Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pale white squares neatly and uniformly formed her sky as she reached consciousness, staring up at them and finally realizing herself at last. The sky was at first simplistic and dull, but soon it began to take shape with edges and cracks forming here and there. There was a vent that was almost clumsily shoved into a ceiling juncture overhead. The room was quiet, with neither a whisper nor a sound beyond the muffled passing of cars outside a large window to the right of the bed she was in.

It took a few moments to actualize that she was now awake. Everything seemed to move slow at first as she turned around to look, her eyes adjusting to the environment. Dream had given way to the corporeal and physical, the metaphysical and maleficent to the realm of senses. Sound and image and texture and smell and—

Overwhelming. Sensory overload. Stop. Give me a second. Closing her eyes, she brought her hands up to cover them even more as she winced as she became aware of an overwhelming pain in her head. It started as a whimper but escalated fast into a pitched scream every time she tried looking again. All she could do was moan as it washed over her.

Where even was she right now? This definitely wasn’t her dorm room or her bedroom back at her parents’ house, so something was obviously wrong here. Taking the chance to peek, she opened her left eye and let some light break through new cracks between her hands. It hurt like hell, but now she wasn’t feeling so disorientated.

The pure-white blanket she was under felt almost plastic, washed and starched a thousand times. Everything around her was just as basic and undefined; a little black television sat on top of a platform raised in the corner of the room, two brown doors near each other in the other, light blue curtains pulled back letting in all that infernal light that blinded her with its catastrophic mild presence, and one thin little metal pole next to her that was dripping liquid into a little hanging bag.

Leading down to a tube jabbed into her arm.

I’m in a hospital? She tried again and again to remember why she was here, but it was all just a blur. A blank, a block of pain and haze that was draped over her minds’ eye. Not knowing why she was here, what was wrong with her bugged her almost as much as the actual pain did; it wasn’t her strong suit to be in the dark or out of control of things, least of all her own body and mind. Why?

It took her ten minutes to drop her hands from her face, her arms shaking from the exertion she had done to just keep them there. If the light was going to be this toxic to her, she could just blink through it if she really needed to see.

She was so weak right now, it was mortifying.

A new noise stirred her to attention. From one of the doors came a nurse, a middle-aged woman with fading orange hair and an entire outfit of baggy dark blue nurse scrubs not even really looking at the patient as they went about checking on the equipment plugged into her. Because of this auto-pilot behavior on their part, the nurse didn’t notice that patient was actually fully awake now. So this meant when they locked eyes through the girl's thin fingers it took the attendee aback for a second.

“Oh!” The older woman gasped, recovering quick as they went to her side. “Are you feeling all right? Can you hear me?” The nurse picked up the patient’s left arm carefully, being sure to not disturb the one that was being used to shield their face. Putting two fingers together onto the patient's wrist, the nurse began measuring the patient's vitals whilst staring at an old analogue clock as they wordlessly mouthed the numbers.

Trying to speak was a different matter for the newly-awakened. Her throat was dried out completely, so the words got choked on the way out by a desert. Licking her lips a bit, she succeeded on the second try, but only just barely. “Yes. Yes, I can hear you. Thirsty.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you some water in just a second. Pulse is strong, that’s good.” She quickly scribbled the number she got down on a pad that was hanging out of sight at the foot of the bed, probably hanging on the white plastic bars it adorned. Acting too quickly for the patient to stop them, the nurse turned around and left as soon as possible through one of the two doors in the room. Thankfully, they returned with a glass of water in hand, keeping their word and offering it gingerly to the patient. Satisfied when they accepted it greedily after a few test sips, the nurse sat back and looked them over before asking, “Anything feel out-of-place for you right now? Anything hurt, anything feel weird?”

The water she drank down like someone was bound to steal it tasted like tap water. Plain, unenthused, unspecial. It was worth its weight in gold right now. Swallowing the last drip down, she rested the cup on her chest and breathed through her teeth. The headaches intensified a bit again. “No. Yes. The light’s too bright. World keeps spinning. My— my head hurts.” She let out a bit of an exclamation, but soon it subsided again as she turned to avoid the sunlight. on the last part. At least the water was helping her talk it out; nothing would be worse than keeping this sort of stuff to herself, she bet.

“Have you felt like this the whole time you’ve been awake?”

“It’s not as bad now. But yes. On and off. I just woke up.”

Nodding knowingly, the nurse looked at her for a second before retrieving a doctor. It took some time, leaving the young woman alone with her wayward and scattered thoughts before eventually a man with a white coat entered her room. He was tall, his head a finely-combed dirty-blond that gave youth to his otherwise grizzled looks and demeanor. Following him was the nurse she'd already met and another two men also dressed up in simple crubs like nurses do.

The trio gave her simple instructions as they followed the doctor's lead. He gave her a check-up. Firstly he tested her eyes with a small light, much to her chagrin as he looked closely at both. He tested her hearing by prompting her with simple instructions for her to follow, such as lifting her hands or moving her legs, then he got to testing her leg reflexes by lightly tapping them with a hammer. This required the nurses to sit her up on the bed, shifting her center of gravity Besides the eye-test, everything seemed to go all right as far as she could tell. The doctor, still taciturn, took down notes before actually introducing himself in earnest.

“Well, I'm glad to say that it looks like you’re finally up, Miss—“ His voice trailed off a bit as he looked at the top of her medical sheet for her surname.

She was quicker to the draw this time, being driven by a latent compulsion now to interrupt him with her name, spoken at last after what felt like a hundred years. “Cecile’s fine, doctor.” Please don’t say my last name. That’s the last thing I want to hear right now.

Blinking in surprise, he shrugged and kept moving forward without note. “All right. Cecile it is. Cecile, I’m Doctor Ezwa, and I’ve been watching over you since a little bit after you got here. You’ve been in a medically-induced coma for at least a week or so now for intensive surgery. On top of that, you’ve been here well more than that length of time— closer to three to four weeks.”

Three to four weeks?! Cecile almost shot out of her bed in shock, but the doctor met her shoulder with a guiding hand. Laying back down on his insistence, she felt her breath shortening from an adrenaline rush. “What happened to me? How’d I get here, how’d I get put in a coma?”

Shuffling uncomfortably in place, Doctor Ezwa tried to construct an answer as carefully as he could. “Well, firstly, we’re not exactly sure what happened to you. The police said that you were found outside the nurse’s office at your school, Wellston Academy. Do you remember anything about this? Anything at all?”

She shook her head. That definitely deflated Ezwa a bit, but he continued calmly deconstructing events. “The coma was our doing. When the school doctor got to us, he was already dealing with a bit of a crisis of his own on campus. Students were being sent to his office left and right; something about an epidemic of bullying, harassment and fighting or something by kids in masks.”

Cecile felt like she was getting closer to the truth as he spoke. It was almost like she’d heard a song in passing years ago, a little tune that just escaped her but meant everything in the world and now he was humming it right back to her. Doc. That word came to mind, but something told her it wasn’t in reference to Doctor Ezwa. It felt more like a nickname, something more familiar than whoever this man was. And the epidemic of violence and vengeance. Masks. Kids in masks, fighting and brutalizing each other. It was all so real to her, but she couldn't understand why it was. Constantly on the verge, every second a peek over a dark abyss in her mind. The music was too gentle for her to hear, the beat muted and low.

Since she had nothing to say, he kept going. “Luckily that school nurse knew that he didn’t have the resources to properly take care of your injuries, so he called for an ambulance right away. Probably saved your life. He did what he could there to stabilize you, and then we took over after you arrived.”

The man didn’t look like he bothered easily; there was a steady and strong pace to him, but the particulars of her case seemed to do the trick as this conversation marched on. “If you don't mind me pointing it out, though, you must've been in one hell of a fight; you came in with a sprained left ankle, a broken right leg, cracked ribs, a near-broken femur, and above all serious cranial damage. That head injury was why we had to put you into a medically-induced coma, actually. We were forced to administer specially-Ability-enhanced medicines— covered by your parents’ insurance, of course— as soon as you arrived. You already received a quick dose of the same type of medicine your school nurse fabricated using his own Ability, so there was little doubt that you were on the way to being stabilized."

"You woke up a few days after you were admitted, and although you seemed a bit drowsy, that was chalked up by your previous attendees as being a side-effect from painkillers." The scornful way he said that made her think that whomever they were, those people were no longer in the same positions as they were back then. "You were communicating, though, albeit you didn't have the strength to articulate what had happened; not at the beginning of your treatment, at least. After a week of quick progress, you began experiencing sudden internal bleeding in your skull. We couldn't account for the cause, even after putting you under again to repair it with a hybrid method of surgery and targeted medication. It seems that your body either rejected the initial medicinal course before it could heal all your internal injuries effectively, or there was an unexpected allergic reaction or bodily rejection. Either way until you woke up we had no idea what the damage from the bleed could be, if any at all.”

Damage? Cecile felt her world suddenly come screeching to a halt, her breathing stopping short as panic set in slowly but surely. “Brain damage, you mean?” He gave her a solemn nod that she was correct, but heaven knows Cecile wished she was wrong. Being told that everything had changed, that the world had shifted under her only fed a morbid desire to know more. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

“Rest assured, I was put in charge of your case because of my specialty in the field of cerebral trauma and its related environs, and I can tell you that you are in safe hands now. What we're going to do is determine the exact extent of your internal injuries and any side-effects you might still be experiencing from this whole ordeal. I've already put in orders to administer a series of tests which’ll determine what we need to know, and then we'll go from there.”

A brief pause, but then something came out of her mouth that she couldn't believe. “Did my parents come for me?” Cecile said this so suddenly that it even caught herself off-guard.

The doctor blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Sorry. It’s nothing, nevermind. But— did my parents even come by? To see me while I’ve been here? I can’t remember.”

If the doctor was acting concerned before, he definitely was sent over the edge by that interrogatory. It was the mention of her parents that caused him to project inwards, confidence reduced. “Yes. They came after you were put under for surgery. They needed to sign off on the insurance papers so we could continue to use ability-enhanced medical care without your consent. You couldn't provide it, so we had to take emergency measures." A beat. "They were the ones that... relieved your old attendees of their jobs and placed me in charge of your care. They left when I dutifully accepted and got to work. If you mean if you were awake and talking to them, then no."

Do you not remember anything about this?, the tremble in her fingers suggested.

Of course they didn't even wait to talk to her. When was the last time she even saw them, right and proper? Not in cold letters on office stationary obviously dictated to a servant of some kind, nor in texts impersonally crafted to order status reports from their own daughter. But real, actual conversation?

Swipes and smears of barely fragments and suggestions of scenarios popped up, but there was nothing concrete. There was nothing recent to remember, so she went back even further. Weeks. Months. The last she remembered of her parents was that tense dinner they shared on the last night of a school vacation more than half a year ago. They were in the dining room, its walls painted a sleek white and the floor was still stainless tiles. Cecile felt her skin crawl as she couldn't even recall what was said even then. Mouths moved, breaths were taken, tones became sharp as knives.

Even getting to that memory was like she was replaying a disc that skipped over and over. This was insanity. How could she not remember these sorts of things? She was awake, right? So why not? Why couldn't she remember these past few months? These were her memories, how could they just slip away like that without a fight? What's wrong with me?!

What's the matter with you?, the utter void her gut howled in fear.

Perceiving the turmoil brewing within his young patient, Ezwa put down the chart he was using as an interpersonal shield between himself and Cecile. Putting his hand on her shoulder once more, he looked her in the eye and mustered all the confidence he could. “You're feeling scared. That’s, unfortunately, to be expected. But you’ve experienced a very traumatic event, Cecile. Whatever happened to you in the care of others, the bleed was a freak accident that was unfortunately compounded by your already unstable condition. But I assure you, the worst is definitely over. The bad news from all that is that there’s still going to be a long road left to go. The good news, though, is that I think you’re going to get somewhere close back to normal really soon. Now begins recovery. And here's something for you to look forward to: if you’re more or less fine, or at least stable enough to be left on your own and back in public without constant medical supervision, you’ll be out of here in no time. You’ve just got to trust us, trust the process, and above all trust yourself. It’s going to be hard, but from what I saw these past few weeks, I know you’ve got it in you to come out on top. All right?”

Looking down at her fists, Cecile couldn’t help but watch herself shake as the indignity of it all washed over her. Here she was sitting helplessly in a hospital bed, feeling sorry for herself.

Enough. Her voice of reason trumpeted through her core. Enough is enough. That inner drive of hers came roaring back to life, shoving every single indecisive thought and morbid feeling of dread aside— just as it always had before.

There could be no mistakes. There will be nothing left but absolute victory. There will be no more pouting, or fretting, or any notion of quitting.

That was because she was Cecile. If she could not remember what had happened to her, then she would hunt down every sniveling little rodent that she could until she could find out for herself just what had happened to her at Wellston these past few months. Even if all she faced were dead ends, then she would just have to start again.

And rise again, to claim that rightful position of authority in the school that belonged to her, and her alone. Through scheme and shredding, it could be done.

It would be done.

This was her. Controlled in passion, strength in determination, and always out for herself in a world of constant struggle.

That was always her. And it always should be.

Right?

“Okay.” She spoke, clarity and calculation returning like old gloves to hands that longed for their comfort and fit. “Let’s get this started, I want to be out of here as soon as possible. I’ve got a lot of work left to do.”

Visibly looking relieved, her doctor let his shoulders slump and retrieved the clipboard. “That’s the spirit. If you don’t have any more dangerous reactions to low-level applications of medicine, and if you’re able to fully commit to physical therapy, then you’ll be out of here in no-time flat. Best case scenario? Two weeks, maybe three, if nothing else goes wrong. Just don’t push yourself too hard, all right? I know you’ve probably got a ton of homework left to do at school, but this is your health we’re talking about here. Homework can wait.”

“Nothing will go wrong.” Cecile spoke as if she were predicting an absolute future, the sheer force of her will being subjected upon fate itself.

Before he could leave, though, his patient found herself suddenly possessed to ask one more thing. “Doctor Ezwa, before you go—“ She stopped a bit, before asking hesitantly still, “— did anyone else besides my parents show up here? To visit me?”

Thinking for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders a bit in defeat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I was ever around if you had any other visitors. I only interacted with you and your parents, and that was for surgery and intensive care.” A thought occurred to him. “If you really want to know, then please ask the nurses here. They’re bound to have saved that info somewhere around here. Sorry if I wasn’t too helpful on that front.”

Waving it off, she buried that fanciful roguish thought beneath a heavy rock in the back of her mind. It was a moment of weakness, a childish concern prompted by nothing in particular. “Nevermind, nevermind, don’t worry about it. Was just wondering, is all. Thank you, though, you’ve been a huge help to me already.”

That seemed to satisfy him enough. He got her a form to sign regarding the treatment he was cooking up for her; the basic outline seemed logically sound as he explained it to her carefully and with detail where she asked. To be honest, he was probably the most straight-forward adult she'd dealt with in a long time; no pretension around him over her age or her gender, just straight to business unerred by his obvious compassion for someone other than himself. That definitely earned him her trust, something she doled out sparingly.

With that, Ezwa decided to take his leave so she could rest up for her big day back on her feet. He tried to crack a joke about how much paperwork she was going to need to sign for all of this, but it fell kind of flat. Cecile still gave him an awkward smile and a pity laugh, something that the doctor took in stride and appreciated in collaborative embarrassment. Waiting until he'd closed the door as he went out into the unknown, she settled back down and let herself be within the moment and mumbled, “Besides, my work isn’t homework.” It was a thought that hadn't escaped her for the whole conversation. 'Work' meant something greater to her, a sort of calling that went well beyond expectations of her stature.

A metal bar jutted upwards— some kind stand for medical equipment left unattended?— across the room from her bed. It was just thick enough where Cecile could see maybe half of her face if she sat up one more time on her own. And this time she'll make sure to remember. Once more she sat up to see what had been done, what had become of her.

Pathetic. A hiss of revulsion rattled through her mind as she felt open disgust at whom she saw. What she saw. Her purple eyes were struggling to stay open, still feeling weak from her coma; the teal hair that she styled with such pride and indulgence cut down to size, shaved for surgery some time ago but now left to its own devices to crawl back. She was thinning down, losing weight, becoming a haunting figure of a damsel wasting away in repose.

Where was that glow of confidence, the assurance she projected to the school newspaper she ran? Those memories remained with her. They held her in confidence and followed her every command, slowly churning out what they could to pique the interest of gossipy socialites and wannabe brokers alike. Could this shambles possibly bring all those disparate minds and personalities together to even write a thank you note, much less a newspaper that commanded the respect of even the school's Royals as an institution unto itself?

No. Not this, the image of a broken and sad little girl, waiting patiently for mommy and daddy to come save her from that which troubles her, whomever may ill her— like a good, obedient, dependable and dependent daughter to bastards. They'll fix it for you and make it all better, and they'll tell those kids' parents to make their children respect her, too. It'll be made all better, and you will rule your little sandbox.

No. It could not do anything beyond whimper and submit to the wills of others, to their designs and their deeds.

Burn it straight into your mind, for this was hardly the visage worthy of a power-player such as herself. Scorch it right through her soul as a reminder: this is what'll happen when you mess up. If you let yourself trust others too willingly, or if you play your hand too quickly. Whatever it was that almost did her in, it would never happen again because what had been done to her was now being etched onto her very soul as a new touchstone. You shall forget the whole world, your name, your very essence and presence upon the Earth, but you will not forget this. This is doom.

Turning back to the window, the light continued to dance before her eyes but she didn't care. It was just enough seeing the waves of light ripple before her warping perception and ensuring that she didn’t miss a thing. Whatever this new path was, she would make it her own and continue to dominate her own world wherever it might be. Whether it was petty little politics at Wellston that she manipulated right between her little fingers, or even the most powerful Royals that she had the skill if not the power to shove into place if she needed to, it didn’t matter.

All those things were tools at her disposal for the larger goal of the future. A future made even more uncertain by this turn of events. Now all that was thrown into the wind again, waiting in the gusts for her to reach out and grasp at them again.

It was all just noise, blinding like the light outside that now made her squint and struggle, but no more permanent than the winter’s snow. All of that, too, would go away; it was the nature of time. And if there was one thing that Cecile knew how to do, it was to bide her time, and be there just in time to take advantage of whatever the new spring would shepherd towards her. The winds would bow to her wishes, and soon all that she wanted would be hers again.

Such is the nature of Wellston’s former Queen supreme. Bent, bashed, but not yet broken.

Chapter Text

Through trial and error, the hospital was finally able to identify Cecile’s strengths and weaknesses for recovery. Her legs needing more time to heal, but the topical application and low consumption of ability-enhanced medications slowed the recovery down.

The doctor concluded that after she was done healing up here, she could possibly go back to Wellston earlier than scheduled if she committed to using crutches for movement and then possibly a cane near the end of it. Much to her chagrin, her parents would be notified of these developments as well as to her waking up from the medically-induced coma.

Overall, Doctor Ezwa said, it should take about a month, maybe two to get her fully back up to speed. Luckily the physical, lasting damage was going to be minor.

The real problem, though, lied further within.

Her sense of balance was only, to put it generously, ‘all right’’; when she first tried to get up, she tumbled over and did it again and again.

And there it was again, a small icy pit of fear in her stomach as she contemplated this new disability. Then her thoughts turned to about what it might’ve done to her ability. She was the undisputed Queen at Wellston until just some time ago when she lost that position to Remi. Even after that, Cecile could hold her own in a fight against almost anyone but the powerful Royals. Now, though, if all this didn’t go away and quickly…

Whoever did this to her was going to pay. They would pay dearly.

It took a bit for Cecile to get used to her new physical therapy sessions. The hospital staff took her from her bedroom to a physical therapy spot in the building every day At first they started her off slow with an introductory, few-minutes-and-then-rest exercise regimen. She’d be guided by a nurse and a physical therapy aide through some basic exercises, trying to reacquaint Cecile with her sense of balance and motion. The room had an entire wall dedicated to windows, which she rather enjoyed since her light sensitivity finally dimmed.

Some hope after all.

Just like Doctor Ezwa, the hospital staff were kind enough to her and provided excellent care. They were both women, so it made Cecile feel a bit more secure in letting them carry her around. They both had light-blue, baggy-yet-fitting blank clothes on. Scrubs, she think she heard someone call them.

One was tall— even taller than Cecile, and she was easily 5-foot-10— with short-cut pink hair named Rany, and the other was named Maela who was on the shorter side with long yellow hair. Not blonde, per say, but yellow. Just yellow.

Day after day, they’d go into that little room and give her something new to do. Try to walk across the room using a straight guided path of two handle bars, try to walk with both aides holding you up, then do it with only one, then practice on the crutches. They applied a little more and more each day as it looked like she was improving.

Even though she felt a bit reserved about this whole thing, Cecile really did appreciate them for doing their jobs so aptly. “Keep going!” called out Maela, beckoning Cecile on from the other end of the two-bar walkway.

“You’re almost there, now. Doing great.” Whispered Rany, having a firm but still somehow soft hold on her right shoulder and elbow as Cecile shuffled along the bars. One of the memories that still stuck through whatever happened to her, for better or worse, was how exhausted she was after getting beaten by that upstart Remi a year or so ago. Right now, Cecile had to admit that she was sweating even harder just trying to shimmy along here than that bruising defeat.

Humiliating.

Toppling over a bit, Cecile grabbed the rail and grunted in surprise. Walking was becoming a little bit easier after these past few days, sure, but damn her if it wasn’t still an uphill struggle.

“Whoa, there! I’ve got you!” Rany said, grabbing Cecile’s hand just in time before she went tumbling over and under the iron bar. They exchanged a bit of pleasantries, but much to Cecile’s chagrin the nurse could read her like a book. “Take it easy, now. Rushing now won’t do anything but set you back a few steps, all right? You’re incredibly lucky that your injuries can be healed, even if it’s just bit by bit. But I don’t think even the best medicine money can buy could fix something like losing out on a quick recovery just because you fell down. All right?”

“All right.” ‘Best medicine money can buy’. Meaning mother and father. Even when they weren't here, they were staring over her shoulder and lurking in every corner. She could feel their eyes on her back, verbal daggers close by for the reckoning. “Fine, I’ll take it easy.”

Both of them must have noticed her expression turn dour at the thought, because they exchanged knowing glances before Maela tilted her head and cautiously inquired, “Something wrong?”

Cecile felt her face burn a bit, embarrassed that they were getting sucked into the never-ending drama that was her family without them even realizing it. “Yes. It’s—“ A sigh of frustration and exasperation. “— I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s keep going.” If they’d caught on to her troubles, they never let it on for the rest of her time there. Maybe they were less disconcerting than she thought?

Or, perhaps, they were simply more subdued about the idea of two poorly-paid, low-tier nurses mining the only daughter of two extremely rich and handsomely placed high-tiers for perceivably sensitive information. If Cecile’s parents wanted them gone for any impertinence, then it would’ve been as easy as snapping their fingers and summoning whatever bureaucrat in charge of the hospital and laying out their threats and their demands.

If they wanted something worse to happen, then that too would have been just as equally easy. Society valued one over the other for blatantly obvious reasons, after all. All the kindness and determination in the whole world of low-tiers and ability-less cripples would crumble in the face of high-tiers and god-tiers.

Knowing that she held a place of privilege over them, Cecile felt somewhat obligated to maintain a sort of distance away from them so as to not get them into any undue trouble. At the same time, though, she resented the idea that this difference in privilege stemmed from her familial ties rather than something she’d been given the chance to earn on her own. 

At Wellston, low-tiers kept their heads down when she walked passed them because she was definitely a higher personage in the school. Placing 5.2 in ability aptitude tests was nothing to scoff at; it ensured that she got to reign as the school’s Queen, after all. Despite her being so recently replaced, it wasn’t lost on anyone that she still was someone to give the courtesy of respect— if not for their own well-being.

That was hers. She’d earned that. Even if her high-tier parents provided for her strength through their union as high-tiers, it was still on her to make something of herself. Too often she saw high-tier students let their powers go to waste, leaving their skills under-utilized or unhoned. If they could brute force their way to victory through their natural gifts, then that was all right with them. Otherwise, they’d rely on their place in society to do the heavy-lifting.

Cecile wouldn’t dare be so careless, so naive. Such childishness was beneath her.

Which is why those very ‘nobles’ of the school, those self-proclaimed superior master race buffoons that so dimly thought about their own potential made the best puppets. They played at the beck and call of her fingers so well. Marionettes to be manipulated and moved across the stage as according to her own designs, to then be cast away once all usefulness was spent.

Let your mommy and daddy kiss your fragile egos better, She thought to herself one afternoon on the subject whilst trying to get used to the support of gray-plastic crutches beneath her armpits, they’ll keep you sleeping nice and cozy in your little dream of relevance and dignity. This mantra got her through countless meetings since the beginning of secondary school with daddy's-little-debutantes who thought their freshly manicured hands and fragile little clique power-plays could dissuade her, and countless more wannabe playboy suitors that thought they could take her— in the violent as well as the romantic sense. They all though that they could tame her based on a status, a power, an Ability conferred unto them. They thought a lot of things.

Needless to say Cecile left many bodies in her wake between now and then. Not dead of course, but they sure do ended up wishing they were. And it made her smile just thinking back on their faces, every time a new one distorted in confusion, in anger, in regret for daring crossing her. Hey, sometimes you gotta have something to smile about now at days.

Now, of course, being no exception.

A few moments later her focus was disrupted by Doctor Ezwa walking into the room with yet another new face in tow next to him. Whilst the Doctor was still wearing his white coat, khakis and plaid shirt, the newcomer was dressed down with a rather expensive looking suit and short-cut coiffed lime-green hair. The outfit was quite immaculate; a plain-white formal shirt adorned with an intrinsically-designed dark blue tie that complimented his dark blue suit jacket and trousers. 

At first Rany and Maela only slowed down the exercise to acknowledge the good doctor’s presence, but quickly they realized from his body-language that they needed to stop entirely.

“Thank you very much for attending to Cecile quite capably today,“ the words flowed out of him breathless and perhaps tinged with a nervous twang, “but unfortunately I’ll need you to take a break now.”

Sharing a perplexed glance with Rany, Maela instinctively tried to roll with the punches and donned an apprehensive smile. “Thank you very much, Doctor. We’ll bring her back to her room right away—“

Cutting her off with a single raised hand and a faked smile of his own, Ezwa looked back a bit at his dapper companion before stepping forward. “No, it’s all right. You two may go on your breaks or attend to other duties, but for now I’ll need the patient here. If you’ll please.”

Feeling the urgency in his request, the two nurses made sure Cecile was positioned comfortably on a nearby chair and took their leave, passing by the doctor before firmly closing the door behind them.

Clearing his throat, the Doctor turned to whom he’d escorted and tried to introduce him, “Well, Cecile; now that I’ve got you here, let me introduce you to—“

“Please, Doctor; I can introduce myself.” Interjected the unidentified man with little regard for formalities. Adjusting his thin-framed glasses, the man walked forward and put a hand on his chest in performative self-reference as he wound out an obviously cookie-cutter introduction. “My name is Hoi Gael. You may call me Hoi if you wish, but due to my clients’ interest in preserving professionalism between us I must insist you call me Mr. Gael.”

Feeling absolutely bewildered by this sudden twist in her day, Cecile shifted in her seat as she tried to pry some information out of his steely clasp. Who the hell is this guy, and what makes him think he can just barge in here? “’Your clients’?”

He curtly lowered his head an inch. “Yes. Your parents.”

Speak of the devils, and they shall appear. “Ah, I see.” Or send a little messenger in their steed, at least.

“Indeed. I’ve been sent here to collect the latest updates your recuperation directly from your attending physician, and then deliver it and your prognosis back to your parents.”

Cecile furrowed her brow, crossing her arms as she leaned back in the chair. “Really? Couldn’t they have just come here on their own? Or maybe they could’ve made a phone-call, instead of sending a flunky like you to visit me for them?”

The man declined to return the barb, still standing stern at attention. “Your parents are hard at work, but they judged your current situation as a priority to be attended to. Their only daughter was sent to a hospital and experienced a severe medical episode. It’s only natural that they wanted to have their legal counsel assure that she received only the best medical care firsthand after they turned their attention to their other obligations.” 

A pause. “After all, they’d also sent this daughter to an academy designed to forge heirs and scions such as her into the very best they could be. And look at what happened after that without their supervision.”

Oh? A little venom under all that obnoxious cologne after all? “Well, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, or so they say. Anyway, you probably got everything you needed from Doctor Ezwa, right?” She motioned towards the suddenly dwarfed and out-gunned man that had slunk away from the conversation, whom suddenly gained a bit of flop-sweat at the idea of being thrown back into this verbal brawl. “What do you need from me?”

“Very simple: I will need a demonstration of your Ability capabilities at this point in your convalescence. To preserve your family’s continued privacy, your parents had requested that these sessions not include a review on that subject. Not until your parents— or myself, in this case— came to witness the test ourselves.

He was talking about ‘privacy’ this, and ‘test’ that, but she could see right through him here. Her parents were trying to see if she’d lost even an ounce of their power— her inherited genetic superiority, or to put it in less supremacist terms he was trying to judge the state of their progeny.

Their investment. In no serious shock, they were more concerned about the time, the money, the prestige, and the Ability they’d devoted towards crafting her to be a successor worthy of them. It was them calculating her continued viability to take control of their assets upon their retirement or death.

Was she still on her feet, or were these past eighteen years of nannies, tutors, supervised play-mates, cultivated connections and impeccably inflicted world all for nought?

The fact that they’d even bother checking in on her before her discharge date surprised her somewhat. Of course they’d come in the beginning to sign the proper paperwork to continue providing for their mounting investment, that was a no brainer. But to show enough interest so as to send someone to check up on her like this? It seemed so out of character for them that it made her feel almost genuinely touched for a moment.

But, no, it’s just them doing calculations of their own. The sudden snap back to her regular expectations was both a whiplash as well as almost comforting.

“So, I just show you what I can do right now, and you’ll go away?”

“Yes.” He raised his eyebrow a bit, as if he was puzzling something in his head, and then continued with a bit more earnestness in his tone. “And keep in mind, ma’am, that I’ll need to be brutally honest with your parents about your performance.” ‘Don’t mess this up. You’ve got one shot at this.’

Being put on the spot was something that she excelled at. Not now, though, not like this.

Not here, in this room, trapped between her parents’ god damn lawyer judging her every word and every move and a view out to a hospital garden. Everything became pertinent and all the pressure in the world was suddenly crawling up her chest, dragging her breath down as she gulped. Looking to Doctor Ezwa once last time for some sort of support, perhaps even an easy way out of this debacle, but all she got was a mournful grimace.

Going it alone here. Like always.

Shifting in her seat again, Cecile adjusted her legs so that she could get some footing here. Even though she didn’t really require a good stance to use her Ability, she still felt that every little bit counted here.

Her audience stood back, and with a deep breath she got to work. Closing her eyes, she lifted her hands up and tried to delve deep down within and focus.

Panic. Nothing was coming. Hands were beginning to shake, grasping out into the air as she urged her Ability on and on.

Was it the stress, or did she lose something more than just her balance?

Vines. Her Ability was the power to create and manipulate green energy vines. It’s been a thing she’s been able to do her entire life, but now it was just beyond her reach.

Come out.

I order you to come out. The sweat on her forehead was her testament, her prayer, her fervent demand.

But there was nothing. Her Ability was either gone, or it was refusing to listen to her. Her mind, her brain, whatever happened had robbed her of her power.

It was a betrayal beneath the skin.

At long last, Cecile realized just how terrible her situation was now. The walls were coming closer now, as a new ghastly truth was clawing out of the grave that was her very identity: you are no longer who you once were, and you may never be again.

Everything you had worked towards was now gone. A lie. A figment. Ashes in your mouth.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses one more time, his gaze becoming devoid of even an ounce of mercy. “Disappointing.” With that he took his leave, without anything left to say to anyone here. He came to witness an heir, but now he was leaving behind a sick little girl and her caretaker to do what they would. It all concerned him no longer.

At the sound of the door closing behind her parents’ designated vindictive executioner, Cecile finally let her stance go and gracelessly slunk off the chair. Her knees hit the carpeted floor with a thud as she crumpled, causing Ezwa to finally shake from his stupor.

“Whoa! Hey! Cecile!” Rushing over to the young woman, he bent down and realized that he was suddenly sitting next to a stranger. It took merely a moment, but the young woman he'd been treating had been replaced with another. It was the desolation in her eyes that estranged him.

A whisper, barely stronger than a whimper as she just knelt there. “It’s over.”

Processing for a second, Ezwa nodded along and tried to give her a smile. “That’s all right, you can stop for today. I’ll get your nurses back and help you back to your room.” She didn’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but there was very little else that he could do here now. Was he worried about being replaced on her case? Fired at the drop of a hat like his predecessors were? Did the little contortions in his face belie any feeling of pity or doubt for her, or were his thoughts purely on his own now that his patient was rendered a cripple technically under his watch?

If he held any thought at all at this point, his face no more betrayed him than the blue-lit sky betrayed the stars beyond that bright shroud in the brightest daytime. He walked away for a moment, peeking out the door and whispered to someone unseen. After a few minutes waiting by the door, holding his hands in pensive consideration, he mercifully let Rany and Maela in. There was no bounce, pomp, and circumstance amongst them now. Cecile was limp, so they loaded her quite handily into a wheelchair and dutifully returned her to her room on the sixth floor. 

They said nothing, she said nothing.

When Cecile looked up, the afternoon sun was dying in the distance. She’d been processing upon herself for hours now, trying to fit the image of her life into the husk that’d been fitted under the blankets. The light in the room was turned down, leaving only a red light pulsating brightly on a machine cycling in a corner of the room.

She was rendered inert, but not her mind. That still howled within the void. Not her hands, which were gripping the blankets once more as she contemplated ripping asunder the whole world.

Whoever did this. Whoever did this. Whoever did this. Whoever did this. Whoever did this.

To her.

They would pay. 

She swore on her pathetic tears, for that Ability which might forever be gone now, for her lost hopes for even some little semblance of freedom as she bowed down further. Whatever rat that managed to get the better of her, no matter how weak or strong they might be, will face her wrath. Even without a single ounce of power to her name, Cecile swore that she would not stop until it was done.

They would pay dearly.

When she finally returned to Wellston, her humiliation would be repaid a thousand fold. In a way, the good doctor had been right all along. This was not an end, but only a beginning.

Chapter Text

The next few days went by without much notice. Her parents made no attempt at contacting her further— the norm before the lawyer’s visit, but now feeling all the more ominous and hollow afterwards— and she paid only mind to recuperating her physical strength alone. Her mind could wait.

She would deal with that soon enough.

Just a day shy of the two-week mark for the program, Doctor Ezwa made the determination that the Ability-enhanced medications had done the trick. Her bones were healed from her broken leg to the crack in her skull, it was considered a complete success. Unfortunately, though, her equilibrium was still way off, even though he’d subjected her to two separate CAT scans and found nothing seriously wrong with her.

Although the fact that her own Ability had apparently vanished was of great concern, the doctor quickly brushed past this by recommending constant practice. Abilities don’t just come and go; it’s surely around there somewhere. Beyond this qualm, the rest of their conversations and concerns focused on her being able to walk unaided again.

To remedy his apprehensions Ezwa consulted with contributing specialists in the hospital. This hunt ended up drumming up a range of theories as introspective as underlying motor-cortex damage that would require invasive surgery, to trauma-induced hysteria or a psychosomatic condition.

Either it’s brain cancer, or I’m just a dumb woman making a fuss. What a buffet of options.

To his credit, though, her doctor discounted the vast majority of these opinions and focused instead on the idea that she was still readjusting to herself post-coma. His reasoning was that everything that was physically wrong with her from the ‘incident’ was fixed, so perhaps with time and more physical therapy her sense of balance would return. Otherwise, she was a prefect bill of health.

It was an infernal loop. We tested you, you are healthy, so you should be better, but you don’t have your balance back, so you must be unhealthy, so we’ll test you again. Over and over, it’d go on and on until something put a stop to it.

So, one day, when it was just the two of them sitting down whilst going over of these endless results again, “Do you think— you told me that if things were going well enough, I could try to go back to my normal life.” Cecile recognized that the Doctor knew what was coming next, since he looked more concerned as he put the tests down on his desk. 

“Yes, I told you that.” He cautiously answered a question not asked. “And you would need to continue your physical therapy even if you were to go back to school. That means crutches, canes, continuing your walking exercises even though you’re walking whilst aided.” Over and over again she’d rejected using a wheelchair, much to his bewilderment. Without the use of physical aids she couldn’t make more than a step without toppling over.

If he thought that her stubbornness on that subject would vex him now, then trying to keep her here would prove all the more challenging for him. Was it the walls feeling like they were closing in inch by inch so much that she started eying the number of tiles between them? Was it the food that tasted bland on her lips, all flavor banished by hurried cooking and sterile culinary decisions? Was it her desire to get out from underneath her parents’ tight financial grip, even just a little bit?

Or perhaps it was something more primal than that. Before she came here, she could walk and use her ability. Cecile knew it was an absurd idea, a whisper from a lesser-developed part of her psyche, but it was definitely giving her usher and speed out that door now: if she left this place, maybe she’d get those things back. 

Her memories, her hard-earned status, these things would come back next. And then her honor and good name. Trophies of war, even if were hobbled for life. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single stumble. “I know that. And I’ll continue the physical therapy on my own, I’ll follow every single little bit of guidance you can give me so I can recuperate at school. I’ll stay safe, keep to myself, and I’ll give you updates whenever you want. Phone calls, notes from the school nurse, doctors’ visits, referrals back here, whatever you need.”

The conversation was bound to swing back and forth in the same type of intradependent causality that brought them here in the first place. Ezwa leaned back in his chair, letting the creak draw out his silent calculation as he weighed what she’d said— and what he saw in her purple eyes, perhaps on the last time that they’d have such an interaction in their lives. 

The doctor could obviously see that she was a young woman within a deep and terrible conflict, a struggle within and without. He’d mended her bones and healed her injuries, every break and every slash and sore and tear that they could find on and in her. Despite this medical wizardry of his, though, he now felt resigned to the fact that even with his most advanced medicines and the Abilities at his disposal he would never get close to those deepest of wounds still ailing her.

To see a young person writhe in the prime of their life, so eager to be sent adrift to face only certain peril. It was haunting. A person who’d gone from an unshakable slumber to an ego pendulum swing of reconstruction and deconstruction over these past few days— it was the sufferings torture was made of, and yet a child of their society waged this battle and more behind those very purple eyes he’d seen. It was a terrible choice.

And it made all for the worse for his conscience by agreeing completely to let her leave.

The rest of the day was spent updating Wellston about her medical situation, her potential needs, exploring any accommodations that might be put at her disposal if she were to so ask for them. But she didn’t want any considerations on her part, except for one erstwhile demand: immediate reintegration into the student population.

Much to Ezwa’s displeasure, Wellston’s headmaster Vaughn agreed. Everything would be expedited, Cecile would be welcomed back to the high school’s halls tomorrow morning, but she could return to her dorm tonight if she so wanted. The headmaster also asked Ezwa to confirm if Cecile was interested in continuing her “dormitory situation” as it were for the time being. Getting a fast nod, Ezwa relayed her wishes on that topic.

And of course she met the challenge and, in turn, arranged for transportation so she could be there by nightfall. The doctor could only stand back now and let these things transpire without him, being removed from any position of authority.

Someone, please, stand in her way. Don’t send her back into that den of vipers. Not like this, not in her state.

For her sake, Ezwa bade Cecile farewell at her now-former hospital room just as she was being loaded into a wheelchair to leave. She’d gotten herself dressed in some more appropriate casual clothes in the form of basic jeans and a white t-shirt; she hadn’t sent for any other clothes, so the hospital scrounged these very basic items for her at the very least. She went about properly cleaning up her recently-shaved hair so that it was at least salvageable once it came back in. Her choice was to style it so that her hair was evenly short around, with a bit of a gelled-up spike-segment in front for where her bangs would grow back out, and was ready to go.

But as he watched her two stalwart nurses roll her towards the nurses station one last time before taking her down in the elevator, he found himself feeling like he’d been left holding pieces of this girl’s nearly-shattered life. Was she going to pick herself back up and find herself again? Or would she be swallowed whole and annihilated by life’s kill-or-be-killed struggles?

Even though it was their fates to have their lives just briefly cross paths here, he found himself already so protective of this patient. Many had fallen by the wayside in his many years of practicing, but it felt like she was the corpse that was one-too-many for him to handle anymore. A morbid comparison, but it was true. All the battered youths, the frightened low-tiers abused and left to die by the wayside, and now with her on top of them all the pile threatened to collapse upon his soul at last.

Her self versus annihilation. If she was doomed to meet the latter and not the former, then perhaps their society truly did deserve to burn for what horrors it put its children through in the name of power and control.

Doctor Ezwa sighed, letting his melancholy drain back under the surface once more, and dutifully removed Cecile’s charts from the door before going about the rest of his day. He dare not watch a second more. It would’ve been too difficult.

Cecile waved goodbye to her doctor. Maybe they would see each other again in the course of her recovery, maybe they’d only be distant second-and-third-hand pen-pals through prescriptions and doctor’s orders. Regardless, she’d grown a bit fond of her little medical team during their short time together; their discretion at her current sad state of affairs was well appreciated.

They came to a stop at the big octangular desk that surrounded a column covered with memos, notes, filing cabinets and tables that was the nurses’ station on this floor. Rany pushed the button for the elevator, whilst Maela stood idly by with her hands on the wheelchair’s handlebars. 

The moments ticked by as the elevator struggled to pass every floor, the red glowing number on the top that proclaimed its current location counting upwards at a snail’s pace. Noting the awkward situation, Rany smiled a bit as she leaned back onto the wall and pointed her thumb at the digital sign. “Man, we must be busy today, right?”

Not wanting to be rude on her way out, Cecile nodded and gave them a little laugh. But something else was tugging on her mind— as if her brain wasn’t already being turned to paste by this brand new world of terrors waiting for her.

It was her remembering that she had a visitor that wasn’t her parents while she was in her coma. Who would’ve actually come and visited her, she wondered. If nothing had really changed in her social life these past few months or so where her memory had some huge gaps, then that would’ve been a very short list of suspects.

Ding. The elevator continued its begrudging advance up to their floor. It was only a few stops away now. 
Deciding it was well worth the risk now that they were at the last possible second, Cecile looked up to Maela and asked, “Hey, I know this is sudden, but— could I ask who, exactly, visited me while I was unconscious? I know my family visited to sign papers and start trouble, I get that, but do you remember, off-hand who else came by?”

The two nurses exchanged glances, and Maela responded, “Unfortunately we also came along for the ride with Dr. Ezwa when he came on board. Besides, when that happened your room had become priority urgent care— no one but family could visit after that.” Cecile must have looked pretty disappointed, so Maela offered, “Sorry, kid.”

“Wait!” The other exclaimed, lightly hammering her first once into her free open palm in realization. “The station’ll have that info, right?!”

“B-But Rany, the door’s gonna open any—?” Maela began to protest, but her coworker still sprinted off with unexpected disregard. “Rany!”

“Just a second!” She said, and began fussing with another nurse whilst Cecile just tried to crane her head back to hear. There was a hurried discussion, Rany was trying to talk to someone named Erah behind the counter, and there was quite a commotion afoot. It was dragging on, though, and before long the door finally opened. People were looking on as Maela kept the door open, wondering just what was happening right now as their day was brought to a halt.

Cecile managed to beg off the whole thing and thus Rany returned to the pack, unfortunately with no name to show for it. Teasing her pink hair a bit, the nurse huddled with her charge and Rany and apologized. “I was sure that someone on today might’ve remembered who came looking for you, or maybe they could’ve fished up a copy of your file or the visitor’s logs or something like that.” She helped settle the wheelchair into the corner of the elevator, a sullen look on her face.

Here, now, rocking in this little cabin amongst a veritable crowd of people worrying about everything going on their lives, Cecile’s nurses were still trying to cheer her up. Even though she’s the daughter of two high-tiers that just had their predecessors sacked on a dime, they still treated her with some humanity despite all that’s been said and done. It was… humbling. “Thank you. Maela, Rany, for everything you’ve done for me. I appreciate it. And I hope… I don’t know, but I hope nothing but success for both of you in the future.”

Both of them were caught off-guard by her sudden sincerity with them. Their patient had been thus far so reserved and faint with praise and how she felt emotionally with them around. So to see her finally expressing herself so genuinely with them was quite a welcome little surprise. Rany took the chance to connect with her even a little bit more and gave her a thumbs up. “You can repay us by getting better real soon, all right?”

Becoming a bit more heartened by the camaraderie on display, Maela got her second wind and delivered a double thumbs-up. “And grow your hair back out! It looked great!”

“I’ll try. On both counts.” Cecile smiled, giving a little thumbs up of her own.

The kindness that they’d all given her was infectious. She had to get out of here before it became endemic.
“If it’s any consolation,” Rany interjected, “I do remember a single name from before we were brought on. I had no idea who or what it was about, but maybe it was the person who’d been visiting you. The name was Otis; I heard one of the nurses say it, but as far as I know we don’t have anyone named Otis on this floor, so I dunno.”

That was an instant reaction. “Ah.” That could’ve been her friend, her confidant, her right-hand at the Wellston Weekly press club. Cecile nodded a bit, and let it go by and tucked it away for now; if it really was him, or just a big coincidence, that’d be up to her to find out when she got to school. 

And with that, her newfound compatriots got her to the lobby. A young man in a hospital uniform and bags under his eyes wearily handed over a cane with a black frame and a dark blue handle; it curved from the handle at the top inwards towards the holder before heading straight downwards to a rubber stub. It was ergonomic, designed for aiding balance for any age.

Cecile stared at it, holding it in her hands as she felt the weight, learning what it looked like even for just a quick second. She wouldn’t take too long with it; after all, if she didn’t get healthy right quick they’d be friends for a long, long time.

With a struggle, the wheelchair came out from underneath her as Cecile put strength onto the wood and plastic that was now part of her life. Standing up on her own now with Maela and Rany simply standing back politely so she could leave on her own volition after they’d loaded her backpack into the bus called for her. Taking those first few steps were tough, but Cecile managed to make her way onto the vehicle on her own.

The world swayed with every step, but the cane caught her every time. It was going to take some time getting used to not being used to what it’s like to walk normally. She was simply thankful that the bus was small and had no one else in it, making it perfectly acceptable for Cecile to take the first possible seat before she’d even have a chance to trip over.

Without any delay the bus took off, giving her an ample time to consider her newfound cane before taking a few minutes to herself to nap. By the time she woke up, they’d already made it to Wellston Private High School just as the sun was reaching down to embrace the horizon and bring in the night.

Everyone was in their dorms by then or had gone home; it was just about five o’clock now, so classes were definitely done and most of the clubs had wrapped up. Cecile looked up at the front facade of the school, the uniform placement of windows divided into eighths by panes on every couple of feet of the four stories of plain cement. Its cold aesthetic was not so much that of an academic institution as it was more of a fortress, what with it having a sizable peach-brown wall; it very much reminded her of a prison.

By some small miracle Cecile ran into not another soul on her way through campus. Every click and clack of her cane alongside the thumps of her sneakers on the pavement echoed through the commons and the innards of the school’s interior-exterior passageways before, finally, she made it to her dorm building.

Something in the back of her mind made her turn around suddenly, facing the imminent night of the small plaza that frontiered the dormitory. Nothing but the school was there, its predominant umbra casting a deeper darkness upon the dying light. Glass doors for female students parallel to the dorm entrance for their comings and goings, more windows for students to stare out of wishing for solace or salvation.

No one there.

Hoping that the coast really was clear, Cecile made her way inside, struggling to balance her backpack as well as maneuver her new walking aid through the two sets of doors. Thankfully the doors weren’t locked just yet, or she really would’ve been screwed. That must’ve been Keene, the all-knowing, all-seeing head of security. And right now, a life-saver.

Cecile heard chattering, music, television, all the after-hours sounds of teenagers at play or at work muffled by an infinite amount of doors and walls. Girls here were separated based on hierarchal lines as per the school’s tradition; he boys’ dorms were organized the same way. High tiers with the high tiers, mid tiers with the mids, and the low tiers with the lows. She’d had the same experience first time she came here; plenty of mid-tiers to room with, after all. It ensured the peace, since high tiers already had plenty of opportunity to cause trouble for low-tiers at school, no need to encourage further strife where students slept and studied.

But even if they’d shuffled the whole place around again and again, Cecile’d still be an outlier for the place. Whereas the other girls roomed with two, three, and sometimes even four other girls, when she became the school’s Queen she managed to parlay a pretty sizable concession from the Headmaster years ago.

She knocked on the second door from the end of the hallway on the third floor of the dormitory; even if she’d have lost all her memories, there was a few things she would’ve remembered baked into her very blood. Her parents, her pride, and not least of all whom she chose to dorm with, out of all the others at this school.

The wood door open, revealing standing there her dorm-mate: a skinny, fairly short boy with pale lavender hair so long that it covered up almost both of his golden eyes alternatively wherever it decided to be parted.

Still going strong, Cecile leaned a bit onto her cane as she offered a wave with her free left hand, but unfortunately no smile coming by except a crook in the corner of her mouth. “Hey, Otis, I’m back—“, she started to say, but was cut off by the boy suddenly closing the gap between them and giving her a hug almost strong enough to knock her off her feet.

Not the greeting she was expecting, but not unwelcome either. After tonight, though, the real trial would begin. But at the very least she’d still have her counterpart here to whether the storm with her.

Meanwhile, miles back from where she’d come, Rany had made her way back to the sixth floor of the hospital. Even though her shift was almost over, there was still that question lingering in the corner of her mind that she’d failed to answer in time earlier in the day. Figuring it was worth the few minutes of extra traffic between here and home, she went to the nurse’s station and saw Erah putting her jacket on. “Hey, Erah!”

The older woman, gray hair and wizened in face looked up from what she was doing and sighed. “Yeah, Rany?”

Still as cold as ever, huh? “Sorry to bug you again, but I wanted to know—“

“If I found the visitor’s log for your patient? Yeah, I did, but I’m not going to be able to show them to you, you know. Confidentiality and all that.”

“Just the name, Erah, c’mon. I don’t wanna know their address, their social security number, or anything like that; I just wanna know so I don’t feel like I messed up earlier, you know? I promise I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

Looking at her younger colleague, Erah sighed and stopped trying to zip up her jacket. “Fine. I’ll tell you, if it’ll make you happy. But not a word, got it?” Going over to one of the cabinets along the wall, Erah pulled a paper from the top of a pile and brought it over. Looking up with a single little glance of suspicion, she read off who had visited Cecile:

Elroui and Adaline, marked as her mother and father, visiting exactly once.

Otis, marked as fellow student and friend of the patient, having visited several times before her room was put under family-visits-only, and even then some times after that.

And one final name: Isen, marked has having visited as many, if not even more times than Otis, again both before and after the status chance locked him and Otis out.

Chapter Text

When the hug finally ended, Otis insisted on carrying Cecile’s backpack in for her. She had no complaints, so long as they got inside before someone saw her in this hobbled state after that run of good luck with avoiding people.

Their co-ed room was entirely unique not only in its nature as a space shared by a boy and a girl, but also in its design. All the other rooms in Wellston’s dormitories for both boys and girls had three or even four bedrooms per unit, which were then supplemented with a small and basic kitchenette-slash-common area and a bathroom. Cecile’s was, however, built with only two bedrooms due to an architectural error involving the dorm’s HVAC system during construction. 

Having multiple bedrooms traditionally gives you more options in terms of whom you’ll be able to get along with as dorm-mates. Even if almost everyone you’re assigned with are vain, whiny, greedy, noisy, grating, or whom are otherwise disagreeable, you might get a dorm-mate who wasn’t. Whether they were a good one or a neutral one, though, again was left to fate.

Cecile did not rely on fate.

“Come on, Otis, put it down, now, I’m fine.” But it was no use; her confidant was insistent on carrying her bag all the way to her room. Giving in and just accepting that he was going to do it whether she wanted him to or not, she settled down into one of the two dark-purple velvet chairs they had in their common area, placing her cane between her left leg and the full armrest.

Otis came running back from the hall after tossing her bag into her bedroom, sitting down at the chair opposite of hers. Practically touching his clasped hands onto the low-lying table between the chairs as he leaned forward, it looked like it dawned on him that he had nothing to really say. Just a little bit of surprise on his face, stammering until he finally opened with candor. “How are you, Cecile? I mean, are you okay? Are you better now, or—?” And he stopped, realizing that that last question being idiotic in that it was both obvious and yet necessary to ask.

But she understood where he was coming from completely. Reassuring him at first to assuage his tenacity for awkwardness, Cecile decided to lay it all out for him about what had happened. Swearing to tell absolutely no one of what he was going to hear, Otis sat in completely rapt attention as he listened to her explain.

Choosing certain words and plucking pieces of information here or there under the guise of brevity so as to soften the landings on her most pertinent medical issues, she told him what she experienced and what she knew. Cecile told him about her hospital stay and the good nature of the staff, which seemed to offer him some comfort before she got into the step-by-step of what had happened after he was locked out by the staff. Generally it was a description of how she'd been woken up, a bit of an overview of her pharmaceutical treatments, and her physical therapy with the nurses.

But she couldn't stay away from the heavier subjects forever. Even though he was a year behind her academically, he still operated as her personal liaison at the school paper and more importantly as her closest friend. Otis was definitely her only friend at Wellston, that was for sure. It was pertinent that he learned this information now, before it would become an issue down the line.

With an abrupt turn in the conversation, Cecile laid out what her medical problem was. 'A chronic, unexplained imbalance in the motor cortex' was how Doctor Ezwa described it, but she also included his caveat that as far as he could see from her scans these areas were perfectly fine. Looking confused, Otis asked if this disability was going to be permanent; that was one question that she did not have an answer for. Maybe, maybe not. These next few weeks were going to be critical. It could stay with her for life, or it could just sort itself out with exercise, therapy, and potentially more medication; almost as if the brain would find a way to reset itself, to find sense and reason in a sudden jumble of information and chaos.

He wasn't trying to pry, but still the younger boy had felt compelled to ask about how this disability felt.

She held up her hands in front of her. It was so difficult to define, even in her own mind; it was like trying to figure out how to describe colors to a blind person. Words failed her. “It was like… it’s like I’m trying to walk through a whole lake of quicksand that’ll never really get me. It just keeps dragging on my legs, slowing me down and making me watch my every step. But even then, even when I want to just stand still and catch my breath, something inside my brain topples me over. I’ve lost my balance.” Cupping both her hands around the cane’s head now, she looked down at it without pity and reaction. “And worst of all… I think I’ve also lost my Ability.”

“Your Ability?!” He yelped in surprise and practically jumped out of his seat, making Cecile shush at him for the outburst. Realizing how loud he must’ve been just now, Otis blushed a bit as he sat back down and spoke quieter. “Sorry. I mean, what happened? Didn’t your doctor notice? Did you tell him about it?”

Shrug. “He ran as many tests as he could, checking and rechecking me over and over again. Nothing. He couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t use it or if it was even gone at all. Brain scans were fine, body scans were fine, everything about me was fine. Except…”

“Except the two things wrong with you.” Otis completed her sentence. His previous exuberance had long since left him, and now he was looking as dejected as she felt everyone excepted her to be about this. The difference was, though, it was happening to her; he shouldn’t have to feel anything about this. “So, what now? Did they give you some kinda medicine? A pill, a shot, some kinda thing to make you all better?”

“Unfortunately, no. Bed rest, check-ups, and physical therapy. I don’t know if this has even happened to anyone else before. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got the medical history of everyone in the world at my fingertips, but still… don’t you think we shouldn’t heard about something like this by now? People don’t exactly play nice here, and this is a private school. Who knows how bad the public schools have it, especially in poorer areas.”

He caught that thought and interjected, nodding a bit to himself. “That’s true. But then again, would we even hear anything about this kind of stuff if it happened to anyone in the slums and ghettos? And what if it happened to rich people? Guys with high tier powers, they’d want to keep that kind of shit on lock-down.” Cecile leaned back into her chair; her right-hand man spoke the truth. “They’d make sure absolutely no one would hear about it lest they lose face in front of their associates, their colleagues, their families.” A rough sigh. “So, basically, if it happens to weaker people who are more prone to experiencing violence, they’d probably be lost in all the noise; and if it happened to powerful people, they’d make sure that no one below them— or above them— would hear about it to save their own skins.” 

What an awful joke. “Well, my doctor won’t give up. They’ll keep digging, and hopefully they can find something to help me out. In the meantime, though, I’m gonna keep my head level and follow doctor’s orders.”

He tilted his head a bit in confusion, making his long lavender hair brush across a little bit more of his face. “Don’t you mean ‘keep your head down’, Cecile? You don’t want to attract any unwanted attention, especially right now in your state.”

Feeling defiant and perhaps a little bit indignant that her junior would feel like she might not be able to handle herself, however valid his concerns were, Cecile straightened up and crossed her arms. “If you give people an inch, they’ll take a mile from you Otis. I know you know this better than anyone, considering.”

“True, true. But I’ve still got my ability, and I’ve also got years of experience in being subservient for those neanderthals out there.” Swallowing back a bit of apprehension, the boy said what was in the back of his mind. “And if you’re not going to be around to watch out for me, then I’m gonna have to go back to my old habits.”

Her brow furrowed. “No one would dare mess with you, Otis. I’ve made sure of that.”

“You don’t know that, Cecile. I’m sorry, but you don’t know that. Just one person needs to figure it out, and then we’re both going to be in big trouble. Both of us. I dunno if you’ve ever had anyone that gave you much trouble— other than the Nobles of course— but if your Ability is really gone then you’re gonna have to learn how I do things fast.” Putting that all aside, he brushed his hair back so both of his eyes looked right into hers. “Besides all that, I want you to stay safe. This is your last year, after all, and once you’re out of here you’ll be safe and sound back home.”

Back home. “Yeah. Sure.” She said, that burrow of desperation that sank through her heart back at the hospital in front of the lawyer yawning again.

It must’ve shown, because he gave her an apprehensive look. “Cecile, what happened? Did your parents really not come to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “No, they came. But it’s worse. They sent a lawyer over a little while ago to check up on me, and I don’t know how but I think— I don’t know how they would’ve known, but I think they were concerned that my powers might’ve been affected by my injuries. I tried to use them in front of the lawyer, they crapped out on me, I couldn’t even use them, and now I sort of feel like I’m an orphan now.”

“Oh no, that’s horrible!” Otis exclaimed, visibly disgusted with what he was hearing. “Do you think they would do that to their only daughter? Throw her out if she were crippled?”

“Yes. Without hesitation.” Finality.

Now he let himself fall back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests in distress as he processed his best friend’s predicament. He murmured, in a daze, “I’m so sorry, Cecile. Really.”

Don’t feel bad for me. Focus on your own safety. “It’s all right, Otis. I’ll get by somehow. And even if something bad happens, then I’ll just pull some strings with Arlo, see if I can’t get some leverage until I graduate.”

“’Arlo’?” Otis said the school’s King’s name with incredulity. “What in the world could he possibly do for you right now?”

“Are you serious? I mean, he’s aloof and a bit of— okay, he’s a massive egotistical prick, they all are, but I think I could convince him to flex his rank for old times’ sake. He’s not a complete moron that he’d shake the hierarchy up over something like this.” Probably. I might just be fooling myself. 

And again, Otis reacted like she was completely crazy, going from surprised to dumbfounded the more she talked. His voice grew serious, almost interrogative if not for the fact that she suspected he was tempering his tone. “Cecile, I’m going to ask you something and I need you to tell me your complete, honest answer, all right?”

The last cat was going to come out of the bag, and honestly she was not ready to hear what had him so spooked about what she could not remember. “Go ahead.”

He flattened his hands right in front of himself, palms face down, as he asked her slowly. “Who are the King, Queen, Ace, and Jack at our school right now? Right now, today, as best you can remember.”

Something in her throat grew cold, the adrenaline making her mouth feel dry as she tried to swallow her fear down. “Arlo’s the King, Remi’s the Queen, Seraphina’s the Ace, and Blyke is our Jack.”

“Oh.” The boy said, looking bewildered and beside himself. “Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘oh’, Otis? What’s wrong?”

“Cecile. Arlo hasn’t been the King for over a month, maybe two months now. You replaced him with John, and now he’s the King of Wellston. Don’t… don’t you remember? It was your plan, you told me it was your plan.”

Cecile blinked. I toppled Arlo? And even managed to replace him in the hierarchy? How?! “I— I don’t remember. When I had that brain hemorrhage, or maybe it was when I got injured in the first place, I also lost some memories. I’ve been struggling to remember the past few months, but nothing’s happened. Again and again, over and over it’s like I’m hitting a brick wall. Later than that it gets better. Barely, but it’s all still there somewhere.” 

This is what she wanted to ask him the whole time, deep down, but someone help her if it wasn’t disturbing to hear about exploits of hers that she could not recall in the slightest. “What else happened? What’d I do, what’d I say, where’d I go?”

Otis became crestfallen as he tried to sum up the events, his demeanor becoming more and more distant as he dug deeper. “I dunno. When you started working with John, that was around the time when Jokers were appearing everywhere, and I couldn’t even walk to the press club without you watching my back every day. But even when you were escorting me, you never told me how you two met, where you did it or why.

“You just said that John was going to take over the school, take out Arlo and his crew, and then you’d finally be back in your old positions again. I mean, I’m sorry, but I didn’t really believe it’d happen, but it worked. It somehow worked. Arlo and the rest of the Royals got their asses kicked, and despite getting roughed up yourself by Joker himself— which, I guess, was John— you were finally back on top as the school’s Jack. You lost the Press Club for a while to Isen, but you even got that back, too.

Some guy named John, who was also a guy named Joker. Jokers, as in plural now. A big plan. Becoming Jack. Getting kicked out of her position as the head of the Wellston Weekly by Isen of all people. This was a serious case of being lost in someone’s translation. “None of this makes any sense. All right, first of all, who in the hell is ‘John’? Who is that?”

“John Doe. A third-year with a ton of power, pretended to be a cripple ever since he got here.”

Now that name rung a bell! Everyone knew about that weirdo with the gel-helmet and his insubordinate attitude to his betters. He’s the King? I made him King?! “I remember him, now. He’s not a cripple anymore? I mean, he pretended to be one, and now he’s not? How high of a tier is he?”

“God-tier. I’m dead serious, he was a god tier the whole entire time. One day, I guess, he had enough of pretending and put on a bag-mask and started kicking everyone’s asses until he got to the top. He’s the King now, but he got suspended for a month. He just got back, but I haven’t seen him anywhere; he’s made himself real scarce lately. To be honest, we’re all sort of okay with that. Before he got suspended, he was terrorizing the whole school, beating the hell out of people just for looking in his direction and then sending them to the nurse’s office.”

Process it all slowly. It sounds like utter gibberish to you, Cecile, but it’s going to make sense again soon. Use it while you’ve got it again, worry about the coherence of it later. “And you said he was masked up, fighting everyone in sight, and that I was pulling his strings. But he also beat me up, if I’m not mistaken, correct?”

Otis nodded. “That’s basically it. Or if it was someone else, another one of the other Jokers, then I dunno. He did come visit you in the nurse’s office, but that could’ve been just a part of your plan, too.” He lowered his head, looking away from her. “After this whole thing started, you got farther and farther away from me. Near the end I had no idea what your plan was or what your goals even were at that point. You didn’t even really talk to me anymore, even here. You were always so preoccupied, wondering about what you could do next with that superpowered monster.”

A few seconds of silence came over them as Otis got up, too emotional to remain there without getting walking around. He offered to get a bottle of water to Cecile, which she gladly accepted. Whilst the tension sustained and Otis calmed himself down with a drink of his own, her mind was racing to lay out the story as best as he’d remembered from his point of view:

So John and I were collaborators, and I got injured because of some kind of plot we were undertaking together against the Royals, but our fight might’ve been a deliberate hoax.. So whoever attacked me and caused all my current medical issues must’ve been doing it in retaliation for my pact with John, or for his stint as this ‘Joker’, or something else entirely that Otis might not know about. It’s obvious that someone might’ve dressed up as John, hence ‘Jokers’ plural. An easy disguise, if it’s just a mask over your face. Child’s play. 

Then she pondered further, a twist in her thoughts, Then again, even the best-laid conspiracies turn sour. He could’ve done this to me later on, after the first fake incident. I’ll need to ask around, maybe scout him out to make sure before I commit to anything.

Bits and pieces, fragments of schemes hidden now from even herself, told to her in the second-person by someone she’d shut out, intentional or not intentional. The web is coming together, even if it’s slowly doing so. Taking a sip of the cool water, Cecile put the bottle down and shuffled almost off her seat and looked him right in the eyes just as he’d done. “I’m sorry that happened between us. I can’t speak for my behavior back then, but right now I’m here, and I want to let you know that I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship on purpose. I am sorry, truly sorry for whatever might’ve happened.”

The boy looked like he was struggling, crunching the plastic bottle again and again. “I can’t believe that. I know you’re sorry, Cecile, but what happened was terrible. Horrific. A lot of people got hurt, and they’re still getting hurt even now. A lot of what’s happening is your fault as much as it is others.”

If she’d managed to actually drag an indictment like this out of a boy as soft and forgiving as her friend, then she must’ve truly lost the plot. “I said I’m sorry, Otis. It’s not like I’d ever really intend to let you get hurt, or to ever stop talking to you, but if you’re really that upset—“

But he cut her off, trying to change her course. “You’re not listening. I'm still a little mad about what happened, but that isn’t what I’m talking about right now. There are kids running around with masks beating up bullies, and then there are also bullies running around with and without masks retaliating. All of this is going on with almost zero repercussions. Everyone’s got an ax to grind now, and anyone you’ve ever put down or would want a piece of you can do so now in a heartbeat. I’m trying to warn you, Cecile, you are in danger coming back here.”

She’d heard that there was a rash of bullying going on from Doctor Ezwa himself, but she also assumed that he was just hearing about what went on normally at their school and misinterpreting it as a disconnected outsider. The reality, it seemed, was far more frighteningly complicated. “I came back because I can’t run away. I have nowhere else to go, nowhere else to run to. If I’m going to figure out what happened to me, who stole my powers or made them go away, whatever they did I am going to need to find them here. And if I’m going to have any prayer of having a life away from my parents, I’m going to need this degree here. I can’t leave, Otis. Not for me.” A beat, then she tried to smile a bit. “And I sure can’t leave you here by yourself if things really are that bad, you know?”

The boy became flustered and held up his hands, begging off. “I said I’ll be fine, remember? I know how to blend in. Always have. I’ve only been able to walk a bit easier out in public thanks to you, after all.” He started to smile as well, but his was a bit sadder. “I dunno what I’d do without you. You took me in when no one else in the boys’ dorm would or could do so safely, and now I don’t have to worry so much about being found out anymore. If you’re done, then that’s okay. I’ll manage somehow; on the other hand, I’m more worried about you, and what you are going to do.”

She propped her head up a bit with one of her hands, teasing her best friend. Not an intentional deflection, mind you. “Or, you know, you could just hook up with a high-tier guy and have him protect you, you know.”

“Blah!” Otis almost barked in exhaustion, stretching back and adverted his eyes so he wouldn’t laugh at her verbal ribbing. “Nobody in my grade’s got any of the tells we’ve got, and I’m too afraid to try finding anyone now. I’ll just go stag for another year. It’s not worth the risk, anyway. Almost all of them are meat-heads and total jocks, none of which are my type.” He let himself breathe for a bit, leaning his head back in the chair as he thought about it some more. “Besides, what I’d really like is to be invisible. Not just to the broader picture like I get working with you, but if I could just be gone for once— poof, out of sight. Just so I can be who I really am without anyone having to freak out over it, or being afraid of getting arrested.”

“You’ll never be able to disappear on me. You know that, right?” Cecile said, speaking gently as she admired Otis’ look of whimsy.

“Yeah, sure, of course. You say that, but I’ve been working on it.” Otis said, getting up in a heave. “And here’s how I do it: I’m going to bed now.” Glad that that earned him a small chuckle from his senior, Otis nodded in a little bit of victory to himself before stopping short of leaving. “By the way, what’re you going to do tomorrow? I completely forgot to ask, but are you back at school?”

Knowing the dangers now, she had to answer that one for herself. The battlefield was becoming a bit clearer, and it was not looking good at all. “I’m going to see if I can’t find the Nobles and ask them what the hell is going on with John and these Jokers running around. It’s gotta be risky, because it sounds like I totally screwed them and everyone else in this school as far as I can tell, but I’ve gotta take the chance. They’ll know more than either of us right now.” If Arlo and his merry band of preppy teenage socialite ghouls weren’t handling this situation anymore, then things really were more dire than she’d ever expected.

Staring at her for a bit, Otis balled his fists at his side. “Just be careful. That’s all I ask.”

“I know. Don’t worry. It'll just be the Royals, is all. Arlo, Remi, Elaine-- people like that.” A beat passed. "And Isen, too. I want to know how and why that little rat usurped me."

Once again, Otis hesitated just as he had a few minutes ago before speaking. "All right, fine. But be careful around them; don't let them get you dragged into anything stupid. Especially Isen."

"Trust me, their drama is the last thing I want, especially if they're on the outside looking in now because of me." Isen, though, is another matter. He was a Royal, too, despite his squeamishness towards the Turf Wars or getting his hands dirty. His Ability level shook out to around 4.5 last time she'd checked. A full league beneath her when she was in charge of the paper before, but now that he was squatting on her property, suddenly the duplicitousness that made him an above-average reporter was backed by some actual power and status. Thinking quick to cover the calculations going on in her mind, she popped the cane up into her hand and waved it slowly in front of her face like a threatening club. “Besides, I've got this bad boy to protect me, after all. No sweat.”

“Cecile.”

“Just kidding, just kidding. As long as everyone else thinks I'm just dealing with a broken leg or something, then I’ll be fine. It's doable.” She said that with confidence, but false bravado was never her thing. And yet, fomenting unordered chaos was also never a tool of trade for her; everything had its place in order, and anything crazy that happened in between was only supposed to be a temporary affair. Knowing that she might have finally miscalculated and screwed up so badly that it cost her almost everything she’d ever had, she could only add an unspoken caveat to her reassurances that she didn’t think she’d ever add before: 

I’ll be fine…

I hope.

Chapter Text

Before she left for the day, Otis’d offered to walk with her to school. Cecile declined; it was only a few feet away, after all. Brushing her excuse aside, the boy asked again. “It’s the least I can do, Cecile. You protected me— you’ve been protecting me ever since some of the guys in the boys’ dorms found out I was gay. I want to do the same.”

She appreciated him being so affectionate, but turned him down in earnest this time. This wasn’t his battle to win or lose; if the worst really was going to happen on her first day, she didn’t want him there taking hits meant for her. Eventually he gave in to her wishes, but still hung back a bit before leaving this morning in case Cecile changed her mind. 

Using every little bit of information she could remember on which students got up early or got up late, Cecile snuck her way from the third floor to the lobby. She was acting in vain and knew it well. It was just an attempt to put off the inevitable at this point, but as soon as she stepped out of the dorm lobby and into the school everything would change. Every step punctuated the seconds until everyone would know what had happened to her, and that would mean there would be a new countdown on who would line up first to take their shot.

Cecile took the elevator down by herself, only to be confronted by two girls chatting casually to each other on her way out. They were obviously waiting for the door to open at the lobby and were talking amongst themselves so they didn’t immediately react. At first they recognized it was her and moved out of the way quickly, but that deferential attitude went away when they looked down and saw that cane she was leaning on.

Not speaking a single word to either girl— she didn’t even know them anyways, judging them to probably be first-years— Cecile walked through the space in between. If they started talking, she didn’t hear them, listening only to the clok of the cane against the rugs on the linoleum.

And then again, when she exited those heavy double-doors and strode, damn near almost ran her way across the courtyard. Clok, clok, clok, listening only to that and staring a burning hole through the next glass doors in front of her as she felt an entire crowd turn to her.

Eyes. Nothing but eyes, everywhere, from all around and any direction. The students in the yard congregated in their pairs and groups and crowds, the dorm behind her, even the school itself that she was endeavoring towards was staring into Cecile the Walking Casualty.

Push them out. Keep moving. With one fell motion she twisted her hip to the right and opened the door with the length of her free left arm, ready for the next thousand rounds of humiliation she was going to face today. A loud and abrupt crash of lockers destroyed her train of thought, causing her and the rest of the students in the west entrance lobby to swerve around towards the commotion.

A student was on the ground, his uniform disheveled and his bowl-cut orange hair blown backwards as he lay coughing in a fetal position beneath a now-dented locker. Standing a few feet away from him was a male student in a black mask with his palms opened and his arms pointed out, crudely cut-out holes providing the assailant his sight. Cecile felt herself shudder; here, now, was an attack by a Joker.

His prey was trying to get up or crawl away as fast as they could, but the hunter refused to be denied his quarry. Retracting his arms, he thrust them out again and let loose a strong gust of wind into the boy. Being hit dead-on, the young boy was sent sliding across the hall into some students that were spectating the assault. They jumped out of the way, hoping not to get involved with their fight.

‘Fight’. More like a slaughter. Cecile sordidly noted.

Whatever this was, it ended as quickly as it’d started. Without uttering a single word, the Joker ran away. He turned the corner of the hallway, and like that it was all over.

Otis had said that  was appalling, watching it happen firsthand. o one checked on his victim, though; they were left to their own devices, sputtering and wheezing as they sprawled over onto their back. If I’m not careful and act quick, that’s going to be me too.

“Cecile?” A voice asked credulously. Turning around, she saw a girl standing there with a look of disbelief plastered all over her. Cecile recognized her after a second or two of recollection: Kiara. A third-year student. Long hair that was almost the same teal color as her own, stood shorter than she did, but was nonetheless a mid-tier of little note. Her Ability was some sort of barrage.

“What do you want, Kiara?” Cecile asked, not giving any ground.

Closing the gap between them, Kiara gave her an air of contempt. “Nothing, Cecile. Just didn’t know you were back, that’s all. Heard you got beat up?”

Above all, though, Cecile recalled her being a bully that loved to lord her mid-tier status over the low-tiers whenever she could get away with it. And now, unbeknownst to her, Cecile was even more vulnerable than even those other students now. Tread carefully with the sadists. “I got into a big fight and I lost.” She waved her hand with blasé. “Looks like that’s been going around lately, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, no doubt. It’s just that it’s so unlike you to lose, though. A former Queen like you should have had no problem beating anyone.” A bit of a contemptible shrug. “I guess you finally bit off more than you could chew, huh?” And then she looked down, the grin becoming malicious. “And what’s with the cane?” 

“Doctor’s orders. Kicked a snob-nosed mid-tier’s ass too hard on my way to the hospital. Otherwise, I’m fine.” Even though they were probably a full three points lower than her on any power-scaling list, it looked like Kiara was willing to take her chances to push the envelope.

“And hey, whoever out there got me might come after you next. Besides, like I said…” Cecile took a few steps and closed the distance, showing the full two inches in height difference as they were almost nose-to-nose. “… things like that have been going around lately.”

Thankfully that was enough to get Kiara to back off, taking a step back of their own with a bit of a sweat to show for it. Without saying another word, the bully turned and walked away with a bit of a faster pace in their stride. Cecile let herself feel relieved, having beaten back the first challenger already. But that kind of luck was always doomed to run out. One way or another, people were gonna catch on.

Might as well not be here, then. Taking a few steps down the hall to the left to avoid getting in the way of whoever might bother to help the boy, or perhaps to avoid contemplating a potential path for herself, she dodged a guy making his way like a freight train. “Move!” The red-head yelled as he made his way to the mezzanine.

Again, it took a few seconds because her memory was foggy, but when the boy slowed down to a stop she realized it was none other than Blyke. Looking down at the boy, the school’s Ace— Well, former Ace, I guess.— was surveying the scene. Judging by his glowering at the other students and his sudden utterance of the word “Shit!”, he wasn’t happy at all.

Kneeling down to the boy that’d been attacked, he actually offered his hand and helped him up from the ground. When did Blyke suddenly care that much about the low tiers? This was a brand new development to Cecile, so it was probably worth the trouble scoping out what was up.

She didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation, though, only being able to barely make out the victim murmuring something, then ending with “… but I’m all right.” He gave her away, though, looking up suddenly and growing a bit frightful at her presence.

Blyke turned around and saw her, and somehow became even angrier than he was before. “What do you want, Cecile?” he demanded, his gold-colored eyes teeming with anger and rage.

She started a snarky reply, but then realized that if anyone had any idea of what damage she may or may not have caused, or the role she played in getting incidents like this to occur it’d probably be him. Cursing herself for not thinking this through, Cecile adopted a more passive tone. “Just got back, wanted to see what had happened is all.” Before Blyke had a chance to say anything, she nodded to the boy and asked him, “Hey, are you okay? Did you know who that was?”

“N-No!” The smaller student stammered, looking to Blyke first and then back to Cecile. ‘Yes, I know who it was, and I’m too scared to tell you in case he knows I ratted on him!’, his face screamed where his voice only whispered. “I’m fine, thanks. I’m just gonna—“ As he was trying to get up, he winced; he’d definitely sprained something whilst being beaten down.

Blyke, again, leaped into action. “Where’d you get hurt?”

“M-My ankle, I think!”

“Hang onto me, all right? I’ll get you to Doc—“ Blyke stopped short,  let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head a bit. “I mean, the nurse’s office.” Blyke tried to get the boy to meet him shoulder-to-shoulder so he could lean on him, but being older and more physically toned there was definitely a high difference between them. Turning to Cecile, he gave her one final warning. “How’s about you stay out of my way from now on, all right?”

Not saying anything, Cecile only mentally crossed him off the list of potential allies and walked in the opposite direction to first period.

And despite it all, the doldrums of her first day back were just that: doldrums. Cecile expected the whole day to go down with her in the same situation as that young boy, but her reputation definitely protected her as well as it preceded her. That was a relief. Everyone just stared at her cane, then looked back up at her and saw death in her eyes, daring them to try it.

Re-learning their places real quick, they ducked their heads back down and got back to studying or talking or walking, whatever they were doing beforehand. Even dopes like Kiara who were trying their luck in this chaotic time kept quiet, thank goodness. Now, I’ve got to keep it going like this until graduation, which is in…More than couple months, she realized. It’s worth a shot.

But the image of Blyke trying to help that boy definitely bugged her. As a something-former Royal herself, there was no standing policy to being nice to anyone in or out of the school, and especially to lower tiers. And being a high-tier, there was gonna be no love lost between either of them. So what gives, here, exactly?

Later on her phone had rumbled a little, so in between her last few class periods for the day she saw that it was a message from Otis. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Doing okay.’ She replied simplistically. Thinking on it, she decided to prod him for a little bit more information. ‘I saw Blyke, btw. He was helping a lowtier out after a Joker attack. What’s that about?’

It took a little time, but he got back to her. ‘Remi set up a club. Safehouse. Supposed to help low-tiers. Blyke’s in it. Trying to stop the Jokers.’ 

Having taken a look around for a bit, she scoffed. ‘Not doing good.’ And left it at that. If Blyke was busy with that and Remi was giving him marching orders for some kind of stupid club, then she’d join him right there at the bottom of the list. Maybe Otis could give her a more in-depth rundown after school? ‘You available after school?’

This time he took a while to respond. It was almost time for her to go through the door to her next-to-last class for the day. What’s taking him? She wondered, he finally sent her a response that made he realize he was running out the clock to avoid confrontation.

‘I’ve got press club. Sorry.’

Cecile left it at that. She remembered now that she wasn’t in the top job anymore, not unless everyone’d respected her authority after not only being removed by Arlo, then placed back in charge by someone the whole school probably hated.

Remi, Blyke, move over. Isen’s at the bottom of the list now. And now at the top of my shit list, too.

That would need to be sorted out, but right now she was looking for people to help her out, not to get the living hell beaten out of by her. Arlo would’ve been the easiest one to find, since they were in the same year, but they only shared the last class of the day— Physics. Otherwise, their schedules and rooms were completely different overall. It was gonna be a crap-shoot for sure, considering their history.

The class came, and Cecile got there as early as possible to greet him; he was duly punctual just like she was, and then some. But, despite all her waiting, he’d only ducked into the classroom at the last second; his face was not so much one of eminent superiority as she’d remembered it as it was a sullen one.

Contemplative, lost in thought even, but not one of school royalty. He was much taller than her at a few inches over six feet tall, which was a bit of a rarity, but his posture was slacking as he slouched a bit over. Even his almost golden blond hair weaved a bit more downwards; he was the image of the outcast prince, a once venerable visage of power and order in this school laid down low.

Shit. I really did a number on this guy, huh? came across her mind in disbelief, and she thusly adjusted her expectations down to the absolute ground floor.

The class commenced with little fanfare. It dragged with the teacher droning on and on about the particular subject of physics in which particles such as electrons will operate as waves until otherwise observed, in which case they become a particle. It was actually rather interesting to contemplate the idea of such a phenomenon, but at the same time Cecile couldn’t help but anxiously look over to make sure that Arlo was still sitting in his seat. If he left, she would’ve been left with no new information, no good options, and a day wasted with nothing to show for it.

She could’ve gone and tried to confront John now, but without any back up and in her state…

Unthinkable. Not without any knowledge or leverage beforehand. If she was going to parlay herself out of this fiasco and into some kind of place where she could safely recuperate, then it was going to need people like the Royals to be on her side. Or, at the very least, out of the way and not so mad at her.

The class finally let out, and Arlo was already getting ready to jet. Practically tripping herself over on her way over to him, the other students crossed over into other aisles as she stood defiantly still until he finally saw her. Having been seated up against a wall with no other way out, the young man only stared at her. Was he daring her to make a move and finish him off, put him out of his misery? Or was he still lost in his contemplations, only being vaguely aware that she was even there to begin with?
Finally, though, when the room had cleared out for the day as the other kids bustled in the halls eager to go home, to clubs, to dates and their cliques, Arlo relented. “Cecile.”

“Arlo.”

“Any chance you want to tell me why you’re standing in my way right now?”

Cecile stepped back a bit, adjusting her grip on her cane as she spoke as diplomatically as she could. “I was wondering how you were doing. I haven’t seen you in a while. And I was… hoping to talk to you about something.”

Arlo turned his head a bit, eyes narrowing. “I doubt that you and I have anything worthwhile to talk about.”

“Maybe not, but it looks like you haven’t really talked to anyone in a while Arlo.”

Leaning forward, he pointed his finger in accusation at Cecile. “And you thought that I would’ve wanted to talk to you? After everything you’ve done to me?” A pause. “After everything I did to you? It makes no sense.”

“Nothing makes sense anymore.” She offered. “Strange times make strange bedfellows, so to speak. At the very least, we have something in common now.”

Withdrawing the finger and crossing his arms, Arlo raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

“We’ve both lost something important to us. You lost your rank and privileges, and I lost—” Cecile stopped short. The way he was looking at her wasn’t just that of some downcast kid used to getting what he wants, searching desperately for that long-lost toy of his. She’d also remembered him being a dangerous, if not fanciful dullard that figured himself something more. 

No. He’d changed, somehow, over the last month. The little boy with the prideful fire in his eyes was gone; now, he was the keeper of an icy reservation, blanketed beneath the facade of a wounded man. Ambition stifled, but not in the least bit quenched. As much as she was studying and trying to play him, he was prodding her in equal measure.

That’s why she’d decided that trying to hide anything from another power-player now was useless. Engendering any further distrust from any of the Royals would surely prove to be catastrophic. “—and I lost my memories. And my Ability.”

Taken aback, Arlo’s demeanor seemed to loosen up a bit. “Your memories and your Ability, at the same time? Is it because of what happened to you?”

“Yes. I lost some of my memories— namely, the past month or so before I got attacked. What happened to all of you, what I did, I don’t remember any of it. At all. And now I’m coming to you and asking you for protection. I’m going to be completely defenseless for the rest of the school year if I don’t find someone to back me up, and I figured that you could be the one to do it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. As much as I would love to become your charity case, Cecile, I’m going to have to decline.” He began collecting his papers and filing them into his workbook for the class, attempting to summarily end their little tête-à-tête where it stood.

Panic rose in Cecile, so she played her last possible hand. “Arlo, I’m not just asking for your help for free; I’m willing to trade. You watch out for me, and in exchange I’ll help you become King again. No matter how powerful John is, we can take him down together. We’ll both get what we want.”

Stopping his collecting, Arlo turned back around and then just stared at her. Was he actually considering her offer?

No; he let out a pffft and shook his head, a laugh on his lips that only escaped becoming true by the demand of his own demeanor. “You really have lost your memories, haven’t you? Cecile, I’m not strong enough to beat John, and neither are you. Even if you had your abilities back and then some, we still wouldn’t be able to take him down.” Standing up, he waved her off as he began to turn sour towards her once more. “And don’t you dare think you can try and act like you know what I want. You have no idea, and like I said after everything that’s happened you have no right to even consider it.”

As Arlo walked down the aisle towards the classroom door, Cecile lashed out, yelling at his turned back. “Damnit, Arlo! Fine, you win, I don’t know what you want! But do you?! Do you know what you want anymore?!”

He stopped short of exiting. A moment of silence passed, then he simply deposited his hands into his pockets, letting the notebook be held against his hip by his forearm. “Maybe I don’t know what I want. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I’ve been me, like I’ve been myself without anything holding me back or making me second-guess my better instincts, or the things that good people try to teach me. Maybe… I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.” 

Turning his head back to show him smiling only on his lips, but not in his eyes or in his voice, “It’s probably because I know that, finally, you’re no longer a threat to anyone but yourself. You and your stupid, idiotic ‘plans’ finally blowing up in your face, and you don’t know what to do with yourself now that you’re the one left out. Alone, cold, scared— you’re finally in the same situation as the rest of us, Cecile. Congratulations.”

Turning away, he left her with one last little blast across the bow. But his voice wasn’t assured, or cold in indifference, or even happy in the slightest. It sounded strangely alone, far lonelier than ever before. “If you’re so interested in charity cases, anyways, try Remi. Try her Safe House. I dunno if they’re even up and running anymore, and frankly I don’t care. Everything’s falling apart. The Hierarchy, the Safe House, every dumb little capricious thing that had mattered is going away because of what you did, because of what we did… because of what I did. On top of all that, suddenly this school, its little playground mishaps don’t seem so big anymore. That means your problems aren’t my problems, even if you want to try and make them. So good luck, I guess. See you at graduation, Cecile.”

And with that, the former King took his leave. In his wake, Cecile could only collapse into one of the empty desk chairs as she watched him go out that door. Everything truly had changed, and it was all because of her. And with him went her only sane option out of this mess. Now she would have to dance with the chaotic and the naïve, these unknowns and their tangled-up affairs.

Chapter Text

The absolute state Arlo was in stayed at the forefront of Cecile’s thoughts for the rest of the day, and then some thereafter. When Otis finally came through their dorm’s door at around 6— still looking as apprehensive as ever walking around, as a guy, in the girl’s dorms— he appeared a bit haggard. “Sorry for being so late, a Joker attack slowed everything down for us today.”

“You mean the one from this morning?”

Stopping short as he was putting his backpack down on the ground in their living room, Otis glanced up with growing concern. “There was an attack this morning, too?” She gave him a nod, much to his regret. “I mean there was one on my way back. It was terrible. Everyone was just shouting, running, it was nuts. Whole Press Club just stayed in the room, waiting for it to stop.”

“Why hasn’t anyone done anything about this?” Cecile asked, but it was more of a rhetorical question than anything. The principles by which this school was run were very clear by now.

Otis walked into their kitchenette and idly looked through the refrigerator for something to eat, his voice becoming filled with more and more resignation. “The Safe House was supposed to be that, I guess. Remi started it up as a way to let people blow off steam and get away from all the Jokers and more importantly John. It was her, Blyke, Isen, I think Ventus and Meili were there sometimes— and she even got Arlo to help them out a bit, too.” He breathed out a bit and closed the door, lowering his head against the refrigerator. “I dunno if it would’ve worked, but it was worth I try I guess.”

“Well, I talked to Arlo today after school, and he wasn’t exactly warm on the whole ‘Safe House’ idea anymore.” Amongst other things. “He made it sound like the club broke up. Did John beat them all up again and shut their club down?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Otis shook his head, walking out to the living room again. “In fact, the Safe house sort of out-lived him; he showed up once or twice to tell them to disband, but they wouldn’t do it. After that, he got into this huge fight with Seraphina and lost and got a suspension. But that’s all I know, to be honest. I was too scared to ever go there, not with John and the Jokers hanging around.”

Seraphina! Could she be the answer to my prayers?! 

But that little burst of enthusiasm subsided, replaced with an atrophying sense of sapping encouragement. A real case of do-gooder-turned-troublemaker if Cecile’d ever heard of one. Seraphina was once the pride and joy of the high tiers, being the unbeatable Ace for the school’s Turf Wars team as well as the most powerful and one of its most hard-working elites. And she wasn’t just a high tier, but a god tier, the most powerful strata in all of our society. Compared to Seraphina, even a higher-leveled mid-tier like Cecile wasn’t even a threat to being a threat.

But everything changed when she began hanging out with the school’s ne’er-do-well cripple John Doe. Soon enough Seraphina’d abandoned her stuffy ways, her finely-kept uniform, and even began dyeing yellow the tips of her magenta hair with matching extensions. When those two struck up their little devil-may-care friendship, they became tardy recluses and nearly inseparable at the hip— much to the chagrin of those who were hoping to weigh their rise in status on her seemingly unstoppable advancement.

But that’s all she could remember.

Again.

That’s all there was.

That wall of haze, taunting her with information she needed now to recollect herself and fight to survive. The stakes could not have been any higher, but still that veil in her mind’s eye mocked her. Having had enough of struggling for one day between that and Arlo’s almost cryptic ruminations, Cecile sent herself off to bed. Catching up on homework was an easy enough task for her, but now she wanted to try and let sleep for a change.

When she was at the hospital, she did not dream. Her eyes grew heavy as she laid in the bed, and then everything seemed to slow down until hours later she woke up in the morning light. Not a single dream in those two weeks, nary a stir or a hint of a single image in that entire time. When she brought this up in one of her sessions with the good doctor Ezwa, he filed it under effects of the brain injury. 

Even then, he’d advised, we tend to forget our dreams even after having experienced them; some people don’t even have dreams at all! It was just a cornerstone of a whole mountain of things she needed to worry about. In time everything could come back in time. 

In time, in time, the endlessly descending crescendo of doubt belonging to ‘in time’.

Tonight, though, was apparently the time for dreams to return in force and spectacularity.

Wild, fantastical, the great seizing mass of images and sounds and sensations as her brain attempted to make sense of untold amounts of nerve-endings subtly firing in her sleep. Things she could not recall ever having seen were suddenly flying here and there, and she lacked the words to describe what they were. Faces distorted by that wall of darkness it shrieked through, Cecile was merely there as a vessel in a great roaring stream that threatened to overtake her.

But the turmoil came down to a pace. Hysterics, monstrous illusions and indescribable uncertainties in shapes and forms in a pyre driven red hot became tame, uniform and perceivable within a cool construct of glass within the roiling spectre of thought.

Suddenly, Cecile had found herself in a hallway at Wellston. She was looking at the glass on one of the classroom doors, but she could not see what lay within. Nor could Cecile perceive herself; there was nothing except a reflection of the hallway behind her, as if she did not exist at all. Down at her feet, there was no cane or crutch by her side. Just as she’d always had, she was standing on her own two feet.

And alone. Here, in this hallway, there was not a soul nor a whisper about. Looking around, she realized that the halls were not as they should’ve been. Where she stood was fine; a microcosm of sanity and familiarity of reality.

Beyond her, though, the halls became distorted and overtly disturbed. Looking down one way there was an amalgamation of shadows tearing at the edges of the light of the hall where the dimensions focused together— impossible, considering it was a hall barely a couple of hundred feet long. Yet it seemed to stretch for miles that way’s away, like gazing out into a never-ending desert of black.

To the other end, she saw no other hallway. Rather, it was one of the many staircases in the building— only this one was one of the two big ones that led in an incline to the next floor. But there was no landing where the stairs would end and lead you to the next floor. Rather, it was yet another abyss. It was motionless, edgeless, an unthinking and pitiless maw ready to be fed all light and matter.

The black heart of the school reached out to her.

Why am I here?, she asked out loud, and the halls around her asked again and again and again. It was not an echo, but something else entirely— a form of speech long forgotten about. After all, these walls knew all the bloody secrets of all the wannabe tyrants and brutalizers that have tromped through its corridors.

Below her into the staired abyss finally occurred something. From the nothingness of trillions and trillions of years, the bleakest blackness that existed before the Big Bang of the universe but now inhabited the minds of humans came a sound. No, a noise.

No—

A sensation.

She was being watched.

Who are you?

What are you?

Two glowing orbs formed within the nothingness, but did not light it up; rather they merely stared right into Cecile.

Stay there. Don’t come any closer. I’m warning you.

The orbs coalesced, the light bending and breaking as the halls behind her disappeared. Her feet were dragged closer and closer to the edge of the stairs, towards that darkness which beckoned her.

And the light finally founds its color, their truest form—

Gold. The orbs became gold, blinking eyes.

Please!

Those eyes demanded death from her. Cecile’s throat closed, her breath taken away as she struggled against this monster as it formlessly gripped her neck. Its hunger never-ending, its thirst unquenchable, she must be devoured and destroyed—

Stop!

And then she woke up with a sweat in her bed. Cecile grabbed her face, breathing heavily as she calmed herself down. It was an hour or so before she was supposed to get up, but at this point she didn’t care. This would just give her plenty of time to contemplate on how she was going to approach Remi at her Safe House today.

What should I talk to her about? Should I just get to the point, like I did with Arlo? She could be just as hostile as he is, but instead of being checked out she could use that information against me. Will there even be a Safe House to go to today, or did it finally gasp its last breath in the night?

These questions and more came to her as she wandered her dorm room, trying to maneuver herself not by the use of her cane but by the support of the walls. It was as if she were crawling sideways on a floor that always jutted at a 90-degree angle. Her breathing was laboring again, and the lake of a real, grounded weight to support her balance was making her feel like she was doomed to fall over any second now. This was not anywhere close to the kind of physical therapy she was prescribed. But that was all right; the thoughts were perfectly okay, and the walking was all right too.

So long as she did not see those ghastly eyes again. Not again.

Eventually Otis got up and out of his bedroom, but by that point Cecile’d finally got herself calmed down and ready for school. His hair was always smooth throughout the day, but Cecile was probably the only person besides his family who knew that his fluffy long hair tended to stick up every which way after sleeping. It wasn’t the worst case of bed-head she’s ever seen but it was definitely hilarious seeing it on such a studious, nervous but still eager boy like Otis.

They exchanged glances, but they didn’t say anything to each other— he looked way too tired, and Cecile had a good feeling he’d deep-fried his brain. Waving him a good morning and probably a ‘good luck’ for the day, Otis returned with a sleepy thumbs up with a half-baked smile on him as he retreated to the bathroom. Godspeed, my friend.

The day went by much like yesterday. Opening period, Joker attacked someone in the hall; they zapped them with a sort of static shock and knocked the victim into their friends and shocked them as well. No one stopped to help those kids or confront the fake Joker, either, just like yesterday.

Classroom time flew by, which she was thankful for because she was spending a lot of her time trying to find a source on where and when this Safe House was meeting. Cecile weighed asking Otis, but remembered that he’d said he was plum out of information on this sort of thing anyway, and it wouldn’t be fair to lean on him for more. I was— I am the head of the Wellston Weekly. It’s high time I get myself off the ground and get back to routine, and that means using every bit of journalistic persistence I’ve got!

Between each class, Cecile took people aside that she knew or suspected would be interested in the Safe House as a place of refuge. Everyone she asked, though, was either too intimidated by the idea of being caught dead talking about that sort of club near the crowds of shuffling students, or too scared to talk to her to begin with! And thus she no longer found it pertinent to ask semi-politely, but rather began pressing every source she could fine— which now included the bullies that were the unspoken threats to these low-tiers.

Eventually someone coughed it up after she’d cornered them. It was a known bully, but they were right on the money. Apparently it was important to know where “those goody-goody assholes are playing house together so I can avoid them whenever possible.”, or so they’d said.

At lunchtime Cecile forewent eating and decided to go to the Safe House and see what she could find out for herself. It was at Room 224, and was open all day! If there wasn’t so much chaos and inter-tier conflict that’d basically trained an entire student body to shut their mouths and obfuscate by instinct, she would’ve found it without any trouble at all.

What a time to be alive in this retributive age of the Jokerdom.

Cecile opened the door, but what she saw was crushingly depressing. The room was almost sterile, nary a movement here or there; it very well could have collected an inch of dust upon the air itself if not for the occasional class that probably took place here to move things around.

“Ah! Hello, welcome—!” And there was that cheerful, sing-song voice that rang through your ears. From the corner of the room stood up Remi; she was a short, almost petite third-year girl with pink hair that was punctuated by her lively red eyes. Today she was wearing one of her many bows that helped tidy up her long hair; today’s was red, and it danced with the spark of excitement within her as she looked to see who’d come.

But that demeanor ran away pretty quickly when she realized that it was Cecile. Suddenly Pretty Girl Remi had taken a seat in favor for the other side of her coin, the one that took action and climbed the ranks of the high-tier Nobles that placed her firmly within the echelons of the Royals.

It was also the one that took Cecile completely by surprise with the ferocity of her power as a high tier, beating her over a year ago for the right to be the school’s Queen. They were almost exactly the same level of power, but Cecile’s junior just barely edged her out— despite Cecile’s own not-inconsiderable experience as a fighter. 

“How can I help you?” Remi said. It was more of an accusation than a genuine expression of helpfulness, but at the very least she hadn’t repeated the same set of words Arlo and Blyke had done yesterday.

“I heard there was a safe place for people to hang out in, and was wondering if I could take a look around?” Remain diplomatic. Who knows when her not-boyfriend will come bursting through that door any second now. I don’t need him blowing his stack or poisoning the damn well here.

But it seemed Cecile was doing that perfectly well on her own, judging by the way that Remi’s thin eyebrows furrowed at that question. “This club is supposed to be for anyone who feels threatened, Cecile. That means people who don’t have a means to defend themselves, people who need a place to relax and blow off steam, and people who worry about being trampled over by bullies and high-tiers.” ‘meaning, so what the hell are you doing here?’ was the subtext of that spiel.

Have you cleaned your shoes lately, Remi, or have you forgotten how exactly you climbed the ladder to being a Noble or a Royal? Or how you managed and maintained that position, same as the rest of us?

If this was going to be another shit-show, especially with an usurper like Remi, then maybe it was easier to back off and leave. “Fine, fair enough. If you’re that opposed to me being here—“

When Cecile turned to leave, Remi looked down and saw her cane. Taking a second before closing her eyes and shaking her head, the younger girl turned it down a notch. “Hold on, hold on. If you’re really that desperate for someplace to stay that you’d come to us, then you can stay. We don’t judge.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize what was happening. She’s taking pity on me. Even though that was the crux of the necessity for her protection, Cecile still felt a modicum of pride that took a bit of offense to this. It was the hypocrisy of humanity, wanting something and getting it but not in the exact way that one would want. Such was the duality of being. “Listen, I don’t want you to do this for me if you don’t want to. If you want to know why I’m here, then I’ll tell you.”

Exasperated, Remi shook her head. “I’m not interested in hearing how or why from you, Cecile. Whatever reason you want to be here, you can be here. I know you were attacked a month ago, but I don’t know who did it or how bad it really was. When I said everyone can be here, everyone can be here; and that’s including you. I offered the same deal to John, and compared to him you’re a saint.” Turning around, Remi offered a sweeping hand to the deserted room as she walked back to her corner. “Make yourself at home wherever you want in here, whenever you want! We’re open all the time.”

Cecile looked around, feeling suddenly burdened by a bounty of choices. At the very least now part of her apprehensions were being laid to rest. Even if it were only for a day or a week or a month, forget the next few months until graduation, she now had a semi-secure place to stay while she recuperated. And the fact that she could finally stop repeating over and over what was wrong with her was a tremendous relief; the last thing she wanted to do every time she talked to an old rival was something like a sob story. It was demeaning.

“Thanks.” Cecile said, and took a seat of her own and commenced enjoying her respite, for however long it would last from here on out.

But very soon the awkwardness of the two rivals suddenly being thrown back together sunk in. Cecile had gotten here at the very start of the lunch period, so she was suddenly left with a veritable surplus of time with Remi. Sitting here, pretending to not notice each other. Avoiding and side-stepping the obvious ‘who-what-when-where-why’ that they’d already verbally confirmed was not necessary, but oh so tantalizing a piece of information.

It very well could be worth telling her the whole thing, irregardless of how I feel on the subject. I’ve already told Arlo, and who knows if he’ll tell anyone or not. Looking to Remi, whom was half-pretending to read a textbook in her seat across the room, Cecile’s estimation of her fluctuated. But then again, she said she doesn’t want to know. If I’m safe here now, then telling her would either be superfluous or a detriment depending on what I’ve done.

But there was a compromise to be found. A middle ground between telling the whole truth or telling a lie and saying nothing at all. “If I’m going to be staying here, then I’ll want to warn you: I’ve not been myself lately. Not completely. When I was attacked, somehow I was hit in the head hard enough to give me… problems. Memory problems, just to name the most important thing I want you to know about. And this, if it wasn’t obvious that I’ve been gone for a month but have to carry this thing around with me.” She held up the cane as the object interloper in question.

And just like the others that she’d revealed this information to, Remi’s interest was visibly piqued. But not willing to give ground on the subject of her frosty reception— despite having welcomed Cecile to begin with— Remi acted nonplussed. “Well, that’s gotta be hard for you.”

“It is, believe it or not. I don’t remember the last month of whatever happened here, and I’ve only had my friend Otis to fill me in. But he doesn’t know that much about what went on between you and me, or myself and the Royals beyond the headlines.”

“Oh, your friend?” ‘Who would have thought that you even have one to begin with, Cecile?’ Remi’s voice implied from behind the textbook, a potential smug smirk unseen as she closed her eyes. “Well, I guess I know why you’re really here now, don’t I?”

Bitch. Cecile thought, but kept out of her own voice and off her face. “Well, here’s your chance to get your side of the story in, isn’t it? I mean, my doctor said that my memories could come back any day now, and who knows what sort of state I’ll be in when they return.” 

Turning around in her chair to face forward, she then leaned her head back to stare at Remi with an upside-down perspective, her hair flopping over. “So now you’ve got me, Cecile, totally untainted by the memory and the guilt or the pleasure of whatever’s happened to all of us. I’m eager to hear what’s going on, but now I don’t want the casual observer’s perspective. Because that’s what Otis is. He may be my friend, but he’s been equally as hurt as well as he has not been by what’s happened. I want to know more from someone closer to this disaster we live in today.”

But unlike Arlo who was eager to lord his newfound prowess over her as the exiled prince no longer in waiting for a throne, but rather in line for Eschaton to relieve him from this mad land, Remi said nothing at first. Sure, Arlo took a few pauses of his own to think things over, but he was playing cat-and-mouse with her. 

Remi, on the other hand, was a completely straight forward person without any hint of deception. Practically earnestness defined, the go-to person to make things happen even if they weren’t entirely thought through yet. That made her both incredibly easy to read as well as incredibly hard to predict.

Trying to bait the hook further, Cecile offered a further confession. “If you don’t want to talk about the whole thing, then maybe just tell me what happened here? Otis told me that everyone seemed pretty excited for this club when it first started, and that you even managed to beat back an attack from John himself! But I’ve also heard that this club also disintegrated not too long after that, either. What happened? I really want to know.”

It was a risky proposition, but the bait actually worked. Setting the book down, Remi rubbed her eyes for a moment before conceding to what would become obvious in a moment was a heavy burden. “I really thought that we’d be able to make it work. I don’t know if I was being naive again, or if I really was convinced that everything would be all right if we just muscled through it all. But this girl, Evie, she had this really great idea of a safe space that just spoke to me, you know?”

“When we started… when we started it was a couple of us making a stand for something we could all believe in. A bit of peace and quiet, some space between us and all the Jokers and John, and if we managed to get just a bit stronger standing together, we could take the fight to the streets.” She paused and then attempted to over-correct her out-of-place metonymy. “I— I mean the hallways, of course! We’d go fight back against the Jokers in the hallways and and bring people in to the fold, and away from all that trouble.”

“We were struggling to cover shifts around here to make sure everyone felt safe. Me and Blyke weren’t enough back then. People were trickling in, but not everyone had the same sort of schedule, you know? Arlo was already acting weird back then, but we tried to make do with what we got from him. Ventus and Meili helped out, but I think they were only there because they were afraid of John and still wanted to stick close to Arlo.”

A rueful smile came over Remi’s face. “And then Seraphina committed to joining up as a protector and not just a casual member, again all thanks to Evie. Now we had some serious firepower on our hands. John tried to shut us down, but she shut him down, him and that asshole Zeke. Seraphina beat his ass, and he got suspended. After that, we had a whole month to do what we wanted to. Seraphina was with us, Arlo was warming up to the whole thing, and people were actually having a good time now that we were finally rid of John and his violence.”

Cecile couldn’t help but feel sort of swept up in Remi’s testimony. It was the wounded zealousness of a true believer whom has seen the promise of greatness be snatched away. “But it didn’t last, did it?”

Remi shook her head, whatever bittersweet feeling in her reverie being smothered at last. “No, you’re right. It didn’t.” A deep breath. “John was gone, yeah, and Seraphina was on our side, but that still left the Jokers. We were running around, looking for them wherever they might’ve popped up and protecting the kids as if it was happening and even before it ever happened! Tons of kids, both low tier and mid tier got exposed for being Jokers and had to deal with the consequences. “

Getting up from her chair, Remi began to walk through the aisles of the classroom, waltzing to the beaet of her story as she seemed to be walking Cecile right beside her through the paths of her mind. “Things got real quiet after about two weeks of this preemptive school-wide patrol service. I really believed that all the hoods would’ve finally been burned and buried for good and people would get along, even if they didn’t want to. We were just too fast, too strong, too everywhere for anyone to do anything bad anymore. But once we set a pace for how fast we could respond to these guys, in the third week they started testing how fast they could beat someone up before we arrived. That meant they started relying on surprise attacks, and that brought with it a newfound brutality.”

“Of course we stepped up to meet their challenge, though it was really weird that so many of them seemed to have the idea to test us out like that. Completely independent of any sort of organization of their own, the Jokers all came to the same conclusion and reacted. It was like… I dunno, it might sound stupid, but hear me out: it was like the school itself was their organization, you know? Like, we are to the Safe House what the Jokers are to the school itself. A part of a whole, and we were suddenly now in some kind of duel to see who was going to stand on top.”

Cecile interjected. “Maybe someone’s organizing them behind the scenes? There’s a lot of Nobles that’ve got to be pissed off with what the Safe House stands for. Their power in the Hierarchy is threatened by the very ideas that you want it to uphold.”

In response, though, Remi just gave a small tip of her head to the side. “Yeah, we considered it. Wasn’t entirely out of the question, but we checked nonetheless. If there was any sort of organization to this new surge of Jokers, we couldn’t find anything about it. Any Joker we caught didn’t give it up, and we certainly still caught a lot and turned up the heat. Well, Blyke and Seraphina did, anyway.”

Suddenly, Remi stopped in her tracks and tightened her hands into clenched fists behind her back. “And then… John came back to school. He didn’t come at us directly, but he might as well have, considering what happened next. I don’t know what went down between them, but Seraphina and him reconnected really quickly after he returned from suspension. She’d been busy after school with some stuff here or there but time was never really an issue for her to go on patrols during school hours. But with John back, that time suddenly became in short supply. I had no idea she’d be able to forgive him so quickly for everything he did, but then again I sort of had my suspicions.”

“All this happened about a week or two weeks ago, by the way, if you really wanna know when this all went down. Me, Blyke, Arlo, Isen, and Evie were having a meeting in Isen’s room about future fun activities for the Safe House to do when Seraphina nearly kicked the door down on us. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her that pissed before about anything; when she was fighting Turf Wars for us back in the old days, she was totally detached to the whole process. No pleasure, no guilt, not even a hint of getting pissed off at someone who got a hit on her once or twice. Cool as a cucumber.”

“But this time… she was just about ready to kick all our asses. Unbeknownst to all of us, her and John weren’t just hanging out and taking things slow after he got back. She’d actually been waiting for him to return the entire time, and wanted to hear his side of the story, to try and put all the pieces together for herself. What sob-story she heard, I don’t know, but it was enough to where she threw accusations at all of us. It was a freaking laundry list, and it just seemed to go on and on, but none of us could get a word in edgewise. Not now, not anymore.”

“She yelled a lot of stuff at us, but this is just the greatest hits that John probably thought up in his own time: Blyke was at fault for almost hitting John in the head with his laser blast that time John slapped me; she screamed at Arlo for not only beating John into submission when he wasn’t sure if he was a cripple or not, but also having a hand in getting her suspended just to get at John in the first place; Isen for digging all this info up, at Arlo’s request, and hurting John when he didn’t get what he’d wanted. To her, we were all guilty of being hypocrites and liars, just as complicit in this shitty situation as John was for what he had done. Can you believe that?!”

Not wanted to slow this well-spring of information down, Cecile unequivocally replied, “I can’t believe it.”

“I know, right?! And to top it all off, she said Arlo was the most responsible out of all of us! Said his fingerprints were everywhere, that his schemes were the very thing that triggered John’s meltdown and ‘sent him spiraling out of control’ to begin with! John became King for crying out loud! How ‘out of control’ could he really be if he was able to choose be the first Joker, if he was able to become the King and send us all to the hospital without a single problem?!”

There was nothing but bitterness in her voice now as Remi began gesturing almost wildly with the accusations, the vitriol, the pure emotion roiling up in her indignation. Cecile could only watch as Remi walked to and fro across the room at random paces, her arms thrown around and gesticulating with every outrage that she remembered. If nothing else, Cecile had to admit that Remi was a good orator if this passionate presentation proved anything.

“After that, she said she wanted nothing to do with us anymore. ‘I got my power back so I could help John out because he’s my best friend who was in trouble,’, she said, ‘not to make sure you guys get off scot-free for all the shit you did that lead up to this.’. As if we were the ones who made up the whole Hierarchy thing to begin with, or that we had any better alternatives before now— that she was just throwing away for one person! Or that we really were in any way responsible for all the heinous shit that John did!” 

“But still… after that she left us, and I have not heard a single thing about her or John. They’re probably permanently camped up on top of the roof together. And John avoids Blyke whenever possible even though they’re in the same friggin’ dorm, same with Elaine and Seraphina. And when she left… things unraveled really quick.”

“I dunno what’s been going on with Arlo, but everything that she’d said to him seemed to… I don’t know, it just seemed to break him just a little bit I think. He’d been coming out of his shell ever since he stopped being the King, and we were getting close to bringing him back, but after that he just up and quit. Like it was the final straw for him. I haven’t spoken to him since. I don’t know if I’m ready to yet. I don’t even know if he’d pick up the phone for me, to be honest.”

“Then Isen got himself put in charge of the Press Club and took over for that, meaning he wasn’t spending any more time here with us. Ventus and Meili took off after hearing John was back, with absolutely no explanation whatsoever. I guess Arlo’s coattails finally ran out, huh? And then, oh, and then those Jokers saw us all fighting each other, arguing about who’s right and who’s wrong— they loved that. With half of our leaders gone, they all started coming back right from the woodwork, but nobody but now me and Blyke were around to stop them.”

The crescendo was dying down now, her voice sullen and defeated as she sat down in a chair right next to Cecile, but not looking her in the eyes now. “Just us… alone, against this unstoppable invisible army. Like, we turned the tables on all of them and got close to winning, but in one day everything fell apart and they were just back in charge again. Like nothing we did mattered. Like nothing we believe in matters. Like…” Her voice trailed off as she bowed her head in disgrace. The relief that must’ve come with that explosion of emotion collapsed in on itself, being overtaken now by the melancholy of the defeated soldier come home to a ruined land of empty promises— the wine of glory turned to ash and sand in her mouth.

Some of these things definitely sounded familiar. Things were clicking together for Cecile, but there was always room for more. The whole picture wasn’t there yet, but now there were pinpricks within that great veil; the rhymes now had reason to them. And with the basic scheme in hand now, she began to ruminate on her next moves.

With the Jokers back, Cecile surmised, that meant that everyone had to actively choose to congregate with Blyke and Remi and take their chances standing by them even when they weren’t at the club. Either that, or just drop that dying animal altogether and hope no one remembers who collaborated with this upstart little regime they’d set up.

The barrenness of the room bespoke to the shattered popularity of their fallen project. Arlo’s detachment during their conversation just yesterday was starting to make sense as well, in some sort of way that wasn’t entirely clear to her yet. It was the end of a little dream, in the heart of this dark hell hole. Cecile couldn’t blame Remi for feeling this way, but then again nor could she argue for or against Seraphina and John’s perspectives, seeing as how she had no idea about them herself.

But if those two weren’t active players anymore, then maybe they’d be willing to fill her in on what they knew, too. And if John and Cecile really were working close together when he was Joker and as the King, then perhaps whatever he knew would be the key to jogging something big in her mind.

No offense to her new-found caretaker, of course, but Cecile still abided by the general rules that had led to the Safe House’s quick rise as well as its crashing ruin: ‘Go where the power is’. And right now, John Doe very well had the sort of power in his hands that could help Cecile start regaining what was hers.

And for all that time, Blyke did not come back to the Safe House for that entire lunchtime. It would’ve made this baptism by fire quite more literal if the redhead also had the same desire to unload his frustrations with what had happened. But that could be saved for another time, another day.

Cecile looked forward to seeing her other dutiful protector, a smile coming across her face at the very thought.

Chapter Text

It was a pretty normal day when everything suddenly broke apart. There was a war going on outside between two of the most powerful students in the school, the King versus the school’s old Queen in a break-bones brawl to the end. Everyone had their eyes and ears on what was going on then, but not Otis.

He, on the other hand, was continuing his work for the Press Club. The Wellston Weekly worked dutifully through any sort of disaster, rain or shine; Cecile’s leadership of their little organization made sure of that. Besides, school drama was not his beat on the paper anyway. Anywhere between three to four other writers and reports worked on that front. 

Otis’ job was writing the general minutiae that filled the columns, updating everyone on everything that didn’t catch headlines. His work wasn’t flashy, but it was the most necessary work. Everyone else wanted to be part of the group that got to snoop around the Royals, or the ones that turned gossip into fact about who was dating who, as well as team sports, Turf Wars, and all the rest. Flashy content; the things that made careers and got included as accomplishments on transcripts.

None of that glossy stuff mattered to him. The paper needed the stuff that wasn’t as pretty or exciting to keep it going, to be an actual source of news that helped students stay involved and stay informed on important school knowledge. Test dates, test subjects, grading curves who and where, the lingering count-down to midterms or finals— and so on and so on.

And he did it without breaking a sweat or missing a deadline, and this blissful little spot was his all thanks to Cecile. When he joined the club back when he was just a first year, Juni— a fellow reporter in the club— had told him that it was once under a different management and a different type of leadership just a year ago. People were running around doing whatever they wanted, trying to out-compete each other for every single story floating around and butting heads over all the club’s meager resources. It was just a mess, and whoever was in charge— a witless, clueless then-fourth year whom everyone had long since forgotten by now— only made it worse.

And then, by pure chance, this hapless buffoon crossed one of the school’s Turf Wars strongest members. It was an article that had to do with rumors, and generally speaking most of the reporters had the good sense to avoid pissing off the actively hostile types or those who made it clear that they wanted nothing about them to be revealed. One such person was Cecile, the first year whom had not too recently become the school’s Queen.

The article was written by an equally dimwitted boy who’d joined the club around the same time as the club head, who decided that it would be a smart idea to question the idea of having women on the Turf Wars team at all. It was poorly-written tripe, pure incendiary bullshit meant to rile up drama with the subtle nudge of a club to the head; get the female side of the student body angry, sending in letters, then host that spectacle for even more content.

And unfortunately for these two misogynistic wannabe tabloid grifters, the new Queen didn’t take lightly their demeaning of her, her position in the Hierarchy, or their decision to use her as a cudgel against other students.

One day, whilst everyone was running around racing to make another deadline they’d been blowing off yet again, Cecile paid them a visit. But there wasn’t a bombastic showdown in the designated room for the school paper, fists flying between the offenders and the offended.

Rather, she stood there at the door. Her gaze, her stance, everything about her begged someone to try stepping up or saying anything without her say-so. No one expected her to be this tall or this intense— Juni looked across the room from her desk at the leader and his buddy, and a pale face of death was on both of them. They knew that they’d bitten off more than they could chew, and were about to pay a price.

After a few seconds, Cecile pointed the two out and ordered them directly across the hall into a different and empty room. When they’d left and the club heard the door close behind them, more than a couple of them ran up to see if they could hear or witness anything.

But she’d taken them away from the window and kept them there for a few agonizing minutes. Once she was finished with whatever she’d had done with both of them, the two were promptly dismissed— from whatever conversation they’d had, and from the club itself. The looks on their faces worsened into panic and sickliness as they ran away from Cecile.

From then-on, she’d announced when she re-entered the room, the Wellston Weekly and the club itself would be under her command. So sayeth Arlo, the newly-minted King of Wellston— then taking over for the former King Rei as he entered graduation and turned his eyes towards the future.

Otis would only join a year later, and would never get to interact with the former president, the reporter, Rei, or get to witness any of these events firsthand. However, Juni talked about it as if it were a wonderful rapture that had happened yesterday every time she recalled it. At first he thought that she was just over-blowing it; trying to impress their mutual boss in some way.

When he got his chance to see Cecile in action, though, he then tended to agree with Juni’s extremely high estimations. Whether it was in a Turf War match or as a journalist or as the club president, Cecile stood strong in the face of every challenge that came her way. It made Otis admire her, even when the other club members grumbled about her ejecting half the club members for incompetence or putting into place higher standards of journalism.

Those things that irked them only made him embrace her leadership even more.

It was because she was indomitable in power and unquenchable in ambition that she could swing with the greatest. Even when she finally faced defeat and lost her position as Queen to a young, upstart second-year like Remi, Cecile still endured.
‘It was a close fight’, ‘Both of you are evenly matched in power’, ‘She just got the better of you for now, you’ll be back’. Those were all excuses that would coddle lesser women as salves for their wounded prides.

They were never a thought, not even a whisper for someone like Cecile. And as time moved on, Cecile held that chip on her shoulder but never spoke of it. Such was her strength and determination of will. But he never expected her to have noticed him out of the lot of first, second, and third years she had at her disposal. When she talked to him, she talked like she would to any other of her subordinates: matter-of-factly, directly, and almost dispassionately. 

This didn’t last forever. During a club meeting she showed her hand and revealed that she’d been watching his work for some time. From her estimations he was exceptionally good at his job; he was one of the proof-readers that weeded out spelling mistakes, factual errors, and all the other little foibles their newspaper was once doomed to contain within. They shifted the responsibility around now and again, but his copies were the ones that were always picture perfect.

She then gave him all the responsibilities that he liked, and again excelled much to her expectations. He rose from rank to rank until he was finally her de facto right-hand man at the paper, doing everything he could to to make her as proud of him as he could. It was practically a friendship at that point, only without a word of affirmation to that effect.

Over a year ago, though, disaster suddenly came for Otis.

His sexuality wasn’t something he ever broadcasted at any age, not even to his own family. That was an easy way to get yourself punished, expelled, jailed…

Or worse.

But Otis had been attracted to other boys his entire life. It was an undeniable part of him, just as easily separated from his being as his lungs, his heart, or his brain. Society told him it was something wrong, something profane that denied the continuation of the natural cycle of reproduction that kept the world moving forward. No matter how high or how low, people must continued to be born and serve their role as dictated by their tiers, their riches, their positions. Civilization must move forward, and he must deny those awful urges.

But to him, he wasn’t unnatural at all. He loved being who he was, and hoped to find some way, somehow to find someone just like him. Even if they would cuddle in the dark together, huddling next to the fire of forbidden love as the world would overlook them in the grand scheme of things.

Even if it took him a thousand years, he would find someone with whom he could be invisible to the eyes of puritanical morality and they could live in peace.

When Otis tried searching for that person, though, it nearly proved the end of him.

There was this third year in some of his gym classes that seemed to be just the right kind of guy named Xavian. He was handsome, tall, and atheltic, and everyone around him was attracted to his sunny demeanor. He had short-cropped light-green hair with matching colored eyes over a perfect face that yelled out for someone to take a glance. Otis was still a second year then, but he couldn’t help but look over his way whenever they were in that class together.

A couple of times Otis thought that Xavian saw him looking his way, and sometimes—

It made his heart flutter a bit, but he could almost swear that Xavian was checking him out, too. It was weird, at first, being so secretly enamored with someone that you’d never spoken with. Were they on the same wavelength right now? Was Xavian just like him, too?

The thought was too tempting to pass up. Was Xavian also secretly gay, and what’s more had the same hots for Otis as he had for him?

And then, after a few days of this unspoken, perhaps imagined staring contest between them, the stalemate broke. Out of nowhere Xavian gave Otis a friendly slap on the back and surprised him one day as the class was heading to the baseball field. “Hey, what’s up, Otis?” He asked, cheerful as ever.

He knows my name?! Otis almost shouted in his thoughts, but managed to paper it over with an awkward smile and a hesitant wave to match it. “H-Hey, Xavian, what’s up?! I— I mean, nothing much, you know?”

Whilst Otis was cursing his own pathetic stuttering, Xavian just laughed and gave him his trade-mark smile. “Don’t worry, I know what you mean!”

And then they got to talking, every little bit day by day before and after that gym class. About nothing much in particular, but how did Otis like to hang onto his every word. Then, unprompted, Xavian actually asked Otis to exchange phone numbers with him! Flabbergasted, almost shaking in barely contained delight, the shy boy complied and gave his phone-number to his senior. Afterwards, Otis was so excited that he almost told Cecile when club ended that day.

But just at the last second, he held back.

Cecile had been good to him, and made him feel like they could’ve probably been friends if the cold handshake of formality and the distance between their tiers didn’t stand between them. But he couldn’t risk this good relationship by telling her about how excited he was about a boy of all people adding him to a messenger or whatever. Otis just couldn’t tell where her true intentions lied. She was smart, strict, level-headed, and above all came from a rich and influential family.

Could she play politics with him, too? Would she take that confession as a way to sell him out and gain some extra points for herself with the powers-that-be? Anyone with half a brain knew that it’d be far more beneficial to report a deviant like him than to give him the time of day.

So, to spare him that kind of heartbreak, Otis joked and said he was excited for a test coming up soon. It wasn’t a good cover-up, but it saw him through the day and kept him well within her good graces.

Xavian texted him sometimes, and Otis always texted him back as soon as possible. They both lived in the same building, but of course a higher tiered student like Xavian got dibs on the best kind of dorm rooms near the top, whilst Otis got by with the other low-tiers on shabbier rooms nearer to the ground floor. This didn’t stop him from believing, though, in that little campfire he wanted just for the two of them.

He should’ve known better.

He really should’ve known that happy endings were for idiots and hopeless romantics.

Emojis made their way into the conversations, and of course Otis introduced hearts as soon as he could. Just to test the waters, to see if the other boy said anything. When he didn’t, Otis kept on using them; almost like a punctuation mark at the end of his texts. It was his desperate song for Xavian to return, but he never actually did. Just smiles, winks, laughs, but never a heart.

Oh, he’s just shy. He doesn’t use hearts like I do, it’s just a style choice!

And then there was the way that Otis would try to continue a conversation, but Xavian would suddenly have other things to do and stop talking, not reaching out again until the next day. The older boy offered the most simple explanations, and Otis ate them up every time. Like a complete, lovestruck fool.

He’s really popular after all! Maybe he had to do something for one of his sport clubs, or maybe he’s got tough homework, or maybe he’s hanging out with his friends! 

Maybe he’ll invite me to hang out with them too one day!

But they’d always remained distant. There were the same little texts that went nowhere, even as Otis tried to pry an answer out of Xavian or to make him outright admit he was gay, too. Of course he never admitted to anything, but then again neither did Otis. It was a topic that he felt hang in the air, with neither one ever addressing it.

But the more he attempted to play around with Xavian, the larger the red flags became. Little verbal jabs here or there about masculinity, about finding Otis a girlfriend he’d like, about how they really weren’t alike at all if you really came down to it.

To the edge Xavian went with Otis, teases almost became barbs and texts nearly became flirts. It was an endless, thrilling cycle that constantly played upon the younger boy’s fears and desires. But it was all a bunch of harmless fun if they kept it to themselves, right?

Right?

Xavian sent him a text in the middle of the night, one that nearly sent Otis tumbling over his bed even as he was laying on top of it, kicking his feet in delight.

‘Come on up to my dorm. I miss you.’

Burying a squeal in his hands, Otis knew this had to be too good to be real. But he did it anyway; the foolish little boy ran out of his room, sped like lightning out of his assigned dorm and climbed the stairs all the way up to Xavian’s floor. There, he sent that fateful text:

‘Here! <3’

And the door swung open to reveal two older boys standing there with miniature fire-extinguishers, and they promptly sprayed him down right there in the hall.

Otis was sent tumbling back, the coolant getting all over his pajamas and in his hair. Some of it got into his mouth, and it made him sputter and cough; it was so sour, and suddenly his whole mouth tasted like metal!

When his coughing died down for a second, there prone on the floor he realized that he heard them laughing. Xavian’s two buddies were laughing at the display, mocking his coughs with a dainty, almost girlish tone in their play-acts of suffocation.

Oh no. Otis looked up, feeling the world go out from underneath him as Xavian exited the dorm with his own belly full of ridiculous laughter. But it wasn’t as sunny as he’d always been before with his target; rather, it was full of a loud and proud malice.

“X-Xavian? W-What’s—?” And then Xavian fired a fire extinguisher of his own, drowning out Otis’ words. 

One of Xavian’s buddies, a lanky boy with long, silver hair to match his extensive posture pointed at the boy’s whimpering. “Hey, c’mon, looks like the little flamer’s still got some spunk left in him, huh?!”

Now everyone else on the floor were peeking out of their dorms. They were only looking to see what was happening, though; when Otis turned to them and silently pleaded them for help, they only stared in contempt before slinking back into their rooms.

Everyone of them, indifferent to whatever his plight was— so long as they kept it down from there-on.

Tears coming over him, Otis shook where he lay as the boys continued to surround him, pushing him up against the wall. Those whimpers he made, those tears that he shed, the shaking in his body would not cease.

This was that nightmare come true. He’d been finally, truly found out.

Death was coming.

He wobbled a bit, his hands and feet slipping on the foam that now coated the carpet beneath him.

“Run, you dumb little faggot!”

That voice belonged to Xavian.

And, like the little idiot he’d been these past few weeks, he listened to his crush and made a mad dash for the stairway doors. His hands slipped on the handle, but he got it open and ran down the stairs.

It wasn’t like he was alone here, though; the boys were right on his heels, staying just a floor behind him the entire time. They were hunting him down, exhorting him to keep going. “You’re almost there, bitch!” One of them yelled out, the echo slapping

Otis’ panicked mind as it spoke again and again.

Three floors left in the building, his hands acted on their own and fished his phone out of his pajama pants’ pocket. Who would he call?! He didn’t know if there was any security on campus right now, his parents lived miles and miles away in another region, and calling the cops would only make his situation worse!

Without a second thought, he then dialed up Cecile, using the number she told him to only use in case there was an emergency at the club while she was away for whatever reason. 

It seemed like a futile gesture to try and call her at this hour until she actually picked up on the fourth ring. “What?” a voice grumbled over the line; she’d just been woken up.

As fast as his mouth could carry his words out of him, he cried into the phone, “P-Please, Cecile! T-There’s guys at my dorm, they’re chasing me, I can’t—!” He finally slipped on the concrete of the stairways, making him crash into the second floor’s exit, knocking the wind out of him as he tumbled shrieking in fear onto the stairs next to it.

There was some kind of noise from the phone, which he still held on to for dear life, and Otis pleaded again even with the air knocked out of him. “Please, Cecile, I’m sorry, I need help! Please!”.

The boys chasing him threw two of their extinguishers at him; one hit the railing right above him and tumbled down the steps in a clatter. Its twin hit him square-on, making him flinch at the sudden jolt of pain in his back. Without even trying to talk to the phone again, but also not daring to put it down, Otis crawled as he slipped his way down to the final floor.

The dim light of the lobby opened up to him in a desperate crack, but soon a hand had grabbed him by the collar and hauled him right through to the other side. The floor was no longer beneath him as the boys were carrying him outside, opening both of the doors that led into the wide open ground floor before tossing him out onto the ground.

And then the kicking started, and the laughs continued. Otis rolled himself up into a ball, but it just wasn’t enough.

They beat him, they spat on him, they sprayed the last of the extinguishers at him, drawing a grizzly white line around his form on the sidewalk. It was only a few minutes, but the assault felt like it was forever.

The metal from the foam mixed with the taste of adrenaline and blood. Otis pleaded, asking for them to stop, but his assailants held no pity for their poor, precious little gay boy. All they had for him was their spite, their fury, their fists and their shoes.
“Hey, chuck that one at ‘im, too!” One of the friends yelled.

That damned laugh again, coming out of that sweetly chiseled face that mocked and cursed him so. “Great idea!” The boy covered up his head with both arms and hands now, preparing for the toss—

But there wasn’t any. Instead, there was a yelp and the familiar clang of the little red metal tube hitting the ground uselessly beside him. Looking up, he saw her, her fists balled at her side as she stood ready to fight them all on.

Cecile had arrived, and with her Vines Ability she’d knocked Xavian clear across the pavement into a pile of bushes. Without another word, the boy remained clumped over in disgrace, never having gotten the chance to see the new attacker coming. Then, she growled a single warning, restraining herself that much to be able to still form one more coherent sentence:

“Get the fuck away from him you dickless cowards.”

Was it euphoria or it the rush of the nearly fresh kill they had, tricking that predator side of their hate-addled brains which caused the two nameless boys move against one of the school’s top fighters? Did they really think they stood a chance by themselves, their powers barely registering as a light mid-tier, or were they just eager to test their mettle with someone that powerful consequences be damned?

It didn’t matter. Within two easy swipes she’d dispatched with them both.

In five more strikes, she was satisfied enough to stop thrashing them.

Otis saw it all, but it was all a blur in the dark. Some of the foam was in his eyes now, having dropped in from his hair. His nose was running with mucus and blood, and his whole body shook and ached at the same time. But still, Cecile walked over and offered to pick him up. She must’ve really been asleep, because all she had on were a pair of pajama pants, a white t-shirt, a Wellston girl’s jacket haphazardly tossed on, and nothing but a pair of sandals.

It was in that half-baked outfit she turned three eager lynchers into whimpering, semi-conscious lumps before her. She did it without getting hit once.

And still, despite everything, she still came over to offer a hand up to the little boy who’d called out in the darkness for her. This coolheaded, even-keeled wonder just potentially saved his life. With a small smile— uncertain, but understandable given their circumstances now— Cecile asked, “Are you all right, Otis? Are you okay?”

But he didn’t have an answer for her. Not really; all he had was his arms, and they latched around her as he let out wave after wave of sobs breaking against what little crumbling fortitude he’d had left. When he didn’t look like he would let, she let out a bit of a sigh and helped him to his feet, having this crying little boy lean on her for support.

But instead of going back into the dorms, where who knew what other horrors awaited for him, she took him back to the girls’ dorm. All the way across the school’s campus, she listened to everything he had to say. Otis was trying to explain what had happened, but it came out all jumbled. “Don’t force yourself. I’ve got you, all right?”

But it didn’t help. The walls of Wellston were being painted with the confessions of his ill-fated romance with that demon, that sick devil who just tried to have him killed. How Otis went on and on about how Xavian was around him, what he meant to him, how it made him feel.

And Cecile just nodded through all of it, only giving him “Mhm”s whilst keeping her eyes peeled forward, towards the ever-closer dormitory in the distance.

When they’d finally gotten right at the door, Otis spasmed and he tried to wiggle out from underneath her, but there was nothing doing. “Please, Cecile, let go of me, I can’t let you be seen with me!” He screamed within a whisper, caught between every conflicting emotion within him as those fateful words were finally ready to bloom out from within.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’ll only get attacked again if you go back there. I’m not letting you go, so get over it!” She berated him, easily overpowering him in the quarreling.

“But Cecile!” He couldn’t stand it anymore. His heart was full to bursting, and it spoke true for the first time in his entire life to his savior. “I’m gay!”

Those two words.

Finally, he’d said them to someone.

They were his love.

His sorrow.

His splendor, his rage, his fears and his doubts. His self-hatreds and his joys, his hopes and his demise. They were his prayer and his wishes since he was a little boy and his curses and his cries as he felt the life leaving him with every kick to the stomach. They were the sun rising in the morning bidding him to walk another day, and they were the sun setting to a beautiful canvas of purples, oranges and yellows mixing with the darkness at night, his northern star leading him home once again to do it all again tomorrow.

It was his proclamation of being.

And this being would no longer be denied.

Cecile looked at him, perplexed, and retorted to it all with a raised eyebrow and a “So?”.

Blinking, Otis returned the favor, “So?”

“Do you honestly think I care if you’re gay or not, Otis? Do you think that would make me hate you somehow?” Her tone was verging on— he didn’t know anymore, but she sounded like she was almost insulted by the insinuation that she could possible be in the same boat as those three monsters at the boys’ dorm. “Really? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me, to think that I would ever think any different of you for that, even now?”

“N-No.” His voice trembled, holding onto her with a tighter grip now, no longer fighting her in the slightest.

“Then why do you think I’d let you stop me from getting you to safety over that, then?!” Cecile looked him dead in the eye, and shook him with the force of her assertion. “You and I are friends, Otis! You’re the guy I can count on most around here! So don’t you dare, to ever think I’d let you down ever again! You got it?!”

He tried to agree, but all he could do was let out a sigh of relief mixed with the last of his few sobs left to give. “Cecile!” was all Otis managed to say, and without anything left separating them in this high-wire act of emotions they finally went inside. 

She brought Otis all the way to her two-room dorm and she let him sleep in her room for the night, ordering him to take the bed while she would sleep outside on the couch. “If you hear my roommate wake up, don’t panic. They won’t come in there if you don’t make a sound. I’ll keep the door closed for you, all right?”

And without a single doubt he complied. That next morning, he was sure his life was going to be over anyway.

There’d be police knocking on the door sometime soon, demanding that they hand him over. There’d be a whole thing about it, about the degenerate trying to corrupt the youth of Wellston Private High School.

Oh, how Otis’ soul wept; he knew that whatever the authorities would have in mind for him would make him yearn for the warmth and comfort of Xavian’s furious kicks and punches in comparison.

But they’d never come, because Cecile didn’t actually sleep on the couch that night.

She went right back to the other dorm and did what she had to do. With enough threats and pressure she shut those boys up so that none of them even knew what homosexuality was, let alone if anyone had it or not. The night left over was short, but those memories and those threats would remain long with them, even after they left the school.

They knew better than to cross Cecile or Otis now. 

And from that day forward, Otis knew that she and him were best friends. That meant that if she was watching his back against those who would do him harm, that meant that he felt absolute obligation to protect her as well.
That’s why what happened next year took him by utter shock. 

When things started to get strange with reports about some Joker running around, Cecile remained cautious but did not let a potential one-time event dictate her reporters’ attention. When the phenomenon kept happening, with more and more people— bullies as well as Juni, still a reporter and on assignment for a rumor about Seraphina— ending up beaten to a pulp Cecile became interested. Otis dutifully followed her lead, but was becoming worried about her keenness to uncover this masked vigilante.

Things got further out of hand at Wellston with fights breaking out left and right, but Cecile always kept that demeanor of control. Even when she herself was assaulted by Joker, she did not bat an eye or lose that unflappable personality of hers. Even when Otis checked in on her, it seemed like it was the least surprising thing in the world to her. Despite his protestations, she continued to assuage his doubts. “Everything’s still under control. Trust me.”, she’d said, even whilst still scuffed from her beat-down.

After that, though, it seemed like she grew further and further away from him.

And when the Royals fell…

She became almost impossible to approach after that. They lived in the same dorm then, but she was always out doing something or locked up in her room. It was like they were living in two completely different buildings again, despite only being a couple feet apart.

But he didn’t stop caring for her as his one and only friend, not even once.

That made the news he heard on that fateful day so much harder to digest, yet easier to realize and react to. When two of the reporters came into the room, they tried to let him down easily. “We don’t know when, we don’t know how, but Cecile’s been in a terrible fight. Someone brought her to the nurse’s office, and she was covered in blood.”

Or something along those lines. The two girls were trying to be gentle for him, and he knew them to be pretty nice and agreeable first-years to begin with. But when he’d heard that Cecile of all people had been not only beaten in a fight, but beaten so bad that she couldn’t even limp to the nurse’s office, it was like his ears were filled with a haunting ringing.

Static, unfiltered, absolute ringing deafened him as he felt his hands shake again— for the first time since that terrible night.

Almost knocking both of them down, Otis ran as fast as he could down the halls. People gawked as he went, whilst one or two recognized him.

He could tell that they did because every one of them looked sorry for him.

Faster. Go fucking faster! he commanded his legs to carry him all the way to the end, the sheer shock of it all powering him through a break-neck pace that would’ve overwhelmed his legs and his lungs on any normal day. Otis was practically flying his way through the crowds now.

This time he wasn’t running to save himself. This time was for Cecile; it was his turn to be there for her.

But Doc shook his head when the young man entered the office hacking up a storm as his meager physique caught up with him at last. “An ambulance came and got her. I did everything I could to stabilize her here. I’m sorry, but that’s all I know.” 

Knowing that the boy would start pleading and bargaining for the information as soon as he was capable, Doc opted to hand over the name and location of the hospital.

Not too far from here. Sure, it was all the way across the city, but damn him if he wouldn’t run that distance, too.

“You’re the guy I can count on most around here!”

With those words in his heart, Otis left the school campus as soon as he could, damn be to any of the rules or any classes that the might’ve had left over. Digging into his meager bank funds, the spare change he’d accumulated by skimping here and there, and he even called and pleaded with his parents to send him a little bit more— anything he could do to get a taxi to the hospital.

Faceless, shapeless forms surrounded him as he glided through and past hospital staff, patients, visitors, everyone moving about him as Otis made his way through the hospital. He couldn’t recall being processed, given his visitor’s tag, or being told some general instructions on which waiting room to stay in whilst Cecile was being administered to.

Everything just moved on by him, the hours counting down. He wasn’t even sure how he was even going to get home if it got late, or hell how he would’ve gotten home at all. That didn’t matter, not right now.

Who had done this to her? Who was to blame?

More and more questions and names kept cycling through Otis’ head as he fidgeted, playing with his thumbs whilst he slouched down in the waiting room, the solitary person waiting here for any news at all on her condition.

That is, until he heard another voice say her name. Looking up, Otis was shocked to see—

“Heyyo, Otis, wake up!”

Otis blinked, and suddenly he was no longer in the hospital; the cold tile beneath him replaced with the standardized carpeting in their . He was back in the dorm, and all of that was a month or so ago. It was her first weekend back at school. Sweet, merciful but unfortunately a temporary release from the new, terrible normal. Without the Press Club to eat up her free time on these free days and her friend not being assigned as much anymore in part thanks to Isen’s new management, suddenly she and Otis were left with absolutely nothing to do.

So, for once in their entire friendship, they were sharing a lazy Saturday together. Honestly, it felt bizarre. They were laying around on the chairs, looking at their phones and setting up things on a laptop for each other to watch. It was like a dinner-play between two incredibly bad but still earnest actors whom were trying to nail a scene of domestic bliss properly.

“Yeah? I’m sorry, I was just brain-farting there I guess.” Otis hastily answered back, realizing that Cecile was looking at him expectantly from where he was sitting.

“Well, I said that I think I’m finally getting my memories back.”

That was definitely news to him. “How can you tell?”

“It started happening about two days ago. While I was listening to Remi’s little rant, I realized that what she said finally made sense to me. It wasn’t just because you’d told me some of it, though— it was like I remembered what you said, and then there was also something in the back of my mind that recognized what she was talking about on a completely different level.”

Surprised, Otis dipped his hand into the big bag of chips they were sharing and pulled some out for himself. “That sounds super weird. Not in a bad way, but like on a ‘that’s an existential crisis’ sort of level.”

“I know, and I completely agree. It feels super weird now, knowing that I’ve got one set of memories about an event from other people, then another set coming back to me that’re from, well, me.” She suddenly lunged her hand in the bag unprompted, taking some for herself this time. “Still, though, this is very good. My doctor said that it’d be like this when I started getting them back, so I’m just happy for it to be happening now instead of later on. It’s gonna make things easier from here on, that and the Safe House.”

“I just hope we figure out who did this to you, just so we can know if we can get back at them or not.” Otis munched a chip with unnecessary amounts of malice, crunching it down as he mulled their potential foes.

What he didn’t see was Cecile smile a bit, reaching over to poke him in the cheek. “I feel sorry for whoever dared cross me, because now they’ve gotta deal with you!” It made him almost choke a bit at her sudden unexpected sincerity, making both of them lightly laugh together. “And another plus for me is that I’ll hopefully remember who came to visit me at the hospital. I know you came to visit me, of course, but do you remember anyone else?”

Without allowing for a moment’s hesitation Otis shook his head. “Nope. If anyone did come and see you, you’ll have to remember them on your own time. I didn’t see anyone worth talking about when I was there.” That answer seemed to satisfy her, so she leaned over to start another round of montage videos that she found actually rather humorous. It was nice to see her enjoying herself right now after all she’d been through, even if it was so completely out of place as something for them to do.

And it was also good that her memories were returning; he could be a little bit happy about that little miracle, at least. But a fretful part of him knew that the real dynamite in the powder keg lay within. If she really did finally recall the other person who came to visit her in the hospital, something told him that she was not going to be happy about who it was— not at all.

Chapter Text

“So, what do you think?” Uelia, a female first-year student, asked him after just finishing reading off the summary of her article proposal. She’d been going on about it for only a couple minutes now— well within the time-frame he’d asked for, with plenty of important details concisely explained and sources cited. And it looked like it took her a little bit, too; she’d been diligent in all parts of it, but still ended it with a courteous smile. The perfect presentation.

That’s why he felt like a bit of a dick when he realized he wasn’t paying attention to her at all. “I, uh, it sounds great! Pass it by Trasiv whenever he comes by today or if you see him in the hallway, he’ll help you place it in to the template before we go to print. All right?”

The look on Uelia’s face told him that she’d seen right through him and knew he’d spaced out. Thankfully she didn’t say as much and thanked him for approving her work for print, but it still bugged him that he’d blown her off like that. And it wasn’t like he was checking her out or anything; he’d gained a reputation for being a flirt, but he wasn’t that bad, despite what Blyke and Remi’d always tease him over.

No, his mind was trailing elsewhere, and it had been for over a month now. Absentmindedly he put a hand through his hair, scooping through his orange hair and ending by resting his hand upon the base of his neck that held his dark brown hair underneath. 

Everyone knew that John and Seraphina were going to fight, and he’d made doubly sure to be no where near that when it finally went down. Blyke disagreed with his point of view; he wanted front-row seats for when John would finally get taken down, whilst at the same time Remi demurred on the subject. It didn’t matter who got to see it happen. To her, what was most important was that it happen period— and soon.

On that, Isen agreed entirely.

The whole school was being thrown out of whack by that guy’s horrifying idea of ‘justice’. Everyone was left to fend for themselves, to take vengeance upon themselves or to pick up a new method of bullying without being caught. Things needed to get back to normal, quick. Remi took up some girl on the idea of a safe place in the school and forged it into reality; Blyke trained his ass off and then some, doing his best to support Remi’s ambitions whenever they could.

And on top of all that, both of them took on more… clandestine extracurricular activities. Now that they weren’t the Queen and Jack anymore, his two best friends had plenty of time to play vigilantes. He knew because he’d been corralled into helping them out, much to his chagrin. 

Sneaking out, they’d come close to being found out by the Authorities— or worse— more than a couple of times. According to them, these particular outings were in service of honing their skills and preparing to defeat John themselves if they had to. It did work, to some degree; both of them seemed to be getting a bit stronger day by day, fight by fight.

But it just wasn’t enough. It was too little, too slow, too late; the new King was getting more brutal and paranoid with each passing day. As strong as they got, they still couldn’t hold a candle to a god-tier like John, even if they were all fighting him at the same time.

Thank goodness Seraphina came in clutch, at last, getting over the effects of the ability dampening drug she’d been injected with. How she did it, when was she going to lay down the law, how badly that asshole was going to get his ass kicked by her, it was all verbiage to Isen. It was out of his hands now even more so than when it was just a useless notion.

Things were bound to get better now. Students would stop fighting each other at random all the time, his friends would get back into power and set things right this time, and everyone would learn to get along again.

And maybe, just maybe, some of the people who’d been swept up in John’s madness would come back from that teetering edge.

That was his greatest contribution to the war effort. Instead of trying in vain to pump up his meager 4.4 ranking to face off a guy well over a 7.0 on the same scale, Isen tried working a different angle. Instead of facing the tyrant head-on, he went for his court to try and undermine him.

In truth, there were two figures behind the scenes of John’s ascension to the throne, and his subsequent reign of terror. One was Zeke, the belligerently aggressive and almost sadistic bully that had crossed John’s path once. He wasn’t particularly powerful— Isen was almost certain he was more powerful than him, and that wasn’t saying much— but he had more than enough power and misanthropic tendencies to take out his aggression on others. A real shit-head, if you’ve ever seen one. Isen would’ve paid good money to have seen Zeke’s face when he finally found out John was almost twice his own power rank.

And then there was Cecile.

Competence, poise, ambition, professionalism, rigorous, and above all she was as studious as she was cautious. Hardly the makings of a member of John’s merry court of mayhem. When Isen had heard that she’d become part of John’s inner-circle, and probably had been part of it for a long time, he just couldn’t believe his ears. This seemed like a bizarre play for anyone, including her. Sure, he was more than powerful enough to get Arlo and the rest of the Royals out of her way, but then…

… What? Where was she going to go from there, now that she’d outlived most of her usefulness to the Joker-turned-King? He’d needed a person who knew enough about the power-structure the Royals and the high-tiers had set up enough to show him where and how to knock it down, and she fitted the part in spades.

Isen remembered too well how happy Remi was the day she finally beat Cecile for the title of Queen. And he’d also remembered, later on in the Press Club, how much that it’d altered Cecile. It was the little things, here or there; she hid them so well that he reckoned that even she didn’t knew how much she’d been changed.

For all the guff he got from his friends as well as his foes about being a loud-mouth and a wannabe-womanizing idiot, they all forgot one important thing: he was also an absolute coward, through and through.

Cowards learn to listen super well to preserve themselves, and that particular trait made him, in his opinion, an ideal candidate to be a journalist. It’s what attracted him to the Weekly to begin with; no one would try to fight him if he was just taking notes in the background, minding his own business. On top of that, cowards don’t tend to talk when powerful people are around, and Cecile was plenty more powerful than he was. That meant he, perhaps more than most other people, got to learn from her the most as a subordinate at the Wellston Weekly.

Well, it wasn’t so much the things he learned of her that was the most important— which were basically none, since Cecile looked down on him by default— but the things he’d noted about her. The way she talked, the words she chose, her mannerisms and her ticks. He bet that no one else noticed how often she’d brushed her hair to the side when she got annoyed with something, or the way she’d close her eyes and take a deep breath to center herself.

Or the way that she looked out for everyone at the club, no matter what. Yes, even he got the icy but gentle nudge that he’d needed now and again from her to properly hunt down a story or chase a lead. Maybe it was just her way of controlling people, keeping all the little cogs in her little news machine going. But to have that sort of confidence in not just yourself, but more than enough to get people to follow you and build upon themselves.

He knew that his tendencies to linger on watching people made him a bit weird; he tried to compensate for that by being as jokey and outgoing as he possibly could. It didn’t stop people from calling him a rat, though. Isen’d even gotten that little nickname thrown at him by Cecile once or twice. But still, despite all that— 

Isen just couldn’t help himself from thinking that she was just one of the coolest people he’d probably never, ever get to know.

And as he sat here in the club's usual room, having been put back in charge of the paper again— just like when Arlo removed her from the position out of spite and put him in— he couldn't help but feel a bit outclassed. Everyone here welcomed him back with open arms, and he tried to keep them motivated and working hard like she did.

And at first they did, and Isen was really grateful for that. But now, after a month of doing this, everyone was falling back into bad habits that Cecile had snipped out of them ages ago. He tried to figure out what to do, but it felt like by the time he made a decision on one problem, two more popped up.

Again, such administrative competence was to Cecile's credit.

That’s why it made it even tougher for him to hear that she’d actually hitch her wagon to a freight-train like John. He had to find out why. Even if she’d hate him for it, even if she’d shut him down, or show this new terrible side that she must have to tolerate being in the company of jackals, Isen just had to know.

And even if it were impossible, he had to try and talk her out of it. After all, who would know more at Wellston about John Doe, the real John Doe, than him? He’d practically written the book on his mysterious past in New Bostin, scrambling for every piece of information he could get under the employ of both Cecile at the paper and Arlo still standing as the King at the same time. Even managing to score an interview with him was something that no one else had ever done.

Hell, Isen’d even managed to hack his way into the records of John’s old public school just to get what he’d wanted, so clearly he was the one to trust on the subject!

Okay, maybe it’s because that school had failed to triple-check that they’d not made their administrator password so easy to guess that it could’ve been the default preset, but still. Hacking at its finest. The foibles of the careless and less tech-savvy meant that he’d suddenly become the purveyor of all things John Doe.

Chillingly, he’d realized now and again that he at one point knew more about this evil asshole than John’s so-called ‘best friend’ Seraphina did. What a sick joke.

But this fact did nothing to sway Cecile. ‘You need to get away from John! He’s nothing but trouble!’, his words tried to say. ‘You are in danger! You’re too close to this, you have to listen to me! He’ll throw you away like you’re nothing but garbage! Please, believe me!’

The problem with cowards, though, was that it was always hard for anyone to listen to them. She stuck by her guns, and when that didn’t work she pulled tier rank and basically told him that he was getting mouthy for someone a full level below her. Shocked, Isen was left with nothing else but to respect her wishes. As much as it pained him, the message was clear: ‘buzz off, I’ve got this.’.

It made him so unsettled to think about her hanging around him, deliberately staying next to John even when he was clearly going out of his mind. But, then again, if there was anyone more capable of handling themselves in that kind of situation, it’d have to be Cecile. She might not be anywhere near as powerful as him, but Cecile was at least smarter than John, if not stronger willed than he had to be. His passions were flighty, his paranoia a draining constant; surely he’d be more susceptible to manipulation in that regard, wouldn’t he?

She’d—

She’d be all right in the end.

Right?

Blyke and Isen were on the complete opposite end of the building from where John and Seraphina’s fight would go down. Not their choice except for that of some holy providence up above that was actually looking out for him, Isen had noted with fierce gratitude. They were arguing over some kind of stupid thing, the subject of which was now long lost to time, when someone came barreling down the hallway. Blyke cursed as he recoiled, nearly being taken out by whoever it was running at full speed right where he was going to go.

But it wasn’t an attack; the person kept on going, leaving both of them to just stare and wonder where the hell was the fire.

As they walked down the way that flash just came from, though, people around them seemed to be tensed up. Blyke growled, suggesting that maybe John had just chased that kid away for no reason. Not having much to go on, Isen shrugged and left them all be. So long as they didn’t actually roll right up into him, there wasn’t much to be done about that besides worrying.

He would soon come to regret that careless attitude. Whilst they were palling around on their own in a classroom on break, the wheels of destiny turned without them. Seraphina rose, John met her. They did battle, and shook the very foundations of the school between them. John fell, and then so did Seraphina as well. A pyrrhic victory for the good guys.

But there was one more that everyone forgot about, save for the person who’d finally told him what was the matter while he waited for Blyke to get out of the boy’s bathroom.

One of the press club members had heard it from everyone else in one of their group text chats, and from there it’d spread like a dire flame. Everyone was in varying degrees of denial, panic, or grief.

Isen, for his part, immediately plunged into all three. Ducking into the bathroom, he yelled out at Blyke that he was sorry, but he had to go. His friend tried to yell something back, but it was to no avail. Isen, without even knowing it, copied the same path as that unseen boy running down the hall had. But it was always one or two steps behind, trying to catch up.

Eventually, though, he’d found out about the hospital and made his way over there. Getting all the way to the emergency room, Isen was both shocked as well as unsurprised to find out that the person he’d been following this entire time was Otis!

They were supposed to be around the same grade, or so he’d thought. It was sort of nebulous; the boy wasn’t exactly short, but he wasn’t exactly tall either. Maybe it was because he was so thin, and tended to hide behind his hair more than not that made him seem so much younger and less imposing.

Nevertheless, Otis was renowned to be Cecile’s right-hand man at the paper and in general life at the school. Wherever she went, he tended to be following right behind her.

It didn’t bug him at all, but at the same time he couldn’t help but contemplate it in the back of his mind. Trying to get it out of his system, he poked around the biggest and best gossipers in the paper. “Hey, have you heard anything about what’s going on between those two?”, or some variation there-of. Some took the bait and gave him some speculation on their relationship. It ranged from simple friends to co-workers to fellow ladder-climbers or lifelong strivers tying their fortunes to the other. One even said that they were dating, and she swore by it! 

But the biggest rumormongers of them all didn’t bother to bite the hook. They brushed him off, saying that it wasn’t worth talking about. Some tut-tut’d the whole ‘dating’ idea, saying it was a ridiculously stupid thing to even consider. Why, though, they kept close to the vest. Satisfied enough, he’d settled on not knowing the real answer to that question.

That was fine at the time, and he let a silly thought like that be. However, now, they were staring at each other from across a waiting room. It was a wider lobby with rows of seats available for everyone, but in some little architectural twist there was just a few steps away a small mini-room set aside for people to get some isolation. Otis was there sitting on a bench by himself, playing with his thumbs as he stared at a wall. Isen, on the other hand, was now carrying his school jacket folded in half in his hands.

Both had been carried here by the news that their mutual comrade had been brutalized, their choices ending up being the exact same as the others’. Isen’s amber eyes, filled with apprehension, met Otis’ gold ones, filled with first shock and then suspicion. There was a monumental pause between them before, finally, one of them spoke.

“How’s she doing? Have you heard anything yet?” Isen asked, walking a bit closer.

Otis said nothing. No longer looking at him, the boy just turned his gaze down to the floor.

Feeling offended, Isen stepped forward until he was standing directly next to him and asked again with feeling. “I want to know if you’ve heard anything about Cecile, Otis. I know you’re here for her, too.”

Otis let out a skeptical tsk, but did not return his gaze. “I’m here for her. I have no idea what you’re doing here, though.”

Looking around in exasperation, Isen crossed his arms within his carried coat. “I’m not going to pretend we’re friends, Otis. And I’m not going to act like Cecile and I were any closer, either, but I still deserve to know what happened to her, and how she’s doing.” Sighing, he let the anger escape his voice as he felt himself loosen up. “Please, Otis.”

That seemed to do the trick and Otis finally sat himself back in his chair, lazily twisting his hand at the empty spot next to him as a way to offer it up. When Isen accepted the offer and sat down, Otis spoke very softly, reclining himself back. “I don’t know. Someone said she’d lost a lot of blood. Think it was a nurse, I dunno. No one told me what happened to her, or how she’s doing yet. She’s in surgery now, dunno how long it’ll be.”

Taking all of it in, Isen reclined his head against the wall as well, draping his coat over his legs like a blanket. “Well. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Agreed.” Otis whispered.

And so they did. Hours upon hours passed, and soon day turned into night outside the building. Both of them looked like they were about to fall asleep but neither surrendered their watch. Families came and went, hospital personnel walked through, yet the two Wellston boys remained wearily vigilant. 

Soon, though, news came. Otis must have flagged himself to the emergency room staff for Cecile’s case, because a nurse with bright yellow hair soon walked over to get his attention. “Er, are you Otis?”

Otis and Isen nearly jumped out of their seats standing up at the same time, causing the nurse to be taken aback. Realizing they were both wearing the same uniform, she adjusted her approach as such. “Are both of you here for the young woman, then? Cecile?” They gave her their nods, not daring to speak out of turn— lest they jinx anything she had to say. “Although I can’t give out any medical information to non-family members, I have been authorized to tell you that we are finished with her surgery for now. You can feel free to come back whenever you want to wait on her to show your support, but beyond that my hands are tied.”

The boys looked at each other, but Isen took a conversational step back so Otis could take the lead. “Do you know if they’ll let us visit her in person soon?”

Shaking her head, the nurse was noncommittal. “I don’t know, unfortunately. That’s up to her doctor and her family— as well as the state of her condition. If you’re denied visitation rights, you should take it up with her family to see if you can get yourself permission.” She sucked in a breath, looking at the clock. “We’ve allowed you to stay here for the duration of the operation, but I really must insist that you leave now. Regular visitation hours are over already, and it’s getting late. Don’t you have school in the morning?”

It was true; it was still a weekday, and despite insisting to each other and to themselves that they had the fortitude to press on and stay right here, they didn’t want to press their luck with the hospital staff. After all, they’d  been so lenient with them already. “Thank you for your time, ma’am, have a good night.” Otis said, with Isen offering something the same in a quieter tone as they both took their leave.

Walking out of the hospital together— more like simply walking side-by-side by accident— they were both contemplating what to do next and trying to sort their discordant emotions. It’d been a long day, and it was about to get longer. It would last days more, until today could last for weeks until something happened with her.

Looking at each other again as they strolled in matching silence, they could tell that neither one was ready to call it quits. Something was written all over their faces in spades. Although they didn’t have anything perceivably in common or any overarching reason to strike up a friendship, they did now have a thought shared between them: I’ll be back. 

“How’d you get here?” Isen said as they approached the hospital lobby, seeing the darkness outside complete as the sun had run far away from here.

“Taxi.” Responded Otis, reaching for his wallet to check it out; nothing good came from that, as the little grimace bespoke. “I’ll find a way back home to school.”

“Did you run out of money just trying to get over here?” Isen asked, but he already knew the answer to that rhetorical question. “Come with me, I’m gonna call another one. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for our way back.”

Surprised, Otis tilted his head a bit. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

A pause, then Otis broke out a bit. “But I can’t possibly afford coming out here every day using a taxi, it’s way too far and it’s too expensive that way.”

Isen let out a breath, nodding. “I know, right? I’ve got some money saved up from my last summer job, but it’d run out pretty quick if we kept this up.”

“Maybe there’s a bus or something that we could get from Wellston to here? I dunno how far the buses go, and this is way more than a couple of miles away…” Otis rubbed his chin a bit, now fully invested in contemplating the logistics of how they’d be able to get this done.

“A connecting route, maybe?” Isen offered, taking out his phone to fish up a taxi for them.

“That’s a good idea!” Otis said, looking up. It was then that the smaller boy realized who Isen was, who he himself was, and what they were really talking about doing here. Hardening himself up a bit, he went on. “Look— I don’t know what you’re really doing here beyond just making sure Cecile’s okay. And that’s fine. If you wanna keep on doing that, then you're going to have to behave. And when Cecile wakes up, though, she’s still probably gonna be mad at you over the whole replacing-her stunt you and Arlo pulled. Amongst other things. If you’re doing this to get on her good side again, I can't stop you. Do whatever you want. But I can’t guarantee anything will happen except that I will defend her and I will have her back you try to hurt her, drag her into anything else, or even a nuisance to her. Taxi or not. All right?”

Taken aback at first by the stern tone that Otis had taken, Isen didn’t feel like he’d been slighted here. Rather, he found himself being really pleased with this turn of events. Boundaries and tacit acceptance. Good enough. “All right. Agreed.” But he didn’t return tit-for-tat; Otis would have the last big say here tonight. Whatever Isen wanted to say or had to say, it didn’t matter.

He called a taxi and they got in and headed back to their school. It was nine o’clock at night, so the roads were pretty clear all the way there.

Otis had allowed the gentle rocking of the car lull him to sleep at last, the adrenaline drop finally hitting him like a truck and putting him up against the window in slumber.

But Isen was still awake. His thoughts demanded that he contemplate what could’ve happened, what had happened, how any of this was possible. The only people I know that could have the power to do this to her are Arlo and Seraphina. But they’d have no reason to do this. They wouldn’t be this… 

And the word he thought next made him shiver, no longer avoiding the true culprit in his mind:

Cruel. 

Did she really take his advice after he’d confronted her? Did she try to break their partnership, relationship, whatever the hell it was off? 

What did that monster do to her?

Isen put his face right into his hands, rubbing slowly as the roiling noise of panic and anxiety overwhelmed his train of thought.

What did I do? What have I done?

Chapter Text

“Well,” the wizened old man chuckled as he stroked his long, gray-white beard, standing in the door way of his office, “you must be pretty desperate to come to an old boy like me.” His attitude only became more chipper when his former student handed him the new bottle of amber-colored whiskey in his left hand. It was a Jek Danyows, and a burning one that could be quite expensive on anyone’s budgets. That bought the younger man his way through the door into the office with the bound packet of papers and folders in his other hand, and it also bought him the right to close the door behind them.

And desperate Doctor Ezwa was. “I’m hoping that you’ll be able to help me out with a case I’ve been struggling with, Doctor Yoruth.

“Of course, not a problem at all. It’s just that I hope that you do remember that I’m merely a teaching doctor at this hospital now, correct?” The man asked, sitting back down behind his desk and stowing away the liquor. Retirement did not mean he would so soon forget the old tricks of the trade.

It was like they were back in the lecture hall all over again, which made the younger doctor bristle quite a bit. “Yes, sir. But I’m coming to you for a consultation as an esteemed professional in this field. I’ve already consulted every other practicing doctor, surgeon, and active professional in this hospital about this patient’s peculiar condition, and every single one of them have been unable to help.”

This made Yoruth’s eyes twinkle with delight. He was known for being a compendium on neurology and generally everything having to do with the brain— to the point that Ezwa was overjoyed when he was taken under this venerable titan’s wing as a medical student. But on top of that, Yoruth was also known for his tendency for curiosity. Several advances and discoveries in their mutual field were made during many-a mystery involving a patient’s brain.

“Well, Ezwa, what do you have for me? Don’t keep me waiting, now.”

Taking a look around for a moment, as if to find any reason to back out just before jumping into an unknown path that lay before him, Ezwa then obliged. “A month back I was assigned— more conscripted, really— into the case of one Cecile. She’d been attacked at her school and been left with brain damage as well as an adverse reaction to one of our Ability-based medications. Her parents are wealthy elite tiers, so naturally the last doctor was sacked and I was put in charge.”

His former mentor nodded, a knowing smile on his face. “Nothing better than wealthy benefactors to ruin your career with just a hissy fit. Been there.”

“Yes, well, these parents put me in charge and I corrected the course of this patient’s treatment. I put her into a medically-induced coma to recover from the internal cranial hemorrhaging that resulted from her reaction. This, along with a more targeted dose of another strain of Ability-enhanced drugs, improved her condition quite quickly. However…” Ezwa stopped talking, looking toward the door as he loudly thumbed the bound papers he had.

“What’s wrong?”

Satisfied that the door itself was not listening to them, Ezwa tempered his friend first. “What I’m about to say can’t be told to anyone else. As of right now, it’s being treated as a case of personal mania on part of my patient. Stress, anxiety, and trauma from the incident giving her a mental roadblock to accessing her ability. Everyone I’ve brought this up to has regarded it as such when brought up, even when dealt with as a pure hypothetical. If this ‘hypothetical’ were to be verified then it could very well spark public panic at best, and interdiction by the powers-that-be at worse. I intend to chase this lead to the very end, and I don’t want to drag you into it with me.”

Yoruth waved his hand, dismissing Ezwa’s fears like a gentle mist. “I trust your judgment completely. And just a reminder, I’m not afraid to kick the hornets nest, you know.”

“All right. What I’ve got here, in my hands, is growing proof that my patient has lost her Ability. It’s not crippled, it’s not hindered, it’s lost completely. And what’s more, the patient’s condition is neither psychosomatic nor the result of any injury she received. I’m at my wit’s end, here; the more I look at her MRI scans, the clearer the picture becomes: her Ability, for all intents and purposes, has effectively vanished overnight, and I can’t explain why.” 

This was a sheer jackpot for Professor Yoruth, his mind racing with the possibilities. “You’re sure her Ability is gone? How are you able to tell? She’s still in the coma, is she not?”

“No, that’s the thing: she’s not only awake, but she’s practically thriving beyond my expectations. Within two weeks, Cecile— the patient— excelled through a crash course of both medical intervention as well as rudimentary physical therapy. After consultation, the patient underwent psychological analysis, medical analysis, and other methods of diagnoses and post-coma reintegration.”

“We found that she was suffering three new symptoms: a loss of short-term-to-medium-term memories, a continuous loss in balance, and her loss of access, interaction, or otherwise any sign of her Ability. When we administered a standardized tier-test to her after a… practical demonstration of her condition, the results were startling. The patient’s school reported that she placed at a solid 5.2 on her last check-up; our test, on the other hand, failed to register any tier at all. A score of 0.0, effectively moving her from a high-tier to a cripple overnight.”

The older doctor’s breath got visibly caught up as the facts continued to mount up around them. No wonder the young man had brought this to him; not only was it a tantalizing enigma, it was also as much of a powder-keg as he’d described. If everything Ezwa had said was true, then for the first time in modern medical history a high tier would be legally reassigned to the lower class irregardless of personal wealth, status, or physical capabilities. The ramifications of this happening even once would be staggering, even if unsubstantiated. 

Choosing his words carefully, Yoruth wanted to see how thorough the evidence really was. “Surely this couldn’t be some kind of a freak-of-nature accident. Perhaps there was a mistake made somewhere along the lines; it could easily be some kind of internal injury to the Uru Superior or Uru Inferior sections of the brain.” Those two sections, near the middle of the cranium, were responsible for the regulation and use of Abilities amongst humans. The Superior region controlled the main ability and is placed towards the frontal lobe, whilst the Inferior was responsible for Passive abilities as well as minor functions not handled by its sibling region. “How many scans did you take in total?”

Ready for Yoruth’s diagnostic interrogation, Ezwa reliably countered with the heavy proof in his hands. “Seven overall, and I’ve got them right here if you want them to put them up on your viewer.”

The room’s occupier obliged, offering a hand towards the silver and white box mounted up on the wall behind Ezwa next to the door. In return the person who was obliged began putting up pictures of a human brain one by one as he spoke, showing a timeline of events.

“Here is the first one that was taken perhaps a month ago. She had just been put under the medically-induced coma at the time, and was still recovering from her injuries.” He put up a transparent sheet onto the board that showed a brain with some dark spots scattered throughout. “These next four were for observation during her coma, with the last one being just after she’d come out of it.” Each subsequent sheet showed the same subject from above as before, but the dark spots rapidly deteriorating between each. 

“And these last two are from during her physical therapy sessions; as you can see, the damage to her brain was almost completely healed thanks to the treatments. Normal brain function was restored well within the best expectations for her injuries. Disregarding the unavoidable balancing issues that will more than likely be fixed with continued physical therapy as well as the onset of temporary amnesia, I see nothing wrong with this last slide. Do you?”

“No. No I don’t.” The man got out of his seat and walked slowly, looking the series over again and again, asking Ezwa more and more questions. But for every one he had, whether it was about brain activity or about simple things like the patient’s blood pressure, everything was documented and perfectly within the parameters of a healthy human being. Yoruth’s voice became soft, looking down at the floor as he contemplated everything he’d just heard. “This… is quite remarkable. There’s never been a case over a person losing their ability without severe brain damage, and in those cases the person was either rendered totally brain dead or deceased on the spot. We’re trying to explain an impossibility here. Something that shouldn’t be, couldn’t be… but is.”

Ezwa nodded gravely. “Part of me started to disbelieve it. All of the doctors I’d shown the data to came to our conclusion, that nothing is physically wrong with her, but I saw it with my own eyes: she could not use her Ability. Even under the most severest duress, no one should be able to fault an Ability tier test— especially one provided by a medical facility such as ours.”

“That means that our job isn’t done, yet. We need to bring her in for more testing as soon as possible, Ezwa. How soon can she get back here?”

That made the younger doctor pause. “That… won’t be possible. I’m only authorized to tell you, between a consultant and her physician, that my patient is no longer covered by any insurance plan as of last week. Anything she would get done here would have to be out-of-pocket.”

A smile crept over Yoruth’s face as he realized how long that his former student had been working on this patient’s predicament without any avenue for payment. “Why, Ezwa, I never knew you had it in you. A charity case?”

“It’s not just charity, sir.” Ezwa protested, then looked down at the ground himself, but away in a sense of bitterness welling underneath the surface. “I’m just tired, is all. Tired of not being able to help everyone. About having to choose who gets help and who doesn’t.”

The older man looked at him, then gave a rueful smile and a shake of his head in dismay. “We could get into a lot of trouble if this gets found out, and messing with insurance is the perfect way to do just that. My advice is to use what you’ve got, then, if we can’t get anything more from her without an excuse. Make it work by testing her without her being here. Got any blood samples left?”

We. A glimmer of hope for him after all, even if it meant tying their destinies to something so enigmatic as this case. It just seemed that bizarre enough that it could very well be worth it, if not to save their consciences then to help this patient out. “A couple, yes. They’re back in my section of the hospital. But a blood test wouldn’t reveal anything pertinent, would it?”

Yoruth touched the other’s arm, as if trying to guide them around a roadblock. “You’re missing the forest for the trees; you’ve been looking at these scans for too long now, so that’s all you’re able to think about in relation to this person’s Ability.” With an excited motion he took each of them down and filed them together to give back to Ezwa. “It’s time to drop these to the wayside and look for another avenue, and that means going back to the basics and working our way back up again. Look closer at the blood, and if that doesn’t work, come back to me— we’ll come up with something.”

And with their secret pact sealed, Ezwa now felt confident about the course of their now-mutual clandestine undertaking. A hunt was now afoot for the answer behind Cecile’s loss of her Ability. And hell or high water, they were going to find out exactly why.

At Wellston, Cecile was walking with Otis to the Safe House for lunch together. Their schedules rarely matched up due to them being in separate grades, but today was a special day. He’d been let out early from class after finishing up with a test. At least somewhat confident in his answers— if not anxious because of how fast he’d answered the test, feeling that he might’ve messed up royally there— Otis decided to tag along with Cecile.

This was the first time that they’d walked alongside each other in a while. Otis couldn’t help but feel awkward next to her now. Beforehand, he felt like he had to keep up with her wherever they went; she was always a pace faster than he was, having something on her mind or somewhere to be. Now, though, her injury hobbled her stride and made him have to consciously slow down. He knew that she knew he was doing it, too, which made him all the more uncomfortable with this unsaid new tension.

As they were walking along, though, he felt a tingling on the back of his neck. Otis knew this feeling, too; they were being watched. Glancing around, there was nobody in front of them or in the classes paying them any mind. A quick look behind him both ways, as subtle as he could do so, revealed nothing as well. Looking to Cecile, he whispered, “Hey. Cecile?”

Without turning her head or looking to her companion, she spoke bluntly. “I know. Feels like someone’s watching us, right?”

“Yeah.” Otis continued to whisper. “Want me to use my Ability?”

She weighed their options in her mind. Whoever it was was probably keeping their distance, since she hadn’t heard or seen them just yet. If they were being watched by some weirdo, that was one thing; but if they were being stalked by a potential Joker that wanted to jump them, what realistically could they do about that?

What’s more is that Otis’ Ability was sort of their secret weapon as a duo. He’d never advertised it to anyone, preferring just as she did to keep it close to the chest. To reveal it here, when they wouldn’t even have any means of defending themselves or detaining a potential stalker would be unwise from her point of view.

 “Not yet. We’re almost to the Safe House. If they make a move, run as fast as you can ahead to get Blyke or Remi.” She gritted her teeth, remembering that this was the same feeling she’d had when she came back to Wellston at night last week. It was a probing feeling, as if something lurking in the darkness was sizing her up. Unnerving, to say the least.

Otis felt distressed, wanting to tell her in no uncertain terms would he leave her behind like that, but kept it to himself.

But the danger never came. They got to the Safe House door without a single hint of a Joker gunning for them. Reassuring Cecile to go inside first, Otis said he was going to wait a second to see if someone came by. True enough, there was not a single person in the hall from whence they came. Satisfied with this, Otis turned around to grab the door—

Only to almost walk right into Isen.

Both of them surprised each other, making them almost jump apart at the same time. Realizing who he was, Otis fumed a bit at himself for getting spooked by Isen of all people “Were you following us just now?”

“Huh?” The taller boy stammered, dumbfounded. “What? No, I just saw you guys coming over here and wanted to talk to Cecile.”

Otis raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms as he stood between a Royal who was more powerful than him and the door. “About what, exactly?”

This definitely got on Isen’s nerves, but it never rose beyond annoyance as he shuffled in place ill at ease. “You— you know why. I want to talk to her about what happened that day. I know that whatever little truce you and I were supposed to have is over now, but there’s something I’ve gotta get off my chest to Cecile. You can understand that, right?”

Giving it a little bit of thought, the blue-haired boy stole a glance behind him into the Safe House room. Cecile had found herself seated a while ago, her back to the door at a desk while visibly talking with Remi. Whatever they were talking about, it was going tit-for-tat; it looked almost like a contest over who could jab the other with their words the best. Devoid of context, it was almost friendly if not for how annoyed they looked the other half of the time.

Tapping his right forearm, Otis muttered to himself. “Well, you did keep your word and you were well-behaved every time you visited her in the hospital…” Turning back, he saw Isen clasping his hands together in front of his own face, looking like he was begging his shorter companion. Short of a whimpering lip and crying eyes, it was a picture-perfect comedic move. 

A sigh escaped Otis’ lips, putting a hand to his forehead. “Stop, stop, I’ll pass it by her and she’ll make her own decision, all right? Just keep in mind, her memories are starting to come back now, so whatever happens, happens.  I’ll come out to get you, or you can wait in a corner in the room and she’ll call you over or something like that. Deal?”

That made Isen freeze, as he suddenly remembered where they were. “A-Actually, I’ll just go on my way and catch up with you later, all right? Just let her know I wanna talk to her and I’ll be around to do it.” Looking into the room for a second, Isen visibly cringed and hurried along his way, waving on his way out without letting Otis get a single word in.

Cut off mid-sentence and left on his own, the boy sighed and decided to just relay the message as requested. Whatever’s got him spooked is none of my business, but I guess it's about to be mine whether I like it or not. Coming into the room, Otis saw Remi no longer trading barbs with Cecile. Rather, she had a look of intense skepticism pointed right at the door. Somehow, though, Otis knew that the look wasn’t meant for him.

Sitting next to Cecile, he mumbled to her as he waved a bit to Remi. “What’s with her?”

Cecile was about to take a drink, but used her water bottle to hide a sly, nearly spiteful little smile. “I don’t know; we were talking about nothing in particular, she took a look at the door a few times, and then started looking pretty pissed. Who were you talking to out there, anyway?”

Are those two fighting or something? Otis wondered, but then again couldn’t decide if he meant that thought in regards to Remi and Isen, or Remi and Cecile. Seeing the pink-haired girl give a sort of ‘harumph’ and turn her attention to her notebook, Otis figured now was as good as any time to lay it all out. “Well— I don’t think he was the one following us before, but I ran into Isen.” 

Nearly spitting out her drink mid-sip this time, Cecile coughed and shot her friend a look. “Isen? He was out there, just now?” Even without playing with a full deck of memories, she definitely recalled his crown-taking place on her Shit List.

Feeling a bit compelled to jump in and try to soften the landing, Otis held up his hands and tried to play devil’s advocate. Well, rat’s advocate, supposedly. “He just asked if you two could talk for a second, all right? It didn’t sound like he wanted to mess with you or whatever; he’s just trying to see how you’re doing. It sounded like he might even be trying to bury the hatchet between you two, I dunno.”

She let out a pfft of derision, putting her bottle down firmly before turning over some of the food in her bag. Despite her protestations and what-not, it was clear that she was giving it some serious consideration; the frown on her face was undermined by Cecile looking for something to do with her hands.

It was a complicated choice for her. She recalled him being duplicitous as an underling at the Wellston Weekly, but he still did his job irregardless of any childish belly-aching he’d given her about assignments. But there was still the fact that something deep inside of her felt like being angry at him. What, exactly, was it?

It was from beyond that ever-shrinking veil, she’d reckoned. A phantom emotional response to a bad memory involving him. It wasn’t exactly mistrust— that was already with her to begin with. Rather, it was another negative feeling that held her back from being sold so easily on just an easy talk.

Ever the faithful helper, Otis attempted to sweeten the deal, practically reading the inner-struggle on her face at this point. “And this is a great opportunity to see how he’s doing with the Press Club yourself, right?”

The fumbling stopped, and she nodded in agreement. “That’s true, I have considered that before. If he’ll be willing to put up a fight over who gets to be in charge of the paper, then maybe it’d be worth hearing what he has to say before I make a move.” On top of that, if Otis’ read was correct, then maybe a sort of reconciliation would be more beneficial than simply getting a foothold to reclaiming the club or letting bygones be bygones.

“Say, Otis.”

The boy looked up from his sandwich, which he’d unpacked and began munching on in the interim. “Hm?”

Cecile let her fingers wrap around the purple plastic water bottle, letting the water dance within as she let the waves of decisions mix amongst themselves. “We’re probably not going to get another lucky break together like this, right? And that’s not even counting your club duties and all the studying you’ll have to do for finals.”

Chewing a bit more, Otis swallowed and shrugged. “Well, yeah I guess. I’m lucky if I get to see you before you leave in the morning now, since you— well, take longer to get there now.” Seeing her face turn dour, he held up a hand and tried to walk that statement back. Poor choice of phrasing, even in the subtext! “I- I mean, after school, too, I’m still at club when you get back to the dorm. Our schedules are definitely going to stay out of sync for the rest of year, you’re right.” Realizing the prompt turn in the topic they’d taken, he cocked his head a bit to the side in curiosity. “Why do you ask?” 

It wasn’t in her reach right now, but her thoughts turned to those heavenly stacks of paper she’d received. Veritable holy texts from upon a mountain, a potential miracle cure for one of the many burdens, held together with paper clips and staples as well as her highest hopes. To say the least, it was hard enough to attempt to do these physical therapy activities on her own. Otis had tried his best over the weekend to assist her, but Cecile’s struggling at a 5-foot-10 height definitely overwhelmed his twig-skinny 5-foot-8 trying to balance with her.

But, perhaps, it’d be worth finding a temporary truce with yet another one of the Royals? If not a permanent peace, then something that’d even the score a bit. Isen was one to blather on and on, but he was never one to talk. He’d spill the beans on embarrassing things about himself when pressed, but he spoke not word-one of anything important involving his friends. A gullible oaf, but not so much a treacherous one when concerning confidants.

If he was feeling sympathy, perhaps seeking a detente between them, then perhaps it was high time to see how far he was willing to go to earn it. She shrugged off Otis’ question, and took a bite out of a red apple.

Things are coming together. Finally. Thought Doctor Ezwa, having done his rounds and consulted his line-up of patients. The day was growing late, night-time was approaching, and it was just about time for him to go home. It would be a never-ending slog between the casualties society threw bodily at him, but now that he had a sort of touchstone case to keep him buoyed it all felt more manageable. Almost like he was centering himself, despite the veritable insanity within the case itself. 

Might as well try to find calm and peacefulness defusing bombs. he mused, letting himself into the room that handled the collected samples from his department. It was a room bathed entirely in white walls and floors, with silver cabinets and tables and freezers making it look like a high-end kitchen rather than an important section for medical purposes.

They dealt with blood samples, brain samples, all sorts of doodads that they scraped off or that had fallen off their wayward patients. It was almost a morgue on buffet, when he paid even a little bit of thought to how many of the ‘donors’ for these were no longer amongst the living.

Pushing that morbid thought aside, he went for the cooling cabinet filled with samples of blood that were marked by case-file number. Inside it were lines of tubes on white square trays bisected between the base and the rows of little holed holders, each tube held within a similar-sized dot. All of these little glass-plastic fingerlets were there—

Except Cecile’s.

They weren’t where they were supposed to be. Thinking nothing of it, he looked around at the shelves one more time, top to bottom. Somebody had to have moved them by accident, after all.

Nothing there. Not even a hint. All the others were in order except for that single mini-tray that contained what was left of her testable blood samples. They weren’t due to expire yet; he knew for a fact that they had a shelf-life of a few more days left in them at least. It was the basis of his entire argument and all the evidence they were able to secure without tripping any alarm bells, and now they were gone?!

Storming out of the chilled little room, he looked for a nurse, or a janitor, a doctor, hell even an intern who could tell him where those blood samples had been absconded to.

It would be to his dread that no one there could explain where they’d gone. That was because no one who worked there had handled them that day, nor the other day except for under his explicit orders. It was a confidence of co-workers and staff, and everyone treated the samples as sacrosanct.

Everyone except the boy.

No one had seen him enter the hospital. Whereas Isen and Otis and everyone else walking through had to make sure that security knew they were there, and had to struggle to make it through the halls when they got crowded, the boy did not have such problems.

Dozens of people moved around him as he stood still betwixt them all. A stone within the river of people, he let gurneys rattle past him as he leaned against the wall; he lightly turned around patients shooting the breeze as they walked towards the cafeteria; every doctor looked right through him and kept on walking, and all of them did these things without even paying him any mind at all.

That’s because none of them could see him. Even the security cameras on the 8th floor were rendered useless, seeing the door to the Neurology Department Samples Room suddenly open and then close two seconds later— even without anyone being around to prompt such actions.

The blood had long since been discarded into the grate of a nearby sewer, the hemoglobin dying vicious deaths amongst the sewage, the scattering of rain water and the open air. Whatever testament they had would remain unknown to all except the grime.

That’s what he was ordered to accomplish, after all. Fixing a cap to cover up his brown hair as he became forced to be visible again in these empty night-time streets, the boy saw his green eyes within the reflection of his phone as he turned it on. Dialing the single number contained within, he waited for the line to crackle alive before he said simply, “It’s done. I’m going back now.”, and then hung up and turned the device back off.

That’s all he had to do tonight. It was simple, it was efficient, and it was positively devastating to whomever it concerned. But the boy didn’t know the whos or whats most of the time; it didn’t matter, in the end. Whatever father wanted, father got; that was his job.

No sense crying over spilled blood; the deed was now long-since done. Just a few locks turned, some samples smuggled out in a bag he turned as invisible as he was, and then an effortless toss. Not even the worst job in the world; it's just what had to be done.

Walking down the road, he wondered where he could find a bus stop this late at night as he plugged his ear-buds in, letting another device in his pocket whistle a song’s opening chords. It was a mournful little melody, to be sure, but it didn’t sound that bad to him anymore. Terrence rather liked it now; it suited his tastes more than others did, and that was just fine with him. He wasn't one for following the crowd, rather, just moving through them and their lives was good enough. Getting caught up by them could mean certain death if wasn't careful.

Chapter Text

The department had become a cage of suspicion. Ezwa had thus far spent the better part of the next two days after the incident trying to find out what had happened to Cecile’s blood samples. Security allowed him, due to his high position in the department as well as the hospital, to look at surveillance footage. The last time the blood had been accessed was days ago, and every single double-check since that time had recorded all samples safe and sound. This check was done routinely every six or so hours, sometimes less with more volatile cases.

But during those six hours, no one had come out of the lab with anything larger than one of the test tubes, and each one of those had been signed out in triplicate by the carrier as well as an attendee. Every little drop of blood had been spoken for with precision except for four remaining vials taken from Cecile on her last few days, along with the little tray they’d been stationed on.

It was driving the Doctor up the wall. He’d played the footage again and again, and he’d interrogated everyone who had been in the room for the past day and a half. Rany, Maela, and several other nurses and authorized personnel— all of them under his authority— were asked to tell him again and again what they’d remembered. And again, all of them said they were innocent, that the samples were there last time they’d looked at them, and that there was no one else with them at any time.

So now here he was, sitting in the back of the lecture hall where Yoruth was finishing up a whole seminar on prion diseases to a crowd of young doctors-to-be. Ezwa kept to himself, tucking his hands into his pockets and avoiding any passing glances until the lesson was over. It was a mortifying feeling, having turned those few seconds of goodwill they’d had just a while ago into a debacle like this. It was like he was a student again himself, sitting way in the back to soften the blow of an inevitable punishment for tardiness or poor work.

With the last word said and the sound of about a hundred people getting packed and out the two sets of doors on the top of the hall, Ezwa hurried his way down to usher Yoruth out the door usually designated for lecturers. Thankfully the older former doctor saw the urgency in his stride and wasted no time following him, making it easier for Ezwa to catch him up to speed as they walked.

“They’re gone?!” Yoruth whispered, sounding just as flummoxed as Ezwa felt.

Looking around them to make sure they weren’t being eavesdropped upon, the bearer of bad news continued to deliver. “And we have no idea who did it. I have placed my full confidence in my people, and the footage shows no unauthorized personnel entering or leaving the storage room at any time.”

Giving him a sideways look, Yoruth then gravely placed both of his hands on Ezwa’s shoulders. “Are you sure that you can trust everyone, every single person that you’ve got on record going in there?”

“Yes. Implicitly. They have nothing to gain from trying to hide anything from me, and what’s more none of them could have done it, unless nurses’ scrubs have suddenly started coming with an emergency hatch that could hide a tray and four vials.”

Hearing him out, Yoruth then moved cautiously on to his next assertion. “Then I have to ask; do you have anyone out there that you think would want to sabotage you? Any of the doctors you reached out to regarding this case before you came to me?”

That took the doctor off-guard at first. “Sabotage? You mean you believe someone’s trying to stop me, to stop us from beating this case?”

“Yes. Career sabotage, professional wrecking, call it what you like— it’s happened plenty of times amongst doctors and other members of the medical community. And if it’s not them, then I must suggest a second option, one that is potentially worse than the first: that it wasn’t one of us. Rather, it was outside intervention meant to stop us dead in our tracks.”

His breath stopped short, Ezwa taking Yoruth’s words like a hard blow to the chest. It didn’t take much for him to recall that the door seemed to break twice on its own, opening and closing by itself during the wee hours of the early night. Security dismissed it as a glitch in the system, saying that no one was detected moving through the door during such time.

But looking back now, Ezwa’s mind turned to subterfuge. Perhaps the glitch was not a glitch after all, but rather some type of Ability at work for an infiltrator. Someone broke in and made out with the vials, and we had no idea.

If this was the handiwork of someone from outside of the hospital, then the only possible culprits with enough power to infiltrate a hospital and steal vital medical samples would have to be connected to the Authorities. If they were involved, then perhaps Ezwa and Yoruth’s mission of conscience was over before it had even truly begun. “If someone from the Authorities is trying to stop us, then we’ve got to stop. For our own safeties.” He muttered, feeling total and abject defeat.

Yoruth nodded in agreement, letting go of Ezwa’s shoulders. “Yes. It would be best if your patient’s case ended as soon as you submit a signed determination of your final diagnosis. Mania, hysteria, whatever you think is best to describe this… indescribably odd affliction she is under.” 

Letting the weight of the words sink in for a moment, Yoruth then he also stuck his finger up for a new point of contention, a sly grin upon his face. “But then, you should call and request this patient submit some more blood in a follow-up. Label them as a completely new patient, with a new name and entirely new symptoms— a chronic headache or some such— but do not log anything with any insurance. Keep the work in a pile, in your desk or better yet at home, and never actually submit any of your paperwork.”

A fake-out, a veritable bait-and-switch involving Ezwa defrauding the hospital of lab time and man hours. It would be a struggle to pull off without anyone noticing, and it would be even harder to get the results processed on his own time. But it could still be done. Because from his teacher’s suggestion and encouragement came a monsoon of ideas. Ezwa then knew exactly what they needed to do now, and exactly how to get it accomplished.

His was not the only mind at work. Remi, for her part, was finishing up club work at the end of the school-day. She looked over to the corner of the room, the sun’s setting glow throwing yellow and orange blankets throughout the Safe House. Organizing her bag to get back to her dorm before the school grounds closed, Remi took stock of student attendance.

There’d been six people in the Safe House for the first time since the aftermath of the big blow-up between the Royals and Seraphina. It was easy to know everyone who’d visited each day because, if both of them were out of the club at the time, no one even bothered stopping by. The Jokers were brazen enough to stalk outside whilst the two Royals were gone, but if even one was around then they rarely if ever showed their faces. So long as Remi or Blyke was there, then it was still that little torch of light.

Looking back on who first made up the average membership of the club, Remi couldn’t help but remark on how weirdly imbalanced it was in terms of power. Firstly there was herself and her best friend Blyke, opening the club up as early as they could and then deciding who would patrol the halls today. They were both high tiers, at or above 5.0, making them part of the top fighters in the school.

Then there were two of their few remaining regulars from the old days who never held a leadership position with the club: Ventus and Meili, whom were famously inseparable at the hip. They were partners through-and-through, something Remi could definitely respect; when the club first got going they followed Arlo in and offered to pick up a shift here or there. That, though, she could not respect at all; it was a flightiness of hangers-on that drove them. 

They weren’t there for safety, in Remi’s eyes. Rather, they were just trying to follow Arlo around in case things turned around. Both of them basically vanished when John barged in to threaten everyone, but they inevitably showed back up whenever Arlo was active. After he stopped coming when things soured for the whole group, his two former lackeys just showed up whenever they just wanted to hang out in a quiet room. Irregardless Remi stopped being picky when the last of the low tiers left. Two elite tiers were fine, too, she supposed.

And then there was the newbie, the definitive black sheep out from left field that Remi honestly did not see coming here in a million years. Cecile, one of the people that had made it necessary for the Safe House to be made in the first place, now came to it for help alongside her low-tier partner Otis. Imagine that: a snooty high tier running to an old rival and almost pleading for help.

Blyke doubted that Cecile actually pleaded, and Remi admitted she was only teasing both him and Cecile. But only just barely, she concealed in a sly little smile for herself. When Cecile was the Queen, she acted so high and mighty— like she couldn’t be touched. Challenging her and taking her down a peg, as well as taking her rank was definitely a highlight of Remi’s second year at Wellston.

But, still, with all what had gone on, maybe it was worth showing a bit of compassion between two former Queens. Remi’d gotten her fair share of injuries during her time at this school, and some of the most severe were when she and the rest of the Royals fought John. It wasn’t pity that had driven Remi at that very moment when Cecile’d approached her about joining the club. Nor was it a gloating sense of triumph over her rival, either. 

Seeing Cecile walk into the Safe House on that cane was almost unthinkable for someone their age at a private school like this. What with all the near-miraculous treatments and drugs available to heal bones like they were paper-cuts, walking aides like that were basically reserved for the elderly, the disabled, and the sick. On top of all that, Remi’d never thought that someone would honestly subject themselves to a school so devoted to the principle of survival of the fittest whilst crippled like that. Even if it was a temporary thing, it was still like Cecile was playing with fire.

It’d have to take a lot to make someone do that. Remi’s older brother Rei had talked about how people tended to react to something called fight or flight. It was how everyone processed situations of great distress or danger. You either ran away, or you dove right in and hoped for the best. To him, Rei said that both were equally valid responses to someones’ problems. If things were bad enough that you had to run, then you’d better run and get away. But if you were in so much danger that your only choice available to you was to fight it, then things must be so dire that it’d be do-or-die.

Knowing that he’d given his life fighting crime and righting wrongs as a vigilante, Remi knew which one that her brother’d favored as a hero. Cecile, evidently, also subscribed to the same ethos. Not for the same reasons, of course, but the fierce look of determination in Cecile’s eyes told Remi that if she did not give that cornered person the help they’d needed they’d go down swinging to a bitter end.

And there’d been enough of that kind of tragedy for one lifetime.

Blyke stretched an arm up all the way into the air, letting his body crack a bit as he reached with a grunt. “Well, that’s another day down.” He said, throwing his bag over his back before looking directly at Remi with a smile. “You ready to go?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Remi quickly put a checkmark next to all the handwritten names of those that’d come in today before bagging the agenda booklet. Getting up, she tried to return the smile herself, just happy remembering that he was the one that always stuck by her side.

But something must’ve given her away. Was it in her voice? Some kind of wavering in her eyes? Blyke, for all his penchants for being loud and confrontational, harbored almost a sixth sense for those he cared about. If she was ever hiding anything that bugged her or was bringing her down, it wouldn’t take him long to figure it out and try to help out. It was something that both annoyed and also endeared her to her best friend. Seeing that wild spirit, that passionate energy in his eyes recognize even the most subtle shifts in her soul without even missing a beat was a part of him that she could rely on. “What’s wrong?”

Trying to dissuade him, Remi put up her hands and responded unconvincingly even for herself, “Nothing! Why, what’s up?” But there it was. In Blyke’s gold eyes was that look of recognition, like he’d seen right through her— and inevitably she relented. “Okay, okay. I’m just thinking about everything going on, is all.”

Letting his bag slump a bit off the back of his shoulder, Blyke looked aside before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, same. I’ve caught a couple Jokers lately, but I feel like they’re just back in the halls the next day no matter what I do. It really does feel like everything’s getting worse, right?” The empty chairs, the stillness in the air, the pressure of a school getting ready to burst under the weight of its own insanity.

But Remi couldn’t surrender to the despair and pessimism, not just yet. “It does feel that way, but that’s why we’ve gotta be the ones to fix it all, right? If we don’t do it, who else is going to do it?”

Her erstwhile friend nodded, giving her a thumbs up that she returned in earnest. If nothing else, then at least we’ve got each other. They left the room together, heading for the girls’ dorm first since it was the one closest to the Safe House room. But it wasn’t as if either one of them needed the back-up at this hour, since everyone had gone home for the day; this was just one of the few times of the day where both of them could hang out anymore. Even if it was a quiet walk alone, Remi had definitely come to cherish these moments together, separated by just a foot or so of distance as they chatted about anything— or nothing at all.

But today, it seemed, Blyke wanted to fill up that empty space. “So, uh, how many people visited today?”

“Six.” Remi said, matter-of-factly, listing off the people in question as her friend nodded along. But a thought came to mind, and she felt herself tense up as she continued speaking. “There was a seventh today as well, but I guess they decided they were too good to come in for a visit.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Isen. I saw him standing out in the hall, showed up a little bit after Cecile stopped by.”

The boy sighed, rubbing the back of his head as he prepared himself to walk into this particular minefield again. “Did you let him in?”

“No, I was having another sit-down with Cecile. And also, he knows where we are, and he’s free to come back anytime he wants.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he wants to, too.” Blyke had no idea how he got placed in the middle of a non-fight between his two best friends. Sure, he was still able to hang out with each one individually, but things between the both of them became… strained. “But you know he’s a bit of a scaredy-cat. He says that he feels bad about how he left things off with you, and I know you gotta believe him when he says he’s sorry.”

When Seraphina blew up on all of them when John came back from his suspension, it seemed that she wasn’t the only one that had something to say about what’d happened in the school for the last few months. With the most powerful member of their council gone and Arlo wandering out the door to engage in some kind of stupid senioritis soul-searching or whatever the hell he was doing, Remi needed everyone to present a united front.

Isen, though, had something else in mind. He spoke up to the group and suggested in not so few words, at least in Remi’s point-of-view, “Maybe Seraphina has a point?”; “I dunno, but I can’t help but feel like this is sort of our faults.”, and other things.

And of course to Remi, this was just absolute nonsense. She tried to talk it out with him, but something’d come over their friend ever since the day that John had been beaten. It was a subtle change at first, but it looked like that there’d been a shift in his perspective. He’d never told them what it was— even today, and Blyke said he’d noticed it too but could never get it out of Isen.

Isen was prone to retreating on subjects of debate, or at the very least giving ground on topics that he didn’t feel adamant fighting over. However, this time, it was like he was shaken by something that gave him some sort of sense of duty to remain steadfast. It was an oddity, and it was one at the worst possible time.

Things got out of hand, and eventually Remi was beside herself. Between Seraphina’s wounding words still fresh and the Safe House beginning to implode from the constant threat of the Jokers and fragmenting leadership, Isen had chosen that time as the best one to break ranks?! People were looking to them to keep their story straight and stand against both the Jokers as well as John. While they were still out there, the Safe House had to be the ones that could not buckle in its mission.

After one particularly pointed discussion, Remi had walked away without saying anything else to Isen. She’d become so livid with him being so passively critical on the same subject again, of what had become of the Safe House in the wake of John’s return, that it was just about enough for her. That was about a week and a half ago now. 

Part of her was a little bit mad, that she could admit. But even then a bigger part just missed him and wanted him back, to hang out with them again so they could be the legendary trio once more. The pressure juggling school and the Safe House, her desire to return to vigilantism on the outside and her need to remain academically safe after Headmaster Vaughn’s last warning to Blyke… it made her head spin. More than that, it’d tested her patience and probably drove that wedge between her and Isen to begin with.

Was it pride that kept her from being the first one to make amends, or was it something else?

Maybe…

Could he be right? About Seraphina telling the truth? Were we the ones really at fault? Did we actually, somehow, push John to do all that?

A quick headshake dismissed such thoughts.

No. We might’ve done some bad in the past, but that doesn’t matter. We don’t create monsters, we fight them.

Time, though, for a diversion from this drama of theirs. “So, what do you think of Cecile? Joining us, and all?”

Blyke grunted, looking away in displeasure. “Hate her guts. But if she’s too injured to fight and she’s going to behave, then it’s fine I guess. One less thing we’ve gotta worry about. At the very least, we’ll know she’s not a Joker, too.”

Remi smiled, waving her hand comically to dismiss the thought. “Nah; she’d never get her own hands dirty with something like that.”

That earned her a chuckle from her friend, resetting the mood between them as they finally reached the door that lead to the girls’ dormitories. “Tell me about it.”

How wrong they were, though. Cecile had no choice now but to get her hands dirty— not as if she had any problem with that before, mind you. You didn’t become Queen by being friends with and being nice to everyone; that was just as true for her as it was with Remi, whether she wanted to admit to that or not was not Cecile’s concern.

Rather, her focus was on finding Isen today. If he wanted an audience with her, he was going to get it. Otis suggested staking out some of his classes that day, or perhaps trying to catch him outside after school. Since the Press Club wasn’t meeting today, it’d be the most opportune time to find him before he left. Much to her dismay, it was also the most public option available to her. The fewer people that knew that she was trying to actively seek out Isen, the better.

Having to stomach talking to him for any length of time was hard enough to swallow; being associated with the rat was one she just wasn’t ready for quite yet. That’s why, much to her luck, she spotted Isen standing by himself alone in the hallway, right outside the boys’ bathroom. He was staring at his phone, leaning up against the wall next to the door. Taking a look around, no one was paying attention to him or her at all, too busy going to class or talking amongst their own friends.

Perfect. Taking her time Cecile approached him from the side, walking close to the wall until she was able to poke him in the leg with her cane.

Looking up in surprise and almost fumbling his cellphone right onto the ground, Isen had a tense look in his eyes when he recognized her. “Cecile?!”

Putting her cane firmly onto the ground to accentuate her entrance, she tipped her head towards him a bit and said nonchalantly. “That’s me. Heard you wanted to talk?”
Pocketing his phone before something bad happened to it, he looked completely on board now. “Y- Yes! I’m waiting for someone, but—“

But she took the lead, wanting to maintain an edge in the conversation. “I wanted to speak to you, too. But I’d rather we did it somewhere else; too many people around. Never know who’s going to be listening in or causing trouble while we're here. What do you say to going out to the courtyard?”

“Right now?” He asked haphazardly, only barely recognizing that he’d been sold already by her vague insinuations about their fellow students standing just out of earshot. His skittish side kicked in, and he quickly followed up in suit. “Actually, yeah, that’s fine. Let me just, uh, let me just tell someone I’ll be leaving.“ He pointed to the bathroom as he backed into it, not waiting for approval before he disappeared behind a wall of white plaster.

Being rather uninterested in whatever was going on in a boys’ bathroom, Cecile walked a few steps away to buy herself some space. However, out of the noise of a hand-dryer bellowing a high-pitched exhaust inside, she heard Isen say, “I gotta go, man, I’ll be back! Promise! Sorry!”, various things of that nature before he came scampering out.

With a feeling of mutual apprehension growing between them, Cecile and Isen became an unlikely duo and walked out together to find some privacy. They said nothing, keeping a few feet apart between them, but still they walked in tandem outside. Neither one of them could recall a single time when they’d ever walked anywhere together, even for as brief a dalliance such as this.

The boy Isen ditched in the bathroom was just as surprised by this sudden change in dynamics as they were when he came out, wiping his hands with a paper towel. He'd just been talking with him about what Remi and him had discussed the other day, much to Isen's mix of engrossment and nervousness before he said he was taking off. Blyke didn’t believe his eyes after he spotted them going around the corner; Cecile and Isen, actually acting civil and sociable with each other for once? And not just that, but Isen was actually leaving him behind once again, this time for someone like her?

“The fuck?” was the only thing Blyke whispered in bewilderment, but it spoke a definite volume understated.

Chapter Text

This is taking a while… Isen thought, awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pants pockets whilst they walked together. When she’d said that they’d be going out to the courtyard, Cecile decided that it was still too public for their talk. So, instead, she led him out into the open field that the school used for gym activities and sports. The field was a large clearing with trees lining the border between the school and the perimeter wall, and it resided next to the black fenced-off ball courts.

On this field was a section portioned out for public spectator events, and as such had a whole line of silver metal bleachers that rose up in one long, unified line. When she pointed to them as the place that she wanted them to go to next, Isen felt himself get chills as he wondered to himself, Am I about to get mugged here?

Nevertheless, he decided that at the very least she was trustworthy enough to not pull something like that on him in this current state of affairs. Getting behind the bleachers was easy; there wasn’t any side paneling on either end of the row, meaning anyone could get under there and into the crawl-space between the seats and the wall.

And from the looks of it, anyone did indeed do just that. Discarded food wrappers, dented cans from drinks alcoholic and not, trampled paper and more littered the grass-less dirty beneath the bleachers. Seeing no one there besides Cecile, whom strode right on in with little regard for the trash set around them, Isen let out a nervous chuckle. “I guess this really would be the only place you’d be comfortable with talking with me now at days, huh?” Well, here and me tied up in an alleyway like that other time, I guess.

She didn’t say anything but a ‘mmh.’, acknowledging the joke but not reacting to it implicitly. Looking around a bit at the refuse and deciding that he was probably pretty close to the mark anyway, she settled on it. “All right.” Cecile said, turning around by stomping and then replacing her cane as she moved. Meeting him eye to eye, she began their long-awaited reunion. “Well, Isen.”

“Y-Yeah?” He said, standing up a bit straighter now.

Noticing this, she bit her tongue a bit to avoid criticizing his nervous behavior. “Otis told me that you wanted to talk, and he made it sound like it was really important. Well, here I am.” She rested both her hands on the cane as she stared at him expectantly.

Jumping at the opportunity, he started off with an uncertain energy as he thought, Smile! Put her and yourself at ease! “Yeah, I heard you got back last week, and what happened was— you see, it’s been a while since we last saw each other, right? And, uh, I, uh—“ Isen stopped with a sigh, face-palming himself after closing his eyes. Total train-wreck, complete disaster of a sentence and a half. All these bottled up things in him shoving to get out first.

Calm down. Don’t gush, and don’t sound pathetic. Isen reprimanded himself. Then again, trying to sort through these scatter-shot emotions was what this was supposed to be about, or at the very least it was one of his goals. “Okay, listen. What I was trying to say was that it’s been a while since we last spoke. When you had your… incident, I don’t know what— I was worried about what happened. It’s been a month since then, so I was hoping to see if you were doing all right now.”

She raised her head, just an inch, as she judged his opening gambit a bit. Sure, he was acting as dorky as he’d ever been before, but at the very least he was visibly trying to level with her. It was, in her eyes, admirable. Dare she say, uncharacteristically mature for Isen? “I’m feeling better. I was in the hospital for a few days, but I rested up at my parents’ house.” She skimmed the truth quite a bit from her story, still a bit leery of the third year’s intentions. “As you can probably tell, I’m still recovering a bit.”

There was a flash, some kind of instant of emotion that came across Isen’s face as he listened to her. What was that look just now? For a second, she could have sworn it was recognition if not for him dropping it as soon as it came across, being replaced with a reconciliatory tone. “Sorry to hear that. It must be rough for you to get around like this.”

Putting those little suspicions aside, Cecile figured it was best to remember how much more dense he was than overtly duplicitous and act accordingly. “It can be, yeah. Especially with—“ And this was where her newly-reacquired memories were going to hit the road. There was no more excuses here; to act like she didn’t have them anymore was a fool’s errand, especially if she were going to try and dodge even a modicum of responsibility. A grunt as she stopped and started again, “— especially with all the Jokers running around.”

Isen put his hands in his pockets again, failing to bite his tongue in time. “Yeah, who would’a thought that letting masked guys go around beating people up would be a bad thing?”

A body-blow to her ego. “I know.” Her grip on her cane tightened, but she did not let herself blow up again— not after how she reacted the last time they’d talked, especially considering it was over the very same subject. “I have to take full responsibility for what I’ve done. Backing John, supporting him even when it was obvious he was going mad with power, all of that falls on me as much as it does him. I only took advantage of a situation that I thought could get me what I wanted. And clearly, I was wrong.”

“But do you think you were wrong for doing that because it was the wrong thing to do morally, or because it blew up in all our faces— including yours?” Isen asked, crossing his arms with some contempt. “And what, exactly, could you have wanted so badly that it’d justify helping John out in the first place? Did you want to get back at Arlo for taking the Press Club away from you?”

“Yes.” She said, unambiguously. “I wanted the Press Club back, and yes I wanted to get even with Arlo. And not just for that, but also for tossing me aside when he was done with me being a Royal and having any value left for him. What I did was spiteful, it was arrogant, it was short-sighted and it was stupid. And…” A bitter taste came to mind as she stopped herself for a second. “… and I’m sorry.”

A moment passed by, Isen staring in utter surprise at what he just heard. “Oh.”

“’Oh’?” Cecile asked back, annoyed by his nonplussed response.

He shook out of it. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘sorry’ before. We’ve worked together for, like, a year and I’ve never heard you say it.”

“I know how to apologize when I’m wrong, Isen. I’m just never wrong, is all.”

“Ah.”

A thought. “Or, at the very least, I try not to be. After all, there’s a couple people out there who’ve needed me to be as correct as possible, even when it’s not the exact right thing needed to be done. The paper, the club itself, Otis…” She lifted a finger from the cane’s head, pointed right at Isen. “… you.”

“Me?” Isen asked, a smile breaking across his face as he also pointed towards himself.

Cecile nodded, something of a grin tugging at the side of her left lip. “Yes, you too. You struggled a lot when you joined the club, and you either had to go to me or to Juni for help.”

He play-acted shivering, rubbing his forearms with his hands. “Don’t remind me; she kept using her Fast Forward Ability to see what I was going to do or say and completely copied me. It was really freaky.”

Cecile nodded, feeling almost fond of this little moment they were sharing together. Juni was a dyed-in-the-wool reporter and zealous to get Cecile the information she’d needed, which was definitely a bonus. Still though they both found her to be unsettling at times with her almost bully-like antics, which was definitely something most of the people Juni’d messed with could agree to.

Looking back up at her, Isen visibly pondered over something, moving a bit like he wanted to spit something out but he did not quite not how to get there. “What is it?” Cecile finally had to ask him.

“It’s just— I wanna know, do you remember what happened to you? I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a while now, and I would really like to know. If you don’t mind telling me, that is!” Isen said, putting his hands up in front of him as he both asked and begged off at the same time.

She looked to the side for a moment, contemplating tinkering with her plan. Perhaps giving him the same type of leeway she gave Remi would work just as well here? 

It was true her memories were returning, but it was as if her mind was on a long march towards that final sea of actuality. Every day, another minute, another hour, another day or two came back to her as her brain approached that summit. As she’d told Otis, it was sometimes like a double-remembrance of what she’d known then and what she knows now. Scents, tastes, touches, the preponderances of just a month ago echoing back like songs of dead civilizations run anew millennia later.

It’d been fast progress, but it still brought back things that hurt her pride. Recalling how Arlo’d treated her, bringing that wound back to mind just as she’d grown accustomed to the new way she saw of him as being recalcitrant, withdrawn, and perhaps even a little bit introspective of what he’d done. 

Now, though, an older part of her hearkened back to the vindictive, jealous, and insatiably power-hungry Arlo of just a few weeks ago. Too prideful to let up, and too powerful to let things slide; he’d had the whole school, including her, in the palm of his hands. And when he messed with her, she broke those hands by helping John wreak havoc on him and his little play-kingdom of Royals. The blond prince played with fire by instigating John as well as her, got burned all on his own, and now was left with nothing left to do but graduate a failure as well as a loner.

Both were true in her mind’s eye right now. Two split ideas of Arlo, standing side-by-side; one with eyes of a tyrant’s chilling fire, the other an exile’s gaze of burning ice. And it was the same for everyone as well. Remi, Blyke, Isen, even the subtle little differences in how she recalled Otis from then and now were rattling about in her head. But still, none of them struck her as being any part of what had happened to her. The incident or the accident, whatever it’d been, nothing told her that any of them had anything to do with it. 

But to tell Isen all of that now would perhaps not be the best move. She’d already told enough people this sort of information, and if she was going to strike up a partnership with him then she’d need to see how loyal Isen would really be. 

There still remained some questions on his demeanor— would he be distrustful when she needed him to be trustworthy? Would he be distracted and try flirting with every other girl that they came across when she needed him to focus? Would he just leave her behind and go be with Blyke and, if those stares she saw at the Safe House were just a temporary rift, Remi as well? All the things made up her previous visage of him; a shifty, wannabe playboy who ran around doing whatever he wanted with his friends.

The knowledge of her amnesia should remain close to the vest, at least for now. If Remi was as separated from Isen as she thought they might be, then there should not be as much crossover as she might fear.

The moment she used to contemplate all these things were fleeting. Looking back up before he could even realize what he’d missed, she offered as authentically as she could, “No, I don’t remember anything about that. It was like I was walking alone one day and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital. Doctor said it’s fine, though; I’ll get that back, too. Hopefully soon. Hopefully, it was just an accident and nothing serious.” A mangled and bloated half-truth. Better than lying. Not as if she cared about lying to Isen of all people, anyway. 

Right?

And besides that, if it turned out that it’d just been a big, stupid accident after all this time she’d be really, really pissed. Cecile knew that much at least.

Isen rubbed the back of his head, uncertainty still about him. “And the cane? I mean, when John sent all of us to the hospital we got out of there pretty quickly and we didn’t have to use anything like that after we left.” He realized his implication and raised his hands again, waving them in front of himself a bit. “Not to imply that John was behind this or anything!”

“I know you weren’t, don’t worry about that.” She said, trying to side-step that drama-steeped conversation altogether; it was not what she was here for. “The cane is actually kind of the only reason I can even come to school. When I got injured, the hospital gave me the best medicines they could. There were some… complications, though. I woke up without my sense of balance intact, making it hard for me to move around without this thing around to help.”

Whatever he’d been expecting to hear, it definitely wasn’t that. “I’m… I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.” His voice became softer as he retracted a bit with the news.

“I’m coping with it. Right now, my doctor thinks the best course of action would be to let my medicine do its work and do physical therapy sessions on my own time. He gave me plenty of material to work on while I’m here, and even just walking around day-by-day helps me out a little bit, too. But it’s going to be hard for me to get them done on my own.”

“’On your own’?” Isen asked. “What about Otis? Can’t he help you out?”

A little wayward shrug. “It’s the end of his third year, and he’s gotta focus on studying. The only real time we can ever hang out is at the dorms, but he needs that sort of time to do his work so he can get some good grades this semester. Colleges don’t just look at your fourth year scores, they also pay attention to third year grades as well. He pretends he doesn’t care that much about college right now, but he’ll definitely care more about it next year. I’d rather he do that and keep himself safe at school instead of worrying about me all the time. After all, he’ll have to learn how to fend for himself now so he can do it next year.”

Wait. I’m a third year, too. Should I be worried? Isen wondered to himself but he drew a blank. What are my grades again? “Then maybe you can do it at the Safe House. Plenty of room, right?”

“I need that time to relax and recharge; even though walking around is a little bit easier every day, it’s still really tough for right now. And I don’t think Remi or Blyke have the time or the patience to help me with the exercises at lunch or after school. Do you?”

He nodded a bit, holding his chin in perplexity. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Remi and Blyke would rather face like ten Johns in a row before helping you like that. For any amount of time or any part of the day, I’d think. They'd run through all the options he could think of, but he just couldn’t figure out any other way she could do this. Running his hand through his hair, he looked back before letting out a hard breath as he pitched himself out there. “You know… I could help, I think.”

Tilting her head to the side, Cecile looked at him funny. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—“ I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “— that I’ll help you out. After school, before school, whenever you’re up for it. Just call me or give me a text, and I’ll be there. Or, y’know, here, since this’ll be the only place at any time we’re guaranteed to be away from everyone. No Jokers, no other students to, uh, gossip.” He looked to the side and scratched his chin a bit as he felt his cheeks grow a bit red. “And if you’re ever up for skipping the Safe House and wanna have lunch with me here sometime, we could do that too.”

Cecile resisted the urge to roll her eyes at that pass he made, but stayed with him nonetheless. “You’d have to help move me around, be ready to catch me if I fall down, make sure I’m following the instructions while I’m practicing— and tons of other stuff. Would you really be up for all of that?”

“Sure, absolutely. I’ll do it.” It was short and sweet, but Part of me wants to say ‘hardly’, but the other part feels terrible about everything and Blyke’s busy with the Safe House I can’t go into anymore. hardly seemed expedient or fair for anyone involved.

But the look of relief on Cecile’s face made Isen especially taper off that sort of thinking for the moment. “Thank you. I… really appreciate it. I really do, Isen.”

“I, uh, no problem. As I said, reach out to me any time to set it up.” Something caught his attention in his mind, and he kept speaking. “After school I might be busy with the Press Club. So give me some time those days, I’ll run right out when we’re done.”

But that was something Cecile couldn’t quite stand for, not yet. “No. If there’s something important with the paper that day, you get it done one hundred percent. I’ll wait as long as you need in that case, but the club comes first. Understood?” 

From the sudden stern defiance she projected, Isen knew better than to play valiant with her on this subject. “Understood. No worries, you got it.” Looking at the time on his phone, Isen froze up and stuttered, “M-Maybe we should go back inside? We’re kinda really super late for class now.”

Looking at the time herself, Cecile let a pang of annoyance with her own tardiness come and go. “Yeah, let’s go.” They got out from under the bleachers together, and they walked back. Cecile was going to a completely separate class than Isen, so as they got closer to the school they began going their separate ways once more.

The orange-brown haired boy had to go through a different door off to the left, so he separated from Cecile first. But he still took a second and turned back, giving one last look at her still making her way forward.

It was weird. Even though she was limping along with that cane of hers, looking discomforted with every step she took, Cecile looked…

Strong. Admirably stoic, even.

Realizing he’d been staring at her for far too long now, Isen turned around quickly and began walking away again as he shrugged off those light little feelings he’d experienced just there.

And so the arrangement had been made, and they’re reached a sort of understanding. Now Isen was going to help her out with her physical therapy, and in exchange he’d have someone to talk to on a regular basis besides Blyke. But it wasn’t born entirely out of conspicuous circumstances— rather, at least one of them was playing with a card beneath their sleeves.

While Isen had been here to bare his heart a bit and had been won over by a story, Cecile on the other hand was looking for something else from all of this. She’d mulled it over before when considering whether to go to him or not, but now it seemed that there was some use for him after all. Sure, Remi and Blyke would probably help her out at the Safe House, but that would probably not extend beyond that dinky little room they were squatting in.

And on top of that, her balance was still shot at the moment. It was only a week or two into her earnestly-begun recovery, but even with the application of some of the best medicines out there right now her body still needed more help righting itself. That meant following the therapy guides given to her by the hospital, but much to her chagrin a lot of the selected movements and actions prescribed required another person to help her out. Without someone to lean on or to make sure she did each step properly over and over, she’d be just going in circles and falling over and over again for nothing.

And Otis was obviously her choice to help her out in this regard— he wouldn’t be much help for physical protection, seeing as how his Ability wasn’t useful for combat at all— but as they’d worked out after talking in the Safe House this wouldn’t be feasible either. She was taller and of a slightly heavier set than him, and after a practice run together they discovered really quickly that he really was a shorter frame of just skin and bones. Her younger pupil joked that it was because she’d protected him so much that he never bothered to work out.

Even though he’d tried to convince her that he could do all of these things at once as well as focus on his studies, she pushed him to focus on those parts of his life more. “You’ll be here if I need you, and I’ll be here if you need me. Remember?”

With all of that said, that left her with only one solid option: Isen.

And what she’d said to him was true. She was sorry that what had happened happened. Betting on John was her folly; a strategic blunder that had cost her almost everything she’d had.

Next time will be different. Everything is correctable in hindsight.

And using Isen as her temporary partner, her aide, and even her unwitting guard will get her there. Did she feel sorry for placing him in this sort of position, if and when the time would come to cut him loose? A little bit. But, in the end, there was little chance that things would change between the two of them. She was a power-player and now a survivor, and he was exactly the person she would need to get back up and get back out there. To find a place for herself in this dark new world, and to perhaps one day find out what really had happened to her that fateful day if her memories would not cooperate at the very least. Even if he was an untrustworthy rat, maybe he’d be her untrustworthy rat.

For now, at least.

A tiny part of her did regret it, though, considering the way they’d both found each other. She would let him down easy when the time came; it would be the least Cecile could do for being as nice to him as he’d been, trying to patch things up. And she would keep this last image of him being nice to her in her mind. It was far better to remember him as a helpful rat than a creepy one, even if it would make her regret it later. Same with all the others who would help her. These new perspectives of them were very revealing, if not a little bit quaint to see form the other side.

There was one person that she’d avoided thinking about for a while now, even when invoking his name in conversations. His actions spoke loudly enough for themselves; his nom de geurre was now the go-to handle for every masked-up psychopath running around the school looking for some payback. 

Her image of him as the boy with the phony smile at one second and then a steel-fisted, monstrous thug in the next did not change. Nor did the sight of him as the brutal King of Wellston, sleep deprived and evermore paranoid of surging conspiracies change at all. These and other mental visages of that black-haired, golden-eyed monster had continued to live on well. Nothing changed there.

But if Isen’s implication was correct before, that John could’ve been the one behind this whole thing…

She didn’t know what could even be done about that. What kind of justice could there be when facing a god tier of that kind of caliber? How could she get payback from someone that had power maybe leagues beyond her own?

At that point, if it really was him, then her sorry state might as well have come from some kind of stupid accident. It’d be of more comfort that way.

The meeting might have concluded between the two of them, but they were not the only people in on the conversation. 

One was Otis. On his own intuition and initiative, the confidant made sure to watch them go out and come back without any incident. Cecile hadn’t ordered it, but he felt that it was a necessary step. She’d only just gotten back to school, and despite being reduced to being two different types of crippled Cecile was already making moves again. It was up to him to watch her back even when she wanted to go at it alone.

It was something she’d do for him time and time again, after all.

Otis had been watching them with a pair of small binoculars he’d pilfered from a second-year reporter in the Press Club that had previously gushed about bird watching. It actually did sound like it was a nice little hobby and, honestly, the way that that newcomer gushed about it made Otis find him rather cute. But it also meant that he could be manipulated just enough to giving them up, if only for a few minutes. 

“’Hey, I think that bird-watching is actually a pretty cool idea.’, ‘Oh, wow, really? You too?!’, ‘Yeah! And I was hoping to try it out for myself after hearing you talk about it, but I don’t really have a pair of binoculars of my own. Do you think I could—?’ ‘Sure!’”, the boy said, practically eating out of Otis’ hands by now, handing them over like it was his idea the entire time, “‘Just bring them back soon, okay? They’re my only pair.’”.

Hanging out with Cecile had completely reformed the young, love-stricken boy with a heart of gold and daisies in his eyes about every cute boy that walked on by. Some men you could trust, most you really shouldn’t, and a couple more that you really couldn’t at all. But if you play your cards right, you could win any battle without ever having to throw a single punch.

Through that reporter boy’s binoculars he stood in an empty classroom just long enough to watch Cecile and Isen enter and leave the bleachers in short order. Otis was going to be late to his next class, but he accepted that because so were they. But at the very least, he knew his best friend was at least going to make it this time.

What happened last time will not happen again. Not on his watch.

And then there was that nagging feeling once again. It was the same one from that hallway, when he and Cecile both felt like they were being watched. Turning about-face, Otis looked around towards the door. It was a quick, sudden motion with zero chance for reaction of any spy or passersby.

But once again, nothing. No head peeking up from behind the door’s window to stare, no one standing in the room there except for Otis himself.

Were these paranoid delusions that had become contagious? Had the madness the school was cursed with finally decide to infect the remaining holdouts and destroy every last rational person left in the building?

I should use my Ability here. I should! Otis thundered, tightening his grip on the binoculars. But Cecile’s warning held him back one more time. He had no idea if it would do it again, but now it felt like this was becoming an ‘In Case Of Emergency Break Glass’ situation.

And he was right. There was, completely invisible, the lone saboteur whom had thrown a wrench into Doctor Ezwa’s efforts to help Cecile. Terrence had joined Otis the whole way, sneaking into the room and standing in the corner with his invisibility Ability turned on. It could last for twenty or so minutes when he was on the move, take a few minutes if he was injured or tired, but standing still he could be there for at least forty-five minutes or even an hour.

And he would stay there until he or his superiors were satisfied with what he was observing. When he got back to his dorm after midnight the day of his little visit to the hospital, he’d used his burner phone to send out a small obscure code indicating a mission success. Before long, he received a new order: ‘continue surveillance of assigned targets.’. It was the usual response automated by whatever service or system that connected his throw-away to his organization. A standing order, by the books.

Deciding that that message was his only order for now, Terrence got ready to go to sleep. Shower, pajamas, and then laying in his bed with his real phone playing music through a pair of earbuds staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep. Typical night for him. However, his handler or whomever was on the other end of his burner phone buzzed him again, lighting up his night-stand.

To his surprise, it was a new authentication code with two new assigned targets: it had their full names and identifying information, but the first one did not require any explanation or description: ‘CECILE’; ‘OTIS’.

He’d had his typical targets assigned to him of the most powerful students in the school, and most of them seemed almost completely unaware he was ever observing them— invisible or not. These two new ones, though, were still getting used to his presence. Even though he was invisible, humans were still animals by nature. As Terrence had been taught in one of the other schools he’d been assigned to in the past, this was a survival instinct to notice when you were being watched from the grass at night. All humans had this little instinct, from the god-tiers down to the lowliest cripples; it was ingrained by millions of years of evolution. 

But if this instinct was continually prompted by a regular presence, sooner or later it would stop acknowledging he was there and focus on newer threats. Until then, Terrence kept his distance as much as he could and memorized everything he saw them do in the short spurts he assigned to them out of his day. 

All of this spying, all of his missions outside of the school, and it did not really interfere with his school work or his efforts to keep up appearances amongst his fellow students. Terrence didn’t need to worry about his studies; he had gone through these lessons and these classes a couple times before, but that didn’t really matter. His grades were being handled by his organization, whom decided how good he was going to be in each subject and then secretly entering them into the school’s records at their leisure.

How they did this, what else they were doing on his behalf, it was not for him to know. He was but a pawn on this battlefield, and right now his duty was here: watching this blue-lavender-haired boy as he stared out the window. Terrence wondered what he was thinking about, what he was trying to do, what he was hoping to accomplish. When this ‘Otis’ turned around to look at him, Terrence walked forward just a little bit to get a closer look.

They were just about the same height at around five-foot-seven, maybe five-foot-eight. His hair covered his right eye most of the time, but that was just because it was long enough that it flopped every which way. It’s a shame. Terrence thought. If you cut your hair a little bit more, maybe you’d look more…

Realizing he was getting distracted, he dutifully stepped back and returned to observing. People watching had sort of become a pastime of his; it came with the territory of his work, is all. That meant, sometimes, he got sidetracked critiquing things here or there about whom he was watching. How little did people really know about their faults, their ticks, their quirks about them when they believed they were all alone.

And he knew exactly what that was about, being alone. It wasn’t just his occupation, it was his life’s mission. Even if he was uncloaked and walking amongst hundreds of people in a big crowd, he could never feel more alone.

But that’s the way it had to be. Right?

There was one more person watching, but this one was completely unaware of what was unfolding down there. High, high above the ground, watching two figures he barely recognized walking to and from the field doing whatever they wanted was another boy.

This one had black hair made up half naturally undisturbed, half gelled down; his golden eyes observed everything going on in the school for the little time he spent there, and outside of the school from upon this roof for what seemed forever now at days.

All of it was his kingdom now. His position, though greatly diminished and emptied out as a forlorn throne of corruption as lies, was still his to keep. Even after returning from a month’s suspension for what he did— for what he’d become— this boy could still not find out what to do next. Everyone looked at him with hatred, with fear, with disgust, and no one wanted him around here anymore.

No one except her.

She’d waited for him, telling him with no uncertain words during his suspension one day over a phone call that she would be his touchstone back to reality, that he was not this horrifying creature these people thought him as. What he knew himself to be, after years of dealing with this hatred and bitterness in his heart.

Sera. She saw him as someone worth redeeming, even after all he’d done as King. After he’d lashed out at her, thought her a traitor, when she really was his only companion, his truest comrade. His best friend, who moved heaven and Earth to get him to come back to his senses and to escape that spiral of self-destruction he’d fallen into as Joker and the King.

But now…

Where’d she go, most days? When he’d returned, it was almost like everything was back to normal. They’d chatted, they’d laughed, they’d shared lunch and hung out here for what felt like hours on end. Blissful, peaceful hours. Sometimes she’d excused herself, saying she had to go do something for class or finish another thing for whatever the Safe House was supposed to be doing that day. That was fine; John was just happy she was there at that point.

It was almost euphoric, being around her again. Hearing that little chuckle of hers as she watched him not understanding how to use his phone or when they were fighting over a sandwich from the cafeteria was a gift every day.

They even talked about what he’d experienced at the school when he masqueraded as a cripple. Two days after he’d gotten back, they’d kept their promise to each other and discussed everything that John had kept to himself during his few years here at Wellston. Slowly, carefully, John told her about when he’d decided to turn inwards and hide his ability, trying his best to be something he wasn’t. He described the beatings he’d sustained, the things he saw the high tiers, the elites, and the Royals did to him and to others.

Seraphina used to be one of them; her hair was long a purple then, tied in a neat pony-tail. Her outfit was spic-and-span without a single piece out of place, and she used her power for advancing herself as part of this school’s Hierarchy. But when she met John, he showed her that life could be something else, not defined by her parents’ expectations or that of society. And away went the purple hair, becoming dyed pink with yellow tips, cut down and replaced with extensions. She loosened up, letting her jacket hang upon her like a lazy blanket down from her shoulders and onto her arms.

The scowl, the cold and calculating stare of the honor student became the lazy, easy-going look of his only friend left in the world. And a smile she shared only with him, warmer than the sun in the sky they basked under on this roof every day.
Both of them were god-tiers and chose to change themselves. As it turned out, she chose correctly and changed for the better; John, on the other hand, felt trapped between the mask of a cripple or the clawing madness of a vengeful beast.

With a hug that shattered the illusion, a hand that made him smile at her confidence in him, a head filled with the courage Sera gave him John decided to give change a try too.

But then those excuses she made became more common after he told her everything that had happened to him at Wellston. The time they spent together became shorter and shorter, then fewer and farther in between. He saw her in the halls going to class, and she offered a wave and a smile, but then she kept on walking.

Did…

Did he over-share with her?

Was he pathetic for having told her all of that, to empty his heart out on the floor with everything he’d endured? Maybe she thought that he really was a fraud, that he could have used his great power to change things around him without hiding like a coward or ruling like a dictator.

At least that’s what he felt, what he’d feared. John never gave himself the chance to ask her, to see if he was just being paranoid again or if something was actually breaking down between them. It’d been three days since they’d last truly hung out together, only seeing each other for brief spurts of time. The next time they would be together could be the opportunity he’d wanted to make things right if they were still wrong between them. It might also be his only chance he’d have left, if she really was moving away from him once again.

But maybe nothing could change for him and her. Or for Isen and Cecile. Or for any of them here, these six existing in this moment caught on the tugs in the webs of their lives and their decisions. Their obligations and their duties, their wants and dreams and their obstacles and frustrations. Maybe, in the end, there was just this space in between themselves that could never be bridged, never to be crossed, and never would they meet with their others in between.

Chapter Text

The day after striking their little alliance was probably the perfect day for Cecile and Isen to meet up and begin her physical therapy together. She would get started on the path of recovery in earnest, and Isen'd start having someone to hang out with on the regular. Unfortunately for both of them, Cecile’d received a message from Headmaster Vaughn: he wanted to have a conversation with both her and Doctor Ezwa.

And, of course, the Headmaster had scheduled it for first thing in the morning, too. Luckily, she’d remembered to catch Isen one more time before classes let out for the day. Cecile found him stretching by himself in the middle of the hallway, so she deliberately caught his eye before entering a classroom that had just emptied out of both its students and the teacher.

When she turned about face, Cecile pointed right at Isen. He mimicked her, pointing up at his face in a perplexed attempt to verify her intents. With a nod, she pointed downwards this time, keeping her hand the same level as it was before; it was a silent command of Come here. Now., clearly designed to isolate both of them once again.

What am I, a dog or something now? Isen felt his face turn a bit red out of embarrassment, already hating the short leash he had no doubt Cecile thought she had on him. His albeit comedic resentment of this treatment didn’t stop him from walking into the classroom with her, moving to close the door behind him before being stopped.

“Don’t bother, this won’t take long.” With a second’s glance to the side in hesitancy, she took out her cell phone and held it out to Isen. “It’ll be difficult for us to schedule if we don’t have each other’s numbers. I’m not going to make you do it or anything but, well, here.”

Looking down at the phone, Isen couldn’t help but feel a bit excited at the implications of this. Absolutely no one got Cecile’s number except for Otis, and everyone knew that. He’d heard that the top reporters in the club did not have that kind of honor, even those prone to proving their loyalty by going above and beyond the ethical norms— namely the bullies and the blackmailers.

Taking the phone very gently, trying and failing keeping his hands from jittering the little totem about with all of his eagerness, Isen got a quick glance of her address book before clicking ‘Add Contact’. It was absolutely stark-barren, only six names listed in total: Otis at the top as a favorite and marked in the standard-issue ‘Family’ group by himself; Hoi Gael, labeled simply as ‘Lawyer’ under his name; Elroui and also Adaline, several numbers associated with each of their names as noted by the address book UI but no description of who they were; the name of a hospital he did not recognize; and finally Wellston, saved all on its own.

I can’t believe it, they were right. They were really right. He thought to himself as he entered his phone number before Cecile caught him spying on her contact list, She really did keep everyone off her phone. Even Arlo’s not on here. It was of course possible that she’d had his number when she was Queen but deleted it a while ago, but it was cooler to him to think she’d never had it to begin with.

That meant that Isen was now joining a pantheon, an exclusive club all of its own. It was droll and completely juvenile to get worked up over something like this at his age, but for him it was hard not to be so pumped up. He’d gotten tons of numbers on his phone by now, ranging from his friends to old class project partners he didn’t have the heart to delete, and plenty of girls that he’d managed to get numbers from. All dead ends on those last ones, though.

But this one was real, and it was guaranteed to work if he texted it. Absolutely wild.

Seeing through his scatterbrained behavior, she took the phone and looked at examined it before shooting out a single message: ‘No’. It was quicker to type as a test than a ‘yes’, and it had a wider implication that she wished to convey. When Isen got his own phone out to add the number, Cecile put her finger right onto the notification at the lock-screen and leaned forward. “This is for scheduling, nothing more. Don’t send me anything weird in the middle of the night, and especially don’t try to flirt with me on this thing. I’ll block you without hesitation. Understand?”

Raising his eyebrow, he relented and agreed to her stipulations. It wasn’t as if he was seriously considering doing anything like that. Not seriously, anyway.

Still, though, he actually got Cecile’s number now. Even if it was for glorified appointments and emotionally-stilted hang-outs, it was still a little triumph in a month of weirdness and failures. Without hesitation he added her into his contacts, putting her in his favorites alongside his mother and father, his little sister, Blyke, and even Arlo and Remi despite the distance between them right now.

She turned to leave, but then remembered her sudden change in plans. “By the way, I won’t be able to meet up with you tomorrow morning. Can we do it after school instead?”

Looking up a bit, he factored a ton of things in his head— namely, did he have anything to do with Blyke or the Press Club. Happily enough his schedule was completely free. “Yeah, sure! Sounds great!” With that said and done, they took their leave of each other for the second time in a few hours. 

Today was a good day. Isen thought, leaving the school for the boys’ dorms with a dumb little smile on his face.

Cecile, on the other hand, was simply satisfied with having gotten all of this done with. Annoyed that they wouldn’t have the time to get started on her physical therapy routine sooner, she felt at least thankful that it was being moved over for a meeting with her doctor.

She expressed as much with Otis, who was taking a break from writing up next week’s blurbs for the need-to-know sections to rub his eyes and lean back in a chair in their dorm. “At least you’ve got all those things squared away now. And not a moment too soon; Joker attacks have officially gone up almost 30% since last week, and something tells me they’re gonna keep happening more and more.”

“It increased? By that much?” Cecile asked, surprised. “I had sort of hoped that the number would’ve died down after a while.”

Otis nodded. “Yeah. Hara, one of the reporters, ran the numbers for the blurbs; she talked to a bunch of students and managed to get a pretty solid count for all the attacks. We’ve been thinking about adding a weekly update on the front page, give students some sort of scale for this… thing we’re dealing with.”

“It’s becoming an epidemic.” Cecile remarked coldly. “If the low tiers thought the old days were bad, then this brand new world John opened up certainly has to be giving it a run for its money.”

Otis stretched his back, sprawling out as he felt his joints crack. “At the very least it makes the Royals look a whole lot better than before. All the low tiers I’ve heard reports from give Blyke a lot of credit for keeping the attacks down as much as they are, even if it’s no where close to being good enough.”

“’Red-hot tempered red-head sees red…’”

The strange sudden alliteration made Otis nearly spit out a surprised laugh. “What was that supposed to be, huh?”

“A title!” She offered, playfully holding a hand up to demonstrate her insincere sincerity. “It might not be the best one I could think of, but still!”

“They get better than that? Oh, yeah, sure, I’ll pass it up the chain of command right away; make sure it lands right on Isen’s desk.” Raising his eyebrows at a realization he’d just made in his head, Otis put on a little smirk and leaned forward, propping his head up with his hand propped up by his lap. “Or, maybe, you’ll just pass it along yourself? After all, you’re going to be hanging out with him from now on.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. It’s hardly a social call. He’s helping me out, I’m helping him out. It’s 50-50, nothing more than that. Besides, I hang out here with you. Like, right now is a good example.” 

“Oh, please!” He said, stealing her turn-of-phrase. “You’re just here to make sure I study after doing my Press work.”

Cecile nodded, prim and proper before taking a drink of water. “And I’ll be here all night. Or, y’know, until I get bored.”

“Thanks. You’re the best.” Dead-pan. Their pitter-patter seemed pretty well-rehearsed, though to be honest this was the closest both of them had gotten to having an active rapport with each other. They knew each other’s foibles and quirks due to their living situation together, but it wasn’t until Cecile had been effectively grounded by her injuries that things changed. There was a sort of protective frost about her, even when they were alone together as friends in the dorm; it was practically like he was living with a bodyguard that was also his boss.

Now, though, they’d teased each other more than they’d ever had before. It was strange at first, but eventually it’d warmed up on the both of them. If it was just for the both of them to share in private, then Otis felt it was a secret well worth keeping. He had considered telling her about that feeling he’d had whilst keeping a look-out for her when she led Isen behind the bleachers for their chat. However, he put it to the side for now.

The presence had gotten onto his last nerve, and frankly telling her as much would have sparked a wider debate between them over what they should do about it. Either they were both going crazy, or someone was following them and running away before they were even spotted. He didn’t know which was true and which was one was not, but there was one thing he did understand: if he felt those eyes staring at him one more time, Otis was going to finally use his Ability and get a good look at that stalker once and for all.

The next day Cecile told her first-period teacher that she was going to head to meet with the Headmaster. Her teacher said that arrangements had already been made and that she was free to go. Vaughn’s office was at the top of the school building, with a rather spacious lobby for teachers, students, parents, all peoples corralled into their seats by his personal secretary. The balding gentleman who held that position ushered her in, announcing Cecile for his boss.

Vaughn remained as she’d remembered in: a middle-aged administrator with all the airs of a gentleman, sporting a fine-pressed suit, thin-rimmed glasses, and a teal wavy hair-expertly crafted goatee combo. Offering a hand towards the chair, he gave her a courteous nod. “Hello, Cecile. I hope you’re doing well today.”

Taking the seat, Cecile propped her cane up against the chair’s arm. “Thank you, sir, I am doing just fine today.” She looked around, admiring the neatness of which things were organized upon a rather lavish looking wooden desk. This was contrasted with the simplistic rugging for the floors, and that was contrasted by the awards upon the wall, the books in shelves around the room, and they defaulted by the cheap drapes. 

Vaughn’s office was a simplistic act of both poverty as well as extravagance, reflecting the man’s proscription to be an administrator of two faces: hands on when allowed, hands off when unfortunately expedient. It very much reflected what was probably his limitations as the assigned leader of this school, one filled with contradictions and limitations.

Suddenly from a small, flat machine on his desk came a familiar voice. “Hello, Cecile. Long time no see.” The machine fuzzed up his voice over the connection— a surprisingly bad one for such an office for a prestigious position.

“Doctor Ezwa!” She said a little bit louder to be sure that the good doctor could hear her well from there. “I hope everything’s going well?”

The machine belched static, sounding like the squeak of a chair turning then compressed by the phone. “Yes, everything’s fine. Thank you. I was discussing your case with the Headmaster, but only a brief overview for this conversation since he had not yet been debriefed on your condition since you were first brought to the hospital. I hope that was all right with you, as the patient?”

“Yes, of course that’s fine. You can tell him whatever you think he’ll need to know, I don’t mind. Whatever helps.”

Vaughn bowed his head a bit, smiling whilst putting his hands together on top of his desk. “Thank you, Cecile. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?” An affirmative nod from Cecile. “I would like for you to recall everything you can remember about what happened to you before and during the event, if that’s at all possible. Doctor Ezwa has told me, though, that you’ve been dealing with a bout of amnesia?”

She shifted a bit where she sat, subtly gripping her hands a bit in an uncomfortable reflex.“Yes, sir. And I still am experiencing that amnesia, unfortunately. But I’m glad to say that I now remember everything up to about a few days to a week before that event. Before now, I’d forgotten about a month or so of everything before my accident.”

Tilting himself forward a bit, Vaughn intermingled his fingers and pointed both index fingers up towards her, voice as steady as can be. “You call it an ‘accident’. Is that just a choice of word, or do you truly believe that it was an accident? Because the state you were brought to the nurse’s office suggests that it was an incident.”

Cecile tried to dismiss the interrogative. “It was just a poor choice of words, sir. I do believe that someone had attacked me, deliberately, and had left me—“ She swallowed a bit. Despite drinking plenty of water this morning to keep herself hydrated, merely talking clinically about what happened made her mouth run dry all of a sudden. “— Had left me in front of the nurse’s office like that.”

Either not noticing or not caring for her discomfort, Vaughn pressed on. “I had discussed that with the nurse at the time, who as you probably know by now was being overwhelmed with student injuries relating to unauthorized acts of assault. Namely, this ‘Joker’ phenomenon. He told me that it seemed odd that he couldn’t find anyone who would claim to have had accompanied you there. At that point you were unconscious and in absolutely no shape to move on your own. At the very least, no one who brought you there decided to stick around and make themselves known to any incoming traffic.” Putting his hands down on the desk completely now, he raised an eyebrow to her. “What do you believe happened there?”

“Personally, sir, I don’t think it matters much. If it was the perpetrator of the attack, then it was an equally gutless attempt at seeking mercy or forgiveness. And if it wasn’t them that had carried me to safety, they were either an uninvolved passerby, in which case they didn’t see anything of worth and aren’t worth thinking about— or they were an observer, meaning someone who saw the whole thing and did nothing. If they were that, then the fact that they did not come forward to provide an explanation about what happened suggests that they’re either a coward or a collaborator.”

Pleased with her line of thinking, Vaughn nodded and added on to it. “And in which case, they would more than likely carry that information with them out of respect for whoever the perpetrator is, or out of fear of being attacked as well.”

“Exactly. I’ve made some attempts to find out who they were, myself, but for the most part I’ve been trying to just catch up on school work due to—“ total loss of my Ability— “my injuries.” Her sudden stops were becoming too conspicuous for her liking, but what other choice did she have? Even rehearsing this in her head beforehand had been difficult. What could be said? What could she even afford to say? “Tell me, Headmaster; what has Doctor Ezwa told you about my current condition?”

Finally jumping on on a subject pertaining to him, Ezwa took over. “I provided him with a detailed description of your physical injuries as well as a brief over-view of your neurological injuries. Bones, memories, balancing, things of that nature.” Cecile felt something of great relief. He’d kept quiet about her Ability loss after all, even with an important figure of authority such as the Headmaster.

“Yes, thank you Doctor.” Vaughn said. “Do you have anything else to say on this matter, Cecile? You can always come back to me when you remember anything else, even if it’s not the complete picture just yet.”

“No, sir. But thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Vaugh nodded again, pushing his chair back a little bit to remove himself from the conversation a bit. “All right. Before we’re done here, though, there’s just one more thing. Doctor?”

Chiming back in, Ezwa took charge of the discussion. “Thank you, sir. Cecile, I’m afraid to say that this conversation wasn’t just about us getting your Headmaster up to speed on what’s happening with you. It seems that someone at the hospital left the door open to the refrigerator containing your blood samples.”

“That’s terrible.” She said, but with some more alarm in her now, Cecile leaned forward, “What does that mean for me?”

Speaking up before she could further elaborate her questions, Ezwa helped her rest assured. “In light of the particularities of your case as well as the pressing need for further tests to monitor your condition, I’ve asked for and received special approval from the hospital board to re-take your blood samples and file them under your last appointment time. There will be no extra charge to your parents’ insurance, and you won’t even have to leave campus; Headmaster Vaughn has graciously approved my proposal to have one of our specialists meet you in your school’s infirmary. Say, tomorrow at 12?”

She blinked, it was all rather a whirlwind. Samples were lost, but now there was already a plan in place to get some more from her. Cecile had become rather exhausted with the battery of tests and sample-taking of various mediums they’d done in her time at the hospital. But if they really needed her to cooperate to keep that avenue of information open, then she didn’t see why not. “All right, sure. Tomorrow will be fine. Thank you, Doctor Ezwa.” 

He then told her what he needed her to do for tomorrow, namely ‘remember to eat well that morning and drink plenty of liquids’. The doctor then bade his goodbyes again, thanking her for understanding before hanging up the phone and ending the call.

Satisfied, Vaughn gave her a new note to excuse herself from class at 12 tomorrow, and then politely but promptly dismissed her.

Pocketing the note, Cecile picked up the cane and looked to make her leave of his office. Stopping in place, she realized that she was right now standing in the office of the person in charge of the entire school. Duties or not, restrictions or not, she felt almost obligated by the general feeling of resentment, sadness, anger and hate to at least say something to him. “Sir?”

“Hm?” Vaughn responded, looking up from a paper he’d picked up off his desk.

“I don’t work for the paper anymore so you don’t really need to think of this as being ‘on the record’ or ‘off the record’ with me, but I want to know something. If that’s all right?”

Putting the paper back down, he sat back in his chair and thought about it. “Go ahead.”

Turning back to face him completely, she rested herself upon her cane as she attempted to elucidate her point. “Well, sir, I just want to know if you’ve been doing anything at all about what’s going on with these Jokers running around. A lot of students have been hurt already, and plenty more are too scared to even walk around without other people with them. It feels strange coming back to a school like this, where it seems everything’s changed for the worse somehow while I was gone.”

“It is true that there has been a rash of fights lately, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary for a school such as ours. Keene, whom is head of security, and I have attempted to clamp down on these incidences. At the very least, I would like to think we’ve made headway in that department.”

Taken aback, she pressed him. “’Headway’, sir? People are hiding behind masks and ambushing other students. I apologize if this is out of line, but it almost sounds like you’re allowing a culture of vigilantism here.”

“Hardly.” He said immediately with absolute terseness, obviously in response to her assertion. “It is merely a new spin on the age-old status quo that has been a part of the school since its founding, just as it has been in any other school, institution, or place in our society: the fight to assume a new role within the Hierarchy.”

Continuing, he explained himself when he saw she was still confused. Confused, and perhaps visibly revolted.  “My power as a Headmaster isn’t infinite. That’s become pretty obvious to anyone now. It’s my job to ensure the continued overall health and safety of students, but that’s entirely within limitations. When students decide to become a Joker, they’re effectively trying to move up in the Hierarchy by any means— it’s duplicitous, it’s caused a lot of injuries, but it’s not exactly out of line with society, either.”

“And people are okay with it turning out like this? Like, our parents are just fine with a bunch of masked-up goons running around doing whatever they want?” Cecile asked.

“This is a private school, Cecile. I answer not just to the Authorities but also to the benefactors of this school, whom are rich and who are also plentiful, that choose to send their children here to learn as well as to grow within the Hierarchy. When word spread about the original Joker, John, back when he was just fighting the Royals there was a stir amongst the school’s providers. However, when being this Joker persona became popularized after he assumed the role of King within that very hierarchical system, all those parents had their answer. No matter how much he talked about ‘destroying the Hierarchy’, the system was still in place. In flux, yes, but still in place.”

Cecile brought that train of thought to its logical conclusion. “So that means so long as the Hierarchy remains in place in one form or another, everything’s going fine, according to them. Policy-wise, and everything’s still considered ‘okay’, even when it’s clearly not.”

Vaughn bowed his head a little bit, seeming all the more tired. It was as if he was expressing a deep, heavy burden ad been weighing upon his mind for a while now. “So long as Keene and I keep injuries, disruptions to education, and other factors of this new-found ‘tool for advancement’ to a minimum, then yes. And even then, some parents have expressed to me that they approve of Joker fighting, if not as practice, then as…” He sighed, putting a hand up to rub his eyes beneath his glasses before continuing. “… renewed survival of the fittest.”

So if you decided to go beat someone up to make a name for yourself, it was fine even if you did it using the moniker and the disguise of a mad man. It was considered ‘all right’ and ‘perfectly normal’ for you to abuse your power, to shove a student into a wall and then roll him along the floor for your own amusement. To assert yourself over them, even if it meant humiliating a defenseless younger student.

Cecile was thinking back to that one student she saw on her first day back, being brutalized by a Joker. The one that Blyke came to rescue, but was only useful in picking him up and bringing him to the nurse’s office. What was his name, that boy?

It occurred to her now that he hadn’t said it, thought he did leave her with that stunning look of fear in his eyes. But it wasn’t when she overheard him talking with Blyke. Rather, it was during the ‘fight’, when the Joker had thrown him about with their air-related Ability. She’d looked into his eyes and saw terror manifest whilst he was still on the ground, looking up just before being hit again while he was still lying down.

She saw someone put the fear of death into the eyes of that young boy. And all she did was observe and muse to herself, like she was watching a spectacle a hundred miles away.

He was looking in vain for someone, anyone to help him. Maybe even her. There was, perhaps, a little look of realization in his eyes when he saw her in person. Was he hoping that she would save him? Even with everything that he must’ve heard about her, everything that he must’ve known about high tiers and elite tiers, all that he had experienced at Wellston? To hope for help from someone who wouldn’t have even acknowledged him back when she had her Ability to begin with, only for him to be crushed like that in the face of indifferent regard?

And all for what? What was gained from all of this senselessness?

This was a new context that she had not given herself adequate time to consider. Even as she left that office, it was still rocking within her brain about how the school’s Hierarchy operated just as the Hierarchy of their society did. She took willing advantage of it using her own power and Ability, much like everyone else did at the school, and just as everyone else did beyond the walls of Wellston to get ahead.

Even people like her parents.

Rich, poor, immensely powerful or pitifully weak.

Kings, tyrants, CEOs, beggars, workers, cripples. It was all relative, whether you had a report card to show your mom and dad or not.

To be honest, this arrangement had served her well up to this point. And it did the same for the Royals; where would Isen, Remi, or Blyke be if they weren’t as powerful or as connected to each other or to even just relatively well-off families as they had been? Arlo, of course, would have done just fine for himself based just on his family ties alone. Neither one of them, nor her, were crying out for anything except for more for themselves, whether any of them would admit to it now or not.

But what of John Doe, for example? A more powerful force coming from out of the ether, trying to suddenly up-end all of that and making enemies of all of them, turning oppressors into oppressed out of thin air. But after all of that, after all the threats to turn everything on its head, had anything really changed with them, with him?

With her?

A boy with all the power of a god-tier did everything he could to tear down and crush the Hierarchy, and all he managed to get done was give it a new method of motivation. It survived, it thrived, and now it was reordering things once again. If she still had her power and nothing had changed for her, then she could definitely have seen herself taking advantage. It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up, after all.

Now that she didn’t have an Ability anymore, though, that left her on the outside looking in. Her privilege based now only in name, but to a family that had effectively abandoned her after she was no longer one of the ‘fittest’.

Stopping by a window in a hall that rolled around this floor of the school, she looked to nature outside for something. Anything at all. To the trees, the grass, the bushes and the white pillowy clouds above, they were all indifferent to the plights and plots of servants and masters, the grand schemes for great golden thrones or mere morsels of bread. People came and went, but nature remained— and after King John had come and seemingly gone, so too remained the Hierarchy.

She just didn’t know how to feel about it anymore. The school, the Hierarchy, or even herself. It was a sad, lonely malaise; one that cried out for an answer, but felt as if it were in a tongue that she just didn’t know how to speak. The language of the unsure and the uncertain, upon the precipice of an unknown.

Chapter Text

It was just an hour before school was going to start, and Cecile had already gotten herself fed, dressed, and ready to go. On the other hand, her dorm-mate Otis had pulled an all-nighter again. She found him sleeping at his desk underneath his still-lit lamp, the light gone out on his laptop screen as he snored with his mouth open.

On one hand he definitely needed his sleep; just as she expected he’d do, Otis had thrown himself into his work at her insistence. Press Club, studying, homework, sleep a few hours in between and then repeat was his new routine. But of course she knew that on the other hand all that effort would be wasted if she didn’t wake him up when he needed it, his health unfortunately be damned. Cecile shook him on the shoulder, waking him from his slumber.

Blinking before rubbing his face and head, Otis tried assuaging an early-morning headache that came with the territory of poor sleep before looking up at his stirrer. “H’y.” He grumbled, consonants being crumpled up in his dried-out cotton-mouth. “Wha’s ‘p?”

Letting his shoulder go, Cecile gave him a bit of a nod up toward the door. “School’s gonna begin in an hour. Time to get up.”

The sleepy boy eventually dragged himself about their dorm room, getting showered and dressed while Cecile settled down near the front door. When he emerged from the bathroom fumbling with his tie it was her turn to be woken up. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Cecile attempted to will herself to stay awake.

It wasn’t the fact that she was trying to catch up on her own schoolwork— without having the daily administrative duties that come with leading the Wellston Weekly, she had a surplus of time. Instead it was something far less tangible: the nightmares.

Her first nightmare came to her several days ago— it was the one about being lost in the school, then coming to a great abyss that threatened to swallow her up. And the two orbs, those great glowing golden spheres that tore through the darkness and into her very soul. This constantly repeating terror remained rattling around her head and ruining her ability to dream, to sleep peacefully every other day now.

The jolt always came when she felt herself being choked by this great, unknown force, and it was always at the end of the hallucination. As her last breath seemed to escape her lips in the nightmare adrenaline would once again flood into her actual body, leaving her waking up in breathless panic and just about ready to scream. Every time this nightmare happened, she woke up sweating like she ran a mile.

And she did not dare go back to sleep again, lest that monster from the depths dared be waiting for her in her subconscious once more. Meeting it once was enough for a night. So to take her mind off these crazed delusions she was having, Cecile took it upon herself to just wake herself up and continue where she’d left off before going to bed. That mostly meant catch-up schoolwork packets and homework she’d missed during her month-long hospital stay. To be honest if it weren’t the price she was slowly paying on her health she could almost appreciate the extra time she had on her hands.

It wasn’t just her obligations to school that she took care of, too. When she stirred awake today, she went about putting some last finishing touches on what she needed to show Isen; namely the procedures they’d need to follow for her rehabilitation. They were mostly exercises for her legs, but she also felt obligated to tackle some of the ones concerning memory as well if they found the time.

Ripping out a big yawn while picking out his breakfast from the fridge, Otis tried to make small talk to keep himself from dropping to the floor out of exhaustion right then and there. It wasn’t much of a chat, but Cecile helped him along nonetheless.

The morning routine done and over with, the day could finally begin. Otis and Cecile headed down the elevator together, him looking extremely conspicuous amongst an elevator full of girls. Even though a couple of the girls in the dorm had been jealous of Cecile’s little privilege letting Otis stay in a girls-only dorm building no one said anything. Perhaps it was because of the fact that Otis kept to himself and was always with Cecile the entire time. Maybe the word got around about what had happened to him at the boys’ dorm, and they were showing a little bit of solidarity for him in this safe space.

Or maybe they just feared the repercussions of saying anything about it. Cecile kept her friends closer and her enemies closer. Either way, she was happy to let them dwell on which side of the fence they wanted to be on.

Her morning classes went by in a breeze, the day’s work being lighter than normal and take-home assignments being just as scarce and in between. Cecile was definitely pleased; the gap was closing and there was light at the end of this tunnel of homework.

With Headmaster Vaughn’s note in hand Cecile was excused to go to the nurse’s office a few minutes before 12. She’d eaten extra, drank some more water, just as Doctor Ezwa’d advised. With everyone else out of the hallway because all the classes were still in session, Cecile found the walk over there to be rather pleasant, actually. The sound of her own footsteps became pleasing to hear and she no longer had to move herself faster on her cane to out-pace any potential threats lurking around the corners or in a crowd.

Cecile thought of how the last time she’d been in the nurses’ office, she’d been rendered almost completely unconscious. Some bare scraps of that time seemed to come back to her, but these were probably just lucid guessing on her part with memories of her first visit— when she was attacked by John as the Joker as a part of their plan— mixed in to fill the gaps.

At least I’m getting there on my own now. She contemplated with no-too-little bitterness.

Everyone in the school knew exactly where the nurses’ office was. Whether it was from low-tiers having bad run-ins with higher tiers or the top players of the school going to war with each other, the nurses’ office became very familiar very quickly for Wellston students.

Something was odd, though. When Cecile arrived, the office door was not just closed but locked. “What?” She reflexively said to herself as she tried the handle again, but nothing doing. Solid like a rock, done from the inside.

Leaning up against the wall so she could palm off her cane to her non-dominant hand, Cecile got her phone out and checked the time: ‘11:58 A.M.’. It wasn’t like she was super early or super late; this whole thing couldn’t start without her or the room, and here she promptly was. So what gives, exactly?

Turning around to knock on the door, Cecile stopped just before her fist met the red-painted wood when she heard a muffled sound from within. A voice? Who on Earth would or could possibly tie up the office like this? Doc would scare anyone away in no time. His bedside manners were infamous amongst the student-body for being somewhere between horrifying and absolutely traumatizing. His results as a doctor spoke for themselves, but his personal skills begged something to be desired.

Making sure no one was looking at her trying to eavesdrop on the door, Cecile put her head to the door to hear what Doc could’ve possibly been talking about. If it was serious enough, she would’ve just cosigned putting this whole thing on ice for now and wait for Ezwa or Vaughn to give her a new appointment time.

Right as she was prepared to leave, though, the door let out a click and a shudder before it opened just a little bit. Sneaking out between the little space offered by the jimmy was a rather tall boy. He had bismarck-colored hair that went down well below his ears from the side of his face all the way to the back, with a single little hair antenna pointing up in the middle of the front where his hair parted.

With some of the other people in her life it took her some time to put together who they were, what they wanted, what they meant to her after her brain injury. It took her no time to remember who this one was, though; all her memories of this little cockroach were recent, and all of them were either pathetic or revolting.

It was John’s other lieutenant besides her, Zeke.

He wasn’t looking as he was leaving, instead being so focused on something going on inside; when he saw her so close to the door, though, he almost jumped out of his skin. “Whoa!” He yelled, his voice going up a pitch in surprise.

Cecile didn’t blink, though; she stood her ground and stared right through this clown, despite her memories of his proclivities for cruelty. When you stripped him right down to it, he was just like any other high-tier or elite-tier she’s dealt with: all brawn, no brain, all brutality. And last time she checked, he was still almost a full point below her in terms of power. She’d gotten used to bluffing dangerous buffoons like him by now, or so Cecile hoped. “Zeke.”

Gathering himself up and recovering from how his voice had cracked there a bit, Zeke engaged in his typical show of bluster. It was as bad as it ever had been before. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Cecile! So glad you’re back, I was starting to miss you!” His green eyes looked downwards, and a flicker of laughter danced through them as his face warped into a smug grin when she still said nothing to him. The thrill of sadism. “What’cha doing here? You don’t look sick— well, any more than usual. Nice stick, grandma.”

A sarcastic laugh escaped her. “Hah. Hah.” And thus Cecile cracked; his mouth was like a loose faucet letting a sink flow over with stupid inanity, she just couldn’t ignore it any longer. “None of your business. Now out of my way.”

Chuckling, Zeke let off a big shrug and stepped a bit over to the side. “Aw, c’mon, we oughta stick together! Things are getting crazy out there, and us elites gotta stick together without John around anymore.”
“And his freaky Joker groupies running around, doing his dirty work you mean.”

“Most of them won’t bother actual people like us, you know that and I know that.” Sensing Cecile’s patience had run thinner than the silver lining keeping her on the bright side of even holding this conversation, he bowed himself out of the conversation. “My offer’s always open, Cecile. I’ll catch you later!”

Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out, loser. With her contemptible former ally now going his own way, Cecile opened the door and walked herself right in to see Doc about her appointment.

But much to her surprise there was no Doc. The sour-spirited and run-down man with short, messy blue hair and a near-permanent five-o’clock-shadow on his chin wasn’t the person sitting at the desk positioned now in the corner of the room. Rather, it was a woman that Cecile was absolutely sure she’d never met before. She was of average height with long, light brown if not tan-colored hair with red-orange eyes, and offered a small smile for Cecile when she saw her enter. “Hello, how can I help you?” The woman’s voice naturally cracked; scratchy, but not from a smoker’s cross to bear.

Putting aside the fact that the school’s good, old Doc was now apparently gone, Cecile got straight down to business with her. “I’m Cecile, and I’m here for a 12 o’clock blood appointment with a staff-member from—“

“Oh!” The woman said with excitement, looking around her desk for a piece of paper. “That’s right; the Headmaster said you’d be around my office right about now! And a-hah, here it is. We’re waiting for someone to come from your hospital. I’m sure they’ll be here any second now. Please, feel free to sit down anywhere you want while you wait.”

“Thank you, Miss?” Cecile inquired the doctor as she sat herself down on one of the four laid-out patient beds available with privacy curtains.

The nurse put a hand to the center of her chest. “I’m Miss Lolola, I’m your school’s new nurse. Pleasure to meet you!”

“And the same with you, ma’am.”

From the hallway came a few hurried heavy steps, and into the office came someone wearing a uniform Cecile immediately identified as being a nurse’s outfit from the hospital. It was a young-ish bald gentleman with a green-haired mustache, carrying a hefty-looking box with him as he seemed out of breath. “Hi! Hello, everyone! Sorry for being so late; the ambulance got stopped by school security, it took us a little bit to verify who we were.”

Nurse Lolola gave a polite little nod, getting up and walking over to her harried colleague from another institution. “That’s quite all right, you’re only a few seconds late at worst. Now, according to the Headmaster as well as the hospital I’ll be observing you in case you need any help, but I will also be acting as a professional witness.”

The man nodded, hefting up the box just a bit more as he nodded in compliance. “Thank you so much for taking the time to witness for us as well as observing, I appreciate it.” Turning to his new patient, the nurse gave her a nod as well. “I can only assume you’re the patient?” Cecile confirmed as much for him, which relieved the nurse. “Awesome! Now, don’t worry about my name; it’s not too important at all. What is is getting your samples back to your doctor safe and sound.”

Placing the case gently onto a table right next to the bed Cecile was on, the nurse opened it up and revealed that it was segmented; one part of it, the top-half, was built like a toolkit. Sterilized syringe needles, an electronic under-tongue thermometer, and other various doodads that fit into little dips that formed up beds for them in the case. Whatever lay beneath wasn’t clear to her yet, but it was bound to also be as interesting.

He asked her if Cecile would prefer laying back in the bed or would like to sit up. Picking the latter, Cecile sat up straight and took off her jacket so that she could roll up the sleeves of her plain white uniform shirt. With that settled, the nurse clapped his hands together once and rubbed them together, eagerness in full swing. “Well, let’s get started!”

Isen and Blyke, earlier that morning, were walking into the school together along with all the other male students ready to start their day with vim and vinegar. This was the only time they had to hang out with each other after what happened between Remi and Isen; Blyke himself didn’t understand why Isen said what he said, but he also didn’t understand why Remi had taken it so hard and this far.

But it wasn’t his place to understand, though. Hell or high water he’d get his best friends to make up and bring the Golden Trio back together again. It was at the top of his list, along with ‘Save The School’ and ‘Change The World’.

And kicking John Doe’s ass. That was up there, too.

Right now, though, it seemed like Isen was the one who deserved a bit of a roughing-up of his own. A noogie, a good shake at the collar, or even a small but firm clap upside the head, Blyke figured. His friend had run out on him once, when John and Seraphina duked it out and never said where he was going or when he was coming back. As it turned out, according to someone who’d mistaken Isen for going to Blyke’s dorm, he’d returned at almost 10 o’clock at night.

Writing it off as Isen getting hooked into a date that went no where— obviously it was an awful dud or some kind of ghosting situation, since Isen spoke not word-one of it the next day— Blyke moved on. But then, it happened again more than a month later! Going into the bathroom to take care of something while they were walking to one of their classes, Isen suddenly ran in too and said “I gotta go! I’ll be back! See you in class!” and stuff like that.

Blyke came out of the bathroom, and who else would he see walking away with Isen than Cecile! Not only had she made herself at home in the Safe House with Remi, but now she was hanging out with Isen, too? It totally reeked to him, but when Blyke waited for Isen to report back about what happened there was nothing on his mind. A little bit of a goofy little grin now and again, but nothing out of the ordinary.

To be perfectly honest Blyke was half-expecting to see Isen come in with all his money stolen, and Cecile being revealed to have been recently anointed as a certified wallet inspector. When it came to girls of any kind his friend unfortunately didn’t think straight, without exception. It’d taken Isen a few months at first to get used to being around Remi and not acting like a dumbass.

This was potentially a big development, but Blyke hadn’t told Remi of what he’d seen just yet. Right now he wanted to poke at his friend a bit, see what shook loose. “Hey, dude.” His friend didn’t say a word, so Blyke with some frustration raised the volume a bit and yelled, “Yo, dude!”

That did the trick; the phone fumbled and Isen caught it in his hands, and his face blanked after realizing that Blyke was staring at him the entire time. “Y- Yeah? What? What’s up?” He said, putting his phone away real quick.

“I wanted to know what’s up with you. How’ve you been lately?” Blyke realized he wasn’t exactly the brains of their friend group. But if he really was the guy who metaphorically used a hammer to solve all his problems, at the very least he’d twist the head around and use the pointy ends on the back and pry this thing open.

Relaxing a bit, Isen rubbed the back of his head and tried to laugh it off. “Oh, you know, getting my butt handed to me by most of my classes again. Gonna be a rough time for me if I don’t shape up like I did in 2nd year!”

“To be fair, Isen, nothing could possibly be worse than your first year here. Your mom literally will not allow you to do a repeat on that mess.” Blyke said, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets as he tilted his head back in a casual pose.

That bad memory definitely made him groan a bit. “Yeah, she’d kill me for sure.” Isen said, looking rather despondent thinking about his own prospects. “How’s about you? How are you doing?”

Isen blanched when he saw the look on Blyke’s face; one of absolute despondency. “Yeah, I don’t wanna talk about it…” The red-head already wasn’t the best scorer in his grade, but now he was dealing with a thousand different crises on his plate. If he wasn’t chasing down Jokers he was guarding the Safe House whilst he was also trying to cram for classes. When he got back to the dorms at night he tried to continue his studies, and depending on if he was in a fight or not he was usually too tired to do it.

But Remi needed his help, and that’s what mattered more to him. By a long shot.

As if Isen had read his mind, his friend awkwardly tried to shift the subject off of Blyke’s academic misachievements and onto her. “So, uh, how’s Remi doing? Y’know, not just grades but in general?”

“A little bit better. Since I’m the one running around the school most of the time now, Remi’s got lots more time to get work done at the Safe House.” Blyke cleared his throat a bit, looking at Isen with a side-eye. “And she’s doing okay, y’know, overall. Considering everything that’s been going on.”

“Yeah…” Isen became a bit crestfallen. “I dunno. I just…”

It became obvious pretty quickly that Remi and him was still a sensitive subject for Isen. Trying to change topics again, Blyke gambled on springing the question he’d been wanting to ask before they got through the door to Wellston. “Don’t worry, man. Everything’s fixable. You two, my grades, her grades— hell maybe even your grades! All of that just needs is time, some space, and maybe even a tutor…” Blyke had pulled the door open for Isen, but then he turned around and pushed the door back into place. “… like, I dunno, Cecile?”

Nearly choking on his own spit in sheer astonishment, Isen coughed twice before putting his hands up between him and Blyke, trying to smile the whole thing off and failing. “W- What do you mean? I, uh, you, uh, saw us?”

Blyke leaned his back up against the door, crossing his arms in contempt. “Well I dunno, Isen, what does ‘us’ mean? I saw you two going outside together when you ditched me. I didn’t follow you out there, but damn man. What’ve you gotten yourself into? I mean, Cecile? Really?”

“It’s nothing bad, Blyke, don’t worry about it! I’m not getting myself into anything serious, she just asked for my help!”

“Hold on: you’re saying Cecile came up to you, and asked you for your help, and you actually gave it to her? Like, did no alarm bells go off in your head?”

“No! I mean, yeah, sure, but didn’t you guys also help her out, too? You let her into the Safe House.” Isen pointed out, his voice growing more and more defensive.

Narrowing his eyebrows, Blyke’s voice grew dour as he discounted his point. “Remi let her into the Safe House. I made it clear that I wouldn’t have a say on letting anyone into the Safe House from the very beginning, because that’s not my job. All of you had a better grasp on that kind of stuff than I do. But if I was there, like hell would I have let that snake walk through the door, nevermind hanging around.”

“Dude, c’mon.” Isen reasoned, trying to stop feeling so weirdly agitated over this all of a sudden. “She got hurt by someone or something. It was really bad, and now she’s all alone. If it were you or me getting hurt like that and ended up on our own, I’d want someone to come help us, no matter how much of a bunch of dicks we were before.”

There you go again, saying we were somehow the bad guys.” Blyke sighed, rubbing his forehead to stem the growing headache.

I never said that! Okay?! I just said—”

Blyke cut him off, though. “—and it doesn’t matter how hurt she got, dude, she could still kick your ass with one hand tied behind her back. Don’t forget she’s more powerful than you, and especially don’t forget that she’ll try to mess with you.”

Fine, fine, fine! Whatever, okay, Blyke?!” Isen almost yelled, but reeled himself back a bit. “Just— don’t worry about me, we’re just hanging out, is all. You’ve been working really hard on making the Safe House work, even now, and I dunno, I’ve… gotten a bit lonely, dude. But she gave me a good deal: she’ll hang out with me when you’re busy, and I’m going to be helping her with her leg thing. Injury therapy, however you wanna call it.”

Hearing that come out of his friend’s mouth made Blyke put this whole interaction into a different perspective: it was a frustrating fact to face, but the Safe House and the rift that formed between Remi and Isen over their opinion on the role and cause of it had left Isen out in the cold. 

Blyke sort of got that already, but it was different to think in real terms about how much less they hung out now. The morning walk to class like they were now, some moments in their shared classes throughout the day, and the end of the day when they were heading back to their dorm. Beforehand they were practically inseparable, but these days they were basically turning into casual strangers without those little moments between them.

It wasn’t fair to Isen to go through this kind of thing on his own. Even if things got patched up sooner rather than later, it was still not right to expect Isen to do it without having someone to hang out with most of the time. And as much as Blyke hated it, those two did have some sort of history together and could find things to chat about. It wasn’t a good one, but at least it was enough of a reason to let this thing lie for now.

Sharing the same kind of disengaging sigh as Isen did, Blyke conceded the battle. “All right. But if you need me to help you get out of it or you think she’s trying to screw you over— like, to get the Press Club back or whatever she really wants, you let me know. All right?” Closing the distance between them, Blyke put his hand on Isen’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back.”

Seeing his friend actual give some ground on what Isen wanted to do really picked him back up. “Thanks, Blyke.” An idea came into Isen’s head and he put his hand onto Blyke’s shoulder, mirroring him exactly.

I’ve got your back, too.”

Silence.

“I made it awkward, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Yeah you did.”

Isen and Blyke spoke absolutely straight-faced, but they both got the joke and began to laugh amongst themselves. Opening the door at last, Blyke shot one more question out, this one being wrung free from the queue of socialization topics he had up his sleeve. “By the way, you excited for Hellden Bring?”

“You bet!” Isen said, his eyes practically glowing in delight. “When is it coming out, like a month from now, right?!”

“A few weeks but hell yeah. It’s soon!” Blyke was just as stoked; they’d been waiting for this game forever. Actually, literally, unironically forever and they were ready to play it day one.

“Yes, holy shit, I cannot wait. We’ve gotta play it when it comes out, right?!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think of something. Now c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” Although nothing really got settled here besides a new idea of boundaries to consider and renewed interest in a game, at the very least they got to feel a little bit of that old magic coming back. That stupid, brotherly magic they’d shared ever since they got to this school.

The hospital nurse had finished up taking several vials of new blood from Cecile, wrapping up the arm they’d punctured with gauze wrapped around itself a few times. Opening up the case again, it turned out that this veritable medical briefcase really did have a secret compartment aside from the part that held the tools. On the other side of it was what she could only describe as a ‘mini-cooler’. 

This thing was a small, square compartment space designed to hold and preserve the blood samples she’d just given for the ride back to the hospital. The nurse explained that there was a limited amount of coolant in the contraption, so he had to leave as soon as possible. Thanking both of them for their time, he did just that and went running down the hallway for the exit.

Right past Zeke, who had stuck around just a little bit in the distance to see if something played out. Sure, he was cutting class, but he had his own little note excusing him; it’s how he got to the nurses’ office to begin with.

That offer to work together with Cecile was just pure bait to see how sad she’d gotten lately. Much to his dueling disappointment as well as his delight, she didn’t take it at all. Still as much of a control-freak as she’d always been, and that was the best part of what was going to happen here soon.

When John rose up the ladder he ransacked the school’s power structure, put himself into the driver’s seat of the Hierarchy after punting the Royals from their perches and drove that thing right into a tree at full speed. Everyone was hurt, everyone was exhausted, and now both groups stayed in their own camps and either didn’t bother to put things back together or didn’t have the muscle to do it.

Which was just fine by him.

Picking on John and then getting the absolute shit kicked out of him by that black-haired super-powered mutant was the best thing that could have ever happened to Zeke. He was one of the strongest guys the school thanks to his level of 4.2 and his Phase Shift ability, but his elite-tier status might as well have been a tickle to a god tier like John.

And he got thrashed. Absolute demolished and turned into a punching bag for whatever messed-up thoughts John had at that particular moment. It wasn’t even close, and John got his payback for the brief period of time where Zeke got one up on him when he was still play-acting a weakling.

You try to pull rank in the Hierarchy on a god-tier like Seraphina who got turned into a cripple and her cripple friend and suddenly you’re the bad guy. Two of your buddies and you try to beat down that very same cripple friend to prove they’re not that mysterious ‘Shadow King’ and you get your ass kicked.

Is there no justice in this world anymore? Even for a lowly little guy like Zeke?

Maybe there was, albeit one with a sense of humor just as twisted as his. It really was a good joke, and he reflected upon it all the time: after punching John up a few times, Zeke got it returned in spades by this hidden god tier with the power to copy other peoples’ abilities. And after seeing Zeke fight a few times, it turned out that bygones really could be bygones. Just like that, Seraphina was out of the picture, and along came Zeke.

It was a fuckin’ blast. That was the only thing he could say about it, from start to finish. Sure, he was just kept around as a spare battery for John to steal power from, but it meant that he was no longer stuck with two weaklings like Julien and Mardin. Now he was running with the big-leagues. A god tier was keeping him around— something Arlo and Seraphina would never, ever do— and it even placed him on the same level as Cecile.

A King, a former Queen, both going out and stirring shit up and lil’ ol’ Zeke was along for the ride.

Still, it really sucked when all that came to an end. No more bullying anyone he wanted anymore, no more watching John kick the crap out of anyone that crossed him and by extension Zeke, and it meant that it was back to bullying at the dorms with his two former lackeys. The Royals were going to put themselves back in charge under their total bullshit ruse for a club, Seraphina would be their doomsday weapon to keep everyone else in line, and even those weirdo Jokers were going to go extinct. All fun had to come to an end eventually.

Or did it?

The Jokers did start getting picked off one-by-one and the old faces of the Hierarchy started resuming their old roles and privileges, but it barely lasted before cracks began to form. It must’ve been pure chaos at the center of it all, because if even a guy with zero pull like Zeke could notice things going off the rails it couldn’t have been good.

John had come back from his suspension, but was basically an illusion now. No big, bad King looking for payback like Zeke’d hoped. Rather, he actually managed to steal Seraphina away from the Royals’ “Safe House” gang and they ran off to wherever they hid half the time. After that, the only people he saw at that sham was Blyke and Remi.

Just two high tiers remaining. A bunch of Jokers still hanging around, and even some more on the way. Not just those stupid low-tiers ambushing folks, but real people like mid-tiers and high-tiers that made up the school’s high-crust nobility were on the same wavelength as him. All of them becoming Jokers to get an edge, all of them pissed, and all of them wanting to bring the Hierarchy back to its full, exploitative glory. But just as there was no King, there was nothing to stop them. 

It was a power vacuum begging to be filled by anyone with the cunning, the power, the skill, whatever it took to see the opportunities available here. And there was just one thing on Zeke’s mind now, something that told him that it was time to get up to the big leagues on his own merit:

I can work with this.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first argument to break out at the Press Club daily briefing, but it definitely was the one that made Isen think that the reporters were actually going to get into a fight. And it was over the topic of Blyke, his best friend of all people!

The club itself had been expertly navigated into an ingrained part of student life and class scheduling thanks to Cecile’s status as Queen during her time as its leader. When Isen assumed the role after Arlo had deposed her, and then again when she was sent to the hospital over a month ago, he couldn’t help but admire it all.

Student reporters and other personnel could get themselves out of class with a get-out-of-jail-free card predicated on them maintaining a certain grade-point average. This let the club meet at virtually any time in a room previously closed off for perpetual repairs that never seemed to come until Cecile had procured it from school administration. 

Otherwise, the club constantly flowed in and out of different empty rooms after school like any other one did. Before it was a fleeting little get-together of meek, awkward students and gossip sharks to write up paltry zines, but when Cecile was in charge the Press Club became a full-fledged institution.

If he wasn’t leading the club at the moment, he would’ve been stuck in his Literature and Writing class practically snoring through the lesson. It was his best class for obvious reasons and his only one where he maintained a high grade, so he was more than happy to schedule mid-day Press Club meetings then. If he was going to sail through this one class, then he might as well use it wisely.

And at the beginning, it seemed that the meetings would continue on as orderly as they were when Cecile was leading them. It was great! He could just sit back and everyone would go about as they should, bringing up topics for him to approve or disapprove; they’d go one at a time and update him on their different assignments, and then Otis as the guy who managed the physical shape of the newspaper would cap it off by reminding everyone about due dates he’d need their finished work by or any change in word counts.

These days, though, things were starting to get out of control. First it was mild back-chat between reporters that disagreed on a subject or were bitter one of them got a scoop over the other. Then, that quiet resentment morphed into a pervading cloud of hostility that roiled through again and again. He tried putting his foot down with the reporters or other club members that got involved, and at first it seemed to do the trick, but now his injunctions just served as a pause button rather than a full stop.

He’d given thought to ejecting the worst troublemakers, but the problem had long since escalated to different people chiding, backbiting, and otherwise causing drama with each other. It had no beginning or end; some days nothing happened, and other days the bickering started back up as if the days in between never happened.

One journalist, a low-tier with dark purple hair tied back in a little pony-tail, had stood up and said that they should start doing positive coverage of Blyke and the Safe House. Their reasoning, when they managed to get it out after being interrupted by a couple grumbles, was that with all the bad news lately it’d pick people back up to hear about how Blyke was fighting the Jokers.

Without even having time to shelve that idea out of the interest of not starting debate, Isen was interrupted by a mid-tier standing up to accuse the low-tier of trying to curry favoritism with him.

The low-tier pushed back, denying that they were trying to be a suck-up, saying that Isen was irrelevant to their decision to push for this idea. Rather, it was because not even two months ago they were publishing Joker news sensationalizing a student masking up as a ‘Shadow King’. It was up to them to try and put the genie back into the bottle, so to speak, and help out the Safe House with some good press. The current state of that moribund club was not lost on anyone, least of it all its former or hidden supporters.

A couple people agreed with at least the framework of the idea, if not outright the substance of it. But there was also a clear and present bias of support, which was from mostly low-tiers and low mid-tiers all of whom who held sympathies with Blyke, Remi, and the promise the Safe House had. The fissure had suddenly formed an opposing faction of mid-tiers and even low-tiers that supported the status quo, with some of them accusing the first reporter of being an ‘activist’ of all things.

Shooting a look to Otis, his only real collaborator in the club, he got returned a similar look of concern. Things were getting out of hand quick, but neither one of them thought they had the wherewithal to bring things under control if they had to.

Without delay, the raised voices and hostile body language being thrown about by both sides that’d spontaneously formed in this otherwise peaceful assembly proved that they would need to. Both of the first two reporters who had started the chaos were about to start an altercation between them, being egged on by the rhetoric of the crowd— “Blyke is the only one doing anything about this mess! We need to do something!” and “Why’re you complaining now?! It’s always been like this! Everything’s fine, stop being a baby!” were the two prominent feelings on display boiled down to it.

Both reporters had activated their Abilities and had long since locked eyes, closing the distance to barely few inches to get ready for a fight, so neither one of them nor their supporters had noticed Isen stand up and activate his own. His Ability, Hunter, made him move faster, react quicker, and above all become stronger than normal. 

It wasn’t much of a weapon when he used it, but at the very least Hunter’s capability letting him lock onto people’s heartbeats made it easier for him to catch both reporters by the shoulders annd move them apart just in time. The sudden intrusion into their would-be duel surprised both of them, who had probably written off Isen a long time ago in their mind as being a factor for this showdown.

Looking at both of these students— kids, just kids with big emotions and shorter tempers— about to go for each others’ throats over something they could’ve just privately debated with Isen, it was obvious now that the school’s rot had spread. Even here, a previously august and orderly place where things had their place. It was supposed to be somewhere where people could go to either Isen or Otis with any concerns or ideas and get them sorted out. Now it was threatening to become no better than a rowdy forum of partisans and reactionaries.

Taking great care, he spoke with a voice grave and weary. “That’s enough. I don’t mind if you have problems with each other outside of the club, but if it comes up here you bring it up to me. If you have any issue with a topic, you bring it up to me. If you have something you want done, you bring it up to me. Everyone is going to cool off right now, and I don’t want to hear anyone talk until the bell rings.” A pause, not to let it sink in but more as he had no idea what to say next, he spoke up once again a few seconds too late to make an impact. “From now on, don’t let anything like this happen again. Got me?”

Removing his hands from their shoulders, Isen looked at every single person around him and saw confidence in almost none of them save Otis and the few neutral students that sat these things out.

Both of the kids walked back to their corners with their bruised egos, and the newspaper was all the worse for this total fiasco. Isen couldn’t help but hear a little whisper in his head reach out to him again. It was an anxious voice, a sad voice, a bitter voice, a lonely voice, one that he had heard for a long while now and today it grow a bit louder with its mousy cry becoming a hoarse denunciation:

Why should they listen to you? No one does when you think it matters, and when people do listen to you things only get worse. Are you trying to break up the school paper like you wrecked the school’s only hope?

And that voice faded back into its corner, dragging a few pieces of him with it as it returned to the shadows. It was then replaced by a new one that had been coming up lately. It was just as anxious as the last, but it felt just a bit different in other regards. It wasn’t as sad, but rather it was contemplate. Comparative rather than bitter; it was nearly hopeful in its cadence as it brought to mind another thing he’d been thinking about, just in passing at first, but more and more now that she’d come back to school:

What would Cecile do?

When the last class bell for the day rang, everyone but Isen and Otis headed for the door, taking their thunder and lightning with them out into the tired and angry crowds. For the two that remained there was some more work to do, so it hardly felt like the end of the day. No dorm life for them.

Since the daily meeting got cut short by the oratorical brawl that barely resembled debate, there was still a lot to do in terms of formatting the paper for one of them; and for the other boy, there was something special that he had to do that he just couldn’t miss. He’d made a promise, after all. They parted ways, with Otis remaining in the Press Club room and Isen heading outdoors, both of them trying to figure out what the hell had happened to their newspaper today. 

But he didn’t dwell on it long. It was now a constant headache of his, along with all the other catastrophes that happened every day for his generation now. Instead, he fished out his phone one more time to see that phone message he got just last night confirming what he’d hoped: ‘Fine. Let’s meet up after school. Same place.’ 

There was that dumb little smile he’d been cracking these past few days coming back again. It wasn’t even clear to him why he kept on smiling every time he looked at his phone or thought about their little deal. But he did it nonetheless; it was like a bright little ray of sunlight he kept in his pocket.

It more resembled a job than a genuine moment for any kind of reprieve, still the expectations here were far lighter nonetheless. Compared to all that other mind-melting nonsense at school, this was a task he found himself feeling genuinely unburdened doing. With his bag draped by one hand lazily over his back he crossed from the sidewalk onto finely manicured sports-field grass.

Some students had club activities inside as well as outside the school today, and some of the others were part of the scattered sports clubs Wellston attempted to nurture. Being a private school catering towards the elite before the commoners, more emphasis was placed on Turf Wars than on sports teams. The former allowed the strongest to gain experience with using their Abilities to their fullest extent, as well as an aptitude for violence and a need to advance at all costs. Sports as the latter, on the other hand, was just a fanciful waste of time and some physical exercise for weaker persons.

Public schools lacked the generally large pool of power that elite private schools had, and so tended to favor sports as an outlet for their students. The few schools that did condone Turf Wars teams generally only fought other public schools, at least in the area near Wellston. If any public school actually managed to knock out even elite tier private schools somewhere out there, no one around here’d ever heard of them yet.

But Isen wasn’t concerned with either activity, to be honest. Sports were strenuous activities that tended to attract mostly low-tier boys, something he was definitely not interested in at any rate. If there were more girl teams, on the other hand…

Cut it out! He rebuked himself, shaking his head a bit. This wasn’t the time to think about that kind of stuff now.

And whilst he was almost high enough in Ability power to be a good contender for a decent Turf Wars team, he paled in comparison to the likes of Cecile, Arlo, Seraphina, Remi and Blyke. All of them had fought for Wellston, becoming an undefeated lineage in their city. On their own they’d expanded the range of the school’s veritable kingdom, and by comparison adding Isen to any team with them on it would just be a waste.

Isen wouldn’t even volunteer to begin with because he knew better, both about what the Turf Wars were about and more importantly about himself. From his point of view his Ability was purely cosmetic; sure, as he reminded himself again, it came with a boost in fighting power potential, but otherwise it was more useful as a way to find his friends in a big crowd at a concert. His fists were for writing, not throwing. That’s what he’d decided on for a long time now, even if his friends were of the exact opposite opinion themselves.

Still, though, he’d heard of the perks for Turf Wars contenders before from Blyke, Remi, and even Arlo, and enjoying some of them as a result: academic and higher-educational favoritism for anyone who even participated, and outstanding preferential treatment for the most successful of warriors. Not to mention social status anywhere you went, as well as roll-over benefits for students associated with the dominant school. If you wore Wellston’s colors, bullies and other ne’er-do-wells from other schools stepped aside.

After all, would you want to rough up a student protected under the banner of a school of crazy strong fighters? Maybe they might overlook it and not care at all, or maybe they’d come and break every bone in your body for breaking into their territory. To Isen, the choice was pretty clear.

And since it was a Hierarchy-related activity, contenders also sometimes got small discounts as well early access to certain products and promotions at shops in the school’s territory. And then, and then, and then; it was good to be the fittest in a society hellbent on survival for the fittest. And even more so it was good to cultivate and support a team that would ensure the reach of that little kingdom was far and wide— or, at least, as far as the mall and movie theaters were.

Isen’d taken advantage of those discounts by shopping with Remi and Blyke when they were Turf Wars members, but when John’d kicked them out of their positions so too went their discounts. That meant he had to pay full price for things he’d once gotten so cheaply that he held dear to him, like pens.

Truly a dark timeline to behold.

But such worries were behind him for now. His phone had chimed a few times in the past day and a half, with days and times being shot back and forth. Ducking underneath the bleachers, this was going to be his and Cecile’s first day together; they were going to spend a lot of the time today trying to see if  they could cooperate well enough to make this work. And if they could do that, then they’d follow it up with more clandestine meetings they’d scheduled throughout the coming week.

Both of them hoped that it’d work out, but then again both were doing so for vastly different reasons between them.

Sitting next to the perimeter wall that backed up those bleachers on a little wooden stool, arms crossed in front, Cecile looked visibly impatient. “You’re late, you know.” Next to her was a backpack along with a rolled-up white blanket held together by two large rubber-bands on either end.

It was a callous little jab, but Isen knew her well enough to not fall for it. As far as he was concerned, it was her way of waving in greeting. Instead, he gave her a sarcastic smile as well as a knowing tone in turn as he leaned his bag down onto some of the sparse grass. “It’s almost as if fourth years take up this side of the school more than third years do.” Getting back up, he cocked his head a bit. “And hello to you, too, Cecile.”

Sitting there, she softened up her demeanor and rewarded him with a little approving grin. “Good.” So, he’s learning for once. That’s a good sign.

With a little nod he acknowledged the wooden stool she was perched upon, seeing as how it was out of place here on a sports field. “What’s that about? Where’d you get it?”

“Stole it from one of the other clubs. I think it was the Drama one, but I’m not sure. Only thing that I’ve got going for that is their club name on the bottom of this thing.”

“Ah. They’ve gotta love that.”

“I bet.” Getting him to step to the side next to her, she took a white backpack of her own and began looking inside of it through a huge and bookmarked stack of papers.

It was smaller than the average backpack he’d seen guys carry, which prompted Isen to only assume it had to be hers. Trying to pass the time, he offered a compliment. “Wow, I didn’t know they made backpacks like that anymore. It looks nice!”

Without skipping a beat whilst fingering through a last few pages, she responded monotonously, “Thank you, but it’s Otis’.”

“Ah. Sorry.” Damnit, I’m such an idiot., Isen thought, mentally facepalming without thinking to himself why Otis would be carrying such a cute looking knapsack around. Maybe it was his when he was a kid and was just convenient to keep around, maybe Cecile was pranking him and it really was hers.

And maybe it was also her way of saying it’s none of your business.

Taking that possible hint, he shoved that moment aside when she pulled out a stack of paper about the width of his thumb. It was clear now that not only were the tops of certain portions bookmarked with little tabs, so were the sides of different pages as well. There were green tabs, blue tabs, and a few scant red tabs that popped up mostly in the beginning but stopped well before the end of her handful.

Shifting herself on her seat to face her new-found aide, Cecile held the stack together for Isen to behold. “This first part is going to be us tackling basic things together. Before every exercise we do, I’ll take a few minutes to do some stretches. Then, when that’s done, you’ll try to help me walk a few steps. If my imbalance condition takes over, you’ll have to notice and stop me before I fall over. We’ll keep doing it over and over until I— or, rather, we can a good distance without falling over.”

“How far’s that?” Isen asked.

“Well, the pamphlet says a good amount would be around ten to fifteen feet.” Isen judged that to be no more than about half the distance of one of the bleachers they were standing under. Cecile, seeing his unimpressed face, shrugged. “This is just the first part, after all. And considering I can’t even walk two feet on my own without falling over right now, doing that would be a big improvement even if it’s with your help. This is all to get my sense of balance back; the next part will be all about me getting to do all that without you holding me all the time.”

That last part made everything suddenly freeze-frame for Isen, the sudden quiet being punctuated by a couple of beats before he asked, some red coming to his cheeks, “H-Holding you?”

A nod. “Yup. It’s unavoidable; if I keep falling over before my body can even remember how to walk in a straight line again, then there’s not going to be much hope for me after all.” Raising an eyebrow a bit, she retracted her previous pleasant attitude towards him a bit. “That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it? I did say you’d have to help me out and catch me if I fell when we talked about this the first time.”

Visibly he was maintaining some decorum, if not blushing just a little bit at the prospect of holding a girl that closely with such little warning. Internally, though, he was waging a quick war in his mind over the implications. It was embarrassingly juvenile, but he couldn’t help but feel like this was something pretty big for him. “No, no problem at all!” Lying sack of crap. he accused himself. Trying to steer the conversation away to something more productive, Isen pointed to the paper and asked, “By the way, what’s with the little post-its you got on there, huh?”

Giving him a one-look over of suspicion, she thumbed opened the pile and showed him. “Blue tabs are reference points for exercises and the results we should be seeing in the coming weeks; the green ones are the actual exercise steps we’ll need to stay on. Red ones were parts that I wanted to look into more but didn’t have the time. Any other questions?”

Shaking his head, Isen had straightened himself out and got himself back into the moment thanks to that little explainer. “I’m good. I’m ready.”

“All right, then; let’s begin.”

Stretching wasn’t really something he had to contribute to, so before she got down to it he laid out the rolled-out blanket for her to work on top of. When he saw what she was supposed to do, it made sense: stretch out your legs to their fullest and continue doing so to make them limber; lean over to your toes, making sure you can precisely reach down. It was trying to help her get her coordination and confidence back as well as get her ready to walk normally again.

‘To walk normally again’. Isen had watched her absolutely pulverized people in fights, both on and off of Turf Wars plenty of times. She moved fast on her feet to reposition herself, was constantly shifting strategies on a dime, and always seemed to end up winning through a combination of strategy and lightning-fast decisions. The only time he could ever recall seeing her lose outright as against Remi, and that one was a pretty close loss. To think that that strong fighter was, right now, clawing her way back to normality, to just learn how to walk from one point to another was bone-chilling. 

She’s so brave. Even after all this shit that's happened to her, even after falling so far, she's getting back up and trying again.

A frightening thought occurred to him that if his battle with John went just as bad as whatever happened to her, he’d be in the same situation. Or if Remi and Blyke were still up to their vigilante antics, they’d be liable to end up the same way too, or worse.

This was too important of a thing to mess up. I am going to buckle down on this, no matter what.

Standing to the side and sending a quick text to Blyke about a class assignment, he still felt incredibly awkward about how suddenly intimate this was going to get. 

It wasn’t like they were going to be holding hands like they were dating or anything— fat chance of that ever happening— but still, having to get used to holding her while she tried to walk was just a bit too out of place for him. Despite clowning around and trying his best to put on that suave little act he had when he was trying to convince a girl to go out with him, he was disappointingly and crushingly so still single. Effectively zero experience with being around girls besides Remi and her sisters, but they were different; they’re family, or in Remi’s case effectively a part of his family.

Get it through your head, idiot. 

When Cecile was done and had flipped past the basic stretches, she turned and looked right at Isen. The time had come. Swallowing back a lump in his throat, he walked over and helped her up. Following the instructions on the page she shared with him, Isen drew a line of about five feet long in the dirt with her cane before handing it back.

Giving him an approving nod, Cecile maneuvered him to stand right behind her. Then she put his hands towards her sides well above the hips so that he’d be close enough to catch her. Before starting the exercise Cecile stopped to consider that she’d become so used to walking with her cane now, that it took her a moment to finally let it fall down on the ground without wincing. Taking a breath, Cecile turned back and looked right up into Isen’s amber-colored eyes to focus all of his attention onto her. “Let’s go. Follow my lead, okay?”

And it worked. Isen returned her stare right into her purple eyes, making him fully realize his promise as he spoke completely on impulse a truth in his heart. “Always.”

They then took their first step together.

It felt strange to feel Isen’s hands on her, but that sensation was quickly drowned out by her imbalance. Her eyes narrowed, her head started to become cloudy, but she did not let the dizziness take her without a fight.

And then they took the next step together.

The shifting weight of Cecile making her two steps within his hands, the touch of her jacket and shirt beneath the fingertips as he stood ready to intervene. Her life was suddenly in his hands, and Isen treated it with every ounce of the respect that he felt— that he knew it deserved.

Two people, one-time-enemies, full-time separated by the contexts of their lives and their standings at school. One was a Queen, the other a rat; one helped lead the school, the other led a byline on her newspaper; one fought with the best of them, whilst the other could barely punch a pillow without hurting himself somehow.

Intertwined by a sudden spark of faith within each other. Her willingness to look past his shady reputation as well as his peculiarities, and his unshakable drive to move past their tarnished history and the things that has happened between them; both were together now, seeking to attain a new bond, a new beginning that they wanted for different reasons but unbeknownst to each other the same conclusion.

They both desperately wanted someone to trust, someone to confide to, and someone they could rely on exclusively. And if that bond were to truly come into being, it would have to survive their first fall. That is why when Cecile toppled over on her third step, Isen reached out and caught her as she twisted beneath her knees giving way. 

Dust kicked up in the slippage beneath her feet as well as his, and when it settled down Isen saw that he’d caught Cecile just before she’d landed. His right hand had caught the small of her back, and his left  hand had managed to wrap around the back of her shoulders.

Opening her eyes, the awful sensation that had managed to overtake her passed. It was then she realized what had happened. Isen’d caught her just in time, but in the same breath had managed to end up face-to-face with her laying on the ground.

Recognizing how close they’d suddenly gotten, Isen chuckled and tried to brush off the fact that he was blushing a little bit again. “Hey. You all right?”

Much to her embarrassment, she felt her own cheeks redden up as well, clearly from the rush of the fall. “Yeah. I’m fine.” Separating as they got to a seated-up position, Cecile looked to the side; they barely halfway through the line. Not even two and a half feet, but it was still a start. Turning her eyes back to Isen, she let her hair hang a bit on her face as she kept herself pivoted away before sincerely speaking softly only to him, “Thank. For catching me.”

And he couldn’t help but smile for her, and it was the best he’d done in what felt like eternity. Closing his eyes, rubbing the back of his head as his smile went nearly ear-to-ear, he conveyed the warm fuzzy feeling in his heart as best he could with his reply. “You’re welcome. Any time.”

The moment between them barely lasted two minutes, but as they tried and failed again and again for the next twenty or so it became further ingrained into their minds. It was as if they had been transported outside of everything that they’d seen, everything that they’d done, and it was just them in a space all of their own. This crawlspace between the bleachers and the school’s wall had become their own dimension, and they shared a happening in time that belonged only to them.

And neither one would forget it when they were done. After trying and failing to walk the line again and again, Cecile had grown tired and called it a day. Isen walked alongside her to the girl’s dorm, but they did not acknowledge that they were doing that. It was him still doing his duty as someone who’d promised to help her out, and Cecile accepted it on the face alone and did not pay it any special thought.  That’s the only way it could’ve been, right?

And when they parted ways when that was done, when the night grew long and they went to their own separate beds in buildings separated by the entire school between them, that’s all there was. The kindness of each other giving and accepting each other’s help, each other’s company, and that was it.

Or, if they could stop staring at the ceiling above them for a second and stop reliving that warmth born anew between each other in those seconds on the ground, they’d acknowledge something more.

What they would see is their new bond of trust, born in the dirt and hidden from the uncaring world that drove them together rather than apart. Even if she would never regain her full memories, even if he could not fully rebuild his relationships, even if they were doomed to cycle through this misery, alienation, isolation and pain again and again from now on at the very least they had this.

Cecile and Isen now, in a small but now significant and ever-room-to-grow way, had each other.

Chapter Text

One of Wellston’s rare spring rains finally came. For most of the year the city and the region in general had pretty dry weather, being far enough away from the ocean to lack a temperate climate. Sometimes the rain came in drizzles, spritzing up the sidewalks and giving some glisten to the lawns in the suburbs. And some other times the rain would come down in buckets, regardless of whether it was spring or summer or fall. Today was one of those days.

The first person to realize the coming of a big downpour was John Doe. And it wasn’t just because the roof was his hide-away from the prying eyes and scheming, corrupting clutches of the school down below. Rather, he’d picked up a little bit of a gift from his time enjoying this little oasis he shared with Sera. When she got too absorbed into a video game she had on her phone or brought with her from her dorm and existed merely physically next to John, he found himself with a ton of free time.

Not wanting to bother her when that happened, he tried a ton of things to pass the time: he didn’t have similar games on his phone since they were not his forte— it took some convincing for Sera to get him hooked to Angry Pigs. So, he searched through Wakipedia.

On a particularly long gaming session that Sera swore would be ending soon, but of course took their entire lunch break much to her consternation, he looked up the different kinds of clouds on a whim. Nimbus, cumulonimbus, things like that. After all, what was he going to do hanging out up here? Do homework? Please.

And it wasn’t as if he was some kind of brainiac; he was the first one to admit that. The fact that his grades had only just finally re-stabilized to a barely passing grade again after he returned from his suspension should be testimony enough, irregardless of his father’s insistence to apply himself.

The only things John actually knew how to apply himself towards was fucking up his only meaningful relationships. That and cloud-spotting now, so at the very least he had a new hobby to explore up here.

All alone.

With the rain coming down hard, swooping over the school-grounds with the fury of a great tempest. John’s grand plans for a reunion seemed to be going down the drain just as quickly, but he still persevered with the hope that he’d run into her at the stairs. She’s gotta be waiting for me down there. She’s running late, but she’ll be standing there say “Of course I knew it was going to rain, dummy; I looked at my weather app and stayed inside. What’d you do? Stare at the clouds and guess? Here, dry yourself off.” All with the wry, knowing smile she’d always had when he pulled something as silly as that.

The door slammed on his way in, his shoes squeaking and squelching a bit with the water. His phone bleeped when he got onto the stairs, the cold breath of warm spring air rushing to meet the cold interior of the school cooling the rain stuck to him. The boy had faced down the arrayed forces of the school’s Hierarchy; three Royals led by a Royal god-tier, and he still managed to put them all down in a four-on-one fight.

Compared to today, all of that was in his mind a child’s game. A gut full of steel he’d reinforced as he got ready to confront her over where she was running off to every day, put to waste by nature absolutely showering on his parade of false bravado. There, like a hit to the head he could’ve called from a mile away, was Sera’s name and a simple little text: ‘Sorry about the rain. Won’t be able to make it. Eat without me’.

As if one had anything to do with the other. It was just an excuse, a ploy, an effective way to dump him at the wayside again. He deserved it, after everything he put her though. The lies, the shameful facade being a cripple, his terrifying reign as a King even worse than Arlo and his goons; his sins were legion and the demons that pulled their sickly threads reigned supreme in his head. He was no better than a monster—

“You are not a monster!” Sera’s blue eyes, desperate but still filled with an ocean’s worth of empathy as she told him that she would always be there to help him, to stop him if he went too far over the edge again, telling him the words that he’d needed to hear for so long. That despite all his flaws, all his mistakes, every single terrible thing that he’d done, she was still there for him.

Remembering her voice screaming those things through the barrier he’d formed in their fight snapped him out of his imminent spiral, leaving him back on the stairs by himself. His fists had balled tight in the meantime, his breathing became heavy, and it even dawned on him that he’d closed his eyes tight during the entire thing.

John was shaking like a leaf not from being drenched but from being angry at himself. A complete episode like this, where he relived all his mistakes, his failings, and his self-hatred could last several minutes at a time. It happened today exactly as he’d experienced them time and time again when he was turning into the elusive bandit Joker, as well as when he’d claimed Wellston’s crown from the gutter.

Despite the lapse, John was honestly pleased with himself when he realized what he’d done to get out of it. Before, those episodes would last for way longer than that. More than a few minutes, an hour, sometimes a whole day without anyone even realizing it; they came in different strengths and different flavors, turning him from outwardly negative to overwhelmingly paranoid and hostile or rendered completely indifferent from his self-destructive inner-conflict.

The warmth in Sera’s words were his touchstone. She had become the bedrock of his attempt at redemption, to try once more to be the man fighting for justice that his father knew he could be. He’d listened to him talk about how he should use his Ability for good, that it wasn’t automatically something bad or tainted. Sera had reached out to him to pull him out of the darkest pit he’d ever fallen into in his soul because she’d believed in that dream as well, in one form or another. It was all a belief in him to be righteous.

It’s been a month now since then, but he was no further to figuring out how he could use his immense powers for anything beyond messing things up even further. No one at the school trusted him now, and anyone who did trusted him to be a brutal oppressor— for worse or for better. John was hoping that she would help him find the answer he needed, but now that every moment with her seemed more precious than diamonds he didn’t waste her time with throwing his burdens onto her plate. Whatever she was doing, it was probably immensely important, too.

Looking down at his reflection in the puddle of water that’d formed beneath him, all he saw was everything that he was. And he remembered once again what he saw in Sera; everything that he wanted to be, everything that he should be, and how more than anything in the world he just wished that they were back together as friends again.

The day had also ended Cecile and Isen’s hope for a consecutive day of physical therapy together. Well, ‘hopes’ was a sort of strong word; an awkward haze had hung over them since yesterday’s events. Both of them kept on remembering how close they were to each other after Cecile fell down and how Isen had caught her just before she hit the dirt, making both of them suddenly fritz out a bit.

Neither could process that strange moment they’d shared in those few little seconds behind the bleachers. But what they did know was that it shouldn’t stop them from continuing where they’d left off. Nothing really happened, after all; he did his job and caught her when she fell, exactly as they’d agreed to. Well deserving of a pat on the back, sure, but a lingering sense of awkwardness hanging over them? It hardly seemed logical.

Cecile sent the text dismissing Isen for the day and when she got the text back from him agreeing and proposing they try again tomorrow, she immediately agreed in turn and shut her phone off. With a little bit of a sigh, she reclined in the Safe House chair and tried to get herself focused on finishing lunch.

Fat chance. From across the room, Remi looked up from her own food with an eyebrow cocked, asking, “Something wrong?”

Getting a hold of herself, Cecile found composure in hearing her supposed arch-rival speak up. Putting up her defenses, she looked over to Remi and maintained her typical stand-offish demeanor. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just had other plans for today, didn’t think that I’d be back here again so soon.”

A thousand wise-cracks suddenly went into Remi’s mind, but she knew better to make any of them. Something about Cecile being such a loner and not having anyone else to really hang out with, or maybe something being stood up by someone for a date because she’s such a sourpuss. But she left them and the plethora that followed them by themselves. Rei’d taught her better than to strike up these sort of feuds with someone like Cecile.

“If you fight people that only know how to deal with things with bullying, manipulation, or just plain-old stupidity, they’ll drag you down and beat you with experience.”

He’d always had that sort of big brotherly advice for her when she felt like someone was trying to get on her nerves like Cecile clearly was in middle school. These little tidbits he said always made her feel better. The smart things he had to say were from almost sage-like place with how he drilled right down to the core of what was wrong with society. And when he had a joke for her instead, it worked just as well; it could make her burst out laughing and wipe away all the bad things that’d been bugging her.

Besides, there was something else on her mind besides just getting a joke off. A day or so ago, Blyke had come out and said that Isen had been hanging out with their former-enemy-turned-Safe-House-member. They were cleaning up after another long day of chasing Jokers and minding the clubroom, and when he told her about it she honestly didn’t know how to feel. Angry? Resentful? Betrayed? Bewildered?

It overrode the now-longstanding ‘feud’ between her and their mutual friend, making her just want to ask both of them “What do you even think you’re doing?”. She mulled reaching out to Isen herself, and had even typed out a long message leveling out what she wanted to talk about. It started as her trying to tip-toe around her mixed-up feelings about what went down when Seraphina quit, when Isen took her side suggesting that everything was their fault, and ended up just being about that at length.

But all that bad energy wasn’t what she wanted to discuss at all! This had nothing to do with the Safe House’s implosion; this was about her wanting to talk about about Isen and Cecile suddenly being on good terms after all that went down between them. Trying to take it with one punch at a time, she deleted the whole thing and charted in her mind the whole conversation beginning with a simple ‘hey’ or ‘what’s up?’.

And even those little messages never got sent and no conversation got started; she just laid there on her bed at 1 o’clock in the morning, staring at the screen before putting it down and covering her face with an arm. The day had left her behind, and she needed to go to sleep for school.

Thus, this stupid fight continued with a new twist being tacked on. It wasn’t the Golden Trio anymore, now it was potentially the Golden Trio plus Cecile. Were these two really friends, or was something else up? Blyke had said he expressed as much discomfort about a snake like her being around Isen, predators being what they were especially as she did, and now they didn’t know what to do about it. 

Direct confrontation? Nothing bad had really happened yet, and the offer was still standing for Blyke— and by proxy, Remi— to stand up for Isen if things went sour. That’s why, even after Cecile dismissed Remi’s opening tease, the orange-haired girl kept on staring at her senior. Shoring herself up a bit, Remi sat up and said with some uncertainty. “Listen, Cecile; I want to know about you and I—“

The door suddenly opened, surprising both of them. In came a boy with short purple hair and orange eyes. Behind him, shorter but by no means meek was a girl with long orange hair tied in the back and purple eyes. “Welcome back, Ventus, Meili.” Remi said, checking their names off.

With a casual wave, Ventus greeted her back for both him and Meili. “Yo.” The two then looked around at the room for a seat, only to be stopped suddenly when they saw Cecile sitting right in front of them.

“Hello.” She said, raising her head a bit to get a better look at both of them. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Looking at the both of them, they were just as she’d remembered them: constantly orbiting around each other, unassuming, and more than likely looking for a new place of power to serve. They were such good lapdogs for Arlo, too, she’d heard. Part of her wondered why they broke up with him, but then again the fact that he was no longer King was more than enough reason for these two weasels to sneak off.

It looked like Meili wanted to say something to her, but Cecile noted that she visibly bit her lip and stiffened up as soon as she’d talked. Instead, Ventus spoke up for both of them, almost instinctively placing himself between the two. “Yeah, it has. Heard you were coming here, too, but didn’t think you were going to stick around this long.”

“Just for now.” Cecile offered in return. “Rain and all that.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll melt?” Cutting him off before he could talk again, Meili’s voice was positively frigid; her eyes had narrowed as she became more hostile, causing even her partner to step in and try to wordlessly deescalate the situation.

Oh, great. Them, too? Cecile idly mused in her thoughts. It wasn’t as if she was on anyone’s good side before the whole fiasco with her, John, and the coup d’etat of the Royals occurred. Then again, these two weren’t the types to hold grudges. Both of them were in the same year as herself and Arlo, and the latter had punished Ventus quite a bit when he’d perceived a slight over something at lunch. Next month, both of the two were some of his loyal foot-soldiers, and treated her as Queen with some respect.

No, this wasn’t something having to do with something she’s forgotten. This hostility was something new, and the reason eluded her. A fresh offense had been made, but what it was Cecile hardly had a guess yet. How thrilling.

Before Cecile could get a chance to test her luck as a cripple with the reputation of a high-tier against a mid-tier holding a new grudge, though, Remi stepped in. “All right, everyone, settle down. This place is for everyone, even people we don’t like all the time. Got it?”

Those purple eyes stared daggers right at Cecile, and it took a moment’s hesitation before Meili stood down and put a lid on things before they boiled over. “Got it.” Without saying anything else to Cecile, the duo retreated to the other corner of the room together, grabbing two desks and pulling them right next to each other.

Just before they’d left, though, Ventus had given Cecile one last look before turning to whisper something to Meili. It sounded like he was asking her a question, perhaps an interrogatory of some kind as to what had happened there. At least, that’s what she thought he was doing; is body-language had definitely suggested that her negative reaction to seeing Cecile had caught even him off-guard.

Cecile checked her phone again. Same as before; Isen and her agreed that they’ll try again tomorrow if there’s no rain. She chided herself for such an obvious lapse in memory, trying to break this new annoying little habit of hers to double-check her own texts.

But checking your work is not necessarily the vice to end all vices. It’s a rather smart idea if you’re trying to be certain about what you’re looking for, or trying to make sure you did the right thing at all. Doctor Ezwa was ready at this point to triple check his findings, because what had happened had him just as frightened as when he and Doctor Yoruth had decided to commit medical insurance fraud. It was for a greater good, one that they might not see right now— and if anyone found out about how they’d defrauded the hospital in such a manner, probably one they’d never get to witness too even if they found anything out.

Papers got buried under other papers so easily. Memos, letters of recommendation requests, findings that could prove a medical finding of the century that challenged the scientific basis of society, things of that nature. Almost as easy as burying bodies underneath some dirt in an unmarked grave somewhere out in the woods.

Pity the poor doctors, they’d wandered too far into the darkness and ended up dead. His mind teased out a morbid epitaph for the both of them. Shaking his head a bit, he looked around again and saw to it that no one was here to witness his crime. Even if they didn’t know what he was doing, even being a witness at this stage would be cause enough for the Authorities to drag them into any punishment they could have lined up for Ezwa and Yoruth.

He’d been studying the blood-samples as soon as he could slot in the time for the fake patient that they’d made up as a stand-in for Cecile; without the deception, they’d never be able to obtain new material evidence to this mystery. Not without her parents’ insurance, anyways.

And there had been some close calls during this whole ‘operation’ of theirs. Whilst Ezwa thought up the scheme, Yoruth contributed by selecting one of his most prized and loyal students in his class to get the job done. This bald, strapping young man was already a registered nurse and had plenty of experience with intaking and handling biological specimens such as blood samples, and was looking to ‘Professor’ Yoruth to help him get a leg up in class.

Having found their perfect patsy, the good Professor gave him an assignment to do ‘under-the-table’, as a favor of course. Since any other nurse would have asked a litany of questions if prompted to go get this sample, and since either Doctor did not want to be on paper being directly involved with this transaction, so it fell down to the boy. Sometimes he’d ask questions, but it was mostly out of idle curiosity.

The closest call they had had was when the nurse had arrived on campus. Campus security was run by a man named Keene, who was blessed with a powerful Ability suited just for such a vocation. When the boy described it to them when he returned from the job, it appeared to be some kind of invisible perimeter fence that this Keene person projected out around the campus grounds. 

When the nurse tried to park just on the edge of the gate into the school, he felt like someone or something had just taken a peek inside his head. Trying to ignore this bizarre sensation that came over him, the nurse picked up the case and began to head in after locking the hospital-marked car. Instead of seeing any students milling about, though, he was immediately met with Keene.

A thin-set fellow, he had short, messy and parted beige-colored hair that stood out compared to his very fair, almost pale skin. His eyes were glowing white behind his glasses, the reflective surface accentuating the excess aura obviously coming out from his Ability. Whoever they were, they did not play any games; they immediately started in on the nurse, giving him a whole list of things that Keene wanted answers on.

When the nurse fumbled his response out of shock that he was running into such a forward and blunt security guard, Keene then rattled down every possible thing he could be charged with for breaking-and-entering a school. And he was right to act that way, too; schools were already protected from outsiders under law, and even more so were the private schools that taught the children of the elite. It was a miracle that the nurse managed to get a word in edge-wise before Keene slapped him with every handcuff he had in his disposal, much less produce the permission notice they’d gotten from Headmaster Vaughn.

Thank goodness for ambition trumping self-preservation. It was a celebration that both of the doctors shared after hearing of the nurse’s story upon his successful return with the samples. He got into the school, took Cecile’s blood, and got out without so much as peep from Keene or anyone else that could have blown this whole thing straight out of the water.

A sparkling letter of recommendation promised and already filed ready for the boy’s use, they dismissed him from their clandestine medical mystery and left it all up to Ezwa now.

With the samples secretly labeled for the phantom patient that they’d fabricated by his side, he began running them through a whole battery of tests trying to see what he’d missed the first time. Hemoglobin— the iron in the blood that helped ferry oxygen from the lungs to the body— was at perfectly acceptable levels. No sign of infectious diseases or any pattern of cancer, blood or otherwise. 

That was a bad sign for them; one of the suppositions was that this could have been a rare form of blood cancer that was disabling her Ability as well as the tier-test. It was theoretically possible, but it would’ve been something like one-in-a-billion odds. If it were an infection and it were gone now, then by all means her Ability should return at least in a semi-crippled form.

The worst-case scenario would have been brain cancer. If those dark shades on her scans hadn’t been sub-dermal haematoma— clumps of blood occurring outside of the normal blood vessels— or bleeds around the brain, then it might’ve been a cancer. For this theory to work, the cancer would have to have spread at least to the Uru Major and Superior regions, at which point it would probably have spread to other sectors of her brain. An almost certainly fatal diagnosis, and little comfort to anyone.

But there were no markers present in her lab results to begin with, and there were none here either. If there was a cancer, then it was either hiding someplace where the blood couldn’t possibly flow, or it didn’t have any obvious tell-tale signs in her bloodwork. Seeing as how she was feeling perfectly fine besides some unassociated symptoms, the doomsday scenario was taken off the board much to their relief.

Well, that’s rather inaccurate to say. The doomsday scenario was only just beginning for them, because now they were out of options, and Ezwa was just on the verge of realizing what he was looking at under the microscope.

When the nurse took the samples, he had the instruction to have Cecile give three vials without putting any effort into turning her Ability on. Just completely relax, take a breather, think about anything else besides that. On the next three samples, though, the nurse was instructed to ask her to do the exact opposite; get worked up, try your best to turn your Ability on without causing too much of a fuss for the intake needle pumping the blood out of her arm.

And she did just that. The nurse didn’t know nor care as to why the instructions said that, and neither did the rather good-looking school nurse that helped them out. But nonetheless he got her to do it, and after they were done he labeled those samples with little blue tape at the bottom of the glass tubes.

Looking at those blue-taped vials now, he had forgone using the centrifuge to spin apart the red blood cells, the platelets, and the plasma. They’d split it every which way they could think of, run it through a machine to test for every infection, cancer-related marker, anything they could think of. Nothing. Five samples down, and only one tube was left for their disposal. Instead of doing that again and ruining this one like they did the others, Ezwa opted for the good-ol’ fashion way: taking just a drop and putting it under a microscope.

Ezwa was shocked by just what he saw. He put it under a different light and looked again. Then he applied every type and every method of cross-examination he could find, whether it was a light-source or a dye. Every time he saw them again and again, and he could not understand what these little nodules floating amongst her blood were supposed to be. Contaminants? Some kind of residue on the glass of the scope?

He used up the last remaining drops from each of the other samples; the three vials with non-taped bottoms didn’t have any substantive trace of these little orbs, nodules, whatever the hell shape he was seeing on the sample slide. The two vials with tape on the bottom still had a little bit of blood left; just enough to confirm that they, too, had the same little specks.

Sitting back from the counter, Ezwa ran his hands through his hair. Taking off his glasses, he could only ponder this bizarre turn of events. He felt older than what he really was, and his eyes suddenly carried the weight of two days’ exhaustion as he turned himself around. Looking at the phone mounted on the wall, he knew it would’ve taken only a few seconds to say, but it would be enough: “Not cancer. Not viral. Artificial.”, and at that point his life would have ended for sure.

All from a simple phone-call, five words with the power to kill. He would have to move cautiously, and tell Yoruth what he’d found out before he made any assumptions. For now, though, he packed up the last vial with tape. Rather than putting it into the normal refrigerator, though, he put it into a much smaller version of the case the nurse had used at the school. This one was purely for preservation of the sample, rather than pumping blood or carrying tools.

Signing himself out of the room without marking the case or the vial inside, he racked his brain for all the possible as well as impossible explanations that he could think of. He was coming up empty-handed.

Terrence was experiencing the same kind of disillusionment. After having missed where Cecile was going the last couple of times she was at school, he was starting to wonder if he was losing his touch. Wherever she was, Cecile was going way off her normal school schedule; if they didn’t follow their old habits, it made it that much harder for him to keep track of what they were doing, with whom, and where.

All of his persons of interest had their routines and he had a system for juggling who got his attention first, second, third, and so on. John Doe stayed on the roof. Remi and Blyke stuck together, with one staying in the Safe House and the other patrolling the halls for bullies. Arlo kept to his studies now. Isen was on his own. Cecile was supposed to be in the Safe House now, as she had previously discussed multiple times by now.

However, just like that she was gone. He’d been waiting for her at the Safe House the other day, and she wasn’t there. The next day, he thought about tailing her again— see if she was trying to shake him— but lo and behold she arrived just a few minutes late her usual time to the club room.

Spectre was not deploying him here to sit on his hands, waiting for people to show up to places they were supposed to be. He was expected to be two steps ahead of them, and whilst predictive behaviors was a good way to accomplish this it was also easily sabotaged. Bathroom break here, class session running late there, and all of a sudden he was second guessing his own professionalism.

Start from the basics, and move back on up. Cecile is the only problem-child here right now, so I’ve gotta figure out what her deal is. Logically, that meant examining her case from the second-person as well as the third-person, so that he might be able to catch up. If she was the first-person perspective and he himself was the third-person, then objectively speaking the second-person perspective that was missing was Otis, her accomplice.

It wasn’t as if Terrence was unfamiliar with him. On the contrary; he’d given equal time to both of them to allow their habits, quirks, and other various minutiae to become self-evident. Cecile’s limp made her walk slower than he remembered, so Terrence adjusted his own gait. Otis tended to linger in places, only to suddenly remember something he had to do or someone he had to meet and he’d go rocketing off. In that case, Terrence had to anticipate Otis’ needs and plans before he could.

And despite this latest hiccup, the system had proven itself to work before. So, if that were the case, then it stood to reason checking in on both of them might get him out of this and back into the natural cycle again. If a reset was needed, then he immediately opted for the more basic of the two and chose to follow Otis first.

Cecile’s style left something to be desired, if he was to be honest and compare her now to who he’d observed before. From what he’d heard from her, at the various points he could be around her for the amount of time he could afford, she’d ranged from a shrewd manipulator to an injured animal finding itself backed into a corner. Walking into walls metaphorically speaking, set up by others as well as set up by her own actions in the past. When he was studying John Doe for Spectre back when he was far more active as the school’s King, Cecile appeared by his side and left a better impression on him than now.

Otis, on the other hand, was a new wrinkle. He wasn’t a powerful Royal like Remi, Blyke, Arlo, or Isen were, or how Seraphina and Cecile had once been. Instead, this boy was just another face in the crowd; the ones who gave information to their betters and experienced the events happening around them not as the drivers but merely as passengers. Terrence did nudge things along when Spectre ordered it, but overall he preferred his natural place as an observer of things. In that regard, he did envy Otis’ position in this maelstrom of consequences and actions.

A war over the place of Hierarchy in society, the machinations of people he could never even dream of knowing, and the fight of desperate wills to right wrongs and wrong rights in school society and society at large, and all Otis cared about was a newspaper.

Breathtaking simplicity.

And Terrence meant that as an honest compliment, too.

It was commitment to a higher ideal, but he never once seemed interested in taking over power. When Isen was buckling under the pressure of some of the more rowdy debates going on, Otis could have stepped up at any time and apply any of the lessons he clearly learned from Cecile firsthand. But he never did, and instead of undercutting Isen he helped this walking-wounded Royal along like he was caring for a giant toddler learning to say their first words.

Leadership was needed, and Otis chose to let Isen either cultivate himself as head of the Wellston Weekly or face his demise based on his own merits. It was a calculated risk, sure, but perhaps this boy did not care which way any of it went. Was he waiting for Cecile to come back? Or did he actually believe Isen stood a chance? Could it have been both, at the same time?

And then there was the bird-watching incident. Otis had mentioned that he’d wanted to go bird-watching to another one of the students at the paper, and asked to borrow a pair of binoculars. It was an interesting enough moment to document, so Terrence took the time to watch Otis watch the birds from one of the classrooms at lunchtime. He stared right out of the window and out unto nature, waiting for something to fly by so he could document it in his mind. A beginner’s stab at the trade, but it was still so spontaneous that Terrence once again felt admiration for this target.

Everyone else he followed were cursed with glorious purpose, but Otis wanted the birds and a properly formatted newspaper.

And he looked so serene doing those tasks as well. A calm, collected silence as he flipped through formats they could use for the paper’s margins or for accommodating articles; a peacefulness as he scanned the sky for birds flying by, making not one word of a whimper.

This reserved personality also tended to backfire on Terrence a few times, too. Whilst all the others were worried about power-plays, revenge plots, the turmoil of their emotional baggages and all that stuff that had to have been interesting to someone else— anyone else but him— Otis was able to listen. Without the screams and the punches and the booms, Terrence made just about the same amount of noise and left the same amount of presence as anyone else.
If you weren’t zooming around at a high speed trying to land a punch, you’d start to notice Terrence standing there invisible, too. Part of him thanked goodness that that John Doe hadn’t caught onto him yet. From how his victims tended to look after the fact, his beatings were nothing to scoff at.

A few bully mid-tiers walked by Terrence. He was visible, and they looked at him with scorn. He ducked his head, playing the act of the whimpering, lonely boy that needed to be saved and would never harm a fly. It worked; these knuckle-dragging morons walked on, freeing him up to continue tailing Otis from afar.

The halls were thinning out a bit of people, which gave him all the room he’d needed to turn invisible again around a corner. This way, he could get even closer to Otis and hear if he was talking to anyone or texting anything. It brought him within arm’s reach, but at the very least there was no way he’d ever know he was standing right there.

Without a whisper his invisibility Ability turned on, and he picked up the pace to catch up. Otis had fished his phone out of his pocket, and was looking at something on the screen. Get closer. He egged himself on. The screen was still far away, but Otis was angling it weird as he was trying to type something, making the ceiling light bounce in the glass screen. Closer.

Terrence made the effort to get as close as he possibly could now. If he was texting Cecile, which was his usual go-to time-passer, it could be worth the effort. If they stayed on the line and talked about what was going on with her or if Otis looked back at their old history for even a second, Terrence would be back in business.

A little closer now—

Otis swung around and grabbed Terrence by the collar, and with some force managed to push and shove Terrence out from the middle of the hallway and into the wall on the side. He did all of this even though Terrence’s invisibility Ability was still activated, making it look like Otis was struggling to carry the air bodily in his hands. 

Looking into Otis’ eyes, Terrence saw determination and satisfaction with what had just occurred. This wasn’t a fluke or some kind of swing at random; it was planned. It was then that Terrence realized that he had been duped, and was now in the clutches of one of his targets who clearly knew that they were being followed, but now how he was doing it as well.

Disaster.

Chapter Text

There it is again. That was the final straw for Otis, feeling that nagging sensation in the back of his head that someone was watching him for the umpteenth time in the past week alone.

Cecile had waved off doing anything about it for now. It could be a credible threat, or it might not be anything at all. He agreed with the logic, but the consistency of whomever was stalking them was unnerving him. And even though she had begged off the subject when he’d tried to discuss it with her, the way she spoke about it told him that her own words brought her little comfort too. 

Every time he’d asked her, though, it was on the basis of collaborating on a response to this hanging potential danger to both of them. Her Ability was as good as gone right now as far as either one of them knew, but old habits died hard: despite that fact, he still subconsciously looked to her as if she continued to have her great power. If anyone had acted this bold before her incident, Otis had no doubt Cecile would have turned about-face and taught this creep some manners.

Otis was not nearly as powerful as she is— was, as much as that tense pained him to think about— but he decided to defy her if only once. It was the fear of it all that drove him out of his comfort zone again and again, knowing that someone was spying on him. In that empty classroom when he kept an eye out for Cecile and Isen while they sealed their alliance of convenience underneath the bleachers, in the hallways and at the gate in the morning, this omnipresence had finally caused him to act irrationally. 

Whoever it was could very well be a high-tier just as Cecile had once been, and they would’ve given him the beating of a life-time. A high enough mid-tier would’ve provided the same kind of treatment if they had an Ability that augmented their strength in any way; Otis wasn’t born equipped to be a fighter.

But he was given an Ability that he knew for sure would shed light on their predicament. Closing his eyes, Otis felt that presence following him, even now as he walked on his own in the hallways. It had been a part of his plan; he’d hoped that whoever it was that was following both of them would, eventually, follow him when no one else was around. The time had come at last; whatever may come, he decided to run out of cover and take one for the team.

His heart beat a little faster as he activated his Ability. Because of its lack of utility in combat, Cecile had instructed him to keep it a secret from anyone else; no sense in giving away your whole hand if you didn’t need to.

Otis felt his hair shift a bit as he fed more and more power into it, hoping to spring it as a surprise on that mysterious presence when they’d least expected it. His skin tingled a bit, the energy coursing through his veins letting him know almost instinctively that the time had come. Letting go of the leash a bit now, his Ability activated in full.

And it was just as clarifying as the first moment he realized what he'd truly had. In the beginning of his life, he once thought he was nothing more than a burden with zero to show for himself.

When Otis was a child, he’d figured his Ability out on his own when he sat in the middle of nature. Whilst everyone else in his grade had a particular set of skills that helped them in combat, gave them an advantage in combat, or at least made themselves useful to those who relished fighting, Otis had nothing of the sort. It vexed him, as he tried again and again to see if it gave him some type of physical advantage like everyone else had. Something, anything to give him a leg up in a world he at that ripe age of eight knew was imminently unfair to anyone who got caught dead being a weakling.

He wanted nothing more to avoid being the odd one out. Which, looking back on it, made him chuckle a bit considering his sexual orientation and society's morals on that subject in of itself.

Try and try again he did, to no avail. Stones remained solid in his hands, no fire came when he opened his mouth and yelled, he still ran with all the grace of a spindly little dorkish child, and he still took the long route of bruising and cuts when it came to injuries. Nothing special about him. You’re just a little weakling, huh? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were a good-for-nothing cripple!

When he’d heard that awful boy’s voice deride him, he snapped and ran away from the playground at full speed. Ignoring his mother’s calls to come back, Otis the eight year-old crybaby beat a tear-filled path right into the woods on his own. Past the trees big and small, through the bushes scattered every which way, he ran right through to get away from this disgusting little moment. When he finally stopped running, his tears stained his face as he hiccuped back the sobs.

It was the chirping of the birds and the whispering of the leaves that made him finally actualize where he was now. Gone were the metal facades of the public park playground sets. Here now were trees covered in moss, unkempt grass and ferns of all types sprouting like so many green fires out of the earth. All of these things, from breathing flora to the misshapen rocks aplenty, pointed directly to the greeny brine of a small pond.

The forest lived on as if he weren’t even there, but its serenity did nothing to placate little Otis. Today was another stab in the ribs, a punch to the arm as he was made a joke of yet again. At first he’d tried to laugh along with whoever was mocking him, but a thousand pokes added up to a thousand scars over time. It had become real and raw to the nerves. 

Everyone else was given a stick, a stone, a blade no matter if dull or sharp to climb their way up in society. They got to poke people like Otis who didn’t belong for one reason or another. What did he get in return, besides all these cuts and bruises to his psyche? What would be his commiseration for living in a world that respected only power, that elevated only those who could fight to their fullest, to those whom conformed willingly and ably to the orthodoxy of brutal normality?

Nothing. You were born to lose. You’re dead-last like always. Where you belong.

He let out a defiant scream, raising his fists and hitting the ground with a final, climactic little thud. The burst of energy cut through him, dispelling the notions and the fears and the sadness until only he remained here, alone, in this miniature forest. The trees continued their dulcet tones as green foliage breathed in and out with the flow of the gentle winds; the softened-up dirt of the pond-side caked his fists a few specks and splotches of brown that he saw clear as day; the birds in the trees, the bugs on the bark, the ants marching in and out of their hills, his mother searching for him and calling his name still too far for him to hear, a look of panic coming over the lovely features he shared.

With all of that noise in his head and his heart gone for the moment, Otis realized that he was seeing all of this without even opening his eyes. It was all in his mind, a clear image of endless dimensions flexible within his brain. It was a constant little stream of information before, as the seconds rolled on, all of that faded away from him.

It'd been with him for a while now, considering he was born with this type of Ability. How could he ever have missed it before, this great little trick of his?  It could've been that he was so busy being preoccupied with sheer strength and power and sheer force of will, he'd all but ignored what kind of gift he really had. Maybe he'd written it off subconsciously as he tried to mimic the strongest people in his class who were bound to make grade-A Royals in their middle-schools and high-schools one day; or perhaps he just wasn't ready to accept that, perhaps, brute force wasn't everything to life despite what he was taught in school.

Sometimes utility could win the day sometimes, too.

Looking at his hands, he raised them and hit the ground once more.

And again, he saw the forest just as it was happening around him. Every little detail perfect in his thoughts as it was when he opened his eyes— or, at least, the things he could see from his own limited perspective. The trees he could only witness the daunting minimum from his seated perch at the pond, he could see the very top of if he wanted to inside his head.

He furrowed his brow, looking at his hands before he heard his mother’s voice at last calling for him. Obeying her, he got up and ran away from the pond, carrying with him the first response to his mournful, petulant cries.

It wasn’t an answer of words but rather one lasting image he had when he was flipping the world around him, seeing everything within a few feet of where he sat— including himself. When he’d thrown his fists down both times, the pond did not stay as steady and tranquil as it had when he’d arrived. It was overlooked the first time he threw his hands down, but the second time he did it Otis saw what had happened.

When his fists met the dirt near the water, but not directly in the water, a slow concentric circle broke as a wave across the otherwise placid surface; the tiny wave went all the way from the smallest point where Otis was directly next to, becoming larger and larger until it filled up the entire span of the forty-foot-large pond.

A pulse.

The Otis in the halls of Wellston breathed out, letting out the same pulse as his fists had done all those years ago. But he did not need a conductor of any kind like he did before when he hit the dirt; his Ability didn’t require any kind of physical action at all, as he’d learned over the course of his studies in school and on his own time practicing. It could be as effortless as breathing, and just as discreet too.

As he did in that little municipal forest back then, he saw everything in such intense detail within his mind’s eye. Every dent and pock-mark of rust on the door-hinges, the stress-cracks of floor tiles from some long-forgotten battle in this hallowed hall, the pristine glass of the windows to the right side of him where he was walking—

And the distinct form of someone standing right behind him, nearly leaning over to see what he was pretending to type on his phone. It was a person just an inch or two taller than he was with a body frame that seemed to contradict itself, seemingly thin like he was but somewhat firm in his physique with broad shoulders. This person may have been invisible to the eye, but to Otis they stuck out like a sore thumb.

This was the truest expression of his Ability: Radar.

A totally undetectable pulse came out from his body, made up of his aura; it pinged off everything around him and provided real-time information about everything it hit or passed by that he could manipulate in his mind to see from different perspectives and angles. This included, as it seems, those that could turn themselves completely invisible with an Ability.

Otis had expertly posed himself as bait, and without missing a hitch he sprung the trap. It wasn’t like he had Cecile’s Vines, Arlo’s devastating Barriers, or even just Isen’s slight physical augmentations. In the end, all Otis had now was a clear image of who and more importantly where this person was now, and a pair of uncalloused fists.

And yet still he turned about-face and grabbed the problem directly by the collar, just as Cecile would have if given half the chance. Her brashness fueled his rashness, and the clear open air gave not nothingness as any rational person would expect. This empty space felt two kinds of fabric in his fingers, the same kind that made up Wellston’s white shirts and their vests.

With these clumps in his grasp, Otis dragged this person straight out from the hallway and onto the wall parallel to the windows. Where the air showed nothing, Otis’ hands and wrists felt the breathing of the other boys’ chest catching up in the moment beneath them. With a snarl the captor gave an order, pleased with his success but still sick of having to bother at all at this point. “Turn it off already! I can see you!”

This was only partly true; he saw as vague an outline of this person’s presence as he’d described beforehand, but it seems that his bluff had worked and they stopped their harsh struggling. Whoever they were, they’d no idea that Otis had had this capability to begin with.

That was the honest truth. Whilst Terrence had been so caught up with all of his other duties on campus and off campus, he had forgotten to look into Otis’ Ability in the school’s database. Spectre could only give him so much intelligence on their own; it was up to him to get the rest at his leisure.

His failure now spelled a new disaster for their whole operation, as he found himself caught red-handed. Conceding to Otis’ demand, Terrence deactivated his Ability whilst putting his hands— as well as his timid facade— up as his only cover left. “W- Wait!” He warbled his voice a bit, willing himself to shake a bit in fear. “Don’t hit me, please! I- I didn’t do anything!”

Otis took a second to measure Terrence up, now that he finally had a good look at him. The bewildered boy he’d pinned had short light brown hair, green eyes, and a face that was still transitioning from the cutesy softness of adolescence to something more masculine befit his age. And it was true, Terrence did seem to have shoulders that seemed a bit broad for how thin and neatly muscled he was.

I’ve seen this guy before. But where? Otis pondered, his tough-guy act starting to slip just a bit with the meek protestations Terrence was making. “I’m not going to hit you. What’s your name, huh?”

“Terrence! I’m Terrence!”

“All right, Terrence, why’re you following me? What’s up with that?” Otis tried to get some of that grit back, but that brief moment was already passing him by; even trying to press his target up against the wall some more to emphasize himself didn’t feel the same now. If Terrence’s reaction was just an act, then Otis had to take his hat off to him. It was working. “Tell me!”

Without delay, Terrence faked a cringe. It was uncomfortable allowing himself to be held by someone this close, but it was even more awkward to keep up the act that he was in any way, shape, or form out of control anymore. For all that strength adrenaline gave him, Otis wasn’t exactly bench-pressing anything in his free-time. “I didn’t mean to follow you so close like that, I swear! Honest! I was just going to class and I wanted to avoid any Jokers!”

A twinge of anger from Otis. “Liar! You’ve been stalking Cecile and I for the past two weeks, haven’t you?! Don’t try to lie your way out of this, we’ve been noticing you from the very start!”

Part of him wanted to slap Otis right in the face, just so that he would back out of his personal space. Knowing better to keep his anxiousness in check, Terrence kept his hands up just as he’d done— fake and sometimes very much real— with the real bullies at Wellston. It paid to play the coward more than it ever did to be the hero. “Okay! Okay, I admit it, I’ve been trying to get close to you guys, but I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I just want to talk with Cecile, that’s all.”

“You want to talk to her?” Otis paraphrased incredulously. “Why didn’t you just come up to her or me in the hallway and just do it then?”

Looking to the side a bit, Terrence put on a nice little show of regret and apprehension. “I dunno. It just seemed like the only sensible thing to do. I mean… she scares me a little bit, so I didn’t want to get too close without getting myself ready.”

A beat. Okay, that’s actually pretty believable, if this guy’s really as much of a lightweight like he seems. She was his best friend, but even he could admit that Cecile could get a bit... intense. Before Otis could press any further, though, he heard a voice bark from behind his back, yelling something to get his attention. 

A few feet away from them stood Blyke, his eyes burning as he got ready for a fight if there was to be one. The demeanor of the harried warrior, going from hall to hall looking for Jokers and bullies alike. “What’s going on here?” Realizing who Otis was, Blyke seemed to become just as bewildered as he was pissed now as the situation became a bit farcical to him. “Wait, a minute— aren’t you Otis? You’re Cecile’s lackey, right? What, being a lapdog isn’t enough for you anymore, gotta beat up other kids now?”

Looking down and then back at the disgraced Royal, it dawned on Otis that right now it looked like he was trying to take some poor shmuck’s lunch money rather than extract information from a stalker. Stepping back away from Terrence, Otis unconsciously borrowed his train of thought and feigned innocence. At the very least, the lavender-blue haired boy actually was more or less innocent when compared to his brown-haired former captive. “I wasn’t doing anything, honest! I was just, uh—“

But the high-tier was having none of it. Putting his fist into his other hand and cracking the knuckles, Blyke took a few intimidating steps towards them. “Listen, I don’t care who you are, who you work for, or what you think that kind of position gets you around here. As long as the Safe House is still running, bullying by anybody is no longer accepted. I don’t care if you’re not wearing a stupid mask, you’re acting no better than those freaks.”

Before Otis could raise another protest, Terrence spoke up for himself— and interceded on Otis’ behalf. Here’s my way through this mess. “He wasn’t bullying me, Blyke; we were having an argument, I got mad and threw the first punch and he got me up there like that. It’s all my fault, honest! So don’t get mad at him just because of me, all right?”

Looking from one back to the other, Blyke seemed to amp himself down a little bit. “Are you sure? You don’t have to lie to cover for someone who’s trying to lord over you like—”

But the boy still refused to be rescued. “I’m sure. Thank you, though; it’s good having you around. We all appreciate it.” Now get lost. You served your purpose here.

Whatever apprehension he had over the situation collapsed into a lingering perplexity, but still Blyke took his leave. “Uh, you’re welcome, I guess?” He walked back down the hallway where he came, and both Otis and Terrence sighed with relief when he was gone.

Shooting a glance at Terrence, Otis felt compelled to show his appreciation for the bizarre turn of events. “Thanks for covering for me. Don’t get me wrong, I know why you did it, though, but still, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Terrence said, his outward relief matching his inner satisfaction at managing to juggle both Otis’ and Blyke’s expectations and outcomes at the same time like that. Putting on a smile, he remarked lightly as an addendum, “Like I said, I just wanted to talk with Cecile; how could I ever hope to do that if I let Blyke walk all over us?”

Scratching the back of his head, the former Queen’s right-hand man found himself in a strange new crossroads. Whoever this was seemed to have a bit of familiarity with Cecile, but who he was or what that connection was was a mystery to Otis. Maybe he’d spill the beans, or maybe that would bring out another useless lie that would ultimately taint an otherwise interesting potential piece on the board for her. Not giving Terrence the chance to do that, Otis opted to reserve further interrogatories on that for Cecile directly. “Listen, what you did right there was nice and all, but you’ve been following us around like some freaky stalker. It’s gotten both of us on edge right now, and as you clearly realize there’s not much edge left to go on anymore.”

Downcast now. Underplay your hand, Terrence. “Oh. I’m so sorry; I had no idea—“ But the performance was preemptively stopped by Otis’ hand popping up.

“Hold on, I’m not done. I’ll talk to Cecile about you and see if you’re legit. If you are, then you’ll go through me with anything you wanna say to her or what you wanna hear. She’s recovering from a pretty bad accident and has a lot of catching up to do with school, so I don’t want you wasting her time. From now on and until she says otherwise, I’m in charge of you when it comes to anything having to do with Cecile. Sound fair?”

An interesting move. You’re putting yourself in between myself and my target now, Otis. Some initiative at last. But did it have to be here, when I’m trying to get myself back in sync with her of all people? “Yeah, sure, of course!” Playful bashfulness covered up a momentary thought of annoyance, contemplating all the potential wrinkles that could arise if he stepped out line with someone who was now his only key to a priority target for Spectre. “After all, it’s the least I could do after creeping you guys out like that, right?”

Nodding a bit in agreement, Otis couldn’t really disagree. “Right.”

Trying to take a bit of an advantage of the new professional amicability they had, Terrence pushed his luck. “So, uh, can I give you my number so I can text you about—?”

A little too far, it seems. “No, not right now at least. Like I said, I’m going to talk to her first. If I wanna talk to you, I dunno, I’ll wait for you to find me somewhere. Just come to me and ask. Or, you know, I’ll find you, so don’t try to follow us around again, ‘cause now I’ve got leverage on you. After all…” He pointed to his head a bit. “… I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Sure, no problem! Thanks a bunch!” Taking his leave, Terrence waved good-bye to Otis and left that hallway at last to weigh his new situation. It could have been worse; he entered trying to reconnect with Cecile and Otis so that he could monitor them as per his mission, and now he was leaving with a direct line to his priority target. Through her most trusted confidant, no less!

That wasn’t enough to satisfy Terrence, but it was the new hand he was dealt. Situations could be fluid and things could change on the drop of a dime. Even if his new mask as being a subordinate to a subordinate bugged him, at the very least he was confident that his previous work with Cecile was enough of a cover to get him closer to her accomplish his mission.

After all, who knew her better than him right now? Most people only knew her as the old Queen of the school, or as one of John’s lieutenant collaborators, or as the face of the Wellston Weekly despite the fact she wasn’t even heading it right now. There was so much more to her than met the eye, and all you needed to do was wait and listen, to watch and evaluate. All of these disparate targets of his were the same way, too.

As he turned the corner, Terrence let himself smile a bit as he watched Otis leave the other direction. Little did he and Cecile realize that Terrence knew more about her than even she did. Spectre had filled him in on how Cecile was connected to that blood he stole from the hospital, that was a given for the assignment he'd been tasked with. After all he'd witnessed, after all he'd done here, there was so much more that had yet to be fitted in to the bigger picture. It was natural to miss the true meanings and repercussions of things happening right before your eyes, but you'd get left in the dust if you remained ignorant or incurious for too long.

From what he’d put together from his spying on her curious proddings of people she otherwise would not have easily associated with before, Cecile was trying to put herself back together. It looked like she was picking up a deck of cards strewn across the floor, desperately trying to pick up all 52 pieces before some kind of clock ran out on her.

Maybe she'd find them all on her own if she searched hard enough, compromising herself and her ideals a little bit more each and every step of the way in search of an answer. Perhaps this need of hers would be just what Spectre could use to get her to cooperate just as they had with Seraphina? After all, Terrence needed to be everywhere at once, but that didn't mean he had to do it all on his own.

In this way where he observed others to gather these little things that would turn out to be enormously important later on, his invisibility gave him far more control over people than even god tiers had. Spectre taught him as much about the importance of knowledge, but it was just so much better seeing it be so enrapturing over others in person. Utility, as he'd come to realize under their tutelage, could rule the day when applied diligently, sparingly, and with precision.

A hard enough diamond could scratch away at metal, but one well-placed prod of a mallet and a stick could shatter that beautiful rock into shiny clumps of dust. The utility he commanded with Invisibility could bring down elites and gods alike from what he could collect on them, knowing their dirty little secrets and everything that they wanted to know for themselves.

Who could dare say the same thing?

Leverage, indeed.

Chapter Text

For just a moment there, it almost looked like the Safe House was actually going to get something done. That would’ve been a pretty big problem for Gavin; he made his bones ripping off the low-tiers, and if there was a whole swarm of do-gooders running around defending the school’s losers, what would be left for him?

Arlo, Seraphina, Blyke, Remi, and even elites like Ventus and Meili were supposed to be apart of that thing. Sure, Gavin could throw and take a punch or two, but being the strongest mid-tier here compared to a god tier was like being the world’s strongest ant facing the average bulldozer. If they actually managed to stick together, then who knows what would’ve happened to him? He’d have to start doing the lion’s share of his own homework again, he wouldn’t have such an easy source of income ripping off the weaklings, it would’ve just been a disaster!

Without the god-tiers and the elites backing Remi’s sob-story pet-project, then all there was left to do was to keep an eye out for her and Blyke whenever they got out of that sweet little crib of theirs. In the beginning of this little era of theirs, the former Royals had made enterprising savants like him fear conducting business as usual without one of them walking around the corner. It was like the Royals were everywhere! It didn’t help that low-tier worms ratted out everyone that had been keeping them in their place; you so much as raised your voice to some kid and then, wham, Remi and Blyke and who knows what else showed up like magic.

It was like that for a week, maybe two, but then Seraphina and then Arlo stopped showing up. As if someone had taken the blast out of a bomb and let it fizzle, the imminent threat to his favorite hobbies and his position in the Hierarchy passed without a whimper. He and the rest of the mid-tiers and high-tiers breathed a sigh of relief, though as things turned out it was a little bit premature.

Despite the god-tiers being gone now, Blyke and Remi still stuck around and kept the act up. Any time one of them was free, they’d be running around the school, ‘patrolling’ like they were cops or something.

As if.

But anyone could see that they were fighting a losing battle, trying to keep up this little charade; no one would be caught dead going to the Safe House for help so long as people like Gavin were around. He just couldn’t wrap his head around why these two Royals were still bothering with it. The last few fights they had with him proved that neither one could supplant John as King of the school, much less have any say in running its Hierarchy with or without him in the way.

Sure, John was a total fucking psycho, but at the very least he got it, rhetoric notwithstanding. Beat up anyone who got in your way, and make them regret it if they talked back; that was definitely Gavin’s type of action from the get-go, even if dressing up like John’s masked-up persona Joker wasn’t. 

It sort of freaked Gavin out of at first when people started doing it, tricking him now and again into thinking that Joker wasn’t just kicking the crap out of Royals anymore, but mid-tiers like him too. It was bad enough he ran into the real, bonafide Joker one time outside on one of the school paths. Just seeing him standing there, looking ready to pummel him scared Gavin half to death and made him run off without

John having to make a single move.

If anyone had seen that shameful little display, they would’ve called him a coward for not trying to square up with John. From Gavin’s point-of-view, he preferred the term ‘creative combatant’; it wasn’t the most honorable way to preserve his own place in the system, but the idea of uselessly getting his face beat in was definitely a way to knock him down a peg or two.

So with all that said: why, exactly, was Gavin standing there holding in his hands the same type of mask that John and all those poser Jokers were using?

Well, it was pretty obvious. That little network of whispering low-tiers had been a pain in his ass as well as that of other like-minded people, Jokers or not. It sprang up just as fast as the Safe House did, with dozens of students suddenly passing along information to those annoying wayward Royals just as quickly in return.

Gavin’d heard that some the Jokers had set up one of their own; tons of people were whispering about how bullies seemed to be getting better and better at dodging anyone the Safe House was sending out in the beginning. But after what seemed like forever trying to get in on it, their ‘network’ turned out to be nothing more than a chat-room of, like, six mid-tiers max. Not a single high-tier among them, it was made less than useless due to most of them being second years not even in the same classes as Remi and Blyke! What was the point of making a stupid chat-room like that to track them if you couldn’t, you know, track them at all?! Posting memes to each other all day?!

If the Jokers really had a way of coordinating themselves like the low-tiers said they did, then he just couldn’t tell what it was. That was the whole point of a super secret anti-snitch service after all, but if Gavin had to make a bet he’d wager it must’ve been a stroke of pure luck. The fact that before John came around and tried to shake up the food chain, people like him trying to make a decent living shaking people down and getting into fights learned to keep out of the way of the Royals. Never could know when Arlo was in a bad mood when he was the King.

These instincts and survival skills were built up on both sides of the divide between the lower tiers and low-mids, as well as for the high-mids and higher tiers. It just turned out that the weaklings had a lot more time on their hand to figure this stuff out. No matter; Gavin and a couple of his compatriots had it on good authority the identities of some of the leaders of this whisper campaign. If the lead they beat out of that pipsqueak was right— and for that little shitheel’s sake, it better have been— then there was going to be another good day for the people that actually mattered at Wellston.

Taking one last look at his humbly admitted good looks and his beautiful grey hair spiked out and back, he finally put on the mask and stepped out from the bathroom. There, in the hallway, stood a couple more of his associates wearing the uniform required by this new tradition of battle: black pants, white shirt, some had ties and some didn’t, none of them had a teal jacket except for Gavin, and the same exact black full-thread balaclava.

No one could tell who each other was; if it weren’t for the fact that they’d come up with this little sting operation together, all four of the Jokers here might’ve been perfectly disguised and obscured strangers.

“Ready?” Gavin said, feeling his adrenaline pumping already as he clenched his fists over and over again at his side.

A voice he knew belonged to another mid-tier named Rouker spoke up, but from which of the three jacketless Jokers the voice came from was a mystery. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Gavin gave them a nod and joined them on their way, him pausing only to adjust his mask to better ventilate his breath. Before he could link back up with the other Jokers, though, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Didn’t I turn this thing off? Scooping it out, he saw a text had been sent to him from an unknown number.

Curiosity took over, but just for a second. Sneering derisively at its contents, Gavin ignored the unsolicited message and went on his way. On the screen for a few moments there was a a simple warning without a name or any proof, almost a glancing taunt. Clearly it was a prank from some douchebag trying to psyche them out so they could swoop in and get the glory for this. Not going to work, at least not on Gavin.

This time he wouldn’t run away.

‘Don’t be stupid. It’s a trap.’

The words weren’t just on Gavin’s phone, but also on Cecile’s mind.

After what had happened on their first therapy session, both she and Isen had grown evermore awkward with each other. The rainy day had given them space to mull on it, but neither one of them could add up as to why they felt this way. She fell, he caught her, thanks were exchanged and they were both supposed to keep going on business as usual. It was part of their deal! It was the entire reason she put him into this sort of position to begin with!

So what was their problem, then?

She wanted to bring it up to Otis the night after the rain canceled her second therapy appointment with Isen, but another part of her really didn’t want to at all. It was a clash between two parts that were confused about what they were even trying to fight about to begin with—  he got too close to us, he was just doing his job and caught us when we fell, why is he acting so nice to us and agreeing to do this at all?

Thankfully, Otis brought up something pertinent enough to draw her mind off the issue.

Knocking on the door to her bedroom, Cecile called Otis in with a look of uncertainty coming over him. “What’s up?” She asked, putting her schoolwork into a clump on her bed.

Swallowing his apprehension a bit, Otis straightened himself up and tried to elaborate. He’d been working on what he could possible say, knowing that he’d disobeyed her orders, but nothing came to him as a worthy strategy except honesty. No excuses. “I was followed again today. During lunch-time.”

Just like that, Cecile visibly tensed up on hearing that news. “What happened? Where were you at that time? Were you around anyone else that might’ve seen them?”

Brutal honesty, Otis. Don’t back out now. You pulled the pin, now throw it out there. “I was walking around the east hallway— you know the one, with all the windows looking outside to the parking lot?— and I felt them behind me. No one else was there, though, but I still felt like someone was there.” Cecile made to speak again, clearly looking like she wanted to speculate a bit, but Otis didn’t let her. “I know you told me to ignore them, and I know you told me to keep my Ability hidden— I’m sorry, but I did it. I used my Radar and I ambushed them even though you told me not to.”

That made her stand up from her chair, but her imbalance syndrome caused her to sit back down with a wince. He said nothing while she recovered, knowing full well how pissed off she was with him right now. Looking up after a few seconds, her eyes and her voice proved as much. “You decided to take on this guy alone?”

A lump in his throat. “Yes, I did.”

“Even though I told you not to?” He gave her a little nod, and she sighed. Reeling in her exasperation, she nonetheless felt just a little bit betrayed by this situation. “You could’ve been hurt, Otis. I told you specifically not to do it because it would’ve put you in danger. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” He said, tightening his lips a bit as he held his left wrist with his right hand, the grip growing with the anxious mood. “But I felt like the benefits outweighed the risks, and I was willing to take the chance.”

Cecile’s face said that she had so much more to say, but she fought it all down bit by bit. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she lowered her voice as she looked up to Otis. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to protect you again, Otis, even if I do walk again. My Ability’s probably gone forever, and next year you’ll be on your own and I won’t be able to help you anymore.” Turning her eyes down again, this time looking at the floor, she put her hands together in a manner that created an entirely new image that Otis never thought he’d ever see: total self-doubt. “Hell, I can’t even really defend myself anymore, either.”

He didn’t know what to say. For a moment there, just a snapshot in time, the cool, detached, collected, and unflappable Cecile was replaced with this new person. The bad-ass who took down three people at once and then blackmailed them to save Otis from getting outed and killed was actually flummoxed.

It was profane, it was wrong. Who was this stranger sitting before him right now? “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

Realizing that her self was being erased, Cecile re-centered her mind and banished those darker thoughts. I will not be undermined by anyone, not even by me. Her voice steadied once more, and the Cecile of determination and poise came back into frame. “Anyway, just promise me this: if you want to do something like that again for both of us, irregardless of the potential results, then let me know. I’ll be there in a heartbeat and I’ll share the consequences with you. All right?”

Seeing her return to true form reassured him somewhat, and he left the apprehension aside. Trying to smile, he nodded somberly. “All right. I promise.”

Feeling just as eager to leave that part of the conversation behind, she blew out some air a bit and tossed a useless glance at the homework on her bed. The mountain had been rendered to a mole hill due to her diligent efforts to catch up— and much to her pleasure as according to her teachers’ reassurances, the quality of her work did not waver one iota. “So, tell me; what did you find out? When you used Radar?”

“Well,” Otis said whilst putting his hands coyly in his pants pockets when he remembered how wild he’d gotten, actually grabbing someone by the collar like he was some kind of bruiser, “I managed to, uh, ‘apprehend’ the guy after I found him out.”

Raising her eyebrows in near-bemusement, she laid back into her chair and stopped a laugh just short of coming out as she humored the thought. “Wait, are you telling me you didn’t just find the guy, you grabbed him?”

“Yeah, I kinda lost my cool there. Pretended I was texting you to get him closer, and when I was sure he was right next to me I, uh, swung around on him, grabbed him by the shirt and put him against the wall.”

The image of little-muscled, meek-to-a-fault, bony and lanky Otis actually tussling with someone was the straw that broke the camel’s back. A laugh actually came out of her, but she covered it up with a hand really quickly. “You put him against the wall, huh? I’m sorry, but who was this guy, exactly?”

Coming up on another bump in the road between them, Otis held back before continuing to spill the beans, albeit he walked it forward cautiously and spoke as such. “I’m not sure— he looked really familiar to me, and I can’t quite place where I’ve seen him before.  A little bit taller than I am, he’s got brown hair, green eyes, and an Ability to turn himself invisible. Said his name is Terrence? Do you know him?”

Her eyes showed recognition at the basic details, but the name definitely brought it all back for her. Looking like she wanted to slap her own forehead, Cecile instead threw her head back in frustration. “I can’t believe I forgot about him! I should’ve known when we couldn’t see who was following us!”

 Looking back at Otis, she continued, “Yes, I know him. He worked with the Press Club as a… source of information. He can get kinda creepy, but then again I wasn’t trying to make friends with him. He gave me pretty weird stories that almost seemed too good to be true, but more importantly his job was to get me tips about other people way ahead of the other reporters. Royals, surprise tests, things like that.”

The Press Club! “So he was, like, some kind of spy or something for you? Is he…?” His voice trailed off a bit.

“Is he what?”

“Well, is he safe? I only ask because, according to him, he was following us because he wanted to talk to you. He also says he didn’t because he feels ‘intimidated’.”

She began to speak, but she stopped and reconsidered something before beginning again. “He’s safe to be around, sure; he only has an Invisibility Ability. From what I heard from him, he’s gotten caught quite a few times by his targets in the line-of-duty. If he can fight, he’s definitely keeping that to himself, ‘cause I’ve seen him get beaten up plenty by just mid-tiers. As for me being intimidating…” Cecile thought about that again, then shrugged. “Can’t help you there. Honestly, Terrence seemed fine with me the last time we talked, he seemed perfectly fine.”

He’s gotten caught before. Something about that didn’t sound right to Otis; it felt like it was an exaggeration, but he knew that Cecile had no real reason to lie about that. There was something about that boy that seemed controlling, like there was a facade about him. Maybe that was his general creepiness Cecile was referring to? “Maybe something’s changed for him in the past month or so since you’ve been gone?”

Discounting that, Cecile tacked his more pressing claim. “You said he wants to talk with me about something, though, right?”

“Mhm. Sounds pretty important, but he probably wouldn’t have told me if I’d asked enough.”

“My problem with that is that he knows me. He could’ve just texted me or talked to me personally, or even just come up to you and introduce himself. Right?” She received a nod of agreement from Otis. “So that makes me think that something else is up. Did you get any hint that he was working for someone on this? Anyone at all?”

“Well, not really. When I caught him he sort of just flailed a bit and begged me to not hit him. After that, he sort of helped me out, too. I tried to get something out of him before he could get away, but Blyke showed up and told me off.”

“Blyke, huh?” Her mouth twitched into a frown. “What happened then?”

“Terrence quickly covered for me, even though Blyke had me dead to rights cornering and yelling at him. It could be some sort of weird way to leverage me, but Terrence told Blyke that everything was fine.

Didn’t even try to run away when he showed up, too.”

Otis continued on. “When Blyke was gone, Terrence told me a little bit more about what he wanted. I was probably still too caught up in the moment, but I told him that if he wanted to discuss anything with you, he’d have to go through me first. Like, he’d have to tell me what he wanted to say to you, and then I’d tell you; if you wanted to reply, you’d tell me, and then I’d tell him. And if I thought he was following you or me while invisible again, I’d shut the whole thing down myself.” Otis grinned and shrugged his shoulders a bit. “Sorry if I overstepped my boundaries.”

But she didn’t look upset by this news. Rather, she put a finger up to her mouth, then pointed it right at Otis. “No, no, that was a really good idea. Even if we could assume he’s telling the truth, anyone I’ve crossed before could’ve just as easily recruited him like I did. If someone’s using him to try and trap me, then perhaps you’ll be able to get him to slip up if you keep him at a distance.”

To be honest, Otis hadn’t thought of it that way. What he told Terrence was just a stop-gap; if she’d asked him to, he would’ve dropped him like a bad habit. “What do you want me to do? Lead him around a bit and waste his time until he gets pissed?”

“Exactly right. Whatever he has to say, take it in bits one at a time. That way, if he’s really just trying to ask me something, there’ll be nothing more than that. But if he pressures you to let him see me, you’ll be perfectly placed to string him along until he gives up.” Before ending the subject, she decided to finish off her explanation with a bit of a friendly joke. “Just don’t have too much fun with him, all right? I don’t want to lose my only friend to Terrence of all people.”

Having learned well Cecile’s art of artistic teases, Otis returned fire. “’Your only friend’, huh? What does that make Isen, then?”

Stiffening a bit, revealing that he’d hit the nail on the head without even realizing the potency, she harrumphed and crossed her arms in front of her in defiance as her tone turned stern. “An asset proven useful. If this is your way of trying to ask about how my physical therapy went today, it was rained out. Thanks for asking, though!”

“Oh? And what about the first one? Don’t recall it raining that day, too.” Otis asked, having missed out on the potential juicy gossip that this could’ve reaped him. Sure, he was a little bit fonder of Isen because of their camaraderie in the emergency room waiting for any news on Cecile, but hearing about an embarrassing meltdown between them any day now was too tantalizing.

A meal differed, though. “It went fine. Now go back to studying, will you?”

Not going to push his luck, her partner-in-crime gracefully bowed out and went back to his room.

Still, though, there was the issue again. That damned new problem that’d been hanging over her head and, unknown to her, Isen’s too.

So when they both showed up the next day under their designated bleacher, this time bright and early before class could even start, the slight chill of the morning air wasn’t the only thing turned cold between them. Isen had arrived first and by the looks of it had waited for a few minutes before Cecile came along; seeing her, he gave her a stilted greeting of a wave and an unsure smile. Becoming equally befuddled by his returning presence, she returned the favor sans smile as she held 

A sigh of frustration. This flustering was ridiculous. I’m going to end this issue once and for all. “Listen—“

“Hm?!” Isen practically chirped in surprise, looking up at her after he broke out of a daze.

The noise was sufficiently loud enough to make her pause and almost acknowledge it, but she carried on. “— I know it’s been pretty weird between us lately, but it’s gotta end now.”

He attempted a smirk again, this one succeeding a bit more as he realized that he wasn’t alone in these sudden mixed feelings that’d spontaneously sprouted. “You too, huh?”

“Yes.” She settled up against the wall, holding her cane in front of herself even though her lean was enough. “You did your job well, just as I’d asked you, and I appreciate it. But I think it’d be best that we say that anything that happened in the scuffle was just in the scuffle. We got a little too close for comfort when you caught me, but that’s all it was and it’s in the past now. Agreed?”

Isen had been looking at her like he knew he was about to get some kind of terrible news, but could only wait for it to come out. But apparently he’d heard exactly what he wanted to, saying “Agreed.” He sighed with relief and brushed his hands over his face, cupping himself from chin to the hair on his head. Pulling them down, Isen shot her a playful look as he quipped, “But you gotta admit: I looked pretty cool there, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. For once. But only for a moment, all right?” The hatchet was buried between them, and by all means she could have left it there. Something swelled within her though, forcing her hand to offer him a further concession just as she had when they’d started. There was no reason for it that she could find, but Cecile could not help herself. “And… I trust you now.”

There was a dumbfounded look upon him now, as if he’d gotten slapped right across the face. “I’m sorry?” 

“I said I’m giving you a little bit of my trust now, Isen. Just up to there, though. I trust you to do your job competently. Anything more than that, you’ll still have to prove yourself.” Having to admit that— whether it was fabricated or true anymore, it didn’t matter— was quite a thing for her to do. If Isen was just doing this to get a laugh out of her behind her back or to be weird about it, he betrayed not a cent of it.

Instead of laughing or making a passing flirty comment like she’d seen and heard him do with so many girls before, a truly warm smile stretched across his face once more. Again and again, the dour disposition he’d had since the Safe House imploding was slain by Cecile of all people in his life. Who would’ve thought? “That’s all I want!”

And it was the truth.

The air was cleared between them, at least on this subject. With that done Isen and Cecile proceeded on with their little project together. Once again they tackled the line, and once again they failed. But they did not falter on the way there; Isen did not feel as scared to touch her, and Cecile did not mind that Isen was holding her by the shoulders, the hips, or the arms to guide her along.

Trust is golden, and it was now becoming their bond.

All the way across the school to the north, the Jokers exited the building and entered the sizable parking-lot. It was segmented between one section devoted to credentialed visitors and fourth-year commuters that could legally drive but could not afford or did not partake in Wellston dormitory life; on the other side of the lot was a fenced-off area with a fence-gate as well as a lift-gate for staff vehicles.

Gavin and his his merry band of misfits had been told that their targets would be here, next to the black metal fences that protected the faculty’s vehicles. Evidently, these low-tiers thought a couple of security cameras that watched out for the cars would do the same for them.

Fat chance. As if any one of them would be stupid enough to get close enough to the fences for it to even matter to begin with, let alone hop it and enjoy the protection it provided. Anyone who got caught dead in there without permission— which was so astronomically hard to obtain that even the most devoted Royals, kiss-ups, and Turf War champions would be denied— would be handed their ass by the Headmaster himself.

So, if I were a bunch of little cowardly brats, where would I be hiding here? Bemused the greyed desperado. The lot did not stir save for a few birds hopping around, their chirps providing the only ambiance as his squad fanned out.

Looking around the commuter cars, beneath them, even looking inside just to be sure; there wasn’t a sign of anyone being there besides them.

And then, everything seemed to get quiet. The birds no longer chirped into the peaceful spring wind, having flown away and abandoning their perches upon the slumbering metallic beasts and the hard black ground. Gavin was apparently the only one to notice this, because everyone else had kept on patrolling. Bad intel. Empty parking lot. We’re all alone here, and it’s too quiet.

Before he could think the words himself, one of the Jokers that had jogged all the way across to the far edge of this space threw up his hands and yelled out in frustration, “What the fuck is happening—?”, his protestations interrupted with a muffled gurgle by the obnoxious roar of energy that had sent a figure rocketing out from behind him. This tackle knocked the Joker first into a sedan, and with a tripping spiral right onto the ground.

The young thug could not make another noise; they had no time, being tackled back down by the person that’d just tackled him. Clarity left as his face began meeting a clenched fist that’d been raised high up in the air, way past his assailant’s red hair. This happened four more times before the boy on top of his prey was satisfied with his handiwork, the Joker no longer even bothering to wiggle away.

Standing up to their full height of 5-foot-10, it became instantly obvious as to how the Joker had been so easily dispatched; it was Blyke, and he looked not a little bit surprised to see any of them there. Feeling his skin crawl, Gavin realized too late that this wasn’t a mistake, it was still an ambush.

But it was now an ambush meant for them.

That mystery text was dead-on; it was a trap this whole time.

Glancing at the mask he’d removed from the knocked down-and-out Joker beneath him, Blyke held nothing but visible disdain. Turning to the pink-haired boy crumpled beneath him as if he were nothing more than an afterthought, the Royal shook his head in feigned dismay. “Krolik, Krolik, Krolik. Didn’t you learn to mind your manners after that big suspension?”

Stepping over him and tossing the mask aside, Blyke punched his right fist into his left hand and cracked his wrist in gleeful preparation. “So, anyone wanna be next, or are you guys gonna go fuckin’ quietly?”

The answer was instantaneous. A Joker far to his right mounted one of the cars, knelt down, opened their right-hand palm and held his arm steady with his other hand and fired six tiny yellow beams of light that arced right towards Blyke. His grin becoming a bit more serious, but still holding the playfully devious sadism he’d started off with, Blyke activated his Ability again and swiped his hand towards the missiles. 

The red energy easily overpowered those yellow projectiles, forcing the Joker to jump out of the way and onto the ground. Before he’d had any time to fire off another volley Blyke had already used his Ability to jetpack himself in bursts onto the roof of several cars, hopping along until he was right above his new target.

If not for the intervention of his other masked companion, that missile Joker would’ve been done for for sure. His new ally had run all the way over and took a mighty swing with his fist coated with energy, missing Blyke just enough to avoid direct impact and instead making a small crater into the asphalt. Blyke readjusted when he landed, getting into an optimal fighting stance.

This let him easily dodge more of the missiles, then turning around to catch the other Joker’s lit-up right fist, then parrying the other with a deflecting knock when he went in for a left swing. More missiles, Blyke ducked and let them uselessly fly off into the distance; that Joker was firing wildly to keep up with his speed, and therefore uselessly. The other Joker, meanwhile, was applying everything he had to every swing. Admirable, but still too slow and far too energy inefficient.

They were just mid-tiers, after all—  hell, most of them were probably mid-tiers, too, and that made him stand out as the clearly superior force even disregarding his now-considerable fighting experience. If nothing else, it was a good work-out; this trick of his had paid off in spades, and now he was getting a little bit of a fun reward in before unmasking all four of these clowns.

Gavin didn’t have a chance to get into the scrap to help out; by the time he’d caught on as to where the flow of battle was going, despite being scared stiff by the idea of fighting a Royal, Blyke had already ended it. The Royal let the melee Joker attempt some more swings for him to effortlessly block, even kicking him out of the way of the missiles when the other Joker once again fired blind. 

This charade of a ‘fair fight’ went on for twenty more seconds before the red-head grabbed the wrist of the puncher and provided a clean, full-power haymaker right into his stomach and another across the face. The boy blanched beneath the mask, but Blyke wasn’t done yet. Grabbing him by the tie, he pulled the assailant back in so he could grab him by the neck and slam his back right into the ground.

Clear knock-out.

Twisting around, Blyke held out a hand of his own and fired right into the next volley of little missiles and hit their originator straight into the chest. The Joker went flying, sliding right over the hood of a car before landing in a crumple. A punch or two wasn’t even required; this one went down quietly, much to the letter of Blyke’s request.

Retrieving their masks, Blyke saw that the melee Joker was Crail, a mid-tier with dark-green spiky hair styled more forward than others with his messy mix. His power was Strong Punch, which gave him a steep augmentation to his physical stats— especially within his fists.

The other, long-ranged Joker was the emerald-haired Rouker, the missiles he’d been firing positively nullified in range and power by Blyke’s comparable moves with his Energy Discharge Ability. And just like Crail and like Krolik, all three of these pathetic wannabes were from the group that had been suspended for attacking Seraphina “with brutal intent”.

And then there was just Gavin left standing to face the high tier, his little plans dashed and scattered into the breeze by this Safe House-loving goon. Realizing that surrender was not a realistic option anymore, whether it was for his own pride and status or for Blyke to accept without decking him outright, Gavin activated his Ability. His skin turned a shade of gray even darker than his hair, nearly a shade of black as it hardened up.

But he knew damn well his mid-tier-level Stone Skin wasn’t going to save him here. At the very least, his power would make sure that he wouldn’t get hurt too much on the way down. “Well, here we goes nothing.” He mumbled with resignation, augmenting his speed as he charged like a freight train right at Blyke with a mighty yell.

Turning his body sideways but still staring down his last opponent, Blyke powered up a bit more as he enjoyed himself and the battle he’d practically set up. Running at Gavin, Blyke activated his Energy Ability and created two spheres for him to hold almost like gauntlets. Running to meet him, Blyke then threw his left hand and the energy ball it held right at Gavin’s face.

Squaring up in time, Gavin met that destructive little ploy with a hard thrust of his right fist. The pain he felt upon contact would’ve been overwhelming with the defensive attributes his Ability had, but still received enough damage that the hand went numb. It was a successful play, since the sphere had shattered.

They switched to their next available fists, and the same thing happened too. Gavin’s Stone Skin met Blyke’s Beam-based one; the silver-haired boy’s skin was just tough enough now to barely tank the blow, but it was enough to disperse the red-head’s powerful sphere out of his hand.

Two punches to knock out Blyke’s opening gambit that he’d treated more as a joke than a serious move, and now Gavin already felt drained. Keeping himself going by sheer will now, Gavin’s hands tried to ball themselves together as he swung after Blyke, the numbness affecting what little technique he’d had.

And once again, the more powerful one acted like he was playing with his food. The strongest mid-tier the school had to offer was a flailing child compared to Blyke, even after the high-tier had spent a little bit of effort to take out his companions. Three, now almost four people down and running on his feet, but the Royal was barely breaking a sweat. Honestly all the running and dodging he was doing was more of a strain on Blyke than the fighting.

Born superior. Crafted in combat through the Turf wars. Rightfully higher in the ranks, standing tall in the Hierarchy with all the benefits that came with them.

And this fucking idiot wanted to throw it all away. Him and Remi, perfectly positioned to graduate with immense prestige by default as high tiers, if not for their accomplishments dutifully maintaining the

Hierarchy up until recently and fighting the Turf Wars for the school for all these years.

All of it getting tossed straight into the trash.

For what?

A club?

A fucking club?!

He wasn’t one to talk. Being a mid-tier placed him higher than the low-tiers, so Gavin had plenty taste of privilege himself. However, what use was it compared to an elite, a high tier, a god-tier? All his machinations, all his plans and strategies and lots, all amounting to defeat after inglorious defeat by these Royals gone rogue.

Gavin would kill to get what Blyke had, but the bastard was more than eager to do away with everything he’d gained over the years to become some vain ‘defender of the lower tiers’ or whatever the hell it was that he thought he was doing.

If Gavin wanted to do that, he’d have been laughed out of the room. Some punk, some thug-gangster mid-tier that made his bones breaking those of others for lunch money and homework answers. Barely scraping by, but sure he’d run around the school like Blyke did, picking fights with others just doing what society mandated that they do: assert position and gain profit.

For him, it was a simple dichotomy: he struggled to climb to the top because he had to; Blyke could goof off and play sheriff of the school with his girl-whatever-friend because he could afford to. At any time, the Safe House could disband, they could fall back in line, and they’d reap the benefits even on the last possible day. If Gavin stopped his hustles and let others pass him by in the rankings, he’d screw himself over and potentially miss out on a good higher education or a decent job.

As if the universe felt his resentment, he was rewarded with one of his punch-slaps connecting with Blyke’s cheek. The hit surprised both of them, making Gavin stand back as soon as he’d realized what he’d done, making the Royal grab his face. Fury was dancing like fire in Blyke’s eyes, the indignity screaming loud and clear that the little tit-for-tat was over. 

And with a solid blast of his Energy and a good punch, so was Gavin for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

The final blast sent the stone-skinned Joker flying right across the parking lot, thankfully missing all the cars in his wake before rolling down a small embankment hill. Blyke had another one ready to go if the punk tried his luck, but thankfully he stayed down in the grass. Last mask off, he tried to put a name to the face as the dark gun-gray texture retreated from the unconscious Joker’s skin.

Gavin! That’s his name.

Although he and these clowns never ran in the same circles regularly, they came to Arlo frequently enough for favors and things like that when he was King. From what he remembered, this Gavin kid was supposed to be the best mid-tier out of all the classes; liked running homework rackets on the smartest kids who didn’t have any protectors, and stole petty change left and right.

Scumbag piece of shit. It took Blyke everything he had to not land a kick for good measure while Gavin was down. Swallowing his temper back, he felt well enough knowing that their little sting operation was a success. Using his phone he quickly took pictures of all four Jokers he’d beaten, placing their masks right next to where they lay so that there would be no doubt who they were and what’d they done. Sending them over to Remi with their names, he received a tiny thumbs-up emoji from her real quick.

‘Good work!’ She said. Although Remi wasn’t the one out here beating them up, she’d still be pretty busy on her end entering their pictures and names into their little shared spreadsheet. The document was a work-in-progress, but it had names, pictures, and most importantly what they knew about their frequent foes and whoever they think who would cross the Safe House’s path. It didn’t have a real title in the Boogle Docs folder, but Remi enthusiastically referred to it as their ‘Big Bad Book of Big Bad Morons’ in conversation.

It was a cheesy little nickname. Even if he declined to use it himself, Blyke couldn’t help himself but to smile at her jolly attitude. Her bubbliness was as infectious as it’d ever been, and that sort of stuff from her got him through the day.

A quick text back. ‘Thanks. Gonna bring them in brb’. He was going to drag them off to the nurse’s office so they’d get their injuries checked out, and then he’d go get Keene to properly cite these guys. Although it wouldn’t be much in the way of punishment— just a slap on the wrist, even if they were running around harassing everyone— they’d still get a little just desserts.

Getting them all lined up next to each other wasn’t difficult. The hard part was going to try and get them there without losing one of them. Looking down at all four of them, he realized that he had no real way to bring them all in besides doing it one at a time. The Jokers were all down for the count right now, but who knows if any one of them had a healing passive of some kind and then they’d wander off.

Times like this, Blyke wished that he had some sort of strength augmentation like Isen did. Although it didn’t get much practice with his best friend, it still would’ve come in handy at times like this.

An emotional pang fell across Blyke’s mind; he missed his best friend. Not simply for this, though, but just in general. It really has been quite a while, hasn’t it?

Ignore it. You can text him later. Keep thinking.

So if Isen was probably off doing who-knows-what with Cecile right now, and Remi was back at the club room, then he had to think of another way.

Another name or two popped into his head as he thought about this operation as a whole. It wasn’t just him and Remi acting alone, after all. They’d managed to convince two low tiers to help them out by setting the whole thing up, acting like they were just unwitting bait. It took a lot of guts, considering how little it paid to be associated with the Safe House right now.

But looking at his new pile of problems in front of him, Blyke couldn’t help but feel like he had to ask one or both of them to stick their necks out just a little bit more. Going out of his and Remi’s texts, he brought up the group chat where all four of them’d been collaborating in. His thumb almost landed on the screen to begin typing out his new request, but he stopped himself when he saw one of the last few texts Remi had left. ‘That’s all we need. Thank u!’

She had been reassuring these two low tiers that nothing bad would come to them if they did their part to help trap some Jokers. Both were hesitant to begin with, only being in contact because of the tips they’d shared bullies and Jokers now and again, but Remi’s optimism and promises of protection helped wear the two down. Now, though, Blyke needed them to give him just a little bit more help.

He clicked on one of the low tier’s phone numbers to text them a message separately from Remi. It felt a bit scummy, like he was going behind her back. This one was someone that Remi sounded like she knew personally, too. Whoever they were Blyke had no idea, but he’d still do everything he could to watch out for them from now on since he was going to be dragging them into this further— but by necessity. He didn’t take their sacrifices in the face of the risks lightly.

Besides, Blyke was sure that Remi would understand once he got a chance to explain this little predicament to her.

At least the weather’s nice today. thought Otis. His little showdown with Terrence took place on one of Wellston’s rare rainy days, the weather just clearing up when he and his new charge went their separate ways. It was quite a portentious day for both of them, punctuated by a sudden change in the weather. Having lived near a coast for most of his life, he still wasn’t used to rains being as scarce as they were this far inland. The entire city felt entirely too dry.

But then again, he wasn’t in the slightest familiar with the thought of bossing someone else around, either. When Cecile acquiesced to his plan to try and sniff out Terrence’s goals, if he had any, Otis felt the excitement that came with unfamiliar opportunities presenting themselves. He was the one that was supposed to take the orders; never mind the ones he willingly obeyed from Cecile, just the barrage of demands, requests, and outright threats he’d suffered under were his life’s story.

The higher tiers always found an unwilling but still compliant person in Otis. With Cecile he found himself flourishing as a second-in-command, rather than as a person working under duress. Now, though, was his next chapter as a person: taking on Terrence as his direct responsibility. This differed from the Press Club members because his authority always came as an extension of Cecile and later on Isen. It was their ideas to put him into a position like that, and he’d served his purpose dutifully. 

Here, though, it was his idea, his plan, and more importantly an expression of his own will to find out who this Terrence guy really was. It took on the guise of Cecile’s will, but it was all under Otis’ motivations in reality. All he wanted was Cecile’s blessing to do something that he thought would protect bother her and himself, instead of her giving him another assignment.

In the intervening time, though, his braggadocio had soon been supplanted by a nervousness that provided him with some jitters. Denying Terrence his phone-number was supposed to be a power-move; a ‘I don’t come to you, you come to me’ kind of deal. However, as he sat here waiting for that invisible boy to show up, Otis felt like kind of an idiot.

Well, at least I got to feel a little cool!

Just as he was reluctantly considering activating Radar again to help locate the invisible boy, the second time in as many days, out of the corner of his eye he saw Terrence appear into reality. That same questionably superficial-or-real smile on his face, the brown-haired boy waved. “Hey, Otis!”

Giving a wave of his own in turn, Otis unfortunately ended up reflecting the insincerity he felt coming off of Terrence instead. “Hello, Terrence. How are you today?”

If he noticed that, though, the spy did not betray it. “I’m doing good! Thank you!” turning around so both of them were facing out at the same direction, Terrence pocketed his hands and asked, “So, did you get a chance to talk to Cecile yet?”

Well, straight to business then. “Yup.” Otis planted a dead end to his sentence on purpose.

A second passed, and Terrence had to follow his lead, still keeping up the act if not adding a bit of an irksomeness in his voice. “And? Did she agree?”

Putting his head back and blowing out some air, Otis was stalling yet again as he looked towards the wisping clouds in the sky. “Well…”

“’Well’ what?”

Otis let a beat go by, then looked back at the prey he was batting about in his paws. “Well…” He had to smile. Never mind being nervous, this was this was just too fun now. “… she said we’ll do what I suggested. I’ll be your go-between for anything you want to talk about with her. Anything she wants to say to you, she’ll only say through me.”

Terrence was visibly happy that he seemed to be making some progress now. “That’s great! Will you be able to—“ he began to ask, but Otis put a finger up and cut him off.

It was the impish smile on his face that foretold of all the designs he had in his head. What, exactly, would Terrence be willing to put up with in terms of annoyances before he, secretive informant he was, would give up as his motivations? Otis was quite eager to find out. “Not yet!” He put his finger to his own lips before lowering it to keep stringing Terrence along. “I want to make sure that you’re going to be absolutely on the level with me about this— that means no more sneaking around us, and especially no more fibbing. From now on, I want to be sure that you’ll be working with me in good faith.”

A bit of surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I know you worked for Cecile as an informant; she told me you’ve worked together before, but you acted like you two were more distant than you actually were.”

Shit. Terrence now realized that he had made a miss-step yesterday, the suddenness of Otis’ interrogation catching him off-guard. “I, uh—“

But, evidently, it wasn’t as much of a deal-breaker as he suddenly feared, because Otis kept on smiling as he had before. “You could’ve at least told me that you worked for her, but you kept it to yourself. Either you wanted to keep it a secret because that’s the kind of secrecy she’d want from you, or you really have become a bit nervous about talking to her. There’s also the option that, in reality, you really were trying to lie your way past me. That’s no good. So, for now, I’ll be in charge of you instead of Cecile. Consider it… a bit of a demotion, subject to a review of conduct.”

Quite a bewildering turn of events his misjudgment took him. Would this interfere with his goal of re-establishing his capability to track Cecile and her pawn in Otis. Now, though, it seemed like he was becoming the pawn of a pawn! “Not to repeat myself here, but I’ve gotta ask: what does that mean, exactly? The, uh, ‘review’?”

“Before I agree to take any question to Cecile, you’ll have to prove to me that you’re trustworthy. I’ll have you hang out with me now and again, and we’ll see just how far our trust can go. These are crazy times, you know; don’t know who’s on your side and who isn’t.”

It took every ounce of strength afforded to him by his training to not clench his fists in frustration. What’s this stupid game he’s trying to play right now? “I just wanted to talk to her. That’s all, that’s all there is.”

Finally getting out of his seat at last, Otis stood up face to face with Terrence. “And if you really want to, you’ll play along!” A bit more bait on the hook, maybe? “On top of that, too, is that if you do show that we can rely on you again, I’ll see if I can’t talk Cecile into letting you be an informant for her again.”

The lure was dead-on, even if Otis didn’t realize what he’d done. Terrence’s mind raced at the possibilities opening up from that offer. Informant. That means access to both targets. If she retakes control of the Press Club, too, then that’ll mean I can get a steady source of information back as well.

Far too good to pass up. “All right, that sounds good to me. Or, uh, deal. Whatever you want.”

“Good! Glad we’re on the same page now.”

With that being said, the two of them were now left staring at each other. A gold eye uncovered from long, lavender hair met a pair of green ones unconcerned with such stylistic concerns. Both were trying to size the other up, now that they were going to be establishing a working-relationship together.

Terrence was the tallest of the two, if only by an inch or so.

Otis wasn’t nearly as physically toned as his new partner was, but made up for it with unpredictability.

Terrence was an agent sent by Spectre, a secretive organization.

Otis was the main flunky of a high-tier former Queen-now-school-refugee.

Out of both of them, Terrence clearly had all the cards, all the advantages in this new relationship of theirs. And yet, frustratingly for him, it was Otis rather than Terrence that was calling the shots. This thin, aloof schoolboy was now playing with the machinations and designs of forces beyond his comprehension like he was holding a toy in front of a pet’s face. If the spy wanted to get what he wanted though,, he would have to go through this inquisitive, unpredictable, and now playful to the point of vindictiveness flunky. 

Toy and all.

Conceding once more to this new situation, he only hoped that this affair wouldn’t interfere with his duties monitoring his other targets. “So what now?”

Satisfied, Otis shrugged. “I dunno! I’ll think of something.” A thought occurred to him to correct his previous mistake, and now it wouldn’t look as silly if he fixed it right now. His phone appeared in his hand, and he offered it to Terrence. “Put your number in here. I’ll give you a call when I want you to show up. All right?”

Infiltrator. Saboteur. Informant. And now, toady. The first three were part and parcel of his life, the masks he’d taken up without question. In service of keeping them on, though, he would now have to add the fourth to his arsenal— for now. His anger boiled beneath the surface, and he kept it there. “All right.”

Gavin woke with a stir, the pale colored walls coming into view as he escaped the briefest of sleeps. He was unconscious, which normally wasn’t a good sign at all in any case. He remembered now; Blyke had wiped the floor with him after his posse of Jokers got ambushed during their own ambush. The Royal got cocky during their one-on-one fight, Gavin swung wildly and managed to crack the edge of his fist across Blyke’s face. Barely a glancing injury, at best purely a mistake.

But that’s all she wrote. Temper drawn into a few punches, kicks, and a red energy blast for good measure sent Gavin flying; the pain from the high tier’s punishing blows soon became overwhelmed by the heat coming off of whatever Blyke had thrown at him square in the chest. When all that happened in the span of a few seconds, he barely had enough left in him to recognize the world tumbling about him as he flew right into darkness.

Strange. Nothing was hurting him yet—

Ah. He had been given a few applicable medicines, the gooey salve spread across his bruised and otherwise injured areas on his body.

It all made sense now. He was in the nurse’s office, laying in one of the beds, with his three former compatriots sprawled on one bed each to a man. Idiots. Weaklings. Losers. These words and more came to mind when he saw the other boys laying there, still napping off what Blyke had done to them as well. He didn’t believe he was being too harsh on them; after all, he applied those very same slanderous labels to himself. Gavin was only the first one awake now by the saving grace of his own strength as well as that of his Ability. Otherwise, he would’ve been right there with them, sleeping it all off.

But at the very least no one could have called any of them cowards. A high tier came around looking to knock some heads, and a few plucky mid-tiers did their best. They might as well have tried fist-fighting a hurricane, but still their honor was kept intact— if not their bones.

Noises returned to Gavin’s attention, and the muffled conversation over near the door becoming more prominent. Turning his head a bit, he saw the school’s new nurse discussing something with Blyke. Someone else a little bit shorter stood just outside of his view, their shoulder showing from the side of the door, but they never came in. Whoever they were could go to hell, too, same with that red-haired wannabe hero.

After a few seconds, Blyke noticed that Gavin had woken up. Looking to the mystery person out of view, the Royal thanked the nurse for “keeping these guys here”, and said he would be right back with Keene.

The school’s head of security?!

Piece of shit, I haven’t done anything wrong! You put me into the nurse’s office, but now I’m in trouble?! The rank hypocrisy of it all; everything that he’d heard about them losing their marbles from the other mid-tiers and even the high-tiers was truer than he ever could have known. But as he’d reflected before, that was their privilege as powerful people. To the victor go to the spoils. But even if they tried to deny the Hierarchy, the Hierarchy never denied them.

He’d been fine with that if they just came out and admitted that to themselves, if they knew it at all. But what the hell did he know, anyway?

The nurse— some new woman, not that blue-haired Doctor guy anymore Gavin reminded himself— checked in on her patients before going back to her desk.

But she didn’t sit down like he expected her to. Something over there had forced her stop just before she took her seat. A few seconds of her staring at the tabletop, and then the nurse simply spun around and took her leave. The door clicked closed on her way out, with the sound of her footsteps soon receding into the distance.

Trying to get propped up on his forearms and elbows instead of just lying there, Gavin couldn’t understand what was going on anymore. Where’s the fire? She got someplace better to be than watching us now? Isn't a nurse supposed to be, you know, actually in the nurse's office when patients are around? And whatever happened to Blyke’s little plan to snitch to Keene, or was the faculty finally not listening to little babies anymore?

Irregardless, like hell was Gavin going to let himself get caught for something like this. He’d paid the toll, his position and honor were intact. Beyond that, there was no real obligation for him to take part in any of this.

He wheezed, his arms still weak and wobbly from the medication as well as from the shellacking he got. “C’mon!” He growled, his bed shaking beneath him while he looked back forth between it and the door. “C’mon, damnit!”

That clicking sound came again as the door handle turned. Closing his eyes, Gavin let himself fall back onto the pillow. Whatever was coming for him now, whatever punishment that Blyke could possibly cajole out of Keene for him, Gavin became resigned to it all.

The door closed, with only one prominent set of footsteps coming into the room. A voice spoke, but it was hardly as cold and reserved as that of Keene’s. It was younger, a teasing mix of a teenager’s crack becoming organically replaced by a young man’s deeper tone. “Looks like somebody didn’t check their texts today, huh?”

‘Don’t be stupid. It’s a trap.’. It was a distinct warning sent through his phone but had been forgotten all about it until now, and probably would have kept on forgetting it until he glanced at his texts next. Opening his eyes in shock, Gavin looked over to the side to see not the venerable Keene, a glowering Blyke, or even the nurse returning from wherever— but instead it was Zeke, the elite tier!

“Z-Zeke?!” He asked, jolting upwards out of bed. “What’re you doing here?! How’d you know—?”

“— What the text said? Oh, man, it was really easy. I heard some like-minded people talk about what you were doing. It's not like you were keeping it on the down-low. On top of that, did you actually think that kind of crucial information just landed in your lap without it being some kind of trap?” The bismark haired boy wore a wicked, taunting smile as he stalked forward like a hyena. It was pretty clear he was caught between being bemused at Gavin’s folly, whilst also being smug and self-superior about being ‘above it’.

Despite the mocking joviality from someone far higher in the pecking order than he was, Gavin could not deny that Zeke had a point. It was stupid enough for him to believe that some bottom-feeders like his merry band of morons could actually crack the elusive snitch-system, much less for him to ignore the text just from the heat of the moment.

A frustrated sigh. “No, you’re right. It was dumb. We— no, I got taken for a ride. Now I’m sitting here, waiting for that goodie-two-shoes to come back and bust us.”

Sauntering over, Zeke brought himself right up next to Gavin’s bed. A flash of potent excitement came across his eyes, just for a moment, before he started leveling a bit with his captive audience. “All because you were just doing what you had to do to keep things sane around here.”

All the inner rants he’d been doing just today, and yesterday, and practically every day since that infernal Safe House came around spreading its weirdo message had built up to this burst of relief. “Thank you! Holy shit, I’ve been saying this! It’s so fucking stupid, dude! One day I’m doing my regular work keeping the lower tiers in line just like everyone else, and the next day the Royals— these Royals, who’ve definitely done the same shit as me or you or anyone else, treat us like we’re a bunch of freaks!” 

Gavin put his hands through his hair, letting the silkiness flow through the spaces between his fingers whilst he rode the wave. “I don’t get it, man. I feel like I’m going fuckin’ crazy. The whole school’s gone to shit ever since John left. Shit, since Arlo stopping running things it’s been bad, but at least you guys at the top kept things from getting stupid when John was King.”

Zeke shrugged a bit. “He still is King, you know— John. He just doesn’t give a single shit about all this stuff we’re trying to get through here. I tried to get him to come back first day after he returned from his suspension, but he told me to fuck off right to my face.”

Tsk. “Too damn bad.” Gavin growled, looking off to the side in resentment. “He’s got a job to do. He’s our leader, the entire school has to follow his lead and he needs to give us one. He might not like it, but he showed us all these good ideas on how to hunt, how to fight, how to keep the Hierarchy fresh and new when he was Joker. Just because he got suspended for a few weeks he’s suddenly acting like he isn’t our King anymore, and now the Royals he beat up are trying to change everything for the worse!

They’re not even in charge anymore!”

And Zeke continued to feed into the fire in Gavin’s belly, nodding as he sat down on an empty bed parallel to his. “It’s funny, right? Remi and Blyke and Arlo and the rest of them— they couldn’t beat John, going at him all at once, but the second he checks out they tried to make it seem like they had the right to run everything now. Sort of feels wrong, right? You can’t just fuck around with the system like that— you lose, you lose. End of message, come back when you get better. Now, if Arlo or Blyke got stronger than John and wanted to change things up, that’s a different story right there.” He leaned forward a bit, holding his right hand open towards Gavin. “But, think about it: would anyone really want that to happen, considering how weak the Royals’ve been acting lately? A bunch of low-tier loving hypocrites, trying to make us all hold hands and be nice to each other after they climbed the same ladder we did?”

If Gavin had the wherewithal to spit, he definitely would have at that very moment. “Bull. Shit. Not gonna happen, not while I’m around. That’s now how Wellston works— that’s not how the world works. Never has, never will.”

Zeke tilted his head a bit, that smile now running away from his face. “And if John cooperated with all of us— the mid-tiers and the high-tiers who haven’t gone crazy like those Royals have—  then things would go back to normal. No more random, unnecessary fighting; no more Safe House complicating everything; Turf Wars would come back, better than ever when we show other schools what real power is; and most importantly of all, a nice and safe Hierarchy for all to enjoy and to climb up. Straight up, straight down.”

“Fat chance, Zeke.” Gavin said. “From the looks and sounds of it, he’d rather pretend none of us exist until he graduates. We’ve got a King who won’t do anything, and all the other options out there right now suck even harder! At this rate, no one’s going to win in the end but the low-tiers!”

The strings had long since planted on Gavin. Try as he might if he knew and if he even wanted to, but they would not break off of him now. Become as solid as stone as much as you want with your Ability, Gavin, but you’re in the clutches of someone else’s destiny now. “Well, why don’t we just… replace him?”

“’Replace him?’?” The boy asked, looking at Zeke as if he’d grown three more heads. “That’s impossible. Literally impossible. Someone would have to officially beat him, first, that’s the only way he could—“

“It’s not the only way, only the easiest way we know of. Oh, sure, you ask anyone and it’s officially the only way where you can become the King of a school: you beat the old King, that King is considered dethroned, and the guy who beat him is made the King and marked as the strongest until proven otherwise. End of story, right?”

Gavin nodded, following along intensely.

“But what about Kings who just don’t give a shit anymore? It’s not like they can hand that off to anyone, can they? It’s not like you sign a form or something and say ‘Okay, I’m not King anymore, this shithead’s the King now because he volunteered.’. Kings rule by strength. Strength means everything in the Hierarchy, in here and out there, and you can’t just pretend it doesn’t because it’s inconvenient. Like, Arlo got chosen because he was the strongest in the school back then by the old King, which makes perfect sense. After all, who else was that King going to give it to? Arlo would’ve just been made the real King by default as soon as the old King graduated if the old guy had chosen a weakling.”

“That isn’t just a random thing that happens. High tiers, elite tiers, and even the mid-tiers are the true backbone of this school. We do everything, we run everything, we are everything. We’ll be like that until we graduate, and afterwards we’ll go out and get the best jobs in society, leaving those other losers behind. Wellston is Wellston because of us. Doesn’t that mean, if we wanted to, we could choose a King of our own if the old one retires or abandons their duties, and no one else steps forward to fight that old King for the job because they’re too scared or too stupid to do it? We need a King, one who believes in the Hierarchy. Morals, loyalty, manners; good shit like that. Who else should get to choose a King, then, but the guys that believe in what society and Hierarchy stands for, then?”

At this point, Gavin was beginning to drown. This was all too much, too fast. Was he hallucinating right now? When did Zeke even get here? “W-Wait. Let’s say it happens, and someone who isn’t as strong gets in to be the new, real King because they’re recognized that way. What if John steps up again, gets pissed off at the bad things happening and tells whoever we want to be King to take a hike?“

“Would he, though?” Cackled Zeke, nearly cutting Gavin off mid-sentence. The beauty in it all was the simplicity of the equation. “John is still King and he’s still around right now, and everyone’s waiting for him to wake up and do something about all this one way or another. But he just doesn’t! If he cared enough about stopping ‘the bad things’, whatever that means, he would come off the roof and beat up every Joker he could find if he wanted to.

“But kids still get beat up every day, he still goes to class, and I can’t get word one from him if he even cares about that. If John wanted to, he could take control back right now with Seraphina. But that would require him to take up the duties of being King, as well as accepting that there needs to be one, and he might really have believed in that ‘no more Hierarchies’ shit after all. Arlo would never’ve waited. He would’ve stepped up to make sure all us were taken care of. No Safe House confusing people, no back-chatter or stupid ideas like that from his Queen or his Jack. One look, he’d have gotten it all settled. No sweat.

“That was just a month ago. Back then Arlo was still one of us. Knew right from wrong, wouldn’t waste time with whatever bullshit got into Remi all of a sudden. John looked like he knew what was up, too. But, as we’ve seen, he was never one of us— not really. I hate to say that, ‘cause I ran with him for a while, too. Wat we need, though, is pretty clear: a strong King that’s one of our own again, as it’s always meant to be. Not one who’ll break down and cry about the dumb-ass low-tiers, or who’ll think twice about getting things done.”

The room was shifting with the sands. The pressure was on, but there was far too much to think about. Every part of it was written in electricity and flames in Gavin’s mind, becoming evermore dangerous to ignore every day. Everyone that wasn’t a weakling had to have thought the same thing, too. Sure, the Safe House was dead right now. But what would tomorrow bring? Or the next day, without a good King around to set things right?

Could it really be done?

A crown not from the gutter where the low-tiers lay, nor from the head of the last King to wear it knocked dead, but rather it being handed over by the powers-that-be that would usurp rather than to wait?

Cautiously spoke Gavin, well aware that he was talking about bending the traditions of not only the school, but of committing something that might very well have been taboo. He wasn’t entirely sure; he just felt too sick in his chest now to think about it too hard anymore. “Well, I’ve gotta ask… who are we gonna replace John with, then? Who could possibly get things done? Assuming, of course, that John’s not gonna step in to stop us.”

Taking a few steps away from the conversation, Zeke hummed as he looked out at the still-unconscious forms in the other beds. As if he’d actually taken the time right then to find a suitable candidate in his mind, he spoke with feigned suspense. “I was thinking… me.”

Gavin balked outright, a laugh almost escaping his throat as he first spoke up. “You?” He felt his own eyes go wide, all manners going out with it after he heard such a ridiculous proposition. The spell between them broke. “Are you fucking kidding me, Zeke? Is that was your big speech was all about?! You’re not even in the top five of the strongest guys in this school! John, Arlo, Blyke— shit, I think even that wimp Isen’s stronger than you, dude. You think you can get this utterly, absolutely insane thing done?! How?!”

The sarcasm, the playfulness, the intrinsically predatory jostling that Zeke had been performing vanished within a second. Rage thinly disguised as irritation appeared, a fist clenching fast at his side. It was then that the injured boy remembered just who he was talking so shoddily to at that moment. For all that Gavin had dressed him down, Zeke was still almost 2 whole points on the scales higher than he was. A verifiable elite, in the same tier as Isen and the one that Blyke had been in not too long ago. A punch from him would hurt just about as much as one from Blyke would, especially right now whilst Gavin lay in this bed unarmed and out-gunned.

As quickly that fury had appeared, so too did it go away; back beneath the murky surface that was this animal’s psyche, an ocean that betrayed only glimpses of horrors that it was really capable of. Instead of punching Gavin out with that fist, though, curiously enough Zeke reclaimed control in his own way by answering directly with mirth. 

“Because unlike everyone else here, I hung around John plenty to see how the ropes worked. And I’ve got a plan. Well, not really a plan I don’t think; maybe I’m just sick and tired of sitting around feeling like no one else sees the big picture here. We could profit from this big-time, Gavin, but I’m gonna need to bring around a lot of people to make it work. As I said: high-tiers, elite-tiers, and the mid-tiers. You’re the best the mids have.” He held out the hand that threatened to strike Gavin but instead offered it now as a handshake, a hand up even. “So what about it? You in?”

Looking away, there was still hesitancy in his mind that stood in the way of accepting at the very least a hand up and out of this bed. “Are you really going to go through with this? Do you think it’s even possible, or is this just some stupid scam you’re trying to pull over on me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you really care, dude? I mean, I could just leave you here to get whatever Blyke’s got cooking for you and your friends when he comes back. He’s done it to plenty of other Jokers he’s caught already, and I doubt he’s gonna go easy on you. Forget the King shit, then. Forget all that, just focus on this: isn’t it high time that someone put him back in place where he belongs? Or would you rather get what’s coming for these three losers, too?”

Maybe this whole thing was just an insane gimmick that Zeke had cooked up, getting too high on his own fumes so he was stumbling into a grift doomed to fail. Where did all this ambition come from, anyway? Did seeing the power John had as King firsthand really make him want to become more than just ‘the elite-tier guy that pretended to run the boys’ dorms’?

And more important, there was Crail, Rouker, and Krolik to consider. His fallen compatriots from the doomed raid on the parking-lot. They weren’t being offered the same kind of deal he was, even if it was just a one-way ticket out of here for Gavin into a bunch of fists that’d surely come his and Zeke’s way if they  failed to get his stupid little scheme working. Could he just leave them here, after all they’d been through today?

It wasn’t even a question at that point.

Screw it.

“I’m in. Get me outta here.”

Someone had to do something about this mess. Might as well be two idiots with a scheme or a dream.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria was always packed at this time, twelve o’clock high noon. The first and second years were co-mingling; the third and fourth years mostly ate at different times of the day. It was for the same reason as separating students based on tiers in the dorm: keeping the peace.

Sure, there was some co-mingling amongst all the years and the tiers at lunchtime before. But, apparently, being treated to the ever-present threat of the Jokers hiding around every corner now has put those warm relations on ice. Walls were being constructed within Wellston far beyond the physical ones that tended to shake, crack, and crumble from the power of its inhabitants. But these ones would not crumble under the weight of any paltry fists or blasts.

They were fortifications of necessity for survival. Without them, you’d end up crumpled on the floor spitting out your bloodied teeth like so many broken dreams. Facts like these were why the promise of the Safe House was a beacon of hope in a terrible time, but only just that— a fleeting fancy.

A ton of low-tiers and the few collaborative mid-tiers there were returned to cynicism when that bastion seemed to implode on itself. But not all of them were as ready to give up the fight; some still held onto that glimmer. Even if it was now far off in their memories, that noble experiment still held merit and support amongst a select number.

One of those defiant souls had been sitting in the cafeteria chatting casually with his best friend until he jumped at the buzz of his cellphone. He’d been expecting a text or a call from the Safe House, but definitely not this soon. After watching the boy for a moment, his friend asked what was up with the change of attitude. 

He had wanted to play it off, but after seeing what Blyke had messaged it was sort of hard to keep calm and collected. It was a pity, too; a small but still sort of significant part of what had fueled him to enter this sort of secret partnership was to try and build himself up to be that way. Cool, connected and even impressive to his peers— with one in particular, albeit he wouldn’t really admit as much out loud.

“It’s okay,” he sputtered as he got up, taking the trash remainders of his food in his hands as he motioned with them to a doorway, “I just remembered that I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Are you sure?” His friend asked, her watermelon-colored eyes that so wonderfully matched her hair entertaining a look of concern.

But he was sure about it. When he told that bully about what he ‘knew’ about how Blyke and Remi were receiving all their tips and hints on what they and the other dregs were up to, he became committed to this. After he got that punch in the gut for some inscrutable offense the bully took before parting ways with the bait, his fate became tied with that of his new allies.

The day the Safe House blew up as its members scattered to their separate isolated corners, when he saw his best friend cry about how helpless she felt to stop any of it from happening, this one boy became certain that he had to get involved too.

But he couldn’t tell her, not quite yet. So he gave her a smile, finding a bit of clarity in the mixed-up situation he was letting himself get dragged into.

“It’s gonna be all right, Evie. I promise!”

Promises were silly little things, when put into a different perspective.

Sometimes as a little kid you promised your parents that you would study really hard in school and would ace that quiz if you got a little trinket in return. Your parents would say they’d think about it, but they’d decided long ago whether to reward you or not.

Sometimes you promised to yourself that tomorrow would be a little bit better than yesterday, even when you knew full well that it would only get worse. More mundane, more darker, more trivial.

Sometimes you promised your best friend, your mentor, your ally, your King that you would take the throne after him with all the best intentions at heart. And you did. You listened to everything he had to say, you watched his examples in how to keep the peace between the tiers, and you saw firsthand what it was like when people had someone to follow. You took the crown when he graduated and tried to emulate everything he’d done, to keep his legacy alive.

So why did everything go so wrong? How could he have let it all slip through his fingers?

These questions haunted him day and night, ever since everything had come to an end. John had brought him and the Royals low, usurped his crown, and then turned everything on its head right into a roaring fire. With his defeat at the hands of Seraphina, John’s reign of terror was brought to an end. Arlo would’ve thought that all that John attempted to destroy would somehow end up all right, that things might not go back to normal but they would at least take a turn for the better.

But, evidently, no one was that eager for him or the Royals to come back, otherwise they would’ve kept coming back even when some of the leadership weren’t doing the same. Then again, who was he to talk about that subject, too? After all, maybe if he stuck it out when Seraphina had confronted the Royals that day, they would have been able to staunch the bleeding a bit.

The things she said, though…

Was Seraphina right? 

That question had rolled around in his mind in the few days between her dressing down of her former compatriots and the Safe House coming apart. It started first as a mote of dust, barely concerning Arlo as he tried to assert some discipline amongst the top brass of the Safe House. It wasn’t even his idea, nor his passion or his job to do so, but he felt that he was needed. When the Jokers stepped up their attacks all over the school, the people that the clubhouse were supposed to shelter began showing up less and less often.

A pebble now, rattling around in his skull; its dings and dangs poking away at his train of thought, even when the problems began escalating the next day. Big in-person meetings were supposed to have been ‘often enough to fix things, not enough to overthink everything’. Remi, Blyke, Isen, Arlo, formerly Seraphina, and sometimes the inspiration behind the project Evie along with the flaky Meili and Ventus. At the very least the core of the Safe House was supposed to get together once, maybe twice every week or so as they got the project off the ground.

The four or so days saw two meetings a day of varying attendance as well as fervors and volumes. The first ones wanted to find a way to try and get Seraphina back in, trying to tell their own side of the story again. ‘We can’t let John get back into power like this’, ‘Whatever lies he told her, we’ve gotta make her see the truth— he’s a monster, always has been and always will be’. No further contact was made and those ideas were never put into action, but in retrospect she would have probably hospitalized at least one of them if they tried that tact. 

That asshole had just returned from suspension, and barely a few days had passed before John fed his own narrative to Seraphina. It must’ve been a heartbreaking tale, because she’d become disgusted enough from what she’d heard to severe all the ties that were forged in the name of stopping him. 

Things had been cool if not pretty amicable between the Royals and Seraphina for a while by that point; their mutual goal in overthrowing her best friend’s paranoid-fueled rule of violence had been accomplished. Perhaps her attention had been listing near the end to what would happen when John would come back, but still she showed up open minded enough.

All of that swept away, vitriol and accusations flying out of her about ‘systemic abuses of power’, words that added onto the pebble until it became a clunking stone cracking against his brain. The look of hatred, of consternation and utter betrayal etched itself between the tears the ever growing projectile her words created.

Was this the poised and subdued god-tier that he plied to be the school’s Queen that held no one but herself in high esteem? Those bountiful days of her enjoying her deserved superiority over so many other people ran dry soon enough. It happened almost overnight when Arlo heard that Seraphina had fallen so low as to start hanging out with John, picking up a begrudging disregard for the Hierarchy as well as for the rules of polite society.

Did this anger she felt towards Arlo and the Royals start here? Or had some sneaking suspicions come to life only because of how far down John had clawed into her? His ploy, his game, his lie about being a cripple that only wanted to have fun and live life in peace with that fact; it was probably a thrill-seeking devil-may-care adventuring away from her set-path that devolved into something more. 

Arlo turned it over again and again, now that all was said and done. When she had become a disempowered cripple because of Spectre, she never lost faith in John nor gave any obvious thought to seeking out the Royals. Only when the truth was revealed, that John not only wasn’t a cripple himself like he’d always claimed, but was in possession of a power second only to hers and used it for his own goals as Joker did Seraphina break down.

It ran through Arlo’s head again: he and the rest of the Royals were beaten down underneath John’s vengeful foot; looking for answers, Seraphina broke things off with him and went out on her own; she and the Royals became involved in machinations that pointed only to one conclusion: the defeat of John Doe, her former companion and downfallen best friend.

But through all of that— the planning, the working, the anxiety and dread she felt over losing a bastard as duplicitous and undeserving as John as well as her Ability, it seemed like Arlo had misread the situation entirely. Even when she had been brought so low, speaking out from the heart to him about just a few inches of the miles of things weighing down on her shoulders Seraphina did not give it all away.

The Royals wanted to correct everything that had been done wrong. They would take John down and come back, new and improved with the Safe House providing an excellent base to work out of. It would be a regime renewed and reinvigorated, but with the benefit of hindsight and to the begrudgement of all a little sprinkle of humility. 

Arlo.

A new King and a new Hierarchy that was fairer than what had existed before this catastrophe, but wasn’t as insane as John’s anarchic goal to go so far as to dismantle both. They were facts, and Arlo and the rest of the group felt that they had to be realistic about this whole thing.

But those plans were doomed to be lost on Seraphina. Whilst her newfound partners in the shaky alliance drew out great and glorious plans in their minds and hushed conversations, she had designs of her own. After all that he’d screamed at her, the foulest lies and sickest cruelties he said and dealt out to her, to the Royals, and to the rest of the school, John had always remained her number one priority.

She said as much before, but as a general condition of her involvement in passing. No one actually believed that she held onto what were essentially lies from a psycho as anything beyond a sentimental myth. Surely her collaboration with them was the old Seraphina returning to her senses, and that quiet moment she and Arlo had about her troubles was the tipping point.

The sympathetic, lonely eyes of that girl sitting on that bench, left adrift in a world that was no longer hers were gone. In front of the Royals in his apartment stood the defiant passions of John Doe’s one true ally born again, burning the rickety bridge put up between them on her way out.

The hold that bastard had on his former partner was unbelievable. What did she even see in John anymore?

Yo, Arlo?

It merely added onto this tumorous thing he struggled to avoid within. It was made up of all the things he couldn’t understand yet, ranging from Those Few Days before he left the Safe House to how in the hell did they lose Seraphina to John of all people, and above all the echoes of his promise to Rei—

“Yo, Arlo!”

A voice that’d been calling out to him finally caught his attention, breaking him out of this now-familiar opera of him observing the brutal dogfight of his memories and his suppositions. Arlo had been laying underneath a tree by himself now that the school-day was over, his right arm supporting the back of his head and his left enjoying the lift and lows of his chest breathing.

The person awakening him from his obsessive trance was Holden, an old confidant and erstwhile supporter of his. They were both fourth years, and since Arlo was a god-tier and Holden was an elite-tier, they had once perfectly bookmarked the beginning and end of the top ten of the most powerful students in the school. This was some that the blue-haired boy enjoyed joking about at length, the repetition of the joke broaching upon obsession with a wanted fact.

Despite any misgivings Arlo might have had with Holden’s predilection for keeping up personal appearances and some matters of strength and position, he was pleasant enough company. Always approached him with a smile and a wave, just as he did right now. “Hey, man, I’ve been calling your phone! People said they saw you out here— you do know you could just come into the dorms if you wanted to take a nap, right? I mean, it’s not your apartment, but I doubt we’d have much trouble finding you a couch or something, either.”

Ah, that’s right. Looking up towards the top of his head, the cement and brick facade of the boys’ dorms became more evident beyond this pleasant little tree on its own right next to it. Dragging himself up despite rather enjoying the laze, he brushed off a wayward green leaf out of his blond hair. “Unfortunately, I’ve got an end-of-term project coming up soon and I’d rather get started on it tonight, so I’ll take a rain-check on that offer.”

It took Holden a moment to realize just what class project Arlo was talking about. “Wait, you mean the thing we need for class, right? That’s not due for a few months from now, dude, I think you can put it off a little bit.”

Clearly feeling a bit judgmental right now, Arlo raised an eyebrow and asked simply, “I do it ahead of time so I have time to finish it later for a better grade. Do you wait until the end of the year to get things done for finals, Holden?”

“I, uh,” a flop sweat formed on the back of the elite-tier’s neck as he couldn’t help but tell a flat-out lie not only to Arlo but also towards himself, much to his embarrassment, “no, of course not!”

Arlo let out a sigh. As free-spirited as ever, huh? “By the way, you said you were calling me. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, uh, you said you wanted me to keep an ear out for any Safe House news, right?” Holden received a tight little nod in solemn confirmation. “Well, it turns out that Blyke took out three Jokers at once, all on his own! Rinsed them out in the parking lot!”

It’d been a few weeks since he’d last heard from any of the Royals since the big break-up; no direct messages, and not a single text from any of the chatrooms that he’d been plugged into with them. Dead silence, made only worse because of their separate years. Still, though, it was pleasant to hear that his former Jack made quick work of some cowards. “Good to hear. Hope he made them regret putting on the masks.”

“Exactly my idea!” Holden agreed without missing a single step, nearly stepping over the end of Arlo’s own sentence he was so quick. “The more of these guys they beat up, the better!”

The rattling and rumbling felt like it was coming back, because whatever face Arlo made was enough to prompt Holden to switch gears just as quickly. “Hey, uh, you all right, Arlo?”

He furrowed his brow. Was he becoming that easy to read now? Truly a sad state of affairs if that was the case. “Yes, I’m all right. Just… thinking about a lot of things right now.”

“About what? You know you can talk to me about it, right?”

“I can?” Arlo asked, genuinely surprised.

Of course, this was just unfortunate misdirection as Holden playfully laughed, “Nah, I’m sorry, I could never keep a secret like whatever you’re worried about. My bad.”

Several students chatted at the dorm entrance far off from where he and Holden were chatting. Friend or foe, jovial or malicious, the nature of their conversations were too far away to be a proper judge for. “It’s nothing, it’s all right.”

Despite the small assurance, Holden did not give up so easily. “If you’re feeling that way, though, why not talk it over with one of the Royals, then? They’ve gotta be able to relate, right?” Even though Holden had tried to stay close by as a quasi-assistant-somewhat-pal, he wasn’t exactly privy to the whole truth about what had really happened those days. Almost no one knew the big picture, besides the participants of course. Then again, the boy was hardly one to pry about things like that if he didn’t have to.

Arlo kept up appearances nonetheless by trying to put up a roadblock to end that line of thinking. “I doubt they’ve got any time to hear me talk about my problems, considering they’ve got their hands full with the Safe House already. On that subject, did you hear that they just beat up three whole Jokers today?”

“Oh, really? Must’ve misplaced my Wellston Weekly copy again.” That got a smile out of him, appreciating the joke. Moving around Arlo’s defense, though, Holden pointed out a more neutral arbiter that could be to his liking. His smile, notably, went from a knowing jokester to an outright impish teasing delight. “What about Elaine? Have you two been hanging out at all? Why not try talking with her?”

Elaine. It’d been quite a while since he’d heard from her. A week? Two weeks? She had also stuck by his side, but since he didn’t live on school grounds and was in a different year than he was they rarely got to meet. He would’ve been heading home at least twenty minutes ago after the bell rung by now, but some kind of lingering malaise had fatigued him enough to want to nap by the tree.

On top of all of that, Elaine had been a part of the Safe House without having been a part of the Safe House. Within, but without; although she’d been present at the beginning and had played a part in creating the club, when it came time to stand off against John or contend with the escalating Joker problem afterwards she respectfully stepped back. She healed whoever came by using her Ability, but besides that she had expressed more than once that she felt essentially useless. Because of that, her standing in the wings to let the Royals handle everything surrounding the days-going-on of the Safe House soon became a estrangement.

At the time, Arlo had taken that feeling for granted. The Safe House was ascending, he was becoming more involved with it than ever before, John was defeated, and things were finally looking up. Now, though, after seeing what it felt like for himself, he wished he had given her even a little bit of encouragement at the time.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late.

And maybe along the way he could finally lose that mental rock, tall as his ankles now but no less volatile. If he could not figure out what its purpose was, then it might as well cease to exist. Reconnecting with Elaine might very well be the thing that got him on some sort of track again.

“Well… no, unfortunately not. I really should see how she’s doing after all that’s been going on.”

The subtle admission that he’d had a good point made his blue-haired companion positively beam. “See? There’s always a bright side! Try and not be such a grump around her and you’ll be set for sure!”

With nothing left to talk about they parted ways, with Holden giving Arlo a lazy wave farewell whilst walking straight away to the dorm, turning his head around a bit to see if his King would return it. Unsurprising, though, royalty— even in exile and isolation— didn’t wave to people that much.

Arlo’d ended his day on a different note than he’d began it for the first time in a while thanks to their conversation. Despite that, though, it didn’t take much to notice that his friend had said ‘Elaine’ and ‘hanging out’ with some emphasis on both subjects. What was he even implying right there?

How annoying.

Earlier that day, Blyke was standing around the four Jokers he’d dispatched looking at his phone. Scrolling social media to pass the time, he was enjoying reading a bubbly and gushy post from Remi about something or another. It wasn’t anything that Blyke had any previous knowledge of, but her uniquely electrifying positivity kept warming him up as always.

Excusing himself from the unconscious pun, Blyke scrambled the dreamy smile he saw on his face when he turned his phone off. His back-up had finally arrived in the form of a pretty tall but still lanky-looking boy with combed-parted indigo hair, awkwardly cautious around the Jokers that Blyke had laid next to each other on the ground in a row.

Offering a sincere apology for getting him involved further than previously bargained for, Blyke gave him an open offer to back out before they got to work. To his small surprise but also to his greater relief, the boy remained steadfast and doubled down on helping move the crooks inside.

Having an extra pair of hands on board made the job far more doable. Blyke propped up the larger two Jokers, meaning Gavin and Rouker, with their arms draped across his back as if he was earnestly supporting them. If that were the case, they’d have been fully conscious and not have him practically fully gripping the back of their shirts and Gavin’s jacket as if they were both wayward children.

It took some time, but Blyke was able to teach his newly-minted comrade-in-arms the same thing with Crail and Krolik, although they definitely had more muscle and height than their attendant did. It was around this time that they both had a brilliant idea on how to hide the boy’s identity from anyone that would have loved to sell him up the river to the Jokers whenever they’d get the chance for pay-back.

The school looked on in disbelief as Blyke and a person wearing a Joker hood carried four beaten-up boys limply all the way to the nurse’s office. What was happening? Who was the Joker and why were they helping Blyke out? Did they help beat up the four boys or was it all Blyke?

Their conjecture would work itself out later in the day, but that was hardly the concern of the champion returning with his defeated enemies. Bringing them in and closing the door behind him so that his collaborator could remove his mask in peace if he wanted to, Blyke got the attention of the new nurse, Lolola.

“Sorry, ma’am, but these guys need your help. They tried to gang up on me disguised as a bunch of Jokers, but they didn’t win.”

His matter-of-factness in talking about them being Jokers didn’t seem strange to the nurse, whom only looked let down instead of confused by the moniker. “Sorry to hear they attacked you; it’s not fair that you kids should feel so unsafe in an institution of learning as often as you do. Please lay them out on the beds, I’ll attend to them immediately.” She looked over and now realized that someone had followed him in wearing the now-ubiquitous hood for the Joker trend. “And, um, you are?”

Remembering how he looked now, the indigo-haired boy almost let the heavy load in his arms drop to his sides. “Sorry! Sorry, I’m not one of them; I just wanted to help Blyke out, but I didn’t want people to know who I am.”

After Blyke vouched for him, Nurse Lolola helped them lay out the boys onto the beds and started them all up on some of the school’s Ability-enhanced healing tonics. Everything else would take some time, so she said that they were free to leave if they wanted to.

Blyke tended to the contrary, letting her know that they were going to go get Keene so that the Jokers could face some justice for their actions. “Do you mind staying here and making sure none of them leave? I’d really appreciate it.”

“Of course!” She said, giving him a knowing little smile. “You did so well bringing them here to me to fix them up, I’d hate to let you down now.”

So the bargain was set. Now, all Blyke had to do was run across the school to the security office and bring Keene over. Then, everything would be set for the day, and he could finally go rejoin Remi for a quiet moment of celebration between the two of them and whoever else was in the Safe House at the time. Looking to his still-behooded companion in the cleared-out halls, Blyke—

Damnit, his name. They’d been so impersonal up until now that it had been too awkward to put off remembering his name any more. What was it again? “Hey, I know I must’ve said it before, but thank you for helping us out. And I mean especially for today, I really appreciate you giving me a hand here.” A bit of a frustrated blush came on him as he looked to the side before looking back. “Roland, right?”

The blask mask did not betray the expression Roland was making, but his giddy jittering at getting the chance to talk with a Safe House Royal did the trick. “Yes, thank you! And no problem, really, I wanted to make sure these guys got what was coming to them.”

“Trust me, I’ll make sure of it.” Blyke agreed, giving him a thumbs up. “And if not, well, I’ll keep an eye out for them and make sure they remembered not to act so high and mighty. Maybe they’ll think twice from now on about dressing up like some masked-up freak.” An awkward joke came to him, so he said it quickly in passing. “Uh, no offense.”

Not getting it at first, Roland realized he’d been called out twice now for still wearing the hood he took from one of the Jokers. “Oh, uh, no, let me—“ And he took it off with a quick tug.

“There you go, all better now.” Blyke said.

“Yeah, thank goodness. It’s so hot under there, I have no idea how any of them do it without, like, some kind of chilling passive or something. And people actually fight in these things, too! It’s nuts!” Roland thought about the violence probably dealt in the name and under the auger of this symbol, and he had to think about self-preservation again. “Say, uh, do you think those guys’re really gonna wait for us to get back?”

“Don’t worry, I put them all out of commission. Even if she gave each of them an entire bottle of that stuff, they’d need some pretty big help to get out of there without the nurse knowing. And anyway, you don’t have to come with me to get Keene and get him to the nurse’s office. You did your part and then some, far more than you were ever asked for from the start. You should go back to lunch now, or head to class; the period’s almost over, too, right?”

Roland tried to laugh it off, but knew that wouldn’t push the matter off. It was a legitimate point, and he knew Blyke was offering him an out right now. “I dunno, I feel like I wanna see this to the very end, you know? It feels great helping you out, because I know it means I’m helping everyone else out, too!” A further thought came to mind. “There’s probably not a lot of people going to the Safe House anymore, and I know that’s probably gotta bother you and Remi as much as it does Evie, but believe me, a ton of low-tiers and even a couple mid-tiers are rooting for you guys. Maybe they don’t let it show, maybe they don’t say it to anyone, but I know a lot of people see you guys as heroes. Especially you.”

The encouragement made him feel pretty mighty in that moment, and Blyke felt bashful over it. “Really? I mean, we hoped that everyone out there would still support us from the sidelines, but that’s great to hear. And… people especially support me, too?”

“Yeah!” Roland exclaimed enthusiastically. “No one’s really stood up for the low-tiers before, so the fact you’re always out chasing Jokers has really turned people’s opinions around on you— at least, I can say that for us.”

Blyke blinked, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “I’ve ‘turned people’s opinions around on’ me? What do you mean?”

“Oh!” The younger boy realized that he’d probably stepped over the line, and attempted to walk it back. “No, it’s no problem, don’t worry! Just keep doing what you’re doing, everyone loves it!”

Did he misspeak? Did I hear him wrong? Did people— do people have a bad opinion about me? The atmosphere between them became stale for the rest of the journey to Keene’s office, where neither boy chose to speak on the subject again on their trip.

They managed to find the head of security himself, watching him munch on an apple whilst he was reading through reports filed neatly and uniformly on his desk. Looking up, the bespectacled man offered a grin to the two students entering. “Well, well, well! Hello, Blyke. Keeping out of trouble lately?”

Part of him couldn’t tell if Keene was implying about when he got in trouble for holding onto one of the illicit Ability boosters he’d lifted during his vigilante run a month ago, or if he was talking about the vigilantism in of itself. Whatever reason it was, he and Headmaster Vaughn both declined to send his case to the Authorities despite both being obvious crimes. Instead, they merely reported him as possessing an ‘illicit substance’ on school grounds and gave him a light suspension. At home, his mother took care of the rest of his punishment in the form of grounding him and putting him to work.

And he was lucky he got off with just that as well; he got his loose temper from her as well as his Ability tier level, but could not quite match her in the former. For saving his ass from the Authorities and, more dangerously, his mother, Blyke played it as cool as he possibly could in front of Keene and the Headmaster. “Yes, sir. Well, uh, not exactly. I’ve got four Jokers lying down in the nurse’s office that I think you should talk to. And, y’know, punish.”

The man tsk’d the young boy as he removed his glasses, rubbing a thin shiny cloth onto his glasses before reapplying them. “You could have a hundred Jokers in there, Blyke, but it’s not against the rules to be a Joker so long as it’s for Hierarchical reasons. Gotta give me something better than that.”

And thus the location of the set-up was now rendered relevant, with thanks given to Remi for thinking ahead. “Well, sir, that is true,” despite that being a fucking terrible idea, “but the Jokers in question were caught searching cars in the parking-lot. Right next to the staff vehicles, too, looking inside them and everything; who knows what might’ve happened if I didn’t stopped them.” 

The implications of Blyke’s carefully worded reasoning were not lost on Keene, and the smile morphed into something else as he talked almost sarcastically— but not negatively. “Wow, that’s such an excellent story! Four Jokers go into the parking lot, one of the few places they’re not supposed to have any fights or even any presence in period without any reason to be? And looking around at parked cars, too… why, that would mean there was a reason for someone to step in and get them away from an out-of-bounds area.”

“And not only that, Mr. Keene, but also a reason to punish them for breaking those very rules. Parking here is sacred, after all, protected by Wellston’s code of conduct.” Blyke said, trying to not look either too satisfied with the story or too nervous using it on such an important school functionary.

“But why, exactly, would they even be there to begin with? Even the Jokers know that they can only push the code of conduct so far, and what’s more would have no real purpose to be in a place like the parking lot to begin with. No. No, this is without a doubt some kind of duplicitous scheme crafted to get four other students in trouble for being Jokers. It was a trap intended to set them up to face consequences they wouldn’t have faced otherwise.”

Keene leaned forward a bit to look Blyke right in the eye, and then gave him a courteous nod. It may have been some sort of sadism on the part of Keene, but it was also layered with a sense of approval— maybe even pride— on how Blyke and friends had shaped things this time. “Excellent job, Blyke. My compliments on the legwork on this one.”

Excitement came over both Blyke and his hitherto silent co-conspirator Roland, exchanging quick looks at each other before the Royal tried to bring it all home. “So, will you come with us to the nurses’ office, then?”

Letting out a bit of a chuckle, Keene remarked, “Well, I don’t see why not.”

With jubilation and triumph both of the boys walked right back to where they came from, Keene in tow, only to open the door to a terrible surprise. Whilst they were gone, the Jokers in the room had all come to whilst Nurse Lolola was still attending to their wounds with another application of medicines. The captives shot their former opponent daggers as he opened the door, tensing up with increasing revile.

Only…

There were just three Jokers here. Gavin was gone without a trace.

His face turning pale, Roland stepped back from the door before he could step in and be seen. How did he get out?! His thoughts raced in panic. Was he not knocked out after all? Did… did he see me when we moved him? What if he goes after me, or goes after Evie to get payback?!

Blyke, on the other hand, readied his fists as he strode in and looked first at the remaining Jokers, and then at Nurse Lolola. Trying to keep calm, he attempted to interrogate her. “Ma’am, there was another guy here. We brought you four Jokers, you saw us bring them in. Where’d this one go?” She had been soft-spoken before, and now it had evolved into silence. He tried again, “Did he get out on his own? Did you see him leave with anybody?”

But all he got was a furtive shrug and a shake of her head, neither an acknowledgment nor a denial of failure to stop Gavin from leaving, or even if he existed at all.

“Hello?!” Blyke practically yelled at her.

But he received a cold look from Keene, who stepped in between both of them as he held up his hands. “Calm down, Blyke. Now. If Miss Lolola doesn’t want to talk about it, then there’s nothing to talk about. She’s here to help students heal, not to keep them locked down on anyone’s orders— least of all a student’s.” But that didn’t mean he didn’t shoot a measuring look at her as well. “After all, we faculty are here to help all students out as best we can. Isn’t that right, Miss Lolola?”

She looked down and away, her voice lowered just a tad. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Despite the attempt at reconciliation, Blyke could not give up without a fight. He walked towards the Jokers, opening his arms and looking between them all as he talked it out. “Well, what about you guys? Did you see anything? I mean, think about it; you’re already in trouble. We’ve got Keene here is proof enough about that. So why should Gavin get out of this and not you? Let me guess; was the parking lot also his idea? How many times are you gonna fall for that kinda shit?”

Krolik and Rouker exchanged glances. Sure, they hated Blyke for a list as full as the day was long, but on the other hand they couldn’t deny that he might have a point. Ironically it was Krolik, the one that Blyke had knocked out first during the ambush with a clean sneak attack, that spoke up first. “I, uh, you see—“

He was cut off immediately by Crail, the green-headed boy that tried to go toe-to-toe with the Royal using his Strong Punch Ability. From the look in his eyes Crail had not forgetten how Blyke had effectively played around with him, pretending to take him as a real opponent only to easily dispatch him. “We didn’t see anyone else. There was only us there. Three, meaning me, Krolik, and Rouker. We were looking around, trying to find someone that’d been snitching on us to you losers.” He settled up a bit, squinting with satisfaction that he was getting one over on the person that had entrapped him. “And not only that, it was my idea. Gavin had nothing to do with us.”

With that, Blyke now found himself down a Joker now back out in the halls almost certainly well aware now that he’d been hoodwinked. How much Gavin might’ve known wasn’t clear, but now Roland’s fears of retaliation against him were shared with the red head, who knew that it was inevitable that he would have to tell Remi the truth. He went behind her back and got Roland into some potentially deep trouble, despite her doing everything she could to keep low-tiers— especially a friend of her friend Evie— safe from harm.

Roland said nothing at this point, looking only at his phone as he wondered aloud if he should reach out to Evie to see if they could talk all this. Blyke discouraged him from making any rash decision about telling her about the operation just yet; it wasn’t guaranteed that she could be involved, but then again neither of them felt like they could deny the overwhelming probability either.

That victory parade turned down into a pulse-pounding few seconds of uncertainty in record time. Looking at his own phone, Blyke turned on his phone and opened his direct messages with Remi. A new text came rolling in from her, proposing that they celebrate with some chocolate cake she would procure from the cafeteria on her own time. ‘Good work!’, she’d said not even half an hour ago.

Now he felt like a complete piece of shit, weighing on how exactly he was going to confess to her how he might’ve just screwed this whole thing up. Stupid, stupid, god damn motherfucking stupid.

Chapter Text

Due to my obligations to a larger, non-fanfiction writing project I've been working on, I will need to unfortunately place 'Flesh and Bone' on hold for about a month or so. When that project is finished and properly handled-- or at a point where I don't need to split my attention between it and 'Flesh and Bone'-- I will resume production.

I have not run out of ideas, and indeed I have an entire storyboard on my computer of exactly what I want to do and where I want to go with this fanfiction. However, my other project is at a crucial point where it's 90-95% completed, but needs my all to reach the end.

To this point, I must follow my own personal mantra for writing: "Don't half-ass two things, whole-ass one thing.". 'Flesh and Bone' will return long before the end of the year, and if I get some free time I will work on the next chapter so that it'll be ready to be posted as soon as I'm able to. 

I want to provide all of you, my readers, my full and utter attention, and I feel like the fact I've been missing my own Monday upload day at least 3 times in a row these past few weeks is unfair to you. So, unfortunately, I an pressing the pause-- but not stop!-- button.

Cecile and Isen, John and Sera, Arlo and Elaine, Blyke and Remi, Terrence and Otis, and even our good conniving friend Zeke shall return soon enough. :)