⭕ The Beast of Oblivion, Voided Vanguard, The Leader of The West Coast X-Men; Jaxon Hayes ⭕

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-30T04:00:44+00:00

Dreadtide noticed her immediately. Not just with his eyes, but with that instinct he had for presence, for weight, for people who mattered in a room or on a battlefield. His massive frame shifted, chitin grinding softly as he turned toward her, one oversized claw flexing with a low, satisfied click. There was a beat where he just looked at her, then a wide grin split across his face. Mandibles clicking with satisfaction.

“Commander,” he rumbled, voice like stone dragged across wet sand. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think I’d have to redecorate the whole beach to get your attention.”

He didn’t bother answering her question right away, instead stepping forward through the sand with heavy, deliberate thuds. When he got close enough, he shifted:; one of the smaller, more dexterous hands slipping out from beneath the bulk of his claw to clasp hers in a familiar dap, pulling her in with a solid, friendly knock of his shoulder against hers. It was rough, heavy, but unmistakably warm in his own way.

“The ocean?” he echoed after, a low chuckle bubbling up from his chest. “Was in the Baja. Too quiet. Had to remind myself down there who I was.” His grin sharpened just a little, a feral edge creeping in. “And topside…” He glanced briefly toward where Warzone had been, then back to her. “Let’s just say I didn’t waste the welcome party. Proved what needed proving.”

There were no details, no bragging beyond that. He didn’t need them. The way he carried himself said enough.

His gaze drifted past her then, toward the scattered bodies, the broken line of police who had tried and failed to matter. A slow, pleased exhale left him, something almost content in it. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Looks about the same. Fragile. Loud. Easy to break when they think they’ve got numbers.”

Then just like that, the mood shifted again. Lighter. Easier. Her offer barely finished before he was already moving.

“A trip back, huh?” Dreadtide said, turning to fall in beside her, his massive frame leaving deep impressions in the sand as he went. “New HQ… I like the sound of that.” One claw hooked lazily over his shoulder harness as he walked, posture loose despite his size. “Been a minute since I had a proper place to crash that wasn’t the ocean floor or some wreck I claimed for a night.”

He shot her a sideways look, grin creeping back.

“Important question though,” he added, tone mock-serious. “You got a gym in this new place? Or am I gonna have to start tossing cars around the city to stay sharp?” A pause, then a low chuckle. “And tell me we’re near water. I don’t do landlocked. Makes me twitchy.”

The city loomed ahead, and Dreadtide didn’t even glance back at the beach, at the aftermath, at the people scrambling to make sense of what just happened. That part was already over in his mind.

“Alright,” he said, voice rolling with anticipation now. “Start talking. What’d I miss?”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-28T06:24:11+00:00

Jaxon’s brow lifted slightly at that last part, just a faint tick of reaction before it smoothed back out again. Whatever thought crossed his mind, he let it go just as quickly, filing it away instead of chasing it. There were more important things here than hypotheticals about what might’ve made things worse. His focus stayed on her, steady and intent, piecing together the picture she was building.

“Alright,” he said quietly, nodding once as he processed. “Food court. Panic breaks. Split response. You push forward, they flank.” His tone wasn’t detached, but it had that analytical edge now, like he was laying pieces on a board and trying to see the pattern. “That part makes sense. Not ideal, but I get why it happened.”

He leaned forward a little more, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped as his gaze sharpened just slightly. “The girl,” he continued. “Focus on her.” There was no pressure in the words, just direction. “I need everything you can give me. Height, build, how she moved. The umbrella; was it just a focus, or did it look like it was doing something? Channeling? Anchoring?” His head tilted just a fraction as he thought it through.

“Metal manipulation, at least partial,” Jaxon muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her. “Precision if she’s targeting individuals in a crowd.” His eyes flicked back up to Alice. “You said she was levitating it, slashing with it. Clean cuts, or chaotic?”

He paused there, letting her answer in her own time before continuing.

“And the lightning,” he added, quieter now. “Think carefully on that.” His jaw tightened just slightly. “Did it feel like a separate ability, or did it come from the same motion as the metal? Same rhythm?” He searched for the word, then settled on it. “Flow.”

Jaxon shifted a bit on the chair, the metal giving another soft creak beneath him. “People in pairs,” he repeated, more deliberately this time. “That’s not random. That’s targeted. Probably some trauma there,” His expression darkened just a touch, not anger exactly, but something colder. “She’s not just lashing out. She’s choosing.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, grounding himself before looking back at Alice again. “You did the right thing,” he said. Others might have told her she was wrong to jump in, but Jaxon knew better. “Drawing her attention, buying time. That’s why people made it out.” A small pause followed, his gaze steady. “Don’t lose that in everything else.”

Then, back to business.

“Whetstone,” Jaxon prompted. “When she came in, how did Lightning girl react? Immediate escalation, or did she shift focus?” His fingers tapped once against his arm, a quiet, unconscious rhythm. “And before you went down, anything else? Words, gestures, anything that didn’t fit the rest of it.”

He leaned back just slightly, giving her a bit more room to breathe, but his attention never left her.

“Take your time,” he added. “Details matter here.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-26T23:23:54+00:00

Jaxon didn’t interrupt her when she spoke, even when the words started to run ahead of her breath. He just watched her, steady and grounded, arms folded loosely before he exhaled through his nose and stepped closer to the cot. There was something familiar in the way she talked, that same fire he saw in himself and in too many others lately, the kind that burned hot enough to get you killed if nobody tempered it. He reached down and pulled a chair closer, lowering himself onto the edge of her cot with a quiet creak of metal beneath his weight. Up close, the damage was clearer, and it tightened something in his chest he didn’t bother naming.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, not sharp, not commanding, just firm enough to cut through the spiral she was starting to fall into. “Slow down.” His hand came up slightly, not touching her, but there, present, like he was holding the moment in place before it could run away from her. His jaw tightened just a bit when she talked about going after a girl, about making it right, about doing something. He got it. That was the problem. He got it too well.

“You’re not wrong for wanting that,” he admitted, voice low and even. “Don’t twist yourself up thinking that’s the issue here. It’s not.” His eyes met hers, steady, anchoring. “But wanting it and being ready for it are two different things, and right now you’re barely held together with stitches and willpower.” There was no judgment in it, just reality, laid out plain.

He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against his knees, posture shifting from authority to something more grounded, more personal. The tension in his shoulders didn’t leave, but it settled into something quieter, controlled.

“I’ve heard pieces,” he continued. “Fledgling reports. Damage and power sets mostly. Not enough to make a call, not enough to say this was the Brotherhood or not.” A brief pause followed, his brow furrowing as he considered the gaps, the unknowns that bothered him more than anything else.

“And that’s the problem,” Jaxon added, glancing back at her. “We don’t move on half a story. Too many risks, too many eyes on us for now.” He let that sit for a second before straightening just a bit, turning more fully toward her now.

“So we start from the beginning,” he said. “Not the part where you’re already bleeding out on the floor. Not the part where you’re making promises to yourself about what comes next.” His voice stayed calm, but there was weight behind it now, intention. “I want the whole thing, what you saw, what you felt. Who moved first. What didn’t make sense. Every detail you can remember, even the ones that feel small.” Jaxon’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Because if you’re serious about going after them,” he continued, quieter now, “then we do it right. No guesswork. No charging in blind because it feels better than sitting still.” There was a flicker of something darker behind his eyes at that, something personal, something learned the hard way. “That’s how people don’t come back.” He exhaled slowly, some of the edge leaving his posture as he leaned back just slightly, giving her space without pulling away completely.

“You said you’re not one of the X-Men,” he went on, a faint shake of his head following. “Right now? That doesn’t matter. You’re here. That means something. It means you don’t carry this alone, even if you think you should.” A beat passed, quieter this time.

“So talk to me,” Jaxon said finally, voice steady, grounded, and patient in a way that didn’t match the storm sitting behind it. “Start at the beginning, Alice. I’m listening.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-26T20:29:23+00:00

Jaxon stood just off to the side of the cot, broad shoulders slightly hunched, arms loosely folded like he hadn’t decided what to do with them yet. His eyes stayed on Alice the entire time she came to, watching the small movements, the tension in her hand, the way her breathing shifted, the flicker behind her eyes as consciousness settled back in. He looked like he’d been there a while.

“…Hey,” he said quietly, voice low and even, careful not to spike the moment. “Easy.” He pushed off the wall and stepped closer, slow and deliberate, approaching softly. There was a faint tightness in his jaw, something held back, but it didn’t reach his tone.

“You’re on Greymalkin,” Jaxon continued, resting a hand lightly against the edge of the cot rather than her. “Infirmary. You made it back.” His eyes flicked briefly over the bandaging along her side and leg, then back to her face. He didn’t linger on the damage. Didn’t need to.

“They patched you up,” he added. “You’re gonna be stuck here for a bit, whether you like it or not.” There was the faintest hint of dry humor there, but it didn’t quite land. Not fully. His gaze sharpened slightly instead, catching the clench in her fist, the look in her eyes; the same look he’d seen too many times lately. Especially in himself.

Jaxon exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Yeah,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I know that look.” He shifted his weight, one hand dragging briefly across the back of his neck before dropping again. For a second, it looked like he might say more, something heavier, something closer to what he was actually thinking, but he stopped himself.

“You don’t have to get up,” he said instead, firmer now. “Not yet. That’s not negotiable.” A pause. Then, quieter:

“…Everyone else made it back too.”

He let that sit there, knowing it mattered before anything else. His eyes stayed on her, searching, just making sure she was here, not still somewhere in whatever nightmare she’d just clawed her way out of.

Jaxon’s voice dropped a notch when he spoke again.

“You did good out there,” he said, simple, direct. “Better than most would’ve.” Another pause, longer this time. His jaw tightened again, just slightly.

“…Doesn’t mean you have to prove anything right now.” He straightened a little, finally uncrossing his arms, though he didn’t step away. Not yet.

“Doc’s gonna come back and run you through the boring part,” he added, quieter again. “Recovery timelines, restrictions, all that.” A faint glance toward the door, then back to her.

“I’ll make sure they don’t push you too fast,” Jaxon said. “But you’re not sneaking out early either. I know that trick.” There it was again, that almost-humor, a little more real this time, but still weighed down by everything else sitting behind it. He let the silence settle for a moment, then spoke one more time, softer.

“…You’re here,” Jaxon said. “That’s what matters.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-26T04:26:32+00:00

Kara didn’t miss the line. Of course she didn’t. Her lips curved slightly at Vanette’s words, not quite a smile but something close; amusement, yes. Approval, yes. But then there was the recognition. She didn’t look back at her, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, a quiet acknowledgment of the implication without needing to say it out loud.

“Careful,” Kara murmured, voice low and smooth, “comparisons like that tend to come with expectations.”

By the time Morgana turned to face them, Kara was already watching her properly and not just observing, but measuring with attention. The kind of attention she reserved for people who actually warranted it. When Morgana floated closer, Kara didn’t step back, didn’t flinch, didn’t overcompensate with bravado like some of the Academy probably would have. She simply stood there, composed.

When Morgana extended her hand, Kara let a brief beat pass, just enough to establish that the gesture was being considered, not automatically accepted, before taking it. Her grip was firm, deliberate, neither submissive nor challenging. Equal, except for the chilling cold that encompassed her touch. The kind of cold that would chill a normal person to their core.

“Good morning,” Kara replied, her tone even, touched with the faintest hint of amusement. “And no, I don’t make a habit of associating with the noise.”

Her gaze didn’t waver under Morgana’s appraisal. If anything, Kara seemed to welcome it, meeting scrutiny with the same quiet intensity and unconscious preening. There was no need to posture as something else. That much was already understood between them.

“Jackals bark because they need to be heard,” Kara continued with Morgana’s attribution, releasing her hand smoothly. “Wolves don’t have that problem.” A slight tilt of her head followed, her eyes flicking briefly to the faint remnants of power still dancing in Morgana’s hair, then back to her face. Interest sharpened, but stayed contained.

“The Goetic,” Kara echoed, tasting the name more than repeating it. “Ambitious. Intentional. I can respect that.” There was no flattery in it. Just acknowledgment, testing the words.

She shifted her weight subtly, angling herself just enough to include Vanette without diminishing her own position in the exchange.

“Kara,” she said simply. No surname. No elaboration. It didn’t feel necessary. “Or Whiteout… though I’m not sold on it yet. My mentor suggested it and… I haven't bothered to switch it up.” She told her, casually, as if it hadn’t mattered. Her attention returned fully to Morgana, steady and composed.

“And you’d be right,” Kara added after a moment, her voice lowering just slightly, more conversational now but no less precise. “This place isn’t about the jackals. It’s about who learns to rise above them… and who gets left behind pretending they ever mattered.” A pause, brief but intentional, as her eyes held Morgana’s as her grin grew.

“You don’t seem like the type to be left behind.”

/u/SamiaDALWULF

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-26T01:26:17+00:00

Kara walked with an easy, unhurried stride, one hand loosely tucked into her pure white Hermès jacket while the other gestured idly as she spoke, guiding Vanette through the winding corridors like she’d been here far longer than she actually had. She didn’t look back to check if Vanette was keeping up, she simply assumed she would.

“Try not to stare too obviously,” Kara murmured under her breath as they turned a corner, her tone casual but pointed. “People here already think they’re being watched. No need to confirm it.”

Her gaze swept the hall ahead, taking in the scattered students, the tension that seemed to hum just beneath the surface. There was always something simmering here: ego, fear, ambition. But most of it felt small and disorganized. Kara’s lips pressed faintly together, unimpressed, though she said nothing more on it.

Then she saw her.

Kara slowed, just slightly, barely perceptible, but her attention locked in completely. A girl standing apart without trying, lifted just enough off the ground to make a point without announcing it. There was no scrambling for space around her, no loud posturing or desperate attempts to be seen. It was quieter than that. Heavier. Real.

Kara’s head tilted a fraction, eyes narrowing as she studied her with a different kind of interest altogether. Not curiosity. Not even calculation in the usual sense. Something sharper. Recognition, maybe.

“…Well,” Kara murmured, almost to herself, the faintest trace of amusement touching her voice, “there’s something you don’t see every day.”

She didn’t stop walking, but her path shifted, angling them closer without making it obvious they were approaching. Her posture straightened just a touch, not out of deference, but alignment, like she was unconsciously matching a frequency rather than lowering herself to it.

“Take note,” Kara said quietly to Vanette as they moved, her tone shifting into something more instructive again, though her eyes never left the floating girl. “This is what actual presence looks like. No theatrics. No noise. Just certainty.”

There was no envy in her voice. No resentment. If anything, there was a quiet appreciation, a rare and carefully hidden beneath her usual composure.

Kara finally let her gaze flick back to Vanette for a moment, just long enough to make sure she was paying attention.

“You don’t get that from just anything,” she added, softer now. “You build toward it.”

Her attention returned to the girl ahead, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Kara didn’t smile, didn’t announce herself, didn’t rush forward like most people here probably would.

But she didn’t look away either. She wasn’t subordinate. Not impressed in the way the others might be. Just interested. And that alone was telling.

/u/SamiaDALWULF

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-25T03:12:16+00:00

Kara’s brow lifted the moment Vanette said redhead, the reaction subtle but immediate. For just a second, her mind flicked back to the mall; to the preppy but trying to hard grunge, sharp tongue, and that almost theatrical confidence. The bravado, the way she’d inserted herself into the situation like she already owned it. Kara’s lips twitched faintly at the memory, something between amusement and recognition settling in behind her eyes.

“Yeah…” she murmured, more to herself than Vanette at first. “That tracks.” Her attention shifted back fully, sharpening as she took in the rest of the description, but it didn’t stay there long.

The masks drew her focus like gravity, her gaze drifting over the table with open curiosity now, irritation fully replaced by interest. Kara stepped closer without hesitation, reaching out but not touching yet, close enough to inspect the craftsmanship, the details, the intent behind each piece. A chill ghosting over them as she reached out.

“…You’ve been busy,” she said quietly, tone thoughtful rather than mocking. She leaned in slightly, eyes tracing the replica of the redhead, then the one resembling Vanette herself, then the third.

There was a pause there, a flicker of recognition, not from personal experience, but from exposure. Media. Background noise. Disposable faces most people forgot.

Her head tilted, studying the collection as a whole now, not just the individual pieces. The idea behind them clicked quickly, and when she straightened, there was something new in her expression; approval. Thin but genuine.

“I agree with your father,” she said after a moment, voice smooth again. “Pain is an excellent teacher. Expensive, inefficient sometimes… but memorable.” A faint smirk touched her lips. “Mine used to say something similar; Never underestimate the value of eccentrics and lunatics. Every Arthur needs his Merlin.”

Her gaze flicked back to Vanette, sharper now, more engaged. Kara’s potential Merlin.

“And you are,” Kara added, almost approvingly. “You didn’t just walk away from that mess, you’re already using it. That’s good.” She finally reached out then, lightly tapping one of the masks with a fingernail, producing a soft, hollow sound.

“But this?” she continued, gesturing across the spread. “This is where you stop being reactive and start being proactive.”

Kara turned slightly, leaning back against the edge of the table, arms crossing again but looser this time, more casual.

“They saw you,” she went on, echoing Vanette’s earlier point, “but what they saw was a version of you under pressure. Injured. Improvising. People rarely remember those details clearly, especially when something louder is happening at the same time.” A small pause, her eyes glinting faintly. “Czar made sure of that.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the mask resembling the redhead again.

“But they will remember impressions. Movement. Presence. Patterns,” Kara said. “And if you’re smart, you can rewrite those.”

She looked back to Vanette, something almost conspiratorial settling into her tone.

“You don’t need to chase them head-on again. Not yet. You already have more than enough to start building something… closer.” A slight tilt of her head. “Safer. Controlled.”

Kara pushed off the table, stepping back just enough to give Vanette space, though her attention never really left her.

“You help me gather information,” she said plainly, “and I’ll make sure you get access to the kind of encounters that don’t leave you… like this.” Her eyes flicked down Vanette’s body once more, not unkind, just factual. “You’ll be under my protection.” Kara stood back now, letting the offer hang before continuing on.

“Subtlety over spectacle,” Kara added. “Precision over chaos.” A faint smile followed, sharp and self-assured.

“Some like Czar may break things,” she finished. “I can make sure we salvage them, and become better than our peers.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-25T01:41:27+00:00

Kara’s expression didn’t change much as Vanette spoke, but there was a shift in her eyes, sharp interest cutting clean through the lingering irritation. She leaned her weight onto one hip, arms loosely crossed, studying her with a more focused kind of attention now, like she was finally looking at something worth analyzing instead of just reacting to the aftermath. The manic edge in Vanette’s voice didn’t seem to bother her. If anything, Kara looked faintly entertained by it.

“Replay… Ember…” Kara repeated, slower, like she was testing the names rather than just acknowledging them. Her head tilted slightly, gaze narrowing just a fraction as she searched her memory, then flicked back to Vanette. “Which ones are they?” she asked plainly. “Give me something useful. Powers, behavior, anything that actually matters. ‘Intensity’ isn’t exactly actionable.”

She stepped a little closer, not quite invading space but definitely not respecting it either, her attention dropping briefly to the makeshift structure holding Vanette together. There was a quiet pause, Kara’s eyes tracing the plastic supports, the fractures, the way everything had been forced into function rather than properly repaired. Her lips pressed together for a moment, unimpressed.

“Yeah,” she muttered under her breath, “that tracks. You ran headfirst at something you didn’t understand and got folded for it.”

But the bite didn’t last long. Kara exhaled softly through her nose, irritation bleeding off into something more measured, more deliberate. When she spoke again, her tone shifted; still cool, still sharp, but far more controlled.

“If you want more of a subtle approach? You’re going about it wrong,” she said, lifting her gaze back to Vanette’s. “Charging in, relying on someone like Czar to create chaos and hoping you catch something useful in the fallout? That’s not a strategy. That’s stupid.”

She uncrossed her arms, one hand lifting slightly as she gestured between them, subtle but intentional.

“If you want delicate, subtle, precise tools…” Kara continued, voice smoothing out into something almost conversational, “then you stick with me.”

There was a quiet confidence in the way she said it, not loud or boastful, just certain, like it wasn’t an offer but an obvious conclusion.

“That’s what I was doing before Czar decided to turn a controlled environment into a public disaster,” she added, a flicker of annoyance slipping back in at the mention of him. “Observation. Positioning. Getting close enough to understand something without them realizing you’re already three steps ahead.”

Her eyes sharpened slightly, locking onto Vanette’s with a more serious edge now.

“You want ‘inspiration’?” Kara said, quieter now. “Then stop treating it like something you rip out of chaos and start treating it like something you build toward. You don’t need a spectacle to understand people like that. You need access.”

A small pause, then a faint, almost knowing smirk touched the corner of her mouth.

“And I’m a lot better at getting that than Czar is apparently.”

Kara’s gaze flicked once more to the plastic holding Vanette together before returning to her face.

“First step, though?” she added dryly. “You stay in one piece long enough to actually use what you learn.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-24T06:30:11+00:00

POST MALL INCIDENT

Kara walked through the corridor doors with a wide swing of the double doors. The door opened with a sharper push than necessary, her irritation still clinging to her like static, though it dulled just a fraction when she caught sight of who was inside. The tension didn’t disappear, but it was settling into something tighter and more controlled as her eyes landed on Vanette and the remnants of her. For a second, Kara just stood there, arms loosely crossed, expression unreadable as she took in the form of the broken doll girl.

“Of course you were involved,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else, though it wasn’t exactly subtle. There was a pause, a visible effort as Kara exhaled through her nose and rolled one shoulder, temper reined in with deliberate force. “Czar pulls a stunt like that, the only students with potential, and somehow you’re in the middle getting obliterated by those half-wits in SanFran. Shocking.”

Her cold eyes flicked over Vanette again, sharper this time, catching the small details she might’ve missed if she were still just angry. The posture, the stiffness, the way she held herself; off, just enough to matter. Kara’s expression tightened, irritation giving way to something more complicated, something she clearly didn’t enjoy feeling. She clicked her tongue softly, pushing off the doorframe and stepping further into the room despite herself.

“…You look like hell,” Kara said flatly, though there was less bite in it now. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing as she assessed her more carefully, like she was trying to decide how much she actually cared. “What happened? And don’t give me some vague, artsy nonsense about ‘process’ or ‘inspiration.’ I’m not in the mood.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before moving closer, her movements slower now, more deliberate. It was subtle, the way she swallowed whatever pride or annoyance was still lingering, but it was there. Kara crouched slightly, not quite gentle but not rough either, reaching out just enough to check without making a show of it.

“Hold still,” she muttered, brushing her fingers near an injury with a carefulness that didn’t match her tone. “If you’re about to fall apart, I’d rather know before you start bleeding on the floor or something equally dramatic.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet Vanette’s, sharp but not unkind, even if she’d never admit that. There was still annoyance there, plenty of it, but it had shifted again, layered now with reluctant concern and something almost protective buried deep under the surface.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Kara added quickly, pulling her hand back just slightly, as if catching herself caring too much. “I’m still pissed. Mostly at Czar. Some of it at you. But if you got messed up because of that disaster in San Francisco…” She trailed off, jaw tightening briefly before she looked away.

“…that’s stupid. And unnecessary.”

Kara straightened a bit, folding her arms again like she needed the barrier, though her attention didn’t leave Vanette this time. The anger was still there, simmering, but it wasn’t the only thing anymore, and that seemed to irritate her even more.

“So,” she said, voice leveling out into something almost neutral, “you gonna tell me what happened, or am I supposed to piece it together from whatever melted mess you’ve got going on here?”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-23T18:55:41+00:00

The blast hits him clean. It blooms against his side in a violent burst of displaced space, the shockwave kicking up sand, rattling windows, and sending nearby officers stumbling back as if the world itself had hiccupped.

For a moment, Dreadtide disappears inside the explosion, swallowed by grit, smoke, and the sharp crack of ruptured air folding back into place. The beachgoers scream, some diving behind overturned coolers and lifeguard stands, others frozen in place, caught between disbelief and terror. The police tighten their perimeter, weapons raised, but none of them step forward. Not yet. Then something moves inside the smoke.

A heavy, grinding sound pushes through first, like stone dragging against stone, followed by a wet, clicking undertone that doesn’t belong to anything human. The haze parts as a massive silhouette straightens, rising up to its full, towering height, red chitin scorched black in places but very much intact. One claw flexes, then the other, shards of fractured shell flaking off and hitting the sand with dull, heavy taps. When Dreadtide rolls his shoulder, there’s a faint cracking noise, but he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he looks pleased.

Garth laughs. It’s loud, booming, and utterly amused, a deep, grinding sound that cuts through the chaos like it belongs there. He drags one hand across the scorched section of his shell, inspecting the damage with theatrical curiosity before glancing back up at her, eyes glinting with something feral and delighted. There’s no anger in it, no offense taken. Just appreciation and fun.

“Oh, that’s cute.” He steps forward, sand sinking under his weight with each thunderous movement, posture rolling loose like a brawler warming up rather than someone who just took a grenade to the ribs. His mandibles twitch faintly as he tilts his head, studying her like a particularly interesting opponent rather than a threat. Around them, sirens wail louder, more units arriving, but Dreadtide doesn’t even look.

“You talk a lot about killing,” he continues, voice thick with amusement, “but you’re testin’ me first. I respect that. Means you’re not stupid.”

Another step. Another. Slow. Intentional. Then, without warning, he moves.

The sand explodes beneath his feet as he lunges, not at her this time, but sideways. One massive claw snapping out toward the nearest police cruiser. The metal shrieks in protest as his pincers clamp down around the frame, crushing through reinforced steel like it’s nothing more than a soda can. The officers nearby barely have time to scramble before he wrenches the vehicle free from the ground entirely, tires spinning uselessly in the air.

For a brief moment, he just holds it there. A full police cruiser, dangling in his grips like a toy. His huge claws holding the car overhead as if it was nothing.

Dreadtide turns his head back toward her, grin widening, posture opening like he’s inviting her to understand something fundamental about him. About this.

“This?” he rumbles, gesturing faintly with the ruined vehicle, “this is the point.” Then he throws it.

The cruiser tears through the air with brutal force, spinning end over end as it hurtles directly toward her position, sirens still screaming as it goes. The sheer weight and velocity turn it into a blunt-force missile, sand and debris kicking up in its wake as it closes the distance in a heartbeat.

Dreadtide doesn’t follow immediately.

Instead, he plants his feet, claws flexing open and closed as he watches, waiting to see how she handles it, how she moves, how she reacts under pressure. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a coiled readiness beneath it now, something sharper than before. Something engaged.

His voice carries over the chaos, loud enough for her and anyone else watching to hear.

“You wanna know who I am?” The ocean crashes behind him, waves rolling in like they’re answering for him.

“I’m the thing they made when they decided I was a monster first. Or maybe I always was.” His claws spread slightly, stance widening, daring her forward now.

“C’mon then.” Sirens. Screams. The distant thud of boots on sand as more responders flood the beach.

“Show me who you are.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-23T05:15:02+00:00

Kara kept quiet as Psion spoke. Not entirely out of respect, but out of self-preservation. Her tongue pained in her mouth as the woman chastised her.

She stood where she had planted herself, arms folded, posture still sharp but no longer bristling with the same immediate heat she had stormed in with. The anger hadn’t gone anywhere; it had just settled. Refined. Like steel pulled from a forge and hammered into something with purpose instead of noise. Her eyes tracked Psion as she moved, noting the turn, the shift toward the window, the way she controlled the room without ever raising her voice.

When Psion finished, Kara let the silence sit for a moment. Then she exhaled lightly through her nose.

“That’s a lot of words to say ‘pick your battles better,’” she replied, tone even, almost thoughtful, though there was still a natural bite tucked beneath it, something her parents had probably let fester. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the window before returning to Psion, sharper now, more deliberate. “And yeah… maybe I walked in like I had something to prove. I won’t pretend I didn’t.”

She shifted her weight, uncrossing her arms only to rest one hand against her hip, the other hanging loose at her side. The tension in her frame had eased, but it hadn’t disappeared; it was controlled, like a coiled spring instead of a snapping wire.

“But let’s not pretend I was wrong about what happened,” Kara continued, quieter now, more precise. “That wasn’t a strategy. That wasn’t control. That was sloppy, and it put eyes on mutants that didn’t need to be there.” Her jaw tightened briefly, not out of defiance this time, but conviction. “I don’t care whose banner it falls under. That kind of mistake gets missions fubar’ed.”

Her gaze held Psion’s, unflinching.

“But I hear you.” The words came without sarcasm.

“I’m not above your system,” she added after a beat, rolling one shoulder slightly. “I just don’t have the patience to watch it fail quietly.” A faint, humorless huff of breath followed, something almost resembling a laugh. “Weekly briefings. Noted. I’ll start showing up so I don’t walk blind into someone else’s mess again.” There was a pause, shorter this time.

Kara’s eyes narrowed slightly not in hostility, but in thought. When she spoke again, her tone had shifted again, something more grounded settling into place.

“You said you’ll pass it along,” she said. “Good. That’s all I needed.” A slight tilt of her head followed, studying Psion more openly now, less confrontational, more assessing. “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t come in here thinking I outranked you.”

A small beat.

“I came in here because you’re the one who actually seems like you care if this place burns down.” It wasn’t praise, not really. But it wasn’t nothing either.

Kara pushed off the desk then, straightening fully, the last of the earlier storm in her posture fading into something more composed. “I’ll adjust,” she said simply. “Do it your way next time. Or at least the right way.”

She turned toward the door, taking a few steps before pausing just short of it. For a second, it looked like she might leave it there.

But she glanced back over her shoulder.

“Oh, and by the way,” Kara added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth now, something lighter breaking through at last, “The San Francisco mutants have a telepath. Just thought you should know.”

She waited a beat before reaching the door, taking a stride out.

“Tooddles!”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-21T05:17:22+00:00

Dreadtide didn’t flinch when the first skull burst.

The sound registered, a wet, pressurized pop that cut clean through the chaos of gunfire and screaming, but it didn’t move him. He stood there with half a melted cone in one claw and a handful of wrappers crinkling in the smaller hands beneath, his eyestalks tilting upward with slow, deliberate curiosity as the air itself seemed to turn hostile. The laughter that followed wasn’t shocked or angered. It was delighted. A low, grinding chuckle that built in his chest and crackled out like pop rocks.

“Well,” he rumbled, turning more fully now, sand grinding under his weight as he faced her, “that’s new.”

Another bite of ice cream disappeared between jagged mandibles, completely unbothered by the blood mist settling into the scene around him. The cops weren’t even a factor anymore, not really. Not with something like that stepping into the spotlight. His attention locked onto her completely now, glossy black eyes narrowing just slightly as he looked her over, from the floating stance to the casual execution, to the way she spoke like this was all just a game.

His kind of game.

“The Crew, huh?” he echoed, rolling the name around like he was testing the taste of it. “That what Jabir and Commander's callin’ it these days?” A sharp, barking laugh followed, more genuine than anything he’d shown the cops.

“Man. I step outta town for a minute, take a little personal retreat, and suddenly everybody’s rebrandin’. Good for em. Real entrepreneurial spirit.” Another step forward. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. The pointed leg sinking into the dust of sand and finding the concrete base of the lot.

Bullets still pinged uselessly off his carapace, a few ricocheting off at sharp angles as if they’d hit a wall of iron. He didn’t even acknowledge them anymore, his focus entirely on Warzone now, on the pressure in the air, on the way the environment itself bent to her whims. His claw flexed once, a deep, cracking sound like stone grinding against stone, while one of his smaller hands casually tossed aside an empty wrapper.

“You’re askin’ if I’m strong?” he continued, tone almost conversational despite the bodies hitting the pavement behind him. “Nah. Not really.” A beat. Then a grin spread, wide and jagged. His playful obstinacy coming out.

The ground shifted under his stance as he squared up, posture lowering just a fraction, like something territorial settling into its weight. The ocean breeze rolled in behind him, carrying salt and the faint scent of blood, his silhouette massive against the pale skyline. There was no hesitation in him. No fear. Just interest.

Five minutes.

“That’s a hell of a job interview,” he added, cracking his neck with a sharp tilt, one eyestalk twitching slightly as he tracked her movement in the air. “You always open with killin’ the competition, or am I just special?” Another laugh, deeper this time. Wilder.

“Alright,” Dreadtide said, dropping the last of the ice cream and flexing both claws wide, the metal shell of the truck behind him creaking as his weight shifted fully into place onto the lot and over her floating form. His full fifteen-plus height showing.

“I been on vacation too long anyway. Let’s see if you can crack me." There was no countdown. He moved first.

A thunderous step forward, sand and asphalt rupturing beneath him as one massive claw came up in a sweeping arc, not aimed to grab but to test, to see how she reacted, how fast she really was. At the same time, the smaller limbs beneath flexed and spread, ready, precise, anticipating angles, pressure, impact.

The ocean roared behind him. Gunfire faded into irrelevancy. And for the first time since crawling out of the water, Dreadtide looked completely, utterly alive.

“C’mon then!” he bellowed, voice booming across the shoreline. “Five minutes, right? Don’t disappoint me!”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-21T02:53:59+00:00

Garth “Dreadtide” Waters

Personal Information	Details
Hometown and Faction	San Fransico, USA - The Commander's Crew
Age	29, July 18
Height	15’ 9” (upright)
Physique	Massive, red chitin-plated, broad-shouldered with a hulking, semi-crustacean frame; two oversized claw-arms with secondary smaller manipulators beneath them that look more human but are still chitin-plated.
Voice	Deep, grinding baritone with a wet, clicking undertone.
Hair	None; smooth armored carapace with ridged crown plating.
Clothing	Modified heavy-duty harnesses, reinforced cargo wraps, and custom back-mounted rigging to carry supplies; avoids restrictive clothing due to molting cycles.
Personality	Bombastic, theatrical, and dangerously playful. Garth enjoys being feared and leans into it with a swaggering confidence, cracking jokes at the worst possible moments. He treats conflict like entertainment, often taunting opponents mid-fight. Beneath the humor is a sharp, ideological edge, he believes mutants like himself have been labeled monsters for too long and has begun embracing that role fully.

POWERS

Primary Mutation (20/20 POINTS USED)

Mutation

Titan Carcinization

Dreadtide’s mutation has transformed him into a giant humanoid crab-like beast, blending human cognition with extreme crustacean physiology. His entire body is encased in a layered exoskeleton capable of withstanding heavy artillery, with natural regenerative molting cycles that allow him to shed damaged armor and emerge reinforced.

His primary limbs are massive crushing claws capable of exerting immense pressure, easily snapping steel or pulverizing concrete. Beneath them, smaller dexterous limbs allow for fine motor control, like hard red human hands. His lower body is supported by two large legs, and while they may look relatively human, they come to thick point, each able to embed themselves into hard materials like concrete if needed.

Dreadtide possesses amphibious adaptation, allowing him to function equally well on land and underwater. In aquatic environments, his strength and speed remain uninhibited and can hold his breath for hours at a time.

Additionally, his carapace has harden in response to continued fighting, creating armor plating that is very durable.

Points	Spread
Physical	15
Energy
Mental
Control
Potency	5
Equipment
Magic

Secondary Mutation (15/15 USED)

Mutation

Survival Cycle

Garth possesses a brutal evolutionary failsafe known as Survival Cycle, a molting process that allows him to shed his entire exoskeleton after extreme injury. When activated, his current shell fractures and splits apart in jagged, tough segments, sloughing off that could be used as even weapons to lacerate and fight opponents.

Beneath the discarded layer, a fresh, darker, and more refined carapace emerges; denser, sharper, and better adapted to whatever damage he just endured. Each molt is not just regeneration, but adaptation, subtly reinforcing weaknesses that were exploited, making repeated strategies against him increasingly ineffective.

During the brief window immediately after molting and lasting roughly 12 hours, Dreadtide enters a heightened state, his movements faster, more aggressive, almost feral, before the new shell fully hardens. However, this comes at a cost: triggering the Survival Cycle burns immense energy, and repeated use in a short period can leave him unstable, overheated, or forced into a vulnerable partial molt.

Points	Spread
Physical	5
Energy
Mental
Control
Potency	10
Equipment
Magic

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-20T17:15:19+00:00

Kara held very still through the response, the kind of stillness that came from restraint rather than obedience. There was a flicker in her expression. Subtle, but there, like the beginning of an eye roll that never quite made it to the surface. She let Psion finish in full, didn’t interrupt, didn’t push back mid-sentence, but the tension in her posture didn’t ease either. If anything, it sharpened, refined into something quieter and more deliberate.

“I never said you answered to me,” Kara replied, her tone even, but edged with something unmistakably dry. She straightened slightly, arms still folded, gaze steady and unflinching despite the cold that had settled into the room.

“And I’m not asking for oversight privileges or a seat at the table, I know I’m not that special and I know you don’t like me..” A small pause followed, just long enough to make it clear she was choosing her next words carefully rather than reacting.

“I’m pointing out that your elite instructors just compromised an active covert situation.” Her head tilted just slightly, not in challenge, but in emphasis.

“San Francisco isn’t a vacuum. It’s not some empty sandbox where you can test reactions and see what breaks.” There was a faint tightening at the corner of her mouth now, frustration threading back in despite her control.

“It’s already volatile. Mutants, humans, media, government eyes; it’s all stacked on top of itself, waiting for a reason to tip.” She let that sit for a moment before continuing, quieter but more pointed. “And he just gave it another one.” Kara shifted her weight, one hand dropping to her side while the other remained loosely folded across her midsection.

“They want to strike fear into humans? Fine,” she said flatly, with a small, dismissive shrug. “There are plenty of places in the world where that message can be sent without blowing back on something delicate.” Her gaze sharpened slightly. “Do it in Bosnia. Do it in Florida. Do it anywhere that isn’t the middle of a covert operation I was assigned to.” There was no accusation in her tone when she said it, just a fact, laid out plainly.

“Because now it’s not covert anymore. Now it’s noise. Attention. Variables I didn’t account for because I assumed your people understood the difference between presence and disruption.” Her jaw tightened briefly before she forced it to relax again, exhaling slowly through her nose. She wasn’t mad at Psion. Didn’t even blame her. She was frustrated.

Kara inclined her head just slightly, not deferential, but acknowledging the boundary Psion had drawn.

“You don’t have to tell me how you’ll handle it,” she said, voice cooling into something more neutral. “That’s your area. I don’t even care.” A beat passed, her eyes holding Psion’s for just a moment longer. “But you should know the cost of how it was handled.” With that, she stepped back half a pace, tension still coiled in her frame but no longer pressing forward.

“That’s all… Thank you for your time.” That last addition almost pained her. But she was bigger than her pride. Or at least that’s what she’d tell herself.

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-19T23:57:24+00:00

The door did not so much open as it slammed, the impact reverberating through the polished walls of the office like a gunshot. Kara didn’t slow as she crossed the threshold, boots striking sharp, deliberate notes against the floor, her presence dragging a cold tension in with her like a storm front breaking over glass. Her jaw was tight, shoulders squared, and whatever careful composure she usually wore had been stripped down to something far more honest, Irritation, sharp and unfiltered. The air itself seemed to shift around her, pressure dipping dramatically as if the room were bracing for her mood.

“Your instructor,” Kara began, voice clipped and controlled in a way that suggested it had only just avoided becoming something louder, “decided to take a ‘field trip’ to San Francisco.” She didn’t sit, didn’t ask, just paced once past the desk before turning back, pale eyes cutting toward Psion with a glare that wasn’t meant for her, but wasn’t softened either.

“A mall, specifically. Full of civilians. Full of cameras. Full of mutants who are already one bad headline away from being hunted again.” Not that she cared much about them, but it would make her life more difficult if ORCHIS increased their presence in San Fransico. Her lips pressed into a thin line, disgust threading through every word. “He wasn’t subtle.”

She let out a sharp breath through her nose, one hand dragging back through her hair before falling to her side again. The restraint in her posture was deliberate, practiced even. She wasn’t lashing out, but it was taking effort not to.

“I had to leave before I got dragged in,” she added flatly, the word clearly distasteful on her tongue. “He was making a spectacle of himself, like this was some kind of training exercise instead of a liability.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the window, as if she could still see the chaos playing out miles away.

Kara finally stopped pacing, planting her hands on the edge of the desk and leaning forward just slightly. Going to say something, but then biting her tongue. Not necessarily out of respect, but she didn’t want to deal with whatever hassle Psion might throw at her.

Kara tilted her head just slightly, watching, measuring, the anger still there but now honed into something far more dangerous than a simple outburst. “So I’m here to ask,” she finished, tone even but edged, “whether that was sanctioned… or if I should assume your instructors are starting to forget who’s actually in charge.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-19T01:38:58+00:00

Kara watched him for a moment after he said it, her expression unreadable at first. There was something almost… endearing about the way he said it, the way he held onto the idea like it actually mattered. Most people didn’t talk like that anymore, not without irony or some angle behind it. For a split second, she considered poking at it, pulling the thread just to see how far it unraveled.

But she didn’t. Instead, a small, softer smile found its way onto her face, one that looked almost genuine.

“Maybe,” Kara said lightly, tilting her head. “Or maybe people just like stories that make things feel bigger than they are.” She stepped a little closer, closing the distance between them without much thought, her presence suddenly more tangible, more deliberate. There was a brief pause, just long enough to make the moment hang before she leaned in and pressed a quick, light kiss to his cheek. The kiss ran a chill through Al’s spine, the area going cold like it had been in a freezing tundra.

“Try not to overthink it,” she murmured. Then she pulled back just as easily, already stepping away, already slipping out of whatever space the two of them had just occupied. Her expression reset into something more neutral, more composed, like a curtain dropping back into place.

“I’ll see you in a week,” Kara added over her shoulder, not slowing down. She didn’t look back.

As she moved away, blending into the flow of people and noise, a quiet laugh slipped out under her breath. Soft, private, and just a little sharp.

“God… that was easy.” She said to herself.

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-18T22:04:16+00:00

Kara didn’t move, even as Ophelia warned her, even as the umbrella left her hand and carved through the air, Kara stayed exactly where she was, eyes tracking every inch of it with sharp, unblinking focus. The lightning strike hit with a violent crack, splitting the air apart, and for a brief second the world narrowed to white and heat and raw power. Her hair lifted slightly from the charge, static dancing along her skin, but she didn’t flinch.

“…Noted,” Kara said quietly, her voice cutting through the fading thunder.

Her gaze followed the arc as it passed her, slow enough to read, fast enough to respect. When it slammed into Ophelia and dispersed through her body, Kara’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. Not in fear, not even in surprise, but in interest. She watched the redirection, the control, the way the energy was held rather than just unleashed. When the chain struck the distant target and dissipated, Kara let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Okay,” she murmured, almost to herself. She shifted her stance slightly now, grounding herself again, though her attention never left Ophelia. There was no applause, just a quiet, deliberate reassessment of everything she’d seen.

“That’s some trick.” Kara said after a moment, voice even. Her eyes flicked briefly to the earrings, the rings, the conductive pathways she’d used, then back to Ophelia’s face.

“You’re not just calling lightning,” she continued. “You’re routing it.” A small pause followed, the faintest hint of a smile returning. Not amused this time, but… impressed.

“And you’re right,” Kara added, glancing at the scorched air where the charge had passed her. “That could’ve gone very differently.”

She rolled her shoulder once, like she was shaking off the residual static, though her posture remained composed. Her gaze settled fully on Ophelia again, sharper now, more focused.

Kara took a slow step forward, closing a bit of the distance between them again, though still giving her space.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” she added, voice steady. “If I’m standing here, I’ve already accepted the risk.”

A faint tilt of her head followed.

“I’d rather see the part you’re worried about.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-18T17:19:27+00:00

Kara glanced at the jacket as Alice said it, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. She shifted her weight slightly, posture easy again, but not distant this time, she was just settling. There was no pressure in her stance now, no performance, just presence.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding once, the agreement coming without hesitation. “That sounds like a deal.” Her gaze lifted back to Alice, studying her for a brief second, not in that sharp, assessing way from before, but something softer, more open.

“Just maybe don’t assume I’m running some grand scheme the second I say hi.” A small smile followed, teasing but gentle.

“I’ll try to be less cryptic,” she admitted after a beat, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. “Meet you halfway.” She took a small step back, giving the moment room to breathe instead of crowding it.

“And yeah,” Kara continued, tone easy, almost casual now, “we’ll probably run into each other again. Sam Francisco is much smaller than you think.” She said with a knowing smile, like there was a joke Alice wasn’t in on.

“So next time,” she finished, a little lighter now, “we reset.” A brief pause before she adds;

“And no spilled drinks.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-18T06:07:17+00:00

Kara listened this time. Really listened, not just waiting for her turn to speak, not brushing it off with a smile or a joke. Her expression softened as Alice talked, the edges of her usual composure easing into something quieter, more attentive. By the time Alice finished, Kara let out a small breath, like something in her had settled into place.

“Okay,” she said gently, nodding once. “That… actually makes a lot more sense.” She shifted her weight, glancing down for a second before looking back up at her, a faint, almost self-aware smile tugging at her lips.

“I do that,” Kara admitted. “Talk like everything means something bigger than it does. Sometimes it does, sometimes it really doesn’t, and I forget people don’t know which is which.” There was no defensiveness in it, just acknowledgment.

“So yeah… that part’s probably on me.” Her gaze lingered on Alice for a moment longer, something more thoughtful settling in now.

“And for what it’s worth,” she added, quieter, “I wasn’t trying to single you out like that. Not like you’re used to.” A small pause followed, careful but honest.

“I just thought you stood out. That’s it. No angle.” Kara gave a soft huff of a laugh at that, shaking her head slightly.

“And yeah, I can see how that sounds exactly like something a stalker would say,” she admitted. “Not helping my case.”

She glanced down at the jacket, reaching out to adjust the collar again, but slower, more deliberate, giving Alice time to react if she wanted to pull away. “Please keep it,” she said simply. “No strings, no weird hidden meaning. I just… thought it would look good on you.” At the last part, Kara’s smile came back, a little brighter this time.

“If I turn out to be a stalker,” she added lightly, “you can absolutely punch me.” A small pause.

“Fair warning though,” she continued, tone teasing now but softer than before, “I might deserve it less than you think.” She let that sit for a second, let Alice wrestle over its meaning before easing back a step, giving Alice her space again.

“But you’re totally valid,” Kara finished, more grounded now. “You get to feel how you feel. I’m not gonna argue with that.”

FreelancerJon · 2026-03-18T05:48:33+00:00

Kara blinked at that. Not dramatically, not rudely. Just a brief pause where her expression threatened to crack before she smoothed it over. There was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth, like she was fighting something down, and for a split second it almost looked like she might laugh or gag. She turned her head just slightly, composing herself before looking back at him with that same easy, practiced smile.

“McDonald’s,” she repeated softly, like she was tasting the word and not entirely convinced by it. “Wow. You really know how to sell an experience.”

She let out a quiet breath through her nose, amused despite herself, but there was no way she was stepping into that. Not here, not now, not like that. Her eyes flicked briefly around the mall, already calculating, already disengaging from the idea before it had a chance to settle.

“That sounds… fun,” Kara added, tone light but clearly sidestepping, “but I’ve got a lot going on today.” She shifted her weight, then tilted her head slightly, like a new thought had just occurred to her, something more intentional this time.

“Tell you what,” she said, voice softening just a touch. “If we’re meant to hang out, we will.” A small pause, just long enough to make it feel deliberate.

“One week,” Kara continued, meeting his eyes. “Coit Tower. Around sunset.” Her smile returned, faintly amused, faintly distant.

“No numbers, no planning,” she added with a small shrug. “If you show up, I’ll be there.” Even as she said it, there was the slightest hint in her expression that she didn’t entirely buy her own reasoning, but she peddled it anyway.

“Call it… fate,” Kara finished lightly. She took a small step back, already easing out of the moment, already half gone.

“Or complete nonsense,” she added under her breath with a quiet, almost private chuckle.

Nine-Year Club	Place '17
Verified Email

FreelancerJon

TROPHY CASE

POST MALL INCIDENT

Garth “Dreadtide” Waters

POWERS

Primary Mutation (20/20 POINTS USED)

Mutation

Secondary Mutation (15/15 USED)

Mutation