The dumping grounds of my brain

[jupitersmusings]

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[overlord-fire-bubble]

THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.

[tiny-kt]

this for real fucking works

[scroll-of-thought]

Apparently this one fuckin works, and who am I to argue with the collective agreement of tumblr. Will report back if good things happen.

[melodicwriter]

[lillaxtrigger]

The nightmare that haunts me.

Cast in the thin layer of a dimly glow, where not but the slimmers of light dance among the thick darkness, there one stood confined in the midst of an enclosed dome comprised of a sickening layer of freshly red viscera; the unsettling flesh pulsating as the faint veins strewn along its tender walls flow bodily juices.

And ensnared throughout this foul blanket of horrifying crimson bulged countless feminine figures of various builds; limbs submerged within the grimy tissue, leaving but the entirety of their naked torso’s presented to the one this vile space keeps prisoner.

Desperately do all of them writhe in the vain effort to escape from this grotesque torture; the thin pink mucus coating their bodies drooling off their vulnerable forms as they fruitlessly struggle, dripping down from the stumps of their neck and around their breasts, across the skin of their stomachs and down across their flailing thighs. What dread and terror these poor souls had been experiencing was muzzled from being properly expressed, for their heads remain smothered within the walls of this tomb of flesh, not a single mumble could slip from these flailing figures that hopelessly writhe among the squelches of meat entangling them.

Regardless of the horrifically bewildering scene that plays out, the one that this cage of red viscera had been conjured to trap could only look on, their mind in the midst of processing the terrible scene; only recognizing the colors and shapes that make up this prison of crimson to bestow a terrifying, yet mesmerizing picture of the several woman partially cocooned within its walls.

This mortifying show of needless suffering played for only mere minutes to that this nightmare kept bound, fleeting just as quickly as it had appeared; relieved to return to the waking world once more. Yet those sparse moments are all that it needed to imprint upon them for long after their escape.

Most dreams projected midst their sleep before and after simply melt into obscurity mere moments from awakening, ceasing to exist among the purview of memory; yet the grotesque and macabre imagery of that unfolding nightmare still haunts its victim for years to come, leaving behind a dreadful cavalcade questions to answer among the awaking world.

How did such an eldritch like moment come to be in the recesses of the mind? Can the harrowing feelings of helpless terror in that moment be fully convoyed in but written words alone? Or perhaps the worst of them all, what does such an intensely mortifying experience tell of the ego which it had bloomed from?

The answers to these burning question have yet to find their conclusion, be it from simple lack of comprehension, or a petrifying fear of what lies within the depths of the self.

[phillip-bankss]

dos peppinos

[lillaxtrigger]

[skys-trash-bin]

i think sora should have a chocobo because yes

[lillaxtrigger]

I think Donald should be the chocobo.

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 33

Space. The one true infinite. An endless frontier of which billions of stars burn across its deep dark visage, a ceaseless black abyss with

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 32

Left in sheer terror by the spacial psychic that hover over the streets of New York’s art district, Tuesco is completely taken aback witness

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 31

Tucked away somewhere within the crevices of the city, beyond the reach of its countless citizens, stood a pair of twin pods that illuminate

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 30

At the end of her trip does the scion of solids crash right through the iron bars of a gate, finally coming to a stop right in the middle of

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 29

To think of how far the two of us had risen after fallen so harshly from of grace astounds me; I will never forget trails and tribulations w

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 28 out now.

The finely cleaned halls of the safehouse stand ominously silent, with not a soul strolling through its brightly lit corridors; that was unt

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 27 now available.

The beaming afternoon sun shines down upon one of the big apple’s supermarket districts, the shops lining the blocks reflect the sunbeams of

[lillaxtrigger]

Street Smarts: Chapter 26

The glistening moonlight beams past the countless branches composing the depths of a wild forest, shining down into the fall atmosphere to spotlight upon a lone woman sitting against the bottom of a rocky incline; her eyes darting to the darkest corner when witnessing somebody step into the light. Out from the shadows steps out a blonde gentleman whose pale skin glistens in the night, licking his pointed fangs when discovering the site of the woman in the umbra light. “Ah, Jennifer. What a pleasure.” he cheers with melancholy. “Jack! You came? Why have you followed me?” “I had to see you again. I needed to see you again? When you left, I felt pieces of my soul leave with you.” “Jack, you don’t understand. I had to leave. If I didn’t, he would rip you apart just to get to me.” “He?”

Their attention is then baited to the top of the rocky incline, where upon another figure steps out from the shadows to present himself to the moonlight; a muscular shirtless man with a hairy chest and beard staring down to them both. The vampire gasps when gazing to the man’s bare chest and exclaims out: “Jacob! You foul monster!” “Indeed Jack, it is I. Your werewolf rival, I shall win the heart of dear Jennifer. “Curse you and you’re gorgeous man pecks, you fiend.” Their argument swiftly subsides when the werewolf lunges down from the top of the cliff towards his vampire nemesis, Jack preparing for his approach as he bares his fangs.

“Wait, so the vampire hates the werewolf for being in love with the same girl and the lady can’t decide on who she wants to fuck?” questions Wedsle, sitting next to Tuesco on the couch as he looks on to the movie in suspense. “Its more than that. Its a story about the complicated bonds between lovers and a centuries long rivalry between species. Its not just a matter of love, its a matter of dominance. A metaphor for which of their species holds the right to exist and take charge into the future. Fighting not just for her, but for their worlds.” the middle aged former officer dramatically express. “So its just two dudes fighting over a woman? That’s just fucking stupid. This whole ‘will they won’t they’ shits just boring. Why don’t they all just fuck eachother and be happy. Just have a threesome already, that’d solve everything. Building up sexual tension, start making out while one of them’s ramming her ass while the other deep throating her. That’s real male bonding right there!” Wedsle rants. “You know, I just wish you wouldn’t perverse what few things I have left in life that bring me joy. You already did it with the NYPD, can’t you leave the sanctity of tween drama unsullied for me?” begs Tuesco. “Alright, Christ!” “Thank you.” Simply a few moments to enjoy the movie are all that Tuesco could have before the violet psychic again opens his mouth with: “Just saying: centuries old grudges can’t stand up to the raw sexual energy of an all out orgy.”

The door leading inside the room flings open as Wedsle shovels out from the other side, all the while Tuesco constantly demands that he: “Get out already!” “Alright fine. God. Leave you to coo over your shitty tween crap by yourself, Jesus.” the purple psychic claims as he’s forced to exit from the bedroom. Waltzing away from the bedroom door, small hisses and grunts slip from between Wed’s clenched teeth as he still feels the burns and bruises from his confrontation against a defeated foe; the layers of bandages, cream, and new patches of skin having yet to temper his pain. Christ. 3rd degree burns aren’t something to screw around with. No wonder it fucks people’s lives over. If I had to live with this for the rest of my life, I’d consider pulling the plug. Even with all the new skin and organs Sat help graph on me, still hurts like a bitch. But if the burns don’t end up killing me, the boredom will; gotta be something to do around here to massacre the time.

It while waltzing through the hallway that he comes upon a lone door left a crack open, with his cheeky curiosity compelling him to peek at what may lie inside. On the other side of the slightly open door does he come upon the site of the lively psychic snuggling up to her girlfriend like a love starved cat, having been thought to have perished at the hands of the mob. A comforting moan escapes her while cuddling to Janna’s side, claiming how: “I can’t believe this is happening. Its like waking up from a nightmare, only to find the dream you had the other night came true. I’m glad its this one instead of the one with me being a bears face for a week. Not not even the bear itself, just the face. I don’t know how else to explain it.” “I missed you too Satsy. All that time snooping around, scooping up tidbits of information for you guys, every day, I thought of being with you again. It pains me knowing how much leaving me has hurt you, but having made it on the other side beside you was worth it.” Its upon hearing this that the day their apartment engulfed in hellfire ring in her mind, the image of the burning carcass left in their flaming bedroom flaring in her thoughts.

“A…about that. In the apartment, in our bed; I saw a body. It was burnt beyond recognition, but I thought for sure it was you. What else could it have been? How are you here even?” Sat compels her lover to answer. “Well, I think it was inevitable with what you and Wedsle were planning that the mobs goons would go for the throat the first chance they got. So we brainstormed a contingency plan for when they pulled the knife out.” “Wedsle?” “Yeah; he warned me ahead of time that they would be coming, so both of us whipped up a little ruse for when those bastards sent their goons to doorstep. He’s the one who thought of rigging the place to blow, but I was the one who thought of making a fake body out of discarded meat from a butchery he robbed. Don’t ask me why he robbed a butcher shop, he wouldn’t elaborate.” “Wedsle, knew the whole time!” “Well, yeah…Did he not tell you about all that?” “No! I…Why wouldn’t he say anything? All this time, I thought you were dead and he just stood there and let me think that. I was in pieces about all that, I can’t believe he-”

“Sat Sat Sat Sat!” Janna suddenly pricks, cradling the lively psychics cheeks. “I know there’s a lot that’s going through your head right now, and there is for me too. But lets not go through all that right now. Its obvious you’ve been putting yourself through a lot, and I know you not doing it for nothing. But girl, please slow down. Take a deep breath. I don’t want you to collapse on me, not when we just got each other back. Let just enjoy this while we still have it, because I don’t know if or when we’ll lose it again.” “Janna…” sobs Satette. Their gaze attracting one another, both the lively psychic and Janna comes together to share in each others warmth; their lips pressing together in line with their tight embrace. All the worries and questions seem to melt for the both of them as they enrapture among eachother; like nothing else existed besides themselves.

Outside their passionate show of love for one another hide the perverse purple psychic, peeking into the room from the other side of the cracked open doorway; grinning with perverse glee as he slides the camera of his phone through the other side of the crack. His chance to capture this growing intimate moment however is suddenly slanted when feeling himself being pulled away from the crack of the door; Wedsle soon finding himself face to face with the contemptuous glare of his wall merging partner in crime. “The hell did I say about peeping into people’s rooms?” chastises Frida. “C’mon Frids, you’d deny a man of watching the payoff on the other side of that door.” “I’m keeping you from ruining the moment those too clearly need right now. Janna just got here, after all.” “Just got here? Bitch’s been with us for about half a week and hasn’t even started on decrypting all of Decembers files. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck here for weeks with jack shit to do while my burns heal; least she could do is put on a show as a way of saying thanks.” “If yer feeling that bored out of your damn mind; why not get your self a drink? Pretty sure the new kidney Sat grafted on you should be ripe and ready to abuse. So leave the two lovebirds alone, kay?” the gunwoman suggests, shoving Weds away from the door. “Jeez, fine. Everybody’s gotta have a stick up there ass about private monogamy today.”

The small light of the kitchen fridge blinks on as Wedsle pulls open the door leading inside; the purple psychic growing irate as he peers through every shelf of the ice box. “What do mean ‘there’s no wine left’.” he questions, glancing back to Thursotte waiting on the other side. “I mean there’s not a single drop of wine left. July used the last of it when sauteing the pork we had the other night. Said it would give the dish a refined pallet or something along those lines.” the chaos triggering psychic reminds him, waiting by the microwave as it cooks what spins inside. “So that’s what that grape aftertaste was. I though all the 3rd degree burns were fucking with my head.” “There’s plenty of beer left in the pantry.” “Who the hell keeps beer in the pantry! The whole point of keep in the fridge is to numb the shitty taste.” curses Weds, slamming the fridge door shut.

“Ya know, on the subject of keeping; I can’t help but ask: Why did you keep Janna’s whereabouts a secret from Sat? I get why Janna couldn’t, but why you? Almost seems like there’s no point.” asks Thurs. “You mean besides the fact we had our hands full trying to find out where December was hiding? See, I know how shitty and callous this is gonna sound, but I needed Sat to focus on the job at hand; can’t have here thinking straight if she knew her sapphic sexual lover was still out there waiting for her. Hell, she probably would’ve snuck out by herself to try and look for her, raising indiscriminate shit along the way. Lord know’s what the mob would try knowing she was by herself; they’d be brain dead not to take advantage of that.” “You’re saying Sat can’t be by herself?” “I’m saying we needed her head in the game. Hated keeping it from her though; its why I thought now would be the perfect time to call the bitch back in the house.” “Huh, interesting way of thinking.” Thurs claims. “There was almost no other way I could think of to make it work. We ain’t dealing with some bad neighbors here, Thurs. This ain’t a game.” “Well, I hope Sat’s prone to understanding it as much as me.”

“Yeah…Alright, if I can’t get smashed, I can at least indulge myself in some good frozen pudding dessert. Where’s that last piece of flan I’ve been keepin in here?” Weds goes, turning back to take another look in the fridge. “Uhhh…” As if right on queue, the microwave finishes cooking whatever was inside and automatically opens its door, presenting within the last piece of flan that Wedsle seeked. The purple psychic himself is left silently irate over this, doing little more but to stare furiously back and forth between Thurs and the piece of dessert. “Uh…I…wanted to try a piece.” he meekly claims. “And you ran a piece of cold dessert through the fucking microwave?” “I have sensitive teeth. Cold food hurts me.” “That’s it. I can’t take this shit anymore.”

“Yo, July!” Wedsle suddenly shouts, prompting the keeper of the abode to appear out one of the kitchen cabinets. “You don’t have to shout at me. I’m right here.” he states. “Key. Now.” “Alright, you’re funeral.” the psychic house keeper proclaims, handing Wedsle one of his own bright red keys used to enter and exit from the safehouse. “Wait, where are you going?” wonders Thurs. “Out. I need some fresh air, a bit of a buzz, and hopefully a hooker or two to take the edge off.” “But what about all the dangers you said were waiting out there. You said yourself we had to play it safe.” reminds Thursotte. “Listen here. I’ve been stuck with almost nothing to do but dick around and deal with my burns for the past few weeks. If I don’t get some sun in the next hour or so, I’m going feral.” he warns, stabbing the key in one of the kitchen doors. Upon the key being jammed in the lock, the door glows alight with shining red as it transforms into a completely different door.

As he takes the key out and puts his hand on the knob, Thursotte again attempts to compel to him saying: “But you’re burns haven’t fully healed yet. If you’re going out, at least bring somebody with you.” “Thurs, chill. Long as I lay low, those mob bastards shouldn’t even know I’m out.” “Well, what am I supposed to tell the others?” “Uhhh…” “Wedsle, are you in here?” they then hear being echoed from the door on the other side of the room.” “Make something up. Tell them I’m jacking off somewhere, I don’t know.” the purple psychic hastily advises before slipping his way out. As soon as that very same door turns back to normal, Satette comes out from the other side and into the kitchen; the lively psychic briefly peering throughout the room before looking to Thurs and asking: “Hey, you know where Weds went? I gotta talk to him about something.” “Uhhh…”

From the other side of the psychically conjure door does Wedsle step down from the stoop of an antique shop, looking ahead to find himself standing in a normal urban neighborhood decorated with homes, apartments, and local shops; the standard fair you would find in any residential block of the big apple. The first thing the violet psychic does when finally outside is take in a big whiff of fresh air, a grin forming on his face as he exhales. Ah, the fresh, palatable smog. The cold hard concrete, the constant car horns, the occasional far off gunshots, the meth heads tweaking out in the middle of the Supermarket parking lot. Its been too long since the atmosphere of the urban streets have enraptured me in their gritty, raw charm. Stepping out from that overbearing stuffy safe house and back into the arms of the open streets, I know the first thing I wanna do.

Gaily strolling along through the hardened streets of the Big apple, Wedsle gleefully strolls right past the front of a strippers club and right into the ice cream shop right next door; waltzing right up to the counter to request: “One chocolate dip strawberry cone, please.” “You want sprinkles with that?” “Meh, don’t matter.” Waltzing right out from the ice cream parlor with a delicious scoop of strawberry bathed in chocolate syrup, the violet psychic strolls right back towards the strip club; barging right in to request: “One fellito from your finest employee, please.” “You prefer guys or ladies?” “Meh, don’t matter.” Coming right out from inside the strip joint moments later, Wedsle throws away the paper cone he ate his ice cream with in the trash, slurping up the last of the strawberry dip around his cheeks. Man, busting out a nice fat one while enjoying a nice strawberry chocolate dip is just the peak. Having your tongue orgasm the same time as your cock, its like ascending on another plane of existence from pure ecstasy alone. A relaxing sigh escapes from between his lips as Wedsle turns the street corner; his peepers prowling around for whatever shenanigans he could get into to shake off his cabin fever.

And its upon laying eyes on a nearby bank that he discovers it in the midst of being robbed by a couple of masked people barging right out the doors with sacks filled with cash; scurrying right into a car parked right at the curb. Turning the key to attempt and start the vehicle, the two robber are swift to find its engine refusing to so much as rumble, much less start with a roar; failing to ignite no matter how much the key is turned. Its when gazing into the reflection of the side view mirror that they discover the purple psychic standing right next to them; their gaze growing cold as he jingles the wires needed to start the engine. Without so much as a warning from him, Wedsle scares the absolute shit out of the two by punching straight through the window; both of the robbers paralyzed with fear as he shatters the glass into pieces. Yet rather than turning his hardened fist against them, the purple psychic instead reaches over to one of the sacks of money and swiftly yoinks it right out from inside the car. A rather startling and unpredictable turn of events which leaves the robbers stunned as Weds waltzes right off with the pilfered bag of cash; blowing the two of them a kiss as the sound of approaching police sirens echoes not far off. That very bag of loot is tossed right on top of a counter top, where the employee on the other side left concerned and perplexed by the generously dubious donation as Wedsle makes his exit; the purple psychic giving a thumbs up as he leaves the animal shelter.

Continuing his ventures through the streets of New York, the violet psychic comes upon a most troubling site: man in a business suit in the midst of being robbed by a few muggers, left with nowhere to run as they corner the guy at the end of an alleyway. Just when they are about to lay a beating down on this guy do they then turn around to discover Weds standing at the open end of the alleyway. Their gazes sharpen as they stare one another down, the hope in their victims eyes sparkling as his violet savior approaches. But upon noting the man’s wallet one of the muggers has and discovering him to be part of the IRS, a small detail of which flips the script for the violet psychic. The suited man’s hopes are thoroughly crushed as his thought to be purple hero join in on his muggers and start to beat him against the wall; two of them holding the their victim by his arms as Wedsle takes gut punch after stomach blow on him. They revel in shaking down this government money spend hog whilst punching him down to a bruised pulp; gleefully chuckling as he high fives the muggers.

Strolling further into the depths of the big apple with a fat stack of cash in hand, the violet urban adventurer ponder of what to do with his ill gotten gains in the eyes of the law; glancing to the shopping district for what he could buy. He puts his little shopping spree on hold however when peering to dead end street to find it filled with rugged homeless people, stricken with neglect and hunger beside a commercial street. Looking down to the fat stack of cash he had recently acquired, tempted to simply give his earnings to those who need it more. But would it be enough, he wonders. Its in pondering this that his attention his baited to a big truck labeled with name of a big food company drives right past to him towards the commercial district, soon compelled to follow after the truck as it heads towards one of the supermarket.

Out in the back of one of the supermarkets, the truck full of canned goods parks near the loading bay before the driver within unbuckles their seat belt. Yet before they can hope out to unload their cargo, the truck driver suddenly feels somebody tap at their shoulder from behind. They turn back and are alarmed to find the purple psychic sitting right beside them in the passengers seat, giving them a sly grin just before pushing the driver right out from the vehicle. Before the former driver could realize what had just happened, the truck they’ve been shoved out of suddenly peels out, streaking across the parking lot before driving right on out of there; the driver left to explain where their stock just up and went.

Back within the dead end street the group of homeless people walk among, their melancholic routine of neglect and despair is shunted aside when a wayward truck streaks right into the neighborhood and crashes straight into a brick wall. Gathering around the wrecked vehicle, the crowd of pour unfortunate souls watch as Wedsle stumbles out from the drivers seat and towards the back; their luck taking drastic turn when the purple psychic opens the cargo to let spill stacks and stacks of canned beans, vegetables, fruit, meats, and other assorted foods for the poor and hungry to feast upon. Their fortunate streak only grows as Wedsle makes it rain green from atop the crashed truck, all of them frantically clutching fist fulls of bills as they flutter down.

With a wave of his hands and a pep in his step, Wedsle hums his way around the urban blocks with a smile on his face; his rough and stressed demeanor having taken a complete 180 since earlier this morning. Man, being a certified menace to society was just what the doctor ordered to take the edge off. The sensation from the healing burns are only mildly irritating now. I’m feeling better already. But there ain’t a chance in hell I can just pack up and go home now, not while the day is still young, and when sunlight is cracking through the city smog. There’s gotta be more hell to raise somewhere in the core of this rotting fruit of a city.

And coming upon the corner does the rage controlling psychic end up spotting something that baits his eyes; the gathering of a large crowd at the gates of a small mansion, swinging around protest signs, chanting slogans and phrases against their adversaries. A typical strike against – and unfair living price. From one of the manors gargantuan windows is the owner of the home visible from the other side; a bitter middle aged man dressed in a polo shirt and dress pants contemptuously looking down upon them all with a glass of wine in hand. Yet despite their outrage, it seems that their strike had lasted for several days at best, evident of the tents, sleeping bags, and coolers. And from the looks of things, it seems that there has been very little progress made since then. No signs of the opposition letting up anytime soon. At least, not without the right push.

Thinking he could shift this little domestic situation into overdrive, and with next to nothing better to do on his day out, Wedsle decides to lend his support to the cause by seamlessly infiltrating their ranks. Blending in among the various protesters in their ongoing struggles; injecting himself in their situation with: “Rent strike, huh? Nice, I can get behind that. Fuck private owned property.” “Yeah, a bunch of us have been asking our landlord to lower rent due to our stagnating wages. But he ain’t hearing any of it, saying that “We ain’t working hard enough.” or “He doesn’t give handouts.”, crap like that.” the ginger haired man leading them all elaborates. “All while he’s snug and warm in his little dollhouse. Bet the little pussy bitch never worked a day in his life.” chastises Weds. “So that’s why we’re out here, making our voices heard. Refusing to cow tow to price hikes in the face of economic decline.” another of them state.

“Nice, how’s that been going?” the purple psychic asks. “Well, he hasn’t even come out to talk to us so far.” “What?” “Yeah uh, everything we’ve tried to negotiate with hasn’t worked.” “Well, what all’ve you been trying?” “We’ve been sending notes, petitions, contacting news sources.” “Have you tried mailing a pipe bomb to him?” Everyone gasps in astonishment upon the suggestion, one of of them wondering aloud: “You’re kidding, right. Does it look like any of us can afford to be in jail?” “You can barely afford to have a home. The hell you got everyone riled up here for if all y’all gonna do is pussy shit. You wanna get a douche bags attention, I’ll show ya how to get it.”

His eyes striding across the concrete beneath their feet, Wedsle sets his sites upon the broken chunk of a concrete block just big enough for somebody to lift; the purple menace reaching down to heave the hard cement brick right off the ground with but a single hand. A brief moment to aim is all he needs before pitching the hard block straight towards one of the manors windows; the chunk of concrete nearly hitting the landlord square in the head, a close call which makes him retreat into the depths of his home. A wave of utter shock surges through the rest of the protesting crowd as they look upon the display of damaged private property; the unexpected act of vandalism prompting the red headed leading them to stare out to the violet psychic and shout: “Are you out of your mind!? Why would you do that!?” “Why not do it? The fucker in their ain’t giving you all the same courtesy you all’ve been handing out, so why try and play nice anymore!? Why not scoop up the heaviest things you see and just pelt his tacky as doll house of a home!? Let’em know none of you are screwing around anymore.”

The violet psychic’s boastful words encourage the rest of the protesters to scoop up whatever bits and pieces of concrete they could reasonably pick up and just start chucking volleys of pebbles and rocks right over the gate to pelt the landlords manor with; some of them finding it a bit difficult heaving up some of the heavier chunks of cement only to end up tripping up. “No! Stop! We said we wouldn’t resort to this!” the ginger pleads. Having stirred the froth of anger and fury bubbling from underneath this striking crowd against such a money hungry vampire, Wedsle can’t help but let a satisfied grin stretch across his face; the justified chaos and disarray a beauty to behold for him.

That same smile swiftly deflates upon the sound of police sirens approaching, with almost everyone ceasing fire when hearing the incoming blares. “Its the cops, run.” one of the strikers screams, prompting the others to scatter akin to a family of badgers scampering from their exposed nest. Quick to arrive among the ongoing disarray, the horde of police officers charging straight in to tackle what ornery protesters they could catch among the chaos; the other strikes left with little choice but to flee against the overwhelming wave of cops threatening to arrest them.

Having fled a few blocks away from the rustling scene, Wedsle hides along the side of an apartment complex while peering back to the front gates of the landlords manor; some of the protester that had failed to escape in time being shoved in the back of police cars. The purple menace planning on skidaddle before any of those cops try to manhandle him in their wagons, he attempts to sneak off on out from the district entirely; reaching down to clutch the red key stashed in his pocket. Think I had enough fun for one day.

Though before he could so much as look for a door to use his key on, a hardened fist comes straight out of left field to slug Weds right in the face; the unexpected strike knocking him flat on his ass. “Ah! Who the fuck-” Peering up does he discover his assaulter to be the ginger haired man that had lead the protest, his enraged glare suggesting that he was none too happy about the stunt the purple punk had just pulled. “Oh, hey. Glad to see you got away, red head. I was just about to head on home to-” “What the hell is wrong with you!?” the striker then exclaim. “What? Is it a little bit too early to party?” “Too early to…You just threw out months of hard work, got some of my good neighbors arrested, and made us look like nothing but a bunch of vandals.” “Easy man, vandalism laws out here in the big apple aren’t that bad. I’m sure they’ll only get, what, like 3 or 6 months?”

“That’s not the point. Do you have any idea how long it took to rally everyone up for this. Countless month of negotiation, bargaining, and promises; right down the god damn drain! You think any of them are gonna risk what little they have left to just end up getting tossed in the slammer?” “Its not like your little petition party was doing anything productive. Least with what we were doing, it was scaring the shit out of the bastard.” claims Wedsle. “At the cost of people’s livelihoods?” “Their livelihoods were already spiraling out of control.” “And that’s why we can’t stoop to breaking the law.” “That’s why you have to break the law!” rebuts the purple psychic, a statement which leaves the ginger man at a loss for word. “Most people who break the rules don’t do it for shits and giggles; they do it cause they’re desperate. Why care about the world around you if the world isn’t willing to do the same? Why cowtow to what sort of arbitrary laws dickheads put in place if it only serves them and them alone. When all you have in life are the clothes on your back and the fragility of your own life, you bet breaking the rules is what people should be doing.”

Before the red headed man could so much as let another word out from the violet psychic’s speech, a voice calling out from behind him baits his attention over; hearing them say his name with: “Harold! Harold!” A peek back behind himself, the man discovers a young boy scuttling over to the two of them, the kid taking a moment to catch his breath as Harold asks: “Kenma! What’s wrong?” “Its my dad, the cops dragged him into their car and drove off. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell mom. What do we do?” desperately pleads the kid. “D…don’t worry, bud. A-as long as we stick together, I’m sure we can sort all this out and get your dad out of the slammer…” Suspending his sentence does the red head peek back to the purple punk, with hints of reluctance clear to see in him as he adds: “Even if we have to do it by any means necessary.” “That’s the spirit!” cheers Wedsle. “And this gentleman behind me is gonna help us.” “What?” “Think its fair to lend a hand after all the needless commotion and chaos you ended up causing, isn’t it?” “Phft! Fine.”

Along the length of a descending a stairwell, Wedsle is lead by the leader of the protesters alongside a small crew of other strikers; the purple punk among then stating aloud: “So your Headquarters is in your apartment complex’s basement.” “Is that a problem?” “Conspicuousness aside, not really.” At the end of the set of steps lies a locked door, of which Harold pulls out a small key to try and unlock; the protesting leader fiddling with the key lock while murmuring: “Come on…Come on…Deh…Turn…turn already…Why won’t this- Got it!” Beyond the doorway do all of them pour into the basement, where upon Wedsle surveys the condition of their homey little hidey hole; finding most of what you would expect in a typical buildings lower floors. Water heater, furnace, old boxes, hard concrete; the only thing different being the chairs surrounding a table with documents and maps, not to mention a cork board with phone numbers and deposit info. “Welcome to HQ, waters are in the fridge right there.” welcomes Harold. “Not the worst basement I’ve been dragged into. Least its clean.”

While the rest of them gather around the table, Wedsle wanders over to the fridge sitting in the corner and fancies a peek inside while going: “Whelp, if I’m gonna be hear for a while, might as well get comfy. Where’s your drinks.” wonders Wedsle. “You mean like alcohol?” “Yeah, wine, liquor, really I ain’t too picky.” “Sorry to break it to ya. There ain’t a drop down here.” one of the protesters claims. “The hell? Not even the cheap shit?” “Does it seem like we can afford to get smashed?” asks Harold. “Not with that attitude, you don’t. Ya just need a bit of creativity. Imma check back here and see what else you might have.” the purple punk states, making his way towards the open bathroom.

The moment that the violet psychic was out of earshot, one of the protesters speaks up to their leader over the current situation: “So, not to doubt you or anything, Harold. But why did you see it fit to bring that guys down here with us after you just got done arguing with him?” A hefty sigh seeps out from beneath their leaders breath as he plops his ass down on one of the chairs, admitting to his peers: “Hate to say it, but he was right about something. Everything we’ve been doing so far has done next to nothing to get our landlord to budge. All the legal stuff we’ve tried has either been shut down or ignored entirely. As reckless as that purple punk’s little stunt was, at least it got his attention; so he might be onto something. Even if we feel like we don’t want to.” “Knew there had to be rubbing alcohol in here. Wonder if this shit can be mixed.” they hear Weds shout from the bathroom. Peering back do the protesters watch Wedsle venture from the bathroom with them bottle of rubbing alcohol and back to the fridge; the violet psychic perusing inside for a bit before pulling out a bottle of grape juice, pouring the rubbing alcohol into it. “And I really don’t want to.”

Tasting his freshly made concoction of medical liquid and dollar brand grape juice, Wedsle shutters from but a single sip of of the deep purple cocktail as he finally joins the other strikers, letting out a brief grunt before judging. “Damn, more of a bitter punch than I thought. Kinda like it actually, not to bad for bootleg cocktail. Maybe needs a bit more cough syrup.” Baiting their attention back to him with a faux cough, Harold returns the conversation back to the matter at hand with: “So, new guy. How do you think we should go about convincing our landlord to lower our rent.” “Glad you finally asked. I was thinking something along the lines of-” “Without getting anybody hurt.” the leader interrupts to add. “Well, I think we could-” “Or killed.” “Damn. Really busting my balls here, mate. Still, I think I can work with that. Plenty of ways to gain leverage on somebody without inflicting bodily harm.” “Like?” “Well…”

Within the comforting confines of his manors living room, the landlord leisurely watching on his 90 in, 8K TV while sitting in his ultra plush recliner; a combo which leaves the man entranced in relaxation. Yet he is suddenly broken out from this stupor when hearing something break from right outside, the landlord shaking off his daze as he pulls himself off the chair and venture to the window. Peering out from the window overlooking his backyard does he then discover what caused such a loud ruckus, glaring down to the site of some of the protesters breaking some of his decorations; the statues he had installed reduced to pieces against their blunt weapons. Against this act of vandalism is the man quick to draw out his phone and dial the police, determined to not let these piss ants get away with their crimes; something that the cops are quick to fulfill as they rush into apprehend the perpetrators. Despite their efforts, about half of the rabble rousing protesters manage to escape from the long arm of the law, with Harold leading them all out over the fence.

A steaming hot platter of glazed ham, mashed potatoes, and baked vegetables sitting on the other end of the dinning table, the landlord plops his rear down on the empty chair as he stares down to the delectable spread of dinner laying before him, scoping up the silverware beside it eager to dig right in. Mouthwatering juice seeps out from the ham as he jabs the fork into its side, reflecting the lights above as the piece of meat is guided towards the man’s opening maw. His chance to enjoy the delightful blend of saucy goodness is suddenly put on hold when catching the sounds of a shuffle not too far away; the noise baiting his attention to the door at the end of the dinning room leading into the kitchen. Off from his chair and away from his meal, the landlord cautiously approaches the door to peek out through its window, witnessing on the other side some of the protesters raiding his kitchen; all of them pilfering every ounce of food they could from every shelf and cabinet they could reach. Rather than burst in and attempt to confront so many people on his own, he is again inclined to reach for his phone to call the authorities. The police waste little time in coming to apprehend all of the food looters, the protesters scrambling away from the pursuing police in a frenzy with whatever meals they could carry; Harold leading them all through an escape route among the chaos.

Laying ideally in a fresh drawn bubble bath, the landlord sinks in the frothing mixture of his warm water and rose scented bubbles as both the bathwater and the ambient candle light wash over him in a blend of relaxing euphoria. He is quickly fished out from this blissful experience when the sharp echo of broken glass suddenly perpetrates his ears; the landlord rising out from the frothy waters to step out from the tub and check what was happening out from his bathroom. Peeking out from the crack of his washroom door, he discovers the source of the noise to be from intruders having broken into the confines of his home, attempting to procure his finely bought decorations and furniture. A transgression of which he refuses to let stand as he brings out his phone to alert the local authorities. It takes police little time to storm in and arrest those breaking and entering, with Harold and Wedsle left with little choice but to bail out through the window.

“Okay, so not a single one of those schemes worked. Really thought the third time would be the charm.” the purple psychic reviews. “But that’s alright. We still got uh…” Peering around the basement table, the violet psychic counts how many protesters are left standing among them; pointing out to each one as he silently counts. “5? 5. 5 of us left. Did some of us get caught, sure; but that sure as hell shouldn’t stop us. I was thinking than next we could maybe try-” “You seriously still think we can keep going, after all the people we got tossed in the can?” Harold then interrupts. “Hey, you only need one man to make a difference. Besides how many people got arrested, like 2, 3?” “There were about 18 of us here this morning.” “Oh…well jeez. Still, at least it seems like that pricks taking you seriously now.” “Yeah, and look where it got us. We should’ve just moved.” the leader sighs, parting from the basement table as he heads for the stairs.

“Wait, really? You gonna give up, just like that, after only three tries?” compels Wedsle, following after him. “This isn’t some game, you jackass. These are people’s lives we’re talking about. I don’t know about you, but I can risk the livelihoods of what people are left standing. I can’t sleep at night knowing that people were dragged away from their loved ones in a fruitless effort. I won’t throw what good people I have left trying to tear down an unbreakable wall.” he claims. “Alright alright alright. I see what your bitching about.” the purple punk claims, quick to stand between the leader and the bottom of the steps. “So let me at least offer you a proposition before you throw in the towel.” “Come on, man.I already told you that I ain’t-” Harold starts to reject.

“No no. See, that’s the beauty of it. You and the rest of your crew won’t have to even lift a finger. Just let me and a couple of friends I got take it from here.” “You’re kidding, right? You seriously expect me to put my faith after all your little plans have been leading me and rest of us down here in nothing but trouble?” “Fine, if your that apprehensive, then maybe you can come with the plan. Whatever stitched together brainchild you birth out of the labia folds of your mind, we’ll follow every step. That good for you.” Upon being asked of this does the protesting leader peer back to the table behind him to see who all he had left, unfortunately finding nothing but elderly, some kids, and one scraggly fellow sitting in the corner; a poor spread which makes the guy let out a begrudging moan and admit: “Okay, fine. I had this one idea on the back burner for a bit.” “That’s the spirit.”

After such a long and rough day dealing with so many incidents behind its walls, the evening sun finally sets upon the landlords abode as the last of the twilight gives away to the city night life; the man of the house stumbling his way into the bedroom as he disrobes. Approaching his deluxe sized memory foam mattress in nothing but his underpants, he lets out a comforting moan while slipping underneath the silky smooth sheets, laying blissfully as if he were on top of a serene cloud. This peaceful landlord is but moments away from slipping out from the bustling realm of consciousness, when a sudden loud clank from outside drags him out from comfort; the man of the house compelled to take his phone with him as he investigates. From outside his bedroom doorway, the landlord peers through the depths of his dark hallway in judging where the unexpected crash had came from; when in the corner of his eye, he spots the glimpse of a shadow snaking around the corner. Despite not knowing what may have broken into his abode in the dead of night, the landlord still has a pretty good idea who they may be and is quick to dial the police; all the while carefully prowling where the shadow slithered.

Out from the hallway and into the dinning room, the landlord cautiously walks beside the length of the table as he scans the room; the streetlights outside glistening through the window to provide ample luminescence. “I know you vandals are in here.” the landlord claims, his raspy voice echoing across the near empty room. “I’ve already called the police. They’re on their way. And just for good measure, I’m having them stop by the apartments to flush the rest of you out. I’m not putting up with this anymore.”

Upon this threatening remark is he suddenly spooked by the site of a small quarter rolling across the dinning room floor; his eyes following the small coin as it makes its way over towards the fireplace, nicking against the base of its stone structure. And despite only inflicting the smallest of taps upon the bottom of the fireplace, from the small fracture it left behind do the cracks rapidly grow and grow, stretching across the stone brick until the length of its neck begins to crumble to pieces. Whole chunks of the fireplace collapse and crash onto the dinning room table and chairs, reducing eloquently carved wood to nothing but broken splinters in the blink of an eye. This terrible accident happening just a few feet before him, the old landlord scampers across the mess to run out of the ruined dinning room; his panicked screams echoing down the hallway he hurries down.

From the depths of the hallway does the landlord hovel his way into the study, peering throughout for any signs of disturbances or break ins that may have accord; the streetlights from outside shining through the windows in providing slices of illumination. Glistening against the light from the other side of the living room sat a double barrel shot gun with an elaborately carved wooden butt mantled on the wall; the landlord quick to scurry over to the weapon to arm himself, with his aim wandering around while he hollowly threatens: “Don’t think I don’t know how to use this! I’m within my full American right to defend myself, if have to!”

His aim trailing off to one of the windows, the landlord aims the barrels of his weapon over to one of the curtains when noticing a pair of shoes exposed along the bottom; the shoes slithering up the wall as soon as they’re spotted. Quick to pull the trigger does the landlord unleash an entire blast of pellets that rends the curtains apart, with the harsh recoil nearly knocking him down to the floor. When he recovers from his shotguns blow back, he glances over to the curtains to find its silk surface crumbling away. The man can only back away in growing terror however, when finding nothing hiding behind the ruined curtains. His first instinct being to retreat behind the recliner in hopes of hiding from whoever, or whatever, may be haunting his abode; the landlord peeking from the top to survey where this enigmatic intruder may appear next.

What he fails to predict however is feeling something clutch at his ankle; the unexpected grasp making him fall flat on his ass, in which he discovers a hand from underneath the seat tightly holding onto his foot. Having already spent the slugs of his shotgun, the landlord resorts to turning the weapon around to try and beat the hand off with the butt in a desperate bid to escape; the disembodied hand lets go to instead grasp at the handle of the weapon. Try as the man may to retrieve his weapon from the mysterious intruder, the gun slips out from the landlord grasp before he ends up tumbling back to the wall behind him. As he shakes off his brief bump, he can only watch as the hand he struggled fighting back slip back into the depths of the chair, dragging his precious firearm underneath with it. He races back to the seat to reach down and flip it upside down, only to find practically nobody hiding underneath; no arm, no hand, no gun, nothing.

The landlords breath grows ever more shallow and ragged among these escalating occurrences, making him simply back away from the flipped furniture as he frantically looks through the study for whatever may happen next. His tingling terror only gets worse when he suddenly feels somebody behind him tap at his shoulder; the man quickly peeking back only to see not a soul standing behind him. Just as he ponder what could have baited his attention, the landlord suddenly feels something tickle the top of his head; the guy jolting his eyes back to discover nothing fluttering above. The landlord begins to tremble around the room as these rapidly occurring incidents leave him more and more paranoid. Its among his worsening fright that he witness a pair of arms slither out from under his own sleeves, reaching out from within his shirt to then grasp as his neck; the landlord struggling to pry the pair of arms off as they begin to strangle him. Its in frantic desperation that he tears off his pajama shirt in an attempt to pry the arms choking him away, the limbs letting go as he takes off his tee and tosses it down onto the floor. Once discarding his comforting shirt, the landlord lets out a yelping squeal as he makes a mad dash towards the way out of the study; a person emerges out from underneath the inside of the article of clothing to watch them flee.

The landlords frantic scurrying trails him back into the confines of his manors living room; the shadows that encompass the room broken apart by the streetlights flooding in, reflecting off the onyx black screen of his gargantuan TV. Yet these snippets of illumination fail to ease his dread as he wanders through, rapidly peering across every corner of the room for any other frightening figures that invade his home. Its among his scared trance that the landlord witnesses somebody prowling through where he came, this intruder donning a thick, purple hood, black leather gloves, and the mask of a demon, one whose eyes stare upon him with their deathly radiant violet glow. The man recoil at the mere site of the monster’s visage, retreating back as the invader lumbers inside; his back side bumping into the shelf of decorative swords behind him. Quick to pry open the glass case containing one of these weapons, the landlord brandishes the blade directly towards the approaching intruder, warning to them: “Stay back! I’m warning you!” The demonic masked man is unfazed however by this threat as they continue to prowl closer and closer, clearly showing that they refused to be frightened by the edges of the landlords weapon.

Seeing the intruder take one more step too many, the landlord is prompted to take a daring charge against them with sword in hand, wildly swinging out to the invader with no regard to aim. Effortlessly evading simply one of these wayward slashes, the purple invader drives his knee directly into the man’s stomach; a blow which makes him loose his grasp upon the decorative blade he wields. Snatching up the sword right out from the landlords grasp, the masked intruder grabs him by the arm before tossing him against the wall; the man grunting from the impact before falling back down to the floor. A glance back to the violet invader, he watches them take the weapon he had confiscated from his grasp with both hand to bend the steel of the blade; the sword cracking up enough to snap right in half, nothing left but a broken hilt the intruder discards.

“You think you can just get away with this Harold, breaking into my home to terrorize me? The police are already on their way, they’ll be here any second now. And when they get here, I’ll make sure you and the rest of you ungrateful hooligans rot in prison for the rest of your days.” the man threatens. Out from the brash threat does the living room’s Television suddenly springs to life, letting the screen’s vivid light banish the darkness crawling through the quarters. What that very screen presents to the landlord is something that utterly baffles him. On the TV rolled a live feed of his apartment complex which the tenants had dwell, revealing the protesters that had accosted him being awoken by officers in the middle of the night; each one that hadn’t been tossed in the can talking with them from the front of their own apartment doors. The landlords perplexed terror only skyrockets when he finds the man he accused the intruder of being among one of these shown to him on the stream; Harold dressed in casual pajama bottoms discussing with the police from the foot of his own bed.

The realization of the intruder he’s face not being one of his agitating tenants begins to sink in as his bravado crumbles away, the landlord finally giving in to the lingering helpless terror that spread through him like a descending chill. That dreads only grows as the demonic masked intruder continues to approach, their rising shadow looming over the man as they lumber closer with the tip of the broken blade in their hand. “P-P-P-please, don’t come any closer.” he begins to plead, the looming frighten finally beginning to set in. “If, y-you’re with the protesters, just tell them th-they win, okay. I’ll lower their rents from now on, just don’t hurt me!” His pleads yet fall on deaf ears as the masked figure only grows closer and closer; the violet glow shining out from underneath their mask reflects off the landlords pupils, with those peepers shrinking as the intruder aims the broken tip of the decorative sword towards his head. “Al-alright fine. I’ll drop the charges so that the rest of the tenants can go free! Just stay back!” Seeming to ignore the plea for mercy, the masked invader thrusts the tip of the broken off blade right towards him, the landlord closing his eyes in preparing to be impaled. Hearing a harsh stabbing sound right beside him, the landlord opens his eyes as he peeks over to find the tip of the weapon having been jammed right into the wall just by his head. The man then looks ahead to realize the masked intruder accosting him having disappeared, vanishing without so much as a single trace left behind; the landlord left bawling in the corner from all he had been through that very night.

From the other side of a bright red doorway, the figure in the demonic mask enter through with two others at his side; the invader clutching at his mask to pull right off his head as they enter into the psychic safe house. “Whew…Damn, didn’t think a mask would make me so sweaty.” Wedsle claims, taking off the mask. “Still, didn’t expect it to feel so…natural. Like putting on another face that feels right. Maybe I’ll wear it next time I’m at a strip club and see who’s interested.” Behind him follow both Frida and Thursotte, the wall merging inspecting the elaborately carved shotgun she had pilfered from the landlord as she lists off its features: “Smooth trigger, nice and sleek carved finish for the butt, finely polished 416 stainless steel…Holy shit, the intricacy of how the twisted barrels shaped. You are too good to just leave up on a wall. I’ll give this bad boy a good home.”

“So, you just decide on a whim to participate in a protest for an apartment complex for somewhere you don’t even live, for strangers you barely even know…for fun?” reviews Thurs. “Hey, had to kill the boredom somehow. And what better way to massacre the time than taking part in a socioeconomic uprising. Teach that old bastard to raise rent on the poor.” “You think we might have gone a bit overboard with scaring him though?” “If we scared the shit out of him good enough, he’ll remember this night for what few decades left on this Earth he has. Beside, most landlord are just leeches.” “Letting people live in places you own for a price isn’t as unfair as you think.” July then intrudes. “I mean, I let all of you live here rent free. I technically am a landlord.” “Yeah, but you guys don’t build the houses, you just buy them up and make people pay you to live there.” rebuts Wedsle. “I literally made the room we are standing in with my mind!” “And we all appreciate your contribution to the cause.” the violet psychic thanks, waltzing right through the door leading into the kitchen.

“Okay, but why? Why go through all that trouble for people you barely knew?” “Because, Thursotte. I like to think I am a man of the little people. Somebody willing to humbly aid those which this world rails in the ass with a 7 inch barbed pole. Isn’t that why people start shit in the first place?” boasts Wedsle. “…You wanted an excuse to get out of talking to Sat, didn’t you?” July then accuses. “What!? Of all the insensitive nerves. How could the two of you think so little of me as to…” Despite his feign attempts to protest this accusation, it was clear to the violet psychic that neither of them were buying his whole faux noble spiel, forcing Wedsle to drop the act to instead questions: “Wh-what the hell am I even supposed to say to her? “Hey, Sat. Sorry about faking your girlfriends gruesome death and lying about it behind your back for months now. Hope you’re not mad enough to wanna psychically castrate my testicles and sow them to my mouth.” Doubt she’s gonna take all that with a slap to the wrist and a kiss on the dick.” “Wedsle, I’ve known you for years. You have done way worse.” July then points out. “Maybe to some poor soul in the back of a dark midnight ally, but not to one of my mates. Again, what do you want from me?” “Just tell her the truth. I’m sure she’ll understand when you explain why you had to take so many measures.” suggests Thursotte. “Probably…or we could probably bury it and hopeful never have to unpack all those shitty talking prompts for say…until I die.” the purple punk then proposes, a suggestion that has both July and Thurs’ eyes rolling.

“Now, the hell are we eating tonight. If we’re eating out, I know the perfect place we can-” Cutting himself short, he finds something that he had been dreading to face for a little while, somebody that he didn’t want to see, but knew that it was an inevitability. Sitting atop the counter before him be the lively psychic alone in the kitchen, hopping off onto the floor to approach him. “Oh, Hey Sat.” the purple punk nervously greets. “Wedsle, we need to talk.” she claims. “Okay, okay…but I just remembered that I left something back in the other room. Lemme go get it real quick.” Yet faster than he could even blink does the door behind him slams shut, the violet psychic soon finding it locked tight from the other side. Oh, those dickheads.

A glance back over, the violet psychic is astonished to find Satette standing directly in front of him, fixing an accusatory glare against him that wordlessly demands some form of explanation; bits of anxious sweat run down his forehead as he is forced to stare down to here. Easy, Weds. You can get through this, just act natural. “Uh…So…You and Janna settling in alright? Done anything…kinky…or what?” he blathers out. Not that natural, you fucking man whore.

“Why did…” the lively psychic begins to utters. “Why…?” “Why didn’t you tell me…about Janna? How all this time, I felt all alone thinking she was…gone?” Being questioned of this baits out a disheartening sigh from the purple punk, prompting to shake off his initial weariness to explain: “Sat, you know why I had to fake her death, right? Considering how much were against the city’s superpowered criminal syndicate, it was the best I could think of.” “No…I mean, I get why you had to…I’m saying out of all the people to keep it from, why me? Don’t you think out of everyone, I deserved to know?…That all my actions didn’t get my girlfriend murdered? You watched me spiral into a wreck knowing the whole time she was alive. Was it just…funny to you!? Cause I sure as hell ain’t laughing!” “That’s not it!” he then harshly retorts, a response which makes Satette step back.

After a moment to calm himself down, Wedsle then calmly continues with: “Believe me, woman. It ate me up watching you sink like that. Hell, I was even thinking about letting the cat out of the bag early sometimes so it don’t suffocate and die. But if I did, you’d obviously wanna see her. So much in fact, that I was paranoid you would sneak out going to look for her, even if it was by your damn lonesome. And god knows the mob wouldn’t waste a second taking that silver platter.” “So what. You think I couldn’t take care of myself?” “I was thinking Janna couldn’t.” Weds then claps back with, something which leaves the lively psychic stunned.

“I ain’t saying you’re a bitch. I’m saying that the mob would’ve figure out who you were looking for sooner or later and would’ve found her before you did. I didn’t wanna risk that. I couldn’t risk that. All that planning after the whole stunt would’ve been burned up to hell and back. And hey, given how Janna got out of this pretty much unscathed, I’d say that gamble was worth it. You got your fuck buddy back, and we got somebody helping us decrypt December’s files. Everybody wins, right?” he reviews, a statement which leaves Sat mildly despondent and upset. “Look, it was shitty of me keeping this, I ain’t fightin that. And really, I’d have told you sooner if I could, believe me. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Seeing his justification for hiding Satette’s girlfriend from her for so long doing little to satisfy her, Wedsle takes in a deep breath before proposing: “Tell ya what. How bout I let you get one off me, no string attached.” “Excuse me?” Sat is quick to reply. “Slug one out on me. Blow off some steam and gimme a taste of the pain you’ve been feeling. I mean it. I wound up hurting you, so I think I should let you maim me. Feels like its the best way we could be even.” “Wedsle.” “Come on. You know me, I can take it. Ain’t gonna let some slight burns and a busted ribs keep me down. Take the biggest swing you got, I swear to ya I won’t get-”

In the matter of an instant does the violet psychic suddenly feels an overwhelming sharp pain in between his legs, with Satette having driven her foot deep into Wedsle testicles; the unexpected blow crumbling the purple punk to his knees as he grabs his crotch. It genuinely takes Wedsle a couple seconds to feel through the crotch shot as the stinging sensation makes him tremble, having to have a few moments to breathe. Among processing the horrible sting inflicted upon him, he peers up to gaze upon the lively psychic looking down at him, obliged to grunt out to ask: “We good?” Leaning down to the kneeling purple punk, Satette plants a soft smack on the cheek as her soft touch relieving a fraction of Weds’ anguish; the lively psychic declaring: “We good. You want spaghetti and meatballs for dinner?” “Sure, just let mine drop back down first. Ooh…Holy shit.”

[lillaxtrigger]

Beaming down from the desolate shadows of an empty dark room, a single light spots down upon the deeply coveted stone of psychic potential; its cracked glass casing glistening against the descending glow. “The psychic stone. An artifact capable of unlocking the true potential of one’s own mind, bestowing those blessed in its glow an incredible power the likes of which are capable of transforming our very world.” Stepping out from among the dark, the violet psychic, plastered in gauze and a couple of casts, swipes the precious babble off the table and admires the little rock encased within, celebrating of how: “And its back in our clutches. Back from the bowels of the mob’s stomach. I mean, its kinda worse for wear. But hell, nothing but a little spit shine and glue can’t fix. What matters is that its in our little corner of town.”

In the blink of an eye is the surrounding void cast away as several more light fixtures overhead illuminate; Wedsle covering his eyes from the invasive glow as he’s revealed to be standing in one of their hideouts offices. Gazing to the other side of the brightly lit space, the purple psychic discovers Frida standing next to the light switch, retracting her finger away from the flip switch to ask: “All great wins. Hooray for us. Now what?” “Ain’t it obvious. We use the stone to power up and overthrow the bosses.” And how you suppose we make that play out?” “Well…um…” “You even have a plan?” “Shut the fuck up! I’m work shopping one.” exclaims Wedsle.

“Do you even know how we’re supposed to power up with that pebble? Hell, do you even know how you did it?” further questions Frida. “Uh…a bolt came out from the crack and shocking me in the head. Next thing I knew, I had one of the worst migraines in my life. Worse than any hangover I felt after a wild night at a swingers party.” “Gross.” “Any who, I couldn’t tell ya what got it this little mcguffin to spark. Could’ve been anything for all I know. Either way, just being out of the mob’s hands is an advantage enough. Better off not having anymore of those bastards being boosted.” Its then that the door leading out from the small office space suddenly bursts open, Thursotte leaping out from the illuminated hall on the other side with exasperation painted across his face. “Guys, you two ain’t gonna believe what I just found out; you’re gonna wanna come and see this.” he urges.

Gathering beside the chaos triggering psychic, Frida, Weds, and Tuesco watch as Thurs sits staring at the monitor of a computer; the screen displaying a myriad of locked files and documents upon looking through. “This is about as much data as the thumb drive I plugged into the laboratory’s server got. Most of it is encrypted, but I did manage to scope out some files that weren’t.” he elaborates. “You managed to keep that? Thought the doc would’ve swiped it back the moment you got caught.” the purple psychic wonders. “I figured the same thing, which is why I put it somewhere him or his drones wouldn’t have thought to look.” “Where would you even keep it?” Tuesco can’t help but wonder. “Let’s just say that when you spend a couple of months in prison, you tend to pick up some tricks you wanna use when sneaking stuff around; preferably if its isn’t something bigger than a couple inches in diameter.” “What does that uh even…” “He’s talking about using his prison wallet.” answers Wedsle. “Ew.”

“What’s a prison wallet?” they all suddenly hear an adolescent voice ask, the trio glancing back to find the Sunny standing right behind them. To the young sound controlling kid’s innocent wonder, a devious smile stretches across the violet psychic cheeks; proclaiming that: “I’m gonna tell him.” “You better not.” Tues threatens. “What are you all even talking about?” “We are about to review what was on copied on the thumb drive.” Thurs gets them all back on track with. “Ooh, can I see.” the boy pleads. “Thurs?” the air crystallizing psychic wonders, looking to the young man. “Meh, all the files we can browse through right now are nothing but documents. Nothing graphic or anything.” “Aw, boring.”

“Well, you might find it all a little less boring when I pull up the visitation records the doc’s been keeping.” mentions Thurs, turning right back to the computer monitor. Displayed on the screen be a full spreadsheet documenting showing a list of months followed by a slew of numbers, each of them categorized from intrusions, meetings, and abductions. Scrolling down near the bottom of the list, the jinx triggering psychic points to a 5 put underneath intrusions. “See this? The server jotted the five of us down not long after we broke into the lab. Assuming no one else didn’t stumble in there by accident, then this list should be accurate.” “There a point to showing us this?” wonders Wedsle. “Look just a month back. Under meetings.” Thursotte hovers the mouse over the very spot he brings attention to, the square standing between last month and how many visited. “4? Guess we weren’t the only one’s making a clinical visit.” Frida figures. “Question is who would even willingly go down to that metal factory of nightmares?”

“Are you for fucking real?” Wedsle then butts in with. “Come again?” “All this time, we thought December was nothing but some shitty urban barrel fire tale told to make lackeys piss themselves. The only people who knew he was real without a doubt were the same one’s he worked under. Who else could it be?” “The bosses!? If they went down there while they still had the stone…Oh god.” shutters Thurs. “But who were their plus one’s? Doubt they’d just lead anyone down there.” questions Frida. “I got a couple of ideas, but can’t be too sure. There anything else you dug up about this, Thurs?” “Nothing that’s unencrypted. Without some way to break the locked files, this is about as much as we can view.” “Dammit! It ain’t like any of us are that tech savvy either. If we can’t access the data. We can’t tell what their next moves’ll be. We’d just be taking pot shots in the dark.” Tuesco summarizes

“None of us can crack this code, but I know somebody who could.” assures Wedsle. “What the- when did you even…If you knew someone like that, why didn’t you say anything before?” questions Thursotte. “Because their anonymity was a priority, had to be with all the info they’ve been shoveling through; scooping up bits of handy intel in between the piles of cow shit. Plus, that they’re not exactly the action type; they’re more of an informant than a fighter.” “Informatio- Hang on. Was this the masked guy you had us meet with in that art museum?” Thurs points out. “The same. While we were all gallivanting through the city like a bunch of drunk collage dropouts, they we’re behind the scenes practically navigating our cobbled together vessel of criminal antics. How you think we figured where our little living megaphone was camping out?” confirms Weds, scuffling the sound controlling kid’s hair. “Of course, with how dangerous things are gonna get out there. I say its time we bring the bitch of a sniffer dog in.”

“So, how are we gonna meet up with them?” wonders Frida. “We aren’t. But one of us will.” “The heck does that mean?” follows Thursotte. “With how dangerous gathering info about the mob was, their identity and whereabouts were top shit. They find out where or who they were, the syndicate wouldn’t waste anytime putting them down and shutting them up. Which is why I had them take so many measures, and why I plan on sending someone to meet them with; somebody they’ll know for sure is with us.” “And, who do you have in mind?” the dimensional psychic asks, a little smirk forming across the side of Wedsle face.

Reverberating out from one of the safe house’s bedrooms be the grungy, repetitive guitar strums of a slow song coming from Satette’s phone; the lively psychic herself left simply laying in her bed to vaguely stare into the darkness that encompass her quarters. Mellow guitar strums and blinking shadows are all that she can bring herself to process among drowning in a swirling froth of ennui, rubbing the properly patched up wound where her arm used to be. As she lies buried deep among the mind numbing gloom, a regrettable sigh can’t help but escape from her; a sign of how she wonders why she continues, despite how much she lost.

Quite frankly demolishing this depressing respite, the door leading out of the bedroom suddenly busts down against the encompassing might of the purple psychic’s ass kicking foot; the unexpected break in causing Sat to fumble right off the side of her bed. Letting himself in, Wedsle starts to constantly flip the light switch on and off as he loudly blares out: “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, bitches. Time to make like a slick backed pimps cash cow, climb out from the cesspit of pity parties and get yer ass back out in the streets!” “Agh, Weds!? You couldn’t have at least knocked?” “The other’s tried knocking for your unresponsive short term depressive labia for the past few days without so much as a peep. Figure I’d skip the formality and skip straight to dragging you outta this nest of pathetic sadness.” “No, thanks. I’m not in the mood.” grumbles Satette, crawling back onto her bed.

A small sigh seeps out from his mouth as Wedsle approaches the bed to sit on the side, resting his palm atop the young woman’s shoulder and consoling how: “Look, I can see what you’re going through, taking the L and losing your arm. Feels like the whole world around you is caving in while your left to slowly drown in this bubbling black tar of defeatism. I’ve felt the pools gradual sticky pull more than once, I won’t lie; but there is always a way to swim out from the sadness and wash off the tarry splotches of lingering despair. You wanna know how?” “Hm?” “Its by getting off your ass and getting out there like a freshly motivated prostitute still humoring future hopes and dreams. Switch that daily dose of depresso for a cool cup columbine coffee, preferably with a dash of sugar and creamer. Just not the kind in the back though, time’s turn that sweet nectar into chunky custard.” “Hm.” “Besides, even if you don’t wanna, I can just drag you out by the only arm you got left.” “You wouldn’t.” she finally turns over to him to respond with. “Oh Sat, you’ve seen me do way worse.” This tad bit of persuasion is enough to motivate the lively psychic into climbing out from her bed and stand once more; stretching her arm and legs as she requests: “Just gimme 10 minutes, kay?” “Atta girl. Get back out there and kick your depressive episode right in the pussy.” motivates Wedsle, making his way out the bedroom door.

Shutting Satette’s bedroom door behind him, the purple psychic glances over to find Frida waiting beside the door; the gun wielding woman worrying “Weds, you sure the girl’s ready to get back out there?” “The informant specifically requested to meet up with her, she has to go.” “Tell that to her crippling depression.” “Trust me, Frids. When she meets up with out special guest, that frown is gonna turn upside down in the blink of an eye, and maybe then some.” The dimensional psychic can’t help but let a concerning groan slip over Wedsle’s assurance; Weds himself noticing the little signs of anxiety as she turns over Sat’s bedroom door. “Damn, Frida. You seem a little more uncharacteristically anxious than usual. I typically see you saving that sort of helicopter parent shit for Thurs, and even then, it ain’t anything like this. What’s up?” “What the fu- Nothing. Okay. Fuck off.”

“Oh okay, now I’m starting to get it.” “The hell are you talking about.” “Its practically written all over your face. You’re upset over Sat losing her arm on your watch, aren’t ya?” Though she didn’t wish to display it, her faux indifference was easy to see straight past; the way her eyes trail over to the door. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up too hard about it. Ya destroyed the lab, got his files, killed the doc, and got everyone out of there alive. Considering how much you had on your plate, you handled all that pretty damn smoothly.” “Not as smoothly as I hoped. Everyone got caught cause of my piss poor planning and had to be bailed out by a fucking preteen. If Sunny listened to me and didn’t drop in when he did, none of us would’ve made it out. Told you I wasn’t leader material, and what that girl in there lost proves it.” “Frids, come on, you-”

Their conversation is suddenly cut short as the door beside them opens up; stepping out from the dark bedroom being the lively psychic, dressed and ready to go. Not a word is shared between the trio as Satette simply walks right past them; the despondent fog blanketing her pupils making it abundantly clear how utterly defeated she feels. Her dejected display of gloom and doom further lowers Frida’s spirits; the dimensional psychic seeing first hand how utterly affected by the loss of her friend’s arm was. “Sat, hold up…” Wedsle attempts to stop her with. Despite in earshot of the purple psychic, his call goes unabated as Sat simply meanders around the corner. Hoping to salvage what he could out of this depressing circumstance, Weds turns back around to try and heave Frida out from her own funk; yet is left disappointed as he discovers the wall merging psychic having absconded as well. “Fuckin, jeez. Thought one moody woman was enough on my hands, now I got two to deal with.”

Contrasting against the harsh depths of the urban jungle, the towering concrete walls and constant car horn honking are replaced with wide open sky, natural green tree’s, and bird chirps that make up the peaceful vibe of one of the big apple’s suburban Burroughs. The rough apartments of brick and stone cast aside in place of small personal homes; the tree’s and foliage, once suffocating among the pavement, spread more thoroughly among the stretches of house yards lining the suburbs. Hell, there were even some small gardens being cultivated in some of the backyards that could be peeked into.

Strolling along the sidewalk of this stretch of inner city suburban life, Satette peers across the street with the same gloomy gaze she had when leaving the safehouse; the drastic change in her surroundings doing little to quell the crumminess looming over her. But not everything was as well as this little slice of suburban life would lead you to, for she soon comes upon a young woman walking right by her; the lady’s tired and pale visage showing her to not be doing so hot. It felt as if this sickly woman was barely aware of her surroundings as she stumbles around in a dizzying haze, left dressed as if she had just gotten out of bed with nothing but a shirt and some sweatpants on. Neither of them so much as say a word to one another as they pass by; but something does end up escaping from the woman’s mouth as she suddenly lets out a giant sneeze just a few feet away from the lively psychic, leaving Satette to back away as she lets the lady pass by.

This cautious step back ends up distracting her to not pay attention to a tree planted along the sidewalk, the lively psychic unwittingly gets her foot caught along an exposed root and starts to fumble. Without so much as a thought does she try to save herself by reaching over to the tree standing to her right, yet realizes all too late the lack of her right arm; leaving her to just fall right onto the hard concrete sidewalk. The obvious pain from the fumble aside, this little screw up is what makes it dawn on her how seldom used to her missing limb she truly was; her own body not even adjusted to the change as she still felt as if her arm was still there. God dammit…

Appearing out in the aftermath of her fumble, Satette peers over to witness a palm being offered to her; the lively psychic taking the helping hand to let it help her pull her back up and discover the hand belonging to a middle aged man, concerned over her fall. “You feeling alright there, missy?” “Yeah, just a few scrapes. Nothing serious.” she assures. “You sure that all? Somethin’s telling me that little tumble wasn’t only thing getting you down.” the man then questions. “Sorry, but I’m a little too busy right now to trauma dump on some random stranger I bumped into.” “You at least got time to talk about your recent arm accident.” the middle aged man suddenly points out, an observation of which makes Sat stop dead in her tracks. “How do you know it was recent?” she sternly asks him. “Its practically painted all over your pretty little face. The bags of eyes, the unkempt ragged hair, the utter despondency. Seems like your suffering from a case of the blue’s right there. You wanna take a break and talk about it.” “The hell does someone like you know what I’m going through?” Satette defensively questions. “I know more than you might think.” claims the man, waltzing over to the side of the tree.

Leaning himself against the small tree’s bark, the kind stranger reaches down to one of his legs and clutches to its ankle; Satette left astonished as she watches the guy pull the lower half of his own leg right off. Presenting this does he reveal the bottom of his leg to be nothing but plastic; a prosthetic serving to replace a part of the foot having long since been lost. “Jesus! A fake leg?” “Yep. Got caught in an accident around my early 30’s that left my leg a balled up scrunchy; had to be cut off so this bad boy could take its place.” “Jeez. I didn’t know. Now I just feel like a huge bitch.” she reluctantly admits. “Don’t be. I felt around the same way as you when it got cut off. Depressed, frustrated, felt like my whole world was falling apart. Shut out everyone that tried to help. Course that was years and years ago. And you wanna know the difference between then and now?” “What?” “Some friends, some joy and most importantly, time. It took me time. Admittedly, more of it then I thought, but still.” After taking a bit of a moment to pop his prosthetic leg back on, the middle aged man pushes himself of the side of the tree and continues with: “Time might not heal all wounds, but it heals more of them than you might think. Maybe let that ruminate with ya for a bit.” The encounter with the cheery middle aged man coming to a close, Sat simply watches the guy stroll back into his daily commute; putting her hand in her dress pocket as his words stick to her.

In the depths of her own pocket does she feel something tucked within and starts to pull it out, Satette taking out a folded slip of paper to soon begins to unravels its several crevices; the process somewhat cumbersome to manage with only a single hand. When she does eventually unfold the small slip of notebook paper, Sat flaps the piece around a bit to straighten it out to make out the words written; a message inscribed to the lively psychic tell her of the objective at hand. “Sat, in case you’ve been too busy wallowing in the bottomless self pity and depression oozing out from the crevices of your own brain and forgot why the hell I sent you out wandering around the middle of an inner city suburb, I wrote down what’s gotta be done for ya. You can thank me later. For now, due to the sensitive nature of our informant’s safety and anonymity, the best course of action for them to know without a doubt who they meet with is to cause a little bit of a commotion down here in this little slice of white picket fence disgrace of modern neighborhood street design; it is only then our informant shall reveal themselves to you. My advice is to take a page out of Thursotte’s strategy guide and cause an accident to happen the only way you know how. P.S: No matter how shitty it all may feel, never forget what we’re fighting for.” Fighting for? What the hell are we fighting for anymore?

Breaking her out from this somber moment is she baited from the small note when the voice of a child calls for her attention; Satette peering up from the note to discover an upset young boy urgently compelling for her with: “Hey, miss; you got a sec!?” “Hey, kid, chill. What’s with all the stress?” she returns with. “My big sister got out of the house when I was supposed to be watching her. There’s no way she can be out here being as sick as she is?” “Jeez, sounds urgent. What’s she look like?” “You’d know it when you see it, She-she-she looked pretty pale, tired, hair’s a mess, only got a shirt and sweatpants on. Uh…” “Oh, I just ran into someone like that. Looked pretty out of it while they were stumbling around the corner back there.” “Thank you so much!” the boy appreciates, bolting right beside the lively psychic and towards the sidewalk corner behind her. “Hol up, you…need a…hand?” Satette tries to offer, her voice stumbling the further the boy runs. The kid far too focused on catching up with his sickly sister, fails to hear her request as he hurries right around the corner; Satette letting out a disappointed sigh upon her aid being spurred. Yeah, guess somebody with just one arm wouldn’t have much hands to give. I mean, what’s a disarmed bitch with nothing meaningful left in her life like me good for anyway.

The lively psychic’s is suddenly drawn to a horde of trucks that roll past her; each of them hauling hefty construction vehicles and equipment on their beds. Curiosity doesn’t spark what all this equipment was for, that is until after the trucks turn the corner of a four way intersection, where upon a small crowd slowly marches from the other side of the road. It was obvious that this small crowd wasn’t made of some gathering onlookers; not just their upset demeanor and the way they step in stride after the trucks, but the signs most of them raise up holding bold slogans and phrases of disagreement and denial. This was no mere batch of watchers, no; this was a full blown organized protest. Its this development right here that peeks her interest and gets her to follow after to see what this might entail, following after the disgruntled mob

In the midst of following both the mob and in turn the trucks they pursue, Satette can’t help but notice the natural flourishing green’s of the neighborhood being uprooted and torn asunder by some of the heavy duty equipment rampaging through chunks of the tree lines and fields; forcing the small wildlife that called such places home to flee from the wrath of these machines. It wasn’t just the animals that were left to endure this invasion, no. For the surrounding plants, trees, shrubs, even lines of grass that shared these rare spots of soil were losing their natural vibrancy; their color drained away as they were left to wither as nothing but pale, dry, husks. This gradual decay looming over the neighborhood like an infection, it was obvious of why this gathering of good samaritans banded together in the fact of this tragedy in the making; but what against remained to be answered. What manner of rapidly escalating progress was worth carving such a wound upon this quaint little neighborhood?

The lively psychic’s brief venture following the protesters comes to a sudden end as she accidentally bumps right into one of them, keeping herself from falling over again as she finds the crowd having stopped their march. Satette backs away to gauge a view past the mob and see for herself what they had been rallying against. From where she stands does Sat discover the protest taking place right in front of a number of buildings and large pipes being constructed by dozens of workers, carefully planning and building across a leveled field sitting right along the edge of the inner city suburb. Beside the construction site stood a billboard declaring that this project was: “The future site of the Kelito chemical plant. Redefining energy production since 1978.” Kelito, like the big energy corporation? They can’t be serious. These greedy fucks are trying to muscle their way in through small suburbs now? You think a company that big’d have other, better places to build another site. Is the city that desperate for energy that they can let these jackass’s leisurely bulldoze around people’s homes?

Venturing her gaze away from the ongoing protest is her attention then drawn over a small concession stand set up next to a truck parked along the side, the stand advertising the sale of locally grown produce harvested from this very neighborhood. Though such a small inconsequential background detail typically doesn’t bait her attention, her growling stomach beckons otherwise and compels her to approach. Probably should’ve ate something before I left. Do I even have any money?

Upon approaching the quaint little stand as a couple of the protester depart with some fresh snacks to chow down on, the old lady serving the produce looks to the lively psychic with a warm and welcoming grin as she greets with: “Hey there, sweetie. Care for a little snack in these trying times.” “Um, sorry. I don’t got any cash on me.” “Nonsense. All of it’s on the house. You youngins will need the energy keeping up the good fight.” she claims, offering Sat an apple. “Oh, thanks.” Nabbing the piece of fruit from the old woman’s grasp, the lively psychic waste’s not another moment to chomp down through its skin and take a chunk right off; the apple juicy sweet nectar flooding her mouth with its tasty splendor with every bite. “Ooh, damn. This real good. What’s in it?” “Nothing special, I just grew it right in the comfort and care of my own backyard garden. Been growing fruits and vegetables since I was a little girl. There’s a hint of love in every bite. But I’m not sure how much longer I can go on saying that, not with this new fangled chemical plant muscling its way in and tearing up the neighborhood.” she laments.

“About that. Why of all places does a big corp like Kelito so eager to build along the side of a little neighborhood.?” Satette questions. “I’m not completely in the know about it all; but from what I heard, the city’s power generators are incredibly out of date and aren’t providing enough energy. So the city offices enlisted Kelito to help update the structure with their own facilities, and they think the big field along the edge of our neighborhood is the perfect place to set up shop.” “That can’t be legal; building something like that so close to a suburb.” argues Satette. “Unfortunately, what’s legal and what’s right doesn’t matter much anymore nowadays. Whatever loophole they found, they’re exploiting to no end and back with a seemingly unending well of money. As long as the cash doesn’t stop flowing, there’s not much the authorities are willing to do to step up for people like us.” “Big energy’s stepping on the common folks and the government’s just turning a blind eye. No wonder everyone’s so pissed.”

“Yes sir, and its just getting worse by the day. I don’t know what else those corporate creeps are doing around here; but it hasn’t just been effecting trees and plants. Some people living around here even have been getting very ill since they started building here; vomiting, diarrhea, pale skin. These blocks have been through their fair share of flue season’s, but it was never anything this severe.” People here getting sick? Its upon the old woman’s recounting that Sat then remembers the pale sickly woman she had encountered when first coming to this slice of suburban life; her sickly demeanor now making a lot more sense. Does she live around here?

“Take a little look over there for me.” the old woman then tells her, pointing towards the corner of the block. “See that house? The one boarded all up?” Directing her attention over to one of the quaint little homes lining the corner of the block in question, Sat finds the house plastered with nailed on planks and boards all over the windows and door; the big plank of wood attached to the front compelling people to not break in and enter. Its yard drained of color, its tree’s withered and dead, and its shrubs baron and dry. “That run down one?” Sat wonders. “That’s where Mr. Yukon used to live. He used to be the life of the party every time the neighborhood had a shindig for New years, 4th of July, Halloween almost every holiday all year around. If there was a party, he’d be there to turn it into a night to remember. But ever since the plant started to be built nearby, the less we saw of him. Found out he caught one hell of a bug one day and came out less and less, figure he didn’t want anybody catching what he had. But it soon got bad enough for him to be carted off to the hospital; and after that, his home had to be boarded up. Nobody’s seen him since.”

“Oh my god.” “And its not just him, several more people had to move due to this strange bug going around. If Kelito doesn’t stop tearing up our little corner of suburba to build this new energy plant, the whole neighborhood will be forced to move. A lot of people around here worked to get this quaint little life away from the terror of the inner city, and I can’t afford to pack up and leave.” “And, that’s why you’re out here? Sharing the produce you picked for the people trying to fight back?” the lively psychic summarizes. “Precisely. I might not have as much pep in my step as I used to, but it warms my aging heart to see the people of today fighting for what they hold dear.” For what they value, huh? A look to the bitten down apple she holds in her hand, Satette discovers that she had chomped down close to the core of the humble little fruit; the seeds at the center nestled in the crevices of the middle. From the core of the apple, the lively psychic than turns her attention over to one of the excavators brought along one of trucks driven here; the hefty metal machine thrusting its claw near the roots of a towering tree. “Hey lady. How much produce are you packing?” she asks with a confidently sly grin.

Plunging its claws once more into the tree’s soil, the powerful excavator swipes through the dirt to expose its vunerable roots; the hardened wooden veins sticking out from the bottom of the oak. The worker inside pulls at the lever controls to command the digger’s scoop to slowly lower down towards the tree’s roots; its steel claws inching closer to the base. Yet the hefty machines neck would suddenly cease lowering as a harsh grinding could be heard screeching out from within the excavator itself; the levers that the worker had been manning refusing to budge. “The hell?” Curious of what the cause of the machine’s malfunction could be stemming from, the construction worker hops out from the excavators booth and ventures over to the back of the vehicle; the source of the trouble spotted when finding strands of green slithering out from the back panel. Upon popping open the hood, the worker lets out a confused grunt before calling out: “Uh…boss. Might wanna come and see this.”

Entangled through the gears and pistons of the machines inner workings run several stretches of healthy green vines, with their length baring plump grapes spanning all through the inside of the excavator; some of these fruit having burst to spew their juices right on some of the crucial parts. Staring down to this odd practice of sabotage be a man in a slick back haircut donning a short sleeved yellow business tee plastered in black highlights; his piercing glare down upon the mess making it clear that he was less than pleased. “What the fuck am I looking?” he asks aloud. “I…I don’t know, boss. One of the protesters must’ve ran some vines they pulled from their backyard through the inside while nobody was working.” one of the gathered workers guesses. “Should we postpone the excavation to call for another digger?” another question. “You’re joking with me, right? With how long it took to deliver this one? Our schedule’s tight enough as it is, and we can’t afford to waste another day over one of those chanting dipshits sad excuses for sabotage. Weed and clean it all out and get the excavators back up and running; I want this ground leveled by tomorrow. Lets move people, daylight’s burning.” the construction boss orders with a clap. Though disgruntled over their superiors hasty demands, the crew starts getting to work in fixing up the broken down excavator; a time consuming effort of which the lively psychic watches as she snacks on a couple of grapes.

Suspended high above the ground via the hook of a crane be a bundle of steel frames, being delivered on a plank of wood about three floors or so towards the top of the constructing building; some of the workers standing up that high signaling the crane driver to maneuver the hard steel. But trouble begins to brew as the neck of the crane unexpectedly stops just short of some feet near the building, as the sudden stop causing the wooden plank holding the frame to tremble with enough of a jerk to send the steel pieces sliding right off and plummeting towards the ground below; those workers nearby fleeting as the frame crashes down. “Jesus!” one of them exclaims.

Among the brief moment of terror and fright does the man in the yellow and black business shirt cut his way through the gathered workers in attempting to assess the situation, demand: “Move, move! What happened!?” Sharing in the site the rest of his crew partake in, a sharp gasp escapes from his mouth when discovering the damages, approaching the site to take a closer look as he exclaims: “Oh my god!” To his horror, the boss nears the mess to discover the steel frame having been bent from the drop; its straight lines harshly curved down. “The damn steel frames all busted up! What the hell we’re you numbskulls doing!?” “It ain’t our fault, boss. The crane just froze up out of nowhere. But don’t worry, nobody got hurt.” “That’s not the problem. Do you all know how long it took to special order this frame? Now I gotta call for another one and that could take half a week. Which of you was driving the crane?” he demands. “I don’t think the driver was the problem, boss.” one of the workers claim, his eyes glued to the hefty piece of equipment. “The hell does that mean?” “Just look.”

Returning his sites back to the construction vehicle in question, the construction manager’s eyes widen upon discovering a long stalk of green slithered tightly around the neck of the crane; the piece of foliage stretching out from machines base. Though the strangest detail to stand out being the fact that from the lengthy stalk can plump red tomatoes bee seen having sprouted, one of them falling off the vine to land right in the boss’s grasp. Closely inspecting the piece of fruit, he finds it to be no different from any other ripe tomato, with its bright red skin reflecting the sunlight. A strained growl escape from him as the manager spikes the perfectly good piece of fruit down onto the ground, splattering against the hardened dirt; a clear display of frustration he brushes aside as he orders his crew to: “Weed it all out from the crane to get it back up and running. We ain’t gonna let whatever shit someone’s pulling here slow us down.”

Nestled atop a tiny mound of soil stood a patch of planted daffodils; what petals remained clinging on to the top of the stem as they attempt to hold onto their vibrant colors. Yet is their noble stand against all odds is threatened as a monolithic machine treads its way, with its wide head effortlessly tearing through the grassy plains; the daffodils petals quivering as the bulldozer draws near. The moment that the vastly huge vehicle is about to violently shovel through the lonely patch of flowers, a terrible metallic screech echoes from underneath the bulldozer as it suddenly comes to an unexpected halt; the worker driving the machine hitting her face against the glass window upon being flung from her seat. “Augh! What the he-what just happened!?” she harshly questions, climbing down from the driver seat to inspect. Taking a gander of what could make the massive machine she had been driving stop so suddenly, her irritation swiftly turns to disbelief upon beholding the root cause of the problem; her utter surprise urging her to call for: “Boss, there’s something else!”

Entangled across the treads of the hefty bulldozer be hard strands of wood running across the gears and wheels of the machines steel bed; the hard roots enveloping the frame to to prevent the treads from moving another inch. “And, this what you found when it stopped on you, right?” the man in the yellow and black business shirt recounts, staring down to the damages. “Yeah, I didn’t see any sort of leftover roots while I was driving. It’s like they just turned up or something, its freaky.” “Come on, that’s crazy. Like roots can just pop out from the ground? Quit making stuff up.” another worker mocks. “Nova, I’m being serious. These last couple attempts of sabotage aren’t like anything we’ve seen before. I doubt those all those protester could do something this bizarre. None of this is natural.” the worker beckons to the boss. “Hmm…You might be onto something there.” Nova agrees. “What say the rest of you take your break while I do some maintenance on this hunk of junk right here?” “You sure, boss?” “Course, think everyone needs a breather after the back to back incidents. Just take 30 while I take care of some stuff.”

Left with little to complain over, the crew of construction workers split for their break and leave their superior alone with the entangled bulldozer; Nova himself waiting until each of them were out of sight before he turns to the construction vehicle. But one pair of eyes he doesn’t expect to watch him be those of the lively psychic herself; Satette laying low around the corner of a nearby house as she intently watches the construction boss approach the side of the dozer. Kneeling down to the vehicles treads, Nova reaches for the mess of the roots entangling its wheels and tightly clutches to one of the wooden strands; Sat’s suspension sky rocketing when she witnesses a bright green power seeping out from the construction worker manager. No way. Coursing out from the boss, the potent green power surges directly into the hard oak roots plaguing the hefty piece of construction equipment; the lengths of wood beginning to shrivel up and wither underneath the influence of this gnarly aura. He’s a psychic!?

The once healthy and thick pieces of root, within moments, are left as nothing but crumbled and dry sticks; twigs that the manager tugs out from the inside of the machine with extreme ease. A satisfied chuckle leaves the boss as he jerks out the last piece of shriveled wood; his special kind of supernatural touch having reduced all of the invasive roots clogging up the bulldozer to nothing but a pile of dead sticks. What the hell did he do to them!? The last of the roots pulled right out, Nova climbs up to the seat of the bulldozer and turns the keys to fire up the engine, stepping on the gas to see the construction vehicle moving like normal once more; the patch of daffodils crushed under the machine’s terrible weight as it flattens the land they stood to level. Confirming the heavy bulldozer to be back up and running, the construction manager turns off the machine before hopping out, waltzing away with satisfied confidence.

Left curious of what the boss could’ve possibly done to the mess of roots she had planted, Satette prowls out from side of the home to step out from the shadows; slowly nearing the bundle of withered sticks Nova had just finished uprooting. The lively psychic reaches her hand over to the pile of dried up twigs in an attempt to inspect closer, but is forced to reel her fingers back upon feeling an overwhelming heat radiate from their withered bark! Ah! God, that stings! What did that slicked back dickhead even do? Yet despite the mess of withered twigs being incredibly smoldering to the touch, there crackled exterior holds not even a single ember among their dried out wood; just left as shriveled and sapped of color as the rest of the flora around this part of the neighborhood. Can’t believe that a psychic was behind all this. The construction crew hasn’t even reach far out from hear, and yet the surrounding tree’s and plants are all dried up; there’s no way they could make the neighborhood turn gray when they’re just building over stuff. But what’s a psychic doing all the way back out here? Is he with the mob too? Whatever the case, its clear that he’s the one behind the decay of this slice of suburba; how is yet another question to be answered. A construction crew boss like him has to have a trailer or something parked around here to camp in during the day; surely the dude has to have some sort of documents or connections stowed away in it.

Secretly stalking the construction boss across the site, Satette sees the slicked back dipstick of a manager waltz his way up to a humble mobile trailer parked right along the edge of the yard; just as the lively psychic had predicted. What she failed to predict however were the dozen or so construction workers leisurely sitting between her and said trailer; each of them enjoying their well earned break chowing down on their packed lunches. Okay, no problem. Ain’t nothing you hadn’t tackled. Might be a little rusty, and a tad handicapped. Never stopped me before; even when people begged me not to.

Sticking to the shadows sprawling along the side of the site, Satette slithers her way around the numerous workers leisurely enjoying every second of their downtime; not one of them so much as notices her weaving across their eyes. For the most part, this demonstration of stealth was pretty simple and straight forward; hiding behind hefty equipment, avoiding prying eyes, slithering through when nobody was looking. Nothing she hadn’t done before. Of course, that swiftly changes when coming to the last stretch between her and the manager’s trailer; with next to nothing for her to conceal herself from the open. Practically anyone on the site could see her approach the trailer along the small piece of open space; it almost seemed impossible to come near it without a pair of eyes casually glancing her way.

But Sat’s own eyes then discover a small window of opportunity when spotting a power line spanning from one of the electrical poles, all the way right to the side of the boss’s trailer; veiled in some plastic covering standing in between the line and the eyes of the workers. Well, that’s one way close the gap stealthily enough. Course, actually getting up there and shimmying through is another story. Laying so much as a finger on those lines could fry me right up into a juicy beef patty…maybe a slim beef patty. There’s gotta be some way to get across without turning my ass into crispy fried bacon. It’s when pondering of a way across the lines that she lays eyes upon the remains of a small tree; its body withered and soiled away into nothing but a dry husk, no doubt plagued by whatever the construction boss had inflicted. Such a lifeless husk of wood would normally be of little use to anyone in her case, yet to the lively psychic is only a matter of how to use it.

Even with her years of dexterity practice, Satette shows to have some trouble scaling the electrical pole, even when holding onto and stepping on the stakes planted on its side; the lack of her other arm making the climb quiet cumbersome. And its in the middle of her ascent when reaching for the iron stake above that her grasp unexpectedly slips; Sat instinctively attempting to reach out with her none existent arm in trying to stop her fumble, yet to no avail. A cruelly timed reminder over her lack of her other limb. Her legs closest to the electrical pole, Satette manages to bend them around the stakes underneath to save her hide, slamming her back against the pole’s hard wood rather than fumbling back to the ground; the lively psychic holds her tongue in trying to not grunt or shout from the hitting her back. Fucking phantom limb syndrome.

Its after recovering from that near debacle that Satette makes it to the top of the electrical pole, hearing the audible hum of power that surges through the thick black wires just a few feet away; that thick black wire spanning across the edge of the site and right over the boss’s office trailer. Reaching to her back, the lively psychic pulls out a piece of dried out wood she took from that withered tree; the bark across the limb left with very little vibrant color to speak off. Yet even in its decaying state can Sat feel some kick left in this small little stick and courses her power through the twig; the natural green aura reconstructing the piece of wood into a curved hook. Placing both of her feet down onto the same iron stake, the lively psychic makes a brave leap up and hoists her wooden hook up to its electrical wires, successfully dangling onto the power lines without invoking its shocking wrath. Got it. Now just to shimmy across to the trailer with my other… Its her sudden judgment that she glances to where her arm used to be, followed by looking to her other arm as the realization begins to sink in for her. The lack of another limb making it impossible for her to simply inch across the power line. Oh..well dammit. Seems I didn’t think this all the way through.

Things end up getting worse as she gazes up back to find the electrical line starting to unravel, no doubt from all the excess weight it was never meant to carry. Oh shit. Acting quickly, Satette morphs her wooden hook to envelope around and clutch at the unraveling power line, the transformed branch firmly grasping the wiring just before it snaps. Despite its withered appearance, the small wooden stick manages to keep its grip onto the power line as Sat falls; the lively psychic swinging across the side of the construction site while keeping her mouth shut. Even with this blunder however, she quickly closes in onto the construction boss’ trailer and lets go of her morphed wooden hook. Yet when attempting reach both hands out to land gracefully, the lack of her other limb ends up making her mess up the landing and winds up crash and tumbling to the back of the trailer. Ouch… The trailer window above her clicks before it suddenly slides open; the manager of the site sticking his head out for what could be causing such a commotion; Nova finding not a soul standing outside that could make such racket. Seeing nobody else right out his window, the construction boss ends up shrugging off the noise and closes his window back up, unaware of the lively psychic crawling underneath his trailer.

Pacing back and forth in the small trailer space, Nova steps over the crumbs and coffee stains littering the floor; a mess which the manager is inclined to simply ignore as he’s himself was scattered and worried while conversing with somebody on the phone. “I-I know…I know…I know…Look, I…There’ve been some setbacks, but I guarantee you, the project is coming along nicely and will be done on time. Yes, I know how important this is supposed to be to you guys. The protesters are enough of a pain in the ass; think they might be tampering with the equipment as of late.” Nova leans against the side of his desk as he lets the person on the other end of the call continue to speak, which was littered with piece of paper and used pens; some of them sliding off to the side as he responds with: “You know how we can’t just “take care of them all” like some common hit, not just out here in the public…Of course I haven’t just been laying down and taking it. I’m sure you of all people know how discrete you gotta be when uprooting the weeds that pop up every now and again.”

Pushing himself right off the side of his desk, the construction manager waltzes right over to the window and stick his finger in between the blinds, peeking outside for his sites to rest to one of the nearby houses left in disarray. “Manage to finally drive out this one guy that’s been a thorn in our side; the guy that rallied the people around here into protesting. Some old rando named Yukon or whatever; should’ve seen the look on their faces when he got hauled to the hospital.” Nova’s vision drifting over to the crowd of protesters, his eyes lock to the old lady providing freshly picked fruits and vegetables “I imagine a couple more of those cases’ll get the rest of those shout picket sign shits to scatter like cockroaches. Remind me again why you had me set up a site like this out of the blue?…Power shortage? First time’s that’s happened for us in a while, but what happened to what you were using before…Alright, alright, fine. Just say its a secret. No need to get so hostile on me, man. Just gimme about a month or two, March. I know the rest of the mafia needs it now more than ever. I swear I’ll get this plant up by this season. Alright?…Alright. Cool talking to you.” Hanging up the line, the construction boss stows his phone back into his pocket as he strolls on over to the door, opening up and stepping out as he tells his crew that: “Alright. Eatin times over! Back to the grind people! Chop, chop. Got a lot to catch up on if we wanna make the quota.”

Once the manager slams the trailer door behind him, that was the queue for a sliver of wood to begin sawing through the floor and carve out a sizable hole from underneath the trailer; the cut circle popping out as the lively psychic lifts her way in. Climbing inside the little office trailer, she begins to look around for whatever may tell her of the manager’s next move; no doubt the first place to look for something that crucial and fresh being the drawers of his desk. I definitely didn’t miss hear him. That slicked back douche had one of the scions on the other line. The mob higher ups must be desperate to get a source of power up and running if they’re risking to build in an open neighborhood. Now with December and his lab washed away in the briny blue, they’re scattering to get control back in the tech side of the city. Still doesn’t say a damn thing about who this guy is and what he did to make part of the place as drained and gray as a lifeless husk.

In among rummaging through one of the boss’s desk drawers that Satette ends up finding something intriguing among the usual documents, and office supplies; the lively psychic pulling out what appeared to be a strange radar with a metal wand attached to the top. On its face was an analog screen and a meter displaying numbers ranging from 10 to 500; the back depicted more clear information showing the name and model number of the device. Something called a Geiger counter. Weird name. Sort of looks like one of those tools hazmat people use in movies when trying to measure how toxic..someplace is…

Its from this stray thought that the nature of her foe’s power starts to become clear to her; left to think back of the sickly young woman that was wondering through the streets; the way the surrounding plants withered and decayed, how the old woman described how that one guy got sick and had to be taken to the hospital with his place boarded up, and how the wood felt hot to touch even without it being on fire. All of it. Every seemingly random incident lead to a single conclusion. Oh my god, the son of a bitch is radioactive! He’s been using radiation to kill all the plants and tree’s to make it easier to build over. He’s been poisoning the people living here to drive them all away and demolish their homes! That’s it, this slicked back rat bastard has to die!

The midnight moon rises high in the pitch black sky as the clock strikes the late hours of the night; the construction site left entirely baron and empty, with not a single worker, or protester for that matter, left in site. Though most of the site lay blanketed by shadow, one source of luminescence glows among the surrounding darkness as the manager’s trailer stays alight; Nova left stuck at his desk with a mound of paperwork to sort through. When a long yawn ends up escaping from his lungs, the construction boss reaches over for a cup of coffee left sitting at the corner of the desk and takes a little sip; the nuclear psychic withdrawing his lips from the rim of the mug upon noticing the drink having lost its refreshing warmth. Nova remedies this by clutching the sides of the cup with but one hand before surging his radioactive energy into the drink; lines of steam wafting up from the surface of the liquid in just a few short moments. Its from this that the boss takes another sip from his mug of coffee to feel the assuring warmth once more, letting out a satisfied moan as he guzzles the drink down. His little sip blows into a full on spit take when a loud metal thud suddenly echoes from outside; Nova left with strands of coffee drooling down his mouth as his eyes lurch to the window.

Stepping outside to see what might have caused such a loud racket, Nova closes the door behind him as he peers out into the dimly lit site; the manager finding not a soul in his immediate surroundings. His suspicion still lingers as he continues away from his parked trailer to venture deeper into the shadowy site, positive that the commotion he heard was no meager accident. “If its one of those picket sign pricks doing this, I swear to god.”

The cool night air flows in from the open roof overhead as Nova makes his way into the partially constructed plant building, looking through the shadows infested within. Raising but a single finger, the construction manager disperses the encompassing darkness with the light of his own nuclear energy; the shadows fleeting from the small radioactive green glow. His light reveals nothing worth of note among the scattered construction tools and standing scaffolding; his suspicion slowly deflating as he finds not a piece of evidence of tampering. That is until the construction manager uncovers a rather odd display, coming upon a ravel of oak wood having entangled itself in one of the forklifts; Nova letting out a frustrated sigh as he approaches one of its branches.

Clutching against the mess of wood, the construction manager begins to erode away its strength with doses of radiation like he had done with the bulldozer before; a task of which leaves the him unaware of a dark figure encroaching from the shadows with a stake in hand. The figure surreptitiously inches closer and closer as they raise the splintered stake, preparing to plunge its wood into the boss’s back. Finally lunging to the man from behind, the figure thrusts the stake towards the man’s back; but is utterly caught off guard as the tip of their weapon suddenly erodes away into a stump. The piece of harmless eroded wood prodding behind him, Nova swiftly turns back around with a handful of lethal power in the palm of his hand; the deadly green light reveals the attacker to be the lively psychic as she leaps away from the radioactive swipe. Satette fumbling onto the tiled floor, she beholds the nuclear construction manager look down on her with baggy, yet sharp eyes. “He he he he he, I figured that the kind of shit I had to unravel couldn’t be from any of those sign swinging shit stains; had to be the work of another psychic. Didn’t expect that psychic to be a wanted traitor, though. Man, things might be looking up for me real soon. The scions are flip when I send them them you’re charred body.”

The dastardly green glow in the man’s hands growing brighter, Satette quickly pulls herself up and dashes away just as Nova throws out the orb of radiation down at her; the lively psychic narrowly avoiding the nuclear blast. His intruder threatening to escape, the nuclear psychic gives chase after Satette as she darts throughout the floor of the site; the young woman hurdling over iron poles, around stacks of boxes, and leaping across patches of wet cement. Despite in pursuit of the woman wrecking his operation, the construction boss is careful to not disturb the pieces of the site he passes by, giving Sat a bit of distance to work with. The lively psychic spends the gap bolting over to a ladder to climb up to a set of scaffolding standing against a partially constructed wall; her lack of a second arm making the ascent somewhat slow and cumbersome. And seeing the site intruder having such difficulty rising up the ladder, Nova begins to conjure a concentration of nuclear power in the palm of his hand; a dose of radiation he casts after the lively psychic.

Using nothing but the command of her own psychic power, Sat has lines of wood root slither out from behind her dress to form a hard bark shell to coat her back; the thick oak shield tanking the radioactive blast for her. Despite feeling not one bit of nuclear power inflicted upon her, the lively psychic is still astonished when finding her makeshift shell left as nothing but sawdust from the blast alone; a strong warning to further cement how dangerous this man was as she frantically hurries up the ladder. Finally scaling to the top of the ladder, Satette hops onto the scaffolding suspended against the wall and darts across; all the while hearing the nuclear psychic tails after her

In fleeting from the construction manager pursing her, Satette finds another ladder waiting up ahead and starts to reaching out with the intent on scuttling right on up; soon retracting her grasp when recollecting how slow she was climbing up the first ladder. Rather than risk making herself an easy target struggling to climb up, the lively psychic instead zips right on by and darts straight towards the corner of the wall; a seemingly ineffectual bid in her escape as Nova again fires out a ray of toxic green at her. Yet when racing to the other end does Sat make a bounding leap towards the corner, planting her feet onto the wall and jumping right off to the length of scaffolding above her; narrowly evading the oncoming ray of radiation as it blasts against the corner.

From kicking off the corner of the wall and landing right onto the next set of scaffolding above, Sat continue to bolt across as the nuclear psychic below continues to give chase, all the while Nova pursues after. Its in the midst of hurrying across the wooden boards that Satette comes across a big iron wrench left littered in the middle of the way and casts a vine of ivy to wrap around the length of metal; tossing it right out and slinging it right back towards the construction boss like a Against the oncoming piece of steel flung straight at him, Nova catches the wrench right in the palm of his hand before clutching the line of greens of his lively intruder; the construction manager sending a deadly dose of radiation crawling across the vine and surging at the woman on the other end. Witnessing her string of healthy ivy withering away against the deadly green power, Sat is left with little choice but to severe the green vine with nothing but her own teeth, harshly gnawing on the ivy until it snaps in two. Having broken the irradiated tether just in the nick of time, Satette hurries down the other end of the scaffolding towards the ledge of the unfinished wall; the lively psychic left with little recourse against her nuclear nemesis chasing her but to risk it.

To the construction boss’s surprise, the lively psychic makes an all or nothing leap off the end of the scaffolding and right over the partially constructed wall; Satette peering down to find herself plummeting down towards nothing cold hard concrete. With what little sliver of living ivy and tree wood she had left to spare, the young woman combines them into a string of foliage she casts forth at an excavator left broken nearby; what weeds remained in its inner workings withered and dead. The other end of the natural rope wraps around the neck of the large vehicle and swings Satette right over the placed pieces of pavement, effectively sparing her from splattering onto the concrete. Her little close call lasts not that long however as the sliver of rope unexpectedly snaps in half, leaving her to her rough descend down back to ground level and tumble across the side of the site. Though left with a couple of mild scrapes, the young woman pulls herself up to find having made it out relatively alright; not a single broken bone or gash to be felt anywhere on her.

But her ordeal is nowhere near over as the doors to the building behind her are kicked open, with the nuclear psychic surrounding himself in a potent green aura as he steps out to continue pursuing after her. With no natural resources left to defend herself with, Satette’s only course of action is to flee from the chasing construction manager; the young woman darting towards the edge of the site blocked off by a picket fence. Approaching the piece of fencing, Sat springs towards one of the construction vehicles left parked close to a towering stack of cinder blocks; kicking herself off both the machine and the set of blocks back to back in rising to the top of the fencing, flipping right over the top of the tipped fence with but one graceful leap.

Hopping right over the picket fence, Satette lands within the backyard of one of the homes neighboring the construction site; the abysmal state of the lawn clear to see as making it all up is left rotted and dry away against the invading influence plaguing this slice of the suburbs. Even the few trees left standing in the middle of the yard left as a hollow shells of their former, flourishing selves. Good lord, this is way worse than I thought. There’s barely anything to work with here. Not a blade of grass or branch left alive anywhere in this yard to work my magic on. Just how long as that radioactive wretch been dosing this poor neighborhood in his radiation?

Yet their proves little time for Satette to ponder over this matter as the wooden picket fence behind her is suddenly blasted apart; the unexpected explosion sending the lively psychic tumbling across the backyard until hitting the side of the house. After pulling herself off the side of the suburban home, Sat gazes back to the smoke left from the blast; a sharp dread setting in as she watches the nuclear psychic stepping out from the clouds of dust. With little to no other sensible course of action for her to take, Satette bolts towards the edge of the abode and hurries down the side and to the front; all the while the construction manager behind her fiercely pursues after; every step he takes burning footsteps in ground he steps on.

“The mob kept me in this shitty pencil pushing job for 6 years, you know? All cause they wanted agents in some of the various industries.” Running across the side of the humble home, Nova plunges his radioactive fist into the buildings walls and tears through its very foundation; the wood crumbling apart against the nuclear psychic’s power. Chasing the young woman straight to the corner of the home, he scatters what pieces of the wall he had built up tearing through the side right at the fleeting intruder; every single chunk of wall shot out left covered in flesh burning radiation. Satette is swift against the thrown out collection of foundation coming at her from behind and throws herself behind a solid bark of a dead tree; though its branches brittle and stripped of leaves, wood proves as hard as ever. “Day in and day out, stuck with stacks of paperwork. Leading around a bunch of muscle headed idiots!” From behind the tree does Sat sprint off towards the house next door furthest from the construction site, hoping to build distance between her and her pursuing nuclear nemesis; the lively psychic swerving right around the home’s front porch.

The site construction boss feverishly after her, Sat leap right over chairs and sliding underneath tables as Nova fires out waves of deadly radiation at her; every blast eviscerating the outside furniture to splinters. “And what do I get from it all, what do I fucking get from the people at the top!?” Vaulting over the railing at the end of the porch, the lively psychic rolls across the yard and hurries towards the next house, frantically sprinting from home to home as quickly as she could away from the chasing construction boss; every abode she zips by, the color in the grass and plants begins to return. “Nothing, zilch, nada, Jackshit!” Its when around the sixth or so house that the lawns, tree’s, and other plant finally start to regain their vibrant color and health; this finally lending Satette an opportunity to stop running and start fighting.

Stamping down on the healthiest patch of grass she see’s, the lively psychic sends her natural green power surging throughout the front lawn just as her nuclear nemesis nears; the blades of grass coiling up through the legs of the construction boss like a bunch of snakes capturing their prey. Against this sudden snag, Nova unleashes a surge of radiation from his body which starts to erode away the enveloping blades of grass; the green strings reduced to withered straw in just mere moments. “Got you right where I want you!” the lively psychic exclaims. Those few meager moments are all Sat needs to race over towards the lawns tree and manipulate its thick, lively branches to all bend out and thrust out after her ensnared enemy; their gnarled pointed tips lunging after him like a host of hornets thrusting their stingers to that which disturbed their nest. Yet not even one of these branches would find their way impaling through the man’s body; for the nuclear psychic unleashes a powerful burst of radioactive energy so thick and potent, the tree’s limb are shriveled to frail sticks in the blink of an eye. This small, but intense wave of radiation saps the color and life of all it comes in contact with, every inch of foliage and insects in but a few yards surrounding the nuclear psychic left as nothing but as withered and lifeless gray husks; Satette left backing away in utter dread just being a few feet away from this terrible wave of intense radiation. his“I’m the reason those goons have any sway in the energy scene in the first place.” That inching retreat turns into a full blown sprint as she immediately starts to scurry away; Nova letting out a gnarled growl as he resumes pursuing her, declaring aloud how: “But once I get done microwaving your body like a cheap TV dinner and send it straight to them; they’ll finally have to promote me, and I can kick this fucking mind numbing bean counting position straight in the rectal passage. Hell, they might even make me a scion bringing you in. I can picture it now. Nova, the scion of plasma! Nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Dammit, I had no idea this crazed fruit loop powers were this intense; constantly flailing all that nuclear power like its a toy on Christmas day. I can’t just run away from this bastard now, he’ll turn this small slice of the suburbs into a fallout zone just looking for me. I can’t even get near this slicked back dip shit, let alone touch him; everything I try throwing at him, he just radiates away almost instantly. Meanwhile, he gets even one shot on me, and I might as well be thoroughly screwed. If the initial blast doesn’t kill me, the intense radiation poisoning will. There’s gotta be some way to break through this asshole’s radioactive defense and hit him right in his core.

But its while distracted pondering of a way to end this toxic manager that she fails to see the path ahead make a sudden descend and trips down a small grassy incline, fumbling down towards a big community garden filled with lush and healthy flower bushes. And its rolling down to the end of the hill that the someone ends up unknowingly stumbling right in her way, Sat involuntary rams into this poor unsuspecting late night garden goer as they both collapse to the ground. Shaking off the initial dizziness from the clumsy roll down, the lively psychic starts to pick herself up as she takes a gander over to who she had quite literally ran into, surprised to find it to be somebody she had came across into quite recently. Letting out a sickly moan lie the pale woman the lively psychic had ran into when she first arrived in this little humble suburb; her shirt and sweatpants dirtied with grass stains and patches of snot. Wow. No wonder your lil bro was so panicked; this is way worse then I thought. Don’t even look like you’re even all there. Her growing worry over this woman’s condition morphs into escalating panic when she catches site of glowing green peeking out from the top of the hill; Satette scoops up the sickly sister as she scurries over to a big mess of shrubs set on the side, delving deep into their thick brush to hide away from her approaching nuclear nemesis.

From the top of the small incline does Nova slide his way down to the bottom, intently glaring across the humble community garden for a single sign of his pursuit dwelling among the lovely assortments of planted flowers and shrubs. And coming to the bottom, he would find there to be a lot more foliage than he first saw atop the hill; almost half the block having been reserved for this lush and beautiful garden. No doubt it would take a painstaking eternity to uncover the woman he chases after, and that’s if she’s stupid enough to stay put; it’d be a no brainer to simply sneak away while busy digging somewhere else. Of course, posing as a construction manager for so long can teach you a couple of good tricks in scoping stuff out, and a sly mischievous grin cracks as he thinks of a way to apply that strategy here.

In the palm of his hands do sparks of deadly green aura ignite into a pulsing glow of intense radiation; a radioactive power so dense to cause an eerie low hum to echo across the garden. Once concentrating so much nuclear energy into a single point, Nova casts this mass of power as an intense toxic green wave to wash across a massive part of the community garden; the countless flowers and plants withering to colorless husk when struck by the deadly power. Every petal and every leaf strewn through these plants robbed of their vibrant life in but seconds, left so decrepit and irradiated as they simply fall off their dying stems and branches. Yet even with their lush natural coats stripped down and their now frail limbs exposed to the chilly night air, there sits not a sign of the girl he had pursued down here; not even a piece of charred remains to speak off.

His initial disappointment over his lack of discovery is shunted aside when he catches the sound of something falling behind him; the construction manager swiftly peering over to find it being nothing but a normal little boy having tripped against one of the branching roots littering the garden path. It was obvious from the kid’s distraught and frightened demeanor that he had caught Nova in the act of ravaging the community garden with his unnatural nuclear powers, attempting to sneak away quietly while still distracted. “Hey, kid. Let’s chat a bit.” the construction boss menacingly requests while turning to the child. Witnessing the young boy get up to try and escape, a dangerous green glow flares in the palm of Nova’s hands preparing to toss out the concentrated mass of nuclear power to snuff out the unexpected snooper.

Yet his efforts to silence the child are unexpectedly thwarted when the large bush beside him, left spared by the wave of life sapping radiation, suddenly lunges from its spot at the nuclear psychic; its dozen branches rapidly extending to out the construction boss right out from the community garden. The boy’s dreadful fear crack when witnessing among those branches being the young woman he had ran into while searching for his sickly sister just this morning; the limbs of the bush seeming to follow her command as they lash out against the man. He’s left watching in awe from the bizarre display as the pair careen across the neighborhood in almost superhero movie like fashion.

Its following off this brief and unbelievable moment that the kid’s eyes are drawn right to the base of the elongated bush, shocked to find his big sister laying behind the elongated roots. “Sharry!” the boy exclaims, rushing right over to the girl’s side. Awakening from her sickly slumber, the teenage girl shakes off her stupor and comes to the site of her little brother kneeling down to her; his worried glare being the first thing she notices. “Brent? What’s going on?” she asks, rising from the grass. “You wound up wondering out of the house and I had to go look for you. Y-You’re not gonna believe what I just saw. There was a…” he recounts, cutting himself off when gazing to the teenage girl. “A…what? What are you looking at? Is there something wrong with me?” “That’s the thing? You look fine. How do you feel?” Contrasting to her unkempt and stained pajama’s, the teen girl’s complexion stands vibrant and glistening; every evidence of her ever been ill vanished. “I feel…great. Better even.” “You were as pale as a ghost this morning and barely even awake. How is this possible!?” the boy questions.

Among hurdling right over the countless homes across the nightly neighborhood, Satette lashes out to her nuclear nemesis with a twig ripped off from the bush she launched at him with; a line of blood spitting out as the splintered end of the stick strikes against Nova’s face. Before the construction manager could lash back at the lively psychic, the two end up crashing straight through the roof of an evacuated home; the former residence now surrounded by several signs to deter entry and to warn of radiation.

When the clouds of dust and mold settle, Nova comes to and discovers himself standing right in the middle of a desolate and mildly run down living room left with messed up furnishings and stained floors; the dirty pictures framed across the wall depicting a vibrant and happy family. The poor condition of this home is not what baits the construction managers attention, for he instead is drawn to a small shadow retreating from the other side of hall door way; a detail he eagerly rushes towards the enigmatic shadow with a ball of nuclear power ready in his hand. But when leaping out to the other side of the corridor, his enthusiasm wavers when finding the shadow belong to nothing more than a meager rat; common vermin that simply scurries away from Nova’s appearance. Letting out a disgruntled snarl, the construction boss stalks his way down the hallway in search of wherever his lively pursuit may be dwelling; unaware of the woman he seeks peering at him from the cover of a cracked open door.

Retreating away from the other side of the door, Satette backs away into the small guest room she hides within; feeling a chill run down her spine as she bumps her back into the end of the wooden bed frame. Stepping up to the moonlight shining out the window, Sat looks over to a dirty vanity along the side of the room to realize how pale and ill she was starting to look; a literal reflection of how she feels on the inside. Oh damn. Its only been in me a few minutes and I’m already looking like a ghoul. Gotta pass this down soon, or toxic work management of the year prowling out there won’t be my only problem. This little stew just need one more ingredient before its delivered. To this end does the lively psychic then brings the splintered stick she had struck her foe in the face with to her own visage, the drips of blood scratched out from the bastard glistening against the moonlight. Without so much as any hint of hesitance does Satette slides her tongue across the small branch’s rugged bark to the drips of crimson staining its wood; smacking her lips as she gets a good taste of the scarlet liquid. Hmm, so that’s what iron deficiency tastes like.

Prowling out from the eerily quiet and baron hallway, the construction manager comes upon an odd site when entering the kitchen; the dinning table sitting in the middle littered with plates of food, having been left with partially eaten breakfast now covered in ants and bugs. Seems as if the family that had lived here recently had been forced to evacuate from the premises in quite the hurry, frantically enough to not even take one last bite of what was once a damn fine breakfast spread. But regardless of the mildly gnarly site left behind, Nova looks over the spoil spread of eggs, milk, gravy, and bacon and towards one of the cabinets standing on the other side; its door occasionally trembling from something dwelling within. The manager gathers radiation in his palm as he cautiously approaches the shut cabinet door, anticipating for the woman he searches for to spring out on the offense. Curling his fingers around the handle, Nova swiftly swings the cabinet open while aiming his radiation down to what may be inside. Yet what leaps out from within wasn’t what he thought it to be, fumbling back when a lonesome squirrel scurries out from inside and scampers down the hall he came from; the construction manager taking a disgruntled breath as he disperses the concentrated radiation from his hand.

As the squirrel scuttles down the rest of the hallway, it races right past one of the doors left cracked open, with the lively psychic peeking out from the other side of the bathroom. Need to get up close and personal to give out the special little surprise I got wrapped up for this slicked back dipstick, but it seems like he’s not gonna be falling for the sudden distraction tactic again anytime soon. If I try to rush him without some kind of protection, I’ll be cooked faster than a piece of bologna in the microwave. But everything I’ve thrown at him has just blasted away and crumbled into dust; there has to be something that can resist this dude’s toxic personality.

Glancing back into the very bathroom she hides inside, Sat suddenly spots a lone little cockroach crawling across the moldy tile floor; the little bug scurrying away and squeeze itself right underneath the door of the bathroom closet. Opening the door to that very closet is she taken aback when discover the astonishing site dwelling on the other side; an entire colony the pests scurrying across about every shelf within the small space, with some of them scattering out from their home now left exposed. To such a grotesque site that would make about anyone’s skin crawl, Satette rather ponders over this uncovered nest of terrible pests; the young lady snapping her fingers as she suddenly comes up with an interesting solution on countering the cancerous construction boss.

Cracking open one of the home’s many other doors, the construction boss barges his way through and is upset to find himself back into the living room that he had crashed into; pieces of wood and drywall falling out from the hole left in the ceiling. Nova is left a little more than frustrated over having wound up going in a circle; a seething growl escaping from his clenched teeth before he starts to conjure concentrated super radiation in the palms of his hands and shouts that: “This is starting to get irritating, okay. I got a ton of work to file for tomorrow, and I can’t spend all night playing this shitty game of cat and mouse, So quit jerking my dick around and drag your ass out here, before I make this entire house go supernova.”

The moment that Nova witnesses a figure charge at him from the other side of the living room, he fires a ray of nuclear energy upon them; a blast of which sends them tumbling back against the wall. Yet instead of staying down a sizzling under the lethal dose of fiery hot radiation just smacked upon them, the darkened figure instead immediately gets right back up to make another attempt lunge after the manager. Nova backs away as he fires out another blast of radiation against the encroaching foe; the strange being’s crawling skin tanking the blast as only little piece of its body fall apart. Seeing the lumbering terror holding the shape of a person continuing to near, failing to be quelled by sparks of his deadly green power, the construction boss focuses his power into both of his hands before clasping them together to unleash a wave of intense radiation. Taking the intense blow of radiation straight to the head, the strange wriggling figure is pushed back as the side of its head is stripped away; the construction boss watching the beast arise once more and his astonished what he discovers. Underneath the wriggling mass of darkness does he find the very same woman that he had been prowling for among this abandoned abode glaring back at him; the mass of bugs that had shielded her from his nuclear power reforming. “Are those fucking cockroaches!? You’re sick, woman!” “Not as sick as all the people you poisoned! Its time you get a dose of your own medicine.” the lively psychic deflects, charging after her nuclear nemesis.

The bug coated psychic of life continuing to lash out against him, the toxic manager makes a constant retreat from every single lunge that Satette swings at him, retaliating back at her with small and swift waves of radiation; every nuclear slash inflicted upon her tanked by the collection of cockroaches coating her body. Despite her veil of vermin shielding her from the deadly doses of radioactive energy that Nova repeatedly strikes at her with, pieces of Sat’s protective coat are stripped away from every blow; the dozens of cockroaches scalped off her left charred to a crisp against the pure nuclear assault. And it wasn’t long before the lively psychic’s armor of insects begins to thin and crumble, forcing Satette to compel what bugs remain to scuttle around and shield her from the more direct attacks; this development failing to deter her constant approach as she inches closer and closer to the site manager. Once finally closing in enough against the toxic construction boss, Satette thrust her only arm towards the man to drive the tip of a splintered twig right into him; Nova left flinching as the end of the stick digs straight into the front of his shoulder.

Yet this successful plunge past her nuclear nemesis's radioactive defenses fail to stop him from retaliating; Nova driving his fist right into the stomach of her armor before firing out a terrible blast of nuclear power upon her; the force of the blow powerful enough to send Satette careening right into the living room wall. Slamming against the side of the room hard enough to leave cracks behind in the wall, the lively psychic falls to the floor as the last of her coat of cockroaches scatter away and past around their countless charred brethren that litter the floor. What cockroaches he had fried loudly crunching underneath his feet, the toxic construction manager slowly approaches the lively psychic as he grabs the small stick that she had stabbed him with; Nova winching as he up heaves the twig out from his shoulder.

“Did you seriously think that a bunch of bugs and a damn stick would be enough to put a big shot in the making like me down. You have any idea who you’re dealing with here!?” the construction manager exclaims; reducing the twig to nothing but splinters in the palm of his hand. “I know exactly what you are. Just another loser with power who thinks they can trample down on all the little people and get away with it.” rebuttals Satette, glaring up to the nuclear psychic. The toxic construction boss can’t help but burst out laughing from her description, beaming a striking sinister smile down upon the woman as he proclaims how: “Welcome to the real world, sweetheart. The best things in life are for those who stamp down on whoever or whatever they can in their quest to the top of the food chain. From the most powerful politicians in the country, down to the smallest snot nosed brat winning an art contest; everyone does it in one point in their life. Scaling over the countless bodies of all the losers that litter the side of the mountain of life just for a chance to make it all the way to the top. Might sound nihilist, but hey, that’s the way the world turns.”

“But it doesn’t have to be.” Satette refutes, a deflection which deflates her nuclear nemesis wicked grin. “For every sociopath willing to step on others to get what they want, there’s countless other’s holding each other together. Even among the worst of times, people stand with each other in the face of life’s struggles and aspirations. If one of us falls, the others around them help pick us right up. Even if it means if they have to sacrifice their own sake for those they care for.” Speaking this words of inspiration does she think back to the old woman providing her well grown vegetables to the numerous protesters standing against the construction of the power plant threatening their homes. “From the frailest, all the way to the sturdiest pillars, every single piece of a community matters. The smallest of neighborhoods, the biggest of cities. A team of two, to an entire band of thousands. Even if its a small rag tag group of nobodies wanting to make a difference.” To proclaiming this is she reminded of all the people that she had stood by in the face of countless dangers and foes; Frida, Thursotte, Sunny, Tuesco, Monty, and Wedsle, their hopeful smiles solidified in her mind and fueling her determination. “We can stand with one another in the face of adversity. And its about time I remembered that.” “Tsk, yeah? Well let me show you where your cheesy little lesson about teamwork got you.” the radioactive manager offers, aiming his palm square against the young woman as sparks of radiation gather in his hand.

Even when these sparks of nuclear power swell into dangerous bellows of radioactive energy, Satette remains steadfast against the growing threat of this toxic power, Nova left puzzled upon seeing the lively psychic crack a smile of her own. Its when pondering of her positive outlook in the face of certain doom that he starts to notice his arm having lost its natural vibrant color; the radioactive manager disperses the power gathered in his hand to discover his skin left as pale and cold as a corpse. “What?” But its among his now colorless skin that he finds the veins underneath his skin swiftly beginning to darken; the discoloration running from up the that very same arm growing worse from underneath his short sleeved business shirt. “What the hell?” When ripping off the side of his shirt, Nova’s confusion escalates to dreadful panic upon finding the wound left on his shoulder having worsened; the flesh of his body rapidly decaying to the point of chunks falling right off his very bones like pieces of well cooked pork.

“What the fuck!? What the happening to me!? What did you fucking do!?” he shrieks to the woman. “I did exactly what I told you I would, and given you a dose of your own medicine. You’re about to pay for all the people and plants around here you’ve been poisoning; and all of it stemming from one of your victims.” Recollection the brief run in Satette had with the sickly sister back in the community garden, its revealed that while hiding under the cover of the shrubs that the lively psychic had taken the teenage girls ailment and had stowed it away in the temple of her own body. “That doesn’t make sense! My own radiation shouldn’t be effecting me at all! How the hell is it doing this to me!?” “I knew as it stood, that girl’s radiation poisoning wouldn’t do enough on you. So I had idea of modifying the little bug into a full blown virus, one that exclusively sought to devour a specific strand of DNA; all that I needed was just one little morsel to get it hooked.” Satette then thinks back to how she had slashed at her nuclear nemesis, drawing some drops of blood from the cut she had inflicted across his face; lathering the end of the bloodied stick with her own sickly saliva. “After my little pathogen gets done making a meal out of you, it should die out alongside the last of your wicked ambitions. The moment I got close and jammed that stick in your sorry shoulder, your death warrant was signed on the dotted line.”

“You…You goddamn cu-” the toxic construction boss curses, attempting to approach the lively psychic. But just taking a single step towards the young woman would have Nova suddenly fumble down onto the floor; his dreadful panic swelling into borderline horror upon looking back to witness a truly terrifying site; the manager’s leg having been so corroded as to split his foot away from his own leg. Oozing from the sleeve of his pants be the frothy sludge of his own flesh, melting off the joint of his very bones; a site that more than solidified his grizzly fate. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was meant to work my way up from the bottom, working undercover for the mob in this shitty pencil pushing job until I took my rightful place as the new scion. But to die here, to this fucking tree hugging bitch!?” he blathers as portions of his body melt onto the floor. “Sorry bud, seems like your contracts been terminated.” Driven to the brink of fury over his toppling situation, the radioactive manager thrust his partially melted hand straight at the woman who had set his demise; the bones of his fingers reflecting the glow of nuclear power that he conjures in his very palm. The lethal dose of radiation soon evaporates however, as Nova finally succumbs to the merciless hunger of the virus; the radioactive psychic that had brought terror and scourge to this little slice of suburbia left to sizzle in the broth of his own melting body.

This nuclear nightmare having been finally brought to a close, Satette lets out a deep sigh as she slumps against the living room wall; ultimately relieved that she had survived the highly infectious encounter largely unscathed. Holy shit. That was pretty rough. If I hadn’t thought of that whole virus trick, I’d have been cooked for sure. But I can’t lay back and relax just yet, not while there’s still one last bit of work to do.

From the dusk of twilight does the light of the morning sun break upon the city, shining upon both the tallest skyscrapers to the humblest of little homes. Yet on this day, along the edge of a humble inner city suburb, all stands quiet as dozens of onlookers gather; protesters, construction workers, and many others behold what stands in place of the power plant. From base to tip is every inch of the partially constructed building left entwined in blooming tree’s, flowers, and other lively foliage; enveloping the floors, the walls, and beams in lengths of living flora. The tree’s standing with bark abundantly thick, the flowers, so spread and vast. From in the middle of its dead brethren, this spontaneous garden stood tall in the middle of the source of its very blight; a display of nature trouncing upon its sickness. To the unexpected and almost miraculous display of nature do the protesters and neighbors alike all roar out together in a celebration; their gleeful cheer over the end of their plight echoing all across the suburbs. “Whelp. Guess this means the project is canceled. No amount of gardening tools can get through all that.” one of the workers declares. “I’m just worried how Nova’s gonna take this. He’s gonna be so pissed.” “Meh, who cares. The guy’s a fuckin prick.”

The outcry of triumph reverberating across the block and beyond, one such woman who hears this roaring cheer is none other than the one who nobody will know had steered the course of their livelihoods; the lively psychic having delivered them all from being driven from their homes in the face of the radioactive scourge. Expelling a long, loud yawn from her tired grin, Satette wonders out from the concrete walkway to approach the front of one of its humble homes, pulling out the glowing red key from her dress pocket. Coming upon the door to the home, Sat slides the psychic key right into the keyhole to transform the ordinary door into one to lead her back to the safe house.

She’s reaches out and is moments away from turning the knob, when the grasp of another suddenly clutches at her arm; Satette swift to back away from the hand, only to calm herself when finding that grasp belonging to their enigmatic informant donned in the mask of a famous children’s television show character. “Oh, right. I was supposed to find you. Sorry, just had to deal with a lot recently.” she apologizes. “I can tell. I’ve wanted so long to come see you again, especially with all you’ve been through. If only I could’ve come clean and comfort you earlier.” the mysterious masked informant laments. “Alright, wow. Leaning a little hard aren’t you?” “Well, what else do you want from me? Its been eating up inside thinking about what you must’ve been feeling all these months now, all that time we’ve been apart.” “Whoa easy, just…who the hell are you?” “Really? You haven’t figured out who I am yet? I can’t believe you didn’t put the pieces together by now, Satsy?” “Sat…Satsy…” the lively psychic utters.

Reaching to the silly mask used to cover their visage, the informant pries the veil of her anonymity away to present to Satette the woman underneath; her long brunette locks unfurling from underneath the hoodie as she’s finally able look upon the psychic she had so deeply yearned for with her naked jade eyes. Wells of emotion surge within every fiber of Sat’s being in beholding the informant’s caucasian visage; tears of swelling joy running down her cheeks as she recognizes the woman standing before as someone dearly beloved once thought lost. Satette, so shaken to her very core, that she can’t help but tremble as she whispers in hopeful disbelief: “Janna…”

[lillaxtrigger]

New Season of Street Smarts dropping this week.

The season which will conclude the psychic Saga will premier this Friday.

[lillaxtrigger]

Remember when grown ass men were obsessed with the horse show?

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This hasn't been done before, right?