💀 Azhar’s Apartment.
💀 Late Evening.
Following the police’s involvement, Zee could leave. However, his mind lingered. Why did Hugo Powers consistently provide weaker foes for the mutant to fight? Was it to prevent a scenario where the boy abandoned reason in the face of struggle? Clenching his teeth, Azhar turned in bed, his arms gently wrapped around Dracula’s soft, dark frame. He was getting tired of stopping drug dealers, and barely combat-ready villains. It was starting to be reminiscent of an insult. The confrontation with Astral had been little more than a conversation, before the battle was won. If intel provided the villain's exact location, why didn’t they just send in the police, initially? Despite his frustrated thoughts, Azhar was aware of the answer. It was to prevent deaths, and that much could be handled by drafting a Hero with the ability to incapacitate without killing.
A rather ironic assessment in relation to Azhar, of all people. Shifting his gaze towards the bracelet around his forearm, Zee did little in stopping Dracula’s paw from repeatedly poking the device where he lay. "This is it, huh?" The deathly mutant commented, his recipient turning with a curious, four-eyed glance, before returning to a far more interesting venue of focus. Azhar’s bracelet. "Ever thought about us putting a cape on you, Dracula?" A sharp-toothed grin bridged itself across the mutant’s lips before he felt a tail slapping his face, which in turn warranted a chuckle. "We could be Death and his trusty steed!" Claws tenderly combed their way across Dracula’s raven fur, before Azhar eventually sat.
Placing the cat on his lap, Zee expressed a deep sigh, his eyes closing as he leaned against the wall. "I wonder what the others are doing," came a quiet statement. "Some mafia thing, wasn’t it?" Azhar murmured, his black claws continuously moving across Dracula’s shape in a constant, albeit absentminded manner. The comfort of his bed had overtaken them both, and yet, the mutant managed little in regards to rest. Turning his attention to the cellphone at his side, Zee paused. Part of him wanted to call Powers and halfway scream at that man. ‘Let me fight some real villains, I won’t go nuts and turn into a fucking horseman of the apocalypse,’ Azhar frowned. Perhaps he was digging too far into this. It could have been that he was simply the only available Hero, considering how his co-workers were tangled in a mess he honestly had no interest in. Too many Heroes on one mission tended to end in disaster. Abilities clashed, plans failed if there were any, to begin with, and allies stumbled over one another. The mutant still recalled those scarce missions he had, in fact, participated in together with the others. Only one of them was in any capacity a notable display of teamwork. That trip to the maximum-security prison in Mexico. It worked because the right people were there, and a tactical approach was, for once, entertained.
Embracing the monstrous cat on his lap, Azhar planted a soft kiss atop Dracula’s forehead. It was impossible to deduce how long he continued to sit in the same position, those large, black eyes aimed towards a ceiling with no actual sight in mind. He had recently noticed how a previously chipper and outgoing personality was slowly fading in lieu of a more reserved disposition. Perhaps Astral was right in his attempts at taunting the boy. Perhaps the phantasmal teen was forcing himself to like others. Though, the very same man was trying to seed doubt within the Hero’s mind with every statement. "I’m not forcing anything..," a frown returned, presenting itself upon Azhar’s face. Reaching for his phone and a stylus, both of which rested undisturbed at the boy’s side, Zee scrolled down his list of contacts until he reached the letter S. Moments later, letters were tapped in rapid succession.
’Hey, Sam. Want to hang out? Doing Hero stuff? Need any help?' The stylus hovered over an intimidating button titled ‘send’. With a deep breath, Zee finally tapped the button before sliding onto his pillow.