It's been a good month so far, I think as Peter webs up one gang member and I punch the other. "Crimson. Crimson? You okay? You're getting kind of spacey." Peter (or Spidey right now i guess) asked, albeit with a bit of humor at the name.

"Nah. I'm just thinking." I say, hog tying the group together with zip ties. It's been an overall quiet night. My stomach growls in immediate contradiction.

"Do you wanna come grab a snack with me or something?" I ask hopefully but with a hint of embarrassment in my tone. Gosh when did I get so… needy?

"I can't, May's gonna be home soon cuz she's working an extra shift. One of the doctor's got into a really bad accident last week and they still haven't found a real replacement. At least that's what May keeps saying," he comments thoughtfully.

"Alright well see you-" he's already swinging off. Oh well. Oh wait, shit I forgot. I'm late for work.

The merc bar is crowded as ever, and it looks like someone started without me. I take out 6 of my throwing knives ~I never go anywhere without knives, even if I can't use them on patrol~ and a couple seconds later they're pinning the offenders against the wall. I glare down the group collecting my weapons. I turn to leave, but one of them ~some random new guy~ has the audacity to spit at my feet. My head snaps back so hard I almost get whiplash. A migraine starts to form tearing at my skull as my spine feels like it's on fire. You should make an example of him. My face twitches into a smile and my teeth stab into my bottom lip. With an impossibly quiet voice I ask, "Do you value your life?" The man immediately makes eye contact with me and the blood drains from his face as he begins to cowerl. Wimp. I'm not even that intimidating. I'm like barely 5'1 and extra scrawny. "Take it outside!" The men shuffle out and I can't help but laugh.

Anyway. It's payday. But I still have a shift before I grab my paycheck. Another night of listening to lonely mercenaries, gang members, and other underworlders cry about their pitiful lives. Where they express their frustrations with alcohol, more jobs to keep them busy, and other mindless things. And as always, someone has to keep the place relatively calm. Welcome to Sister Margaret's where people come to get rid of their problems, many times in the form of other people.

Anyway...

Time to start my shift.

2 hours later I'm still serving drinks when Pool decides to grace us with his presence by plopping down on a seat at the bar. "Oooh nice manicure. Where do you get your nails done? Do they only sharpen them? We should have a spa day!" he remarks a little too cheerfully.

"Stop bleeding on my floor! Why is it that I always get a migraine or something when I talk to you?" I ask sarcastically. "Tis But a Flesh Wound! And the headaches are part of my charm," he replies happily. I sigh walking away to actually do my job once, but as I turn, pain spikes through my spine locking my knees together. I slip on what I hope is alcohol, making me fall head first onto a broken whiskey bottle. As it pierces my skull I hear distant laughing. Oh wait, that's me. Like the dumbass I am, I roll over getting more glass shards in my spine. I keep laughing until my vision gets fuzzy and fades to nothingness.

Buildings made of gold and silver, a castle, is that thing polished, An eHuh, I never thought I'd go to heaven. Doesn't the bible say it's like paved with gold or something, but like, there's also a ton of silver here. There's a castle here though and the streets, well I don't exactly know what they're made of. The world sparkles, the province surrounded by forest. A glittering lake in the distance. This is either a Disney movie or the gates. Except for the feathers, there are literally feathers everywhere, mostly of the gold variety, although there are a few silver here and there.

Welp, someone's here to escort me to the fire and brimstone. A person in an elegant black dress walks towards me. "Hi, quick question what's my torture gonna be? Because most things don't work on me." I ask, vaguely interested.

Scarlet lips part to reveal a wide white smile and then they begin to speak. "Hello to you too. You're not staying here so no you won't be tortured, you have our dear friend Wade to thank for that by the way. The fool can't rap some gauze on a wound, he gets blood everywhere."

"I'm going to ignore that last part. What's with the whole fairytale aesthetic thing going on here?"

"Huh, you don't remember? These are your memories, I thought it was just the people from earth who don't remember their childhood," they state thoughts pensive.

"I remember my childhood. This was definitely not it. Also what's with the feathers?" In Peter's house, at Midtown, Saint Margaret's, the streets, in my apartment, in my room. Oh. Wait.

Their smile widens more like they can read my thoughts. "You'll be going back soon. Next time you show up here it'll cost you."

The person begins to fade out. "Remember normal tattoo's don't grow!"

What a weird thing to say.

The stench of alcohol brings me back. I hate heightened senses sometimes.