𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

He's certain Jax won't believe him. Ryoji's still pushing and pulling, discovering what works best around the jagged angles of low self-confidence and doubt. He's been in the same position, even if the stretch of years have dulled the memories.

But they wait, allowing the --- surprise --- of the question to settle. They wield silence with a steady hand, patient and unbothered; in return, they're given an angle unexplored.

"Perhaps not exactly what I asked, but still absolutely worthwhile." If Kronos wasn't guarding the serum, wasn't hiding it behind layers of friction for any adversaries, then what else were they planning?

And who else would they sacrifice?

Lying is an option that Jax would've considered more seriously if he had been any less artless; not only would he be unable to pull it off convincingly, he realizes with some degree of regret that this prolonged pause is already serving as a dead enough giveaway.

"I-I don't― Why do you ask?" Even to his own ears he sounds unusually defensive, on edge, a cornered cat with its fur spiked up. "You think we need someone on the inside?"

well?

What do people call her abilities again? That’s right. Dangerous. Deceitful. Scary. They judge her on who she was and who she might become; here is someone who does neither. The drummer doesn’t seem to know who she is, and she likes that. They even think a little trick is pretty.

( It is a stark difference from the first time it happened, eyes widening around the dinner table at the sight of ice spiking in the air, her sister’s gaze falling somewhere between fear and contempt. )

Lunara lets the drink melt back into the glass, and takes a small sip. Watery. “Do you perform here a lot? I don’t think I’ve seen you up there before.”

"Not this time of the week," he admits. "I was just covering for the usual guy, and I― I don't really hang around to talk. To people. So that's probably why." Jax stammers, sentence cleaving in two. There's a difference between resignedly accepting that this is who he is, and announcing that to a stranger. He doesn't think there's anything wrong with social awkwardness per se; when it comes down to himself, though, his judgments are skewed. Saying it out loud, he feels ―- embarrassed. Incompetent. "I'm, uh, also a super. Not as cool as the ice sculpture thing you did, but....."

however, this is serious matter. life or death, as they would call it, and despite the attitude that greg seems to project to the world, he does care. "yes, i have watched the news— surprising, right?— and we have to talk about it." he sets down her pen with delicacy. "this shit is dangerous, and if you or anyone from nsa have information about anything, then you better share it with the class. we gotta make sure kronos can't perfect the serum or better yet, have anyone replicate it."

"Kronos keeps feeding us the same bullshit," Andy sighs, blows up at imaginary strands of hair falling over her forehead. "Saying that the twins lied to them, which is ― they're kids, Greg. Untrained. No fucking way they fabricated all of it on their own." Perhaps the NSA should entertain less traditional methods of gathering information. Or perhaps someone else is already on it, she isn't too involved, but―- "What we gotta do first is get our hands on a sample," she muses, half-consciously settling into the familiarity of their back-and-forth tossing of ideas.

I told you the truth more.

It’s not that she dislikes Antonia Dixon. She just can’t stand her sometimes.

No problem, she almost says as she undoes the binds on Andy’s ankles, but that's just not true, is it? This really did cause a bit of a problem. “You’re welcome.” Moving behind the chair, Suzu frees Andy’s hands next. “I don’t know, going on about—what was it again?—a comparative analysis on immunities and healing powers. That seemed like a pretty good strategy to me. You really almost had him there. I’m sure a lecture would’ve done him in.” A smirk pulls at her lips, airy nonchalance coloring her voice. “Maybe I should’ve let you try your luck?”

"Maybe," she agrees cheerily, stretching her limbs with the same passion of a runner getting ready for a 21K. "I was hoping that at some point or another he'd get pissed and start talking. Not to bang my own drum but I tend to be quite good at that, as you may know―" (She does. She knows she does. And she knows that she knows she does.) "―and you know what they say, gotta play to your strengths. Rile them up, listen carefully to what they blurt out, wait for a mistake! Because there will be one, small or big, eventually. Not the safest action plan, I know, but you really don't have that many options when you're a non-super strapped to a chair like some sort of a very poor BDSM dungeon lacking in leather and consent."

it's inevitable that greg would meet jax. truth be told, the reason greg got involved with crux in the first place is to meet them. from the files greg read— stored somewhere in the nsa system (absolutely not obtained questionably, what are you talking about?)— there's a potential that they could even be more powerful than him.

well, isn't that interesting?

if only greg paid more attention to them (or even realised they were a trainee), maybe they'd still be with nsa. maybe greg will even have a protege or mentee he actually gives a shit about.

greg's chuckle is unusually light, as if jax is the only person worthy enough to see this side of him. "please, greg is fine," he insists as he shakes their hand. "nice to meet you jax. heard great things about you."

at the same time, it's rare that he's this awkward, but it's reasonable, given greg doesn't have much experience with 'mentoring' (unless it's unwittingly). this is genuinely the first time that greg looked forward to meeting someone, to bond with them.

"Right. Uh. You might be disappointed," they mutter, wincing immediately. The self-deprecating words sound worse when said out loud. "Sorry. I-I mean―" Their head moves in a short, almost-violent shake, ears growing hot. "Never mind."

The set ends, and as Lunara turns to laugh at something someone next to her has said, another nearly knocks her over as he jumps down from the stage. “Hey—!” she exclaims, drink in her hand freezing before it can splash onto the floor. “Whatever, it’s fine—” But annoyance fades as quickly as it’d sparked when she realizes he looks like he’s just dealt her a serious injury and not just bumped into her. It can’t be that deep. “It’s really fine, seriously. I’m okay.” She even grins for good measure, raising her glass, its edges tinged with frost. “See? No harm done. Even saved the drink. Wait, you’re the drummer, right? You were really good.”

"Are you a super?" His gaze falls on the drink in her hand, frozen in the exact moment of sloshing over the edge. Like a wave. Except tiny.... and frozen. (Yes, okay, the frozen thing has been established.) "That's very handy," he admires meekly. "and it looks pretty." She is also very pretty, Jax cannot help but notice, though there is a hazy sense of familiarity about her that he is unable to pin down.

what’s privacy, really? (it doesn’t apply to one gregory flores, unless— well— it’s his privacy that gets violated.) he makes his way towards the office, the path all too familiar to him for reasons that’s too much for him to unpack. maybe it’s the comfort of a familiar face, maybe it’s the banter that never loses its bite, maybe he just misses her, but there he is again, wearing his signature mischievous smile.

"i know i'd find you here. aren't you a creature of habit?" whoops. he gives three quick knocks on door. now she can't complain about him not knocking. he enters the office without permission, sits down on one of the chairs in front of her desk. "heard something huge happened while i was away. i picked the worst time to go to fiji, huh?" a pen catches his eyes, and he grabs it. "so? what'd i miss?"

"Yes, Gregory, I'm at work. And I work in my office. Your powers of deduction never cease to astound me," she quips, eventually looking away from the two holographic monitors that display progress reports on their most recent trainees. Her gaze follows him as he takes a seat, fiddles with the pen. (Her pen.) Two months. Has it really been that long? "Worst time, best time, semantics. Perspectives! Maybe I was having the time of my life precisely because you were one Pacific Ocean away." The smile Andy offers him is saccharin-sweet, sardonic, but tired. Where to fucking begin. "Seen the news yet?"

“Wow. I didn’t even blink.” Her gaze cuts from the holographic screen to Jax, a grin curling at her lips. How easily it seems to come to Jax never fails to impress her, and despite having asked them before, she still wonders just exactly how it works. How do they know exactly what to do and how to do it? Do they have to think about the process, even for a split second, or does the device simply bend to their will? Her mind never stops turning, even when it comes to superpowers beyond her understanding. 

"Homemade," they revere in the same tone as one would at baked goods. Pocketing the phone, they plop down on a beanbag chair that used to belong to their sister and, tragically, is not as comfortable as its appearance suggests. "Yeah! Of course. This is amazing. You could make more and sell them. You're like a fucking genius with these...."

"I once again thank you for all the sacrifices you make in tolerating any journalist. I am indebted to you because of your mercy."

Even with the tipsy warmth softening the edges of his thoughts, a sliver of unease still finds a way to take root. Questions about the gala, the missing details amongst the violence, what they're all to do moving forward --- all the answers leads to secrecy and escalation. He can't envision a path that doesn't involve the sacrifices taken during the omnidroid attack, and ---

Andy slaps the table then, and mirth bubbles from his chest, laughter ringing through the bar. He scans the crowd once, twice. "We're in the clear. No promises about later in the night." He tries to think about which trainees would walk through late at night trying to find some fun --- some normalcy, maybe --- and loses count around ten. Well -- not like being shitfaced will ruin that many illusions about who he is as a person. Maybe. Hopefully.

"So," he starts, leaning his head against hand, "what can I do to start repaying my debt to you. Any workload that I can take off your shoulders?"

A small drone approaches with their drinks. She picks them up from the holder and slides Kiran's toward him, smooth and routinized, countless flashbacks to their early days rolled into the movement. They had sat together just like this, full of alacrity, determined to do some good in the lives of these kids under their care. (The age range of trainees has diversified since then, but the pilot program in the beginning had been geared toward superpowered youth.) And she believes they did. Certainly not all of it was in vain. Was it enough, though? Could they have rerouted the trajectory leading to this disaster while it was still dirigible?

Antonia is not one to agonize over what-ifs and maybe's. Sees no use in it. But she wonders if somehow, in a convoluted, long-winded manner, her actions and decisions have contributed to the current state of things, accelerated this rivalry between technology and DNA.

"I wanted to check-in on you," he responds as Jax returns to the table. A beat, and his eyes widen in realization. "Not that you're in trouble. I wanted to congratulate you for the work you did on getting the serum information. You did well, Jax."

The kettle beeps behind him then, sounding as obnoxious as it is cheap; Jax jolts out of his chair, gingerly pours the boiling hot water into a mug. Gets a handful of seconds with his back turned to Ryoji to frantically replay in his mind what he just said to them. That was bad. Fuck. That was a bad response. They're not here to deal with his self-deprecation.

"Pick my― my brain?" he repeats, incredulous. "I don't.... No."

Was he supposed to be? Is he not pulling his weight? No, really, what is Crux trying to achieve? It feels foolish and long-overdue to consider such questions after spending a whole year as an active member, but he's never felt compelled to do so. Largely because decision-making is not his responsibility, he thinks, and his opinions aren't that needed anyway.