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So this was the Civisect Science Dome. It sure was... shiny? The name lead Sascha to think of science-based gladiatorial combat, which would have been a simultaneously more enjoyable and safer outing. Instead he was hanging around, "casing the joint," as he'd heard a couple of other trolls from the Chittentown Laboratories refer to it. He'd come alone, foregoing any sort of disguise to accompany his nefarious deeds. Sascha figured it was the least suspicious way to go about things. The volunteer program meant there were a lot of unfamiliar trolls meandering about the establishment. Sascha also wasn't a talented enough costumier to do much about his unhealed burn scars, so the bandages unfortunately had to stay. It was the story of his life for the past couple perigees. He at least had the presence of mind to wear a hooded jacket. He managed to ever so slightly divert attention from his flash-fried skull in exchange for looking like a would-be mugger. Among all the chrome and glass Sascha couldn't have felt more Chittentown if he had sand pouring out of his pockets.

It was all the more reason to get out of dodge, by which Sascha meant "head into the less-populated back rooms." He wasn't sure what he could dig up without some kind of key card access that would be both valuable and capable of being smuggled back to Chittentown. Still, it was worth a shot. Sascha had luck with this sort of thing before.

At least the patchwork quality of the Chittentown Laboratories made for some memorable landmarks by which to navigate. Everything in Chittentown was so damn sleek. Sleek and featureless. If he were alone, Sascha would have been tempted to try and just launch himself onto one of the suspended walkways. The risk of a broken skeleton sounded much more appealing than dying of old age trying to find a goddamn elevator.

Sascha didn't even have the luxury of theatrically tearing out his own hair. Just as he was about to call it quits (and be doubly thankful he hadn't told anyone back home what he'd been up to), an anomaly caught Sascha's eye.

It was a seam in the otherwise flawless wall. It was still glossy enough in design for Sascha to nearly miss it, but it was unmistakably a door. Sascha retook stock of his surroundings. There wasn't anyone around. It wasn't for lack of clearance. This was just a dead-end of a space. The cart of garbage cans off to the side indicated Sascha may have just discovered the janitor's closet.

Still, it didn't have a key card scanner on it, so Sascha was free and clear to check it out. He groped around for the handle. It wasn't like he'd found anything more interesting.

Sure enough, Sascha opened the door to reveal a space reeking heavily of cleaning solution. It figured Civisect would do its damndest to hide any indication they needed something as Bourgeois as cleaning supplies. They were just this shiny naturally. Sascha snidely wondered if they were similarly cagey about their ablutionblock--sorry, bathroom placement.

For a janitor's closet, the space sure was big. Sascha strayed further into the room. There were actual aisles of various solutions meant for cleaning up all of the possible chemicals that could be used in the space elevator building process. A chemistry degree was probably required just to clean the floors there. The only symbols Sascha recognized were the obvious ones: Flammable and Poisonous.

Thoughtfully, Sascha picked up one of the containers, examining it closer. That certainly was a thought.

It was a terrible idea, both morally and with regards to his own personal safety. However how many of Sascha's ideas weren't? Sascha began rifling through the chemicals with more purpose. He'd pull a container, read through the labels, and then toss it onto the floor while grabbing another.

One of the jugs was missing most of its label. It was an odd pinkish color. Sascha tentatively unscrewed the cap and did his best to smell the fumes from a safe distance. He wrinkled his nose at the stench, pulling it from his body. With his arm fully extended, Sascha turned his wrist 180-degrees.

"Oops." Sascha said, slowly moving his arm in a wide arc.

HP: 14/20
Telekinesis: 1/1 Offensive Style B: Attack does double damage, and detracts 1 health from opponent every remaining turn.

Sascha does 6 damage!

HP: 13/20
Telekinesis: 1/1 Offensive Style B: Attack does double damage, and detracts 1 health from opponent every remaining turn.

By some miracle, Sascha was able to keep his own footing while sliding around in a slick of corrosive mystery liquid. His opponent's inelegant (and hilarious) flailing gave Sascha a chance to take up an actual boxing stance.

Sascha's recognition struck a second before his fist did. He awkwardly diverted his punch into roughly grabbing Aandes by the front of his jacket. Momentum carried the two of them against the shelves. Sascha stopped aggressing further, but kept his grip firm.

"...Aandes?" Sascha made it sound like a question, but Aandes was a pretty unmistakable character, even after sweeps. Sascha relaxed a barely perceptible amount. He was still on alert, but an undercurrent of amusement was present.

"Civisect volunteer program, right?"

HP: 8/20
Telekinesis: 1/1 Offensive Style B: Attack does double damage, and detracts 1 health from opponent every remaining turn.

Neither of their positions or the ensuing altercation were the least bit surprising. Sascha allowed himself a couple short bursts of laughter. That small lapse in vigilance was all it took for Sascha to find his arms bound together. Steel wire tore criss-crosses through his bandages. Sascha yowled.

Aandes may have slipped out of his grasp, but they were still connected. It was only a half thought-through maneuver as Sascha thrashed against his bindings, but he braced his legs and whipped in a half circle. The snap of tension in the wire stung like a b***h, but if Aandes insisted on staying armed, he was coming along for the ride.

HP: 8/20
Telekinesis: 1/1 Offensive Style B: Attack does double damage, and detracts 1 health from opponent every remaining turn.

Sascha whip-cracked Aandes into the other side of the room. The resulting crash gave him enough time to pry the wires loose from his arms with his teeth. His bindings fell to the floor with a great deal of the bandages on his arms. The last thing his look needed was fringe. If he hadn't looked suspicious before, bleeding gashes on top of visible burn scars were certainly something that could be put on a wanted poster. It was time to head out.

It was almost a shame. He'd liked Aandes plenty as a child, and it hadn't looked like he'd changed much. Matured, maybe, but the edge was still there. He hadn't tried to chastise him for trying to wreck the place, at least.

Sascha walked, retaining a small degree of caution in the process, over to where he'd tossed Aandes. He flexed his hands, wincing at the sensation. The fumes in the room were thick enough to feel like they were cauterizing the broken skin. He looked down at his old pal, sighed, and grabbed him by the jacket again. With a grunt of exertion, he hauled Aandes upright. His treatment was rough, but sturdy in his attempts to keep Aandes from keeling over as he walked the two of them back to the entrance of the supply room.

"Glad to see you still know how to have a good time," Sascha's tone may have been a bit mocking, but it was still genuinely affectionate. "I'd love to ask what you've been up to lately, but due to extenuating circumstances I'm afraid my friendship can only net you so much special treatment." He deposited Aandes outside the heavily fumigated closet and took a few steps back.