Here we are with the penultimate installment of Get Out Alive!

This particular story will center around resident problem-child Dew and his little sister, resident cutie-pie Ena. Oh, and the other kids as they attempt to salvage this colossal goat-fuck of a day.

This will be a relatively short installment, only 2 chapters, and then we'll be in the final part and comeuppance you've all been waiting for: Belladonna.

Dew grunted as he loosened the nut off the bolt, careful this time not to lose it in the frame. Not careful enough for, as before, the damned thing stuck to the wrench tines just enough to plummet into the guts of the car. Hot, simmering frustration surged within him, he hated using these damned adjustable wrenches, but then some soon-to-be smear had nabbed his imperial-measurements socket set! His irritation was salved, however, by the new tool he'd acquired not thirty minutes ago. With a small flex of willpower an immense, phantasmal hand appeared at his side, away from prying eyes. It was red, like his own, but huge, with clawed fingers almost as thick as his wrist. When splayed, the thing could easily grasp a steel hubcap, and crush it like tinfoil even easier. Summoning this thing was uncomfortable in a way he couldn't quite place, like the sensation of needing to clear his throat. But in his head?

Whatever. It felt weird.

He'd never claimed to be the most articulate kid at the 'Donna. Indeed, when it came to almost anything but machinery, he'd often find himself struggling for words, preferring to allow his actions to speak for him. Sometimes he envied the other kids for the quick, easy way they spoke and interacted. Every time he tried, his mind would seize, words would fail to surface, and he'd be left with the urge to 'uh' and 'um' and 'like' to fill the embarrassing pauses, a trait he himself detested in other kids. In fact, the only time he could speak like a normal person was in moments of temper, contention, only then would he be anything close to articulate, preferring to stay silent and terse at all other times. It made making friends a real bitch.

Speaking of bitches, the errant nut. The phantom hand phased through the metal like it wasn't there, huge fingers feeling about for the nut, finding it and grabbing hold. Now came the tricky process of fishing it back up through the engine compartment.

Experiencing sensations through a limb not attached to him was weird, too. Distracting. It made his articulation of this ghost-hand difficult, like trying to count while someone shouted random numbers in his ear. That was why he didn't bother using the thing for work, lest he put just a bit too much juice in and break something important. Not that it was imprecise, he knew – no – felt that whatever this thing was could flick a metal shaving off the hood of a Lamborghini without so much as touching the paint. But it wasn't all out yet, stuck somewhere in his mind like a stubborn loogie. He'd cough it up one day, but for now he had work to do.

The nut rose out of the darkness in a shimmering, ghostly hand. He reached in and plucked it, setting the nut on the table. He looked around to check if anyone was watching. Coast clear, he furrowed his brow in concentration, the fingers grasping the last nut he needed to loosen in order to pull out the alternator, the part that Lead Shithead Diamanti wanted for some stupid reason. The hand grasped the nut and spun in a way impossible for a normal limb. He guessed the thing didn't have bones, whatever it was. The nut came loose and, grasped in its fingers, plopped safely into his palm. He smirked, triumphant. Yeah, he'd get the hang of this thing in no time!

Next to the nut was the thin, almost invisible scar that funky Arrow had left when it penetrated his palm. Back in the bunks, he'd reached into his pocket to grab the thing and hide it away. It had... moved. No, it jumped, embedding itself in his flesh with something like eagerness. It had hurt, sure, but he'd suffered worse scrapes changing a rig's oil. No, what was alarming was how the damned thing stuck in his palm, his other hand unable to so much as budge it! After some struggling, pain and alarm became frustration. Anger. Rage. Fuck this thing for cutting him! Fuck it for sticking to him! Fuck this fucking thing! Once he pulled it out he'd stick it in a furnace and melt it down and–

Out it came, leaving a neat, clean little cut an inch or so long.

Then, all that weird energy shit started happening. Something surging out from within him like blood from a bad cut. He'd heard some rustling, some other kids approaching. He couldn't let them see this thing. San and the other kids with these things seemed really keen to keep this whole deal under wraps, and so would he... for now. He fought it, wrangled it, this outpouring, his immense well of stubbornness grabbing hold of this thing, holding it down until the other kids passed by his bunk, hurrying along upon seeing whatever foul expression that had been on his face. Perhaps that was why he had this 'stuck' feeling? Why he could only bring out a pair of huge, muscular arms? Had he screwed it up? Would it always be like this, just a pair of arms sticking out from over his shoulders like a stuck turd? No. He'd get the hang of this thing, wrestle it out and bring it to heel. Once Dew set his mind to something, he'd do it, no matter what.

"Hey," a voice from behind said. "Whatcha got there, Dew?"

Dew switched off the ghost-thing and turned around quickly. Standing before him was Kabby, the Secondary Shithead of the Shop. While he didn't hate the imp like he did Diamanti, he hardly liked him, either. Hellborn or not, the snide little shit was Staff, an adult. While Dew could respect Kabby's knowledge and acumen when it came to the work they did, he resented the fact that the bossy firetoad respected his own skill in equal measure, especially when he was at loggerheads with Diamanti over where to direct him, which was always. This past week the two had butted heads over which job took priority, which meant Dew and his team were bouncing between projects like Hell's shittiest pinball. It was really starting to piss him off.

"An alternator." Dew grunted, leaning back against the beater car, holding up the item in question. "Clocksucker wants it for some stupid reason."

"Not what I meant," said the imp, his voice low as not to raise suspicion, but tense in a way that suggested he'd gotten a dickpic from Ozzie himself. "Where'd you get it?"

Dew folded his arms across his nascent barrel chest, turning away from Kabby dismissively. "Dunno what you're talkin' about. Maybe you need to get your eyes checked, old man."

Kabby grit his teeth, his normally clear yellow eyes bloodshot, the vein at his temple pulsating. Man, whatever crawled up his ass this time had teeth. He inhaled through his nose, centering himself, before clapping his hands together. "Okay. Fine. Have it your way. C'mere. We're going to see Mr. Nightmare."

"What? Fuck that!" Dew scoffed, stepping away from the car and heading for his toolbox. "Unlike you, I got shit to do."

"Not a negotiation, shithead!" Kabby snapped, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. "We're leaving!"

Dew was surprised at how easily the smaller imp dragged him to the farside of the beater, hidden from sight from the rest of the Shop; the short old fart must have some muscle hidden somewhere in that wiry frame.

"Hey! Don't touch me, asshole!" Dew snarled, belatedly resisting the tough old man as he pulled him around the vehicle. "What're you–?"

Kabby turned around, holding out his hand. Dew's eyes widened when he saw a familiarly phantasmal object materialize in it. It was red and resembled a short, fat dart, with a feathered tail, narrow middle, and bulbous tip from which a long, tapering point extended. The world around them... blurred? Moved? All at once it seemed like the Shop streaked past them like they were on a conveyor belt moving a million miles an hour. It lasted only an instant, with barely registerable glimpses of other rooms and floors flashing by. Less than a second later, the two of them were standing in... a locker room? Where were they? He'd never been in this room before.

"Red, we got a problem. Dew here's somehow–" said Kabby, words halting as soon as he turned around. "What the fuck is going on in here?"

Dew turned around to see Red Nightmare, the source of all this bullshit, standing in the middle of the locker room dressed in nothing but a very small towel. There were kids there too, but Dew hardly noticed. Man, Red was jacked.

"Whuh! Oh, for..." He spun about, flinching in surprise before setting a hand to his heart and sighing. "Kabby, where did you come from!?"

"I put a blue tracker on your ass when you weren't looking," said Kabby, looking back and forth between the towering demon and the assembled kids. "Just in case I–Nevermind. What's going on here?"

"Just the third or fourth worst day of my life..." Red said, setting his fingers to his forehead. "Top five, at the very least. San here stole the Arrow from me and has been making Stand-Users willy-nilly for the past three days."

Dew just then noticed the other kids. Setty, the oldest kid at the 'Donna with a bod like a race car and the personality of a powertool, stood at attention, almost like a soldier. Syx, the blind-mute Golden Boy and resident tard-wrangler of this shitheap and all that implied, stood next to her, similarly on point. Some hellhound chick Dew had seen hanging around with San was evidently trying to look as small as possible, shrinking when he looked at her. And finally San, resident cloudcase pyromaniac genius and, more recently, former owner of the Arrow, stood closest to Red, her head cocked like a curious dog.

"I don't see a dart," said San, abruptly lifting up the back of Red Nightmare's towel, causing the huge Sinner to squawk and hop away. "Just a glowy little blue spot."

"S-San!" black-furred hellhound chick exclaimed, yanking her back, blushing. "F-f-for fuh-fuck's sake!"

Oh, great. A stutterer.

"Wow," muttered Setty, her normally pink-red face deep scarlett, her eyes wide.

"Setty, I swear to Satan I'm going to grab a hose," said Syx(?!) without moving his mouth.

"Oh..." Kabby muttered, turning to Dew. "Well, that explains it."

Red adjusted his towel, scowling, head snapping over to Kabby. "Explains wha–?"

His eyes shot over to Dew, just now noticing him. Dew frowned and turned away from the Sinner, crossing his arms. Red looked back to Kabby, mortified, pointing at Dew. Kabby nodded, shrugging. Red groaned, hands to his face. "San..."

"Huh?" San said, turning to Red Nightmare. "What?"

"Him? Really?" Red said, pointing at the incubus. "Of all people, you gave Dew a Stand?"

"What? No!" San cried, shaking her head. "I wouldn't give Dew a Stand! He's crazy!"

Dew turned about, outraged. "Hey!"

"Sorry, Dew-Dew!" San said, hands out placatingly. "I didn't mean it like that! You're not crazy, just... uh... you're just violently unstable, yeah?"

"San, c'mon..." hellhound groaned.

"What, Patty? I'm right, aren't I? Also, if you guys didn't give him his Stand, and I didn't, then how–?" San's eyes snapped open wide as she loosed a comically dramatic gasp, pointing at Dew. "YOU. You stole the Arrow from me, didn't you?!"

"Maybe." Dew sniffed, shoving his hands in his pockets, disinterestedly examining one of the lockers. "Dunno. I'm crazy, right?"

A shadow cast over him as Red Nightmare loomed, blocking out the overhead lights, his eyes glowing green in his shadowed face. "Where is it, Dew? Where is the Arrow?"

"Dunno." Dew shrugged, shooting him a sideways glance. "Musta lost it."

"Dew..." Red Nightmare growled, eyes flashing. "Tell me where it is, right now."

"Hocked it," said the obstinate incubus, picking at his teeth. "For a pack of smokes." Dew reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one. "Or was it a candy bar?"

Red's hand shot out with blinding speed, grabbing him by the collar. "Tell me where it is, you little–ACK!"

An immensely muscled crimson arm flashed out from the air over Dew's shoulder, the chains wrapped around its forearm jangling as its fist smashed into Red's face with a cannon report. The huge demon was sent hurtling backwards through the air, cratering the steel lockers and cracking the wall behind them.

Dew didn't even bother looking over at his work, puffing out a stream of smoke. "Don't touch me, asshole."

"Holy shit!" Kabby exclaimed, jumping back.

"Red!" Setty cried out, rushing forward.

"Dew!" Syx snarled, his body suddenly encased in writhing purple and blue energy. "Stand down!"

Dew snorted and turned around to face a shocked Kabby, the ghostly arms flexing. "Arright, Krabby. Why dontcha be a good little imp and tell me just what the fuck is goin' on here?"

"Kid..." Kabby said, shaking his head in exasperation. "Don't make this worse for yourself."

"Big talk comin' from someone in splatterin' range." Dew snarled as a shining armor-clad hand phased out from his sternum. The polished armored hand waved cheerfully at him before sternly wagging its finger. "Huh? What the fu–"

The hand quickly became an arm, reaching up with impossible speed, grabbing the boy by the face. Dew grunted in alarm as he was wrenched forward, the arm sliding through the linoleum, smashing his face into it, hard. He cried out as pain flared in his forehead in a bright, nauseating starburst behind his eyes, blood squirting from his small, slitted nose. An instant later and another armored hand was grasping the back of his head with implacable strength, cold metallic talons digging into his scalp.

"You better holster those sick guns of yours, Doo-Doo," Setty hissed in his ear, squeezing hard enough Dew swore he heard his skull creak. "Else I'm painting this floor a lovely shade of brain!"

"Aaargh! Fuck you, bitch!" Dew snarled, attempting to backhand the succubus on his back with his powerful phantom limbs, hitting nothing.

"Nighty-night, asshole." She pulled his head up off the floor, preparing to smash it back down.

"Setty." Red called out. "Get off him."

Immediately, those crushing fingers released him and the weight left his back. Dew groaned and rubbed his head, his fingers slightly stained with blood from where her claws broke the skin. He turned to see Red towering over him, uninjured save for a small, fresh welt on his cheek. He reached down and offered a hand which, after some consideration, Dew took, getting to his feet.

"Interesting..." Red muttered, rubbing his chin as though in thought. "Lots of power and speed, but why just arms?"

"Care to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Dew grumbled, wiping the blood from his nose on his sleeve.

"They're called 'Stands'," said Syx, stepping forward. "They're a manifestation of a person's spirit."

Dew stared at Syx, blankly, blinking a few times. "...Kay. Hey, since when can you talk?"

"I can't," Syx replied, a tall, thin, mechanical-looking cyclops appearing behind him in a flash. "I'm talking through my Stand, [D5H]. You can only hear me because you're a Stand-user, too."

"Every Stand is different," said Setty, vanishing into an admittedly badass-looking suit of shining plate armor, like an old-timey knight, levitating into the air. "Just like people, no two are exactly alike. They each have different abilities and effects. Mine's [Titanium]."

"Yeah!" San exclaimed, excitedly, what appeared to be a glowing tile game materializing in front of her. "Syx can make things really heavy, and Setty can move through solid stuff like it ain't there! My [Stealers Wheel] can swap any aspect between two or more items. That's how I fixed that turbo, Dew, I swapped its bustedness with a new wrench's newness!"

"This is all so fuckin' weird..." Dew muttered, shaking his head, turning to the hellhound girl, Patty. "What about you? What can you do?"

"I-I-I-I-I-I–" Patty stammered before vanishing, a weird artsy-fartsy version of her appearing on the locker door.

Dew looked around at them before looking up at his ghost-limbs, frowning. "And all I get is arms? Weak."

"Not weak..." Red grumbled as he rubbed his cheek. "In fact, very strong and very, very fast. Moreover, they're not just arms." He reached out and tapped Dew's forehead, prompting the boy to swat his hand away. "There's more in there. You can feel it, yes?"

"Yeah..." Dew said, eying the Sinner up. "It's like, I dunno, I got a stuffy nose or somethin'. Why? You know what's up with this thing?"

Red nodded, eyes glinting. "Let's just say I have experience with partial manifestations. Seems to me you're not quite ready to let the beast out of its cage. That will come with time." He turned to the other kids, bringing his hands together with a clap. "Alright team! Same plan as before, but with an addendum. Setty, San, Patty, take care of the Surf situation and then track down all the Stand-users you've made. Syx, I want you to take Dew and find whoever he sold the Arrow to."

"What? Naw, man..." Dew scoffed, shaking his head. "I was just fuckin' with you. I know where it is."

Red spun around, irritation clear on his face. "Fucking... alright, then. Where is it?"

"Keep your towel on, Red," Dew sneered up at the Faller. "Who says I'm joinin' this fruity little fanclub of yours, anyhow? What's in it for me?"

"Your teeth!" Setty snarled, punching her studded knuckles into her armored hand with a bell-like clang.

"Setty..." Red said, sternly, turning back to Dew. "What's in it for you? Money? Power? A long-crushed feeling of dignity, hope, and self-determination? Fast cars? All that and more."

Dew arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "...Can I take apart Diamanti and rebuild him as a 'shine still?"

"I don't see why not." Red smiled, winking. "Just so long as you give me a dram of the first batch."

Dew looked over at the other kids, at the 'Donna around them, thought of his cheerful little sister, Ena, before turning back to Red, his face set and determined. "And Boss Lady?"

"By the time we're through with her, Dew..." Red chuckled deeply, extending his hand. "She'll envy the dead."

Wonderful, terrible, horrible things raced across Dew's mind. And beyond that, beyond his revenge against that bitch and her house of horrors, was the possibilities, the future. The future, a place that had seemed so bleak and hopeless and terrifying, like a fanged beast in the shadows of a dark hallway. Now, however, whatever lay down that road, he'd be able to feed it its own teeth and make it squeal.

A ghostly limb flashed to life, reaching out and taking Red's hand in his, squeezing firmly and shaking. "I'm in."

Ena hummed happily to herself, scribbling away. "Almost done..."

"I dunno about this, Ena," said Scrum, leaning against her pillow as origami animals and people milled about around him, crafted from the funny magical paper sheets spawned from the glowing, gilded sketchbook in her hands. "Isn't all this stuff really scary? I mean, what's going on?"

"Dunno!" Ena chirped, fishing around in her hair for another colored pencil. "Now, where's that blue? I wanna get as close to your denim patch as I can."

"Why're you drawing me?" Scrum asked, concerned. "What's gonna happen when you draw on these things?"

"I got a feeling that if I draw something on these, I can pull it out and it'll be real!" She said as one of the little paper men waddled up to her, holding a blue crayon. "Oh, thank you! Not a pencil, but it'll do, I think!"

"You're gonna replace me?" Scum slumped over as an origami crane flew up and settled on his head. "I thought we were besties, Ena!"

"Oh, Scrum! You're so silly!" Ena rolled her eyes, reaching over and sitting him back up, closing an eye and holding out her thumb as she examined him. "Nothing could ever replace you! I'll still love and cuddle you, but this Scrum will be able to walk around and talk and stuff!"

"Ena, please..." Scrum pleaded, his low growly voice fading, becoming more like hers. "I got a bad feeling about this. You don't even know what this thing is. It could be bad. Or maybe I'm going crazy! I mean, I pretend like Scrum is real and talking and stuff a lot, and–"

"Hush, Scrum," said Ena, putting the finishing touches on her portrait. "Vah-lah! Now..."

She tore out the piece of paper out of the magic sketchbook, on it was Scrum, or as close as she could get with her art style. All the details were there, his mottled, aged brown fur, his red cotton, pink polyester, and blue denim patches festooning his body, his tattered ear, and even the cherry-red button that served as the replacement for his left eye. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the paper, feeling its presence in her young mind, feeling it shudder and flex with her thoughts. She just had to picture Scrum on it and...

She opened her eyes once more and the paper was gone. "Huh?"

She looked around, looking for her bear. She turned to Scrum, who was still propped against the pillow. "Scrum? Didja see where it–Scrum?"

Something was... strange. The teddy bear before her hadn't changed one bit, but was different: it wasn't Scrum.

"Ow..." a rough, gravelly voice, a real voice, called out. "I fell off the bed? But wasn't I...?"

She scrambled over to the bedside and gasped. There, sitting on the floor was Scrum, looking around and rubbing his head. He groaned and got to his feet, tottering a bit on the rounded edges of his paws. He looked like... well, like a drawing. Like her drawing, with uneven lines and little smudges of color sticking out from them, but he had stuff she hadn't learned to draw yet like depth, perspective, and shading. Scrum examined his 'hands', his stoic teddy-face scrunching into an expression of amazement. He looked up at her, his crude mouth curling into a sharp-toothed smile.

"I... I'm real?" Scrum muttered, his voice now the one she'd heard in her head when he 'spoke' before, not her crude imitation of it. "I-I can move! I can see! I'm real! Ha ha! I'm real! Ena, you did it!"

Ena beamed and reached down, plucking the crudely drawn bear off the floor. "Scrum! You're talking and moving and-and–"

"I'm alive, baby!" Scrum cackled, pumping his stumpy little arms in the air. "You're the best, Ena!"

She set him down on the bed, sitting opposite her scribbly friend, her magical sketchbook levitating over and into her hands. "What should I draw next?"

Scrum tapped his chin, mismatched eyes narrowing as a mischievous smile crawled across his face. "Howzabout a pretty girlfriend for me to play 'lights-out' with?"

Ena smiled and rolled her eyes. "Scru~m!"

"Or Setty!" Scrum crooned, licking his lips. "Pretty Ms. Setty and her big bouncy boobies!"

"Ew, Scrum!" Ena giggled, reaching out and shoving him. "Don't be gross! Really, though, what should I draw?"

"Hrmm. Howzabout..." Scrum tapped his chin in contemplation, snapping his nonexistent fingers. "A sandwich! I haven't eaten in... ever!"

"Okay!" She chirped, quickly sketching a slice of bread. "PB&J?"

"Roast beef with lettuce with tomatoes!"

Ena filled in the various lines as cleanly as she could. White for the bread and mayo, light brown for the crust, red and green for the tomato and lettuce, a bit of yellow for the mustard, and dark brown for the beef. She pulled out the piece of paper and concentrated on it. The paper flickered and crumpled in an instant, flashing bright white before reshaping itself into a roast beef sandwich. Ena gasped, reaching out and grabbing it. It felt real, with soft plush bread, cool lettuce leaves, and warm, juicy meat. She took a bite, anticipating the flavor. Her eyes snapped open as the texture in her mouth abruptly became that of crumpled paper, and that flat unpleasant chemical flavor of cardboard.

"Eww! Blech!" Ena spat out the mouthful, a multi-colored wad of bread, meat, and veggies. "Tastes like kraft paper!"

"Givvit here," said Scrum, reaching for the sandwich and taking a bite, his mouth filled with an array of surprisingly sharp fangs. "Tashts phine t'meph."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Scrum," said Ena, watching curiously as he devoured the sandwich. "What else should I draw?"

"'Unno," the teddy bear grunted, plopping the last morsel into his toothy maw. "Good sandwich, by the way. Y'sure your not a cook, too?"

"Thanks..." Ena said, studying her magic notebook pensively, the titlecard of it reading [Paper Planes].

"What's wrong, Ena?"

"I was just thinking..." Ena muttered, opening the book. "Dew's always working so hard, and getting hurt and angry all the time. Maybe if we weren't here he wouldn't have to?"

"Ena..." Scrum said, reproachfully.

"We wouldn't have to work and get yelled at and stuff..." Ena said, picking up a pencil and getting to work. "...If we weren't orphans."

Setty, Patty, and San marched down the hallway on the second floor, heading south. A quiet, simmering tension between them. Setty quietly fumed that she'd been saddled with wrangling duty, moreso now that the girls who'd caused all this grief were apparently roped into the fold without so much a scolding or cathartic asskicking. Regardless, they had a mission to fulfill: handle the Surf situation first, then track down all of San's Stand-spawn and send them to Red's office, doubletime. The first one taking precedence since, as a Sinner, Surf Mesa getting folded by a teenaged Hellborn was hardly the sort of news even Belladonna would ignore. Punishments would have to come later.

"So Patty," said San, the little shit, chipper as ever. "Now that you heard Syx talk, do you still find him hot?"

Setty's eyes snapped open. 'What?!'

"San! Shut up!" Patty replied, mortified, her composure imploding the second Setty spun about and locked her with a questioning glare. "I-I-I don't l-like him j-just for th-th-that..."

"You like Syx?" Setty asked, her tone flat.

"I-I-I-I-I–"

"Patty thinks he's cool and that he'd get being different," said San, smiling. "Cuz he's mute and blind and she's all sh-sh-shy and stuh-stuh-stammery."

Setty's hand shot out, catching the baphomet across the face with a hard, solid slap, knocking her off her hooves.

"OWWW!" San cried, rubbing her smarting cheek. "Setty! What gives–ACK!"

Setty reached down, grabbing her by a short, dark horn, hauling her off the floor, off her feet, bringing her face to hers. "You listen here, bitch. You're on our side now, sure, but don't think for a second that means you're off the hook. Either of you. From now on, you speak when spoken to. Any word otherwise out your mouth, I'll shove it right back in with my fists! Understand?"

San hung there, eyes wide, wet with tears, nodding silently. Setty scoffed and dropped her to the floor. Patty moved to help her when Setty jabbed a finger at her, the hellhound freezing, her hands raised as though it were a loaded gun. "You. You like Syx?"

Patty nodded frantically, her eyes wide. "Y-y-ye."

"Why?"

Patty's brow furrowed in concentration, effort, as she reigned in her stammer. "H-he's calm. Quiet. N-not just 'cause he's m-mute, but, like, he d-doesn't need to say m-much. S-Syx doesn't have a-anything to prove to anyone! H-he's the Golden Boy and he's e-earned it! S-some kids think he's m-mean, b-but he's not. He's rough and s-stern, but he's like that to keep the kids in line so they can earn money and get f-fed." Patty's voice raised, deepened, conviction flowing through her, a blush forming in her cheeks. "I watch him a lot. I feel like he's lonely. Sad. Isolated. ...Like me. But he's that way because he's holding us all together, taking that responsibility on himself, even if he doesn't get to make friends or play favorites. He's blind and mute, and around here that's a death sentence! But he's made it as far as any of us ever could, and he feels like he has to extend that to the rest of us! He's strong! He's dependable! He's brave! That alone would make him really cool, but it's more than that! Syx is... kind. Loving. He loves us all. All us 'Donna kids. Loves us so much he'll do anything to keep us safe, even if it means pushing us away. Even if it means being Boss Lady's Golden Boy. He does it for us! So, yeah, I like him! I want him to know I appreciate it! To know I... l-love him right back!"

Setty stared in silence, her eyes wide. She'd never thought about it like that, never considered it, but knew it to be true regardless. Syx was chilly, brusque, terse even for a mute, and even though he'd unflinchingly dispense harsh punishment for transgressions, he was never cruel or capricious. Syx would never betray a 'Donna kid, never abandon them, and if it came right down to it, he'd give his life to protect them. Syx was Boss Lady's Golden Boy, sure, but more importantly, he was the 'Donna's Golden Boy. And Setty had the gall to envy him for it. She, who not one hour ago, was willing to sell out two of her fellow 'Donna kids to someone who, despite his kindness and generosity, was just a Faller. A Sinner. An adult. She felt sick.

"Whoa." San whispered, shocked.

"S-Setty?" Patty said, her normal cadence back in force. "Y-y-you okay?"

"Shut up," she grunted, turning away. "Follow me."

They turned the corner to see, thankfully, Surf's unconscious form splayed out on the ground. Setty quietly thanked whatever malicious fate-gaming dickhead responsible for this fustercluck of a day for at least leaving this nascent catastrophe be. They hurried over and accessed the situation. Surf lay dazed, unconscious, blood pooling around the back of his head, a thin smear of the stuff trailing up the wall to the crater in the concrete his skull had made when she'd cathartically dashed his hateful brains out. Setty looked about, mind buzzing with potential explanations.

Ah-ha!

"Alright Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dipshit, here's what we're gonna do." She turned to the other girls, who stood at attention like whipped soldiers. "San, swap that dent and blood's location with a section of floor. Patty, once she's done that, you do your thing and move him over top of it. No smears. It has to look like he tripped and fell. Got it?"

"Yes, Setty!" Was the reply.

"I'll be right back."

With that she phased through the floor, careful to stay within the walls so no one would see her moving about. She moved through the 'Donna like a ghost, getting to where she needed to be. Setty peered out from the ceiling of the Med Ward, checking to see if the coast was clear. Doc Habbo was sitting opposite a dour, chain-smoking Emerson, a set of cards in his hands.

"And this one?"

"Ace of spades. Red."

"Correct." Habbo jotted down some notes.

"I'm not reading your mind," said Emerson, taking a heavy rip on the dart.

"I didn't–" Habbo began to say.

"You considered it," Emerson interrupted. "In an adjacent timeline. Your notes right now just say 'demon ability?' but it's nothing like that. I just got up in an alt and looked. That card has a stain on the white part, you suspect it's poorly cleaned blood or jizz from the protein stain test you did on it the other day, but you don't know how it got there since the deck was new. Your next line is gonna be: 'are you sure you're not reading my mind?' Right?"

"Are you sure you're not reading my mind–what?" Habbo studied the creature for a moment. "Alright then... how do you know all that?"

"Because you told me..." said Emerson, impatiently, as though they'd been over this a million times. "In an alternate timeline I got up and looked at the card, noticed the stain, asked about it, and you told me all that."

"And when was this?"

"Technically it's happening right now," said Emerson, snuffing the butt of the cigarette and lighting up another. "As if 'right now' means anything anymore."

"So, you can see alternate timelines as they happen?" Habbo said, taking notes. "I thought you said you could see the future?"

"It's both? I dunno, once your pills got me past all the 'mindbreaking existential dread' stuff and started fiddling about, it's like... I can see what's gonna happen out to about a minute-and-a-half, but it's all at once. I can also see all the 'could-bes' and 'what-ifs' like that, too. Like, I knew all that shit about the card a minute ago, even though that conversation is happening 'now', but over there."

"Sounds..." Habbo said, leaning back in his chair. "Confusing."

"You get used to it," said Emerson, puffing idly on the cig. "Or not? Maybe I've finally gone fluffernutters and that's what it takes to cope with this bullshit. Speaking of bullshit, Setty, stop being coy and come on out here."

Setty blinked, pulling back into the ceiling.

Habbo spun around on the chair, looking about. "Setty? How'd she get in here?"

"She hasn't," said Emerson, dryly, pointing to the ceiling. "Not yet. Come on out, girlie, we won't tell no one."

Doc looked up to the ceiling, gasping in shock as Setty's perfect face phased through the plasterboard tiles, the rest of her body clipping through the metal bracing and light fixtures like a glitching video game. For herself, she seemed just as baffled as the apish Sinner, though her surprise seemed reserved solely for Emerson, who seemed equal parts bored and annoyed at the insanity unfolding before him.

"H-How?!" Habbo exclaimed as the sour-faced succubus levitated down to the floor. "Setty, what–?"

"Shaddup," she snapped, gesturing for him to 'zip it', which he did; the girl's movements held a curious weight to them, a subtle unnatural energy that made every red hair on his damned hide stand on end. "Feeling better, Slug?"

"No," Emerson groaned, tapping his temple. "This shit has nuts in it. How long?"

Setty crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. "How long until what?"

Emerson shot her a nasty look, jabbing a finger at his head. "How long until Red gives the go-head to have San yank this bullshit out of my head and back into his!?"

Setty blinked, surprised. "How did you...?"

"I asked a minute ago and, in a very small number of timelines, you actually bothered to explain what's going on. You mentioned Syx thinks Red's gotten nerfed or some shit and I put two and two together. When San tried to steal the Arrow, she accidentally yanked this existential migraine outta Red's head and stuffed it into mine!" The lamprey-like Sinner chuckled sourly. "I bet the big galoot suddenly got a fondness for butter tarts."

Setty processed this for a moment: apparently, whatever was buzzing around in Emerson's skull had also caused the craven Sinner to grow a pair. She held up her finger when Habbo tried to interject, wagging it before pointing at Emerson. "So, what, Red can see the future?"

"Not right now, he can't," said Emerson, amused. "And not just the future. Possible alternate timelines, some slightly different, some completely sidelined by random chance, others that are just... weird. Infinite possibilities. Wanna know how many timelines there are where you give me a big ol' tonguey smooch?"

Setty scowled. "Zero."

"Yeah..." Emerson said, frowning and taking a drag. "Even in infinity, Ol' Emerson gets the short end..."

She walked forward, phasing through the table, looming over him. "How many are there where I rip off your head and shove it up that vienna sausage you call a prick?"

"Twelve. There's a certain comfort in reading ahead, even if the ending sucks, you know? As much as I want this miserable thing out of my brain, I can sorta see why Red walks around like he's hung past his knees!" Emerson scoffed, shaking his head. "And it's not just the future or alts he can see, either. He can see the past, too. His own, or..."

The Sinner glanced over her shoulder, prompting her to look about. His hand reached out, grabbing her wrist. Only for a second as the young succubus flinched and drew away as though scalded, phasing out of his grasp.

"Hands off, perv!" Setty growled, raising her fist.

Emerson only smirked at this. "Does he know?"

Setty swallowed, lowering her fist. "Does who know? Know what?"

"Does Red know he makes you dewier than a spring blossom?" Emerson crooned, relishing her shock and blossoming embarrassment. "Does Syx know you've played DJ Diddles thinkin' about Papi? Two beaus, one belle? Tsk tsk tsk... Greedy girl~ Greedy little–"

Setty's fist slammed into his face an instant later, sending the Sinner flying across the room, trailing blood and teeth through the air. He smashed into a gurney with enough force to crumple the steel and send the mattress tumbling across the floor. Setty stood, panting, face contorted into a furious snarl to compliment the furious blush in her cheeks.

"So worth it..." Emerson groaned thickly, smiling best he could with his remaining teeth before passing out.

Setty looked down at her clenched fist, noticing the tremble in her hands, muttering: "We're just... it's not like Syx would... not someone like me."

"Uh..." Habbo grunted, snapping her out of her thoughts, her glaring rose eyes locking onto him. "What's... what the fuck is going on?"

Setty said nothing, walking through the stunner Sinner, causing him to flinch and gasp. He turned around to see her reach into his medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of cheap whiskey. She turned to him and pointed at him, then at the pummeled Emerson, before placing it over her full, pouty lips, raising her eyebrows in a silent challenge. Habbo shut his mouth, holding up his hands, nodding. With that she levitated into the air, reaching up and slipping right through the solid matter of the ceiling.

Habbo stared for a moment before sitting down on the floor, staring into the middle distance.

Setty slid out from the floor next to Patty and San who, to her mild surprise, had more or less done exactly what she'd asked. Setty wasted no time capping the bottle of whiskey, dousing the Sinner in the reeking booze and, after taking a hefty slug from the bottle, placed it in his limp hand. With any luck, he'd come to, dazed, and connect the dots all by himself. The old bigot would no doubt prefer to think he'd just boozed up the whole thing rather than admit he'd been trounced by a ringscraper. Even if he did mention it to anyone, he stank like a distillery's asshole with all that implied. Win-win.

"Alright," said Setty, turning back to the two. "San, where did you make the most Stands users?"

"Home Ec," San replied, pointing down the hall. "Then the Shop and Computer Lab."

"A-are you okay, S-Setty?" Patty said, quietly. "You're r-really r-r-red..."

"Shut up," Setty snapped, turning away from them. "Let's go."

Home Ec was busy as ever, the overlapping clatter of machines roaring like machinegun fire. The girls strolled in, looking about for their targets, scoping them out of the endless lines of workers, Patty knew where each kid worked, finding them easily and pointing them out.

"San, you get those two. Patty, those ones. Tell 'em and anyone who asks that they're going to the reassignment office."

"Who is going to the reassignment office?" A voice came from behind, it was Laila, the fancy wannabe-snob head of Home Ec. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Oh, for..." Setty sighed, hand to her face, gesturing at the other two. "Get to it, you two. I'll handle this."

"'Handle this'?" Laila blinked, her haughty, lilting voice taking on a scandalized edge, eyes narrowing. "You'll 'handle this'? Look, missy, I–"

"Uhm, Ms. Laila?" Patty muttered, stepping out from behind Setty, reluctantly locking eyes with the Sinner. "N-now would be a g-good time to n-not notice."

To Setty's surprise, the snooty bitch flinched as though slapped, shooting the hellhound an alarmed look. Patty simply nodded, gesturing at Setty, San, and then herself, shrugging.

"W-well..." Laila said, standing up straight, stiff as a board, her voice clipped and tense. "Yes. Get to it, then."

With that, she was off, practically marching back to her office. Setty wanted to smile at this, she'd always thought the elegant moth-demon had a stick up her ass, but at that moment she looked like someone had just goosed her with a broom-handle. She turned back to Patty, silently requesting an explanation.

"Uhh..." Patty muttered, fidgeting. "I, uh, sp-spied on her having a t-talk with Mr. N-Nightmare. She won't cause t-trouble."

'That makes one fucking person around this shitheap...' Setty thought, sourly. "Good job, Tweedle-Dee. Alright, let's get to it."

"Wait..." San said, pointing to herself. "Does that make me 'Tweedle-Dipshit'?"

"You tell me," grumbled Setty, brushing past her.

With that they split up and set about gathering up the rogue Stand Users. God, would this day just fucking end already?

Syx marched down the hallway after the truculent incubus as they headed for the Bunks. He hoped Setty and her new little minions could get on top of the mess they'd created, but in Acquisitions they had a saying: you don't get points for wiping your own ass. He bit back the bitterness. His better nature knew that Setty could handle it. She was strong, resourceful, canny and cunning. She would get on top of this, especially since... Red expected her to.

The bitterness was back, hot and strong like bile. She'd... ogled him when San bluntly flipped up his towel. Ogled. Setty's old line of work had, seemingly, burned that particular inclination out of her. Setty normally couldn't stand to be touched by most people. The only contact she appeared to tolerate was sweet little Ena's hugs and his calming hand on her shoulder. Even then, he could feel her tense up, shy away, even for the briefest moment.

Not so with Red.

'Why him, of all people?' Syx fumed. 'Why not...?'

Kids got together at the 'Donna, it was a fact of life. They were all they had, after all As they got older, infantile infatuation grew, blossoming right alongside their bearers. Hormones and proximity paired with a laughably thin attempt at delineation between the sexes on Boss Lady's part. The Bunks being essentially co-ed, these things happened. Syx would be lying if he said he'd never been tempted, and the clumsy, nervous approaches by starstruck boys and girls were hardly rare. Annoyingly frequent, even. But he wouldn't pursue or allow himself to be pursued. He couldn't. He saw the discord such things wrought between his wards, the friendships shattered by jealousy and envy. Syx could not allow himself to be compromised in such a way, lest it damage his capacity to wrangle the others into what they needed to be to survive.

However... if one person in this shitheap could have possibly gotten through, it was Setty. All she had to do was show a glimmer of interest and he'd... consider it. But she never did. Until recently, he assumed that was because her former line of work had tainted that sort of thing for her, but now...

'Why him?' Syx seethed. 'A fucking Faller!'

Syx stopped himself once again. No. Not just 'a Faller'.

'Belladonna Kids stick together,' Red had said. Red... Red was one of them. Syx entertained the idea that Red had been lying, telling him that to manipulate Syx's loyalty to his fellow victims. But felt – no – knew he was telling the truth. Most people hated Boss Lady, sure, but Red? Red loathed her. Despised her. Feared her. Syx could hear it in his voice; she scared him only slightly more than she disgusted him. Only one exposed to her tender care at a young age held her in such regard. No one but a bonafide 'Donna Kid experienced that particular mix of contempt, disgust, and fear for Belladonna. Red was one of them, the first of them, maybe. There was nothing Syx wouldn't do for a 'Donna kid.

'And right now that means getting the Arrow,' he thought to himself, pushing aside his feelings, bottling them up for later. 'Setty, Red, and I will have all the time in Hell to gnaw on teenaged bullshit once Boss Lady's head is mounted on the wall!'

As they approached the doors to the Bunks, Syx heard Dew gasp quietly and suddenly increase his pace. Syx cocked his head to the side, matching his speed. Before long, Syx could see the cause of his reaction; the doors were ajar, the usually ever-present guards, former 'Donna Kid Zach and some relatively benign Sinner by the name of Bangarang, were gone. This struck Syx as odd, as there was always at least one on duty, to note the comings and goings of the kids. They raced inside and Syx gasped silently; the Bunks were a shambles, with whole banks of beds toppled over, resting on one another, belongings and clothes scattered hither thither about on the floor between them. Syx grimaced and sent out a brief gravity wave, giving him a snap-shot in his mind of the entire room. Thankfully, there were no bodies among the rubble. At least... no kids' bodies. Laying on the floor about twenty meters ahead of them was the crumpled form of a Sinner, the troll-like Bangarang.

"Ena!" Dew cried, head snapping about as he raised his hands to his mouth, calling. "ENA! Where are you?!" He turned to Syx, his eyes wide. "She was in here when I left! What if she–"

Syx held up his hand, silencing the younger boy, pointing down the alleyway between the partially toppled bunks. "This way."

They hurried down the alley, sidestepping scattered clothes, belongings, and bits of a broken glass from shattered bottles of booze. They approached the prone form of Bangarang, lying face-down in a puddle of his own green blood, his limbs bent and twisted into new and interesting directions, looking like a muscular pipe-cleaner doll after a hard day's play. He groaned and stirred, looking up at them, the left side of his face staved in.

"K-kids! Run!" He cried, his remaining eye wide. "Th-there's this... this thing runnin' around! Go get Mr. Nightmare!"

"Where is my sister!?" Dew growled, his Stand-arms manifesting, plucking the broken Sinner off the ground by the scruff and slamming him against the metal frame of the bunk. "Where's Ena?!"

"What the fuck?!" Bangarang cried, looking at the scruff of shirt in the clutches of the, to him, invisible hand. "How're you–?"

Dew's fist, wreathed in his Stand's, cratered the steel next to his face, snarling. "WHERE?!"

"Z-Zak has her!" Bangarang cried, terrified, nodding in the direction of the Bunks' common area. "We heard a commotion and checked it out a-and there was this-this thing chasing after her! Zak grabbed her and ran while I t-tried to fight it! It messed me up bad, man, but they got away!"

Dew set him back down with a modicum of gentleness, propping up against the bunk. "Thanks."

"S'my job, kid." Bangarang groaned, grimacing at his mangled limbs. "You gonna get Red or what? This guy, whatever he is, he's a beast!"

A shrill scream cut through the air, a little girl's scream. Dew swore and took off down the alley, Syx pausing a short moment, turning to the mutilated Sinner. He'd tried to protect one of them?

"Kid's got more balls than brains," grumbled Bangarang, looking up at Syx. "You've at least got a head on your shoulders. Go get Mr. Nightmare. He'll sort this out."

"Klk-klk," Syx said, reaching down picking a pack of cigarettes off the rubble-strewn floor, placing one between the Sinner's thick, swollen lips and lit it. "Klk."

"Thanks, kid," said Bangarang, taking a drag. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Syx nodded, setting off deeper into the Bunks, where something was stomping about. Something big. He turned the corner, [D5H] shimmering to life behind him, scanning. Wherever this thing was, it wasn't within 6 meters of him. He saw Dew the alley over, stooped over a prone form, his bullish shoulders slumped. Syx gasped in horror, superimposing his Stand over himself, leaping high into the air with its powerful legs. He easily cleared the stacked bunks and set down next to the hulking incubus as he stooped over a crumpled form: it wasn't Ena. Syx sighed in relief, cocking his head to the side. The body was... weird. The proportions were all wrong, with strange joints and simplistic shapes constituting its form, more like a crude doll than a person. It was dressed in a simplistic blouse and skirt, so it was a female whatever it was.

"What is that thing?" Syx asked, turning to Dew. "Dew?"

Dew said nothing, his expression shocked. No. Harrowed.

"Mr. Syx? Dew?" A gruff, masculine voice called out. "Izzat you? Help me outta here!"

Syx sensed something stirring in the rubble of Ena's bunk, looking within it. The shape squirming about, pinned between a box-spring and a warped crossbeam was a... teddy bear? [D5H] reached over, digging through the bedding and bending the steel like wet cardboard. Out tumbled a teddy bear, or some bizarre simulacrum of one. In shape it was lumpy, uneven, with asymmetric limbs composed of stubby oblongs that weren't connected to its spheroid body so much as they simply slid about.

"The fuck?" [D5H] said as Syx boggled at the thing as it got to its 'feet' dusting itself off.

"Dew! Dew!" The teddy cried, rushing over to the perplexed incubus. "Thank Ozzie you're here!"

"Whuh..." Dew muttered, his brow furrowing as his eyes lit up in recognition. "Scrum?!"

"Yeah yeah yeah! Ena made me with her magic sketchbook after she touched that funky arrow'a yours!" Scrum said impatiently, frantically pointing down the hallway. "But I wasn't the only one she made! He's after her, Dew! You gotta save her!"

A crash echoed throughout the Bunks, followed by a shrill, terrified scream. Dew said nothing, summoning his partially formed Stand, clambering up the bunks like an infernal ape, launching himself bunk to bunk on the oversized arms.

Syx turned back to the teddy bear, who was sadly, tenderly, pulling a sheet over the figure on the floor. "Ena made you? She has a Stand, then?"

"If you say so, Mr. Syx," said Scrum, turning to face the blind kid, his simplistic features drawn into a grimace as he pointed at [D5H]. "Izzat what that creepy thing is? A Stand?"

"Yes," said Syx, pushing past the surreality of talking to a little girl's not-so-imaginary friend, reaching out and plucking Scrum off the floor and setting him on his shoulder before taking off after Dew. "C'mon."

"WHOA!" Scrum cried as Syx leapt high into the air, his weird rounded limbs somehow grasping his collar as Syx bounded through the air. "Gimme some warnin' next time! Fuck!"

"Rundown, Ruxbin," said Syx, tersely. "Now."

"Right so, uh," Scrum tapped his chin in contemplation. "So Ena touched that freaky arrow, got her 'Stand', I guess, and then she started messin' about with it. It's got these pages, see? If she folds 'em into origami, they come alive, actin' like the thing they look like. Then she drew me and I came out like this! Anythin' she draws on the paper comes alive, independent of her control! I used to be how she expressed naughty or mean thoughts and say no-no words, but now I guess I'm, like, alive or somethin'?"

"Fuck this day," Syx hissed. "And then? What's caused all this trouble?"

"Ena she..." Scrum sighed, shaking his head. "She wanted to get her and Dew outta this shitpile. She figgered the only way to do that was if they weren't orphans no more, so she..."

"She what?" Syx growled, a cowering Ena appearing on the borders of his senses, attempting to rouse a limp Zak from the floor. "Found 'em."

"So she made them some parents!" Scrum exclaimed. "But Ena don't know nothin' about parents 'cept the ones she had, so that's what came out!"

"That poor thing back there..." Syx said, grimly, crude as it was, the figure had been unmistakably feminine. "Was their mother."

Syx set down on the ground in the Bunks' common area next to a growling Dew. Ena cowered in the corner, a bleeding, unconscious Zak crumpled on the floor beside her, blood streaming from an open gash over his temple. Standing in the middle of the room was a creature bearing a basic resemblance to an incubus, but grossly oversized, its malformed red body almost 12 feet tall, bulging with what were supposed to be muscles. The crude wings sprouting from his back flexed, his tail, half-missing, writhed like a beheaded snake.

"HANGING OUT WITH BOYS. FALLERS. BAD GIRL, ENA, VERY BAD GIRL," The thing boomed, its voice deep and loud and coarse. "BAD LITTLE GIRLS NEED DISCIPLINE."

"Hey, asshole!" Dew roared, eyes blazing.

It turned to face the interlopers, his face overtaken by two glaring yellow eyes and a huge snarling mouth overflowing with fangs. "YOU..."

"Sup, Pops..." Dew snarled, bringing out his Stand's arms, pointing at the grotesque caricature. "Now... Get away from her, you old bastard!"

Dew's 'boutta roll out the unwelcome wagon for his Old Man, 'Donna Kid style.