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The prawn didn't get the reference. And she also didn't know where the shop was, either, despite the fact that she drank tea. It was more cost-effective to just make it at home.

>> ”Lovely to put a name to my hero. My name’s is Winnie.”

"Winnie," the prawn reiterated. It was a good name. Easy to say, "So, you are a lady?"

It was hard to tell, with tiny bird voice and tiny bird body. And Jack, frequently mistaken for the opposite gender, felt no qualms about clarifying.

>> ”Nightclub? Anyplace I've been?”

"Hmmm, nay'e," the prawn confessed. She saw so many people each night, it'd be impossible to remember, "It's a nyu-tant nightclu', so... it'd nake sense."

>> ”Well, you certainly have the presence for it.”

'cuz she was tall, riight? Jack paused at a street corner, waiting for the light to change. The red hand was replaced by a walking green man, and the prawn followed the flow of pedestrian traffic accross the street. The degree of attention she was given varied from person-to-person-- some people oggled the prawn outright, while others looked everywhere but her. No one seemed to fixate on the peculiar bird in her hands. That was probably for the best.

>> ”That was a compliment, honey. I'm a freelance photographer. Should let me take your picture one day. I bet you photograph beautifully."

"Should see nee in a suit," the prawn said with a chuckle, mostly kidding. Something about her narrow hips and barrel of a chest made for a very dapper, almost caricature-like silhouette. It was very well-suited for mens' fashion. (Jack was sexy, and she was well aware of that.)

Admittedly, the confident comment came out of a place of disbelief-- Winnie didn't actually want to photograph her, did she? After the sh** they'd just gone through? Jack wanted to just steal away to her apartment and forget about the whole thing. Surely the bird-mutant wanted to do the same? Just forget that a berserk META!bot had chased them down, just forget the behemoth that'd smashed the META to smithereens... just take her Vespa and go home... right?

Welcome back, Dan!

Something in the prawn's expression slackened with relief when the kiwi revealed itself. So it didn't do as it was told and run, but at least it was... okay.

"N-not hurt," Jack rose off her haunches, mopping at her eyes with the arm that hadn't dealt the punch, "N-n-nore like... s-s'reaked out? Sore..."

Freaked-out was an understatement. Her heart was hammering her chest, she couldn't breath, and her head was realing. The prawn may have wobbled a bit as she stood.

"N-need to get out uzz here," Jack reiterated, glancing over her shoulder at the busted METAbot. That didn't really need explaining. However defunct the machine was, it was still property of the NYPD, and Jack wasn't going to be caught near it... not if she could help it. The prawn glanced back towards the small bird, her eyes crinkling in an uneasy smile.

"D-do you want nee to, uh," she began. Jack swallowed hard. Now that the threat was removed, she didn't suppose that the kiwi really needed her assistance, "Dat is, uh, would ya like any help getting 'ack to where you 'ere going?"

It wouldn't be fair to make a creature with such short legs make the walk all the way back to where it had come from.

Jack was already retreating towards the mouth of the alley when the bird squeaked at her, veering to one side lest the METAbot thunder past their hiding spot. She was low to the ground, had jogged a few strides, when the gleaming metal automaton blocked her escape. Jack froze, her chest knotting. Her fists clenched into anxious balls. No- nononono- not this again.

>> ”Halt, mutant! You are under a-a-A-rrrrrreeeSST for aiding and ABETing a known mutant criminal!”

>> ”**** off! I’m not a criminal!!”

The prawn was raising her hands, open-palmed, ready to placate and surrender to the glitchy METAbot. Tears rimmed her eyes, her breath still haggard from the run. But then it charged. Her reaction was instantaneous. Fist curled, arm retracted, and then—released. A clenched fist was thrown mere feet away from the METAbot's unseeing eye.

Kra-KOOOOOOM!

Concussive waves surged from the prawn’s fist, throwing the METAbot into the wall. Crunch. Its proximity and the force of the explosion rattled windows of the buildings that faced the cul-de-sac. Jack stood, motionless, trying to steady her breathing. For a moment, the METAbot stuck… spasmed… then dropped to the ground. Its back and part of its head had been crushed. It didn’t stir.

For a tense moment, the prawn watched, expecting it to rise again and pursue her. But… it did not.

Jack’s breath caught in her throat, and she sank to the ground, holding the arm with which she’d dealt the explosive punch. There was dull throb building in the muscle tissue, her heart thrumming weakly in her chest. Jack curled her hands around her forearms. She said she wouldn’t use the power again—she said she wouldn’t—and here she was, using it to assault a cop.

“Aaahhh,” she whined, rocking forward, “SH**!”

Tears were starting to flow.

All this for some random mutant she didn’t even know. Jack sank into a seating position, cradling the sore arm. She’d have to ice it… or at least take a hot shower… tonight.

“Ow.”

Though anxiety was rippling through her, and though Jack was contemplating a hasty escape (like hell if she’d be found with this mangled METAbot), she also needed to check-on the aforementioned “random mutant”. Jack mopped at her eyes and stiffly maneuvered herself into a kneeling position, lavender eyes scouring the yard of the church. If it’d been smart, it would’ve run, like she told it to.

“Kiwi?” Jack asked, rubbing her sore arm. There was a sort of frightened urgency in her expression. She didn't know if anyone would investigate the noise, didn't know when someone would notice the felled robot, and didn't want to stick around to find out.

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.

One month. It’d been one month since—well—everything had come crashing down. One month since Jack’s life had been flipped on its head and one month since she’d ventured out beyond the four walls of her new abode. Devon had been generous, to let her stay—even moreso to let her keep her job, and let her do odd jobs around the complex for some extra pocket change—especially after Jack had come clean about everything that’d gone wrong.

It’d been a longshot, but—since Tempest was an affluent man who attracted such elite patrons to his club, Jack had assumed that he’d be a good person to approach about… well, making a person disappear. Not “dead” disappear, but “dead” in the legal sense. Hiding them in plain view. The best he could do was an apartment, and allow her to keep her jobs. All-in-all, he did quite a bit for her.

Tonight was the first night Jack had managed to venture out. Her blue carapace freshly-coated with brown paint. It’d been the idea of another tenant, an artsy sort. Jack looked like an entirely new creature. It did very little to quell the mounting anxiety in her throat. She was going to be sick… oh, she felt like she’d really be sick. Jack just really… needed to not be here tonight. That’s why she’d ventured out. She could’ve ventured down to the bar, but for a woman her size… it’d wrack-up quite a tab. She needed something just for herself.

She walked briskly along, shoulders hunched, hood drawn, face down—just get to the liquor store and then go home, easy as that. She was walking along at a clipped pace when she heard the tinny demand of a robot, and she froze. Oh f**k.

>> ”Mutant DNA signature identified… confirmed hostile threat. Proceed with capture?”

Lo and behold, a META was sputtering to life in the alley.

F**kf**kf**kf**kf**kf**kf**k.

Should she run? No, that’d be suspicious. Besides, everyone thought she was dead, why would the cops be looking for her? They wouldn’t be. Unless they knew she was a murderer. Did they know? Sh*t. Her heart hammered in her chest, eyes wide, sweat beading in from the seams between her carapace. F**k. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see.

The METAbot didn’t notice her. It clanked past, its attention focused on someone else. Jack followed the machine with her eyes.

Sh*t. Jack stood there a moment with a primary hand pressed to her chest, trying to quiet her hammering heart. Despite her mind’s insistence that she was safe, she wasn’t going to get attacked, everything was fine… she couldn’t… ugh, she couldn’t breathe. The prawn waited a moment before continuing up the street, a good half-block behind the META.

What was it tailing, anyways? Did they always spasm like that? The prawn wasn’t sure… she made a habit of being scare around those things. Didn’t trust them one bit.