Bubbles' POV
The smell of stale pizza and forgotten ambition slapped me in the face as we stepped into Ace's apartment. I braced myself, but it was like walking into a bad memory that refused to stay buried—a time capsule of band posters, dirty laundry, and shattered dreams. Instruments were scattered around like they'd been dropped mid-song, and honestly, they probably had been.
"Let's just get this over with," I muttered, firing a sharp laser blast from my fingertips to pop the lock.
"Was that necessary?" Blossom sighed, crouching by the door like she was some locksmith with her trusty bobby pin.
"You're welcome," I shot back, ignoring the chuckle Dil tried (and failed) to hide.
Buttercup had lived here with Ace for almost three years, but I'd only been inside a handful of times. It always felt awkward, like I was trespassing in someone else's bad decisions. But now? Now it felt worse. Like a crime scene—a place where secrets didn't just hide but grew claws.
Blossom's analytical gaze cut through the chaos, taking everything in.
My gaze lingered on a faded photograph taped to the fridge, a picture of Buttercup and Ace grinning mischievously, their arms slung around each other's shoulders. It had been taken at the local carnival, the night Buttercup had won Ace a giant stuffed panda by effortlessly knocking down all the milk bottles with a single baseball.
He'd looked at her then with a mixture of awe and something deeper, something that had drawn them together despite their differences.
Beside me, Buttercup's ghost shimmered faintly, her translucent form hovering near the couch, staring at the mess that Ace was passing off for home decor. Drugs and syringes were strewn on most surfaces. Her spectral eyes, were clouded with a mix of sadness and bitterness.
"Huh. Still a dump," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Charming," Blossom muttered, wrinkling her nose like the smell alone might kill her. "How did you even live like this?"
"Not everyone has a trust fund bae, Your Highness," I snapped. "Some of us had to rough it."
Buttercup let out a dry laugh, floating toward the coffee table. "Yeah, and it looks like Ace is now roughin' it real hard."
"He's definitely not okay after… everything," I said, remembering how gaunt and twitchy he'd looked the last time I saw him.
Dil scanned the room with his Spectro-Gizmo, watching its screen, his brow furrowed. "Residual energy's faint," he mumbled. "Mostly memories—arguments, music, laughter. Nothing… criminal."
"Then why does this place feel so wrong?" I asked, the heaviness pressing against my chest like a weight that wouldn't lift.
Buttercup floated closer, her expression clouded like she was piecing together a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.
"There's nothing here," Blossom said, her voice sharp with frustration. "No signs of a struggle. No evidence. Just… mess." She gestured to the chaos around us, a stark contrast to the sterile order of her lab. It was clear she was out of her element here, but she wasn't giving up.
Dil, on the other hand, seemed strangely at ease amidst the chaos. He paused by a bookshelf crammed with tattered paperbacks and dog-eared sheet music, his fingers tracing the spine of a well-worn copy of The Tibetan Book of the Dead.
He was like a detective in a noir film—minus the trench coat and smoking pipe.
"The police claimed her suicide happened here. If that were true, we'd have detected something - anything," Dil said, frowning.
"Let's check the bedroom," Blossom suggested.
We made our way to Ace's bedroom. The bed was a disaster, the sheets were filthy, and half-eaten chips sat abandoned on the nightstand like some sad shrine to poor health choices. Clothes were dumped everywhere; even the energy here was different - it was darker.
Police tape and chalk outlines made it clear that Crime Scene Investigators had been here. This was where they claimed they'd found Buttercup unresponsive. Dil was already at work scanning the sheets for blood.
"No," Buttercup said softly, her voice shaking but resolute. "This isn't where I died."
We all froze and looked at her.
"What do you mean...?" I asked.
"I remember… something," she whispered. "Not here. A cabin. I was tied up. There was fire. And someone… laughing."
My stomach turned into a tight knot. A wave of nausea washed over me, the image of my sister, bound and helpless, seared into my mind.
"A cabin?" Blossom frowned. "Why would you be at a cabin?"
"Maybe it was a hideout," Dil offered, already running the possibilities through his mental Rolodex. "For whoever gave her Chemical XX."
Buttercup clenched her fists, her ghostly form flickering. "I… I can't remember," she admitted, her voice cracking.
"That's ok, you're doing good," Blossom reassured her, her voice softer than usual. "That information will help a lot."
That simple gesture reignited the grief within me; even if we solve this we can never get Buttercup back as she truly was. Her eyes met mine and I realized we had the same epiphany, I fought to keep tears at bay.
Dil moved toward the bed, stopping abruptly in front of the nightstand. His gaze was fixed on something beneath a pile of sheet music, a small, crumpled object partially hidden from view.
"What is it?" I asked, sensing a shift in his demeanor.
Dil didn't answer right away. He carefully pulled a crumpled napkin from beneath a stack of sheet music, revealing a faint maroon smudge.
Buttercup's expression shifted. "That's my lipstick," she whispered. "'Crimson Kiss.' I only wore it on special occasions."
Blossom raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you care about special occasions?"
Buttercup ignored her tease, trying to grab the napkin but passing right through it. "There's something written on it. A number. I… can't make it out."
Dil unfolded it to reveal faint digits, smudged in the lipstick.
"That napkin is from Olympus," Buttercup said, her tone bitter. "The fancy restaurant I dragged Ace to for my birthday. He must've scribbled on it while I was in the bathroom."
Resourceful Blossom was already looking up the number. "It's a Townsville area code," she said. "This'll be quick."
Dil watched her screen, his face draining of color as the search results loaded.
"Boomer," he said conclusively.
A shiver of rage ran down my spine, hot and blinding. I knew it... I knew it. I knew that slimy snake was involved somehow.
"I remember seeing him for a second that night," Buttercup said, her voice distant. "But I never talked to him. It was just after he broke up with Bubbles, I couldnt stand to even look at him."
Blossom pulled up Boomer's phone records within seconds, her access to Townsville PD databases proving invaluable. The information that flashed across her screen was damning: months of text messages and calls between Boomer and Ace.
It started innocently enough - talk about music, shared frustrations with their respective superhero girlfriends. But then the tone shifted. Boomer began dangling promises in front of Ace, preying on his insecurities, offering him a chance to be more than just a "normal" guy.
"Superpowers change everything," one text read. "The sex will be incredible, imagine not holding back."
Ace had taken the bait, lured in by the promise of power and the chance to prove himself worthy of Buttercup. Boomer's price? A glowing recommendation to win me back, to paint himself as the heartbroken ex desperate for another chance.
"That bastard USED Ace!" Buttercup spat, her ghostly form crackling with fury.
The messages abruptly stopped after the trip. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut: Boomer had manipulated Ace into getting involved with Chemical XX, most likely with the promise of becoming superpowered himself. But what had happened after that? And where did Buttercup fit into all of this?
"We need to find that cabin," Blossom said, her voice steely. "And figure out how Ace and Boomer came back unscathed… but Buttercup ended up dead."
As we left Ace's apartment, a shiver ran down my spine.We were no longer just dealing with a tragic suicide. We were dealing with a conspiracy, a web of lies and betrayals that stretched further than we'd ever imagined. And somewhere at the center of it all was Boomer, his motives as murky as the shadows he seemed to thrive in.
Deep down, I knew finding that cabin wouldn't be the end. It was just the beginning.