Letters from Tomorrow

by RickDangerous

Max's ruthless future self sidesteps the limitations of her focus power by leaving written letters in the past. Desperate to save both Chloe and Arcadia Bay's populous, she mercilessly manipulates the past in order to save the future. This story follows a past Max, Chloe and Victoria as they struggle to enact the instructions in these letters from tomorrow. A slightly satirical AU.

10. Chapter 10

Author's notes:

This was supposed to come out Christmas but kept being revised and picked at. It's now out the day after new years. I'm really disappointed in not managing that deadline. Be advised that there's a couple of slightly creepy short scenes in this involving Jefferson, and what Kate remembers. I don't think they go near warranting a raised age warning, but it's not all unicorns and lilies either, and it's written in a slightly unhinged way.

Reviews, criticism and comments are always welcome.

Aaron Leach, mukasmukid, NoPros, Guest (1), TM Calypso, Guardian of Azarath, Guest (2), Maximum V, AshShy, Nichotal, n1bro, suomynonAX, RainthelingeringSentiment, The MadReader, Buttermilk: Thanks so much for your support. I wish I could have got this chapter out sooner.

GrumpyCat42: I'm sure the owner of the card will notice it missing fairly quickly, and take steps to rectify the situation as soon as practicable. The question is how often they check their burner phone, whether they just look at it when it vibrates in their pocket vs how often they actively pull it out and look at it (and bearing in mind they may not want to be seen pulling out a second phone in public). Glad you're enjoying the story!

/lisg/ friend: Since that anon obviously spent a bit of time and effort writing their honest opinion, I'm going to do my best to give it a proper response (more so than the guy who asked for the characters to hurry up and 'Dyke it out' a few chapters back).

Firstly, regarding Chloe: Chloe's supposed to have become a minor meme, sort of like 'epic beard man' from the AC Bus fight video, so some of the characters are supposed to be (perhaps overly) impressed with her. It's not really right to compare her with the canon game, because she's somehow had her timeline altered by Max to deliberately make her stronger (presumably to survive the week's events). Though to be honest I don't think any of the people I've had her beat up (Victoria, Nathan, and possibly the smallest member of the football team) are as impressive as winning a fight weapon less vs knife armed Frank. Especially as I've been writing her as using very 'cheap' shots (groin strikes, clapping ears). I also don't think we ever saw who started drawing first with the Chloe vs Nathan alt scenario. The bathroom door just closes and a bit later we hear gunshots. I feel it's assuming the worst that Chloe went in there and summarily shot him. There's supposed to be some ambiguity, but it's vastly more likely Chloe was ready when Nathan started drawing his gun, and pulled hers faster naively assuming Nathan would back down (Chloe's a very quick draw, see what happens with gun armed Chloe vs gun armed Frank) and was forced to shoot.

Secondly, in regard to Chloe figuring out Jefferson is a suspect: I knew as soon as I wrote them finding the sim card, that the trio had to figure out who its owner was quickly enough. None of the characters in this fic are quite as prone to extreme prolonged idiocy as in the game. I'd point out that it's actually Max and Victoria, rather than Chloe, who make arguably the more important first filtering step. They identify that someone in the class is running the operation. That immediately reduces the number of suspects from the whole town to the seven people in the class other than Max and Victoria. Chloe (who doesn't suffer from the same hero worship that Max and Vic do) just points out that it's way more likely for some major illegal conspiracy to be run by an adult rather than a teenager.

Thirdly: I actually agree Victoria's had a bit of a rough ride here. Having Nathan knock her out felt a little iffy, though I deliberately wrote it so he takes advantage of her desire to help him king-hits her when she's not looking rather than taking her on directly. I think verbally though, Victoria gives at least as good as she takes overall. She was subject to a very nasty piece of manipulation by Max's future self, but I think that was always portrayed as a fairly horrid thing to do. I actually control+F'ed every chapter for the first four letters in "pacification", and found I've never actually used it in the story proper. It was only used once in the author notes to describe whatever canon Max did in the AU to Make Victoria and Taylor nice.

xvector: I found it fascinating to see your comments come in as you marathoned through each chapter, and I'm glad you managed to find enough enjoyment in the story to keep reading. Re: your comments about Chloe, it's true she doesn't really behave as in canon, but I'm not sure she's in entirely the same place as in the canon. Chloe really starts opening up to Max in the game after realising Max saved her in the bathroom. In this fic that happens immediately since she actually sees Max in the bathroom rather than in the canon, where she has to recognise the blue butterfly photo. Also there are some big environmental differences for Chloe here. For some reason, she's got a better relationship with David (although it's still very strained, he's probably not telling her she's useless and has no friends, and definitely not physically slapping her, as he seemed to be doing in game), and Chloe somehow knows more about self-defense (and seems to be local meme for throwing people through windows). Both of those will probably make her more confident.

---

The slowly setting sun had brought with it a slowly encroaching darkness, which torpidly began to intrude into Chloe Price's bedroom. Within the room, Victoria Chase felt a chill run down her spine. Not so much because of gradually dropping light levels and temperature, though; more because Chloe Price was advancing on her, proffering a budget brand anarchist shirt and torn flannel jacket. She took a small step backward and tried to summon her resolve. The queen of Blackwell academy would not be reduced to wearing a tacky, inexpensive print; certainly not one encouraging the dismemberment of the system she perched atop. Nor would she wear a deliberately distressed jacket that could just about function as a checkers board!

"Alright. Time to play dress up with Tori. Then we book and go somewhere far away from Sergeant Pepper."

"Maybe the lighthouse?" Max suggested.

"Works for me. Tori?"

"Isolated, with a low chance of me being seen wearing those abominations." Victoria noted. "Good enough."

"Oh, and Chloe," Max added, "do you think I could borrow something as well? Time travel's been murder on my hoodie."

An "oh no you didn't" grin spread across Chloe's face, while Victoria managed a half hearted smile while nervously stepping backward, just another inch or two.

"She's a killer," Chloe whistled, referencing the old noir comic strip she and Max had drawn years earlier. "I think I can find you a substitute jacket. Rachel left a bunch of clothes here. She's-"

"-mostly my size." Max concluded. She was still strangely happy to have learned that Rachel had a 'big ass'.

Chloe found one of Rachel's old Denim jackets, while Victoria continued to look on in contempt at the clothes laid out for her. Why did she have to wear the flannel when Max got the Denim? Oh right, the jacket was sized for Rachel's petite top half. There's no way it would fit anyone other than Max.

"What are your plans for the vampire hoodie?" Chloe asked, extricating the bloody thing from Max's bag.

"I don't know, I was going to try washing it, but it looks too badly stained."

"I might be able to salvage it somehow, if you don't mind a little lateral thinking."

Max agreed, with a little trepidation. The last piece of lateral thinking Chloe had was fairly successful. It had also involved Max's hand and Victoria's rear end. Victoria, meanwhile, was still trying to find words adequate for the disgust she felt toward Chloe's clothing selection.

"Come on Victoria, the Step-Sarge is right; you can't go around wearing bloody cashmere."

Victoria decided she was doomed either way: she'd either have her look ruined by wearing Chloe's surplus rags, or continue to have her look ruined by blood covered clothing. She made her decision: being covered in blood would guarantee her being branded unhygienic as well as unkempt, wearing Chloe's clothes… Well, questionable hygiene was better than no hygiene right? She was being unfair, Chloe's hygiene wasn't bad, and those clothes would be perfectly clean. Probably. That bag of clothes waiting to be washed in the corner of her wardrobe was a bit rank. But Chloe certainly hadn't smelt that bad when she rescued her from Nathan, although Victoria kind of wished her mind would stop flicking back to that event over and over. Being carried off by her knight in shining armour, or perhaps more accurately, her knight in recently laundered singlet.

"Fine."

Victoria hefted her cashmere sweater over her head, then began unbuttoning her silk blouse.

Chloe audibly took a shallow breath. Beneath that protective layer of Cashmere and silk, and clad in the most exquisite black lace demi-bra, was a chest that rivalled Dana's. "Damn it Chloe", Max thought, while struggling to keep her own eyes in check.

Of course, Max was at some advantage over Chloe in that regard. Max already knew what Victoria looked like under her 'armour', from the blown up poster Victoria kept of herself on her wall, and took great pride in displaying; the one of her generously filling a bikini. It was a strange duality, that Victoria displayed the poster so openly, then not only wore relatively conservative clothes in public, but also mocked the more liberally attired as being 'sluts', 'whores', and 'exhibitionists'. Perhaps it was her way of having her cake and eating it: she reminded everyone that she had an enviable figure, and simultaneously maintained an air of superiority over the few similarly endowed who flaunted their charms in a more conventional manner.

Acutely aware of how she'd unashamedly leered when Chloe went sans singlet, Max made a greater effort to move her eyes somewhere else, completely turning away from Victoria. She really wasn't sure what was going on with herself today. She always noticed her classmates beauty, as she was forever unfavourably comparing herself to them. Somehow today, her standard routine had gotten mixed up: as the day went on she'd become less concerned with how she compared with them, yet was still keenly observing their beauty. Perhaps she was just on autopilot and it would all equalise in time.

"It's too tight across the chest! I'm going to look like a cheap whore!"

Alright, no one could resist looking when they heard that line, Max included. It seemed to have attracted Chloe's full attention as well. The shirt Chloe had donated was fitted, sized to complement her lanky-yet-lean muscled frame. On Victoria, it wrapped especially snugly around what lay beneath, prominently displaying the silhouette of her bust.

"No one would ever call you cheap, sistah."

Chloe's comment might have been intended as a reassurance, but it had Victoria fuming like a volcano. Still, it could have been worse. She'd probably have erupted if the line had been "No one would ever call you a whore" instead. Victoria had priorities.

"I need to see the damage, is there a decent mirror anywhere around here."

"Bathroom's just down the hall." Chloe advised, as Victoria quickly disappeared.

---

"It's hard to imagine how my life could get any worse at this point" Victoria said glumly, more to her own reflection in the bathroom mirror than to the two nosy companions who'd tagged along with her.

"We could always swap out your stockings for ripped fishnets, you know." Chloe noted.

Victoria stared harshly at her own reflection, savagely critiquing the familiar stranger that stared back with equal ferocity. She had to admit that she looked rather good as a 'degenerate whore'. Then again, she liked to think she looked good as anything. Still, there was an unsatisfactory disconnect between her 'ready to thrash' top, and her 'ready to prep' bottom. There was no choice, she'd have to take further extreme measures.

"…Ok. And this mini skirt is too sophisticated. Find me torn Denim, preferably with holes shot through it. And short, just like that glorious slut Taylor's!"

"W-what?"

"Victoria Chase doesn't half commit to a fashion statement. She owns it utterly. If I'm going to look like a whore, I'll be Julia fucking Roberts! Fishnets! Denim! Now!"

Chloe almost fell in love at hearing that. Just a little. Seeing her carefully peel off her stockings in preparation for the torn ones wasn't helping matters.

Moments later Victoria was pulling up a pair of cut-off denim jean shorts, her skirt cast aside with casual disregard. After some trepidation, she also accepted the offer of a studded belt. After all, the jean shorts had been Rachel's.

"Hold on Vicky, let's get a picture of you. You too Chloe, let's make it a group shot."

"Oh, I was wondering how long it would take for me to be dragged into one of Max Caulfield's famous selfies." Victoria groaned, realising that she was about to be immortalised as an 'anarchist punk whore Al Borland'.

Chloe stuck one of her strong wings out and pulled Victoria in close, forming the back row. Max stood intermediate between them in front, her knees slightly bent, and triggered her camera's shutter.

"It's infuriating that you can take such well-framed images without even looking through the viewfinder." Victoria noted, studying the resulting photo.

"It's a learned… skill…"

Max's pupils shot in and out of focus for an instant, and looked around as if slightly disoriented. For a second or two, she began a desperate search of her camera bag for pens and paper. Sudden realisation struck her, and she turned to face Victoria and Chloe.

"Oh, I guess I can just tell the two of you this time, instead of having to write a letter."

Chloe and Victoria could tell some radical change had befallen Max. Her eyes had a cold, hard, sadness in them. Chloe had actually seen the expression in her step-dork. It was the face of someone who'd been through a war, seen and perhaps even done things most people couldn't comprehend. She wondered if her own eyes were in any way like that now, still having the memories of seeing Victoria murdered and shooting Nathan in the head, from a timeline Max had expunged. She was relieved to see Max's expression soften, ever so slightly, after dwelling on the two of them.

"You look like you've seen some shit, 'Future Max'."

"I've seen the septic tank expo, Chloe."

Further conversation was temporarily suspended, as Max advanced on the two taller girls, and pulled them into a group hug with surprising strength. There was a certain desperation in the way she pulled them in, a possessive need, like she was afraid they'd both be taken away from her. When they broke apart, Max's eyes were a little watery. It was almost as though she hadn't seen either of them in some time. Chloe was about to enquire when Max did something rather strange. She suddenly wrapped her hand around Chloe's upper arm, and squeezed, noticing with pleasure how thick and muscular it was. For some reason Max's mouth took on a decidedly self-congratulatory smirk. Chloe really wasn't sure how to respond, so she shrugged and brought out her 'still got it' grin again. Victoria decided that if Future Max had time to admire Chloe's (admittedly impressive) biceps, she had time to answer a few pointed questions about the future.

"So, are you going to tell us who these conspirators are?"

"I honestly don't know yet. Not the identity of all of them any way."

"But you're from the future!"

"And in all the future timelines I've been in, they were never fully identified. Except for Nathan, and a couple of others."

"You mean Mark Jefferson and Nathan's father." Victoria said flatly, intently studying Max's face as she did so.

A smile crossed Chloe's face as 'Future Max' switched to displaying anguish and then anger, as she realised they were reading her. Victoria's face only displayed a pained expression. She'd normally feel smug, having gotten information out of someone unwillingly, but in this case she'd just had her worst fears confirmed. Her idol, Mark Jefferson, was a criminal.

"Damn! No matter how badass stone-cold motherfucker your future self becomes, your poker face still sucks gluteus, Maximus."

Max looked like she was going to play her ultimate trump card in response, and just erase the last few seconds from time. She decided not to bother, her present counterparts seemed already fairly certain Jefferson was involved, probably an inevitable consequence of tracing the sim card's origin back to his class. Besides, they'd probably just ask her all over again, and she really had a bad poker face. She consoled herself by lecturing them instead.

"It's dangerous for you to know that information now. If you let slip to one of these bastards that you're already on to them…"

"Is that what you tell your past self? That it's too dangerous to know the truth."

"As a matter of fact-"

"It's a very convenient line isn't it. It's too dangerous for you to know. Just follow the exact instructions I give you, without thinking."

"There are sometimes very good reasons for doing what someone with future knowledge tells you to without question, Victoria. Sometimes doing what seems like the right thing can get people you care about abducted and butchered in front of you."

Victoria suddenly felt slightly queasy, as if a decidedly anorexic chap with an archaic farm implement had walked passed, tapped her on the shoulder for a second, and then thought better of it and continued on his merry way.

"You really want to know more about this? I think you should ask Chloe what led to her extorting Nathan in the bathroom."

Chloe pulled her neck in defensively, pained anguish spreading across her face. Victoria carried on as if Future Max had said nothing of consequence.

"Don't try to deflect, just answer the question asked of you."

"Fine. Go to the lighthouse-" Max began.

"We were going to anyway. Chloe's step-father is worked up enough to fight an opposed landing over a 'missing gun', so we were going to get some fresh air."

"-and stay there till after sunset." Max continued, as if she was never interrupted. "Hide a phone directly under the sightseeing map up there, call it and use it as a listening device. You'll find the conversation illuminating. Download an app that lets you record phone conversations too, that'll be very useful. Don't try to approach them, or go anywhere near them. And don't try to retrieve the phone until they've gotten back in their car and left. As far as danger goes, they make Nathan Prescott seem like a joke."

"Wait! Who are these people we're supposed to spy on?"

But Max just stumbled backward slightly, grasping her head in disorientation. Chloe got to her just in time, grabbing her moments before she fell. She quickly came around, secure in Chloe's arms looking confused but remarkably comfortable. Future Max had departed for tomorrow.

"Max, no offense but the way your future self withholds key details is hella obnoxious."

"It probably makes things easier for her though," Victoria explained. "If she told us the details of everything, we might come up with our own plan instead of just following her's. And the annoying thing is, she might be right to do so. We've seen that plans sometimes sound good in theory but don't quite pan out when tested. You know, like trying to stop a certain blue haired punk from even entering a certain bathroom."

"Still at least Tori punked future you, and got some information out of her."

Max raised her eyebrow, intently interested. Victoria wasn't sure what to do with herself. On one side she thrived on people acknowledging her accomplishments, on the other she really didn't like the information she'd extracted. Her Idol was some sort of serious criminal. Seeing Victoria's hesitation, Chloe decided to spill the beans herself.

"Sean Prescott and Jefferson are totally involved – in whatever the hell this is."

"Mr Jefferson. God. What, what are we supposed to do when we see him in class? And what about that extra assignment he gave us? Having to hand in some extra credit work that says 'here's a part of me no one's seen before' suddenly seems so much more creepy."

"Um, a teacher really asked for that? No offense Max, Victoria, but asking to see a part of his students no one's ever seen before sounds pretty creepy anyway." Chloe observed.

"He didn't use those exact words, Chloe. I'm embellishing for effect."

"Speaking of things Max's future self told us, and how obnoxious it is to withhold details…" Victoria began.

Chloe suddenly became extremely uncomfortable.

"I wasn't going to let her get away with an obvious attempt at redirection, but I think we'd be better off if you explain something to us Chloe. What did Max's future self mean about a history between you and Nathan."

"She meant I went way too easy on him today." Chloe quickly responded, her voice suddenly tarred in bitterness.

"Chloe, you knocked him out twice, and broke his eardrum!" Max noted.

"And robbed him, and put him through a car window." Victoria chimed in flatly.

"He deserved worse. Should have popped the fucker's eyeball out and crushed it in my hand, or some other ninja shit."

Jesus. Max was fairly sure Chloe couldn't actually do that. Could she? Probably, no almost definitely not. But having seen what happened when Chloe got angry, there was the tiniest part of Max's mind that could imagine it. Plucking an eyeball out like in Quentin Tarrintino's Kill Bill. Max didn't care to dwell on that though. Not when she could imagine how great Chloe might look in a yellow motorcycle outfit.

"I didn't tell you, did I?" Chloe asked. "I'd come up with a plan to get some urgently needed money from rich entitled bar-frequenters. Nathan fit the bill to a T. I was working him over when I realised my drink had an ever-so-slightly strange taste. The last thing I remember was that it seemed to be having a hella strong effect for tap beer."

Max hated this. Chloe's hand had started shaking again, the first time that had happened since Max had helped her banish her demons, along with half of Nathan's hearing. She really wasn't sure what her future self had intended, making Chloe relive one of her worst experiences since William Price had his car accident. Max reached out and took Chloe's hand, steadying it. There was no time magic involved this time, but the simple warmth of contact seemed to convey a magic of its own. Victoria surprised herself moments later, realising she'd taken Chloe's other hand without thinking. Emboldened by the reassurance, Chloe found the strength to continue her story.

"I woke up in his room. Nathan was standing over me. And taking photos with his camera."

An utter silence pervaded the room, punctuated only by Chloe's pause to take a sharp breath. Max gave Chloe's hand an extra squeeze.

"I was still half out of it, barely able to walk, and in no condition to deal with him like I did today. I managed to somehow fend him off anyway, bum-rush the door and stagger the fuck out of there. I don't think he had a chance to do anything to me. None of my clothes were disturbed anyway."

Max was livid. She'd already rationalised "future Max's" behaviour, suggesting that if one of her friend's lives was truly at risk, she might find herself capable of horrific acts to protect them. Now she knew that statement was accurate, though not entirely complete. As rage began to boil over within her, she suddenly felt completely capable of doing horrible things to Nathan. At that moment, it didn't much matter to her that Chloe had already rendered him a non-threat in spectacular fashion. In that instant, if Chloe wanted to rip out Nathan's eyeballs, Max would have gladly helped hold him down while she did so. She'd have even offered to take Chloe back in time, so she could do it over and over, until she was satisfied.

Victoria really didn't know what to think. Her mind was drawn back to the parking lot, to Nathan, on the verge of a breakdown. In spite of how he'd confronted her, she'd reached out to him, tried to help him. For an instant it seemed to have worked. Then, the moment she turned her back on him and shown vulnerability, he'd viciously gone for her head. She'd come-to panic-stricken, expecting another attack. That hadn't happened, but only because Chloe and Max had intervened on her behalf, rescued her. Chloe hadn't had any rescuer from Nathan's room. She'd had to rescue herself while in a drugged stupor. Victoria could scarcely imagine how that must have felt. Then there was the even more distasteful matter, speculating on the motive. What was the usual reason for doping someone in a bar and taking them back to your room? Max's thoughts had gone there too, she could tell. Just for a fleeting instant, Victoria was sure she'd seen a familiar look cross Max's face. The same seething rage she had seen when Max's future self had taken over back in Jefferson's class. The look of someone fully capable of murder. Though this wasn't 'Future Max', it was her present self. Just how close was Max to turning into her remorseless future incarnation? And with everything from drugging and abductions, through to a criminal conspiracy out to get them, just how far behind Max were Chloe and herself?

Victoria felt she should offer some words of sympathy. The only problem was she didn't have much experience in that field. In the past, she'd been the one people needed sympathy as a result of. Explaining to people just how badly she'd ruined their day. She tried to modify that technique to do some good. After all, in the end it was Nathan who'd had his life wrecked, and it looked like she had an audience that wouldn't mind hearing just how badly he'd been fucked up.

"I think it's important to remind yourself how everything did play out in the end. You got away from Nathan, then beat the shit out of him twice, the second time badly enough to send him to hospital and blow out one of his ear drums. You stole all the cash he had on him, and his gun. You reunited with your best friend and stole his away from him. He's going to be expelled from school, and after his assaults and being caught under the influence of drugs, he may face jail time. I imagine his family can't be too happy with what he's done to the Prescott name either. You've basically destroyed every aspect of his life in retribution. And if you do ever see him again, you could probably reduce him to a crying mess just by quoting a certain Zen koan at him."

"Thanks Victoria", Chloe said, managing a smile. Max concurred.

"That's the nicest description of bringing ruination to someone's life that I've ever heard. Now, don't the three of us have a date at the lighthouse?"

---

As the trio stormed down the stairs to the pickup truck, Chloe found her eyes lingering on the door to the garage. It was open, the lights were on inside, and there was the faint sound of bolts being manually tightened. She completely stopped on the second to last step, regarding the door with trepidation, while Max and Victoria paused midway down the corridor, wondering what the delay was. Fucking hell, she was a gluten for punishment today.

"Why don't you go on ahead. I'll just be a couple of minutes."

Max looked doubtful, but Victoria hurried her on. Clearly, Chloe wanted whatever was about to go down between her and David to happen privately.

---

David Madsen had retreated into his self proclaimed "man-space", the garage. Over the past few years, what Chloe referred to as "hella cash" had been sunk into modifying the room, greatly reinforcing the framework with steel beams and adding stronger structural materials. Shelves lay stacked with emergency supplies. The most recent addition was a trapdoor, which extended into a small space he'd been trying to excavate underground. Allegedly, it was for wine storage, though Chloe doubted the redneck was much of a wine drinker. Chloe knew it was something to do with the weird-ass dreams he'd been having. The ones he talked to Joyce about when he thought they were in private, the ones the shrink had been steadily increasing his medication to try to compensate for.

At that moment though, David Madsen was using his make-shift bunker for its original purpose. He lay under the frame of his muscle car, reinstalling the engine, which was presently suspended from the roof by a couple of large chains. One benefit of wasting all that cash on steel reinforcing beams – they were fairly good at supporting big-ass car engines.

He heard the creek of the door, followed by the tap of steel-capped boots on concrete, slightly lighter than the average man's, yet somehow twice as foreboding.

"If you've come to finish me off, Chloe, then releasing the chain the engine's supported by would be a good bet. It's tied off to the right of the room. Just untie it, and I'll probably end up crushed."

Chloe stayed silent. There'd been a betrayal of trust on her part, so she deserved to eat some shit. Her eyes did follow the chains past the roof pulley system to the point they'd been tied off. She lingered on them, just for a second. 'Bad Chloe'. She chided herself for even entertaining the thought.

"I taught you a bunch of things most civilians really ought not to know about fighting. Some real effective low blows. Then you somehow figured out the even nastier, cheaper ones I'd been holding back. I guess bringing up my war service was an obvious extension to that."

Madsen twisted a bolt with his wrench as he twisted the metaphoric knife in her gut.

"I let you practice with my guns, showed you how to use them properly, though beyond basic safety you mostly just ignored that and went about scoring bull's-eyes, firing with an unsupported single hand grip, often without even using the sights. I think you just decided you'd be a natural to piss me off."

There was a certain hardnosed pride in how he said that. It just made the betrayal feel worse. He was really guilt-tripping her this time, rather than letting things degenerate into the usual shouting match. All things considered, Chloe thought she preferred the shouting. That at least afforded her the chance to cover any guilt with anger.

"Except-"

"Except the .500 Smith and Weston. Asshole."

Chloe almost managed a smirk. One of the few times he'd really managed to get one up on her was letting her shoot what he'd called his "emergency bear repellent". Chloe really should have known something was up by the look of the thing: the revolver was built a hell of a lot thicker than the .38 she normally fired, and it only held five rounds because they were so fucking big. Still, it was a short-barrelled version, and she'd been feeling cocky, having just shot the eyes and smile out of a blown up emoji target. She'd fired it the same way she handled the .38 and ended up hella shocked, and with a hella sore wrist, hand pointing skyward. Fucking thing made Dirty Harry's Magnum look like a pea-shooter. Of course, she'd demanded to fire it a lot more soon after that.

"Do you really need the gun?"

"I didn't steal it, man. Calm down."

Madsen could tell a transparent lie when he heard one.

"That's not what I asked Chloe. Do you honestly need the damn gun?"

A deafening silence filled the room. Chloe nodded, ever so slightly.

"Do one thing for me then, and we're square. Get me a sample of your two friends' handwriting."

What the hell? Was this just part of his 'normal' paranoid investigative obsession, or was he intending to forge something?

"You're a staff member at their school, dude. Can't you-"

"I'm the 'rent-a-cop', remember. Not a teacher. And Wells has taken personal custody of their signed statements. I'll report the .38 revolver missing tomorrow at the station. Claim the door was forced or something." He glanced at the garage door. It had been reinforced to the point that you'd probably need a tank gun to force it. "Maybe not that door. Look, I know you won't accidentally shoot yourself , so promise me you won't make your mother cry or get your dumb ass thrown in prison and I won't ask again."

Chloe belatedly nodded, and left the man to his car. Great. Now, not only did she owe Frank, but she was indulging her step father's paranoia. As she briskly walked out to catch up with Max and Victoria, Chloe wondered why life just couldn't be simple.

---

The horizon glowed a brilliant red as the sun finally slipped beneath it. Max and Chloe waited in the periphery of the forest Nature reserve, which lay between the Arcadia Bay township and the lighthouse. On Victoria's insistence, they'd parked 'rolling tetanus' a good distance away in a side street, rather than the reserve's car park, and as a result walked twice as far as they'd normally have to. But given future Max's warnings, they really wanted to make sure they weren't noticed by whoever they'd been sent to spy on, either directly or through the presence of their vehicle.

The trio had found themselves a spot with rather dense undergrowth behind a few rows of trees, perfect for concealment while still affording an only mildly obstructed view of both the outlook and the path leading to it. Naturally, Chloe had been unsatisfied with her view being 'mildly obstructed' and immediately climbed one of the trees; she lay prone on a long branch, watching as Victoria attached her phone to the back of the outlook's sightseeing map with a strip of duct tape. Max leaned against a tree trunk, and slapped her cheek after feeling a light sting there. A direct hit, the offending mosquito was crushed with a disturbingly satisfying moist squish. It occurred to her that staking out an area of bush at night and near the sea had some elements to it that really sucked.

Victoria finally gave the thumbs up, and Max dialled her phone.

Can you hear me, Max?" An alluring voice came through Max's phone speaker, soft yet clear.

"Ask her what she's wearing." Chloe suggested. In a moment of boldness Max did so, but got no response. She assumed that meant Victoria had remembered to mute her speaker, and wasn't just too infuriated to answer.

"I'm just over a yard from the sign the phone's hidden under, going to increase to two yards now."

The voice became fainter, yet still discernible.

"Alright, now going to five yards."

Victoria's voice was now scarcely audible. Were they indoors, it'd probably have picked up something a bit further out, but out at the lookout it was competing against nature's ambience: the gentle hiss of the evening sea breeze and lapping of waves far below them at the bottom of the cliff. The phone having to be hidden on the back of the map didn't help audio pickup either.

A minute later Victoria returned to them. "Well?" She enquired impatiently.

"I could sort of hear you at five yards. It's easier to hear up close – two yards or less."

Max played back the recording she'd made of the test call, partially for Victoria's benefit and partially just to make sure it had worked.

"Next time we play a life and death game of spies, we'll have to buy some real equipment. Is this really going to work Max? Whoever these guys we've been sent to spy on are, they'll have to be practically on top of the lookout map for us to hear anything."

"Don't ask her. It's her future self's plan. She hasn't even thought of it yet." Chloe remarked unhelpfully. She swung down from the tree branch, and landed with remarkably little noise. "Two guys coming up the track now, walking like they own the place. I guess this is it."

---

Two figures walked to the cliff-edge lookout point, their hair billowing slightly in the evening sea breeze. The larger of the two was a wide faced man who appeared slightly out of shape. He wore a British-cut suit informally: jacket front unbuttoned and shirt tie-less, its collar button unfastened. Rat-like eyes sat beneath light-brown hair, peering out at the Arcadia Bay waterfront with a look of utter contempt, shielded from the light breeze by prescription eyewear. The second figure, a lean yet broad shouldered woman, wore all the trappings of a classic chauffeur: black suit, white gloves and black military-style driving cap, all impeccably turned out. Auburn hair was pulled tightly into a bun, sitting low on the back of her head. Her expression was one of trance-like indifference. Max and Chloe quickly came to the impression that she wasn't a typical chauffeur; there was an enigmatic air of danger about her, that neither of them could place. Victoria seemed to know a little more, and wasn't exactly calmed by that knowledge.

"Sean Prescott and his creepy Chauffeur," she shared in a whisper.

"Nathan's father? Damn, I should have recognised the family resemblance. They're all rat eyed bastards. So this conspiracy is based around the Prescott family?"

"If we actually listen instead of talking incessantly, maybe we'll find that out."

The trio huddled around Max's phone, listening as best as they could to the conversation between Sean and his employee.

"You know, I've always wondered what that skull and crossbones indicates." Sean said, stopping right next to the sightseeing map and gesturing toward a small piece of graffiti with his hand, a smile piercing his scowl for almost a second. Grey chose not to respond.

Chloe and Max grinned at each other knowingly. He was almost right on top of their ad-hock listening device, and in an incredible coincidence it was apparently all thanks to a long-time fascination with a scribble Chloe had drawn at Max's prompting in their childhood, that marked their old tree fort. At least they assumed it was a coincidence. Surely Max's future self hadn't gone that far back in time and made sure they'd left some graffiti there as children, just to entrance Nathan's Father and catch him out ten years later? Whatever the true reason for the graffiti, Sean's moment of levity pondering it was short-lived, and his grim expression quickly returned in full force.

"You failed to eliminate the last problem, Ms Grey. I am beginning to wonder if you are fully worth your extravagant salary."

While Sean's voice was perfectly clear, his Chauffeur's was more muted, closer to the limit of what Victoria's phone mic could pick up. Grey stayed two to three steps from Sean Prescott, constantly scanning the trees around the forest path for any new arrivals.

"I am supremely confident a warning was issued about the roundabout measures you demanded, Mr Prescott…"

"Wow. Check out the sexy English voice."

"Really, Chloe?"

"Don't worry Victoria, your American honey-venom number is just as hot."

The level of appreciation Victoria felt hearing that left her deeply concerned. Between future Max's warning about how dangerous these two were, her own memories of that creepy lady watching her, and the casual conversation about 'eliminating problems', Victoria felt her mind had its priorities slightly jumbled.

"…The said means were wholly inadequate to guarantee a desirable resolution. Now if you'd let me handle the problem directly-"

"Yes, yes. You've made your point. I placed obtaining a low risk of future legal repercussions ahead of obtaining a high chance of success. In this case, time has proven that decision unwise. And speaking of unwise decisions, it seems our special tutor has been grossly negligent in the responsibility entrusted to him."

"I understand a few of his 'helpers' repeatedly tried to contact him, and received no answer. They subsequently became rather desperate, enough to try contacting me. Of course, having just completed another errand, I was in no position to interfere inside Blackwell academy."

Sean Prescott frowned, forming a series of evenly spaced wrinkles on his brow.

"I practically made that man's career. More recently, he's been the benefactor of enormous resources, discretion, and trust on my part. In return for my most recent investment, I expected only one thing, that he help my boy achieve his destiny as a Prescott. Instead the first piece of news I receive after returning in my private jet, is that my son's been locked up under the man's watch!"

"We were fortunate one of our contacts had the foresight to quickly take possession of Nathan's burner phone before Blackwell security could secure it. At the moment, the only criminal liability is assault on other students, and a firearms violation from earlier in the day."

Ms Grey paused for a moment, and slowly retracted the fingers on her left hand into a fist, the only sign of emotion she'd made so far.

"Does an example need to be made?"

"Not presently. My contribution to the Prescott destiny is days from fruition. We cannot endanger that now by becoming needlessly engaged in the criminal justice system."

"And these other 'witnesses', the ones to your son's episode in the school facilities?"

"There is no great need to prioritise their removal. They've already caused most of the damage they were likely to, by delivering signed statements and photo documentation of the incident. Still, if the opportunity should present itself to indirectly handle them with no chance of traceable repercussions…"

A hint of a scowl crossed Grey's face when Sean Prescott mentioned 'indirect' methodology. It was the first time anything had shown on her face. A lot more was showing on Victoria's face though. Her hand shot out and grabbed Max's shoulder.

"We just had a hit put out on us." She whispered.

"And the original, larger problem you had?"

"Yes, what that one may have witnessed is far more dangerous." He closed his eyes as if in deep thought. "Very well, the risk level is sufficient that you may 'indulge yourself' on that one. As long as the result of any indulgence remains undiscovered until the end of the week."

The slightest hint of a smile worked its way across Grey's long narrow lips.

"I assure you, Mr Prescott. Nothing will be found."

Sean Prescott turned his full attention back toward the view of the harbour side. His gaze lingered, not even blinking, and nothing was said for several minutes. Suddenly, he jerked back a step, and seemed to be having a little problem keeping his balance. Grey quickly moved to support him, her face impassive. It seemed this was not the first time she had witnessed whatever it was the Prescott Patriarch was up to.

"Well, perhaps it was just as well my boy's tutor proved such a disappointment." Sean suddenly announced, snapping out of his daze. "It seems we may be repurposing the piece of real-estate I let to him; if things continue, it will be needed for its original intent far sooner than expected."

With that, Sean Prescott and his Assistant turned on the spot and walked off, without saying another word. The trio remained in hiding until they heard the faint noise of the limousine parked back on the road drive off.

"You think it's safe to leave?" Victoria asked. "I'd rather not die more than once today."

"Future Max said everything was fine once they drove off. After you."

"That woman was creepy as hell." Max noted. She decided to recover Victoria's phone herself, since Victoria and Chloe were each intent on making the other step out first, like a waddle of penguins in the Antarctic hoping someone else would be the first to dive into the sea. To be fair, they'd both be dead today but for Max's control of time, so some trepidation was understandable.

"You don't know the half of it." Victoria replied, quick to chase after Max once she'd stepped out. "She was always giving me these weird, unsettling glances, ever since I first met Nathan."

"She's been his personal chauffeur for that long? Is that normal?"

"She's clearly a bit more than a chauffeur." Chloe chimed in, effortlessly catching up and keeping pace. "It sounds like she's his personal bodyguard and enforcer."

---

The moment Max reached the lighthouse lookout point, everything went to hell. White light flashed and thunder roared, and Max grasped the sight-seeing map in shock. She looked up from the map and noticed everything had changed. Dark clouds, shaped like huge towering anvils, dominated the sky. They were illuminated periodically by awesome lances of white, as lightning slashed its way through darkness. The wind speed was incredible, well into gale-force levels. Max found herself glad she'd grasped onto the map, otherwise she'd have risked being blown over at every gust. She looked down at the town, which had been a picture of tranquillity seconds before. The waterfront was really taking a buffeting, with the odd piece of roofing detached and taking flight. Further out to sea, the real danger lurked: the enormous tornado Max had seen in her dream during Jefferson's class sat ominously, as if waiting for something.

"Chloe? Victoria?"

Max looked around for her companions. She didn't see them until she looked directly at her feet. Their faces were pale, and there were small bloody splotches on their clothing. Briefly touching one sent her recoiling in shock; her finger depressed into a small rent in the body, and additional crimson oozed. They were bullet wounds. Chloe and Victoria weren't alone, bodies of people Max knew, students from Blackwell and townspeople alike, were strewn around the cliff, all equally bloody and lifeless. It was then that Max saw the deer. It was semi-transparent, in exactly the same way Max got during time rewind, and stood on the very edge of the cliff near the lighthouse. Its front right hoof tapped impatiently, as if waiting for Max. She carefully released her grip on the sightseeing map and staggered toward it, barely able to stand upright under the wind. As she approached the deer, a boat, thrown airborne by the tornado, flew at speed into the lighthouse. Masonry crumbled under the crushing impact, and the entire top third of the lighthouse began to topple, growing larger and larger in her sight as it came down directly on top of her. Her right hand was just fast enough, reversing time an instant before she was crushed. Max looked back at the deer, only to find it gone. It was almost as though it had tried to kill her, lure her directly to the rubble's point of impact.

A newspaper clipping fluttered at the cliff's precipice, caught on a small rock. Max took the paper and was immediately drawn to the date at the top. Friday, October 11. That made this four days into the future. A hand grasped Max's shoulder, and she spun around just in time to see a rather boxy looking machine pistol levelled directly in her face. Everything went red, then black.

"Alright, this is starting to worry me. Max?"

The two taller girls stood in the lookout clearing, watching as Max left her position at the map and walked around silently, offering no response to their communication attempts. She was getting precariously close to the cliff-face.

"Max what the hell are you-"

Chloe and Victoria watched in horror as Max shook violently, and then began to collapse toward the edge. Chloe acted instantly, lunging forward to grab her. In so doing, she nearly went over the cliff edge alongside Max. Fortunately, Victoria managed to grasp one of her belt loops, and unceremoniously pulled on it, hard enough to set her two falling companions down on the edge of the cliff instead of over it. Chloe quickly recovered, taking the still unconscious Max into her arms. Her eye shot wide like saucers as she looked back toward the forest.

"Tori, do you see that?!"

As Victoria spun in the direction Chloe indicated, she briefly reflected that the 'Tori' nickname didn't really bother her that much anymore. She was actually becoming quite comfortable with it, not unlike the horrific jacket she'd been given.

Her newfound sense of comfort did not, however, extend to the apparition Chloe had indicated: a ghostly deer, standing at the edge of the forest path that led to the lookout. Its gaze was predatory, far more suited to a tiger, and never leaving the unconscious Max. A cruel chill began to encroach on them, numbing their extremities. It was like the cold was infecting them, slowly burrowing, chewing its way into their cores. Victoria quickly seized a small stone and hurled it toward the spectre. It passed straight through the ghost's leg and landed close by. The sound of the landing seemed to startle it though, and it spun around and galloped back into the forest.

"I didn't like the way it was staring at Max."

Chloe felt that a little hypocritical, given how she and Max had stared at her during operation "remove clothes to remove step-dork". Then again, Chloe had given the odd suggestive leer herself, so didn't have that much room to complain. The sense of painful burrowing chill ceased, though the temperature didn't seem to go up much. Malevolent spectre or not, it really was getting cold.

Chloe continued to cradle the unconscious Max in her arms, while Victoria checked for injury. A slight touch to the side of her neck brought them both incredible relief. She still had a regular, if elevated pulse. Joy was compounded as a soft groan emanated from her lips, and she began to stir.

"Tori, Chloe… Oh my lord that was fucked up."

She looked up at them, head still gently supported by Chloe's hands.

"There was an enormous tornado." She whispered, as if still half in a dream. "And you were there, and you were there…"

"Alright Dorothy, let's see if you can walk." Chloe replied, gently helping her to her feet. "The temperature's suddenly dropped, these clouds look angry as fuck, and I think we just saw an actual ghost. You can tell us on the way back to the truck."

---

"So in short, you had what you're fairly sure was a prophetic dream about the town being ripped apart by a giant tornado, and us being murdered."

Victoria really tried to reel in her cynicism, but the scenario didn't do her any favours, and she could only claim to be partially successful in the end.

"It's the second time I've seen that tornado. I dreamt about it before waking up in Jefferson's class too." Max explained faintly, as Chloe lowered her into the truck seat. It had turned out that, no, Max couldn't quite manage walking back to the truck straight away. Fortunately, Chloe's mighty arms seemed once again up to the task, carrying her swiftly and with little noticeable strain. Then again, she'd picked up Victoria in exactly the same way, and although it might be unwise to state as much, it was patently obvious which of the two weighed more.

"You slept through class? Damn Max, it's like you read my old playbook. Victoria, you're going to have to go centre seat, unless you want to sit in Max's lap."

Victoria briefly imagined how ridiculous that would look: her sitting there like a child in their parent's lap, while at the same time utterly dwarfing the diminutive Max. Chloe finished fastening Max's seatbelt, checking that it had been secured with a couple of firm tugs.

"That's the only time I've ever actually slept through class though. I don't really understand it, I wasn't even that tired today."

"Let's return to the relevant points, shall we?" Victoria said, calling them to order in a manner practiced from her chairing of the Vortex Club. "Max's dream gave the exact date a tornado that will devastate the whole town is supposed to happen, and Sean Prescott's family is running some sort of criminal organisation."

"Sean Prescott spent a long time staring out in the same way Max did when she had her vision. Do you think- no never mind it sounds retarded."

"Yes it does, Chloe. Say it anyway."

"Do you think he was having the same vision Max did?"

"Shared apocalyptic visions of the future?" Max's face sank into her hands, as she dealt with the idea. "We're talking twilight zone weirdness, aren't we?"

"You're already rushing around messing with the flow of time Max. We're well beyond noticing something on the wing. And frankly, if it weren't for the fact that he just ordered his creepy driver to try and off us, and we were in fact gunned down in your future dream, I'd say ignore the whole criminal element and focus on the tornado."

"Well yeah," Chloe concurred. "When you put it like that, the destruction of an entire town is a fuck-load more important than the average criminal conspiracy. Though since they are trying to eighty-six us, we'll just have to deal with both problems. Somehow."

"Do you think it might all be related somehow?" Max asked suddenly. "And if we stop the conspiracy it'll prevent this twister?"

Victoria felt a rage build within her. Not anything compared to Future Max's righteous fury. This was more like distilled annoyance. It was something she encountered all through her life, an impatience at her peers that made her occasionally want to scream "I'm surrounded by fucking idiots" at the top of her lungs. She fought it back. She'd made so much progress on her new "almost-friendship" with Chloe and Max, and really didn't want to throw a spanner in the works with a frank opinion of Max's skills of logic and deduction. She fought the rage down and did her utmost best to politely explain her objections.

"That's an extremely long bow to draw." She began, not quite managing to keep the harassed tone from her voice. "It's not clear if the Prescotts are the cause, or haven't already set things in motion somehow, in which case stopping them would have little effect. It could also be that they are just informed of the event by vision, like you were. It's not even clear Sean Prescott saw the same thing you did, or whether he was just having a 'senior moment'."-

"So how else do we stop a tornado? We've got nothing else to go on and-"

"We don't." Victoria said sharply.

To Max, that sounded rather defeatist and fatalistic; to Victoria, it was stating the obvious.

"Look, you generally don't stop tornados. You get the people in front of the tornado out of the way and some place safe. Obviously. And thanks to the dream, we know exactly where the safe place is. Near, but not too near, the lighthouse."

Well, when put like that, Max felt a little stupid. After helping Chloe put Victoria in her place earlier that day, Max wondered if it wasn't fair that Victoria put them in their places too. As long as she had a good reason for doing so.

"So basically, we need a way to convince the entire town to evacuate to Arcadia Heights on Friday, or they'll all die."

Victoria looked like she wanted to offer further opinion, probably on the probability of a single tornado actually killing every single man, woman, and child in a town, but decided against it for expediency's sake. She was also a little distracted by the white flakes she'd noticed starting to hit the windscreen.

"What the fuck, is that snow?"

Delicate white speckles did seem to be descending.

"Snow in October, that's out of season, isn't it?"

Not to mention there was no forecast for any rain or snow this afternoon. Weather may be a chaotic system, but (in spite of what many believed) it could be predicted rather well within three days or so. And if the forecasts for the next day said zero chance of precipitation, you didn't suddenly get a snow flurry.

"Either the environment's more fucked up than we thought, or there's something else at work here. Strange, and beyond current science."

Well time travel, visions, and vengeful spirit deer, were already fairly clear evidence of that. Still, now they had evidence that, whatever was going on, it could drastically affect the weather with little to no warning, making the tornado vision all the more plausible.

---

Chloe slammed her truck into gear and began to slowly drive them back to Blackwell. She was a cautious driver, and it was snowing. Max was more than a little nervous: people out to kill them, a giant tornado, and on top of all that, she'd suddenly realised they had stayed out past the dorm hall's curfew. Victoria seemed mostly frustrated with the slow progress of the vehicle, or perhaps she was channelling that frustration to ignore the deeper threat to their lives. Max got the idea Victoria probably drove her sporty Mercedes to its best advantage, and not necessarily the legally mandated speed limit, at every opportunity. She imagined the three of them cruising down the highway in that, the soft roof retracted and wind blasting them in the face. Still, Victoria seemed to find some means of entertaining herself in spite of facing the twin spectres of murder and Sunday driving, stealing glances at Chloe's strong arms as they occasionally spun the car's wheel.

"You can try squeezing one at the next set of lights, I'll even flex them for you." Chloe offered.

Max could tell Victoria was determined to remain silent, and not even dignify that with a response. Why else would she be biting her lower lip?

There was a faint screech as 'Rolling Tetanus' came to a stop outside Blackwell Academy's main entrance. Maybe it was just the thin layer of snow on the road, but Chloe made a mental note to check her tyres anyway. Max looked at the time anxiously. 10 pm, well after curfew. Her consternation must have shown on her face, since she suddenly realised she'd attracted both Victoria and Chloe's attention.

"Maximus, is this your first time breaking school curfew? I'm so proud of my first mate right now!"

"Honestly Max, people do this all the time. Compared with having a hit man and a giant tornado after us, it's utterly laughable to worry about. Besides, even if they've actually bothered to post a guard tonight, we've got the backup entrance."

Chloe looked across at Victoria. She'd detected a subtle nervousness to her voice, in spite of the brave face she was showing. Not because they had to sneak back into the dorm room though, she was right, that was laughable. But Sean Prescott's psychotic driver-cum-assassin and the Tornado really had her worried. It seemed that Victoria was cursed with the intelligence, imagination and caution to understand these dangers just a little better than either Chloe or Max. At the same time, she lacked the superpowers Max could rely on, and, well, whatever it was Chloe had. Insanity most likely, and a stupid dream of becoming Max's bodyguard, that she'd been nonsensically indulging in. Then again, the few letters Max had sent her over the five year gap had done little to dissuade Chloe's windmill chasing. They'd always seemed so eager for the two of them to finally meet up, rush off on an adventure together, show Max how many chin-ups she could do while weighted down, then demonstrate all her mad bodyguard skills in a bar fight.

She shook her head at the stupidity of that fantasy. What the hell kind of photographer needs a bodyguard? Then she remembered the events of the day. The kind Max and Victoria were, evidently. Come to think of it, that meant Chloe had actually achieved her life-long dream before the age of 20. Well, almost. She still wasn't being paid for it. Still, poor Tori; she'd have to do something to help her, and maybe arrange a little extra protection for her and Max while she was at it.

"Max, why don't you go ahead and check if they've actually got a guard on patrol tonight."

Max looked across at Chloe, incredulous.

"If a guard spots you, it'll be easier to rewind by yourself", she pointed out.

"Oh sure. Tell me how easy it'll be, then send me out alone in the snow while you drive home in comfort and Tori cowers at the front gate. It's not like either of you got mind-fucked by the full force of the aggro spirit deer either."

"Oh, it won't be like that, Maximus."

A sense of relief overcame Max. She shouldn't have judged old Captain Chloe so hastily. Maybe she was going to run interference, act as a diversion to draw off any security guard or-

"I'll cower here with Tori until you get back!"

Max ended up walking off toward the dorm, mostly thinking words spelled with under five letters.

That left Chloe and Victoria alone together by Blackwell's front gate. They stood in silence, leaning against the front wall of the entrance, the freak weather lightly dusting their clothes in ivory. Victoria withdrew a couple of cigarettes, lit them, then placed one in the strong hand of her companion. They exhaled in unison, and watched the thin sheet of smoke hang in the now freezing air.

"Victoria. You know I honestly do think you were pretty badass, slashing your hand open on glass to rescue me. You and Max hella saved my life. Then you saved me from taking the heat for that weed, and pulled me back onto the cliff, though you gave me a hella bad wedgie in the process. And you scared off the spirit deer, and you-"

Victoria held her hands up to calm Chloe's increasingly verbose recollection of events. She was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Victoria's greatest weakness was probably being complimented. Being complimented for actual heroics had her coming undone, and she had to stop Chloe before she turned to mush.

"I saw a person in trouble!" She snapped back quickly, head spinning. "Of course I did what I could to save them. It…"

She looked down, fidgeting for a second, trying to compose herself. She normally wasn't this lost for words, but then again she normally didn't have people praising her. At least not sincerely, anyway, the Vortex serfs had all done it because it was expected of them. The pause was becoming awkward. God, just say anything. You've got perfect English marks, even better than for photography, trust your innate ability for self expression.

"I-It's not like I did it especially for you, or anything!"

There was a moment of deathly silence, and the look that then shot across Chloe's face was something to behold: The broad smile that heralded certain doom, and the smoke that rolled out of her nostrils as she failed to repress a snort. It all engendered a sense of dread quite unlike anything Victoria had known before. A sense that she'd just fucked up, monumentally, and was never going to live the aftermath down. She really shouldn't have marathoned that "Generic Animu Agent Blueberry" series in the weekend.

"I-It's not like I did it especially for you or anything." Chloe parroted, with only the most gentle touch of sarcasm.

FUCK.

"I appreciate that you did it anyway." Chloe suddenly said with all the sincerity she could muster, then in a moment of boldness, leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. Victoria's mind blanked. How the fuck did this punk suddenly become so damn suave, while still wearing a singlet and combat boots? And what would she be like if she actually cleaned herself up, and wore something respectable? An image of Chloe suddenly popped into Victoria's head, fully regaled in a tuxedo, hair combed and pulled back elegantly, and still throwing around that devil-may-care smile. Victoria fought desperately not to swoon as her mind fully digested it. She'd definitely have to photograph Chloe now, just as excuse to dress her in a suit. She quivered with anticipation, realising Chloe had moved even closer, and brought her lips to Victoria's ear. A whisper echoed in the night.

"Thank you, Tsun-toria."

Victoria flushed in frustration. Fucking blue haired beast. Hypnotising her with those strong arms and well chosen words of appreciation, only to bring her crashing back to reality with yet another obnoxious new nickname. And if that wasn't enough, Max had just returned and was watching them, an uncharacteristic glare on her face. It was just possible that she'd misread what was happening. Though Victoria wasn't exactly clear what was happening either when it came to Chloe. Her decision making process seemed to swing wildly between well thought out plans and raw impulsiveness, and sometimes both at the same time.

"And since you are such a badass, and there seem to be people out to murder us…"

Victoria's indignation was hushed as Chloe presented a brown paper bag, the kind bums tended to use to conceal a bottle of cheap spirits. Victoria took a peek inside and her eyes widened. The contents may not have been spirits, but they definitely packed a whallop. Her eyes utterly bulged as Chloe moved her hand to Victoria's cut-off jeans, reached inside, and stuffed the bag down the side of them. Well it's not like there wasn't a little extra space in there, them being Rachel's.

"Now you do know the basic rules of-"

"I'm not an idiot! But don't you need this-"

"I've got a spare now, thanks to Nathan. I'm counting on you to keep Max safe till tomorrow, badass."

---

Night had well and truly fallen by the time Victoria and Max reached their dormitory building. Seemingly benign objects cast long, ominous shadows, dark gashes against the faint illumination provided by the school's lights. Above all was the Prescott Dormitory, its roof blocked the moonlight, casting a jagged, pale, yet near omnipresent gloom over much of the courtyard. The two students slipped from shadow to shadow, trying to avoid leaving obvious tracks in the freshly fallen snow. They gave the main entrance a wide berth, wary of the guard on station, who'd parked himself on a bench and industriously busied himself with a newspaper crossword and a thermo of coffee.

"You're suddenly getting on surprisingly well with Chloe." Max spontaneously noted. Victoria sighed. It was true, and while she could tell herself it was rather logical to befriend the local badass when people were out to get you, she had to admit that there seemed to be something a little more genuine than that going on. Though she'd also been getting on rather better than she imagined she would with Max, her equally shy and terrifying little time-lord.

"I guess you help save each other's lives, spy on some criminal conspiracy, and get set on by a ghost, and you can't help but change your opinion a bit. Though it's obvious you get along with her better."

Victoria was hoping that last part would pre-empt any drama on Max's part. Seeing Max's doubtful expression utterly floored her. She locked gazes with the shorter girl, and found herself grabbing Max's shoulders, forgetting her own usual distain for contact amidst a storm of indignation.

"Max, that girl's got a rather deserved rep as a savage bulldog, but she practically turns into a puppy when you're around! It's obvious you mean the world to her."

Seconds ticked away before Victoria realised she was still holding Max in place. She quickly retracted her arms, and tried to busy herself doing anything else.

"Tori, do you mind if I ask a stupid question you'll probably consider me juvenile for even posing."

"You've never worried about that before, so why start-"

"What's it like getting kissed?"

Part of Victoria was honestly impressed with that question. Completely owning your inexperience and making the other party feel awkward instead. Of course another part of her was acutely aware she was the other party.

"You mean on the cheek the way Chloe just did? And literally everyone else with a faux-French gimmick does? If so the answer is overrated."

Well, in Chloe's case it hadn't exactly been, but that was more due to the shock of not expecting it. And the whole "suddenly suave-as-fuck rescuer encroaches on her personal space" thing. Still, better to play it down to avoid hurting Max's feelings. Besides, Chloe probably did it as a means to covertly pass off her little gift, having noticed Max's quick return. That girl was smarter than she acted. Then again, given how she often acted, that wasn't especially difficult.

"Yeah the cheek… Or elsewhere." Max replied and Victoria's eyes widened. "The lips, on the face." She quickly clarified.

Thank fuck for that clarification. For a second there that was sounding like a rather broad topic, and quite possibly better covered in the school's health class.

"Max is this about that idiotic photo with Juliet?"

"Partially I guess."

Max wasn't completely sure what she was feeling. It seemed like the pain of being left out, excluded, but raised by an order of magnitude and given a very personal dimension. The only thing Max had gotten today, even on her cheek, was that damn Mosquito.

Victoria stopped for a second. They were half way around the Prescott Dormitory now, and had just come across a particularly suspect looking scrub. It was easily large enough to conceal a person, and the noise of breaking twigs could be heard from within. She carefully stepped around it at what she hoped was a safe distance, half expecting someone to jump out and attack them that instant. Her hand reached into her pants, ready to bring out Chloe's gift if needs must. Suddenly, something rushed straight at her, moving like lightning. It was a tiny squirrel, which sprinted past her leg and into some undergrowth. Fuck, she was on edge. And on top of that, Max was asking questions that she was, in Victoria's estimation, easily pretty enough to have had the answers for years earlier!

"Look, in very general terms, if it's with someone you like, you can lose track of time. Excuse the irony. You'll just indulge yourself, and suddenly realise you're running late. And if it's with someone you really like, you'll probably decide you don't care about running late and carry on... indulging yourself. Otherwise, you'll probably find yourself feeling like I do at the end of most Friday nights: acutely aware of the time, and trying to think of an excuse to leave and go do something else with it."

Max felt there really must be more to it than that, even for a peck on the cheek, and that Tori was grossly exaggerating how bad whatever (or perhaps whomever) she ended up doing 'most Friday nights' was. After all, they'd both almost lost track of time when she accidentally pinned Victoria against the wall, their eyes met, and they just sort of stared awkwardly at each other back in the girl's bathroom, and they definitely weren't anywhere near locking lips then. She wondered what a similar experience would be like with Chloe, then remembered. They'd linked hands, looked deeply into each other's eyes, but rather than losing track of time, Max had actually reversed it, made time for her in the most literal sense. She wasn't sure, but somehow that seemed even better. She turned back to Victoria, whose attention was directed at the shadows ahead of them, and felt a sudden impulse born of curiosity.

Victoria, meanwhile, was still looking around nervously, carefully scrutinising each dark corner and shadow. Because of that, she didn't really notice Max leaning over toward her. She froze in shock, at the instantaneous awareness of a sudden heat, a warm familiar presence pressed against her, and the contact of soft full lips as they gently grazed the side of her cheek. She leapt back a foot, her heart racing. The appearance of that doe-face had been as sudden as a static discharge, and just as shocking.

"Tori, I think you were wrong. I mean you occasionally throw out a lame faux-French gimmick yourself, yet I found that strangely satisfying. Definitely not overrated."

Victoria said the first thing that came into her head.

"…Merde."

It was clear Max had nothing to worry about. She and Chloe were perfect for each other. They were both assholes who trespassed in her personal space without warning in the most delightful way and fuck them.

"Thanks a lot Max." Victoria snapped. "I'm already worked up enough about someone trying to kill us, without you trying to latch your gaping maw onto me like some weird uncle who's waited all day under the mistletoe."

"I- I'm sorry Tori." Max quickly replied. Victoria seemed genuinely slightly shaken. "I can-".

"Don't be absurd, Max. I've told you before, your power is too valuable to use correcting minor social faux pas. Just try to be understanding. Not everyone has superpowers to protect them from an assassin, and some of us that don't, get a little freaked out."

"They said they were going to do it 'indirectly' though," Max noted defensively, "so it's not like they'll jump out at us with a knife. How do you think someone goes about killing you indirectly, anyway?"

"I'd rather not." Victoria replied with indecent haste. "There, back of the building, second right most window, ground floor."

---

The ground floor wing of the Prescott dorm had a room out of service due to a burst water pipe. The leak, of course, had been quickly rectified by the ever vigilant caretaker Samuel. But the water damage inflicted on the room in the meantime had rendered it unfit for habitation, at least by the standards of trust fund students. Needless to say, Blackwell's student body had made good use of having a ground floor room that was never inspected. The window latch quickly found itself vandalised, to allow unmonitored access in and out of the dorm after curfew. A close inspection of the room would generally also yield a handful of illicit items, secreted away to avoid Madsen's storm troopers executing a surprise dorm inspection.

Victoria effortlessly vaulted the distance to the window ledge, then was forced to aid the shorter, less athletic Max. A tingle ran up her arm as she reached out past the window and they interlocked hands. Max's powers still terrified Victoria. They would always terrify her to some extent. But slowly that terror had evolved; the fear of imminent death or being used as a puppet had lessened, gradually being supplanted with a nervous thrill, not unlike riding a rollercoaster. The trembling anticipation as you were hoisted to a precipice, and about to take flight.

Max jumped and Victoria pulled. Max shot into the air and found herself partway through the window, where she successfully managed to balance, not quite able to remedy the situation by her own means without risking a minor injury. She half giggled and half groaned at the precariousness of her position, in a manner Victoria felt she wouldn't mind hearing more of. Victoria found herself rolling her eyes anyway. Impatience and frustration were expected from her, along with quick, expedient solutions, and she didn't want to disappoint in the supply of either.

"Wrap your arms round my neck, Max."

Max took the advice to heart, and Victoria began walking backward, slowly extruding her through the opening and into the room. Max's feet finally cleared the window, and her bottom half suddenly became unopposed by gravity. Her body swung down like a pendulum, crashing against Victoria's. The larger girl noted with some pride that for the first time that day, she'd actually managed to absorb Max's momentum without getting pinned against the wall or falling over. Of course, Max had used it as an excuse to hug her again, arms already tight around her due to necessity. Victoria noted with some annoyance that she'd reciprocated automatically, bringing a single hand around Max's back in an admittedly half hearted manner.

"You've been smoking. It kind of makes you smell like Chloe, but with less muscle and rough edges and more roses."

Victoria stared in disbelief; she suddenly felt labelled as weaker version of someone else, and the idea pained her. She was wearing her clothes and everything. She was especially pained, for reasons beyond her, that Max had been the one to say it. Infuriated, she began to pry Max off herself that instant, and strongly considered giving up smoking all together. She was not going to be known as Chloe Price lite! And how did someone smell like having rough edges anyway?

A brief yet incredibly awkward pause later, the two photographers were slinking down dorm corridors, en route to their own rooms on the second floor. Suddenly Victoria froze, catlike, having noticed the faintest creak on the dorm stairs. They advanced cautiously, and two shadows came into view, interlocked. It was a scene of amorous exchange in silhouette: a decidedly feminine figure pressed against the wall as a larger one leaned over, kissing and caressing. They took a couple of steps into the stairwell and glanced up. Victoria's face instantly became a picture of disgust, while Max was lost in a moment of curious fascination.

"Looks like Dana's found yet another boyfriend. That dolt Trevor. How many does that make in the past two weeks? Max?"

"Three, I think. Wowser." Max said vacantly, most of her mind momentarily lost to higher thought, her cheeks crimson. "And Trevor? I guess it's nice that he hasn't let the nasty injury he picked up skateboarding slow him down."

"Really, Max, it's almost like you've never seen a couple hook up before."

"Don't be ridiculous." Max responded defensively. "I've must have watched every Richard Gere movie there is."

Victoria snorted.

"Then just think of those, and don't base any future entanglement you may have on what Trevor's doing. It's clear the clumsy oaf hasn't got a clue. I mean just look at the way he's pawing at her!"

Max was pretty sure she already was.

"No finesse, no understanding, no tacit communication."

"Dana doesn't look that unhappy."

"Dana's clearly rather easy to impress. She'd probably fall head-over-heels if you quoted something remotely poetic at her. What did you say about an injury?"

Bathed in the soft illumination of their phone lights, Max showed Victoria the photo of the "skating incident's" aftermath. Trevor keeled over in agony, having somehow propelled his board into a rather sensitive spot. Sadistic glee spread across her face, temporarily displacing annoyed frustration.

"I guess that'll lower the risk of an unplanned pregnancy, at least." Victoria quipped, unaware of how on-the-nose her observation was. "Alright, lets go."

"We're going to just walk past them?"

"Sure. It's their fault for carrying on in public. I don't see why we should be inconvenienced just so someone else can get enjoyment. And if we stay here, they're only going to get more frisky. I'd rather not wait here and risk seeing them escalate their engagement to shucking the seafood."

Max stared blankly. "Shucking the seafood." She could almost understand that. At least in abstract.

"I am not waiting around for Trevor to be the latest in a long line of people to disappoint her!" Victoria clarified. For some reason, she was in the mood to make a scene, breaking out her phone to photograph the couple, flash turned on of course.

"Don't worry Dana," she called out, her voice easily identifying her in spite of the flash having caused the cheerleader momentary blindness. "I'm sure this will only increase your facebook follower numbers. And it's positively lovely you've decided to care for a cripple. Perhaps you could offer to massage his wound while you're at it. Oh wait, you probably already are."

Trevor just stared, dumbstruck. Max was glad she wasn't the only one the phrase 'deer in the headlights' could be applied to. Clearly, Victoria was a little bitter Dana had more facebook friends and followers than her. And perhaps ever so slightly still annoyed about being Chloe-lite. Dana, on the other hand, wasn't going to take things lying down (current appearances not withstanding), and now that her vision was returning, decided to make an observation of her own.

"Victoria?" Are you honestly wearing an anarchist shirt? Fuck the system, now get me some cucumber sandwiches? You look like a wannabe version of that vigilante punk girl everyone's talking about. The one that beat up Nathan."

Clearly Victoria wasn't the only one who could accidentally manage to be on-the-nose.

"Don't complain about my shirt when you're only half wearing yours." Victoria managed in response as she hurried past, dragging Max along with her.

Max looked apologetic. "Don't worry, I'll get her to delete the pic later," she mouthed silently, as Victoria pulled her up the stairs.

---

"Richard Gere does have, from a purely technical point of view, an impressively romantic kissing technique, but most of the romance movies he's been involved in don't hold a candle to the true classics. Now 'Gone with the Wind' is a truly great piece of celluloid, based on an even better book."

For reasons beyond their comprehension, but perhaps inspired by walking in on Dana and Trevor, Victoria and Max had ended up engrossed in an in-depth discussion on the romance movie genre, as they continued on the way to their dorm rooms. Clearly, Victoria's preferences lay amongst the less politically correct classics rather than their more modern contemporaries.

Max repressed a snigger at Victoria's mention of 'Gone with the Wind' as they passed Stella's room. The lights were still on - Stella was probably intent on staying up all night again, putting in the hard graft to secure another perfect grade. Max's derision did not escape notice by Victoria, who seemed to take grave personal offence.

"Honestly, Max. You try to pass yourself off as a retro aficionado, yet you have no regard for a true classic like 'Gone with the Wind'?"

"No, it's just- Wait, let me guess, you imagine yourself as Scarlett O'Hara every time you watch it? Suddenly everything makes sense."

"I think she has many admirable traits." Victoria replied, desperately trying not to give a direct answer, as their leisurely pace continued. Kate had her lights on as well, though she was the polar opposite of Stella. Early to bed and early to rise the next day, a schedule practically burned into her by her staunchly conservative parents. It was practically unheard of to see her up at this hour.

"She's definitely a deeply flawed character," Victoria continued, "but she's a survivor, who rolls her sleeves up and does what she has to do to protect her family and their property and deals with enormous tragedy when certain other characters just up and leave. And she never gives up, even at the end. I think that's incredibly admirable."

"She's also narcissistic, almost to the point of parody. Disliking war, but only because it was a subject that didn't revolve around her."

An angry scowl now began forming on Victoria's face. They were almost at their respective rooms, the last two in the corridor. Victoria's on the left and Max's to the right, directly facing each other as befitting their status as photography rivals.

"Are you implying-"

"And she's disturbingly submissive in the bedroom isn't she?"

Victoria decided that perhaps she'd just better shut up. Unfortunately for her, Max knew a few of the more famous quotes from the movie, and seemed happy to shamelessly act them out.

"'-No I won't kiss you, though you need kissing badly! That's what's wrong with you! You should be kissed, and often! And by someone who knows how!'"

Max grossly hammed each line; each one she uttered burnt a progressively brighter red glow across the Blackwell Queen's cheeks. Victoria grit her teeth and reached for her dorm key, at the same time as she reached for a counter to Max's horrific acting.

"I guess I'm fortunate you're still completely clueless then, Miss 'Tori, What's Kissing Like?'-"

Something was wrong. She'd put the key where the door lock should have been, only it wasn't there. She noticed Max had suddenly covered her mouth in shock. She actually bothered to look at the door and realised it was already ajar. Semi detached Wood splinters covered a rent in the door frame where the bolt receiver should have been, and more lay strewn on the ground where it actually was. The door had been forced, probably with a crowbar.

Victoria's legs suddenly felt like dead weight, as her mind arranged a handful of facts in a decidedly unwelcome pattern. The Prescotts wanted her dead, and someone had broken into her room. What if they were still in there, waiting for her? She reached around to the side of her pants, thankful for the gift Chloe had left her. The .38 calibre revolver borrowed from David Madsen.

"Max." She whispered, and felt an almost electric touch in return as a small hand grasped at her shoulder. "Do you think you could stay back, be ready to rewind if anything bad happens."

Max had heard this plan before. It sounded very similar to the one that got Victoria beat up earlier in the day. Now she was using it again, but the stakes had been raised dramatically: a gun was in play.

"Tori? What the hell? Chloe gave you her gun? Do you even know how to use that?"

"It's a double-action revolver. You just stick your finger in the trigger guard when you're ready to fire, and pull the trigger."

She gripped the pistol tight in both hands, pointed forward and ready to use. She was no Chloe Price when it came to fire arms, so there'd be no casually holding the gun single handed and scoring bull's-eyes without even trying. But hopefully, she'd manage at least one out of six hits if it came down to a point blank exchange. She gave the door a kick, and it swung open effortlessly. Her room was an utter mess, though there was no time to think about that. No one visible, either. She leaned tightly to the doorframe, and then glanced around the corners, while keeping the gun in a ready to fire position at anyone she might find hiding behind them. She didn't have much experience in gun usage and no military training whatsoever, but even a moron could figure out that someone might be standing flush on the other side of the near wall, lying in wait. Still no one. She stepped inside, immediately rechecking the blind angles, and the room's wardrobe. Thank fuck, the room was deserted.

Confident she wasn't about to be murdered, Victoria looked around the room again, and her heart sank. Messy really didn't begin to describe what had been done to it. Someone had taken to her bed's mattress with a knife, repeatedly slashing it long-ways. Most of her expensive outfits had received the same treatment, slashed to ribbons, and thrown to the floor. Her desk chair had several legs broken off. And that inane phrase Nathan had used earlier, "Snitches get stitches, bitches" had been slopped roughly over one of her walls with red paint.

She sat back on the edge of the bed, too exhausted to really emote much. She looked back at the doorframe and saw Max peeping in, worried.

"You might as well come in Max. Whoever did this is long gone."

As Max made her way to the bed, Victoria's eyes were drawn to a mysterious tin under her arm. After a moment of thought, Max joined Victoria on the edge of the bed. There was a slight ripping noise, as the added pressure on the bed propagated the tears in the mattress. Max acted instantly, trying to get up, take her weight off the mattress. Victoria waylaid her with a hand to the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, the bed's already a write-off."

"God Tori, I'm sorry. This was such an awesomely laid out room too."

"Yes it was."

"I know it's not much," Max began, opening the tin, "But maybe a couple of these will make you feel a little better."

Victoria doubted anything of Max's could make her feel better right now. But as with Chloe, her nose once again betrayed her to give a dissenting opinion. Beautiful chocolate chip cookies. Her olfactory sense's insubordination not withstanding, Victoria still harboured misgivings that even chocolate baked goods could make her feel better. She took three anyway. Just to give them a fair chance. Her final conclusion on the matter was 'inconclusive', but somehow Max always made her feel a little uncertain.

There was one mitigating factor amidst all the destruction. Her swimsuit poster had miraculously been spared any damage. Victoria ran her hand down it slowly. Her mind went back to the cruise she'd taken on the family's new yacht a year ago, along with a few professional photographers invited to exhibit for the first time at the Chase family's gallery. One of them had confused her for a professional model, and begged the opportunity to photograph her. It had been the one time anyone had ever thought she was 'good enough' to be a model. Though she was easily tall and statuesque enough, she'd always picked up snippy remarks about little details. Things like her "fat wrists", "small pursed lips that made her look like a witch" and definitely her "man jaw". In other words, just about every little area of Max's she seemed to jealously obsess over.

Victoria took another look around at the carnage wrought on her belongings, her room. She belatedly took out her phone and rang campus security. That's what anyone would have done if someone broke in, wrecked your room, and left a threat smeared on the wall, wasn't it?

---

In a darker corner of Arcadia Bay, a cacophony rang out as a precision photography tripod crashed against a reinforced metal wall, having been flung at it in a fit of pique. Eyes stared blankly through black rimmed glasses at the point of impact, and the destroyed photography implement lying directly below it on the ground.

An unsophisticated and unhelpful display, though it was enjoyable to express one's true feelings rather than constantly hide them behind a false front.

The eyes followed a line away from the point of impact back to a coffee table, and on it the root cause of the disturbance: a burner phone. It had seemed like such a satisfactory day, a couple of entirely procedural messages; nothing more than preparation for future opportunities to carry on the work, expand the red portfolios. Then, for two blissful hours in the afternoon after class, absolutely nothing. Everything must have been running according to plan, better than planned even. Then he'd found the back window of his car smashed, with Blackwell Security pulling Nathan Prescott out of it.

Did someone know?

Beating his most important 'little helper' senseless then putting him head first through his own car window seemed like a 'warning' worthy of a Francis Ford Coppola film. And it had been so artistically done. He'd had to fight off the urge to break out a camera and photograph the scene: there was an indelible beauty in the rage this mystery attacker had wrought, the casual disregard they had shown for either Nathan's wellbeing or the property of others. The way the cuboids of shattered safety glass had lightly scored his face when it was driven through the window, and then rained down on the concrete like a fine snow of slightly bloody diamonds. Still, he felt there was something wrong with the aesthetic, something more that could have been done. Perhaps there was not enough blood? Of course. He sighed, contemplating how much a possible shot could have been embellished by the addition of a crimson stream pouring down the door whose window Nathan was wedged through, dripping into a pool beneath. It was such a shame Blackwell security were swarming the place, and that Sean Prescott placed such irrational value on the life of his son. A quick nick of an artery would have made the scene so much more powerful. After all, the life of a true work of art was far longer than the natural life of a person.

Naturally he had made haste to a secluded spot to warn everyone on his special list of contacts. His phone was turned off. Instant disgust filled his mind: how sloppy, how inattentive. There may have been messages he had missed, warning of this event. A chance to stop the attack, and save himself the fallout with Sean Prescott, or perhaps sit back from a distance with a telephoto lens and capture a moment of true expression in progress. His disgust turned to white-hot rage when the phone reported the lack of a sim card. Someone was fucking with him. When had that happened? His burner phone had been tucked in his interior jacket pocket the entire day. Surely not during class. He never took the jacket off during class, it was part of the uniform, the mask. Then perhaps lunch break in the staff room? Students never went in there, so that would make it another teacher, or auxiliary staff member. That security officer Madsen was always giving him suspicious glances. Had he practiced some sleight of hand? Or was he giving the paranoid dolt too much credit? He gave everyone suspicious glances.

It would be too difficult to contact his 'little helpers' now, at least until tomorrow. He was hoping to run into one of them in the 'dark room', the name Nathan had given the photo studio he'd setup in the Prescott's bunker. Personally he hated the name: a pretentious label born from an imprecise mind. The place had nothing to do with the manual development of film, he exclusively used a high resolution digital camera and printer. One of his more trusted helpers was supposed to stop by today, to bring him a delivery of sedative. His plan was to get a report from them, use their phone to contact the rest of his helpers, and find out what damage this sim card thief had wrought. Instead, no one had arrived, and by now it would be too late. Most of his helpers would have returned to their dorm rooms, and it would raise a few eyebrows if a teacher suddenly marched in and demanded to speak with them. Especially those who didn't attend his photography seminars. No, he'd definitely have to wait until tomorrow to attempt damage control, and restore his contact network.

In spite of his helper's no-show, he had to remain in the bunker. He'd received a message on his regular phone asking about an "open lecture for charity", an emergency code to wait in the 'dark room' for further communication from his patron, Sean Prescott. Yet there had been no contact. Why? The man was due back in Arcadia Bay by now.

Eyebrows narrowed with rage, partially obscured by the rim of his glasses.

This was a punishment, a casual way of his rich patron to explain the order of things. He had failed, fucked up, and now he was being made to wait. Arrogant fool. No matter, there was work he could busy himself with. He withdrew the red folder entitled 'Kate', and was hit with an instant sense of calm. A magnificent choice, all his subjects were, but this one, none had been quite so innocent. A finger gently brushed the photograph, savouring the glazed over look on her eyes, body limp on the ground, her hands delightfully bound and helpless. True beauty in a perfect moment of corruption, they had been so lucky for the chance to use her. In an instant he ripped the photo out of the folder and tore it to shreds. Levels were off, he'd need to correct those and reprint. He made a note in his diary.

Which brought him to future business. The two competitions he'd been running concurrently. He'd whittled down the prospective candidates for each down to two. The same two. He smiled, and withdrew an envelope containing two photos. They showcased work from two very different artists.

A sentimental piece praising an exhausted father. How wonderfully traditional, meek, innocent. Quite unexpected from Victoria Chase, the normally aggressive, domineering, strumpet who embarrassed herself trying to seduce him at the end of every class.

And a declaration that one's own life was sufficiently heroic to be worthy of record. Magnificent arrogance. He wished he could have said he'd seen nothing like it, the truth was he'd seen it once, six months ago. Who'd have thought the quiet, shy Max Caulfield could reach Rachel Amber levels of self aggrandisement. Oh, but surely she'd protest, claim she was a stand-in that "everyone could relate to". In some ways that only raised the arrogance further. And it certainly didn't diminish the fact that she thought the title of hero was applicable to her.

Both were worthy entries into the everyday heroes competition. In fact he might have to pull some strings. Declare a tie and get them both invited to San Francisco. A degree of immortality was the least he could offer for such fine, budding photographers. But before that there was another matter to take care of: the other competition. The competition he really couldn't afford to hand out dual-winners for, and one that would offer a far greater degree of immortality – captured as art itself, rather than merely the artist. Both photos belied intriguing hidden natures: Max's showed an inner strength and arrogance, while Victoria's suggested a naïve innocence. He'd like to wait for their extra credit photographs to make his final decision, but felt confident enough at that moment to reach for a blank red binder. He smiled once more, picturing a pair of emerald eyes slowly glaze over, and the calmness that might bring him. He removed the cap of a spirit pen, and wrote "Victoria" on the binder's spine.

---

A cloud of despair hung over Victoria, as Madsen and his guards packed up to leave. They had made a sweep of the dorm, woken everyone up, coughed loudly when they reached the stairwell (Dana and Trevor seemed to have foolishly continued their activities there instead of moving to Dana's room), and generally proved themselves utterly useless. They were also less than sanguine about finding the culprit to Victoria's room vandalisation. Nathan was apparently in the clear, having been dragged off to hospital under police escort before the damage was done. According to Madsen, "with the number of people who tended to frequent Victoria's room, singling out the guilty party would be a challenge." Victoria couldn't help but feel there was an insinuation somewhere in there, which she didn't care for.

The offer had been made to put her up in a local hotel until the room could be sorted, but given how late at night it was, it had been suggested if she considered her room uninhabitable, Victoria might find it easier to just 'bunk with a friend'. Victoria found the suggestion pathetically lazy, but accepted it anyway. With someone out to get her, the last thing she wanted was to be alone and isolated, where she could be picked off. Of course, there'd been one person Victoria had immediately made a beeline to request the hospitality of.

"Max, do you think I could stay the night with you? I really don't want to stay in my room the night after someone's run a knife down my mattress, and slashed half my belongings."

There was a definite weariness about her, but also a certain defiance. The well hidden virtuous side of her legendary stubborn arrogance.

"Um, ok but what about Taylor? She's been a completely loyal friend to you, and you've known her much longer."

"I'd rather not involve her in this, in case they target her as well Max, and I feel safer with you since you have, well, a superpower."

A strange feeling of sadness came over Max at those answers. They were entirely logical, but Max had been hoping for something different. Perhaps that Victoria actually wanted to stay with her, or even trusted her more than any of her other options. She chided herself for her stupidity. Taylor and Victoria had been the closest of friends for years. Max had only known Victoria since she started attending Blackwell, and the only Victoria categories she dominated in were provoking angry and frustrated gazes.

"Um, no problem Tori."

Two minutes later, Victoria walked into Max's room pushing a mobile clothes rack while somehow still managing to cradle four pairs of expensive shoes in her hands. An orange satin gown clung suggestively to her, displaying around as much leg as Taylor's jean shorts. The gown seemed to be a virtual paradox, it made one incredibly curious as to what might lie beneath, while at the same time, putting enough on display to almost out right show you.

"Critical supplies I managed to salvage." Victoria explained. "I am not wearing that 'fuck the state' special any longer than absolutely necessary."

She had however, very carefully hung the anarchist shirt and flannel jacket on the end of the rack. She was taking very good care of the borrowed items. Max felt a little alarmed when the gun made its appearance. She reminded herself that Chloe had been safely carting around two of them the whole time they'd been together, though that didn't really make her feel better. She did feel slightly more relaxed when Victoria laid it on the nightstand, barrel facing away, and concealed it from view under a face towel. At least she didn't need to look at it now, or lay on it; she'd have probably freaked if Tori wanted it under her pillow.

Victoria allowed the orange gown to slip off her shoulders, and slink smoothly down her long arms, before being caught in her right hand. She casually tossed it toward Max's desk, and watched it parachute gently over her laptop computer. Something caught in Max's throat. Beneath the gown was a largely transparent chemise, clearly a little too small, but in a very good way. Occasional pieces of strategically embroidered black lace provided an almost token, yet utterly infuriating, attempt at modesty on her top half; and the only additional protection her nethers had was from an ornate g-string. It was a stark contrast with the baggy night shirt and shorts which hung off Max's waif-like frame; Victoria's outfit made Max feel like a child, though perhaps a rather lucky one.

"I don't really have much in the way of night clothes here at Blackwell." Victoria's honeyed voice explained. "I normally sleep nude, and my blouses don't make for good night clothes. Most of them have been slashed by the intruder anyway."

"Don't worry Tori, you've made me seethingly jealous." Max managed, quickly climbing into the bed and scurrying beneath the sheets. She didn't want to give either of them the opportunity to compare her figure with Victoria's.

"It's only fair. Chloe made me rather jealous this afternoon as well."

"Oh right. She was always athletic, running everywhere, always in motion. But I never realised she'd become so, um, so 'defined'." Max's voice became ever so slightly more dreamy. The slightest hint of annoyance and frustration crept into Victoria's answer.

"Yes. I suppose that made me a little jealous as well."

"What were you originally jealous of-"

"Never mind." Victoria quickly interjected, beginning to climb in alongside Max.

"I'm sorry it's only a single bed. There's not much room." Max shuffled has far as she could against her wall, trying to offer Victoria as much space as possible.

"That's fine Max. It's a lot more room than Chloe's tiny closet. I wouldn't be able to fit my shoe collection back home in that space, let alone my clothes."

Victoria joined Max beneath the sheets, relaxing into the warm spot Max had just vacated. While there was definitely more room than Chloe's closet, both Victoria and Max were still uncomfortably close to the bed's edges, and getting any closer to one another tended to result in awkward pokes from elbows. After some shuffling around, they mutually came to the conclusion that lying side on was the most comfortable compromise.

Though she had her eyes shut, Victoria couldn't find her way to peaceful slumber. The events of the day came flooding back into her mind: Nathan jabbing the pistol into Chloe's gut, and pulling the trigger. His fist suddenly appearing in her peripheral vision, an instant before being knocked out in a total betrayal of her trust. The revelation that her hero and mentor, Mark Jefferson, was a criminal. And Sean Prescott nonchalantly ordering his hatchet woman, that horrible lady whose sinister gaze she'd endured since childhood, to kill them discretely.

"Max." Victoria whispered. "Please don't surprise me like you did outside again. I know it's rather amusing, but I'm really worried about this 'Grey' woman Sean Prescott sent after us. And after you've seen your room cut up like that, and everything else that's happened today…"

Max looked closely at the larger girl's outline beneath the sheet. She was actually shaking, ever so slightly. Max had always been scathing of Victoria's past treatment of others, so to have accidentally contributed to putting her in this state, even as a joke, made her feel like a hypocrite. Blindly following her future self's guidance, she had done even worse, unwittingly enacted a scenario of fear and danger, designed to ensure Victoria's loyalty. She had to help Victoria somehow. Comfort her. She gently placed her hand on Victoria's shoulder, then softly stroked down the length of her arm; upon reaching her hand she gently squeezed it. Victoria opened her eyes, glanced at the point of contact, and inhaled sharply. Goosebumps broke out all down her arm. Just what she needed right now, Max's hand of destiny.

Then in an instant, her sardonicism turned to sincerity, as other memories flooded her mind. Max undoing tragedy with the same hand that now engulfed her own, and allowing them to save Chloe. Then putting the same power to the far more trivial, but still appreciated, task of helping Victoria with the Vortex Club situation. And Chloe being pulled back in time by Max's power to return the favour, and save Victoria from Nathan. She felt her breathing slow, though the goosebumps remained. Max may have the ultimate power in the universe, but Victoria knew that power was, literally and figuratively, in a very safe pair of hands. Her fingers intertwined with Max's, and she pulled Max's hand in close, draping the arm over her body, while holding the hand tight against it.

Victoria imagined they must look ridiculous. Her statuesque form the little spoon while the diminutive Max played the big one. For the first time since her teenage life began, she didn't care. With Max nearby, Victoria felt safe, and with the power of time literally draped over her the way Max's right arm was, that was an entirely legitimate feeling. She wriggled backward, pushing herself tightly into her Lilliputian protector's grasp. Somehow this all just felt right. Max had been her rival since the start of the academic year, and ever since then she'd worried about the waif breathing down her neck. She shut her eyes and felt Max's shallow exhale. What a silly thing to have worried about, metaphorically or otherwise.

---

Across the hall and one room down, Kate Marsh sat in a mire of impenetrable gloom. To think things had actually been looking up today. First Max had saved her in class, then she'd done something to Victoria. Kate wasn't sure what, but the bullying texts she'd been getting from her and her "flying monkey" Taylor ceased, and the "Kate's video" site seemed to have been deactivated. Then it had almost seemed like divine justice had struck – Victoria became the victim on her own video. Kate couldn't believe this justice truly holy though, as Max had been made a victim in it as well. She liked to think the all-powerful capable of avoiding friendly fire incidents and collateral damage.

But Kate's hopes were soon dashed. Courtney Wagner had quickly stepped up to fill the void Victoria had vacated as principal tormentor. And while the video had been taken down, most of the damage had already been done. Cruel messages from Kate's congregation were swarming her, both electronically, and by snail mail. She even received a few bile-infused phone calls. Many attempted to remain anonymous, but the communications that truly hurt Kate were the signed ones. Messages from people she believed to be friends from church decrying her as a slut, a whore. Her own aunt penned an elegantly written letter accusing her of being a Jezebel, and she received an email from her Mother calling it a 'mistake' to let her have any freedom at all.

And behind all of that, something else lurked, slinking from shadow to shadow in the back of her mind. She could scarcely remember the party she'd disgraced herself at, save one detail. One kind person who seemed to realise something was wrong, and offered to take her to the hospital ER. She dozed off in his, Nathan's car, but she woke up somewhere horrible. With something horrible. Something with a soft voice and surgical gloves, surrounding her with white but making her feel submerged under dark filth. Blinding her with flashes and binding her limbs. And handling her carefully, oh so carefully. But not gently. A nightmare she couldn't wake up from, couldn't remember, but at the same time was too terrible to truly forget. Until she finally did wake up, not in a hospital room as was promised, but lying half frozen on a park bench on the outskirts of town.

She wanted to keep crying, but no more tears would come. It was like she'd somehow exhausted her ration of emotion, and was left feeling nothing but emptiness and cold. She rocked backward and forwards with her knees curled up, wondering if she'd be able to get any sleep at all tonight. Somehow, she doubted it.

---

Concluding Author Notes:

There's the introduction of one outright original character in this chapter, Sean Prescott's chauffeur and hatchet-woman. I'm generally wary of inserting original characters, but it felt like if I was going to have Sean as a major force he'd need a minion and enforcer to do his bidding. Here she'll probably mostly be an extension and enactor of Sean Prescott's will. Sean Prescott himself is a bit of a blank slate, all we really know about him is he has designs on drastically reforming Arcadia Bay, wants to build on land important to native Americans, and likes to dress his son in a sailor outfit. Obviously I'm also using the (bizarrely deleted) plot point that the Prescotts, and perhaps a few other people in Arcadia Bay, seemed to have foreknowledge of an impending disaster.

To be honest, in the canon game it sort of surprised me that Jefferson turned out to be able to manipulate the Prescott family so completely, and wasn't in any way worried that someone with as much power and influence as Sean Prescott wouldn't retaliate for casually off-ing his son. Or just decide Jefferson was a loose end, even if he didn't suspect him as the culprit in Nathan's death.

I know (if I was evil and super rich), and knew that the guy my (recently deceased) son had insisted I give a bunch of resources to, had repurposed my secret underground bunker to drug school girls and photograph them, I'd probably want to take measures to ensure that didn't become public knowledge. Maybe call up a hit man and ask if they had a discount rate for dealing with hipsters.

Actually if I was evil, super rich, had a secret underground bunker, I'd probably just push a button on my chair, watch Jefferson fall into a shark tank, then go back to stroking my Persian cat.