This first thing Flug became aware of was the sunlight. It shone directly into his face and slapped him awake like a spouse shouting We overslept!

The second thing was his massive headache. Which was only getting worse the more he became aware. His mouth was dry, he desperately needed water. And toothpaste. And mouthwash. Oh just the thought of mouthwash!

The third thing he realized was that he had no idea where he was right now.

He sat up immediately, and instantly regretted every decision that had ever led up to his life at this point. His head throbbed painfully, his body was sore, his mouth felt like he'd been gargling dust, and he was having a super hard time moving his right arm.

So much as opening his eyes at this point was a pain. It was far too bright and everything was murky and blurred and his face felt sticky and stiff. What the hell had he been doing?

When he finally did manage to open his eyes and take a look at his surroundings, he found himself in a sleeping bag in the middle of nowhere with some car and a small campsite. And the smell...oh god the smell of cooking meat. Oh man it felt like it was going to make his throw up. What the hell was going on? Where was he? Why-

"Oh, you're awake." A scratchy voice said from...somewhere.

Flug turned, trying to deal with the world's constant spinning, and saw a familiar man. One whose name he couldn't place right now but he knew that he knew him and he seemed fine so he must have answers.

"Wha-" Oh god like broken glass in his esophagus. "What happened?" He croaked.

"Well for one, you got drunk as hell last night." The black man (was it alright to call him that?) in black and red said casually. "We came out here, explored a town in the making, you signed over your soul to me, and you got totally bêbado."

Flug was nowhere near coherent enough to comprehend other languages right now. If it meant anything like bebido, that explained this massive head-pain.

"And this, young man, is what's known as a hangover. Any of this sound familiar, Flug?"

Having something so dark to focus on was very relieving to his weary eyes. The man wasn't painful to look at like the rest of the world was right now. He tried thinking back. The last thing he remembered fairly clearly was indeed something about a contract. He'd signed it and…

Oh, that really happened. He'd really sold his soul for a job opportunity.

Well, shit. His mother would not be happy about this.

Rocinante Flugslys, the man who'd apparently signed away his soul, moaned in agony. How much did he have to drink last night? He wasn't an avid drinker, seeing as he never went out and drinking alone struck him as sad and pathetic, but how badly did he embarrass himself last night in front of his new boss?

Oh yeah, he agreed to work for Black Hat. At least he could actually remember the man's name, finally.

He wondered if he should quit his part-time job at Radioshack now.

Flug tried to think back to anything else that happened that night. Contract, soul, dental coverage (a pleasant surprise, honestly), drinking on an empty stomach. Well, that was his first mistake. But he felt copious amounts of beer might help him deal with the fact that he now was no longer had ownership of his own damn soul.

Considering that he wasn't particularly concerned with that fact anymore, it seemed to have worked.

Okay, then things got fuzzy. He got the sense that Black Hat had been laughing at him, so he'd pushed him. Then fallen on top of him. Oh God how mortifying, had he really done that?

And then...he wasn't fully sure. He'd been running around screaming like a crazy person, he tripped, something dragged him along the ground (ok that had to be the alcohol), and then-

And then he must've passed out and had a crazy sex dream because while Black Hat did sometimes weirdly touch him and outright pinned him against the car last night, there's no way in hell he bit him while grinding him into the dirt.

And that's what Flug thought...until he reached over to touch his aching neck and found dried blood. And scabs. Going along his clavicle (more commonly known as the collarbone) and up his neck. Bite marks. And some weird rash-like areas that stung a little bit when he ran his fingers over them. Even just lightly. There was a bit snaking its way up his neck and on his cheek and oh boy did it burn!

He spared a glance at Black Hat himself, who seemed to be busy cooking...something that made him want to vomit all the alcohol in his system. Sausages? Would normally be delicious. Now they were sickening.

Well, Flug himself only had very vague memories of last night. Black Hat had been drinking too, maybe he could only sort of remember it as well.

Even though he seemed perfectly fine right now and probably had a higher tolerance for alcohol and it was totally possible that he'd been completely aware the entire time and had perfect memories of the events that transpired between them.

But, one could always hope.

He caught Black Hat's eye, staring at him wordlessly as his pawed his bite and burn marks. Black Hat rewarded his confused and worried expression with a predatory grin. Like: Yeah, you're mine now. Body and soul. You seemed pretty eager to offer yourself up, really. How could I resist?

Flug covered his face and moaned again. If that had really happened, what else had they done last night? He couldn't remember anything else past that point, and it just clicked that he was shirtless.

He quickly checked the rest of his body for marks, and was immensly relieved to find the rest of him intact.

His lower half seemed fine, nothing felt sore or any different. That was greatly reassuring. At least his cherry hadn't been popped while he was too drunk to remember it. The worse he could find were small nicks and bruises around his hips. He was too relieved at that being all he found to give much thought as to how he might've gotten them.

His glasses were filthy, had in slept with them still on? What could he use to clean them?

Flug got up to make his way to the car, which he left his bag in. It had his clothes in it, another pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Oh man his back was killing him. His head was killing him. His face was burning like he'd stuck it in an oven. His body was actively punishing him for his poor life choices.

He noticed a weird dried up mound of something disgusting near the car. Ew, what was that? It smelled awful.

He got his bag out, cleaning his lenses on the spotless blue shirt. He quickly shoved it over his bare chest, glad to be covered once again. He reached to slip of his dirty, dusty jeans, and noticed that his fly was down.

And a hint of bright neon pink satin was showing.

And it hit him again that Black Hat knew yet another of his secrets.

You know what? Flug thought. I don't have the energy to care right now. Do not care. Fuck it. I wear panties. They're comfortable, I like them, they make me feel pretty, and I don't care that my scary boss knows about it.

He didn't bother to try and hide himself either. He stripped off the filthy light blue denim in full view of said new employer, too over all of his concerns to bother with modesty. He was glad he didn't bring the stockings, even if Black Hat probably knew about those too. It was too hot to be wearing them out here.

He felt eyes on him, but he couldn't find it in himself to be worried about that either. The hangover took over all of his thoughts and he couldn't be bothered to care about anything else.

Besides maybe how god awful the rest of him felt.

Once he was in clean clothes again, he focused his energy on trying not to vomit from the smell of the cooking meat. And not being blinded by the sunlight. And staying on his feet amidst the spinning of the world. Oh god, he needed an aspirin.

Black Hat was driving them back home. Luckily, he was well enough to drive the entire day again, so Flug got to rest his eyes in the passenger seat. Thank God for tinted windows.

It seemed Black Hat was trying to be...nice...he was keeping his road rage somewhat in check, only screaming at the top of his lungs it he was cut off or honked at. Other than that he kept it at an angry mumble of curses under his breath. Which Flug was grateful for, he wasn't sure he would be able to keep his cool if he had to deal with his aching head and Black Hat's raspy yelling.

The events of last night were still a blur, past making a complete fool of himself under Black Hat he had no memories at all. Except maybe that they had changed positions. He felt like he could vaguely remember being on top. Which he hoped was just the alcohol, and hoped Black Hat didn't expect things like that to continue. If they could keep their "relationship" more or less professional, that'd be great. He didn't feel he could handle much more stimuli at the moment, so he tried his hardest to fall asleep on the inevitably long car ride.

Packing the car had been a pain. Even with Black Hat showing a considerable amount of...patience...for his hungover employee, he still had to help get the cooler in the backseat again. Thankfully, it had been much lighter without all the beer bottles.

As for the empty bottles, they left them out in the open. They were villains, officially in Flug's case now, what did they care?

Flug allowed his mind to wander, thinking maybe it would zone him out faster and he could fall asleep, and finally get some relief from the drum circle jambori going on in his skull.

He wondered vaguely if things would be any different for him, now that he didn't have a soul. Or at least, it was owned by someone else. Did that leave him soulless? Was his soul still in his body now that it had a new owner? He wished he could study the contract in more detail, work out the specifics of what he'd agreed to. He also wished he could form more complex thoughts.

Why oh why had he not read that stupid piece of paper beforehand?

Would things change, now that he was assumedly soulless? He'd never given any thought to things like the human soul, not even in the religious sense. Even being raised in a devout Catholic household and going to church every week up until his teenage years, he himself never really bought into the beliefs. He could vaguely remember through the fog of his mind that in the Bible it was basically the immortal essence of a human. Scientifically it was a psychological concept people came up with to try and explain the natural world based on observations. Observations of...

Things escaped him at the moment.

Flug couldn't really think of anything he used his soul for. Or any sort of purpose the soul really had. He didn't feel any different, aside from the feeling of his skull about to split open. God, was this what all hangovers were like? He was never drinking again.

Wait, didn't he agree to go drinking with AURELIO CRUZ at some point in time? And ditched him for Black Hat?

Yeah, no. No no no no no. He was not doing that. He wasn't going to show Mexico's Next Top Male Model his drunken self.

Well okay, he could just not drink as much. Actually eat something.

What had he been thinking about? Oh yeah, his immortal soul.

Since he couldn't come up with anything he did that involved the use of his soul, Flug figured he would be fine. Best case scenario was that life continued on as usual, with no lasting (or at least life altering) side effects.

Worst case...he couldn't even begin to guess what that could entail.

Really, what could the consequences be for not having a soul? Would his hair turn red? Would he develop fair, freckled (well he already had freckles) skin? Would he become extremely light sensitive?

Would he get a cute little egg charm to keep his soul in?

Ok, maybe he was overreacting.

While still trying to unravel the mysteries of a soulless existence, he dozed off. Maybe. He didn't recall a point in time where he'd fallen asleep, as far as he knew he'd just kept running in internal circles thinking of possible changes to his life now that he had no soul. Perpetually. He must've knocked out at some point without realizing it because the next thing he knew Black Hat was shaking him out of his thoughts. It was night. Pitch black.

Flug was surprised, to say the least. Even if traffic had been better this time around, it still would've taken hours. Long enough for Flug to get some real rest, to actually fall asleep. Which it didn't feel like he had, even though it did seem to be night now. He felt like he'd been in a sort of half asleep state, lost in his thoughts. He couldn't remember if he had dreamed at all. He was too busy trying to work his head around the mechanics of souls, with little progress.

He looked around, still groggy but thankfully not in as much pain. Through the dark windows of the car, he could see his apartment building. The crisp red brick building was a welcome sight. It held the promise of a warm bed, pain medicine, and some alone time that he was really looking forward to after this weekend.

Crap, he didn't have homework due tomorrow, did he?

"Thank you Black Hat." Flug said, trying to figure out what exactly to thank him for besides the ride home. Thanks for the job, and for indulging my bite-kink. Let's do this again sometime. "This w-w-wa-was...fun, actually."

That wasn't even a lie, he was surprised to find. Being honest, he had actually enjoyed the weekend. The stars, the construction site, camping, drunken...well, he didn't want to say mistakes. Happenings. Some of which he couldn't remember. Blaring road rage and all, never a dull moment.

"Glad to hear it." Black Hat said with a smile. "Let's meet up tomorrow, go over the specifics of your new employment and get everything settled. Once you've, you know, cleared your head."

Thank you, Hat-Man, for being so considerate of my hangover.

"Yeah, yeah totally. Cafe Triste, around 1:00 w-work for you?"

"Sure. Now go home Flug. Rest up."

Which Flug did, waving his new boss goodbye.

Once in his familiar apartment, he fished out two aspirin and quickly swallowed them with a large gulp of water. His hangover was mostly gone, he guessed he must've gotten SOME rest on the drive back home. But he still couldn't really recall a point where he had actually fallen asleep.

Well, there was nothing he could do about that. He figured the best thing to do now would be to finalize his little traps. The deadline was finally approaching, by next Friday everyone had to present their own inventions to capture their Gifted classmates. Flug had finally decided on an extremely simple concept to tie together his final designs; electricity. It was something that had occurred to him on the long car ride back.

He would be using fairly high electric volts to make sure his test subjects couldn't escape. He was hoping to be able to make them effective but mostly painless, as injuring his peers was not something he wanted to do at the moment. Perhaps if he could tune them to the very synapses of the brain and make the frequency strong enough to work from contact anywhere on the body…

As he originally planned, he'd aim on subduing Patricia and Natalia, the fastest of the volunteers.

For Patricia, the cheetah hybrid, he had nothing special planned. His concept was a gun that fired his own variation of bolas, those cords with two or three weighted balls on each end that you typically see being used to wrap around an animals or person's legs to take them down. Except instead of weighted balls being used, they would be designed to wrap around anything they came into contact with immediately. Whether it be an arm, a leg,a torso, it would wrap around it's target and administer it's shocks to incapacitate it's target.

This modified taser would be what he intended to use on most of the participants. It was a good long distance weapon, good for those whose Gifts needed physical contact or had a short range. If, for any reason, Flug needed to get close to anyone who fit that description...he could just wear gloves and long sleeves and pants. And keep them far away from his face. Or cover his face with something...Hey, if he was going to be a villain, maybe he should start thinking of a costume? Or just something to cover his face.

For Natalia, the gun wouldn't work. For the simple reason that she was faster than it. Ergo, something else was needed. Something a bit less confrontational.

Flug had an idea, of the same weapon in a different form. A sort of electrically charged bear trap, if you will. Simple concept; step on this thing get an immobilizing shock that keeps you on it long enough for the metal contraption to wrap around your foot and lock you into place. Or one that wrapped around a person's ankle and kept shocking them, keeping them immobilized. It wasn't going to have the metal teeth of a true bear trap, but it was the closest comparison he could find. He still wasn't sure which of the two ideas floating around he would settle on. It was entirely possible he'd end up creating both.

Maybe he should build one with the teeth for Black Hat. It sure sounded like a creation worthy of a super villain.

But, before he could even so much as consider that, he should really finalize the blueprints for what he actually had to present next week. Potential villainous adaptations would have to wait.

Flug set up his blueprint paper on the small table he had in the kitchenette. He wasn't sure why he'd bought this, he lived alone and typically lived off of ready-made instant meals. He hardly ever ate at the table. Usually he'd just take whatever he'd heated up to the couch and eat out of his lap. The occasional fast-food dinner was eaten in much the same way.

For most of his childhood he'd eaten at a table, setting it for his father while his mother cooked their meals. One of them (usually Mama) always made it a point to say grace before they ate. Everytime they sat down and ate, they always said grace. So much so that Flug himself used to give a short prayer during lunch at school. Not out of religious piety, really, it was just how he had been raised.

At some point, he had just stopped.

He couldn't remember any specific moment or time, no sudden realization of futility or meaninglessness. It just began slipping from his mind. So much so that by now he almost forgot the prayer entirely.

He supposed his parent still kept it up. Maybe he should call them sometime. Visit. Take them out and just talk.

What he wanted to talk ABOUT was unclear, but the longing he felt was as obvious as a new pimple on the face of a 10th grader.

He wanted to see his parents.

Speaking of meals, he hadn't had anything decent since that...morning? Afternoon? When had he woken up? Did he even actually eat anything? With a groan at the prospect of having to actually take care of his physical needs, he rummaged around until he found something microwavable and popped it in for a few minutes.

Since he intended on working while under the weather tonight, he figured it might help keep his mind straight with a bit of background noise. He scanned his DVD collection of anime and found one of his older favorites. Something he'd seen multiple times and knew for a fact that the series didn't really take off until episode five. Of course, the true conflict didn't start until episode twelve, but 5-10 served as necessary set-up to the heartbreaking moments of having to reverse all the changes the Future Gadget Laboratory had made to the past.

Necessary set-up that Flug already knew and could totally service as white noise while he worked.

He popped in the first disk and waited for the menu to start up. While the DVD played the promotions for whatever anime's were coming out at the time of release, his microwave beeped. Signalling that his dinner was ready.

Ah, yes, eating. That thing his body needed him to do or he'll die.

He got his meager meal out, hot but not unbearable, and set it on the table. Getting his fork and ignoring the dubbed animated Japanese people, he stared at it for a second.

He could remember his mothers meals. Hot and sizzling. How they warmed his body starting from his mouth down into the pit of his stomach where it spread to his arms and legs until every ounce of him felt the pure love that only comes from a mother's cooking. How his family would talk and joke and just BE a family over the dinner table every night.

And every night they would say grace.

He mumbled a small prayer to himself. He supposed if there was any spiritual being willing to listen to the prayers of an effeminate homosexual Mexican, he could count his ready-made meal blessed.

He hit "Play All" on the DVD menu, and settled in to eat and work.


Flug still wasn't completely sure if he'd slept last night. He'd stayed up far longer than he'd meant to, actually getting most of his intended work done. By the time he realized how late it was (technically early), he would barely have about four or five hours to sleep. And that was if he fell asleep right that second.

He did not.

He spent a good amount of his limited downtime laying awake, trying to will himself to sleep. Trying to clear his mind from any distractions keeping him awake (like electric bear traps, the electric slide, electric avenue, bug zappers for humans...) was getting him nowhere. It felt like an enormous waste of his precious time to just be laying in bed thinking of nothing.

In an attempt to lull himself to sleep, he tried thinking of one of his favorite fictional characters. By that, he meant one of his anime crushes. He was actually someone quite different from what Flug considered his "type". A driven but also quite manipulative man. A user. Someone willing to sacrifice others for his own ambition and expected them to be equally willing to die for his own selfish cause. But that ambition is what drew Flug to the character. He wished he could just go make his desires happen with such confidence, to be able to pay the price for achieving his goals with nothing but his own determination driving him.

He thought the mental image of the long haired albino bathing in the river, the blood running down his muscular arms from the force of his own blunt fingernails, would be enough to send him into a blissful wet dream.

But no. It just gave him an uncomfortable ache in his crotch, which actually made it ever harder to fall asleep. So, colossal failure there. Taking care of his little problem didn't really improve his situation much either, all it really did was force him to get up and change his underwear. Putting himself right back at square one of his "fall asleep" scheme.

So he thought of his potential projects. What he would be showcasing next week. What could be altered and changed to suit his new employment. What would cause the most pain and therefore have the most appeal to supervillains.

He should really ask Black Hat about how and when he would be paid. Would it be a monthly salary or would he be paid based on his performance and overall productivity? Would it even be a set salary? Or would it be going by an hourly wage? Black Hat promised financial stability, and seemed to believe he could provide it. Flug hoped he hadn't literally signed his soul over to someone who was all talk.

Oh, there it was again. The soul. Surely, Black Hat wasn't serious about that, was he?

Was he?

Well, Flug's alarm was going off. God it felt like he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. Like he had just spent the night going over potential scenarios and blueprints in his head.

He was going to need an extra large cup of coffee today.

The rest of the day progressed as usual. Flug wore a turtleneck to cover the bite marks he'd received and met Black Hat right outside Cafe Triste and they went about their conversation. Flug was honestly surprised, he didn't feel nearly as tired as he thought he would, having gone presumably most of the night without sleep.

He and Black Hat talked over the financial aspect of their brand new business relationship, coming to an agreement on Flug's paycheck, allotted working hours, and Flug presented a well enough argument that got Black Hat to relent and allow him scheduled breaks throughout the day. He wasn't entirely pleased by it, but Flug pointed out that exhaustion and poor health led to lesser quality products, which won his new boss over. If there was anything Black Hat did care about, it was the quality of his future products.

"So, when does all this really get started?" Flug asked. "Our base isn't even built yet. That's another thing, what is our e-evil la-lair going to be like?"

Flug still had a hard time getting the words out of his mouth. Evil lair. He was going to be a super villain. Or, the scientist of a super villain. Oh god was the high point of his life going to boil down to just being the sidekick?

"You know, I've been think of that for a long time now. Just recently I came up with something that I'm really starting to get attached to."

"Well, let's hear it."

"Ok, bear with me here," Oh boy is this going to sound as insane as his take-over-the-world pitch? "What if we built it in the shape of a giant hat?"

..whaaaaaaaaat…..

"What?" Flug finally said out loud.

"Yes, it'll stick out like crazy. Yes, it sounds incredibly impractical. Yes, it is because it seems like "Black Hat' is the only name people can actually call me by with any degree of ease. And before you ask, yes, I have the funds to do it."

At this point Flug pretty much assumed that Black Hat's bank account was a bottomless hole from the pits of hell. The man could probably just retire now at...whatever age he was and leave Flug alone. But he didn't. He had a dream and he was making it happen. And decided that he wanted Flug along for the ride.

And apparently his dream included living in a giant hat.

Flug had to be honest, he wasn't expecting that.

"Ummm, ok. Have you actually told any contractors this?"

"No, no, of course not. I don't have any actually schematics of how I want it to be yet. I was, ah, hoping perhaps you'd be of some assistance?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Flug swore he caught his steal a glance at his neck.

I'm beginning to think you just wanted someone contractually obligated to hang around with you and not leave when you harass them, Flug thought.

"Well I don't know how to design a building, per se, but…" Flug pulled out some spare graph paper from his backpack. "This isn't going to be some ordinary building now is it? I assume it will be in the shape of a top hat?"

"Of course."

"How much land space are we working with here?"

With Black Hat's feeding him numbers and measurements, Flug was able to draft up a crude estimate of what a gigantic evil hat base might look like within the space Black Hat presented him with. Along with his eccentric demands for the place.

Black Hat wanted no less than three stories, not counting an attic, a basement, a sub basement, and a rooftop terrace, while also leaving enough space for rather sizeable front and back yards. As for the rooms themselves, Black Hat demanded the third floor be mostly dedicated to a bedroom (mostly likely his) along with a large private office, the second one consisting of spare rooms and storage, and the ground floor reserved for the actual living spaces and necessities such as the kitchen, walk-in freezer, dining room, foyer, living room, living room with a bigger television (Black Hat refused to call it a game room), and a decently sized laboratory.

Said lab would be mostly for the "easy" stuff, Black Hat explained, and should only be used for comparatively basic mechanical inventions. More than likely commissions from customers or upgrades to preexisting inventions. Anything more complicated or requiring long term experimentation, meaning more dangerous and therefore more profitable, should be relegated to the laboratory in the basement. Which was to be heavily secured. The sub basement would be for resources and projects of Flug's own choosing. His private lab, so to speak. Black Hat promised him free reign over this area to do with as his wished, so long as it didn't divert attention away from assigned work.

One way to think of it would be that the experiments and inventions would get more complex and unique the further down you went.

The attic would be used for anything that didn't fit in the second floor. More space, basically. Black Hat's only justification for it and the rooftop terrace was that they were "aesthetically pleasing". Well, it was his money that would be spent on it, not Flug's.

The same reasoning was given for why Black Hat wanted such a large lawn and backyard. It was like he just wanted space and didn't care whether or not he had anything to fill it with.

Given the amount of land Black Hat already owned (or was going to own, as soon as the paperwork was finalized), Flug felt actually pretty confident that it would all fit on the enormous plot of land.

It would look insane and anyone who looked at it would probably be able to tell the people inside were up to no good, but Flug supposed he would just have to suck it up and accept that he was going to move into a gigantic hat after college.

Flug was especially pleased at the prospect of having multiple labs, one entirely devoted to whatever he wanted. And placing the truly important work underground under heavy lock and key sounded like a solid idea to him. He was actually kind of looking forward to his new career as a villains' scientist.

With most of the business they could think of off the top of their heads out of the way, the two men simply enjoyed one another's company until their respective schedules made them part ways. The made plans to meet again tomorrow at around the same time to keep talking about the bright (or rather dark) future ahead of them.

And this became something of a routine over the rest of the week. Black Hat and Flug meeting over coffee in the afternoons, chatting about this and that, much to the delight of the Cafe staff. Their typical waitress Demetra in particular stealing glances at the two of them and grinning widely, like "My OTP, YAAAS!" They mostly talked about work, or future work.

Black Hat came up with this idea of "Hat Bots"; giant automatons to be used for security, heavy lifting, drones, sentries, mechanical army of the damned and what have you. Oh, and they should have hats. And laser eyes. And breathe fire! Nevermind that robots don't breathe, Flug should be able to make it happen!

That was Black Hat's argument for it, anyway.

But that wasn't the most pressing matter. Somehow.

Friday night, one week before he was set to showcase what he'd been working on for the past month, and he was done. The ElecTrap (still working on a better name for his modified bear trap/taser/ankle bracelet, although that wasn't half-bad) and his modified taser-rope-thing (which he was having an even harder time naming) were completed. A full three days ahead of schedule, too.

Ordinarily, this would be great news. More time for last minute additions and improvements. More time to test them and make sure there were no bugs in the wiring that would accidentally fatally electrocute anyone.

That should be saved for a few years down the line, when marketing it to villains. And it should be gradual, or have the ability to be remotely programmable so that it functions doubly well as a torture device and as a weapon that renders opponents immobile and ready for capture.

But the reason Flug had been so productive as of late, was not as great. As a matter of fact it was downright concerning. He himself was getting very worried, because it was just so unnatural.

Rocinante Flugslys had not slept at all in the five days since he got back from his weekend road trip with Black Hat.

And he was just...fine.


Notes:

I mean to post this sooner, but I promised myself I wouldn't update until I had finished the chapter I was writing. Which I did last night. So, here it is! Also, there are two anime references along with the anime Flug puts on as background noise, does anyone recognize them?

Translations:

bêbado = smashed (Portuguese)

bebido = drunk (Spanish)