Chapter 22: The Mission

John knew exactly what he was going to do with his day off, and that was nothing at all. In the time since the morning meeting had elapsed, the rain had stopped quite suddenly and the grey clouds cleared away. What the students were left with was a sunny and temperate day, if a little bit damp on the grass.

John could go without getting wet, so he decided to park himself under a tree for his morning meditations. That put him way out south of the grounds, beyond the sports field at the point that the clearing turned to a hardly penetrable thicket. Standing out from among the bushes was one tree with a wide canopy. It gave good shade and had dry ground underneath it. Luckily for John, this was where he usually did his meditations anyway.

The lion boy breathed in through his flat, wet nose and out through his toothy mouth. He had his bulky legs crossed, and his barrel chest rose and fall with the regularity of his inhalation and exhalation.

"You are calm…" He whispered. Breath in, breath out. "You are peaceful…" Breath in, breath out. "You are in control…" Breath in, breath out. "You are not a monster-"

"What's up, big guy!" Mallory squealed. John jumped up so high that he got stuck in the canopy of the tree. "Oh… did I scare ya?"

"N-Nah…" John said, clinging to a branch. When his weight proved too much, the lion came crashing back down to the earth, plus one impressively big stick. He rubbed his butt sorely. "Just uh… don't sneak up on me like that. I gotta remain calm and focused during my meditation or risk… nevermind. Did you wanna talk about something else?"

"I just wanted to check up on my buddy," Mallory beamed. John perked up at being called someones buddy. "I thought you might be bummed out since Daniel kinda… you know… broke up with you this morning."

"Im… Uh… Pretty ok with it actually. I was never too into him that way in the first place, you know? It was more like… an arrangement based on proximity. I'm glad he's with someone who works better for him now. And you know what? Theres plenty more fish in the sea anyway."

"Yeah! There's potential rivalries everywhere you look! Like, uh… that kid!" Mallory pointed at the tropical orange koala doing laps around the track and stopped when he looked back at her.

"Eh, he's not my type," John responded. Mallory shrugged. "So… Uhm… how about you?"

"M-me?" Stammered Mallory. She curled up into a ball, placing her mouth area behind her knees. "Im n-not looking at a-anyone… n-no…"

She seemed very flustered all of a sudden. John wondered what that was about.

"Have you ever had a rival before?" John inquired politely.

"What! No way! I mean who would… No, I suppose I haven't… heh…" Mallory stuttered and huffed. "I guess I'm just not the type who gets… rivals… because of… stuff…" She buried her face deeper behind her own legs and wrapped her arms around them tight. To tell you the truth, it was becoming hard to parse what she was saying, but John would manage. This was a test of his civil conversationalism.

"Huh. I mean, I guess it's as you said, isnt it. Theres plenty of fish in the sea, right?"

"Sure, but…" Mallory was looking away with hooded, sullen eyes.

"What about, like, Anne?"

"Swords girl? Ugh, no way. I hate that bitch."

John blinked a couple of times, not quite getting it. Wasn't that kinda the point? I mean he didn't hate Daniel at all, but at the same time, that's kinda why it didn't work between them. He was rather confused. Having no idea what Mallory was really looking for in a rival anymore, he just started listing off names.

"Uh, Lorelai?"

"I don't like her like that…"

"Ok… Tanith?"

"Not to be rude but… who?"

"Alright, Porter?"

"Which one was he again? Ah, nevermind. Either way, it would be kinda awkward having the brother right there…"

"I can see that… Okay, totally random spitball here but… Simon?"

Mallory went as pink as salmon. She made a full-body shudder, and her eyes widened. She looked right at John, who didn't consider the question much of a big deal and was regarding the flight of a nearby butterfly.

"T-That's s-s-stupid! Don't be stupid, John!" She flew to her feet and began to wave her fist theatrically, not even worrying about her tomato coloured face being shown off. John was oblivious. He made a sad, broken, kinda pitiable face like a scolded pet. Oh no, he'd gotten her mad! Had he said something wrong? He shouldn't have been so stupid…

"S-Sorry…" He stuttered out. Mallory was ignoring him. She was in her own little world now, tromping and pacing around the tree. She might as well have been performing a soliloquy for all the effect John was having on the conversation.

"I mean, first of all, he's way too nice… way too nice! He's all… chivalrous and stuff. He's understanding and… he goes along with my plays and things even if they're dumb and bad cuz' he likes to perform so much… And I like watching him perform because… well because he's pretty! He's so pretty… but-"

The words were going in one ear and out the other. John was too busy combing over what he had said to listen to Mallory go on and on about Simon. Like, for an alarming amount of time. Maybe a few minutes, even. One side effect of meditation is that you become way better at ignoring things, even if you don't mean to.

"-And that's why it's stupid to even think about! Well, there was that one time he called me cute…" Mallory practically swooned. "But that was a one-off! He was just being polite, obviously! Just a polite, platonic compliment! I mean heck, just because someone is polite to you doesn't mean they wanna be your… your… I gotta go… Uhm… Scream into my pillow. Bye!"

And with that, she was off. John hardly noticed, only giving her a purely instinctual friendly wave goodbye. He was still thinking about what he had said to set her off. After a lot of mane stroking, he cracked it. Mallory and Simon are, like, pals! Theres no way they would be rivals! They like each other too much. That was definitely it.

John once again laid back against the tree. Yup, master conversationalist. He had completely, totally understood what that conversation was really about. Zero doubt in his mind. The assurance made it rather easy for him to doze off, and basically right away he fell into a good old mid-morning catnap.

-REGENCY ACADEMY DORMS, BOY'S WARD-

Jonathen finally had some time to himself. Over the course of this last week, it had been hard for him to get any alone time at all. Even on his Wednesday 'day off' he could not seem to worm his way out of the pack that was the student body or away from the prying eyes of teachers. The night before the royale started was the last time he truly had to himself, that and right now.

It was exactly how he liked it. Just him, his room, and his drum kit.

-REGENCY ACADEMY DORMS, GIRL'S WARD-

Ginger started hearing a noise through her wall. Previously, she had been lying in bed and doing nothing at all. Merely wondering what to do with herself. Now she had a scant idea, and it involved investigating this sound. It wasn't unusual for Ginger to hear things in her dorm. On Tuesday night, she had been able to make out a lot of crashing and banging, though she still doesn't know where exactly from. It seemed that every night since she came she hears the hissing of a soldering iron or some kind of similar tool come intermittently from far away.

This was different. It was rhythmic and interesting. Also, it was directly opposite her dorm on the boy's side. In the dorm right on the other side of hers, somebody was playing an instrument. How exciting!

On a whim, she stormed out of her room and began an odyssey to the boy's ward. Girl's weren't technically allowed over there, but that was enforced less strictly that the reverse rule, which also wouldn't be policed so diligently on this particular day.

As the girl rounded the corner, Biz was just coming up the stairs. On this day, he was feeling fresh. His clothes were laundered, though still casual. His short, scruffy black hair was cleaned to a shine. He had deodorised, and brushed his teeth! This was all for a good reason. He figured, perhaps incorrectly, that today was the day to tell someone something a little bit important. That person had just skipped out of view when he came up the stairs.

"Oi, Ginger… wait up a sec-" It was too late. She was already out of earshot of his meek and wavering voice. The boy adjusted the collar of his hoodie. He was perspiring too much. Down the hall, the door to Ginger's dorm had been left slightly ajar. Biz raised an eyebrow. Now there was something…

-XXXXX-

Jonathen was getting really into it. Like, way too into it. He was making a bit too much noise but was so in the zone that his consideration was elsewhere. He was never much of a people pleaser anyway. His rhythm was suddenly and abruptly disrupted just as he was getting to the good part of whatever it was specifically he was doing on the drums. He didn't know himself, but he knew he was building to something and now it was all for crap.

Immensely frustrated, he threw the door open.

"Jonathen?! You play the drums?!" Asked Ginger, positively giddy with the prospect. His set was clearly visible behind him. Chrome and icy in colour. Very slick. He was holding the sticks too, both in one hand. He scratched his head.

"Yeah… I guess," He answered. His frustration had left him just as abruptly as it had come to him. Ginger had these… big, green, disarming eyes and this peaceful aura that made him not quite sure how to react to her. Still, he had a strictly logical and non-emotional understanding of the importance of his isolation. Making pals was a silly game for the less fortunate. It wasn't his bag. That simple.

"That's so cool!" Ginger said, forcing her way into the room. It was not so much that she broke in, but that when she even made a casual probe to fit her fit, bulky frame through the door then Jonathen instinctually made way. A natural response to the Darwinian desire not to get flattened, maybe?

"Are you in a band?" She asked, beaming.

"Nope."

"Were you-"

"Nope."

Ginger seemed disappointed at first. Then, she got a coy look on her face. It was offputting. Jonathen didn't like it. Made him nervous. He crossed his arms and hooded his eyes at her.

"Jonathen~"

"What is it," Jonathen sighed.

"Do you… wanna… maybe…"

"Well?"

"...Make a band? How about it? It'll be fun!" Ginger hopped up and clapped in time with her grandiose announcement. The force of her coming down rattled the shelves and almost knocked some stuff off. Jonathen wobbled.

"Ginger do you… even play an instrument?" Jonathen inquired cautiously.

"Huh? Course' I do silly! Come on, I'll show you!"

Ginger grabbed Jonathen by the wrist and marched him out of his room, making for the girl's ward. How whimsical of her, Jonathen thought. She was friendly and bubbly, and they seemed to have at least one interest in common. They worked well together that one time. But, it could not be. Jonathen did not make friends. Ever. No matter how much he might have wanted to. And by all means, he did. Ginger seemed perfectly nice, better even. But he had to put a stop to this right now.

"Ginger… wait…" Jonathen said, sounding down. Ginger immediately stopped marching and gripped him more tenderly, though she didn't let go of his wrist. She turned around, a concerned look plastered on her face. "If you're… trying to be friends with me? Or something? I should tell you that that's not something that I do."

"What do you mean?" Ginger sounded additionally confused on top of concerned. It appears that Jonathen would need a more thorough organisation.

"I've never had friends before. I do not plan on ever making friends, so I won't be having any in future. You're nice enough, so I can still be your classmate, but not your friend."

Ginger tilted her head and looked at him like he'd just been speaking in an alien language.

"Pff, don't you remember the royale? After that, we're like friends by default!" She cried, putting her hand on her hip confidently.

"Ginger… I should tell you this too…"

"Huh?"

"What happened in the royale was a… one-off. That was the first time I'd done anything like that or the first time someone ever sought my advice. I didn't let one because I didn't want to demoralise the team or affect their faith in the group leader. That doesn't change the fact, though, that my quirk was not meant to be used alongside someone. It's called 'parasite'. Usually, I use it to take control of people... by force. Its primary application is predominating over another person and using their quirk and body for my own purposes. I let you maintain control because our purposes were the same."

Ginger gasped. Jonathen brushed it off.

"Yeah, well, that's the truth of it."

"Don't be an idiot! I can still be friends with you, no matter what your quirk does! All that matters in a person is how they use it-"

"Ok, well, that's all fine and good, but it's besides the point."

"Then… why not…"

"Ginger, my parents are famous heroes. Like, real big-time…. Top twenty…"

"Top twenty in the UK?!" Ginger gasped again.

"Top twenty in the world, Ginger. And I've seen it. All of it, basically. The good parts, at least. I was born in Canada, but I've been to America, Japan, Russia…"

"This sounds like your just humble bragging," Ginger snorted. Jonathen put his finger up.

"The point is, I never stayed in one place for more than a couple months, maybe. I'm always moving. Always. I tried making friends, but it just fucked me up emotionally over and over again to go away. This place is nice but… I got no guarantee that it'll be any different. Friends? They aren't a thing that I get. I... prefer being alone anyway..." Jonathen wrenched his hand away and averted his eyes. He did not want to have to look at Ginger. This was merely a professional exchange of realities between peers, there was no reason for emotions in either party. He didn't want to feel guilty, and he didn't want Ginger to get too attached.

Suddenly, he was grabbed. As in, a powerful force gripping him on both of his arms. Ginger had him right by both of the biceps. She plucked him off the ground, changed his angle slightly, and plopped him right back in front of her.

"Ginger, don't make this difficult, will you?"

"Jonathen, that was the saddest thing I've ever heard."

"Well, I don't want your pity, so-"

"Now I HAVE to be your friend," The girl smiled. Jonathen felt actual warmth radiating from that grin, though that could have been body heat. They were rather close at the present time.

"Ginger-"

Ginger shushed him forcefully by putting a finger over his mouth.

"Shush. Nope. No turning this train around, buster. This is happening. I'm making you my friend or I'm gonna die trying. Now, let's go get those instruments~"

Ginger was happy. Impossibly happy. Impenetrably optimistic. She had Jonathen in a companionship beartrap from which there was no escape short of metaphorically chewing his own leg off, and he had no idea what to do about it. Defy social convention, or risk forming a relationship? It was a tough decision. Very tough indeed. So tough, in fact, that Jonathen put it to the back of his mind. Just for now. He could think about it later, he supposed. There was always later. A smile forced its way onto his face. Just the habit of primates to copy each other. No real reason for it. It didn't mean anything. He started walking with Ginger just because he happened to be going in the same direction. He had a professional interest in these instruments that she had told him about.

When they arrived, Ginger made quick headway through her door while Jonathen hung back, only having half his body peeking past the frame. He got a taste of her eccentric interior design sense, best summed up simply by the word 'pink'. He got a good look at the kid reclining on her bed, too. Wait, who was that?

"Ginger! You look ravishing this morning. say, you come here often?" Said Biz, who was in a very french pose.

"Aw, thank you! Wait, Biz? What the heck are you doing in here?!" Ginger squealed.

"Don't worry so much, I've not been lookin' through your underwear draw nor' nothin' creepy."

"Biz! Ew!" Ginger continued.

"Yes, 'Ew', exactly why I'm not doin' it," He smiled. He hopped up off of her soft, elastic bed and met her at as close to eye level as he could reach, being slightly shorter than she was. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something… important. Well, it's a little important. To me anyways. Whatever, I'll get right to it-"

"Oh, the scaredy kid from the royale!" Jonathen alarmed. Yup, that was Biz alright. It took him a second to recognize him since he has a face that tends to blend in with the crowd and go forgotten about.

"Oh, its this guy… Uhm…"

"Jonathen! We're friends!" Ginger declared with gusto. Jonathen slunk back a bit, embarrassed. He felt like he was intruding on something, actually.

"Maybe I should go… it sounds like you two are-"

"Nah, you're fine. What was it you wanted to tell me, Biz?" Ginger said.

"Actually, maybe it is best if he-" Biz began.

"Oh pshhh, he's a friend, right? He can stay just there! Come on, what was it you wanted to let me know? I'm all ears!"

Biz closed the distance between himself and Ginger slightly shakily. He didn't like doing it with Jonathen right there, but there was no better moment about to reveal itself any time in the future. He was just gonna go for it. He was skirting the line of personal space. Ginger's body language was open and friendly. Her mouth was open in a curious 'O' shape. She had her listening face on.

"Ginger, we're good friends, right?" Biz asked. He put both his hands on her, just sort of buddily brushed his palms against her forearms.

"Of course!" Ginger smiled. Biz came a quarter step closer. Ginger stayed where she was, but gave Biz a slightly strange look. Without saying anything, Biz started to drift his hands down her arms. Slowly and shyly. Eventually, their hands were touching. Tentatively, he grabbed them and tugged them lightly. He pulled her arms forward until they were between both of them exactly, and the difference in length and height forced Ginger to lean down a little bit.

"Yeah… I mean that's nice and all," Biz began. He was speaking in a sentimental, breathless voice. "But haven't you ever felt like we're… more than that, or something? Like, theres something else there?"

Ginger paused. Jonathen bit his bottom lip, wanting to be anywhere else than within earshot of this. Eventually, the red-haired girl came to an epiphany. She removed her hands from Byzantines. She put her hands on his shoulders. She spoke.

"Nope!" Ginger said. Simple. To the point. Heartbreaking. She, on the other hand, either hadn't caught on to what Biz had wanted to happen there or was intentionally trying to not let on that she had to make it less awkward for him.

"Oh… nothing?" Biz said, his voice warbling. Ginger looked incredulous. She looked up like she was thinking about something, and then just shook her head. Biz shuddered like he'd been stabbed.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Biz! You're like, my best friend! What else is there to get?"

"I… But… Aw, fuck…" he stuttered, rubbing his face and staggering backwards.

"Biz, I'm sorry if I made you feel bad but… those are my feelings! I'm just being honest with you! It would be worse to lead you on or something, right?"

"Right, right. You're absolutely right," Biz babbled. "And don't apologize. In fact, I should apologize. Sorry. I… I should go…"

Biz deflated like he'd mastered the art of using his quirk on himself, then he slinked out of the room with the speed of someone who was about to cry but did not want to be seen crying one bit.

"Have fun with Jonathen… S-See ya round'..." He stammered, shoving Jonathen on his way passed (though probably not on purpose). A long, awkward silence followed his absence. Jonathen didn't quite know what to say. Ginger was just taking a long time to think. She seemed to not enjoy that conversation for more reasons that one.

Jonathen poked his head into the girl's aggressively pink dorm room.

"So… how about them… instruments?" He asked.

"Y'know what Jonathen? I just can't say I'm in much of a bagpipes mood anymore!"

"...B-Bagpipes...?"

"Yeah, I just don't have the spirit for it after that…" Ginger plucked her bagpipes out from down beside her bed and gave them a firm squeeze. They released one long and sad bagpipe note that stung Jonathen's ears. Then, she put them away, having the same look on her face as someone seeing off their sailor husband on his last voyage. "Wanna go downstairs and play videogames instead?"

"...sure."

-REGENCY ACADEMY COURTYARD-

Byzantine Ceaser planted his weary arse on the first bench he saw. It just so happened to be the one in front of the Winston Churchill statue. A big beaten bronze idol that stood right by the similarly built one eighth scale model Hendrickson Bastardsword statue. That one also had a bench, but Biz picked this one because it was closer.

This was much to the chagrin of Anne, who had picked the same bench for the same reason.

"What is it, pissboy?" Anne snarled sharply. Biz put his hand in front of him defensively.

"What, so a fella can't sit on whatever bench he likes anymore? Ol' Chruchie must be spinnin' in his grave," Biz looked up at the Churchill statue with fake, mocking reverence. Anne flared her nostrils in an ambiguous but still hostile looking gesture.

"If you're gonna sit here, be fucking quiet," She growled, budging up to as far away as Biz as possible on the seat.

"Yeah, well, same," He snorted, doing the same. What he did not do was stay quiet. He constantly made some kind of noise. Whether it was groaning extremely loudly while staring up at the sky, slapping his own head or calling himself an idiot under his breath, the kid would not shut up. Anne had to at least know what it was about before threatening to shank him if he didn't stop.

"Why won't you be fucking quiet?" She asked. "I was very specific on the 'fucking quiet' part, wasn't I? Are you deaf? Do you even know you're making pathetic whining noises? Can you even understand me?"

"Ugh… Don't get me started…" Biz furrowed his brow and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Fine, I won't-"

"Just… fuck… A little advice from your pal Biz though…"

"You aren't my pal-"

"Don't assume a bird is into ya' just cuz' she's nice, yeah?" Biz said. "In fact, assume the fucking opposite. If she calls you a mate, she might as well be fucking arid. It's a total no go."

Anne suddenly started howling with laughter. Biz wondered if he had finally told a joke funny enough to get a rise out f her, but then he realised she was just laughing at him.

"Ha! Ha fucking ha! Did you get rejected already? In week one? Ha!" She hollered.

"Don't rub it in! And keep your effing voice down, I don't want this spreadin' around so quick…"

"Forget it! I'm telling everyone who talks to me from now on. Let me guess, the muscle chick? I can't believe you actually thought she fucking liked you! Oh my god!"

Biz just held his head in his hands.

"Fuckin' hell, you're right… Christ…" He wailed. His hands just starting to shake, he reached into his pockets and pulled out something he deflated earlier. Anne thought it looked weird. Not like a weapon. what would he be needing right now?

"Hey, wanna see a fucking magic trick?" He said.

"Sure," Snickered Anne. Biz breathed mystically into his cupped hands, and out came a still sealed pack of cigarettes. Anne's eyes widened. "You snuck cigarettes in here?"

"I can sneak anything anywhere I want, doll."

"Don't fucking call me that."

"Alright, look… The point is I could be sitting on the queen's lap during the Christmas message with a ballistic missile in my pocket and nobody'd be none the wise about it."

"Sure you can…" Anne said, not able to take her eyes off of the pack. While he was talking, he had already opened the pack and lit one up with a convenient match. He held it close to his face, getting a good look at the burning end and the patterns of the smoke as it rose into the clear blue sky. He took a long, sudden drag and let all the smoke rise out of his own mouth in a deep, relaxed exhalation. He sunk down a couple of inches on the bench, entering an extreme slouch.

"Hello old friend," He moaned, instantly feeling better. Nothing would have time to kick in yet. It was more a placebo that he associated cigarettes to this relaxed, no worries feeling. Anne was still staring. "It was her what made me quit, you know. The 'muscle chick' as you called her. Buuut… I'm in a pretty 'completely over Ginger Claymore' mood right about now, I smoke I shall…"

"Gimme one," Anne said jealously. Biz sat back up. A shit-eating grin crept across his cocky face.

"Ah, not so cold anymore, eh doll?" He grinned.

"Fuck off. Just… one? Please?" Anne asked, just one iota of pleading entering her voice. She budged a little closer to him and opened up her body language. Her scowl softened, she uncrossed her legs, and she put one hand behind her head. Biz visibly enjoyed this change.

"Alright, take it," He allowed.

"Fuck yes," Anne snarled, snatching one out of the pack with her teeth. She lit it herself, by striking two impromptu iron claws together and causing a spark. Impressive, or at least Biz thought so.

What happened next was less impressive. Practically as soon as it hit her lips, she fell into a hacking coughing fit. Angrily, she brought the cigarette back and she just started coughing again.

"Do you even know how to smoke?" Biz asked condescendingly.

"Fuck of, of course I-" Anne interrupted herself by coughing again.

"You're sucking it in, you gotta-"

"Suck this." Anne gave him the finger. Biz put his hand on her back and gently patted out the last of her coughing fit.

"There ya' go. Hold it there a little bit... open your mouth… Now inhale it in gently just like you're breathing…"

"T-thanks…" Anne said, getting the hang of it. She still seemed miffed at having embarrassed herself. Biz kept his hand on her back. In fact, he started to budge a little closer himself. Anne noticed what he was doing right away.

"Seriously dude?"

"What?" Biz replied innocently.

"You're doing this now? Not ten minutes since you got rejected before?"

Biz raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

"I mean, why not?"

"I'll give you one thing," Anne admitted.

"And that is~?" Biz got in a little closer. His face this time, rather than shifting his butt.

"You're ballsy."

SMACK.

-REGENCY ACADEMY DORMS, COMMON AREA-

"Ginger, you really suck at this game," Jonathen said, in a completely neutral tone.

"Shush! I don't play games like this usually!" Ginger squealed, holding the controller like an ancient Egyptian artefact of magical significance.

"What kind of games do you usually play then?" He asked.

"Umh… horse games, dating sims, puzzle games, games that have an easy mode…"

"Yeesh," Huffed Rory, who was also there. Jonathen nodded along, and they all played. Jonathen hammered his controller with desperation, struggling against the titanic videogame force that was Rory Ellis. The boy's fingers moved like the wind, becoming fluid and unseeable with their speed and technique. It was like a Shaolin discipline. His character danced and slid across the screen like magic. He did things that Jonathen thought werent even possible. He bent the physics engine over and gave it a spanking. After basically teleporting behind him several times, Rory slew Jonathen, and all without his brow budging. His lip was stiff. He hadn't broken a sweat.

All that left was Ginger, who was having a little bit more trouble.

"How do I… punch… again?" She said, embarrassed. The girl was manipulating the joystick with her index finger. Rory looked over at her pitiably.

"Its X," Jonathen said, having completely disengaged. Ginger slammed her open palm against the array of buttons, and by some miracle, a stray projectile actually landed. Rory was a little stunned himself at the approximately two per cent damage he had taken. He even chuckled a bit when Ginger made an amazed face.

"Ok, I surrender." He said. "I've got more important things to do than play videogames today anyway."

"So what's that make the record? Jonathen one… Ginger one… Rory sixty-four?" Jonathen said.

"I won one! I won!" Ginger threw her arms up, bumping Jonathen in her excitement. Yup, if he was a more optimistic person, he might say that he was enjoying himself. He still knew in the back of his mind that this necessarily could not last forever. But, it was as he had thought earlier. Those were thoughts for later. At least for now, he would let himself enjoy things.

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

-UNDISCLOSED BLOCK OF FLATS, THAT MORNING-

Dylan awoke to a weight on his chest. His sleep had not been restful or comfortable in the slightest, but he had been out for some time. Entering a berzerk predator state and killing a man three times your size takes a lot out of you, he had learned. His back was in knots and his legs felt numb and staticky from the weird angles he had pinned them in. The woollen blanket that he slept under was bunched up on his chest and hardly covered him at all or contributed to his warmth.

At this time of day, the flat was dim and cold. The heating was turned off, and the only light came from the dinky little window on the south wall. His groggy eyes struggled to adjust to even this low amount of natural light that seeped through the crumbly walls.

Someone was… sitting on him. That was the distinct weight that he felt. He could only parse an outline of a person, but based on body type alone there was only one person it could be.

"Good morning~" Yawned Jessica, settling her butt into the nook between Dylan's body and the back of the couch.

"You're sitting on me," Dylan stated dryly.

"You're in my spot," Jessica replied even more dryly.

"Your what?"

"When I have a nightmare and get up in the middle of the night I always come to sleep here. It's my spot," She explained. With a twig-like finger, she probed daintily into the depths of a slender can of crisps and pulled out maybe five stacked on top of each other. They were the saddle-shaped kind. The branding was illegible, as in it had been scratched and peeled off the can, leaving it bare. She deposited the crisps into her mouth, making a hum of anticipation as she did so. When she crunched down, she made a small burst of crumbs scatter onto Dylan's face and neck. Not reacting at all, Dylan asked a question.

"Wait, were you fucking sleeping on me?"

"Maybe I was… Maybe I wasn't…" She mewed. Then, without warning, the girl leant very close to Dylan's face. So close that Dylan could see the pores of her skin. So close he could make out the veins in the corner of her eyeballs and the very subtle beginnings of laugh lines around her dimples and the corners of her strangely wide mouth. Dylan shielded his eyes and growled like a territorial kitten. "Although, if I was, it would be very uncomfortable, since you're so bony~"

She started to cackle like a cartoon witch, clacking the plastic heels of her… crocs? She was wearing crocs. She clacked the hard plastic heels of her crocs together and hopped off Dylan's chest with an acrobatic flourish.

"If you want breakfast, you can finish that can. It's all we got in the house though, so make it last!"

She danced her way to the end of the hall. Dylan watched her, hypnotised by her sashaying. When she arrived at the end of the hall, she knocked three times on the door of Bo's closet. Dylan sat upright like the headmaster had just entered the classroom. Bo's monstrous form peeled itself out of the tiny compartment and greeted the girl with a cheery look on its face. Dylan observed them how you might observe a family of bears that would kill you for entering their territory.

Bo was quite motherly, actually. He was scary on the outside, but he handled the skinny girl with grace, softness, and majesty. Dylan recalled how he had pet him like a cat the prior night.

Their exchange consisted of a series of gestural grunts. It was like a language that they made up just between themselves. Dylan got the feeling he was watching something personal and turned his attention away. Soon, Bo tromped out of the closet and followed Jessica into her bedroom. He made scant few footsteps, his long legs covering large distances without any bother. His sparse footfall was more than enough to make the floor creak and shake, however.

When the gentle giant closed the door behind him, Dylan was left alone in the living room. He looked into the can that Jessica had left behind. Collected in the bottom was the collective powder, crumbs and fragments of about two crisps. Dylan groaned but ate them anyway. Rather than bother with shoving his meaty claws into the cylindrical receptacle, he just tipped it all into his open mouth.

They were… tacky. Chewy, slightly damp. Totally stale, and very salty. It was like eating badly seasoned drywall. It barely even filled his stomach up, but he didn't care much. Dylan was used to going long periods without eating.

Dylan felt a hand shove him from behind.

"Mornin' kid," Came the androgynous voice of Redd. They had a plastic bag in their off-hand, and they went to the kitchen counter to unload the contents. A plain yellow box of god knows what, labelled with a sharpie in Cyrillic. A plastic bag of cereal like you usually find packed inside a box. Generic medicine. An unmarked bottle of milk, which went straight into a freshly stocked icebox. A couple more items that Dylan didn't pay attention to. The display piqued his curiosity.

"Why do we peel the labels off all this crap?" Dylan wondered, looking at the slivery cardboard can.

"Principle. You'll find that most anything I do comes down to principle, so if you ever have another question like that you can just pretend I said principle and you will probably be right more than half of the time," Redd said.

"What kinda principle is that, though?" Dylan pressed. Out of boredom, he tried to balance the can on his forehead but just ended up making it fall over and spill the meagre food material that was left inside it on his face again. Redd sighed heavily and set their armoured hands on the counter.

"Very well. I'll spell it out for you. In my home, there will remain one degree of separation at least between ourselves and the machinations of capital. This place is a safe haven from the ghouls who subsist off of profit parasitically extracted from the worker," Redd ranted. They began to gesticulate violently, whipping themselves into a brief passion. "In this home, we will hold no branding, no advertisements, no… no…"

"Is that why theres no fucking tv in here? What the hell am I supposed to do all day?" Dylan said. Redd perked up angrily, almost seeming frustrated that they'd been interrupted. That moment passed quickly though, as Redd realised they had run out of steam anyway.

"Well, you can start by taking a god damn shower. Seriously, you almost smell as bad as Bo and he has to live in the closet."

Fine. Whatever. God, this place sucked.

The bathroom was a grotty little chamber. It had real tile floors, but that was hardly a point in its favour. Between each porcelain tile, there was a mire of filthy black gunk. Dylan only stepped around ontop of towels that had been layed around, at one point using the overflow from the laundry basket as a stepping stone to finally reach the bath/shower. That was somewhat cleanly, at least. There were dark rings around where the water level might be where the tub filled, but that was a typical feature of baths ever since people stopped keeping dangerous alkali cleaning substances like lye in their house as commonly.

He turned the showerhead on. Nobody had time to fill a whole fucking bathtub. What, was he just gonna sit in an empty tub nude for twenty minutes? As fucking if. The water was ice cold. He yelped like a little girl and flailed around with the knobs. Oh yeah, no heat.

What a bunch of outrageous bullshit. You got treated better than this in a prisoner of war camp. This communist principle crap was really starting to tick Dylan off. Dylan couldn't imagine fucking yourself over this hard over something as silly as 'principle'. Living in a shitty, outdated, run-down, hovel with no entertainment except scraping the labels off of the food you buy and occasionally murdering a pro hero. To him, 'principle' was just something that the idiots in government fought petty squabbles over.

He admitted to not knowing what communism was, really. He never read about it, he barely heard about it. Redd's speech just a little while ago was the most sustained bout of communist theory that he had heard in his entire life. Once in secondary school he was given a picture of a guy named 'Stalin' and told that was communism. Then he got handed a picture of two guys called 'FDR' and 'Churchill' and got asked to pick. It wasn't much of an impartial presentation. It wasn't much of a choice on his part. Having something to believe in must be nice for them, he supposed. He didn't believe in anything that much.

Maybe that was why he was a shitty villain. He had to be doing this for a reason, right? The more he thought about it, the more he thought that principle was the only thing that could keep a person on a path like his. He had rage, sure. He was basically nothing but anger. He was angry at everything, though. He would love to blow up the houses of parliament Guy Fawkes style and watch the stiffs inside burn to death, but he was also a petulant little shit even to the hand that had been feeding him. The anger he felt to his closest allies, the ones who he was basically supposed to be prepared to die for, was basically the same substance wise as the anger he felt to his bitterest enemy. He had no principle.

Damn. Dylan had been having so many shower thoughts that his body got used to the water temperature without him even noticing. He stood right under the nozzle, picked up a thin bar of soap and got to work.

He hadn't had a shower in weeks. He had forgotten the feeling of becoming clean and was far more accustomed to the sensation of being a sweaty slob. The water felt incredible on his face in spite of the cold. It was like heavy rain. Dylan always liked it when it rained.

The torrent of water clawed its way between Dylan's matted locks of silver hair. Burgs of sweat and grease were washed away, forming a chunky film on the surface of the water. Eventually, it seeped its way down the drain, and Dylan ran his fingers through it. He'd already soaped the three important parts that you gotta wash on your body, so the water could do the rest.

He stood there for a while. His eyes were closed. He was zoning out. Time basically lost meaning. He could have been in there for hours as far as he was concerned, or just a minute or two.

"Dylan!" Redd shouted parentally. The boy snapped out of it right away. "Get outta there and meet me around the back of the building! We've got things to discuss. Plus, you're using too much water. Take a bath next time, will you? That way, we can recycle it…"

"I… Uh… Got nothin' to wear…" Dylan had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of the shower on full blast. "My clothes got kinda fucking wrecked…"

Redd made a calculated silence.

"That's fine. Izzy's about your size, right?"

"Izzy? The fucking disco guy? Mr 'Shaggin' wagon'?" Dylan barked. It was too late. The motion was put into action. As he left the shower, he held his head in his hands. All he could do was hope for the best.

-EARLIER, JESSICA'S ROOM-

It was the cosiest place in the flat. The flat's only bedroom which was granted to the most junior member of the group. By age and previously by experience. It was cramped but homely. The girl's bed filled the entire length of the room and partitioned the floor space into two narrow slices on either side.

In one hop, Jessica closed the distance of that narrow slice and dramatically swept her bed clear. A large, stuffed Cheshire cat and an impressive geode of amethyst were both consigned to the floor in the process.

"The usual please, my good sir," Jessica said in an embarrassingly posh fake accent. Bot sat over the bed, which made ungodly and tortured sounds when subjected to his full weight. Then he sat Jessica on his lap. He reached onto the nightstand to grab his tools and...

Bo started doing her makeup. He was the only one who could, or could do it right at least. He had steady hands when he wanted to, and clowning experience. This was one of the many talents of the multidisciplined man called Bo.

"Bo…" Jessica made a satisfied noise when the man began to gently apply a putty primer with his ring finger. "Tell me about your family..."

Bo tutted. He had told this one before. Plenty of times, actually. He would just do the abridged version since Jessica surely already remembered all the best parts.

"I come from… A very big family… We used to run a circus… of our very own… A travelling circus… We would go all over the country… never staying in one place long… and do shows every night of the week…"

"What were you, Bo!"

"I was the clown… of course… But I also did knife throwing… Trapeze… Chinese pole… Contortionism… Juggling… I was an antipodist… I did German wheel acts… the Rolla Bolla… Rope walking… Teeterboards… Trampoline… Unicycles… Oh, I was on the Russian bar…"

Jessica enthusiastically nodded as Bo added each entry to the incredibly long list of circus acts. Once he was done using his fingers to count, he picked up a four bristled pen and started doing Jessica's eyebrows. He had to hold her down a little because she was bouncing excitedly and it made it harder for him to be precise.

"And what about your family?"

"Oh yeah… right… My big ol' family…" Bo got his story back on course. "I had dozens of brothers and sisters… lots of uncles and aunties… and so many little nieces and nephews that I lost count. I haven't even met them all… But I'm sure that they're all growing up to be fine young boys and girls and what have yous… I never… had any kids myself though… Although I had plenty of lady friends… and a gentleman or two…"

This was the part of the story that Jessica never liked. She made an incredibly medium noise when he got to it. Bo was doing her eyelashes when she slumped into his chest and pouted a bit. He trailed off into saying nothing, seeing that the girl had lost interest.

"...But… I had plenty of people who werent even related to me too… Sometimes… those can be your family too…" Bo continued, trying to cheer her up.

"Yeah… whatever…" Jessica huffed. They said nothing all the way through Bo applying a bit of foundation to the blush. Then Jessica started back up. "When I grow up… I wanna have a big family just like you. I want kids though!"

"Sure... whatever you want Jess…" Bo hummed. Jessica started chortling and kicking her legs. In her mind, she imagined a perfect world. She lived in a big, square-looking house that was painted way too many colours. There was a white picket fence surrounding it as a matter of essentialism. Inside, she had a handsome husband who did whatever she said, and maybe an extra husband just in case that one made her mad. Spare wives aswell, and at least fourteen kids if not more. And for every kid, there were two dogs, and for every dog, there were two cats. And the best part, there were no heroes to break them all up, or take anyone away! It was completely perfect in every way.

"Ok… I'm done…" Said Bo. Jessica looked in the mirror. It was a natural look, but you could tell she'd been done up a little bit. That was alright, she just liked looking pretty. Without coming off of Bo's lap, she reached into her makeup pouch herself and took out her lipstick. This was the part that she did herself. Not because she was the best at it, just because she enjoyed the feeling.

"Bo, what do you think of the new boy?" Jessica wondered. "You've talked, right?"

"Sure… He seems like… A bit of a poser… But he's… Endearing…" Replied the clown. Jessica nodded energetically and then waited until she finished with her lipstick to give her reply.

"Do ya' think he wants a big family too~?"

-CAR PARK OUTSIDE UNDISCLOSED BLOCK OF FLATS-

"Okay, what the fuck is this about?" Dylan asked. The car park to the south side of the block was overgrown and in disrepair. Good luck parking a car here and getting it out undamaged. Plants had taken over the dirt beneath the concrete slabs, making them uneven with protruding shrubbery and hefty interlacing of tree roots. Further to the south, any sign of human habitation disappeared into a densely wooded area. A dirt track surrounded the concrete arena, and parked on that was an earthy coloured, paisley patterned van roughly the same size and shape as the mystery machine. The 'shaggin' wagon', he presumed. Occasionally it rocked gently, implying habitation.

Redd chortled and chittered. Bo, who had also been summoned, was already snickering in that dark booming voice of theirs. Dylan shrunk.

"What? What the fuck is it?" Dylan screamed, stomping his feet.

"Did you… pick that out for him… Redd?" Bo grinned. "Your taste is… impeccable as always…"

"Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up!" Dylan cried. Obviously, they were talking about the romper. The bright pink one. As in, eye-bleeding neon. In the seventies style, of course. That meant that it came down all the way to the ankles, being more of a jumpsuit with a collar and pointless vestigial belt. Of course, they were flared at the bottom.

"No, it looks good on you. Seriously…" Redd said, trying to console the hysterical Dylan. It hardly worked, because they were barely containing their laughter the whole time.

"Fucking whatever. Can we get on with whatever this is?"

Redd cleared their throat, becoming instantly more professional about it all. Still, Dylan noticed that they were both averting their eyes from him, and Bo's cheeks were puffed up as if they were holding the laughter in.

"That Man has instructed us with bringing about your 'flowering'. You know this, correct?"

"I might have heard something about it, yeah."

"This is a very important task, and it warrants some changes to the standard situation. For instance, you may not know how strange it is for That Man to personally greet our recruits, or how unusual it is to have trustees living with the executives…"

"Right…"

"As such, we have taken it upon ourselves to get your skills up to an executive level, however long or hard that may be," Redd's voice was weary with the enormity of their own suggestion. They werent looking forward to this process either.

"So what, like training?" Dylan sneered. "Who fucking needs it? I already know karate and shit-"

"Oh yes!" Redd interrupted. "I forgot about your 'karate'. Bo, I don't believe you've seen Dylan's 'karate' yet, have you?"

"Nosir I have not…" Bo replied.

"Excellent! I've experienced it first hand, and I wouldn't like to be the only one. Dylan, why don't you show Bo that move you did on me… that uh… Tiger whatsit…"

"...Tiger mingling with wolf-"

"That's the one! Show it off for us, why don't you? Go ahead, give Bo a taste."

Dylan scowled at the big clown. He leant from left to right, sizing the creature up. Bo was smiling at him dopily. His arms were at his side, his back was slouched, his feet were in a poor position. Dylan took a step forward, and Bo changed.

The aura was immense. Bo suddenly felt taller than the block of flats behind them. His huge body towered over the trees and scraped the clouds. His posture was identical. Even his facial expression hadn't changed. All the same, Bo was exerting a great and terrible malefic aura. It was larger than what Dylan had done on the train. A completely psychopathic, sadistic vibe that was strong enough to tint the world red.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Said Redd chipperly. Dylan shook the feeling off. All this aura shit was just psychological anyway. It wasn't like this guy actually had any magic evil energy surrounding him. He was just bluffing, right? Maybe that was his thing, he was fucking around and pretending to be tough and big and scary, but if you got in a real fight with him he was a little bitch who falls over on their own. Dylan giggled himself a bit. He was feeling more confident than ever. He charged Bo, his feet flying over the uneven terrain.

"TIGER MINGLING WITH WOLF-"

Crunch.

That was the sound of Bo's hand closing over Dylan's. He could feel his fingers bending almost to the point of breaking from what looked like Bo's most casual grip. In relative terms, Bo was exerting the amount of strength you or I might use to hold a gaming controller, except that for Bo it was enough power to crunch bones.

"That… was not martial arts…"

Dylan whimpered like a wounded puppy, then Bo started yanking. He waved his hand from side to side, like a conductor for an orchestra, and Dylan came along with it. Each pull and tug was calculated to move the boy in an exact way. One swung him around so that his back was facing the clown. Another made his other arm bend around his back aswell. Once Bo grabbed that one, it was basically over. That is if it wasn't already. Bo hoisted Dylan into the air. He yelped and hollered until he ran out of air. Bo spun him. He pulled Dylan's arms sideways like a ripcord and watched the boy go like a Beyblade. He spun for maybe three times as long as he had in the fight with Jacob.

"This… is martial arts…"

Bo regarded the spinning Dylan with a critical eye. He was looking for the perfect moment, examining the motion of his spin and the flailing of his limbs. He found his opening, and his hand shout out like a biting snake.

Crunch.

That was the sound of Bo's hand closing around Dylan's ankle.

"Wanna go... for a ride... kid?" Bo asked. Dylan was so dizzy that all he could do was pathetically shake his head. Internally, he was begging and pleading for it to be over. Bo wasn't done by far. But he looked to Redd before going to town. The delegate gave him the nod that he was looking for, and he activated the next stage of his demonstration.

"Bo Style: Aikido Rollercoaster Deathtrap…"

In the year two thousand and ten, a Lithuanian artist designed and constructed a scale model of a theoretical rollercoaster. It was called the Euthanasia Coaster, and its purpose was to kill all its passengers. The peak of the track, followed by the drops and inversions would apply so much force that cerebral hypoxia would set in, causing almost unavoidable death. Its purpose was execution, and it was designed to kill with 'elegance and euphoria'. When Bo first heard about it, he was delighted by the concept. Why, it seemed right up his alley. One thing bothered him though. It felt as though the coaster itself was excessive. Bo figured he could do the same thing with his bare hands. No construction required. Just a good grip and a bit of Aiki. His adaptation was… a little cruder.

Bo spun Dylan around like a fucking nunchuck. All around the clowns titanic body, spiralling and spinning and tossing and switching between hands. His body was going so fast that he was simply a translucent smear over Bo's silhouette. His constant, non-stop scream was drowned out by the whistling that the air made when Bo swung him through it. He grabbed him by the legs, he grabbed him by the arms. They were just handles that Bo used for leverage. How much G force was he experienced by now, Bo wondered. He usually aimed for five or six G's when using this technique, that was as many as it took to knock the average person out. When he went all out, he could get up to eight G's at points, which was certain death. However, he had gone a little easy on the kid. It was more like four or five. Dylan was close to passing out. Very close. If the oxygen deprivation wasn't going to do it, the amount of blood being flung into his brain was gonna make it burst.

Bo slowed down a bit. He let Dylan get a good look at the world around him before continuing with his next swing. As he reached the apex of the arc, Dylan seemed to slow down. He was being held aloft, above Bo's head. The colossal clown was partway through moving their body all the way forward. His pose was close to the ground and primed for action. He was about to put all his strength into this next swing. From the specifics of the posture, it was obvious. Dylan was about to be slammed into the ground.

"Oh no… nononono…" He groaned, so desperate that he was actually able to vocalise something. "God no… please…"

"Iii caaant… heeear youuu… speak up…" Bo hummed mockingly.

"Give it to em', Bo," Redd ordered.

"Sure thing boss…"

Bo swung down. Dylan screamed as the ground started to approach him at mach speed. He went passed terminal velocity, his ankle getting dislocated by the force of the swing. It was over in a millisecond.

Dylan opened his eyes. Several sensations were apparent. His nose was barely grazing the concrete below. Bo had his thumb pressed into his shin, and as though the clown was pressing a special button, all the muscles in the boy's body were locked and stiff as iron. He was stopped just short of being flattened by Bo's pressure point magic bullshit.

"Splat… you're dead…Teehee..." Bo grinned.

"Oh thank god..." Dylan panted, just happy to still be alive.

"Ya' shouldn't worry so much cherry pie… If I wanted to kill ya', I woulda' grabbed ya' by the neck…"

"Hmm…" Redd hummed. "Bo, give him some more."

"Ok…" Bo replied, obediently following the order.

"Wait... what?" Dylan yelped. As Bo pulled him back up, he clawed at the earth, shedding a single actual tear.

Bo threw him ten feet in the air. His cries could be heard from the top floor of the block of flats, where Jessica was relaxing on the balcony. She just enjoyed the spectacle. Bo hooked his boots under two concrete slabs beneath his feet and kicked twice, tossing them skywards. When Dylan came back down, the slabs came with him. Bo grabbed each of the three items in turn and tossed them back up into the air.

He was juggling. He was doing it quite happily aswell. He started to hum a circus jingle, carousel music, basically, though it was too slow and out of tune. Dylan went up, and he came back down. Every time he hit Bo's hand, the giant used just his palm and rolled the kid up into a ball before throwing him into the air again.

"Alright Bo, I think that's enough…" Redd said, making sure that Dylan was up in the air and out of earshot before saying it.

"Sure thing…" Bo said, and the next time that the slabs and Dylan came back down, he tossed them once more into the air with a dramatic flourish. They all went up and came down together this time. Dylan was flanked on both sides by slabs. It was time for the coup de grace, Bo figured.

When the slabs were in front of him, Bo unleashed two flanking punches that came together like the mandibles of a mighty insect. The slabs were reduced to dust, Bo's hands crashing right through them and grabbing Dylan by the shoulders before he could hit the ground.

"Uh… uh nugh… buh…" Dylan said. He could hardly focus his eyes, but he saw Bo's face right in front of his. The clown had his mouth open. He was showing off his filed down teeth and candyfloss pink gums. His weirdly purple tongue, which was long and snake-like. He had a predatory glare. A hungry look in his eyes. He was exerting aura once again. Dylan was convinced. He was absolutely sure, with zero doubt in his mind, that at that moment Bo was about to bite his head off and chow down on him.

He didn't. He just put him down. Gingerly, like how one would place down a card in a house of cards. Dylan had his feet back on the ground. Bo gave the boy a head pat for good measure, and let him go.

Immediately, Dylan vomited. His light breakfast and a heap of bile and stomach acid were upchucked onto the concrete. A bit of it got on Bo's shoes, but the giant didn't seem to care. He vomited so much that by the time he was done he didn't have anything left to vomit. After that, he crumpled to the floor. Just fell flat. Deflated like a balloon. He was so weak and dizzy that he couldn't stand for any longer than it took for him to spill his guts out onto the ground.

"Excellent as usual Bo," Redd congratulated. The clown graciously nodded and was then distracted by a beetle on the ground. Redd turned their gaze down to Dylan. "You were abysmal."

Dylan just moaned.

"Your training today will continue until you are able to land a punch. Understood?"

He moaned again.

"Excellent. I'll be taking my leave now. If you need anything, just shout."

"GUUUYYYSSS!" Yelled Jessica from all the way up on the balcony. Bo and Redd looked at her, but Dylan was in no state to be moving his neck. "POST'S HEREEEE!"

With enthusiasm, she threw a letter down from the top balcony. It fluttered gently, being so light as a few pieces of paper. A couple of times, it almost drifted dangerously far away, but Bo was on top of it. He made a lunging, striding run towards the projected landing spot, cracking the concrete as he did so. With a hefty leap, the giant map soared into the air and snatched the letter of out the air with the tips of his fingernails. An impressive showing. Redd gave a polite golf clap, and Bo bowed before holding the letter up to his face.

"Heh… it's for you… kid…" He tossed the envelope at Dylan, and it fluttered until it landed on his face. Redd poked the boy with the tip of their ceramic boots. Eventually, he was stirred to consciousness again.

"W-what is it…" He said, rubbing his forehead.

"You got a letter."

"We get the post here?"

"...Only from one place."

"Oh… Right…"

Dylan observed the letter. The envelope was fancier than just paper. It was silky and smooth to touch. It had shiny gold leaf inlaid in a filigree pattern, and it was scented like shea butter. It felt almost destructive to have to tear it open, like destroying a work of art. He did so all the same, and contained therein was a crimson slip.

He unfolded it very slowly, like defusing a bomb. He was scared to see what was written. Eventually, he managed to unfurl the blood-coloured cardstock on which the letter was written.

He couldn't fucking read it. At all. The pen strokes were heavy and messy. The ink was smeared everywhere. It was complete chicken-scratch. He looked at it from several angles and tried to make out even one word to no avail.

"Redd, I can't make out a fucking word of this…"

"Let me read it, I'm good with His writing," they replied, snatching the note out of his hand. Redd cleared their throat.

-XXX-

Dearest Dylan

By the time this reaches you, Friday should be up and the weekend will have come. That is a joyous occasion! The date of your flowering is closer than ever. You must meet me at a specific time and place, Dylan. A very specific time and place! It is a time and place you will find written on the back of this letter. I hope it finds you well!

Lots of love, You Know Who~

-XXX-

Dylan got butterflies in his tummy. Redd flipped the letter over and was stunned to silence for a moment. That got the attention of Bo.

"What... does it say... boss?"

Redd actually stuttered before annunciating. They held the letter up to the light of the sun to make sure they were reading it right.

"It… it says… Uhm… One week from now… The stroke of midnight… the clocktower…" They stammered.

"The fucking clocktower? What clocktower? Where?" Dylan scoffed.

"The clocktower, Regency Academy."

"Oh."

TO BE CONTINUED

If you were wondering why this chapter was so late out, you have your answer by now I hope. Yup, after reading all 10,000+ words of that I hope you were as impressed with it as I was with myself when I wrote it all! I thought this story would come and go and chapter 5 would be the biggest beast of a chapter coming in at only 8,000+. Boy was I wrong! I suppose when I said I was excited to be writing the villains at long last, I didn't even realise myself exactly how enthusiastic! Heck, I started this on Tuesday!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this monster. As always, leave any initial thoughts you have in the reviews, and if you want to talk about the chapter more in-depth come down to the discord! If you want to read about or catalogue any stuff from the story, check out the wiki that was put together. Both links are on my bio! Also on my bio is the PM button. Use that if you feel like it too! And as always, thanks for reading. I'll see you in the next one!