And sleeping in on the wrong fucking day. Sleepy eyes blinked away salty build up and heavy weights placed upon them. Seth’s apartment coming into focus out of the grog of the first full night’s sleep he’d had in… Days? Weeks? It had been hard to tell, but he was thankful that the sleep meds actually worked on him. And that those staring, judging, hungry eyes weren’t there to greet him this time around. But still something felt slightly off, a slight perspective shift, different taste left in his mouth, and some odd- *sheeshewo* catches on his sheets. He finally realized that he hadn’t been looking down his old nose at his apartment, but the muzzle of his other form. Of the Garkah that he was inside. And his bed sheets weren’t really agreeing with its sharper features. You can sedate the consciousness but the subconsciousness will still hold to its expectations. And keep to the fear that it had always lived with. But at least he was rested in the end.

A few careful flexes, the unfurling of his only slightly ripped sheets, and he was stretching up off the atrophy of his inadvertent transformation and hoping that this didn’t count against his promise to Aegis. His scales rustling against the sheets as he pulled himself up out of bed. The worst knot imaginable hanging off his back and getting wedgied by the underwear it had displaced. His tail didn’t really agree with him sleeping on his back. Or his side. A popping twist of the waist, a bit of manhandling, and a reluctant ripping away of the already thoroughly torn boxers later and at the very least he wasn’t in as much discomfort as he was.

‘I mean it’s my apartment, I can walk around naked if I want to…’

But it still felt off putting. Not to mention the-

‘Stop it.’

Despite the change in anatomy he still had a routine to follow, and some structure probably would do him the favor of calming down this reflex. His faux wood floor creaked a little as he tried his best not to scratch it up with every step toward the bathroom, the tiles tinking their resistance but still made him weary of cracking. His mirror showed him the same picture he’d worked through when he got back here, scaly toothy snout and horns, just this time with baggy tired eyes and stark white bed head to at least add some differentiation. He raked a claw over it all, trying to scratch the rest of his sleepy demeanor away and right the disaster crowning it. The other hand gently plucked up his toothbrush and ran the tap. For some reason the water smelled better than it used to, cleaner. Still tasted a little like lead but he could compromise with that. And compensate.

That rubbing claw clutched the sink edge to prop him up in better line, not so victorious in defeating the grog but eliciting a concerning squeak from the supporting pipes and the only now deteriorating molding. His brush bent and flaked bristles as he took on the mounting task of cleaning his arguably hard to dirty maw. The long even rows of overly sharp peaks not even discolored, let alone in danger of being eaten away. He’d hadn’t even used them, just slept the night and probably dried them out. And in the end they were literally fresh teeth from the transformation. So…

‘Why am I even doing this?’

The lights in his bathroom flickered as excess power was fed back in and dissipated, and the weight on the tiles and sink was relieved. The cold returned to its prickling nature as phantom sensations still hanged off his spin. Seth spat out the meager wash he’d put in and looked back up. Back up at himself. Human once again. Though admittedly still naked. And now a lot less comfortable. But in the end his clothes actually fit now so that additional curmudgeon could be relieved. Plain grey and jeans to laze away the hours now forcibly in solitude. Thank fuck he already gotten groceries.

The fridge was still cold against his face and feet, but only for the brief moment he had to bear it. A morning soda to kick him awake, a nicely carbonated orange that would tingle just the right tastebuds and make him regret not using toothpaste down the line. But by this point why bother with the expense, he could just regrow his teeth anyway. If he even let it get that far. The drawer and cabinet squealed their openings, silverware clanking off their slight inertia and the removal of one of their concave brethren. A prepackaged bowl of cereal, granola and banana with a bit of cinnamon to touch it up. A precarious hold on the lip with two spare fingers and an easing transit to a comfy sofa. And the released smells of open seals. Another morning in exile, house arrest edition. At least he still had television to fill the-

“-struction is overwhelming! The casualties are… too gruesome to fathom! We can’t even identify who’s been lost between the mountains of rubble and the… the just utter devastation! B-but… But all the survivors cry and scream out one name! One monster to blame for this… this massacre! That armored terror known only as Ra-“

*CLunkkPHhshhh*

Cereal and soda and every bit of morning drear shattered and splattered as scenes of complete obliteration panned by in grim muted bain. Ticker below scrolling, tallying, blaming. That obtuse moniker they placed on him burning all of it in and refusing any other notion. Only that he’d lost control yet again. And made his suffering everyone else’s.

But the truth, the reality, the fucking inability! All of it sparked counter, fought that falsehood for all the doubts it tried to scorch into his psyche. Wanted nothing but to push back against its callous spread. And drove rash action to rectify this devastating mistake. The moment his morning shattered and turned to a mess on his floor was the same moment he was forcing shoes on his feet and an old hoodie over his head. And his new door flung open to stop this mounting firestorm from burning him alive. The muffled stairs could not compete as he stormed down them, there wasn’t time, there wasn’t consideration, there was only getting there now and showing everyone, showing Aegis that- *SLAM*

The tiny foyer burst open, the sun forcing its way in but being outshone by the motherly scowling of Mrs. Mahan blocking Seth’s unconcealable warpath. A blockade that put her husband to shame with just its justification, and the overwhelming might it carried with it. That fire, that raging need gritted Seth down in its shadow, forcing him to broil over his own spit. He needed to be there, he needed to make it right, he needed to be sure, he needed… He forced himself back up to face that wall looming over him, tears threatening to fall from his eyes and depression threatening to raze him to the ground as all that fuel burned to cinders. He needed to know that his mistakes hadn’t caused more death. Needed to show that his promise wasn’t vain redirection. Needed everyone to know that he didn’t want this to happen. He… he needed Aegis to know that-

“Well what are you waiting for?”

The weight crushing him down flew away as that scowl turned to reverent expectation bearing its own weight.

“I’d say they need you more than they care to know. Or want to. But who gives a crap about that now! You need to be there. To be seen, to be heard. You need to right this, because you’re the only one who can!”

A gentle hand pushed him back up right before suddenly reaching over and pushing out the door. Nearly stumbling off the stoop before he could look back at the simmering aura around his once kindly neighbor now just as roaring to go as he was. If only in her own way.

“Go beat the shit out of this bastard and show him you’re the only one trusted to use this power!! And make sure Aegis gets the memo this time! Tell her to kick some ass!!”

That fire flared like a hit from a bellows and the stoop stopped being a height to worry over. But that promise, that oath still kept it closed off and directed, and speeding as fast as his legs could take him downtown. A swift flick of the hood and his face and browning hair were covered as much as they could be. And the city proper was just going to have to accept that someone was running toward the destruction, not away from it.

Who took the suit? Who rebuilt it? The how was irrelevant since Resent was still in play. The issue though was who would willingly subject themselves to being under his control? Questions found enough ground to stand on as that fire dimmed with covered distance. Still a raging inferno, but given a set aside place to power him on. Now more jet turbine than blast furnace. There were still plenty of villains out and about, Tango’s sentiments weren’t isolated by a long shot. But the heavy hitters were far from this vindictive, and too willful to just let Resent take over and do as he pleases. And… and the dust still stealing away the skyline said plenty as to who was in charge.

The streets filled as the questions lost their ground. The fear wrought looks, the huddling around every hard piece of cover, the stifled sobs and growing communal hack. The crowds brave enough to congregate all looked to their emptied skyline, to still fleeing throngs trickling away, to any screen offering news and comment to give them hope. But all Seth saw was more condemnation, and more guilt he’d have to take on. More things he’d have to answer too without a want for his side. The final snapping of that paranoia wrung tension, the paranoia he’d caused. The destruction he’d allowed to happen because he didn’t finish the job… Because he didn’t-

“Grrrhhh!!”

He didn’t need second guesses right now, he needed to make this right already!

Slowly the crowded streets greyed more and more. The people fleeing in varying states of distress and gradient coatings of concrete and carcinogen. The air started choking his lungs, stinging his eyes. The taste of heavy powder on his tongue probably signaled that they didn’t do something as stupid as use asbestos in the blockers, but he’d rather not give it the chance. And the growing tinge of blood in the air was adding to his quicken pace. The clouds falling over the city tried to cloak the worst of the damage away, but there was little he could do to avoid what was ahead. And what wasn’t.

Concrete chunks turned shrapnel littered the road. Facades and sidings were shattered and blown in, still parked cars and early responding services were battered and totaled. The asphalt crunched with scattered glass and debris, the emptying streets echoed with loosed thunks and coughs. A few other people were moving in line with him, water and brave faces trying to lend a hand. But soon those faces dimmed as well as the blood stains started to add themselves to the scenery. The calls and high visibility vests of official rescuers were clear farther in, the most obvious of the casualties and the gravest of the wounded already gotten out of harm’s way. Groups were spread out over the decimated outer periphery buildings, clamoring over the mountains trying to look for survivors in the rubble or scrounging every piece of cover they could for more wounded… or dead. But with them came a more serious obstacle to Seth’s advance, one he’d done his best to skirt for years but now had to deal with directly. The police line.

Lookyloos and videographers, quick reporters and waiting helpers. A small crowd, but still too many eyes. A fine line of cardboard reflectors and assigned officers, flashing lights and scanning guards separating the worst of the destruction from those who didn’t need to be there. Though the failing blackout of still falling dust and ash certainly presented an effective barrier. Fine particles kicked loose, carried up by still exuding heat and allowing wind patterns. But that blanket shrouding the worst away only made that fire inside him all the more flagrant.

He tried to slow his breathing, calm down in the face of difficult to justify action. But every time he took in a lungful, every time he rose off the breath, every time he opened his eyes. All he could see were the obliterated stumps of the blocking wall, the shattered buildings behind them. All he could hear were the yells for hands and the sobs of those who could even still take all of this in. And all he could smell was… was nothing. Empty matter, bereft of connection and energy. A smell he could barely recognize, but knew too much already. Knew what it felt like falling over him. Knew what it felt like sticking to his hands. The dust of ceased existence. But not from the laceroids this time. From the people Resent tore apart. Atom by atom.

He couldn’t stand by, couldn’t stand stewing in this emptiness. He couldn’t just leave this to go unanswered, couldn’t let a fucking cardboard roadblock stop him! He couldn’t rectify with willingly breaking this held barrier of law and order, but he couldn’t just let the world build over this scar with more misdirected condemnation. More burdening misunderstanding. More… mother fucking pain!! That fire, that rage, that demanding need. It denied its throttling, denied this plywood Rubicon. Denied that oath in the face of greater need, refused him the peace of just letting authority do its job. And at this point that fire may as well have been his soul all along. Because it refused to accept this, and refused that blockade’s authority.

A hand ripped it up for the boilerplate response it was, flinging it haphazard and over the heads of already fearful onlookers. The brazen disregard demanding a forceful response, one muted in the drumbeat of that fire, that plasma ripping through him. Officers on either side unprepared for who or what they were demanding compliance from. Each step another crime, another provocation, another escalation that had to be answered for. But their demands fell short as the air between buzzed and ripped with that fire ill contained. That harmonious tone of purified existence, that revealing plasma blue glare of this devastation’s counter. And those demands failed completely as that barely holding hood blew away and shined that stark white hair for all to see and fear and dread as their terror refused to abate.

That glare expanded, suffused and sang hard. The object of their paranoia accepted their image of him, refused to cater and refused to alleviate. That plasma glare took form and function, shifted gait and stature, tore and burned what was too close to escape. Scales gleamed their fresh return, claws clenched this bullshit situation away, talons dug hard into asphalt and dust, that traitorous tail burned and forced its way to freedom, and that maw crowned in bone and white snapped shut this terroristic process. And those hazel blue eyes refused to acknowledge the results of their defiance. Only glare down the greater deterrent to this necessary crossing of the line. No turning back, and no mercy for what must be done.