ERode

Destructed World Cacophony (Steampunk/Urban Fantasy)

One bump.

Destructed World Cacophony (Steampunk/Urban Fantasy)

The Cabals and Covens of Eurasia call it the Purged Bell of Sonathas, the otherworldly being that dwells within another world, granting true Power at a whim.

The Orders and Guilds of the Americas call it the Bloodless Grail, the sacred relic that lends its might to those who bare their fangs at their tragic fates.

The Sects and Societies of the Oriental call it the Divine Mandate, the bell from the heavens that chimes at the birth of a true Emperor.

But, for many others, it is but one rumor amongst many, proliferating all across the world. Ring the bell at midnight and your wish will come true. Confess to your loved one on top of the bell tower and your feelings shall not be denied. Baptize your child beneath the bell and they will live a long life. Those ordinary myths and those extraordinary truths never intersected, two sides of society never intersecting, never fusing.

Not until the Bell manifested.

Until the Bell rang.

Until the Bell selected.

On a restless summer night, the Gate to the Destructed World was opened once more.

---

Gas lamps light up the night as steam carriages putter alongside horse-drawn ones. Two lovers swing out of a bar, an elaborate music box signalling their exit with a bawdy tune out of its horn.

On the other side of the street, a young courier rushes out on bike, a bag of telegrams periodically bumping against her body. Though radiophones have been gaining traction recently, cinema’s love for written messages still have a certain sway over public perception, and the courier was glad for it.

An overworked Steam Engineering student clears up his fogged up goggles in a back alley, examining the busted power generator. The blare of a far-off tram briefly distracts him, before disappointment settles in. It was the last train of the night, and he would definitely be heading back to the dorms on foot.

Off in the distance, the clocktower rings out the witching hour as a young lady bids her guests ‘good night’. Her home is empty now, strange for a noble once surrounded by servants, but photographs of her homeland stave off the loneliness. She turns to the window, inspired. A flash of powder, and another image captured: that of an unsleeping, ever-shining city.

In the background, a sea of thick, unceasing clouds rolls on, forever obstructing the radiance of the sky.

The Offshore Academy City of Ringrange rises above the dark seas as a scholastic jewel, an international university that has become a city-state of its own accord. Housing over one hundred thousand students and home to many who live on the razor’s edge of technological advancement, Ringrange is, first and foremost, a microcosm of a country, replicating its most splendorous highs and its most depraved lows. The hundreds of student clubs run the majority of services present, from clockwork repair to restaurant dining, and, outside of senior officers within the Student Disciplinary Committee or faculty members, Ringrange is a city completely managed by students.

Though the average age may merely be in the early 20s, each student is, at the bare minimum, honor students who have passed three sets of entrance exams to be admitted into Ringrange. There is not a single individual who could be considered ‘ordinary’, and, in recent years, it has become expected that any scholar of real merit would have graduated from the Offshore Academy City.

And yet, despite that fact, there is still a clear divide between ‘prodigies’, ‘aristocracy’, and ‘merely unordinary’. The scholarships available are reserved only for top scorers, snatched up by true geniuses so they can focus on nurturing their talents. The aristocracy can pay off tuition in full, relying on coffers of wealth that their family name unlocks. But for everyone else, there is little choice but to join a club, granting safety akin to being in a union, or, if no club takes you, work as a freelancer, taking on any work that others are unwilling to do.

Under such pressures, it is no wonder that many first years crumble.

Those that crack fall into the gutter, wasting away their days in the Dropout District, an euphemism for the slums. Though individual professors may beg to differ, as a whole, Ringrange has no patience for children and their fragile little egos.

For all its magnificent highs, Ringrange is balanced by its devastating lows.

Locations Within Ringrange

Central Ward - East

Tall spires and wide streets makes up the Eastside Central Ward, where most professors and post-graduates take their residence. An imposingly quiet place, students rarely find themselves here, and outside of the occasional truck, the roads are empty.

Central Ward - West

A mish-mash of apartment complexes make up the Westside Central Ward, where adult labourers who are not a part of the facility live. Factories and warehouses are also found in this district, and many clubs that require larger spaces for their equipment rent this place out. There is a constant din, with towers of smoke rising from chimney stacks.

Education District

A collection of buildings that seems to continually be under construction, the Education District is where most lectures and labs take place. A rather small district, no doubt due to the small student population it was meant to hold in the past, more and more floors were added as time went on, like blocks continually stacked up on each other. For that reason, it is nicknamed ‘Blocktown’.

Scholar Street

Homes of varying sizes are lined up in an orderly fashion, separated by various bike lanes. Carriages are forbidden in Scholar Street to minimize noise pollution, and it is close both to the Education District and the Hugo Memorial Library. An optimal studying environment, prepared for prep students. It isn’t uncommon for house parties to take place in the larger homes though, especially after exams.

Student District

Buildings of various styles are clustered together in the district that never sleeps. The Student District houses both most of the businesses that clubs run as well as dormitories for the majority of the student population. Though the price of the dorms may be a bit expensive, depending on whether or not you want hot water and soundproof walls, most of the shops are accessible to students, and one can feasibly go through four years in Ringrange without seeing any district other than the Student District and the Education District.

Roaring Surf Street

A popular place for dates and window-shopping, Roaring Surf Street is modelled after Venice, complete with waterways travelled through by gondolas. Small, fashionable shops and restaurants are everywhere, though the clothing and accessories range from ‘an overindulgent luxury to your paycheck for three months’. It is also the most pollution-free place in Ringrange, where the water is a dark blue instead of a murky green. Avoided by all lonely basement dwellers, especially during Valentines or Christmas.

Union Arch Plaza

A large plaza with a large arch and the flags of all the major continental powers, Union Arch Plaza was built during the inception of the Offshore Academy City to symbolize world peace. Below the arch hangs a massive, ornate bell forged and inscribed by the Yu Dynasty’s craftsmen, while the maple trees that line the roads leading to the Plaza were shipped from the Americas. This Plaza is where most city-wide events take place.

Hugo Memorial Library

A library with books of enough variety to rival the Great Library of Alexandria, Hugo Memorial Library was funded by the Roman Empire, who provide the majority of Literature Cards that sit on the shelves. By inserting these Literature Cards into a Film Reader, one will be able to read the contents of an entire textbook just through a single roll of plastic. It is a wonderful place, though the Library Club always jokes about how the more it grows, the more they suffer.

Dropout District

An underground district that sits below the Student District, the Dropout District is the only hangout for delinquents and failed students, as well as the only place where foreign currency can be used. Black markets and banned indulgences can be found here, from speakeasies to opium dens to massage parlors. Here, the Student Disciplinary Committee works more to quarantine than to maintain order, and most students aren’t aware of this place.

The Hanging Gardens

Is it a luxury resort that pretends to be a controlled experiment, or a controlled experiment pretending to be a luxury resort? The Hanging Gardens is one of the few places in the world that works to restore the environment to its former greenery. Pure water and truly green verdure can both be found in this district at the southern corner of Ringrange, and there are many, many greenhouses all over the place. Most impressive is the artificial beach that is carefully modulated by top-tier students and professors. The Hanging Gardens is also where the residences of the Governing Council are, and tall walls prevent those without authorization from entering. It has another nickname: the Last Eden.

The Council Tower

The skyscraper that truly stands in the center of Ringrange. A mysterious building managed solely by automated maids and clockwork soldiers, it is said that the Governing Council rendezvous at the top level to make life-altering decisions about school policy. Committee heads are occasionally invited as well, but none have yet to describe the interior to the press.

Much has changed since the advent of the Clockwork Renaissance and the Engine Revolution, as governments change and alliances are formed.

To the Far West, the Americas stand in stalwart rebellion against their former masters, colonies unifying to form the Continental Alliance of the New World. As if taking every opportunity to snub the Great Morceban Kingdom, the Americas embrace change and progress, being the nation to benefit the most from the Engine Revolution.

Within Europe, the Island-Bound Great Morceban Kingdom, the Grand Duchy of Eirchenstadt, and the Sea-Ruling Roman Empire are constantly butting heads as the three Old Powers. Though tensions between them have reached a boiling point already, under the watchful eye of the Transcontinental People’s Regime of Kievan Rus, none are willing to pull the trigger.

In the Far East, the Heaven-Blessed Yu Dynasty has all but subjugated surrounding nations, either absorbing foreign territory or turning them into vassal states. Unchallenged and unparalleled, their strong trade relations with the three Old Powers have elevated them to the greatest dynasty in Tian Guo. And yet, the impotency of their Golden Emperor has led to questions of whether or not the Yu Dynasty is still in Heaven’s good graces.

The Southern Dark Continent stands unmolested by Imperialism, remaining as the last continent without borders or close relationships with any major powers. Though rumors have spread about certain tribes making connections with the Americas, ultimately, the unforgiving landscape and the lack of natural resources leaves much to be desired.

The Offshore Academy City of Ringrange rests off the mouth of the Mediterranean, with oversea bridges connecting it to the Great Morceban Kingdom, the Roman Empire, and the Dark Continent. Once a symbol of truce between the three Old Powers, it now stands on its own as a city-state that finds independence through the technological advancements that it makes.

Within the stormy waters of the Atlantic Ocean, contact has yet to be made with the Remote Mist-Nation of Meganesia.

Ever since the Clockwork Renaissance, humanity’s weapons have become more and more reliant on machinery instead of brute force. From spring-loaded switchblades to burstsaw longswords, weapons tech had, in the past, always put a focus on short-term ‘bursts’ of activity as opposed to protracted combat. A war of attrition was unpleasant for all, and men wished to display their skills in a breathtaking instant, not over a long, sweaty duel. Clockwork mechanisms were designed so that weapons could be ‘charged’ up with gears and springs before being released with superhuman force. Ambushes and precision strikes became textbook military tactics, emphasis put on the sharpness of a strategist’s mind rather than the stamina and endurance of men. Though sieges and clashes between armies still occur during war, it is a sign of a more brutish nation who cares not for collateral damage and personal casualties.

Indeed, it is for that same reason that explosives were rarely employed in the battlefield despite their effectiveness. A unit may use loud sounds to deafen or shock opponents before launching an assault, but using it to smash apart the ranks and send limbs flying everywhere was a terrible scene for both sides. Neither side wanted such indiscriminate weaponry to be used against them, and thus, what started as a gentleman’s agreement became an international ban on the use of black powder and the like in combat.

Those ‘regulations’ however, loosened once the Steam Revolution came about. Preventing needless casualties and wanton destruction became less of a concern as colonies would rather fight for independence at any cost, and as the Eastern power became more and more prominent. Black powder was once more introduced in the form of bombs that blimps could drop from above or handheld explosives used to crack open fortifications where piledrivers could not.

Black powder, however, was not used for projectile weapons. Seen as anti-personnel weaponry, it simply didn’t make sense for guns to utilize a deadly powder that was used to destroy fortification or cause widespread havoc. Instead, guns were powdered by tanks of compressed gas, the power of each blast modified by manipulating the pressure valve. Though assembly takes longer, the reloading speed of steam guns and how they were both fairly equal when it came to tearing through flesh, made the steam-powered gun the superior variation of the two, new technologies developed to improve upon steam-powered arms as opposed to firearms.

A few eccentrics have indeed attempted to reintroduce the usage of black powder into projectile weaponry, but decades of inventions and improvements have practically stripped away any advantages that firearms may have had.

---

So yeah, that's pretty much it. Your characters will be new students heading into Ringrange, before spooky stuff happens. This is inspired by Gahkthun, Wixoss, and Under Night In Birth. What I want is a medium sized group of individuals who can write flashy shit and can stomach the suffering of their own characters.

Also, so you're aware, I AM running this RP on a different site as well. Just doing this because I want to see the differences as well as because I want to see if it's possible to get a faster pace.

Well, we'll see if this is brings up something fun. The minimum is 5 players. The maximum is 10. Simple enough, eh?

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

But I actually liked it...better than the new one, at least. XD

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Brent upgrade unlocked. Still hasn't shot a real gun yet. Woo.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

September 5th, Late Night

Ah. There he was again.

The endless sea. The bottomless knowledge. The abyssal archive.

It sought him once more, yet another droplet of ichor distilled for himself. An ambrosia exclusive to him. Like a fruit, that droplet hung from the liquid sky, wanting for his grasp. But he did not receive.

His hands stayed where they were, clenched at his sides. A gift? A blessing? A method to make a better world? The first time around, he had desired it. It was the stimulus, the catalyst, something to accelerate his growth.

But this time?

He looked at that word, that droplet.

What did he do to deserve it?

Brent turned. Turned to walk away.

But it fell regardless of that resolve, staining his silver blood further.

Inciter.

---

Brent held his hand against his head, fighting off the slight dizziness that came with the vision. Another change occurred, another ‘upgrade’ to this power of his. The power that he hardly used. The power that he hardly trained. The power he hardly understood.

His amethyst eyes turned to the pen in his hand, but he refrained from immediately trying it out. There was no point. This was just a distraction. Just a boon given to him when he didn’t even want it. A bitter taste rose up the roof of his mouth, as he spun the pen in his hand. Brent didn’t like this. He didn’t like ‘receiving’, not when this gift was forced, not when it wasn’t deserved.

Hah.

Survival isn’t deserved.

Apparently, ‘power’ isn’t deserved either.

He closed his eyes, leaning back on the chair. He could sense it in his mind’s eye now, the silver ‘blood’ that flowed in his veins, the cerulean glow that it now radiated. The power that was his own, and yet…

Don’t you understand?

What didn’t he understand?

Nothing is yours.

So how could he turn zero to one?

His eyes fell to the requisition forms, still incomplete, still unsubmitted.

Well. That was a start.

Requests

Permission to go to Ground Zero.
A smartphone. I don't care what model, as long as it works well and gets me wi-fi.
Body armor, preferably one made of lightweight material.
A machete.
A hand gun, optimized towards powerful singular shots. Railgun pistol thing, if possible?
A semi-automatic rifle. Whatever they use in USARILN should be fine.
A sniper rifle. The most expensive one.
A flamethrower. The hotter the flames, the better.
Ammunition. Lotsa em.
Access to the guards' armoury.
A gas mask.
Infrared goggles.
Basic lessons on how to use all these weapons and tools.
A motorcycle. Can't Overclock a truck, but I can certainly Overclock this.

As a note, I don't need all of them at the same time, but I do need weapons and knowledge of how to use them in order to get shit done. So yeah. Thanks.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

September 5th, Early Morning
Track and Field

Another sleepless night, but at least it was behind him. Just one more day to go. 24 hours. It couldn’t be that hard.

Sander crawled out his bed, then once again began going through his morning routines with practiced motions. Just as he was rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, he thought about his plan for the day, only to come up blank. A trip in town would be out of the question; he went there last night to pick up a pair of sunglasses and already they had given him strange looks, despite the scarf that hid his mark. He didn’t think he was fitted for human interactions at this stage. Ground Zero seemed like a better alternative, but he knew going down there without his fix would bring nothing but frustration and pain. The thought of food just turned his stomach and brought back memories of yesterday. He really didn’t think he wanted any coffee at this time.

It was then he caught sight of the green shoe box he left at the foot of his bed. Those were running shoes; a gift that barely saw the light of day, since the last facility he was at didn’t have a track field. He worked his jaws and considered his options. It was cold outside. He could barely make it up a flight of stairs without stopping to catch his breath. His only hoodie was ruined. But he had to do something. Anything was better than nothing.

And so it was decided. Sander put on a pair of shorts and plain T shirts. He eyed the hoodie for the longest of time, before finally caved, slipping it on as well. However, he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

The track wasn’t that hard to find, though it was far bigger than Sander imagined. He exhaled, pushing a clouded breath through the air, then got started on his warm ups. It took him a few quick breaks to get through all of them, but he managed. Then he took to the track next. Back in his best days, he could do around 5 laps easily. He wasn’t sure about now, though. There was only one way to find out.

Half way through his first lap, his eyes glazed over and he almost slammed face first into the ground. So he stopped, knees buckled and arm clutching at his side as he drew in rapid breaths, sweat dripping from his messy hair.

Oh god, he was so out of practice.

A routine was a comfortable thing. It helped him forget about the events of last night, about all those revelations, about what he was going to do once more. The words exchanged last night was tinged with regrets and personal disappointment. He should have remained calm. Let it go. Not made things more awkward. Not say things that can't be taken back.

God, he just knew her for a day or two!

The brunette picked up speed, running shoes pounding on the track. Should he try an overclock? Increase the functionality of his shoes? Experiment a bit? No, that'd require too much thinking, and right now, he didn't want to think. All he wanted to do was move. Get a rhythm going, get his heart pumping, stop fucking thinking.

As he ran by though, yet another familiar face showed up on the track. The same one that headbutted Shane's crystal wall. That crazy motherfucker. After yesterday, did he have enough of crazy motherfuckers?

Yes, but that wasn't going to stop him from saying 'hi' to another.

"Hey there! You alright?"

The new voice caught Sander off guard. He was too focused on adjusting his breathing, he failed to notice the approaching footsteps. Glancing up, he was greeted by a strange face. The guy did look familiar, but he couldn’t quite place his fingers on it. So he let it slip.

“I’m fine. Just…tripped on something.”- He forced a smile through the discomfort, all while trying to calm his breathing –“Guess I am getting rusty.”

"Tripped on..." Brent's gaze turned to the foot-sized depressions within the track. Ah, right, that superhuman girl HAD done her superhuman running here, hadn't she. "...yeah, I see it now. Gotta watch out for these 'potholes', eh?"

"Didn't think someone who could headbutt a wall and crack it would have trouble with a lap though."

A frown formed at the mention of the previous battle, but Sander quickly willed it away.

“So you were there?”- He slowly straightened, wiping the dirt on his shorts- “Strange, I didn’t notice.”

“And I am not always like that. Only in short bursts.”- He kept an easy smile on his face, despite the fact that they were edging into a topic he didn’t care to discuss. There was no point in getting all defensive; in his experience, it would only prompt them to ask more questions.

"Yeah, I came on the giant crystal bird with Shane and Sophia. Too late to be of any help, sadly."

Brent shrugged, before smiling back. "Well, if you want to work on your base cardio and get the rust off, I actually happen to have a plan just for that! Care to hear it? Or are you more the solo warrior type?"

His smile still felt a little frayed on his face. He should fix that.

Sander was slightly taken aback by the newcomer’s friendliness. He thought the guy approached him to investigate the sight of distress, then would soon go back to doing his own thing. Instead, the stranger offered him a training plan. Sander wanted to just brush the guy off, but he couldn’t think of any way to do so politely.

“Um…Sure.”- In the end, he decided to just roll with it.-“Though I’m not sure I can keep up. Hasn’t been feeling well.”

"Oh, you're sick?" Brent cocked his head to the side. "Well, you're probably better off just talking it easy and going for a brisk walk. Drink lotsa water, go to sleep early, that sorta stuff. Rest days are important too, after all."

His own eyes were bagged. His own skin was pale. But he still managed a laugh. A little more natural now.

“Uh, no. I’m not sick.”-Sander quickly denied the stranger’s observation, because he wasn’t sick. He was fine. He would be. –“Just…indisposed.”

However, on closer inspection, the brown-haired seemed almost as tired as he was. Or was it an erroneous observation on his part? Maybe everyone was like that here? This school was hardly a relaxing environment, after all.

“Yeah. Rest days.”- He mumbled absentmindedly, turning his head sideway as his nostrils flared. Sweet. Fizzy, but alcoholic. Apple cider, his mind recognized before he could catch himself.

“I think I can use a rest. Thanks for the advice.”- He said, a tad too stiffly for his taste, but it was too late to take the words back. He just wanted to get back to his room. This whole run was a bad idea. He wasted precious strength, in this moments of weakness, the craving reared its ugly head. He blocked it out to the best of his ability, but he was afraid. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"No problem dude. What room are you in? Planning on getting breakfast a bit later myself, so I can go pick up something for you if you want?"

“Thank you…”- Sander smiled faintly as he backed away. –“but I don’t think that will be necessary. I can get my own food.”

“So, see you around?”

"Yeah," Brent saluted, "Take care....uh....dude!"

Shit, emo sick dude didn't even tell him his name, huh.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

September 4, 2020
Night Time

"318...318...318..." Brent muttered over and over under his breath as he walked down the hallway. "Ah, there."

He wore his black-as-night jumpsuit, freshly purchased, and had just eaten a fulfilling meal with bartender Steve. The dandy man's advice about drinking was somewhat useful, but considering the mission on this particular night, Brent couldn't fully explore the wonderful world of alcoholic beverages. The free steaks were nice as well, but he had opted for something lighter. A lean salad with some slices of turkey would tide him over today. With '221' and 'Clark' on his mind, Brent fiddled with his hair a bit before knocking on the door.

The speed with which Emma answered the door left little doubt that she had been anticipating whatever it was they were doing. Not because of Brent, of course. I just want to find out what happened to Padma and Alexis. She justified to herself. She had taken the time to learn their names, figuring it only appropriate given the circumstances. As the door swung open the look on Emma’s face made it clear that she was a little surprised by Brent’s attire. Emma, of course, was still wearing the clothes that she had on this morning. ”Planning on going as a burglar for Halloween?” she teased.

"It's my ninja costume, thank you very much," Brent huffed, before smiling. "Ready to go then?"

Emma nodded. ”Yeah, let’s… uh, where exactly are we going though?” she said as she headed out the door and locked it behind her.

"221." After repeating it in his head so many times, it almost didn't have any meaning at all to him, but Brent shook his head. "Yeah, it's either in this building or the other one. Heard that there were guards stationed around it though, so probably the latter."

Emma nodded. Yeah, guards. Wait, guards? "Er, the building's guarded? Are we, uh, not suppoused to be there?" She said with an incredulous glance towards him.

What was she so surprised about? "Not the building, the room," he said, "And it's still a dorm building, so we'll be fine. If worse comes to worse, just blame me for dragging you there."

Emma sighed, turning to head towards Room 221. "Well, if you say so."

One floor down and forty-six steps later, the dynamic duo stood before Room 221, Building A. It was fairly quiet, and definitely didn't look like it had a whole bunch of guards standing beside it. Hopefully this was actually it and they got a nice, quick, easy answer to all this. Knocking twice on the door, Brent stepped back a bit, glanced at Emma, and waited for a response.

The door swung open to reveal the scruffy blonde girl Brent had encountered in the lobby before. Behind her, a girl with green highlights in her hair was changing.

"CLOSE THE FUCKING DOOR!" the girl in the back screamed.

"Ehe," the blonde snickered before stepping out and slamming the door shut behind her. "So who the fuck are you two?"

Emma glanced at Brent, and then the girl. "Well, we're, uh, looking for Clark, but it looks like we've got the wrong room?" A nervous laugh trailed her sentence. She was trying to sound as casual as possible, having only been made aware of the fact that they could very possibly be killed by guards for snooping around only minutes ago.

"Unless Clark's your last name or something?" Brent said. No? Alright. Name's Brent, by the way, room 330. Just moved in yesterday, but hey, nice to meetcha, even if it's a mistake."

"You're...looking for Clark?" the girl repeated slowly, sucking in her lips with a raised eyebrow before making a popping sound with her mouth. "Yeap, you've got the wrong room--if we're talking about the same Clark."

She turned to head back inside.

Emma quickly added, "No, definitely not the same Clark. Probably. How would I know? Hahahaha." Emma quickly turned around, pulling Brent along with her. "Is now really the time to be introducing yourself around? Clearly Clark isn't suppoused to be someone we should be looking for." She whispered harshly.

Brent raised an eyebrow at her. "I mean, she asked? So I answered? Isn't that normal?"

He then tilted his head to the side, his tone turning a tad more serious. "So are you stopping and just letting it go now?"

Emma let out a heavy sigh, "I-I, wouldn't it better to just-!" She cut herself off. "It's not important. Let's just go find Clark, okay?"

His amethyst eyes narrowed. Was she wavering, now that her own life was at risk? Was that the extent of her own decisions? He stayed there, considering everything, before ultimately walking off, down the stairs once more. Building B was the next target, then. Three hundred and twenty seven steps and two floors later, they were at the second 221 that was nearby. Gesturing towards the door, Brent said, "Wanna give it a go this time?"

Would she be willing to cross the threshold if he didn't drag her along?

Emma glanced at him, and then at the door. "Yeah, of course. I'd be happy to." She said with a tone that might've indicated that she wasn't exactly happy to. She gulped, and then knocked on the door.

No response.

Emma gave Brent a small shrug. "Maybe he isn't home?" She suggested.

"Hm..." Brent walked up and knocked a second time. "Maybe he didn't hear it?"

A thumping noise like a body hitting the floor emanated from behind the door before the sound of shuffling feet approached. The door creaked open slowly, revealing a bleary-eyed girl whose long, black tresses hid almost half of her face. She brushed the hair out of the way and blinked owlishly at the two of them, saying nothing.

Emma gave the disheveled girl a curious glance. "Er... does someone named 'Clark' live here?" Emma was getting a distinctively bad vibe.

The door closed. A second later, something like ink seeped out from below the door, spelling out the word "No" in jagged letters. The substance retracted back under the door several seconds after that.

"Well...you know where he is then?" ventured Brent, willing himself not to be bothered by that strange substance.

Emma glanced at Brent, and then the ink. Nope. She'd let him take the lead, and once they figured out where they were going she'd leave as soon as possible.

The ink splashed outward, touching Emma's shoes and rippling violently before it snapped back into a placid smoothness.

"Hospital" it now spelled out in neat cursive.

Emma nodded, hurridley turning around and walking away from the door. "Alright! Hospital it is! Let's go!" She eagerly declared. She wasn't going to deal with the strange ink lady anymore.

"Yup," Brent chimed, directing his smile at the door, "Thanks a lot! You got really nice....mind writing? power writing? too as well!"

With that, Scooby and Shaggy zipped the fuck out, vrooming towards the hospital at top gear. Honestly, at this point, the hospital really was becoming a familiar place to him, huh? The question though, is how they were going to find Clark now. In the lobby, Brent looked at Emma, considered her apprehensions, and said, "So...guess asking the staff isn't gonna be too great an idea?"

Emma sighed. "Well, I don't think we'll get anywhere with them but... well, how else are we going to find him? Judging by what we know I doubt he'll be hanging out in the lobby." Emma scanned around the room. She doubted he'd be there, but it would be awfully convienent if there was some guy holding a sign that said 'Clark!' in the corner.

There wasn't.

Hm...yup, definitely wasn't a dude with a nametag that said 'Clark'. "Well, time to bite the bullet," Brent said cheerfully.

Approaching the receptionist's desk, the amethyst-eyed youth smiled at the person manning the desk. It was certainly a lot calmer in the hospital now, after Benediction seemingly worked his magic and healed a hell lot of people in one go. Margaret was probably at a spa now, just sweating away all her stress and salt. "Hi there, I'm looking for someone named 'Clark'. Is he in one of the rooms here?"

A nurse with curly brown hair looked up from the blue folders he was reading through at the question.

"Clark who?"

"Clark from 221? Sorry, don't actually know their last name."

"...You have permission to visit?" the nurse reached for the computer. "Names?"

So there WAS a Clark at 221? Brent half-turned to Emma, signalling her with his breathtakingly intense eyes, before saying, "I'm Brent Roless. Don't have permission to visit, but, well, didn't realize we needed it. What's the form for that?"

"The form? No one visits Clark while he's recover--" the nurse stopped himself. "You don't have permission, sorry," he finished flatly.

Emma half-returned Brent's half-given glance. Did he just look at me? She wondered. Any signal given was beyond her comprehension.

"Ah, you know when he'll be out of here then?"

"He rarely leaves the hospital. If you want to see him, I can send in a request to the Director, but that's all--" he looked at something behind the two of them before grimacing. "Guess it's your lucky day."

A figure flanked by two guards and followed by one stood behind them, wearing a hooded sweatshirt two sizes too big and sweats equally unfitting. Most of his face was covered by the hood, and from how far forward he had pulled it, it was intentional. A mouth like a crocodile's opened to speak.

"Heard my name," Clark said.

Emma followed the receptionists gaze, turning around.

Yep, this looks like trouble.

She tried her best not to shudder when the person who apparently was Clark opened his... mouth. The two guards that followed didn't exactly serve to make him less threatening.

"Uhhhh..." She nudged Brent. He seemed eager enough to talk to the weird people today, so why should she?

Perhaps if Clark looked more normal, he would have taken more notice of the two soldiers flanking the thickly clothed man, but right now? When it turned out that he was the mummy dude from yesterday? That was definitely a pleasant coincidence. "Evening dude," Brent waved, "What a coincidence, eh? Guessing you're busy though, so I'll cut to the chase. My friend here's got a question for you."

With that, he gestured towards the suddenly quiet girl.

"The stage is yours, Em."

How far will she go?

Shit.

She was really, really hoping that Brent would take this one, because quite frankly after the way Shane reacted to her comrade's deaths earlier today she highly doubted that crocdile-face would take kindly to them bothering him for a question that from his perspective would seem quite trivial.

And, of course, she was scared shitless of him.

"Well... uh..."

Emma coughed.

"We were... well, we were told that you could, uh... well, that is, yesterday two of our, er, friends died on a combat mission... and we were told that you knew what would happen to their bodies?" Emma gulped. She wasn't looking forward to Clark's answer.

Brent placed a hand against her back. To reassure her? Or to make sure she didn't back away?

That reminds me, I am so going to hit him later.

Clark didn't answer for a while, standing unnaturally still in front of them. Finally, he looked towards the nearest elevator.

"Want to see?"

"You don't have permission to take them down," the guard to his left interrupted.

"And the one good thing about being me is that you can't do a thing to stop me," Clark made his way to the elevator and the same guard placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Don't try it," he warned the guard. "I'm fragile, you know. The Director would probably kill you if you hurt me."

"We'll report this to the Director."

Clark shrugged.

"Benefits of being me: 1. Detriments: a lot," he beckoned the two with a weak wave of his hand.

Emma gave Brent a glance. Maybe fear? It was hard to say. It's not every day that strange crocidile men beckon you into elevators. Emma sighed, already resigned to the fact that they were more than likely going to get in a lot of trouble. "Alright, then, let's go." She decided.

"Sorry for the trouble we're causing. Thanks."

The pair followed Clark into the elevator.

One of the guards made a motion as if to stop at least the other two from getting in and Clark clicked his tongue.

"Never really thought I could threaten my own bodyguards with a trip," he said off-handedly, almost snorting with the half-joke.

Reluctantly, the guards filed in after him. As Clark reached to input the particular series of buttons that would take the elevator to the restricted basement floors, one of the guards stepped in front to block Brent's and Emma's view. Once Clark was done, the elevator doors closed and took them downwards, no button lighting up on the control panel.

It was quite a long ride--at least a few minutes going down. Finally, the doors opened into a brightly lit hallway, floors and walls layered completely with that transparent material their arriving trucks had been made from, and the same material that coated their cuffs. Except here the material had been layered on thick enough that the actual floor was several feet below, while the blank hallway and equally blank doors were treated to only slightly less severe amounts.

There were soldiers lining the walls here, while others patrolled the corridors. They were tense, as if danger was constantly present.

When the doors opened, several of them turned quickly to face the occupants, guns at the ready. At the sight of Clark, they marginally relaxed, though the presence of two unfamiliar faces thickened the tension in the air.

"They don't have clearance for this area," one of the guards around Clark spoke, the same one who had tried to stop the mage earlier.

The soldiers in the hallway pointed their guns at Emma and Brent.

Clark stepped into their line of fire.

"They're looking for their friends," he explained, too casually for the situation.

"You don't have the authority to bring people down here, Clark," the soldier closest to them spoke up.

"Yeah, so I've heard. But are you really going to stop me? How?" he tucked himself between Brent and Emma, throwing his arms over both their shoulders. The lack of weight and thinness of his arms was evident, even through the padding of the sweatshirt.

"Let's take a walk. Don't step away from me," he spoke to the two of them, loudly enough that the surrounding soldiers could hear.

Can't run. Can't run. Can't run. Emma recited the words to herself, hoping that she would follow her own advice.

They were in too deep now, huh? Brent turned his gaze from one soldier to the next, before his eyes settled upon Emma. If she did something stupid, would he be able to stop her before the guards decided to gun her down?

...no. His shoes dug into the ground. He wasn't fast enough. Yet.

Moving through a hallway filled with soldiers looking for a chance to shoot with only a malnourished student as a line of defense was probably surreal--it sure felt that way to Clark, who had stopped caring somewhere between his body degrading and the chaos of the emergency the night before.

They reached a room at the far end of the hallway and Clark lifted his arms away from them to pull his ID card out of his pocket. There was no visible access port initially, but when he held the card up to where the handle of the door would usually be, several lines of light zipped vertically across the material and the door slid open.

The reaction from the soldiers was instantaneous--they formed several phalanxes of bodies around the door, the foremost soldiers aimed and ready while the ones behind them waited anxiously.

Inside the cavernous room, a brown-haired boy wearing a red parka sat on a dark blue bean bag in the middle of a containment chamber that had been converted into a substitute bedroom with plushes, toys, comic books, handheld gaming consoles, and even generators connected to televisions and various computers. A simple bed sat in the corner while a toilet and sink protruded from the opposite side, partially hidden behind a clear, plastic curtain. A very glorified prison.

He was eating a sandwich while a ghastly, woman-esque creature wearing what looked like a black evening gown with a vertical slit-mouth for a face ate slowly through a pile of broken monster bodies. The jarring contrast of what appeared to be thick, golden hair on the creature's head only made the scene look like a terrible, disjointed nightmare. In the corner of the room were the mangled bodies of Padma and Alexis, along with the Aberration boy who had panicked in the dining hall earlier. All of their marks were gone.

"Hector," Clark waved.

Turning to face the door, Hector grinned and waved back.

A nightmare that devoured corpses and a child that watched without any particular emotion at all. Within the cavernous 'graveyard', all Brent could focus on was the sandwich that the small child ate while his 'pet' did the same. A jumble of monster corpses was piled up high, while, in a separate corner, three distinctively human bodies lied. Human? Yes. Human.

He was right after all. In death, subnaturals became natural once more.

But Zhang didn't give a fuck about that. He could even admire that apathetic focus on effeciency. Did he like the end result though?

No.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Brent realized too late that Emma really, really, really shouldn't have seen this. Half-turning, his entire body was tensed as a singular thought transpired.

Ah, this was terrible.

Emma shuddered. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to vomit or run.

Can’t run. Can’t run. Can’t run.

She was doing her best to remind herself that running away wasn’t an option, but her legs were threatening mutiny. She closed her eyes and took a breath. She needed to find out what was going to happen to Padma and Alexis.

She’d come this far, hadn’t she?

”W-what the hell… what is this?”

"The answer to your question," Clark replied, putting a hand on Emma's shoulder. "Satisfied?"

He calmed slightly. She didn't run yet. Brent turned his attention back to the creepy kid. "Hey there, name's Brent, This your hobby or your job?"

Hector pursed his lips after another bite and swallow, seriously pondering the question and not at all concerned about strangers appearing at his door.

"Hmm...both!" he answered cheerily, turning back to his monstrosity. He increased its size a bit more as it finished its latest batch of monsters. Now the creature was the size of a small truck from its previous human-like height.

Emma gulped.

Satisfied…?

This was no answer. This was more questions. But what would the answers be? She both wanted to know and wanted to shove them away. That scared her.

Everything scared her, but it was only now that she was becoming aware of exactly how scared she should be. The monsters weren’t just outside, they were inside, underneath the very place she slept. Here she was, escorted by one, who only moments ago placed his arm around her and lead her into this nightmare. The scene before her was horrifying, begged her to look away, yet she couldn’t bring herself to. She was surrounded by guards, flashbacks of the incident during orientation playing back in her head. They all wanted to shoot her. They were, very likely, just as scared of her as she was of them.

USARILN was supposed to be the good guys. That’s what she had always thought, what she had wanted to believe. Precursors, Aberrations, Arbiters, Sub-Natural. The words had meant little to her only weeks ago but now they seemed to be her life.

So were they the heroes?

There is no black or white, only shades of grey.

Her own naiveté surprised her, before her thoughts turned back to questions. The mantra still ran in her head.

Can’t run. Can’t run. Can’t run.

She meant it both literally and figuratively.

”Satisfied?” she finally repeated slowly, voice dragging over each syllable of the word. ”We’ve seen where they are, but what’s going to happen to them?”

She already knew the answer, but hadn’t accepted it.

"Miranda eats them. Duh," Hector responded, shifting into a more comfortable reclining position on his bean bag.

So, that’s it.

It was then that Emma knew she really was surrounded by monsters.

Clark, who saw this as a hobby.

Hector, sitting unflinching, uncaring on his bean bag.

Miranda, who was going to eat the corpses of her comrades.

Shades of grey? What a joke.

And Brent? Emma didn’t know how to feel. He’d helped her, he seemed nice, but something was off. Was she just imagining it? Was the stress getting to her, fueling paranoia against a person that by all appearances meant her no harm?

That didn’t really matter, did it? What was worse of all was the fear she felt. Her fate stood before her, she knew. Be it today or a year from now this was likely the place where she would end up, fuel to feed whatever the horrible sight before her was. She knew now, she was sure, USARILN was no place for heroes.

Is this what it takes? Is this the way to fight DC’s monsters?

The words in her head stopped repeating.

Emma didn’t run.

She’d been trying now for so long. Trying to hold it all together. She’d tried so hard, even with everything she faced. Her powers developing, being captured by the government, seeing people die, fighting monsters, a suicide attempt… and now this. She’d never see Valentine again, or Riley, or her parents. Hell, at this rate she might not even see Hazel, Callan, Marcus, any of her new friends. She’d die, what, a week from now? She’d alone and afraid and then she would end up here.
Just let go.

The voice in her head screamed. She wasn’t even trying to hold her stigma back anymore.

You’re going to die, you don’t matter, none of them care about you, the monsters are all around you…

It kept going, and going, and going, countless thoughts in the span of a couple of seconds.

You’re one of the monsters, aren’t you?

Emma didn’t frown, or sigh, or cry, or run.

A smirk broke out on her face.

A smirk that grew into a grin that grew into a laugh.

It was faint at first, just a chuckle. And then it became peals of laughter.

”I get it now!” She was trying her best to get out words in between giggles, ”We’re not any different from them!”

Apparently Emma had an epiphany.

Ah. He had saw that coming. It was only natural after the small child made it clear that his 'little' pet grew stronger the more it ate. Such synergy. Free corpse disposal for monsters and subnaturals, while further raising the combat power of an abberation dangerous enough to be locked in a containment chamber by himself. How grandly convenient. How incredibly efficient. How fascinatingly...

...dislikable.

Beside him, Emma was breaking, her static expression enough for Brent to tell that either her mind had purged everything or that it had overflowed. He shouldn't have told her. He could have done this alone. Investigated by himself and just informed her afterwards. It wouldn't have been too hard. After all, he had seen worse, even before coming into USARILN. Disappearing completely from the world wasn't a bad way to go. Not compared to being zombified, being worn as a necklace, being fused into another monster, or a multitude of other shitty shits.

Her smile. Her laugh. Her mask.

Brent recognized it. He did the same, after all.

It's always better to smile.

He recognized it, and disliked that as well.

A heavy hand fell on her other shoulder.

"We're all subnaturals. That's where the similarities end."

He didn't need to see himself in the mirror. Not fucking now.

Clark watched silently as the constellation of lines around the black-haired girl's X drew upwards from her throat. Not quite strong enough that he could catch a pattern, but also not weak enough that they couldn't spread fantastically far. He lifted his hood slightly, watching one of the lines end in a sudden right angle. Had he been feeling better, he might have done something for her, but right now he could hardly muster the desire to pare down the spreading Stigma. The occupants of the other containment chambers needed him more anyway. He mouthed an apology, but his forearm covered the movement.

Hector watched the laughing girl curiously, finishing off his sandwich with a few more bites.

"Weirdo," he called out, before directing the rest at Clark, "So what are you here for, anyway? You don't need to eat my Stigma anymore."

Clark nodded at the human bodies in the corner.

"They wanted to see their friends."

Hector stuck his tongue out. "Well, they saw 'em. They gonna stick around to watch Miranda eat 'em, too?" he looked between the two strangers as he asked.

”No, no, Brent…” the laughter was beginning to calm, but stray snickers still broke from her. She didn’t care one bit about the exchange between Clark and Hector. ”That’s not what I mean. Not at all. Look at this, look at what we as a race has done… Human, Sub-Natural… we’re no different from DC’s monsters, are we? People stand by knowing kids are dying fighting for them, despising us all the same. Have you seen how the people in CC1 see us? Padma, Alexis, they died for them. But they’re… we’re just animals in the end, right? Animals, backed in to a corner, doing whatever it takes to survive? If this is what we do with power, why do we deserve it!? Why should we live with it? Why do they deserve survival? If… if this is what we’re going to do to our own we’re not any better…”

Emma’s laughter stopped.

She looked up to him, ”Right?!” The words came out like a harsh accusation. She wasn’t laughing anymore, but a grin had spread across her face. She’d apparently been delighted by the realization.

He could understand both sides, huh? He could logically explain to her that the damage caused by DC's creatures, as well as subnaturals gone rogue, had essentially caused the same hysteria as terrorism in the past has, where the 'victims' essentially branded an entire race or religion as evil. It wouldn't be the strongest argument, but in a world gone mad, it was justifiable. He was even tempted to just tell her to shut up and keep her retarded epiphany to herself until they got out of this awkward situation. No doubt the soldiers around them weren't going to be particularly enthused with watching an x-girl lose her fucking mind.

But he didn't. And without noticing it, his grip tightened on her shoulder.

"Surviving..."

A broken city, filled to the brim with bulbous bodies.

"...is trampling on the dead. So you are right. We're no different, just scrambling for answers and sacrifices. We literally feast on the dead, just like this kid and his little pet. We don't even deserve this power. Dreamcatcher probably gave it to us so we can live longer and suffer more!"

A frayed mask, searing the sides of his face.

"But so fucking what? Are you going to kill yourself now? Kill yourself and toss away all the sacrifices that your friends made so that you're not there with them? Just because humans plan on using you as a meatshield doesn't mean that you should let yourself die. Just because they benefit from stepping on you doesn't mean that you let them flatten you. Just because you have to do it too doesn't mean you don't deserve survival."

An all-consuming silence, adding another tragedy.

"...Survival's just winning. And the winners bear the burden of the dead. If you can't take that, my roommate has Padma's knife. Feel free to try offing yourself and apologizing to both of them in hell."

This wasn't dislike anymore.

A thousand thoughts filled Emma’s head again.

Maybe the knife isn’t a bad idea? What the fuck does he know? It’s the stigma, it’s the stigma, this isn’t me, make it stop. Stigma? This is how it’s always been, hasn’t it? Maybe I should try to take them with me? Determination can probably smash Brent’s head in pretty easily, and I can take Clark, right? Stop. I’d probably be shot and it would end just like that, neat and tidy. Stop. No more worries, no more suffering, no more fighting. Please, someone, make is stop…

It didn’t stop.

She wanted to yell at Brent, and Clark, and Hector, and Miranda, and the guards. She wanted to tell them all that she was going to kill them, that she wanted them to kill her.

She didn’t.

She wanted to split her head against a wall, maybe tell Determination to squish her fragile little head in between his hand. Like a melon/ Interesting experiment, it seemed, to see if it could kill her.

She didn’t.

Maybe she could just run into the room and jump into Miranda’s mouth. Seemed interesting to see the belly of the beast.

She didn’t.

Then what did she do?

She looked at Brent, contempt in his eyes. Hector and Clark, uncaring. Miranda eating away. The eyes of the guards filled with fear, some already beginning to get frisky with their guns.

”Haha, that’s an interesting idea, Brent. I guess we should get out of here, huh?” The grin was still spread across her face. She felt like it suited her better than her usual smile. Did she? She wasn’t really sure.

"Yeah, Stigmas suck," Hector observed, picking up one of the handheld video game consoles on the floor and flipping it on. The iconic music of a particular monster hunting and catching game filled the room, echoing off the walls as Hector raised the volume. "Good thing I don't have to deal with mine anymore," he grinned impishly, shooting the Aberration girl a sly look before his fingers busied themselves with the game.

As if on cue, the cuffs around Emma's and Brent's ankle beeped rapidly and, before they could react, the tazer system activated, sending 5.0 mA of current through their bodies at roughly 50,000 volts, dropping them both instantly.

Hector snorted at the sight.

"Director always stops the fun," he muttered, watching impassively as the soldiers took Emma and Brent's paralyzed forms away. Another group of soldiers grabbed Clark, holding him back while the elevator doors closed behind the five soldiers carrying the two students who were not supposed to be there.

Clark looked towards Hector, neither of them surprised at the course of events. If the soldiers couldn't shoot for fear of hurting Clark, the Director would certainly make use of more precise means. But he had at least managed to show them--quite literally--the dark underbelly of the Institution. Not that anyone with even half a mind had doubted the USARILNs had secrets. He had been hoping against hope that the Director would be busy for just long enough that he could show them its darkest secret, but of course she had stepped in to prevent that.

And now he'd likely never see the light of day again. Clark pulled his arm away from the guard holding it and they quickly let go, afraid of causing any lasting damage in a struggle.

Pulling up a bean bag next to where Hector was sitting and pretending to be engrossed in the video game, Clark sat down slowly, not wanting to aggravate the sensitive flesh on his legs.

"Did I do the right thing, Hector?" he asked the child.

Hector's fingers stopped mashing the buttons on his device.

"I'm too young to know the right thing, remember? Ask me again when I'm older and named Director Zhang," Hector handed Clark the gaming device. "Now help me beat that trainer."

Clark obliged.

---

Back on the regular hospital floors, one of the soldiers checked the orders on his phone and quickly directed the other four to take Brent and Emma into a separate hospital room.

The two found themselves on adjacent beds in an otherwise empty room, handcuffed to their bedframes. Besides the glowing buttons of some humming machinery and light filtering in under the door leading to the hallway, the room was completely black.

There was no acknowledgement of their actions beyond that. No voice from the cuffs. No sudden visit from the Director.

Ten minutes later, light streamed in as the door opened and a tall, lean sillouette appeared, guards flanking his slender form. Several spikes of varying sizes outlined the head of the man in the doorway before the lights came on all at once. Any suggestion of said spikes were gone without a trace as, beneath a head of thick raven black hair, a pair of stormy blue eyes glanced over the troublesome couple. Clicking his tongue, the man withdrew a hand from his long black trench coat and scratched his nose, which was lightly peppered with freckles beside the stark white Arbiter mark on his cheek.

"Well, if it isn't Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes!" he smiled warmly, chuckling at his own joke even as he said it, "Did you both just tune out all the angry guards telling you 'No'--because I'd like to learn your secret. They're pretty obnoxious sometimes."

As he spoke, his long legs carried him to Emma's bedside, where he withdrew a set of keys from his other pocket and began unlocking her handcuffs.

"Speaking of secrets, everyone's got a few big ones here and there. The bigger the place, the bigger the secrets-- they say that right? That's a thing? And of course you know all about that curiosity and the cat nonsense. Just because Benediction's around doesn't mean satisfaction will bring you back." Gently placing a hand on Emma's back, he extended the other to take her hand and help her off of the bed-- ensuring she wasn't about to fall over once she was on her feet.

Without missing a beat, he continued, his tone taking a more serious shift, "Look, if you've got a fix for solving mysteries, maybe try playing with the lost and found bin at the student center, this" -- he jerked his head towards the door, removing Brent's handcuffs with a metalic click-- "You're lucky you made it as far as you did. The Director might not be able to save you next time." He allowed Brent to get out of his own bed, lingering nearby in case he was a bit woozy as well.

"My advice?" he strode past them, standing in the doorway again, "Stay out of trouble. Trust me when I say this place has enough of it without people actively seeking it out." With that, he was gone-- leaving the door open in his wake.

Secrets? Huh. Maybe there was something wrong with him, if he thought that USARILN's corpse disposal method...wasn't that dark at all. He blinked. Maybe that electric shock did something good for him after all. He was himself again, after all. Perfectly well-adjusted, completely content, no longer feeling much of anything. Ah, looking back at it, all he could feel was a bit of embarrassment. Did he really just do that? Ugh, he should have thanked Clark before he got KO'd. Probably also should have actually tried asking for those bodies. Or, if nothing else, not get into a spat with Emma in front of literally everyone else.

Brent let out a sigh, still sitting on the hospital bed.

"Hey, Em..." probably not friendly with him anymore huh? "...ma. Would you rather have not come down there?"

His brow furrowed.

"Should I have done this myself, and just told you afterwards?"

”No.” Emma said. She was oddly cheerful, all thing considered. In fact, her face was alight with a wide smile.

”Actually, I think I have to go back.”

She wasn’t looking at Brent. In fact, it seemed to her right now that Brent wasn’t even there. He didn’t even matter. She was now worrying about something far more important.

"Yeah, same here."

With that, he hopped off the bed.

It was a curious experience, walking back alone when they were together.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Damn, Aaron's got his eyes on the prize, eh?

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

September 3, 2020
Sometime Late at Night

For the remainder of his time still out at the battlefield, Grant remained inside, in the safety of the truck. No monsters, no projectile fishmen, no emotional outbursts. The silence was comforting, and he just tried to get his rest on the ride back, but the bumpy ride was not helping in anyway in achieving that. Even when the trucks had arrived back at the school, he couldn't seem to catch a break as immediately, he was thrown straight into some kind of medical room. Luckily, Grant was not part of the actually injured group of students. Unluckily, he still had to stay in the room. With a sigh, he decided to just do what he thought was best at the time. He set Padma's knife down at his side, and he sat down. Not even a minute, and he was asleep...

"You're all cleared to go," was what came through his sleep, and with a subtle jerk, Grant was awake. He wiped some drool from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, noticing people beginning to leave. Finally. He grabbed the knife at his side and, without a second thought, Grant was on his feet and out of there. Destination: Dorm Room. It was sure to be a... very silent night back at the dorm. A silent and empty room. That's what he was expecting. So with the silence weighing against his body. Once he was in his very own room, he noticed. "...I need to take a shower," He said to the empty room. Dirt and muck on his arms, face, and his clothes weren't fairing any better. Definitely needed a shower. So without any other words, he set the knife aside, grabbed another set of clothes, and was off to the bathroom.

Was today productive? No, not nearly as productive as it could have been. He had gotten some answers to some questions, but Brent was still much too energetic. No doubt at least part of this was due to the healing light of Benediction, but another part was simple: after seeing Shane pull that shit off, the amethyst-eyed youth simply felt like it was a waste if he DIDN'T do anything as soon as possible. Before he got to any of that stuff, however, there were other things that needed to be prioritized. Paperwork, for one. Planning out the next day, for another. Who knew how much time he had, after all, before he was called out to truly fight.

Stepping into the silent room, Brent kicked off his own shoes and stretched out his back with a satisified sigh. His clothes weren't exactly filthy, but a bath would be nice regardless. A small, warm comfort before improving everything. That sounded about right. With that, he pushed open the bathroom door, just in time to see some dark haired boy step into the bathtub.

Ah, he had recalled seeing things such as another set of shoes and clothes strewn on the floor, as well as a fancy knife on a table. So that was why.

Amethyst eyes went up and down the slim youth's body, before Brent mentally pushed the dislike button. Complexion seemed fine, but he was still more fat than muscle. The skinny sort of fat, where they both didn't eat enough and didn't exercise enough. The dirt and soot that clung onto his body implied that he had come from the battlefield as well, so no doubt, this was a case where the power was greater than the wielder. Lucky. With that mental analysis finished, Brent said, smiling, "Sup. Name's Brent. You're my roommate?"

Just as the door swung open, Grant's eyes shot open and his head turned to the now ajar door. Gears turned in his mind as silence ensued after this other boy had just walked in, and Grant's hand immediately turned into a shield for his privates. Luckily, that was the end of the uncomfortable silence as the mystery person decided to introduce himself. Roommate. A replacement? A mystery third roommate? His name certainly wasn't called out during the pair-ups. "...I'm Grant. And I'd like it if we saved the introductions until after I'm dressed." He'd answer frankly to the new roommate, Brent.

"Yeah, sure dude," Brent replied, "Go on ahead."

Should he leave the bathroom? Naw, they were both guys. Who cares?

Satisfied with the answer, Grant turned. Then his satisfaction once more turned into discomfort as even after that answer, he did not hear the door shut. His head turned just a little, back toward Brent. "Are you going to..." He'd trail off, hoping that he would get the point already.

"To?"

"...Leave."

"Oh, sure then." With that, Brent exited the bathroom. Guess Grant wasn't that comfortable after all. He had to admit, it WOULD be a fairly awkward situation if the dude randomly got a hard-on.

Grant let out a sigh of relief once Brent was finally out of the bathroom, and he was left alone to his shower. But he did notice that the door was still open. With a sigh, Grant turned back to the knob as his chains emerged from behind him, touching the door before shutting it. At the same time, Grant twisted a knob. Cold water. He twisted the second knob. Better. He would spend a long time in the shower, washing all the dirt and grime off of his body. Minutes passed, and he finally turned the water off. Another minute later, the door opened and Grant stepped out, wearing clean plain clothes, similar to the previous dirty pair.

By the time Grant finally got out of the shower, Brent was already working on the papers, a pencil gliding through the pages with a singular focus. The subjects were definitely mind-rattling, but nothing he hadn't encountered before. Without turning, he said, "So, who's the third? Or is all this stuff yours?"

Grant was already on his way to bed, but his Brent's question, stopped him in his tracks. His eyes caught glimpse of the bag next to the bed that used to belong to Padma. Only a glimpse before he continued his path to his bed. "No. Belongs to our other roommate." Grant took a pause to sit down on his bed, keeping his eyes shut. "She's not with us anymore." He'd finish.

"Ah. The knife her's as well?"

"Yeah. Used it during the battle when she..." He trailed off before subtly shaking his head. "I decided to keep it. No sense in letting it go to waste."

"Waste not want not, eh?" Brent said, finish another page. "Which one was she?"

"Which one?" Grant repeated questioningly, leaning back against the bed as he opened an eye to look at him.

Brent still faced away from him, one finger tapping on the table as he worked on math next. "Four bodies. Two soldiers, two girls. Rephrased, it would be 'what did she look like'?"

Grant remained silent for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, as if searching, before he answered. "Tan and sporty," was the simple answer he gave, trying not to picture the sight of her dead body. "Name was Padma."

"Padma..." Brent repeated, his pencil stopping for a moment. His other roommate, huh. The one that he won't get to meet and the one that he won't be able to 'remember'. Did she die heroically? Or did she just die? That was another question that was on his lips, but ultimately, it didn't matter.

"Gonna try to forget her?"

"If those were my intentions, I wouldn't have picked up her knife." Grant gave up on holding himself up and let his back collide with the comfort of his bed.

"Good. Don't."

The pencil continued once more, scribbling late into the night.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Brent's Schedule (WIP)
Sept 3
Fill out sheets and homework and such. Fill out violent release form too. Request basic lessons when it comes to using any sort of weapon he can feasibly get his hands on, preferably firearms and bladed weaponry.
Figure out how exactly to maximize the efficiency of his time here. Prioritize stamina, speed, agility, because his strength isn’t going to become superhuman for the time being.
Shittalk with Grant and hopefully not get a bed chucked at him.

Sept 4
Early morning rise for him to do his early morning run. Encounters Emma, Callan, Kusari, Marcus. Probably alienated all of them.
Heading off to town at 9-10AM to get basic necessities. Mainly buying clothes, but will also pick up some dumbbells and body weights. He’ll buy some stationary while he’s there, and then peruse a gun shop only to get his GOOD money refused by suspicious shopkeepers.
Decides to go buy some nerf guns instead, and has to deal with gawking kids.
Encounters Angel, Aaron, and probably alienates all of them.
Heads back in the afternoon and goes to the library. Devises ways for Emma to not have the stamina of a fetus and for Callan to learn to control her strength, so that he can use the latter for personal training purposes. Also reads up on the Dummy’s Guide to Not Alienating People.
Evening time, goes checks up on Shane. See if he’s still KO’d or not. If not, dinner with a bro. If so, dinner while trying to learn how to drink from the bartender Steve.
After dinner, heads to Emma’s room, so they can pretend to be detectives and shit.
If he doesn’t die, he stays up until 2AM studying up on how guns work and visualizing all the actions involved.

Sept 5
Early morning rise once more. Goes knock knock on Emma’s door and hands her his training regime for her. Gotta get stronk after all. Considers going for Callan’s room as well, but doesn’t know where said room is.
Does his own training thing in the track, just with lotsa running and such. Also may be doing fancy stuff with an Overclocked NERF gun.
Goes to gym for actual muscle building as well, because dude needs to get stronk. Has lunch in the cafeteria this time around, try out some of his Dummy’s Guide to Not Alienating People tips on NPCs/other PCs. Successful? Who knows.
Picks up some cookbooks and some cremation-related books from the library as well. Figures that since he’s living alone, he should start learning to cook alone. With that in mind, he goes grocery shopping now. Free food is nice, but dorms are a chance at independence, after all. Goes asks Grant what he likes eating. May request a rice cooker too.
Evening time = time to try cooking shit. If successful, he’ll probably ‘accidentally’ make too much and offer it to all the people he knows in the building. If unsuccessful, he’ll be cooking until he gets it right. Giving up is for losers.
Tries out various other hokey combat-y stuff, until 1AM or so. From there, he starts working out on how exactly he’s going to make a reusable, sustainable pyre.

Sept 6
Early morning training every single day! Perhaps an encounter with Callan here?
After lunch in the dorm (whooo, moar cooking), heads off to the training grounds beside Ground Zero in order to do some actual tests. Reach third-tier for overclocks. Test the limits. Maybe even have a ‘friendly’ fight. Depending on what happens, Brent might just be visiting Margaret again.
Persists until afternoon, where he spends his time in the library, absorbing random books and getting his brain stuff upgraded. Spends more time figure out how exactly he’s going to pull all this shit off. Decides that he probably should steal a steak knife from the cafeteria.
In the evening, heads out for dinner. Third floor. Intends on encountering Zhang and apologizing for his shenanigans. Does, in fact, steal a steak knife.
Goes back to dorms afterwards. Decides that this time, he should sleep early. Still makes time to review firearm shenanigans though.