While common wisdom held that New York was the “City that Never Sleeps”, there were sleepy little seams ripped in the perfect grid of New York’s fabric. Dark residential side-streets with fluorescent lights flickering and humming, accompanied by the occasional lit apartment window. These were punctuated by busier thoroughfares, down which cars rushed by like rapids. A horn would occasionally blare in the distance, some rowdy young denizens might shout in confrontation or jubilation en route from one pub to the next. An ambulance might scream past—but these were merely moments in time.

Between these gasps of sound, silence crept along the dimly-lit streets, furling in through cracked windows. Such were the nights in Harlem.

If one walked down West 138th Street from St. Nicholas Park, they would happen upon Odell Clark Place, a narrow residential avenue choked with parked cars and lined with cigar-box brownstone apartments. These buildings were punctuated by chain-link fences and empty lots overwrought with weeds. But, in a way, it was tranquil. The street sat in stasis.

Some apartment windows, still lit, betrayed some signs of life. The blue flicker of a television, the untimely tik-a-tak-tak of drums. It was a conversation of implied visions and sounds. One apartment, however, joined the conversation with disconcerting commentary.

A light was knocked to the floor, sending tall shadows towards the ceiling.

“No, ‘lease, it doesn’t has to-!”

A scuffle. Shattering Ceramics. Something falling to the floor. Grunting. Bang! BANG!

“JUDE, NO!”

kra-KOOOOOOM!

The wall of the apartment was blown outwards, brownstone bricks flying, glass and wood splintering. Some of the bricks fell onto the cars parked below, tripping car alarms. Sirens from the cars wailed demands at the building, to which the gaping hole in the building responded with cascading pebbles and dust. An AC-unit belatedly fell to the pavement with a less-impressive crunch.

Within the apartment, the dust had altogether eradicated the visibility. A crumpled figure unfolded itself, mostly indiscernible in the haze. Breathing ragged. It coughed, trying to clear its lungs of the debris. As the dust settled, pinpricks of pale blue light became apparent, lining the spiny carapace of the creature.

Jack. Aglow and wild-eyed, she was almost unrecognizable. Her ragged breathing continued, frantic—she looked up the hall—breath caught—her seeming twin laid on the floor. A low, dismaying sound, like the moan of a shot animal, creaked from her throat. How had it come to this? She closed her eyes tightly, trying to swallow back the tilting and spinning of the room. Goddamnit Jude. Tears welled in the prawn's eyes unbidden, and she pressed the heel of her primary hand against them, clenching her mandibles. Goddamnit.

How had it come to this?

- earlier that evening, elsewhere -

A white animal control truck sat idling near the 34th Street Hudson Yards, facing the waterfront. On its own, not a peculiar sight, except for the time of day—the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, the dusk that had now settled prompting the truck’s inhabitants to switch on their headlights. The occupants of the cab—three gentlemen—wore identical khaki shirts and black slacks. Additionally, their faces were almost indiscernibly similar—fair-haired, clean-shaven, and with crystalline blue eyes. They were the degree of handsomeness that could place them anywhere between their late teens to early thirty’s.

The three blonde gentlemen, the Lundquist brothers, comprised the Three-in-One. The shadowy organization to which they belonged gave them the designation of "Alpha 1". This feat, this esteemed title, had been achieved by virtue of Lundquist brothers' mutations—a hive-mind shared between the brothers—and by virtue of their aptitudes, which complimented the others well in the field.

The eldest brother, Lundquist "En", sat in the driver’s seat, his index finger drumming a staccato on the steering wheel. His gaze pointed unwaveringly towards the waterfront, undeterred by the passing cars. The middle brother,  Lundquist "Dyo", sat in the backseat, legs spread, methodically cleaning a gun. The youngest brother, Lundquist "Tria", sat in the passenger seat, surveying documents on a tablet. His thumb flicked occasionally to scroll down the page.  

Outwardly, there was silence between the brothers, but in the psychic space between them, information hummed, emanating from Lundquist Tria predominantly. He relayed glimpses of the photo links he inspected-- snapshots of mangled house-pets, phrases pulled from reports filed by various civilian witnesses mentioning an iridescent insectoid, and finally, blurred snapshots of the creature itself.

A scowl flickered across Lunquist En's expression, a question surfacing in their shared psyche, <Where are the most recent sightings?>

Lundquist Tria scrolled back up on the tablet, tapping the screen to hold it still once he found the desired information. An image of a map arose, small X’s denoting where sightings of the creature had been. The pins were localized along the Hudson River, on the New York City side.

<Mostly parks, too. Why haven’t they apprehended it yet?>

<Interrupted GPS signal. Might live in sewers?>

Lundquist En puffed his cheeks, exhaling slowly. Though he didn't complain to his brothers, the taste of his indignation was strong. For god's sake, they were Alpha One! And they were being sent to traipse around sewers looking for some subterranean cryptid. Lundquist Dyo interjected.

<So are we bagging it?>

<Yeah. Lethal force authorized.>

The middle brother snorted, <Its first mistake was going after peoples’ pets.>

A dim humor rippled between the brothers. SUPER had been stalking the beast for years. They'd thought it had fallen off the radar, until reports of a "giant bug killing pets and stalking civvies" filtered into their agency. Through diligent investigation, SUPER narrowed the scope of their search to the Hudson River-side of the city-- and were even fortunate enough to tag the pest successfully through a gap in its carapace.

<Most of the data has been collected after nightfall.> Lundquist Tria concluded.

En ceased drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, heaving a sigh. He leaned forward, flicking the radio on. Tria activated the map, which was keyed-in on the creature's tag, and Dyo resumed methodically cleaning his weapons. And now, they waited.

Minutes ticked by into hours, and the radio began to play the same songs over, prompting the brothers to change stations. Maybe this was a bust. As night began to settle, the map on the tablet screen suddenly shifted, a bright dot arising in the Hudson River Park. A low “ping… ping… ping…” filled the cab. The brothers, who had slackened in the transpiring time, rose back to life. Seats were righted, postures were straightened. The youngest pressed against the boundaries of his brothers’ minds with the map, his psychic voice softly announcing the location of the insectoid monster.

<Hudson River Park.>

Wordlessly, headlights flicked on and the eldest shifted into “Drive”. The truck pulled away from the curb, little more than a whisper.

The white animal-control truck glided down West Street, veering onto the sidewalk at an unoccupied crosswalk. Given the hour of the night, there were very few pedestrians in the park, but a few denizens—some drunken revelers, a few homeless people, individuals commuting their own business—flitted about. As the truck crossed onto the walkway, it flicked on an orange dome-light, carefully flipping a U so that it faced the street once again. Then, it came to a halt.

One man disembarked—Lundquist Tria—and the tablet was forfeited to Lundquist En, who had remained seated in the driver’s seat. Tria pulled the seat handle, allowing Dyo to unfold himself. Though most pedestrians tended to mind their own business at this hour of the night, if one looked closely, they would notice the unique tools that Tria and Dyo were arming themselves with—the tranquilizer gun, an actual gun, a catch pole like the ones typically employed against animals (but bigger).

<We’ll be in-touch,> En advised the younger triplets, <Be mindful of the civvies.>

<Keep the truck running,> Dyo retorted, annoyance simmering around his telepathic presence. Such was his disposition. He shut the door, and the two brothers retreated into the darkness, leaving the eldest alone in the truck. A few strides away, En pressed against the fluid boundaries of his brothers’ minds, relaying the real-time map of the creatures’ location. Dyo and Tria strode towards the pier, bee-lining for the trees. Dyo holstered the guns, while Tria carried the pole in both hands, their footsteps soft.

===

The water of the Hudson River roiled silently, a dark and nondescript roiling mass in the darkness. Occasionally a wave would lap at the beams that supported the sidewalk, which might prompt a wayward observer to peer over the railings that lined the waterway.

A spiny insectoid creature crested at the water’s surface, lavender eyes blinking. Hearing no footsteps, the creature rose further, whole head peeking above the water’s surface. It had once had the terrible misfortune of startling a bicyclist and, having been so alarmed, the creature had not managed to hunt dinner successfully that night. The creature dipped down momentarily once again, before launching itself towards the raised edge of the sidewalk.

Massive hands grasped at the pavements edge. It waited again. No shrieks of alarm. It hoisted itself the rest of the way, water spilling off of its form. The behemoth picked its way over the four foot metallic fence, swinging its leg over with ease.

In the harsh white light of the streetlamps, the creature was revealed to be a spiny, predominantly blue beast, though its arms and head were a multitude of shades. Its head snapped this way and that, skimming for bystanders. Sensing none, it scampered towards the trees on all fours. Safely concealed by the foliage, the creature prowled parallel to the path, keeping low, scouring for prey. Despite its size, it was silent.

The night was both quiet and loud, its fine senses detecting the sounds of traffic from the nearby street. Pedestrian traffic was a trickle, however. A bicyclist was rolling closer, so the creature paused, lifting its head attentively. It was like a deer in the headlights, antennae erect.

The bicyclist rolled closer—20 feet, 10 feet, 5 feet—and then continued onward. The prawn remained still for a few moments, starting to turn its head back in the direction it’d been walki—

There. There was motion again. It paused, staring into the thicket. There was enough medium-height bushes to obscure its vision. The lack of depth perception, courtesy of its blind eye, also complicated matters. The creature waited, mid-stride… then… it saw… them. A human silhouette.

A growl rose in the prawn’s throat, quiet at first, then louder. Something closed around the prawn’s neck, sending the prawn into spasms. It clawed at the cord, snarling.

“Dyo, the tranq! The tranq!”

Dyo fired just as the prawn rolled in an attempt to shake the collar free, and the dart stuck into the trunk of a tree, avoiding the massive creature narrowly. The prawn turned its head, mouthparts open wide in a display of aggression. It managed to close its mouth around the beam of the catch pole, snapping it in two.

“Sh**!”

“On it!”

Dyo fired again, but the dart ricocheted off of its shoulder. The prawn lunged at the two men, scattering them, and barreled towards the street.

“Sh**! It has a shell, a**hole!” Tria snapped, scrambling back to his feet.

“Can it, Tria, I’m on it,” Dyo also roused himself, running after the beast, “I’m not failing this mission.”

The prawn charged haphazardly into traffic, horns blaring. Those people—those men—men with guns. Men with things that choked and—those men. They hadn’t been in suits like the others. But they were like the others. Evil men. Bad men. Hiding, safe. It needed to hide. An alley. A tunnel. The subway. A few drunken girls shrieked at the stampeding prawn, pressing against the building face.

The creature charged against the signal, a car screeching to a halt to avoid hitting it. The prawn veered into the street again, startled by the sound. It spied an alley, padding past a bewildered homeless man into the shadows. The homeless man shouted something incoherent at the prawn, but didn’t seem bothered enough to move. The prawn anxiously tugged at the snapped catch pole, which was still closed around her neck. After some fighting, it managed to pull the collar off over its head.

The prawn crouched in the alleyway, long enough for a dull ache to set into its limbs. Lots of people, tonight. Its stomach yowled, at which the iridescent creature pressed a primary hand into its gut. Tonight it would be difficult to hunt. The seeing-eye of the prawn’s lingered on the glow of the street. Faces of passerby’s were smeared, to it—the only thing it thought of was the gnawing pang at the pit of the stomach, and the men who’d attempted to apprehend it. Perhaps, if it walked with the crowd…

A raucous group of young men jostled too close to the homeless man at the maw of the alley, and he shouted unintelligibly after them. This earned a chorus of laughter and a kicked bottle. He was the gatekeeper to the prawn’s hiding place, and had seemingly forgotten it as soon as it had slipped into the shadows. The prawn glanced in the opposite direction from whence it’d come, towards another bustling street. On all fours it ambled towards the opposite opening, only rising onto its hind-limbs at the opening. Regardless of how it walked, it was an eyesore, but if it hunched on all twos—it might stand out a little less. It shambled down the sidewalk, away from the waterfront. The other pedestrians gave it a wide berth—this mattered not. It needed to find a way back into the underground, it needed food.

===

Dyo slammed a hand against the side of the “animal control” truck, swearing wildly at the rotten luck. Tria, less overt about his displeasure, merely opened the door to the side of the truck, accepting the tablet from En without a word. He didn’t need to say a word, though—Lundquist Tria’s irritation was palpable through the telepathic link the three brothers shared.

<<It’s on the move,>> En reported, <<I recommend we intercept it, covertly.>>

Tria clambered into the cab of the truck, adjusted the seat… then Dyo clambered into the passenger’s seat. Tension spread between the three as En started the car. Tria relayed a visual of the GPS visual. It hadn’t ventured far—down West 10th Street, where there were a number of restaurants and bars and far too many onlookers for a covert apprehending.

<<Follow a few blocks back.>>

The idling truck rolled away from the curb, joining the other traffic on West 10th Street.

<<It’s veered onto 7th.>> Tria reported.

<<The Rip.>> Dyo interrupted.

En gunned the engine, the truck jerking around a taxi that had applied its brakes. Between the brothers, a wave of uncertainty rippled, replacing the prior tension. They had to apprehend it before it reached the Rip. If it crossed—there was no telling if the signal would remain.

===

The prawn moved as if pulled by a string, its gaze fixated on a man with a cart before it. The savory pang of meat roiled off of a grill long shut-off, enticing the creature to follow. Hot dogs. They weren’t a glamorous meal for most individuals, but to the prawn it smelled otherworldly. The scent enticed her to follow, trancelike, deeper into the city.

A van hopped the curb. Pedestrians shouted, scattered, swore. The prawn’s attention snagged.

No. Already, familiar fair-haired men were vaulting out of the doors of the white work-truck. Their gazes fixed on the prawn. Bang! A shot was fired, burrowing into the thick muscle of the prawn’s neck. It burned. Run. The prawn ran despite the blinding white pain in its shoulder, charging into the park. It had to hide.

No trees. No cover. Just grass. Not safe. Move, people! Move! Pedestrians yelled in alarm at the sight of the barreling prawn, stumbling out of the way. The blond men were also yelling. A tent! Maybe it could hide. Could sneak away. It barreled through the doors. The lights were too bright. Metal structures, lines of people.

“Excuse me, sir—“

The prawn snarled, clenching its mandibles around the unsuspecting guard’s forearm and hurling them over the conveyor belt. Sensing an opening, it charged through the metal detectors, paying no heed to the shouts of the employees. Patrons screamed. More officers were unholstering weapons, but already the prawn sensed an opening—a doorway, a tear. It barreled towards the bystanders, hissing to clear them before charging across the rip. All that it left in its path were shaken civilians and a trail of blood from the steadily bleeding wound in its shoulder.

- MRO!verse New York –

The manager at Chrysalis was an obese man, whose visage was rather like a pufferfish. The chair creaked with strain as he leaned forward in his seat.

“It saddens me to hear that you’re leaving us, Jack. You’ve been with us for so long.”

The prawn rocked forward on her feet, smiling wistfully.

“I has a sull-tine jo’ wiss ‘ene-sits,” the prawn said, “And I sink I’ll ‘e staying wiss it. Nan-age-nent is ‘etter nun-ey dan just workin’ security…”

She ran a hand over the top of her head. “No hard seelings.”

“Of course not,” the manager coughed, “Just a damn shame. Don’t suppose I could convince you to come back every now and again.”

“Like an on-call security guard?”

“Yeah.”

“You know it.”

The manager rose from his seat, extending a hand.

“It’ll be sad to see you go. But, don’t think you’ll get away that easily.”

The prawn clasped a firm primary hand around his own, meaty hand, shaking it firmly.

“Ex’ect nuh-sing less.”

Then like that, she was gone. Descending the stairs from the managerial office, crossing the dancefloor. A janitor was mopping up the floor after a long night of clubbing, and they waved at Jack as she passed. Jack saluted them, and continued out the doors.

In two weeks, she would walk out those doors as a regular employee for the last time.

The prawn always undulated between moments of alertness and distractedness during the walk home. For the most part she walked in a lull—landmarks that signified turns only blips on her radar. She might perk up if someone walked towards her on the sidewalk, but only enough to assess if they were a threat, or not. Her walk was mostly quiet, in the wee hours of the morning, carrying her down 10th Avenue then over to 58th Street. Though entirely unnecessary, Jack also, often, veered through Central Park. She enjoyed the quietness of an unoccupied public space.

As Jack left Columbus Circle and entered the Park, silence enfolded her. Grecian statues perched in the fountain glanced at her over their shoulder, or stretched their arms out as if to ask her to pause… the prawn paid them no heed. The tree-lined path beckoned to her. Despite her lumbering gait, her footfalls were soft against the sidewalk. It felt irreverent to plod through such a tranquil space.

Her breath came out in small puffs, lavender eyes skimming sleepily over all the shadowy corners near the walkway. There were some encampments of homeless people here-and-there, the occasional other pedestrian, but… nothing noteworthy.

Something snagged at her attention—heavy footfalls, almost a gallop, of someone running on all fours. The prawn turned towards the approaching runner, only to be plowed off of her feet.

===

Blue tore through the Rip, barreling past innocent bystanders and security guards alike. Some people tried to stop her, but the prawn was undeterred. It threw obstacles aside, snarling and frantic. Very much like a creature driven into a corner.

On the other side of the Rip, Dyo and Tria had sprinted after the creature, flashing their badges to the security guards and hurriedly explaining their intrusion. In the wake behind Blue, the guards allowed them past without too much trouble. Seconds after Blue had bolted out the doors in the real-world, the two fair-haired agents crossed the Rift between worlds.

<<The signal is still good.>> Tria reported, <<It’s heading down 5th Avenue.>>

<<Like hell if I’m losing it just because it crossed-over.>>

Blue tore through the doors just as Dio and Tria crossed-over.

===

Jack murmured churlishly, pushing the unseen aggressor roughly away from her. They had to be big, to knock someone like her off of her feet. They weren’t attacking, though—it seemed to have been an accident. At least, it’d better be.

Jack’s gaze flicked to the attacker, before abruptly halting. It was as if looking into a skewed mirror… Jack was looking at herself… only a… scantily clothed, haggardly breathing version of herself.

“J… Jude?” she rasped incredulously. Who else could it have been? There was no one else like her, in the world. As far as she knew—a giant cockroach came in as a near-miss, but there were no other iridescent prawns. Her expression brightened, “Jesus, Jude, you gaze nee a s-right, running into nee like dat. Can’t say hello like a nor-nal ‘erson?”

The boy had stayed in her apartment for a few days, rising and falling as she did. It was like having a roommate… or maybe, a son. And then one day he just didn’t come back. Oh, to be a traveler. Regardless, the prawn was glad to have him back, now…

Jack’s twin wheezed raggedly, making no indication of understanding her. One of its eyes was covered by a film. Jack leaned forward, to lightly shake the shoulder of her twin, to break the trance.

“Jude?”

The doppelganger snarled at Jack’s touch, causing the prawn to recoil. When she flinched, Jack’s hand came away sticky. Sticky? The prawn turned her hand over, dark blue palms slick with something darker.

“…you’re hurt,” Jack observed, wiping her hand on the grass before rising to her feet, “Who did dis to you?”

No answer. Her doppelganger stared into the darkness behind it, and Jack followed her doppelganger’s gaze.

Jack coughed. “We need to get you sun hel’. Nedical hel’.”

The doppelganger swiveled back to face Jack, and the prawn offered an uneasy smile back. Finally, a reaction.

“Sane,” the doppelganger rasped.

“Huh?”

“You… nee… sane…”

It didn’t… sound like Jude… what’d happened to him?

“…l…let’s get you cleaned utt,” Jack said, gesturing for the other prawn to follow. In the dim light, it was impossible to tell how bad the injury was. It’d be best to go somewhere well lit, like her apartment… and she lived close to the hospital, besides.

Jack warily watched her doppelganger as they walked towards her apartment, a pregnant silence stretching between the two of them. Jude was… different, somehow. To start with, he was walking on all-fours. He was quiet, too. During the few days that the boy had lived with her, he’d been so lively, such a joy to have around. This Jude was… haunting. Especially the filmy eye.

And he was injured—badly—it was hard to say how badly in light like this, though. They rounded the corner onto Odell Clark Place off of Frederick Douglass Blvd. To the left, a church, and to the right, a row of identical brownstone buildings. Yellow fluorescent lights hummed above the doorways in.

“Hone sweet hone,” Jack sang, walking up the steps. She checked to see that the doppelganger was following, and noticed the trail of blood that it was leaving behind… yikes… “Let’s get you cleaned utt.” Jack keyed-in the door’s code, and the two slipped inside.

===

The walk upstairs was thankfully devoid of other tenants. And, after a short wrestling with the door, Jack managed to get it open. She stepped in through the door, holding it open for Jude. Her doppelganger strolled in after her, eyes searching the unit.

“Kid,” Jack said shortly, halting her twin’s progress into the kitchen, “Let’s get you into the ‘at’roon, get you cleaned utt.”

“Hungry,” the doppelganger grunted.

He was dripping blood on the kitchen floor. The wound was worse than she’d though.

“I’ll nake sun-ting to eat, iss you get your *ss into the ‘at’roon.” Jack retorted, pointing past her into the bathroom emphatically.

Begrudgingly, the twin stalked past her in to the bathroom, awkwardly taking a seat at the edge of the tub.

“Good,” Jack huffed. She retrieved a rag from up the hall, one she might use for woodworking projects, before returning to the bathroom. The prawn sank on her haunches, answering her doppelganger’s inquiring gaze with a gentle, “Wanna see your wound.”

This earned a foggy stare and no remark, so the prawn drew closer, looking at the wound—a deep gouge had cut into the muscles of Jude’s neck and chipped one of the carapace plates. There didn’t appear to be anything embedded, though. It was bleeding a whole Hell of a lot though. Jack went to the sink, ran the tap until the water became warm, then returned to Jude, holding the dampened hand-towel out to him.

“’ut dis on your shoulder,” she instructed. The doppelganger obeyed, “What do you want to eat?”

The twin did not respond.

“Chicken?”

Still no response. Freaky. Chicken it was. Jack rose off of her haunches, wandering back into the kitchen to prepare the food.

===

Back at the Rip

That thing had moved fast, for a creature that had been shot with a tranq. Maybe it needed a higher dosage, or maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through its veins. Tria surveyed his tablet, clucking his tongue discontently while Dyo paced furiously. The authorities on this side of the rip needed to clear them before they could pursue the rampaging creature.

<<Maybe we should go back and reconvene with Una,>> Tria thought lightly, <<The signal still works, on this side. We can hunt it down later, with a car.>>

Dyo looked peevishly at his brother. The two were standing in an alleyway, a few blocks north of the Rip.

<<That thing just resurfaced, I’m not losing it just because it slipped into an alternate dimension. And, we just illegally crossed a border… do you think they’ll let us go back so easily?>>

Tria arched an eyebrow. Dyo’s plan rippled between the two of them, wordless and yet resolute. The younger brother sighed.

<<Well, I’m going to report back to Una.>> As he said this, Tria held out the tablet, which showed that the creature had made it to Central Park.

<<If I catch that thing, I’m taking all the credit,>> Dyo snagged the tablet, surveying it briefly before starting his way down the alley.

<<If->> Tria echoed skeptically. Dyo slinked away, dignifying his brother with no response.

For a moment, Tria lingered there, following his brother (only minutes his elder) with his eyes. If Dyo f***ed this up, he'd never hear the end of it from Una. Begrudgingly, the youngest followed.

-an hour later-

A Metropolitan Transportation Authority bus rolled up to the corner of 7th Avenue and West 137th Street, less than a block away from Jacquelyn Dyer’s residence. Two identical blonde men in button-up shirts and slacks disembarked, one of who was attentive to a tablet clasped firmly in his hands.

Tria gestured wordlessly towards the next street up. Dyo followed his gesture. It was close. The bus disembarked, thinking little of the two. Perhaps they were on their way to a friend’s house, to crash for the night?

The streets were quiet, an occasional sleepy car rolling past, without paying either man much heed. The two strode unnoticed down the street and around the corner, to the right, onto a narrow unpopulated row of brownstones.

Their gazes tilted in the direction of where the GPS signal was pinging, like a beacon. One of the nondescript buildings, four stories tall. In any other time of day, the process for hunting the creature down would take quite a while. But at this time of night, only a few windows were illuminated by lights from within. The two men crossed the street, gazes pointed towards the lit windows, and ascended the steps into the apartment building.

===

Jack prodded distractedly at the pale, uncooked chicken breast, breaking it apart with a spatula. Four chicken breasts had been marinated in teriyaki sauce before being tossed onto the pan. They’d be ready in a bit. The prawn glanced towards her phone, which laid on the counter, a blue light blinking insistently at her.

Zinnia…

Zinnia knew she was quitting Chrysalis tonight. She’d probably wanted to know how it had gone. Maybe meet up. But Jack had other things on her mind right now…

Zinnia would know what to do in this situation. She had the medical background to treat someone with an injury like Jude’s… but… truth be told, Jack didn’t want Zinnia over here right now. Not with how weird the kid was acting. His eye was all f***ed up, he barely spoke, and where the Hell were his clothes? It was too f***ing weird, and Jack couldn’t risk bringing her girlfriend over. She’d handle it herself, and call for help if it was absolutely necessary.

Knock, knock, knock—

A rapping at the door drew the prawn’s attention. Jack set the spatula down on the counter and flicked the burner off, moving the half-baked chicken breasts. Who could that be, at this hour? The prawn padded across the kitchen, towards the front door to her apartment. Diagonally across from the front door was the bathroom, and fat drops of blood from Jude’s wound. Jude looked up inquiringly from his seat at the edge of the bathtub.

“Stay,” the prawn hissed at her doppelganger, closing the door to the bathroom preemptively. Jack peered through the peephole. Two blonde men stood outside of the door. Jack slid the door-chain into place, and undid the deadbolt lock. The door was opened marginally, enough for a lavender eye to scowl out.

“You lost?” the prawn grunted, “It’s late.”

Or early. The wee hours of the morning were difficult to label, sometimes. The identical men stared for a fraction too long, and the prawn’s expression tensed in annoyance.

“Oh, sorry!” one of them said dismissively, “Wrong apartment!”

The prawn huffed and began to close the door. She didn’t have time for this—she had a beat-up kid to bandage and chicken to bake—but before she could re-latch the deadbolt, a muted shot rang from the hall, and wood from the door was sent splintering.

“Wh-?”

The prawn scrambled out of the way, shielding her eyes from the spray of wood. A gaping hole sat where the door-chain had once been. Jack struggled to her feet, running into the kitchen for something with which she could defend herself—defend Jude—who were these guys?

Whoever they were, they let themselves in. Guns drawn. Silencers affixed. Jack scrambled back, one hand outstretched, eyes wide with terror.

“The hell do you want?” she demanded, her voice thin with fear, “Don’t nean no trou’le, ‘lease, just— don’t go in dere!”

The other man was testing the doorknob to the bathroom and—against Jack’s caution—opened the door. He was greeted by the lid to the toilet’s tank. It connected with the side of his face, and sent him sprawling to the floor.

“Jude, run!” Jack yelled, “Dey has guns!”

“It’s here!”

They were after Jude.

“Take them both!”

All Hell broke loose.

It happened in a blur. The man who’d been struck with the toilet’s tank lid was grasping for his gun, a curtain of blood spilling from his brow. Jude stomped on his hand, eliciting a yell, and turned to run for Jack’s bedroom at the other end of the house.

He never made it.

The man whose gun had been pointed at Jack turned down the hall, fired once… twice… Jude began to raise his hand to his throat, then crumpled to the ground.

“Jude!!”

The blonde man turned back towards Jack, but she was faster—Jack caught him by the neck and threw him across the room. The man fell with a crash into a bookshelf, before crumpling to the floor. She wanted to kill him… to make him pay for what he did… but… no…

Her eyes stung with tears and, through her swimming vision, she could almost see pinpricks of blue light sparking to life along the ridges of her carapace. She moved towards the felled man. If he wasn’t already unconscious, she’d beat the sh** out of him until he got there, and then she’d let the cops deal with him. With both of them.

“He was like a son to nee… like san’ily…”

“You have the wrong g-“ the man in the hall sputtered.

“LIKE A SON!” Jack yelled, her voice raw. The sonoluminescence flared as her temper spiked, it was undeniable, now. She was glowing, “AND YOU KILLED HIM.”

She heard a gun click, the prawn spun, her reaction was reflexive. She couldn’t hit the guy from here, but her body moved on its own accord—fist balled, arm drawn, and—released. Kra-KOOOOM. With the gesture alone, a shockwave was released. And, in the narrow apartment, was like a bomb had been set off.

Everything was flung away from the prawn’s fist. Furniture. Eletronics. The outer façade of Jack’s apartment. Window’s shattered. Blond, gun-toting assailant was hurled against the wall as if hit by an invisible bus. The force of the shockwave filled the apartment with dust. A gunshot cut over the din, and Jack dropped to the floor, her breathing ragged.

What… the f***… was that?!

She remained on the floor, her face scrunching in fear and despair. Jude... goddamnit Jude... it wasn't the first person she'd lost to a gunfight... but she hoped it would be the last...

"Triiiiaaaaa!" a voice cut through the haze, "Triiiiiaaaaaa!"

The man from the hallway. He was charging into the dust, towards the crumpled man, past Jack-- she wasn't his priority right now. Beyond the apartment, shouts were erupting. The neighboring tenants were waking-up. Jack couldn't hear that, though. Her ears were ringing. Swimming lavender eyes watched as the twin checked his motionless brother's pulse... nothing... he grit his teeth... raised his gun and pointed it in Jack's direction... but... his gaze cut towards the door in. People would be gathering soon. The blonde man pocketed the pistol and ran.

Jack rose stiffly to her feet, a searing pain shooting up her arm. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the maw of the hole in the wall, where a trio of narrow windows had once been. Did I do that? The blonde man who'd been caught in the explosion sat, with unseeing eyes, limply against the wall. A trail of blood was working its way down his chin. Jack swore, her mandibles trembling. What now?

They'll lock you up. They'll kill you. Murderous muties are never let go. They'll kill you without thinking twice. A sob escaped Jack. They'd killed Jude. And Jack had unwittingly exacted her revenge. And... that other one... Tria's twin... he might be back. No, if he was with some sort of gang, he'd definitely be back. She couldn't stay here. It wasn't safe.

Jack's thoughts catapulted through more urgent and less articulate imaginings, until the panic propelled her to the gaping maw of her apartment. She was only a few stories up. She had to escaped. The other tenants were gathering in the halls. The ringing in her ears had finally subsided enough that she could hear that. Jack crouched at the maw, looking towards the street below and... jumped...

A dull pang of pain shot through her legs, but Jack fought the stiffness in them, and found the strength to run. She didn't know where she would go... but it had to be away from here.

[end]