The bell rang. Spencer took in a deep breath, trying her best to calm down, hand on the door handle. She was in a bad mood right before class - something that had already led her to trouble more than once ; She couldn’t afford another run-in with the school administration. The bell rang a second time, sparking a sigh from her as she pushed the door open, slowly walked up to her desk and glared at her students scrambling to their seats and pocketing their gadgets.

Ten years ago, standing on this side of the room she’d spent countless days misbehaving in would’ve been unthinkable for her. And yet, despite her many accounts of acting out, despite the countless pieces of gum she’d stuck under every table, here she was. Although she did graduate, she’d failed to enrol into the GHH ; her candidacy was rejected for… concisely put, her temperament issues. Which, in turn, had not stopped her from enrolling as a government-approved teacher dealing with children of all ages. Odd, but she wasn’t one to complain. Her life was unsure enough as it was.

She’d originally just accepted the job because she was out of options and it would bring her some stability - but given a few years, and Spencer had grown genuinely fond of the position. It was a surprisingly good fit - though she knew she had to work on her attitude.

As she cleared her throat to greet the class, Spencer began splitting into clones ; half-a-dozen teachers spoke in tandem, creating an ominous echo of “Hello’s” as the duplicates quickly headed to the back of the class. Spencer had quickly learnt how valuable her ability was in surveying and scaring the kids into behaving; it allowed her to have eyes and ears everywhere.

Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t too popular with the kids - but she truly did care, and swore to do her best. Having herself studied in GHH schools, she still had a sore taste in her mouth from the lackluster teachers she’d encountered over the years. She poured her everything into ensuring the kids would end up both skilled and well-behaved, to ensure them the best chance of being hired. That said, though she didn’t play favourites, she did prefer certain classes over others ; Neither too old nor too young, the 5th and 6th years - those were the classes she liked dealing with the most. Sadly, today’s unlucky students were the second years. Given that, the fact she was already in a bad mood, and that break was only a few days away, making the little pests all the more excitable… Breathe in. It’ll be fine. Today will be just fine.

Ms. Church went on to write the day’s date on the board ; Wednesday, 18th of December 12533. As she turned around to call out each kid’s name and check for attendance, she came to notice the ceiling tile in the backmost left corner - or rather, the lack there off : it was missing, leaving a giant hole in its place. Thinking back, long as she’d been in this school, be it as a student or a teacher, it had always been halfway out of place, leaving an open gap to the dark, dank mess of cables and vents above, never fixed back into place nor removed. Yet there it was, gone for good. The administration must’ve finally come in and removed it for being a safety hazard - she’d have been positively impressed, had they not half-assed the job and actually bothered replacing it. Pains in the- No, calm down. She glared at the class as she finished listing their names, her eyes overflowing with spite and frustration. The kids knew to stay quiet when Ms. Church was in a bad mood.

“Marceline, come to the board.” The girl in question obliged, walking clumsily up to the teacher’s desk while holding onto her textbook like a lifeline. Her ability has suddenly developed mid-school year and subsequently joined the district’s GHH school ; she had been adapting to neither her ability nor her new schedule all too well in that short time.

Mycelium, an organ of certain fungi, grew from her scalp like patches of stringy, web-like white hair, inexplicably thriving amongst her brunette locks. Small mushrooms and fungi of all kinds grew from lighter parts of her skin, somewhat akin to vitiligo. Bits of mould grew around her articulations, and wherever she scratched or rubbed ; those were the symptoms of her ‘ability’, which to Ms. Church seemed more cumbersome than anything. Spencer greatly sympathised with her : Assignments that asked students to come up with ways their ability could be used in x or y situations always felt especially harsh on her and those like her. Other forms of homework included personal research on and testing of one’s ability, and, given her own’s nature, by the time she graduated, she’d likely have encyclopedic knowledge on all species of fungus.

As the girl began shakily reading out her notes from yesterday’s lesson, Spencer’s back-left corner clone spotted something. Not one of the kids pulling out a toy or gadget, but a flicker of light in the darkness of the missing ceiling piece ; A swift sliver of white. Perhaps some cables were exposed - the idea didn’t exactly match up with what she saw, but it sort of made sense. Would the staff really be so careless, however? With her offhand, Spencer signed Marceline to return to her seat. Forget being annoyed, now this whole affair just worried her. She turned around to face the board again, her illusory clones still spying on the kids and ceiling both. But as she finished writing down the first sentence of today’s lesson, her ‘other eyes’ suddenly shut. Their clones had popped out of existence, which would only occur for one of two reasons; when she chose to make them disappear… or when they were targeted by an ability. Spencer slowly turned around to face the room. “Alright. Which one of you clow-

She found herself staring down a class filled with confused children, all leaning against one another - and in the middle of the room, some suspicious, unfamiliar masked stranger, clad in all silver, with a bomb in their right hand and their left hand on their mouth in a shushing motion, starring at the teacher with a gleeful grin and a sparkle in their eyes. Spencer took in a deep breath, and raised both her hands, slowly walking backwards until her back hit the board. Thankfully, the GHH planned for situations like these. If she could reach the desk, she could press the emergency pedal below it, and send a silent alarm to the central administration building. She just needed to be careful, cold-blooded, and patient. The silver stranger headed for the board, walking backwards, still facing both the children and Ms. Church. They began messing with it, still with their back turned to it, with calculated movements. Spencer couldn’t see what they were actually doing, though ; she herself was turned 45 degrees from the board. She needed to focus on getting to the pedal.

All the while, the stranger introduced themselves in an artificially modified voice.

“Goooood morning, kids! Now, I really hope you can keep your mouth shut a while. Wouldn’t want a single nihilistic rebel scoffing at me and sending you all blown to bits, now would we? As for me, well… You’ll learn my name soon enough. Hehe!“ Their tone, giddy and over the top, suddenly turned serious. “Hey, Church. Look over here.” The teacher obliged. The silver figure was apparently finished messing with the board ; though from where she was standing, it just looked like they’d stuck large, random pieces of white card paper everywhere. Feigning curiosity, she took a few steps back while squinting, and was finally able to step on the pedal.

It didn’t budge. The pedal didn’t move at all ; It had been compromised somehow. The silver-haired bomb artist giggled right in her face. “Oh dear, did you really think that’d work out?” Despite the laughter that preceded it, their voice didn’t sound the slightest bit amused. It was a cold and cruel assertion of disappointment - almost as though they took offence to it. Spencer Church suddenly felt her forehead heat up. That was the last thing she would ever feel, as her skull was blown to a million bloody pieces flying all over the room, imploding in an over-the-top display of what the silver figure was capable of. The headless corpse collapsed, ripped shreds of skin still hanging from its open neck, bleeding out like a bottle smashed onto the floor. The rest of Spencer’s crimson fluids had been grotesquely splattered onto the board, covering nearly all of it in clumpy red juice. The silver figure still seemed unhappy with the result, however, as they repeatedly slammed the headless body into the board, like an odd paintbrush, adding more and more blood onto the whiteboard and wall until it was evenly covered. They let go of the body with a ‘phew!’, then took down the cardboard stencil they’d glued onto the board earlier piece by piece, leaving behind only the letters ALEXANDER in glorious, shining red. The silver figure clapped, childishly proud of their little paint job. They knew they had to be quick, however. They’d already made quite a lot of noise.

“You kids can read, right? Nod for yes.”, Alexander exclaimed in a harsh, monotone voice. The class hesitantly obliged. “Great! I’ll be counting on you then!” As they finished, they took a step back, then ran, jumped onto the desk, from table to table, and effortlessly hopped back into the ceiling, closing up the ceiling tile behind them.

Spencer Church’s death in 12533 was the capital’s first official encounter with Alexander. It was nothing, compared to their latter exploits ; But at the time, and so soon after Erusserprepyh’s murder, it struck a chord with the public and abilitied professionals alike. The fear that such senselessly grotesque and cruel attacks against the GHH would become commonplace began to take its toll.