Boatyard Graveyard, the beach
5:09 PM…
The Budget Pirate Skiff Mark One creaked ominously under Alessa's boots as she stepped aboard.
"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Alice asked, balancing a coil of rope over her shoulder while eyeing the unstable craft with thinly veiled skepticism.
"Because you called dibs on being the pirate, and now we're setting sail," Alessa shot back dryly. "Besides, we need to get eyes on that tanker. The sooner we know what we're working with, the better."
"Right," Alice said, deadpan. "Because infiltrating a decrepit rust-beast with no safety rails, no power, and probably fifty years of mold is clearly step one of your genius plan."
Alessa grinned. "You forgot the part where it might be haunted."
"Thanks. That totally helps my anxiety."
"Think of it this way," the PDA chirped from her hip, "if the ship is haunted, the ghosts will likely be impressed by your commitment to nautical aesthetics."
Alice paused before cracking a grin, her mild if understandable nervousness momentarily forgotten. "That thing gets me."
The wind was picking up, sharp with salt and carrying the low groan of distant metal. The Graveyard always had an eerie feel, but this close to the tanker, it was like stepping into another world, a skeletal kingdom of rust, forgotten promises, and unfinished dreams.
With a grunt, Alessa shoved the raft off its makeshift mooring. The barrels bobbed, the raft wobbled, but it didn't sink.
"Alright, Skiff," she muttered, "don't you dare embarrass me in front of the goth."
"I'm right here, y'know." Alice drawled, her tone dry as a desert.
Alessa though smirked over her shoulder, and countered with, "I know."
The journey across the shallows took less than ten minutes, but every creak and groan made Alice flinch. At least the old motor bracket did its job, letting them steer just enough to avoid a drift into some sharp debris. Alessa kept an eye on the glove, watching for any new prompts or scans.
By the time they reached the shadow of the oil tanker, the light had dimmed—clouds rolling in overhead like bruises.
"...It's even bigger up close," Alice said, craning her neck to look up at the rusted hull. "This thing could swallow a house."
"Probably did, back in its heyday." At least before the DWU had used it as a giant plug anyway.
They pulled alongside a broken section of the lower hull where the metal had split, creating a narrow ledge just above the lapping waves—barely enough for most people to board safely, but with the Builder glove?
Even so, despite slowly figuring out just how powerful her gauntlet truly was, Alessa couldn't help but stare, momentarily frozen into inaction as she let her eyes sweep over the rusted hunk of junk. The ship loomed above them like a dying leviathan, its surface streaked with years of rust and salt. Metal plates groaned faintly as the tide pushed against the hull, and the air was thick with the acrid tang of corroded iron, sea rot, and old fuel. Each gust of wind made something inside the ship clatter—a loose chain, maybe, or the whispered echo of long-abandoned machinery.
A gentle rock of the raft knocked her out of her silent, fear filled reverie before Alessa scanned the surface, something that was already becoming second nature, and the PDA chimed: Structural Scan Complete. Boarding Solution Available. Construct Temporary Docking Bridge?
"Yes, please."
A flick of her wrist, a shimmer of projected scaffolding, and a moment later a narrow bridge began to form from scavenged materials still stored in the glove's internal cache. It wasn't elegant, but it was enough.
Alessa offered a hand to Alice, who looked at it, then at the bridge, then at her again. "If I die doing this, I'm haunting your future lab."
"You'd love that," Alessa said with a smirk.
Alice smirked back and shrugged before agreeing, "I would, yeah."
Together, they crossed over onto the oil tanker's deck.
The surface was littered with scattered debris—coils of rusted chain, half-fused grates, a fire-damaged control panel melted into the hull. The deck creaked beneath their feet but held steady. Long-forgotten paint peeled in strips, exposing jagged weld seams and steel blistered from years of salty wind.
Alessa scanned the area cautiously, stepping lightly despite the weight of her boots. Her glove's readout pinged softly with proximity warnings but no structural red flags.
"This place is a tetanus nightmare," Alice muttered, nudging aside a cracked life preserver with her foot.
Alessa didn't argue. Instead, she moved toward the main superstructure looming ahead—its hatch slightly ajar, darkness yawning behind it.
She paused, glancing warily at the darkened doorway, then raised her glove and disassembled the bulkhead door with practiced motions. A series of metallic clinks echoed sharply through the rusted corridor, followed by a soft hiss of stale, metallic-tanged air escaping from the pressurized seam. The door gently fell apart into loose components with a final groan of warped steel, as if the ship itself had let out a reluctant breath. The scent of rusted metal intensified, and the faint groan of the ship's frame echoed above them.
"Just in case a strong breezes pushed the door shut or something, locking us in here," she murmured with a light shrug, stepping back to let the stale air drift past them. "Rule one," she said softly once she was finished, "Always know where your exits are."
Alice nodded grimly. "So… what's rule two?"
"Don't die." Alessa nonchalantly stated with another shrug, as if that should've been obvious.
The darkness inside was near-total. No working lights, no skylights—just the hollow creak of the hull and the echo of their own steps.
Alessa frowned and tapped her gauntlet. "Hey, Builder—got a flashlight mode?"
A soft whir, then: "Deploying safety illumination."
A strip along the knuckle line of her glove flared to life, casting a cone of pale white light ahead of them. It was bright enough to show the metal hallway stretching into the ship's bowels, every inch layered in dust, corrosion, and time.
Alice pulled out her phone and flicked on the flashlight. "Guess we're spelunking now."
"Industrial spelunking," Alessa corrected with a hopefully reassuring smirk on her face. "The classy kind."
With one last look over her shoulder, Alessa stepped into the darkened interior, and the rusted ship swallowed them whole.
A gust of stale air sighed through the corridor behind them as the wind shifted outside, rattling the broken louvered vents and loose grates overhead. Pipes creaked somewhere deep in the hull, echoing through the metal belly of the tanker like some groaning beast in its sleep. Here and there, they passed walls scarred with decades of exposure—flaking paint, streaks of rust like dried blood, and large swathes of grime that clung to everything with a damp, unpleasant tenacity.
They passed by what may have once been crew quarters. A few doors hung open, revealing glimpses of bunk beds twisted with age and collapse, footlockers half-splintered or rusted shut. Tangles of cobwebs drooped from corners, glittering faintly in the light.
The whole place felt... unsettled.
Not haunted, not exactly. Just forgotten in the kind of way that invited silence. The kind of silence that made you whisper without meaning to.
The path eventually narrowed again as they took a stairwell that creaked under their weight. Rats skittered from one darkened vent as Alice hissed and clutched Alessa's arm, glaring down the hall with wide eyes.
"They better not jump on me." A nervous Alice muttered as she waved her cellphone's flashlight to and fro.
"I think they're more scared of you than you are of them," Alessa replied dryly.
"Yeah, well, they didn't see what I did to a spider in the bathroom last week." Alice snorted at the memory her comment had likely brought to the forefront of her mind, the laugh breaking the tension slightly. "Seriously though, this place is giving me the creeps. Until we get it cleaned up and powered on, can you really blame me for being on edge?"
"No... and I'd be lying if I said I also wasn't nervous." Alessa admitted as she continued to lead the way, scanning over everything as she went. Mostly she was on the lookout for structural weaknesses so they didn't end up falling to their deaths or something, but scanning everything also gave her a list of places she could grab good building materials later once they found a good place to begin to set up shop.
After another several minutes of carefully navigating through winding, corroded hallways and the occasional flight of rattling stairs, Alessa paused outside a heavy sliding door marked Machine Operations - Bay 3 in faded white letters.
She scanned the doorframe. It creaked, but the PDA pinged green. "Looks like some kind of old maintenance or repair bay," she murmured. "This might be it."
"Out of sight. Reinforced. Probably fireproof too," Alice added, peering past her. "This is perfect."
Alessa pried the door open with a grunt, and a low wave of stale, heavy air rolled out to greet them. It smelled like old grease and oxidized metal—sharper than the air in the halls but less tainted by sea rot. Her flashlight cut across a wide space cluttered with rusted equipment: an engine hoist, disassembled machines, scattered tool racks long since emptied or broken. An old tarp, thick with dust and mold, hung like a curtain over one wall.
Alessa stepped inside, her boots crunching on stray bolts and corroded washers.
"This'll work," she said with a slow nod. "Steel walls, no windows, only one door in. Enough room to build in secret."
Alice gave a low whistle and let her light roam across the ceiling. "Bet we could hang some tarps or scrap up to muffle the light from your toys too."
Alessa's glove pulsed faintly, and the PDA chimed in: New Build Zone Registered: Interior Workshop Module Recommended.
She smiled.
Then from the next room over, through a partially open side door, Alice made a small sound of amused disgust.
"...Uh. Alessa? You really need to see this."
Alessa followed her through and found Alice holding up a yellowed magazine—its cover laminated, dog-eared, and unmistakably pornographic.
"Oh my god." An offended yet deeply amused Alessa groaned out at the sight of the dirty magazine in her friend's hands.
"Found your first relic," Alice said with a grin, flipping it open. "Looks like the crew had a lot of downtime."
Alessa rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but laugh. "Well. Guess this place is haunted after all. Just not by the dead."
"Haunted by poor taste," Alice agreed before she thoughtfully added. "Never could understand the appeal of having a dick though. Just seems like an accident waiting to happen if you sat down wrong or something. That said, the less said about my futa doujin collection, the better." A collection Alessa already knew about, hence Alice's ease in talking about it if only because she'd been looking for something in Alice's room one day, and found her friend's hidden stash by complete accident upon glancing towards Alice's partially open closet. Needless to say, Alice, upon seeing what Alessa had found, had about turned into an ash cloud from sheer embarrassment.
That amusing if nostalgic thought, when things were simpler for them both, aside, present day Alice tossed the magazine into a rusted waste bin, then dusted her hands off for good measure. "Still, between this room and the next, I say we found our secret base."
Alessa nodded again, her smile growing firmer. "Then let's make it ours." Before that though, Alessa whispered a quiet, "Thank you", towards her gauntlet.
The light strip along her knuckles flickered on and off, as if responding to her sincere gratitude.
=========
The Oil Tanker, Bay 3
8:12 PM…
The storm rolled in slow and steady—mist turned to drizzle, and drizzle to a soft, constant patter against rusted steel. But inside the workshop, it was quiet.
Alessa sat cross-legged in the middle of the space, lit only by the pale glow from her gauntlet and the occasional flicker of lightning beyond the warped porthole. The scent of old oil and sea air lingered. Cold, but not unwelcome.
They'd cleared out most of the junk. The floor was mostly swept. The tarp-wall had been shifted to cordon off a dry corner. A few old tools and parts sat neatly along a repurposed bench, and her backpack rested within arm's reach—half-zipped, like it was waiting to be unpacked permanently.
She exhaled slowly and pressed her palm to the floor.
"This is it," she murmured. "Mine now."
No fanfare. No lightning bolt. Just a quiet moment, still and sincere.
The Builder chimed softly in response.
New Domain Registered: Primary Workshop
Compatibility Confirmed: Soul of the Forge | Constructor Drone | Murphy's Law | I Can Whip Something Up
Available CP: 500 — Upgrades Synced
A shimmer passed through the room—not visible, but felt. A subtle pressure, like a forge's heat warming the walls, even though nothing had been lit. Her glove pulsed once in agreement, a low thrumming in her bones that told her this place would never be just metal and rust again.
And then… a shape unfolded from her glove's internal inventory. Mechanical. Compact.
It landed beside her with a gentle thud: rounded, tripod-legged, and vaguely insectile. Not much bigger than a toolbox. It chirped once, scanning its surroundings, then extended a small manipulator arm and began brushing rust from a nearby control panel.
Alessa blinked. "Well… okay then."
It turned to her, paused, and held up a bolt it had just retrieved.
"...Thanks," she said, genuinely.
The drone beeped once and got back to work.
No name. No voice. Just action.
And that, honestly, was perfect.
She stood and stretched, her legs stiff from sitting. The air still smelled like salt and possibility. There was work to do—God, so much work—but for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel like she was running just to stay standing.
She had a home, kinda.
She definitely had a purpose now.
And whether the world knew it yet or not, she was hoping to build something better.
=========
-Constructor Drone and AI Kernel (Warhammer 40k: T'au Empire) (100CP)
This drone is an automated constructor unit, capable of building simple machines and buildings on its own and more complicated structures and technologies under your direct supervision, so long as it has materials to work with. Its tools can be easily customized or replaced with new or different technologies. Moreover, its software includes a kernel that can be used to grow specialized AI and VI systems optimized for various computational substrates and tasks that are always loyal to you.
-Soul of the Forge (World of Warcraft) (200CP)
This spirit that manifests as a small, cyclopean golem made of molten metal and shards, the Soul of the Forge dwells within the workshops and smithies of metalworkers. So long as it is content, all who work within that forge's walls will find their creations blessed: The individual pieces, parts, and techniques required coming together that much easier, and the end result being that much more splendid.' In order for the Soul of the Forge to dwell, one also requires a small kiln to house the spirit.
-Murphy's Law (SCP Foundation) (100CP)
You've been around so many experiments, so much weird shit, that you notice things other people don't and instinctively position yourself, as a subconscious reaction to anything that can go wrong, and avoid the eventual backfire. The knowledge that a few errant bubbles in a flask can quickly turn into boiling so violently that even the open end of it isn't enough to let all of its energy out, turning it into a chemical explosive, is not lost on you. Neither is the fact that that open flask over there just bubbled when a piece of dust fell into it. If you're running the experiments, you know how to avoid those circumstances, and how to extinguish the fires if and when they break out.
-I Can Whip Something Up (My Life As A Teenage Robot) (100CP)
Working late nights and filling out strange requests is just another Tuesday for a Scientist of your calibre. This perk ensures that you'll never suffer burnout, grow overly bored, lose inspiration, or have your work suffer because of exhaustion. So long as your basic needs are at least barely being met you can keep happily churning out work day after day.
500 - 100 - 200 - 100 - 100 = 0 CP
Chapter 7
The First Thread
==========
The Watson House, guest bedroom
November 26th, 2008, Wednesday
9:42 PM…
Rain whispered against the window like a thousand tiny fingernails tapping glass, steady and relentless. Streetlight glow bled faint orange through the curtains, reflecting off rivulets streaming down the pane. The room smelled faintly of chamomile tea and old laundry detergent, the air thick with the comfortable weight of domestic quiet.
Alessa sat perched on the edge of the bed, hoodie rumpled, socks mismatched—one black, one navy. Her PDA glowed in her lap, cool blue light painting the contours of her hands as the interface scrolled beneath her fingertips. Beside her, Alice sprawled diagonally across the mattress like a human exclamation point, all sharp elbows and lazy confidence in ripped black jeans and a faded Sisters of Mercy tee.
She poked at the last clump of cold mac and cheese in the Tupperware, then stabbed the plastic fork toward Alessa. "Okay. You've been holding out on me."
Alessa didn't look up. Her thumb flicked, switching the PDA to a live feed from the tanker. The Constructor drone crawled across rusted steel, its squat body gleaming in intermittent sparks. It looked vaguely crablike as its manipulator arm traced a weld bead, the flare of molten orange cutting through the rain pooling on corroded plates.
"About what?" Alessa asked, tone dry, though her lips twitched when the drone let out a cheerful beep after a successful patch.
Alice narrowed her eyes. "Don't play dumb. Magic gauntlet? Mystery upgrades? And now—" She stabbed at the PDA feed with the fork. "A Roomba that moonlights as a welder."
Alessa smirked faintly. "It's not a Roomba."
"Oh, excuse me," Alice said in her best haughty tone. "It's a construction optimization unit for post-industrial salvage environments."
"Pretty much," Alessa murmured, sending a quick command. On-screen, the drone chirped, pivoted, and began stripping insulation from a corroded conduit.
Alice flopped sideways dramatically, hair spilling across the quilt like dark ink. "Do you even hear yourself right now? You've got a robot fixing your haunted murder boat while we sit here eating carbs out of Tupperware. Babe, this is peak goth aesthetic. Ten out of ten. No notes." Alessa set the PDA between them, feed minimized now in favor of a scrolling perk list glowing like a neon cheat sheet. Alice craned her neck and let out a low whistle. "...Forge Protocol?" Her grin turned wicked. "Ohhh, is this what I think it is?"
"Depends," Alessa said, rubbing her temple. "Do you think it's a convenient list of ways I could accidentally ruin my life if I'm not careful?"
Alice grinned wider. "Close enough. Spill."
Alessa blew out a breath and tapped the first entry. "First up: Mental Resistance," she read. "Immunity to mind control, memetic hazards, insanity, and mental fatigue."
Alice stared for a beat, then deadpanned, "So basically you can binge five seasons of The Bachelor and not feel bad about it."
Alessa gave her a flat look. "That's not the use I had in mind."
"It's the one that matters." Alice propped her chin on her fist. "It also sounds like you're telling me you can survive Winslow and Reddit without going feral. Honestly? Iconic."
Alessa smirked despite herself before scrolling to the next. "Harmony," she read. "It lets me safely combine any conflicting tech, magic, or biology."
Alice sat up like a cat hearing a can opener. "Wait. So you can make, like… a chainsaw that shoots holy fire while blasting dubstep?"
"…Technically, yeah." Alessa replied uncertainly as she tried to wrap her head around the image Alice had put into her mind.
Alice's grin went feral. "Alessa. Babe. We have to."
"We're not making a rave chainsaw." Alessa flatly stated.
Alice ignored her rebuttal, cheerfully retorting with a cheerful, "Yet."
It was at that moment that her PDA chimed, alerting the two of them to a new message from the constructor drone.
[Status update: Salvaged 4 processors, 2 copper spools, 1 intact generator.]
Alice read it aloud in a mock announcer voice. "Your Roomba just brought you a generator like a cat dropping a dead bird. Honestly? Love that for you."
Alessa could only shake her head in quiet amusement.
"Next: World's Maker." Alessa hesitated as the screen shimmered faintly, almost like heat distortion. "Grants unparalleled creativity, tools to manifest it, and the knowledge to enchant or bless creations."
Alice blinked slowly. "…Translation: you basically unlocked God Mode in a crafting sim."
"Kind of?" Alessa uncertainly replied, unsure how to feel about this particular Perk.
Alice flopped back, eyes wide with mock reverence. "Alessa Dawson, Patron Saint of Pinterest Boards. You could build an orbital death laser in your pajamas."
"I could," Alessa said dryly, "but I'm not going to."
"Yet." A grinning Alice replied without missing a beat.
"Stop." Groaned Alessa in response as she hung her head moments.
Alice squinted at the next name. "Strange Formula. What is that, some Hot Topic perfume line?"
Alessa smirked faintly despite her earlier, miniature existential crisis. "'Original blueprint for the serum that made Captain America.'"
Alice sat bolt upright at that before not quite shouting, "Hold the hell up, are you telling me you can make a Super Soldier Serum?! Like, full-on thicc-thighs-save-lives Steve Rogers?!"
"…If I had the right lab setup, maybe."
Alice grinned, all teeth. "Make me Captain Bisexual. Do it."
Alessa groaned. "Alice—"
"Listen," Alice said, deadly serious now. "If I don't get to throw a car at Sophia Hess by Christmas, what are we even doing here?"
"Applied Energistics," Alessa read, pressing forward instead of continuing that particular conversation, regardless of how amusing it would've been to do exactly that. "'Lets me digitize and store matter.'"
Alice gasped softly. "So… Minecraft. But real."
"…Yeah."
"Oh my god. You could Marie Kondo the entire planet." Alice excitedly exclaimed.
"Step one: KonMari. Step two: end world hunger," Alessa muttered.
"Step three: OnlyFans for weird tech nerds," Alice added solemnly.
"Murphy's Law," Alessa continued, though not before rolling her eyes in response. "Instinctive awareness of danger, no catastrophic lab accidents."
Alice raised a brow. "So you're basically That One MythBuster who survives everything."
"…Pretty much."
Alice clutched her heart. "Marry me."
Alessa rolled her eyes again with a fondly exasperated smile.
Alice tilted her head at the next line. "Alchemy? Like… turning lead into eyeliner?"
Alessa huffed a laugh. "I think you mean gold, but apparently I can mix specific ingredients, infuse with natural energy, and create potions with beneficial or harmful effects. Never heard of Samurai Jack before, but that aside, I can apparently make healing brews, corrosive acids, strength elixirs… hell, probably charms if I push it."
Alice's eyes gleamed. "You could make poison lipstick. That's so goth-core I might cry."
"Or a potion that sets your hair on fire."
Alice clutched her chest again. "Romance me harder."
Shaking her head with another roll of her eyes, Alessa hesitated when she saw the next Perk that was listed. "…And then there's this."
Alice leaned closer. Read the name. Froze. Then unsurprisingly howled with laughter. "Exo-Womb?! Babe. What the actual hell?!"
"It's not what it sounds like!" Alessa said quickly, ears red. "It's for controlled gestation—biology projects."
Alice wiped a tear away, breath hitching. "So what you're saying is… Dawson Clone Wars confirmed."
"Jesus Christ, Alice." Alessa quietly exclaimed.
"Don't 'Jesus Christ' me, Mother of Machines." Alice retorted once she had composed herself somewhat while still grinning like a loon.
Mercifully, providing a much needed distraction, the PDA chimed softly again: [Task complete. Awaiting next directive.]
Alessa stared at the screen, at the neat columns of Perks glowing like soft blue promises, and felt her stomach tighten. It wasn't fear, exactly, but rather it was something heavier. Responsibility with a serrated edge.
Alice rolled onto her stomach, chin propped on her hands, grin sharp as broken glass. "So what's the plan, Workshop Barbie?"
Alessa dragged a hand down her face. "I build," she said finally. "Small. Smart. Nothing flashy."
Alice smirked. "Cool. Just promise me one thing?"
Alessa glanced over warily. "What's that?"
"No matter what you build…" Alice's grin widened. "…give it a badass name."
For the first time all day, Alessa laughed—quiet, but real.
Then—
Knock. Knock.
Soft. Too soft, and Aunt Belinda didn't typically knock.
As such, both girls froze while the storm outside went silent in Alessa's ears.
"…You expecting someone?" Alice whispered.
Alessa swallowed, pulse spiking like a live wire. "No."
A voice drifted from the doorway, calm and almost gentle although there was a note of amusement all too easy to hear. "That makes two of us."
Alice jerked upright. Alessa's breath hitched. The figure leaning against the doorframe didn't belong—didn't move like a stranger, didn't look out of place despite her fancy looking appearance. She just… was. Present in a way that felt surgical, inevitable.
A woman in gray slacks, crisp blouse, coat draped over her arm as if the storm outside hadn't touched her, walked forward at a slow, controlled pace. Hair dark and sleek, pinned neatly back with a black fedora perfectly placed atop her head. A fedora Alessa recognized despite having only caught a glimpse of it through a portal that had allowed this woman to take back the letter that had been left on a hospital tray for Alessa to find. A simple scarf at her throat, pale against skin that looked too composed to belong to someone caught in this neighborhood after dark. Her eyes—God, her eyes—were calm in a way that made Alessa's stomach drop.
"Who the hell—" Alice started, but the woman's gaze slid to her like a blade, and the words dried up in her throat.
"I'm here to give you clarity," the woman said at the same time her gaze moved back to Alessa, voice smooth as polished steel. She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. The air seemed to bend around her presence.
Recognition slammed into her like a brick. Every late-night PHO thread, every rumor about the woman who could plan circles around gods. No name confirmed, but one whispered enough to stick.
Contessa.
"You've been productive," the woman said simply, her gaze flicking to the PDA still glowing on the bedspread. "That's good. Stay the course. No sudden moves. Visibility draws attention neither of us wants."
Alessa's throat worked. "I didn't—"
"You did," Contessa said softly. "And you will again, and that's fine. Just… small steps. Controlled."
Alice finally found her voice, brittle and sharp. "Lady, I don't know who the hell you think you—"
Contessa looked at her, just looked, and Alice went silent. Not cowed, furious, but her jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
"You have questions," Contessa said to Alessa while ignoring Alice once more, tone still calm. "But not tonight. Not here. For now, trust that you and your father's well-being are… accounted for." Her black leather gloved hand brushed the bedspread, light as a whisper, before she turned toward the door. "Don't waste time trying to find me. You won't. Just know that I'll be in touch, Ms. Dawson, but until then, have fun."
The last was said with more, almost warm amusement.
And then she was gone. No sound of the door. No footsteps. Just absence where inevitability had stood.
Alice stared at the empty doorway, fists clenched. "What. The. Actual. Hell?!"
Alessa's pulse thundered in her ears. Her voice came out small. "Alice… she's real. The stories? The rumors? That was her."
Alice blinked at her. "What stories?!"
Alessa swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the shadow Contessa left behind. "The woman with a plan for everything." She licked dry lips. "The one PHO calls the… the boogeywoman of the Cape world, Contessa."
"That was Contessa?!" Alice exclaimed quietly to which Alessa could only nod, her Mental Resistance be damned as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Her mood wasn't done any favors when the PDA chimed softly in the silence, like a distant clock counting down.
Finally, Alice broke the silence, voice tight. "Okay. What the hell was that? Who is she? And why did she sound like… like a villain from a spy movie?"
Alessa tore her eyes from the empty doorway, dragging in a shaky breath. "Like I said, she's… she's Contessa. The one everyone says knows everything. There are threads about her all over PHO—people call her the Endgame Player."
Alice blinked, stunned. "Endgame Player? That's not creepy at all." She sat up, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "What does she even want with you? What does that mean?"
Alessa shook her head, staring at the glowing PDA like it might have answers. "I don't know. But if half the rumors are true…" Her voice trailed off, throat dry. "She doesn't show up unless she already knows how it ends."
Alice stared at her for a long moment before whispering, "Alessa… what the hell have you gotten us into?"
The PDA chimed again, soft and almost mocking in the tense quiet: [Awaiting directive.]
And for the first time all night, Alessa wished she didn't have an answer.
It was then she noticed that the door hadn't moved.
Alessa wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at it before she stood up on shaking legs and walked out. Past the threshold. Down the narrow hall before descending the short flight of stairs to the first floor. Through the kitchen with its humming fridge and the low buzz of an old fluorescent light. Out the back door where she continued forward, barefoot on the porch.
The rain had slowed to a whisper. Cold mist hung in the air, clinging to her skin like static.
She didn't cry. She wanted to—badly—but her eyes just stung, hot and dry, as she dragged air into her lungs and tried not to shake herself apart.
The screen creaked open behind her.
"…You okay?" Alice asked, voice careful. Too careful.
Alessa didn't answer. She just stepped out into the wet grass and stood there like a lightning rod, arms wrapped around herself.
"She wasn't supposed to be real," she muttered. "People talk about her like a myth. A ghost. But she was here. She talked to us."
"She broke into my house," Alice bit out, following her into the yard. "Into our house. She stared me down like I was a toddler, and you're out here acting like she just gave you the recipe for banana bread!"
"I'm not—" Alessa spun, guilt and frustration crashing together in her chest. "You think I'm calm right now?! My hands are numb, Alice. My teeth hurt from clenching. I'm trying to breathe and not puke because she just showed up like a damn jump scare and made it sound like I'm part of some plan."
Alice froze, blinking in the porch light. "Okay," she said slowly, hands up in a placating gesture. "Then talk to me."
Alessa hesitated, shoulders tightening. "What if I can't? What if saying too much gets us killed? She said not to draw attention, to keep it small. And now—now I'm wondering if the wrong word posted online means some other shadow person comes knocking!"
Alice stepped forward and grabbed her arm. Not rough, not gentle, but real.
Grounding.
"You aren't doing this alone," she said, voice trembling with intensity. "You're not shutting me out. I helped build that domain. I was there when the Builder Glove first worked. I've seen the glowing weird damn tool that makes less sense than the last, and I stayed because you felt like you had to keep going. Hell I even agreed and encouraged you to do just that." Alessa looked at her, stunned, but Alice wasn't done. "So yeah, mystery hat lady just sashayed through reality and turned you into a character in one of your PHO horror threads. You think I'm not freaking out too? I am, but I'm still here."
A beat of silence. A raindrop hit Alessa's cheek like ice.
"…I know," Alessa whispered once she found her voice again. "I just… I needed air."
They stood there for a long moment in the dark yard.
The PDA pinged again from inside the house, barely audible through the window.
"'Awaiting directive,'" Alice repeated under her breath. "You gonna tell it to build a bunker or something?"
Alessa gave a tired laugh. "Tempting."
Alice nudged her shoulder. "Well… Builder Glove's still on the tanker, right? You want to work, we can go. Grab something from the fridge, hit the Graveyard, run drills until we feel sane again?"
Alessa hesitated, then shook her head slowly. "No… not tonight. We've got school in the morning, remember?"
Alice groaned. "Ugh. Right. Winslow. Just what I needed after getting the villain monologue from God's personal secretary."
That earned a weak snort from Alessa despite the storm still roiling in her gut. She rubbed her arms, still chilled despite the tension thankfully easing. "Yeah. No secret bunker tonight either. Just… sleep. Maybe some aspirin."
"Make it two, maybe a couple Melatonin while we're at it." It came out as a joke, but Alessa knew Alice was being dead serious.
They headed back toward the house, silent but side by side. The grass squished underfoot, and the porch light hummed above them like nothing had happened.
Like everything hadn't changed, again.
==========
The Watson House, guest bedroom
November 27th, 2008, Thursday
6:27 AM…
The next morning came far too soon.
Alessa groaned into her pillow as the buzzing alarm went off, loud enough to rattle her skull. Her arm flailed sideways until it smacked the clock with enough force to nearly knock it off the nightstand.
"Kill me," she muttered, voice hoarse.
"Already considered it," Alice croaked from the floor. "But murder's a felony, and I'm too cute for jail."
Alessa rolled over and peeked through bleary eyes. Alice was half-wrapped in a blanket, her legs tangled in a hoodie like she'd wrestled a bear in her sleep.
"…What time did we finally crash?" Alessa asked.
Alice peeled one eye open. "Don't remember. Don't care. Still too damn early."
Aunt Belinda's voice rang up the stairs. "Girls! Breakfast is on, you've got twenty minutes before I leave!"
Alice grunted and sat up, hair sticking up in weird angles. "Tell me that's code for coffee."
"Caffeine first, apocalypse second," Alessa muttered, dragging herself upright. Her legs ached, her brain ached, her soul ached, but she got up, somehow.
Breakfast was a blur of half-burned toast, cereal, and lukewarm coffee that might've once been drinkable.
Belinda didn't ask questions, though she gave them both a long, searching look before heading out the door with a reminder to lock up and be on time.
By the time they reached Winslow, the overcast skies hadn't cleared. A few greasy rain droplets still clung to the windows. Inside the school, it smelled like bleach, mold, and stress.
Alessa was halfway to her locker when she noticed Taylor walking ahead of her, head down, shoulders hunched like usual.
A flicker of something—noise, maybe? A too-smooth shift in movement made Alessa pause.
Then it happened.
A blur of motion, a shove, a startled gasp, and Taylor's foot slipped on something wet at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor.
Time didn't slow down, but Alessa moved.
Her feet slammed into the tile. One hand shot out. The Builder Glove wasn't on, but something in her chest surged anyway.
She caught Taylor's arm just before the girl toppled forward, her other foot dangling over empty air, flailing for purchase.
Students nearby gasped. A teacher shouted something from down the hall. Taylor clung to her with wide, shocked eyes, breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts.
"I got you," Alessa said quietly, tightening her grip and pulling her back onto the landing.
Taylor sagged against the wall, eyes still wide. "I—thanks—I didn't see it. I just—"
Alessa looked down. The floor wasn't just wet, it was slick with something faintly soapy. Not a spill then. Sabotage.
That someone else hadn't slipped on it just made this even more suspicious.
As such, her jaw clenched. "You're okay," she said. "That's what matters."
Taylor nodded shakily. "Yeah. Just… yeah."
As they both looked around, a couple of students turned away much too quickly.
Alessa didn't recognize all of them, but she caught the back of someone's jacket disappearing into the crowd.
It was then that a voice echoed in her mind. Visibility draws attention you don't want.
Contessa's words. A warning and a truth, but she'd still do it again. That and, warning or not from what was rumored to be the strongest Thinker to ever walk the Earth, Alessa's defiant nature, despite her lingering terror, refused to be cowed that easily. Besides, after what she and Alice had seen the other day while Emma, Madison, and Sophia been giving Taylor a hard time before knocking her school books out of her hands, Alessa already had a pretty good idea as to who had just tried to kill the girl she'd just saved. And she didn't doubt it'd been attempted murder given how dangerous Sophia had come across to Alessa's enhanced observational skills thanks to Mental Resistance keeping her calm and clinical under most stressful circumstances. Now she just needed to find a way to get some irrefutable proof of their bullshit behavior, especially Sophia's.
==========
Winslow Highschool, cafeteria
12:18 PM…
The cafeteria was its usual mix of clatter and chaos—overcooked smells, cheap plastic trays, and conversations that echoed louder than the sum of their parts. The rain had let up by midday, but the sky still pressed down, gray and unrelenting through the fogged-up windows.
Alessa sat at the far end of the room, back to the wall, tray mostly untouched. Her cane leaned against the table beside her like an afterthought. Alice was perched across from her, slowly peeling the label off a bottle of orange soda while giving her that sideways look—the kind that said Are you good? without needing to say it.
She hadn't spoken much since homeroom. Hadn't needed to. The morning's stunt on the stairwell had left her with a headache and a tension knot behind her eyes that refused to unravel.
It was then that the seat to Alessa's left scraped softly.
She didn't look up right away, but she didn't have to. Her Mental Resistance perk had already nudged her awareness like a quiet whisper.
Taylor.
"…Hey," came the quiet voice.
Alessa glanced over, guarded but polite. Taylor sat gingerly, tray in front of her but untouched, eyes flicking toward Alessa with a mix of uncertainty and… gratitude?
"I, um…" Taylor fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. "About earlier. Thanks. For catching me. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't."
Alessa shrugged a little, voice low. "You're welcome."
That should've been the end of it, but Taylor hesitated. Her shoulders were tense, like she was expecting to be pushed away. She looked like a girl still bracing for the next blow. "…They've been tormenting me for months," she said finally, voice just above a whisper. "That wasn't an accident."
Alessa's fingers curled slightly against her tray. "I figured."
Taylor looked at her then. Really looked. Her eyes flicked to the cane by Alessa's side, then back up, brow furrowed.
"I didn't think you'd move that fast," she said softly.
Alessa gave a faint smirk. "I'm full of surprises."
Alice grinned. "Girl moves like a bat outta Hell when someone's about to take a nosedive."
Alessa murmured under her breath, "Guess I need to upgrade the disguise."
That earned a blink from Taylor, a pause, and something almost like a laugh—but not quite.
"Still," Taylor said eventually. "Thanks. You didn't have to."
Alessa didn't reply right away. Her gaze drifted toward the far side of the cafeteria, where Emma and her entourage were sitting, laughing about something with the easy cruelty of people who didn't know what it meant to feel cornered.
"I did, though," she said softly.
Taylor followed her gaze and said nothing.
Alice finally broke the tension with a quiet, "Well, I say it's only fair she gets a lunch token out of it. Hero tax and all."
Taylor blinked, caught off guard. Alessa rolled her eyes.
Alice meanwhile grinned before taking a bite of her mashed potatoes. "What? You save a girl's life, least she can do is let you cut in line at the vending machine."
That earned the tiniest huff of amusement from Taylor.
It was just a flicker, but it was a start.
==========
Rear parking lot, by the side doors
3:46 PM…
The air was heavier now, slick with mist. The buses were long gone, and the halls were mostly empty save for the occasional club straggler or a janitor dragging a mop bucket. Alessa waited beside the side doors, hoodie pulled tight, arms crossed against the cold. Her cane rested against the brick wall beside her, half-forgotten in the fading light.
Alice had gone on ahead to the tanker with a promise to check the feed and "poke the Roomba," giving Alessa a little space without needing to say so. Because even without the Builder Glove, the weight in Alessa's chest hadn't lifted.
She heard the footsteps before she saw her.
Taylor again. Alone this time. Her backpack looked too heavy for her frame, and her hair stuck to her face in clumps from the damp.
"Hey," she said, a little awkward. "You waiting for someone?"
Alessa glanced sideways. "Just clearing my head."
Taylor nodded, then shifted like she wasn't sure if she should keep going. Then she did. "I meant it earlier," she said. "I know I probably didn't sound like it. I'm not good at… this." A pause. "People."
Alessa gave a tired chuckle. "Yeah. Me either."
Alice was far more socially adept than Alessa, always had been. Alessa knew she could be too blunt, sometimes even abrasive when she was annoyed or aggravated. Case in point, all but telling those two PRT agents that had tried to recruit her while she was still in the hospital to piss off, despite not having Triggered like a normal Parahuman, certainly qualified.
Regardless, Taylor leaned against the brick wall, just far enough away to respect distance. "I used to think if I just kept my head down, it'd stop. That maybe if I didn't react, they'd get bored."
A pause. The silence stretched.
"They didn't."
Alessa's throat tightened. She didn't mean to speak, but the words came anyway—low and sharp and bitter. "They never do. Not if they think you're weak."
Taylor looked at her sharply. "Is that what they think you are?"
Alessa didn't answer right away. Her right hand curled around the handle of her cane until her knuckles turned white. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. "…They blew up my house. My dad nearly died, and the only reason I didn't go with him is because I was lucky. Not strong. Not smart. Just… lucky."
Taylor paled. "Jesus."
"It was weeks ago now." Alessa shook her head. "Everyone suspects it was gang related, and to be honest I wouldn't be surprised at this point. I saw the wire right before our stove exploded. There's just… no solid proof to say who did it, or why."
Taylor was silent again. Then, carefully: "Is that why you helped me?"
Alessa looked at her, and something in her expression, so raw, so tired, clicked into place.
"…No," she said. "I helped you because no one should have to wonder if they're gonna die in a hallway at school."
Taylor swallowed. Her voice came out soft. "Yeah."
Another pause, longer this time.
Then Taylor's gaze flicked downward. "Back in the cafeteria… You said something about the cane being a disguise."
Alessa's smirk was brief and grim. "I use it, but that doesn't mean I need it."
Taylor raised a brow. "So… why keep it?"
Alessa's eyes were steady. "Because sometimes it's safer to only look breakable."
Taylor didn't have a response to that, but the silence between them wasn't as sharp now. It just… settled. Two girls. Two ghosts. Still standing.
After a minute, Alessa spoke again. "I'm not a Cape."
Taylor blinked. "What?"
"You asked why I helped," Alessa said. "I'm not a Cape." Certainly not in the traditional sense anyway, not that she said that part out loud. "I'm not trying to be, but I've got tools now. Things I can use. Things that can help. So… I did where before I… would've just kept my head down while avoiding the wannabe gangbangers as much as possible like any sane person would."
Taylor studied her face. Then, carefully, asked, "You think that makes you a target though?"
Alessa gave a dry, humorless smile. "I know it does."
Taylor exhaled. "Me too."
A beat passed.
"I used to think I could just survive it," Taylor said quietly. "But now… I don't know anymore."
Alessa nodded slowly. "That's the worst part, isn't it? Not knowing if tomorrow is the day something finally breaks."
Taylor didn't answer. She didn't have to.
They didn't make promises. Didn't vow revenge or swear loyalty. But in that quiet moment, in the cold mist behind the school, something shifted.
Not trust. Not yet.
But maybe the start of it.
==========
The Boat Graveyard, the oil tanker
8:23 PM…
The inside of the tanker still smelled like rust and secrets.
The rain had picked up again outside, turning the creaking hull into a percussion instrument—dull echoes of water against steel like distant heartbeats. The only real light came from a series of string LEDs Alice had hotwired to an old battery bank, casting a faint glow over the main chamber.
With how many instructions she'd been able to send to the Constructor Drone throughout the day thanks to the PDA, it was no surprise so much had gotten done while Alessa had been busy with school. Regardless of that, she sat cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the Builder Glove resting beside her on a cracked plastic crate. Her hands moved with quiet precision, adjusting tiny lenses, threading fine copper wire, and slotting salvaged chips into pressure-fitted casings that looked suspiciously like oversized thumbtacks. If not for World's Maker, none of this would've been possible since there was no way she could've afforded the tools necessary for such delicate work.
Across from her, Alice lounged in a beat-up lawn chair that had no right to still be intact, sipping from a bottle of orange cream soda and watching with the patient amusement of someone waiting for the protagonist to finish assembling their doomsday device.
"So," Alice said finally, gesturing with the bottle, a faint smirk on her lips per usual, "we spying on the popular girls now or what?"
Alessa didn't look up. "Surveillance. Passive. Targeted."
Alice grinned. "You say 'passive surveillance,' I hear 'petty vengeance with bonus footage.'"
"Not vengeance." A pause. "Proof."
On the table between them—once part of a cargo loading ramp—was a neat little pile of her newest creations. Each "Glowbug" was no larger than a quarter, painted matte gray with adhesive backs and recessed lenses. She had a dozen of them, with another eight in progress. The small solar induction strips she'd layered onto the backs would give them a few hours of function in low-light and longer if placed near a warm power source.
Alice leaned forward, inspecting one of the tiny disks. "So… these just stick to walls and record?"
"Visual and audio. Short range. No broadcasting—internal storage only. I'll need to sweep them and pull data manually every few days."
"Ooooh, going analog. Very Cold War chic." Alice popped the cap off a second soda. "What's the range?"
"About ten feet, give or take. Best quality at five. No night vision yet, so I'll have to be careful with placement."
Alice raised a brow. "And people won't notice these?"
Alessa smirked faintly. "They will if I do a bad job."
"Fair." Alice replied with a minute nod of her head.
Nearby, the Constructor Drone let out a low whirrr as it finished welding the side panel on what looked like a Franken-computer tower made from at least three different hull fragments, salvaged computer parts from just as many vessels, and what might've been a microwave casing. Alessa stood, stretched her legs with a wince, then crossed over to check the status.
Screen flicker. Processor check. Hand-written notes in her PDA scrolled across a cracked display.
System Core: Operational
Memory Integrity: 68%
Power Source: Internal dry-cell array (Salvaged – Monitor Weekly)
Heat Sink: Improvised – Risk of Overheating (Mitigated by elevated mounting bracket)
It wasn't perfect, but it was hers.
She moved back to the table and picked up a small pen-sized object with thin folded wings that vaguely resembled a dragonfly's wings if one squinted enough—her second project.
Alice tilted her head. "Okay. What's that one? Fancy vape? Precision nose-hair trimmer?"
"Recon drone," Alessa replied without looking up. "Quiet flight, telescoping lens, audio capture. Max airtime is twenty minutes before it needs to recharge."
Alice made a low whistle. "Name?"
Alessa blinked, and looked at her friend with mild confusion, "Name?"
Alice grinned wickedly. "You have to name it. That's the rule now. We agreed."
"We didn't—"
"Too late. I'm naming it."
A beat.
Alice struck a dramatic pose, bottle raised like a scepter. "I hereby christen thee… Sneaky Bitch One."
Alessa gave her a flat look. "No."
"Too late. It's canon now."
Alessa sighed and grabbed a marker from the nearby crate. She wrote Observer Alpha in small block letters on the drone's underside.
Alice made an exaggerated gagging sound. "Ugh. Boring. Let me have one name."
"You named the Roomba Chonkstruck the Third," Alessa deadpanned.
"And I stand by it." Alice proudly retorted.
Alessa just shook her head with a smile before she returned to her work. She popped open one of the Glowbugs, adjusted a capacitor, and closed it again with a soft click.
Alice quieted for a moment, watching the way Alessa's fingers moved—deft, precise, but tense in a way that hadn't eased all day.
"…You think it was her, don't you?" she asked finally, her voice quiet, serious. "Sophia."
Alessa's hands didn't stop, but her jaw tightened. "I know it was. At the very least, she had someone do it for her."
"You gonna tell someone?"
Alessa hesitated. "Not yet. Not without proof. These'll get it."
"And then?"
Another pause.
"Then I make sure she never does it again."
Alice didn't press. She just took another sip and leaned back, the rain tapping steadily against the metal above them.
"Y'know," she said eventually, "we could use this to spy on teachers too. See who's hoarding the good vending machine snacks."
Alessa smiled faintly, tension easing just a little. "One mission at a time."
=========
Winslow High, the hallways
November 27th, 2008, Thursday
11:13 AM…
The hallway outside the girls' locker room was quiet, save for the occasional squeak of rubber soles on tile and the distant hum of flickering fluorescent lights. Students were trickling out of third period, most too absorbed in their phones or hallway gossip to notice anything outside their bubble.
Alessa Dawson moved like a shadow. Hoodie on, cane tapping lightly against the floor in measured rhythm. She didn't look rushed, she didn't look nervous. As far as anyone else might've been concerned, she was just another half-tired girl dragging her ass between classes which made what she did next practically invisible.
As she neared the drinking fountain by the intersection of the east stairwell, her left hand dropped low, brushing the metal panel as she pretended to steady herself.
Click.
A nearly imperceptible movement. One of the Glowbugs slid from a concealed sleeve pouch, stuck fast beneath the spout with the lightest hiss of adhesive.
From anyone else's point of view, she just took a sip and kept walking.
Ten steps later, she rounded the corner and exhaled, pulse steady thanks to Mental Resistance, but her body was still humming with tension.
The PDA buzzed once in her jacket pocket.
Glowbug 1: Active. Recording. Storage @ 100%.
She didn't look back.
Not even when she heard the familiar clicking of heels—Emma Barnes' trademark—and the sugary poison of her voice. "Seriously, if she trips again, I'm not helping. Let her crawl back to her daddy dearest."
Madison giggled.
Alessa's grip tightened on her cane, but she kept walking.
Later in the day, Alessa passed by the faculty lounge just before the final bell. She didn't pause. Just slowed a fraction, adjusting the strap on her bag with one hand while palming another Glowbug in the other.
She glanced around. The hallway was clear.
Click.
She pressed the tiny device against the underside of the door frame, right next to the hinge. Hidden in shadow, invisible to the casual eye.
The PDA buzzed softly in her pocket a moment later.
Glowbug 2: Active. Recording. Storage @ 100%.
Alessa moved on, face calm, steps steady. Inside the lounge, muffled voices continued—just idle staffroom chatter now, but maybe later? Maybe something would slip.
She didn't smile. But there was a glint of something cold and certain in her eyes as she rounded the next hallway.
One more piece in place.
Before she knew it, the final bell finally rang. Most students were flooding toward the exits, but Alessa lingered just long enough to drift by the gymnasium hallway.
She stopped briefly by a trophy case, feigning interest in a dusty plaque while subtly scanning the area. No one nearby. Only the low thrum of a vending machine and distant echoes from the gym.
Another Glowbug was already palmed.
She walked to the row of lockers lining the side wall—one of them Emma's, if her mental map was right—and crouched as if adjusting her sock. Her cane leaned against the nearby bench.
Click.
The third Glowbug adhered beneath the base trim of the locker next to it—close enough to catch voices, far enough not to risk discovery.
The PDA buzzed in her jacket a second later.
Glowbug 3: Active. Recording. Storage @ 100%.
Alessa rose, collected her cane, and strolled away like nothing had happened.
Three down, more to go, but she'd place the rest another day.
==========
The Boat Graveyard, oil tanker interior
6:42 PM…
The interior of the tanker hummed with low power as string lights flickered to life, casting a ghostly glow over the makeshift workstation.
Alessa sat cross-legged once more, back resting against a thoroughly cleaned up support beam, the PDA in hand. Beside her, the first scrap-terminal wheezed softly, its fan clicking irregularly as it processed the incoming data from Glowbug 1. She fixed that with a less than gentle kick of her left foot without moving from her spot on the floor, silencing the clicking fan. Sometimes percussive maintenance was the answer after all.
Alice munched on a stale granola bar while perched upside-down on a formerly broken recliner nearby. A recliner that the Constructor Drone had fixed up, cleaned up, and made it appear as if it, like most everything else it'd gotten its manipulator arms on, was brand new or near enough. "So," she mumbled around a bite, "we got anything good? Someone confess to murder? Secret love notes between Sophia and one of the gym lockers?"
Alessa didn't respond. Her brow furrowed as she tapped through the interface.
In response, the Glowbug footage loaded.
The screen showed the hallway outside the girls' locker room. Audio came first—static, then the hiss of white noise, and then: "—It's not our problem. The Hebert girl's just socially awkward. She brings it on herself." A woman's voice. Stern. Measured. Tired.
Alice sat up, nearly choking on the granola bar. "Wait. Is that—?"
"Principal Blackwell," Alessa confirmed grimly. Her voice was low, eyes narrowed.
The audio continued.
"She just needs to learn to adapt. The other girls? They're well-adjusted. They have friends, clubs, lives. I'm not punishing them for her inability to fit in."
Alice's jaw dropped. "She knows? She knows and she's doing nothing?!"
"She's protecting the status quo," Alessa muttered, rewinding the clip and saving the audio segment to a secure folder. "That, or she really thinks none of it matters."
Alice was fuming now, pacing as she muttered darkly. "God, no wonder nothing ever changes. The whole damn place is rigged."
"Which is why we get proof," Alessa said, calm but cold. "Then we make sure it doesn't go away."
Alice looked at her. "You're gonna release it? Post it?"
Alessa didn't answer right away.
She stared at the paused frame on screen—Blackwell standing by the lockers, talking to someone just off-frame. Casual. Unbothered.
Then she opened a second window, queued up Glowbug 2.
The feed came online. This time, audio was already mid-conversation. "—I'm telling you, Dawson's trouble. Anyone who reacts like that? That wasn't just instinct. That was control."
Another voice huffed. "She might not be new, but she's definitely changed since that bomb burned down her house. Saving that Hebert girl like she did? Most kids would've panicked."
A third voice—older, bored—sighed. "Whatever. Just make sure the paperwork's clean. If she starts throwing paranoid accusations or something, we're covered."
Alessa's eyes narrowed. She tagged each voice for later comparison.
Alice made a disgusted sound. "Wow. So the staff hates you now. Charming."
Alessa opened another tab as she tried not to grind her teeth together, and queued up Glowbug 3.
The gym hallway appeared—empty at first. Then the sound of laughter. Emma and Madison walked into frame, backpacks slung over one shoulder each.
"You seriously think she's gonna do anything?" Madison asked.
Emma scoffed. "She's a crippled freak, and she decides now to play white knight? Please. She'll learn Taylor isn't worth the trouble. We just need to make sure she gets the message."
Madison nodded. "Still, the way she moved? That wasn't normal. She caught her like it was nothing."
"Yeah," Emma said, her tone sharpening. "Next time she wants to play hero, maybe she won't be so lucky."
Alessa hit pause.
The silence hung between them.
Then Alice said, voice low and sharp, "Let's ruin them."
Alessa didn't smile, but she saved the clips.
Maybe there'd be some preemptive vengeance after all?
===========
End Notes: Alright folks, finally got this updated. No rolls this time if only because I'm saving up in the hopes of getting something big later, or a lot of little Perks in the hopes of getting stuff she can actually BUILD that isn't cobbled together from junk and her own imagination. Still, for cobbled together junk, she did pretty good for her first true dedicated building session. At any rate, hope you all enjoyed folks.
P.S. This'll likely be getting its own thread now that we've got seven chapters done, so look forward to that. That aside, I wanted to say thank you to everyone who responded to my recent announcement. I'm still recovering my strength, but that I was able to get this done at last is a pretty good sign of my progress. In other news, me and @Nomad-117 are working on a MHA x Taimanin Asagi light crossover story that I'm intending to be about as fucked up, smut heavy, and dark as my old Black Magic Woman story, so for anyone who enjoyed that Bible Black CYOA fueled story, you'll hopefully like this new one as well. For now though, take care, stay safe, and I'll hopefully see ya all soon.