LOOKOUT KID!

Do-do-do-do, do-do-do-do. Do-do, do-do, do-do, do-do-do-do.

[fuli163]

❛❛𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔.❜❜

HIKARU TOKIMOTO: unranked & anonymous on BYOH as 'fuli163'. TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT: the user gets randomly displaced in time; experiences time out of order. twenty-six, cis man, fc: yamazaki kento.

                             BIOGRAPHY ― BOARD ― INVICTUS.

tortured   by   kit   ( she/they,   mdt )   for   invictushq.

[waywardlegacies]

Maybe it was more for herself than for him, a quiet reassurance pressed to actions instead of words. A little touch like she needed to anchor the moment somewhere physical. Eeshika felt him freeze from her touch. She catches the smile finding herself letting go of the hold. Not pressing anymore of if she was okay or the worry that had been lingering, she gave a small silent nod. As they climb the stays she does keep her distance, a respectful distance...for the bubbles floating between them. She didn't want to burst them and the food come toppling down even further. Filling in the silence with the ramblings about her powers and some of the technical things on how it works. Maybe leaving out a few finer details and not trying to bore him as they were making their way to his apartment. She didn't clock on to how her steps slowed a little as she spoke. Or how her focus drifted inwards, almost too excited by her own powers, she allows herself to come back down.

She catches him glancing back at her, as she makes the slightly dejected comment, waving off her powers. The noise of parents past ringing in her ear. Some of their words she held to be true, even after years of pushing those parts away. Yet he doesn't seem to agree with that statement at all.

Something about the ways his eye seemed to light up when he complimented her powers. A small honest spark in them. It wasn’t performative or being impressed in a shallow way people sometimes pretended to be when trying to sound interested. This was different. He meant it. He actually meant it.  Her mouth parted slightly only to shut again as if any words she tried to say would fall short of what she meant to give back. Gratitude didn’t feel big enough. Surprise doesn’t feel accurate enough either. It was something gentler that just didn’t need to be put into words. It was just a nice little moment where she wasn’t so alone with the enchantment she felt with her powers. It was a quiet understanding, the childlike wonder she usually kept tucked away where no one else could see it. He just…he just got it. And for a moment, she forgot how to respond to that entirely.

Though she doesn't want to seem rude and allow the silence to linger. She knows her cheeks are heating up a little bit but this time she doesn't shy away from it. Her doe eyes lighting up, her smile beaming. "Thank you. Really thank you. Not many people see it that way and just...thank you."

The two of them halted in front of his door. Flat number 12A. Staying a little distance away as he opens the door with a cute little keychain hanging off his keys. It was only a moment of pure curiosity, she swears, as she peers past him through his open door. Times like these, seeing a person’s living room alone could offer a little more of a glimpse into who they were. She wasn’t expecting to cross the threshold. After all, this was his space, a place that he could exist without interruption. Even so, if there were to be an invite, Eeshika still felt as though she might be imposing more than she should. Yet some quieter part of her wouldn’t have minded a few moments longer with him. Something about him just drew her in, and she couldn’t quite put a name to it.  

Just having a look had bought her back to her old apartment. The place where she had started it all. The place that she was barely holding on to. Something about his layout felt bigger than she remembered. Her place had a tiny oak desk tucked against the wall that doubled as both a dressing table and her study space, cluttered with music sheets, musical theory books, uncapped highlights and her makeup bag scattered on the desk alongside half-empty skincare bottles that she clung to for every last drop of product.  She never bothered with a TV as she streamed everything on her laptop as she sat on the one beanbag that she qualified as a sofa. Though most of her time was spent hunched over her keyboard, permanently plugged into headphones because she practised daily and nightly without wanting the reputation of being a terrible neighbour. But that was then…things had changed a lot now. 

She snaps out of her wondering thoughts when he gives her a smile and a thank you, which she returns in kind to him. “Oh, right! Sorry, sorry!” she apologies not even thinking about giving his groceries back.  Eeshika clasped her hands together and with the soft pop of her palms, her bubble burst with the slightly brighter pinkish glow shimmer on dispersion as the few items fall into the back he held beneath. Her hands at the side, ready just in case anything that might slip past, but everything landed neatly in the bag.  

As the last item fell into the bag, something in her chest sunk along with it just like the last of her bubbles that popped. Eeshika laced her fingers behind her back rocking lightly on her heels as she tilts her head a little to the side as a soft smile pulls on her lips. "I guess..I'll see you around soon?" The word soon had just slipped out a little softer, a little gentler than the others without her really meaning too. It was desperate. It wasn't her pushing. Just a quiet little hope that maybe this wouldn't be the last time they would find themselves talking. She allowed the words to hang between them for a moment before letting out a quiet laugh "Hopefully next time we talk, it's not because of one of us causing a hallway disaster." Her gaze lifted back to his, "Or just because I'd really like to talk to you again."

The second the words had left her mouth, she realised how honest they sounded. A faint warmth flustered across her face. As she quickly lifted her hand into a small clumsy two finger salute and turning into a wave. Yet she kept a bright smile on her face. And this time it was something honest. Something real. A moment that she wasn't too eager to escape but with the slight urgency that her honesty would give too much away for her.

[fuli163]

               THE BLUSH STARTS AT THE TIPS OF HIS EARS BEFORE IT MIGRATES TO HIS CHEEKS. Hikaru tries with all his might to appear unmoved, to be cool and indifferent, dang it, but achieving nonchalance right now is like doing a handstand, and then a front flip, and then landing on his hands again. He ends up giving her a stuttering nod as he closes the bag and grips it. Hikaru doesn’t even remember to give her his name as he takes a step into the apartment, for some reason trying to escape from the presence of a beautiful woman who’s telling him she’d really like to talk to him again after helping him carry his groceries up three flights of stairs. 

He’s thankful, really, really thankful, but he’s also incredibly awkward. Any bold, sweet display of thoughtfulness makes him recoil just a bit, for the sole reason that he’s not used to it. If he hadn’t forsaken friendships for solitude years ago, all for the sake of keeping his permutation a secret, then perhaps he’d more readily accept it. As it stands, Hikaru can only fumble his way around the interaction.

“Yeah!” Another nod. “See—see you!” 

He returns her salute with a stiff hand, laughing a little. 

“Thanks again,” and because his head is totally blank, he lamely adds: “Have a great day!” 

Hikaru closes the door. Like a madman, he immediately goes over the interaction from the moment it started, thinking of all the ways he messed up. He stands there for a good while, simply staring at the chipped, white paint. He could’ve said this, and maybe that, and maybe closed the door more gently. Also, "have a great day"? What is he, a customer service rep?

And yet, despite all of the ways he could’ve made a better first impression, there’s a faint ba-dum, ba-dum in his chest. Hikaru takes a deep breath. He finally turns and walks into the kitchen, unable to stop smiling as he puts his groceries away. 

END.

[thebuzzkills]

Sami takes the note from Fuli163 and reads it once, twice, and then three times just to be sure.

Intercepted him. Intercepted- something could be done. And, apparently, he was one of the last to know, if others were planning to stop him already. For a moment, his thoughts rush with possibility, ideas of a stand off and a defeat and a city safe-

And then the note nearly slips out of his hand, with just a small movement of a few fingers allowing the piece of paper to escape his grip. He recaptures it with a quick motion, but he'd felt it- the instantaneous release of electricity in his hand where there shouldn't have been, and he takes a small step back.

"I shouldn't." Is the first response, automatic, with a small shake of the head- it's safer if he doesn't, a bunch of more experienced freelancers, younger with more reliable powers would be better off without him, he's sure of it.

But he also knows things. Saw the thief with his own two eyes, knows things that no one other than him could know, and... what if that would be of use?

And, more importantly, what if that saved someone from harm?

After a moment's hesitation, Sami looks back up, meeting his gaze. "But... yes. Yes, I'd like to join and help."

It's not a rumor. He knows that now, and Fuli seems just as sure. And even if he doesn't like it, he has to do something. Sami offers the piece of paper back to him, flipped to the blank side so it could be reused. "Are there many others? What have you heard?"

[fuli163]

               HIKARU NOTES BUZZKILL’S HESITATION EVEN IN ITS BREVITY. The instinctual “I shouldn’t” before second thought takes over. It leaves him a bit puzzled, honestly. They’ve run into each other a handful of times by now—simple, crossed paths; mundane in their line of work, considering—yet Hikaru estimates that their familiarity with each other is purely professional. As close as freelance “hero” work can get to professional, at least. 

And still…

Buzzkill’s permutation is strong, right? The ability to bend an element to one's will typically ranks high in the F.B.A.I. assessment, at least from the statistics Hikaru’s scrolled through. He has no idea if Buzzkill’s ranked, though… for all he knows, he could be flying under the radar, too. 

          The piece of paper nearly slips out of the older man’s hand before he hands it back to him, flipped, just like his decision. Hikaru smiles. It wouldn’t be in his place to convince the other—he’s glad he's coming on board by his own terms.

Awesome! :) Sort of. There’s Anna and Outis, and maybe others? Anna goes by ‘brooklyn cryptid’ on AlterEgo, are you familiar? So, she made this post—

The note continues on describing how Hikaru got DM’d the details of the upcoming meeting, how a handful of them are going to exchange information and hopefully come up with a plan to take down the Cleaner. They stand on the sidewalk, barely out of the way, for a while longer as pedestrians move to and fro, passing the note back and forth while Hikaru fills Buzzkill in on all of the details of the upcoming meeting. Finally, the two bid each other goodbye, promising to keep an eye out on any more suspicious activity while they go about their individual freelance work.

END.

[404karma]

[waywardlegacies]

Something about watching her bubbles embraced both of them in a moment of stillness. Almost like everything had been soften, as if the world blurred itself out of focus just to give them a small suspended pause. Time didn’t stop so much but it was just a moment that allowed them to be, as the bubbles floated around them. 

The fewer words spoken, the more it felt right. Compared to everything that had been rushed and pulled at them beyond this moment, this little slice of stillness felt needed. It wasn’t something loud enough to be named, nor as fleeting to be ignored, but this gentle pause that took them out of the slight panic and awkwardness that they ran through. Upon his agreement, Eeshika’s smile brightens, honestly, this time without hesitation. “Sure!” she echoes, softer and a warm thread through her tone. She allows him to lead without question, falling naturally into step just behind him. Making sure, this time around, that the distance was not too close for another accident as the bubbles trailed between them. Before heading too far up, her gaze is on him as he seems to glance at the food again. Normally, when she is Siren, these were the moments when she’d offer a reassuring touch or squeeze to the arm. Instinctively she reaches out, “Hey,” she wants to reassure him again,”Don’t worry, it will be okay.” But really, she didn’t know what all meant. Not yet, at least…but for the moment, she could reassure. Maybe she was saying it more for herself than him. Still, she let go of him, not thinking much at all about the touch, but continued to walk up the stairs to his place Each step creaked under her feet at they climbed, the sound as familiar as it was unwelcome. Paint peeled in tired curls from the discoloured walls only exposing the yellowing ones beneath. The beannister felt smooth and frayed in the exact same places as her hand occasionally brushed against it years ago. Seemed not much had changed. Actually, Eeshika could have sworn nothing had really changed. It didn’t feel as if she was walking into the past, more like the building had refused to move on without her.

The butterflies in her stomach settle a little between comfort and anxiety as the two climb higher. Each and every step of her carrying the weight of someone, revisiting a version of herself she had long since left behind. Yet it did feel like she was haunted, more like a gracious growth she could embrace and ground herself with.

When he speaks, Eeshika blinks briefly, hoping that she hasn’t zoned out for too long.That would have been just rude. She looks to him and the bubbles. Not many people actually had asked her that. It has always been about how pretty her bubbles looked or asking for certain bubble shapes. “Kinda?” she replies thinking of the best wording, “So they’re kinda connected to me a bit. Most of the times, they kinda free float just like they are now.” Eeshika gives a faint yet sweet smile as she said, totally negating the fact that she used her own body’s moisture to create them. Not the most appealing to confess. “Other times, I can have a better hold on some,” she takes some of the free-floating bubbles and flutters them around him until they pop leaving behind a pinky-peach sparkle as they do, just being a little playfurl with it. 

Also, not adding the fact that the colours of the bubbles were tied to her moods. That was a little private thing she had spent a while working out. Sometimes new combos reveal themselves….like the ones they were now.  

"And I dunno, I guess I just kinda think a little bit about the expectation I have for them and pop!" she continuous making a little sound effect,"It kinda just happens. And I guess, I just sorta embraced what they can and can't do." Like the time her bubbles protected her as a child from noises she didn't want to hear. "But it's nothing special. After all...there just pretty little bubbles." Her words echoing the words of another, that she had heard time and time again that slowly, over time had became her own. Yet, her smile doesn't fade away.

[fuli163]

               HIKARU STARTS TO FEEL EMBARRASSED ABOUT HIS EARLIER REACTION. The warm friendliness that seeps out of her like rays of light from the sun (but not directly, not harsh but shined gently through half-open curtains) is met by the ingrained wall of resistance between him and the world. His willingness to get close to others, or allow others to get close, is reluctant at best. His limbs momentarily freeze at her touch, though it’s less obvious, and he recovers much faster this time. Hikaru responds to her reassurance with a clumsy smile, searching for the right way to respond with such urgency that he ends up staying quiet. 

          They get to the second landing while she gives him the overview. Hikaru watches as a handful of bubbles circle him before dissolving into a flutter of pink sparkles, warm and peach-like. As they cascade, the refracting light reminds him of fairy dust from early Disney animations, just like Tinkerbell, bright and enchanting. He's not sure whether the trail end of her explanation is meant to be a humble statement to offset her showcase or if it comes from a place of insecurity, but he disagrees wholeheartedly. He glances at her, just a brief check-in, before he eyes the larger bubble and doesn’t stop to think for even a moment. 

          “Nothing special?” Hikaru’s eyes twinkle. “My groceries are being carried inside a huge bubble, this is the coolest thing I’ve seen in years.” 

The sentiment is spoken like a child, and perhaps that’s what makes it true; it’s unburdened by analysis, burst forth from feelings. He’s been to dozens of different timelines, to the past, the future, and back, but everything he witnesses leaves him just a bit more paralyzed with the grandeur of the universe—the grandeur of everything, the thought that everything exists—that a hint of fear always blooms alongside every breathtaking sight he’s ever witnessed during his erratic voyages through time. 

He can’t quite communicate that there’s beauty in simplicity and comfort in familiarity in one go without sounding like a guy who’s read too many surface-level self-help quotes on AlterEgo; can’t describe it in a way that soundly articulates the scope of the experiences that led him to a ridiculously simple truth everyone already accepts as a given if only because it sounds right, it sounds comforting. 

But he’s not really trying to give her confidence, doesn't feel like it's his place. He’s just talking before his mind catches up.

          “Um—” And now that it’s caught up, Hikaru quickly diverts his gaze and continues up the staircase, rushing up the last handful. He leads them to his door, 12B on the rusty, fake gold-plated plaque, and pulls out a singular key from his jacket. It dangles alongside a mighty morphin’ red ranger figurine as he sticks it into the doorknob, unlocks it, and pushes the door open. 

          The living room is rather tiny beyond the threshold. A brown two-seater is propped against the wall opposite of the door, and an old coffee table sits in the center with a handful of text books and markers scattered on it. The only significant thing about the space is the large whiteboard stationed next to the couch. Its entire surface is filled with half-erased math formulas and a section devoted entirely to question marks. Connected to the living room is the kitchen, then further beyond is the bathroom and his bedroom along a short hallway that ends with a small window looking out to the parking lot behind the building. Hikaru supposes she’s familiar with the layout, though he hesitates to invite her in. 

Shouldn’t he just take the groceries? He turns to her with an uncertain look, pausing before the threshold. 

          “Thank you!” His lips press into a smile. “I should—” his hands hover tentatively below the bubble. “—take these? How—sorry—will they just drop? Oh, right, I should—” As if coming up with an answer on his own, Hikaru takes the surviving plastic bag from around his wrist and holds it open below the bubble, waiting for the groceries to drop.

[retrocausalities]

The times Keegan has heard the question ( twenty-three exact instances ever since he started counting ), its phrasing has carried tones as accusatory, like an inquisition, to beleaguered, like a Sisyphian task. Yet none have scratched the gentle surface of Hikaru Tokimoto’s iteration. A whisper of lint, found in warm pockets fresh out of the dryer. Still, how heavily the stomach lurches, recognizing the sensation of being discovered in a place you shouldn’t belong.

“ Hikaru…? ” Keegan tenses in between syllables, the ka escaping as a breath of astonishment when distinguishable splotches of red come into focus on pale, drained skin. The whos and hows start to assemble as steward training snaps into place, but before any of Keegan's questions can land, Hikaru pitches forward before managing to catch himself in a hunched half-sit. Keegan moves in a snap, jogging closer with a hand outstretched. “ W-wait, don’t push yourself! ”

Through the wear and tear, Hikaru smiles. And Keegan hovers, doing what comes naturally: fretting. One hand slips around Hikaru to brace him upright while the other digs into his bag for medical supplies. “ I’m going to check for injuries. For now, I’ll need you to tell me where it hurts, and don’t hide it, okay? ”

As the motions drilled in by a nursing degree animate Keegan’s limbs, the possession of the past reminds Keegan of how little has changed despite years slipping through life like grains of sand. Keegan tries ( truly ) to stay impartial, collected like how training demanded. Those instructors would be displeased to see the truth: when applying antiseptic, Keegan’s fingers flutter like a harp string plucked wrong, oscillating, discordant. A mistaken sound that can’t be unheard.

But how could distance between them be possible, anyway? Not after the care packages. The check-in texts. The quiet tallies of bruises and cuts that were an awful too many to be dismissed as everyday collisions against Life, and far too frequent to be summed up as one of Life’s accidental serendipities?

“ Almost there… ” Keegan murmurs, surveying around Hikaru’s head. Shallow head-wounds, localized inflammation… the injury pattern aligns with blunt force — like falling from a height, or being struck. Keegan's lips twist in a humorless, snake-like wriggle.

On his final pass, Keegan pointedly ignores the loose tangle of soaked bandages that Hikaru's hoodie fails to convincingly conceal. “ I’m going to take away the pain now, ‘Karu. Thanks for holding on as much as you could. ”

The medical gloves are off. Keegan’s fingers brush against Hikaru’s temple. Then the prickle, sharp as a needle's pierce, enters Keegan’s fingertips. Pain flseeps, slow and viscous like pine sap. Keegan sucks in a muted breath through his teeth, and counterbalances the discomfort with his own mitigation, and reshaped. That raw burn in Keegan’s hands cools to something camphor-like before draining out and into Hikaru instead. Next, Keegan works quickly. Ointments, gauzes, bandages. Everything legally carried, applied with practiced efficiency.

The connection between Keegan and Hikaru, bloodied and bleary-eyed in the alleyway; is something akin to relief braided with regret, an ephemeral childhood scent clinging on a well-loved plush animal. Each time burying one’s head into its nostalgic embrace effacing more and more of that historical remnant. The process of loving so much it borders on damage. There, in that open vein, is where Keegan is with Hikaru — tenderness of knowing that slowly dips into pain. Lacquered repeatedly with worry.

“ I’ll take you to a hospital, Hikaru. Can you walk? " Keegan says, offering an arm. Then a pause, gentler now. “ You shouldn’t go home without proper treatment. You got really knocked around... Did this happen during the emergency? That’s why I got stranded — I forgot to tell you. The two’s out, so I need to find another way into Manhattan .” He doesn’t dare spotlight his curiousity out loud, wanting to give Hikaru the option to reveal what caused those wounds.

[fuli163]

               HE ACCEPTS KEEGAN'S SUPPORT WITH A PAINED SMILE. Hikaru’s nature is long-suffering and self-denying; after losing his mom and becoming a financial pressure for his grandparents, he prefers to endure his maladies in privacy and can’t help but be embarrassed of his weakness in front of others. And yet, as Keegan rushes to his side, Hikaru has no pride that compels him to refuse his help.

A short, breathy laugh leaves him as he leans some of his weight against his rescuer, self-deprecating in its tone. It’s like he’s afraid of bursting into tears. He wants so badly to mask the amount of exhaustion he’s in for Keegan’s sake more than his own; he hates being the cause for the worry lines that appear between his eyebrows when they’re furrowed in concern more than concentration; hates becoming the weight upon Atlas’ shoulders. It’s catastrophic, somehow—not to be injured—to impose upon him so heavily with his carelessness, to see the shadow of worry and anxiety cross his face. 

          There is still a mark of Keegan’s previous life in his heart, though Hikaru isn’t sure whether to call it his previous, or just his other life. He still remembers the pain in his chest when he received the first of the meal packages; remembers crying within the first few bites and mourning in the lonely silence of his apartment. Up until then, he hadn’t known where to put his grief or how to handle it. He still isn’t sure. He can't even go back to that timeline, even if he wills it... He couldn't attend his funeral. How do you mourn someone who’s still here, but isn’t? Who died so far away, that only you feel the ripple of their death? 

How do you lament losing someone who’s right in front of you? 

          Hikaru describes his pain in a quiet tone, like every part that hurts is an admittance of guilt. He tries to shrug it off but puts effort into being honest, mentions the dizziness, and even shows Keegan the road rash along his right forearm that he got from the side of the staircase. 

          He sits in silence for the rest of his treatment, letting Keegan work uninterrupted by his attempts to play off the severity of his injuries even though he wants nothing else but to cheerily claim that he’s okay and let Keegan go home. Instead, he turns his face away and focuses on the dirty bricks of the building in front of them, staring at the overlaid graffiti like it’s telling him such a boring story that it’s putting him to sleep. 

Then he feels Keegan’s fingertips at his temple, and he really does slump over. Hikaru’s head comes to rest on Keegan’s shoulder as relief floods all of his nerves and reduces all of the random aches across his body to nothing, hitting him with such gentle potency that all of the pent up tension is extinguished at once, leaving him as calm and content as a newborn. It’s not the first time he’s been on the receiving end of Keegan’s permutation, yet every time feels like it is; certainly, it’s the first time he’s been in enough pain that he all but deflates when relief finds him. 

It’s only when he hears Keegan’s discomfort—just a heavy intake of breath—that he lifts his head and blearily looks around before he slowly blinks at his caretaker, looking exactly like a stray cat Keegan took pity on. 

          “Hospital?” He sits up like the wall bit him and remembers himself the next instant; all of the resistance that left him comes back in full force as his eyes glaze over with anxiety and, exactly like a stray cat, looks at Keegan like he moved in a sudden way that spooked him. Hikaru doesn’t mind going to Keegan’s clinic, but a hospital? He’s not sure about all of the probing that happens there. 

          “What—” Hikaru swallows. He doesn’t want to waste more of Keegan’s time, but he doesn’t want to be ungrateful. He reaches for his backpack uneasily and accepts Keegan’s arm to help him up. Hikaru’s limbs no longer feel like they’re three times their actual weight, his pounding headache is gone, and perhaps that’s what’s tricking him into thinking he’s completely fine to go home. If his headache is gone, though—oh, shit. How is he supposed to feel a displacement coming on? Don’t the effects of Keegan’s permutation last for hours? 

He can’t go to a hospital, no way.

          “You don’t need to, I can—I can walk on my own.” Is he really going to lie to Keegan about finding the nearest ER on his own? “Oh... yeah. The buses don’t run as late, and it’s really crowded right now. You should catch the earliest one you can. The stop isn’t far from here, I can show you—” 

Hikaru’s grip tightens around the straps of his backpack. He shrugs as a tight-lipped smile finds his lips but avoids eye-contact.

          “I fell," he quickly nods. "Off the side of a staircase. I wasn’t paying attention because of the whole… you know,” Another forced, exhaled flutter of laughter. It’s only a story Keegan has heard a dozen times. “The railing was… kind of short…” Anyway… “Anyway, thanks for patching me up, again—sorry. I feel better. Don’t they usually prescribe Tylenol and...” A shadow of doubt passes over him. “No sleep after concussions? I can hack that.”

He pauses. The look he’s giving Keegan can only appear on the face of a truly avoidant individual who is still somehow clawing for a sense of direction. 

          “It’s probably a concussion, right?”

[stcsis]

Eyes hidden by goggles follow his hand as he points and Mercedes nods as she registers the screen of his phone. 

“Waiting to go to a job then,” she clarifies with a brief nod, understanding what he means. Truly, the most irritating part of it all, the waiting. There are only so many hours in the day, and their hope is always to ensure that they are able to do as many jobs needed to make rent or to be able to afford groceries. It can be hard, since requests tend to be seasonal and monthly, so the lulls in activity come as unexpectedly as the times when there are far too many requests for the number of stewards available. Yet, for all that such times are an annoyance like no other, it is still far better than anything Valerian is able to offer. After all, unlike the megalodon of a company, there is a certain level of freedom and certain freedom of movement that is afforded to the BYOH stewards. Even if it comes from the side effect of being overworked and underpaid. “I am doing the same, to be honest. I finished a couple of jobs in Brooklyn but now  I am trying to get a couple more done in the area before I head out for the day.”

She had started early, that day, her mind overfocused on how both BYOH and N.E.S.T. had gotten offers to appear on different reality TV shows during the same frame of time. It is an odd coincidence, and one that sort of bothers her, even if she knows it is likely just that: a coincidence. 

“Honestly, the Levy twins should be focused on finding a way to ensure there is always a steady supply of jobs, rather than trying to sign us up for TV shows,” she grumbles with a sigh, raising a hand to rub the bridge of her nose, but stopping halfway through for a moment as she remembers that she is wearing goggles, moving it then to rest at the back of her neck, pulling at her braid absentmindedly. “We could all afford to take more jobs instead of just being on air.”

Not that she has too much room to talk, she can admit. At the end of the day, she does sell some of her footage to RealHero TV every once in a while, but that seems rather different than participating on Dancing with the Superstars or something like that.

Her train of thought is sidetracked when she notices Fuli163 raising his finger, and she closes her mouth behind her mask to wait and see what he has to say. Eyes trailing down to the paper, she hums with interest. 

“That tall, huh? I didn’t notice inside the crowd, but that was a good catch. The frosted tips are an affront to fashion, though,” she says with a grimace, ignoring the fact that her entire get up was one as well. “Do you think anyone else has been able to get a glimpse of him? Maybe we can build a better picture of who they are if we put all our glimpses together.”

[fuli163]

               HIKARU NODS—WAITING ON A JOB. He glances at his phone with the sad, unmistakable air of dejection before he pockets it. Even as he tucks the source of his stress out of view, it’s not in the slightest out of mind; he remains on high alert for any pings, hopeful to have some of Outis’ luck on tonight’s employment endeavors. 

On hearing the Levy twin’s names and mention of their deal with NBC, Hikaru grimaces and objects with a firm shake of his head. He didn’t attend this month’s luncheon (he often shows up for the free food; as complicated as it is to squeeze bites of finger foods through his bandages, he manages to hide in a corner and stuff his face like a small gremlin), though Hikaru heard the news when he got back from a very strange time in 2049. 

The business decision is... absurd, to say the least, and he can’t tell in which direction they’re hoping to steer the mothership, but even more absurd is the flippant disregard the Levy twins have shown towards the Cleaner; they’ve proven to care more about the service’s marketing than the welfare of its freelancers. He supposes, rather cynically, that it’s how the pendulum swings in this industry—he was just hoping BYOH would remain as the last bastion of freelance employment for unranked and anonymous permuted individuals, and for much longer than this. He’s scared that this deal marks the eve of a slippery slope, and soon the terms of employment will demand that freelancers reveal their ranks, just to tell how marketable they are. 

Hikaru sighs. There’s no point in the doom and gloom when it’s too early to tell. He’s just always expecting the worst, because that’s about as well as his luck goes. 

He scribbles down another note, handing it to Outis.

That’s a good idea. I responded to a post on AlterEgo…

          The two anonymous freelancers stand in the alley for a while longer as they exchange ideas on how to take down the Cleaner. They agree to meet up with everyone else who responded to Brooklyn Cryptid’s post and bid each other be safe as they go their separate ways once Fuli163 finally gets a notification to assist with a family-owned mini-mart robbery. Just then, Outis gets a ping as well, and they awkwardly realize they’re going the same way. After some shared amusement, they head off together to stop the evening’s valiant larceny attempt. 

END.

[thebuzzkills]

the witness(es)

˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — status: public open starter for @invictushq ft. byoh muses for the cleaner event ˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — setting: 4pm ; april 28, 2022 ; a street corner in brooklyn, nkc // set directly after sami witnesses a cleaner attack ˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — cws: mentions/very gen. description of a cleaner attack, otherwise :>

Sami's head is still buzzing. Well, all of him is.

Most people can feel their heart thudding in their chest when the pace jumps too quick. Sami, however, can feel the sharp, quick way the current transmitted by his heart flows faster than it should. He's just glad that the unsteadiness in his hands is anxiety, and not the firing of nerves that he never intended to activate.

Tilting his head back against the brick building behind him, he lets out a long, tired sigh and closes his eyes. As much as he's happy to be safe- he wishes safety wasn't something to be relieved about.

A current- familiar, if only vaguely- pulses at his fingertips without him having to reach for it. Maybe someone from the crowd? His senses are still on edge, the already loud and rushing crowd filling with panic- every heartbeat jumping up in tempo as some figure caused a b.y.o.h. freelancer to topple to the ground, every current speeding up as the crowd pushed and shoved, sparking until his fingers twitched and he could feel it thudding in his ears- had overwhelmed him. Even minutes later, the feeling hasn't quite subsided.

He opens his eyes.

The light returns first, then-

Sami schools his expression from some sort of strained exhaustion into something closer to a weary smile. "You saw that, yes? Not just me?"

He gestures back out to the street- the few stragglers of the crowd that remained, the freelancer reorienting themselves as they got to their feet- before pushing himself off of the wall.

"Because if you didn't, well... You are either very quick or very blind." After tapping a hand against the pocket of his jeans, just to check that everything was still there, he glances back up.

He realizes how it looks all at once- cap still down, mask still up as a precaution from the initial panic, speaking as if he was Samir and not this. Buzzkill.

His hands raise in a placating gesture as he further away from the street corner. "No bother. Still, ah-" He glances back down the street. "I suppose I was hoping the rumors would stay as rumors, no?"

[fuli163]

               THE TIGHT, SUFFOCATING SHUFFLE OF BODIES PUSHES HIKARU FORWARD LIKE A RUSHING DOWNWARD STREAM WHERE HE’S LEFT WITH NO OPTION EXCEPT LET HIMSELF BE DRAGGED ONCE HE’S CAUGHT IN IT. His few, gentle attempts at resistance don’t last long by the time the crowd disperses in all directions. He heaves a sigh through the wrap of bandages around his head, looking around wildly to determine the sudden cause of upheaval. It seems that it ends as soon and abruptly as it began, though. A few people are helping each other up after being knocked over, and quickly Hikaru lifts one of the stragglers by the forearm before he tears off the sidewalk and rushes near an alleyway.

He reaches a verdict from this viewpoint when he spots a B.Y.O.H freelancer peeling themselves off the sidewalk and groaning about missing keys and a wallet as they look around in dismay. 

The Cleaner. 

Hikaru's lips twist into a tight, resentful frown. 

How did he miss it?

     Beside him, a man in a familiar disguise speaks up. Buzzkill had been the only person he recognized among the crowd. Hikaru takes a hint from him and feels around to make sure his possessions weren’t 'cleaned out'. His shoulders rise and fall as a heavy, relieved sigh leaves his lips—his journal wasn’t taken. Thank goodness. His phone is still on him, and so is his wallet, though if the Cleaner had gone after that, he would've been a total loser. Or rather, he would've mugged a born loser, because Hikaru only has enough loose change to cover his bus fare. 

     He stares at Buzzkill for a few seconds while he gathers his bearings. The bandages wrapped around his head have become so familiar that he forgets what he looks like, so for an extended, silent pause, the other man is stared at in utter stillness by a blank and impersonal face. 

Hikaru puts a finger up. One moment!

He pulls out his pocket journal and flips to a blank page near the end. He spends a minute scribbling on it before he tears off the page and hands it over. On the missive, it reads: 

Not rumors. I intercepted him before he closed in on someone two nights ago. Couldn’t determine his identity besides a few details :(  A few of us are planning to stop him, wanna join up?

[waywardlegacies]

Feeling him pull away, makes Eeshika mirror the motion twice as quick. Look at what she had done! All in the attempt to come in so hastily, now not only had he bumped his head but now his groceries were all over the floor. She would have to make it up to him one way or another. And being flustered and bashful was not the way to help. After all, she was Siren of Kardinal Supers: a steward by daylight and singer by starlight. Siren knew how to present herself. How to be confident with everyone she greeted. Maybe that was the undoing of coming to her old home, falling back into the old self that still haunted these very halls. Guess old habits do die hard.  Watching as he steps close, holding out a make-shift pouch for his groceries. Eeshika, still on the floor, shakes her head as she sets all that she picked up back on the floor. His make-shift pouch only left her to imagine the fatal end of any cylinder-shaped object rolling down the stairs as wasted food scattered on the floor. That just wouldn’t do! Touching her palms together, as they were a little sweaty…okay, definitely sweaty..from just…no real reason whatsoever. But that only meant that she would have some mousitre to work with…right? Without thinking twice, she clasped her hands together, lacing her fingers tight before slowly pulling them apart, stretching out slowly as if something was forming in between. A slight little glimmer of light and a tiny pop as the bubble bloomed before her. Stretching her hands out a little to expand the size until it was big enough to swallow the items completely in it. Floating up and carrying the weight like it was nothing at all.  Behind it a small trail of peachy-pink bubbles floated around the two, catching the light in a soft little glow.

Eeshika watches the bubbles with a childlike wonder like she hadn’t seen it a hundred times before. Looking up to catch his reaction with a soft smile. "There we go!" Eeshika cheers, jumping to her feet,"That should be of a little bit of help!"  Dusting her hands off a little, trying to gauge his reaction. Though it was silly really, even if she saw the wonder in it, it was just another little parlour trick when in reality, she could have just used her own two hands to help out. Averting her gaze from him for a moment, as if something else had caught his attention. “Um yeah…it’s okay.” she says meekly. 

Her eyes followed the tiny trail of bubbles that she had made, distracting herself for the moment. Eeshika didn’t want to make this even more awkward than she already had. Though when he starts to speak, her gaze falls back to him. His tone full of concern. Someone is following you. Oh no. As the panic began to seep through her head. Okay, it was kind of not all that knew her was being followed, people taking pictures and all that jazz. But she thought, maybe, just maybe, she had been careful enough not to be caught. No one would think twice about a big name like her in these parts. That’s what bought her comfort for the longest time. It was only a matter of time before she would be spotted.

However, she doesn’t let it show. She forces her smile to press a little deeper into her cheeks, the one that she had practised to show warmth even in the deep sets of panic. It was the very one she wore when nervous on stage or reassuring people during her patrols, when it was all she had to offer. And right now, this was all that Eeshika could offer.

“Oh, I’m sure it was nothing!” she dismissed, shaking her head. Yeah, it is totally something…. “Besides, think we should get your groceries upstairs?” Eeshika digresses, pointing to the floating bubble before him. If someone were out there following her and photographing her, it wouldn’t be wise for her to leave the apartment anytime soon. She could worry about the rest later. Even if the panic was playing in her head right now.

[fuli163]

               HIKARU DOESN’T UNDERSTAND HER REJECTION UNTIL SHE SUMMONS… BUBBLES? She summons real, actual bubbles from her clasped hands like an arcane mystic, separating her palms and there, between them, a translucent bubble shapes into being as if someone is blowing air through an invisible straw to expand it. Hikaru’s worried face suddenly lights up with awe and wonder; his eyes, like bubbles themselves, reflect the sunlight coming in through the glass entrance as they widen in delight. He’s all too quickly enthralled, forgetting himself and even the figure he suspects at worst a stalker. 

The bubble gets larger until it swallows the items in his makeshift pouch and he braces himself for a pop. Hikaru squints and turns his face away, expecting to hear a clatter when his groceries meet the ceramic-tiled floor again, but it turns out the bubble is not so ethereal as he thought. It floats effortlessly in place, hovering between them while countless smaller bubbles trail buoyantly around it like newborn fish at their mother’s fins. He catches sight of his neighbor on the other side, mesmerized as he is by the display as if she had not summoned it by her own magic. 

What a beautiful permutation!, Hikaru thinks tenderly. The quirk at the corner of his lips is still faint and embarrassed of itself, but he allows himself to have it as his gaze parts from her and returns to the glassy reflections of the smaller spheroids when they sail back into view. He hasn’t seen anything like it. Does it fall under constructs, in a technicality? In any case, he could not have guessed that this could be one of its use cases.

     Her voice finally captures his attention enough to snap him from his admiration. She brushes away his concern rather effortlessly, dismissing it with a few words and a swift change of topic. Hikaru is suddenly unsure of himself once more, blinking at her with some unease. Is it really okay to disregard a warning that could—in the worst case—risk her safety? Or perhaps the reason for her disinterest is that she’s uncomfortable showing fear, even if his warning did reach her? 

Perhaps Hikaru should not interfere directly. Instead, he can bring it up again and offer to report the sighting to the building manager only until they part ways, that way he won’t inconvenience her more than he needs to. He nods a little. Alright. Hikaru thinks that the circumstances govern him to accept her offer, so he nods a second time, this time with gratitude.

     “Sure!” His excitement slips out through his tone when he speaks; a pitch slightly too high for simply being polite. Hikaru takes a step back towards the staircase and, before turning around, glances once more beyond the lobby entrance. The sidewalk is empty. The blue Sedan parked out front is also empty. His gaze lingers for a moment before he gives up and turns around in earnest, walking toward the stairs where he begins to lead them up to his apartment on the fourth floor. 

     “So—” He eyes the bubble and at his groceries peacefully inside it while they ascend the stairs. “Are you… controlling it?” Is that a dumb question? “I mean, how does it… work?”

[softstrand]

closed  starter  ft.        @fuli163.

setting:        the  terrace  roasting  company,       afternoon.

as  of  late,       every  moment  daphne  gets  to  spend  outside  the  costume  feels  borrowed.       outside  of  trespass,       outside  of  the  city's  scrutiny  and  the  violence  stitched  into  it—those  moments  are  rare  enough  to  taste  precious.       (not  that  she  can  ever  fully  stop  being  herself.)

even  stripped  of  the  suit  and  the  name,       her  presence  is  carried  like  weather:       the  long  spill  of  her  hair  tumbles  down  her  back  in  dark,       soft  waves,       alive  with  subtle  motion  even  when  the  rest  of  her  is  still,       as  though  the  air  itself  can't  help  but  touch  her.       she  moves  lightly  through  the  world,       all  breeze  and  warmth  and  easy  laughter,       filling  spaces  without  overtaking  them.       smiles  offered  freely.       kindness,  too.       in  another  city,       maybe  she'd  linger  on  strangers  longer,       let  herself  indulge  in  curiosity  openly.       but  this  is  new  everwick—a  place  where  eye  contact  can  become  something  else  entirely.

so,       daphne  keeps  her  glances  brief  and  her  movements  practiced,       slipping  into  the  rhythm  of  normalcy  instead.       and  normalcy,       today,       means  coffee.

the  café  is  loud  in  the  familiar  way:     milk  steaming,       chairs  scraping  tile,       conversation  layered  thick  enough  to  become  texture.       someone  calls  an  order  number  too  softly  to  survive  the  noise,       but  daphne  recognizes  the  drink  anyway.       (of  course  she  does.)       she  steps  up  to  the  counter  at  the  same  moment  someone  else  does,       both  of  them  reaching  with  equal  certainty  for  the  same  order.

“oh—”     the  sound  escapes  her,       soft  and  abashed.     “did  you  get  an  iced  matcha  too?”

[fuli163]

               SOMEONE MUST’VE MISTAKEN THE B.Y.O.H SERVICE FOR DOORDASH, BUT HE’D BE AN IDIOT AND A HALF TO COMPLAIN ABOUT THE RIDICULOUS SIMPLICITY OF THE REQUEST: bring one iced matcha latte from this particular shop to an address only fifteen minutes away. Under the ‘additional notes’ section, they’d written that ‘it’s an emergency,’ followed by ‘pleasepleasepleasaelpeasePLEASE’. If he hurries, he could make it there in ten, and maybe score a tip.

Hikaru feels odd inside coffee shops, though, like an imposter pretending to belong among folks who routinely pay a little extra to fulfill their cravings, even though they’re slightly overpriced for what they are. His sad excuse for income hasn’t allowed him to indulge in drinks he doesn’t concoct with tap water and tea bags he buys two dozen a box during his entire adult life, so he has only a vague clue about the order of things. Hikaru is off to the side as he always is, keeping perfectly out of the way. 

He can’t even be certain that his order just got called. The barista behind the counter utters a name too quietly before leaving what is definitely a matcha latte behind, and Hikaru reluctantly takes it as his cue to go retrieve it. Just as he does, another hand comes into view. Hikaru looks over and makes eye-contact with a young woman who gives him a confused look before it turns apologetic. 

Oh. It wasn’t his order. 

He notes with some curiosity the length of her hair, and how some locks seem to hover differently than others. Hikaru blinks. He didn’t sleep too well last night. He chuckles inelegantly, quickly embracing the mistake as his. Disappointment marks his eyes as he instead urges her to take it with awkward and excessive politeness. He moves with such tension and sheepishness that instead of swiftly resolving the misunderstanding, he ends up making it worse when his hand knocks the cup over as he motions to it. 

Why was he born? 

It's like a new person takes over; his eyes glaze over far beyond disappointment or embarrassment. He looks all of the sudden calm, but calm like a sentinel—just utterly still. The impassivity of the universe flows into him, and he realizes, not for the first time, that life sucks, perpetually, and that he's okay with it. It's just what it is. He reacts in accordance to laws he has no control over over; all he can do is embrace fate with acceptance in his heart. He's also scared that if he makes another sudden motion, she might decide to take revenge over the wet, green stain on her shirt.

     "Please take my order when it's ready." He speaks like a robot, though there's the unmistakable air of barely restrained fright in his tone, a peculiar twitchiness in his facial muscles. "I'll—pay for it. I'll—apologize on my knees. Should I? Please don't hit me, but I'll understand if you have to."

[kento-kuns]

[waywardlegacies]

In all earnestness, all of this could have been easily been avoided if Eeshika had decided to slow down. Even if it was just a little bit. All she had to do was pause. Take a breath. Look beyond her own panic of being noticed. Yet she had not. Instead, she had decided to rush in the hope of avoiding. But she should know better, that haste ever offered graceful entrances… or exits in this case. Part of her held on to the idea that it might. She would slip by unnoticed, allowing him to carry on with his day without giving her a whole second thought. But no, the world had a thing about not making moments as uncomplicated as possible.    Yet even with her intent on slipping by and keeping her head down low, the results of her haste could not be ignored. All of it happened in a sudden blur. Him holding the door for her at the last moment, as the door collided with his head. This as her fault. That feeling sank in her chest. She was not simply going to pass on by as if nothing was to happen! That was just utterly rude!  

She leans in closely. Maybe a little closer than she should. But it was just to make sure he hadn’t actually been hit. Her sunglasses slide on her head, and her hood falls back as her natural dark hair spills out. Now being able to see him a little more clearly. Eeshika had seen him around every now and then. Certainly not one of the neighbours who were about when she lived here. She would have noticed. Though she had seen him on the odd occasions that she had made a guest appearance at her old humble abode. It had only been in passing. Maybe the respectful turn at the stairs or holding doors open. Just apparently this time, Eeshika was the one who was making a scene with the chances of others getting her. That guilt still ticking away at her.    “Oh no, please don’t be sorry! It is me who should be sorry! I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry!” Eeshika shakes her head as she insists, her cheeks slightly flush, clasping her hands to her chest and bowing her head down a little bit. “This is all on me. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Taking a little step closer, concern growing in her eyes, scanning the young man's face for any signs of hurt, "Are you sure that you are not hurt?"

Yet he seems to step away, creating a little distance between them. Eeshika kept her eyes on him as his speech did seem a little uncertain. And there was a slight redness in his cheeks. Oh goodness, that must have been where his face may have been hit. "No need to be sorry, okay?" her tone it honest and warm. Not taking her eyes off him, just in case. He moves swift...as swift as she wishes she had been through the door to avoid something like this...as if to make his exit.

As if the universe was going two for two for him, she watches as his groceries spill onto the floor and him along down with it. She drops to her knees almost without thinking. Her motions are quick and a little bit clumsy. "I-please let me help!" she pleads more of an instruction than a command. Reaching out to save some of the fallen ramen with hand and holding it with the other. So focused on trying to help, she didn't quite noticed that her hand met his grabbing the same thing. "Shit...sorry..." this time she is the one to curse. Her gaze tries to meet his. She careful to pull her hands away, not abruptly, grabbing the final few fallen foods. Feeling the pink rising in her own cheeks.

[fuli163]

               HIKARU'S BRAIN HICCUPS WHEN THEIR HANDS MEET. He glances up and catches her flustered, apologetic gaze. The touch and eye-contact are gone in an instant; he pulls away from both like he’s been shocked. He quickly shakes his head, unsure whether if it's to wave her apology away, or to recover his crumbling composure. Regardless, something sticks to the back of his brain. A dark silhouette he spotted past her bright, delicate face, past the lobby entrance. As she picks up the last strewn packet of instant noodles, he lifts his head up to double-check.

There, ten feet from the glass door, a person with their hood up pockets their phone. Hikaru can’t tell if they’re making eye-contact, but a second after he notices them, they turn abruptly and continue down the sidewalk. 

Had they been standing there the whole time? 

Something feels off. Hikaru frowns as he gets on his feet, lifting the end of his hoodie to make a makeshift pouch at his stomach where he dumps the torn plastic bag along with the contents it held. He takes a small step toward his neighbor, prompting her to deposit the groceries there.

He remains quiet for a moment, memorizing the details he picked up on: the black, logo-free hoodie, the white sneakers, the red phone case. Should he tell her it looked like someone was recording her? 

          “Thank you,” he mumbles, unsure if his assumption is enough to give her a warning. If he’s wrong, he’ll cause unnecessary paranoia and anxiety based on, what, a weird gut feeling? But if there’s a chance he was being followed and photographed, maybe even recorded, he’d want to know. He chews on his bottom lip. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

          “I think someone was following you.” There’s no good way to put it, he decides. When even B.Y.O.H freelancers are getting targeted and mugged on the streets, it doesn’t hurt to be wary. “They rushed off when I noticed them just now. I—” 

Maybe he’s wrong. He hopes he’s wrong.

          “It might’ve been nothing, though. Maybe it’s just a random person. I just—you know—thought you’d want a heads up… Just in case.”

[retrocausalities]

the stationary observer.

closed starter ft. @fuli163

setting: downtown liberty glens, nkc, nk.

timeframe: april 28, 2022. early afternoon.

summary: on his way transferring to a different line, keegan spots an unfamiliar face in familiar garb.

content warnings: none.

“ Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station… Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station… ”

The subway door for the 2 practically bursts open with passengers rushing to catch an alternate line, the regulars no longer fazed by alarms ringing overhead, pushing past gape‑mouthed tourists clutching their phones in fear. By the busy stairs, Keegan calms a mother and her child new to the area, soothing them that the “emergency” in question is most likely some permuted conflict, and to be rest assured — “ Heroes, ” he says, curling his fingers to form the quotes, “ are on the way. ”

Yes, any minute now, they’d come. Capes fluttering behind them, sunlight at their backs. Brave in the face of peril. “Heroes” will be here.

But not him.

Keegan’s cellphone rests against his jacket’s inner pocket, undisturbed like a swaddled infant between layers. On his way back from visiting his Aunt and cousin Reagan in Douglaston, Queens, Keegan now finds himself stranded in Liberty Glens, probably needing to catch a bus and reroute to Brooklyn so he can at least drop by Valerian Tower to pick up the new sponsorship gift ( and obligation ), then retire to the Bronx. He promised he’d make dinner tonight for Ajay and himself. It’s going to be bibimbap.

Ingredients are on his mind — matchstick carrots, slivers of onions, bellflower root, fernbrake, zucchini — as he paces up the stairs, mindful of the stop‑start crowd, leaving the station without much duress. It’s incredible how packed‑in everyone is, yet how they all seem to move past the crampedness, the clog. Someone sneezes in the subway sludge, and a “ bless you ” tingles from the tip of Keegan’s tongue, echoed by several others, a refrain that cannot be refrained.

The soul is built like that, Keegan thinks. No matter how quick a New Everwick minute, how terrible and rough the world, people are bound to one another by acknowledging the truth in each other — that we need each other in society. Sure, not all will hold open the door or offer a “good morning” to a stranger. But even knowing that not all will vie for first no matter the cost, or ignore something out of reach for another, that’s enough to confirm. Humans, as they are themselves, are the cure to their own apathy.

Our neighbors are all of humankind, ticks of the grandfather clock, and our neighborhood is no city block, no country, not even the world but a constructed space held together by memories of the past as well as dreams for the future. Accepting this moment we share, revolving, leaving, far, far, then close, close, returning. Seeing it as what we’ve agreed to call it: a present. A gift.

Keegan then realizes that last part was something his brain synthesized from too many rewatches of Kung Fu Panda. Regardless, the meaning is still beautiful to him as he reaches the ground floor. Then, there, his thoughts come to a stop just as his feet do.

What on Earth?

Keen training from his pre‑Valerian days has conditioned his eyes to scope out any symptoms of possible medical unwellness. Who knew that posting crayon drawings of people sporting cartoonish bumps and scrapes on park lightposts to time his “rescues” would sharpen his eye like that? The target — someone with a head bandage wrapping around the entire cranium ( possible concussive injury? ) several feet ahead — appears to be unsteadily heading into an alley. And then there are their clothes, jutting out in some way, the colors and look scratching that itch of familiarity in the back of his mind despite the distance blurring the mental picture.

He’s no steward now, but he still takes pride in his medical degree. Keegan pats at his cross‑shoulder bag, and the familiar scrunch of gauze and supplies springs under the nylon fabric. He zips through the crowd, voicing “ excuse me ” while squeezing past someone who could be mistaken for a steel monopole. Service workers are built like trucks nowadays.

Traipsing into the alley where the bandaged stranger went, Keegan walks cautiously, head bobbing in small, short left‑right sweeps in case he mistook the way. Or, mistook the person. A niggling sensation in his throat and chest, the vestiges of choking on a phantom sentiment of half-awake consciousness, inhibits his breath. Something feels too on his heart, that it feels off in his head.

“ Hello? Anyone here? ” Keegan calls out to a stretch of dirty, empty road, decorated with graffiti doodles of men and women on postered walls. Nothing responds; even the dumpsters are held down by lock and chain. He tells himself to try again, then check the next alley aisle over.

“ If you’re injured, please come out! I’m a nurse, I can help you take the pain away. Trust me. ”

[fuli163]

               THERE’S A DISTINCT FILM OF EXHAUSTION THAT DESCENDS ON HIM SLOWLY, LIKE A GENTLE RIVERBED STREAM, WHEN HE REWINDS TIME. His limbs feel weighed down by wet sand. Even his eyelids droop over tired, watery eyes. Hikaru keeps his head down while he rides the subway, clinging to a metal handle with a white-knuckle grip. They’re so packed in that he can lean some of his weight on the commuters next to him, though he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that he’s caught out during rush hour. 

He expects the announcement when it comes through the station intercoms as they arrive at his stop—Liberty Glens—where he usually gets off to catch a bus that leaves him three streets from his apartment. Hikaru takes a small breath before he lets go of the handle, blinking tiredly at the shuffle of feet in front of him that he follows onto the station platform like an overworked ant. Nearby whispers of distress reach his ears from folks who aren’t from the city. A few heads whip around in panic.

“Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station… Please be advised the Two will be making an emergency stop at the next station…”

He feels a hand on his shoulder. Hikaru drags his head up and meets a pair of worried, wrinkly eyes. An old woman is staring at him with her mouth hanging slightly agape as she walks beside him. She asks if he’s alright with the fierce love and concern of a mother, summoning a pitiful feeling of abashment from his stomach. Hikaru gives a nod. He’s too sick to mind his manners. He ducks down and peels away faster than she can follow, plunging his head even lower to avoid any more sideway looks. 

       He should’ve left the scene earlier. Any sane man wouldn’t have stayed to begin with, but a spirit of endurance nerved and upheld him. Twice did he evade fate, rewinding time to save half a dozen lives before his vision blurred and he fell backwards, tumbling off a five-foot tall public access staircase landing. In the mishap of disaster, no one saw him peel himself off the asphalt with shaky limbs and a bleeding nose. Even now his face is wet beneath the bandages, a collection of sweat, tears, and blood seeping into the white gauze. But no one died. Heroes are being dispatched to the scene.

       Five seconds… Ten seconds… As he forces his legs to climb the stairs out of the station, he wonders if twice is what did it. He’s felt dizziness and nausea after rewinding time before, and headaches are a mainstay in his life ever since the whole... displacement started. He’s never passed out from either, though. Nosebleeds? Sure. Loss of consciousness? No. At most, he experiences disorientation for a few minutes, memory loss—whatever—but straight up lights out? Ugh. He just needs to get home. 

       With his hands shoved in his pockets, Hikaru slips into an alleyway that begins next to the station exit in a half-stagger. He makes it far enough to hide beside a large dumpster bin, where he all but collapses against the oily brick wall behind him and slides down until he’s sitting on a stained, flattened, long-discarded cardboard box. His head hangs between his knees for a moment while he gathers his strength. After another pause, Hikaru reaches up and starts mindlessly peeling off the bandages wrapped around his head. He breathes in deeply when his mouth is finally free, breathing in the dank alleyway air as if it’s fresh oxygen from the Northwest Highlands. 

And then he hears an approaching voice. “Hello? Anyone here?” 

Hikaru abruptly turns toward the direction of the sound. There’s someone else in the alley. He's prepared to keep quiet and let them pass by without being discovered, and then the stranger speaks again, and their voice registers like a splash of cold water. Hikaru shoves the bandages under his hoodie as well as he can, but in a rush, they still end up peeking out, wrapped around his neck as they are. He wipes off a trail of blood from under his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a red smudge across his cheek before he finally pokes his head out from the other side of the garbage bin. 

       “Keegan?” 

He doesn’t realize how weak he is until he tries forcing himself on his feet, only to half-successfully stand up with his hands resting on bony, shaky knees. A small, weak smile finds its way to his bruised lips when he spots Keegan’s friendly face. Even half-obscured in the dark alleyway, he looks bright and trustworthy. But… 

Hikaru tilts his head, giving him a hesitant, confused look. “What are you doing here?”

[fuli163]

— SILENCE FROM THE NOISE.

Continued from here. @waywardlegacies

               HIKARU HAS FOUND AN ESCAPE IN BEING UNAWARE. It’s a strange dichotomy: scribbled formulas, researched theories, memories and observations overflowing in journals that, no matter how carefully selected, fill each page to the margins. And then, on the flip side, there's the desire to be completely ignorant. A spark of nihilism taking shape in his soul, hoping—praying—that nothing really matters.

It’s how his brain survives through cycles of endless ‘what-if’s’ that always somehow end in guilt. If something bad happens, it'll be his fault. His brain has to put a sign up front that says ‘no more thinking for today, we’re closed’, or else he'll spiral until he's paralyzed with endless possibilities and outcomes that he should, somehow, anticipate. So he closes the door on thinking altogether. Hikaru enjoys an uneasy moment of peace while nervously wondering if rejecting any more thoughts is actively ruining some point in the future because, surely, there’s something he could be figuring out… Something, but he’s not sure what… But he’s certain it’s important. 

And his thoughts continue on like this as he makes a grocery run, picks out a carton of milk, cheap cereal, instant noodles… He can afford another box of PowerBar’s if he leaves behind the peanut butter. He was sure they were cheaper—was that in another timeline?—And, anyway, shouldn’t he figure out how he keeps making it back to this timeline, to this time? 

       By the time he’s carrying the groceries back to his apartment—two bags in one hand—he’s got The The’s ‘This Is The Day’ blasting through his headphones. It’s why he doesn’t notice her until she’s one breath behind him. Hikaru startles when he feels her presence, prickling up like a small cat, and rips his headphones off as he spins around and nearly gets smacked by the closing door. He manages to hold it open before it shuts on his head, staring at the stranger with some surprise. His face grows hot in less than a second, and if he was hoping to hide the tint of red spreading on his cheeks, it’s a lost cause by the time the young woman—his neighbor?—removes her sunglasses and leans in close. 

He recognizes her… Sort of. He’s seen her around once before, maybe a handful of weeks ago. Maybe twice. Maybe, maybe, maybe… There’s always a seed of doubt behind every thought, every memory. Regardless, Hikaru takes a step back and puts two feet of distance between them, swinging the door wide open for her. She’s already walked through, though, so he’s not sure why—

       “It’s okay, sorry—” He smiles awkwardly, “—I’m…” fine, he didn’t get hit. It’s the surprise of noticing someone walking behind him way too late that startled him. He can hear the song ending as noise continues to slip through the speakers of his headphones; Oingo Boingo starts playing. Hikaru takes a small breath. 

       “Sorry, I didn’t notice you… sooner. Um...” Hikaru looks anywhere but at her. What should he say? He takes another aimless step sideways, preparing to go somewhere—his apartment, really—when he feels resistance from the bags in his hand, and a second later a clatter of cheap groceries lands on the floor between them. 

Great. As if the universe couldn't embarrass him any further, it decides to expose his horrible eating habits via a hole in a plastic bag. Not a vegetable in sight. “Ah, shit,” Hikaru shoots down and begins collecting the groceries with such speed that you'd think the floor is trying to swallow them before he can pick them up. The red on his face gets more intense.

[retrocausalities]

what'd you get?

public open starter for @invictushq ft. valerian muses

setting: valerian tower lobby floor waiting room, manhattan, nkc

timeframe: april 28, 2022.

capped at 5!

content warnings: reference to sexual humor.

A phone outstretched and held high overhead, Keegan Jeong poses with the nylon drawstring bag from Under Armour, doing his due diligence to get the branding on point by taking multiple shots. One is too fuzzy, another the logo gets blurred, and the third one has awful lighting on him but at least the bag looks somewhat enticing. Although sponsorships aren’t his expertise, Keegan, as a Marvel VS. Capcom Stan through and through, understands the necessity of advertising a featured Collab. (Also justice for Cloak & Dagger, that gameplay would’ve been amazing had the dev team pulled through.)

Thumbs rapidly pressing, keys reacting underneath with flashes of color and a feedback of haptic vibration, Keegan types out the following alt to send on his official AlterEgo account, @officialatlas1 (yes, someone has his handle before he could have it, and no, it is not a pressing matter for Valerian to pursue this matter for someone who gets relegated to RealHero TV B-roll.)

@officialatlas1 going live now to check out the sweet loot from the new Valerian x Under Armour drop!! I wonder what Durapeak®️ is gonna feel lik|

Keegan shakes his head and pauses mid-text. “ Feel like? When am I a fabric connoisseur? ” He mutters to himself and tries again.

He’s out of his element; he’s an ex-nurse practitioner, not a marketing guru! No matter how many years into the job (5 and counting), he isn’t sure how to go about promoting products. He attempts again, throwing out that saccharine alt.

@officialatlas1 going live now! come hangout with me and let’s see what I get from the Valerian x Under Armour grab bag! #fingerscrossed !! 🤞

That feels more true to himself, he thinks. He can handle a simple live “unboxing”, right? He goes through the Durapeak®️key points in his head as he sets up his little space away from the bustle of the lobby's main double doors, propping his phone tripod on a low table across a russet-red toned couch. He fiddles with the tripod, angling the screen to show the iconic Valerian ruby-glass elevators in the background. All good to go. This angle seems alright, so he won’t have the under nose fiasco from last time’s live.

Slipping on his half-face helmet to complete the look of Atlas, Keegan counts. 3, 2, 1! His screen flashes red.

“ Hey guys! It’s Atlas! How are you doing? Welcome, welcome! As you can see, I’m at Valerian Towers — oh hey, junedoe1234! Hi, saymynameplz! Hello— ” Keegan greets his usual live viewers of 11, and steadies himself. Here comes the shining moment. Lifting up the Under Armour goodie bag, he gushes, “ Check out what I got! Apparently every steward at Valerian’s got a nice gift from Under Armour, what do you think I’ll get? ”

The users chime with socks, pens, stickers, and one even says a business card (rude, man). At least junedoe1234 says a baseball cap.

“ Gosh, I would love a baseball cap! Well, we’ll see who’s right — huh? ” Keegan starts, only to blink owlishly at his chat suddenly typing way too fast for him to read.

OMG OMG OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

RARE SIGHTING

I need to @ my friends to check an Atlas live for once lmao

“ What are you guys talking about? ” Keegan asks, peering into his screen, then checking at himself in case he has a rip in his costume, or worse, has a ranch dressing stain again on his person. He had to quell some nasty nicknames and rumors after sending an alt with the caption: had a big tossed salad for brunch thanks to @therealajaygupta.

Lol he doesnt know

TURN AROUND BRIGHT EYES

At the remark, Keegan spins his head so hard he gives himself whiplash, and he gets it now. Standing outside of the elevator is another steward at Valerian, much more famous than he. The chat is going off, demanding Keegan to get their attention. Suddenly becoming an outsider to his own show, a twinge blooms in his chest but it gets shoved aside.

It’d be nice to talk to a fellow steward about the Collab, right? Besides, bringing two different things together are what Collaborations are about! Yeah, this is a great chance to show the unity at Valerian!

“ Hey! ” He calls out to the steward. “ I’m doing a live and unboxing the Under Armour goodie bag! Do you want to say ‘hi’ to the viewers? ”

[fuli163]

@officialatlas1 going live now! come hangout with me and let’s see what I get from the Valerian x Under Armour grab bag! #fingerscrossed !! 🤞 

               THE NOTIFICATION POPS UP ON THE TOP OF HIS SCREEN, PARTIALLY COVERING AN UNSKIPPABLE YOUTUBE AD THAT’S PROMOTING UNDER ARMOUR’S NEW CLOTHING LINE. 

‘The next era of durable wear is here. Valerian stewards aren’t just saving lives, they’re setting the standard and paving the way for the next gen—’

Hikaru clicks out. The screen buffers for a moment until Keegan’s live broadcast overtakes it. With mild surprise, Hikaru realizes that he’s… promoting Under Armour.

He stares at his phone for a moment. Keegan’s cheerful voice comes through the tiny, low-quality speakers. 

Oh, well. 

Hikaru shrugs. He doesn’t really know if views support him, but he’s had notifications on for Keegan’s live broadcasts for a while now. Ever since… 

He sighs into the empty room.

Well, it’s comforting to see him. 

       He’s sitting on his living room floor in front of an old, peeling coffee table that he found next to the dumpster when someone upstairs moved out ten months ago. His phone is propped against a stack of textbooks near the edge. He’d been watching an episode of MythBusters and eating lunch—funny, the last of what Keegan sent him—when the notification came. As he’s watching him read off comments, he pauses and thinks for a moment. Eventually, he reaches for the device and sends a short, simple message:

@h1karu 🙂👍

It’s buried immediately. He’s a little surprised at the sudden influx of messages that flood the live chat as he sets his phone back and eats another mouthful of reheated lasagna. Keegan looks back, and Hikaru notes that the person behind him is probably a famous Velerian steward. At least, that's what the viewers are eagerly pointing out.

Hikaru assumes that this is probably… Good for his viewership? It seems that the view count is steadily going up, and comments are coming in much faster than just a minute ago. Hikaru doesn’t really care about what’s in the goodie bag—god knows he can’t afford brand new Under Armour—but he’s compelled to keep watching, even if his support is invisible. 

As Atlas’ polite voice fills his tiny living room and another joins it, Hikaru looks away and stares at his door. He can almost hear it, that gentle, familiar knocking.  

[stcsis]

who? Outis & fuli163 [@fuli163 ] where? Liberty Glen, NKC when? April 28, 2022

The thing about secret identities and aliases is that it’s not for everybody. She gets that, and realizes that sometimes the visibility of having an alias tied together so closely to their civilian identity can be helpful. Still, when acting as Outis, Mercedes does prefer the anonymity of wearing the mask, and she can’t help but feel a level of approval around those who do the same. It does seem to be the sort of approval that she doles out at random, considering how she is also fond of some fellow stewards that would not know nor claim anonymity even if it bit them in the ass and demanded they use it. Still, there is no denying the sense of approval every time she runs into Fuli163, accompanied with the usual wave of amusement as the bandages used as a mask. 

“Hello there,” she calls out from where she is sitting in the fire escape, feet kicking back and forth in the air as she presses herself forward into the railing and raises a hand to wave at him emphatically, making sure he sees her before she drops her arm and moves to stand up, slowly extricating herself from the railing and stretching as she goes. Once she is standing up, she places a hand on the railing once more and vaults over it, her other hand snapping to grab a nearby window still to slow her momentum and so on, slowly making her way to fall next to him with a little bounce in her step. 

“Coming back from a job or going towards one?” She asks, head tilting in question in an exaggerated manner. By now, she has learned to over-emote, since having a full face mask makes it harder for people to read her body language, and at the end of the day, it is best to make sure there are no misunderstandings from the beginning. Otherwise, trouble is bound to happen. “Watch out for the Cleaner, either way. Last I saw him, he was taking the Q Line and was dressed in a dark navy maintenance uniform, I think. Had a baseball cap and everything. Very non-descript, unfortunately.”

[fuli163]

               WHEN HE GOT BACK, HE RAN TO HIS APARTMENT AND SHUT HIMSELF AWAY TO SLEEP LIKE THE DEAD. Only after checking his freezer and checking in with anyone who’d texted him the past day—one message—he slept for probably twelve hours. After he woke, he shoveled a microwaved bowl of rice, tuna, and mayo into his mouth before showering and wrapping himself in bandages to set out for the evening. 

As he runs down the street to catch a bus downtown, Hikaru tells himself that the past twenty-four hours were just a dream. While people avoid eye-contact with him, he’s unable to grasp material reality with full awareness and merely looks past them, past everything. The moving scenery beyond the windows holds his attention for most of the ride as city lights flicker on until they go through a tunnel and Hikaru sees his reflection on the glass. A blank, expressionless surface save for a spot of oxidized blood under his nose stares back at him. He frowns; the reflection remains emotionless. He forgot to switch out the bandages. Gross. Hikaru turns away and all but rushes off the bus when it reaches his stop. 

       He’s walking down an alley, between two old and towering apartment buildings, and waiting on a ping from his phone when a familiar voice rings out from above. Hikaru stops and looks up, sees Outis’ familiar mask, and can’t help the smile that blooms on his face. Of course, it doesn’t show through the layered bandages, but he hopes the enthusiastic waving is enough to convey his excitement. He watches as she gets up and effortlessly vaults over the fire escape railing, climbs down a few window sills, and lands on the street beside him. Hikaru, not for the first time, is impressed by how simply cool she is. 

He eagerly listens to her question, then points at his phone with a shrug. It shows BYOH’s home screen with three small dots indicating that he’s still waiting to get pinged for a job. He’s ready to take anything. The fact that he’s downtown reeks of desperation, but Hikaru is trying to make at least fifty bucks tonight... Hopefully.

Outis doesn't need to know how dire his straits are. He tilts his head when she brings up the Cleaner, realizing that her encounter doesn’t align with his. Two days ago, before Hikaru got displaced, he had a confrontation with a tall man who followed another freelancer and would’ve ‘cleaned them out’ had Hikaru not intervened. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, by the time he got a headache and, before he knew it, found himself a few decades in the past. Horrible stuff. He’s glad Outis has been on the lookout. 

He holds up a finger—hold on—as he digs into his back pocket and pulls out a small pocket journal. Hikaru flips to a blank page and hastily scrawls out a note that he hands over. 

‘I bumped into him two days ago (i think, sorry) He’s very tall, 6 '5"? And has frosted tips. Old school? He was trying to rob someone’

[fuli163]

#INVICTUS TASK 001:

CHARACTER INTRO

{ yamazaki kento. cis man, he/him. } psst! hey, don’t look now but isn’t that [ hikaru tokimoto ]? i said don’t look, geez! doesn’t it remind you of the clip with that unidentified permuted person [ yanking someone back right as they’re about to be hit by oncoming traffic ]? people in the comments are calling them [ the silent protagonist ], and saying their permutation is probably [ temporal displacement ]. i guess it sort of looks like them, if you squint. but i'm not sure, internet sleuths don’t exactly have a high success rate when it comes to identifying people from [ CCTV ] footage. and the person on the video doesn’t look like a [ twenty-six ] year old who would list [ a tattered pocket journal, mismatched shoelaces, messy, tousled hair, and a well-cared for solar-powered atomic watch ] as their interests on alterego. what? don't look at me like that — i got curious! besides, if that even is them in the video, it probably means they don’t want to go viral. — ( tortured by kit. 27. she/they. mdt. n/a. )

Find profile under read more:

001. General.

Name: Hikaru Tokimoto

Nickname/Hero alias if applicable: Username on the BYOH service & AlterEgo is ‘fuli163’.

Faceclaim: Yamazaki Kento.

Age/Date of birth: 27, 09/01/1994.

Gender & pronouns: Cis man & he/him.

Orientation/Marital status: Bisexual, Single.

Distinguishing Features: Messy black hair, the same two hoodies and one jacket, old sneakers—has head wrapped in bandages while doing “hero” work. 

Occupation: Freelancer @ BYOH.

Power: Temporal Displacement.

Height: 178cm.

Place of birth: Liberty Glens, NKC.

Family: Mayu Tokimoto (mother, deceased), Ken Yamada (father, unknown), Akemi Tokimoto (grandmother, 71), Shohei Tokimoto (grandfather, 72). 

Current Residence: Shitty apartment in Liberty Glens, NKC.

002. Iconography.

Character Inspirations: Link (TLOZ, particularly from Ocarina of Time/Majora’s Mask & BOTW/TOTK).

Character Tropes: The Silent Protagonist/Heroic Mime, Masked Hero, Code Name, No Sense Of Direction.

Zodiac Sign: Virgo.

MBTI: INFP.

Positive Traits: Resourceful, adaptable, allocentric, disciplined, practical, observant, principled, rational, steadfast, independent. 

Negative Traits: Disorganized, distant, private, stoic, blunt, cautious, cynical, forgetful, paranoid, secretive.

Likes: Comic books, 80’s/90’s music, video games, watches, math & physics.

Dislikes: Cooking, crowds, public attention, schedules, small talk. 

Fears: His permutation being discovered/exposed, living under strict surveillance, unintentionally messing with the timeline, causing disaster, public speaking. 

Habits: Nail biting, picking skin off lips, checking time/watch often, getting lost, solving math/physics problems (calms him down). 

Hobbies: Reading, studying, video games, taekwondo, sight-seeing.

Pets: He’s playing a game of hide and seek with a small rat that’s hiding in his apartment. And there are the ants. 

003. Extras.

Bio:

(trigger warnings: loss of a parent, mentions of chronic illness, dealing with grief.)

Hikaru was raised by a single mother. His parents were never together together, so he never even met his dad—the guy left while his mom was pregnant with him. They struggled financially with his mom sometimes working two jobs, but she gave him a great childhood. It probably helped that Hikaru was an easy child to raise. Quiet, obedient, curious, and intelligent at an early age.  She fell ill with a chronic illness when he was 11 years old. They got by on help from government programs while the hospital bills stacked up. Seeing her sick & struggling is what activated his permutation, though Hikaru only realizes that in retrospect. At the time, he had no idea what was going on. He traveled forward in time with a subconscious desire to see her healed. Unfortunately, that’s how he found out she was going to die. He was inconsolable and helpless during the last three years of her life, though his mom tried her best to ease her passing for him.  He started living with his grandparents when he was fourteen. By then, he’d only been displaced in time once. However, after his mother passed, he started erratically moving through time with more frequency. Once a year, then two, then three—by the time he was eighteen and moving out to live on his own, he was somewhat starting to understand what was going on, but he was still ignoring it and chalking it up to some kind of psychological trauma response. It’s not until he was in college and attempting to hold down a part-time job that he really started to pay attention.  Hikaru was finding it impossible to attend classes regularly and not disappear from his shifts at work. It appeared that the stress only made the problem worse. In the end, he ended up getting fired, and barely graduated thanks to the grace offered by his professors. Ever since then, he’s never managed to hold down a regular job, which eventually prompted him to start using the BYOH service.  He ended up developing somewhat of a persona for “hero” work. It’s not much, really, and it helps him stay anonymous. Hikaru wears bandages that cover the entirety of his head (minus his eyes) whenever he’s doing “hero” work. He chose bandages because they’re easy to carry, easy to put on, they wrap around his entire head, they won’t come off in the midst of an altercation, and because people have been bandaging wounds for a long time. He won’t look like a man out of time if he simply claims that he’s recovering from facial wounds if anyone were to approach him in the past.  In the present day, Hikaru lives in an old, run-down apartment where he barely manages to make rent. He doesn’t have many friends and doesn’t socialize often, but solitude is something he’s gotten used to. He spends his days working on theories, keeping an eye on any crime or crisis he can help with, and problem-solving with cheap glue and duct tape. He’s in taekwondo classes that he takes pretty seriously. He visits his grandparents once a week. Sometimes he spends a day in 1840, sometimes in 2050. 

Wanted connections:

Neighbor: Someone who lives next door or nearby! His apartment is the cheapest he could find in the borough, so the building is Not Great. They’d sort of be witness to Hikaru’s oddly timed comings and goings, and that he seems to have modeled his apartment decor after some kind of bird nest; just odd choices all around. 

Fellow BYOH freelancers: Folks he occasionally bumps into while working. They might’ve worked together a time or two. 

“Heroes”: Professional “Heroes” he’s bumped into while working—they also could’ve worked together to solve a particular crime or crisis. A case of being present at the right time, right place. 

College professor: A professor he got close to in college. They would’ve supported him and helped him out through his years in college—likely a math or physics professor, but could be anything. They were like a mentor to him. 

Romantic interest: Someone relatively close to his age that he has a crush on. 

Romantic interest pt.2, electric boogalo: Someone relatively close to his age that has a crush on him.

Childhood friend: Someone he’s known since childhood! This connection could turn out to be anything in the present day. Maybe they’ve maintained a close friendship, maybe they simply went to school together and are randomly reuniting years later, maybe they were very close but fought and never forgave each other. 

Someone he’s saved: Someone whose life he saved. Maybe they were about to be hit by traffic, or be mugged/attacked, or take a fatal fall from a rooftop—anything! 

Rival: Someone who has a rivalry with his “hero” persona, fuli163. 

Memes: