#But maybe those are just the more exotic ingredients? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lillaxtrigger · 2 years ago

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Street Smarts: Chapter 17

The normal urban atmosphere that wafts throughout the big apple is swelled by the wondrous scents of exotic foods and spices that cut through the grimy city air like a finely sharpened blade; the blend of aroma’s proving a welcoming first impression for anyone visiting China town. The foreign market held in the midst of this small portion of this city is as busy and bustling as ever, with countless people from within and outside New York touring through the many booths and stands that make its marketplace; the swarm of customers drawn to these fascinating food and ingredients the sellers of these booths advertise with pride.

Somewhere nearby within the residential area of this humble foreign settlement, a door from one of its many homes exudes a bright red aura; one of which envelopes its finely carved wood from top to bottom. Few of those passing by heed some mind when out from this door do Wedsle, Frida, and Thursotte emerge out from the other side, exiting out from the inside of the safe house behind them; neighbors perplexed of how these three can exit go casually out from a home that was not there’s and approach as the psychic three stroll away. Yet before any of them could come close to investigate the inside, the door the crew came out from suddenly slams shut; leaving a few of them too spooked to approach. One of them however, was still persists investigating as they take hold of the door’s handle before opening it back up. Everyone near is left perplexed when gazing to what lies behind the doorway, failing to find the scene that the trio walked out from and instead see the bland inside of a normal home.

In the purple psychic’s finger spins a key engraved with bronze carvings held against the head, its design unmistakable from any other; the dimensional psychic nervously watching as the Wedsle causally flips this key around in each of his fingers before warning how: “Will you quit dicking around with the key and just put it in your damn pocket already.” “Frids, relax, this bronze baby here’s in good hands. You going on actin like I got a pieces of priceless diamond right here.” Wedsle jests. “To us, it might as well be. That little piece of bronze you got whirling around your fingers is our only ticket back in the safe house.” “Yeah, Wedsle. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more careful with our only way back.” Thursotte reinforces. “Man, you two really think I’m some sort of careless jackass, don’t you? Listen, long as my hair is as purple as my pubic areas; I swear that this key ain’t gonna slip my-” Yet in the midst of swearing this, the key wind up twirling right off the tip his finger and fly across the street; all of the jerking their sites towards where the piece of bronze careens. “Shit.”

The trio make a frantic mad dash to their one way ticket back to their safehouse as it clangs across the streets of Chinatown; some of the locals nearby watching amused as they desperately race after the piece of bronze. Both Thurs and Weds blood runs cold when watching the key bounce towards the storm drain and fall straight through the metal grate; the purple psychic shouting out: “No! Fuck! Why!” “What do you mean why!? You were spinning it on your finger! Of course this happened!” Thurs exclaims, clutching the violet psychic’s shirt collar. Their overall panic soon deflates when looking back towards the storm drain and finding the 2nd dimensional arm of their other partner slipping out from the grate, turning her hand back to normal to open her palm and show the piece of carved bronze in her hand. “Oh...right...”

After Frida finishes fishing the precious key back into their hands, the purple mobster compliments her as she comes back with: “Nice save, Frids. Now just hand that little trinket over and I’ll stuff it where the sun don’t shine. Of course I mean down in my-” “No.” the dimensional psychic denies. “What, with it being made of Julian’s power; It ain’t like you got anywhere to put it.” “That’s why I’m counting on Thurs’ hands to keep a grip on it rather than risk it being in your slippery twig fingers.” she explains, putting the key in the young man’s grasp. “Come on, Frida. All these years we’ve worked together, you feel more comfy having him hold onto it than me?” “It’s the fact that I’ve know you for that long is why I’m more confident handing the key to Thurs. He’s proven to be more careful in the short time I’ve known him than you have in the years I’ve been with you.” “Ouch, really twisting the knife there.”

“I ain’t too sure of that, Frida. I mean with my set of psychic powers in particular, you think that-” Thursotte then attempt to bring up. “I’m sure you got this. Just keep it in your pocket and it’ll be alright.” “Hmm...if that’s all I need to do…But how come Sat couldn’t come along? She probably would have been the better pick for this.” “Thought she told you about staying with the new meat to help hone his powers. Guy like that ain’t gonna be much use to us if he don’t know how to pull his own weight.”

Within a room of the safe house, clear of all its furnishings and decorations, the lively psychic paces back and forth before the patiently sitting in front of the former officer; washed and scrubbed clean of stains with fresh clean clothes and a haircut to boot. “So...there really anything else I need to know; I mean beside the bare basics.” Tuesco wonders. “I mean of course there is. It-it’s just I’m not really sure how to go about it is all.” claims Sat. “What do you mean?” “I’m saying that I’m not sure if going over general tips or pointers is the best way to go here.” “That’s it? No kind of intense training with you on my back, Swamps of Dagobah style?” “Well, you can probably guess by now that every psychic power from person to person is wholly unique, so there’s only so much I can do for you before you have to figure out the rest on your own. But, since I was in your position only around several months ago, I thought going through a couple of tricks that helped me out would work with you.” “Great…” he sigh with a hint of sarcasm.

“Right, so…” Satette begins with, pulling out a rose from her dress pocket. “Now that you know what aspect of this world you have under your command, the next step is figuring out how much you can do with it; that typically comes with three factors. Quantity, will, and creativity. Most psychic’s that control physical aspects need to have their element in arms reach to effectively wield it; which shouldn’t be much of a problem for you considering you can solidify air, and air is...pretty much fucking everywhere.” From this does Tuesco take in a deep breath of the air around them before going: “Of course.” “Willpower on the other hand is more of a matter of practice than anything. Calling it simply that might not be it. I think mental fortitude and focus are more accurate in this case. Ideally, you have to get in the mindset of your power being a natural part of you, like getting in the habit of breathing...or I guess using a part of your brain would be more appropriate here.” Sat explains, Tuesco rubbing the back of his head. “Okay, like...think of it like a muscle under your control; the more you work it, the better it’ll be.”

“And creativity?” Tuesco continues with. “That is honestly the most important step. While the limits of how much air you have under your control can widely vary; it is always critical not to think how much of it you can use, but what you can do with how much you got. Like this rose in my hand here.” the lively psychic instructs, presenting the ruby red rose in her hand. “As it stands now, this simple flower is almost next to harmless; really the only thing worth of note being its thorns set along its neck. Not really the best sort of tool one could use. But with a little bit psychic finesse...”

Within the young woman’s grasp, a natural green glow begins to encompass the unassuming flower; Satette’s aura enveloping the piece of flora as it begins to reform its very biological structure. Among its transformation does the neck of the rose stretch out across the young woman’s hands and ravels around her knuckles; the thorn held through the stem facing out from the front of her hand. When the lively psychic dismisses her aura out from the plant, its glow fades away to unveil what she had transformed the rose into; Tuesco left surprised to see the roses stem wrapped around her knuckles as she presents it with: “Boom! Thorn rose knuckles, perfect for leaving behind gashes against whoever wants to mess with you. Or…” Spreading her power through the rose again, Satette commands it to unravel from her hand and instead reform in her grasp; its stem straightening to a tip point as its thorns against lines its neck. “A lacerating dagger; case you want to really dig in whoever you wanna stab with a hearty twist.” she explains twirling the freshly made dagger about. “Uh...ok-okay.” the former officer utters, left mildly disturbed over the young woman’s graphic example. “Or if you wanna leave all of this as a nasty surprise…” Once more does Sat trail her power across the rose forged dagger and starts to remold its very structure to wrap around the wrist; her green power dispelling to reveal the rose having enveloped her arm as the bud of the flower blooms across the back of her hand. “Keep it disguised as a fashionable bracelet, ready to draw the blood of your foes at a moments notice.” “Right...But how is showing all that supposed to help me?” Tuesco then asks. “Well, considering what all you did back in the complex I found you in, and what Wedsle told me about; it sounds like your having trouble trying to construct more complex geometric shapes. So that might be the best place to start with you.”

A quiet grumble seeps out from underneath the man’s breath as the young woman instructing her sits down to tell him: “So remember when I said how you need to focus on what you want the air to be. Lets try making a cylinder around you with that method.” Upon his teachers request, the former officer stands off the floor before he stretches his arms out from both sides; Tuesco’s cerulean blue power seeping out from the palms of his hands as it expands around him. But the further he stretches his aura out to try and surround him and make a cylinder, the more this task strains him; Satette left worried as the man before him show signs of distress and pain. Tuesco can’t even manage to his aura together before it suddenly evaporates, the man himself letting out a pained hiss as he grasps the side of his temple while seething: “Agh! Dammit, my head!” “Oh jeez. I guess your brain ain’t really use to doing something that complex yet. How bout we try something a more small. Maybe like...a cup.” “Ngh...O-okay.” the man sighs, taking his hands off his head to hold one of them out.

Holding the palm of his hand up, the former cop begins to again focus in using his aura to create the very shape Satette wants out from him; his cerulean blue power seeping out and swirling from his palm. Tuesco lets out a small grunt as he concentrates on making his power trap the air into the form he desires, focusing on directing the aura to slowly form into a cup. And after a moment of concentrating his power does his aura finally form into the shape he wishes and commands it to vacuum up and solidify the air within; the former cops blue glow dissipating as he finally forms a cup made from solid air in his hands. Yet when the strenuous process had been said and done, the cup that Tuesco had transformed the very air into was left about as small as a shot glass; a disappointing feet of which starts to get him down.

“Uh...Well I mean, its a start.” Sat attempts to compliment. “I guess so.” groans Tuesco. “Hey, don’t feel too down about it. I had trouble doing bigger stuff when I first started out too. All it takes is some practice and some exercise.” “Like crunches or something?” “What I mean is think of these powers like an added muscle in your body, make sure to treat it well and practice so you can keep that muscle in tip top shape.” “Well, if it really is that simple, then this’d be considered for a toast, don’t you.” the former officer claims, handing the freshly made shot glass of solid air to the young woman. The former officer then takes out a stainless steel flask he pulls out from inside his jacket, unscrewing the cap to pour some liquor in the air made shot glass; the alcohol pour within seemingly floating right above Sats hand as its washes around in the tiny cup.

“What’s the occasion?” she wonder. “I just haven’t thanked you yet for doing all this for me, and I’ve been dong nothing but complain so far. Hoping this’ll at least make up for that. You think so?” After taking a brief moment to stare to her own reflection held in the liquor floating in the invisible cup, the lively psychic shrugs her shoulders and goes: “Eh, why not? 5 p.m somewhere, right?” In one fell swoop, the young woman gulps down the shot of alcohol the same time Tuesco takes a swig out from his flask; the liquor slithering down their throats as smooth as silk.

“Ahh. Whelp, that was exhausting. Same time tomorrow?” the former officer tries to leave with. “Oh no no no no no no. We are far from done here. We just got started” Sat goes, clutching the man’s shoulder. “Huh?” “I don’t really know what it was like in NYPD, but that easy going attitude ain’t gonna be enough anymore. We’ll be dealing with the crime syndicates psychics threatening our lives every single step we go; nearly on a day to day bases, really. So if you have any hopes of getting out of this whole mess alive, the time for taking it easy is over. We gotta kick this psychic training regimen up in high gear if you want to stand a chance. Cause if you don’t, they’ll be people out there more than happy to slit your throat open.” “What!?” “You did a nice job making a shot glass on the first try, so were gonna keep going. We ain’t stopping til you can form an entire plate and bowl set out of the air we breath.” Its upon this that it finally becomes clear to the former officer how much shit he had wound up getting in, the overwhelming realization clear to see on Tuesco’s face as his flask slips out from his hand and falls to the floor. “You’re cleaning that!” they hear Julian demand from a distance.

Taking in all the exquisite and exotic smells wafting through the air, Thursotte lets out a satisfied sigh as he shivers; all before claiming how: “Oh god. Its been so long since I’ve taken in the swelling scent of freshly made Chinese food. Really haven’t had any since I was in collage.” “Oh Thurs, that fucking cheap ass restaurant shit is nothing compared to the finely crafted and well prepared dishes served daily in this little slice of the east. The spices and foods these people get from direct oversea’s imports are the stuff of legends, the kind that people all over this city, hell even this country, to partake in the smorgasbord of exotic foods and the flavors they give. And the people, the dear wonderful people, they have the right idea when it comes to having good times aplenty, the prostitutes that roam the streets of the night can lend you pleasures beyond expectation. I had one that manage with nice tits to shove her finger in my-” Yet before the purple psychic could continue his description any further, Frida, thankfully, lets out a fake cough to grab their attention before she reminds him of how: “Didn’t we come here to scoop for info out here. Not shove food and unmentionables down our throats.” “Right right right! Can’t stay here too long, so lets straight to business and ask around for anything these guys might know.” “What makes you think anyone hear would know about the mob?” Thurs then question. “Because Thurs, exotic foods, spices, and people aren’t the only thing’s that come oversea’s. The crime syndicate of New York has had a long and weathered relationship with the dark and seedy underbelly that migrated from the depths of China. Where do you suppose the mob gets their imports from?”

Just before any of them could speak so much as another word on the matter, there attention is baited by a pained scream that echoes across the other side of the road; the three of them peering over to witness a man that just had wasabi flicked into his eye. Among the stinging pain brought by the famous green spice does the man start to run through the streets and straight into a woman carrying numerous hefty boxes in a towering stack; all of these weighty packages falling onto the poor guy as they slip from the woman’s grasp. “Shit, that sucks.” comments Weds. “What a way to start the day.” Frida claims.

Yet this be not the only series of unfortunate events they witness, as their site trails over towards a mobile food truck that suddenly catches fire; the chefs hair lit ablaze as she tumbles out from within and frantically dashes through the streets. The flaming chef makes a mad dash straight towards a tank filled with water sitting in another booth to swiftly put out her blazing head of hair; this quick solution only leading to more trouble though as she jerks her head back up from the hazy water, surfacing to scream out as several crabs latch tightly onto her face. Both Weds and Frida turn their eyes to the chaos causing psychic after watching these unlucky sequences unfold; Thursotte left surprised upon their unspoken accusation as he defends himself with: “What the-! Y-You think I’m doing this!? Guy’s you can’t even see any sort of aura around; how could this be me?” “Mmmm, true. Plus your kind of chaos is more wide spread and generalized, it ain’t this precise and targeted.” the dimensional psychic backs him up with. “Eh, whatever? We have more important things to worry about then a couple of people having some bad days.” the violet psychic brings the conversation back to.

“Yeah, speaking of. How do you expect to go about finding what we wanna know?” Thurs then questions. “Simple as spittin shit, Thurs. Just ask around.” “To anybody?” “No, not to just any rando out here. Booth vendors, restaurants owners, small shops; basically anyone that had the wrong mind to set up business around this part of town.” Wedsle explains. “Why is that a bad thing? With how much traffic this place seems to keep getting, opening a business here’s might as well be a no brainer.” “And that right there is the reason why the mob thought best to keep a tight grip in this part of the city; the revenue its businesses rakes in alongside the imports they get from here. Chinatown might as well be an unofficial overseas trading route; long as these folks here keep up the supplying, they get to keep their businesses running smoothly, and their lives spared to boot.” adds Frida. “That’s just heinous.”

“Yeah well, that’s just the way the world of crime works; and we’re gonna be taking little tour through this little piece of the east to find ourselves some info we can use against it.” “Which is why our best bet is for you to split?” Wedsle goes and tells Thursotte. “Just me, why!?” “If something goes and happens to Weds and I, we’ll need you to go back to the safe house for backup. Something to keep as an escape plan if things go south while your asking around.” Frida assures. “I don’t know about this guys, what if-” Thurs attempts to ask, rubbing the pocket he kept the key in. Though in the midst of questioning this does he look back to find the two already making their way through the street, both of them turning the corner as Frida assures that: “You got this!” Unbeknownst to either of them, another watches them all split off from afar from the shadows of an alley; a man dressed in yellow and black swirling jacket and pants laced with traces of golden studs. In both of his hands lye a pink, star shaped fruit; its sweet juices dripping onto the concrete as he partakes in its splendor.

A quiet worried groan can’t help but escape from him upon his friends departure, with Thursotte nervously turning over to trek the streets of Chinatown; his mind soon left to ponder which of these numerous businesses that lay out before him, and how to go about questioning for any sufficient information. From the way Wedsle put it, half of the restaurants and stores around here might just be under the mobs jurisdiction. If that’s true, being careful with my words is key; one wrong phrase and this place will be swarming with psychic mobsters before we know it. So Thursotte decides to start off this little quest at the very first indoor shop that he comes across, the sign above show Chinese letters printed across; though one would guess this being some sort of ancient Chinese antique store as the windows show statues and decoration dating back to numerous other dynasties.

The very moment that the young man enters the shop is when his interest perk as he beholds all the other artifacts and statues that line both the walls and the shelves, Thurs left mesmerized among the unique and exotic decorations surrounding him. Statues of serpent like dragons, monks, stone warriors; along with water paintings, chimes, small floral decorations, and robes the likes of which one would be seen wearing around that time. Wow! It’s all so pretty and- Before he could lose himself in the mystique and wonder of these pieces, the young man shakes off his hypnotic trance and slaps both of his cheeks together to regain his composure. Focus, Thurs; this is serious. This isn’t the time to be a tourist. Just ask the guy a couple questions and leave.

Reeling in his amazed wonderment, Thurs waltz right on over to the counter to face the cashier on the other side; an old man dressed in a polo long sleeve shirt and donning a cowboy hat. “Greeting, my friends. I was just in the neighborhood browsing around and heard about where I could hear about some dirt concerning this city’s crime syndicate. You think you know what a guy like me could might wanna hear.” he greets with, putting on a half hearted confident facade. That fake confidants starts to waver however when the owner starts to speak in words that he fails to understand; Thurs compelling the guy to: “Come again?” When speaking once more, the young man is left only more confused as he doesn’t understand a single word that comes out from his mouth; Thursotte simply looking to the owner with a perplexed gaze. The old man lets out a frustrated sigh before he ducks underneath the counter, only to come back up to put a sign written in English onto the counter. “The owner of this establishment understands and speaks exclusively in Chinese. Please translate or make your way to the exit.” it reads. “Oh...Oh no…”

A nervous worry begins to seep into the young man upon this discovery as he comes to realize how he doesn’t understand a single lick of Chinese in the slightest; sweat running down his forehead as she starts to back away from the counter and go: “Uh, well I guess I’ll just leave you back to your business, I hope you have a great day.” Just as he was about to make his way out from the store, Thurs turns around only to wind up bumping into another man wearing a lime green hood; Thursotte continuing to exit out from the shop as he quickly apologizes with: “Sorry!”

After exiting the establishment, the young psychic attempt to keep his thoughts from spiraling as he continues to walk through the streets; all the while he thinks of any other way he could gather information. Just relax, Thurs. This ain’t as big of a roadblock you think it is. So what there might be a couple of people living here that only speak in Chinese, that doesn’t mean everyone here does. I mean this place is rooted in the middle of one of the most famous cities of America, there has to be people around here that speak English. Plus from the way Wedsle put it, some of the shops around here have to know something about the mob. Even if things don’t work out there, I can always just pop back in the safe house and ask Sat and Tues for…for...f-for…

Thursotte’s budding optimism is swiftly cut short when delving into the pocket where he had left the bronze key in; that sense of worry returning as he reaches inside only to feel not a thing tucked in there. This worry ultimately evolves into utter dread when pulling this pocket inside out discover there be nothing inside; the young psychic shuttering as he internally screams within his mind. Where’d it go!? He frantically starts patting around all over his body in searching for the key, digging into his other pockets to check to see if he had misplaced it there instead; but this effort draws no hope for results as Thurs panics. Where’d the key go!? I know I put it in my pocket! I couldn’t have just lost it! It doesn’t make any sense, where could it have- Its in the middle of his internal freak out that he remembers when he was leaving the shop, having bumped into that random man in the lime green hoodie; this soon making him realize what had happened to him. That’s must’ve been it. That guy that bumped into me, he picked it out from my pocket as I was trying to leave.

With a glance back towards the antique shop, Thursotte spots the man in the lime green hoodie making his exit and heading the other way; the young psychic making a frantic bolt towards the guy who he knows picked the key off of him. I didn’t bump into anybody else when I got here! He has to have taken it! When the guy glances back to spot Thurs racing right after him, he almost immediately makes a run for it and speeds through the streets; knocking down whoever may stand in his way. If I don’t get that key back, we’ll end up stuck out here and fresh for the mob to finish off! No matter what, I can’t lose it!

Down a couple more city blocks, Frida and Wedsle casually stroll through the streets of Chinatown and come to the other part of the shopping district; the dimensional psychic feeling a bit weary as she constantly glances back before she goes: “I should’ve went with him.” “Girl, just loosen the chain up already. You sound like one of those fucking know it all helicopter parents.” “Most competent parents wouldn’t leave their kids to ask around for secrets of the mob alone.” “Good thing Thurs isn’t a kid, is he?” “Wedsle!”

“He’ll be fine, Frida. Thursotte isn’t as wet behind the ears anymore. He’s done plenty of feats to prove that he can handle whatever trouble he gets into. Like when he caused that traffic jam to stop that delivery you two intercepted.” “Yeah.” she says. “Or when he took on one of the apostles heavenly knights...think that’s what those larpers called themselves.” “True.” “The time he dragged you through the inside of a crumbling office while being chased by cops.” “Mmhm, alright fine. Guess it wouldn’t hurt to let the kid do stuff on his own. If he can keep that key on him, then I might have nothing to worry about.” “Like you said Frids: He’s proven to be more careful in the short time you’ve known him than I have in the years you’ve spent with me” the violet psychic calls back to, bringing a little smile to his dimensional merging partner. “So, where the hell in this little slice of the east are you expecting to dig up some dirt?” the dimensional brings the topic back to. “Don’t worry about any of that, I know of ways around here that outta point us to the buried treasure of intel we’re looking for.”

A reassuring thought that the two of them take as they travel deeper into the depths of this oriental piece of the big apple; neither of them aware in the slightest of a third party stalking them from among the crowd of tourists. Out from the countless people does this man watch the two from afar as he finishes chowing down on his piece of fruit. When the man donned in yellow and black finds his supply of star shaped fruit running dry, he breaks his sites away from his pair of pursuits to gauge the people around him; his eyes wondering off towards the side and lock his eyes upon another, a man dressed in a blue tee making his way into a public restroom. A sinister grin stretches across the fruit eating man as he follows after this unsuspecting guy.

Within the private confines of the men’s restroom can the man in the blue tee be seen relieving himself against the urinal; a soft and nearly silent moan escaping from him as he lets all the piss in his bladder out. Its soon after starting that he then sees another man move to the urinal neighboring his, the guys yellow and black bejeweled outfit drawing his eyes over to him. But when this extravagantly dressed guy looks back at him, he quickly jerks his head the other way in hopes of his gawking not being noticed; all the while the man he looks away from seizes his opportunity and reach over towards him. A bright pink aura seeps out from the palm of his hand as the man in yellow and black thrusts his arm into the other man’s side; his victim left utterly comatose as the psychic digs deep into his very being. In just a few more moments does the guy in the bejeweled outfit finally withdraw his arm out from his victims side; reeling from within a bright pink power that begins to take shape before his very eyes. This formless glob of pink power soon takes the shape of a plump glowing star fruit, the exact same kind of star fruit that he had been eating just moments ago.

The man dressed in the blue tee swiftly comes to and gazes down to where he had relieved himself, left shocked when he discovers having urinated down the leg of his pants; an embarrassing unlucky situation that leaves him all the more perplexed as he tucks his dong back in and zips right back up. Away from the urinal does the man then waltz over towards the sink in a bid to wash away the shame of soiling himself, only for the knob to break off as soon as he attempts to turn it; a geyser of water spewing against him as he backs away from the broken sink. Now drenched and cold, he turns to the paper towel dispenser to at least try to dry off; his grief growing when the pulling the lever only for the dispenser to jam. The soaked man is left fed up with it all and simply decides to leave; only to wind up slipping from the water all over the floor and unintentionally knocking over another man trying to come in. Stepping right over these two, the guy donning the yellow and black swirl jacket emerges out from the public restroom with a freshly picked piece of star fruit in his hands, wasting not another moment to bite down upon its soft hide and slurping the juices within; this man venturing back towards where he saw his real pursuits went as he takes another bite.

Struggling grunts and straining breaths echo across the halls of the safehouse as Tuesco continues practicing his newfound psychic powers; Satette watching closely as the former officer attempts to form his cerulean blue aura into that of a big donut. His attempt to make the more complex shape out of the air itself ends rather anticlimactically, as Tuesco is just about to complete the shape before his mental fortitude crumbles; his aura dissipating as the stress inflicted becomes far too much for him to handle and nearly collapses as a result. Sat immediately rushing over to his side as he fumbles against the wall; helping him up as she asks: “Tues, you alright?” “I think so. Only feel light headed. Did you used to feel like this when you first became a psychic?” “Yeah, but don’t worry. The more you get used to it, those constant headache’s will practically be nonexistent.” “Thing is, I don’t really wanna get used to this. The moment a way out for me comes, I’m getting out of this city as fast as possible.”

“I ain’t got a problem with that, but the others might say otherwise.” “What, they’re gonna force me to do their bidding?” “Eh, not so much force, more like exploit. Long as the mob has as tight of a stranglehold on this city, the chances of you making it out of New York in one piece are pretty nonexistent; and Wedsle knows that. I’m afraid you have no other option but to work with us on this if you plan on escaping.” “God dammit.” frowns Tuesco, crossing his arms. “That’s really the reason why we’re going through this whole psychic crash course. You want out, you got work for it. And to work for it, you gotta be up to snuff. Cause if you ain’t, you won’t be making it out of this city, at least with your life.” Satette elaborates. “Years of work on the force and in short of a week, I’m reduced to nothing but a henchman.” “Not much of a difference if you ask me. Only which side you play on.”

With a muffled rumble seeping out from between his lips, the former officer simply keeps listening as Satette continues their training by instructing to: “Now part of wielding your psychic powers is to get in the habit of treating it like an extension of yourself. Like I said before, you have to get in the mindset of believing you can solidify air is as easily as you can breathe… Which is pretty ironic in this case, isn’t it?” “And how do recon I do that?” “Well, how other people go about that can vary, but something that usually helps me is visualizing what I want my power to do. And something tells me that your already halfway there, considering how you could easily make basic geometric shapes.” “But I’ve been trying just that, and all I’ve been getting back is nothing but splitting headaches.” “Probably because you haven’t gotten fully immerse in that mindset yet. I mean, you just now realized you can control your powers a few days ago when you’ve had them for around a month. So, to that end, we’re gonna be doing some mental exercises.” “What like taking a test or something?” “Kind of.”

Upon approaching her waiting pupil, the lively young psychic takes Tuesco’s hand holds it up to him as she says: “You’re hand right here, I want you to visualize what it looks like in your mind; think you can do that?” “Of course I can, I’m not stupid.” “Good, since it’s so easy, I want you to close your eyes and put both of them behind your back.” Like she instructs him to do, Tuesco shuts his eyes and takes both of his hands behind his back, then hearing her tell him to: “Now, think about what your hand looked like to you in that moment; think of the air surrounding you as like that very arm and use it to focus on bring that mental picture to light.” “What’s that even mean?” he can’t help but ask “Uh...O-okay, so you know how in Kindergarten around November, the teacher has them all make turkeys by putting their hand over the paper and tracing it. Think of it like that, except with air instead of blueberry scented markers.” This visualization exercise set upon him, Tues takes in a calming deep breath before he begins to make a picture in his mind him putting his hand over a piece of paper; imagining a marker swirling along the outline of his hand as he keeps his thoughts focused. And though he starts to feel the same headaches coming on as he did before, the freshly new psychic fights through the encroaching migraine and holds his thoughts steady to finish picturing himself drawing the turkey.

Once he successfully finishes this mental exercise, he then wonders aloud: “Did...did it work?” “Why don’t you feel over and find out?” he hears the young woman suggests. Like she tells him to, Tuesco takes his hands out from behind his back and reaches over to feel if his visualization exercise had work; sparks of joy surging through him as he feels the palm of his hand slide up a smooth cylinder. Moving his hand up to the top of this cylinder is he astonished to feel what resembled a hand, running his fingers across its own. “Is this...Did I do it?” he utters. “Open your eyes and see.”

From the young woman’s simple suggestion, Tuesco opens his eyes to behold his own hand caressing the very air he solidified, feeling this piece of air taking the same shape he had pictured in his mind. Fingers, palm, even the arm, the new psychic had successfully recreating his own arm with nothing but the air around them; a feet of which he was amazed to have pulled off. “It worked…I actually did it!” “I mean the hand feels less detailed than it should be, but this still is a fantastic start. You keep doing stuff like this and you’ll be able to make way more than just an arm.” Satette proclaims. “You think so?” “I know so. Now lets keep it up. Lets see what else you can make doing that visual exercise.”

Through the residential streets of Chinatown, the psychic of Murphy’s law continues his pursuit after the lime hoodie wearing man that pilfered the key back to the safehouse from his pockets; both of them swerving around the people in the streets as they hurry. The mob isn’t gonna waste any time when they realize we’re here; so I can’t let this guy get away with the key. Like swimming in the middle of the ocean with hungry sharks encircling us, we’ll be stranded out in the middle of the city just waiting for them to pluck us out. When coming up towards the end of the concrete walkway, Thursotte is left concerned as the man dressed in lime refused to slow down when nearing a road filled with busy traffic; the vehicles dashing through showing no signs of slowing down, much less stopping. He’s not stopping! The guy’s gonna get run over! But just when the man was at the very end of the walkway does he suddenly make a bounding leap to the wall next to him and starts to scale up its brickwork; Thursotte rushing to try and catch up to him before he climbs out from reach. Yet by the time he makes it to the end, his thief has climbed far too high for him to reach up towards and can only watch as the man in the lime green coat scale up to the glazed tiled rooftop.

But when making it near the top of the building, the traditional Chinese rooftop prevents the pickpocket from ascending any further; stuck at the top of the buildings corner searching for a way out. A glance around each side of the corners reveal the windows left sealed shut, refusing to budge no matter how much he tries to force his way in. At least it seems like he’s stuck up there. Just need something to knock him down and- wait, what is he doing? From the tippy top of the building, the man reaches over towards the rooftops bottom corner before he kicks off the wall; the thief making a daring leap to grasp at the black wire attached to the end of the roof. Like a hung strand of rope held across a chasm, the pickpocket starts to shimmy across towards the other side of the street. Climbing across the electrical wire!? He’s out of his mind! That snaps under his own weight as he might as well be fried. Though to his surprise does the lime green thief prove to be more nimble than he suspects as he has little trouble moving across the electric wire; like a man of the jungle swinging across the length of a vine, he swings his arms up around to clutch the black piece of rope as he shimmies closer and closer towards the other side. Oh, man. If he makes it to the other side, there ain’t no way I’m finding him again. Need some way to knock him off.

Its in frantically thinking of a way to bring his pickpocket back down to earth, Thurs’ eyes fix to the very wall that the lime green thief had climbed up from; the young man making a nervous gulp when realizing what has to be done. I really hope this doesn’t turn out too bad. Left with next to no other option presented to him, the chaos triggering psychic takes a moment to back away from the wall before he makes a daring charge towards its brickwork; Thursotte coating his leg in his orange aura as he lunges out to deliver a full force kick against the corner of the building. The very first thing that the he feels after kicking the corner of the building is the spainful sensation that course up from his foot and up his leg; the young man hissing from the pain as he kneels down and rubs the top of his foot. Agh, god! Okay, probably didn’t have to kick it.

Among seething from his bruised foot, he looks back towards the wall to find his orange power slithering up the building; the walls very brickwork cracking up as his aura envelopes the corner in its glow. And its from these newly forming cracks that the piece of corner breaks off from the rest of the building and tumbles down towards the busy road. Several of the cars forced to slamming down on their breaks as the pillar of broken bricks threatens to crash down on top of them, with the other cars behind them stopping in a pile up. Along with that corner of the building, the part of the roof with the electric cable attached breaks right off to plummet down with the rest of the debris; the lime green man hanging on the wire holding on tight as he swings towards the other side of the street. Yet rather than making a clean landing onto the walkway, the thief winds up face planting right into the next building before fumbling down the pavement.

The resulting dust soon settles to show what remains of the buildings broken off corner piled up across the road, blocking any of the other cars from crossing the mess of jagged broken bricks; a risk that none of the drivers dare tempt to take for fear of popping their tires. With the rushing traffic congested to a standstill, the path to the other side of the street is finally safe to cross; an opportunity that Thursotte is swift to take when seeing the pickpocket awaken from his stupor, the young man making a dash across the road. The lime green thief quickly recovers from his daze to find the guy he stole from furiously racing after him; the pickpocket leaping up off the ground to make a mad dash through more of the streets as his pursuer shouts: “Get back here, you!”

Down the recesses of one of Chinatown’s alleyways, a guy fumbles against one of its cold brick walls when pushed by none other than the purple mobster himself; Wedsle throwing his bike over before staring the guy down with an intimidating grin as he watches the man struggle to pick himself off the floor. “I only have about 5 dollars on me, I swear! P-please don’t hurt me!” this man desperately pleads. “Easy there, buddy. We ain’t here for anything like that, what I want out of you is a little more personal.” “Oh...Oh god...Not like this, not here.” the guy shivers reaching down to unzip his pants. “Oh my god, put your fucking pants back on, I ain’t doing that! Not in a dirty alley, at least.” Weds protests. “Then what you want from me?” “All were wanting out of your cute little mouth is a little intel; nothing too demanding, just if you’ve seen anything weird around town. “Li-Like what?”

“Eh, come on. A delivery boy like you’s has to have wound up stumbling upon a couple of dubious and gruesome scenes in your short quote on quote “Career”. Wound up unexpectedly seeing something you weren’t supposed to in the mind numbing daily grind for less than 15 an hour? Hmm?” “No no no no no no! I-I can’t! Those guys have eyes and ears almost everywhere, if they catch wind of any witnesses, who know’s what they’ll do to me!” A threatened chill runs down the delivery boy’s spin as the purple psychic leans down upon him; the sensation of panic and fear coursing through his veins as his purple eyes lean closer and closer, all the while the violet man claims how: “Well, believe me, my pants pissing pal. Whatever those guys plan on doing to you, I promise I’ll do something a dozens times worse if you don’t squirt your sweet sweet information for me.” “Eh heee...D-I! I don’t know a lot about it, but I’ve seen some real weird people lurking around there; particularly around Broadway. Saw some of them come in to some of the stores near the very top city block, then come right back out with huge boxes and bags. I don’t know what’s in them, and I don’t wanna know.” “Any names?” “A-a couple. Sometimes in the laundry mat, other times in the herbal store; I even saw them go in a gift shop one time on a late night. Just please don’t hurt me, that’s all I know!”

“See, that wasn’t so hard. I get the information I need, and you get to keep your teeth. Everyone wins.” states Wedsle, leaning away from the frightened man before he starts to stroll back to the end of the alley with his partner waiting. “Th...that’s it? That’s all you wanted? You’re not gonna do anything to me?” the delivery boy questions as he stands back up. “Nah, don’t really feel like getting my kicks whipping a guy like you down...Unless you might be into it.” “What!? No! Jus-just leave me alone!” he staunchly objects. “Hey, you’re loss.” the purple psychic claim as both he and the woman with him make their exit.

Letting out all the shuddering sensations that had been bubbling from this frightening encounter, the meager delivery boy is left to pick up his bike and head towards the other side of the alleyway; letting out a shuttering sigh before saying out loud: “Why do I always run into these kinds of people.” “Might be because of your line of work.” he then hears somebody suggests, glancing back up to discover a man in a yellow and black bejeweled jacket staring him down. The terror he felt just moments ago starts to worm its way back into the delivery guy as this man begins to slowly approach; blocking the only way out from the alley as he hears this man tell him the morbid fact of how: “You know the chances of dying on the job are higher for a delivery boy than a police officer, right? It’s pretty damn bad being stuck in a dead end job like that already; having those statistics over your heads might as well be unlucky.”

The Northwestern part of this exotic oriental piece of the big apple being their next stop, the two former mobsters make their way back into the market district towards its other end; Wedsle taking a big whiff of the countless scents and spices wafting from the unique assortment of dish. “Man, feels like such a tease coming here without getting a bite to eat. You want to unload all that flavor in your mouth, but they just keep pulling away the moment you try and have a taste. Its fucking torturous, dammit!” he laments. “Ain’t like we could afford any of this anyway. The targets hanging on our heads alongside what little cash we have; we can’t risk going around blowing it all on whatever meal gives you any food erection. Every single cent counts for us at this point.” explains Frida. “I know. It just sucks going through here knowing that.” “If you have such a stick up your ass about it, why didn’t you rob that guy you were shaking down for info? Pretty sure those 5 bucks could gotten you something.” “Nah, guy stuck in a shitty job like that needs every cent he can scrounge up. All I’d be getting from the bowl of udon I could buy is a bad taste in my mouth.”

In the middle of this discussion, their attention is beckoned towards a commotion going on at a stand next to them; one of the customers letting out a frightened scream when one of the dumplings she had put in their mouth unfolds. The piece of dough breaks open to unleash a whole swarm of baby spiders that crawl out from the woman’s open mouth; the unfortunate woman frantically flailing and running about in a terrified panic. Among her hysterical racing, the woman winds up running straight into another booth and winds up toppling it all down, all of it falling right on top of her. “Jesus!” Weds utters. “Lotta people around here having pretty bad days, huh?” comments Frida. “I don’t know if it’s as simple as that. One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, three is a pattern. So what would that make four?” “You think this stuff’s happening deliberately, through some kind of psychic?” “It explain a helluva lot.” “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why screw with random people instead of coming after us?” Just when the two were pondering of this strange phenomenon, another discovery then creeps upon them as they comes to find the delivery boy they had spoken to before; moaning in pain as he lays against the fire hydrant with his own bent up bike entangling his body. “Psychic or not, something definitely happening around here. The kind of luck you gotta have to end up like this. God.” claims Weds.

“It’s not like he had much of it to begin with anyway.” the two then hear another state. Towards where this comment had been voice, both of them swiftly glance aside to witness a man dressed in a jacket of swirling black and yellow approaching the injured delivery boy; a star shaped fruit no bigger than his palm resting in his hand shinning with a bright pink luminescence. “Kid barely had any of it left to spare. I mean just look at him, whats worse than getting in such a nasty crash entangle in your own damn bike. Real sad. Still…” Shuffling the small piece of fruit to his thumb, he flicks the star up into the air and sends it plummeting right into his open mouth; a potent pink aura enveloping his body as he chews upon the fresh produce. “A man like me’s gotta take what he can get. Especially when he’s stuck with dealing with the likes of you backstabbers.”

When the two of them realize what the man before them was referring to, Frida is quick to the draw as she delves into her denim jacket to pull out her trusty piece; the dimensional psychic wasting no time to pull the trigger as soon as the gun was aimed towards his head. Yet the very moment the dimensional psychic fire her weapon is her aim suddenly thwarted as a ball comes bouncing right out of nowhere and hits her hand; the bullet misfiring directly into the window of a nearby restaurant. “Dammit!” she curses, aiming back towards the man to try her luck again. This time however is she can’t even to so much as fire her weapon as the trigger inexplicably jams, refusing to budge no matter how much she tries to pull on it.

Before the young woman could do so much as attempt to pull out another gun from her jacket, the man in yellow and black suddenly makes a dashing lunge towards the two of them; a move that the two react to almost immediately as Frida delves down into the 2nd dimension of the ground, leaving Wedsle to take the brunt of this tackling charge head on. His aura flaring and his stance steady, Wedsle has no problem standing against this new foe both physically and supernaturally; the purple psychic holding the man back with little trouble as he taunts the guy with: “The head on approach? Not gonna lie, respect the balls on ya; but you sure that’s the wisest move?” “Maybe not. But I got something no smarts can measure up to.” the yellow and black wearing man brags.

When the violet mobster attempts push back against his foe, he feels something squish beneath the bottom of his shoe and swiftly peers down to find himself having stepped in a mess of spilled noodles; the spoiled pile of noodles causing him to slip up. The lucky opportunity presented to him, his fortunate foe pushes Wedsle over and sends him crashing into the empty stand behind him; the entire booth trembling as he fumbles right over its counter. Inside this booth, the purple mobster is quick to discover the rickety rack of kitchen knives left hanging above; the entire set falling right off their hinges and plunging down at him. Wedsle rolls right off to the side in evading their deadly sharp ends, with the edges of these knives however managing to graze the back of his head. Rolling right out from the kitchen knife selling stand, the purple psychic glares to the guy that had tackled him back, posturing with an abundance of smug pride as he boastfully how: “The luck of Novelle Iboni isn’t something to take lightly. You mess with me, you’ll wind up on the short end of lady luck wrath.”

During this bodacious posturing, the dimensional psychic scuttles up the side of the closest building before partially emerging out from its brick face with her weapon; Frida being given another chance to snipe their foe as she takes aim towards the back of his head. Dumbass, taking us head on and bragging about your powers! You practically signed your own death warrant! Her aim holding true, the gun woman takes another shot against the man standing beneath her; pulling the trigger to let the bullet fly. Unfortunately is her shot is not as honest as she hoped, for a food truck passing by ends up blocking her at the very last moment, ricocheting her bullet slightly to send it zooming right by Novelle’s head. Feeling the wayward bullet zip right by him, the man in yellow and black looks up towards the dimensional psychic with surprise at first; that astonishment quickly fading back to a confidently smug grin. It was almost he was silently mocking the gun woman for her poor attempts to take his life. What the hell was that!?

Rapid footsteps reach his ears from behind and alert the lucky psychic of his purple adversary making a charging assault directly from behind; Novelle casually turning around to find the violet traitor coming at him with a sharp kitchen knife. In one swift motion does Wedsle plunge the knife directly into his foes stomach, feeling the blade sink into the man’s abdomen; yet to his worry does the guy fail to so much as flinch, much less let out any sort of pained outcry. Wedsle quickly pulls back with the sharp dagger handle still in hand; the blade breaking right off its hinge as he rapidly retreat. The purple psychic is left even further perplexed when finding the blade not having dug as deep into the man as he had felt; rather instead left stuck wedge against something hard hidden underneath the guy’s jacket. After prying the blade off his person, Novelle lifts up a part of his jacket to show off the blade having not plunged into his stomach, but rather had been stopped by a gold platted belt buckle donning a mural of the Las Vegas strip; the face of the buckle left with nothing but a scratch. “Fucking cheap ass Chinese knockoffs!” the violet traitor shouts, throwing the knife handle down on the ground.

Trying his luck with the poorly made kitchen knife, Novell casually tosses the broken sharp edge out at the purple psychic; Wedsle effortlessly evading the knife blade without so much as any forethought. Weds puts in as much thought in charging straight after the pink aura psychic, paying little mind to the blade careening off towards another booth behind him; the blunt end of the knife bouncing right off the top of a drum set to be sent flying overhead. At the peek of its ascent is the blade then plunged right into the body of a passing pigeon, one that delves down towards the dimensional psychic peeking out from the wall; Frida left too distracted attempting to aim at their foe once again to see the bird plummeting down towards her. The dead sparrow ends up slamming against the side of the gun woman’s shoulder, the tip of the blade running through the bird cutting across her arm enough to make her aim flinch.

As she retches from the cut inflicted upon her arm, her aim shift ever so slight off from her intended target as she pulls the trigger; the bullet zipping right past the man in yellow and black and straight into the leg of her purple partner, Novelle moving right out of the way as Wedsle trips down from the piece of led shot in his leg. “Frida, what the fuck?!” “I-I didn’t- I mean I didn’t even...What-what the fuck!? What’s going on today!?” “Is it drilling in both of your heads yet? As long as the visage of lady fortune smiles upon me, neither of you can land even a scratch.” gleefully declares Novelle, raising his foot to try and stomp down upon the downed purple psychic.

The purple psychic rolls right out from harms away before the lucky psychic could stomp down his shot shin, swiftly scuttling over towards the building his dimensional partner climbs down from; both of them coming together as they face down the man they failed to dispatch. “Okay, direct approach ain’t working. Any other bright idea’s?” the gun woman questions. “I can only think of one right now. Hate even think of it, but its our only ticket out. See that crack in the wall there.” the violet psychic brings attention to, Frida glancing over to find a sizable crack held along the brickwork. “Oh. I see what your getting at.”

“Whatever you two are planning, it ain’t gonna work. Any sort of game strategy you got cooking up against me is guarantee to fail, long as the winds of probability are blowing my way.” Novelle proclaims, making a daring lunge towards the two of them. “Good thing you ain’t part of our plan then.” states the purple psychic, clutching the hand of the woman behind her as she merges into the wall. Before the pink aura psychic could reach either of them, Frida drags her purple partner into the second dimension with her as she scurries over to the aforementioned crack in the wall; the two wasting not a second to escape into the crevice and slipping away from their lucky adversary. “Jeez. Don’t know weather to chalk that up as quick thinking or just plain luck.” the man growls. Yet his demeanor starts to turn around when glancing aside to witness a family of four rushing into the confines of a nearby home; Novelle cracking a wicked grin as he takes this moment of his targets escaping and turns it around with: “Though I might want to take a minute to browse around to see if I can harvest some real plump crops.”

Echoing through the halls of the safehouse could the sound of Tuesco’s strenuous grunts be heard as Satette watches him attempt to form his cerulean aura into the shape of a broadsword; the former officer struggling to finish constructing the blade of the weapon. Tues just barely able to create the sharp tip of the sword before his concentration shatters and his power dissolves, the air solidifying psychic falling to the floor as he clutches his head, hissing from the headache resulting from this exercise. “Gaaah...Dammit!” “You were doing so good. You almost had it.” Satette praises him. “Doesn’t feel like it. Swear it feels like my heads about to split in half from all this.” “And that my friend is what we call progress. Like how you do a whole crazy ass work out routine in the gym; and then the next day, all the pain and strain hits you all at once. Like I keep saying, its like working out a muscle.” “Can I give my brain muscle a bit of a break then. Swear I’ve went through 5 headaches in the past 4 hours.” “Eh, a break probability sounds good right about now. Lets take a peek in the kitchen and see what we can raid from the fridge.” she suggests.

One look to the kitchen is all it takes to leave the lively psychic baffled of the state it had been left in; the rubble and scorch marks left behind after their ordeal escaping from its inferno still plainly evident to see. The sink broken, the cabinets torn up, the floor cracked, the stove bent up; the collateral damage the kitchen had suffered from was on disaster levels of destruction. “Wow. Julian wasn’t kidding around. Seems like you boys did a real number on this place and multiplied that by pi.” she somewhat jests. “I was about just as baffled. To think that Thurs did all this just by tossing around a little pebble.” “Thought he did this. Practically has Thursotte’s name written all over it. I mean part of the sink is lodged in the oven; not sure how else somebody could realistically do that.” “I just hope the fridge is still in tact.” Tues wonders, strolling over to the refrigerator. Clutching the handle to the fridge, Tuesco stands aside as he swings the door wide open; bracing himself for the loud banging barrage of guns like he did last time. Yet the former officer is a tad perplexed when hearing not even a click go off, Tues peeking into the fridge to find all the firearms stuffed within replaced with a wide selection of food and drinks. “Oh.” he utters. “What?” “Nothing, blushes the former officer.

Within another part of the safehouse do both Sat and Tues left sitting side by side among the edge of a comically long dinning table boasting about 25 feet across the room; the numerous chairs set along this table left baron and empty. The lively psychic takes a satisfying bite out of the sandwich in her hands, moaning over the delectable meats and cheese set between the soft pieces of wheat bread; admitting how: “Never tasted anything this good before. The cheese seriously just melts in your mouth; and the meat, the flavor just pops!” “I remember packing stuff like this for lunch about every other day for work. I think its just regular sliced barbecue pork.” “Really. Never had that.” “Never?” “Nope. All my dad was really able to afford for us was dollar generic brand bologna. None of the other fancier deli stuff.” she admits. “How poor were you guys?” “I-I mean for fuck’s sake. I used to steal stuff for other people as a living before all this.” “You couldn’t find another place to work?” “Nothing else made enough money. I could barely afford rent. And I got just enough for the bare necessities on a good day.” “Really? I made enough working with the police to get by and then some.” “That’s cause your working with the police; not to mention a lot of that line of work is seeped in corruption; especially with the NYPD.” “I...Gah! Not all of it was.” the former officer objects.

“How long were you working with them again?” “About a couple decades or so.” “And in that whole time, you didn’t find anything sus about it all?” “Um...Well I mean there were a couple things that threw me off. Like the security at the station was strangely uptight, especially around the cells. But I just brushed that off as wanting to be safer than sorry with our prisoners.” “If they wanted that, they could’ve sent those guys to actual prisons instead of blowing their overinflated budgets on suping the place up. I mean what kind of people you got kept in there to warrant that sort of muscle?” “Uh...Dr-drug traffickers…” Tuesco meekly admits, this fact drawing out a contemptuous glare from the woman beside him. “Okay, knowing what I do now in retrospect, its obvious. But that doesn’t mean everyone there was morally bankrupt.”

“How many people on the force did you personally knew?” she then moves on to ask. “Well I mean, you’ve met Martin. Guy was probably the closest thing I had to a best friend around that line of work, and I didn’t even suspect he was this deep in it all.” “Tuesco, it doesn’t matter if you knew some people there were objectively morally standing people; the institution itself is mired with the mob’s business. A couple of upstanding people in the system isn’t enough to transform a system rotten to its core.” “But I...I can’t believe that. I don’t think your lying, but I refuse to accept the organization I worked with for half my life, an organization meant to impede criminal activity and guard the lives of everyday people, were cooperation alongside one of the biggest criminal syndicates of New York. It-it-it-it…” Tuesco states, letting out a weary sigh at the end of his rant. Nothing but a worrying silence is all that wafts through the dinning hall air as Satette fails to find the words she need to comfort the former officer of these newfound revelations; Tuesco himself ultimately rising from his seat and making his way out. “I need a minute.” he demands. “Tues, wait…” Sat attempts to draw him back with, her words falling on deaf ears as the air solidifying psychic shuts the door behind him. An upset groan can’t help but seep out from under the lively young woman’s breath as she see’s what attempting to tackle the man’s biases had ended up; Sat glaring down to the half eaten sandwich he had left behind.

A ways into the depths of China Town sits a small, but calming and serene natural park; holding a sizable landscape the likes of which people and pets frolic and relax upon the freshly kept grass. Beside this open plain of grass stood some basketball and tennis courts, free for anyone wishing to play these respective sports for exercise or just simple fun; all while the children they bring can occupy themselves at the playgrounds installed between these courts. And among these recreational activities do dozens of tree’s stand surrounding this little slice of nature, further boasting this park as a break from the regular urban scenery, even with how minuscule it stood compared to the other parks through the city.

A small group of people within the basketball court casually, runs around and dribble the ball from one end of the court to the next. It was as normal and fun as a round of basketball can be among the fresh air surrounding the crowd. Yet this isolated game of basketball is rudely interrupted when a man donned in a lime green hoodie leaps out from the side of the court and cuts straight through both teams while swiping the ball away; all of them glancing back where this guy came from when they hear: “Just stop already!”

Following after the hooded man does Thursotte make a bounding leap right over the bushes and straight through the basketball court; careful not to bump into any of the players as he slithers by. During this chase across the court, the lime hooded thief chucks the basketball he swiped at his pursuer in hopes of tripping him up; Thurs instead catching the ball and infusing it with his power before throwing it back towards its sender. Though the runaway pickpocket manages to evade the basketball tossed back at him, the ball keeps on bouncing all the way towards the edge of the court before slamming against the base of the hoop; the rusty steel holding the hoop up bending in a way to make it collapse under its own weight. Just as the runaway thief was reaching the other side of the court, the along the end tumbles down like a falling tree, crashing down before the hooded thief and cutting his swift escape a little short. Among this sudden scare does Thursotte tackle the lime hooded pickpocket against the board of the hoop, frisking around to try and pull the bronze key he stole off him. But the thief soon breaks away from his grasp and pushes Thurs off, hoping over the knocked over hoop before darting out from the court and deeper into the small park; the young man he stole from failing to waver as he bolts after him.

The parks playground is thankfully baron of any children anywhere in site as both Thursotte and the pickpocket he chases after dart towards one of the playground equipment; the chaos triggering psychic scooping up a load of pebbles of the countless that litter the playground. Thursotte throws out the fistful of rocks at his runaway thief in hopes of slowing him down, but sees the pickpocket leaping right up to the top of the slide to evade the scattering collection of stones. Yet the power that Thurs had put with the bunch of rocks he had tossed over starts to immediately work its magic as the thief tries to slide down to the bottom; the thin sheet metal making up the slide falling apart underneath him. Despite being tripped up by the slide breaking under him, the lime hooded pickpocket frantically shoving the pieces off to flee from his pursuing victim; the two darting away from the broken slide and head straight over towards an all in one piece of playground equipment.

Watching the thief leap up the small set of plastic steps at the start of a whole playground system, Thursotte scoops up another handful of pebbles from the ground as he pursues after; the accident triggering psychic throwing out aura infused one rock at time rather than all at once. And though these pebbles might not boast as much size, their potential to deliver just as much chaos is evident as one clonks against one of the loose screw holding the first part of the playground equipment; the piece of equipment falling apart as the pickpocket races across the bridge connecting the second. Rushing away from the collapsing bridge, the lime hooded thief quickly climbs towards the top of the combo playground equipment; gazing down to the man he had stolen from to see what he does next.

Rather then toss another pebble straight at the pickpocket, Thurs instead throws some of them out towards the right of the piece of equipment; the small rocks beating down against the plastic support beams holding the structure up. Before the runaway thief could take this way over, the plastic support beams give away and cause that part of the system to collapse and cutting out the lime hooded thief’s escape. Having isolated the pickpocket in the middle of the top of the broken playground system, Thurs throws out the rest of the pebbles in his grasp all over what was left standing of the piece of equipment; the rocks beating against the loose screws and bent pieces of plastic to make the structure tremble. Feeling the piece of equipment he stand on about to collapse, the wily thief jumps off the playground system before it falls apart and makes a rough landing; rolling in the dirt before making a dash away from the accident causing psychic.

Out from the playground and straight through the rest of the park, the lime hooded pickpocket dashes across the treeline of the open fields, weaving around the trees in his way in hopes of throwing the man he robbed from off his tail. Thursotte however does not waver in his pursuit and continues to chase after the pickpocket across the edge of the park, leaping off to break off a couple of their loose branches for ammunition. Instilling these branches with his own brand of Murphy's law, the young man throws them like javelins up towards the tree’s ahead of the thief; the leaves rustling around as a couple of squirrels come tumbling out to land upon the runaway thief. The pair of squirrels frantically scampers all over the pickpocket as he continues to scurry away, the lime hooded man flailing around in an effort to get the two rodents off his person.

His pickpocket foe left distracted, Thurs tosses out another branch into the trees above to disturb something that could stop the runaway thief; yet the second time around isn’t as fruitful as the first, for out from the tree line tumbles what appeared to be a flock of pigeons that swoop down to harass the young psychic instead. Among his panic does Thursotte accidentally bestow his power into the rats with wings as both he and the thief scurry towards the temple at the end of the park, the two blindly racing right into the inside of the small oriental building. Glass shattering, wood breaking, walls crashing, and bells chiming wildly in their rapidly escalating game of cat and mouse, Thurs and the pickpocket he pursues quickly racing out of the temple and out from the Chinese park; the building they leave behind splitting apart from the resulting discord. A defiling accident that leaves the park goers in utter shock and dread.

Among the other end of the local Chinese marketplace, shoppers and shop owners alike remain weary as they go about their usual business; the ruckus heard from the other side of the lane alongside the patrolling police officers leaving everyone on edge. Unbeknownst to the dozens of tourists and stand owners wandering the streets, there lies a unique predator among them; one that stalks its potential victims in an effort to harvest their good fortune in plain site. Casually waltzing through the street market does Novell, the man dressed in yellow and black swirls, scout for potential prey as he finishes off the last of a star shaped fruit; his bright pink aura flourishing as he partakes in its plump juices.

Its among scouting for his next victim that he comes to a lonely booth manned by an elderly woman; this senior holding numerous glassware and decoration hung and displayed all around her, the old woman’s expression lighting up as she sees the man approach. “Welcome, welcome, welcome; take a look through my many glass sculptors and decorations. Many of these figures were lovingly handcrafted by yours truly; sculpted after the mythical yokai and demons hailing from Chinese mythology. Why not take one home to set on your mantel, or your nightstand; waking up every morning to this guy’s watchful eye.” the stand owner attempt to sell with, presenting a frightening glass visage before her customer. “Ahh! Ah! N-no thanks. I uh, I actually had my eye in that dragon you have back there.” the lucky psychic claims, pointing towards a serpent like dragon set along the back shelf. “Oh! I see you’re a man of unique tastes! The symbol of the dragon is one of the 12 zodiac signs of my home country foretold to bring forth fortune and luck to those under its year. Me thinks your chances of heralding such boons are likely possessing such a mythical figure.” “Really? What a lucky find. How much you asking for it?” “70 dollars.” the elderly woman firmly states.

“70! Damn, a little steep don’t you think?” he questions. “My figurines are a one of a kind item that no other sculptor can give you, and that dragon in particular wasn’t easy to make; so I hope you understand how I ask for such a price.” “Hmm, shame. And here I imagined putting it on display in my living room for special occasions for a nice conversation starter, asking me where I had procured such a finely crafted piece in hopes of any similar decorations. Surely that word of mouth would bring about more customers to your unjustifiably desolate business.” the psychic states, his faux lamenting breaking down the booth owners wavering stubbornness. “Mmm...Fine. How does 50 sound to you?” she soon gives in with. “That’s the spirit.” Novelle goes, watching gleefully as the old woman takes the glass dragon off the shelf.

Presenting the decoration before, the psychic of luck slides the money she requests for the piece onto the counter; the old woman handing the glass statue over to the man as she states how: “May this piece bring good fortune in your life.” “Oh don’t worry.” Once resting the statue in the man’s grasp, a deep piercing sensation surges across her midsection; the elderly woman’s eyes glowing alight as Novelle reaches into her very being. “I feel like its my lucky day.” The man bejeweled in yellow and black swiftly jerks his hand out from the woman’s stomach to extract a plump piece of star fruit out from her very being; a violating act of which she is left unaware of as her consciousness starts to return. Regaining her composure, the old woman is left confused as she watches her latest customer waltz away from her stand with not just the glass dragon, but a strange piece of fruit he begins to chomp down on. “What...what was I doing again?” she ponders, backing away towards the shelves holding the other figures. The old woman mistakenly backs away too fast and bumps right into the shelves hard enough to knock over the screws holding it up, spilling all the sculptures and figures upon her in a shattering glass avalanche; an unlucky cascade of which causes the rest of the booth to collapse on top of her, with nothing to remain but glass shards and pieces of the stand left scattered.

Perched atop a nearby rooftop, both Frida and Wedsle gaze down in awe upon witnessing this disastrous streak of terrible luck that had doomed the lonely glass sculptor; crawling back up into hiding as they bare the knowledge behind their foe’s abundance in good fortune. “Christ.” the dimensional psychic utters. “I know...You think he’d pull out faster with an old lady.” “Wedsle!” “Yeah, your right. Kind of weird how he’s in one to begin with, isn’t it.” “This is serious, dammit! We got somebody we can’t so much as touch hunting us down. As long as he’s stuffing his face on those fruits he keeps pulling out of people; our chance of even landing a hit on him might as well be next to zero.” “Believe it, I hear you. Which is why I got myself a little bit of a plan cooking up here.” the violet psychic claims, tapping on the side of his forehead. “And that is?” “This dick’s only after us? So we just gotta bait him in a situation where his good fortune can work in our favor.” “What does that even mean?”

Contrast to the string of bad luck his victims had been inflicted with, Novelle proves as happy as can be while inspecting the uniquely crafted glass dragon he had just purchased; his overwhelming supply of stolen fortune saving him for what would be numerous tragic accidents. When he was about to step on an open manhole, a plank of wood conveniently steps underneath his foot to save him from the fall. When a runaway tire is but moments away from rolling him down, taking a couple more steps is all it takes for the round rubber tire to just miss him. Once does he wind up slipping on a piece of discarded banana peel and is sent flipping back, but is soon saved as he unintentionally lands against the side of another person passing right by and rolls right over to land back on his feet, all the while the dragon he had just bought comfortably lands in his grasp. Each of these close calls he doesn’t even bat an eye towards, his casual attitude from it all further cementing how untouchable he felt.

And its during this incredible streak of luck that he narrowly evades Wedsle coming down upon him from the rooftops by simply stepping back; the violet psychic left to scrape his face against the concrete as he fumbles across the concrete. “You wanna try your luck going that again, or you think now might not be the time take your chances?” “Believe me, bitch; I got plenty more chance to take. Today is my lucky day.” declares the rising violet mobster. “We’ll see how much fortune you have to spare.”

Shaking off his rough landing, the purple psychic attempts a direct assault against his fortunate foe with a daring shoulder charge; Novelle not even so much as alarmed as the violet former mobster rapidly approaches. Just before Wedsle could reach the psychic of luck, the tire from earlier bounces back onto the scene and rolls right into him and smashes him back down onto the pavement; the man in yellow and black swirl letting out an amused chuckle from the blunder. “I’m telling you Weds. Whatever you try against me is bound to be thrust in the jaws of ill fortune.” “Yeah, lets see how long it takes for lady luck to change her mind. Girl’s more fickle than a prostitute picking which has deeper pockets.” the purple psychic declares, making another rash lunge against the man donning yellow and black.

Aiming to slug the smarmy son of a bitch right in his face, Wedsle recklessly swings his fist right in an effort to break the teeth out from his smug grin; yet winds up punching someone else’ clock in when they trip up and stumble right in the way of his fist. “Dammit!” Attempting once more to strike against the psychic of supreme fortune, the violet mobster takes another lunging swing; this time thrusting his fist right towards Novelle’s stomach, confident that he can’t possibly miss. But much to his dismay does Weds haphazardly step onto the exact same banana peel that his foe had slipped upon moments ago, the slippery peel sweeping the violet psychic off his feet and sending him fumbling towards the ground; a usual blunder that Novelle typically is amused by. But the lucky psychic’s amusement wavers when watching his violet foe land on his hand and flips right around to thrust his legs towards him with a lunging kick. Though once more does the smile of fortune shine upon the thief of luck, for when simply stepping over to the side does Novelle evade the violet psychic’s thrusting leap against him; Wedsle left to careen off towards another person unfortunate enough to stand in his way.

The psychic of luck sapping can’t help but let out a demeaning chuckle in watching his foe trying and failing to land even a single strike against him, finding it amusing how Wedsle hurts himself every time he tries. “I admire your stubborn determination, but at the same time I can’t help but feel sorry for you. It’s reminds be of those poor fools taking their chances in betting races and casino’s, dumping everything they have in their gambles for the minuscule chance of making back all they’ve put in ten fold. And in the end its that addictive hope for luck that turns into their very down fall. I suggest you heed their tales of misfortune and know when to fold.” “True. The sweet titty milk of lady fortune gives such an addicting high; not much of those poor motherfucker who drink of it can withdraw themselves from it in the midst of gambling.” the purple psychic claims, rising from the man he had unintentionally knocked down. “But that shit’s only true to those who play the game. And as your soon gonna find out, I’ve been the dealer of this poker game the whole time.”

“Excuse me?” “I’m on to your strategy, you son of a bitch. That ridiculous luck you’ve been flapping your dick sucking lips on about, ain’t an ounce of it is yours. Every single piece of it you pluck away from the people around you and devour like fruit ripe for harvesting. But much like greed’s voracious appetite, its never enough. All that luck you stockpile spoils sooner or later, forcing you to forage for more of lady lucks plump juicy fruits.” “Is there a point you’re getting to, or are you simply stalling for when your luck runs out?” asks Novelle. “My luck? You got shit backwards, man. Just look around you!” Upon the purple psychic suggesting such does his foe take a moment to gauge their surroundings, a fact that begins to creep up upon him was how barren and empty the once bustling market street had become during their skirmish. “There’s nobody here! The streets, the booths, they’re all empty! How? When?” the lucky psychic worryingly questions. “You seriously thought all those swings I took, I was aiming for you?”

Its in this comment that the thief of luck thinks back to all the times the purple psychic had attempting to assault him, his efforts constantly thwarted by the machinations of his stolen fortune. “Those people you ran into, and the tire…” Among remembering all these failed attacks that he remembers the violet psychic’s aura flaring up among his blunders, coating whatever and whoever had made contact with him in his signature fear inducing power. “So then…” “That’s right!” declares Wedsle with a satisfied grin.

From the violet psychic’s perspective after each of these failed attempt to attack his fortunate foe that the aura he had infused in the tire rolled gently into a couple of people watching the fight from the sidelines; the power spreading from the rubber tire and into who it had bumped into. Same can be said for the two people that the violet psychic had unintentionally struck, inflicting his power upon them as those nearby were kind enough to take them away from the ensuing conflict. Yet in their kind efforts does the overwhelming sensation of dread begin to take them, this hysterical fear demanding them to get away from the two psychic’s as fast as they can. And as these people pass by the dozens of others that have gathered, this paranoid causing dread seeps into every single person they touch; Wedsle influence in their negative emotions spreading swiftly across the crowd like a plague. “Even when I couldn’t hit you worth a damn, that wasn’t gonna slow me down! You’re whole winning streak won’t do shit with the deck stacked against you!” Upon realizing his well of potential victims had been drained dry, this newfound situation is enough to scare him into running away from the purple man he had just moments ago been bragging to; the satisfaction of witnessing this cocky son of a bitch fleeing from him being particularly delicious for Wedsle to taste as he gives chase.

Realizing the scales of fortune were beginning to tilt out of his favor, the man dressed in yellow and black desperately searches for a route to escape the violet psychic pursuing him; Novelle dashing straight towards the alleyway closest to him in hopes of an escape. Though his efforts to flee down this path are halted as several bullets come raining down before him to halt his fleeting escape; the psychic of luck glancing up from where the bullets have descended to discover the purple psychic’s partner perched atop the building nearby with an automatic assault rifle aimed down at him. Hearing the footsteps of his purple pursuer approaching, the thief of luck forgoes the alleyway in simply hurrying away further through the emptied street market; all the while Wedsle behind him lets out a sinister laugh before stating: “Let’s see how long your winning streak goes before your luck starts to run out.”

Nothing the echoing of Satette’s voice rings through the halls of the safehouse as she wonders around its corridors; the lively young woman peeking into every room she passes by as she shouts for: “Tuesco!? Tues, come on! I know it was a rough pill to swallow, but its not the end of the world; we can get through this!” Regret and worry begin to seep their way into Sat’s thoughts as she searches for where the former officer had secluded himself to; that concern growing with every empty room that she checks inside. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to bring up that sort of stuff. I mean, it hasn’t even been that long ago that he had to fight off the man he thought had his back for the longest time. Really, what do I even know talking about stuff like this; having your whole world turn upside down so drastically, so fast. I’ve lost people before, but him. He lost his entire life, all because of something beyond his control. Most people in the same spot would just give up...I better find him before that thought crosses his mind.

Its coming to the end of the corridor that the young woman comes to a door awaiting her; Satette slowly pushing her way through to enter upon a dimly lit private room; the only illumination piercing through the thick darkness being from lonely lamp atop the nearby table. At the edge of the lonely chambers sat Tuesco, staring to a collection of photo’s cascading down from his open wallet; some of these pictures depicting moments he had shared with his fellow officers. Their bright, happy smiles left tarnished by the knowledge of what they were doing behind his back. Shutting the door behind her, Satette strolls over to the forlorn man’s side and kneels down to softly greet with: “Hey.” To the young woman’s hello however, the depressed officer fails to muster even a word to say back to her; simply glancing at her before returning his eyes to the pictures. In attempting to steer away from the depressing silence, the lively psychic continues on with: “...Listen, I didn’t really gauge how much of what I said would effect you. I know it all went so fast, but something tells me you haven’t caught up yet.” Again, the dejected middle aged man refuses to say so much as a peep for her to respond to, instead letting out a small, but heavy-hearted sigh. “But that’s okay; its not the end of the world. Once we find a way to sneak you out of the city, you can work on doing something-

“You don’t understand.” Tuesco then cuts her off with, rising up from his seat to look down upon the young woman. “I’ve put half of my life into being an officer of the law, thinking I was actually defending peoples lives. It was something I wanted to do since I was a little kid, I pictured myself saving others, making a difference for them. But in the end, it turned out to be just that, nothing but the fleeting dreams of an optimistic kid. This whole time, thinking I was doing some good in this sleazy city, I was just another unaware cog of its machine, all while I was blissfully none the wiser.” “Well..you know now.” “Yeah, but at what cost?” he recants, glaring down to the photo collection in his hands.

Another heavy sigh escapes him as he passes by the young woman, the melancholic former cop trudging towards the door with wallet full of photo’s in hand; his hand stopping just short of the doorknob before hearing Sat claim how: “You’re not the only one here whose life got swept from under them.” “Your talking about Thurs, right?” “I’m talking about all of us. Thurs wasn’t the only one who ended up here from stuff we couldn’t control. Frida, she use to be well respected CIA agent until she got pinned for stealing evidence to a critical case, getting kicked off for something that wasn’t even her fault.” “Yeah?” “And me...I lost my dad to the mob because he saw something he wasn’t supposed to. I even lost my girlfriend not to long ago because of this shit.” “Oh...I’m sorry.” Tuesco apologizes, turning his head towards her.

“But at least we had those chances for our lives to go somewhere; some people don’t even get that much. Wedsle, didn’t; but he’s still going. From minute one, it was hard for him. Dumped at the feet of a dying orphanage when just a little tot; left with no one to lean on growing up. Once that place shut down, he got tossed to the streets; left at the mercy of whatever to throw at him. He constantly had to fight off others just so he could have the littlest of bare necessities, and people looked down on him for it. People and police alike, all they saw him as was nothing but a little criminal; when at heart he was just a kid; lost, alone, and afraid. Wedsle never even had the chance for his life to be ruined, he never had one to begin with. But...even after all that, going through the worst of it so early. He still kept going, he didn’t think about giving up; never so much as crossed his mind. And it wasn’t until he found Monty and joined the mob that things started to look up for him. Even when the world was hostile to him, even when it never so much as gave him a moment of peace, he kept fighting and eventually found a life for himself; all with people who loved him.”

The man is left silent over the young lady’s tale concerning the hardships her friends had faced; Tues returning his gaze over to the door. “What I’m trying to say is...don’t quit because things feel like their worst. I promise you, even with your life turned upside down, it can be flipped back up. So, please; don’t think about what has been...Think about what can be.” All that remained drifting within the dimly lit room was nothing but silence after her words, a stance quiet that begins to wear against Sat’s hopes. But all that begins to return when Tuesco lets the light of the hallway on the other side flood the room, turning back to her with a soft grin and asking: “So, should be go back to practice?” The man’s continuing conviction and determination brings out a warm smile from Satette.

The lime hooded pickpocket’s breath starts to run dry among fleeing from the young man he had pilfered from, glancing back over to the guy to find Thursotte slowly beginning to catch up; the thief quickly inspecting the streets around him as he attempts to think of a way to lose this guy. Its among his search that the thief lays eyes upon an abandoned traditional Chinese 2 story home left in shambles and forgotten through years of neglect; the cracked brickwork and shattered glass suggesting poor structural integrity, like the whole place was simply waiting to fall apart. A perfect place to try and shake off this guy. Without even a moment of hesitant does the thief in the lime hood race straight through the busted down front door of the abandoned abode, with the psychic of Murphy’s law sprinting straight after him.

The dust collected within the home throughout the countless years is sent flying with every swift step the two of them make in their pursuit, the swept up clouds glimmering against the sunlight beaming through the broken windows. As the two dash through the disheveled living room, Thursotte swipes up half of a broken table lamp right off the top of a smashed in old box Television; infusing its broken glass and metal in his power as he chases his thief into the hallway. Catching the hooded pickpocket sprinting straight through the hall, Thurs attempts to stop the guy by chucking the busted light appliance right at him; the lime hood thief turning the corner just before the lamp could hit him, instead crashing into the corner before breaking into shards. Indentured in missing, Thursotte leaps right over the mess of glass left behind by the broken lamp as he turns the corner after his pickpocket; left unaware of the forming cracks through the wall as his energy spreads.

Among their race through the desolate dirty hallway, Thurs yanks a broken picture frame off the wall and runs his chaotic power into its busted wood as he watches the fleeting thief jump up towards the stairs. Like a tossed out piece of trash, he chucks the picture frame up at the hooded thief racing up the steps; his upward throw unfortunately streaking right beside the pickpocket and crashing right against one of the steps. Still, Thurs refuses to let this stop him from continuing his pursuit and makes leaps over several steps in climbing up to the top of the staircase; Thursotte racing into the upstairs hall as the set of stairs start to cave in under his orange aura.

Out from the upstairs hall do both the thief and his pursuing victim hurry into a two way bathroom, plastered in slippery green grime and mold built up over the years; all of which the two of them wind up sliding on in their hurry through. While the thief is sent slipping into the bath tub, Thursotte winds up sliding right behind the broken toilet; the both of them hurrying to pull themselves off the floor before the other could stand back up. As Thurs slides out from behind the grimy porcelain throne, he snatches up the toilet wand left sitting against the wall and infuses his power in it before throwing it towards the shower curtain rod; the rod’s rusty hinges failing to take the blow as it comes falling down upon the rising thief. But even suffering this blow does the pickpocket refuse to cease fleeing as he jumps out from the bathtub and head straight through the door on the other side; Thursotte continuing to chase after, all while fractures in the ceiling start to form.

Emerging from the bathroom do the two run into the confines of an emptied out bedroom; the thief scampering around every corner in search of an exit among this part of the neglected home among the boarded up windows. But when finding not one open for him to leap from, he spots the door in the corner of the room and makes a swift lunge over to grasp at the knob; a sense of fright crawling through the pickpockets skin when the rust covered knob barely even moved an inch. “Finally.” the hooded thief hears, turning back to find the man he stole from standing behind him. “I got you right where I want you. Now its time to-” Yet before another word could escape from Thursotte’s lips, the two begin to hear the sound of wood breaking apart and rubble crumbling throughout the integral structure; a terrible dread tingling down their spines as they look to one another, realizing what disaster they had been caught in. The very moment the two attempt to bolt straight towards the boarded window does the ceiling above their heads collapse; entire chunks of the roof falling upon them in a torrential downpour of aged rubble and wood.

The people that happen to pass by start to gather when witnessing the old battered home crumble in on itself; a plume of dust wafting through the streets upon its collapse. When the clouds soon part do the several people that have gathered find nothing left of the old abode but debris of what once stood, with the house and all that had stood within now buried underneath the chunks of its aged remains; nothing but utter silence haunts the streets surrounding this freshly destroyed abode.

The small crowd is astonished when the blue a pile of roof chunks begin to tremble; the rocks falling as a hand emerges out from beneath the debris. From this hand does an arm cloaked in a torn lime sleeve rise breach the rubble; following, the simple pickpocket donned in the lime green hood digging out from the rocks and limping away from the wreckage. He doesn’t make it far however before the injuries he took among the destruction get the better of him as he fumbles onto another pile of broke wood and bricks. As the thief struggles to pull himself from the rubble, a shadow creeps over to loom over him; the hooded pickpocket turning back to discover the man he had robbed from standing above him. His orange glowing eyes burn brightly among the darkness cast by the buildings around them as he looks down upon the lime hooded man, leaning down closer to the downed thief before asking: “Can I have my key back now?” An audible yelp escapes from the thief’s mouth as he frantically digs into his pants pocket to quickly pull out the bronze key he had pilfered from Thurs; the pickpocket throwing the finely engraved key over to the young man and pleads: “Take it, already! Just get away from me, you maniac!” Finally relinquishing the key back to its rightful owner, the pickpocket pulls himself off the pile of debris before quickly limping away, Thursotte picking the bronze key off the ground before he yells back to the guy: “Thank you!”

After slipping the key back into his own pants pocket, he begins to feel a thick malice build up in the air and peers back to the crowd gathered among the streets; their enraged and furious stares beating down against him as growls and snarls escape from their teeth. “Hey, wait! I saw this guy earlier around the corner outside the market! He knocked the corner of a building onto the road and cut out the power over there.” “I saw him in the park too! Guy broke a basketball hoop and ruined the entire playground!” “He tore apart the tree’s and left the shrine in utter ruins.” “And now he’s gone and destroyed old Fen whey’s old home! She had just died of a stroke like two week’s ago!” “This menace has gone too far! He’s left our community in shambles! The police will have a field day with this!” “Forget the cops! They can’t bring the sort of justice this monster deserves! Lets just do it ourselves!” “Oh...Oh no…” utters Thursotte, the crowd beginning to come down upon him.

Frantically dashing through the barren marketplace with the purple psychic on his tail, Novelle makes a sharp turn around the street corner; the desperation plaster on his face deflating when discovering beyond the corner an entire shipping yard filed with countless people working in shipping and packing up numerous uniquely made items, foods, and spices the likes of which could only be found in this oriental slice of the city. The lucky psychic’s face beaming as he sees among them not honest working people, but potential crops he could harvest among these metaphorical dry lands that bare no fruit. Though even with his luck fueled salvation in site, the fire on his ass in the form of the violet traitor refuse to let up; Wedsle beginning to close the distance between them as he sprints after. “Looks like your ride on the fucking fortune express is about to come to a violent, crashing halt. I’d wager you got only a couple more puffs in the engine before you make the last stop against my fist.” the purple psychic claims. “I’m not out of this horse race just yet; I’m putting everything I have on this one final bet, and when it pays off; I’m not playing nice anymore.” “You mean “if” it pays off, you shit eating son of a bitch!”

Among the chase does the man in yellow and black take a sudden turn right into the street corner, the violet traitor following right after to witness his pursuit frantically climb up the fire escape of an apartment complex; Wedsle leaping up this escape in attempting to catch up. Yet the very moment Weds clutches the ladder do the screws holding it together swiftly fall out of their rivets; the entire fire exit beginning to fall apart underneath Novelle’s feet as he climbs towards the roof. The purple psychic leaps out from the plummeting pieces of grated steel; helpless but to watch as his target makes it to the top of the apartment complexes roof just when the whole thing comes tumbling down. “Shit. Frida! Your up!” the Wedsle declares. Upon her purple partners words does Frida merge into the wall of the taller building from across the street, partially coming out of the brick wall with a sniper rifle in hand; the spot she hangs off the wall from lending the gun woman a good position to aim towards their fleeting foe.

Dashing across the roof of the complex does the thief of luck stop just short of the edge, glaring down to see the busy shipping yard right next door to the apartment; the numerous people handling and delivering packages tantalizing to his eyes. But when anxiously looking through the yard, Novelle fail to find anywhere to safely jump down upon; nothing but the hard wood of countless wooden crates littering the sides of the facility. “So close. Just need somewhere to-” Yet its when attempting to gauge for a safe spot to land, the stinging sensation of fiery hot steel pierces through his abdomen from behind when a single sniper shot is fired right into the side of his stomach. “Bam, right in the kidney beans.” cheers Frida. A terribly cold dread rings through his body as the man in yellow and black clutches the part of his stomach where he had been shot, letting out sharply pained grunt as he stumbles along the side of the rooftop. His footing soon slips away among the frightening pain, sending him plummeting down towards the shipping yard and crashing down into a pile of crates.

Everyone in the shipping center is left astonished as the man drops down onto the crates with a harsh collapsing slam; those nearby quick to inspect the scene and are left alarmed to discover Novelle left atop the piles of broken boxes. “Oh my god! Someone got hurt!” “Where did he even come from?” “I saw him drop down from roof.” “That looked like a real nasty fall.” Among the employee’s worrying chatter, one of them takes a closer look to find the man still breathing despite the nasty crash; her weariness escalating when finding scarlet staining the side of his jacket. “Someone get a first aid kit and call 911! This guys in pretty bad shape!” “Our phones are inside, hurry!” Upon these demands do a few of the yard employee’s race right back into the building of the facility as the others gather around to attempt and aid the man that had fallen into their laps; a couple of them hearing the guy let out a soft groan and pointing out how: “He’s still awake?” The employee that had first come to him tries to get some information out from this injured stranger with questions like: “What happened to you!? Where did you get shot at!?” Its in her concern that she sees one of the man’s eye suddenly open wide; the glare he inflicts against not one of helplessness or pleading, but rather the gaze of a predator, having discovered an entire smorgasbord of prey to feast upon.

Within the building of the shipping yard do the two employee’s that rushed in darts through the hall and dart to the door of the break room; their sites sliding right over to a bunch of phones left on the counter to charge. As one of them darts right over to these phones, the other employee races over to the first aid kit hung along the wall, prying the case right off the wall as the other takes one of the phones and darts to dail 911. But the very moment he taps the last digit does the employee feel something clutch at his shoulder and force him to turn around, shocked to find another man dressed in violet standing right in front of him. “Sorry about this, buddy.” he apologizes with. Before the employee could even so much as wonder what this intruder means by this, distress and panic begin to quickly flood his very thoughts; countless anxieties, worries, and fears all gushing to the surface all at once like an emotional geyser of bad emotions. Such a sudden rush of terrible feeling hitting him all at once was enough to make the poor guy pass out.

Glaring back towards the other employee, Wedsle could tell she was moments away from screaming bloody murder the moment he approaches; so rather than take that chance, he digs into his pocket to pull out nothing but a single penny and sets it in between his fingers. The violet psychic fills its copper with his purple power before he flicks it right towards the frighten woman, the employee flinching when the single cent coin lightly hits her head. But the very moment that the penny taps against her does a flurry of stress inducing emotions flood into her brain all at once; the woman rapidly breathing faster and faster before she suddenly passes out from the emotional affliction.

With both of these loose ends quickly taken care of, Wedsle dashes right out from the break room and down the hallway; hurrying towards the back of the building in his race into the facility’s shipping yard. Frida say’s she got the guy right in the kidney beans, but knowing what a lucky bastard like that can do, he probably tanked the hit and his still hanging on. So I gotta flush down this shit head before his signature style of luck goes and throws a wrench in the plumbing.

When purple psychic busts through the door leading out into the ship yard, he comes to a terrible site awaiting him. All of the employees that had gathered to aid the luck driven psychic all lay unconscious across the hard concrete; the man bejeweled in yellow and black standing among them as he clutches the neck of one of in his hands, with the other driven deep into his body with a bright pink luminescence. From this glow does the man of good fortune tear out from the depths of the employees being a plump star fruit; Novelle gazing upon its tantalizing juices with sinister glee as he tosses away the man he took it from like a used shell.

“What the fuck!? How are...You took a bullet to the kidney’s, how are you still standing!?” Wedsle demands his foe to answering. “Yeah, funny story I forgot about til now. About half a year ago, I wound up going on a big booze binge with some of my friends and wound getting alcohol poisoning. Thought for the longest time, it was the lowest point in my streak of fortune; that for a brief moment, lady luck shunted me. But it turned out to be a blessing in disguise this whole time, waiting to go off until the moment I needed it the most. That spot where your bitch friend shot me, right in the kidneys; I had to have one of them ripped out of me!” A maniacal laughter can’t help but escape from the psychic of luck as he takes a voracious bite out of the star fruit he had just plundered; the fruits juices drooling down his chin as he chews and chuckles. “Even in my lowest points, she keeps looking out for me!”

Fed up with this lucky son of a bitch’s prattling, Wedsle makes a daring charge towards the psychic of supreme fortune; reaching over towards the juicy piece of fruit in his foe’s hand. The moment he attempts to close in on the man donned in yellow and black does one of the employee’s on the ground start to rise right in front of the violet mobster; Novelle leaping back as Weds winds up running straight into this unfortunate fellow, both of them falling back onto the concrete as the man of luck makes his distance. Swiftly pulling himself off the floor does Wedsle follow after the fortunate bastard right into an entire maze made from the dozens of packages and goods that have yet to be shipped.

The violet psychic keeps up the pace as he pursues his fortune driven foe around the twist and turns of the wooden crate labyrinth; an effort that Novelle attempts to foil by tackling the wall of boxes beside him and break open what crates he passes by. Within these boxes do stuff like decorations, industrial machine pieces, kitchenware, fine China, all of which spill down against the purple traitor in his feverish pursuit; Wedsle refusing to falter as he tanks the downpour of small miscellaneous items. Despite the purple pest continuing to chase after him, Novelle refuses to let up in knocking over every single crate he can in attempting to put distance between them; one box he topples down breaking open to unleash a plum of spices and seasoning that the purple psychic simply dashes through. Its shortly after passing right by that cloud of spice that Wedsle starts to feel a shallow, but stinging pain crawl across his very skin; the pieces of seasoning having slipped into the small cuts made from what had spilled onto him. This however fails to deter him from continuing to pursue the luck stealing psychic and fights through the seething pain as he starts to close the gap between each other.

Blinded by the cloud of savory and spicy seasonings getting in one of his eyes, the purple psychic ends up running right into a wall made of large wooden crates in his reckless dash after his fortunate foe; Wedsle slamming in the boxes hard enough to topple a column of them tumbling behind him, closing off the way the two had come in from. With one eye blinded by stinging spices, the violet psychic keeps the other locked right at his pursuit as he sees the man in the yellow and black jacket streak through the corridor of boxes; Weds darting after the lucky bastard as he watches him turn the corner.

Following after Novelle around the very same corner, Wedsle stopped in his tracks when witnessing his target knock over a particularly large crate off the top of a nearby stack; the box breaking open upon landing for its contents to come spilling out: an entire collection of fireworks that scatter across the floor. “Ooooh.” the luck stealing psychic gleefully cheers with a grin. “Shit!” curses Wedsle, making a desperate bolt after his foe. Smugly confident in his overabundance of luck, the psychic of fortune rips the lid off a crate right beside him to reveal within whole packs of match sticks; a site of which makes him do a complete 180 and frantically bolt back towards the corner. With the surplus of sticks does Novelle simply just take one of them and flicks it against the package to ignite a small flame, casually tossing the lit match right into the spilled pile of volatile fireworks before leaping back around the corner right behind him. It takes only moments for the lit match stick to ignite the fuse for one of these fireworks, causing a chain reaction that starts to set off the entire bundle; Wedsle leaping around the corner right in the nick of time as they crack off. Throughout the entire block can this barrage of colorful explosions be witnessed by every single person that was simply driving on through this side of the district; a display that ferments concern and worry among the people who bare witness.

Among taking cover from the explosive chaos, Wedsle glares over to the opposite side to see the way out blocked out by the crates he had knocked over earlier; a predicament that boxes him in with the wildly unpredictable explosions happening right around the corner. Dumbass doesn’t know how you use fireworks? You don’t send them flying over. With a rising leap up, the purple psychic starts to scale up the wall of shipping crates and makes a climb up towards the top of the stack You send them rocketing straight to the skies.

Yet among Wedsle’s ascent up towards the top of the wall made of crates, a wayward rocket comes zipping out from around the corner and blows up in a blindingly flash of sparks; the violet psychic seething as some of these sparks singe against his side. Fighting through the fiery sensation beating against his skin, Wedsle scuttles up to the top of the stack and gauges the view of the entire maze; eyeing up the route his fortunate foe had taken in escaping from the explosion of fireworks. With little time to carefully run along the top of the crates, Wedsle instead opts to take bounding leaps right over the gaps set in between the makeshift labyrinth; taking jump after jump towards where Novelle scurry off to.

After several leaps and bound over the walls of the wooden crate maze, Wedsle delves back in to descend down before the fortune pilfering psychic; Novelle himself nearly fumbling over as he manically dashes away from his purple pursuer. In his frantic hast does the lucky psychic wind up running right onto the wall of boxes hard enough to shake those at the top over the edge; the wood holding the crate together breaking as he crashes onto the hard concrete in front of him. Novelle glances back to what he had knocked over and is ecstatic for a baseball pitcher on wheels with a portable single switch generator; all of which packed with an entire gallon filled with standard issue baseballs. Rushing right over to the misplaced machine like a giddy kid with a fresh new toy, the lucky psychic flips the switch to the portable generator attached to the pitching machine before aiming its baseball sized barrel right towards the violet traitor; a naughty giggle escaping from him before he switches the pitcher on and unleashes the barrage of baseballs against his foe. Several of these ball fly right past his head as Wedsle darts away from the rapid fire pitching machine; a couple of them hitting him right in the back before he takes a tight turn around the corner; his fortune steal foe aiming to pelt him with more as he races after with the pitcher at his side.

The script is flipped out from his favor as the purple pursuer was now the one being feverishly pursued, taking turns left and right through the crate maze as the man in black and yellow he had been chasing was now after him, frenetically blasting out baseball after baseball at him from the pitcher he rolls with. “What’s the matter, Weds? Getting tired of this streak of bad luck, well you better get used to it. Forget broken mirrors and black cats; the sort of shitty luck you’ll get facing me will make you wish you were in casino debt.” the psychic of luck taunts as he purses. Fucking pitcher, generator, and ammo all in one convenient box? The number of ass pulls this guy has done would be enough to make anal play porn stars blush. Frida should have everything ready by now, so all that’s left is to get this dick head into position. Shouldn’t be hard; the way this dipshit’s chasing me, he’ll never see the surprise we have in store for him coming. A strategy set in for the son of a bitch pursing him, Wedsle leads his fortunate foe through the makeshift maze of crates like a donkey with a carrot on a string; all the while Novelle himself is too occupied in his luck fueled high to realize, continuing to fire out more and more baseballs against the violet psychic in a frenzy

Turn after turn does Weds make through the maze with the manic mobster on his tail, enduring the hard balls that are pelted against his body as he trails them both towards the corner of the labyrinth. But among the frantic chase does the pitching machine Novelle pursues the violet traitor with finally run out of ammunition; the lucky psychic almost immediately discarding the piece of equipment like a used piece of garbage. The psychic of stolen fortune then finds his purple pursuit making a swift scale up to the top of the boxes Determined to not let the tables turn away from him, the thief of luck quickly scoops up a discarded baseball from the pavement and throws it right at the climbing purple psychic; the ball streaking right beside Wedsle to instead bust open the lid of the crate in front of him. From the depths of the broken crate do a collection of minuscule bugs burst out from within, sprinkling all over the violet psychic body; Wedsle looking closely to one of the insects that crawl across his hand to see that they’re: “Ants? Ant farm?” But in a cruel twist of fate, he soon realizes that these are no normal ants when one of them stings his skin with enough of a pain to make him nearly fall off the stack of crates; Weds quickly scaling up towards the top as he suffers the agonizing sting from the dozens of ants crawling across his body. “Aggh, bullet ant farm! What kind of twisted fuck would ship bullet ants!?” Seeing the cavalcade of painful stinging insects not even slowing his foe down, Novelle decides to races right towards the same stack of crates and begins to climb after his purple pursuit; exuding a confident smile as he scales to the top of the wooden boxes.

After glancing back to see the psychic of pilfered fortune greedily tail him, Wedsle peers off to the side of the crates he runs across to gauge along the outside edge of the maze; shaking off the numerous ants that crawl across his body. So close. Just a couple more yards. In his straightforward race across the row of stacks crates does he witness a bolt of steel zip right beside him before impaling itself in one of the wooden crates, Weds glancing back once again to be shocked at the site of his pursuer wielding a loaded industrial nail gun directly at him. “For fuck sake, where you keep finding this shit!?” the purple psychic can’t help but exclaim. The violet psychic is kept on his toes as he runs from the barrage of nails that are fired from behind, hopping around the sides of the stacks in an effort to keep these nails from hitting him; yet he again proves to not be as lucky with his evasion, as a couple of bolts end up hitting him in the shoulder. In spite of these few nails impaling into him, Wedsle refuses to halt for even a moment as he keeps site an eye to the outer edge of the wall of crates both he and his fortunate foe walk along. Almost there!

The thief of luck’s barrage of bolts comes to an abrupt end when his nail gun suddenly runs out of ammunition, with nothing but the clicks of the trigger coming out from the tool; these clicks are what queue Wedsle to stop and make a complete turn around to face his approaching pursuer. His fortunate foe is alarmed over his unexpected stop and stumbles right into his awaiting grasp, Novelle nonetheless remaining calm as he anticipates whatever his boundless luck could bestow him in this unexpected turnaround. The very moment Wedsle has his fortune foe in his clutches, his stomach drops when feeling a sharp pain plunge against him; the violet psychic glaring down to see the broken remains of what once was a dragon figure carved from glass embedded into his side. This unfortunate set of circumstances has his foe let out an amused chuckle as he start to drive the sharp glass deeper into Wedsle’s torso, Novelle feeling the purple psychic tremble as he lay in his grasp. “Its astonishing how fickle the wheel fortune plays; each of us at the mercy of this never ending game of chance. And it seems the hands of fate have triumphed for me once again, and on your final gambit too. It would be cruel for man mired in misfortune such as yourself continue to live through this unfortunate future; perhaps your prove to be luckier in the next life, so to grant you mercy, I shall snuff out yours right now!” boasts the psychic of stolen fortune.

“Good god. Pricks like you are always so damn predictable.” claims Wedsle, grasping his foe’s hand to pull away the broken glass. “What was that?” “You’re right about one thing. I haven’t exactly been lucky in this game of chance we all have to call life, almost everything I had to fight tooth and nail for; probably could right a fucking limerick over how shit my run of luck has been. But its with all of it that one lesson has cemented in my mind.” “And what would that be?” “Making the best of a bad situation!” Its upon hearing this statement from him that his foe suddenly sweeps Novelle right off his feet and tosses him down off the side of the stack of crates; the thief of luck rapidly descending down towards the inside of a big open crate, but his fall down into the depths of his box is cushioned by a line ultra thick packaging meant for extremely fragile items.

While relieved over his save from this nasty fall, the lucky son of a bitch gaze up from the depths of the box to brag how: “Well, seems like your situation as gone from bad to worse; if you were hoping I would get personal with the pavement, than you dead wrong. This pillow like foam saved my skin from taking a nasty fall. And from the way things are going, my lucks not running out anytime soon.” To this boasting can Wedsle not help but let out a confident chuckle as he looks down upon his foe held within the padded crate, an expression of which takes the fortunate foe aback. “Its fucking hilarious how blinded you are by your boundless luck, refusing to see the seeds of your downfall already sprouting. Of course I knew chucking a fortunate fucker like you wasn’t gonna work, I knew there would be some sort of bullshit that would save your sorry neck. Which is why I thought to make your luck work in our favor.” “What?”

Before the psychic of stolen fortune could even so much as wonder what his violet foe could mean by this somewhat cryptic statement, the gun woman that was with him emerges out from the side of the crate with a padded crate lid in her grasp; the light beaming into the inside of the crate being snuffed away as the top is swiftly slammed shut. Try as Novelle might to push at the top of his close call turned unexpected prison in hopes of a swift escape, it already proves too late as the lid refuses to so much as budge; the top already being bolted down as he struggles to move it. Armed with a nail gun, Frida slides all across the top of the crate punching nails along the rim to keep their foe trapped within locked in; his anxious screams growing quieter the more the lid is fastened.

“That soft foam you thought was your saving grace will end up as you worst nightmare. The sort of insulation your cushioned in is enough to trap even the loudest screams coming from the highest pitched little shits on the side of the daycare. And pounding your way out to get attention, with the weak ass arms you got; phfft, forget it. I doubt a single souls that comes back to work tomorrow’s gonna hear you scream, you little pissant.” “Nonononono-” frantically begs the psychic of stolen fortune, his desperate pleading cut short as Frida nails down the last of the bolts to tightly secure the lid. After she finishes putting in as many nails to the edges of the lid as it could fire, the dimensional psychic emerges out from the side of the box before she slaps a sticker right on the crate’s side; the sticker being a label saying: “This package is to be shipped to “Singapore”.” “Hope you get a good view from the great wall of China.” the violet psychic taunts. “Wedsle, the great wall isn’t even anywhere near Singapore.” Frida corrects. “He doesn’t have to know that.”

Leaping down from atop the wall of stacked crates, Wedsle lands back onto solid concrete to meet back with Frida waiting by the box they stuffed their foe into; a slight hiss seeping out from between his teeth when he lands. The violet psychic gives himself a split second to breathe before he peers back to his gun toting partner and suggests: “Whelp, since we took care of that; lets snoop around Broadway to see if there any juicy intel to scope out.” “You...You sure you don’t wanna take a minute to...rest or something.” disconcertingly asks Frida. “I don’t think we have that kind of time. Who knows if the mob’s got any more of their loyal little bitches stationed here. Beside, I ain’t that fucked up. Just look at me.” To this suggestion, the gun woman’s concern only grows as she beholds the bruises and cuts littered across her purple partners body; the pieces of seasoning and spices making the injuries he had suffered pulse and quiver as Wedsle musters the strength to keep standing. “Lets at least stop by a clinic first.”

The air solidifying psychic attempts to hold complete concentration and mental prowess as he focuses in forming the air itself into what shape he wants; specifically, his aura morphing into the form of a full fledged sword. Satette watches him in anticipation as he holds his concentration to the exercise at hand, intrigued over the progress he’s made so far since this morning. Drips of sweat run down Tuesco’s forehead in commanding the cerulean power slithering out, fighting through the rising migraine as he keeps is thoughts focused in controlling the air itself. With refined concentration and sharpened mentality, Tuesco manages to shape his dark blue aura to hold the complete shape of a long sword and starts to draw in the air around them into this mold; a sharp hiss echoing through the room as he vacuums the air into his power. The new psychic lets out strenuous grunts from between his teeth as he channels every ounce of brain power; a blinding flash illuminating the entire room, one that forces the lively psychic watching to look away.

Once this bright light soon fades, Satette peers back to their air solidifying psychic and gazes in awe to witness his power having crafted a straight sword out from the very air around them; Tuesco feeling up the weapon as it slowly hovers into his grasp. The hilt, crudely crafted, but solid like a rock. The grip, bumpy and course, but still able to be held. And the blade itself, somewhat dulled, but still considerably sharp enough to make a cut on his finger. “Ah.”

“You actually did it, you made a fully fledged weapon from thin air!” cheers Sat. “But it doesn’t feel right. I don’t think I can see myself using this.” doubts Tuesco. “That’s okay. The fact you manage to make it in the first place is a huge first step. If you could make a sword, imagine what other things you can mold. Hell, with some more practice, I bet you could make stuff more complex, like a hammer, or even a ladder; the possibility are endless for you.” “Yeah…” he utters, peering to the invisible blade he holds in his grasp.

“Thanks for that stuff you said earlier. About needing to keep going.” Tuesco then thanks her. “Uh, no problem. Its just a part of life we gotta deal with. Listen, I don’t want to make you stay in this city and fight for us; that’s up to you. But I could tell that when you were a police officer, you didn’t care about statue or power; all you wanted to do was make sure people were okay. I can respect the fact that you just want to leave, I do. But I can’t lie and say that you would be missing the chance to make the biggest changes that could effect the people of this city.” “You...you think so.” “Of course. Why else would be willingly facing down the biggest crime syndicate in New York. Just...something to think about, okay?” With these words of thought does the lively psychic make her way out the room to leave Tuesco to his thoughts; the former officer of the law staring to the grip of his freshly made blade; contemplating of what he should do with this awesome power over air.

The near quiet tranquility of a Chinese herbal shop is shaken as the purple psychic, wrapped in gauze and bandages, slaps his hands on the counter and fiercely asks the elderly woman behind it: “You host a shop in the middle of the most well known city of the United state. What the fuck do you mean you don’t speak English!?” But rather than answer him directly, the old woman simply points to a sign set along the side of the counter displaying the message: “The owner of this establishment understands and speaks exclusively in Chinese. Please translate or make your way to the exit.” “Fucking...I never understand how hard it is for people coming over here to bother learning a little bit of English; its one of the easiest languages to-” “Wedsle, Weds, easy there. How about before you go sticking your dick in that hornets nest, you let me handle this.” Frida stops him with. “Kay, fine. Don’t know what makes you think you’ll have better luck than me.”

Waltzing past her purple partner, Frida clears her throat before she stands before the counter and begins to converse with the old woman in Chinese, managing to strike up a conversation with the elder; Wedsle left dumbfounded as he stands back as he watches the two banter with each other, all the while not understanding a single word neither of them say. A couple laughs, a couple gasps, and a couple of nods later and Frida soon parts away from the counter while waving the old woman goodbye, telling her purple partner to: “Come on, Weds.” “Um...o-okay…” he utters, following Frida out from the herbal shop. The door to the shop closing behind them, the first thing that Wedsle asks the dimensional psychic is: “When did you learn to speak Chinese?” “The CIA I worked at has a prerequisite that has you learn a second language for international affairs.” “And you chose Chinese because…?” “I thought it sounded neat.”

“So...what all did she tell you?” Wedsle gets back on track with. “Not to much honestly. Just told me about how some people from the mob stop by here from time to time to collect shipments from overseas; they get their product and she gets to keep in business.” “Names, any at all?” “She did mention how most of her shipments are addressed to one guy in particular, but always sends someone else to collect them, never the guy himself. The dude getting them goes by an alias too, something you normally wouldn’t think of. Not any kind of name that would get lost among the countless others like, John, Ben, Samantha. Nah, guy seriously calls himself “Dr. December” I mean, of all the names you could make up for yourself, why the hell would you name yourself after the most festive time of the...year?” Among the cusp of her mocking statement, Frida jovial demeanor wanes when peering back to her purple partner; taken aback by the mixture of astonishing shock and dreading terror plastered on his face. “Um...Did you-did you hear something or-”

“I didn’t mishear you, right? You seriously said Dr. December?” he wearily question. “Um...Yeah. What are you-” “Are you fucking kidding me!? He’s real!?” “Whoa, easy there, man. The hell’s this guy got you wound up for?” “You’ve been with us for how long? And you seriously haven’t heard about him?” “Uh...N-no. Why?” “I-I seriously thought that he was just a myth. A legend told to fresh meat to make them shit their pant and keep them from going out of line.” “Myth? Who do people think this guy is?” “Well, nobody besides the higher ups have never so much as lay eyes upon him. So everyone under them only has the horror stories to go by.” “And those stories would involve…”

“The kind of shit that would make your bowels sink. From what little people hear, they say he’s a brilliant technological engineer; twisted by malice and hate over the world abandoning him at his most dire. When the mob heard word about this man’s forsaken potential, they scooped him up almost instantly and put him in a line of work that made his mind, and their criminal escapades flourish. With nothing but cold hard steel, his great intellect, and the psychic powers bestowed to him, he had mutilated what parts of his own body failed him and grafted in their place chilling and complex machinery; crafting the kind of technology the regular basic bitch would find only in the realm of sci-fi. It’s after years of experimenting on his own body, he had become more machine than man; left as nothing but a mess of internal organs stuffed in the cold unfeeling shell of a robotic abomination. Regardless if theirs a shred of humanity left in him, the mob nonetheless keep him under their research and development division, having craft software and tech the likes of which hold every piece of technology in this entire city in their hands.”

“Damn, way to build a reputation.” comments Frida “And if that reputation turns out to be real, we’re in a lot more trouble then we thought. With every piece of tech under his command; the bastard could be watching us right now.” Wedsle claims, his eyes fixed to a security camera perched upon the corner of the building. “We got the info we need; lets just get Thurs and get the fuck out of here.” “Speaking of which, where is Thurs? He was supposed to meet us back where we…” Frida starts to question, her word dropping off when gazing down street.

A look down the very same street as the dimensional psychic, Wedsle peers over to discover their chaos causing partner rapidly approaching; the panic in Thursotte’s face clear to read as he nears. “Yo Thurs, we’re heading back. You still got the-” “Make a break for it!” they both hear the young man scream. “Jeez, the hell’s his deal?” the purple psychic ponders. Gazing back over to the very street that Thurs had bolted from, Frida confusion quickly turns to alarm as she turns her purple partners over to share in the same site; Wedsle left just as astonished to discover a giant mob of people marching straight towards their direction. The anger and rage in their eyes making it clear to the two that they weren’t looking to start a parade.

The furious crowd tailing behind him, Thursotte puts every ounce of energy he had left into sprinting away like there was no tomorrow; his breath left course and short after running through the rest of the district in chasing after the key. Among his dashing escape do both Wedsle and Frida manage to quickly catch up to his side, the dimensional psychic being the first of the two to question: “What the hell happened!?” “Iwaswatchingthekey, thenaguystoleitandIchasedhimaround! Itriedstoppinghimabunchoftimes, butwoundupwreckingthepark, acornerofastreet, ashrine, andanolddeceasedguyshome! I’msorry!” the young man frantically answers without so much as a single pause. “Oh, Thurs.” “Did you at least get the key back?” Weds asks him. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. It should be right...Here!” Thursotte claims, pulling out the key from the depths of his pocket. “Yoink.” Weds exclaims as he swipes the key away.

The runaway trio then stop right at the face of a locked door, Wedsle inching the bronze key back to the safehouse to the lock as he jests how: “And behold at the misshapen key glides seamlessly into the hole like a pig screw shapped dick slipping in a-” “JUST PUT THE FUCKING KEY IN THE-” “Alright, fine, god. Can’t give a man a moment to dick around, huh.” Jamming the bronze key right in the doors key hole does the wooden door glows a distinct red; the three hurrying their way in and shutting the door behind them just as the crowd was moments away from catching them. Quickly barging through the door all of them saw the trio race into, the furious crowd is left utterly baffled when finding on the other side nothing a frightened middle aged man dwelling within the one room shack; with not even a sign of the three that came in. Most of the crowd profusely apologize to the elder for interrupting his day before they make their way out, shutting the door behind them as they continue a search doomed to fail.

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

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