I drop my glass off at one of the other bars and continue my inebriated walk around the club. Despite the sensory overload of the place, the numbing effect of the alcohol is making everything blend into a hodgepodge of buzzing. The buzzing noise works like a barrier from the rest of the patrons. I feel like a pilot, a passenger in my body as I wander around. I've realized something: being drunk is fantastic. People occasionally accidentally bump me, but I feel so good I barely notice. I should find Sy and thank him. He was right about this place. Finding him isn't as hard as I thought it might be. I spot him on the other side of the dancefloor. Viola and Amara are nowhere to be found. Instead, he's with a different girl. She's dressed similarly to everyone else here: alluring and fashionable. Somewhere in my brain, I recognize her. She must be one of Sy's trauma group friends. The two of them are leaning against one of the warehouse walls, talking. Both of them have beers, and that reminds me I need a new drink.

I reroute over to the bar where the Irish woman is to refill. Only one person is standing at the bar, an Asian woman with wavy dark purple hair and a black sweater dress with ripped tights and running sneakers. That hair color is a warning sign. Dyed hair always means crazy. The dress clutches her figure tightly, leaving no doubt about her curvature. There aren't any guys hitting on her; that's a second warning sign. I go to the right side of the bar, leaving a wide berth between me and her. The bartender doesn't move, standing ramrod straight in front of the other woman. From my angle, I can see the woman is sipping a dark liquor on ice. She's not wearing any makeup and has a pair of sunglasses resting on her head. I wave at the bartender to get her attention, and the woman drinking waves her off. She comes over to me finally, and her face is flush with sweat.

"Welcome back. I hope you liked the sex," she said, blushing as she bit her lip.

What the fuck is going on?

"A little too sweet for my taste. I'll take three fingers of bourbon, just give me the strongest one you have. And I'll close my tab," I said.

The woman in the sweater dress moves closer until she's right next to me. Why can't crazy women leave me alone? I get that I'm attractive, intelligent, driven, savvy, and personable, but I am not interested. Maybe I should wear a shirt that says Don't talk to me on it. That would just make them want me more. It's just not fair that they thirst after me like dogs with a piece of meat. She edges even closer to me, and despite not checking, I know she's staring at me.

"Close his tab, but don't charge him for the bourbon, Siobhan," the crazy woman said.

"Okay," Siobhan said deferentially.

Great, the crazy woman is part of the Triad, and she's interested in me.

"I don't mind paying," I said quickly.

"Oh, I insist. Think of it as a favor, and I can think of a few ways for you to repay me," she said.

"How generous of you. Thank you, Miss?"

"Rika, but my friends call me Vixen," she answered.

Fuck me. Vixen is one of the few that I didn't have a visual on, and that's the one I happened to meet.

"Pleasure to meet you, Rika," I said, smiling kindly.

"No, it isn't. You don't mean that in the slightest. What's wrong with you? You aren't interested in me at all, and your aura is completely messed up," Rika said.

Huh? Did I let that show, or is her ability at play? Damn it, how fucking bad does my luck have to be to run into her now? I've got to try and play this off to get out of here.

"Sorry, you just aren't my type," I laughed.

"Yeah, I bet no one is. Did you suffer a brain injury or something? You're full of black spots, devoid of anything," she said, staring intensely at me.

FUCK!

Siobhan comes over with my drink, my card, and a receipt. I sign the receipt, trying to keep my cool as the Cowl keeps grilling me. She's not falling for my excuses, and I'm too drunk to really focus. Gulping down my drink, I put my card back in my wallet and try my best to look confused at Rika.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Is this an astrology thing?"

"Fine, play coy. Why don't we go talk somewhere a little more private?" Rika asked me, tilting her head to the right.

She may be pretending to ask my opinion, but her question is quite obviously rhetorical. Rika's acting all cutesy, and I'm sure it normally fools most people. But I'm not most people, I'm better. I have to try to get out of the situation peacefully.

"I'm fine here. I was just looking for my friend, who I came here with. I think I see him right over there," I said, pointing at Sy as I started to push away from the bar.

"He can come too. Don't move, I'll have someone grab him," Rika ordered.

No matter how sweetly she tries to sound, she just commanded me like a fucking dog. I really should've brought my gun. The spike of aggression I feel is worse than usual, and I almost swing at her. That could end up being a problem. Rika beckons at a large guy posted up by the emergency exit. He comes over to her, and I get a better look at him. Perpetual scowl, a large red scar going down the side of his face, cauliflower ears, and one of his eyes is a milky white color. He has the look of a man who has more felonies than fingers and whose childhood dream job was to be a goon. You could call it a hunch he's a henchman. Rika points over at Sy and the girl he's with, and thug number three menacingly saunters over to them. The way he walks has me biting my tongue just to stop myself from laughing. He looks ripped straight out of an old cartoon. Hank the henchman comes back, dragging Sy and the girl by their wrists.

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"Hey, Sy, I see you've met Hank," I joked.

"Uhh yeah. He wouldn't say anything. What's going on?" Sy asked.

"Hank's a bit feral. He just got house-trained, but we're hoping to teach him to speak next week," I continued, grinning unconsciously.

Hank doesn't seem to like my jokes and makes some growling mumbles at me. Null's humor is going to cause me problems. My mouth just keeps moving before I realize it, and I end up saying something I wouldn't normally. It doesn't help that the personality piece seems to feed off the attention, and Rika keeps smiling at me when I make fun of him. On the other hand, Sy and the tagalong girl look mortified every time I speak.

"Eryk, maybe chill with the jokes. Hank doesn't look like he likes that," Sy warned.

Sy calling him by the stupid nickname seems to make him even angrier, and I can't help laughing.

"Now that your friends are here, I'm sure you don't mind coming along, right, Eryk?" Rika asked.

God damn it Sy.

"We're not friends. I don't even know him," the tagalong girl said quickly.

I'm renaming you to Bitchy Traitor.

"Why are you talking? You'd be much cuter if you just stopped talking," Rika said harshly.

Despite her aggressive tone, her smile doesn't falter. She's quite practiced in facial control. Rika starts walking away from the bar, and I have a feeling I know where she's headed. Hank shoves me forward, and I almost trip, but I catch myself and follow her. He'd better keep his hands to himself, or I'll cut them off. Sy and Bitchy Traitor are right behind me while tall, dumb, and ugly holds up the rear. And I was right. Rika is leading us straight toward the debaucherous second floor.

Everywhere I look is filled with shaking asses. The gang members are loud enough that their shouting can be heard over the music. There's so much coke on the tables, it looks like a winter wonderland. Men cheering over two strippers making out as they bury them in bills. And the women are just as bad, if not worse. The male strippers are being leered at like beef at a butcher shop and being overtly groped. There are a couple of poker games being played with all sorts gathered around the table. Rika navigates through the haze of weed smoke with practiced ease like a ship captain through a foggy night. I do see a few of the other Neuvohumans wearing their costumes and mingling with the nonpowered members. Shock&Awe is finishing rolling a blunt as we walk by the couch he's sitting on with two girls. He sees Rika and the rest of us and smiles. Holding his index and thumb separate, a current jumps back and forth between the digits, eventually stabilizing. He puts the blunt end into the current, and it sparks briefly before lighting. He must be fun at parties. Him and Hocus Pocus would made a fantastic team.

His costume is composed of metal, designed to conduct electricity better. The arms, legs, and cowl are a dark metallic blue, while the torso and waist are white. The eyes of the mask are bulging, like a pair of goggles, but more extended off the face. They're dark black, but they light up yellow when he uses his power because he has wires going from his palms to the rest of his suit. In the middle of the chest is a blue octagon with a five-pointed star. The lines comprising the star are jagged to mimic electricity. He looks like a big blue beetle or turtle.

From what I've heard, there are large battery plates built into the suit so he can store excess electricity he creates in it to discharge later. I also spot FrostWyrm drinking out of a bottle and telling a story to a bunch of overly interested sycophants. Beyond a nod, Rika and the others don't interact. We continue moving through the party, but I don't see any other Cowls. Eventually, we get to a steel push door.

All of us follow Rika through it. The door leads to a short hallway that is completely insulated from the noise going on outside it. Three doors, the one on the left says bathroom, the one on the right seems to be a breakroom, and the one at the end says office. She opens the office door, and inside is a very professional-looking office, more of what you'd expect from a CEO or a banker than a club manager. It honestly looks out of place with what is happening in the club. Spotless white oak vinyl floors, a dark, rich mahogany desk, tasteful absurdist artwork dotting the walls, and a massive safe behind the desk. There are two long leather couches facing each other with a crystal coffee table in the middle, a completely stocked and furnished bar, and several locked filing cabinets. This has to be X-Train's office. It's too polished; the image and vibe it gives off are so calculated.

"Why don't you have a seat and I'll make you a drink," said to me. "Do either of you two want anything?" Rika asked the others.

"To go home," Bitchy Traitor grumbled.

Now she sounds like Hank. Maybe I should cut her hands off, too.

"No, thank you," Sy said politely, jabbing his elbow into BT.

The three of us take a seat on one of the couches, and Hank takes his position standing directly behind us. Rika pours me a drink the color of fossilized amber, hints of caramel and cinnamon waft into my nose as I take a sip. Delicious. It's a good thing she did; the last thing I'd want at this point is to sober up for what I'm sure will be an annoying conversation. She sits opposite the three of us and just stares at me. For five minutes, we all sit in complete silence, until she finally breaks it with a question I don't expect.

"How many people have you watched die?"

What the hell is she talking about? Sy looks at me, worry evident on his face. I bet he's thinking about the massacre. God, Sy, would it kill you to get a poker face? Her power is an odd one; it clearly marked me as different to her. The only information I found is that it's emotion-based. She said I'm covered in black spots and assumed it was trauma-related. Can she see emotions? If so, what do I look like? Is there a way to explain away my condition without mentioning my condition? If she can see emotions, then I need to kill her; otherwise, she'll know it's me when I'm wearing the mask. Can she influence emotions? I need more information—time to test my idea.

"Too many to count," I said sorrowfully. Sy pats me on the shoulder, trying to comfort me. What a good guy.

"You're not a psychopath or anything like that. But if I weren't seeing it right now, I wouldn't believe it. Your aura is completely out of whack. It's unnatural. There's no blending; everything is stitched together haphazardly, like a blind person doing surgery. What is your secret?"

Rika is talking about me, but she's not talking to me. She's so in her own world, it's like the rest of us aren't even here. Don't ignore me. DON'T PRETEND I'M NOT HERE! I keep my face neutral, even as I want to harm her for looking down on me.

"There it goes again, a pulse of something anger adjacent. Carl, be a doll and put your gun against the back of Eryk's head. Take the safety off, and blow his brains out when at the count of ten," Rika said.

Carl, damnit, that might be a better name than Hank. I feel the pressure on the back of my skull and hear the click of the safety on Carl's gun. Well, this has gone rather poorly. I stretch slightly, pretending to stifle a yawn as I reach for the mask in my jacket. I'm going to have to put the helmet on before she counts down to one to survive the shot. Guess that means everyone in the room dies.

"Ten."

"Nine."

"Eight."

"Seven."

"Six."

"Five."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two."

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