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And, of all things, Lizard Man laughed at him. Chase frowned, failing to see the humor in what he said—he took everything to heart and, by the sound of it, Lizard Man was insinuating that Chase wasn’t very good at hiding. At least, that sounded like what he was saying at first. The eight-year-old was finding it difficult to put a connotation into what Lizard Man was saying, largely because of his broken speech. The second part was essentially lost on the child, except for the words above, below, and thumb.

>> “Don’t deserved death?” the Lizard Man echoed. Chase’s once-again turquoise gaze cut back towards him, arching his eyebrow, “You taken. Then run’way. They deserve. Scared not excuse.”

Just as Lizard Man seemed wholly convinced in his ways of killing people to solve his problems, so Chase had been brainwashed to believe that he had deserved every ounce of mistreatment that he’d received. That, in some form or fashion, how his parents had acted towards him was because of something he’d done. It was what they’d been telling him for years, so eventually, Chase believed them. And, when he didn’t, they just punished him more. Chase felt his face growing hot again, but was shaken from his thoughts when Lizard Man pointed at him with one of his knobby, taloned fingers.

>> “Parents, same-ish. Treat me bad. White room years. Sick. Freak. Mutant.”

Lizard Man lifted up his arm, to show off a gash of light, dented scales. Chase drew closer for a better look, and instinctively touched his jawbone. They both had their own battle scars. That had to make them some sort of members to an exclusive club-- Human Hate Has Left Its Mark on Me Club, or something like that.

>> “People pay hurt me. Fun, sport. Mutant hating.”

The low growl made Chase back up once again, his eyes flicking away from the scar.

>> “Can’t hurt now. Ever, never hurt again. No breath. Scared too. No excuse. Deserve death, got it.”

“Got it,” Chase echoed unconvincingly. In all that time that Lizard Man had been in the white room, tortured for sport, not a single soul had felt bad and tried to free him? Nobody at all? I would have, he thought righteously. Lizard Man’s whole recollection had wrapped Chase in silence. His parents were doctors, they could have done the very same thing to him… It almost made a boy glad to have parents that were too ashamed of him to make his mutation public, to try to cure it, or capitalize upon it by letting people beat him up because of it. While Chase surrendered to his thoughts, Lizard Man gave another rumbling laugh and plucked the flashlight out of his hands.

“Hey!” Chase protested, grabbing after it without avail. trying to snatch something from a seven-foot-tall creature’s grasp, from a four-foot-tall stance, was an impossible feat. Chase leapt and tried to grab for it, but Lizard Man was simply too tall. The light was flicked off, and the two of them were plunged into almost-darkness. Chase ceased jumping, and peevishly put his hands up on his hips.

>> “City never dark. Eyes use to it.”

Chase let his gaze wander back down the alley, to see if his eyes were used to the weak lighting yet, and they weren’t. The parks had always been well-lit, and Chase had never voluntarily ventured into the dark areas. Chase was still attempting to look around when Lizard Man drew closer and, with one enormous hand, covered Chase’s face. They weren’t touching quite yet, but the proximity was unnerving—if Lizard Man had actually clasped a hand over his eyes without warning, what if Chase had begun shifting? The tendrils that composed his skin tensed in anticipation, but not so much that it made a sound—that way, if Lizard Man did touch him, there wouldn’t be more needless explanations and apologizing.

>> “If live streets, light bad. Ears good. Surroundings, know them. Pay attention.”

Down the alley, something small clattered lightly against the pavement. Had that been Lizard Man’s doing, or was it something else? Chase did as instructed, and listened. He was new to the streets, if that wasn’t blatantly obvious before, so he needed some insight from someone slightly more experienced.

>> “Batteries die, then what? Steal? Break in?”

Yes, that was the idea—Chase only stole essentials, and batteries were essential. Lizard Man shook the flashlight, the batteries clicking against the canister rhythmically. Chase's ears perked, his attention was once again redirected towards the lesson.

>> “Keep emergency only. Find red light. Red good, white bad. Red see, white blind.”

Did they make red light bulbs? Chase had never before seen one. Except on police cars. Were those truly red, though, or just white with red paint? If they were red, knicking a red light off of a police car would be a great challenge, indeed. Chase remained silent, as if attempting to absorb what Lizard Man was saying and commit it to memory. Either way, he was going to wind up stealing something.

“Do you use a flashlight?” Chase inquired, turning his head to glance up at Lizard Man.

Oh my gosh, Rhy! She is adorable! Congratulations on... What would we consider this? Round two? Number two? Either way, she seems really sweet, and I'd love to have Chase or Gina (or both ) meet her.

Chase hastily made his way out of the first alleyway, picking his way over the uneven pavement carefully as he went. It was getting darker, and therefore harder to see, and Lizard Man had withdrawn to God-knew-where, thus Chase was trying to be "more careful". He paused at the opening where the alleyway spilled onto the public street, which was occupied by lazy and sporadic traffic. There was another alley directly ahead, just across said street. Chase took this time to look towards the sky, and saw that the sun was just barely visible over the tops of the buildings. Darkness was nearly upon them, and a shudder went down Chase's spine-- not out of fear, but out of anticipation-- any second now, his form was going to revert.

With that thought in-mind, Chase darted across the street, into the coolness of the next alleyway. The flashlight that he wielded in his hand was flicked on, a weak and inconsistent yellow beam of light pointed towards the ground. Chase continued on quietly, trying to remain unintimdated by the darkness. It was only after a few strides that somebody joined him, clambering down the wall like a spider. It didn't take much guess work to figure out who-- Lizard Man was right above Chase's head.

"Hello, again," Chase greeted quietly.

>> "Why no home?" was the gutteral inquiry that Lizard Man made. There was another shudder down Chase's spine, once again because of the oncoming shift. Though nature begged him to hold his human facade up, he figured that, if anything, the Lizard Man would be the best person to revert in front of. Chase contemplated how to say it, brushing back his hood as the Lizard Man walked on its hind legs, then sank to all four of them, beside him. He obviously wasn't going anywhere.

Chase sighed, began to explain his situation hesitantly, "My parents were very mean towards me, didn't treat me the way parents are supposed to--" neglected and abused, were the terms preferred by the social workers, "--So, I got taken out of my home, and put into another. And another, and another-- but, none of these homes wanted a mutant boy, either, so I left." Chase frowned. He'd been a well-behaved child, kept to himself, but the other foster kids were just, afraid of him. That was probably a scenario that a lizard-man could sympathize with, "Now, I'm here."

He stopped as yet another shudder coursed down his spine, removed his backpack and he unzipped his hoodie, shed it, and tied it around his waist. Long-sleeves tended to feel constrictive when Chase was changing forms. He turned his gaze to the Lizard Man, certain that this whole shedding of the coat was probably as cryptic as could be, and simply said, "Wanna see something cool? Watch."

For Chase, reverting was as easy as a sigh. He closed his eyes, envisioning himself on his own-- he'd never shifted in front of an audience, never for the express purpose of doing so, so he felt indescribably antsy about it. He felt like his heart was going to leap into his throat and take off down the alleyway.

As always, the shift began with his skin-- the human flesh began to slide in various directions, growing into definitive tendrils as it moved and torqued into its natural, pale ochre shade. His hair followed, rustling on its own accord and adopting its dichromatic quality. It was like flexing and then relaxing a muscle, except that the muscle was his entirety. Once he felt the shift was fully complete, he opened his eyes, which were set against a black sclera, and currently flickering an uncertain yellow-orange within his typical turquoise. He tried to read Lizard Man's expression, but it was difficult with a face like his, and in the poor lighting.

"I'm a shapeshifter," Chase clarified. His face felt hot, as if he were blushing, but Chase knew he couldn't blush when he was waltzing about in his natural skin, "My parents were anti-mutants. It complicated things." And, as if changing your appearance were the most natural thing in the world, Chase hummed absently, put his hoodie back on, drew his hood, and slid back into his backpack. He passed his flashlight back into his hand, and continued walking slowly.

>> "You know... I could buy you a new pair?"

"You would do that?" Chase reiterated, rosy hues of delight taking hold of his eyes. What was it with strangers buying him things?

"That's very kind of you, but I couldn't p-"

"Hey."

Chase jumped as a resounding, baritone voice cut him off. Okay, so maybe he was a bit jumpy. Maybe this guy was the brunette's brother or cousin, or father. Chase tried to cool his nerves, his mostly-turquoise flicking towards the massively-built newcomer. The momentary flickers of delight were once again replaced by anxiety in Chase's gaze.

"Evening," the eight-year-old replied quietly.

Chase was the sort who simply preferred not to get involved. It tended to get messy, to be quite honest, every time he got involved-- at the Townsend household, at his old school, at the foster home. It was easier to keep his head down and human face on, to blend in, and to stay out of it. He wasn't a terrible person by any means, would leap to the rescue if the situation called for it, but Chase wasn't a saint. He was merely a confused eight-year-old, with a horrible complex over his mutation.

It was that time of the afternoon that most school-aged children were getting out of or had been out of school for some time now. Chase was thus able to roam the streets without being carefully watched, or potentially pursued, by law enforcement. No one stopped and questioned him on the matters of truancy at a non-existent school. Chase was minding his own business, keeping his head down, when events took a sour turn.

Chase was passing a small park, walking along the street, when a boy just older than himself clipped his shoulder, pursuing a wayward basketball out into the busy streets.

>> "Hey, Tony! Look out man!"

It couldn't be said, what it was that drove Chase to lunge into motion, but the eight-year-old was darting off after the older boy. The kid had just enough time to look up and see the car, when Chase all but tackled him. He'd built enough momentum to shove him to the sidewalk, built up enough speed to counteract his tininess. His small, bony hands curled into the kid's shirt as they hit the pavement. The car drifted past without cause for alarm. Chase remained fastened to the other kid's shirt until the coast was clear.

>> "Hey man, thanks for th-"

The kid, Tony, broke off when he turned his gaze to Chase. In that moment of reflexively darting up after the other boy, Chase had lost a hold of his control, and Tony looked up into the face of his duplicate.

Anthony Brookover, age twelve--

Chase released the kid, realizing what had happened. A paled look of terror over came Chase as the transformation took hold, and he scrambled back fearfully.

"I'm sorry," he murmured quickly, "I was- I was really scared- for you." Chase stumbled to his feet as his appearance became his own once again.

>> "What the freak are you pulling, man? You gonna turn on me and attack me like that? Guys--! This kid's a mutant! Can you believe it? Trying to attack me!"

"It's not like that," Chase stammered, the tone becoming quickly and terrifyingly familiar. God, he hoped this kid wasn't hiding a knife. A small crowd began gathering around Chase, whose eyes shifted into a pure, terrified brown-black, "I-I didn't mean any-anything by it."

Chase held his hands up as the crowd grew terrifying close. He didn't want any of them to touch him, none of them at all. He was too jittery to hold his form very well. All ready, his human facade was slipping.

The acoustics of the alleyway proved disorienting-- the noises that Chase had previously believed to e before him were actually behind him, and he didn't come to realize this until the lizard-man dropped to the ground. The lizard-man's immense form blocked out the light that filtered in off of the street, snagging Chase's attention. He whirled around not a moment too soon, the moment that the action had ended. Chase watched mutely as the lizard-man released the human from his tail, and quickly returned to his perch on the wall.

Chase's curiosity got the better of him as he hesitantly and quietly approached the man, who was awkwardly crumpled on the floor. As he drew closer, he could see that there was something about him that wasn't quite right. Chase didn't register that he was dead, so much as he noticed that his head was bent awkwardly and his expression was kind of funny. What made him step back was the knife that had fallen from his hands and now lay, abandoned on the ground. Certain that the blade had been meant for him, an expression of distaste touched his features as Chase absently touched his face. He hated his knifes.

>> "Not safe. Go home."

The grunted instruction redirected the child's attention from the felled man to the lizard-man who, in Chase's inattention, scuttled a few feet further up on the wall. The pink light of the sunset cast a weak outline of his warped form, highlighting his tail, claws, teeth, but not accentuating his colors or finer details. Chase didn't recoil in fear or revulsion, but cocked his head so that he was looking at him straight-on. Chase hadn't any cause to fear him, he'd just spared him from being attacked with a knife. All that the lizard-man received from Chase was a quizzical look and a very subdued smile. His eyes churned in a confused yet curious meld of colors.

"I can't," came the matter-of-fact reply-- his tone was that of a child answering an addition problem, and no more emotional than that, "I haven't got one." Why else would an eight-year-old be in the alleyway? For the thrill? Not hardly. Chase was just scouting out a place to sleep. Then, he was going to get some food and crash for the night.

Chase dropped his gaze, his eyes roving the alley. This one was out of the question now, though-- it was occupied by a dead man and a lizard-man who didn't want him to be there. He'd have to find another alleyway, and would prefer to do it before the sun had completely set. He let his gaze flick towards the lizard-man again. Chase had so many questions-- but, there were more important matters at-hand.

To quell the concerns of the lizard-man, if there were any to be had, Chase drew his plastic flashlight and brandished it bravely, as if he intended to fend off potential attacker with it. And, with that same, small smile, he declared, "I will be more careful, promise."

That being said, Chase began to walk off again. He didn't redouble and leave the way he came, but instead continued down the alleyway in the direction that he'd been heading. Sure, he was going to scout out a different alley, but didn't see the use in doubling-back and then circling the building, just to get to where he was going with four-times the effort. He didn't see a point in wearing himself out in such a way, particularly on an empty stomach.

As an after-thought, he glanced back at the lizard-man. He didn't want to seem ungrateful, particularly after he'd gone through all that effort just to save an eight-year-old. He raised his hand, rose his voice just loud enough to be heard, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Lizard-Man!"

With embarrassment, he realized that he'd said the lizard man's codename aloud, and left the farewell at that. A more outgoing child might have asked him to accompany them-- because, let's face it, nobody would cross a creature like that, particularly with teeth like that. This idea struck him, and seemed like a good one, but it was far beyond Chase's realm of comfort, thus he held his tongue and kept walking.