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Chittentown: both the lowblooded and technological capital of Alternia. As such, it was a proud city, populated by lowbloods as resilient in the face of the hemospectrum as their city’s architecture in the desert winds. However, like any city, Chittentown had its slums.

Sascha stood in an empty lot surrounded by paint-stripped buildings. Judging by the look of the neighborhood, vacancies outnumbered residencies. Abandoned furniture and knick-knacks tossed out from the empty homes were lumped together into piles decorating the lot Sascha stood in. As far as he was concerned, this dusty wasteland was perfect.

Bagwormother found the place pleasant as well. It was quiet, open, and more importantly not the interior of their own hive. Sascha had broken enough glass in the hive to found their own personal desert and had consequently been kicked outside by his lusus. The neighbors too were relieved to see Sascha skip on a night of wrecking glass bottles in the communal lawn ring and continue further on into town.

Sascha had griped about being exiled from his own hive initially, but soon found the walk to be relaxing, fun even. It was rare that Bagwormother was so alright with venturing into the rougher parts of town. Either she was finally beginning to trust Sascha’s ability to fend for himself, or she really didn’t want to sweep up anymore busted plates.

Even Bagwormother had to agree this lot was a fine location. She spotted half of a broken mug that hadn’t yet had its glaze worn off by the weather. She quickly set to work lining its edges with webbing so as to attach the shiny fixture to her shell.

Sascha, meanwhile, had jumped right into sorting through the larger items. He dragged a screenless television set out of the wreckage, causing the pile to sag with a noisy clatter. This would serve as a perfect stage. Moments later, Sascha had assembled a makeshift shooting gallery.

”Okay… First the travel cup, then the bobble head, and then into the broken lamp,” Sascha tossed a dirty baseball in his hand while he counted off his targets. This would be a piece of cake.

Sascha pitched the ball up in the air. Before it could hit the stolen street sign, the ball slowed its course and stopped completely. Sascha stared down the ball like it was the single most important object on the planet. The ball crackled with red energy and pulsed with a faint glow. Sascha’s eyes and hands twitched as he struggled to guide the ball without losing focus. First the travel cup.

The ball drifted in a wobbling line away from the sign and over to the plastic cup stacked at the end of the gallery. Sascha held his breath as the ball brushed up against the cup. The force was enough and the cup teetered and fell onto its side and onto the ground. Sascha tried not to let his relief distract him.

The ball changed course sharply. Faster and in a straighter line, the ball made its way over to the opposite side of Sascha’s training course. A bobble head of some indiscernible sports figure stared blankly ahead at Sascha. It looked like it had been bleached, if not partially melted from sitting out in the sun. Still, it hadn’t fused enough to keep from jiggling when the baseball touched the top of its head.

Two successes, and one to go. Sascha allowed himself to smirk. This was clear, undeniable proof that he was improving, excelling even. A regular wunderkind.

As if sensing Sascha’s optimism, the baseball stilled mid-air, its aura pulsing more violently. Sascha scowled both out of concentration and irritation. He knew this song and dance. He just had to be very careful and just sort of… mentally… jostle…

The ball crackled with red sparks and punched an enormous hole through the lamp he’d been trying to land the ball on top of. The remains of the lamp landed in a crumbly ring around its former position on the empty TV set.

Sascha balked, then raged. ”FFFF-” A glance over at his lusus, ”FFRRrrrrgh, DAMN IT!” Sascha stamped his boots against the dry dirt and threw his hands in the air. He’d been so close that time, and yet he was mostly angry about how unsurprising that outcome was. He’d only had it happen to him fifty-bajillion times since first discovering he was telekinetic in the first place.

Ugh. Sascha held his twitching eyebrows down with his fingers and made his way across the lot to go find where the ball had shot off to.

Sascha didn’t realize until he saw Adamaz that he hadn’t heard the ball touch-down against concrete or glass. It wasn’t hard to put together what had happened after his ball disappeared from the lot. Sascha slowed his pace and watched Adamaz wobble around the street—oh, there was his ball. Adamaz picked it up and Sascha strode over.

”Yo!” Sascha called. He held up one hand, signaling for Adamaz to toss him the ball. ”Figures I’d manage to hit the one random-a** troll wandering around this dump.” Sascha blatantly looked Adamaz up and down. Thank gog it was another lowblood, and a child at that. Anyone older or higher on the spectrum would have easily put Sascha in a world of trouble for a ******** like that. Sascha couldn’t tell if he was lucky or unlucky this outing.

This other kid, though, looked pretty firmly on the side of unlucky. He was lowblood, of course, but he was a ratty looking one at that. He had a dull face, Sascha decided, and—oh gross, was that his lusus!? Sascha kept his lip from rising up too far into a grimace and returned his attention squarely to Adamaz. He wanted his ball back.

Sascha deftly caught the ball in his open hand. He grinned at the simplicity of the transaction. This kid didn’t even seem that mad! At least, he didn’t seem as mad as Sascha probably would have been in his position. Sascha bounced his ball in his hand a couple of times.

A bullet, huh? Sascha’s grin only widened at the “compliment.” He may have had lousy control over his telekinesis, but power was not lacking in his, well, power. Despite all his training on the former, Sascha wasn’t about to look a donative hoofbeast in the maw. He was strong, thank you!

”Heh, you think?” Sascha thumbed the side of his nose in his best impression of modesty. ”Afraid my lusus ain’t much more imposing than yours. That was all me.” Sascha gave another toss of his ball for emphasis. He was perhaps far too pleased with himself for accidentally beaning another child, but Sascha preferred to think of it as making lemonade out of lemons.

Sascha narrowed his eyes as Adamaz appraised him. The orangeblood didn’t seem impressed or afraid or anything.

Adamaz replied and Sascha’s mouth dropped. This punk-a** kid was daring to compare Sascha to a tiny bug!? Wasn’t he just complaining about getting hit a second ago!? “Don’t look half as-“ That stupid pest was barely the size of Sascha’s boot!

Sascha’s slack jaw tightened into a scowl. He could barely unclench his teeth in order to spout a proper comeback. His knuckles were turning white with the grip he held on his baseball. In the meantime, Sascha’s building energy was rerouting itself. His hair and bandana began to float upwards as though suspended by water and the air crackled red around him with fizzing psionic energy.

”I dare ya. Say that again.”

Adamaz’s reaction took Sascha completely off guard. He took a clumsy step back as Adamaz invaded his personal space and the psychic force lifting his hair and clothes dropped immediately. Fumbling to push his bangs out of his eyes, Sascha wildly looked Adamaz up and down, trying to reassess the situation.

”You- I- Wha…” Sascha had never received this kind of attention before. From anyone. This was likely because he tended to reveal his powers in a bid to win competitions when he’d otherwise be losing. That didn’t exactly net Sascha any friends. Their loss.

Noting that Sascha was taking an awfully long time to retrieve his ball, Bagwormother had unfurled herself from her napping position. Upon registering voices, she hurried across the lot to catch up with her son. She rounded the corner in time to witness Sascha in the unfamiliar position of being absolutely flummoxed, and the stranger (another lowblooded child, thankfully) absolutely ecstatic. Bagwormother felt compelled to aid her charge, but at the same time, was undeniably curious about this altercation.

Sascha righted his posture. This kid was being totally serious. That was amazing. Sascha cracked a grin, then chuckled, then laughed outright. ”I nearly beat the s**t out of you and this is how you react!? Haha! That’s great! I like this. You’re pretty cool yourself, kid.” Sascha grinned and tossed his ball up, hovering it slightly before letting it fall back into his hand. It was about as much showing off he could do without fear of backfire. Excited as he was, Sascha wasn’t so sure Adamaz would appreciate getting knocked around a second time.

Sascha was on some kind of roll, socially. It was making him feel a bit lightheaded with giddiness. There was also the instinctive mistrust of any situation going this well for him. Sascha wouldn’t be surprised if this ended up being some kind of trap or this kid turned out to be some kind of serial killer/stalker type.

Still… it was a risk Sascha was willing to take.

”Sascha Diasis. You from around here?” Sascha smiled brightly.

Bagwormother’s snout twitched as she followed the conversation between the two boys. She too was struck by the pair’s shared enthusiasm. While she hoped as much as any mother that her child was en route to making a new friend, she couldn’t help but worry about whether or not this new acquaintance would end up being a good influence. Adamaz had at least passed the incredibly low bar of not joining her son in any illegal activity. A solid one for three. Still, she wasn’t sure all that praise would have a positive effect on Sascha’s already enlarged sense of self-importance.

At least she wasn’t being asked to climb anything.

”Wow, are you talking like literally or figuratively?” Sascha balked. Busthind, as Sascha knew it, was a place people heard of but never went to. What was even up there? The Punishment Pits and like… a bunch of cold rocks. Either this Adamaz kid was more hardcore than Sascha had given him credit for, or a lot more misfortunate. Either way, seeing him wandering around this back alley like some kind of lost tourist suddenly made more sense.

Sascha jiggled the ball in the palm of his hand as he filed this information away. ”Yeah, me and like a zillion other lowbloods. I was expecting you to say something like ‘across town’ at the most, but up on a mountain? Jegus. If you’re gonna go on a ********’ expedition every time you leave your hive, why’d you pick a destination like the shoddy end of Chittentown? At least Four Fronds has like… grass.”

Sascha passed his ball from his left hand to his right, and used his left hand to jut a thumb back over his shoulder to the abandoned lot behind him.

”I’m here on business. Practicing my aim and control and all that. Last thing my neighbors want is me psychically punching a hole in one of our shared walls… Not that I’ve ever done that before.”