ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FAN FICTION — EVEN THOSE BASED ON FICTIONAL PEOPLE — ARE ENTIRELY MADE-UP. ALL DANTE REFERENCES ARE RESEARCHED… POORLY. THE FOLLOWING STORY CONTAINS LEWD SEXUAL HUMOR AND DUE TO ITS LONG INTROSPECTIVE MONOLOGUES IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE. _|_|_|

Stan

I hate déjà vu.

Not that I can really think of anyone who particularly looks forward to feeling that way—feeling like you've experienced something before, like you've happened upon a person, or place, or time, or even idea—but the bitter truth is, it seeks me out. Or, has, a few different times in my life.

Sometimes I know exactly what the feeling is that I'm re-experiencing. After all, I did grow up in a crazy town. Sometimes, yes, déjà vu pretty much comes in the form of exhaustion, since time is no stranger to particular types of events happening again and again and again. Those times, I can ignore it. I just shake my head, massage my eyes to give them a break from stupidity or monotony, and go about my ridiculous day.

But, believe me, déjà vu, at its worst, is a bitch. Because it taunts. It prods and wheedles, it sinks in and creeps up, it pops up into a portion of a memory like an unwanted guest and grabs hold.

It makes your heart skip. It turns life into a horror movie.

At least, the type that I experience tends to work that way.

In the League, I'm the runner. I always have been, and I enjoy that. I'm fast, I'm light on my feet, I can sprint without getting easily exhausted, winded or misdirected. But every quick step I took when chasing the hooded activist out of The Tenth Circle and into the dark streets of an abnormally active evening in my quirky hometown—every step was an off-kilter heartbeat, telling me that something was wrong. That I'd made contact with that young man before, and that he was not someone I had ever wanted to—or thought I'd have to—deal with ever again.

I pressed on, though, giving Kyle a nod as I took strides ahead. The plan was to trap this guy and make him talk. But the stern look on Kyle's face was all the indication I needed that we weren't dealing with a living member of the GSM. This guy was another fabrication.

Either that, or just plain not alive.

Whatever he was, though, we had to take our chances on the simple fact that we could get something out of him. Information, a location… something. So on I sprinted, until I'd passed the young man; I skidded to a halt, turned, and grabbed out with my left hand, while keeping a firm hold of the stun pistol with my right. It was a lightweight weapon, something much different than I was used to, so I had to keep telling myself handle with care.

I held it away at first, but did manage to grab hold of the person we were chasing. He shoved my arm away and swung out. I yanked my head back just in time to make him miss, and reached around to my back involuntarily. My hand gripped air rather than the handle of my sledgehammer; I gave myself a little mental slap for getting so wrapped up in fighting this guy, beating this guy, that I'd momentarily forgotten that for now, I was not Toolshed.

Kyle caught up quickly, and as soon as our target turned, Kyle made a grab for his hood. The young man bent at the waist, angling himself away, then grabbed onto Kyle's arm and flipped him over his back. After a quick, startled yelp, Kyle corrected his own trajectory and managed to land on his feet, and before the hooded stranger could attack again, I took a shot.

He slapped a hand to his neck, where the stun shot had nicked him, then chortled and tugged at his hood just enough to let me look at his neck. The skin itself was disturbingly red and raw, and I was able to see dust falling from the shot wound.

"Ashes to ashes," the young man said, as he let the thick grey dust catch the wind. "It's all the same in the end." Covering his neck again, he added, "Though I doubt I need to convince you of that."

"Shut it," Kyle barked, as he righted his own stance. Both knives at the ready, he noted, "You're not like the other guys, huh?" It was true: the result of my shot was only the odd, crumbling dust… not an explosion and a sentient shadow.

"Astute," the young man mocked him back. "One hardly even needs to be psychic to notice that."

I gave Kyle a full glance over once that remark had been made, and instantly saw the gears turning in his head. As comfortable as he'd become, over time and practice, with his abilities, Kyle still hated having the issue so obviously addressed. Especially from someone not in our immediate circle.

And especially when they added something like: "Now that I've introduced the act, why not give us a show?"

"Oh, you motherfucker," Kyle muttered through clenched teeth.

When the stranger turned and began to run again, Kyle let out an angered huff of breath and once again took off after him. As

Something about that guy really did bother me…

Well, no time to muse on that now. We followed the young man past and around three buildings down the block, and when he turned a fast right angle, Kyle spat out, "Fuck," and nearly skidded—I managed to grab and right him just in time for the two of us to continue following our target.

When we made it down the narrow side road the stranger had taken, both of us nearly collided with a car. This time, Kyle grabbed onto me and tugged me back; we both spun, but both of us hit our backs hard against the vehicle… which was luckily parked.

In a not-so-lucky location.

"Dammit," Kyle whispered as he caught his breath, peering around the side of the car we'd collided with. "Dammit, dammit…"

"We're in a parking lot, aren't we?" I realized. I quickly snapped the safety on and re-secured both of my stunners.

"Yup," Kyle complained, likewise hiding his knives. "Guess where Token isn't parked?"

"Shit. What about Bebe?" I realized, hoping the girls had managed to make a safe getaway.

"Dunno. Fuck. We should check in once we locate that guy…"

"Keep a lookout on this side," I suggested. I pressed down on Kyle's shoulder to get him crouched fully behind the car we'd landed against, while I turned to survey the rest of the parking lot.

It was going to be an obstacle course, trying to work our way around the uncoordinated arrangement of the various parked cars in the lot, and it could be more troublesome still if we had to deal with someone returning to the lot to reclaim a vehicle. The obvious answer was move the fight, but the further we chased our target from here, the harder it would be to grab our gear if we needed to really start some League work. And we couldn't risk just asking TupperWear to move the van that held our stuff… that would inconvenience Kenny and Clyde, who were still in the middle of the awful scramble back at the coffee shop.

Just as I was pondering our options, though, I caught sight of the young man we'd been chasing. He was resting nonchalantly against the sole lamp post in the middle of the rather spacious lot. The lot itself was bordered by one side street and one main, an office complex, and a row of restaurants. Meaning plenty of people.

Including a couple heading for our hiding spot right now. My heart skipped; I drew in a startled gasp, then, after catching another glimpse of our currently stationary target, spun back around and said, "We've gotta move."

"Why, what's—"

"We're about to lose the car."

"Huh?"

"People."

"Oh!"

Thinking fast, Kyle double-checked to make sure we both had our weapons concealed, then took hold of my hand and led me a couple steps away from the car, just as the middle-aged man and woman I'd seen approaching had made it close enough to notice us. The hooded man had not moved. He didn't seem like he was going to. Kyle nudged me with his shoulder, and I heard him whisper, "Smile," just before he flashed his own grin at the couple and said a friendly, "Oh, hi!"

"Can, uh… can we help you guys with something?" the man wondered.

"What were you doing so close to our car?" the woman added.

"Your car," Kyle laughed convincingly. "No wonder your key didn't work," he added, glancing slightly up at me so I could add on to the sudden fake scenario he'd started.

"Oh! Right, right, yeah, sorry," I said, showing the couple a nervous smile. "I parked further in."

"He does this," Kyle continued, still playing aloof while at the same time leading me further toward the center of the lot. The man had not moved from the lamp post. "You should see him at baggage claim!" I managed a real enough laugh and played up some fake annoyance at Kyle's similarly fabricated anecdote.

"That's all right," the woman said, while the pair looked a little less concerned that we'd been right there at their car. "I know what you mean, my husband does the same thing."

The man simply rolled his eyes and said, "Come on," to his wife.

"Good night," I said to the two with a no-harm-done wave.

Kyle and I continued our way into the center of the lot, both of us keeping an eye out for other possible drivers, or, maybe even worse, new cars entering. Once the couple in the car we'd just left had gone on their way out of the lot, though, we were more or less in the clear.

"Let's hope that was the only time…" Kyle said as each step carried us one step closer to the center of the large lot.

"No kidding."
"How're we even gonna do this?"

"I've got an idea," I offered, keeping my eyes forward on the man who still had not moved.

"Yeah?"

"We just do this really fucking fast."

Kyle let out a small laugh. "Fine by me."

He let go of my hand, pulled his knives back out, and lunged at the hooded stranger.

The young man stepped aside, and while Kyle took a circle around the lamp post, I made a swing for the stranger. He ducked under my fist, and shot back up with a projected upper-cut, but Kyle had read the move before he could strike, and countered by quickly jamming his elbow down into the stranger's shoulderblade, thus stopping him mid-punch.

A car door opened beside us, and swung out purposefully, smacking me in the side before I could register the movement. I took a couple gulps of air to make sure I was breathing properly, and before I could wonder exactly how we were going to maneuver our way around whoever it was that stepped out, Kyle quickly jumped onto the hood of the car to avoid what I noticed at that very second was a strike.

The person who'd stepped out was definitely a part of the GSM, clad in black, wearing Infra-Red goggles, and armed with a strange coil of what looked like rope, but had the sheen of a hard metal. I didn't exactly want to figure out what that coil was or why the man had it. Two other men had emerged from behind other cars in the lot, with similar metal ropes attached to their utility belts.

"Can I get a check-in?" I heard Red Serge ask over the wire. "Bebe? Kenny? Kyle…?"

"On the move," Bebe's answer came through first. That was a relief.

"Only slightly fucked, maybe," was Kenny's answer. "Definitely fucked if this bitch has backup."

"We're a little too public," Kyle added. "Anyone wanna step in, on duty, now'd be a nice time…"

"Now, now, is backup really necessary?" asked the hooded man, taking another swing at me.

I kicked the car door closed, and had just enough time to punch the hooded man in the gut before swerving to miss a blow to the head that the first Infra-Red attempted against me. "Kind of a hypocritical question, don't you think?" I mocked him. "Bet you feel pretty smart to've outnumbered us."

"Only by a margin," the stranger corrected me. "Besides, I've got another mission to fulfill tonight." He got in a punch to my sternum, which once again disrupted my breathing.

As I was recovering my breath that time, Kyle called out, "Overhead!"

I glanced up to see that an Infra-Red woman had made her silent way to the roof of the car, a length of that coil taut in her fists. With few options to avoid it, I grabbed onto the rope and pulled, thus yanking the woman down from off the car. I hurled her into the lamp post, into which she collided with a loud clang that echoed through the lot. The vibration alone, apparently, was enough to set off the alarm of a nearby car.

The loud droning of a repetitive horn filled the lot, but the GSM members were not at all, it seemed, concerned with being found out. And I didn't have much of a chance to get a look around for a place to run before the first man was taking a strike at me again. I feinted and doubled back, now pretty worked up for not being Toolshed at the moment, and when I glanced up at Kyle, I knew he was on the same mode of thought.

He'd been smart to get up on the hood of that car, even if it did expose him further, since he had a better view of where our escape routes could be, and had a quick advantage to push back one of the approaching Infra-Red men, who had grabbed out his own coil of metallic rope and had taken a lunge for, quite specifically, Kyle's wrist.

Kyle crouched and took a chance slash at the rope with both of his knives. He grinned when it cut through, then slammed his hands down on the car hood for balance and crouched down to kick the man right in the neck. As soon as the man went down, Kyle shouted over at me, "Stan! We've gotta move!"

The car alarm blared louder, and I saw a figure exiting the restaurant on the left-hand side of the parking lot, probably out to silence his vehicle.

"No shit, but where're we going?!" I yelled over the alarm in a panic. The man I'd been avoiding grabbed out a gun, and cocked it toward my forehead.

"STAN!"

I yelped, grabbed the man's wrist fast and shoved his arm above his head so that the shot went skyward, slammed my foot down on his, and managed to maneuver my fingers around his such that I could wrestle the gun from his grip. I didn't turn the gun on him, but I disassembled the thing fast, then shoved the rounds and empty weapon into separate pockets of my pants.

Kyle was off the hood of the car in seconds, and no sooner had I pocketed the weapon than Kyle had shoved one of his knives deep into the man's side. I saw him breathe for a three-count, then Kyle turned and tossed the Infra-Red man back toward the car. Just as the body exploded.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelped.

The car the man had initially emerged from was caught in the conflagration, and as soon as the shadow darted out of the man's body, the car engine caught, and the vehicle went up in flames. The engine burst, and a tower of fire and smoke lapped up at the sky. Clouds were gathering overhead, and the distant rumblings of thunder, underneath that persistent car alarm, gave me hope that the flames would all be doused by natural forces here soon enough, but I had really been hoping we could avoid too much of a public spectacle. Especially since, you know, we were pretty much just bystanders right now.

Sweat gathered on my forehead. Kyle and I made a dash for another nearby car and ducked behind it to avoid any blasted shrapnel from the exploded vehicle. "New plan," Kyle panted. "We get back to Token's car." I nodded. "Now."

"The guy in the hood?" I wondered.

"Shit. Hey," Kyle asked into the wire. "Can someone get on that guy?"

"Everything relatively okay?" Marpesia asked.

"We can't really stick around to find out, if you can understand that," Kyle complained.

"Yeah. Get changed, guys. You've got backup coming, unless he's already there."

"Yeah? Who is—"

Another explosion sounded from the middle of the lot, followed by a voice I slightly recognized giving a startled yelp. Oh, wait… oh, shit, I did know that voice. I beckoned Kyle to stand up with me, and we peered around the car to notice that the man who'd emerged from the restaurant to shut the alarm off of his car was none other than Craig Tucker's tall, Ginger-haired father.

The explosion had happened nowhere near the car, which finally shut up just as a figure appeared, silhouetted by the flames, to pull Mr. Tucker out of harm's way. "Get back inside." Endgame. Well, that was bound to be an interesting conversation for him.

Craig's father stumbled back, and turned to return to the restaurant, then said, "Hold on a minute. Just what's even going on? Who are you?"

Endgame did not answer.

Nearby us, an Infra-Red man rolled out from underneath a parked car. His goggles glowed, and he clicked a switch on the side of the ocular device, saying, "Match confirmed. Targets A and F in place."

Wasn't much of a stretch of the imagination to guess that Kyle might be Target A. Once he and I were in silent agreement on that outcome, Kyle pressed his lips flat together, steeled himself, and ran out from behind the car. Yes, if we went back out we'd be putting ourselves at risk, but better that than have Craig's cover blown in front of his father. One discovered identity like that could lead to a string of others.

Before the man on the ground could stand up, Kyle slammed him back down with his right foot between the man's shoulderblades. "Not today," he said. I clicked the stunner out from the contraption on my left wrist, charged the weapon, took aim, and as soon as Kyle jumped out of the way, shot the man in the neck. The sting hit, and the man was out of commission immediately.

We only had two ways to run, and I really didn't want to head toward the main street. "Come on," I said, ticking my head toward our previous route.

"Sir, I don't want to have to tell you again," Endgame tried as our sprint drew us back toward the action before we could fully make a break for it. "Go inside."

"Hold on," said Mr. Tucker, "you're one of those League guys, aren't you?"

"YES," our teammate emphasized harshly. "So you'd better understand that we're in the middle of a serious threat, here, and that you need to leave. Now."

"What about my car?"

Endgame sighed. "I'll certainly try to make sure it remains in one piece."

Only slightly satisfied, Mr. Tucker surveyed the scene once more before backing up and rushing back into the restaurant. The hero watched to be sure that his father had made it out of the current struggle, and then, appeased, turned back just in time to swerve out of the way of an attempted strike by one of our opponents.

There were now only four Infra-Reds in the lot, and I was sure any second now we'd be hearing sirens, since there was no way someone in one of the buildings nearby wouldn't have called in that car explosion. The burning vehicle smelled awful, too, and my eyes stung as we found ourselves running through some of the smoke, which billowed around in the constantly shifting wind.

I saw lightning flash in the distance. Wouldn't be a clear night much longer.

"You fuckers want a spectacle, or what?" Endgame shouted out at the Ginger men in the lot.

Actually… more than likely, they did. If the hooded man had alluded to an act…

No time to think about that, no time. We had to re-locate that hooded person, and, well, clean up after some netherworldly explosions. That kind of thing.

Just as a man was approaching Endgame from behind, Kyle and I were able to rush in and pull our companion out of the way. Endgame spun around, planted his feet, shouted, "DOWN!" and pulled off his sunglasses in order to send a laser shot at the man, who then went up in flames. The others were instantly on us, though, the second the sunglasses went back on.

"What the hell are you guys still doing here?" Endgame asked us.

"Dude, we've been trying to leave!" Kyle exclaimed, as he punched a man down.

"Well, now's a good time. I've got this."

"You sure?" I wondered.

"Yup. Move."

Kyle ducked to avoid the man's retaliating punch, and I guided him out of the way as Endgame went down to trip the man with a low kick. He then slid his twin swords out from their holsters on his back, sprang up into a handstand in time to kick down another approaching GSM member, and had his swords at the ready for whoever else would cross him now that he was back on his feet.

"Yeeeah, I'd say he's fine," Kyle decided as the two of us took off the way we'd come.

"These guys are really not fucking afraid to go right ahead and attack around civilians, huh?" I worried aloud.

Kyle shook his head. "Tonight's their 'recruitment night,' remember?" he noted. "They wanna make an example of someone."

"Oh. Fuck, you're right."

"Hopefully. So now we can avoid i—FUCK."

Kyle held an arm out to get me to take an abrupt stop with him. We'd made it back to the back corner of the Tenth Circle, only to have run directly into the path of yet another black-clad man wielding one of those coils of strange rope. Kyle and I had few options but to press back to back; another similarly armed man had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, near Kyle's side.

"Okay," Kyle complained aloud for the Infras' benefit, "I'll bite. What's the point, guys? You on a recruitment mission, or what?"

"You could say that," said the man that Kyle faced directly.

"For what?"

"The Carnival."

Oh?

"Carnival's a front, isn't it?" I added, holding out my stunner as a warning for the man nearest me. "A front that doesn't even fucking exist."

"Does it?" said the man, with hardly any inflection. "Are you in a position to deign what exists and what does not?"

Kyle scoffed out a slight laugh. "Don't even get me started," he said. "Existentialism's interesting, I'll give you guys that."

"And you are the very man we'll be needing," the man nearest him said, also on a flat tone. "With that method of thinking, you'll do well to help us continue building."

"You've been blackmailing," I noted. "Kidnapping. What's your game now?"

Apparently, brute force.

The men both lunged, ropes at the ready. I took a shot and missed; Kyle struck out only for his target to dodge. The worst of it was, I began thinking as I had to push away from Kyle in order to step out of the way of a strike from the approaching man in black, that an even worse struggle was still going on inside the coffee shop. For all we knew, Kenny and Clyde could be cornered.

And just where had Damien gone off to? It was easy for me to forget about the man orchestrating everything. Kenny had been able to speak to him, sure, but until the rest of us learned exactly what he'd spilled, we were in the dark. I was getting a little restless.

The man feinted and stepped behind me.

When I spun back around, the face that my fist nearly collided with was Kyle's. I reared back, stumbling over myself somewhat, and clicked out the small stunner on my right to hold it out and charge it for a sting against the men who were now holding Kyle back.

Fuck. My heart jumped up into my throat, and for a second, my vision went blurry. Yes… okay, yes, we knew that Kyle was one of the primary targets for the GSM, and tonight was enough to convince both of us that it was indeed his ability—his 'act'—that they were after, but it would be an understatement to say I was pissed that those fucks were going the kidnapping route with him.

With my now-stabilized footing, I'd have a clear shot at both of them. And shit, did I want to take it.

Kyle wasn't putting up a struggle, though, which was interesting. He could have broken from their grip if he wanted to…

The streetlights flickered.

Ah. I trusted him enough to know what he was doing, no matter how uncomfortable I was with the situation. Kyle wouldn't just pull that trick out; not at this stage of the game, not when we knew we had backup.

Unfortunately, so did they.

"Let him go," I commanded.

"Amazing that a young man such as yourself could get a pistol into a function like this," one of the Infras chided me with a forced, crinkled grin.

"I'm not interested in talking," I said firmly. "I'm asking nicely. Let. Him. Go."

"Watch where you're pointing that thing, boy," the other man sneered. "Wouldn't want anyone figuring you out."

"What do you want from me?" Kyle asked, without turning to look at them. He kept his eyes on me, so that if it came down to it, we could come up with a plan without words.

"Just to talk."

Kyle snorted, displeased. "Kind of a dreary night for a talk," he mocked the two. "Let's take a rain check."

"Would you?" one of the men asked, almost hopefully.

Should I? Kyle asked me with his expression. I glanced off to my right and then back with a blink to indicate, No. If he set up a meeting with them, the whole League could find ourselves charged with more than we could handle. Kyle glanced down to indicate that he understood.

"Look," I snapped, "let him go and I won't shoot."

The men laughed. And that was when the rest came. Out of nowhere, a high-heeled black boot kicked the stunner out of my hands, and a fist came at my face. Acting on reflex, I reached out with my left hand and in less than a second my hand had grabbed an arm. A Ginger woman's face came into view, eyes obscured by her infrared goggles, and when she went for a headbutt, I stopped her—my right hand covered her face, and I grabbed on, digging my fingers into her skin and hair. She bit my palm, but I kneed her in the ribs and tossed her aside.

No sooner had I done that than men were on me from either side. I grabbed out my second stunner and shot the one on my left, but the man on my right got in a pretty awful blow to the side of my skull, which got my head spinning.

"Stan!" I heard Kyle holler out. He'd made it sound desperate, but I knew better. He just wanted to get my attention.

Shaking my head to get the world to stop tilting and fading in and out of focus, I managed to catch sight of him as the first two Infra-Reds began dragging him away down the street, arms crossed and locked behind his back with that thick metal coil. He glanced over his shoulder at me, and before the Infras could notice, he mouthed back to me, I'll be fine.

I was furious, though. Somehow, I had to go after him.

And he certainly gave me permission. The next thing he mouthed was, Fight, a look of solid determination on his face. I nodded, then spun around to cuff my attacker across the face with the edge of the stunner.

I shot the man in the collarbone and heard footsteps rushing toward me. Quickly, I looked back, noticed another woman heading my way, and when she sprang up for a high kick, I ducked down only to buck back up as soon as her shoulders were in line with mine. I hit her hard in the small of her back and sent her careening into the wall behind me, just as a third man opened fire at me from behind a dumpster.

Rolling down out of the way, I fired back with the stunner, but it didn't have the best long range accuracy. He easily avoided my shots and sent back a volley of bullets of his own. I hit the ground and heard a bullet sail past my ear and hit the telephone pole on the street, causing a slight splinter of wood.

No way could I keep this shit up on my own.

Luckily, I didn't have to. When the man took aim to fire again, I heard the revving of a familiar engine, and bright headlights flooded the area. The man let out a startled yelp at having been suddenly blinded, which gave me enough time to search the ground for a better weapon.

Found it. On the unconscious body of my first attacker were two throwing knives. Used to attacking through Mysterion's flares and the brights of the League's SUV fairly consistently, I grabbed up the throwing knives and hurled one straight at the man with the gun.

I had aimed for a non-lethal target area on his body as all of us always did, but, just as we'd been seeing in the previous attacks, the man, upon contact with the sharp object, burned into ash on the spot.

"SUV's unlocked for ten seconds," Red Serge said into my wire, giving me no time to contemplate the odd nature of our current enemies. "Care to fill us in?"

Not wasting a breath, I yanked open the driver's side door of the car, locked it again, turned off the headlights, and stumbled into the back, where the auxiliary lights came on automatically. A quick glance around let me find my own small, locked box of gear. As I slid out my keys and began to yank off my formal attire, all I could spit out was, "They've got Kyle."

"Shit," I heard the Guardian Angel growl out first.

"Damn it, can we get someone on that?" Kenny commanded.

"I'm tracking them," said Endgame.

"Wait, wait," I said, panicked, "what about the parking lot?"

"Murphy showed up at the lot so I'm free." I got out a slight sigh of relief. I'd shoved my collared shirt and formal jacket into the chest, now down to my Toolshed shirt and under armor. Changing pants and shoes in a dimly-lit SUV and in a panic wasn't the easiest thing ever, but I managed to do it quickly. "Yeah; they're movin' fast. Whoever they are, they're on a mission and I think they kinda just achieved it."

"Stay on them," Angel commanded. "Keep us posted."

"On it."

"Stan, what's your—" Red Serge started.

By this point, I'd fully changed. I buckled my toolbelt, strapped my sledgehammer into place across my back, and did a quick smear of charcoal around my eyes and a swift muss of my hair before sliding on my gloves and goggles and heading out from the back. "I'm in," I said, lowering my tone. "Can I get a lock on the car?"

"You're out of it?"

"And hitting the fucking ground running once it's locked," I confirmed.

"Five seconds." I began booking it down the street, satisfied with the flash of headlights that spilled out and shifted shadows behind me once Red Serge had made good on the lock request.

"Head through town toward the docks," Endgame instructed me. "Easiest route."

"How'd you even catch up so fast?" I wondered.

"Cops."

"Right."

I had to wonder, though: why the South Park Docks? I mean, sure, one of the paintings inside the Tenth Circle depicted a river. The paintings were our breadcrumbs, and I had the distinct feeling that the GSM wasn't going to elaborate much. Their vagueness, possibly having to do with the fact that most of them were copies of real human lives, disturbed me.

My stomach flipped when I remembered that we were up against clones, and I quickened my pace. Not being fully on a League mindset all night had made the fine details scramble around in my head a little. Copies—they were all copies. And right now, they had the only one of us who could instinctively tell real from fake; living from mere animated object.

I was sure that Kyle would be fine, that he could hold his own, that he could fucking out-conversation those assholes if need be, but I was not going to end my night before getting him the hell away from those freaks.

They were not going to use him in that 'building' they were talking about. They were not going to use him as a code for more copies. They weren't taking him, and they weren't taking Red either. Period.

It didn't take me long to catch up to Endgame. In fact, I passed him without awareness, and the next thing I knew, he was pulling me back and down behind a row of blue post boxes. After a hurried glance to make sure it was him, I asked in a hushed tone, "What's up?"

"Interrogation or something," said Endgame, peeking around the side of one of the boxes. "Check it out."

I peered around the boxes on the other side, following the line of Endgame's gaze. Right there in the middle of an in-development cul-de-sac were the two Infras from earlier, each man still with a firm grip on both of Kyle's arms. I took a good look at what they were using to keep him tied back—it was that coil that appeared fairly strong, but the fact that there was no lock proved to me that it could be broken. It was probably just a strong rope, or possibly an alloy. Kyle's knives had gone through it earlier, and I'd cut through stronger. My awl could take it. That tool, in Gary Harrison's own words, was sharp as a diamond. And I trusted my technician's every syllable.

"Well, well," I heard the nasal voice of the hooded young man say from above us.

"Fuck," Endgame grunted.

I thought to directly address the stranger, but held my tongue and instead made a subtle grab for my flathead screwdriver. The young man noticed, based on the way he cocked his shrouded head, and let out a light laugh. "Easy, easy," he coaxed me. "We've got ourselves a real fighter. I knew what would get you, Toolshed. You're too simple."

"I'll show you simple," I growled, shifting so that I was glancing up at the young man. He was poised on the post boxes, crouched down with his hands gripping the smooth edge of a centrally-positioned box.

"Oh, but I've seen you at your best already," that nasal voice mocked me. "I've seen you at your worst, as well."

He slipped down from the post boxes, disappearing into the shadows of the street behind us. My heart jumped, and just as I was glancing around to catch sight of him again, I felt a cold hand on the top of my head.

Shaking, I glanced up again. This time, a blade blocked half of my vision. Endgame had pulled a sword on the guy, fed up with his interruption; my comrade still had an eye on Kyle's situation, but I knew his aim well enough to be sure that if the hooded man tried anything funny, he wouldn't have an arm much longer.

He didn't do much of anything, though. He simply patted my head, and said, grimly, "So sorry to disturb your harmony."

He then eased the sword away, and took off down the street again, in the direction of the docks.

When I started breathing more evenly again, I moved closer to Endgame and peered back at the cul-de-sac, where one of the Infras was now circling Kyle, attempting to get him to spill something.

"What'd he mean by that?" Endgame wondered.

"What?"

"The thing about disturbing something…"

Disturbing harmony. I shivered. I hated the way those guys spoke. This person in the dark hood especially.

The scary thing was, I was starting to understand their methods. Bits of them, anyway. The logistics.

Dreams exist between life and death. They are the products of an unconscious mind. For some, that place is more terrifying than it is for others. I was beginning to worry that my own brush with death would subject me to nightmares forever.

Kyle understood, though. I had been adopting more and more of his passion—quest, even—for logic, and honestly, it had been helping me through the strange dreams I'd been having. We balanced each other… but that couldn't have been what the hooded man was getting at, right? Still, balance and harmony are kind of synonymous, I figured. And I got that this group had an obsession with the illogical, which neither of us could deny was a tangible threat…

Wait…

No, it had nothing to do with a personal balance. Not this time around, anyway. Yes, they were calling us out individually. Yes, they seemed to be finding just the right buttons to push for each of us in the League…

But by 'harmony,' that little fucker was being blatant. It had nothing to do with me at all.

I switched on my wire. "Agent Harmony," I said sternly. "What's your location?"

"Toolshed?" her cautious voice came back through. "I'm at the docks. Cops said somethin' weird was spotted down here. Why?"

My chest tightened. "Shit," I muttered. "Hold on, you might need backup. Whatever happens, keep your wire live at all times, you hear me?"

"Why, what—"

"Trust me on this."

"Toolshed, what's going on?!"

I took in a deep breath. "The target we were after is heading your way. I just—I think I know who that guy is," I realized. "And if I'm right, I don't really know what to believe anymore."

Dreams exist between life and death.

Circles tie every plane of existence together in one way or another. I had seen the dead rise before. I had witnessed Immortality, death, Purgatory, and personal nightmares.

I thought, for a moment, as I peered back at the 'conversation,' about Kyle's ability. If what he could do was re-direct gravity, who was to say that someone with even greater power couldn't re-direct reality itself?

– – –

Butters

It is, at times, a very unfortunate thing that I happen to be a firm believer in fate. I believe that it can be a positive force, so long as a person is aware of it and is willing to take risks and make changes necessary to taking charge of fate, rather than becoming a victim of it.

I got the highest marks in my sophomore year philosophy class. The professor loved me. I felt like I could hardly take credit for my work, though. All I did was write from experience.

Lately, as always, I had been thinking a lot about fate. The issue of Hell rising to our plane of existence was naturally worrisome, and it did not help that, despite or possibly due to my other beliefs, I never put much firm stock in the notion of divine intervention. Thus it was that I found myself closely watching the Guardian Angel that night. When clouds began to roll in to cover the stars in that night's sky, she did not budge. Her diligent eyes were ever on the streets below us. No matter where on the rooftop she stood, the moonlight seemed to shine off of her angel wing barrette.

I had to admire her. She never gave off the impression that she might be nervous. She did not falter when she knew her brother might be in danger. And he was indeed a primary target. We knew that much.

So it stood to reason that she did not falter when he called to her for backup.

The Guardian Angel was the first one to head down into the coffee shop, while Marpesia and Endgame escorted Bebe and Red to Bebe's car. TupperWear and the Coon kept watch with me on the perimeter of the building for a while, but first one, and then the other were called in as well, which got me really nervous, since… sure, Clyde and Kenny were probably a couple of the best-equipped team members to be fighting out of persona, but for them to need three others—?

Just what was going on in there? I was never too big a fan of the Goths in town, but for goodness' sake, couldn't one of them touch base with me now that I was the only one on guard? Couldn't they, as the owners of that building, kinda… do something? Or maybe they were completely indisposed.

So I held my ground.

Until Red Serge called me with an update from the police scanner.

At least Murphy was doing his job. That was pretty much all we could have hoped for. What that meant about Yates and the rest of the force, I didn't know, nor was I currently in a position to guess, so I just had to trust that Murphy still had a few good cops on our side and was answering the right calls.

"Strange activity reported at the South Park Docks." That was all the information I was given, but it was all I really needed.

Something about that upset me. I rarely visited the docks nowadays. Heck, I hadn't been there in ages. None of us really frequented that area of town, honestly. But if there was a call to head on out there…

I had such an awful feeling.

Worry tugged at me a little, but I shook it away. I did not leave until Marpesia returned to her position to keep watch over the outside of the Tenth Circle. "What'd I miss?" she wondered.

I shook my head. "They're all in there, Endgame's with Stan and Kyle, and I've got… something I've gotta do," I told her.

Marpesia looked me up and down with scrutiny. Underneath the sharp edges of her Roman helmet, hidden by her black half-mask, her normally kind eyes became unchangeably stern. Wendy's friendly concern was replaced with Marpesia's stone-cold seriousness. She read every side of every situation, and was in a constant mode of both defense and willingness to attack. "Do you need me to go with you?" she asked.

Even though I had the chance to say yes, we both knew I'd decline. Marpesia even wanted me to. I was still more or less in the mode of being tested by the League, after all. Harmony had been working out for me, so far. I tapped into Marjorine when I was feeling supremely benevolent; I became Agent Harmony when I knew that there was a fair amount of healing I could do. I liked having that be the new third part to me. A layer of balance.

Marpesia respected that. And she was allowing me this outlet to take on a personal mission. I'd only gone out on co-ops thus far. This was my thing; this was my biggest chance to make an individual contribution to the mission.

"I'll be fine," I assured my closest friend in the League. "If you can do something, anything, to get Mosquito and Mysterion on the field, that'd probably be best."

"I'll do just that," Marpesia promised. "Check in soon."

"Don't worry."

With that, I made my way toward the docks.

It wasn't the easiest or fastest commute ever, but I kept to the dark corners of the streets and kept a steady pace. Strange activity could mean just about anything, but I had a feeling that Red Serge wouldn't be giving me an assignment that was unrelated to the events of that particular evening.

My first thought was Scott Tenorman.

I had studied that man before. As Chaos. He was… kind of fascinating, to be honest. A high-functioning madman. He was meticulous, but neglectful. His weakness was his one-track mind. But this time around—where was he hiding?

He'd taken such care to send letters to Liane Cartman for so long. I wondered just how much he'd known about her tie to Damien. If he had been saving that information, the way he'd been hiding the truth about Eric's father.

If there was still more in Tenorman's brain that we had yet to discover. And when that bastard would show himself.

Not tonight. I had the feeling I wouldn't be seeing him directly tonight… but that I might have the chance to get closer. Closer to the source of this—this self-made madness. This wasn't the kind of arcane terror the Old Ones had wanted. No, this was just pure and utter—

Well. Pure and utter…

I pressed on.

The water was calm when I approached the docks. There was a soothing lull to the way that it lapped at the algae-covered wood, a balmy scent to the air hovering around the simple wooden structures at which a few small boats were tied for the night. It smelled like the hazy calm before rain; stillness mixed in with subtle wafts of boat engine gasoline.

But at the same time, the air did not reek of stillness. Something was off. I half expected some kind of monster to emerge from the water, the calm was so disturbing.

Turns out the monster didn't emerge from the depths that night, however. No… he approached from town.

I concealed myself the second I heard the footsteps. I clambered up to the top of a shack with the help of a stack of cargo crates for some of the leisure fishing boats. With so many clouds overhead, and every electric light at a lower height than the tin roof I'd now claimed, I was safe from being immediately spotted. I lowered myself so that my chest was pressed against the wavy, uneven roof, but so that I could still peer over the fishing shack in order to watch the figure approach from town.

He was young, that was the first thing I noticed. Early teens. The body structure gave it away, even though I could not see his face behind the black hood he wore. I swallowed back a bit of bile. Did those guys really have to go all out with the Hell thing? I wondered. Sure looked like a reaper to me.

He approached the shack, and I made my breath still. I had no idea why I was hiding from this guy. My gut was telling me I needed to. That something awful might happen if I didn't play this safe.

The young man lifted the top off of one of the crates that had given me a boost up onto the roof, and extracted from it a burlap sack. He carefully then placed the top plank back on the wooden box, and held up the sack to study it.

There was a head-sized bulge at the bottom, but I saw no blood. My first thought was that there had to be a human head in that sack. But if there was no blood, maybe it was a piece of one of the Ginger copies? A piece of something…

The young man looked up at the sky, and held a palm to the clouds as if to test for rain. As if he could not wait for the storm to begin. He did not seem eager. He was just simply there.

After a moment of silence between him and the sky, he lowered the sack to the ground, and began to whistle. He was horribly out of tune, and could barely even make the right sound. It was no distinct tune that he was attempting, just a note here and there, just a beat to keep himself busy by.

Though he did begin to sing more or less the notes he'd tried: "Circle up, now, step right in…"

He sounded awfully pleased with himself. His nasal voice was not cut out for singing, though. It made my ears burn.

Because I knew it.

Cautiously, cautiously, I began to sneak toward the edge of the roof. It wasn't easy keeping quiet, but I kept my breath still and steady, and moved when the boy sang a lyric. A boy. Yes, he was just a boy. He needed to take off that damned hood. I had to confirm…

And hadn't Toolshed just speculated…?

Closer, closer to the edge… carefully, carefully…

I hit a wobbly tile, and my right hand slipped. I bit back a yelp and tried to correct my position, but I was too late. Just as the boy had extracted the object from the burlap sack, I fumbled and eventually crashed down onto the crates I'd just climbed. I smacked into the top box pretty hard, and rolled my way down the stack. Two were knocked out of alignment, and I followed after, landing hard on my stomach on the hard wooden dock.

"Ow," I couldn't help but spit out. I was so mad at myself for losing my grip at such a time. Sure, I can be on the clumsy side during the day, but that had no place in the League. Not for the person who—aw, dangit, I'd completely forgotten to lay a trap…

I lifted my head first. The boy wasn't laughing at me, even though I'd certainly expected him to start. No, all he'd done was stand. Stand, and approach me. He ticked his hooded head to the side, then crouched and held out his right hand.

"Here," he offered. "Let me help you."

I shirked back, and scrambled to my feet on my own. Fumbling for my utility belt, I grabbed out a gun and pointed it toward the young man, who still sat crouched in his position. "Touchy," he said with a click of his tongue. "I hadn't quite expected this of you. You've changed. Regressed, even."

I frowned down at him. "Regressed?" I cocked the gun.

"This sneaking and stumbling around hardly suits you," said the hooded boy. He stood, and turned back to his opened sack.

"I'll tell you what suits me," I said firmly. "Fighting for what's right. Being a good person. Balance."

"Harmony?"

"Take your hood off," I commanded. "I have my reasons for living life the way I do. I—"

"All you have are excuses."

"Take your hood off and let me see your face!" I shouted.

The boy knealt. He picked up the object that had been in the burlap sack, and when he turned around, I felt like lightning had struck my heart and stopped it.

I had chosen Harmony as a way of redeeming myself. To inspire balance in others, to bring it into my own life. No more destruction; I'd had enough of that, I didn't need it. No more chaos.

No more Chaos.

But the boy was holding a familiar helmet.

Not one of polished metal. Not one covered in scars and the dust of the long lost city of R'lyeh. No, a very, very simple one. Childish in design, it was a helmet I knew all too well.

I had made it when I was nine years old.

Crudely fashioned of paper and tinfoil, that helmet had been a costume, a source of escape for me as a child. It had been buried, along with other playthings, in the depths of the closet in the room I used to sleep in at my parents' house. A building I had not set foot in for over four years.

But there was no mistaking that object. That was mine.

That was the first, the very first incarnation of Professor Chaos.

The part of me that had died. Right after I had witnessed the true death of the young man who had betrayed me, who had played me into a dark corner and made me a vessel for evil. There was no room in my world anymore for Chaos and Disarray.

Why…?

"Where did you get that?" I demanded.

"From the source." The young man laughed, and fitted the crude helmet onto his own head. Then, displeased, he removed the helmet. And then removed his hood.

His face was hideous. Scarred. Red. Melted away. His skin was molded at an angle, nerves and tissue were exposed underneath the awful, uneven scar that marred his features.

But he could grin. And his teeth were too, too white.

I cringed. I couldn't help it. I felt as though a cavernous space had opened up inside me.

Stay calm, I told myself. Stay balanced. Temperate.

Temperate? No—how could I stay calm in the eye of such an insatiable tempest?

The water lapped at the docks.

I could hear thunder in the distance, rolling in over the mountains.

"You're dead," I heard myself speak.

"Harmony?" Toolshed. Shit. My wire was still on; I'd forgotten. "Who are you talking to?"

"You're dead…" I repeated in a heavy whisper.

"Who are you talking to?"

The grinning anomaly set the helmet on his off-kilter shoulders. "Dead," he agreed with me, "yes. And the servant of Hell you could have been."

"Is that supposed to sound inviting?" I said numbly.

"I am only stating facts."

"Why are you here?!"

"Because you need me."

"NO."

"Harmony!" Toolshed interrupted again. "Who is it? I'll send Endgame over—"

"Dis…"

"Harmony?"

"Disarray."

The scars were those that Toolshed himself had burned into the young man's face. Poison, from the blood of an ancient creature, had distorted the Ginger-haired boy's features. General Disarray, the adopted persona of a troubled boy named Dougie, had been poisoned, maimed, and ultimately eaten by the Crawling Chaos, Nyarlathotep. Eaten. Died.

General Disarray was dead.

Dead little red-haired boy…

Who had apparently risen with the son of the Devil…

"Don't tell me you did this…"

He shrugged. "I can't really take credit. But Damien did need an army. I just happen to be in a position to coerce a man I share much in common with…"

"Scott Tenorman," I added for him. Accusations were hardly necessary. Disarray. He'd been there with me, all those years ago, when as a little kid playing supervillain I had started sneaking around the asylum and reading some of Tenorman's mail, noting that he sent so many letters to Mrs. Cartman.

Disarray knew. He knew of the GSM, of the Ginger uprising that Eric had attempted as a kid. He knew of Scott Tenorman's quest for revenge. And he'd taken that knowledge to his untimely grave.

"You… disgusting little…" I began, feeling my fingers tighten around the gun. He had sent those letters. He'd done the dirty work.

Dying had freed that sick young man. Now… I had no idea if we could do anything to destroy him. He had moved beyond. He was the very nightmare he had been working toward, his entire life.

What is it about nightmares that fascinates mankind?

What is it about fear that keeps us moving?

Why can we not outrun it?

Running is seen as cowardice. But I was not running, no, I had buried my past, held my pace, lifted my head and changed my course. The mist had cleared and I had become a healer. A force for good.

The Tower lay in shambles.

I had buried the burden.

Buried it, buried it, buried it—not sown it into the ground so that it could take new root and return again with a change of season.

Dead. That side of me was dead. Laid to rest.

But that is not dead which can—

NO—

Eternal lie—

"I am the Way into the City of Woe," said Dougie. Disarray. Dead, dreadful Disarray. He glowered at me from across the dock, then removed the childish helmet away from his burnt, abhorrent head and set it carefully onto the splintered wood at his feet. "The Way to Eternal Darkness."

With a flourish of his pale, pale hands, Disarray let go of the helmet. The tinfoil gleamed in the—

That wasn't moonlight.

Thunder grumbled in the distance like a hungry beast, and lightning had flashed across the sky. The wind screamed through the trees and over the shallow water—as the air became moist with the onset of rain, the wind blew my hair out of its tight bun. Strands clung to my neck and face with the threatening drizzle of humid, heartless raindrops.

I could not escape.

A circle.

"Did you really think that you had potential to open only one Gate, Leopold Butters Stotch?" Disarray mocked me.

"Don't do this to me," I warned him. "I act as Harmony now. Not Chaos."

"Two sides of one coin, Stotch," Disarray said, lowering his tone. With a last grin, he added, "Save that coin for the Ferryman, won't you? Storms will come and rivers will flow. We shall build the new Between."

That said, he drew out a small object from his pocket and tossed it toward me. Without thinking, I dropped the gun and caught it.

A coin?

No—a token.

A prize token, from a carnival.

"It's always a gamble with the Devil, you know. When the bridges are built, use that to cross. I know you'll make the wise choice in the end."

Disarray turned, and pulled the hood up over his head.

"Idle hands are indeed the Devil's playground."

A flash of lightning.

"We'll be waiting."

When the sky flashed yet again, and the rain came pouring down, Disarray was gone. A short gust of wind knocked the crude tinfoil helmet over, and blew it across the dock and into the water, where it floated on the unquiet surface.

Shivering, I knealt to pick up my gun. As I set it into my belt, I held up the coin the dead man had tossed to me, and studied both sides. On one side was carved, by human hands, the GSM insignia. On the other, a pressed Roman numeral: VII.

Threats. Nothing but threats. Threats that I had the power to ignore.

So why the fuck did I feel like fate still needed to play this awful, awful game with me?

– – –

– – –

Authors' Notes:

South Park is -c- Matt Stone and Trey Parker!

Aaahhh! Hello again after a couple of weeks! Sorry for the slightly delayed post, too, eep... Thanks so much for sticking with this story, it really means a lot to us~ :3 Due to a crazy work schedule (this is what happens when you're a working actor, hahaha… life choices…), I think we are going to make the shift to an every-other week schedule, or at least take one more skipped-week hiatus to get us back on track. Thank you for your patience! ^^ Hopefully in the fall we can go back to once-per-week.

But this part, aaahhh I'm so excited about~ Chapters 8-10 all have some parts that occur simultaneously. There are reasons the past is still kinda lurking; there's still a lot of ground to cover, but we're excited to get into the later arcs for more reveals… ^^ We'll be hearing from Kenny and Kyle next time to complete this part of the arc… and then, on to the Carnival…

Thank you so much for reading! We hope you're enjoying the story. We shall see you again on Wednesday, September 5th! :3

~Jizena and Rosie Denn

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