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It's only been a few months, some, even longer, since your release, but most of you have already gone back to the life you lived before. The world seems to have gone on without you, as always. Everything has changed, it's become a little harder to adapt to it. You've noticed it's difficult to do the things you did before, your face has been burned into the memories of some people, and others have seen you in a newspaper long ago. Blending in has never been this hard, but due to your past, it was to be expected
It's 10:00 am on a nice summer Saturday, it's nice outside and most people's days are just beginning. Some go to work, or to the store, while most just stay at home to relax. If you live in the city or suburbs, you could begin to hear kids playing outside, that is if you're awake by now. Today's just a normal Saturday, enjoy it.

[TW: Alcoholism]

On a normal day, the mid morning sun would softly flutter through coarse drapes, open windows allowing teasing winds to intertwine with dancing cloth. It would splay over the soft sleeping face on the only resident in the dingy studio apartment, haloing the sleep that gripped its latest willing victim in soft claws. Lately, that has all Jiu had been able to bring itself to do. Sleep. The dreamscapes of halcyon days was a kindness that it didn't deserve yet indulged in, phantom laughter and binding smiles populating the idyllic farce. With only an old blanket and plush pillows to defend itself, Jiu slumbered constantly without a care in the world. The unconscious was much kinder than its mind and Jiu would take any protection it could. It was a coward like that yet there could be no shame in finding the wide road to walk on. Years on walking on the narrow and thorny road gave one an appreciation to the well walked paths. Jiu indulged in the fantasy, the lie that things would simply fall back into place as it did countless times, lying and sleeping the days away.

Yet today, the sun did not play across pale, gaunt skin nor did unyielding cold eyes tease open at the rumble of life. For the cold studio was already devoid of life, cold and clean as if no one lived there. Instead, the owner of the decrepit apartment was laying in an equally decrepit cemetery as a pile of leather and tears, grass cradling its prone form and bottles of baiju forming a protective array around it. Softly snoring, Jiu was gone to the world, a faint flush on pale skin damning it as the culprit who drowned in liquor. Yesterday hadn't been anything special, another day with another gig that had Jiu spinning old tunes on new tables, the thundering cheers making the floor shudder at how many people were jumping and screaming. Yashura had given his guests the party they came for, seamlessly transitioning between old hits and new bops, throwing in crowd favorites and personal ones as the night wore on and the sky lightened. But as Yashura stumbled out of the venue, ears pounding and head spinning, old habits crashed over him and Jiu made a beeline for the liquor store. Over the years, Jiu had built up an impressive tolerance towards alcohol, understandable given its habits and status as Immortal, and thus usually drank for the taste more than the feeling of getting drunk, regretfully keeping aware even as it slammed back shot after shot. Yet it was still a comfort to feel the cold burn slide down its throat, a reminder than even monsters felt something.

Before Jiu's slumbering form stood the treasure the dragon so jealously guarded: a simple gravestone nearly indistinguishable from the others surrounding the forgotten memorial. Cracked with age, it stood with wildflowers crowning its base and a carving of a dragon wrapped around the marker. The level of craftsmanship was wholly unsuited for the backwater graveyard it was found it yet it curled protectively around the crudely carved reminder.

Yasha Chisei
June 21, XxxX - May 20, XxxX
May All Who Know Him Tremble at His Name

---

Admin blinked awake. "hrm... Geez its bright." He got up. he was in a little isolated hut in a clearing in the forest. He had retreated there since his release. He wanted nothing to do with he others, but had a gut feeling that something was going to happen. He got off the bed and slinked to the kitchen, where he grabbed an apple and ate it. "Guess its time to go into the city." He said. he pulled on the white blood-stained eyepatch over the empty socket where his right eye should be, and attached his silver arm to the stump where his right arm had once been. He pulled on the old blood-stained hoodie and sighed. "Somethings gonna happen. I know it. And i'm gonna be caught up in it." He slipped a knife into a loop in his belt, and a handgun into another loop. He sighed. "Welp. I guess i'll get goin."

Admin got strange looks from people in the market that he passed by. some whispered among themselves. the elderly seemed to recognize him and visibly flinched when he made eye contact. "That's him, the immortal one" he heard people whisper. "Isn't he a freak? He looks so strange, with his spiked hair and his eyepatch and metallic arm" Admin ignored it all and looked at stalls, took some fruit, paid the price, and eventually, decided to walk around the city. he grabbed a newspaper, and started reading it as he sat down on a bench. "hmm... Immortals on the loose.... dangerous... assasins... 15 murders?" he said, surprised. "Oh geez that's quite a bit."

---

CW: Potentially Disturbing Images, Mention Of Firearm

I remember the Argonne, 1918... The sounds of that battle still haunt me to this day... Machine gun fire from enemy lines... The sickening sound of a bayonet tearing through human flesh... The soldier next to me firing his sidearm in desperation... All these sounds still echo in my mind, and as conducted by Death himself, it all comes together as music. A rhythm of death. A symphony... Of war...

The sudden dream jolted a small creature awake, the being panting heavily and covered in a chilling sweat. It wore no blankets while it slept, only a tight set of cloth garments that now hugged ever tighter to the clammy feeling wrapping around Elam. He clawed momentarily at his throat, having panicked in his sleep and started to choke on his glottis, his lungs empty and void of the air that was so plentiful. It suddenly occurred to Elam that he'd caused somebody else one of the same fates, disallowing them to sustain their needy internals on the nourishing oxygen and nitrogen. Of course, that was.... When was that? How many years had passed without Elam realizing he'd done that? Elam stood quickly, shaking the thoughts from his head. He wore shorts and a tank top, both soaked in the chilling liquid that so constantly leaked from his pores while he slept. That would be his first order of business: changing. His well muscled legs carried the immortal quickly to his version of a wardrobe, sitting as one of two furnishing items in a small room, all three of which sat in a massive, no, enormous house.

As Elam changed, images started to fill his mind, These were what kept him so quiet during the day, the images of all the men and women and even children he had been ordered to kill. To think he hadn't given it a fluttering eye's worth of thought was vaguely horrifying. In the back of his wardrobe, Elam spotted the last weapon he'd ever used, unloaded and unbolted, though still shining in polished glory. It was a WWII Mosin-Nagant with a 6x scope, able to fire over five-hundred meters. It was a weapon purely to inflict terror, the Russian rifle chambered in 7.62×54mmR, a casing known for its rapid spin rate- and therefore its ability to pierce light armor and fire longer bullets, heavier bullets, bullets with higher sectional density. That made it both a versatile and disgustingly powerful casing. Elam stood for a long moment, staring at the rifle, before a knock on the door from downstairs shook him back into the present day, tearing his mind away from the images of the aftermath of the Mosin-Nagant.

Slamming the small cabinet closed out of a fearful habit of needing to keep the Russian gun hidden, Elam started to make his way down a single flight of shallow stairs, buttoning a flannel shirt over his chest and zipping the jeans he'd chosen. As he passed the kitchen table, he grabbed a chair and a bowie knife he always left there, setting the chair by the door so he could look through the peephole. Nobody was there. Setting the chair aside, Elam opened the door carefully, sighing in relief as he watched a UPS truck slowly motor away, picking up the package left for him with one hand. Stepping inside, he locked the door behind him and set the package on the table next to his knife, then proceeded to step away and grab a gas mask off of a pedestal. He went under the cover of the son of a historian and relic collector, though he had no such parents to speak of. Putting the gas mask on and tightening it, Elam slit the box open and peered in through the lenses of the mask. It was an empty box. Not even a toxin to speak of. Elam knew gasses wouldn't kill him, but they still hurt.

A loud nineties rock song jolted Alex from sleep, but he didn't immieadiently wake up, his consciousness active but eyes still closed. Alex didn't want to wake up. The main reason that Alex was such a late sleeper was that lately, sleep was the best way to escape into a world where all of his problems went away. And there were most definitely a lot of problems that Alex had. So, for a few minutes, he tried to ignore the blaring volume, until finally, he made a move to shut it off. Unfortunately, Alex misjudged the amount of space in his tiny sleeping area and slammed his elbow into the bedside table. That woke the immortal up faster than any alarm clock. Especially with how loud the slam was. Alex was living in a tiny apartment in the city, mostly because the city was large, had a lot of people, and a lot of places for him to get lost in the crowd. Even if it meant a lot more noise than Alex preferred. Maybe Alex needed to rethink his choices from this period of his life. But now it was time for Alex to get out of the house. After getting dressed and shoving down a bowl of cereal when he happened to find half a box in the back of his mostly empty pantry, He pulled his jacket off of the hook on the front door, left his apartment, and headed out the door, putting in a pair of earbuds.

That was the second way that Alex coped with his life-music. Alex loved music, mostly because like sleep, it put him in a place where the only thing that mattered was beats and rhythm. Nobody in the music remembered what he had done, or what he was. For a minute, his mind flashed back to that time, and he shuddered, his face growing dark. He pulled the hoodie down a little and hunched over. While walking down the street, he stopped at a street corner, waiting for the light to turn. Next to him was a woman pushing a small child in a stroller. Alex turned his face away from them, staring at his ratty sneakers. However, he glanced up once, praying that he wouldn't accidentally make eye contact with the woman. He instead looked at the little girl, who stared at him in wonder. She didn't look old enough to know who he was but to his surprise, she made a face at him, sticking out her tongue. After hesitating for a moment, he stuck his tongue out at her, and the child giggled. The woman smiled at him, but as Alex lifted his head, and his face was revealed, her own paled. "Oh...I...."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Alex said sarcastically. "Next you'll lose your words, and find a different place to cross the street." The woman stared at him, before hurrying off, pushing the child's stroller away. "And there she goes," Alex muttered to himself, smirking. "I was wondering how long it would take for her to put two and two together." Alex wouldn't admit it to himself, but it hurt seeing people act like that, even if time had passed. "Whoever said that time heals all things, needs to spend some time as an immortal, see how they like it then," he pronounced to no one, as he was alone on the street. Alex crossed the street, and just continued walking. He'd go home eventually to check on the online store he ran, but right now, he would walk and walk until his feet fell like they were going to fall off, then just keep walking.

---

Calverus fidgeted with the collar of his robe, trying to shift each layer beneath it into place. Honestly the whole setup was an inconvenience, and nobody really wore things like this anymore, but Cal liked how it looked, it was also very comfortable. The sleeves draped off of his arm, falling just long enough to cover his knuckles and allow his fingers to disappear into the fabric if he curled them up. With a soft huff he reached the edge of the bottom layer, giving it a sharp tug and watching as it finally smoothed out. Calverus took a step back, checking the mirror to make sure everything looked right before sliding his helmet over his head.

He placed his left foot behind the right, performing a quick 180 degree turn and opening the door to his living room. It still all felt a little strange, trying to readjust to a new modern society. He had given up on trying to keep with the times a long time ago, but it didn't mean he felt any lesssput of place. Especially after recent events. He slid down on the couch, lightly scratching at the bottom of his helmet, watching white paint slowly flake off and land in his lap. Calverus supposed he did have to repaint his helmet, he hadn't done it in quite some time. He didn't think he had any white paint lying around, maybe he'd have to ask around.

He laid his head back against the couch, lightly shutting his eyes. Nothing really felt the same anymore, not even himself. He just felt... well he didn't know quite how he was feeling. Like he was empty, hollow, but also not. Like there was something curling inside his chest, constantly wriggling to let its presence be known. Calverus tried not to think about it too often, and taking time to just sit back and think always seemed to bring this strange feeling to the front of his mind everytime. It bothered him, being unable to put any name to the emotions he was feeling. He used to he in control of everything about himself and now he wasn't.

Calverus quickly stood up, ignoring the little black dots that began to dance in his vision as he walked out the door of his home. It was hot, and Cal immediately began to feel the consequences of wearing so many dark layers of clothing. He did his best to ignore the growing sticky feeling spreading all over his skin as he began walking down the streets. He had a general idea of where he was going, but there was that small chance he would end up lost. Worst case scenario he just keeps walking the streets until he finds his way back home.

---

As Admin read through the newspaper article highlighting the escape of the immortals, he saw a picture, apparently salvaged from the ruins of the lab. it was a picture of some of the immortals in the lab. he saw a couple he recognized, but didn't know their names. "Hm..." He got up. "Welp. I guess its time for me to leave." He said to himself, noticing the looks people were giving him. He shoved the folded article into the pocket of his baggy pants and started to walk away.

---

It was no surprise that she would wake up today, after all, she couldn't really die. She still had that little sliver of hope, the hope that one day she wouldn't wake up. Or maybe she would, and her entire life was just some sick nightmare. She got up from her unusual sleeping position and sat upright on the bed. Her eyes looked down on the floor with an emotionless gaze, taking in the thoughts that haunted her mind. Today was just a normal day, one she would expect to be filled with sorrows like every other day. She glanced over at her arm, or what stood in it's place. She could see the faint reflection of her face in the cold, metallic surface, reminding her not only of her past and how this arm came to be, but of who she is now. The face showed the scars and pain that she had gone through, all standing out for her to see when she saw herself. She did this every day, it was almost routine at this point. She would wake up, then start her day with the usual break-down. Her eyes would usually be filled with tears and her voice would ge gone by the time she got out of bed. She was a wreck, but at this point, who else like her wasn't? She continued by moving her arm to her chest, where her dog tag lied. The tag told many stories, ones that she couldn't care to tell. She didn't know why she kept them, perhaps it was a small reminder that she had done something good in this world. Today, though, that reminder didn't help to prevent thoughts from running through her head again. She used to drain them out through the use of alcohol or through her killing sprees, but had stopped with both. The former was due to the lack of money. She hated working, or going out in general in fear of going crazy again. Those memories haunted her to the point where she refused human contact. She considered stealing, which would be easy considering her experience, but she didn't feel the need to have another mark on her history. Without anything to distract her, she couldn't help but to let those memories torture her yet again and leave her screaming and pulling her hair for an hour. Well, that's exactly what she did.

She couldn't stop thinking about what she had done, those innocent people she had killed. None of them deserved it, and she didn't deserve to be a lab rat. She didn't see that as an excuse though, because it really wasn't. She laughed in the faces of others right before she gave them the worst deaths she could give. She would taunt them, her glistening smile searing into the minds of her victims. If they had any children, she would force them to watch. At the time she considered it to be enjoyable, since it was the only thing that brought joy into her life. Blood would always fill her vision, and the laughter still rang in her ears to this day. Syrai knew that deep down, she was still like that. She knew that she was longing for entertainment, and killing might be the only thing that fulfilled that itch. It drove her mad thinking about it, as she desperately tried to suppress any thought of doing it again. She begged for death every second and always attempted to do it herself, always failing miserably. In the end her attempts to eradicate those thoughts and memories failed, like always. She knew it was pointless to try anymore, but she still had hope that one day they would go away, just like the hope that she would never wake up again. She got up off the floor and began to start her day, taking a quick shower before putting on a dark gray t-shirt, plain black hoodie and some joggers, adding some high socks and thin gloves to her attire to cover up the highly noticeable metal her prosthetics were made of. She didn't plan to do much today, other than her routine that had been engraved into her mind and a quick stop at the store. She left the house and locked the door that belonged to a small wood shelter in the suburbs. She began by walking out into the streets, exposed to the people around her. At this point she had gotten used to the constant fear of someone noticing her, but it was still in the back of her mind. She took a deep breath and continued onwards, trying not to pay attention to anything around her.

---

Admin chuckled to himself quietly. He had given up, long ago. he knew immortality was a curse, living forever and seeing lives go by in a blink of an eye hurt him terribly. He was not a killer at heart. long ago, he had been as happy and carefree as anyone anywhere, but his ego had gotten people killed... and that was where Admin snapped. He thought back on the first people he'd killed, their screams and pleads burned into his mind. He grimaced, the screams ringing in his ears, when something hit him on the back of his head.

---

Her dream always felt short. Varroa's eyes remained closed; shutting herself off from the world as the ongoing chatter in the background continued to whisper into her ears. She hums another lullaby. Everyone still believed it was something she did to amuse herself, but she hid most clues in her lyrics. After hearing everyone's story while pretending to take a nap, she learned one of the guest's latest stories contradicts her story in the beginning. Varroa quickly grew tired of these detectives' solving speed, so she used her way to help them.

"It must be another immortal like her!" The pot-bellied man yelled, pointing his finger at this poor innocent woman. Her relaxed smile turns into an amused grin when she can imagine the smell of breath coming from his mouth. The room suddenly turns quiet, and concern shows on everyone's faces. Varroa's piercing eyes glanced over her nervous colleagues. She sticks out her tongue and lightly taps herself on her head, giving away another clue. One of her colleagues released a sigh in disbelief. She will not stop whatever that swine's imagination, so later, she will get back on him when they reveal the murder.

Few minutes passed by, her expression quickly turned blank. She lifts herself from the floor and rubs the back of her neck. She decides to act on herself to get things done quickly. After the debate, they finally find the murderer with her help, but Varroa will not let her go that easy. She decided to give the murder a taste of her own medicine...

Varroa left first and came out feeling refreshed; everyone else stood there in shock. The detectives were running to her, but she did not stop for them.

[This was a random murderer that is not associated with those 15.]

---

The rusted gates to the cemetery creaked with age, protesting as the breeze bullied it open, the noise rousing the slumbering mess sprawled on the grass. A low groan harmonized with the haunting sounds of the abandoned place, ratty hair framing a gaunt face. A ghost if there ever was one, haunting the memorial. In some ways, Jiu did feel like a ghost, wandering the world untethered and exhausted drifting with the wind until something came along to grab its attention. Turning around, slender fingers brushed over the worn engraving, running over words that Jiu could see in its sleep. The words were seared onto its fingertips, blood caking its hands despite never having shed any in the first place. To this day, Jiu couldn't remember what poison had been used to murder Yasha nor how the deed had been done and it frustrated it to no end. What compensation could be wrought if it didn't know what to use?

Pushing off the ground, Jiu gently brushed off the grass that clung to leather, jewelry brushing against each other as it moved. Like a bell that announced its every move, the jewelry hang heavy around its neck, a glittering shackle it was infinitely thankful for. No more would people fear the silent steps of a murderer if the bell tolled of its impending arrival. People would be safe from it, from the fear that gripped the world the past few years as It and those of it's kind were set upon the world like ravaged beasts starved of prey catching the scent of first blood. Just because Yashura had endeared himself to the underground clubbing scene, that did not mean that Jiu had washed its hands free of blood. Fear and terror still hung heavy around it like a protective cloak, a specter of all it's past sins whispering truths into an undeserving ear. Pushing such thoughts aside, Jiu stood up with a pained grunt as stiff knees and aching back protested yet it gingerly bent to clean up the grounds, discarded baiju gathered and disposed of. Sweeping dust off the top of the marker, Jiu left one bottle of liquor in front of the tomb as always and smiled wryly. "I brought your favorite again. I still don't get how you can like this stuff but I can't ask you anymore, can I." It murmured, tracing the letters of it's greatest regret again and again. If it strained it's ears, perhaps it would hear the wind laugh a familiar electrifying cadence filled with life and energy that Jiu could only hope to replicate.

Shoving shivering hands into too tight pockets and hooking on a black face mask, Jiu bid farewell to its home, meandering through the streets. Usually at this time, it would be asleep much too tired from the night's clubbing and excitement yet Jiu couldn't bring itself to return to the messy apartment where only silence and cold loneliness awaited. Well, Jiu did need to restock on groceries and the like and had been putting it off for much too long so wouldn't this be an acceptable time to undertake such a monotonous task. It was an Immortal, after all, not a God. The route to the city Chinatown wasn't a hard road to find. In fact it was a well traveled one considering that Jiu's decrepit lodgings were located in the area, the sounds of haggling and bargaining the background noise to which it slept to. Nodding politely to Aunties who called it over to show off their newest wares and Uncles who laughed and gambled on the latest gossip, Jiu quietly purchased whatever was needed while making sure to politely ask the shopkeepers about their day, their family, what was going on in their every day lives. It wasn't much, the noisy streets and cramped walls offering little comfort, yet it was about as good as it could get. Jiu couldn't ask for any more or any less.

"LangZai, LangZai ah. Did you hear the news?" A kindly old shopkeeper fretted as she placed radishes into its basket, the poor plastic already laden with all kinds of vegetables that the elder graciously gave out. "There's rumors that Immortals are going around killing so many people. 15 people already, it's just awful! A beautiful young man like yourself ought to be careful out there! Here here, have more cucumbers. You're so skinny are you sure you're eating enough? It would break this old lady's heart if you didn't." The basket creaked ominously as two cucumbers were thrown into the already overflowing container.

Jiu could only laugh and pat the old woman on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry Auntie, I'll be safe. I'm more worried about you. Auntie is still young and beautiful so do take care." It forced out around the awkward need to clam up and not say anything, skirting around the topic as a whole. "Thank you as always for all the food. Auntie is too generous to this lowly one."

"Aiyo, if only my own son was as nice as you! You better find a nice girl to settle down with!" The shopkeeper sighed, slapping Jiu's arm hard enough that it winced at the stinging burn it left and Jiu could only grimace. Paying for it's purchase and promising to eat more, Jiu left the quaint store with more vegetables than it knew what to do with. Truly, the perk of endearing itself to the shopkeepers was the extra food that it got on the occasion that well meaning aunties and uncles deemed it too skinny and forced it to eat more. But still, Jiu was thankful for the mask which covered the bottom of its face, making it quite hard for others to identify it as one of the many Immortals that still sparked fear around the world. With a sigh, Jiu hefted the straining plastic bag of assorted vegetables and pushed through the throng of shoppers to arrive at it's next destination, the butcher's shop

---

LangZai [亮年] - Pretty Young Man. Or something along those lines :p

---

The music wasn't working. Alex kept turning the music up and up, but the look on the woman's face had been branded into his mind as permanently as his had been on countless others. Ignore them Ignore them Ignore them. He repeated this chant as he continued walking, now not bothering to figure out where he was going, what he was doing, or that his ears were bleeding from the music. Ignore them Ignore Them Ignore Them He kept walking for hours. That was all he could think about. Eventually, he turned a corner and bumped into a group of teenage kids. Their mouths dropped open, and their eyes widened. Like all the others. He narrowed his eyes, and snapped, "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Ignore Them Ignore Them He turned around and took off, shoving his way through the crowds. Hours later, he made his way back to his apartment, only to find his landlord putting up an evicted sign. "What's going on?!" Alex exclaimed. The landlord jumped, before stuttering out, "Y-you haven't paid your rent." "You kidding? I paid it in full last month!" His eyes narrowed, and he spat, "It got doubled. You're going." Alex grabbed a duffle bag that he reguralerly kept for these kinds of situations from the pile of stuff, then snarked, "I think this is one of the best places I've ever lived at so far. At least this time it took you two years to realize who I am. Congratulations, you've beat the high score!" He turned around, making little mocking ding noises as he went.

Alex's motorcycle was a handy thing indeed. It got him all the way to the suburbs, where he managed to find a park bench to crash on. When he woke up the next morning, there was a police officer barking at him, and a parking ticket on his motorcycle. Great. Things were going great. But how in the world was he supposed to find a new place to live?!

---

Even while having her ragged, oversized hood covering a large majority of her face as she walked, she could feel the quick glances of the ones she walked by, sensing fear behind them. They knew who she was, and they knew how dangerous she could be. As she was walking by, she noticed a man on a park bench, a motercycle with a ticket close by. At first, Syrai had planned to continue walking and ignore him, since it wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but the lack of a glance made her reconsider. Sure, not everyone had given her a glance, and he probably wasn't special, but something about him felt off. She decided to raise her head to get a better look, instead of just having half his leg in view. A quick examination didn't help her much, so she decided to get closer. She wasn't that far away from him, the path she took was about 5 feet away from the bench and she could easily walk over. She began to walk over, raising her head while doing so. By now, her hood had drawn back to be barely hanging on to the top of her head, allowing her face to be fully viewed. She stood in front of him, but slightly to the side, then rested her eyes on him. "You... ok?" She asked, in a quiet, monotonous tone. Her voie was a little hoarse from earlier, but it wasn't prominent when she spoke.

---

Admin laughed bitterly as he walked the streets. "Admin you idiot... how many times have you told yourself to stop thinking about that..." his thought trailed off as screams and pleads echoed in his head. He pulled out his handgun as he ducked into the alley. He knew it wouldnt do anything, but he silently hoped he could just end it. His life had been uprooted, and it was his second worst mistake to ever go out of his house that day.

~~1865, the American Civil war~~

Admin had moved to a small farmhouse in the south around the early 1800's. He wanted peace and just wanted to farm and keep himself busy, but Sherman's march had effectivly destroyed his house. More proof that humans were awful beings. Seemingly out of nowhere, however came a group of 3 people, with white lab coats and a small metal device in the first one's hand
"Please... just leave. I have nothing of value."
"We're here for you, Sir Admin."
"... why? I just want to be left alone."
"We are people of science. We wish to study you and we will let you go, eventually."
"Alright... ill go."

~~current~~

Admin clutched his head. "Goddamnit..." he pulled up his hood and kept walking. "..."

---

Alex didn't hear Syrai coming, so he didn't look up, his head in his hands, parking ticket crumpled between his fingers. When he did hear her, he jumped a little, but said sarcastically, "Yeah, my life's just sunshine and rainbows all around, my life is going just great. But the great big Immortal Boogie-Man might get you, so watch out before I...." His voice trailed off as he looked up, the ticket fluttering to the ground and landing silently. "So...We meet Again. Geez. that sounded a lot better in my head."

---

Heleina sighs once more, as she gets her picture taken. The man in front just casually groans, printing it out. "You single moms are all the same, really. You think you own the world because you got a child and then casually try to steal a phone or something." He goes to his computer again and starts typing, while Heleina groans and looks away. "I don't even have a child..." She muttered, sighing. For months now, she has been trying to latch on to several geniuses of this era, just like she did before. Seems like not only time has passed, but also the etiquette of people. Now, she had been attempting to intercept some quantum physicist she read about, when a security guard noticed her looming over the bushes.

"I could sent him back..." Heleina wondered, her pocket watch in the bag with her hand on it, hesitant to use it. But... the room was surveilled. If one spots her using that thing, it might result in chaos. So, she waits it out... before being rudely thrown out of the campus, with a house ban. Annoyed, she fixed her attire before she just started roaming the streets, hands on the watch... while she pondered and didn't pay attention to any of her surroundings.

---

Syrai nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. It was all too familiar, and the feeling made her regret initiating the conversation. She knew him, and he clearly knew her based on what he said. Normally, it would be nice running into someone you knew if you've been alone for so long, but the joy was absent and instead, fear and sorrow filled it's place. They were both a part of the same terrible fate, and just seeing him reminded her of those horrible years. At first, she wasn't sure how to respond to his weird and exaggerated ramble, but then words began to spew out. "Oh... It's you..." she muttered, looking him dead in the eye without any change to her dull expression. After speaking, she had quickly recovered from the confusion that he brought as he blurted out the whole 'immortal boogie-man' thing. "So... What are you doing here?" the same monotonous tone rumbled in her throat as she spoke in a low, quiet voice.

---

As Admin walked through the streets aimlessly, his hands in his pockets, he noticed two figures next to a broken bench and a steaming motorcycle, the front caved in. As Admin got closer, he could hear bits of their conversation. Underlying hostility, and from the voices Admin recognized them as other immortals. He walked towards them. "... Well isn't this a coincidence. Three immortals in one place."

---

"Wasn't planning on it," Alex grumbled, "But I ran into some bad luck. My, uh, landlord figured out who I am and decided to evict me." He picked up the ticket and began folding it into a tiny square. "Didn't think that the suburbs were a common place to find people like you and me, whatever that means at this point." When Admin spoke, he stiffened, not looking up. "Personally, I like the sound of "Zero Immortals in one place, huh? How about that?" He unfolded the ticket and started again. "I jumped on my bike and took off out of the city, but as you can see, that didn't turn out so well."

---

The heavy, dewy air of the area around Elam brought the small hominid to a staggering halt, the scent of burning garbage and cigarette smoke can making his nose wrinkle. This was just another path to take, to add to the endlessly growing map of the mind of Elam. Exactly seven miles and two-thousand eight-hundred seventy-three feet from the sidewalk in front of the house where Elam lived. It was only a revolting alleyway, the bricks decorated in mold and mildew, the elegantly choking odour filling the lungs of any who dared try to cross through. A pair of rugged, hideous men stared at Elam for long, silent, puffing seconds, before they started to laugh. "Say, boy, you look well enough off. Care to help a poor man out? I've been feelin' down lately, see, and-" Elam held up his hand suddenly, a symbol only interpreted as 'stop.'

There, the second smoker chimed in. "Ever heard of respecting your elders, kid? Don't think you're high and mighty just 'cuz you look rich." Elam closed his eyes and sighed, his boyish face twisting in annoyance. A boyish voice, also twisted in aggravated agony, soon chimed through the alleyway. "If you poor souls want my wallet, I'm sure there's something I can do for your situation. However, one of you seems to have different intentions in mind, therefore I'll have to deny you the right to speak." The two stared for a moment, dumbfounded by the two sentences given by so small a figure. The first man went to stand, he voice unintelligible and growling in rage. Though, as he stood, he was met with the barrel of a firearm, evidently chambered in something very large, and very loud.

It was an iconic gun, likely recognizable to even the least educated people. A classic Desert Eagle, colored grey and fully loaded, polished to perfection. Elam had yet to ever fire this weapon, doing his best to keep the safety on. He knew for a fact that it was louder than most other weapons, the chamber holding a queue of .50 Action Express bullets, each one boasting the title of the most powerful bullet in commission for any handgun. The seemingly enraged man before him, if course, didn't realize Elam had stashed such a weapon beneath his flannel shirt. He also didn't seem to recognize the danger the bullets posed to his hearing. .50 AE loaded in a Desert Eagle was one of the loudest conceivable bullets in modern operation. The man went to snarl an insult at Elam, though was quickly drowned out by the sounds of two bullets flying skyward, heaven-bound with a duty to deafen.

As the two in the dreary and dank alleyway recovered from their temporary tinnitus, Elam moved hastily along. The two discharged shells could likely have been heard from across the entire city.