"She's in a hurry, it seems."
Thalia, standing beside Cruxius, heard one of the doctors mutter while watching Dr. Seleyena's back disappear down the hallway.
Considering how she'd just spoken with the woman—how mature and understanding Seleyena had been, even showing sympathy toward her—Thalia found it hard to believe the doctor would act like that for no reason.
"So, you did something with her too, didn't you?" Thalia muttered, narrowing her eyes.
The doctor's flustered state the moment she noticed Cruxius made it too obvious.
That reaction wasn't normal. Not from someone like Seleyena. Not unless he had done his usual perverted nonsense again.
"What? Why do you always think it's me?" Cruxius looked away from where Dr. Seleyena had gone and turned to Thalia, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
She had accused him—again—without a shred of proof.
And what was with the 'pervert' tag he got when she had just met him yesterday?
He hadn't even processed what might have happened, and yet she'd already made her judgment. He sighed, disappointed that she still saw him as some pervert who couldn't keep it in his pants.
"…So, you're saying you didn't do anything?" Thalia's voice was heavy with suspicion.
She still remembered Seleyena's face—flushed crimson near the ears—right after she'd bumped into Cruxius at the doorway.
The doctor had practically fled the scene, and Thalia had caught it all. He looked innocent now, but Thalia wasn't buying it.
"You can just ask Darithi if you don't believe me." Cruxius shook his head, giving a brief glance to Darithi. "Tell her the truth."
Of course, there had been a moment—Seleyena had knelt in front of him, and her finger may have brushed the tip of his shaft.
But it wasn't like he'd done anything.
She was just being a doctor, checking her patient's penis for the first time.
"…Um, Master, you slapped Miss Seleyena with your dick," Darithi said flatly, eyes vacant, but her voice obedient under his pressure. She told it like it was, completely unfiltered.
"…What?" Cruxius blinked, stunned. He genuinely didn't remember that—until her words jogged a vague memory.
When he'd turned to leave the room, he had felt something cold brush his shaft.
At the time, he'd ignored it, more focused on saving Thalia.
But now… yeah. That may have happened.
'!?'
"Y-you dirty pig!" Thalia's mouth hung open.
Her shock turned into disbelief, then hesitation. She looked at Cruxius again, seeing his face shift from confused to realizing.
And worst of all—he didn't even look sorry. That confirmed it for her. He did do it.
"...Darithi, shouldn't you be fixing my image instead of wrecking it?" Cruxius muttered, deadpan.
It was the second time someone had called him that—first Volta, now Thalia.
He turned to Darithi, expression blank, as if she'd betrayed him more than anyone ever could.
"It's not tainted. Your image is just black, Master," Darithi replied, shaking her head with the same cold gaze she used whenever she told him the uncomfortable truth—he was her master, and she should always be truthful to him.
'Damn this woman…' Cruxius sighed, then turned to watch Thalia. Her face was tight, like she was holding back laughter.
She was putting on a whole performance, acting as if she was offended beyond repair, but he knew better—that girl was cooking the same dish of escape once again.
"You disgust me!" Thalia yelled, shoving him toward the exit. "Never show me your face again, Cruxius Blac!"
"…."
"…."
"Should I catch her, Master?" Darithi asked calmly, watching Thalia storm off like a woman who'd just caught her husband cheating.
Darithi didn't even look at him as she posed the question, her eyes narrowed after seeing the obvious intentions of Thalia, who had once fooled her by using her master's voice.
"It's pretty simple, isn't it…" Cruxius slipped his hands into his pockets, his gaze lingering on Thalia.
She was trying to escape him—again—thinking this might be her way out.
But unlike Volta, who was a tool to gain power, and after she called him a dirty pig and sprinted off while he let her go, Thalia was something else.
She was simply his.
'I need to take a bath. May Thalia agree to help me out?'
He was just about to turn to leave the hospital when he heard the voice of a child throwing a tantrum at his mother.
"No! They removed the robo doggo show!"
.
.
.
.
.
.
Location: Metro City - Channel Poggo Broadcasting Tower Time: 4:22 PM
The street cracked open like a dropped mirror, shards of pavement flinging into the air as a colossal centipede, plated in jagged chrome armor, burst out from beneath. Horns blared.
"So—someone help!" People screamed. Cars swerved into each other.
Atop the beast's crown sat a child-sized figure, his feet barely touching the saddle he'd strapped between the monster's antennae. He wore a hoodie covered in badges of old cartoon shows, a pair of rusted goggles pushed over his wild eyes.
He raised a megaphone.
"I am Crime Master Goggo! I love to watch Robo Doggo and today I'm going to destroy the new channel Poggo!" he bellowed, voice cracking, not from fear but fury. "You took Robo Doggo from me! So I'm taking YOU off-air forever! No more fake laughs! No more lies! No more mid-season cancellations!"
The centipede roared in response, mandibles crashing through the glass windows of Channel Poggo HQ, knocking out a section of the broadcast tower.
---
Two blocks away – Abandoned rooftop 4:24 PM
A womanly figure stood alone, crouched beside a cracked water tank. Her purple hair fluttered in the city wind fit. The blondish strand within her hair shimmered in the dawning sunlight.
Spandex, black with a sheen of violet, clung to her thighs like second skin. It traced the curve of her ass, the dip of her waist, the strength flexed in her legs. Every breath made her chest rise slow—deliberate. Focused.
But it wasn't the beast she focused on.
She'd already moved.
Moments ago, when the centipede first rose, she zipped across the crowd and pulled six bystanders from certain death.
She didn't stop to wave. She didn't pose. She didn't wait. She just moved them to safety. Quietly. Efficiently.
No one noticed. That was fine.
Her comm buzzed.
> "Volta, hold position," her manager's voice crackled. "We've tipped off three media houses. Give them five minutes. When you take that thing down, I want four drones filming. A clean save, single hit if possible—hero-of-the-month kind of thing."
She narrowed her eyes, her vision enhancing.
Given her ability to convert kinetic energy into her own strength, and with kinetic energy being one of several sources that, through vibrations, bring signals from places inaccessible, she was watching everything—the chaos and the dust—through a very different lens than normal humans.
"Got it," she replied, though her voice sounded less certain.
> "Oh, and Volta?" the voice added. "Look strong, but sympathetic. This thing's probably just a rampage. Perfect for your next campaign spot."
She muted the call.
Because something wasn't right.
As the debris settled, her eyes zoomed in.
The figure riding the centipede… was small. Too small.
'A kid.'
No visible augmentations. No body armor. Just... fury. And heartbreak.
Volta saw it instantly in the way he gripped the beast's shell—not like a warlord commanding a weapon, but like a child clinging to the last toy he had left.
She whispered to herself.
"…What the... He doesn't even know what he's doing."
Then her eyes hardened.
If that kid made one wrong move—just one—and someone died, it wouldn't be a tantrum anymore.
It would be manslaughter.
And a kid like that? Society wouldn't care why he did it.
They'd brand him a villain. Forever.
She instantly moved.