Patty & San Chapter 1: Many Such Cases

The Shop was abuzz with activity, the kids putting the finishing touches on various high-end resales. The Acquisition Kids, having been pulled off the streets until the Little Wrath Incident blew over, effectively doubled the Shop's workforce. Junkers were stripped and parted out, rockets were polished and shined and tuned for resale, floors were swept, machinery repaired, and every conceivable job that otherwise fell by the wayside during normal hours was assigned a team.

San hummed to herself as she sat at her station, the 13 year old baphomet carefully manning a spinning hone as she fed it up and down a large diesel cylinder on the floor, the carefully calibrated tool resizing the bore by infinitesimal factions of a millimeter in order to accept the new pistons harvested for the job. The job was for one of the box trucks which had, in recent times, made it known it was in need of some TLC. Now that the unending stream of cars had been temporarily stemmed, they had taken the opportunity to do some preventative maintenance. San was charged with boring the cylinders for the replacement pistons, for despite her generally flighty, borderline manic demeanor, no one else in the shop had her bottomless patience and attention to detail.

"And now…" She slid the bore-gauge into the cylinder, sighing as the needle indicated a minute but unacceptable tapering of the tunnel. "Shit. Guess I'll need to recalibrate the hone and try again… or…" She glanced around, making sure no one was looking, and stooped forward, whispering: "[Stealers Wheel]."

The air in front of her rippled and shimmered as her Stand manifested. It was rectangular in shape, a baroquely designed silver frame holding a number of translucent tiles, 5 tiles wide by 8 long, the corners being empty, numbering 36 in total. San held [Stealers Wheel] out in front of her, framing the cylinder block before activating the Stand's ability. An image of the cylinder block appeared in one of the corners. San grinned and selected the image, enlarging it to fill the whole frame. Her mind hummed as her Stand filled her head with countless aspects for her to select, to add or remove at her whim. She made her selection, the diameter of the cylinders, superimposing this aspect onto a tile that she flicked off to the side. She turned her Stand to the piston, capturing its image in one of the other empty corners, repeating the process, this time selecting its diameter and consistency aspects, applying them to the cylinder block's bores.

"Aaand…" She muttered. "Go."

The block shuddered as the bores suddenly shifted, the taper now corrected and the diameter complementary to the piston while the piston itself simultaneously took on both these aspects, rendering it useless. An unfortunate limitation of [Stealers Wheel] was that she couldn't just apply an aspect willy-nilly-silly, there had to be an exchange between the objects; to get what she wanted in one thing, she had to concentrate what she didn't in another. Still, compared to a perfect cylinder block and her own precious time, a wonky piston was a small price to pay.

San tittered and shoved the now ever-so-slightly malformed piston into the bin, grabbing a new one and setting it in the bore of the cylinder: it didn't fit.

"Huh? But I–d'oh, of course!" San said, smacking the side of her head. "Such a dum-dum-bum, San! Lemme see here…"

She grabbed a pair of calipers and took measurements of the piston, mentally adding a carefully calculated fraction of a millimeter. Too little, it would fit too tightly, too much and the piston would leak. She wrote down the number and logged its meaning-aspect in her Stand before applying it to the cylinder bore. With a shudder, the number on the piece of paper changed to the former diameter of the bore, having swapped their values. With that, she picked up the piston and dropped it in, sheathing with a snug, smooth motion.

"Liiike aaa glooove~!" San giggled, pausing before fishing the malformed piston out of the bin. "What if I…"

She scanned the piston, isolating its 'newness' aspect. The piston had been salvaged, of course, but was no doubt much, much newer than the aging boxtruck. She swapped the aspects and the cylinder block shuddered, groaning as the fatigued metal mended and oxidation vanished. Years of heat and mechanical stress transferred onto the piston, creaking and warping as flecks of rust and cracks appeared. She swept the now thoroughly useless piston back into the bin and tested all the bores before packing up her tools. She looped a chain through the rejuvenated block and rolled over a powered engine hoist. The hoist crank clacked as it lifted the block off the ground, its burdened motor whirring as San set off to where the other kids were working on the rugged old diesel.

A job that would have taken long, tedious hours had been done in a matter of minutes, all thanks to her [Stealers Wheel]. At this rate, her team might be able to tune up all the boxtrucks by the time Acquisitions got rolling again! She'd been reluctant to use her Stand in public, as Setty and Syx had made it very clear that no-one but other Stand-Users at the 'Donna could know until 'it was time'. But the Shop was such an imp's breakfast right now, she doubted anyone would have noticed. Besides! Her [Stealers Wheel] was li'l and quiet, not some freaky shouty ghost or bizarre Mad-Libs monster like some of the other kids had, the few that had them, anyway.

She frowned a bit at this. When Syx had pulled her aside and brought her to Mr. Nightmare, she'd thought she was in trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact. She had the 'pull'. Some indefinable quality that made Mr. Nightmare's fancy Arrow pay attention. Once she had her [Stealers Wheel] Syx summoned his awesome-looking [D5H] and actually started talkingto her! No clicks or silly sign language, but actual words! And in a surprisingly deep, authoritative voice, too. Mr. Nightmare took his leave of them then, taking that magical Arrow with him. San had wondered why he didn't just go around poking everybody with it, but Syx said they had to keep the secret for now. San hated keeping secrets. She'd never been any good at not sharing every thought that popped into her head, much less holding onto someone else's no-no info. But, then again, Syx seemed really insistent that she not tell anyone, intimating that doing so would make Mr. Nightmare cross. Not that she was afraid of Mr. Nightmare, she'd never been afraid in her life, but she got the impression that upsetting the big dumb Sinner would be one of those 'bad things'.

So, she let it be… for a while. Just a few days ago she had made her move, and even she was impressed with the results! It had taken some fiddling with her [Stealers Wheel], at it always was whenever she pointed her Stand at people. People weren't like machines, they had all these weird, fuzzy, undefinables to sort through. But after some creative swapping, it was done and no one was the wiser! She walked past Bay 2, a Mercedes CL65 on the blocks. The Thing in her pocket stirred, twitching and thrumming like a distant engine. San stopped and eyed up the car in the bay, it was a rocket and no mistake, but it wasn't why The Thing was acting up.

Dew and the boys were carefully fine-tuning the car for resale. Its M275 engine had been lifted out and put on a stand, its guts still connected to the vehicle. Dew looked like he wanted to crack someone's skull open like an egg – so, normal – but in the presence of such an engine, Dew should have been ogling it the same way Ixie did with him when he wasn't looking: something was wrong.

"Howdy-howdy, Mornin' Dew!" San chirruped, making her way over. "What's the hub-bub, bud?"

Dew shot the eccentric baphomet a curt, sideways scowl; her patois always wore on him like steelwool undies, but even the cantankerous incubus tolerated her inanities with as much grace as he could muster. Virtuoso gearhead though he was, San knew that he knew she was the Shop's resident gadgeteer genius. "Turbocharger's fubar. Numbnuts owner must have chinced out on the filters, the fan's thrown a blade from the sound of it."

"Filters won't be a problem," San said, nodding, looking at the offending turbo. "But we don't got any K24.2 turbos in stock."

Dew rolled his eyes. "Oh, you don't say? Of course we don't have any parts for an M275! We used to steal hoopties and scrap-rigs, not actual cars!"

San didn't flinch or react much to Dew's acid tone. That's just how Dew was. Like a bundle of live wires with the wrapping sheared off, he couldn't help it if he sparked and spat. It was when Dew got quiet and calm that it was time to up-sticks and leave. No, he was clearly just frustrated that this otherwise perfect car was essentially a paperweight because of one bricked part. Many such cases.

"Well, drop the turbo in my miracle factory," said San, pointing to her work station. "Once I get this cylinder block put back in the truck, I'll see what I can do."

Dew wasted no time considering this offer, nodding curtly and snapping his fingers to his team. "Get it out and get it to her, doubletime."

"Dew, man, c'mon!" One of the kids, an imp, unwisely complained. "The thing's bricked! What's an autistic candlehead gonna do, make a new one? We've already wasted–"

A moment later he was bent over the side of the Mercedes, his right arm bent hard and twisted up behind his back, a snarling Dew looming over him. "Tolly, the next thing comin' outta your mouth'll be an apology or your fucking teeth! It's your choice."

"Dew, what fuck maAAAAGH!" The imp squealed as Dew's work-hardened hands ground and twisted his wrist bones together, roughly yanking his arm up his back. "Fuck! S-sorry, San! It was just bantz, I didn't mean it!"

The Thing in her pocket practically jumped, causing her to grin.

"It's okay!" San chirruped, unaffected by the scene playing out before her; this was hardly the first time Dew's 'defend pack' button got pressed, and it wouldn't be the last. "Dew, he won't be able to pop off the turbo if you break his arm."

Dew scoffed and hauled the imp bodily through the air, tossing him to the ground. "You don't need your jaw to do your job, Tolly. Remember that next time you think of backtalking your betters. Turbo. Now."

Tolly nodded, scrabbling to his feet and over to his tool kit, getting fast to work.

Dew turned back to San, nodding silent thanks. "You'll be pulling my nuts out of the fire if you can pull this off."

"Oh, too bad!" San said, giggling. "I like roasted nuts!"

Dew grimaced. "I dunno if you're joking or being weird."

"Yeah, you never can tell with me," said San, resuming on her way to the boxtruck. "See ya, see-saw!"

'If I had 'the pull', Mornin' Dew has the yank!' She thought to herself, smiling. 'Wonder why Mr. Nightmare gave me a Stand before him? I guess it don't matter now! Ha! Oooh! I wonder what kinda Stand Dew would have? Something that punch-punch-punches, I bet! He's on the list! He's so on the list!' She reached into her pocket, pulling out the ornately carved, barbed arrowhead, a manic grin spreading across her face. 'Don't worry honey, I'll feed ya soon! Let you out to play a bit more, make some more cool, fun Stands. I just gotta fix that turbo first, 'kay?'

The Arrow hummed in her hands, purring like a cat.

'That's my baby!' San thought, her smile fading a bit. 'Just a few more. What Patty don't know won't hurt her.'

The sound of hundreds of sewing machines echoed in the spacious, high-ceilinged room. What was, long ago, a presentation hall was now filled with row after row of long, wide tables, on which were roaring sewing machines, power-looms, and swathe after swathe of fabric. The Home Ec kids sat behind the rows, shearing, forming, and stitching interminably as they worked through equally interminable streams of linens and leather. Some made shoes, some sewed clothing, some recycled fabric from scavenged wares. All worked long, hard, tedious hours.

Staff roamed the rows, taking note of stores for each station and arranged for a resupply. This doubled as a sort of scorecard, as the Head of Home Ec – an elegant moth-demon named Laila – decided it would improve performance and morale by introducing a spirit of competition, going so far as to have a scoreboard mounted on her office wall, updated hourly for all to see. Once upon a time, she actually offered rewards for kids who consistently exceeded their hourly quotas. Belladonna put a stop to that, insisting that the children were repaying her for her 'generosity' with their labor, and things such as rewards ran counter to this ethos. Shortly after, Laila had been pressured into a Deal.

Many such cases.

At the far end of the middle row sat a hellhound. Far from the only one present, she was nonetheless noteworthy in that she was at once remarkably beautiful and somehow nondescript. Eyes tended to slide off of her, her fine bone structure lost in the deep, perfect blackness of her coat, registering in the minds of most simply as a presence and a weak one at that.

This was how Patty liked it.

At 15, female, and conventionally attractive, she would have been a shoe-in for Carriage House work, but through unconscious body language and intentionally frumpy apparel, she had managed to duck the dreaded draft. Not that the Carriage House was an issue anymore.

She flinched when a Staffer spoke from over her shoulder, not talking to her but into a walkie-talkie. "Refill at R4-22, doubletime."

The Staffer took no notice of the girl's reaction. That's just how Patty was, shy as a mouse in a snake-pit. Despite her twitchy, nervous reaction to anything approaching social interaction, her hands were steady and speedy as machined steel. On a bad day, Patty would be in the top ten on Home Ec's charts, most days she managed third or fourth place. Today, she was managing Number One and by a significant margin, her fire-orange eyes locked intently on her sewing machine as it chundered along at its highest speed setting, her hands a veritable blur.

There was a reason for this newfound focus and grit: Patty was terrified.

'Hey, Patty-Cakes!' San had said the other day after cornering her in the bathroom. 'Catch!'

San… that lunatic! That imbecile! If she wasn't Patty's best friend, she'd wring her scrawny neck!

She just… threw it at her.

Patty sighed as she lost herself in the memory. It had been only yesterday – though it felt like years – that San had cornered her in the empty girl's bathroom on lunch break. Unceremoniously hurling the damned thing, that Arrow, at her as one would toss a set of keys, summoning that… thing.

The Arrow bit into her palm as she instinctively tried to catch it, cutting into her flesh and sticking fast like a high-powered magnet, digging painfully into her flesh. San cackled and cheered her on.

"Pull! It! Out! Pull! It! Out!" She cried in an ecstatic chant.

The Arrow would not budge so much as a millimeter, no matter how hard she pulled. If anything it appeared to dig deeper. In her pain and confusion, Patty had lit upon a single notion, a motivation, an objective: kick San's ass! Patty was quiet and shy, sure, but once she'd gotten it into her mind to do something, come Heaven on Down, she would do it.

That monolithic desire in mind, the Arrow practically jumped out of her flesh, hitting the ground with an unceremonious 'clink'. The only thing stopping her from turning about and slapping the manic baphomet's tits off was the fact that glowing streamers and shimmering ribbons of energy were presently exploding from her palm. The streams of energy whirled and whipped about, coalescing into a floating, ephemeral shape looming over the terrified hellhound.

"It's called a Stand," San said, obliviously, as Patty attempted to scuttle away from the tall, ghost-like thing following her around. "It's like a ghost, but it's you as well. I guess it's kinda like your ghost? In a way, I kinda killed you a little bit just now! Ha ha ha!"

"Sanwhatthefuckisgoingon?!" Patty screamed, throwing her tampons and make-up kit at the looming phantasm, only for them to fly right through it. "MakeitgoawayrightnowIsweartoBeelzebub!"

"I can't, silly!" San giggled, shrugging. "It's your freaky soul-ghost. You gonna name her? I think you should name her Cake! Get it? Patty-Cake!"

Patty bolted for the door, hoping to somehow outrun the thing that seemed to be growing out of her. She reached for the bathroom door, only to have it vanish, replaced with what appeared to be a section of the ceiling, complete with flickering fluorescent light. Patty looked up at the ceiling, seeing the door where the light fixture had been.

"Nononono!" San called after her. "You can't just go runnin' 'round the 'Donna with your Stand out, silly! Someone might see it and then, uh, well, I dunno, but don't let no-one see it unless they got one too, okay?"

Patty turned around slowly, honest numb befuddlement replacing terror. San was standing there, a strange, glowing frame in her hands, alight with the same energy surrounding the ghost, or 'Stand'. She examined the figure closely for the first time as it hovered before her. It was… flat? No matter how she looked at it, it looked as though it were just painted on the air. In appearance, it resembled a painting of a hellhound, but in an unmistakable cubist style, with hard lines blending into geometric curves, perspective altering with every facet. Color and shading was chaotic, but not random or arbitrary, shifting across its surface as she tried to view it from other angles.

'Supplanting perspective and depth with color and shade, each one shifting and changing with the observer while maintaining its own internal logic,' she thought, incredulously, her neglected inner artist swelling with unbidden longing. 'It's… beautiful. I wish I could make something so profound!'

"So!" San bleated, pointing at the cubist phantom. "What does she do?"

Patty did a double-take at San, eyes wide and questioning. "Do? It does things? How should I know?"

"It's your Stand."

"I-I don't even know what a Stand is!" Patty cried, her speech slowly returning to her normal subdued cadence and tone. "What did you do to me? How did you do this?"

"The Arrow, dummy!" San said, brandishing the arrowhead as though it were obvious. "It's magic or something."

"M-magic?" Patty looked at the ornately designed chunk of metal, nose curling as she sensed the ominous vibrations the thing was putting out. "Where did you get it?"

"Stole it~" San said, proudly.

"From who?"

"Mr. Nightmare!" She chirped, smiling blithely.

Patty spun her wheels on this for a long, torturous moment. "What."

"You know! Red Nightmare!" San said, striking a muscle-pose. "Big guy, muscles, fancy suit, Sinner. He–"

"I know who he is!" Patty whisper-shouted, looking around before grabbing the oblivious baphomet by the shoulders, shaking her. "You stole from Red Nightmare, the scariest guy at the 'Donna?!"

"I thought some kids liked Mr. Nightmare?" San said, cocking her head. "Syx and Setty do, anyway. Though, I guess they're pretty scary, too!"

Patty pressed her hands against her face, moaning. "Not the point, San. He's a Sinner, a really, really strong and scary one! He-he's like… really scary, and you stole a super-magical th-thing from him! What do you think he'll do when he finds out?!"

"Pssh! He won't!" San scoffed, waving her off. "I made a super-duper cool look-alike in the shop and used [Stealers Wheel] to swap 'em! As far as he knows, he still has it!"

"What's a Stealers–? You know what, nevermind. San…" Patty said, gravely, pressing her hands together and pointing them at her. "Who gave you your Stand?"

San thought about this for a moment before snapping her fingers. "Mr. Nightmare, duh! Well, Syx was there, as well. He has a Stand, too! It's super cool!"

'Syx has one too?' Patty thought to herself, before getting back on track. "San, why do you think Mr. Nightmare gave you this Stand-thing?"

"Dunno!" San shrugged, still smiling somehow. "Guess he thought I was super cool, like Syx!"

"Don't you think he'll try and make more?" Patty asked, patiently despite her growing horror.

"I know I would!" San said, gesturing at Patty. "S'what I did just now, actually!"

"And what will happen when he tries to use the fake arrow?"

San paused, smile finally fading as she slowly connected the dots. "Oh. I guess he won't be able to. But he shouldn't worry! I'm doing all that just fine!"

Patty groaned and buried her face in her hands. Of course San wouldn't have even considered that the terrifying Mr. Nightmare wouldn't care much for his powerful magical doo-dad being set loose on the 'Donna in the hands of a maniac. "San…"

"Whatever! When I'm done, I'll just switch it back!" San said. "Easy-peasy!"

Patty was speechless, glancing at her Stand, which mirrored the motion, before sighing heavily, shaking her head. "Just… return it soon, okay? A-and don't make any more of these, uh, Stand-things, okay?"

"…I will do at least one of those things."

"San!"

"FUCK!" A frustrated cry to her left jogged Patty from her reminiscence.

She jumped in her chair, turning to the source: Setty.

Something had happened recently, what exactly Patty didn't know. Acquisitions had been shut down for some reason and now all the extra kids were spread out, helping the other sectors however they could. But Patty knew that wasn't why Setty was sitting next to her, ineptly trying to hem a pant leg. No, when this sort of thing happened, the unskilled kids would be put behind the looms, put on scrap-fabric duty, or charged with hauling raw materials and packing finished products. Setty had been intentionally tossed into the hardest job in Home Ec and forced to keep up best she could. It didn't take a genius to figure out why: Setty done fucked up.

Kids were often punished this way, being shanghaied into work they were unsuited for and left to drag down the rest with them, fostering resentment from the other kids. Just another one of Boss Lady's 'fun' little social experiments.

"Dammit!" Setty seethed. "Fucking thing broke again!"

"Y-you probably shouldn't, uh," said Patty, softly, uncertainly. "P-push the fabric t-too hard. Let it, uh, feed."

"What?" Setty barked.

Patty sighed. It was only around San that she could lose this stupid stutter and her pathologically soft voice, only when talking to San that she could muster the gumption to speak like a normal person and not some perpetually uncertain cretin! Part of her wondered if it was because she knew deep in her heart that San's 'unique' mindset precluded a negative opinion. Another posited that San's literally irrepressible energy somehow bled into her, buoying her to have the confidence to speak above soft, stuttering mutter. Whatever it was, it was absent with everyone else, Setty most of all.

She steeled herself and repeated, physically forcing herself to speak loud enough to be heard: it was exhausting.

"I'm not pushing! It's–!" Setty began to say, stopping herself and waving the topic off. "Whatever. Got a spare?"

Patty nodded, reaching into her work pouch, handing a spare needle to the incense succubus. "I-it's my last one."

Setty muttered a thanks and affixed the new needle and resumed her hatchet-job of a hem. Patty side-eyed Setty, her practiced hands able to do her work without so much as a glance. She recalled that strange event a few days ago. They had seen Setty hanging out with Arby – itself an event of note – but not so much as when Emerson, an ugly, unpleasant Sinner who was nonetheless known to be a wallowing coward, walked up to Red Nightmare and punched him in the face. The slug-thing alternated schizophrenically between bravado and pathetic sobbing as he peppered the larger Sinner with ineffectual blows, only to be laid flat with a single punch. That had been strange enough, but then Red Nightmare and Syx – who was also a Stand-User, if San was to be believed – marched over to Setty and Arby, the former actually seemed happy to see the Sinner.

No, not happy. Overjoyed.

The surreality of Syx and Setty being even at ease around one of the Staff was itself profound, but both of them seemed to like him. Setty especially had a fawning, almost devoted look on her face when speaking with him that day. Patty knew then that if Syx had a Stand, so did Setty.

…And Arby too, she supposed.

As though on cue, Setty forced the hem through the machine, her finger poking into the feed. Patty opened her mouth to warn her when the needle streaked down, snapping cleanly in half as it struck the ghostly armored glove that had materialized over Setty's hand.

"FUCK!" Setty snarled. "Fuck you, you fucking fuck! Satan dammit!"

Setty turned to Patty, who was diligently staring at her machine, her hands a veritable blur. She sighed and turned away, towards the girl to her left, barking for another needle.

'Setty has one too…' Patty thought to herself. 'Probably Arby. Then San. But he gave them to them. What if he finds out I got one without his say-so? What will he do to me? What will he do to San? Oh Bee, this is bad!'

The doors to Home Ec swung open and in walked Red Nightmare, trailing behind him was Serf Mesa, the infamous groundskeeper of the 'Donna. Patty felt her heart drop into her stomach. Red stood there, his normally pristine black suit rumpled and tattered, stitches frayed and snags of fabric hanging from tears. He usually possessed a calm, unaffected air, but was now stiff and rigid, radiating palpable waves of frustration and irritation. If half of what Patty heard about him was true, the things he did when in a seemingly good mood, she shuddered to think what the mad Sinner was capable of when miffed.

Laila, the Home Ec Head took particular notice, looking up from the papers on her work desk, eyes wide. She reached up to the console on her desk and pressed a large red button, causing a grating klaxon to blare over the din of sewing machines. The well-trained Home Ec crew stopped automatically, shutting off their machines and sitting up straight.

Laila leaned over to the microphone on her console and spoke, her stern, poised voice slightly frayed. "Fifteen minute break. I will be in my office and I am not to be disturbed."

The children all stood up and filed out, heading for the door to the courtyard. A gunshot-like crack split the air, causing all heads to jolt up and turn. Red Nightmare stood, his hand raised, wisps of smoke trailing from his thumb and palm, having snapped his fingers so hard the air itself burned. He said nothing, silently beckoning someone.

"Oh, fuck me…" Setty moaned next to her, the normally brusque and indomitable succubus cowed and deflated.

Red made a dismissive 'shoo-shoo' gesture with his other hand and the rest of the kids and Staff resumed their march into the courtyard save for Setty… and Patty. Patty lingered and watched, eyes on the two. Short, curt words passed between them, in which Setty appeared to deflate further. The rattish groundskeeper, grinning like a cat with a mouse, loosed a grackle-like laugh. As Setty shuffled off after him to a no-doubt filthy, humiliating job, Red set a hand on her shoulder, whispering something. Patty was hardly an expert lip reader, but she could make out the words 'try' 'leave' and 'one piece'. Patty smirked at this despite herself, Setty's Stand must be powerful if Red thought Surf Mesa's bodily integrity was at risk. Setty nodded reluctantly and continued on her way.

That done, Red made his way over to Laila, who gestured for him to follow. They made their way to the stage of the former presentation room, now walled off to form Laila's office, and entered. Patty bit her lip, a deep, morbid curiosity filling her. She had to know more about the man, to get a better reckoning of the danger she was in.

She ducked under the sewing table and whispered: "[t.A.T.u.]"

Her Stand shimmered to life, reacting to her will it set its hand on her shoulder, pushing her down into the floor. Patty felt the irrepressible urge to hold her breath as she slid out of the Third Dimension, her body flattening, becoming angular as its depth and textures shifted into angular or curved geometric shapes. An instant later, Patty was gone, a cubist rendition of her stretched out on the floor. The image shifted, blinked, and took a breath. Quite uselessly, as there was no air in the Second Dimension, but as there was no air, there was also no need for air. Patty walked along the floor, peering into the Third Dimension from her new realm, walking under the tables and staring up at the ceiling. The sensation was odd to say the least. She felt flattened, restrained, like she was pressed between two planes of glass. Despite the feeling, her motion in the Second Dimension was completely free in the directions available to her, gravity seeming to have no effect whatsoever. She made her way over to the wall and her image slid up onto the surface, her view room abruptly reorienting as she did, now overlooking the Home Ec room from the wall.

Good thing she didn't have an inner ear in this Dimension, otherwise she'd have been sick to her stomach by now.

Patty soundlessly swept across the wall and over to Laila's office, effortlessly walking along the walls and over to the single small window overlooking the work area. She walked between the two surfaces of the glass and the sill, turning the corner until she was now plastered on the interior wall, looking out at Laila's office. She quickly darted behind a sewing station, crouching until her visage was fully hidden. Her intrusion had gone unnoticed, as Red Nightmare's back was to her and Laila, understandably, had focused all her attention on the terrifying thing casually strolling around her office. He turned his back to her, looking out the window, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Again, no air in the Second Dimension, meaning no sound. Patty found she could 'press' her ear against the veil and detect murmurs, the harder the medium of the surface she occupied, the clearer the sound.

Drywall, gypsum and paper, no luck there.

Slowly, carefully, she pressed against the veil, her long, pointed ear slipping past it and into the Third Dimension and listened.

"–ecent encounter with the Vees has spooked Her Ladyship some," said Red, disgust and hatred oozing out of every syllable of 'Her Ladyship' like thick black oil. "Here is the updated map of our territory. This right here is the neutral zone. You are to cease any and all manufacturing deals you have with venues within a fifty-block demarcation of that line."

"But that's more than half of them!"

"Yes," said Red, pointing to the map. "Reach out to venues beyond that line."

"You say that like most of the fashion boutiques and general stores in that part of town aren't spoken for by other shops!" Laila said, nerves clear in her voice.

"They're not," Red replied, a smirk clear in his voice. "I asked them nicely to dissolve their contracts."

Laila paused. "Really?"

"No."

"But they're open for business?"

"Yes."

"Okay," said Laila, exhaling loudly, calmer now. "Okay, I'll make some calls. I know most of the distributors in that area."

"I know," said Red strolling over to her desk. "So. How are the new recruits faring?"

"Good overall," replied Laila. "Experience comes with time, though some of them have the Knack."

Red chuckled softly. "Leni."

"How did you guess?" Laila scoffed. "I swear, if you asked that girl to walk and chew bubblegum at the same time, smoke would come out her ears! But put her in front of a pile of scrap linens and dishrags and you'd have something wearable by the end of the day."

"She's a sweetheart," said Red, examining his talons. "And Setty?"

"An unqualified menace!" Laila exclaimed. "She's broken six needles and wasted yards of fabric in one day! Please tell me she's not here permanently!"

Red laughed aloud at this, shaking his head. "Hardly. She was disobedient the other day. This is a punishment."

"A punishment!" Laila said, sighing. "What'd I ever do to you, Red?"

"I'll arrange for her to be more Mesa's problem than yours, if you like."

"Ha! Now that's a punishment!" Laila walked out from behind her desk. "Well, now that business is concluded, is there something else I can help you with?"

Red gestured at himself. "You tell me."

"I have to admit…" Laila said, her voice taking on a low, husky tone. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've wanted this…"

She walked over to him, slowly reaching out and placing her hands on his chest. "Beautiful… just beautiful."

A blush began to form in Patty's cheeks. Were they about to…?

"And you went and got it torn to pieces," she said, her tone acid, as she pulled on the lapels of his suit. "If you didn't already deserve damnation, Red, you do now."

Red chuckled. "I'm none too pleased about it either. I wasn't on my A-game the other day and some thugs got their licks in. My fit paid the price for my carelessness. Can you fix it?"

"Fix it? This is a Braille Kingsley, '65 Spring Edition! I want to tear it off of you and put it in a shrine!" Laila said, passion burning in her voice. "These are Hell's finest suits. They aren't created, they are… grown. Raised like children. Magic is literally woven into every fiber and every fiber is matched with like, creating a circuit of almost organic perfection. These suits cannot be bought, they are offered by the Braille Conglomerate to worthy recipients. I couldn't begin to guess how you got this."

"It's best that you don't," growled Red, setting a not-at-all friendly hand on her shoulder. "For your own sake."

She stepped back, bowing shallowly. "F-forgive me! I didn't mean to pry!"

"Enough." Red gestured at his suit. "Can you fix it or not?"

"I can't, but you don't need me to," she said, gesturing at his sleeve. "The larger buttons on your sleeves, grab one with each hand and squeeze them simultaneously."

Red did and the suit shuddered, glowing as the tears sealed and healed, the popped stitches wove back together. After a moment, the suit was pristine once more.

"Self-repair charm," said Laila, watching the suit in naked awe. "Every Braille suit has one. It can even recall and repair disassociated fabric if it's close by. Red? Are you alright?"

Red gave a shuddering exhale, his face pale and voice strained and clipped as dark green splotches blossomed on his white undershirt. "It… would appear that some 'disassociated fabric' had been carried into my bullet wounds. They've since returned home."

"Will you be alright? Doc Habbo–"

"No," said Red, tersely. "I'll be fine. I have some business to attend to, a… report to give to Her Ladyship."

He turned around and made for the door. Laila, fidgeting and conflicted, blurted out. "Red!"

He stopped, not turning to face her. "Yes?"

"You were Dealt with, right?" She asked. "By Belladonna."

Red did not turn around. "I was."

"May I ask why?"

"You may ask." Red continued towards the door.

"She Dealt with me because I wanted to help these kids!" Laila cried. "Same with Habbo, Cowlick, and a lot of others. We tried to make their lives less miserable, but she found out things, somehow, knew the right people, and strongarmed us into… this. There are good people here, Red, people who can't stand this place but are trapped. Are you…?"

"Am I what?" Red said, turned around to face her, his expression flat. "One of you? You 'good people'?"

"Are you?"

Red smirked and shook his head. "No. I'm nothing like you. You want to help these kids? Make their lives less miserable? Don't make me laugh. If you truly wanted to help them, you'd have found a way to kill that bitch long ago. No, you and the rest, you know you wouldn't last out there. Out there is what keeps you in here, isn't it? Because at least in here there's a buffer between you and the demon with a leash on your Soul, a buffer of helpless hellborn children. Cowards, all of you. I'm not here to hide behind these kids, I'm here to raise them up, make something of them, something I can use, something incredible. The time will come when I run this organization, and I will have no use for cowards."

Laila sighed, averting her gaze. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Red paused, eying her up for a moment. "Have you noticed anything… strange?"

She perked up. "Strange?"

"Yes, strange. Odd. With the children."

Laila paused, as though trying to discern where this conversation was headed. "…No?"

"Good. If you want to help, continue to not notice. Tell no one of any strange things you see or hear," said Red, turning back towards the door, opening it. "Thanks for the patch-job. Be seeing you."

"I–"

The door slammed shut and Laila was silent, looking up to see Patty's cubist caricature crawling up the wall towards the window. The two locked eyes for a moment, the moth-demon's mouthparts working soundlessly, her eyes wide with shock. The dissonant shapes that were Patty's 2-D face shifted into a knowing smile as she brought her finger up to her lips and winked. Laila continued to stare, mouth hanging open. Patty repeated the 'shh' gesture before silently running her finger across her throat and nodding pointedly at the Staffer, raising her geometric eyebrows in a silent challenge. That did the trick, as Laila gasped and nodded fervently, averting her eyes and turning away. Patty grinned and slid out the window.

Patty moved down the wall to the workfloor, pushing out of the Second Dimension, sighing with satisfaction: that felt amazing! So, Red was aiming to take over the 'Donna by giving the kids Stands? With one notable exception, he was picking and choosing his targets carefully, it seemed. How many kids had he empowered so far? How many were in on it? It was impossible to tell, because Rule Three of the 'Donna was 'No Snitching'. If these kids were brought into the fold by Syx and Setty, they'd keep the secret to the death, especially if it meant killing Boss Lady one day. San, bless her heart, thought she was helping, but… Red Nightmare didn't strike Patty as the charitable type. They had to return the Arrow, and without him noticing. He was a Sinner who owned a Braille Kingsley, which meant he was either deemed worthy, or killed someone who had been and took it. Even a teenaged orphaned hellhound knew that meant he was not a man to be trifled with, not a man to betray.

She had to get to San, double-time!

Patty turned around to walk out when she walked snout-first into a huge black shape. She looked up, and up, and up the looming creosote black monolith, to the emerald green eyes peering down at her: Red Nightmare. Did he see her come out of the wall? Did he know? What would he do to her if he found out?!

She wanted to scream, to plead, to cower and beg, but all that came out was squeaky wheeze. "…heeeeeeen…"

"You should really watch where you're going, young lady," said Red Nightmare, looking around. "Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"…eeeee…"

Red cocked his head to the side, eyebrow raised. "Are you feeling alright?"

"…eeeeeiiI'm n-n-n-n–" Patty managed, her voice a shrill, staccato whisper. "N-not f-feeling good…"

He knelt down until he was face to face with her, his cold green eyes taking on a strangely warm glint. He reached up and took her pointed ear between his thumb and forefingers, before touching her nose with his thumb.

"Hmph. Your ears are very pale and your nose is dry, but I don't smell any sickness on you. How do you feel, Miss…?"

"P-p-p-Patty, m-muh-Mr. Nuh-Nightmare, sir," she managed.

"Patty." He looked about the room, eyes looking at the scoreboard. "Oh! No wonder! You've cleared your quota almost twice over! You must be exhausted."

She almost heaved a sigh of relief, nodding tiredly. "Y-yeh."

"Well, Patty, you're no good to us if you run yourself ragged. Get yourself down to the infirmary and the Doc will give you some salt tablets a day-pass. Take the day and rest up. If anyone has a problem with that, you tell them to talk to me, understand?"

She simply nodded, her heart hammering in her chest.

He smiled, a surprisingly warm, genuine expression, his normally cold jade eyes the warm green of grass in the sun. Patty, despite herself, allowed herself to entertain, for a moment, that maybe there was a reason the other kids gravitated towards him. Maybe he actually was here to help them, to deliver them from grinding servitude and indignity. She filed the notion away for later, content to find out in due time. For now, she focused on not testing this hypothetical largess by getting that Arrow back to him as soon as demonically possible. She turned from him and shuffled towards the door, careful to emulate exhaustion.

"Oh, and Patty!" Red called out after her. She turned around to see him staring at her, smiling, his eyes glowing emerald above a wide shark's smile. "See you around."

Patty forced a smile and nodded, turning about: that was no nicety, that was a promise.