What gives? My sister and I were in training for the League of Saviours but now suddenly we're all on bake sale duty. The training was really important because it was helping us control our powers. Whenever I sneeze I randomly teleport somewhere in a 25 foot radius, and my sister makes people's eyes so goopy it impairs their vision. Regular Psyhigh classes help, but not at the same level as the League of Saviours. Did they run out of funding or something? Why is everybody so hush hush?

AaaaaahhhhCHOOOOO!

Junior SPECIAL Agent Lulu, that is. Official Psy Corps Liaison to Psychic High School. And today we helped save a life.

Psyhigh sure doesn't make things easy for Psy Cop grunts like me. Just when we'd picked up Aurum as part of our ongoing MORMO investigation, we got a call from up top saying we were to escort him immediately to my alma mater, Psyhigh. This comes just after the school called us in on a couple of petty psymaceutical crimes.

And to top it all off, you've got a bunch of costumed psychopaths trying to take the law into their own hands! They almost fouled up our collar on Aurum, appearing at the scene when we grabbed him. The corps' relationship with The League of Saviours has always been tenuous, and now they almost get a kid killed and have to ask for our help to save her? Things have only continued to go downhill at Psyhigh since I left for my full-time appointment with the corps.

Aurum (aka The Golden Boy, Auric G, Mr. Million, Element 79) is one of the Seven Nobles of Dione (Saturn. Why does it always come back to Saturn?), so naturally there's extradition agreements with the Galactic Directorate, but they promised us first crack at him for our MORMO case. But then this detour came up, and we brought Aurum in to help save this kid. He worked with Psyhigh's resident quack, @Dr Krimsborg, DPM. And a watermelon. Why there was a watermelon in the mix I'll never know.

Not to say Psyhigh doesn't still have its bright spots. We had the pleasure of working with @Beefur9 on this Aurum case. See, Aurum--like his brothers Argentum (aka The Spoon), Hydrargyrum (aka Hermes the Magnificent), Cuprum (aka The Lincoln Kid), Plumbum (aka The Bullet), Ferrum (aka Nine Iron), and Stannum (aka the Tin Man) is an AI housed in a highly sophisticated android body, and we relied on Beefur and his skills to hack us in. A telepath like me sure wasn't much use.

Aurum is the brightest of all his lustrous brothers--enlightened, really--and probably wouldn't have gotten into a life of crime if his brothers hadn't brought him down. He's a brilliant engineer, and some of the stuff he's made has gotten confused for 35th century work. He's that good. We offered to cut him a deal if he gave us the scoop on the work he'd done for MORMO.

So I'm not surprised he was able to save this kid's life. Now we take him back with us for an extended debriefing, likely followed by a life in the psychic witness protection program.

But then I think the Psy Corps should seriously consider enforcing some specific restrictions on the League to keep them from endangering anyone else. Like we don't have enough to worry about.

Hoo boy. Well, as you can tell, I'm okay now. The guy called Aurum made some sort of device out of the watermelon and parts of his own arm? It's a big conglomerate of wiring and other stuff, but apparently it's healing my soul or something. Funny, I'd never heard of Aurum before this accident, and I had no idea he was made of solid gold. Probably should have done though, cause... y'know... aurum is Latin for gold. It's a bit of an odd name though... like, its the same as me calling myself Fleshy.

ANYWAY, I got out and got to say hello to all of the group again. Argumentative Redhead got squished onto me by Anita, who accidentally taped us together. I guess hugging is hard when your hands are tape. Better than scissors though. It took a while before we were disentangled though. Very annoying. But I don't mind it too much, cause it was an accident and at least I wasn't taped to the wall... but still I think she might have got a little annoyed every time my ears caught on her eyebrow piercing.

But the point is, I'm back! And relatively okay! All I need to do now is occasional treatments with the... thing.

Doctor Krimsborg might be a little harder to deal with though.

SOLOMON COMMS SYSTEM ARCHIVE, 07/15/17

INITIALIZING MEMORY...

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 31 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 83 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 140 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 267 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 333 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 541 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 599 OF 599

...

DOWNLOADING CHUNK 599 OF 599

...

DOWNLOAD COMPLETE!

...

INITIATING PROGRAM...

*STATIC AND INTERFERENCE. VOICE JUMPING IN PITCH* "Hello? Can anyone heₐᵣ ₘₑ? I ɴᴇᴇᵈ ʰᵉˡᵖ! ᴵ'm in the thing... the time ₛₜₒₚₚₑᵣ!"

"It's keeping me ₐₗᵢᵥₑeᵉ bᵤₜ ᵢ ₙₑₑd to be freed! Everyone knows the ₜₑcₕₙₒ-Boᵗaniᴄᴀ man... Mr ₕₘₓc- Hᴍxᴄʟxᴄʟʀ... his suit designer... talk to - ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ. He's called ᴬᵁᴿᵘᵐ.... solid.... solid............."

*EXTREME STATIC, CRIES OF PAIN*

"... sᴏʟɪᴅ.... ɢᴏʟᴅ! ʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴ sᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ! ʜᴇ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ! ʜᴇ's ᴛʜᴇ ONLY ONE! ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀᴍᴇʟᴏɴ! ᴛʜᴇ WATᴇʀMᴇʟOɴ!"

*SEVERE STATIC*

REINSTANCING... REINSTANCING... REINSTANCING...

REBOOT REQUIRED. SOLOMON SYSTEM OFFLINE. LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS TERMINATED.

EMERGENCY OPERATION BOOTING... SUCCESS!

CREATED MAINTENANCE TAG... SUCCESS!

END ARCHIVE

Stakeouts turn out to be a big part of crime fighting. Even if you're a cyborg that's absorbed the powers of various office supplies and working as part of a super team.

I went to see @Jess Gynn yesterday and it was rough. So I signed up for the next available mission, hopped in the dropship, and here I am sitting at a coffee shop in Lyon with a clear view of a crêperie across the street. I'm keeping detailed notes on who goes in and who comes out, even making little sketches of the people so I can remember the details. They're horrible sketches. So I'm doodling a bit too, and thinking about @Dr Krimsborg, DPM's request. For poetry.

This all started because I went to see the doctor about my creative cramps. That was before the staplers in my eyes and the cellotape in my fingers, before meeting Jess and the League of Saviours, before Jess's injury. All this was supposed to be an alternative to poetry, but I'm afraid it's turned out worse.

Celebrity Steamboat Chicken

The alchemist designates vessels
(my other car is a jar)
Sleeping juice oozes like mercury
(the cracks! the cracks!)

Outside the boxes no one goes
(do you like my new hard radiation suit?)
I take off my helmet to see the light
and a panhandler asks me for change

Oh! And there's a very suspicious individual entering the crêperie--it's a young man made entirely out of gold. Gotta go!

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."

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.

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

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.̼͓͎̳͕ͪ̄ͤͤͨ͊̌̕͡͝͡

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.