Welcome to Gaia! ::

Five special starseeds were recovered from the invasion of Negaspace; unlike the others, these starseeds belong to people who are still alive on Earth, so Cosmos cannot ferry them back to the Cauldron for rebirth! Instead, these starseeds will be returned and will find their way back to the civilians! The only question is…who do they belong to?

It's up to you!

Five new civilians will be brought into the shop; while these civilians will not obtain any special powers, they will have a great backstory—you just have to write it!

If you are interested in winning one of these character, you don't need to fill out a full form—you simply need to have made at least one post in the meta (any post will do!) and respond to the prompt!



Please try to keep responses under a thousand words! Remember, this is for a civilian character! You may upgrade them to anything you like if/when you win a slot to do so! For the purpose of this competition, your character can be said to have been in the hospital for a maximum time of one month—but if you go that route, their body will need extra time to recover! The longer they went without their starseed, the harder it will be to get back on their feet!

Please post all entries in this thread and fill out the prompt and a link to any one post of yours in any of the Meta threads! Because contests operate outside normal cooldown times, you can still enter even if you are on a cooldown! This contest will close Wednesday, the 23rd, at 11:59 PM EST! and judging may take up to 72 hours. Good luck, everyone!

Link to Meta Post

Entry

Machines beeped patiently, and indifferently, but Michael Kidder, did not respond, mostly because the actual soul of Michael Kidder, just Kidder to his friends, acquaintances, and possibly enemies, was not at home. Hadn't been for roughly a week.

The initial suspicion, when he'd turned up at a bus stop outside the Park, had been perhaps drug related. He'd lost a friend once, to an overdose, and it had not been inconceivable that he'd tried to drown his anger over it with something similar...but there had just been no evidence to support it. All tests came back clean, save maybe a whisper of nicotine (He smoked occasionally) but he simply... wasn't home.

His Rescued parrot was staying with the same friend who had spoken up for him, mostly thanks to a set of fireplace gloves (Boudica liked to bite. Boudica bit people like most creatures breathed...) and also because his father, already at the limits of his emotional endurance, couldn't stand to look at the thing. Not when his son had last left the house to buy her new toys.

---------------------
A week ago Thursday

He had one half of his ear buds in, nodding along to the song it was playing. It was growing dark, and he needed to get home, but the Bus would get him there faster than if he walked, and Bodi was probably, in her odd little brain, anxiously waiting for a new toy to patiently decimate.

She wasn't the largest parrot, but she could be patiently destructive, and her toys had a limited shelf life as a result, even the ones she really liked. He thought she'd like this one, with the Sisal and the bells and blocks. It wouldn't have even taken him so long if he hadn't also stopped by the graveyard with some flowers for her

He would have liked a cigarette, but when he reached for the pack it was empty, and he crumbled it up in annoyance and hurled it at the trash can. It missed, bouncing off the rim and landing at the feet of a stranger, who toed at it with her boot, then kicked it sharply into the street.

He scowled at it as it bounced into the street, in which there was still no sign of the bus, and then turned back to her, raising an eyebrow in judgement.

"The trash can was right there he pointed out, not planning on jogging into traffic after the trash.

"You're the one that threw it." She pointed out, smiling. She wasn't... conventionally attractive. A little square around the edges, she looked like she might lift, and her tousled hair was considerably shorter than his own, but he found her confidence appealing, but the smile...

The smile was somehow just a little off putting.

"Fair point."
He leaned back, putting his arms behind his head as the ipod shifted songs, thought better for a second and moved over the bag of parrot toys, just to be considerate. The bag didn't take up a great deal of room, but there were more entertaining ways to bait people than taking up too much space.

"Aren't you out a little late?" The stranger asked, coming closer, and sliding onto the edge of the bench, as though she planned to spring up again at any moment. It was hard to tell if she planned to jump him, or if she thought he was going to jump her. Even if he'd been so inclined, he was pretty sure she'd have put him in a headlock and maced him. She looked like she might have mace somewhere in that outfit, it had enough small pockets.

"Aren't you?" He challenged back. This had more potential than just leaving his stuff in her seat. He wanted to hear her answer.

"Maybe a bit, but I like shopping around this time of day."

"Not a bad time, if the places you're going are still open." He admitted. It was kind of relaxing, things were quieter, if only because many had hunkered down at home, or a bar, nervously clinging to the idea that they were somehow safer from the dangers of Destiny City.

"So what are you out shopping for?"

He couldn't resist asking; or rather, he didn't try. She had no bags, just that strange bit of fashion choice that looked like... like a set of Army Surplus fatigues had a baby with a goth biker outfit; not even a purse or backpack. Just all those pockets.

She grinned. Her smile was just a hair shy of even, just a little imperfect enough to have more character than a sponge commercial, but it had the same, unsettling effect as her earlier, close lipped smile, and he found himself half consciously reaching for the handle of his pet-shop bag. The bus had to be here shortly right?

"Souls." She answered, and laughed. It was a genuine laugh, as though she were making fun of herself, and he relaxed just a hair, because it was legitimately a ridiculous answer. Maybe she was one of those types that pretended they were a vampire. She'd probably renamed herself Morticia Bathory or something.

"Souls? Seriously? What you're gonna hand me a 'come to Jesus' pamphlet or something?" He laughed too, because it was bizarre, and it was funny.

She didn't dress the part but maybe they were getting smarter. Like... everyone knew to lock their doors when people in immaculate white shirts and black ties showed up smiling vacantly and holding pamphlets and Bibles. They'd never see her coming. He hadn't.

He almost didn't notice that she'd stopped laughing again, but she was still smiling as she scooted a hair closer, brushing at her bangs.

"Not exactly." She said; and struck.

He always assumed, that if anyone attacked him, he'd have the time and presence of mind to do something. He'd been in fights, he'd broken noses, he'd had his broken once, and two ribs besides, as well as his own knuckles finding out that punching someone in the face was a lot stupider of an idea than the movies made it look... but this...

This was different. She was fast, like looking up and seeing a bus bearing down on you, but the bus was her, and the distance between them was small in the first place, and then everything hurt, more than he'd ever been hurt before, in ways that somehow surpassed nerve endings. She tore something out of him with rough hands and little concern, and let the lest of him fall...

And he fell out of the world, and it was cold.

She stood up with a sniff, turning the flickering green stone in her fingers, and then stored it, careful not to fracture it. It was like trying trying to keep a grip on a humming bird without damaging it, at least until they were ready to use it. It fluttered warmly, before it was dismissed, and she reached down again to tug the ipod out of his pocket, unplugging the headphones.

She didn't really have an interest in other peoples earwax, but she kind of wanted an ipod.

"s**t taste in music." She muttered, and pocketed it. Didn't matter. She'd purge the data and start fresh. It was a pretty good night for shopping after all.

Random meta post

Entry

Why couldn’t he be what he wanted to be? Why not chase his dreams...why did he have to live someone else's dream? Shifting the weight of his shoulder bag he let out a heavy breath of air. He’d been walking for over an hour, trying to calm himself, he had gotten too emotional back home and needed to just get out and calm down. Calming down had turned into just walking and letting his thoughts circle about his head and eat at him, wind him up all over again.

What right did his father have of trying to force him to medical school come this fall? Had’t he done everything his father and mother had asked all these years? He’d studied hard, gotten the highest marks he could, he’d done activities- the ones they’d told him to. He had had tutors so he could do better - be better. When had he been a child and a teenager? When had he really spent time with friends..then again that required you to have friends and he longer had those.

He hadn’t told his parents that, he let them think he was still best friends with the grandchild of his grandparents neighbor. That falling out had taken place the first week of sixth grade when they’d entered middle school together, till then they’d gone to two different elementary schools. Middle school was when the two local elementary schools combined and everyone was awkward and had to learn about the other side of towns kids who up till now most didn’t really know much less could call a friend. But he’d had a friend there, had since they were in diapers, and he had felt confident that they’d be close here just as they were normally. How wrong he’d been.

It was at lunch that his world fell apart. He hadn’t had many friends in school, a select few he was comfortable with - they were good friends. Larkin had been eating when his friend - his best friend had approached and stood there looking down at him, the others friends behind him, and asked Larkin if he’d been talking about him - telling people they were friends. Of course he had been! He’d only told his friends sitting at his table, telling them he already had a friend from the other school - that they were like brothers. They’d spent so much time together growing up, always going to their grandparents homes and then walking through a small break in the bushes both homes used as fences so they could visit the others grandparents and ask if they were over - so they could play.

He’d been smiling, moving over at the lunch table to make room for the other, instead of the other sitting Larkin was devastated by the next words which slipped past the others lips. They weren’t friends, why would they be - look at him. He wasn’t to talk to or about the other and was to leave him alone - as if they’d been friends. He’d just been someone to spend time with when he was at his grandparents, a way to pass the time. He’d suffered the other every time Larkin had turned up.

He had sat there through the whole speech, silent as could be, shock showing on his face while the others friends laughed and his own...the few friends he’d had stuck by him - for now.

His other friends had left him later, years later, in high school when a short lived relationship between him and one of his female friends had gone bad. It wasn’t that bad, no abuse or cheating, but she had claimed an interest in someone else - another friend of theirs. So he’d let her go but she kept trying to make passes at him, even while dating their mutual friend. He’d tried talking to his friend, away from everyone else, but it had backfired in his face in a spectacular way and he’d managed to lose all his friends by the end of the day...once word got around to the other seven friends he had - including his ex. That had been back in tenth grade and now in his final year he wondered how he’d survived so long.

He had no one now to talk to about the pressure his parents placed on him, to laugh at the populars and their drama, or to doodle and goof off in class with. He’d lost it all and he figured he owed a lot to the school social worker who he was good friends with by now, she even affectionately called him Lark.

Pausing in his walk, pulled from his melancholy thoughts, he heard something in the alleyway he’d just been passing he went to peer down the way and see what the sound was - perhaps a cat? Maybe a big rat. What it was however was a person, someone in a very strange outfit, and they grabbed him pulling him toward them. His eyes went wide as he tried to pull away and free himself, in the struggle his bag fell to the ground spilling out it’s contents, but he still didn’t get away from the assailant. He heard them say something about not wanting to do this, do what he thought, but he was being so difficult. That was when pain erupted in him and then - nothing. Just darkness as he fell to the ground.

That had been a week ago and he now lay in a hospital bed, in a coma, the notebook that had spilled out from his bag and his pen lay waiting silently for him on the bedside table as well as fresh flowers his mother had placed there. The pages of the notebook the cause for that evening's fight. Filling the pages were lyrics for songs, ideas for songs, he wanted to write music and his father wanted to live through him.

The school had already been contacted, they had been the next morning after his parents had been visited by the police, and no announcement had been made. Teachers had been told in private and a few people who asked were simply told that Larkin Ashworth was in a coma following an attack. The attack though had only left scrapes and minor bruises...so why was he unresponsive and in a coma? What was it keeping him from returning to the land of the waking? Perhaps he didn’t want to wake up? An idea posed by a doctor but why had he wound up in a coma in the first place?

If only he could wake up and perhaps shed some light on these questions? Maybe talk to his father who seemed to be suffering greatly as they had parted ways that evening on such a bad note, as the man had hardly left his son's room in the week he’d been there. A new start, an understanding, perhaps could be forged. But that all depended on if, and when, he opened his eyes to greet the world again.

Meta Post

By the time the bus arrived in Destiny City night had descended several hours ago and Dallen was more than ready to get to his sister’s place. Spring break had been a perfect opportunity for him to visit, and tried and true to his nature, the strawberry blonde hadn’t bothered to inform his older sibling that he would be making a visit. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if she knew when his spring break was, which was perfect. He enjoyed surprising her. Plus, there was the little fact that she had a new roommate that stirred his protective side considering that said roommate was male. In his book, being protective of sisters was a brother’s job whether the brother be older or younger.

So, shouldering the duffle bag that housed all of his essentials for the week, the young man set off from the bus station. At this point in the night the buses weren’t running on a normal schedule and since he didn’t want to wait for hours, Dallen decided to walk. Coming from New York City he wasn’t at perturbed with walking the streets at night, and he certainly had the physique of someone who looked like they could hold their own with his typical broad, jock build. After all, how dangerous could the streets be in a city like Destiny City? His sister had been living here an entire year and hadn’t said anything to him about crimes or problems.

As he moved away from the bus station, the white light glow began to give way to the typical orange cast that old lamp posts tended to give off. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it didn’t provide as much light and gave everything long, dark shadows in it’s lack of ability to penetrate the darkness as well as the rich white lights. Dallen didn’t much mind. It was a nice change from the constant city glow he was use to in New York. It’s no wonder she moved down this way. It’s a bit more peaceful here.

Unbeknownst to Dallen, he had a tail. A tail in the guise of young man who could be no older than eighteen but knew the ins and outs of the city very well considering he had grown up on them. The dark, military esque attire lent well to the shadows he kept himself to as he followed his prey like a hungry feline. Fingers were practically itching to sink into his target’s chest as he watched from behind, passing from shadow to shadow. There were quotas to be met and the teen was not at all perturbed by his target’s physical capabilities. All he needed was the perfect opportunity.

Dallen was only a few blocks from sister’s place when he rounded the corner of an old looking convience store. The place looked run down but obviously was still in use due to the string lights that glowed in one of the windows around a sign that said ‘Sorry We’re Closed’. The street was deserted here and one of the lamp posts that lined the street had a light that was barely alive as it flickered in and out.

It was at the moment that Dallen walked under the fading light that he heard the sound of the footsteps on the pavement running towards him. He didn’t even have time to register that he was in trouble before he went sent sprawling on the macadam. His duffle bag, was sent flying from him from the motion, tumbling in it’s landing. “The hell!” He breathed as he tried to right himself, but a hand on his shoulder abruptly flipped Dallen over onto his back with strength that shouldn’t be feasible for a teen the size he was facing. “Get off me!” Dallen yelled as he threw his weight into his attacker.

Laughing, the teen scuttled back a bit, just out of reach of his prey. A feral grin was plastered on his face. “Now, now. Prey needs to learn it’s place in the world.” Licking his lips the teen lashed out again at Dallen with a fist, but the college student was better prepared this time and managed to roll out of the way. His attacker had anticipated the move, and a boot quickly came down on Dallen’s chest.

“Hm, what’s the matter prey? Having a bit of a problem? How does that saying go? ‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall?’” Licking his lips, the teen reached down to grab hold of Dallen’s neck. Wrapping his spindly fingers as far around as he could, his thumbs pressed into Dallen’s throat, restricting the air he was able to intake. “No need to worry. It won’t hurt for much longer.”

Dallen managed to reach up and wrenched one of his attackers hands free. “The hell is your problem, Man!” He gasped out as he thrashed under the teen who had straddled him in an attempt to keep Dallen as still as possible.

Eyes growing wide with glee the attacker laughed again. If Dallen had time to think he would have likened the sound to that of a hungry Hyena. Unfortunately, time was not his as the teen sunk his hand into Dallen’s chest and swiftly removed a small glowing stone.

His starseed was stolen. Taken to aid the Negaverse. And Dallen was let to lay there on the street, with nothing left to identify him. Still, there was fight left in him, and with the help of some good samaritans, was taken to a nearby hospital where he was swiftly put on life support.

So for 4 days the young man remained in the hospital. Barely kept alive except by the machines and his own determined will to exist. Not even his family was aware of where he was or what state he was in, but doctors and nurses kept a vigilant watch over him in their stead as police worked to identify the college student and notify his family.

[first meta post]

I don't not like cats. I think they don't like me.

As though to prove her thoughts all the more right one day, a cat had paused mid-step to look at her before seemingly rushing off to cross the rest of her path and dart up a tree.

Her friends had first heard about her suspicions about cats' feelings towards her in one of the previous chats about animals that they'd shared between them. [Lia] had told them whenever she saw a cat, she would try to pet one like she would a dog but none yet would let her and dogs were more friendly with her in comparison. This group encounter with a cat today also was not an uncommon sort of occurrence to them since Lia had also tried befriending cats in their company before on a number of occasions. But on this occasion said cat shot off right before she spoke while reaching out a hand in taking a step with a supposed chance to try her 'here kitty kitty' greeting again. So, it was not a surprise to Lia that they started teasing her about scaring another cat away.

I'm not trying to scare cats when I see them.

What did surprise not just Lia but all of them though was that havoc broke out in this part of Destiny City before they got much of their teasing in. And there were suddenly sounds of explosions and panicked yells all around them.

Maybe cats really like giving me bad luck.

There was such a memorable time in her past that Lia had been invited by friends to meet her where they both as twin siblings got piano instruction after their lessons. She got to the building and up to the specified second floor of it without a problem since it was just across the street from the park housing the gym where she participated in a basketball program. But she had ended up puzzling about which door belonged to the piano place.

That's when she saw a cat walking along ahead of her. The cat seemed to notice her worded greeting first before proceeding to ignore her voiced address and suddenly dashing forward and stopping in front of floor to ceiling windows and looking inside. Someone she deduced from attire as a dancer in a tutu was lying on the floor and Lia thought she imagined someone hurriedly entering one of the mirrors. A sweeping look back to the cat resulted in just being on time to see the tail disappear down the other set of stairs of the building as someone else rushed into the room enclosed by the windows to check on the fallen dancer in alarm. Long story cut short, she missed seeing her friends that day but the policemen who took her to a nearby station and asked her questions as a witness before she was brought home were clearly displeased with her for 'making up' having seen someone run into one of the mirrors in the room.

But back to today, though her friends told her they should run and hide, Lia had insisted to try and call the cat down from the tree to hide from all the mayhem together.

The cat, like the rest of the surroundings, was a frantic sight looking from her to the rest of the area around them with hasty movements while adamantly staying up in the tree. Sounds and sights seemed to blur to Lia as she began losing track of more of what was happening where she was. She could recognize one of her friends beside her still though her own vision whirled more and more while trying to take in and process the frenzied rush of people screaming while sounds of things shattering and the like kept filling her senses. What should she do? Where should she go? She was frightened!

And it was while standing and trembling in front of the tree that she saw scary hands reach towards her belonging to someone who looked like one of the police but not really at the same time. Were the hands trying to help? Were the hands belonging to someone just in some sort of costume? Was she getting kidnapped?

There was then a sudden pain at the back of her head. What had hit her? It sure felt like she got hit. Everything she was seeing was turning black, was she going blind? Was she going to die?

She didn't want to die.

I don't want to die. I love the family that adopted me. They love basketball like I do and play basketball with me and we have a lot of fun. But I know I beat them in loving basketball more. Mom and my sister are nice. And dad is nice, too, though he has to be away a lot because mom says he has work over the sea or something like that, whatever she means by that exactly. But mom says he comes to be with us when he doesn't work and it's always great when dad, mom, my sister, and me are all together. I have more friends now, too. We sometimes don't get along so much, but most of the time we do really get along and we stay friends and have a lot of fun. I don't want to die. I really don't want to die.

[Meta Dingle Dongles]

Shaking hands held his own yet the man, dressed in the blue and white gown of hospitals, didn't know it. Tubes ran down his nostrils into his lungs, pumping them with oxygen and other needed gasses. Two IV drips hung to his right, one for fluid, one for nutrients. Others tubes had been placed inside of him all to keep him from succumbing to a death from a lack of anything. The bed was even designed so that the pressure on his muscles would be minimized and changed so muscle atrophy would be lessened when he might wake. Should he awake at all. The woman who held his hand was clinging to the hope that it would be a when, not a should. If was such a terrible word she's discovered in her days sitting at his side, reading the get well soon cards because they were less for him, and more for those that cared for him.
For people like her.

He was going to give her a future. He had done everything right. She was the one who'd done everything wrong. She looked down at his face and felt that acidic taste of bile rise in her mouth. Fear and love were a heady mix, and when you were the cause of both you didn't always have a positive reaction. She should have called him for lunch. Maybe then he'd be back at the station, reading off questions from his old beat up first generation iPad. His voice would be soothing hearts of listeners, his smile even as their boss criticized his appearance would brighten the room as he'd make sure the interns knew that it was okay to talk to him. He was kind and he was gentle- so why, as she held his hand, was he not waking up?

~~~

Being the host of a talk radio was not the most glamorous job. Not when everyone thought you looked one way but in reality your voice did not match your appearance. Samson was dressed in his usual tweed blazer with suspenders along with the traditional oxfords when he looked at his desk calendar. It was a few days after Valentine's day, and Marian was still out of the office. He'd sent her a message that day but didn't get a reply till later that night. She'd been drinking apparently with her friends. He didn't ask. He knew that she was bad for him as his mother would have put it. Her instagram feed was full of images of her drunkenly making out with her friends. Or 'Friends' as he'd call them. Strangers she'd met, hooked up with. But to him, that didn't matter. Well, it did, but it also didn't. They were dating, and she's asked for an open relationship. He'd said okay. He didn't see anyone, but she saw a lot of people. He was okay with that but.

But he hoped maybe she'd get it out of her system. They'd talked about being serious, going steady. Heck, dating like this for over a year was wearing even him down and by most terms was going steady already. Still, she was set to come back to the office at exactly two in the afternoon to start her usual segment 'On Fleek this Week'. After her segment- he's ask. He'd wanted to ask on Valentines but with her being out he'd not wanted to intrude. She'd planned a vacation anyway, and their boss wouldn't let them off on the same time. Something about how it would compromise the station. As far as Samson knew, no one was aware outside his small circle of friends that he and Marian had been dating. Sometimes they'd ask why he let himself be used but it wasn't like that.

As he looked at his watched he sighed. It couldn't be like that. Marian just wanted to live a bit before settling down. She supported him and if she said yes? If she'd said yes he'd be able to shove his friend's words down their throats.

It was just half past one and if he wanted to have her desk showered in flowers like he planned, he'd need to leave in order to pick up the blooms and get back with enough time to set up without her being in her cubicle.

The drive to the florist was uneventful, and if anything hurt it was the seventy dollar charge for the flowers. But Marian was worth it. She was worth it. The ring was locked away in his desk so he didn't need to worry about that. But as he loaded the roses he slammed his forehead onto the wheel of his beat up 2001 Ford. He'd forgotten to pick up the small cake from the coffee shop she loved. Gritting his teeth, Samson berated himself as he left his car full of flowers to run down two blocks, taking a detour through a small alleyway.

He didn't notice the woman who stared at him and had been watching him since he'd arrivd at the florist. He didn't look behind him when she followed him into the coffee shop and watched him beg for the whole cake, not just a slice. She followed him out and through the alleyway smiling as Samson put the cake in the passenger seat. His window rolled down as he closed the door she moved to engage him, asking him what the roses were for.
"Oh, I- Well I plan to propose to my girlfriend."

She'd said "It would be a shame if she said no."
"Oh, well, I think she'll say yes- No- I know she will!"
"Well you know what a girl loves most from a man?" Samson didn't have time to scream, his eyes only widening as a hand reached into his car window and slid into his chest. His look of bewilderment was his expression as the woman stole his life away.

"His heart."

Violence was, and ever would be, an irrevocable blemish in humanity’s history. She didn’t try to ignore it, but before now, she didn’t try to stop it. Viktoriya Zaslavsky was by no means a people’s hero. She never bothered to watch the news and keep her eyes out for local murderers, bank robbers, or convenience store heisters. She never cared to know what came of the animal whose furs she wore, or what the model on the front of her favorite magazine endured to reach that particular size. In fact, Victoriya made a habit of not thinking too deeply about anything.

In the span of her young adult life, Vikka was witness to two crimes - one was a simple purse snatch by a ski-masked man. At the time, she informed her mother emphatically, who assured her that she needn’t worry about it. She never encountered any reminders of it again - not even in the local news reports - so little Vikka forgot about it entirely. The second instance was, perhaps, far more forgettable than the first, for a severely drunken vagrant used the subway system as his own personal toilet. The man was later escorted off the train without her interference, and those on board the train continued their daily activities. So, in Vikka’s defense, she had not encountered a great many criminal happenings where her interference would have made a difference.

And, of course, Viktoriya encountered a certain level of luxury in life. While not terribly wealthy, her family never suffered so far as to drop into the poverty scales. She always had food, access to education, and loving parents to meet her emotional needs. As far as she knew, the justice system operated as intended and largely put away the proper criminals behind bars.

So in moving to Destiny City, Vikka was terribly unprepared for the sociopolitical decadence contained therein. Sometimes she witnessed muggings, and her first thoughts turned preventing herself from becoming the next victim, and that the police would surely clean up the mess. She figured that reporting the crime as a witness wasn’t any of her business - that it fell to the victim to pursue proper reparations. At a later point, she heard an assault, and thought it nothing more of her concern. Reports of convenience store robberies flashed on the news and she continued her evening cooking without a second thought. Headlines of terrorist activities covered her location-specific homepage and she ignored them in the same manner as the ads that populated the page.

To Vikka, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was a mantra worth perpetuating into eternity.

And while she never thought to herself that crime couldn’t possibly happen to her, she simply never considered that it could. When she decided to take a short trip to the nearest convenience store for a couple spare magazines to read while she dyed her hair, she never figured that she might get attacked en route. And even when she found herself confronted by the pseudo-military figure, Vikka figured instinctively that she would escape the confrontation unscathed. Even as his hand touched her chest and beyond, she thought to push him away and that would be that. She could run, she could call the cops, and justice would return with a vengeance. And yet, as she pushed, she felt a terrible, wrenching pain that lurched through her body. She felt herself collapse.

And she thought, for the first time, I should’ve tried harder.

She thought, I should’ve said something.

She thought, I should’ve been a better person.

[Meta post!]

Leander Nohrenberg was a nerd.

He was a nerd in so many different senses. One could gather a few of these senses based on what he had been doing one fine night. He had gathered with a few of his friends at the library intending to hold a study group for an upcoming biology exam. Said study group quickly disintegrated into an argument over “waifus,” a criticism of one member’s decision to play a game on the easiest mode, and then several spontaneous four-way Pokemon battles.

The fact that all four of them brought their 3DSes to what was supposed to be a study group was quite indicative of the crowd Leander typically hung out with. Truly, he belonged to a nerd herd.

The library’s study rooms were supposed to keep silence in and noise out. They were generally excellent private spaces, with the exception of the windows on the doors. The windows weren’t normally a concern if the people in the rooms were doing what they were supposed to (that is, studying), but they did provide an easy view for the librarians to see if anything illicit was going on in there. Every once in a while, someone would get caught trying to make out or do something else illegitimate, and it seemed that these successful catches were on an uptick recently. Some librarian apparently had very good eyes.

When Leander and his posse exited the study room, they probably let their volume go a little higher than was acceptable. They had to get in their parting shots about that one guy’s choice in waifus and difficulty levels, after all. A pointed “Ssssh” from elsewhere reminded them where they were, and the group gradually dissolved.

The click-clack of heels on the sidewalk caught his attention as Leander made his way out of the library. A look over his shoulder revealed that he was being followed by the hot librarian whose shift ended around this time. Yes, the hot librarian, the one who was on the younger side, with the wavy chestnut hair and the frameless glasses and the low-cut blouses and the quite respectable rack. Just looking at her sent a tremor of excitement through him. He greeted her with a grin. “Evening!”

She returned his grin and his greeting. “Evening.” The librarian quickened her pace so that she was in line with Leander. “It looked like you and your buddies were having a good time in Study Room 3.”

Aw, shucks, he’d been caught. “Yeah, we were supposed to be studying for biology, but we got distracted,” he admitted sheepishly.

The librarian gave him a meaningful look that indicated a bit of reproach. “You technically weren’t doing anything wrong in there, so I didn’t kick you out… but next time, please keep in mind that the study rooms are to be used for studying.”

That little butterfly flutter in Leander’s stomach was swiftly squashed. Yup, he had blown it. The hot librarian was not pleased with him. “I’ll be more careful next time,” he said.

“Good,” the librarian said. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Next time I catch you goofing off, I’ll come in and keep you on task.” After a few more steps, she suddenly stopped. “Here’s where we split for the night. Ciao!”

Leander sighed as the sound of heels on pavement receded. That lady was tough as nails under her beautiful exterior, and he wasn’t sure if that didn’t just make her more attractive. His mind clouded over with all kinds of fantasies as he walked home, and for a good few minutes, it was like any other early Spring night: dark, a bit chilly, but pleasant.

The sound of heels on pavement pulled him out of his reverie.

A black-clad woman was approaching him. A scrap of light revealed that her hair was chestnut brown, and her outfit had a prominent cleavage window. “Where are you coming from?” she asked.

The question and the interloper caught Leander off guard. “Um, the library,” he said.

“What were you doing there?” The woman continued her approach, not stopping till she was very in Leander’s personal space bubble.

“Studying?” This woman certainly didn’t look like a cop, but the interrogation certainly reminded Leander of one.

“No, you weren’t. People like you never put effort into what they do. You’re a waste.” The woman wrinkled her nose, as if legitimately disgusted by Leander’s presence.

Leander quirked an eyebrow and tried not to get too openly offended. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Does it matter? I’m going to make sure you’re not a waste.” The woman’s hand shot forward, and Leander had a bizarre sense that somehow, her hand was gripped around something inside him. It was a chilling, utterly alien feeling that made sweat spring to his brow and a wave of nausea sweep through him. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure your soul goes to good use. Can’t make any promises about your body, though.”

Before Leander could voice any protest, the woman pulled her hand back, and a pain like a million stabs shot through him, rippling from his core. The pain replaced itself with a terrible coldness, and the last thing he saw before his vision went black was a sparkling prism in the woman’s hand.

One week after the attack, Leander was languishing in a coma in Destiny City Memorial Hospital. The doctors remained perplexed by his unchanging condition, and the fact that he was starting to die even with the hospital’s best efforts did not help matters. Inside Leander’s room, his older brother Loren stared at him with his fists clenched, trying to restrain himself from punching a hole in the wall.

Give me my brother back. Give him back, or I will tear this city down until I find the person who did this to him.