On the doctor's advice, I've taken up rental poetry.

Rental poetry allows for the simulation of creative muscle flexing, but doesn't actually exert the muscles. Because it's simulated. And covered by my insurance.

Stare, stare like a bear,
then you'll know me anywhere
Stare, stare like a bear,
call your mother Ginger Hair
Sharp shadow

Kind of like a fidget for your poetry muscle?

Nah, it really isn't doing it for me either.

But what IS making me feel TONS better is working out with the League of Saviours! Lady Legume, @Jess Gynn, Argumentative Redhead, Justine Sorcerer, Wanda de L'amour, Ms. Samson, Sherri Turtle, Banana Tigris and the rest.

Frankly, I was kind of a mess, what with the staples shooting out of my eyes, and the cellotape fingers, my paper clip whip tail... I was just kind of breaking stuff in my dorm room and around campus. But at the League of Saviours they're super into all that and helping me control it. Plus gymnastics, which I used to do way back at Conventional Elementary but haven't for years. Now I can do a one-handed cartwheel off a ledge, hit five targets with my staples, land with my legs around one practice dummy's neck while I tape up another and lasso the feet of Lady Legume with my paper clip chain (if she's not paying attention). Now THAT's what I came to Psyhigh for!

Stare, stare like a bear,
then you'll know me anywhere
Stare, stare like a bear,
call your mother Ginger Hair
Shiver and smile

God I feel so refreshed after that session with @Anita Klue at the League of Saviours secret hideout. It's only secret because it's cooler that way, or at least that's what they told me on Initiation Night.

It was Anita's Initiation last night, so let me tell you what happened.

We all gathered around in a circle in Psyker robes (they change to suit the occasion for you rather than the other way around - handy) and began meditating.

The elected leader that night - the League don't have a singular leader, only Elders who have the knowledge and understanding to lead us in the right direction (they take it in turns to chair meetings and stuff) - he led us in a chant. One of the Elders released his familiar, a ghostlike dog, who began running around with a bag clasped in his teeth.

Well, I tell you, it made me so woozy I passed out!

As did the rest of the League. It gathered us in a Psychic hall, sort of like a conference room really. We all sat and watched as Anita showed the Elders her skills. She was really good, and it seemed the Elders thought so too, as they led us all in a chant again. It went something like this:

Guide us,
Guide us,
Let us be righteous,

Let us see the True Light,
Let us feel the True Light,
Let us cleanse the world of Blight,

Initiate of gears and steel,
Who has come to us to heal,
Before the True Light now you kneel,

Guide us,
Guide us,
Let us be righteous

And just like that, the Elders came forward and presented Anita with her ceremonial sword and a Datachip which she plugged immediately into her forehead. She seemed ecstatic. I'm really proud of her!

Y'know, Dr Krimsborg has the wrong idea about the League. All of them are really good people who help you get fitter than you'd ever believe and improve your self esteem. The other day when I was a gleaming orange tabby, they bought me one of those cat towers for the common room. I was feeling left out of activities that required opposable thumbs.

Fortunately Lady Legume saw the future and had ordered it ahead of time so that it could be assembled by Argumentative Redhead. She was stressed and needed something of a relaxing project rather than stressful projectiles. Well, I was very grateful and let her stroke my tummy. I think she likes me. She was very unargumentative for the rest of the day, absently scratching at my ears. I like her. She knows just where to itch.

Anyway, I think now Anita is an Initiate, we can hang out more and maybe go on some teambuilding exercises together! They're super cool, one of them is stopping a fake bank robbery! They even have fake guns, it's super realistic and is great for self esteem.

Oh man, that felt good! I feel so refreshed and happy after doing that teambuilding exercise with the rest of the group! They even had a police commissioner guy stand and shake hands with all of us and congratulate us on a successful mission! These missions are great.

I'm just heading into Dark and Brooding 101, so I'll write more later.

SO STOKED that I got invited on a field trip with the League of Saviours! Now that I'm an official member I guess I get to do stuff like that. Did you know they even have their own plane? It's called the The Deliverer. Get it? Because it delivers us? Anyway I hear it's pretty swanky inside, and it's an overnighter so we'll get to sleep in it. Like it's an airplane AND a camper? So cool. Can't wait! We leave tonight, but they won't tell us where we're going till we're in the air. So mysterious!!! LOVE IT.

Oh and do you know that student named @Randy Carter? With the dreamy accent? He was chatting me up at the gym the other day, and seemed to know all about the League. Which is unusual because most people have never heard of it. Anyway, he gave me a bunch of his favorite comics to read on the plane--they're called The Forever Cabal. Frankly they're a little moldy but I'm packing them anyway. Not sure what else to pack though because of all the secrecy! Sunscreen? Parka? Do they have shampoo on the plane? Guess I'll find out tonight! Can't. Wait.

Our current mission is to do with some bankers. They're taking loads of money and using it wrongly which is like, evil. They've got underground werecreature fight rings for gods sake! But let me tell you, it gets worse than that.

Guess who's undercover?

Guess who's a werefighter?

Guess who's trapped in a costume covered in glittery sequins?

If you answered Jess Gynn to all of those questions you'd be entirely right. For all the shame, Argumentative Redhead had to add a few drops of werecat scent onto my face so I'd transform my entire head for a while. And..! I've got a muzzle! A thick black one which hides my entire head except my eyes. It flattens my beautiful ears!

These exercises are fun but also sometimes really weird. Good news is that the patrons have decided I'm no risk to them and Lady Legume, my "trainer", has chosen to enter me into the fights. It's necessary to gain access to the bankers, but really?

I'm in one of the holdcells. Just opposite me is a very scared looking squirrel. Every so often it grows bigger and gets the beginnings of a human nose, and then shrinks down like it's been stung. It takes me a while to understand what's going on here, but when I did I was sick. Electrotherapy. Controlled shocks. This poor weresquirrel must be going mad! I wonder what his family think is going on. Now that I think about it, PsyHigh's local ferret-esque "vermin" seemed to hold a funeral the other day, except that there was no... oh god.

The squirrel turns to me and starts making movements with his paws. My muzzle hides some of my field of view, but the wonderful capability of cats is that excellent night vision. As such, even in the gloom I can see what it's doing.

...

It's sign language! I quietly thank the Universe that Heerg'amal taught me so many forms of it. This one seems to be XOL.

"Help me," he signs. Over and over.

Now, I don't know if there's guards here and my guess is yes, so I use sign back. "What can I do?"

He sits up straighter and looks me closer. He's stopped trying to transform back into a human now, and honestly I'm glad. "They want me to fight a werecat!" he signs back.

Now I hesitate. "What was the cat called? Who sponsored it?"

He thinks for a few seconds. "Its owner was called Anita, maybe."

I know that's me now, so I make a relieved noise. The muffle from the muzzle (goodness that's tricky to say) makes it a little... weird sounding. It's somewhere between a chuckle and a strained yelp.

"I can help you, just listen..."

ohmygod this is serious. The fighting, I mean. Sure, it's been a few weeks of intense military assassin training, but I thought it was more of "weekend warrior" kind of thing. Like a cool club we all belonged to and got fresh air and exercise?

The training was a little light on the "and we fight real bad guys" part.

I just put a dozen staples into an alien's trunk. Pinned him right to a railing.

We were in the private box seats of this smelly underground arena, me and Lady Legume and Wanda de L'amour and a few of those "bankers" from "out of town." It was pretty clear after dinner that they were "slave traders" from "The Arcturan Tide Pools" whatever those were, and that they had trunks instead of noses, arms, legs, ears, I dunno. But they were jerks, and enslavers of werecreatures, messy eaters, and smelled bad.

Lady Legume was the "trainer," Wanda was my "mom," and I wasn't allowed to talk. Which was fine, since like I said I really wasn't prepared for this, mentally, and was fuming and I know Wanda could tell. She's all about emotions. Ms. Samson was there too, as our "body guard," which gangsters like these didn't have a problem with.

So we're siting way up in our fancy, smelly box in this sweaty arena, and way down below we see @Jess Gynn and this skinny weresquirrel out in the ring, going at it. But I could tell they weren't really going at it, because I know how Jess fights and there's no way that weresquirrel could have kept up. She was going easy on him.

The audience wanted blood though. Pretty soon they're booing and throwing paper cups, and this big bulldog - a werebulldog - of a guard comes out with a pitchfork and starts threatening Jess with it. Wanda starts working her magic on the tentacle guys, and Lady Legume gets that dreamy look in her eye when she's studying the futures.

Didn't we have an exit plan? Weren't we supposed to locate their Consuming Safe and Justine Sorcerer was going to swoop in and teleport it away? Why was everything going sideways?

Mr. Fiddlesticks, that's why.

He's that creep who was stalking @Dylan Ashcroft, and then freaked everybody out at @Empress Jingles' Thought Training Recital. Except here he was tearing the roof off the arena, turning the floor into ice cream, and using one spindly stray thought to tear the slaver's Consuming Safe out through a wall and up and away with him into the sky. Why was he crashing our plan?

So I used the cyborg stapler implants in my eyes to staple the stinky banker's trunk to the railing. And was using the everlasting cellotape dispensers in my fingers to tie up the other two when Ms. Samson picks me up and carries me out to the Deliverer, its engines revving out on the airstrip. Justine Sorcerer did the extraction on Jess, who in turn left the weresquirrel to organize the liberation of the werecreatures.

"Without their Consuming Safe they're powerless," said Lady Legume on the debrief on the way back. I guess that's where they kept all their encryption keys and stuff.

"And I think those werecreatures are going to have a word with them too," added Ms. Samson.

Everybody had a good laugh. But I'm not sure it was funny. I'm still kind of shaky.

Okay, so I think I have an idea. Admittedly it is a terrible one, but whatever.

A frequent bone of contention with my boss, old Krimmy-boy, is when he has cases he hasn't resolved or can't figure out. And Anita, my League of Saviours companion, seems to be one of those cases. There's pretty much a space in his office that's worn down the wood panelling from his pacing that I call the "Anita catwalk". Doc struts his stuff like a pro when he's calculating optimal doses of unconventional drugs, cushions and pointless matter.

But back to my thought process. All about Anita's not-poetry (I mean, I love her to bits but... that's just not poetry in my book, before or after the surgery. Don't tell her I said that.).

So her poetry is a little, um, interesting. But I think she's conveying more than mere words in it. I think she's developed another power along with the tape and staples from the eyes thing. Something a little more... psychic.

I couldn't resist that poke. I'm sorry. Let me go back and explain what I mean.

So Anita's latest composition comprises of this stanza (that's verse to less linguistically minded students):

Stare, stare like a bear,
then you'll know me anywhere
Stare, stare like a bear,
call your mother Ginger Hair
Sharp shadow

...

Did Anita write about the operation before it even happened?

Let me explain: as Justine was instructed to rescue me, I was struck by that werebulldog with his pitchfork. All four prongs in 3D space entered me, and the two in hyperspace tore at my soul. Nasty piece of work, those things. Known as Bitchforks on the Black Market, apparently incredibly alluring for female weredogs.

Anyway, I'm lying there bleeding and generally in no fit state to do anything like save my own life from this bulldog, but suddenly from nowhere it freezes. I thought at the time that I was dead and life had just stopped like it does at the end of a VHS (anyone remember when they were in the Children's Circle and watching the "Boggy the Bog Monster" series on those things?).

But it hadn't. Towering over myself was a fully-transformed werebear. And it was scary. It was so frightening, the bulldog fled without retrieving his Bitchfork. Unexpected. The bear relaxes onto its haunches, still glaring in the direction of the fleeing dog. He picked me up in his big ungainly paws and transformed back a little bit, enough to hold me securely with human hands. He stopped at the sight of Justine and Argumentative Redhead wielding their weapons. He placed me down and nudged me towards them. He shifted his head back a little to speak.

"This is your charge," he said. His voice was gruff. "she's been got at by that bulldog. Look after her. And, Ginger Hair?"

Argumentative Redhead looked ready to explode at the diminutive nickname, but he smiled a little, but soberly. "Make sure she's not afraid to do things. That fork messes with the mind and soul sometimes. Weird things can happen."

I have been filled in on this by the two present (I have yet to meet and thank the werebear, but he promises to visit soon). I came around in the dropship with Argumentative Redhead gently stroking my ears. "Mum?"

---

Do you see what I'm seeing? I don't know what "sharp shadow" means, but I'm sure it's n҉̘̦̬͎̰̗̼ŏ̧͕͉͙̳̺̲ͅṭ̠̜͐̒̚͞h̸͗͊ỉ͚ņg̨͔̭̩͈̋̾
t̃̀ͯ̀҉̥̬́ȍ̧̜͓̘͌́͘ ̴͚̙̱͚̯̱̥̝ͬ͗ͣ̍ͪ͋͑d̜̲̦̳̦̹̉̇̉́ͩȏ̒͂̒̽͆̓̚҉̤̬͇̝̯ ̴ͯ̊͛̈́ͭ̽ͩ̃̿҉̰̖̠͕͓̤͚͎̗w̵̨̺̘̞͔̩͇̯̠̤̙̙̩̠̬̹͚͈͊̌̓̋͊ͦ̓̓̒̿̚͠ͅi̶̡̦̯̱̰͙̫͎͕͇̰͔̟͂̃͐̊̊́̀̚͡t̿̅̅̓̉͗̍̃̈́̋ͥ̈͋̃͆̂͊̕͠҉̧͍̺̝͕͓̤̰͙̰͖̪͙̮͕̺̤h̴̵̨̳̖̺̦̼͙͔͚̞͎͙̰̖̻̱̃ͦ͐ͣ̄ͥ̀̍̃̇̅̇͘͢ ̶̶̛̰̠͓͉͕̖͕̳͚̘̰̹̲͉͎ͮ̓͐̍̋ͬ̔̐ͩͮ̈́ͨ́̕
m͍͇̮̯̟̰̟͕̥̯̯̣͉̹͙̰ͨ̀ͨ͌̈ͮ͊̍͋ͪ͂̄͐͑͟͢ȅ͙̬̻̦̗͖̓̆͋͒̋̕͜

E̷̡̍̏ͮ̽̂̌͛͡҉̱̙̟̻͓̫͟v̴̴̴̖̩̜̬̪̙̙̣̤̟ͫͨ̃͒̍̌͌͒̃̐̂́̈ͅe̍̂̔͆͒̈́̅ͣͥͮͣ͐̿̄͂͏̶̗̻̺͖̯͜ͅņͮ̂̄͊̒̊̆͌̓͐ͩ́ͮ̎̇ͨ̚҉҉̣̼͙̠̝̰̖͘ ̷̶̭̗̖͇̰̠̖̠̪̲̊͛̏̉̊̈́̑ͬ͆͋ͅ
į͐ͩͯͩͨ͆ͩͮ́ͪͧͨ͑ͭͧ̎͞͏̻͓̱̜̲͍̱̲̰̺̦͍̯̦f͌̊̄̓ͬͬ͞͏̨̤͚̺͔͞ ̨̜̣̹̬͙̝̼̯̲͈͉͕͖̅̊ͮͪͭ̿͊̇ͫ͑ͦ͒͊͛͂͢͝͡ͅͅỉ̂ͥ̅ͦ͒̆͒͐̽̆͏̷̗̺̞̟̞̹̭t̷̢̛͉̰͚̙̰̩̥̰̟̟̀ͭ̎͊̽́̽͗ͤͭ̕ ̸̵͓͍͎͓̥̬͚̮͚̠̋͊ͤͦͬ̊ͮ͑͑́̌ͫ̒̇̚̚͝͠ī̵̱͕̗͓̱̩̟̮͍͉̩͙̠̤̪͛͑ͧͩ̅̾́s͌̈́̾̒ͭ͋̏͗ͭ́̿̾̓̆҉̥̥̼̫͞͠͠,̵̥̲̹̊̆͊͆ͮ͊̏ͦ̆̉̀ͧͣ̈̏̚͘͢
̲̰̮͈̫̣̼̝͓͙̬͉̫̬́ͬͦ̇͒ͪͯ̿̏͝ͅI͕̹͈̘̖̮̖̣͎̠̣̗̱̫̻̟̺̋̉̓̋͆ͥ̀ͮ͛͗͊̏̿̀͆͛ͣ͒̅́͞͡ ̴̛̣̤̣̟͚̇̑̋ͯ̐̉̈̎̍͢d̷̡̢̻͔̦̥͚͕̳̱͉̺̳̬̰͆̊ͧ̈́̈́̆̌̔͜o̲̙̳̬͈̙̐̃͑ͯ͠͞ů̸̖̯̭͎̺̦͈̙͔̰̘̿̽̒ͣ̿̏͋̐͌͋͞ͅb̵̿ͫͦ̍̅͒ͫ̿ͪ̾ͨ̈̿̉̊̂̈́͜҉̪̞̦̮̫̥̮̭̻͉̺͉̻͖͎͔̤͇ẗ̶̡̧̪̙̤̹̮̰̤̪̣̝̗̘͚͓́ͤ̎̉̌̾͑͊
̢̡̛ͫ͌̋̎̌̾ͪ̎ͩ̄̒ͬ̅̑̓ͭ҉̷̪̟͖̬̮͕̥̺͚i̵̘̝͉̩̱͙̜͖͕͕̖̼̫̫͖̯ͩ̈̆ͫͬͨ̄ͣ̐̀̊ͬ͋͂͘͞t̼͓͙̬̘͈͔̲̙̭̤͇̏̓̽̑ͪ͌̊̊ͬͯ̀̀̚̕͘͢͝'͔̭̟̘̼̻̜̯̭̬͈̬̙̳͎̰̐̏ͬ͐ͣ͞͞s̢̠̜͙̿̆̂̒̀̾̇̾̓͂ͣ̈́ͮͮ̄̐̓̾̋́́ ̷̨̩̟̻̪̺̰̮̙̹̝̞̥̦̩̫̜͖̭͍̽ͥͩ͐ͣ̀͘ť̨̜̻̱͉̬͎̼̜̪͒̾̽͘h̡ͫ͋̽҉̟͔̟̙̪̻̀͘͢a̢͂͆ͥ̊̇̾̄ͦ̌̽̂҉̡͓̦̞̲̘̞͉̖͓̫̥ͅͅṫ̛̅̃́ͥ̌̍҉̕҉̫̞̠̩͠ͅ ̸̧͓̠͙͓̲̗͉̺̉ͪ̔ͨ̄ͥ̋̈́̀̚͢͠͞
b̙̠̣̱̜͉̺̤̰̘̠͈̭̳͍̣̈́ͦͬͥ̀͝a̡̨̫͖͚͉̘̲̘̼͈̼͎̩ͫ͑ͬͮ͟ͅͅdͭ̊̈͆ͫ҉̴̢̗̝̞̠̰̲̘͎͓͉͖͠ͅͅ.̼͓͎̳͕ͪ̄ͤͤͨ͊̌̕͡͝͡

S̶̝͖̬̕ͅo̠͙͇̣͖̪͖͝m̧̡͍̘̜̦͙̰̮e͍̯̤̠͢o̵̳̦̟̦͇̝̻̗ǹ͏͇̘̬̤̜͚̺e̗̣͎͉̯ ̴̬̼̖̥͇̹̲̪̦h̛̥̩͝e̥̠̕ḷ̡p̟̖ ̢̠̼̹́m͇̮̤̭͈̼̳̼͖͡͡e͓̦̥̳͔͉̱̮̫͟ ̟͘͜͠p҉͏̛̦̬ḻ̡̜͠è̢̮a̹̮̳̯͚͇͠s̵̡̞͖͖̪̱͈̥͡é̮̳̠͇
̝̼̟͉͖
̶̢̯̲̜I̸͏̼̪̤͍̻̱̜ͅ ͘͘҉̪̠ņ̷̜̜̤̭͙̦̝̤͠e҉̲͔̱̘̲̬̠͕e̥̝̰̭͖͕̫͠d҉̬̮͝ ̹͇̙̟̤̰͖̭t͏̛̣̞̼͚̻̝͘h̸̛͙͔̼̙͓͓̘̟͘e̵͇̩̹̭̮̺̻͖̥ ͇͔̞̱̘n͙̰̣͖o̷͚̹̝̤̤n͏̵͔͕̬ͅ-̟N̸̛̛̹͚e̶͍̦͚̩͙͖̩̥w͏҉͖͡t̢̹̟́o̭̞͙̲ǹ̵̩̻͜i̠̟͚̙͝a̤̲̜͕̹̥̮n̴̯̩͞ ̸̢͇̳͠w̨̲̯̗̖̰̕͟a͚̬̟̠̘͍̭t̫̖̮̻̺̙͇e͚̤̝͍̰̦̦͘͜r̜m̡̥̪̩̠̀͢e̩̫̺͖̖l̵̼̮̺̼̪̬͙͍ò̸̴͎̹͎͕n҉̛̜̹̪̘̝̺͙ ̴̢͚p̰̺̻͔̦̬̟̻r͈̻̀o̥̞̹͎̭d̟̳̤̤̝̖͉͜͢͝u͇͙̱̘͠c̨̜̣̬t͍̣̰
҉̣̗̰ͅ
̷͓̖̰̰͟I͈̰̕ͅ ̸͚̣͇̺̙n̦̹̠̬͖̤͕̞͠ę̺̼̳̪̤̳͜ͅe҉͙̜̗̟̭̘d̷̨̗̰̯̠̦̮̭ͅ ͕̖̣͚į͖̼̯̲͉̤͘ͅt̸̡̝̺̯̦̻̰̪̮̖͜from @Klarya

P̝͚͚̣͖͎͖̀l̥͍̙e̗̟͖̹̣̕͜͝ạ̢̹̙̪̕͢s͉͖͚͜͡è̗̱͢
̴̢̹̤̤͈
̴̷̧͕̤͉̣̥͇͔̥M̶̧̹͙͔͢y̸̻̫͍̳̜ ̢͍s̨̮͙̟͙͠o̸̟͈͞ṷ̣̠͓̩͜l̶̨̺͍̙͍̗̱
̙͎͚̠̝̠̮̤͢
̵̴̫̭̤́I̗̱ṯ͉̳͕̺͢͜ͅS̘̭̱̦͟͢ ̷̩̺T̨̧͇͙̭̼̻̙͓͈Ȩ̱̞͓͚̻̯͙̳̗A̵͎͇̠̬̬͚r̤͇̰̣͇͈͕͟ͅị̧̰̭̩͟n̸̻̥̦̜͔̗͇̪͎͝͠G̵̪̩̖̩̝̙͚ ͇͇̩̖̰̕͟ͅA͖͚̞̠͠p̴͈͔̺͡a̭̻͢R̢̛̟̰̼͉̙̖̼͈͝Ț̙͈̺̙͜
̷̯̩̪̟̗̭̖
̟̭̦̫̘̦̝̙I̷̧̥̱͔ͅt̲̥́ ̷̸̵̠̝̩h̶̡̰̯͡u̢̮͈̦̥̰̯̼R̸̸̷̫̬T̛̠̲̘͍͍̫̻̟́s̴̸̻̹̺̤̖̫͘ͅ ̛̺͖̹̱̜͙̫̕͡s̢̰̜͎̖͈͈͍͞O͈̹̜͇ͅͅ ̮͕͈̳̗͚̜̦M̳̝u͏̢̹̳C̶̬̰̬͙̣͉̹̖H҉̰̪͇̬̲̰͞ͅ
̷̶̪͜
̤̮͇̳͈͈́͟é̹͘N̝̫͖̝͖̬̭̭̝͜͡D̨̗̯̙ ̜̺̪͉͚̗̀͜ͅI̥̲̪̳̯̤̣͇͢͝t̬̘̤̹͍͕ ̴̸̵̝͈̲̤̥̳Ṉ̶̡̺̮̺̩̬̠͢ơ̖͕̕Ẃ̞̜͈̥̱͢

The League of Saviours sure knows how to stay busy. Or is it just bad guy season? It finally gets nice outside and they all decide to go out and commit crimes? Or is it the League of Saviours that enjoys the warm weather, and just lets the bad guys run around the rest of the year? There's still so much I don't understand about the League.

Supposedly, after enough fighting hours, I can advance to a II or a III, and that's when I get access to the knowledge base on Heaven--that's what they call their super-secret orbital satellite HQ. I guess there are branch leagues all over Earth, and who knows how many levels of promotions between me and a seat at that big conference table in the sky. I can see myself now, elbow to elbow with Melancholy Girl and Catfish "Bud" Merman.

But like I said, there's been plenty to keep us occupied right here. I've decided to "germinate" (as Lady Legume says) and face up to the fact that I have a responsibility to use my special gifts for good, and that the staples that shoot out of my eyes and the cellotape that shoots from my fingers and the paper clip tail that I whip around are important tools in the fight against evil. I feel like I've made the right choice. And I've had plenty of chances to change my mind in just the last week.

There was the run in with the Hook or by Crook Gang, speeding around in their souped up sarcophagi, robbing banks. There was the battle with the Revenants, who had infiltrated every psychic nursing home in the tri-state area. And, of course, there was The Ascension.

Oh and poor @Jess Gynn has been missing out on all of it! Argumentative Redhead has her under observation in the Solomon Bottle, because she's rapidly becoming incorporeal. They've even brought in @Dr Krimsborg, DPM, to consult, but I haven't heard that they've made any progress.

So they keep us out in the field, fighting bad guys. It keeps my mind off my fallen friend, but only when I'm stapling a bad guy to the wall.

I was enjoying my evening meal on last Thursday. I was just tucking into the fresh Joobie Berry and Almond Wafer I had for dessert as a treat when I received an emergency call. Seems my dessert must wait.

I donned my gear and strode out into the darkening night. As I had walked, I had wondered what the issue was. All I had been told was to go to the Tree That Screams and wait for further information. Perhaps it was a wood nymph, they gather by the Tree. Or maybe a Lonesome Devil, forced to live beside cursed objects.

It turned out to be a mysterious woman with no eyes hovering slightly above the surface of the ground. Behind her on either side was a scary-looking ginger and @Anita Klue. It was all very odd. I immediately assumed the issue was with Anita and asked her what was wrong. Startled, she told me it wasn't her.

I apologised and addressed the floating woman. "Who is the patient?"

She paused, as if looking me over, before responding. "@Jess Gynn."

I stop short. Then, "Lead me to her."

---

I've tried Mantras. I've tried Focused Gestures. I've tried Mellow Whispering. Damn it, I've even tried Moon Purification. Nothing.

Her state is deteriorating and it's driving me crazy to not be able to help. The ginger, who I later learned is called "Argumentative Redhead" (how descriptive) evaded my every question. Eventually I had to collar Anita as well.

They both responded at the same time.

"Nothing."

"A Cursed Balloon popped on her."

I look between the two. Neither make eye contact with me, preferring to stare almost anywhere else. "So what is the truth," I ask quietly yet sternly. "I won't mince my words: if I don't know what has happened I can't get anything more specific to treat her and She. Will. Die."

Argumentative Redhead moved suddenly over to where Miss Gynn was lying on the bed. She firmly grasped one of Jess' hands, her own being white knuckled in intensity. She completely ignored me and began whispering to Jess in a low voice. It allowed me to study the two in a free manner. From my perspective, it seemed to be taking a great amount of effort for her to retain a grip on Jess' hand. It suddenly clicked. I wheeled round to face Anita.

"She... she's experiencing physical destabilisation."

Anita refused to look at me. "It was an accident," she barely whispered, regret seeping into her voice. "I wasn't there."

I nod, pausing for thought. She takes the opportunity to hurry away and I don't stop her. Instead I turn to Argumentative Redhead, who seems to be crying. I rest a hand on her shoulder.

"I put her in the Solomon," she says quietly, bitterly.

On the other side of the room is the piece of equipment that Argumentative Redhead referred to as a Solomon. Solomon is in fact a brand name much like Jacuzzi, and as such I will refer to it using its correct terminology: the STSS or Space Time Suspension System. In essence it freezes everything inside it to the precise moment the system was activated, right down to the subatomic and psychic levels. It's a last resort treatment, as all sorts of problems can result from its use. I know it's what I would have done anyway.

"She just started... disintegrating," she says softly, like she's afraid of her own words. "I don't think she even was aware I was there."

I nod. "What is your relation to Miss Gynn," I probe.

"I'm a friend," she replies sharply. "I care about her."

"So do I," I say back, sitting down. "She's my secretary. Or she was. I told her not to go into vigilantism... I guess she didn't listen."

"It's my fault," she replies. "I persuaded her to join us. Blame me, Doc. It's my fault."

I took a deep breath. "We need to... find a solution. Figure out what's wrong. But we can't do that if we're blaming everyone. I can't do that if I'm blaming everyone. Just... look after her."

We both stare at the device, the box-like form casting a strong sharp shadow on the floor.

Unexpectedly, I'm reminded of Anita. Her poetry!

"Redhead," I say suddenly. "I need Anita to write me a poem."