The Black Block was as active as ever. As soon as the sun was in the sky people left their hideouts and shelters to come here to buy, barter, sell and steal, sometimes in that order. The countless stalls that occupied the Block had been set up in a blink of an eye and it didn't take long for the great dance of the slum-dwellers to begin. But the stalls weren't the only ones on the Block, for shop owners were just as determined to make a living.

One such case was the quaint little bakery known as Pete's, owned by the titular baker and occasional vigilante Sweet Pete. Although, due to his justice-seeking hobby, the shop was usually managed by his wife, the lovely small wrinkly extraterrestrial telepathic floating grey three-eyed squid with crystalline growths and incredibly long tentacles using portals, Maltodextrin.

Said alien squid was currently happily getting the bakery ready for the day, sweeping dust with a tentacle, reorganizing the pastries with another, and feeling away at the minds of passersby to estimate how many customers she should expect in the coming hour. Some might say it was an invasion of privacy, she'd argue that it was a common tactic on her planet and that Terra Stellis' corporations were doing it too, just via less psychic means.

She never managed to trust Terran technology. What good were machines that could be hacked when you could use shapeshifting psychic sponges that loved having a symbiotic relationship with their owners and were fiercely loyal? Pete had never gotten hooked on the concept sadly, but he didn't mind letting her use her lovely Squishy, the bestest sponge of them all. Thinking about her furniture pet was enough for the pair of tentacles dedicated to petting it throughout the day to give it a treat. It wasn't like it could get fat, after all.

She felt an odd yet familiar mind approach the bakery. From the way it was moving it was clearly coming here, yet she had difficulties reading its thoughts. This wasn't that rare, there were more humans with light psychic abilities or resistances than the species gave itself credit for, but this one was unusual. Psychic energy, depending on who you asked, was either a neutral affinity or an affinity of its own, though others thought it was the result of the combination of the Mind and Will Aspects. Maltodextrin had been raised with the notion of it being the latter, and everything life had sent her so far had always confirmed her beliefs. What was odd about this mind was the fact that it wasn't psychic energy shielding it, but something else entirely. Oh, there was some psychic force in the mix, and mixing psychic energy with another affinity wasn't unheard of, but doing so passively as a shield? Odd, truly odd.

It wasn't long before a black humanoid entity wearing old clothes entered the bakery, getting lost in the smell of pastries. The young man she had met for the first time not so long ago, but his mind was less defended then. There had still been a shield, but a weaker one. To compare his mind from the day she met him to now, it would be like the difference between a shed and an apartment, both were small in the grand scheme of things, but one was clearly better than the other. But there was something else at play here, something new besides the odd elemental energy. Something sadly common in the slums, an instinctual mental shield created in sapients to protect themselves... After they had killed another sapient.

"Hello miss Maltodextrin!"

Despite the new additions to his mind, the young man seemed much the same as last time. Still nice and friendly, and slightly lost in the world of the slums.

"Ouh, hello to you too James!"

"You remember me?"

"Ouh, I never forget people, sweetie. It's really helpful when dealing with unruly customers!"

"Eh, I can see how."

"Ouh, but enough about me. How may I help you, sweetie? Ouh! I do hope those rodent friends of yours liked the pastries from last time!"

"Oh, they loved it. Thank you again for your suggestions, they were on point."

"Ouhouhouh, I have a knack for it!"

"But, as for what I want... You wouldn't happen to know if there's a shop for sale around?"

"Ouuuh, why do you ask?"

"Well, I... Some people I know want to start selling stuff, and I thought you might have an idea on how to best do it."

Odd. From what little of his mind she could feel, she could tell he was telling the truth, but purposefully hiding something.

"Ouh, I see. What sort of people and what do they wish to sell?"

"Good people, I'm sure of it. They're going to sell some basic appliances, maybe some self-defense gadgets, and something about batteries? I'm not quite sure what they have planned exactly."

"Ouh, and you're certain that is all?"

"For now. No drugs, if that's what you were asking."

"Ouh. Well, I do not think any of the shop owners wish to retire. Have they considered opening a stall instead?"

"They don't feel safe with a stall. Too many things that could go wrong."

"Ouh, and?"

"Annnd they might also have a bad reputation from the times they sold junk in the streets. They were hoping a shop would make things more official and let people forget about that."

"Ouh, ouh indeed. You wouldn't happen to know their names, sweetie?"

"I was kinda hoping that-"

"Ouh, sweetie. I know you want to keep things secret, but you must understand that I can't trust mysterious nameless people just because you said they were nice."

"... Fine... Have you ever heard of Larry and Barry?"

"Ouh! Barry and Larry? Those two are the ones who want to open a shop?"

"Yeah..."

"Ouh... I don't know what to tell you..."

Maltodextrin knew the troublesome duo oh too well, she and Pete had practically seen the two brothers grow up. She knew deep down they were good kids, but saying they had a bad reputation on the Black Block was an understatement. Oh, they weren't infamous, they were far too banal for that, but those that did know them knew better than to trust anything they were selling. They at least had the decency to keep their immoral behavior to their sellers and never tried to steal or barter, but still. Maltodextrin remembered the time they had sold her friend Sofia some kind of toaster that ended up burning her house down after the third use. Granted, Sofia lived in a wooden shed with a bunch of holes in the roof and the malfunction occurred just after a heavy rain, but still. One more reason not to trust machines.

"I promise they're trying to turn over a new leaf. No more scams."

"Ouh... What about Soluble and their friends? Aren't Barry and Larry afraid they're going to come after them?"

The relationship between those five had always been strange. Jeffrey and Larry would have had no problem becoming friends had it not been for the rest, and frankly Barry, Soluble, and Mark were more similar than any of them would have been comfortable admitting. Really, under any other circumstances, she was certain they would have become a great friend group. And instead... Instead, they just spent all their time bickering, running, and screaming. What a waste.

"I... I think they get along now? From what I've understood Mark and Jeffrey will help in the shop business, at least I think?"

"Ouh?"

What a surprising development. Things were getting really interesting now.

"Yeah..."

"Ouhouhouh... I'm curious as to how this happened, considering their history... Perchance, you wouldn't know anything about it, sweetie?"

"...Maybe..."

"Ouh ouh?"

"Do you promise to help with the shop thing if I tell you?"

"Ouh, of course! I've known these little rascals for two decades, if they're really trying to all get along and become better people, who am I to disagree?"

"I... I heard they all began working for the same person recently."

Barry and Larry had talked about a new employer the last time she saw them, now that she thought about it. Well, Larry had, Barry kept trying to silence his talkative brother in vain. She had been surprised at the time but hadn't thought much of it, it would be the first time the two worked for someone but it was doomed to happen. They were both Coreless as far as she knew, and the sons of a dwarf and elf pairing were not the greatest in terms of affinities and Aspects, and neither races were very popular in the slums. Frankly, she was surprised it had taken this long. Soluble on the other hand? That one had a big ego and a horrible temper. For them to obey someone...

"Ouh, and I suppose you don't want to tell me their name?"

"If I can help it."

"Ouh, I understand. I'll look into it, I can think of some buildings that could be sold. It won't be cheap, though."

"I think they'll manage. Thank you, miss Maltodextrin."

"Ouh, don't you worry your little head sweetheart, it's my pleasure. Say, maybe you'd like another batch of pastries for your friends?"

"Oh, I guess it would be nice... I think I might need to take some more, though."

"Ouh?"

"What do Barry and Larry like? And Mark and Jeffrey?"

"Ouh, what about Soluble?"

"I... I don't think they'd be interested in pastries right now."

"Ouh, I see. Anything else?"

"Uh... Do you have a suggestion for an edgy teen obsessed with technology and six airheaded adults?"

"Ouh, do I!"

The Black Block was a place of constant activity, but the same couldn't be said for every building in the surroundings. Like in Doctor Drake's clinic, which as usual was dead silent. One who would think a clinic in the slums would be constantly visited by the locals due to the unsanitary and dangerous area it was situated in, medical emergencies happening quite often, but alas it was not the case. Despite the good doctor's best attempts at imitating the white sanitized clinics of the main city, with large green plants in pots to make the place more hospitable and medical posters to keep the patients who waited occupied and informed, few ever came to visit her.

It didn't help that the most famous medical practitioner in the area was The Patcher, which gave most of the slum-dwellers a reasonable fear of doctors. Most preferred to stick to their local healers, usually old shamans or apprentices of said shamans, people good enough to do their job but not enough to make a living in the main city or even to create a monopoly in healing in the slums. Well, the gangs had their healers, whether they used magic or science, but those didn't count. The fact medical equipment and medication cost a fortune and few had the money to pay for her services made things worse for the poor doctor, but she had already lowered her costs as much as she could. She couldn't help people for free, after all. She still needed money to leave and keep everything prepared.

The final nail in the coffin was probably the good doctor herself. She was good at her job, but... What was the best way to put it...

The doors to the clinic opened, and in walked a strange black humanoid creature wearing used clothes.

"Excuse me, is this- whoa."

Even though it didn't have eyes she could feel its gaze on her. Her clothes were impeccable, with a white coat, a white blouse, and a brown pair of pants, but that wasn't what caught everyone's gaze. Her scaled and feathered body did.

The odd result of a dragonkin and a duckman falling in love, she had a small yet toned frame, only reaching up to the average man's chest, with a neck that was slightly too long and whose upper green and lower brown sections were separated by a white band, a yellow-billed mouth and a draconic crown of four white twisting horns on her green head. Her skin was covered by thick scaly plates between which emerged feathers except on her legs and palmed feet, the colors always matching those you'd find on a regular duck.

Luckily for the doctor, her mother's draconic genes gave her arms instead of her father's wings, the limbs having made his life incredibly troublesome. The arms were just as scaled and feathered as the rest of her, but her hands were quite similar to her feet, only covered with orange scales and palmed. Similarly, she was thankful for her horns, since they gave her a place to put her glasses since she lacked any form of external structure around her ears, their perfectly round shapes matching well with her round dark brown eyes were it not for the small orange slit iris in the middle.

All in all, she was a chimeric abomination that scared away more patients than an orc nurse would. And she knew that for a fact since she had worked with one before opening her clinic.

"Yes, I'm very weird, but please let's ignore that. What can I do for you?"

"I... Uh... Sorry. I wanted to know if I could make an appointment?"

"I'm free right now, you know?"

"Oh, it's not for me. The patient isn't available right now."

"Oh, fine. What's the issue?"

"He may have burned?"

"Which race or species, where, how badly, how long, and with what kind of fire?"

"Human, everywhere, very bad, about a week ago but he was trapped in the fire for a few minutes, and... Uh..."

"I need to know what happened to help him. Some Aspects and affinities can have lasting consequences if they're not treated right."

"It may have been Sunburn?"

Doctor Drake rose from her seat, the one that should have been occupied by a secretary had her clinic been successful, and in a blink of an eye, both of her orange scaled hands were placed on the shadowy humanoid's shoulders.

"Go fetch them. NOW."