Chapter Text
If you're a Gray and you're from Mandela County, there's a 100% probability you're Asra Fern Gray, the sole surviving inheritor of the bloodline fortune whose papers were supposed to come in the mail last 1991. That fortune never came, and... okay, it didn't really matter to them. They were content with securing, barricading and living in the family mansion on their own. Self-taught life skills, supernatural power practice, and a little bit of music was all they needed to live.
Fine, lemme explain the second one.
Asra is a survivor. Not someone who got lucky in a dangerous situation, a M.A.D survivor. They were a true rarity, a treasure even, if only the government had the balls to actually get out and interview them. Poor Temporal Phenomena department. Anyway, apparently survivors of the disorder get some kind of superpower which, in Asra's experience, could backfire badly when not kept in check. A prime example of this was when they accidentally smacked themself with their favorite mug using their telekinesis.
Staying, checking, practicing, pacing around. It became a cycle rather too comfortable for Asra that they feared they'd forget why they were doing this: to keep on living. To see tomorrow and the days after. That's their purpose. And maybe deep down they hoped they would live to see the alternate invasion die out.
But if Asra survived... then others have too.
Like them.
Stuck, confused, scared by the new abilities they'd been endowed with.
Who would tell them? Who would help them? Not that they were the best magic instructor but... still.
Asra's train of thought proved to be die-hard when they found themself driving across Mandela County in their silver Mazda, looking at a flyer with the BPS logo on it.