Everybody wants to rule the world

[maskormods]

WHO: YOU.
WHERE: Downtown Cape Canaveral
WHEN: Wednesday January 15th, around 5 PM EST
WHAT: Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome.
WARNINGS: None anticipated; let us know if this should be edited.

Cape Canaveral. It's no longer the heat of the day and in January the temperatures will be livable; not too hot and not too cold, either. A pleasant change from the City, perhaps. The sun is on its way to setting but the last light of the day still fills the sky, bursting the city into color. The air smells like ocean.

The locals are friendly and smile and wave, looking on at you in awe. They'll approach if you ask for help, or a question, but they don't want to interfere, either; if you want to be left alone you probably will be. American flags can be seen in many windows and restaurants are rolling out their dinner menus. There's no parade, no big banners, but many storefronts have handmade signs and posters that read:

Welcome, imPorts! We love you!

The woman at the Porter told you what to expect: You know what your tattoo means, you've been given your file, and you know in a few hours they're going to be here to answer more of your questions and see if you'll stand with them or if you'll go off on your own. "It's your decision," one of them had said, but you were already told what you get if you agree and what you don't if you don't. After that's done, she told you, you'll be driven to your new homes.

In the meantime, enjoy the area, or try to. It may not be what you're used to, but after the apocalypse even Florida might seem like an improvement.

Comments

open:

[enigmaestro]

Florida, thought Edward. Florida. Well, at least it wasn't exactly quite like the slow consumption of the universe, now was it?

"But it comes pretty damn close," he said, muttering out an aside -- benefit to only a deaf audience. Eddie sought to explore a few moments by himself, hungrily denoting the details of this new setting, thirsting for the secrets. He figured most imPorts, still grasping onto life (as was their habit), would likewise seek a few moments of solace in solitude before coagulating once more. Their blood was thicker than water.

"Suspiciously patriotic here, isn't it?"

The numerous flags weren't the most subtle of tips. At least they were quite often framed by welcoming signs, thoughtfully invoking handcrafted care.

The evident investment did nothing to alleviate his paranoia. The downtime before whatever ceremony was to befall their population made for little mirth.

"All right," said Eddie to himself. The sudden impulse for company had kicked in. "Time to set up a brain trust."

[aggressiveapathy]

"Oh my god, I know right? They tried to get me to pick a color and I was, like, no. Noooo way. I can't pick a favorite from red, white, and blue. So I picked purple! Which is, like, the perfect mix of them all."

Interacting with the crowds was an April that, on occasion, had made an appearance at City Hall. Chipper, smiling, enthusiastic. Essentially enough to set off liar, lair bells in anyone that had known her for more than ten seconds. She was a parody of a person here in the Florida heat, easier to fall into the game than think about what it all meant. She was made of pep, enthusiasm, and random slogans with no real meaning or direction behind them. Because when the goings got tough, April started fucking with people. Call it a defense mechanism.

She had to bite her lip when she spotted Eddie, though, using the gesture to make it look like she was trying to stop herself from crying instead of grinning.

"I just...I love the flag. So. Much."

[breakyou]

It isn't any shock that he finds Edward Nygma here. He hasn't reintroduced himself since his last visit to the City. Unsurprisingly, the man persisted -- as most irksome pests do. He is easily overheard and Bane approaches him in steady strides.

"A brain trust. Are you actually admitting to needing counsel, Deputy Mayor?" he asks, with amusement evident in his voice as he continues as if only now struck by the reverie: "My mistake; I suppose that is no longer your title, is it?

"How unfortunate."

[osreborn]

The thoughts running through Norman's head, voices thrumming therein, almost drowned out any other sounds around him like a white-noise generator. Voices without identification mingled in with more familiar thoughts until Norman finally could separate and pinpoint the individuals.

He heard Nygma. It wasn't hard; compared to the City, Cape Canaveral felt almost peculiarly quiet. Maybe everyone in the vicinity was simply rendered speechless in their apparent adulation.

Stalking over, Norman stood behind Eddie, simply listening to him in silence for a long moment.

"So. A brain trust, hm?"

OPEN

[wisecracked]

[Warning bells are ringing in her head the moment that file is in her hands. Everything from there just gets weirder, she's suddenly reminded of when she first met Bo and how all that went down. Choose to work with these people or go on her own. The benefits are great, she wouldn't have to worry about much of anything. It's tempting but it's not what Bo would do. But, yet again, Bo isn't here and Kenzi is left to do whatever she wants. Take the easy way or fend for herself? She's spent years fending for herself and it was miserable. At least she has time to think about it...

Sir Apple, her pet fairy dragon, rests on top of Kenzi's head as she flips through her file for the umpteenth time, thinking it'll give her some kind of answer.] What do you say? Do we trust these guys?

[Naturally the little dragon doesn't seem to care one way or the other he's now more interested in the file. Is it food? When he tries to nibble on a corner of the file Kenzi bops him on the head with it and laughs.] Yeah, I'm hungry too. Think we get free food?

[slightlyoffchilt]

Should you be talking aloud to that thing? [Chilton, having noticed Kenzi and -- more peculiarly -- her dragon companion, had been following at a very safe distance. He wasn't interested in bringing a glaring spotlight to himself, but the evidence was undeniable: she was an imPort. Alive, healthy, apparently hungry.

And he needed something familiar.

He cleared his throat, approaching.]

Do you think the monetary tender here's the same? I still have my wallet.

[corviform]

[ His head is swimming — no, drowning — in questions that gnaw at his very core. He simultaneously wonders about Sharon's whereabouts, where they are, why they are here, and if the City and its inhabitants have been restored.

His thoughts are abruptly interrupted catching a glimpse of the fairy dragon resting atop of familiar, sheen hair. He takes a step forward, trying to find his voice. ]

Kenzi. [ There's no doubt in his mind — it is her. The bizarre fairy dragon confirms that much for him. His stomach leaps. ] Kenzi!

open

[glassbox]

[ Of course they'd ended up in a place even farther from Canada than before. And humid. But those were probably small complaints, compared to an impending doom. At least the people here seemed pleased to see them. It was almost a little unnerving -- jarring somehow, after everything that had happened. But Lil Crawley was nothing if not adaptable. She had certainly survived worse things than a little humidity and an overly friendly welcome.

She kept touching the new tattoo on her wrist. She'd never had one before -- it had been impossible, with the bioaura protecting her skin. Even with the mark invisible in the light, she imagined she can feel it there over her pulse. There was no explaining why she dwelled on it -- it wasn't as if she was a stranger to being a government's superhuman. Maybe it just reminded her too much of Neverland, of the marks they would give the mutants in the containment camp.

The thought had her grip tightening on her file. She forced a heavy exhale. Everything would be fine. Everything seemed fine -- maybe even too fine, after everything that had happened. It was hard to trust it. Seeing a familiar face or two would probably help. Just to make sure they were alright. Just to make sure they were there. Decisions -- what to do with all this -- could come later.

She walked along, only pausing when she noticed one of the signs set up in the store fronts. Absently, she touched her fingertips to the glass, lingering on the words. We love you. Out loud, to herself more than anyone else: ]

Y'don't even know us.

[fronttowardenemy]

[ That invisible tattoo on her wrist is covered by one gloved hand. He catches her wrist, to catch her attention, as his voice will come from lower than she remembers. ]

Lil.

[ These people, whoever they were, fixed him up with a functioning wheelchair. There is a certain gratitude, but his frustration bleeds through above all.

He thought the Porter was supposed to resolve things like this. It solved death, but not injury? Maybe the mess of the end of all things left the Porter less than functional. It all makes a certain sort of sense, but that doesn't ease his irritation.

This isn't the condition he wants to be in, now that they're trapped somewhere new. He's immobilized. He can only fight a fraction as well as he'd used to, and he's not going to be going anywhere on his own like this. How many weeks will it take to repair two broken legs?

He somehow doubts this place has any miracles with medicine.

When he sees her, it's natural. He has few allies left in this place, and he trusts her. She's stubborn, and she's foolish with her emotions, but she's loyal. Lil is someone he would trust with his life, after everything that's happened, and few people earn that status anymore. He's has that trust abused before -- but not her; he no longer has any doubt that it couldn't come to that with her.

He may regret it. ]

[shutterbugged]

It's all a bit hinky, isn't it? I feel like I'm in an episode of The Twilight Zone or something.

[The reference will seem even more apt once Spidey learns a bit more about the history of this place. As it is, he's getting the heebie-jeebies, and every time he thinks he just needs to get some sleep, he remembers the tattoo currently hidden under his web-shooters.]

( open )

[heartlessglitch]

[ She was, of course, immediately suspicious. Sudden rescue from being inevitably wiped out of existence shouldn't simply come without a price-- though maybe that was just her natural distrust of all things where Lachesis or her siblings were concerned. Whatever cooperation she offered to those in charge was a part of biding her time, gaining a sense of this new territory. She continued to wear her organic body-- even allowed them to brand it without a fight-- as a strategy to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

Somewhat beside the point, perhaps, when her name was Danger. Still, they seemed to have found a use for her, along with everyone else.

She sat separate from any crowds, instead memorizing her own file, committing to her mind what these strangers knew and gleaning whatever information she could from the printed words. She was engrossed in this task, already calculating in her mind what the best decision would be-- to side with these people and their government, or to risk making her own way.

In the absence of her mechanical sensors, to call her attention, a touch or the sound of her name would no doubt be necessary. ]

[slightlyoffchilt]

[Chilton kept his file close to his chest, having spent ample time pouring over it. It was an unnerving experience, suffering these personal details as per someone else's data. As he walked down the sunkissed sidewalks of their welcoming committee, Chilton couldn't help but bemoan the peaceful, easy nature of the town. He was a Baltimore man, and he preferred the excitement born uniquely to cities.

Despite the disdain (which came so natural, it may have been a defense mechanism) Chilton had little debate over the status of his affiliation: of course he would register with whatever infrastructure that asked him to, whatever offered the most power and security. He yearned to seep back into a system that dissuaded his personal threats, those harsh variables like--]

-- Danger?

[His veins went cold.]

open

[topslug]

[ Yako can't quite stop looking at her tattoo, turning her wrist over and over to take a curious look at the words: registered hero. It's all a bit surreal still, even in comparison to universe-devouring serpents (or whatever that was) and floating chunks of worlds drifting past.

They're still in America, at least. Or an America, at any rate. That's hard to miss with the flags gaily waving by. Since they've been given a little time to look around the area, she's doing that right now, though her wandering's a bit aimless thus far. She's not very familiar with the cosmetic differences between different American cities, but she's almost sure it looks a little off, though she can't quite place her finger on it...

The signage in the windows leaves her feeling caught off-guard, but the smell of cooking food in the air distracts her from too many troubled thoughts. She's lingering in front of one restaurant now, absently clutching her file in one hand, sniffing the air appreciatively. ]

[corviform]

[ Gil looks positive awful. This humidity is sapping what is left of his energy and his hair looks as if he needs a good wash or clips to pin it down with how curly it's getting in this weather.

His file is in one hand -- the tattooed hand -- and his other arm extends toward Yako as he approaches her. He lets it fall immediately the closer he gets. ]

Miss... Miss Yako?

OPEN

[acrossyourpath]

[ It's almost impossible to believe, but they're alive. She's alive even if she doesn't fully feel like it. The weather is nice and the atmosphere is strangely calm. After what they all just experienced it doesn't feel real.

Felicia is tempted to collapse on a bench, but she instead stops to try and adjust herself in the reflection of a car window. Her enormous hair is smoothed down and her smeared makeup is dabbed at, but she'll need to get herself some new clothes soon. She's still only got one boot on.

A little weightlessly, she finally lets herself sit down on a curb and take in the new scenery. At least, she thinks, they were ready for us. ]

[glassbox]

[ She isn't sure why her eyes pick out Felicia before most anyone else -- it isn't as if they were ever particularly close. She can count the number of times she's spoken to the woman on one hand. Sure, Felicia's always been strikingly pretty, but it's probably more things from the (almost) end of the world still lingering on Lil's mind. She remembers her conversation with Eddie, how he'd said Felicia was important and how, in the moment, Lil had found it romantic, even sweet.

She pauses before approaching, helping herself to a seat on the curb beside the other woman. After a moment, she goes with: ]

...Did he ever find you?

( open )

[gevurah]

[ How Kate wound up in her track pants and A-shirt with her cowl and other belongings safely tucked away into a gym bag from home she doesn't know, but she isn't about to take it for granted. She's had very little rest in the past week, but the adrenaline rush hasn't slowed down just yet, leaving her leery and hyper vigilant of their brand new surroundings.

When she isn't focused on unfamiliar details of her new environment, she fixates on the digital tattoo on her wrist, fingers lightly brushing over skin and her brows furrowing. History has taught her such things aren't symbolic of freedom, but imprisonment. Out from one cage and into another.

She never stays in one place for long, her thoughts focused only on one thing as she combs through the area: Nill. ]

[waiting]

[ He's not looking for her in particular, too caught up in trying to find the people he's looking for. He probably isn't very recognizable himself, with two weeks' worth of stubble and in shirt and jeans instead of his usual suit.

That doesn't mean Bradbury doesn't recognize Kate, or light up when he sees her. ]

Kate! [ He can recognize the look on her face, because it's likely not too different from what his own was just a little while ago, but for now it's been supplanted by pure, uncomplicated relief. ]

( open )

[boobwindow]

[ She repeatedly asks herself why? Why this again? How many times must she watch universes die, snuffed out like a flame and long forgotten not too soon after? Peej doesn't get sick, but her stomach feels both weak and empty. She's a survivor once again, but she can't hold her head high just yet.

She's still holding onto her cat, who has not stopped trembling and growling ever since all hell brook loose in the City. She strokes his neck softly, whispering quietly that it's okay, though her voice betrays her.

She can see her brand new tattoo when she peers through her glove with X-ray vision, a frustrated scowl settling onto her face. ]

How is it even...?

[gandere]

[ Rin's left her own bags behind her a short distance in the care of a vicious looking raven, so at least there's nothing on her person that can agitate her pet further save for the smell of two unknown cats. ]

Hey, remember that time I told you that the Porter likes to dump us into random places..? [ Haa, if only it was applicable here. ]

Have you seen many of the others? I'm looking for people. You're probably looking for people as well. Let's talk about who we've seen?

[glassbox]

[ if a familiar face doesn't find her first.

there's no hesitation -- the moment lil spots renee's familiar silhouette, her body is compelled to move towards her, to put her arms around her without warning and squeeze. her embrace is filled with relief, like her voice when she exhales her friend's name. ]

Renee.

OPEN

[osreborn]

[ Florida.

Even though the sun is setting, the brightness of the day stings Norman's eyes offensively, a sharp contrast to the darkness and hell they'd come from. He doesn't care for Florida, but on the other hand he can't discard a sense of smugness at his own survival. He knew it wasn't over.

But what does this mean now? What does all this mean for him? His future? He'd had such plans. Starting over was an unpleasant prospect, but he'd started from the bottom before.

The first thing he does is pull out his wallet and buy a bottle of water. ]

[nitidus]

[Rose catches sight of him and thinks it shouldn't be a shock that he'd be on of the first people she'd meet. They have unfinished business after all. Once close enough, she coughs and says: ]

Norman, were they not handing them out for free when you arrived?

[She tests Norman out on her tongue. She thinks that formalities might as well have been left in Atropos' stomach. ]

open

[aggressiveapathy]

This was a nightmare. The hows and whats of how they all arrived not withstanding, everything was wrong. Smiles. Heat. Welcomes. Florida. April had never been to Florida. Her family hadn't really been the Disney vacation type. But here she was, file in hand, eyeing the gently waving flags with the same wariness normal people would give to a hissing snake.

She was doomed.

So, with that finality resting on her shoulders, she did the only thing a person could do. She watched the crowd for another moment, then imitated the Welcome, import! smile. And struck out in the crowd. If these people didn't know how stupid the were being, she was going to show them. Not by dealing with the reality of what had happened, of course. God forbid. But, rather, by being even worse than they were.

"Golly and garters, what a welcome."

[kegflipped]

"April!"

Troy's more than a little confused, and not ha-ha-whatever-I-can-laugh-about-it confused. He was bordering on the panic attack he's not sure he's ever had. Having the apocalypse pulled out from under your feet somehow makes the whole thing even worse, especially with the lack of familiar faces immediately nearby. But he'd just seen one dip into the crowd, and he jogged to catch up with April before moving to catch her by the arm.

The good news is that his cat, along for the ride, is a lot less riled up about this than he is.

"April, geez. Are you okay? I'm really-- Ugh. Have you seen Abed?"

open!

[amoray]

Why all the fuckin flags, Eridan had said to a woman straightening one above a doorway, and she'd given him a look like he'd just stomped on her favorite childhood pet. Fifteen minutes later, he'd long since stopped questioning anything in the place, settling instead for a dull, ambivalent approach to it all - he was alive, sure, and disoriented, and not dead, but that's all barely appreciated when he faces what's to come.

Because all he sees is Florida, starting all over again, government housing, and rows upon rows of cheery faces.

So instead of throwing the homicidal fit he knows is coming, Eridan instead finds one of those kitschy outdoor restaurants with the patio tables, sits down, and orders a lobster. Great big one, all the dressings, and it sucks down the last bit of paper money in his wallet, but he's either too dazed or too irate to care, barely touching the meal as he sits there and eyes the passing crowd. How Americana can the place even get? Is anybody aware of it? Is Norman Rockwell imitation one of the laws around here or something, because if it is, his problems don't just end at trans-universal uprooting.

"Fuckin' stupid," he mutters (to no one), tossing the hollowed out shell of a claw over his shoulder (at someone, he can hear them coming close enough for accident range). And in a tight circle around his seat - small, just small enough that someone could stagger through it and shrug it off as momentary weirdness - the good mood sputters out, replaced by the sort of hopeless sucking void befitting his mood.

If anybody comes within touching range of him, they'd better be crying.

[nitidus]

She isn't crying, but there's a sullen sort of aura around her that ought to make Eridan perk up. She doesn't get hit by a claw shell, but she does hear Eridan muttering to himself like a sulking lunatic. It's enough to make her laugh. The first she's laughed, honestly, since her apartment building decided to stretch and take most of her belongings with it.

She's torn between approaching him and making his day worse or pretending like she doesn't know him at all.

She covers her mouth a free hand and forces her laughter to still in her throat. Maybe he hasn't noticed her at all, she thinks. Maybe she can walk away and pretend she hasn't been standing alone laughing for two minutes.

open;

[gandere]

[ It troubles her to be here alone not that she really is alone. There's recognizable faces from the network to indicate that she's not the only imPort here, but there's only a few. What about the rest?

Her neck is sore and that alone causes her to drop the carrying case containing her pets (two very loud cats who hate confined spaces) to the ground to rub at the spot, wondering what must have happened. She was with Archer and then... ]

That bastard. [ He must have knocked her out cold for the third or fourth time in her life? Things are difficult to figure out right now as the familiar ache of emptiness tugs at her mind. Their pact has been broken. Was it Rule Breaker or something to do with this world? ] Ugh...

[ Collapsing to her knees, she feels easily overwhelmed by everything and takes to trying to contain her tears. ]

[toolongdidntrejoice]

There you are.

[ It's not any surprise that he finds her, is it? Even when her lowered hair makes her less obvious, and when she's on her knees in the midst of the crowd, it doesn't take him long to pick her out from the herd. He approaches from her back, resting one hand on her shoulder, and he smiles. He's close enough to have heard her curse. ]

Do you mean me?

[ It's in good spirits. Isn't it a surprise? After all, he is a man who got to see the end of the world -- and live. Most would consider that joy to be relief, but it's not exactly the case. He is delighted since most would only be able to see that much destruction and death once, and yet here he is, and he has the potential to see it again... ]

You should stand; the head of the family should always present herself with elegance, should she not?

open;

[viced]

It's hot. It's hot, and humid, and Mitchell Hundred doesn't like Florida. Just because he was a New York boy through and through didn't mean he hadn't travelled -- he had -- it just had really mostly been in the last few years, back home. Actually back home, not here, not the City, not anywhere. Back when he'd been travelling cross-country while he ran for office, and then as McCain's running mate.

But he hated Florida. Swing-state hell if there ever was one.

The somewhat-current-Vice-President of the United States (in his world) and former Mayor of the City shifted in the crowds, following the signs, listening to the people, but more than that, he listened to the things that didn't talk like people did. With green voices that echoed in his head and his head alone. The things that nobody else could hear. The kind of thing that let him know just how deep this rabbit hole was going to go.

There was the surface, and then there was the deeper picture. The lake didn't look as deep as it was. It looked shallow enough to walk through, but take a few steps in, and you sank like a stone. It was hard to concentrate, listening to that, listening to machines that were both at the same time the same, but the connection was different. They didn't talk the same way, machines never did, from one location to another. These sounded dated -- aged -- like the old transistor radios he used to pull apart to start making his gadgets as the Great Machine -- but yet they still spoke like the complicated machines of the modern age.

Different. Weird.

And all through that, he had the constant idea that he'd failed in some deep, inherent way. He'd stopped one apocalypse, right? In a way. Why hadn't he been able to stop this one? He'd seen the architecture, the infrastructure, all of it crumble before their eyes. He couldn't stop it, but now, now he had to keep trudging on, and he watched, and was silent (a miracle for the career politician) instead of blathering on to anyone who could hear him. He was in business mode, thinking before acting. Normally he wouldn't be so overt about it, but he needed to concentrate on where he was, what he was doing.

At least long enough that he wasn't grasping at straws.

[waiting]

Considering how out of hand shit had been in Atropos, misery and worry near-constant companions, it wasn't really surprising that what Bradbury remembered most clearly about the entire experience was acutely missing the creature comforts of civilization: a meal that wasn't out of a can, a fresh shirt, ten minutes in a bathroom with running water to shave, shower, and take a shit.

One out of three wasn't bad, though the temperature and humidity were making his fresh T-shirt stick to him in uncomfortable places. The reality of where they were hadn't really sunk in -- fucking Florida, really? -- and he was largely going through the motions, walking through the town just because he'd been told to rather than him actually wanting to explore. As if seeing more things that reminded him out out of place he was was going to make it any easier to deal with.

But he was walking with a purpose, in a way. Trying to catch sight of his fellow imPorts, because there were faces he wanted to reassure himself were okay, people he needed to speak to, and when he caught a familiar silhouette not too far ahead of him, the relief was almost enough to make his knees buckle under him. Instead, he picked up the pace, voice calling out loud and strident--

"Mitch!"

--before his arms came around the other man in an impulsive, crushing hug that he held for all of a moment before he gained the presence of mind to let go and step back.

OPEN.

[crab]

[ The first thing he's aware of is that he can breathe. Lungs are no longer struggling to take in air while slowly filling with fluid, no more endless coughing fits that only serve to aggravate the pain in his chest. He can breathe, and he gulps the air down with a sense of overwhelming satisfaction. The second thing he's aware of is that he can feel his right arm, see out of his right eye. The third thing he's aware of is that this is not Porter Tower. Of course it's not Porter Tower

He's whole, he's alive, and he is not in the City. It is easy enough to assume that he will never find himself in the City again. The dog tags around his throat, tattoo on his wrist and the file in his hands say that this won't be so different, and he wonders if Lachesis was their salvation, after all, despite how little faith he'd had in her. He vaguely recalls something before returning to full awareness. Movement, weightlessness, eternity tinged with pride and regret and hope, he remembers hope -- he'd thought that was death, that he'd found his permanent end at last.

Was that her?

Is she dead? Did she take the sacrifice Karkat had been so certain she wouldn't? He wants to ask what happened to her, what happened to everyone while he was gone, and how they brought him back, how they found him, how they know him, but he's told to wait. Told his questions will be answered later, with everyone else's. It frustrates him, but there's little more he can do, but fume and play along for the moment.

They're still called imPorts, he notices. There are glimmers of their prior universe here and there, but there's still an overwhelming sense of other, of another place and time. More pressing, more overwhelming than the surroundings, though, are the people. Their emotions. Karkat is well accustomed to dealing with the background noise of their negative emotions and impulses, but he is no longer limited to just that. Inundated with the positive as well, with the natives' excitement and awe, it's like someone cranked the volume to double what it was originally, and he is in no way prepared for it.

He leans against a shop window, hand pressed to his brow, struggling to collect himself. Deep breaths. Don't freak out. Well, try not to freak out too much. It doesn't feel bad, to feel their enthusiasm, but it is overwhelming, and he could do without it, right now. ]

Hold it together, asshole. [ He growls, and looks up. A sign welcoming imPorts stares back at him. ] At least they improved the welcome wagon this time around.

open;

[ropedin]

[ The past few weeks have not been kind to the sort of vigilante that didn't deal with anything remotely resembling the supernatural. Oh, sure, adjusting to powers was one thing, if they were even real -- and Hooded Justice still harbored the lingering thought that perhaps it was just him, who'd fallen to delusion like everyone else, and that perhaps all of this was one of two things. Actually hell, or a drug-induced fever dream.

That was the only explanation, until they'd come out the other side.

The other side, that felt somehow closer to his time, than anything he'd seen since dying. But that didn't mean he didn't rip his file from the woman, a quick scan telling him all he needed to know about this place. HJ was the sort that made rash, snap decisions, and this was one of them. He didn't like them. Whoever they were, the hostility was labeled clear as day, no matter whether he was standing, walking, or hovering against a wall -- not willing to even hear a word otherwise.

They'd not only printed words onto the file that nobody -- nobody -- should see, but then they'd marred and disfigured his body. He'd seen the brand stamped there, and remembered word of something similar. Most people would say it's impossible, for a man in a hood, a costume that covered so much of him, could look so furious.

But the entire time, he did. ]

[fronttowardenemy]

Going to overheat.

[ It's playing with fire, but the words come from his lips. HJ will recognize the voice, but when he turns, Frank is a different sight. He's leaned forward in his chair, his head tilted to turn his good eye towards him. He isn't in a position to be making taunted, and yet...

He's curious if he's right about how low Hooded Justice will sink. ]