to his painting and frowns. It's the point of view of a baby in their cradle, looking up at two dark figures.

"I think what they're really looking for is [i]change[/i]."