Taking Back the Crown

by JCMorrigan

Mozenrath. Archibald Snatcher. Roman Torchwick. Mad Madam Mim. Yzma. The Huntsman. Wuya. Ayam Aghoul. Their mission: take over the multiverse, or look fabulous trying. Rated M for swearing, steamy implications and VERY bloody battles. Contains slash and het shipping.

148. Finders Peepers Losers Weepers

Imagine the perfect table setting for a gourmet breakfast. A sweeping tablecloth around a perfectly-sized round table, with doilies set atop it to hold the delicate china and a candelabra at the center. Fluted silverware, sturdy enough for a hearty meal but with the appearance of something that could easily break in your hand.

Now imagine that same setting, but make it Gothic. Gothic Lolita, even.

The table was symmetrically round, with decently-spaced settings for eight. The tablecloth was shimmering black silk, and the doilies also black lace. The candelabra was old, brass, and very haunted-looking, with its dripping red candles. The china was patterned with lunar phases in monochrome while the silverware's handles ended in little skulls.

This was the scene that Mozenrath walked in on at sharply six in the morning. It wasn't just the absurdity of the table that got to him, nor the fact that he'd received simply a text message with no warning saying that he (and the rest of the WHAM ARMY founders) should come here. Nor the scents of the meals wafting up off the plates.

It was largely the fact that all of this had appeared in the basement conference room where the WHAM ARMY founders usually just stood in a circle and talked.

"Ah, right on time, sir!" Commander Peepers zoomed out from beneath the table to salute Mozenrath. "Now, all we have to do is wait for the others to show up and we can begin the daily strategy breakfast meeting!"

"The…daily strategy breakfast meeting," Mozenrath said in disbelief.

"Well, your previous method was a little disorganized," Peepers stated. "Not to mention you could probably get a lot more done if you were actually seated in comfortable chairs instead of just standing around. So I thought I'd spruce up the room a bit, give you something to eat and chat over, and open up a space to put any and all relevant discussion topics on the table. Don't worry; in the future, I'm happy to cater all future breakfast meetings. All I ask in return is a small tariff in the form of depleting your coffee supply. Or…eheh…maybe it's not such a SMALL tariff…"

Mozenrath realized that was probably his cue to ask exactly how much coffee Peepers had taken, but his mind was focused on something else. "You made hot food."

"Of course I did!" Peepers chirped. "I've selected an ideal breakfast menu for each of you based on the preferences I'm aware of. I know you prefer the simpler tastes, so you have nān-e-barbari with an assortment of jams – from what I understood, dairy products were a no-no around here for a long time, so I figured you were more used to jam by this point than the traditional cheese bite. Now, Ayam Aghoul I know is more adventurous and not affected by health concerns like high cholesterol, so I made kaleh pache for him and then left it out to spoil because of his undead physiognomy. Rumor got back to me that the Huntsman has a soft spot for egg foo young, so of course I had to track down a good recipe. Archibald Snatcher got a traditional British breakfast plate, complete with sausages, bacon, sliced tomatoes, a serving of beans, and non-dairy toasted bread. No eggs, though. I know that much. Mim, on the other hand, has a 'bubble and squeak' made of things I picked out of the fridge at random and that probably don't go together, and let's be honest, that's exactly what she wants. Wuya, I know is more cosmopolitan, so it's dòujiāng yóutiáo for her with plenty of chili in the soy milk. You'll notice Yzma's dish isn't steaming because I know she wouldn't settle for anything less upscale than tilapia ceviche, which is of course served cold, but you knew that. Now, Roman was the most difficult to pin down a decent dish for, but I'm hoping to try a little experiment on him. He's self-admitted to leaning on instant ramen more than anyone should, so here we have a bowl of bacon-and-egg ramen, plus some sage, mushrooms, tomatoes, all the good stuff. And if he has a problem with it, well, he can tell me to my eye!"

"Wonderful," Mozenrath sighed. "There's just one little problem. It's all going to go to waste. Well, maybe not Aghoul's, since that's already spoiled. And I'm here to eat mine. But don't expect anybody else to show up."

"What?" Peepers flinched. "Wh…why not?"

"Because while I'm impressed with how much you researched our culinary palettes," Mozenrath told him, "what you forgot to factor in was sleep schedules. Not a single one of us wakes up at the same time."

"What do you MEAN?"

Mozenrath sighed, rolling back his eyes. "George is always up at five sharp, but spends about three hours working out, so you won't expect to see him for another two from now. That's about when Yzma will force herself out of bed to strike a balance between not looking lazy and still getting her 'beauty sleep.' Wuya won't care and will stay there until nine, maybe ten. Aghoul will be 'just about dead' in his sleep because he'll have spent the previous night doing most of his high-priority activities during the 'graveyard shift.' Mim is a wild card, but usually late to arrive, since she instinctively spends an hour or two lying in bed with the covers pulled up over her head so no sunshine touches her by accident – even though there hasn't been a sun near this warship in months. Right about now is when Snatcher's first alarm is going off so he can have the bragging rights, but he'll be up for five minutes at most before passing back out. If he's remembered to set his second alarm before going unconscious, you can expect him around nine-thirty, give or take. If not…all bets are off. And Roman? You'll be lucky to see him as early as eleven, and it's NEVER earlier than eleven, and also you have to literally pour his coffee for him in order to get him functional."

Peepers sighed, his shoulders slumping. "And here I thought I had it down to a science. Oh, well…"

And he looked just so dejected that before Mozenrath could really examine why he was doing so, he said, "Move it to a noontime brunch and you have a solid concept, as well as a thorough menu."

Peepers snapped out of his funk; "Right! For now, I'll just refrigerate the most of it and see if anyone wants it later. Though I guess you can sit down and eat your fill, sir."

"Don't mind if I do." Mozenrath magically pulled out the chair, settled into it, and then levitated it right back into place before taking a spread of strawberry jam for his bread.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir," Peepers broke in, "when is it you wake up? You came right away at six when I sent the message, so I'm guessing it's sometime around then."

"Not exactly," Mozenrath replied, taking a bite.

"Earlier? Five?"

"Closer, but still so far off."

"…Four?"

"Eh…"

It sank in. "You never went to sleep last night, did you," Peepers realized.

"Don't judge me," Mozenrath grumbled.

"Sir," Peepers sighed, "please just get some rest after this."

"I don't recall you being my father."

"In your heart of hearts, do you WANT to stay up for the next however many hours until everyone else is awake?"

Mozenrath thought it over. "Fine. I'll take the excuse. But first, this bread isn't horrible."

...

"Jinn."

The word summoned the ancient spirit of knowledge from her resting place, and she erupted from the little world in her gold-and-glass home to find herself floating in a small library.

Salem attempted to appear unfazed, and yet couldn't hide a little awe when Maleficent so easily called out the great blue spirit decked in golden chains. Or when said spirit leaned forward, giving both Salem and Maleficent a cocky smirk.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not supposed to be in your hands?" Jinn cooed.

"Regardless, you are in our possession," Maleficent told her. "You must do as we command."

"Right." Jinn leaned back, folding her arms. "So what's the question? Two of them remain."

"We wouldn't want to waste such valuable information," Salem said with a smirk. "You will receive your question in due time."

"So in other words," Jinn said, "you brought me here…and you don't even know what you want to ask."

"There is another matter to which we must attend," Maleficent said coldly. "Within the walls of your lantern resides a captive. An ally of ours, who we should very much like returned."

"Oh, him," Jinn sniffed. "I was starting to get bored of his whining anyway. But why should I let him go? Obviously, you're not the people that my creator would want to have anything they asked for. And since it isn't a question, I'm not obligated to respond to it."

"You will do as we demand," Maleficent asserted, "or the consequences for you shall be quite painful."

At that, Jinn nearly burst out laughing. "Are you THREATENING me? Do you have any idea what you're dealing with?"

"I should ask you the same question of us, with more urgency," Maleficent replied without missing a beat.

"Well, you have moxie," Jinn said. "I'll give you that. Tell you what: I'll give back your friend. But not because you asked, OR because you threatened me." She nodded to the back of the room. "Because I can tell how badly HE wants him back."

Hook had been trying to distract himself by reading the materials on the shelves, but Jinn knew all, even if she would only reveal that which she was asked about. And despite Hook's best efforts to disguise his body language, Jinn could tell how much he was pining on the inside, for a man he'd only just recently met but who might very well have been his soul mate.

"Not certain what I have to do with it," Hook said. Trying to act like she couldn't see the desperation rolling off his soul.

Jinn waved a hand, and red smoke poured from the lantern now, pooling at Maleficent and Salem's feet. It continued to puff up into a column of red, which compressed itself into a humanoid shape. Finally, it gained color, and Jafar stood once more before Maleficent, Salem, and Hook.

"Now don't give me any unwanted guests again," Jinn said with a scowl.

"You are dismissed," Salem told her, and Jinn retreated back into her glass world.

"Such a HORRENDOUS prison," Jafar spat. "Your rescue attempt didn't come a moment too soon. She did not take kindly to my attempts to renovate."

Hook was instantly beside Salem, still trying to play it cool. "Would've been a shame to lose you to a piece of jewelry, mate," he said.

"It would've been a shame to be lost to such a gaudy trinket," Jafar scoffed.

"I wasn't pining, you know," Hook said, just to drive that point in.

"I should hope not," Jafar replied. "And nor was I." Even though no one had asked or implied such a thing. "Though I could use a listening ear to vent my frustrations at the events of the past twenty-four hours."

"And I should hate to drink alone," Hook replied, "so I suppose we can make a date of it."

Out they stalked, and Maleficent sighed. Because even if they had themselves fooled, nobody else was.

...

Sora had wanted to know all about the Remnant escapades, and so when the Remnant contingent returned with three new friends in tow, he invited every last one of them and also Riku out on a walk around town.

Which left Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Penny, Kazuichi, Kairi, Nora, Jaune, Ren, Booster, Yuffie, Donald, and Goofy with the unpleasant task of relating how Atlas had fallen.

"I…I can't believe it," Sora said breathily in horror. "How could they do something like that?"

"We don't really even know which one of them did it," Riku realized. "If it was Maleficent's forces, or the WHAM ARMY. But I wouldn't be surprised either way."

"I try to put myself in their shoes," Kairi said. "To think about what it would be like if I did something like that. How I could live with it. And I just can't understand."

"I don't think anyone can," Ruby added.

"I, uh…I can," Kazuichi spoke up. "But when I would've wanted to do something like that…it was because I felt hollow, like nothing mattered, like everything was gonna crash down someday anyway so why not get it there faster? I'm…not sure that's how our guys work. I think our guys are just a bunch of fuckheads."

"Can we not talk about this?" Weiss piped up. "Sorry. I know this is important, but…I'm still processing it. I'd rather talk about the other parts, or this town instead. It looks really nice so far."

"It does," Blake agreed. "I'm looking forward to exploring it, honestly."

"You're gonna love it!" Booster told her. "Well, even I haven't seen all of it yet, but what I have seen is amazing!"

"There are some broken parts," Yuffie added, "but that's what we're here to fix, right?"

Weiss smiled slightly. "Something broken we can actually fix. I'll take it."

"Oh, we have GOTTA take you to Litwak's," Nora realized. "There's no better place to blow off steam! Also, we're all still trying to beat the high score Kairi left on the SITS machine, and I have a feeling if anybody could do it, it's you."

"I mean, you can go ahead and try," Kairi replied mischievously, which garnered several laughs.

"It's kinda become a new home for me," Jaune admitted. "I know there'll come a day when they need me on Remnant more often. But I'd be coming back here a whole lot, believe me." He nodded at Kairi; "Especially for one very important reason."

"Have you talked about when to disband?" Blake asked. "Like if there's a time we SHOULD all go back where we came from?"

"It's not that simple," Ren told her. "For one, the evils we're fighting have been ongoing. We can't exactly rest. But that does bring up the question of if it's futile to be fighting this fight."

"And I don't think it is," Ruby insisted. "Here in Radiant Garden, we have the resources to do the things that we were training for back at Beacon. For everyone out there."

"And most important, we have each other," Sora said. "If it comes time that any of you do want to leave, then you should. But I think it's important that we've had each other to lean on with everything that's happened."

"And lemme tell ya," Kazuichi sighed, "nobody agrees with that more than me. You guys are really good at not letting the despair creep in."

"So we don't really have an end goal," Kairi recapitulated. "Not unless we can stop Mozenrath, Maleficent, and Xehanort for good. But it's not about our goal right now. There's a Keyblade War to worry about, obviously…and I am worried about it. But now, it's about doing what we can. Acting like leaders and heroes. And helping each other out."

"I agree!" Goofy said. "There's hardly anythin' I like more than bringin' smiles to people's faces!"

"It's what being a Star Command ranger is all about," Booster agreed.

"Which means right now, we do need to focus on what we can fix," Riku asserted. "Like this town. A lot of it's still broken down from the various attacks. From there, I know that a lot of other worlds could use our help in ways we can actually deliver."

"I'd…like to do that," Weiss said softly. "I couldn't save my home, but if I can save someone else's…then I'll know people wouldn't have to go through that."

"Um, guys?" Yuffie pointed upward. "That's not normal."

They were passing the great fountain that cascaded over a whole wall, with its spurting geysers. Up above, at the very crest of the waters, a distinct red color was starting to seep through. Then it spilled over, pouring down crimson on the fountain's face.

Everyone watched in horror before Blake finally voiced it: "Is that…blood?"

"No," Ruby gasped, not wanting to believe it.

Penny approached, putting a hand in the reddened waters. Her eyes flashed. "I have determined there is no human biomass in this water," she stated. "Analysis proves that it is equal parts tomato purée product and color additive dye."

"Whaaaat?" Donald was taken aback. "It's ketchup and food coloring?"

"And a little bit of sugary glaze," Penny said before putting a finger in her mouth. "Analysis determines these are flavors that should not go together."

"She must mean cake frostin'!" Goofy realized.

"Why would there be ketchup and food coloring pouring through the water fountain?" Sora wondered.

"Maybe it's some kind of weird prank?" Yuffie suggested.

"Prank – " Blake began to spin round, realizing who had been absent the entire time. "Uh, guys? We lost Kokichi a WHILE ago."

"Kairi," Riku said slowly. "How far – "

"If it's coming through that fountain," Kairi answered in horror, "then it's ALREADY seeped through the entire castle and most of the surrounding district."

And then began the screams.

Most people didn't take the time to figure out for themselves whether it was blood or just ketchup and icing. Instead, pretty much everyone who turned on a sink or shower – or flushed the toilet – in the castle district assumed the worst. Which meant people panicking in the streets, shrieking, "THE BLOOD! THE BLOOD!"

"DIVINE JUDGMENT IS UPON US!"

"HOW MANY PEOPLE DIED? ARE WE NEXT?"

The shopkeeper of the Dressphere Emporium was sobbing in an alley, his husband attempting to console him. Emmanellain was spotted hurling vomit into the nearest gutter. Reno's voice echoed out from several blocks down, screaming, "I DIDN'T DO IT!"

Meanwhile, the entire Brotherhood of Mutants was just watching a sink continue to pour red, in utter awe.

"Guys," Wanda huffed. "It's not blood. It's ketchup."

"What a waste of good ketchup," Fred groaned.

"And also cake icing," Wanda added.

"THAT'S AN EVEN WORSE WASTE OF KETCHUP!" Fred bellowed.

"Yeah, well, now this means we can be guilt-free about thinking this is cool," Pietro said.

"I just wanna know who pulled this off," Todd said. "They gotta be one master of the art of the prank."

However, in the castle, things were considerably less calm.

Stork had only needed to see the sink in his bathroom run for ten seconds before he passed right out on his bathroom floor, the water still running.

"THE VAMPIRE DYNASTY IS BEGINNING!" Lilo cried. "THIS IS THE FIRST SIGN!"

Pleakley, Aerith, and Sadira ran shrieking through the halls as Jumba followed, trying to urge, "Is no need to be afraid! Am certain is only nonhuman substance for prank, but even if is not, was not uncommon sight during Hämsterviel supremacy years!"

Ienzo backed away from his shower, holding his mouth, until he could no longer keep the contents of his stomach in there where they belonged.

"Be on your guard!" Katara called, with Aang, Suki, and Zuko flanking her as she charged. "There could be a bloodbender anywhere nearby!"

"ON MY HANDS!" Eugene squealed. "IT IS ON MY HANDS!"

Doppler had taken it upon himself to hide behind a shelf, muttering, "I could be the next one they throw in the tank, any one of us could be the next one they throw in the tank – "

"WHERE'S THAT DEMON?" Rainbow Dash yelled as she sped the halls looking for Blackheart. "I'LL KICK HIS FLANK!"

"…Does this remind you uncomfortably of Mom?" Mal asked Lianna.

"She would never have done this without purpose," Lianna replied. "Still, the answer is yes."

"EVERYBODY, STAY CALM!" Rapunzel was attempting as the hallways broke into chaos around her.

Buzz Lightyear, beside her, added, "NO NEED TO PANIC! IT'S FAKE!"

"Oh, I am not panicking!" Sonia Nevermind said with a bright smile. "I am going to very calmly throw whoever did this out with extreme prejudice! Even if it is a wonderfully morbid aesthetic!" Then off she strode, looking for revenge.

"Well, I'm not even going to be calm about it," Aqua growled, stomping after Sonia as soon as Rosalina had stopped hyperventilating.

In the bowels of the castle, in the central aqueduct that fed the plumbing for the castle and beyond, Kokichi dangled his legs off the edge of a stone balcony that overlooked the tank. He was surrounded by nearly innumerable bottles that had once held ketchup, food dye, and red cake icing. The screams he heard from above indicated to him that his plan had gone off perfectly.

"What a bunch of idiots!" he cackled to himself. "Like there could possibly be that many dead bodies in the water without any of them knowing. Oh, man, I wish I could see the looks on their faces!"

The gate to that particular aqueduct was practically kicked open. Leon charged in, backed by Aerrow, Finn, Sokka, Junko, Piper, and Toph Beifong.

"Hi, guys!" Kokichi waved. "You're just in time to listen to the fallout from my best villainous deed ever! Nee-hee-hee!"

"Hey, that's not a serial killer!" Finn realized.

"It's just some jerk with a bunch of fake blood!" Sokka yelled.

"It WASN'T FUNNY!" Piper stamped a foot.

"Well, I thought it kinda was," Toph admitted, "but also, I couldn't even see what was wrong, and I probably would've gotten angry if I'd had a reason to think the water was different!"

"It also wasn't nice!" Junko insisted.

"Why would you do this?" Aerrow asked.

"BA-HAHAHAHA!" Kokichi laughed. "You think I care about NICE? You think I don't think this is FUCKING HILARIOUS? This is probably the most lively this place has ever been, and it's all thanks to me! I provided your in-house entertainment for the day! In a few days, you're gonna look back at this and laugh so fucking hard!"

Leon pointed a finger, his hand shaking with rage, at Kokichi. "You…are no longer welcome here."

"Wowwwww!" Kokichi laughed. "I've been here, what, half an hour? And I'm already kicked out! This has gotta be a new record! I wish leaving the killing game had been this easy!"

"OUT," Leon insisted.

"You can't just kick widdle old me out on the streets!" Kokichi pouted. "That's not a very heroic thing to do!"

"But I can find you somewhere else to live," Leon seethed. "It's a specialty of mine. You're going to be someone else's problem."

"I just can't believe you wasted that much good ketchup!" Junko lamented.

"I can't believe you have the same name as a fictional murderer but pronounced differently!" Kokichi retorted. "Or maybe she's real. After all, the pervy mechanic is real, and of all the characters you could've picked, no one would've believed HIM."

"Actually," Leon realized, "I think I know exactly where you belong."

...

Miltia was familiarizing herself with the area behind the bar counter on the warship. There were a great many bottles of liquors she recognized the names of, and also a great many she didn't. She measured out only a drop of each of the unfamiliar ones to taste-test them. After all, she had to figure out which flavors were complementary and which were not. The bottles were then sorted by strength so she would remember.

A set of heavy boots thumping on the floor got her attention. "You, like, want a drink?" she asked without looking up. "I'm, like, a pretty good mixologist."

"I suppose the experience of working in the tavern," the other said.

"Yeah, that and the clubs – " Then she realized whose voice that was. Her eyes flicked to the Mukhtar. "SHIT!" She nearly dropped the bottle in her hands before fumbling it relatively gently to the counter. "You didn't have to go fuckin' ninja mode on me."

"Stealth is in my nature," the Mukhtar responded. "It is something I trained for throughout my lifetime."

"You've, like…trained for a lot of things, haven't you?" Miltia asked. "You're super…you know…good at fighting and running and shit." She cringed at herself.

"I have had many years to hone the art of genie hunting," the Mukhtar replied. "And yet not very much time at all to enjoy the more recreational things I see you putting into practice. Such as mixing alcoholic concoctions."

"Is that you saying you want a drink?" Miltia asked.

"If you are offering," the Mukhtar replied. "Though I would prefer it to not be too strong. I wish to keep my wits about me."

"Cool." Miltia set about collecting the liquors she had in mind. Though this bar didn't seem to be stocked with pear vodka, she'd found a different kind of vodka earlier flavored with an Atmosian fruit that was nearly indistinguishable from a pear.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the clinking of the bottles and the glasses. Then, as Miltia poured steaming hot ginger beer, she asked, "So, like…what is it you normally do when someone pays you for a hit?"

"It depends on the circumstance," the Mukhtar replied. "Always it is to hunt. But depending on the target, I have gone around the world, through many trials."

"Like…gimme a specific example?" She cleared her throat. "And don't be afraid to make it, like, the long story. Actually, screw it, I just want the long story." (Because the more he talked, the more she realized that his raspy voice was the exact sort of unique she craved.)

"If you insist," the Mukhtar said. "Once, I was tasked with recovering a wayward genie who sought refuge in the dark of the rainforest."

A glass was placed before him, and he eyed it. "What is this?"

"It's a Winter Festival Mule Cocktail," Miltia replied. "It's hot ginger beer and the closest thing I can get to pear vodka, with a cinnamon stick in it."

The Mukhtar sniffed it. Lifted it to his lips. Took the tiniest sip. "It is…comfortingly warm."

"Duh," Miltia replied.

The Mukhtar looked up at her, with the faintest smile upon his lips. "Will you be joining me in a drink?"

"Yeah," Miltia said. "Keep telling me your story and I'll get mine ready."

As Miltia whipped up a fluted glass of rosé berry wine punch, the Mukhtar told a tale of life-threatening peril and fast-paced battles. Miltia listened in awe, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a pang of insecurity. It wasn't that she didn't think her own life was fabulous. It was that when she put it out on paper compared to his, it might seem vapid.

He'd think she was vapid.

She sat beside him with her glass, and he wrapped up the tale. "Gods," Miltia said. "That's hardcore."

"It is the usual in my line of work. I quite enjoy the thrill of the chase."

"Sure sounds like it," Miltia replied.

"And what of you?" the Mukhtar asked.

"Me?" Miltia replied. "I…I don't have any cool genie-hunting stories."

"Yet you worked as an informant and smuggler for a high-profile crime ring on your homeworld."

"It's not as exciting as it sounds," Miltia sighed. "A lot of it's just being in the right place at the right time and seeing if you can have some fun on the side."

"I…I rather admire your ability to infuse your business with hedonism," the Mukhtar admitted. "I have only derived enjoyment from the task at hand. Never thought to integrate anything that is more reflective of my identity when not on a paid mission."

"Wait. Are you serious?"

"If you have a story," the Mukhtar said, "any story at all, I should like to hear it."

"…Okay." Miltia shrugged. And she started telling him a story that was already pretty embarrassing, because it started with a shopping haul. She sped through that prologue to get to the back-alley fight she and Melanie had gotten in, then took her time around the part where the sisters had talked their way into a bandit hive, even though Melanie had pulled the weight on that one.

Though it was strange. The more Miltia got into her tale, talking about breakdance-kicking hordes of bandits into submission while picking some classy accessories off the fallen to complement her outfit, the more she felt it must sound so shallow in comparison to the Mukhtar's tale, and yet he was smiling again, a little more with each passing minute.

"So then, even though I'm like pretty buzzed, I – okay, you're laughing at me," Miltia accused.

The Mukhtar flinched. "I can assure you I found nothing to mock in your tale. In fact, it sounded…quite nice."

"Nice?"

"I sense you are hesitant to credit yourself for the more dangerous deeds," the Mukhtar noted. "Even though it is clear you put a lot at risk."

She shrugged. "At the end of the day, I'm there for the paycheck and a good time."

"As am I."

Well, that was true, wasn't it? He did what he did for money, and then had himself a ball on his risky expeditions. Not so different than Miltia using an infiltration as an excuse to strongarm drinks on the house.

So she finished her story, and the Mukhtar listened intently. Then, immediately after concluding, she blurted, "Okay, so what's this even all about? Do you, like, want something, or what?"

He fidgeted. A strange sight. Miltia had thought him all confidence. "I suppose I should be honest," he said. "I became aware that you were…admiring from afar."

After a pause, Miltia banged her fist on the bar, nearly toppling her punch. "SHIT! GODDAMN SON OF A BITCH!"

Then his hand was suddenly over top of that fist to prevent it from slamming down again. "I…was curious," the Mukhtar replied. "To me, I cannot decide if one is worth my interest until I have learned much more about them. I wanted to see if perhaps I would end up admiring you in return."

She looked at him warily. "And…?"

"I…have enjoyed this conversation," he muttered. "I would like to have more conversations of the same manner. I think…it is very likely I could indeed admire you. I think…it is already happening."

She flinched. "But I'm…like…all human and shit. You're probably into lizard girls."

"I suppose you were assumed to only admire human men."

She snorted. "Got me there. But seriously, are you sure about this? I'm pretty much interchangeable with Melanie. Everyone fuckin' knows that." Her gaze turned downward to the floor.

"No," the Mukhtar replied, taking her chin in his hand, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "You are not. That much, I have determined."

She smiled slightly. "So, like…wanna make out?"

"Not just yet. Perhaps, after some more conversation."

She could play the waiting game for a man like that. "Cool. So you wanna keep talking? I could make more drinks."

"If you wish to imbibe more, then you must allow me to prepare the next beverage so I am no longer in your debt. I may not know much of spirits, but I know tea."

"You cool if I spike it?"

"Of course."

They settled down for a nice, long chat.

...

Maleficent's goblins were falling in droves.

Not dying. She hadn't endorsed that. But she had agreed that Adam Taurus could use them for sparring practice so long as they remained within an inch of their lives, and Adam was making the very most of that. The blade of Wilt, his crimson sword, sliced through the air, leaving trails of fire, and ten goblins wielding polearms fell to the ground with comical screams. The scabbard Blush rocketed across the field to knock down three more before he caught up with it, catching it in a hand and using its ammunition chambers to blast the goblins where their armor was thickest. Only dents were made, but still, they were scared enough to run. Because everyone there knew that if he were aiming properly, it would be their skulls dented instead.

At last, he'd run out of targets. Either they'd run off, or they were lying on the courtyard ground groaning. Adam sheathed his sword, muttering, "Pathetic."

A round of applause from one set of hands drew his attention to one of the tall stone arches, dark stone mottled with moss, that led into the courtyard. "Bravo, bravo!" Russell Edgington congratulated. "That was entirely, completely, UTTERLY wrong!"

"Wrong?" Adam snarled. "I had permission. Would you rather I act the part of the weakling?"

"I'd rather you stop and take a look at what you're supposed to be doin'," Russell reminded him. "You remember why I took you under my wing?"

"Because we have something in common," Adam growled. "A hatred of humans."

"Correct," Russell said. "So tell me. What does that make our enemy?"

Adam stared blankly. "Humans. I just SAID that."

"Yes, but on the logic of the enemy of the enemy bein' at the very least a useful tool, what does that NOT make your enemy?"

Ah. Now he understood. "Inhumans."

"He does have a brain in that pretty little head!" Russell threw his arms out dramatically. "Too bad it stayed dormant until every last goblin ass was kicked across this yard."

"Why do THEY matter?" Adam asked. "They aren't relevant. They're just Maleficent's servants."

"Hmmm…now, if I were hearin' that," Russell pointed out, "I might be so inclined to think you were just puttin' on an activist façade for show. Are all goblins not equally deservin' of rights in the new world where humans are put on the lowest tier? Or just the ones that get you up the ladder?"

Adam curled his upper lip.

"Careful," Russell warned. "Don't want anyone thinkin' you're a beast. Which they will if you keep barin' your fangs like that."

"What do you want?" Adam spat. "Just to annoy me?"

"Well, that's a bonus." Russell shrugged. "Nah, I kid. I came down here to have a tete-a-tete with you about our future."

"What is there to discuss?"

"Why, our scope!" Russell advanced, arms spread once again. "The furthest reaches of our empire! Did you really wanna stop at vampires and Faunus? Or do you not see the raw possibility granted to us?"

"Start making sense."

"All over these worlds," Russell explained, "all million billion trillion of 'em, between every star you see in the night sky, there're people like us. The creatures, the monsters under the bed. Those hated by humans. They come in all sorts of forms. Goblins, trolls, gnomes, elves. They feel our pain, and we're supposed to feel theirs, but I get the feelin' we're gonna have to not let on that it's only me sympathizin'."

"Are you suggesting I'm lying about my cause?" Adam growled.

"I'm outright sayin' it," Russell told him. "Which you won't contest unless you wanna end up on the table for date night dinner."

Adam, knowing he would be able to accomplish a lot more alive than dead, scowled.

"Surely you see it now," Russell told him. "The immense army out there, waitin' on a couple of freedom fighters to give 'em hope, give 'em purpose. To give 'em direction, form a killin' machine that'll take down every last undesirable."

"You want me to rub elbows with burrowers in the dirt – "

"Ah, ah, ah! That's what I'm talkin' about. You wanna get any further, we're gonna have to whip that out of you, and I don't mean the lyin', I mean the whole damn philosophy. You want the scum gone? Then start seein' the difference between the scum and the hidden gems."

"But you only want to use them as pawns in a slaughter you're directing," Adam pointed out.

"I never said you needed compassion for this," Russell told him. "Only to see the resources at hand with the right eyes."

Adam sighed. "Fine. So tell me. What are we targeting?"

"Glad you asked." Russell took from his pocket a roll of parchment. "Got here a list of…worlds of interest, as well as parties of interest on those worlds. It's time to start doin' your homework. Figure out what these folks wanna hear, then say it. After all, the whole reason you're here is your experience bein' the leader. Find out how to lead 'em, then lead 'em."

"And why can't you do that?"

"That just sounds to me like the words of someone too lazy to pick upt he slack."

Adam snapped the parchment into his hand, unrolling the first page. "I see." He stuffed the pages into his pocket, crinkling them horribly. "We're done here."

"I better not catch you playin' hooky on your first assignment," Russell warned.

"Trust me." Adam turned away. "You'll get what you asked for."

Russell clicked his tongue as Adam stormed off. This, of course, was the entire reason he wanted Adam front and center of this mission as opposed to himself. Russell had only just regained life, and it would be such an annoyance to lose it so quickly to the first person who thought to bring splintered wood to a rally. But Adam? If he died, all that would be lost was another pawn.

And a disobedient one at that.

...

The Huntsman opened the door to the apartment he shared with Mozenrath at exactly the moment that Mozenrath appeared in the foyer in a shimmer of blue. And if that wasn't the best sight to come home to, the Huntsman couldn't name what was.

(Maybe a dead dragon, actually.)

"Well, well," Mozenrath teased. "Someone went on a little errand behind my back."

"Is that a problem?" the Huntsman asked, shutting the door.

"Hmm…" Mozenrath pretended to think it over. "For you, I suppose I could let it slide. Did you at least get what you went for?"

"Unfortunately, no," the Huntsman said. "The Overtakers reigned victorious and we barely escaped with our lives. What we did acquire was two fashionistas and a jaded immortal."

"Well, I'll call that a victory," Mozenrath replied. "The latter will be more than useful during the invasion. Which, by the way, we're in the final stages of planning for. The last recruitment drive is going to work in tandem with the last pieces we need to win the game. Then…it's all ours."

"I look forward to it." The Huntsman made a show of setting down his helmet on the island counter so that Mozenrath could see the playful smile on his face. "Oh, and lest I forget, we also acquired the Mukhtar, though that was your doing."

"I'm ALMOST glad to have him back on my side again," Mozenrath insisted. "Almost."

"Though I do wonder…"

"What do you wonder?"

"He is a relentless pursuer," the Huntsman noted. "A warrior of many trades. A hunter of the magical. Much like myself."

"Right, so obviously you two must make good friends."

"I am not opposed to him," the Huntsman said. "However, given your history with him…well, is it egregious to say you have somewhat of a type?" And that mischievous smile got bigger.

Mozenrath sputtered, wide-eyed. "Wha – NO! I didn't want – he was a business partner! I didn't want to DO anything about it, least of all the Mukhtar himself."

"Very well," the Huntsman said. "I won't press the issue further."

His eyes flicked to a small table where a chessboard was perpetually set up, as the two of them did so enjoy a casual game. "Shall we celebrate our return by contesting our wits?"

"I think that's a great idea," Mozenrath replied.

Soon they were seated at opposite ends of the table, moving bishops and knights and pawns to counter one another. When all of a sudden, when the board was covered in pieces moving this way and that strategically, Mozenrath snapped, "Ahriman CURSE IT."

"You're actually winning," the Huntsman reminded him.

"No," Mozenrath growled. "That was the sound of me realizing I WAS attracted to the Mukhtar." He punctuated this with a long, low groan.

The Huntsman had to stifle an actual laugh. "What a surprise."

"Well, you're the better Huntsman by a long shot," Mozenrath grumbled, "so it's a good thing I didn't make a move back then. At any rate, this doesn't leave this room."

"The fact that you confirmed it won't."

"What does – "

"It means," the Huntsman stated, "that I'm not the only one who speculated. I wish you luck attempting to dissuade Mim from the notion."

"Great," Mozenrath grumbled as he slammed a rook down without thinking and allowed the Huntsman to put him in checkmate.

...

Loki paced slowly, deliberately around the pillar in the Asgardian vault that held the Tesseract. His eyes fixated directly upon the shining cube, and in the flicker of blue reflected by it, one might have glimpsed something close to worry. But surely it was a trick of the light.

"LOKI!" The booming voice of Imperious drew his focus away, and he looked to the silver-wrapped mummy storming into the vault. "I have that information you dispatched me for, though I had to climb out of a bottomless pit in order to get to it! I think I should deserve extra gratitude for that alone!"

"Tell me first," Loki said. "Then we shall discuss terms."

Imperious drew himself up as tall as he could be. "I stopped by the Midgard you indicated," he said. "He didn't go himself. He sent one of his subordinates. The proselytizer."

Loki rolled his eyes because of course it was that one, and he wasn't looking forward to the overly wordy speeches that one always brought with him.

"That one managed to secure the Eye of Agamotto," Imperious explained. "And then, as if that wasn't enough, he tracked down that AI and ripped the Mind stone out of him as well! The witch wasn't happy with that one bit. Last I heard, she was coping with the loss by becoming a reality TV star! In the most dramatic way possible."

Loki nodded. "So he has acquired two more."

"Ah, but that is only what I observed!" Imperious reminded him. "You will be far more interested to know what Flydor brought back to me."

"Well?"

"The reason the Mad Titan didn't go to Midgard was because he was collecting a sacrifice for the Soul stone," Imperious explained. "And from what Flydor saw, he got it."

"…Is that so?"

"Isn't that interesting?" Imperious posed. "Knowhere, Xandar, Midgard, and Vormir. I wonder what that leaves?"

"And he's already forged his weapon," Loki muttered, looking away from Imperious. "That leaves but one."

"If you are afraid," Imperious said haughtily, "then allow me to remind you that I very nearly deposed the Master himself. I could slay the Mad Titan in my sleep! In fact, I have half a mind to do so without you lifting a finger!"

"If you wish to go toe-to-toe with Thanos by yourself, then by all means, be my guest," Loki told him. "I shan't be the one to clean up the mess afterward."

"Do you mock me?"

Loki ignored that before this could become too much of a tantrum. "I do not fear Thanos," he said. "I simply recognize the challenge that stands before us. He made quite a potent threat to me in times past, and I've no reason to believe he won't remember the grudge. This is to be quite a risky endeavor. That does mean, however, that the reward will be substantial. Perhaps the most valuable item the Overtakers could possibly take into their possession." He snapped his gaze toward Imperious. "Ready your machine. We will bring Thanos to his knees, here in Asgard, when he comes out of desperation. However, we cannot afford to make errors rooted in idiocy or inflated ego."

"You're one to talk about inflated ego," Imperious scoffed.

"I am everything I advertise," Loki replied. "Not a word of mine is an empty boast. But enough of this. You will reach out to the one I spoke of earlier. Our hidden weapon."

"Gladly," Imperious replied. "I've been itching to show him what REAL glitz and glamour look like!"

Loki just rolled his eyes to that.

...

Drake Stone hadn't been deft enough in his counterspells, and was now dancing his heart out. He could work with this. He levitated a nearby suit of armor (it was uncertain which of the WHAM ARMY had placed it there for decorative purposes) and threw it at Draco Malfoy – the one who'd cursed him – only to watch Draco repel the armor with his staff, scattering it as pieces across the floor. So Drake went the easy route and simply shoved a whole lot of energy outward toward Draco as the latter was distracted, and Draco was knocked off his feet, falling to the floor with a yelp. Once he'd landed there, Drake ensured that restraints sprouted from the floor, pinning down his wrists and ankles.

Wuya had conjured a countertop because this was the sort of scene that required her to sit upon one, one leg crossed over the other, and she was currently doing so. She'd pitted Draco and Drake against each other, wanting to test their magical acuity.

So far, the results had yielded two truths. One was that they were both very adept at their craft (even if Draco did rely on Tarantallegra a little too much). The other was that they were both morons.

"Congratulations," Wuya told them as Draco struggled against his bindings on the ground and Drake was unable to stop grooving to imaginary music. "You've reached a stalemate."

With two claps of her hands, she'd dispelled both their curses. "Now," she said, "care to try that again except this time one of you actually wins?"

"I'd won!" Draco argued. "I had him dancing before he could cast any of his own magic on me!"

"Yes, well, that didn't exactly stop me, did it?" Drake was wheezing with laughter at this.

Draco scowled as though he'd just eaten a lemon slice raw.

"Hmm…impressive." This was a new voice cutting through the scene. Same accent as Emet-Selch had, but distinct in its own way. Playful in an utterly more threatening manner than his was.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Wuya asked the newcomer. Then she remembered. "Right. You're the living memory."

"Sir Mythros," Mythros said with a sly grin. "I shall beg you to remember, my lady."

"Fine," Wuya replied. "Is there a point to you being here?"

"I am merely collecting the lay of the land," Mythros stated. "You will recall that my purpose is to assist and report."

"Right," Wuya sighed. "Nothing much interesting here. Just a training session between two idiots."

"ONE idiot!" Draco spat.

"Definitely only one idiot," Drake said while pointing right at Draco, jabbing the finger to emphasize every word.

"Ah, yes," Mythros said. "I have heard of your fondness for gathering wayward children and other juvenile apprentices. Which ones would these be?"

"Draco Malfoy and Drake Stone," Wuya stated.

"Draco and Drake," Mythros repeated. "I'm not certain how that doesn't get confusing."

"Just be glad Dr. Drakken and Tony Dracon aren't here," Wuya replied. "But once you remember which name belongs to the wet blanket and which one belongs to the human disco ball, it's pretty easy to tell them apart."

"I see," Mythros replied. "And their magical prowess…that is what you were training them for, correct?"

"Yes," Wuya replied. "They're doing well, slip-ups aside. Though while we're on the subject, what really interests me is you."

"Oh?" Mythros raised a brow to her. "Is that so?"

"You're a memory brought to life," Wuya reminded him. "You're somebody's personal assistant he built from the ground up for the sole purpose of being a personal assistant. And I'm supposed to believe you have magic as strong as the flesh-and-blood sorcerers we employ here?"

"It sounds as though you are seeking a demonstration," Mythros said slyly.

"Actually, yes," Wuya said. "I'd like to see you show your stuff."

"Against one of your star pupils?"

"Eh, why not? Do you cast through a conduit or barehanded?"

"By intent, barehanded," Mythros answered.

"Then you can take Drake," Wuya told him. "That's the disco-ball one. He uses a conduit, but it's a ring, so he more or less has the mobility of casting barehanded. It'll be more even that way."

"Are you saying I couldn't stand up to him?" Draco spat.

"For all you know," Wuya told him, "I'm saying you'd be too out of his league."

"Well, which is it?" Drake asked. "Is Draco here too powerful for him or not enough?"

"How about I don't tell either of you that and let you wonder?" Wuya smirked. "Draco, just get off the field."

"All right." Draco pouted as he stormed over to lean against the wall near Wuya's counter. Mythros crossed his path, walking out to face down Drake.

"It is an honor," Mythros said with a hint of mischief in his voice.

"Dueling me always is," Drake replied without a trace of irony.

"Well, then," Mythros said. "Shall you make the first move?"

Drake straightened up, drew back both hands –

And was immediately thrown to the wall by a blast of blue, spiraling outward in a complex sigil of light.

"Lady Wuya is correct," Mythros stated. "You are an imbecile. Why would you think an enemy would let you have the first strike?"

Drake leapt back to his feet. Mythros was surrounded by a violet sphere of pulsating sigils. Drake threw a charged plasma bolt of maximum strength at Mythros, shattering the sphere – into shards of blue. A red one remained beneath. It never had been one violet sphere, but two layers of barrier.

"Always cast two barriers," Mythros scoffed as he flicked a hand at Drake. The red barrier reformed itself into a spear-like projectile, hurtling toward Drake's chest.

"Don't kill him," Wuya warned, flinching.

"I won't," Mythros replied; the spear stuck into Drake's shirt and jacket, pinning him to the wall by the strips of fabric that missed piercing his skin by a half-inch. "My aim is true. Don't doubt me, Lady Wuya. The rest will be a mere chastising to remind him to be on his guard."

Drake, out of ideas, just caused a segment of ceiling to collapse onto Mythros. The debris levitated, leaving Mythros in a dust cloud; it charged up with a bright gold aura and then hurtled toward Drake.

It wouldn't have been a fatal blow. Mythros had spoken truly. But in that moment, having seen Drake be pinned by the spear and now watching the chunks of ceiling fly to pummel him, Draco suffered an intense flash of fear that in fact, this was not as safe as Mythros had promised.

An image of Fiendfyre, bright orange and glowing. Crabbe, gone.

He attacked from behind, retracting the Rejuvenator blade on his staff and swiping it into Mythros. The scythe-blade passed through the memory, causing Mythros to shudder, dropping to his knees. Draco could see green light flowing into the Crystal of Ix at the other end – but it was Wuya who saw Mythros briefly flash transparent from the blow.

She was on Draco in an instant, pinning his arms up above his head in a lock. "YOU IDIOT!" she hissed. "HE'S MADE OF MAGIC! YOU'LL KILL HIM THAT WAY!"

The ceiling chunks had lost momentum when Mythros went down. The red spear phased out of existence. Drake flinched, bracing for another attack.

"HE almost killed HIM!" Draco argued, struggling.

"Why…do you care?" Mythros coughed. "Friendships only…result in heartbreak."

"Why do I CARE?" Draco spat. "Because I've gotten attached to sparring the bloody idiot! I can't make him suffer if you take him away from me, now, can I?"

"No," Mythros said, turning to face not Draco but Wuya, wide-eyed. "Why…why do YOU care?"

Wuya realized. He hadn't been asking why Draco cared about his rival. "I take it you didn't get the memo about how things work here," she said. "Let me guess. Bad breakup?"

"He taught me how far loyalty goes," Mythros panted. "He…he would finish me off."

"What was his name?"

"Waltz."

"Interesting," Wuya noted. "Now, why do I get the feeling that you'll never be able to forget about this Waltz character so long as the person who remembers you isn't able to move on from his own old flame?"

"P…please…" Mythros panted.

"You'll be fine," Wuya told him. "Draco, put it back."

"Put it BACK?" Draco snapped. "If he tries that same damn trick again – "

"DRACO, WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS," Wuya seethed.

Draco turned the crystal side of his staff on Mythros, releasing the green light. It flowed back into the memory-sorcerer, restoring his opacity. Slowly, shakily, Mythros stood.

"I'm making a note of it," Wuya said. "You're our glass cannon. Packs a punch…not so great around anti-magic engineering."

"I am not weak, if that's what you're saying," Mythros grumbled.

"Tell me that when the tremors finish up," Wuya told him.

Mythros glowered at Draco. "You were supposed to be an ally. And you…you tried to destroy me by playing dirty."

"I didn't MEAN to!" Draco protested, now feeling his own innards cringing with fear. "I wanted to stop you, that was all! Not – not KILL you – I – I couldn't even do that, not yet! That's for everyone else to do!"

He was going pale, backtracking. Drake stepped in, rushing to seize Draco by the hand. "I think we should get out of here," he suggested.

"But he's dragging my name – " Draco protested.

"Let it go." Drake started to pull Draco along, away from the arena. "Some things happened, we had a little chaos, we'll fix it up later."

Draco let himself be taken away. "I didn't mean it," he said softly. "I thought he was going to…"

"I get the picture," Drake replied. "Honored, really. You know I'd do the same for you in the other way around, right?"

Draco scowled once more. "It isn't like that."

Drake held up where their hands were linked, and Draco felt a surge of adrenaline through his heart, worried Drake was about to comment on it – but what Drake said went a completely different way than Draco was expecting: "These nails are horrible. You've really got to get them fixed up. I could help with that, you know."

"Don't touch my bloody fingernails."

"What was your boarding school house color? Green and gold, right?"

"Green and silver," Draco corrected. "But you're not – I'm not letting you paint my damn fingernails!"

Wuya watched the two of them bicker off into the horizon. "If it helps," she told Mythros, "Draco's in that phase where he doesn't want to admit that Drake is his Waltz."

"And if they turn on each other in the end?" Mythros asked, understanding completely.

"Then you and I smack some sense into them," Wuya replied. "You're not going to tell Emet-Selch about the attempted murder, are you?"

"I agreed to tell him everything," Mythros said. "Including how I know the boy overreacted, as if on instinct. He will understand. But he will also understand if the next attempt to be rid of me is more deliberate."

"Duly noted."

...

When the knock came at the door, Lance Alvers yelled, "PIETRO, GET THE DOOR!"

"I'M BUSY!" Pietro yelled. "WANDA, DOOR!"

"NOT YOUR MAID!" Wanda snapped. "FRED? GET THE DOOR!"

"NUH-UH!" Fred yelled. "I'M BUSY! TODD, GO ANSWER IT!"

"What?" Todd flinched. "No way, dawg! LANCE, GET THE DOOR, WILL YA?"

This went on for a while, and the visitor had to knock again, and then Ruby Rose's voice was heard screeching, "WILL SOMEBODY ANSWER? WE CAN HEAR YOU IN THERE FIGHTING!"

That brought all five of them to the door, Pietro in the lead as he glared at the visiting squad. Kazuichi Soda was out front, and behind him, Jim Hawkins, Lianna, and Ruby Rose were holding Kokichi Oma in place.

"Hey!" Kazuichi put up a hand. "How are you guys?"

"Kaz!" Todd replied. "Been chillin'. You see when somebody put fake blood in the water?"

"Yeah, that's…that's why we're here," Kazuichi admitted.

"Why did SHE have to come along?" Pietro scoffed, glowering at Ruby.

"I'm here to assert my position in the official KazuSquad," Ruby replied. "Even if that means I do share the title with UNDESIRABLES."

Todd fired her finger-guns. "Most undesirable on the block, baby! Also…KazuSquad?"

"Jim came up with it," Lianna stated. "I like the ring of it."

"But you didn't ask how I am," Kazuichi realized, "which I'm not surprised by, but ask me. Seriously, ask me?"

"How…are you?" Lance ventured.

Kazuichi beamed as he pulled up his pant leg. "CHECK IT OUT, BITCHES!"

The cybernetic prosthetic was fully in place, and he'd indeed spray-painted it neon yellow-green with pink lightning bolts.

"Ooh, nice leg!" Todd commented. "Ugly chic, too!"

"Looks pretty neat!" Fred agreed.

"You said you were here about the red water," Wanda reminded everyone.

"Uhhhh…yeah," Kazuichi said nervously. "So, uh, this is the guy who did it…" He stepped back to point at Kokichi.

"It wasn't fake blood, you know," Kokichi said. "I killed like fifty people for it."

"No, he did not," Lianna sighed.

"That kinda got him banned from our place," Jim said. "Big-time. But, since he's basically a little gremlin…"

"He belongs with you," Ruby said flatly. "Gremlins with gremlins."

"Awww, but I don't wannaaaaaa!" Kokichi protested. "These guys look like losers!"

"…Not wrong," Lance said.

"He is also a compulsive liar," Lianna explained.

"She's right!" Kokichi said. "I'm actually sooooo super excited to stay over at your house! I think we're all gonna be great friends!"

"I see why you don't want him," Wanda scoffed.

"We'll take him," Lance said, "but only if he wants to be here."

"Seriously, that prank was top-notch," Pietro chuckled. "And most of all, if you guys can't stand him, then that means he's ours!"

"I wanna live here!" Kokichi insisted. "I wanna, I wanna, I wanna!" He made two fists and shook them.

"He may taint your water supply with false blood," Lianna warned.

"Cool," Pietro said. "Things were getting boring around here anyway."

"Okay, they said yes." Ruby shoved Kokichi forward. "All yours now."

"Just…be careful, okay?" Jim sighed.

"Nah," Kokichi replied. "Don't think I will. Thanks anyway!" And he strode up toward the house.

"You sure this is okay?" Fred whispered to Pietro.

"Look, it was cool when we let Tabby in," Pietro reminded him. "This is how we find actual pals around here! He's already too much of a jerk for the goody-goodies!"

"And I hate murder, too," Kokichi whispered to Pietro's other ear. "I'm a real middle-of-the-road kinda guy."

"WHAT – " Pietro flinched away from him. "Howdidyou – "

"GO GO GO!" Ruby turned to barrel away. "BEFORE HE CHANGES HIS MIND!"

"Take care of him," Lianna said as she and Jim turned to follow.

"You guys get one of those GummiPhones yet?" Kazuichi asked. "I wanna catch up one of these days, but we hardly ever just run into each other, so…"

"Oh, we've got phones now," Lance said with a smirk. "We got 'em for FREE."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "They're stolen."

Kazuichi pointed at the Brotherhood for a moment before saying, "You…you know those were being given away for free anyway, right?"

The five shocked looks that met him were utterly hilarious. So hilarious that Kokichi broke down laughing, so hard he was crying.

In the end, Todd and Kazuichi traded numbers, then Kazuichi left to follow the rest of the "KazuSquad" (minus Todd) back to the castle. That left the Brotherhood to welcome Kokichi into his new home.

"We already took all the beds," Pietro said, "so you're gonna have to sleep on the couch. But you're a short little guy, so that'll work."

"I hate sleeping on the couch," Kokichi pouted. "…Or do I?" He raised a brow.

"I feel like I should hate this," Todd said, "but I kinda love this."

"I've just got one gripe." Fred folded his arms. "What was the deal with wasting all that ketchup? Not cool, man!"

"I figured you'd be the kind of guy to be mad about wasting food," Kokichi said, hands behind his head, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Not like that!" Fred argued. "It's 'cause wasting food's a thing rich people do! We gotta eat everything we can get our hands on around here!"

"Hmm…sounds like I showed up just in time!" Kokichi laughed. "Now I can help you guys keep a balanced diet of all the major food groups! Or I might just steal a shitton of candy and that's dinner. Either way, I'm planning on doing my part, and you can trust that's the truth because I actually wanna eat food and not get all hungry all the time."

"So no more wasting on pranks?" Fred urged.

"No more," Kokichi promised. "Though if you're that upset, you could just punch me in the face, you know. I won't mind."

"…Wait, seriously?" Fred was thinking it over.

"Don't," Wanda warned. "He's so tiny. You might kill him."

"Then just punch me lightly," Kokichi said. "C'mon, it'll be fun! I deserve a little revenge, right?"

"Kinda weird how bad you wanna be punched," Lance pointed out.

"I wanna see where this goes," Pietro remarked.

"…Yeah," Fred decided. "I won't punch you hard, but you're right!"

"Let's just get a clean slate," Kokichi said. "Start off with no grudges."

"Okay!" Fred agreed. "You just hold still!"

Kokichi positioned himself square in the center of the living room, putting out his arms. "Ready when you are!" He grinned widely.

Fred was suddenly unsure about this. It had been a while since he'd gotten to punch somebody, even lightly, but this was supposed to be a new friend. So he just made up his mind to tap him, that was all. He drew back his fist.

Kokichi put up his hands, flinching hard and turning away. Fred knew then that he really couldn't actually hit Kokichi. Just make contact. Being that he wasn't a Cinnamon type, he wasn't just going to call the whole thing off; that would've been too sappy. So he moved his fist forward –

Kokichi moved at the last second, with amazing dexterity. Fred went stumbling past him, plowing into the couch.

Kokichi's laugh echoed through the whole house. "Oh, MAN!" he guffawed. "How did you not see that COMING?"

When Fred stood back up, his face was the same shade of red he was seeing. "ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?"

Kokichi realized he may have made a blunder. "Uh…but it was funny, right? Just another prank?"

Pietro smirked widely. "House rule number one," he said. "Don't laugh at Blob."

"GET HIM!" Todd cheered.

What ensued was a high-speed chase. Kokichi hurtled through the house, vaulting various articles of furniture as Fred thundered after him, yelling, "YOU'RE DEAD MEAT!". Through the kitchen, out the back door, into the yard –

It seemed Kokichi had gained some ground but also run out of places to escape. Fred was a ways behind, and Kokichi just glanced around to see if there was a low window he could scamper up to (there wasn't). What he did see, however, was the neighbors in the next yard, looking at a small flower garden they'd planted.

He froze completely. Of all the things he hadn't expected…

They must've won, he realized. When he'd been crushed by the press, they'd either gotten out on the technicality of Monokuma being confused or else simply survived until the end. Judging by the absence of Kaito and Tsumugi, it was the latter.

(Wait. Who had been the mastermind? Questions for later.)

Well, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Kokichi bounded right up to the edge of the property, leaning over the small fence that ringed the yard, and yelled at the three teens, "HEL-LOOOOOOOO!"

Shuichi, Maki, and Himiko gave a start. It had to just be someone with a similar-sounding voice. But when they turned around and saw Kokichi Oma waving at them over the fence, they were struck absolutely flabbergasted.

"DID HE USE A MAGIC TRICK TO GET OUT OF THAT PRESS THE WHOLE TIME?" Himiko cried.

"No," Maki gasped. "No, no, NO – "

"Hiiiiii, Shuichi!" Kokichi waved. "Looks like we're neighbors now! Isn't that just gonna be so much fun?"

And without a word, Shuichi turned and bolted inside the house. Himiko and Maki followed – the latter pointing to her eyes, then to Kokichi.

"Aww, still hard feelings?" he called after him. Then was lifted up off the ground by his collar. Oh, right. Fred.

"I REALLY AM GONNA HIT YOU THIS TIME!" Fred threatened as he turned Kokichi to face him.

Kokichi saw only one way out of this. Crocodile tears immediately started flowing; "PLE-E-EEEAAASE, DON'T HURT ME! I'M JUST A LITTLE FUCKUP! EVERYTHING I EVER DO IS WRONG AND GETS PEOPLE TO HATE MEEEEE! I JUST WANNA BE YOUR FRIIIIEEEEEND!"

Fred was once again unsure of what to even do, because it didn't really seem fair to hit Kokichi while he was crying. "Uh…" He gently lowered Kokichi back to the ground.

"IT'S A LIE!" Kokichi breezed past him, back into the house. "EXCEPT THE PART ABOUT WANTING TO BE YOUR FRIEND, 'CAUSE THAT'S TRUE, BUT I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU! ALSO, HERE'S ME LAUGHING: AHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!"

"YOU LITTLE - !"

As the chase re-entered the house, Wanda asked, "Is this gonna be a problem?"

"This is the opposite of a problem, yo," Todd replied. "I'm havin' fun here."

Lance and Pietro nodded approval.

Wanda sighed. "Well, if he survives the first night, then obviously we have to keep him. He's the only one who's actually on our page."

...

Archibald Snatcher was finally done with remission and had been allowed to leave the med bay, carrying on as usual. Roman had stayed back a bit longer to keep Neo company for an hour or so, since she still had to heal up in several sensitive areas.

And though Snatcher would have been loath to ever do such a thing for Trout, Pickles, or Gristle, sometimes he got the strangest feeling of warmth thinking about how Roman treated Neo.

Snatcher passed the time with a book and a soft armchair in his and Roman's living quarters. He became so engrossed with the text that he almost didn't hear Roman enter. When Roman took hold of the spine of the book and pushed it out of Snatcher's line of sight so Snatcher was forced to look at his smirk instead, well, then he noticed Roman was back.

"That can't be more interesting than me," Roman said.

Ah, yes. Snatcher knew where this was going. "Of course not." And he casually yet forcefully flung the book off the side of the armchair, to the floor.

"Didn't even dog-ear it," Roman noted. "Someone's eager."

"And that someone is you," Snatcher countered with a grin. "Shall we begin, then, so you don't have to wait a moment more?"

Roman settled in right on top of him, straddling Snatcher's thighs as he shifted into position. Their lips met immediately, arms pulling each other closer. Tongues crashing.

Snatcher didn't expect it when he felt Roman's fingers at his back, gently rubbing circles on his flesh. "Mmh, you are TENSE," Roman said between kisses.

"Being shot will do that to a man," Snatcher replied.

Roman dug in deeper with his massaging, and so Snatcher replied in kind by tracing Roman with his hands in a way that put Roman's own hands to shame. Feeling every curve, every angle.

"You remember the time you broke me out of that jailhouse in Knightdock?" Roman said suddenly.

Well, that was a bit surprising. "I thought we weren't to acknowledge that embarrassment except as the inspiration for roleplay number seventy-six." Snatcher thought it over. "Unless this is your way of asking for seventy-six."

"Eh, maybe. I was actually torn more between wanting a new cigarette burn or having you strangle me."

Well, both of those sounded like very enticing ideas. "Why bring it up?"

"Thought you could use some fun recontextualization." They were no longer kissing, just staring at one another, less than an inch apart. "You said you didn't want to hurt me."

"Well, yes – "

"Think about that knowing what you know about Scorpion Fuckface."

Oh. Tyrian actually had broken Roman's bones to free him during a mission. That was a recontextualization indeed.

"That was one of the hottest things you'd ever said to me," Roman panted. Quietly. Not entirely sure he wanted to admit that.

Snatcher knew he had to play coy in return. "Well, it would've been a shame…to break this…" He ran his hands down Roman's waist, over the flare of his hips.

"Shit – " Roman was now tugging at Snatcher's shirt. "Get rid of this – "

So they did, and once Snatcher's chest was exposed, he realized that he now had a crucial difference in how he normally looked. The bullet scar was still quite visible over his chest, pointing right to the lung that Vexen had needed to re-inflate.

Before Snatcher had any time whatsoever to panic over what Roman must have thought of it, Roman put a hand over it, gently curling his fingers. The other hand was behind and a bit lower, grasping as much flesh as it could.

Snatcher interrupted him long enough to ease off Roman's coat, then let him resume the position he'd had. Snatcher didn't need to reposition him to undo his belt, and there was something beneath that of course they were building to attending eventually, but first, a repayment. Because Roman was so gently holding onto his scar, the new piece that connected them.

Snatcher's hand slid down Roman's loosened waistband, over his posterior, coming to settle exactly where he knew Roman's own Burn-bullet scar was. And simply rested there, sliding a bit as a caress.

In a moment, they were united by one another's scars. A fleeting symbolism that would be discarded soon enough so they could get to rougher things.

But Snatcher knew that he could give attention to every scar Roman had and still not reach them all. Because he was aware, now, that there were so many more on the inside. Roman wouldn't be pleased to know the thought was even crossing his mind; the man was as averse to showing weakness as Snatcher himself was. All the same…

Kissing was turning into licking, and Snatcher made his resolution. If he couldn't reach the scars on the inside, he would just have to be extra thorough this time, touch Roman everywhere on the outside. It was the closest he could get, and Roman needn't know about the pity. Though…it wasn't pity, really.

It was merely a longing, for someone who wasn't Snatcher himself to discard some of the heaviness in his heart.

...

When Fred and Kokichi eventually stopped trying to kill each other, the Brotherhood, plus their new fire-forged kindred, went out for pizza.

"Ah, welcome!" Nergal greeted as the six filed into his pizza parlor. "Is this a new friend you've brought with you?"
"Nope!" Kokichi said proudly. "I'm their mortal enemy!"

"He kinda was for a bit," Fred stated proudly, "but he survived ME, so he gets to stay!"

"I'm just with these guys for the free pizza," Kokichi stated.

"Hey, I have no problem with being a meal ticket," Pietro said with a shrug.

"I think he's lying again," Wanda said. "About not liking us."

"Whaaaat?" Kokichi responded. "I am so telling the truth! The fact that I went to lengths to find out all your favorite board games means nothing!"

"Board games?" Nergal's eyes lit up. "Did he say BOARD GAMES?"

"Aw, man, not today," Todd groaned. "Or at least if we're gonna play somethin', can we keep it to twenty rounds or less?"

"Twenty rounds?" Kokichi flinched. "Coward. I can play for eternity!"

"He CAN AND WILL TAKE YOU UP ON THAT," Wanda hissed.

"Just get us our usual table," Lance said. "And the usual order."

Within a few minutes, Xion was bringing two enormous pizzas laden with toppings out to the Brotherhood's table. "I knew it was you," she said with a smile. "You're the only ones who order this."

A cheer of "NINNY!" went up.

"You have a new friend?" Xion realized as she put down the pizzas.

"I'm practically family!" Kokichi declared. "Which means you gotta treat me special, okay?"

"Um…" Xion wasn't sure how to respond.

"Don't listen to him," Wanda groaned. "He lies all the time."

"Why?" Xion asked.

"Why?" Kokichi did a double take. "Did you just ask me WHY I lie?"

"Yes," Xion replied. "It…doesn't seem like a good way to build friendships."

Kokichi looked around the restaurant before asking, "Is this chick for real?"

"She's got some issues," Lance said. "We're helping her out!"

"So play NICE," Pietro insisted.

"Eh." Kokichi shrugged. "Okay. The thing is that lying is the way I find out who my real friends actually are. It's the people who can put up with it all."

"So friendship is putting up with lies?" Xion inferred. "That doesn't seem right."

"Well, not to YOU," Kokichi replied. "It's not an everybody thing. I'm looking for a SPECIFIC kind of friend! But nobody tells the truth all the time. You gotta be ready for that. What happens when one of your true friends tells a little white lie? Are you just gonna give up on 'em?"

Something about that question was too familiar. Xion knew that somewhere, deep down, she'd been lied to once by someone she cared about. And had made a choice regarding that, but what choice? Was it the right choice?

"Hey," Todd broke in, "Koki, long as you're here, Ninny's got a big problem with bein' a mutant monster and feelin' all self-conscious about it. She also can't remember anythin' about her past."

"How is that my problem?" Kokichi asked. "I'm not a mutant monster."

"Say something nice to her or we'll throw you out and you don't get any pizza!" Lance threatened.

"Awwwwhhhh…" Kokichi pouted. "Fine. You win."

Then, all of a sudden, the usual animated expressions of his face were wiped away. It was the first time Xion had seen him look so vulnerable. She got a creeping sensation that she was looking at an actually deadly-serious Kokichi.

"I'm not a mutant," he said, "but I'm not human, either. Technically, I don't even exist. I'm a clone somebody made of a character somebody else made up and stuffed into another person's body. I'm somebody's walking fanfiction. I'm not even a month old."

"That…that sounds terrible," Xion said.

(And again, familiar. She was afraid to wonder why.)

"Eh, it's not a big deal." Kokichi shrugged. "I don't mind not existing. I'm here anyway. That's the great thing about being a liar. It means I can live a lie way, way more easily! But you know that some lies, if you tell them over and over again, can become the truth."

"You're saying you could be a real person?" Xion inferred.

"I already am a real person," Kokichi told her. "I'm also not a real person. I'm just a big old phony. But you don't think my existence is a lie, do you? You can see me. You can talk to me. You can hear me call you an idiot."

"Yes," Xion agreed. "I can."

"So I guess I am somebody," Kokichi rationalized. "Who knows? Maybe you don't exist."

A pang in her heart.

"Maybe you're just a clone of somebody someone made up, too."

The pang grew stronger.

"But it doesn't matter! Because if you can tell the lie that you're real, eventually, you'll have put so much work into it that you will be real! So don't give in to the existential dread. Just be okay with telling a little lie or two! After all…it's not REALLY a lie, is it?"

Xion took a step back. "What makes you…so sure I'm like you?"

"Nothing," Kokichi told her. "I'm just talking about me and giving you a worst-case scenario. You're probably nothing like me. I bet you've got a really cool hidden backstory where you killed a whole town of people! Do you ever get nightmares about committing atrocities you can't remember when you're awake? Because that'd be so awesome!"

"I…I do dream," Xion admitted. "I can never remember them well when I wake up. I think…I think I did do bad things."

"I bet you're a kaiju!" Kokichi laughed. "You just look like a cute moe waitress to lure us in! But since you don't actually wanna eat us, all that setup was for nothing actually evil."

"I think I understand," Xion realized. "You're saying that whoever I am…what matters is what I do starting now. Who I choose to be. And even if I reinvent myself…the person I become will be someone worth knowing."

"Ew, no!" Kokichi recoiled. "Don't turn all my nasty insults and implications into something cutesy! I wasn't trying to make you feel good about yourself!"

She smiled. "I think you're lying," she accused.

And when he smiled back, it was sincere – or at least it looked that way. "Yeah. You got me."

"Ninhursag?" Sis called from the kitchen. "We've got a delivery order!"

"It was nice to meet you," Xion said with a nod. "Maybe we can talk some more about what it means to exist." And she turned and made her way back to the kitchen.

"Huh." Kokichi thought this over. "Well, this wasn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be the bad guy here!"

"Yeah," Lance said around a mouthful of pizza. "Welcome to the club."

"Just get her back with a real nasty prank later," Todd advised.

"I know!" Kokichi cried. "I'll put spiders in the tomato sauce!"

Then he bit down to realize that it was a bit late for that; Nergal already had spiders in rotation as a standard ingredient.

...

It had been a long and productive day. Commander Peepers had settled into the WHAM ARMY fairly well and quickly, helping to organize everything from battle plans to chore rotation. And he'd mostly been met with respect from the others (the science contingent had asked a few too many prying questions about how his anatomy worked, given the eyeball, and thrown around the word "vivisection" a bit too much, but otherwise, he hadn't made any enemies).

Yet now that the evening had settled and the hubbub was dying down, Peepers found himself hiding in a narrow dead-end hallway, tapping furiously at his phone (or, as they'd called it, his "scroll").

Ten rings and it rolled over to a voicemail: "You've reached the awesome phone of Lord Hater, #1 Superstar. Leave a message after the beep, unless you're Commander Peepers, in which case I'm still not talking to you and I'll be deleting this message as soon as I hear your voice!"

Beep.

"Sir," Peepers begged, "don't delete this. It's me. You never noticed that you left me for dead trapped on the Skullship. I'm okay now because – well, we'll work that part out later. It's complicated. But please, sir, if you could just talk to me…I need you back on my side again! I'm with, uh, a new syndicate of villains, and I'm sure we could make arrangements for you to join them so long as you promised to not incinerate them! Things could be like they were before, except even better! Just please – "

A second beep informed him he was over time limit for the message, so he hung up. And might've had hope, except this was the tenth such voicemail he'd left Lord Hater over the course of the day.

He knew they were just getting deleted, and if Hater were listening, he would probably be saying something like…

("HE NEEDS TO STOP BEING SO DRAMATIC!" Hater threw the phone across the room. "HE'S MAKING UP THESE LIES THAT I 'LEFT HIM FOR DEAD' WHEN I HAPPEN TO KNOW HE'S RIGHT HERE!"

"Sir," Andy the Watchdog tried to point out again, "actually, the Commander – "

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU NOT TO BRING HIM UP TO ME UNTIL OUR FIGHT IS OVER?")

No, Hater wasn't noticing, or listening, or caring. And as much as Peepers had claimed to have washed his hands of him, it wasn't so easy to let go of such a strong bond, of someone who he'd been beside through thick and thin. Memories were parading through his mind of the good days and the bad, and it all became too much.

Peepers curled up against the wall, hugging his knees, and began to softly cry, his eye waterlogging.

In the perpendicular hallway leading up to his hiding spot, Discord, Morvok, Drakken, and Hannibal were having a stroll and a chat. "I knew things had gone wrong when the elevator display flashed the words 'eeby deeby,'" Drakken was explaining. "Where in the world is eeby deeby?"

"You went, right?" Discord asked. "It's a lovely vacation destination."

"Of course I didn't let the elevator take me to EEBY DEEBY!" Drakken spat.

"Too bad," Hannibal said. "The beaches are supreme."

"Wait, you've been?" Discord realized. "I'm surprised we haven't crossed paths!"

"Prob'ly have, to be honest," Hannibal realized. "Assumin' we wore our own faces, it's a hotspot for plenty a' draconequuses and beans."

"I think it's 'draconequui,'" Morvok corrected in a haughty tone. He wasn't strolling, by the by – he was floating on the low speed of his hoverbot.

"An' I think you're a smart-aleck," Hannibal shot back.

"Better that than a dumb-aleck," Morvok retorted.

"I know THAT wasn't a word," Drakken pointed out.

Then the sounds of the soft, high-pitched sobbing reached them, and all four froze (or ordered relevant hoverbots to a halt).

"Is that…?" Drakken wondered out loud.

Discord pulled a submarine periscope out of thin air, peering through it. It snaked around the corner, giving him a view of the abject Peepers – whose eye was too blurred by tears to note the scoping device intruding. Discord vanished it before announcing, "It's Peepers."

"What's he all sad about?" Morvok asked. "We rescued him from his horrible boss, didn't we?"

"I'd thought the story sounded kind of traumatic," Drakken said. "Can you imagine leaving your henchman for dead and not even noticing they're gone? I'd never do that to Shego!"

"She'd do it to you," Hannibal said.

"Yes, but she's the henchwoman, not the boss," Drakken explained. "She doesn't NEED to look out for me."

"He must still be experiencing some residual feelings for the bag of bones," Discord said in what was supposed to be a scoff but fell flat with melancholy. "And I can't say I blame him."

"Well, y'all know what needs to come outta this, right?" Hannibal asked.

After a silence, Drakken said, "No. No, we don't."

"The li'l fella's all alone in a strange place, his best friend gone for good," Hannibal said slyly. "What he could use is a new friend. Somebody to pick him up, get 'im on his feet, make sure he feels more at home. An' then make sure his loyalty's in the right place, or else." He was rubbing his vines together. "An' who better to do that than – "

"Me." Discord put up a claw rapidly. "I volunteer as tribute."

Hannibal, Drakken, and Morvok flinched. "Why?" Drakken asked. "Don't you two hate each other?"

"More or less," Discord said with a grin. "Which is why it will be EXTRA entertaining to hover over his shoulder!" He gave a soft guffaw.

"The point is we're trying to brainwash him to our side," Morvok reminded Discord. "Not get him to mutiny faster."

"Oh, I know what I'm doing!" Discord waved his claw.

"You better," Hannibal warned.

Discord pointed at Hannibal. "See that? See that obvious evil intent plastered on your face? See that whole intimidation factor? That's why you're not doing this one. I'm a cheerful ball of fun, on the other hand!"

"I mean, he does have kind of a point there," Drakken realized.

"All right." Hannibal gestured to the hall. "He's all yours."

Discord cleared his throat, then proceeded around the corner to find Peepers on his feet, glaring him down, arms folded.

"I heard that," Peepers said. "You're all trying to butter me up so I won't turn traitor!"

"Yes," Discord affirmed. "And you're surprised?"

"Well, no," Peepers admitted.

"But intentions aside," Discord said, sinking down into a relaxed U-shape that filled the narrow hall, "you can't tell me you don't want someone to talk to about all of this."

"Well, I, um…" Peepers stammered.

"Have you made any real friends around here yet?" Discord asked.

"Mostly just business acquaintances," Peepers admitted, pressing the tips of his index fingers together.

"Then you need someone a bit closer," Discord said. "Lucky for you, I'm in the market for a new best friend. In fact…"

He put forth a square of stationery that had appeared from nowhere in a hail of confetti, accompanied by the noise of a party horn. "This is an exclusive invite to a slumber party hosted by yours truly. I don't give these to just ANYONE."

Peepers eyed it suspiciously. "Is this a trick to lure me into close quarters so you can murder me?"

"Of course not," Discord said. "The point is to get on your good side. And that can't really happen if you're dead."

"Okay," Peepers countered. "Is this a trick to lure me into close quarters so you can do other nonlethal things I won't appreciate?"

"Of course n – " Discord then realized the full extent of what that could imply. "Ugh, gag, no! I'm just trying to give you a shoulder to cry on so you can get it out of your system. Here, have one of these, too."

A yellow card appeared beside the invitation, reading, "DISCORD PASS – present the Discord Pass to exit any situation!"

"Fine." Peepers swiped the two papers. "But only so you stop pestering me!"

Discord shrugged. "Well, if THAT'S how you're going to be, then I don't want you to come."

"And…" Peepers dragged a toe on the floor. "Because I just…I really don't wanna be alone right now."

Discord's mischievous smirk faltered for but a moment. "I have a guest bed waiting."

"Well, this is scandalous," Morvok whispered to Drakken and Hannibal.

"They're just friends," Drakken whispered back.

"Yes, but you should've seen it earlier," Morvok hissed. "You could've cut the tension with a knife!"

Within a few minutes, Discord was showing Peepers into his apartment. Peepers took a good look around at the black hole in the corner, the fountain that flowed in reverse, and the Penrose triangle on a pedestal in the living room and could only think to say "Well, this must be my personal torment."

"Oh, how rude of me!" Discord exclaimed, looking to where the sink was half-filled with dirty dishes. "I promise I wouldn't have left that task undone if I'd've known I was going to have company." He flitted over to the sink and proceeded to take the clean dishes out of the cabinets, wiping them with a rag that covered them in grime before they were settled in the sink.

"Yeah, you're lucky I'm desperate," Peepers sighed. "This place is awful. You know that, right?"

"And I'm quite proud of it," Discord said as he continued to reverse-clean. "Now, it sounds like you have some issues you want to air."

"Not necessarily," Peepers retorted. "I said I didn't want to be alone. I didn't say I wanted to actually discuss any of the issues." Then, in a very quiet squeak, "Tonight, anyway."

He should've just played the Discord Pass and left. But he still had it burned into his mind, how Discord had been the one to peel him from the rubble and encourage him to get back up. Whether that would outweigh the inherent annoyance Discord was…well, that was yet to be seen.

"Well, feel free to get comfortable," Discord said. "The guest bed is in the living room."

Peepers gave it a glance. "No, it's not."

"Look up."

Ah, yes. There was indeed a bed. On the ceiling. "Very funny, Discord."

"I'm dead serious! It's all yours."

Peepers walked to the center of the floor beneath the mattress. "How am I supposed to get up there?" he asked.

"Like you'd get into any other bed," Discord replied coyly.

"What," Peepers groaned, "do I just – "

He made a half-hearted jump. Instantly, gravity reversed on him, and he flew directly upward to slam into the soft mattress, giving a yelp on the way.

"…Well," he relented. "That was…that was a thing that happened. I'm not even going to ask how that worked."

"Good, because I can't explain it." Discord put the last dish in the sink. "You strike me as early to bed, early to rise. Is that right?"

"Yes," Peepers said, "but I'd rather not go to sleep until nine sharp so I can get exactly eight hours. It's currently eight-thirty-two."

"All right," Discord said. "So what is it you like to do before the stroke of nine?"

"I mean…not much of anything important, really – "

"You have to have SOME kind of hobby."

"I paint sometimes, okay?" Peepers admitted. "Miniatures. But that's not – "

"Oh, you should've said!" Discord beamed as he snapped his claw. A life-size statue of himself carved of wood smacked down into the center of the living room.

"DISCORD!" Peepers chided. "That is NOT a MINIATURE!"

"Oh, fine, fine." Discord waved a hand, dialing down its size until it fit in the palm of his hand. He set the statuette on the table, passing an arm over the tabletop, and suddenly there were tubes of every paint color imaginable and three that weren't.

Peepers was trying to figure out how to exit the bed, and ended up sliding off the mattress, walking a few paces on the ceiling, and suddenly falling down the regular direction of gravity to end up bouncing off the couch. Discord stifled a laugh. Then Peepers arrived at the table, muttering "Might as well" as he picked up a paintbrush. Then, after some thought, he discarded his helmet to the floor, pushing it neatly under the table with a foot.

He looked quite different without that metal lightning-spire, Discord observed. Shorter. More vulnerable. Much more delicate than his attitude would have you believe.

"Why are you doing any of this?" Peepers asked as he started to paint the statuette. "I mean, besides the obvious trying to build team morale so I won't go traitor on you. Actually, better question. Why am I even going through with any of this? We aren't friends."

"Well, obviously not YET," Discord said.

"You really think we're going to BE friends?" Peepers scoffed. "You wouldn't know the first thing about friendship. The first time we met, you evaded my attempts to bring you to submission. The SECOND time we met, you blew up my home base. And this makes number three. Friendship doesn't work like that, with the flip of a switch. I had one real friend, and I watched him fly away from me. Sooner or later, he's going to catch on that I'm gone and he'll come looking for me. I'll arrange a peace talk so he can join up with the WHAM ARMY, and then I won't need any of this anymore. The two of us can have our little corner, the way it used to be."

"That again?" Discord rolled his eyes. "I thought we'd closed the book on that. You join us SPECIFICALLY to get revenge on Lord Hater, and here you want to invite him into our ranks? You realize that undermines the purpose, don't you?"

"LISTEN!" Peepers yelled, dropping the statuette. "He's the only real friend I ever had, and maybe he never said it, but I KNOW he cared about me, okay? Just in his own stupid way. And yes, I did…you know, think of him LIKE THAT, and no, maybe he wouldn't have liked me LIKE THAT back, but that doesn't matter as long as he was happy with what we had! He taught me what friendship IS. Friendship is when someone says that no one gets to pick on you but him! Friendship is when someone drops his longtime rivalry so he can come back to the plans he made with you in the first place! Friendship is when someone KNOWS he's being a jerk, but he makes an effort to show you that you have a place with him despite it! I'm the only person he ever lowered himself enough to actually apologize to! He KNOWS how useful I can be to him! And…I'm…" He faltered. "I'm starting to wonder if I made the wrong choice, letting him fly away like that."

Discord's teeth ground against one another. He figured he was angry at Peepers for doubling back instead of doubling down. "You may have been taught what friendship was by one person who had no idea how it worked," he seethed, "but you never had the benefit of living in the same town as a 'friendship student' who would write her mentor letters about how relationships worked every week, like it was homework. I'll say I know a few things about FRIENDSHIP from that alone, and maybe I can't tell you much about what friendship IS, but I can sure tell you what it ISN'T."

"Oh yeah? Then out with it!"

Discord planted himself in the chair across from Peepers. "Friendship ISN'T when someone decides they want to free you from your eternal prison because you could be USEFUL," he hissed. "Friendship ISN'T when someone threatens to take away their affection unless you change who you are. Friendship ISN'T when your loyalty is so fragile that all it takes is a few sweet words about a better future, one where you can be in your prime again, to make you reconsider. Friendship ISN'T when someone hands you a trinket necklace from someone he disposed of earlier so he can drive home how worthless both of you are. Friendship ISN'T when someone builds you up for the sole purpose of using you as the second-in-command for his scheme, then tosses you aside the MINUTE he doesn't need you anymore. Friendship ISN'T when someone drains everything out of you and takes it for his own. And friendship DEFINITELY ISN'T when you settle for crawling back to someone else on the sole premise that they're as far as you can get from the one who betrayed you, so now that I think about it, maybe you're right and we CAN'T be friends, because I've been in your little red boots before and if I'm just the Fluttershy you're using to feel safer, then by all means, use the guest bed, but I'll wait to be RESPECTED!"

His pupils were lit with tiny sparks, flickering flames. And it was then that Discord realized that he wasn't actually really angry at Peepers. He was angry at Hater, because he was angry at Tirek.

All the same, the point had to be made.

"That…that all happened to you?" Peepers realized, taken aback.

"Yes. It did."

"So let me get this in order. Someone saved you from a horrible fate so they could use you. You changed everything about yourself to keep that person on your side. Then someone who you thought really COULD appreciate you came along, you went with them instead, and they backstabbed you and left you behind…so you had to go back to the only other option you had left."

"That's the sum of it," Discord spat.

"Oh." Peepers looked down sheepishly. "I…had no idea."

"Well, this isn't about me – "

"You're right, though."

"Oh, am I?" Discord raised a brow.

Peepers sighed. "It's always been about how much Hater needed me to build up his ego and finish his evil schemes. I…I really loved – no. I love him. And I just thought…I wanted him to see what I was really like on the inside. To see me as more than his personal assistant, or the guy he respects when it makes him feel good to do so. But that's never actually gonna happen, is it?"

"Didn't happen to me," Discord replied.

"Do…do you have any idea what I am?" Peepers ventured softly.

"I know you were smart enough to hinder me inside your Skullship so I couldn't set it off from the inside," Discord said, his own tone softening. "Not even intangibly. I know you were observant enough to call my bluff, the first time we met. I know you were confident enough to brag. And if we'd been on the same side, that would've been something admirable. Actually, if I'm being honest, it was admirable either way."

"Well, I…I've been fairly impressed by what you've been able to pull off so far," Peepers replied. "Especially with that stupid grin on. You always seem so arrogant and sure of what you're doing. You turn everything into a party. And that's annoying, but it's also a real strong suit, you know? You're obviously having fun with your work, and that's what keeps you in the game. The idea that someone like you could be disposable, that somebody else could just…"

"Eat up all my magic to power himself up, then toss me on the ground like a rag doll?"

Peepers flinched. "That sounds painful."

"It was."

"So was…" Peepers swallowed hard. "So was being punched, slapped, and stomped on so Lord Hater could get Major Threat angry enough to return to the evil side. …Wow. The point is obviously that I should NOT have let him get away with that, but he couldn't even let Major Threat be himself, could he?"

"It sounds like Hater is only interested in what he can control," Discord noted.

"If that's the case, then why Wander?" Peepers asked. "Or you? Why keep chasing you around and not resting until he gets the upper ha – oh. Oh, I get it. Because the point is he thinks he'll have you down eventually, and it's an insult to him that he doesn't. Whereas I'm…easy to push around."

Discord gave a sigh. "It at least sounds like he had a vague idea of what a friendship looked like. I don't think he was playing the same long game Tirek was. That said, I don't think he has the mental capacity to realize what it takes to MAINTAIN a friendship, or even an evil alliance."

"Tirek," Peepers repeated. "Yours?"

"Yep."

"Did you…you know…?"

"Did I love him?" Discord shrugged. "Yes. Does it matter? Either way, he thought I was just raw material."

"And you said he…gave you a necklace."

"His brother's. To make me think we were something. And then pull the whole 'you were as worthless as him' bit."

Peepers fished beneath his uniform. Then brought out a small gold chain, placing it on the table. A pendant. Half a heart. "He didn't give me this," Peepers admitted. "I bought this and gave him the other half. He never wore it. Heh…what a coincidence, huh? Necklaces and all."

"It is," Discord said. Then he started to laugh, rather raucously, because the mood was already so morose that any little coincidence was hilarious by comparison.

A cuckoo clock struck, making a quaint hooting noise. "So it's…it's nine," Peepers pointed out.

"All right, all right." Discord pushed back his chair to get up. "I'll let you sleep."

"Discord?"

"Yyyeeeessss?"

"I don't want you to think you're disposable," Peepers muttered. "Yes. You annoy me. A lot. And tomorrow morning, I'm doing those dishes the right way whether or not you want me to. But you shouldn't be anyone's backup plan. Tomorrow, I'll be out of here."

"Well, I just don't know about that," Discord teased. "Are you really so sure this is only your backup plan? Because I think we made a real breakthrough here. I think we could be friends after all."

"Maybe. We can…figure that out later."

"Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Discord curled up – literally, in a spiral form – on the large bed in the master bedroom, yawning and shutting his eyes. He usually didn't sleep this early in the night, but –

Why was he trying to sleep this early in the night instead of making enough noise to drive Peepers insane and keep him up all night?

Because the thought put a pit in his stomach. Now, if the two of them shared quarters for much longer, he'd feel less guilt about doing exactly that. But tonight…

Tonight he just had to sleep.

And he reached slumber more easily than he'd thought. Until about midnight, when he awoke to the sound of repetitive slamming. It took him a moment to realize it was coming from the bathroom, and every bonk was accompanied by a shrill shriek of "STUPID!"

Discord's heart seized. He curled his fingers, clutching the blanket, as he heard Peepers quite literally beat himself up, asking "HOW COULD I BE SO STUPID?" and "WHY COULDN'T I SEE IT?"

Discord knew he should've gotten up. But he told himself it was a respect for the Commander's obvious sense of pride that kept him rooted in place.

Eventually the noise stopped. There was a rustling that indicated Discord's guest was back in bed. And Discord was finally able to get to sleep, once he finally calmed all the demons running round his head.

...

"IN THIS CORNER," Cherry yelled, "HERE TO AVENGE THE FIVE HUNDRED MUNNY HE WAS CHEATED OUT OF, WE HAVE THE WEALTHIEST OF THE WEALTHY HIMSELF, GOLDOOOOOOOR!"

The arena that she'd been given was deep within the tunnel systems of Twilight Town: a great open space where many tunnels converged. Neon lighting on the wall reflected off Goldor's armor, casting rainbows in the golden sheen. He crossed his dual sabers, grinding them against each other in a shower of sparks, and the viewing audience cheered.

"AND IN THIS CORNER!" Cherry bellowed. "THE ALLEGED SCAMMER, LADY LILIIIIIIIITH!"

A redheaded mage dressed in a black gown tossed her head. She raised a gloved hand, showing a crackle of flame within.

"WHO WILL LIVE AND WHO WILL DIE?" Cherry asked the audience.

"GOLDOR!" some of the people cheered.

"LILITH!" still some others yelled.

"LET'S PUT IT TO THE TEST!" Cherry cried. "THREE…TWO…ONE…"

She skipped safely to the sidelines. "STRUGGLE!"

Goldor and Lilith hurtled toward each other, blades shining in the glow of the magics cast. Cherry smirked; this was going to be an interesting payoff.

"Excuse me," a chipper voice with a Southern accent broke in. "Is this the Dark Struggle ring? And are you Cherry?"

"Who wants to know?" She turned to face the bright eyes and bright smile of Steve Newlin.

"Well, the people who got you this stage have a bit of a problem with how you've been using it," Steve told her.

"You mean the WHAM ARMY?" Cherry posed. "If they have a problem, their skunk-hair leader can come tell me to my face."

"Oh, no," Steve told her. "Not the people who got you THIS arena. The people who put you on this world to begin with."

Cherry raised a brow. "I wasn't given instructions besides to spread a word, which I did."

"Yes, well, the thing is…" Steve put on his most innocent face. "That was just the entry requirement."

"I'll take it from here, Steve." A hand rested on Steve's shoulder, and its owner peered around Steve to get a good look at Cherry. "Hello. It's been a while."

Cherry's lip curled. "Penguin. What do you want all the way out here? Don't you have Gotham to play around like a sandbox? Or did my aunt finally drive you out?"

"The hell your AUNT has been wreaking on my city is an entirely separate matter," Oswald Cobblepot hissed. "Now, as you'll recall, you were allowed a new lease on life here in this nexus world so long as you told everyone you crossed paths with that the Queen of Gotham was due to return. I do hope you put two and two together to realize that this Queen of Gotham, Fish Mooney, was in fact your benefactor."

"Fish Mooney?" Cherry scoffed. "She's back to life again? Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Nothing stays dead in Gotham. Well, if she's queen, that has to mean you were knocked off your throne."

"Not quite," Oswald told her. "See, I'm part of a new power structure in which we don't have to compete. And moreover, I am more than happy to contribute to Fish's empire without complaint."

Cherry snorted. "Sorry. You almost sounded convincing there."

"But there's a little problem here," Oswald said. "See, Fish and her associates aren't really fans of this whole WHAM ARMY movement that's been springing up. We can't really have you rubbing elbows with them."

"Fuck that," Cherry spat. "Business has been better than ever thanks to their work. I don't go back with them to their den. Fish Mooney will just have to deal with the fact that I'm running a side hustle."

"I am…very sorry to hear that," Oswald sighed. "Steve, will you please put things into perspective?"

"Why, gladly!" Steve said. "I was feelin' a little peckish."

Before Cherry could blink, he'd rushed into her arena. There was a clang, and several moist noises, and then both Goldor and Lady Lilith lay sprawled out dead on the floor, Steve gathering their blood in his cupped hands and taking a deep draught.

The entire audience turned and fled, putting up a clamor of terrified yelps and whimpers. "You know," Steve said casually, "she does have the whole Lilith aesthetic now, but really, she's a bit of a poser. The blood sure doesn't taste of anythin' special."

Cherry's face now reflected the sheer terror in her heart as she looked back to Oswald. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll cut ties with the WHAM ARMY. I take orders from Fish Mooney now."

"I'm glad you came around," Oswald said with a grin. "Don't worry. By the time we're finished, this town is going to be in the CORRECT hands."

...

A/N: Flydor is GAVillain's Power Rangers OC, insofar as he can be called that. GA, the only reason I did not ask permission to use his name is because I wanted a reaction in real time.