Natty

Vanguard: Calder City

S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E

F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S

^Joanie

The hallway at St Dymphna’s was hot that summer morning. Pretty soon the heat would be unbearable, save for the pockets of cooling that the clunky AC units brought them. It had taken Joanie a few minutes to rouse herself from the sofa she had found her sweaty back stuck to when she had been called.

Mrs Qadir had been waiting for her near the door to her office. She smiled as she approached and Joanie quickly realised she wasn’t alone.

“Joanie, this is Trey,” Mrs Qadir said, her voice gentle as she stepped aside.

A boy emerged from behind her. Thirteen, twelve, maybe. A young kid with dark skin and curls that stuck out in uneven directions, as if he had tried to flatten them and given up halfway through. His eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the hallway as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to look at anything for too long. When he finally let out a smile, it was bright and warm and completely unguarded. It lit up the whole hallway.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand in a small wave. He was clearly nervous yet masking it behind a front of confidence.

Mrs Qadir gave Joanie’s shoulder a soft squeeze before leaving them alone.

The silence that followed felt thick. Joanie stared at him, unsure what she was supposed to say.

Trey shifted his weight, glancing at the scuffed skirting boards, then back at her. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

“Um… I can show you where we play outside. If you want.”

“Yeah. That’d be cool.”

She started walking, slow enough that he could keep up. The hallway stretched ahead of them, warm light spilling across the floorboards. She felt a small flicker of pride at showing him around.

They reached the front door and Joanie reached for the handle.

She froze. Something was wrong.

The light shifted. The air thinned. The colours bent at the edges.

A cold ripple ran through her chest.

“This didn’t happen…” She whispered it before she even understood why.

Trey’s voice faded mid‑breath.

She turned to find he wasn’t there. The hallway was empty.

Her pulse spiked.

“Stop.” she whispered. Her voice echoed here.

A cold presence seeped through the hallway like frost creeping across glass. She felt him
behind her, not as a body but as a pressure. A cold intelligence. A searching hunger.

“Turn your head.” He ordered.

Her neck moved before she could stop it.

She faced the wall.

“Interesting.” His voice threaded through the memory. “This architecture. Mid‑century municipal. Reinforced beams. Narrow corridors. Built cheaply but meant to last.”

Joanie’s stomach dropped.

He was looking through her eyes.

A strange ache bloomed in her chest as the truth settled. This was not like Marth. Whereas the touch of his mind had had a softness to it, this was the opposite. It felt like it was pressing into her skull like ice water.

“Look at the ceiling.” He commanded.

Her gaze lifted against her will.

A faint vibration ran through the plaster barely visible, as she clenched her fist at her side. It was barely audible, but enough to form a small crack above the doorframe, thin as a pencil line.

He didn’t notice though, he was too busy taking in the building.

“This style was common in the east of the city,” he murmured.“Near the river. Or the old industrial quarter.”

Her breath hitched.

“Get out.” She panted

“Open the door.”

Her hand moved toward the handle. She fought it, her fingers trembling.

Her breath shook. “No.”

The crack widened, dust drifting from it like falling ash.

The hallway flickered.

She became her at eight years old, backpack too big for her shoulders, walking toward the same front door with Mrs Qadir’s hand in hers.

Joanie’s breath caught. She tried to stop her younger self’s hand from reaching the handle. She pushed against the memory, forcing her arm to lock at the elbow.

The door vibrated and the frame shuddered.

The crack above it split wider, jagged like a faultline.

“Show me.” he commanded, speaking angrily though Mrs Qadir. His voice was more firm this time. Gone was the calm and composed tone he’d begun with.

“No.”

The hallway warped again and she was fifteen, moving down the steps with Mina in toe. The sound of rain emanating from beyond.

Her fifteen‑year‑old hand reached for the handle.

“Stop.” She begged.

The crack tore downward, splitting the frame as the vibration deepened. The air hummed.

“You cannot hide it forever.”

“I’m not hiding.” she said. “I’m fighting.”

The memory flickered and she was back to first thing this morning, about to leave for her first day at Marth’s family’s B&B. Her bag was slung over her shoulder. She remembered the excitement. The nerves. The hope she’d do well. Oh how today had changed.

But her hand rose toward the handle again.

“I’m not doing this.” She stated, gritting her teeth as she fought against the force of his control. “You can’t make me.”

The crack ripped across the wall.

The floor trembled. The vibration ran up her legs like a warning.

“Enough.” he said.

“Then get out.”

Her power stirred. So she let it out.

A tremor erupted from her, running through the memory. The hallway shook and the walls shivered. The floor cracked like ice. The crack above the door split open, jagged and violent, tearing through the plaster like a wound.

The Icelander’s voice faltered.

“…what is that?”

Joanie’s eyes burned. “Me.”

The quake hit.

It was a seismic burst of thought. A shockwave of will. A mental tremor that tore through the memory like a faultline splitting open.

The hallway shattered and the entire image collapsed into dust and light.

---

The world rebuilt itself around her, but it wasn’t hers. It was cold and bitter. Snow pressed against her boots. A grey sky hung low over a sparse wood, the trees thin and crooked, their branches rattling in the wind like bones. Joanie’s breath fogged in the air, but it wasn’t her breath. Her lungs felt smaller. Her coat felt thinner. Her hands were smaller, trembling inside sleeves that barely kept out the cold.

She wasn’t herself. She was him.

She realised it with a jolt that made her stomach twist. She was seeing through his eyes. Feeling his breath. Hearing his heartbeat hammer against his ribs.

And he was running.

Branches whipped past her face. Snow crunched underfoot. Her lungs burned. Her legs ached. She stumbled through the trees, desperate to get away from the voices behind her.

“Haltu, gráhúfa!”

Stop, gray‑head.

“Komdu hingað, skrímsli!”

Come here, monster.

“Grákrakki!”

Gray brat.

The insults hit her like stones. They were cruel and spat with the venom of boys who had learned to hate before they even learned to shave.

She understood them. She didn’t know how. But she understood them.

Three boys crashed through the trees behind her, older, broader, wrapped in thicker coats. Their boots thudded against the snow. Their laughter was jagged, cruel, echoing through the wood.

“Þú ert ekki eins og við!”

You’re not like us.

“Hættu að fela þig, gráhúfa!”

Stop hiding, gray‑head.

Joanie’s breath hitched. She felt the panic rising in his chest. Felt the sting of cold on his cheeks. Felt the humiliation burning under his skin.

She tripped over a buried root and fell hard into the snow. The cold swallowed her. Her palms stung. Her breath shook.

The boys reached her.

One grabbed her sleeve and yanked her upright. Another shoved her back down. The third kicked snow into her face, laughing as it stuck to her lashes.

“Sjáðu hann.”

Look at him.

“Veikburða.”

Weakling.

“Grákrakki.”

Gray brat.

Joanie felt the shame like a physical blow. She felt the helplessness. Felt the fury simmering
beneath it, small and quiet and dangerous.

The tallest boy picked up a rock and threw it.

It struck her cheek with a sickening crack. Pain exploded across her face. Warm blood trickled down her skin, stark against the cold.

Joanie gasped.

He gasped.

Their breaths were one and she hated it.

The boys laughed as she touched her cheek, wincing slightly at the pain.

Something seemed to happen at that moment. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was quiet; a small, internal break. As if a line had been crossed.

Joanie felt the shift. She felt the cold inside him sharpen into something else.

He stood slowly.

The boys faltered as she outstretched her palms towards one.

“Hvað-?”

What-?

She reached for the nearest boy and Joanie felt her fingers close around the boy’s face. Felt the skin under her palm. Felt the boy’s breath catch.

Then she felt the drain.

It wasn’t physical. It wasn’t visible.
It was a pull.
A hollowing.

A quiet, terrible hunger. The boy’s eyes widened as his skin paled. His body shrivelled in seconds, compressing against his bones, before he collapsed into the snow, lifeless.

Joanie screamed inside her own mind.

“Stop. Stop, please stop!” She begged.

But he couldn’t hear her.

She moved to the next boy. They tried to run but unfortunately he didn’t get far.

She grabbed his wrist, yanked him close, and drained him too. The boy’s knees buckled and his breath vanished. His body fell limp beside the first.

Joanie felt sick. She felt horrified. She felt the cold hunger tearing through her like a storm.

The last boy, the tallest one who had thrown the rock, stumbled backward, tripping over a tree root. He fell hard, scrambling in the snow, eyes wide with terror.

“Ekki… ekki…”

No… no…

She stepped toward him.

Joanie felt the fury. The humiliation. The years of cruelty. The cold power rising like a tide within her.

“Please.” Joanie begged. “Please don’t.”

He didn’t hear her.

He reached out to touch him.

A searing pain tore through Joanie’s skull.

A white light exploded behind her eyes.

---

Joanie snapped awake with a gasp.

The Icelander collapsed in front of her, hitting the floor hard. His body jerked once, then went still, breath ragged, eyes unfocused.

Behind her, Mina stood trembling, gripping a fire extinguisher with both hands. The metal was dented from where she’d hit him.

Her heart leapt, filling with relief.

“We need to go, Joanie.” Mina’s voice shook. “Now.”

Joanie stared at the Icelander’s unconscious form, her heart pounding, her mind still echoing with the cold of his childhood.

Then she nodded.

Vanguard: Calder City

S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E

F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S

^Joanie

“Fuck you.” She spat at him, hitting the floor near his shoe.

Joanie’s mind clung to the last echo of Marth’s voice as the darkness thinned. She wished she could hear him again and feel that warmth in her head, that impossible safety.

A part of her wanted him to show up and to pull Mina and her out of this place. Yet at the same time, the immense guilt she held at the thought of him getting involved here twisted hard. She didn’t want him anywhere near Harborlight. She didn’t want him hurt. She didn’t want him dragged into this nightmare because of her.

She swallowed, glancing to the unconscious Mina next to her, and then back to the man who had plagued her recent nightmares. Her throat was tight. She was on her own here.

He looked down at the small splatter of spit, then back at her with the same calm expression.

“You seem to keep making a mess of my club.” He said it lightly. Almost conversationally.

He stepped around her chair, letting the warm lighting catch the edges of his curls and beard. The cold followed him like a tide. Even now the coolness of his eyes unnerved her.

“The boards can be replaced,” he said. “The lights can be fixed. Damage is only damage.”

He paused, studying her face.

“But the trouble it has caused you…” He tilted his head slightly. “That is far more interesting.”

Her stomach twisted as he moved a little closer.

“Detonator Dane.” He began. “And your friend.”

He said Trey’s death like he was listing ingredients.

“Losing a Gray with such potential is always a waste.”

The words hit her like a bruise pressed too hard. He said it so casually, as if Trey’s life were a misplaced tool or a broken ornament. Hearing him reduce Trey to a waste made her chest tighten until she could barely breathe.

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tear the cold out of the air with her bare hands. She wanted him to feel even a fraction of what Trey had felt in those last seconds.

Her fists balled, the cable ties digging into her wrists.

“I said, fuck you.”

The side of his mouth curled upwards as he watched her, clearly bemused. She scowled in response. If this was how things were going to go, then she could at least get some answers.

“Where’s Rowan?” She demanded, doing her best not to sound terrified.

He blinked once.

“I do not know who that is.”

Her stomach dropped. He was telling the truth. Rowan was missing for another reason entirely. The fear rose so fast she almost choked on it.

She swallowed hard.

“I heard someone say Mina was being sent to a client.”

His expression did not change.

“That does not concern you.”

The words felt like a door slammed in her face. Panic clawed at her ribs. The idea that she could just be handed over to someone else made her throat burn. How on earth wasn’t that her concern?

Her voice cracked.

“Then what the fuck do you want with me?”

He stepped closer. The temperature fell with him. Her breath trembled.

“At first,” he said, “I wanted only a taste.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He studied her face with a calm that made her stomach twist.

“A taste of your energy,” he said. “When I first saw you the other night, I sensed it then. The force you carry. It was something new.”

The cold around her shifted. It felt different now. Not just cold. Empty. As if something was being pulled out of her rather than pressed in. She felt her heartbeat slow. She felt her breath thin.

And suddenly she understood.

The cold was him.

He had been feeding off of her since she had woken up.

She felt sick.

“You drain people.” She furrowed her brow into a glare.

“Not fully,” he said, as if that somehow made it better. “Not unless I choose to. I take only what I need. A thread of power. Just enough.”

Her breath caught. The cold around her tightened.

He continued. “The more I learned about you, the more intrigued I became.”

Joanie’s heartbeat slowed. She felt the cold reach her ribs.

“I’ve heard rumours for years,” he said. “A care home for Grays. Hidden. Redacted from public record. Restricted to certain social workers. A place that should not exist. I searched for it. I found nothing. Every mention cut out. Every file sealed. Every trail ending in silence.”
He stepped a little closer, pale eyes narrowing with interest.

“After some digging, I realised Vanguard had its hand in it. Their fingerprints were faint, but present.” He paused, studying her face. “It became my blue whale. A myth too large to be real. A hunt I assumed would never end.”

“So imagine my surprised when I spoke to dear Caleb after i saw your little catchup the other day and realised the two of you grew up there together.”

She saw it now, clear as ice. He wanted access to the children. He wanted to drain them.

The horror of it rose so fast she almost choked on it. Her fear burned away, replaced by a sharp, furious heat that filled her chest until she thought it might crack open. She would not let him find out. She would not let him touch them. She would not let him take one single child from that home. Not while she was still breathing.

Her pulse hammered as her jaw tightened and her glare sharpened. She felt the cold pressing in around her, but it couldn’t smother the anger now or smother the thought of Trey. It couldn’t smother the memory of every kid who’d ever sat beside her on those worn sofas or eaten toast in that cramped kitchen. She thought of Mrs Qadir. She thought of Mina. She thought of Caleb. She thought of Marth’s voice in her head, warm and terrified and searching for her. She thought of all the people she refused to let him hurt. The determination settled in her bones like steel.

“I’m not telling you anything.”

The words came out steady. Stronger than she felt. Stronger than she expected.

The Icelander watched her for a long moment, his pale eyes unreadable. Was he accessing her? Deeming whether she was actually a threat to him?

He lifted two fingers and the air shifted.

Something invisible pulled tight, as a body slid across the floor from behind, dragged by a force she could not see. It came into view beside her chair.

Caleb.

He was bruised. Bloodied. Barely conscious. Her suspicions slammed into place; that had been him she’d heard moaning before.

Joanie’s breath hitched.

“Fuck you.” She repeated, looking from the body to the monster before him. She practically spat the words at him that time.

The Icelander looked at Caleb with mild irritation.

“He tried resisting me. Annoyingly his mind is practiced.” He said, turning back to Joanie. “Yours is fresh.”

Practised?. What on earth did that mean?

Mina stirred beside her. Her head lifted slightly. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw him. She saw Joanie. Her breath trembled.

“Joanie…” she whispered.

The Icelander glanced at Mina.

“If you will not help me,” he said, “she will.”

Joanie’s determination faltered. She had been all for suffering through this if it meant saving her family, but she didn’t want Mina hurt. She didn’t want Mina anywhere near him.

But Mina’s voice shook as she forced the words out. “Don’t tell him.”

Joanie froze.Clearly she’d been listening.

“Mina…” She began, panic returning to her as her anger faltered slightly.

“Don’t.” Mina whispered. “Even if he hurts me. Even if he kills me. Don’t tell him.”

Icelander just watched, clearly bemused. Then, as if this were some routine appointment, he spoke. “Right then, let us start with you then.”

He reached out. His fingers brushed Joanie’s cheek. The touch was not cruel, nor was it gentle. It was simply cold.

“I learned this ability decades ago,” he said. “A Gray in Reykjavík gifted it to me in the event of his death. He could read memories. It has served me well.”

He paused, then added quietly:

“In my country we say, ‘Blind is a man without books.’” His eyes burrowed into hers. “So it’s time for you to become my library.”

Joanie tried to pull back. Her body refused to move.

He placed his hand against her temple.

She screamed as the cold reached her mind.

Her thoughts scattered.

Her vision blurred.

Her heartbeat slowed.

And everything went dark.

Vanguard: Calder City

S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E

F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S

^{Joanie | Featuring Marth (@Memoria)}

The hallway at St Dymphna’s was hot that summer morning. Pretty soon the heat would be unbearable, save for the pockets of cooling that the clunky AC units brought them. It had taken Joanie a few minutes to rouse herself from the sofa she had found her sweaty back stuck to when she had been called.

Mrs Qadir had been waiting for her near the door to her office. She smiled as she approached and Joanie quickly realised she wasn’t alone.

“Joanie, this is Trey,” Mrs Qadir said, her voice gentle as she stepped aside.

A boy emerged from behind her. Thirteen, twelve, maybe. A young kid with dark skin and curls that stuck out in uneven directions, as if he had tried to flatten them and given up halfway through. His eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the hallway as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to look at anything for too long. When he finally let out a smile, it was bright and warm and completely unguarded. It lit up the whole hallway.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand in a small wave. He was clearly nervous yet masking it behind a front of confidence.

Mrs Qadir gave Joanie’s shoulder a soft squeeze before leaving them alone.

The silence that followed felt thick. Joanie stared at him, unsure what she was supposed to say.

Trey shifted his weight, glancing at the scuffed skirting boards, then back at her. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

Joanie cleared her throat. “Um… I can show you around. If you want.”

Trey’s shoulders eased a little.

“Yeah. That’d be cool.”

She started walking, slow enough that he could keep up.

“The living room’s usually loud. People play games in there. Or argue about them.” She said, gesturing to the first room they came to.

Trey’s eyes flicked up.

“Games?” He exclaimed. “They let you play them here?”

Joanie nodded before replying. “Vanguard Brawl, mostly.”

Trey stopped walking altogether and his whole face lit up. “No way. You have that?”

Joanie blinked, surprised by the sudden burst of energy. “Sometimes.”

“Who do you main? Please don’t say Frostbite. Everyone says Frostbite.”

Joanie felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

“Ember.”

Trey gasped like she had just revealed a secret treasure.

“Ember is amazing. The aerial combos? The fire spin? So good. You’ll have to show me sometime.” He rambled excitedly. “She’s got nothing on Stillpoint though! That guy is so cool.”

Joanie shrugged, but the warmth in her chest surprised her. The guy certainly knew his stuff.

“Maybe.” She teased. “Reckon I could still beat you as him though.”

“Nah,” Trey grinned, shaking his head. “Come on. You’re going down!”

The two raced towards the game console by the TV, the flare of competition rushing between them.

And that was all it took.

---

“Jₒₐₙᵢₑ”

The voice jolted her awake. Her eyes flickered open and her head pounded. The voice was familiar, yet in this moment she couldn’t place it. Instead she tried to focus herself on the chaos around her.

Dust drifted through the air like ash. Joanie lay half‑curled on the pavement, cheek pressed against cold stone, her breath catching in shallow, uneven pulls. Her ribs hurt with every inhale. Her vision pulsed in and out, colours smearing at the edges like wet paint. She couldn’t stop seeing the moment Trey vanished. The bubble collapsing. The empty space where he had been. The way her scream tore out of her throat before she even realised she was making a sound.

He was gone. Trey was gone.

Voices rose above her, sharp and frantic, cutting through the ringing in her ears.

“This is bad. This is really bad.”

“Dane’s gone. He’s actually gone.”

“We shouldn’t have been here. We shouldn’t have done this.”.

Joanie tried to lift her head. Her body didn’t listen. Her heart felt like it was breaking open inside her chest.

Hands slid under her arms. Her body lifted, dragged across broken pavement. The world tilted sideways.

Trey was gone.

She had watched him vanish.

She had caused the collapse.

She had killed him.

A voice came from somewhere above her, low and shaking.

“We need to go. Now.” They said.

Cinderjack’s reply followed, tight and strained. “Put her in the van. I’ll get the other one.”

The world spun.

---

Her mind went back again, this time to when she was fourteen.

“Leave her alone.”

Trey’s voice cut through the alley before Joanie even realised he was there. He stood a few steps behind her, shoulders squared, curls sticking out in uneven directions, his jaw set in a way she had never seen before. The three older teenagers who’d been cornering her turned toward him, their expressions shifting from amusement to irritation.

The tallest one, a guy from the grade above her, let go of Joanie’s backpack and stepped forward.

“What’s it to you?” He barked.

Trey held strong. “She said no.”

Joanie’s pulse thudded in her ears. She could feel the rough wall at her back, the cold strap of her backpack still twisted in her hand.

“You trying to be a hero?” the boy asked, taking another step.

The punch came fast, with a sharp crack of knuckles against skin.

Trey’s head snapped to the side, and he staggered, catching himself on one knee. His lip split, a
thin line of red forming at the corner.

Joanie’s heart skipped a beat as she watched her friend fall. Panic turned to anger as she felt her body pulse slightly. She couldn’t risk a power flare up here though.

She had to do something else.

Before the boy could laugh, she stepped forward and kicked him square between the legs. He folded instantly, gasping as he dropped to the ground.

The other two shouted in surprise, but Trey was already grabbing her sleeve.

“Run!”

They bolted out of the alley together, the group’s shouts echoing behind them. They didn’t stop until they reached the main road, where the noise of traffic drowned everything else out.

“You kicked him in the nuts.” Trey laughed between pants. “That was amazing.”

Joanie nodded, still catching her breath.

“Thank you” was all she managed.

“No problem.” He smiled. “I’ll always have your back, pal.”

And he had done so until the very end. Protecting her had killed him, and Joanie would never forgive herself for that.

“Aᵣₑ yₒᵤ ₒₖₐy?” Trey asked. His voice was different now. “Wₕₐₜ’ₛ wᵣₒₙg?”

Joanie paused in confusion. That’s not what he had said that day. That wasn’t right.

It brought her back to the present.

---

Metal slammed. A door shut. Darkness swallowed her.

Joanie lay on her side in the back of the van, cheek pressed against cold flooring. Her ribs throbbed. Her head pounded. Her breath came in shallow, broken pulls. Every inhale felt like it scraped against something sharp inside her chest.

Mina was somewhere behind her, crying softly. The sound cut straight through Joanie’s heart.
Joanie tried to reach for her. Her fingers twitched. Nothing more.

She wanted to tell her she was sorry. She wanted to tell her she didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She wanted to tell her Trey was gone.

Her mind went back to the voice she’d heard. It had happened again; awoken her from unconsciousness. It definitely hadn’t been Trey speaking to her.

She breathed.

She needed help. Badly. Her mind screamed for it, latching onto the calming voice she was hearing for comfort.

The van hit a bump. Her head struck metal. Her vision went black again.

---

This time she was seventeen. Sandra’s Diner felt softer in the evenings, the lights warm against the red vinyl seats and the smell of frying oil drifting lazily through the air. Joanie sat tucked into the booth beside Trey, Mina across from them, all three sharing a plate of fries.

Mina flicked one at him. It bounced off his shoulder and landed in his lap. Joanie snorted, grabbed one of her own, and sent it sailing after the first. Trey threw his hands up in exaggerated despair.

“Why is it always me being attacked?”

Mina grinned.

“We’re just training you to defend yourself better!.”

Trey reached for a fry, but Joanie was faster. She tossed another at him, hitting his cheek this time. Mina burst out laughing, the sound bright enough to fill the whole booth.

Trey tried to look offended, but the smile kept breaking through.

“You two are impossible.”

Joanie leaned back, warmth settling in her chest as Mina wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and Trey pretended to shield himself behind a menu. For a moment, everything felt simple. Just the three of them, sharing food and sunlight and a kind of happiness Joanie wished she could hold onto forever.

She hated that this moment was over now. That there was no longer a possibility to make more memories like this.

She longed to throw fries at her friend again. To hear his laugh. To just see him.

---

Light hit her eyes as she heard the voice again.

“Jₒₐₙᵢₑ” It said. He said.

She pleaded back to him.

Please, Trey. Please come back.

She was being carried. Her head rested against someone’s shoulder. The movement jostled her ribs, sending sharp pain through her chest.

Her eyes opened softly for brief moments. It took her a moment to realise that the brightly lit warehouse they were moving through was Harborlight’s main floor. The club felt wrong without music, without crowds, without the heat of bodies pressed together. The silence made the place feel hollow, like a stage after the actors had left.

The arena floor was still in the process of being repaired she could see, evident by the fresh wooden boards over where she had damage that had yet to be painted. The faint smell of varnish still clung to the air.

Joanie’s vision wavered, catching glimpses of the empty stands, the quiet bar, the long stretch of polished floor where she had once stood terrified under the lights.

Her mind screamed outwards at the realisation. Not here. Why did they have to bring her back here?

Another voice spoke. This one was new.

“Put them in together for now.” He said. “Afterwards we can give her over to the client. He might have more use for her than the boss will.”

Her mind raced as she took in what he had said. Was he on about Mina? And who the hell was the client? Icelander?

There was another lurch as she was moved into a hallway.

Every step they took away from the street felt like a step away from Trey. A step away from the boy who had always protected her. A step away from the boy she had failed to protect.
Her heart felt like it was tearing itself apart.

---

It was last night again. She sat with Trey and Mina on the edge of the pier at the Slats, legs dangling over the side, the city lights flickering across the surface of the river like scattered coins.

They weren’t doing anything special. Just talking. Just being together.

Trey kept making Mina laugh, leaning back on his hands as he told some exaggerated story about a kid at St Dymphna’s who had tried to skateboard down the hallway and crashed into the laundry cart. Even Joanie had found it impressive to witness. Mina snorted so loudly Joanie had to cover her mouth to stop herself laughing too. Trey grinned at both of them, that bright, vibrant smile of his.

Joanie remembered how good it felt. How rare it was to feel that kind of warmth.

The three of them sat close, shoulders brushing. The waves lapped quietly against the supports below, and for a moment Joanie felt like the whole world had slowed down just for them. Trey nudged her knee with his own and said he’d always have her back, no matter what happened. She told him she’d have his too.

It had been a rough few days. Harborlight. Rowan disappearing. The constant fear had been sitting heavy in Joanie’s chest.

But there, with her friends beside her, the night felt soft. Safe. Like nothing bad could reach them as long as they stayed together on that quiet stretch of pier.

She wished she could have held onto that feeling. She wished it could have lasted.

But now that was over.

The pier dissolved. Trey’s laugh thinned into nothing. Mina’s snort faded like a light being switched off. The river went dark. The memory slipped from her fingers before she could hold onto it.

For a heartbeat, there was emptiness.

Then the voice came again. It wasn’t faint this time. It was clear and warm. It reached into her mind like a hand reaching through the fog.

“Jₒₐₙᵢₑ…”

Her breath caught. The sound wrapped around her like a blanket she hadn’t realised she’d been freezing without. Her pulse steadied for the first time since the collapse. Her ribs still hurt, her head still throbbed, but her mind leaned instinctively toward the voice.

Toward him.

“ⱼₒₐₙᵢₑ…ₜₕᵢₛ ᵢₛ ₘₐᵣₜₕ. ᵢ ₙₑₑd yₒᵤ ₜₒ cₐₗₘ yₒᵤᵣ ₘᵢₙd ₐₙd fₒcᵤₛ ₒₙ ₘy ᵥₒᵢcₑ. ₒₖ? Wₕₑᵣₑ ₐᵣₑ yₒᵤ?"

Her chest tightened. She knew that tone. She knew that worry. She knew that softness.

“Marth…”

She didn’t speak it aloud. She didn’t need to. The name rose inside her.

“Yₑₛ, bᵤₜ ⱼₒₐₙᵢₑ, fₒcᵤₛ fₒᵣ ₘₑ. ₜₑₗₗ ₘₑ wₕₐₜ ᵢₛ ₕₐₚₚₑₙᵢₙg.”

Her mind tried to climb toward him, but everything was heavy. Trey’s death. The collapse. The van. Harborlight. Mina’s crying. The cold. It all pressed down on her until she could barely breathe.

How was he doing this? How was she hearing him? Was he a grey?

No. No, he couldn’t be. She would’ve known. Wouldn’t she?

Her thoughts trembled.

“They’re taking me to him, Marth.”

The words formed in her mind, shaky and frightened. She didn’t know if she was doing it right. She didn’t know if he could hear her. But she tried.

"ₜₐₖᵢₙg yₒᵤ? Wₕₒ'ₛ ₜₐₖᵢₙg yₒᵤ? ₜₐₖᵢₙg yₒᵤ ₜₒ wₕₒₘ?”

“I’ve messed everything up.” She cried. “He’s going to hurt Mina.”

”ₙₒ ₙₒ ₙₒ. ⱼᵤₛₜ bᵣₑₐₜₕₑ. ᵢₜ’ₛ gₒₙₙₐ bₑ ₒₖₐy. ⱼᵤₛₜ ₜₑₗₗ ₘₑ wₕₑᵣₑ yₒᵤ ₐᵣₑ ₐₙd ᵢ’ₗₗ…”

Then a surge of coldness overcame her.

---

When she came to again, she realised that she had been placed into a chair, with cable ties tightened around their wrists. Joanie’s breath hitched as the plastic dug into her skin. Her arms felt heavy. Her chest felt hollow. Her throat burned.

The cold reached her next.

It was not the sharp sting of winter air. The air felt thin. The space around her felt emptied. Her skin prickled with the sensation of heat leaving her body rather than cold entering it. Every bruise throbbed harder. Every injury felt deeper, as if the temperature were pulling at the pain and widening it.

She turned her head slightly and saw that Mina had been placed into a chair next to her. She couldn’t tell whether she was relieved or upset by the sight. At least she was alive.

She couldn’t stop seeing Trey’s face. The way he looked at her through the bubble. The way he mouthed her name. The way he vanished.

She tried to shake the thoughts away and attempted to take in the room around it. Warm lighting spilled across the floor, catching on dark wood and polished metal. The office felt too clean, too deliberate, too expensive for the building it sat in. Joanie’s vision swam, but she could make out the shape of a large desk, shelves lined with bottles and trophies, and a wide window that looked out over the empty arena.

She quickly realised this was the room she’d been looking up at all those nights ago. Her throat tightened at the thought.

Yet the cold made everything feel distant, as if she were looking at the room through glass.

Her fingers were numb. Her shoulders trembled. Her injuries pulsed with a deeper ache, as if the cold were reaching inside her and taking whatever strength she had left.

She thought the two of them were alone for a moment until she heard the groan from the corner behind her. She attempted to swivel her head at the familiar noise but she couldn’t quite turn enough. She had a pretty good idea of who it was though. She knew that groan, although she was used to hearing it in very different circumstances.

The air behind her felt thinner, as if someone was drawing the warmth out of it.

Footsteps followed.

Slow. Heavy. Controlled.

With each one, the temperature seemed to drop further. Not in a way she could see, but in a way she could feel. Her breath came out shallow. Her chest tightened. Her heartbeat slowed, as if the cold were reaching for it. Her ribs ached. Her vision flickered at the edges.

A figure stepped into view from behind her, his expression unreadable. His presence filled the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. The cold surged with him, rolling over her shoulders and down her spine.

She longed to speak to Marth again. To hear his reassuring voice in her head once more. But unfortunately, no one was there to save her.

He stopped just behind her chair, in the space just where the turn of her neck could reach him fully.

He leaned forward slightly, allowing the light to catch his features. Short curls framed a strong brow. His beard was full and neatly kept. His eyes were a pale, icy blue that seemed to hold their own temperature. Up close, his face looked carved rather than grown, every line sharp, every angle deliberate. The cold around her tightened as if responding to him.

“Joanie Porter” the Icelander said. There was a measured cadence to his speech, as if he weighed every syllable before releasing it. “I was wondering when you would awake.”

Maybe she would be seeing Trey sooner than she thought.

Vanguard: Calder City

We're 11 posts away from 100 posts.

Who/what is everyone enjoying reading? @Eddie Brock with Dani is definitely one of my favourite characters, but @Hound55 writing Qing's dad, Bo, is rapidly catching up. In terms of side characters, he's very enjoyable with the way he plays up a language barrier and is always trying to set Qing up with the pretty girls.

Overarching plots, @Sep is killing it with linking Dusk and the missing Grays plots to a wide number of players, while @BrutalBX and the King's Blood plot have also been a lot of fun to follow along. @Natty's world-building with Harbourlight just makes me envious. I didn't think of it first for the Haunt, and Joanie and her little gang are always a treat to read.

Honestly, there's a lot to gush about an IC this strong. @Stormyx and @Melissa are also hitting it out of the park with their characters and their plots. It's always fun when Eve shows up in a post since you never know which voice is going to be talking.

I desperately want more of @Supermaxx and Solomon. Both @DocTachyon and @Captain Uni are also writing unforgettable characters, with Rock and Ace appearing in a wide number of posts and being some of our more prolific capes.

I am really looking forward to Archie coming into his own and actually getting to write some team ups with these characters.

@Lord Wraith

It's tough to say much that differs from this, honestly! Everyone has been cooking

Very much looking forward to what @Memoria and i are doing though!

Vanguard: Calder City

S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E

F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S

^Joanie

“Who the hell are you guys?” Mina demanded, her voice sharp

The street seemed to empty around them as the four figures straightened from their lean against the van. The morning bustle of the Docks faded into the background, replaced by a heavy, watchful silence. Joanie felt Mina begin to stiffen beside her as she spoke, the excitement from moments ago draining from her face as she took in the strangers blocking their path.

Joanie recognised the first two instantly.

Detonator Dane stood at the front, leaning against the van lik#e he owned the street. He had the kind of sharp‑boned, effortless beauty that made people stare without meaning to. Dark hair tied back at the nape, stubble along a strong jaw, eyes bright with a restless excitement that never seemed to settle. His sports jacket hung open over a bare chest, the fabric scorched in places. He continued to roll the metal ball between his fingers.

Beside him stood Cinderjack, broader and heavier, dressed like he had been dragged out bed only ten minutes ago, his blonde mullet an absolute mess. A fitted black T‑shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, hiding the mess of old burns and inked tattoos. The fresh black eye swelling beneath his brow was new. Joanie noticed it instantly. He hadn’t had it at Harborlight.
He avoided her gaze, jaw tight. Was it guilt? Shame? Something worse?

The other two were strangers.

One perched on the bonnet of the van, legs swinging casually despite the weight of the hammer resting across her lap. She was small, barely five feet tall, with a compact athletic build that made her movements sharp and fast. Her hair was shaved on one side, the rest dyed a violent red that fell across her cheek. Her grin was wide and mischievous, the kind of smile that belonged to someone who enjoyed chaos far more than she should. The hammer looked almost comically oversized in her hands, but she held it with the ease of someone who had been swinging it since childhood.

Behind her stood a giant of a man. A large Black man, broad‑shouldered and heavyset, with the kind of presence that made the space around him feel smaller. His skin was smooth and dark, his features strong and calm, but his forearms told a different story. They shifted subtly, the surface rippling like wet clay being stirred by an unseen hand. Cracks formed and sealed across his arms whenever he flexed, shedding tiny flecks of dried mud that crumbled to the pavement. The rest of him looked normal, grounded, human. Only his arms betrayed the mutation simmering beneath his skin.

Dane pushed off the van and sauntered forward.

“Relax. We’re not here for a fight.” He pointed at Joanie. “We’re here for her.”

Joanie’s stomach dropped.

Mina stepped closer. “Why would you want her?”

“The Icelander wants a word.”

Trey frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Joanie swallowed.

“Caleb’s boss.” She replied quietly. Trey and Mina turned to look at her in unison, confusion crossing their faces.

Dane grinned. “He’s your boss too now.”

Joanie’s throat tightened.

Her eyes flicked to Cinderjack again. He still wouldn’t look at her. She had saved his life. Surely that meant something? Apparently it didn’t, as he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Why?” Trey asked.

“Because he saw what she did the other night. Shook his whole club,” Dane said. “You think he didn’t notice?”

Joanie’s breath caught. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t matter. He wants you. And when he wants something, we fetch it.”

Trey stepped in front of her. “You’re not taking her.”

Dane merely smiled.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He turned his head slightly. “Pummel. Mudline. Get her.”

The hammer girl hopped off the bonnet, cracking her knuckles.

The world exploded.

She sprinted first, swinging the oversized hammer in a blur. Trey threw up a bubble so fast it shimmered like glass. The hammer slammed into it with a deep, ringing thud that vibrated through Joanie’s bones. Trey staggered but held.

“Back off!” He shouted.

Dane flicked something from his fingers. A tiny bead, no bigger than a marble, glowing a faint red. It arced lazily through the air, then detonated with a sharp crack that rattled the windows. Trey threw another bubble, catching the blast before it hit them.

“Cute trick,” Dane called. “Let’s see how long you last.”

The giant moved next. He charged, his arms softening into heavy mudlike masses that wrapped around Joanie and Mina’s wrists, pinning them together. The weight dragged Joanie down. Her knees hit the pavement. Panic flared.

“Let go of her!” Mina shouted, struggling.

Joanie felt the familiar pressure rising in her chest. She exhaled.

The ground trembled. A sharp pulse burst from her body. The mudlike grip shattered into clumps that scattered across the street. The giant stumbled back, staring at his cracked hands.

Joanie fell forward, breath shaking.

Mina grabbed her arm. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

The hammer girl was already back on them. She swung again, forcing Joanie and Mina to duck. Joanie felt the rush of air over her head. Mina kicked out, catching the girl’s shin. She hissed and swung again, closer this time.

Another pulse burst from Joanie’s hands. Smaller, focused. It caught the girl square in the torso and sent her flying back, skidding across the pavement.

“Agnes!” the one known as Mudline shouted. So that was her real name.

He surged forward, his arm liquefying into a muddy fist that shot toward Joanie. She barely dodged, stumbling sideways as the limb splattered against the pavement and reformed. A chunk of brick behind her cracked from the impact.

Mina grabbed Joanie’s sleeve. “Stay with me!”

Before she could reassure her, a rush of heat tore across Joanie’s right side.

Cinderjack lunged, flames racing up his arms. His fist was a ball of fire, aimed straight at her head. Joanie ducked, feeling the heat scorch past her cheek. The last time she had seen those flames had been on the Harborlight stage, aimed at opponents. Seeing them aimed at her now was terrifying.

“Why are you doing this?” she shouted. “I saved your life!”

He hesitated for a moment, as if his guilt was flickering. He still wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You shouldn’t have. It wasn’t yours to save.” He finally said. His voice was angry, although she could hear the fear in it.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“The Icelander decides who lives. Not you. Now I have to prove myself.”

He lunged again.

Joanie ducked. Mina shoved him. He stumbled but caught himself, flames flaring hotter, eyes locked on Joanie like she was the test he had to pass.

Behind them, Agnes was back on her feet. She swung the hammer at Mina’s head. Mina stepped in close, grabbed the handle with both hands, and held on. Joanie was as the veins in her hands glowed white hot. The metal began to soften, the handle sagging. Agnes screamed as the heat melted part of her palm and the skin along her fingers.

“Let go!” she shouted, dropping the hammer.

Then she drove her forehead into Mina’s face. The crack was sickening.

Mina screamed and fell, blood pouring from her nose.

“Mina!” Joanie lunged toward her.

Cinderjack reached Joanie first. His hand closed around her arm. Heat seared through her sleeve. She cried out and swung blindly. Her fist connected with his jaw. It barely moved him.

“You should’ve stayed down,” he growled.

Mudline grabbed Joanie from behind, arms wrapping around her torso, crushing her ribs. She gasped, panic clawing up her throat. She tried to twist free, but his grip only tightened, the mud along his forearms hardening like stone.

“Let go!” She begged between breaths.
He didn’t.

Joanie’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She looked toward Trey.

He was still holding the line, but barely. Bubble after bubble flickered around him, each one thinner than the last. Dane kept throwing explosives, each bead glowing hotter, brighter, more unstable. Trey’s jaw was clenched. Sweat ran down his temple. His hands trembled. He was shaking under the strain.

He wasn’t going to last.

Joanie felt something inside her crack as her hope slipped away.

The pressure rose in her chest, too fast, too strong, like her whole body was about to tear open. She couldn’t hold it. She couldn’t stop it.

She released it.

The shockwave tore out of her in a single violent burst. The entire street shook. Mudline’s grip shattered instantly. He was thrown backwards, skidding across the pavement. Pummel was knocked off her feet, the remains of her hammer clattering away. Cinderjack staggered, flames guttering as he slammed into the side of the van.
The shockwave didn’t stop there.

Windows shattered. Dust rained from the rooftops. The nearest building groaned, its brickwork cracking like ice under a boot.

Joanie stumbled forward, catching herself on her hands. Her lip split as her face impacted the road. She tasted blood.

She looked up to where Trey’s duel with the Detonator was taking place.

Dane was already winding his arm back, a sphere the size of an apple glowing deep red in his palm. He hurled it with all his strength.

The building behind Trey shuddered again, as Joanie realised what she had done. The shockwave had weakened the structure, and Dane’s explosion had now inadvertently finished the job.

The entire top floor began to fall.

“Move!” Trey shouted.

Everyone scattered. She wasn’t paying attention to where the majority of them went, her eyes instead only going to the people who mattered. She was grateful to see Mina scrambled across the pavement to safety, shielding her head with her arms.

Dane on the other hand wasn’t fast enough.

A slab of concrete crashed down onto him, his body disappeared under the rubble in a burst of red splatter.

Joanie stood frozen in place, her limbs not willing her to move as carnage rained down around her. Thankfully, Trey was not in the same state.

He sprinted toward her, grabbed her shoulders, and shoved her with everything he had. She hit the ground hard. A slab of concrete crashed down exactly where she had been standing.

Whilst she was now safe, Trey was in the centre of it all.

“Trey!” She called, panic rising in her voice.

He threw a bubble around himself as rubble landed around him, quickly burying the sphere. Joanie could barely see him inside. He mouthed something. She thought it was her name.

Relief washed over her as she realised he was safe.

Then, right as another chunk of wall began to cover it, the bubble collapsed inward like a soap film popping.

And Trey vanished.

The debris crashed into the empty space where he’d been. Dust billowed. The street shook. Joanie’s scream tore out of her throat.

Vanguard: Calder City

S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E

F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S

^Joanie

The Docks district was waking up around them as the trio made their way through the tight streets and old brick buildings. Delivery vans rolled past, their engines rumbling against the brickwork, and they passed groups of people heading about their day. A pair of dog walkers chatted outside a corner shop. A cyclist weaved through a line of parked cars. Someone swept outside a café, sending the smell of warm bread into the air. The pavement still held the cool of the night, but the sun was already warming the tops of the warehouse roofs, turning the windows into pale gold mirrors. The whole neighbourhood felt like it was stretching its limbs after sleep.

Joanie followed suit. They’d gotten home late last night from the Slats, which maybe hadn’t been the best idea given she was due to start her new job at Old Prue Gables in half an hours time. She was surprised the others had dragged themselves out of bed to join her on her walk in this morning. She had a good group of friends.

Trey was currently mid-way through his rant, which he did every year during the draft season.

“The Calder Coyotes have lost their minds,” he moaned, hands tucked into his pockets. “Drafting Harker over Quinn? Ridiculous. I could run that team better than half their management.”

“You can barely run your own life.” Mina laughed, rolling her eyes.

“I’d still do a better job,” Trey insisted. “Give me a clipboard and a headset and I’d turn that team around in a week.”

“You can’t even skate!” Mina exclaimed.

Joanie let out a quiet laugh. Watching the two of them bicker was a good distraction, something light to hold onto while her nerves twisted in her stomach. Her hands stayed tucked into her sleeves as her gaze drifted toward the road that led to Marth’s family’s bed and breakfast. The thought of starting there today made her chest flutter.

Mina caught the look on her face.

“Hey. How’re you doing?” She asked, playfully bumping her shoulder.
Joanie hesitated.

“I’m nervous.” She confessed, trying to smile. “You didn’t have to walk me there, though. I appreciate it, but you really didn’t need to.”

“We wanted to,” Mina said. “It’s a big day.”

Trey nudged her lightly with his elbow from the other side. “And after your shift, we’re getting food. I’m starving already.”

“You’re always starving,” Mina said.

Joanie breathed out slowly. For a moment, everything felt simple.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and frowned as she read the name of the sender.

Caleb.

Good luck today. You’ll do amazing.

Joanie stopped walking as her stomach tightened. He had messaged her a few times since their meeting at Sandra’s the other day, apologising for everything that happened. She had ignored every single one. So how on earth did he know about her new job?

Trey saw her expression change.

“Who’s that?”

Joanie turned the screen so they could see. Mina frowned in response.

“Caleb?” She asked. “What does that asshole want now?”

Joanie locked the phone, shaking her head as she began to move forward again.

“He keeps messaging. I haven’t replied.”

Trey hesitated, then spoke quietly. “I… might know why he texted.”

Joanie froze.

“What?” She asked, turning to look at her friend in confusion.

“I talked to him. Last night.”

“Trey, you didn’t.” Mina gasped, her eyes widening.

“I was worried,” he said. “You’ve been different since Harborlight. And you wouldn’t talk to us. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Joanie’s chest tightened as her pulse jumped.

“I thought you said you had my back.” She exclaimed, her fist tightening slightly. He knew how she felt about Trey. Especially after everything that had happened and everything they had seen. How could he betray her like this? After everything he had said the night before.

Trey’s expression softened, guilt flickering across his face. “I do. That’s why I messaged him. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Mina stepped closer to Joanie.

“Trey, she doesn’t need this right before her shift.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I just want her safe.”

Joanie opened her mouth to answer. To tell him she didn’t need protection. But before she could, a voice interrupted her train of thought, cutting across the street.

“Morning, kids.”

They turned.

A battered white van was parked across the road, half in the shade of an old warehouse. Four figures leaned against it, watching them like they had been there long enough to enjoy the conversation.

She recognised the one who spoke immediately from when Trey had pointed him out to her back at Harborlight. It was Detonator Dane, the club’s champion.

“Seems like we’ve stumbled across something fun.” He jeered, rolling a small metal sphere across his knuckles, tapping it lightly as if daring it to ignite.

Vanguard: Calder City

<Snipped quote by Pirouette>

No worries. The only one you've held up is @Hillan

@Sep

Is that his excuse this time then? 🤔

Vanguard: Calder City

S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E
S T . D Y M P H N A ‘ S H O M E

F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S
F O R W A Y W A R D Y O U T H S

^Joanie

Redbank Pier had once belonged to Redbank Foundry, a mid‑century metalworks that supplied cast iron fittings to the shipyards along the estuary. The foundry had burned through its final contracts in the late nineties, then burned through half its moulding bay in a fire that shut the place down for good. The pier was left to the tide and the weather. Years of salt and sun warped the boards until they bowed and separated, becoming long uneven strips that clattered under wheels and rattled when the wind pushed through them. The teens who first claimed the abandoned stretch of wood called it the Slats, and the name stuck. Official paperwork still names it Redbank Pier, but anyone under twenty used the nickname without thinking.

The Slats was busy tonight, scattered with skaters, drinkers, and a few older teens leaning on the railing. The trio reached it tiredly after another long sweep of the waterfront. They had checked the ferry landing, the alleys behind the boat sheds, the narrow side streets that ran between shuttered shops. There was still no sign of Row anywhere. Joanie wasn’t too surprised though. Hope was at an all time low.

They each recognised a couple of faces as they made their way down. Trey nodded to a number of them, dapping up some of his old classmates. Mina and Joanie seemed to do the opposite, the two attempting now to give many of them too much attention.

Joanie in particular had spotted a pair near the far end, a couple she knew from school. Reece Tovey walked with the same stumbling swagger he always had when he drank too much, his shoulders rolling. His girlfriend, Shannon Pryce, stayed half a step behind him with her arms folded tight, her expression already sour. Joanie had shared classes with Shannon back at school, and the dislike between them had been mutual from the start. Shannon had never hidden her opinion about kids from care homes, or grays for that matter, always making little comments under her breath whenever Joanie answered a question correctly. Seeing them here was no surprise. The Slats attracted every kind of person who wanted somewhere to drink without being asked for ID.

Mina slowed when she saw a familiar face near a cluster of crates. A boy with a fresh fade and a hoodie half zipped, laughing with two friends.

“Who’s that?” Trey asked, following her gaze.

“Jamie Bramhall. Mina’s old lab partner. He looks better than he used to. New haircut suits him.” Joanie explained, hiding a smirk as she watched the worry in her friend’s eyes.

Mina heard her name and turned back to them, cheeks bright with excitement.

“I am going to go say hi. Might try and score some drinks while I am at it. I want to celebrate your job.”

Joanie felt a small warmth in her chest. Mina had grown so much, even with everything that had happened recently. She couldn’t always just walk up to a group of half drunk boys and ask for beers without flinching. Joanie was proud of her.

Mina headed over to Jamie and his friends, slipping into the group. Trey watched her for a moment, his gaze lingering on Jamie handing her a bottle.

“You can’t be jealous if you never ask her out.” Joanne teased, leaning back against the railing of the pier.

Trey blinked hard and looked away. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be jealous?”

She let out a chuckle.

“Trey. It’s obvious.”

He tried to hold his expression steady, but his mouth twitched. Joanie nudged him lightly with her shoulder.

“You have nothing to worry about. Jamie is just being friendly. Mina’snot looking at him the way she looks at you.”

Trey let out a breath he had been holding. His shoulders eased a little.

“Maybe.”

Joanie smiled faintly. It was cute, seeing him flustered. He was always so calm, so careful, but Mina had a way of knocking him off balance without even trying.

Trey shifted beside her, turning his attention back to her

“I am proud of you, you know. About the job. Marth choosing you for the B&B. This is big.”

Joanie felt her chest tighten again, but this time in a softer way.

“Thanks.”

“It will be my turn next.”

Joanie snorted. “Yeah. Qadir won’t let you be a freeloader much longer.”

Trey laughed under his breath. “I have a plan.”

Joanie raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“I am going to make it big. Become one of those powered influencers. Do reaction videos whilst bouncing on my bubbles. Start a misogynistic podcast.”

Joanie shook her head, amused.

“Or I’ll join Vanguard. Become a secret agent. Get my own codename.” He mimed aiming a pistol dramatically.

Joanie laughed properly this time, the sound easing some of the tension in her chest.

“Might even buy a yacht one day,” Trey added. “Let you take a trip on it. Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet.”

Joanie looked at him, the humour fading into something gentler.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But either way.” He met her eyes, steady and warm. “I will always have your back.”

Joanie swallowed. The words landed heavier than he meant them to. She nodded, her voice too tight to trust.

A voice cut across the boards.

Reece had noticed them. His eyes locked onto Joanie, his mouth twisting into a sloppy grin.

“Look who crawled out of St… St… whatever that place is.”

He waved his hand vaguely, unable to pronounce it. Shannon smirked beside him, somehow pleased with the jab despite how utterly awful it was.

Joanie’s jaw tightened.

“Didn’t think they let you out so late.” Shannon jeered. “Especially with how you lot keep dropping like flies recently.”

Joanie felt heat rising through. Shannon smirked again, and something in Joanie snapped.

“If I wanted to take advice from someone who lost their virginity to their cousin, I would’ve asked” She mocked, mentally thanking the gods for the gift of the rumour mill that blessed her with that knowledge all those months ago.

Shannon’s face flushed instantly. Reece’s expression twisted. Clearly he wasn’t too keen on people knowing about his girlfriend’s ex.

“Watch your mouth.” He barked.

He stepped forward quickly and clumsily. His arm swung out.

Joanie saw the start of the movement. The shift of his shoulder. The sloppy twist of his wrist.

Then the world jumped.

A split second later, Reece was no longer lunging and was already on the ground, swearing as he tried to push himself upright.

Joanie’s breath caught. A faint shimmer clung to the air around her, as the last remnants of Trey’s bubble dissolved in front of her eyes, thin and wavering, then gone.

Outside the bubble, Mina was already halfway toward them, two bottles in hand, eyes wide with alarm.

Trey stood between her and Reece, shoulders tense, jaw set. He had reacted before she even understood what was happening.

Shannon grabbed Reece, furious and embarrassed. He muttered something under his breath, still confused about how he had ended up on the floor. They moved away as Trey stood guard.

“Told you I had your back.” He said, turning back to her with a smile. Once he was satisfied the two were gone, he took one of the beers from Mina and handed it to her.

Joanie let out a breath finally, before giving him a grateful nod as she took it.

The trio enjoyed the rest of their night as the Slats creaked beneath them and the tide pushed against the pylons below.

Absolute Comics - A Multi-Fandom Singular Universe Roleplay

|| Bellwood, Earth

The Rustbucket rolled through Bellwood in the soft glow of late afternoon, its engine humming. Inside, the air felt calmer than it had in days. Ben sat in the passenger seat, watching the houses drift by. Max sat next to him at the wheel, humming along to the radio.

“You know… even with everything that happened, I'm glad we got to do this.” Ben said, letting a smile cross his lips as he turned towards his grandpa.”It felt just like old times.”

And he really meant it. Sure he'd yet to resolve his arguments with Gwen, or discover whoever that stalker inventor was, but there was really something about being back on the road again. He was even going to miss the Rustbucket’s bumpy beds.

Max kept his eyes on the road but smiled. “I’m glad son. We’ll have to get a few more in before you have to start school again in the fall”

That comment made his heart sink slightly but Ben tried not to let it show. “Yeah. Guess so.”

From the back of the RV, Gwen began to make her way down towards them.

“You’ll have to take some trips to visit me wherever I end up going to school.” She mused, clearly having heard the topic of conversation. “Have a feeling you'll be visiting New Orleans quite a bit…”

Gwen’s voice trailed off as the RV turned into Ben’s street. Her eyes stared out ahead of them, her mouth beginning to fall agape. Ben followed her gaze.

The front door of the Tennyson house was smashed inward, hanging crookedly off one hinge. Splintered wood littered the porch. The frame looked like something had forced its way through without slowing down.

“No…” Was all Ben managed as his stomach dropped.

Max braked hard. Ben was out the door before the Rustbucket fully stopped, Gwen right behind him, Max moving with surprising speed for his age.

It took them mere seconds before they crossed the threshold.

The living room was a wreck. Furniture overturned. Picture frames shattered. A lamp flickering weakly on its side.

And standing in the center of the chaos was a towering figure who turned toward them as they entered.

He was massive. Broad‑shouldered. His skin a deep, stony blue marked with glowing lines of purple that pulsed like veins of molten energy. Heavy armor plates wrapped his torso and forearms, each etched with symbols that looked more like scars than decoration. His face was sharp and predatory, with ridged bone structure and eyes that burned with a cold, intelligent malice. Two large montrels snaked off the back of his head like a pair of horns.

A thick chain hung loosely from one hand, moving behind him to a trio of crouched creatures.

Insectoid. Armored. Their bodies were a mix of chitin and sinew, with long hooked limbs and ridged heads that twitched as they breathed. They stood over Ben’s parents, who were bound tightly in a loop of metal cable, their eyes wide but unharmed.

The creatures clicked softly, restless, as if waiting for a command.

Ben’s breath caught. He knew those shapes. Those claws. Those mandibles. He'd found himself pursued by these creatures many times before.

Brood.

They were swarm predators, hive‑minded, relentless, and almost impossible to domesticate. The idea of anyone keeping them on chains was wrong on every level. They consumed everything they touched. It's like they were bred for it.

Judging by the look on Grandpa Max’s face, he recognised them too.

Ben took a step forward, ready to charge. His hand shifted to the watch.

The brood reacted instantly. Their bodies tensed, mandibles flaring. A low, vibrating growl rose from all three at once. The sound reverberated around the room.

The towering figure merely clicked his tongue softly.

“Now now. Patience.” He said.

Ben froze mid‑step. His voice was calmer than he had expected, given his beastly appearance. He was well spoken. Poised.

It was at this point that the figure straightened fully, turning his attention toward them.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I am Xanto Starblood. Scholar of the Outer Clutch. Master xenobiologist. And the rightful handler of the creatures you see before you.”

The Brood shifted at the sound of his voice, their focus sharpening.

Starblood’s gaze settled on Ben.

“You,” he said, smooth and certain, “have something I desire.”

Vanguard: Calder City

The suspense of who gets post #69