I'd also be interested in joining, if there's still room.
And I know that technically the Wards team has already been chosen, but I might have an idea or two around it.
Speaking of which, what's your stance on a PC that's older and more experienced?
Or for a recently captured delinquent given an option to turn life around.
Several things.
1): Yes, there's still room. Mintz likes to do very large groups.
2): The Wards team is not completely finalized or anything. I'm guessing the GM will just edit the list the Director is looking at to include any new additions, or they can just leave it as is. The wording of that scene can also be taken to mean the Director is too mentally exhausted to want to read all the way through the list.
3): Generally speaking, he only wants Wards-age people. There's one exception that is still in the Wards for very particular reasons, and there's one Vigilante that isn't a Ward (who is only under consideration and might not ever be actually accepted). It's not recommended to go for older. This is supposed to be a Wards-centered RP. So, in terms of "older", realize that the cap is still basically Wards age. Also realize that you aren't exactly going to be able to play some "senior/more experienced" type so easily in a group comprised at least halfway of 17 year-olds. (the age scale for the group is vastly tilted to the older end of things)
Schrodinger: 18
Overclock: 17
Workshop: 17
Scraprig: 17
Gress: 17
Memento: 16
Grey Man: 15
Hope: 14
V: 13
In terms of "experienced", that's less of an issue. You can have them be as experienced and hardened as you want, so long as they still end up in the Wards for some reason. We have characters that have been active as long as 2-5 years before the present. This AU has this being the very first generation of the Wards initiative, so you have plenty of breathing room for having a character that was left to their own devices for the most part before now.
4): "Recently captured delinquent" at least partially describes multiple of the current characters, and for at least one of them, it's completely nose-on. So, yeah, you could totally do this without issue.
Even as her relocation began, and the familiar feeling of being in two places at once briefly flickered through her, Chinami couldn’t help grimacing. Nightman had clearly caught on and thrown up his own scrying protection at the last moment, and that was… a lot of Gifts. If she’d had only her mere suspicions before, now she was absolutely certain. She couldn’t beat him alone. Given what she knew, however, that meant at least two of those powers belonged to the trapped boys. She hadn’t been able to glean much, but even a surface level glimpse of the basics of several was enough to birth a tentative spark of optimism within her.
In addition, she could be almost certain that two of the Gifts came from Nightman’s secretary and the man in the suit. If she could target and eliminate them, or even just get the chance to fiddle around with their Gifts, she could hopefully cut off a portion of Nightman’s power. If not, at the least, perhaps, she might learn more about his Gift by proxy.
If her own experience was any clue, the boys’ own gifts would be weakened to at least half their rightful strength. She’d unfortunately likely need to enhance them as well to get them in fighting shape. That was the only thing she could conclude, as her transportation resolved, depositing her well away from Nightman… for the time being anyway. She only prayed she could use the breathing room wisely.
Her scrying of the boys -though she'd only been half paying attention to it- had revealed to her surprise the two of them in the same room (seemingly the same room Nightman had taken the brunet to start with) already, with the blond and brunet both awake and fine, which was...
What?
They must have broken free somehow, her mind concluded. Dr. Nightman's malicious intentions were blatantly clear now. There was no way the two were up and about by his obligement. That was good news overall; it meant his stolen Psionic Bridge Gift wasn't as strong as she'd first feared. Still formidable, nonetheless, but less daunting now. Meanwhile, both boys seemed to be visually on-edge somewhat. Or, at least, the blond did. So, as much as she wanted to wordlessly jump in, snag them, and jump out, she knew that would likely be the furthest thing to conductive to positive relations. Even so, she needed to be quick about this.
That affirmed, Chinami chose to target the corner of the room as her destination, making sure she was well in sight of both boys on her appearance and -hopefully- less liable to startle them into going full "Gifts blazing" on her. When she appeared, she was certain she looked a bit... out of sorts, ruffled from the brief yet terrifying conflict, lingering sweat on her brow, and body trembling from adrenaline and terror. That aside, she shook her head and addressed them both in a hushed whisper, "No time to explain. Quickly, take my hands!" She prepared to imbue both of them with the same anti-scrying alterations as herself. First and foremost, she needed to take away Nightman's ability to hunt them down from anywhere. They needed breathing room, time for her to analyze what was wrong with them and try to undo it. And every second they weren't shielded like her was another second Nightman had to think up the proper use of her stolen Gift.
@Riegal I wouldn't worry about it too much. This is a massive AU, so relying on canon information is next to useless aside from the overarching lore of the setting. That aside, you'll find just about everything you need to know about the basics of the AU in the first OOC. Basically, just treat this RP almost like you're reading Worm for the first time, a brand new tale. It's got different faces and names for nearly every aspect of the setting. We also do a ton of chatting on Discord about the exact specifics of things, both how they are the same and how they've changed.
Stage 3 Escalation Energy Pool:3 hours, 0 minutes, 0 seconds
"Do you need a ride?"
The door closing behind him was the only answer, as Sean stepped out onto the front porch of his home. A small kernel of guilt wormed its way into his gut, but he shoved it aside. They... hadn't been speaking for the past few weeks, not since she betrayed his trust, helped the PRT ignore his rights, his liberties, helped them conscript him. On the one hand, he knew she meant well... to a degree, but he wasn't going to easily forgive her for that, not for a long long time. He was angry, justifiably so, but he wasn't about to take it out on her outright. He wasn't that kind of asshole, so damning silence would have to do.
Sighing at the biting 33 degree chill, Sean's body warmed up, the familiar vibrating rumble suffusing his body chopping that chill in half. It was a common misconception that he was a Brute, an easily made one. And on a technical level, in terms of classifications and what kind of threat he might present, that was still true. However, his power, at its core, was nothing more or less than a highly flexible Breaker power, a power that allowed him to interact with the more tangible aspects of physics in a variety of ways.
The strength and durability were more side effects of the portions of his power required to keep him from being torn apart every time he so much as took a single step. Because of that, his durability was not so much direct physical defense as it was "dividing the effect of harmful forces levied against him". Like extreme temperatures, for example. Or, at least, that's how it seemed to work as far as he could tell.
Pulling up the furred hood of his jacket over his head, less for defense and more for disguise, Sean stepped around into the backyard gate of his house. Entering, he shoved his hands in his pockets and... loitered, standing still, as the energy in his body became yet more suffusive.
23 seconds have passed.
This whole scenario was a nightmare for him. Unlike what they might assume, he had a life outside heroics, a plan. Between school, martial arts and work, he really didn't have the kind of free time that they expected of him. Unfortunately, on the work front, he'd basically been forced to quit. There was no way he was going to be able to hold down a job properly while also being a government attack dog... At least the latter paid okay. And he really hated that he had to factor money into this matter. Being a hero shouldn't be just another paycheck, shouldn't be about greed. It wasn't that he particularly abhorred the idea of being rewarded for his efforts, but reducing the noble profession down to just another government institution, another series of letters in the ever growing and all too easily corrupted alphabet soup?
Unacceptable.
His Breaker state had risen another Stage. One more...
Even so, a Hero -a real one- shouldn't be someone who fought for money. Money was fine, but that should never be the goal. It was about the mission, about actually saving people in all the ways that matter and making the world a better place. It wasn't about defeating the villains or showing off; those things were simply par for the course. A real Hero could do so much more, fire-fighting, disaster relief and even just common human acts of decency. At the end of the day, heroism was about saving everyone, not just punching assholes in the face. A real Hero inspired hope in society, encouraged good people to stay on the straight and narrow, and made those that preyed upon them regret being villains at all.
The PRT was just another government entity. It didn't matter who the Director was or how apologetic he may or might not be. At the end of things, he answered to uncaring and far less accountable individuals. Being a government-sponsored hero was a death-trap of morality. Maybe basing that kind of opinion off of comic books was fallacious, but considering how consistent that narrative ran? Clearly, there was an understanding of human nature there that many would like to pretend didn't exist. Government heroes, if they allowed themselves to be dragged into the Big Man's momentum, allowed themselves to choose orders over the right thing, choose looking good for the cameras over actually putting a stop to the threats to the people? The red tape of oversight was a death sentence to heroic ambition and integrity.
But Sean refused to allow himself to be yoked... not the way they would like.
It was time to make a point.
As his internal timer ticked past 4 minutes and 40 seconds, Stage 5 spun up, and time almost seemed to come to a halt.
He'd certainly used it before, on many an occasion even, but the drain on his internal energy stores to maintain this level of power was... significant, enough to run his tank dry in a mere 3 minutes, which he thought was, to be honest, all too little for the sort of things that would normally require it. Oh, and that was only assuming he'd not already spent some energy elsewhere. Therefore, he'd only used it in quick bursts, which were usually more than enough to handle even the obstacles Redline could present, villainous in nature or otherwise.
Regardless, he'd never actually used this Stage before on the scale he was about to, and not just because using it this way was generally massively inefficient. For one thing, it would have possibly attracted attention from some very unfortunate sorts. (Un)fortunately, one of the most annoying of said sorts was already in the know, and now that they knew about him and were ostensibly allies, even if reluctant ones... Well, he could finally cut loose a bit and show them what he could really do, a good deed, expression of defiance and low-key implied statement that he was entirely without need of their supposed "safe training program" all in one. No, it would be clear that the only thing they were doing was holding him back.
He idly double-checked his reserves: still full, as he'd been standing still the whole while. He had no idea what kind of bullshit he might have to put up with at the PRT, nor how much time he was going to be stuck there going through legalese nonsense and interacting with a bunch of other Parahuman kids, which promised to be... less than fun. Regardless, it was never a good idea to run himself dry. Having enough left to bring his best to the table in the case of an emergency was only prudent.
"So, a minute or two, then? Minute and a half?" he idly mused aloud. Actually, he might have been high-balling it. Redline was located in the State of Massachusetts, which was only 190 miles long at its absolute widest point. At this level of escalation? Sean could move about 100 miles a second if he was jogging and going slow enough to really meaningfully interact with the world. 186 miles per second if he was all-out sprinting his fastest. One piddly little city, like Redline?
Absolute child's play.
Sean Moved. Or rather, "moving" almost couldn't quite describe it. Overclock, the hero, had been an active presence in the seaside city of Redline for two years now, but never before had he put on such a distinctive show, a display that practically screamed to the citizenry "I am here, watching over you". For that brief minute and a half, his speed well eclipsed that of lightning, trailing in his wake in a constantly-refreshing nigh-omnipresent crisscross of tesla coils, azure lightning whirling behind him to lick upon every surface harmlessly aside from a distant hair-raising feeling of not-static. Indeed, though the lightning existed visually, it did not rend the city asunder thanks to being as misaligned with normal physics as Sean himself, as Overclock tore across the rooftops and all throughout the streets and alleyways of Redline.
8 car crashes averted. 14 wrecks attended to and victims safely extracted. 23 purse snatchers zip-tied. 78 attempted murders averted and criminals restrained. Medical aid applied to 179 victims of crime or mere accident given first aid. Serious cases moved to a hospital. 4 regular fires put out and victims safely evacuated. 3 arsons put out and perpetrators mostly in custody. 37 rapes averted and perpetrators restrained for law enforcement. 25 robberies foiled. 13 cases of domestic abuse handled and victim brought to police. 6 hate crimes shut down. 7 cats saved from trees. 911 phone calls set to ringing for all relevant cases, and "Friendly Neighborhood Overclock" calling cards distributed where needed. And a fair few other incidents of which there were, frankly, too many to name.
Honestly, he was rather proud of those cards. They were shitty and cheaply printed, but the little cards had instructions on the back about calling 911 and making sure to give a witness statement to make certain the criminals that went after them got put away for a good long while. Normally, Sean would only hand them out when he was in too much of a hurry to remain and give the police his own statement as well. On that note, he was... really going to need to restock both his cards and zip-ties after this.
And all of that occurred within the first several seconds.
Some things required he slow down. Helping lost children. Foiling several suicides and taking a moment to talk them down while remanding them safely to someone who could help. Pumping the water out of someone's lungs and/or performing CPR. There were just some things that even insane speed couldn't hurry along. If it needed actual delicate handling, required calming words and a personal smile, he obliged as best he was able, and every single time, he shoved down that annoying part of him that complained that the moments he spent speaking were dozens of other people not being saved. He was a Hero, a real one... or at least, he liked to think so. So, he could never allow himself to be wrapped up in obsessing over things like numbers and weighing lives. Instead, it was better to save everyone in front of him, one at a time, as they came. No complicating things, just doing good deeds.
And so, for a minute and a half, the city of Redline was intermittedly illuminated in mass by thunderous trails of crackling azure light, and to say the least, it was a bad day to be an active criminal...
Date/Time:November 11th, 2022. 5:50 PM.
Location(s):Redline PRT Headquarters
Stage 3 Escalation Energy Pool:1 hour, 30 minutes, 0 seconds
Overclock touched down atop a building a block away from the PRT's base of operations still crackling, as his power began to wind down. Rolling his shoulders, Sean stepped off the roof into an alley, idly observing the descent in slow motion, before touching down with barely a bend of the knees, his power reduced to Stage 3. The lightning no longer flowed around him, as he sighed and released down to Stage 1, grunting in satisfaction at the feeling of energy beginning to trickle back into his reserves. The initial boost didn't take a lot out of him, enough so that he could maintain it and still recharge. Though, were he not to use his power at all, his pool tended to recover at a 1:1 rate, and the tank would be brimming again within 3 hours at most. Given the fact that using his power at all chopped that in half, it would still take 3 hours... just to recover the half he'd blown off for his stress relief do-gooding.
Stepping out of the alley with his furred hood still pulled up against the -to him- mild chill, Sean shoved his hands in his jacket's pockets and began the short walk to the PRT HQ proper. As he approached, Sean couldn't help grimacing at the structure, an ugly menacing thing, more like a prison in appearance. His brain whispered quietly that it might as well be -and actually, technically partially literally was, but he shook the thought off... if with some difficulty. Sean snorted at the irony of being miffed about the PRT's outward PR, but then again, he would be one to talk with his friendly persona and active interaction with the citizenry. Rather, Sean actually considered PR to be a good thing, vital in some ways even. Giving the people hope, giving them beacons to look up to? That mattered. It was simply that one should never choose something as ultimately banal as PR over actually saving lives. Appearances could rot if the alternative was more victims being made.
Striding casually up to the front doors of the building, Sean stepped inside the lobby with a neutral expression plastered on, taking in the sight of couches and various portraits of the Guardians staring into his soul, while a few PRT officers lingered here and there. Grunting, he concealed his hesitation and strode up to the front desk, rolling his jaw, as he mustered up to the forefront of his memory the absurd -but objectively effective- passcode. Before the receptionist could speak, he deadpanned, "I have a message from an angry swarm of BEES which says that Risen won't see his coffee mug again unless the only restored baseball cap in the world is delivered to my roof by lunchtime."
With little to no fanfare, an Officer was beckoned over to escort Sean to the elevator. While the descent to what was, apparently, below prison level got a raised eyebrow, the brunet refrained from offering commentary. He held his peace all the way to the blank wall and offered only an appreciative hum of approval at the hidden retinal scanner. At the very least, it seemed like they were taking this seriously, even -or perhaps, especially- as a first-time venture. His eyebrows raised even more at the second elevator behind that. One part of him appreciated the fact that even he would likely have a spot of annoyance breaking in or out of here. Honestly, the only gripe he might have is how much a blackout or EMP attack could be a problem for elevators.
He kind of hoped there was a backup escape route...
The second elevator opened directly into, instead of a hallway, an apparent common room, which Sean entered without hesitation. The area was pretty sparse, almost spartan even, containing mostly just boring walls, terminals and screens. There was a table and some rather comfortable-looking chairs, two of which were occupied, one by the Director, himself, and one by...
Fuck! Workshop!
"Ah, Workshop... Long time, no see." His eyes drifted down to her fiddling hands... and the sphere.
FUCK! She's Tinkering!
To be honest, the rather trashy, scarred girl didn't even rate half as much concern past that point, even with the Mad-Max-looking cybernetic arm. Sean barely managed to conceal his, well... "trepidation" might be an understatement, as he carefully located and took the furthest seat from the unpredictable Tinker, moving slowly and clearly to not startle the suntanned girl. Even when he turned his head to address the Director, he couldn't stop himself from watching the southern gal out of the corner of his eyes. "Well, I'm here," he said with about half-again as much enthusiasm as he felt... which was honestly not much. Still, he threw out a little wry grin anyway.
It was a little hard to muster up the mental energy to put an act on, when so much of his brainpower was now devoted to keeping an eye out for even the slightest spark of trouble from Workshop. To be frank, he was halfway considering ramping up his power again, just in case. It was only the fact that he'd been running it at full throttle when they first met that had saved both of them and far too many potential collateral casualties. Their first meeting was the stuff of infamy in Redline... and was also the reason there was now a massive area of frozen time acting as a tourist attraction...
And on that lovely train of thought-!
Sean idly scooted his -admittedly comfortable- chair a bit sideways, giving himself as much room as possible to book it in the case of an... "incident".
@yoshua171 Lol, I was, indeed. As you can see, it never panned out unfortunately, so my character for this is speed focused instead like the RHTV one was.
"Don't you see? I'm going to save you... All of you... my precious Humanity~."
Name: Miko Danvers
Alias: Yandere, The Seven's Sister, The Second.
Nicknames: "That Crazy Bitch", "The Pink One", "The Girl in the Skirt", "Twin-tailed Terror", "Her".
Age: 16 (physically) (true mental age unclear; given her vast skillset, assumed 20's)
Gender: Female
Personality: Cheerful and peppy on the surface, she is nonetheless equally capable of becoming psychotic and murderous on a dime and is incredibly unstable and overconfident. Despite any evidence to the contrary, Yandere is under the impression that she is acting to save the world and seems to believe that she can avert some unnamed "apocalypse", which she has failed at multiple times. Assuming her claims about her power are correct, this, understandably so, would be the primary reason she is batshit insane.
Despite this, under the vast majority of circumstances, Yandere is incredibly well composed and controlled in her mannerisms. If she's acting eccentric, that's usually because it's what she wants others to see. She often wears a gleeful smile, a smile that tends to stretch to psychotic levels once the adrenaline hits and battle is joined. It is rare indeed that Yandere ever truly takes her opposition seriously. After all, with her power, why should she? Even when seriously injured or seemingly inconvenienced, all she will do is smile and smirk, even offering a peppy mocking congratulation or two. She is quick to dole out almost genuine sounding praise to her opposition, but anyone with any conception of her power can be well aware it's likely not anything she's not seen before and clearly overcome.
Under no circumstances has Yandere ever shown a single iota of genuine fear or distress that has been witnessed past the infamous day of her Trigger Event. Though, she will sometimes feign such with her opponents to lull them into a false sense of security. Truly, given her physical limitations, it is all too easy for others to underestimate her, especially first-time opposition. She is a crafty schemer at heart, always poking and prodding at her opponents verbally, teasing out their mindsets to determine if they are worth keeping around for the "Grand Plan" and the betterment of humanity as a whole. Even while she's having a rip-roaring good time messing around with her enemies, she's also scouting them as allies in her quest. If they pass, she's more than willing to throw down the hatchet to try and bring them into the fold, and with her ability to effectively wholly analyze the psyches of others through trial and error, to an outsider, she may appear to say exactly the right things at the right time to make her case seem all too reasonable.
Regardless of her methods or seeming amorality, Yandere desires to save humanity above all things. To her, it is her one true calling in life, and no sacrifice is too great in the service of that goal. Her only worry, one she has pushed to the backburner for the time being, is what she's going to do with herself once she succeeds. What will she do after? What burnt bridges will she need to rebuild? Once she's done the deed, what is left for her? What kind of proper profession would she like to undertake? And once she reaches the end of her life, can she even die of old age, or will she be forced to redo things all over again?
Existential concerns aside, some part of her hopes that she'll make some genuine friends along the way and actually have comrades and loved ones at the end of things. While saving the world certainly takes priority for understandable reasons, she'd also like to have a boy-or girl-friend to settle down with. Honestly, at this point, she's not super picky either way; it's just a little difficult to get people to take your advances seriously when you're an infamous serial killer. She'd like something genuine, but maybe that's asking a lot...
Sigh. "Ah well, here I go a killing again~!"
Appearance: Civilian: A 5'6", 140 lb. raven-haired half-Japanese-Caucasian teenage girl with blue eyes, she is someone who has been thoroughly smacked with the puberty stick in... certain areas (cough) She is athletic beneath her oft deceptively covering wear, despite appearing almost as delicate as she is busty, and wears her hair in single ponytail. Even in this state, she tends to favor bright, cheerful colors, and she has enough taste to avoid being garish about them. Though, dark tops with light bottoms also appeal to her. Skirts are an unironic staple of her wardrobe, along with a variety of snug, form-fitting sweater shirts, sometimes turtle-necked. She usually has at least a few knives concealed somewhere on her person.
Cape: In all reality, her civilian guise is donned with incredible rarity. Most of the time, she boldly goes where she pleases with her hair dyed a bold pink and pulled up into a pair of ponytails with bowed ribbons. Aside from that, she typically wears a now ominously distinct white and blue Japanese schoolgirl outfit. On first glance, it would be assumed to be a cosplay, if not for the fact that Yandere has taken a known trip across the sea before to obtain it by questionable means. Certainly, if nothing else, she can't be said to half-ass her image. In addition, she dons an intimidating number of knives, both throwing and not, beneath her skirt strapped to her upper thighs, and she can usually be seen with a book bag slung over one shoulder and sometimes a fanny pack hanging from the back of her waist, the latter usually only in the case she seems to be expecting a fight. The fanny back is usually holding some handy odds or ends that just conveniently aid her situation as if she were fucking Dora the Explorer.
While her power and infamy amongst government agencies means having an actual secret identity is generally a pipe dream, Yandere occasionally will whip out the makeup and some spare clothes and have an actual peaceful night out on the town. A casual drink with another here, a playful movie there. If she wants to disappear into a crowd, she has the means and the knowledge to make it happen, even while under intense scrutiny.
Biography: Our story begins 30 years past. It was the early 1990's, and the chaos of the emergence of the Parahuman phenomenon had roughly settled down. After 70 years of lessons learned quickly and harshly, some level of true order had been restored to the world. Though villains had crawled forth from every crevice, heroes had risen to meet them, and the world, in turn, rose to support those heroes in whatever way they may.
The world had recovered, and though not all was well, things were improving. Until one day...
Long story short, when a twenty foot silvery titan oozes out onto the beach of Katsuru, well....How are you supposed to respond to that? Locals didn't really know what to make of it, so, foolish as it was, they approached the strange entity, watching with awe as it strode onto land, like a God amongst mortals.
Of course, the panicking began when, without even sparing a glance, spears of that almost mercury-esque substance jutted from its body, ending the lives of most of the onlookers in the span of a second. They ran, but it was far too late; with seemingly no attention to the act, what were once spires of death formed into liquid tendrils, hunting down the fleeing prey and splattering them across the earth in brutal fashion. All the while, it kept walking.
When Japan's Capes began to enter the scene, they soon realized how bad the situation was; this was not the villains of old, who they could play cat and mouse with, always pushing and pulling, but never so far to escalate the situation. No, this was a monster of Greek proportions, an abomination with no thoughts towards such base things as morality. But even when they stopped pulling punches, they found themselves outmatched. Each time it was crushed, splattered, melted or frozen, it simply formed back together, an unkillable slime that seemed to become all the more unbeatable with each failed attempt.
Cleaving through any signs of humans it came across, the thing that soon was dubbed 'Progeny' made its way into central Japan with no remorse; civilians were told to flee, but escaping this monstrosity was impossible. It moved with a disturbing fluidity. Not 'fast' in the superhuman terms, but so disgustingly mobile that nothing could stop it, even slipping through the thinnest cracks to emerge where it desired. It was inevitable that you were found by it, barring rescue from Capes...Who were likely bound to die in the process. This rampage pushed on, with the creature never stopping to eat, drink, or rest, hours of travel time spent either moving or killing.
When it reached Tokyo, no one was ready.
The Capes there, heroes and villains, desperate to stop the demon, banded together, unofficially becoming the first example of The Herald Accords. However, Japan had never been well known for their impressive Capes, and none were capable of stopping this menace....That is, until, four distinct portals opened in the sky, though after the creature had already obtained ample time to eviscerate the population and Capes alike.
Dropping in, prior to them ever becoming The Guardians, were Guardian himself, Amazon, Gatecrasher, and a late and great member of their team, Shockwave, whose ability was to unleash ungodly amounts of electricity in waves; thanks to help from a Tinker friend, they'd found ways to focus the ability, turning him into an extraordinarily strong Blaster/Shaker.
With these four, Progeny, while not killed, was pushed back long enough to force a retreat from the enigmatic creature; Japan was in ruins, certainly, with the body count having reached millions, not even mentioning the Capes that littered the streets of Tokyo, but they had stopped it.
After this, the PRT officially created The Guardians, with the four who stopped Progeny being the founding members.
That terrible day was the first Herald attack, or as it has been commemorated in Japan, Red Day; a grim reference to the streets, running red with the approach of the goliath entity... The devastation left in its wake slew millions and left the entire nation shell-shocked and battle scarred, reduced to a 2nd world country. Though the infrastructure of the island nation wasn't completely ruined, they had been completely unprepared for an attack of such scale, and with their already low birthrate, even 30 years later, their population hadn't bounced back.
It was into this devastated nation that Maki Fuma was born. She grew up in a nation struggling economically and nationally, and she had no desire to stick around. Far from one to allow herself to be shackled be tradition or nationalism, she fled to the United States at the first available opportunity and came to settle down in the State of Oklahoma. Having come from a struggling country, Maki knew of hard word, and in the far more prosperous America, that served her well. She got a job, went to school, went to college, graduated with honors and married well, taking up her husband's surname of Danvers. The life she led couldn't have been called more than upper middle class, but it was hers and one she was content with. And soon enough, she was having her first child, a bright young girl named Miko.
As she grew, Miko came to internalize her mother's standards of hard work and determination. She learned to value the will to push through all obstacles, to never stop even if one stumbled. She learned of her mother's old home and came to enjoy indulging in their media and culture, even as she never took what she already had now for granted. She was a cheerful soul, who made friends easily and scored well enough to make her classmates wonder about the memes of Japanese grades. Her life was good, peaceful, aside from the occasional inevitable Cape shenanigans; though she was never unlucky enough to be nearby or collateral.
And then Gaia attacked.
Mother Nature.
The Moving Mountain.
The Terror of Heaven and Earth.
As it emerged, 14-year-old Miko had been at school, and the alarms sounded all too late. Gaia began its grim chore, drawing up the land towards itself, swallowing and compressing all that was natural and manmade alike into its personal armor. And being inside her school, Miko was swept up inexorably in the tide. Even as she struggled to stay atop the flow of crumbling structures and earth, all around her friends, teachers, strangers and other civilians alike were crushed and ground up. In the chaos of it all, in the face of her innocent horror and a dire need, she Triggered.
Unfortunate timing that.
In losing consciousness in her precarious position, she was swept into the tide proper, no longer able to escape the flow, as she was drawn towards the behemoth titan... and painfully crushed against it... only to awake within the flow. Panicked and confused, she was drawn in again and crushed all the same... and returned once more. Even as the world around her went mad in the face of a great and terrible storm's manifestation, a horrible pattern began to emerge. Soon enough, this bizarrely reoccurring event become her personal death loop, constantly being ground up, crushed, compressed, entombed, suffocated, drowned, sliced and diced, sandpapered, and just generally reduced to a fine bloody mushy smear in a variety of ways so almost distinct that if one didn't know better, they'd think the Herald was somehow experimenting to see if any would stick.
At first, her power didn't go very far back and didn't include the combat reflexes and muscle control needed to get out with so little breathing room, but after dozens, even hundreds of resets, where Miko went from begging for help to begging to be saved, to begging for a hero, to begging for mercy, for it to stop, for her to just be allowed to die, to not even bothering to beg at all and simply screeching incoherently. By the time she Second Triggered, she was out of her mind with panic, and she was soon running on pure power-fueled instinct, which even then, was barely enough given how far in she'd already been dragged.
Finally, she escaped from the pull, only to be met with a vicious storm of truly unholy proportions. More mad than not, Miko in the face of these new factors died again... and awoke under the crush once more. For the true horror of Miko's own power became clear. At this time, she did not know how to reset herself, and her power would always default to resetting her backwards as far as it could manage upon death/forced reset. And because her power could not take her further back than her Trigger, even a single mistake, a single slip-up, would see her plunged right back into the beginning of the nightmare.
For a while, her fresh panic at the revelation of the brand new level of her personal nightmare, genuinely broke the girl entirely, leaving her a shell resigned to a small eternity of resets, her body continuing to act half-heartedly to escape, relying entirely on her power's muscle memory to progress in the face of the girl's mind checking out. And yet, without her guiding principle, it could not manage to quite make it further, for where could it go once instinct ran dry? And so it went. A hundred resets. Two hundred. Five hundred. A thousand. But what could a young girl's mind do in the face of such reckless, targeted malice? Her power had already Second Triggered in desperation; it had nothing left to give. What happened next would be upon her shoulders.
And so it came to be that, eventually, perhaps inevitably, Miko's mind simply registered pain... differently. One might even say not at all. After countless deaths, it had become just another sensation, and while the girl was shattered, in the face of this, she began to pull some of the pieces back together. A spark of hope, a rekindled animalistic drive to survive. Whatever one wanted to call it, it was a fire that she clung too with everything she had left, a bonfire of determination and spite, a drive to escape.
And once the mind behind the power was back in the saddle somewhat, so the escape attempts redoubled in full. The number of deaths did not lesson. No, not by a long shot. But now, actual progress was made, even if it was horrifically glacial, even literally one step at a time in places, the journey so foul and lethal that even the slightest deviation meant to be smote beneath the Herald's renewed attention. Even despite all that, the girl pressed onward with a drive even she didn't understand.
Little did she know, however, but her cries for help had actually been heard by a Japanese hero, who'd come from overseas to aid in the fight. It was unfortunate, truly. Under nigh any other circumstance, such a person would have been her hero and lead the girl to a better life. Unfortunately for both, the girl had the personal attention of the Herald, and someone like this hero was merely in the way. If even a single deviation, a single mistake would cost her, would reset her, then she could not allow her path to be impeded or deviated by any outside element.
And so it was, with barely even conscious recognition of her actions, the girl's body killed the hero a few resets later, a single knife-hand to the windpipe, crushing the good Samaratan's life beneath the weight of her drive to live. Though she was witnessed doing such, though her actions provoked rage and betrayed hate from the other defenders, the Herald's focus upon her rent such collateral damage about her person that none were able to waylay her rightly, more concerned with the battle at hand.
Eventually, inevitably, the Herald was delayed, faltered, long enough -if just barely- for the girl to escape its gaze and make her mad flight, as far and as fast as she could manage, stopping for nothing till she had left the city entirely.
It would be in the days, weeks and months to come, as she recovered herself, realized what she'd done, and fled from the hostilities of nearly everyone around her, that the girl would come to take up wearing an outfit reminiscent of the hero she had unwittingly slain and a reminder of all else she and her family had lost. She knew from the quivering in her heart that she would never be able to stomach returning to that day, that she would never be able to save or spare that hero, to undo the hate for herself. She knew that, knew that she'd live with it forever, for better or worse. And so, if only though her outfit, she'd honor their sacrifice in her own way.
In the aftermath, her home and family were gone, razed to the ground and crushed, the city flattened beneath the Herald's wrath. With nowhere to go and no-one to turn to, the young madwoman did what she could to discover a new purpose in life. And though it took years, years of resets and mishaps, deaths and hardships, she soon encountered it. A horror. An apocalypse in truth. What she saw in the grim-dark future of Earth Bet, she could not overcome. They were not ready... not as they were, not while weakened by the countless interpersonal wars and grudges of man, not while Heroes and Villains alike played their games, not while the Heralds were left to their own devices to further upend mankind's support structure.
Miko looked upon it all and came to know that she loved humanity more than anything else. Even if they hated her. Even if they killed her over and over. Even if they drove her out and rejected her, she wanted more for them all the same, wanted better for the world. It had taken her all too long, but even her ordeal under Gaia had not destroyed her mind and soul entirely. No, though she was reluctant to ever face the mountain again, much less a Herald at all, her will had been hardened under the pressures of life into a shining diamond of determination. She had become -if not whole- then something more than a pile of shattered glass and psychotic edges. To return was to lose everything. To stay was to lose everything. At least with the former, they would have a chance.
And so, saying farewell to what few loved ones she had, she reset. And reset. And reset. And reset. And reset again. And again...
She was back, the wrath of Gaia fading in the distance, her home crumbling all over again like a returning nightmare.
But she turned away from the past... and faced the future with a steeled spine and a mad glint in her eyes.
Something was coming. Something humanity wasn't ready for.
But maybe she could change that...
No matter the cost...
She had to.
Despite her general demeanor, her goals seem righteous-ish enough, so one might have boggled at the very idea of even someone as mad as her joining Writhe and the Seven, unrepentantly vile and murderous monsters in human-ish form. And under normal circumstances, they'd be right to be confused.
Only, Miko -or rather, Yandere- was never one to constrain herself to a single set of options. On the surface, the Seven were a dead end, both strategically and to her own reputation. Well, if her power wasn't what it was. Being that it is what it is, she sees no issue with pursuing even this most depraved of timelines. After all, if it goes to wrong? She can just scrap it.
To be honest, she encountered Writhe by chance more than anything else. She'd not had any plans for her current timeline, but when she got into town and was met with Writhe doing his thing? Well, she was never one to balk at an opportunity. Maybe her standards had been a little higher before, but after her latest round of failures, the urge to seek success in more... niche and controversial areas had arisen within her. And coming face-to-face with the head-honcho of the Seven himself? Well, she just couldn't resist.
Apparently, the feeling was somewhat mutual, though an outsider might be hard-pressed to discern it. For all that Writhe was only content to engage in conversation with her in the midst of visiting hilarious amounts of attempted ultraviolence upon her person, the two managed to have a bizarrely philosophical discussion, and -after a period that was by far longer for Yandere than Writhe- they came to something of an accord, a pact of... relative nonviolence. While it was clear to both that the other was firmly -even psychotically- set in their ways, the urge to see if they were up to the challenge compelled both to join hands in alliance... for the time being.
To Yandere, the monster, Writhe, was an opportunity.
With his power draining, he could be either the nexus upon which she could build a savior of humanity... or a nexus by which all defense and hope would be torn to pieces. She was honestly as interested in picking at his mindset as he was at hers, to see if she can tease out a "redemption" similar to what she underwent in her first full "run" of life. If not, then she sees little wrong with hanging around and finding a way to kill him. Ultimately, she sees him mostly as more trouble than he's worth, so between the options, she'd favor finding a definitive way to end him over managing his entire universe of issues long-term.
At minimum, however, one of her primary goals, in service of humanity, is to protect any people she believes could help. Essentially, she goes around doing her "part" in the Seven by killing people she has determined are problems while sparing assets. She even goes to the trouble of utilizing her "Yandere" persona to choose people she wants to "date" to keep the other Seven off their backs for the most part. Basically claiming them as "hers" to do with as she pleases.
Yandere's "tests" as a member of the Seven tend to be similar and yet inverted to Writhe's. While Writhe actively wants to break people in a complete way, Yandere wants others to show her their strength instead and show their determination. She wants them to rise to the challenge, to prove themselves to be the defenders and saviors humanity will need. Yandere seeks to actively foster the conditions from which heroes shall be tempered and rise stronger and more sure in their convictions than ever before. Of course, this is not to say that her means of doing so can't be cruel and unusual. As she was someone once broken down in every way that matters who rebuilt themselves from the ashes, Yandere's standards for what is "reasonable pressure" tend to be a tad skewed.
Powers/Skills:
Athleticism: Her limits are constrained primarily by her physical ability as a base human. As such, it has served Yandere well where possible to keep up a strict training regimen to push what limits she can. Her manual control of her body means, however, that she can override her muscles' natural limiters and briefly perform shocking feats of ability... at the cost of damage to herself, of course. But in the right circumstances, the trade-off is worth it.
Insane Pain Tolerance/Willpower: Yandere's pain tolerance can best be described as: "Y E S". Due to her horrific Trigger Event and the many many horrible deaths and injuries she has effectively suffered since and had permanently carved into her memory, she will not so much as flinch in the face of full-throttle torture porn levels of horrific brutality being inflicted upon her. She'll be distinctly annoyed at the inconvenience of the injury itself, sure, but it's just another day at the office.
Martial Arts: Anything Goes: While not a proper practitioner per-say, Yandere has committed a vast quantity of hand-to-hand fighting styles to memory. She is the equivalent of a top-tier black belt even without her power informing her muscle memory, and her combat style is in turns highly unpredictable and playful or brutally efficient... and still unpredictable. Sometimes, if she's feeling cute, she'll even memorize her opponents' attacks during the fight and immediately use them in return, just to mess around.
Polylingual: She can speak nearly every language, and those she can't, she appears to learn the basics of within subjective seconds.
Skilled: If it can be learned by a mundane human, she probably knows the basics at a minimum, and can correct any deficiencies in what appears to be an instant. Medical techniques, piloting, gunfighting, tracking, smithing, hunting, building, cooking, parkour, operating high tech machinery and Tinkertech alike. You name it, she can do it. In the case of Tinkertech, it's quite literally just an effective matter of trial and error for her, before she appears to operate or identify it perfectly as far as anyone else is concerned.
Unreadable: Her absolute control of her body language means that when she genuinely wants to deceive someone, it is literally impossible to see through her down to a hormonal level without a straight up truth/lie-detecting power. Technological lie detectors tend to fare no better than a regular person.
Groundhog Day (Thinker/Shaker(?) 12): Yandere's power, which she openly boasts about, is what she claims to be genuine time travel. While proof one way or the other has naturally yet to be obtained, her power at least effectively mimics as though that were the truth. One way or the other, she is either telling the truth, or she is a Thinker of truly absurd proportions. In practice, until proven otherwise, she will be assumed to be the latter for everyone's peace of mind.
Her claim is that anytime she dies -or even anytime she wants, she is thrust back in time up to a full day... and she can keep going with no cap other than the day of her Trigger Event. Her power also gives her perfect recall and muscle memory. What this translates to is that she can retread the exact steps of any and every encounter, retrying any and every hardship or failure until she wins. In essence, she is a monstrously powerful combat Thinker and Precognitive who is always living in the "winning" timeline.
As a result of her perfect recall and muscle memory/control, Yandere is capable of learning nearly any skill or piece of information in what appears to be subjective seconds, even instantaneously. Her effective precognition means she can commit to absolutely insane tactics, before "undoing" the consequences and retaining all the information she has gathered. In effect, there is no system she cannot penetrate, no password she cannot divine, no secret identity too secret or sacred. If she wants to know something, it is literally impossible to stop her from learning it without storing it away off-world/dimension, and even then, you're assumedly only buying time from the inevitable. It can generally be assumed that she will always be aware of the exact limitations and functions of her opponents' powers and be prepared to counter them.
Even were her active powers to be shut down, according to Thinkers, she would retain all the information and skills she has gathered, along with the imbued muscle memory, giving her a comparatively extremely favorable position from which to retreat or otherwise survive until she can regain her power and "undo" the incident.
At present, there are no known methods of evading her power's detection. As her power is proven to be capable of clearly targeting even the Heralds, the vast majority of even highly specialized Strangers are incapable of evading its gaze in turn. Even when she is seemingly otherwise unaware of their location, Yandere has been noted to "fire blindly" and kill or disable potentially troublesome concealed foes without even the slightest amount of notable effort.
She has proven on multiple occasions to be able to accurately predict the location of Herald attacks over a day in advance and narrow down the alternate targets in the case that the original is avoided in response to her prediction. She has also been able to determine the Heralds' specific targets/the purpose of a given attack and the fallout of failing to stop them.
Unrestrainable (Trump/Mover 9): Yandere's power possesses an automatic trigger function, preemptively defending her from any effect that would shut down, weaken or otherwise hinder or negate her access to her power. To be clear, she is not actually immune to said effects like Null Trumps and Masters, but her power effectively ensures she always knows they are coming and allows her to never actually be caught out in a position where they can catch her. This effect triggers against more than just other powers, and it is decisive enough to prevent her from being meaningfully imprisoned, trapped, or disabled by other means, including paralysis or unconsciousness. In the case of the latter, notably sleeping, her power still triggers automatically if she would be put in a situation thereafter from which she couldn't awaken for an unnatural period of time.
Other: Favorite power sets involve time stopping or manipulation. Though, I'm becoming a big fan of speedsters as well.
A shame it’s my turn to post next. Reacting to Lilac’s breakdown would have been good for Suzuya to react explosively in the name of love and Revengance.
Still gonna explode though, I just won’t be blasting “It Has To Be This Way.”
Ah yes, exactly what this team needs in this incredibly delicate time: more emotional explosions. XD
I haven't really gotten to that part of your post yet, as I'm trying to ponder how Bonnie wouldn't break down crying and run away after hearing this line. "Unfortunately, despite your impression to the contrary, not a one of us placed upon this team is friends, or even often comrades."
Well, I could reword this part specifically. But I'd hope to be able to do it without altering the rest. Unfortunately, I can't think of many good ways for Camelot verbalize that the team isn't friends without letting Bonnie realize that's what she means. Camelot's typically kinda blunt. She believes in confronting these issues honestly, especially when politeness isn't on the table as much.
Edit: Edited that bit to be less brutally direct. Let me know if that fixes the problem.
As the fusion resolved, for a brief moment, Chinami felt the all too familiar unnerving sensation of almost being in two places at once for a period in time. And then the moment passed, and she was curled up atop her bed in a fetal position. Alone, safe at least, she couldn't stop the trembles of terror from turning into body-wracking shakes, as she sucked wind, struggling to breathe. Her vision almost felt blurred, even though it was likely more down to the low light of her room.
You're having a panic attack, Chinami, some clinical part of her noted. You need to calm down. Stop. Think. This isn't the first time. You know the exercises, and you know what to do. Use them, dammit!
The trembling Goth, still gasping for breath, uncurled herself and shakily sat up, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, as she forced herself to stop. Against every instinct her body was throwing at her, she held her breath briefly, before placing a hand on her stomach and paying attention to how it moved. Normally, when one inhaled, their stomach would bulge out, while the inverse happened on an exhale. The breathing exercise required one pay attention to that process and deliberately invert it, sucking their stomach in on inhale, pushing it out on exhale. Slowly. Steadily. Always keeping in mind that the struggle for oxygen was an illusion, one they could break through.
After all too long, her breathing steadied. Oxygen flowed freely and sweetly once more, and Chinami simply spent several minutes... just... being. Just existing. Living. Breathing. Listening to herself. To the thump of her steadying heartbeat. To the world. The sound of a city on the edge of night.
This. This was real meditation.
This was what she practiced early on, to quell the memories of being hunted like an animal. This was how she learned to be in tune with her own body, with its ebb and flow. This was hers. It was precious. And it was nothing like what that damned Nightman was doing!
Chinami honestly couldn't help her heartbeat accelerating a little at the mere thought of him. A potent cocktail of fear and hate churned within her... Hate? Yes, she determined after a moment's thought, she hated that man, more than she'd hated anyone in a long while. In fact, she couldn't recall when she'd last truly hated another living being at all. Dr Nightman had invaded her privacy, threatened her, had the gall to be annoyed by her returning the favor, and he had humiliated her in a way no-one had ever managed before. She'd fucking cracked under his pressure, under his schemes, and now?
He had truly wounded her Pride.
Now she was supposed to run away and leave him be?
Chinami's body grew hot, her Gift writhing and all but howling in rage beneath her skin. On the one hand, her letter had said she wouldn't return, and she would feel filthy breaking her word, a word that she damn well didn't give so easily! But was the hit to her Pride from breaking her word worse than the hit she'd suffer not retaliating against that absolute Bastard? Would she really be content now, merely running away to Mephisto's and avoiding him? Would that even truly protect her?
No. Not at all.
If he was determined to target her, someone like him with a mental gift would only need to catch her off-guard once, and it was all over. He could go after her on the streets. He could come after her at home! He could go after her mother. Nowhere was safe as long as he lived!
"Dammit!" she hissed out, slumping onto her bed, her clasped hands pressed against her forehead. "Mother fucking damn it all!"
She... she didn't want to kill him. Well, she did, but she didn't want to step out of line, didn't want to abandon the rules of society she'd so strictly adhered to up till now. All she wanted was a Quiet Life! Was that really so much to ask?!
Then she remembered.
The subtle threat. The real and true promise in her letter. While she'd claimed she wouldn't return, she'd also declared an absolute truth! She was always one to shy away from conflict, one who shied away from using her powers to their truest terrible potential. She sought peace... but she was always prepared for war. Should she be faced with a fight she could not avoid, a true threat, there was nothing she could do except her absolute best. Yes, if Nightman wanted to prey upon her... he'd find himself to have another thing coming.
Her body was trembling with something new, something she'd not experienced in all too long.
Anticipation.
For too long, she'd held back. For too long, she had bottled up every possibility dancing on her fingers, all the greatest and most terrible ways to remake this world in her own image, to have the very fabric of creation dance to her whims. For half a decade, she had suppressed those temptations, knowing they had every risk of quickly developing within her a god complex or the like. Utter foolishness, of course, considering the existence of the actual Gods, but she knew the risk was there. And she had no desire to succumb to such delusions.
She had told Nightman that she would face the unavoidable with everything she had. Unfortunately for him, he now qualified.
Her Spirit enveloped her body, as options bloomed in her mind's eye. She didn't know what Nightman's Gift was. That was a problem. Further, she didn't know if the man in the suit also had a Gift, potentially a different flavor of mental as well. Or worse, what if he had some kind of Gift or magic suppressing ability? Chinami's brow furrowed, as she shuffled through her alternate presents, the alternate existences of her body, mind and soul.
She was down two out of her typical ten charges that she could safely use in a short period of time. Technically, she could go further, but that carried... risks to her health. And if she were to allow herself to push further, she would fall into the trap of thinking, "oh, just one more usage couldn't hurt" and fall to her own hubris. Right now, she had lost one charge from ritualistically transforming both the letter and the building. Given the fact that she'd taken the time to do so carefully, she had put less strain on her body and used up the equivalent energy of a single panicked change... like her teleportation.
So, she was down two out of ten, and what she was looking to do was imbue herself with immunities to potential threats. On the surface, blanket immunity to a single thing almost sounded simple, but on a metaphysical level, that was extraordinarily far from the case. As it happened, even if she did it ritualistically, the changes would still cost her a single charge's worth each, even if she did multiple at once.
Grimacing, Chinami also acknowledged that... she was on a time limit. If she took too long, Nightman would have more time to work his schemes on at least two captives, the boy in the room and the one she'd seen entering from the roof. In this matter, the matter of free will and mental sovereignty being violated? In perhaps that matter alone, she could always genuinely empathize with and seek to save others. That was her moral line in the sand, and among what few firm ones she held, it was the most absolute. So, she had little time, and she was going to need to do a rush-job mass change. She had time to do a single ritualistic change, so that would have to do.
Inhaling slowly, Chinami held her breath for a moment, finalizing her choices, before seeking out a meshed singularity of them, and single possibility that covered all her needs. Exhaling, she began. "Psychic immunity." For obvious reasons. It would protect her mind and body. "Absolute presence concealment." To stop her return from being noticed till it was too late for them. It wouldn't make her invisible to mundane senses, but to the supernatural? She might as well not exist. And better yet, it should stop her mind from being read. "Unconsciousness immunity." Just in case the Doctor's power was somehow that specific. As a bonus, it would also protect her from knockout blows and ensure she could continue resisting till the death, no matter how much pain she was in... if it came down to that. "Gift ward." To prevent her Spirit from being denied to her in any manner.
Mulling over her choices, Chinami chewed her lip in thought, the Greedy terrified part of her urging for more. She'd need to retain at least two charges to potentially free both victims, and having another two spare for a potential fight sounded smarter than not having them, especially if she needed to heal the wounds of herself or others. Or rather, scratch that, she'd have only three charges to spare, since she needed to use one to return quickly. Which meant she might need to try mundane things or a single all-purpose method to free the victims if she still wanted two spare for battle.
Dammit, she'd just have to wait and see what was awaiting her and use the remainder wisely in the moment.
Exhaling once more, Chinami allowed her changes to complete, her body vibrating, as it was overlaid with her current -and suddenly past- self. For the next three to four hours, she should hopefully be protected from that Bastard. She'd make use of that time wisely. Taking a minute to catch her breath from the massive change and wipe the sweat from her brow, Chinami firmed herself in determination, reached out to the countless possibilities arrayed before her, and teleported back to the roof of the Nightman Clinic.
The rain was roaring in her ears once more in supplementation to the thunderous drumbeat of her heart, as she walked to the edge of the roof. With an enhanced hop, she landed atop the fence, her balance teetering in slow motion to her accelerated perceptions.
No more hiding. No more running. They settled this grudge here and now. And then she was in freefall, landing in a heavy crouch before the entrance to the Clinic. Straightening up, the Goth enveloped herself in her Spirit, ensuring all but its eyes were invisible, and flung open the door, stepping inside, as the water slid off of her. Her shoes clapped loudly against the tiles, as she strode quickly down the entrance hall and entered a clear reception area.
Her crimson eyes narrowed in unison with the glowing blue lenses overlaying them at the receptionist, as she barely refrained from outright stalking closer, her hands folded behind her back. Even so, her approach towards the front desk had a distinctly predatory edge to it, as she inquired all too calmly, "Ma'am, two boys entered the premises this evening, one blonde, one brunet. I know they are still here. And I'm quite certain they also happen to be with one Doctor Nightman." Lies, or rather, mere speculation, but they didn't know that. There was every chance they had been taken elsewhere by this point, given the full minutes it had taken her to quell her panic attack and enhance herself. She didn't see the blonde here in the reception area, so he was already under personal threat by Nightman. "Tell me where they are. Now." She half considered that she could feign being sent by the boys' guardians, but it was likely that the receptionist had a picture of her as a potential "patient" and would be able to call her out immediately.
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