#newlifenewdeath

      Ah, the Sleeping Beauty finally awakens! Hunter was starting to get bored, standing as still as a mannequin with nothing to do just to watch her slumber peacefully in her bed, and he doubts that she would have been happy if he helped himself to her questionable movie collection or her books ( or even more juicily, a diary?).  

     “Do you know what happened?” he demands, throwing his hands up in a show of indignation. “Do you? As of now, it has been over sixty hours since you last spoke to me, Lola. Sixty!” 

There’s a popsicle stick in her jacket pocket, grasped between fingertip and thumb pad as idle thoughts keep her busy while she roams aimlessly down the evening street. 

... Hm. ‘Aimless’ does not seem to be the appropriate term. She was sure that she had an objective before, and yet why can’t she remember? The smooth wood now bends slightly when she thumbs it in mild agitation-- why did she have an objective? It must have been important. 

FI⌷D S�MBOL �⌷⌷ ⌷

Freckled nose scrunches up just a tad, brows knitting together, too, and had anyone been paying attention to this lone wanderer they’d have noticed how her childish features seemed to have... fizzled out for a half-second; and beneath unruly, damp fringe her temple briefly flashes a neon red before the light fades away. 

Symbol. Yes, that was it. She looks down at her free hand-- with the skin of her wrist tattered and the fading edges showing off broken a ivory plating with burnt wires poking out-- and on her mechanical palm is a small, grainy image being projected poorly: a symbol painted in a mural. 

It isn’t until hours later that she finds the specific mural in some poorly lit alleyway between abandoned buildings, though before she completes her rather vague objective she spots another being standing where she thinks she should be looking.

It’d been the first time in a good while that Carl’d been out of the house. With his health steadily getting better, he finally appeared to have the strength to leave the house. Not that he necessarily wanted to most of the times, but Markus had suggested that a walk would do him some good, so who was he to argue? So, with his oxygen tank held onto in his lap, Carl was getting his first taste of the outside air since November.

“I think I heard about that, briefly,” It had to have been on the news, right? He was sure he’d heard about it, but there really hadn’t been much mention of what the statue would look like. Knowing Markus had put creative input definitely made him interested in it. After all, it must’ve been important to him, if Markus had wanted to surprise him with it.

        That’s not fair. It’s not fair! 

       “That man is looking at you very interestedly,” the android grumbles. If its gaze could freeze over the molten core of the Earth and harden it into ice from within, it still wouldn’t be enough to convey even an ounce of the coldness the android harbours for that shady, shabby man across the supermarket aisle. 

       Its fingers tighten around the handle of the shopping trolley and it bristles, face souring into a scowl as it stares the stranger down. “He wouldn’t even be as good of a companion I am for you,” it scoffs, only audible for its owner’s ears. Wait, what are they doing here? 

       Cookies. Right. 

     “--- and that was how I persuaded them into thinking that I was the winner, and so I now have a lifetime’s supply of biscuits that I don’t know where to put---” Hunter’s story of the day is cut short when he feels a small hand grasp onto the sleeve of his Armani with an urgency that makes him turn around immediately, and nothing could have prepared him for the terrible sight that greeted him. 

A real life hero. A superhero. Could Hunter ever believe this? 

                                                               ------- Better than ones in those scripts!