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Flame-Wreathed Tyrant 7th District, 9:30 PM Kess stepped into what was once a gymnasium of the university, long since overrun by the Jolokia gang. The ceiling had been torn away, allowing moonlight in from the waxing crescent visible in the sky above. Megalopolis's light pollution was significant enough that all but the brightest few dozen stars were drowned out, but the moon always shone brightly. From the entrance of the room to the end was a tattered red carpet, flanked by a series of oil barrels, each filled with burning coals. At the end of the promenade was a throne built up out of wrecked and repurposed bleachers, and upon it lazed Number 31, The Fount of Flames: Morgan O’Connor. She was fiddling with what appeared to be a Rubik's cube, seemingly baffled as to how to solve it, but the moment she noticed the new entrant to her throne room plastic cube was crushed within her hand, a sound like gunfire released seemingly from her body itself. "I heard the mayor died. Your doing?" "Yep." The lie flipped off Kess' tongue easily. She was too tired to care. She had been awake for over twelve hours and after the scaling and subsequent ejection from the Titan, not to mention her fight with Leo, that was two hours too many. She'd be damned if she let it show, though. She stood in her traditional leaning slouch, hand on hip, customary scowl stapled to her face. "Had to go through the Titan to find the asshole, but a chair to the head worked as good on him as everybody else." Besides. She sure as hell wasn't turning down the street cred of taking down Stratford. At the very least it might make Daiki and Sin-Yu less likely to cross her. "That frigid bitch was nosing around there," she continued. They both would know who Kess was talking about. She only ever referred to Aurora as the frigid bitch. "Ryo was down there as her eyes." Morgan raised an eyebrow, leaning forward, "And did you use the opportunity to take her out? With Stratford gone, so are half the rules we had to follow. Hell, probably all the rules." She scrutinized her subordinate carefully, rolling one of the plastic fragments that remained in her hand between two of her fingers, "As much of a mess as today was, I'm looking to make it into a Big Win for us. I think if we act promptly, we can reform the full Seventh District in the space of a week." With another crack like gunfire, she flicked the piece of plastic away, launching it through the exposed top of the building and out of sight. Kess barked out a laugh. "The bitch had the same idea. She wanted to help me kill Stratford. Was completely useless at it, too." She leaned back, allowing herself a theatrical yawn. "I used up all the juice taking out Stratford; I'll take care of Ryo later." She knew bringing up Aurora would get Morgan off the track of Stratford's death. After all, the mayor was dead. Might as well take the credit. With a frown, Morgan lazily pushed herself up onto her feet. With the sound of cannonfire she was suddenly upon Kess. Standing less than a foot in front of her subordinate, Morgan looked down slightly to account for the small difference in their height, as a tailwind of hot air blew around her and ruffled the hair of both women. "Do you intend to let her survive your next encounter? You have a prominent future in our group, but not if you can't take care of your baggage." Kess had committed long ago to never flinching in front of Morgan. She was so tired that she almost slipped. She barely managed to restrict her reaction to a lazy blink. "Let her survive? Not fuckin' particularly. She did the last useful thing she'll ever do when I used her as a landing pad out of Stratford's building." Morgan stared daggers at Kess for several seconds without a word, the crackling fires surrounding the two providing a soundtrack to the furry visible in her eyes. Before it came to a head, she turned away. "And of Stratford. What was the cause of the commotion?" Kess scowled. She still hated that Morgan was confident in showing her back to her. Cocky motherfucker. "There was a couple 'a nosy motherfuckers there, they figured some fount or other made him do it. I wouldn't think much a' it but they're all founts too, so they know KINDA what they're talkin' about." She arched an eyebrow, looking to see if Morgan's shoulders tensed. "This guy might be a problem for plan Big Win, 's what I'm thinkin', yeah?" "I agree. Any threat to the old regime is a threat to the next one. Figure out who's responsible, kill them." "Say less," was her response as she turned to go. "Kess." Kess whipped around, some resentment from the morning with the very brief phone call surfacing as she brusquely asked "What?" NOW the bitch is talkative. Looking over her shoulder, Morgan smiled uncomfortably warmly, "Ryo too." "Yeah, yeah, I know," she snapped, irritated. "S'cuse me if I was too busy setting up Plan Big Win to take out the trash, I'll cave her ribcage in, tell her ya send yer regards." "Good girl. Keep me updated." Ground Zero 1st District, 11:15 AM Considering that the group of varyingly unlikely heroes of the previous day had agreed to meet at this location at 10 AM so as to gather information regarding the mysterious founts Elita had described, it was almost impressive how close to the goal time the group had managed to assemble. Or rather, most of them had. The knight errant that had helped slay the dragons had not been seen after the battle in question, disappearing into the surrounding chaos. The last of the group to arrive was Leo, the Fount of Destruction. His clothing was visibly slept-in, and though his wounds from his bout with Kess were scarred over, the telltale signs of violence were still clearly visible on the ensemble he had not yet changed since the previous day. "Listen, I know you lot's the type to rise bright 'n early, but man's not waking up on anyone's schedule ever since I got to this island. 'Sides, this way I ain't gotta wait." Leo looked past the group to see the setup that the Megalopolis Police Department had put together some time in the previous 24 hours. At least a mile around had been barred off by police tape. The members of the force swarmed about, although none of them seemed to enter the perimeter that contained what little remained of the tower. Curious pedestrians seemed to stop and stare, only for the cops to quickly come by and usher them away, looking about nervously as they did. "You think the chief and that guy are fine alone in there? Seems like a lot of dangerous work for two people." "I'unno, do you have magic abilities?" "It's not magic, it's harnessing the power of humanity's collective unconscious." "Harness the collective fuck I don't give, you sound like one of those New Age Triskelion nuts." "Jeez man, I was just repeating something I read online." "On what, a recruitment site?" On a rooftop a few buildings away stood a young man, his hand on the hilt of an ornate broadsword, safely sheathed at his side. A outline of a pair of wings, formed seemingly from pure sparkling silver, sprouted from his back, though it appeared they were on display as a show of force more than anything else. He wanted to make sure his presence was known to any would-be trouble starters. On the opposite side of the clearing, emblazoned upon what was previously a neighboring skyscraper to Samsara Tower, was an enormous mural, seemingly made through use of spray paint and large-scale stencils. The image depicted the Samsara Titan, wandering with its arms forward in the air, chasing after a stylized white bird made from geometric shapes. Considering the sensitive, or more accurately insensitive subject matter of the image, it could be assumed that the art was put up where it was less than legally, though the process by which one would pull off such a feat was left to the viewers' imagination. "Looks like the boydem ain't exactly running tours. I'm all for tearing through this yellow tape," Leo cocked his head toward Sei, "but not if our resident super-hero is gonna tackle me extra fast once I'm in. Got me all wavey after the reporter here fixed me up yesterday, not lookin ta snooze another half a day."

1:30 PM, District 4 On the streets of Neo-Kabukicho strode an unusual pair - a tall and well-kept woman who an onlooker would never have suspected to have been parading as a knight only an hour ago, now wearing the ornate and feminine outfit of a geisha, and another whose face was concealed by the basket-like shape of a rōningasa, the hat once upon a time used to obscure the identities of warriors without a master. Upon the hip of the latter was sheathed a long sword of Japanese construction, a gilded cloud design adorning the sheath and a visible tsuba taking the form of eight twisted serpent heads converging around the base of the blade. They wore a yukata with a vibrant design of flowers being consumed by dragons, and carried an expensive-looking umbrella over their shoulder. "So you say the city itself was made a weapon? How curious…" the concealed figure's voice was feminine, but devoid of emotion as if deep in thought. "I must admit, I was not before aware of the late mayor's ability, but I suppose this makes sense given his station." “And many youths of varying power, you should know, appeared,” the other informed, staring askew in recollecting what they were like and their capabilities. “They must have reconvened by now, but I left almost wordlessly after helping them defeat those metal serpents, to inform you and inquire what you should like done. Ah…but this kind of folly typical of the prince would have me found, even through these scented robes,” she played with a stray horse’s hair which made its way through her outfit from below its outermost layers, “shining sunshine alone would have undone me then, inauspicious as if I had found a laughing mask in my sickbed, but I am not sick.” She let the wind carry it away with a new manner, where the stress from earlier would have worn someone else down, or accustomed them to particular gaits or postures to compensate, or even some appropriate muscular tension, but she gave away no such secret, and seemed more separate in convention and habit from her previous appearance than any analysis could predict, though never so far as to invite suspicion on that front alone. A light chuckle could be heard from underneath the woven hat, "Ever the poet, aren't you, Sarashina." The figure reached underneath the hat, making a motion that appeared to be moving a stray hair from their face, "You seek my guidance in interpreting this bizarre occurrence. It is true, such an event is unprecedented. I would wager the one to blame is my longtime enemy. I'm sure you suspected the same. This appears to be the work of the vicious monster that hides within the depths of our beloved district, The Dragon of Neo-Kabukicho." The figure paused in their stride for a moment, as if contemplating whether to elaborate, but continued forward instead. "In this small sliver of the city, those who do not bow to The Beast are forced to hide themselves away, and not in the fantastical way you manage to. I can't imagine this is a fate you want to see befall all of Megalopolis." She eyed the serpentine sword guard at the mention of the dragon, connecting the figure to her enemy motivistically as in music—a useful parallel for the future. While her impressions lead to considering the same possibility as the other person, she was quite epistemologically agnostic, at least in these material, real-life affairs, and chose her response quite carefully, “the low ant, the pig, our mayor, or our high Dragon, you may press your finger into and measure its fatness, but its origin is nowhere to be found what ordains the sunflowers prostrate themselves to the, deep as you go; these myriad things, I am aware of less than I am unaware, and of those few of which I may be expert, it is only in their fatness, not the plot which conspired to make fatness initially necessary. I would not have the dragon’s dominion be gorged on the rest of the island, but to know his body is not to know everything else, or the origins of all deeds his character and station make him eligible to commit, or to determine a dimensionless locus as the essence of a fungal network, at a point of time which excludes all others.” Her response, though asserting ignorance, intended to communicate ultimate receptiveness and fidelity to any sort of possibility. "Remind me to commission haiku from you when I sit upon the throne, Sarashina. Not a better storyteller lives in this city. You mentioned you had allies…" the figure paused and turned mid-stride, a glint of a red eye visible through the tight mesh of the hat. "I understand that there may be delays in rallying them, but as soon as you are able, bring them to me. Powerful as I am, I am no myojin. I will require help to slay this serpent." They turned away from Sarashina, a hand reaching up to grip the hilt of their sword, "This city, tumultuous as it is, was far worse several years ago. Without that man, I expect it to be worse than ever. We must nip this in the bud, for the sake of Neo-Kabukicho, and the rest of Megalopolis." After a pause, they looked back over their shoulder. "I'll have a car for you to return to the scene post haste." Not much later, a most luxurious car bent around into the gradual beginnings of charmless, disorderly wreckage. Sarashina had ordered her driver to follow the least damaged paths, and to not take certain routes turning them toward certain directions in obedience to old superstitions, however inconvenient it may have been for him, and returned the hateful sight impressed on her vision with a disconcerted look of her own, enough of it hidden behind fanned cypress. That this had to happen at a bar irritated her, with her retinue of a single driver to take care of nothing for her, but she did see someone she heard of, a good fortune she was momentarily distracted from by the person—Sei—possessing great stature, which Sarashina disliked but would expertly, as per her professions, not let show in the slightest in any act, expression, or word. As her driver opened her door, she told him to summon the tall, exhausted woman to her location, and to offer her a seat in the car while she stood outside it, distant from the rest so that they may establish a connection at an undisturbed pace. As Sei lay her head on the bar, replaying events in her mind for something she may have missed, yet another figure entered the scene. He didn't seem to be a fount. And based on the big fancy car parked behind him, he definitely wasn't somebody Sei knew, or connected to anyone she knew. He had gestured for her specifically, to follow him into the car. In any other circumstance, she wouldn't trust this guy. For all she knew, he was a lackey of one of the offending parties, here to kidnap her after helping foil their plans. But to send what seemed like just one guy, the plan was either to kill this guy instead, or it was too elaborate to likely work. So, albeit reluctantly, Sei got up, and trudged along the distance between the bar and the car. He kindly opened the door for her, and once inside, Sei saw that the sole occupant was a geisha. Last time Sei had seen one of those was... just after moving in with Alice, come to think of it. She'd gone to Neo-cho to get souveniers, since Alice wanted some and refused to go there herself, lest, as she'd put it, "my power reacts to the place and sends Megalopolis to the bottom of the sea." "A geisha in a limo, huh?" Sei observed, taking a seat and slouching down to avoid letting herself stiffen up when she was already worn out. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such a distinguished visitor?" These interactions with strangers call for some covering of the face on Sarashina’s part, but she had her fan put away to look more personable to her temporary guest. This exception came about by several reasons, including pity, and she had already arranged with her driver to clean where Sei was seated after they were alone again, so she had little to fear in the way of cleanliness, and in fact by now, this kind of protocol was tacit. There was great incongruity between the person and where she was, and for Sarashina, Sei and the others in the bar seemed emergent, as if they had only spawned into existence from the rubble to serve as furnishing to the destruction, and in standing outside with Sei in her space, she fulfills a self-sacrificial sort of hospitality—in return for daring to deign to stand outside in the space of the wreckage, her guest rests in this just-isolated space—though she could still act the part of tolerance if needed, alongside a true understanding she only has problems with formally, and not fundamentally. “You can recline your seat, you know, miss Sei, and your leisure is earned after what we know happened here. We can speak briefly, and you can rest where you lie as long as you see fit. I can have you driven home after we are done here as well…. I have requested your conversation because we are aware of who you are, and trust you in acting as an intermediate between us and your new connections. Precisely, we have suspicions ranging from peripheral to essential of the fourth district being connected to what happened with the mayor, namely through the Dragon of Neo-Kabukicho. Are you already aware of who this is?” "I've heard of the dragon here and there," Sei answered as she made good on the geisha's note that her seat could recline. "Not the first time I've heard rumors about someone eating kami either. Why me, though, to play middleman? Why anyone for that matter? Don't like crowds or something?" “To be seen in that eyesore of a destroyed bar is a much greater concern to me than any crowd, but my personal proclivities, I suppress before the emergency in question. Now, you like fighting for important causes, don’t you? Your vigilante history corroborates a legitimate conviction for revolution and experience in unpleasant business I would never expect from civilians, or children….We can let the rest prattle about this after we find ourselves at the same page, and have some plan for dissemination and engagement, wherever my district comes in the order of business, and you can catch me up with the theories in vogue at the same time. What do you think?” "Not much to discuss in the theories department yet, I'm afraid. All we know is someone... hypnotized Stratford, or something. I wasn't paying much attention to the details, to be honest. But working together to put a stop to this? Sounds good to me. How should I contact you?"