Chapter Text
The alley smelled like old rain and burned ozone.
Not the clean kind of rain either. The kind that soaked into concrete years ago and never really left, mixing with rust, trash juice, and the lingering memory of something having exploded here once. Or twice. Or seventeen times, depending on which incident report you believed.
Wemmbu stood in the middle of it like the alley had been built around him.
Purple wings folded tight against his back, edges catching the flicker of a neon sign that couldn’t decide whether it was advertising noodles, tattoos, or a regrettable life choice. One boot rested on a flattened soda can. The other was planted firmly in a puddle that reflected his silhouette in a way that made him look taller, sharper, more dramatic than strictly necessary.
Above his palm hovered a magic bomb.
Small. Perfectly round. Glowing faintly violet, like it was thinking very hard about existing.
It hummed softly. Not a warning hum. More of a content one. Like a cat that knew it could destroy a building if it felt like it.
Wemmbu watched it spin.
He hadn’t thrown it yet.
He rarely rushed these things.
The city had taught him patience. The city always did.
That was when space hiccupped.
Not exploded. Not tore. Not screamed. Just… hiccupped. Like reality had swallowed wrong and needed a second to recover its dignity.
The brick wall to Wemmbu’s left shimmered.
Then split.
Then unzipped itself with enthusiasm and absolutely no respect for local physics laws.
A portal opened.
It was orange around the edges, wobbling slightly, as if it had been drawn by someone who knew what portals were but had only seen them once in a picture book. Light spilled out, warm and wrong for the alley, followed immediately by a body.
A girl tumbled through and hit the ground in a crouch.
She stuck the landing.
Mostly.
One foot slipped. Her wings flared out instinctively, bright monarch orange with black accents, knocking over a trash bag and scattering something that might once have been a sandwich. She windmilled for half a second, then straightened like she meant to do that.
Oversized opaque glasses sat on her face, absurdly large, lenses split straight down the middle. One side magenta. One side yellow. They reflected the alley lights in mismatched flashes, making it impossible to tell where she was looking.
She pointed at Wemmbu.
“Money,” she barked immediately.
Her finger shook a little, but her voice didn’t.
“Hand it over. Every single cent. Even the nickels.”
Wemmbu stared.
The bomb above his hand gave a confused little wobble.
Before he could say anything, the portal rippled again.
Another figure emerged, this one far more carefully.
A blue slime kid slid out like he’d practiced this part in advance. His body stretched slightly as he landed, then snapped back into shape. He adjusted the goggles perched on top of his head, lenses cracked and mismatched, and immediately started looking around, ice seeping behind him.
Walls. Fire escapes. The bomb.
The wings.
“…Squiddo,” he said slowly, with the tone of someone who had absolutely warned about this exact scenario, “this is not what we talked about.”
Squiddo didn’t even look at him.
She waved a hand dismissively. “We talked about survival, 4C. Survival costs money.”
“I specifically said not from people with active supervillain aesthetics,” 4CVIT replied.
Wemmbu blinked once.
Then he laughed.
Not loud. Not cruel. Just a short exhale, a puff of sound like he’d been surprised into it.
“You,” he said, lowering his hand slightly and looking directly at the butterfly girl, “are robbing me.”
Squiddo nodded vigorously. “Yes. Thank you for catching on so quickly.”
4CVIT stepped forward, half-melting with nerves. His form rippled like gelatin in an earthquake.
“We’re actually not,” he said quickly. “I mean, I didn’t agree to–we were supposed to target distracted people? Or rich people? Or at least people who don’t have…”
He gestured weakly at the bomb.
“…floating explosives.”
Wemmbu let the bomb dissolve into purple sparks.
They drifted upward and vanished like fireflies that had remembered a prior engagement.
The alley immediately felt quieter.
More dangerous.
Wemmbu crouched, boots scraping concrete, lowering himself to their eye level. His wings brushed the brick wall behind him with a soft rasp.
“How old are you,” he asked.
Squiddo froze.
Just for a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable. Then she puffed up her chest.
“Old enough.”
4CVIT sighed, long and tired, like he’d aged several years in the last minute. “We’re ten.”
“–and a half,” Squiddo added quickly.
Wemmbu’s eyes flicked between them.
The wings that were too big for her body, still not fully grown in. The goggles worn thin at the edges. The way the slime hybrid had shifted without thinking, placing himself half a step in front of Squiddo like a shield.
“And where,” Wemmbu said, voice lowering, “are your parents.”
The alley went still.
Even the neon sign flickered quieter.
Squiddo’s wings twitched. Once. Twice.
“Not… around,” she said.
4CVIT stared at the ground. “They were. And then they weren’t.”
Wemmbu straightened slowly.
The alley felt smaller now. Like it was holding its breath.
“You’re broke,” he said.
Squiddo bristled immediately. “We prefer resource-challenged.”
“And you decided mugging a supervillain was a good solution.”
She shrugged. “You look successful...WAIT YOUR A VILLAIN!?.”
4CVIT groaned and covered his face with both hands. “This is why we plan and then she improvises.”
Wemmbu studied them.
No sirens. No cameras. Just cracked concrete and two kids pretending not to be scared.
“…You’re bad at this,” he said finally.
Squiddo crossed her arms. “Rude.”
“But,” he continued, “you’re brave. And stupid. Dangerous combination.”
He turned and gestured deeper into the alley, where the shadows thickened and the city noise faded.
“Come on,” he said. “If you’re going to threaten people for money, you might as well eat first.”
Squiddo’s glasses tilted. “Wait. Like– food food?”
4CVIT froze. “This feels like a trap.”
Wemmbu glanced back, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Everything is a trap. Some are just kinder than others.”
They looked at each other.
Then Squiddo grinned, wings flaring bright orange in the dim light.
“Told you mugging him was a good idea.”
4CVIT sighed.
But he followed anyway.
…
Wemmbu walked like someone who expected the city to move out of his way.
It mostly did.
They didn’t go far. Just deeper. Past the flickering neon sign. Past the alley’s respectable trash piles and into the part where the shadows started layering on top of each other like bad decisions. The ground sloped slightly downward, collecting rainwater and secrets in equal measure.
Squiddo followed three steps behind him, wings half-spread in case this was a trap that required dramatic evasive maneuvers. She kept whispering.
“Okay but if he tries to poison us–”
“He hasn’t offered food yet,” 4CVIT muttered.
“–or sell us–”
“He hasn’t mentioned a market.”
“–or sacrifice us to a demon–”
4CVIT paused. “…He is a demon.”
“Details.”
Wemmbu stopped in front of a metal door that looked like it had once been gray and then given up. He knocked in a very specific rhythm.
Three short. One long. Two short.
The door opened immediately.
Inside was… not what either kid expected.
The space beyond wasn’t a lair. Or a dungeon. Or a glowing pit of evil energy. It was a small, warm-lit room that smelled like noodles, oil, and something aggressively fried.
There was a table. A couch with a blanket thrown over it. A hot plate humming on a counter.
Squiddo leaned in, squinting through her glasses. “This is either extremely cozy or extremely suspicious.”
4CVIT whispered, “Why is there a couch?”
Wemmbu stepped aside. “Inside.”
They hesitated.
Then Squiddo marched in like she owned the place, wings narrowly missing a hanging light fixture.
“Oh wow,” she said, looking around. “You live like a guy who doesn’t expect guests.”
4CVIT followed more cautiously, making sure the door stayed within running distance at all times.
Wemmbu shut the door behind them and locked it.
Click.
Squiddo immediately turned around. “Okay, see, that sound was threatening.”
“Sit,” Wemmbu said, gesturing at the table.
They sat.
Squiddo perched on her chair like it might try something. 4CVIT melted slightly into his seat, posture rigid, hands folded like he was attending the world’s worst parent-teacher conference.
Wemmbu turned back to the hot plate and started stirring something in a pan.
Squiddo blinked. “Are you… cooking?”
“Yes.”
“You cook.”
“Yes.”
“For children.”
“I cook for people who are hungry.”
She considered this. “I don’t trust how reasonable that sounds.”
4CVIT raised a tentative hand. “Statistically speaking, villains are more likely to provide food than heroes.”
Squiddo stared at him. “Why do you know that?”
“I read a lot.”
Wemmbu slid two bowls onto the table. Noodles. Steaming. Real.
Squiddo sniffed suspiciously, then immediately leaned in. “This smells illegal.”
“It’s garlic,” Wemmbu said.
“Oh. Then I forgive you.”
4CVIT poked his noodles with a spoon. “If this is poisoned, I would like it noted that I objected.”
Squiddo slurped loudly. “If this is poisoned, it’s worth it.”
They ate.
Too fast. Like kids who didn’t know when the next meal was coming.
Wemmbu watched quietly.
“So,” he said eventually, “portals.”
Squiddo froze mid-slurp. “…What about them?”
“You opened one in a brick wall.”
“Yeah.”
“At random.”
“Not random,” she corrected. “I aimed.”
“Poorly.”
She shrugged. “First try today.”
4CVIT swallowed. “She’s still learning.”
“And the ice,” Wemmbu continued, looking at 4CVIT. “Water to ice.”
“Yes,” 4CVIT said quickly. “Only water. Not blood. I get asked that a lot.”
“Good.”
Squiddo squinted at Wemmbu. “What do you do, besides bombs?”
“I cause chaos.”
She nodded solemnly. “Important job.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
Then Squiddo asked, “Are you going to turn us in?”
“No.”
“Adopt us?”
4CVIT choked on a noodle.
Wemmbu paused. “That escalated.”
“I like to skip steps.”
4CVIT wiped his mouth. “We are not asking that.”
Squiddo leaned back. “I am.”
Wemmbu studied them again. Not as targets. Not as threats.
As problems.
The complicated kind.
“You can stay the night,” he said finally. “Tomorrow, we figure things out.”
Squiddo grinned so hard her glasses tilted. “See, 4C? Told you.”
4CVIT stared. “You tried to rob him.”
“Networking,” she corrected.
Wemmbu sighed and turned back to the stove. “Finish eating.”
Outside, the city roared on, unaware that something important had quietly changed.
…
Night arrived without asking permission.
It seeped in through the cracks around the metal door, through the thin windows high up near the ceiling, through the tired hum of the city outside. The room didn’t get darker so much as bluer, shadows stretching like cats that had decided this place was acceptable.
Wemmbu finished cleaning the pan. He did it slowly. Methodically. Like if he moved too fast, the situation might notice him.
Behind him, Squiddo was doing laps.
Not walking. Flying. Small, tight circles around the room, wings buzzing softly as she investigated everything with the enthusiasm of someone who had never been told “no” and had no intention of starting now.
“Okay,” she announced, hovering upside down near a shelf, “you have three knives, one of them is decorative, you don’t dust, this blanket smells like ozone, and that couch has definitely seen violence.”
“It has seen naps,” Wemmbu replied.
“Violent naps.”
4CVIT sat at the table, carefully lining up his goggles, spoon, and bowl as if order itself might keep the universe from collapsing. He kept glancing at the door. Then at Wemmbu. Then at Squiddo.
“This is temporary,” he said, mostly to himself.
Squiddo landed on the couch and bounced. “Temporary is my favorite kind of permanent.”
Wemmbu turned. “There are rules.”
Squiddo gasped. “I knew it.”
“No portals indoors.”
She deflated instantly. “That’s discriminatory.”
“No explosions,” he added.
“That wasn’t even me!”
“And,” he finished, looking directly at them, “you sleep.”
Squiddo stared. 4CVIT blinked.
“…Like,” Squiddo said slowly, “at night?”
“Yes.”
“On purpose?”
“Yes.”
She looked horrified. “Wow. Villain life is strict.”
Wemmbu gestured toward the couch. “You take that.”
Squiddo dove onto it, wings folding awkwardly. “I claim couch rights.”
“There are no couch rights.”
“Too late.”
Wemmbu turned to 4CVIT. “You can have the spare room.”
4CVIT froze. “…There’s a spare room.”
“Yes.”
“Why.”
Wemmbu paused. “Because sometimes I need space.”
4CVIT nodded solemnly. “Understandable.”
The spare room was small. Bare. A bed. A lamp. No windows. It was quiet in a way that felt intentional.
4CVIT sat on the edge of the bed, slime settling, and let out a breath he’d been holding for… longer than he could remember.
In the other room, Squiddo was still talking.
“So do you have, like, a villain name?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“You don’t need it.”
“Is it embarrassing?”
“No.”
“That means yes.”
Wemmbu rubbed his temples.
Eventually, the room grew quieter. Squiddo’s chatter faded into muttering, then into the soft rustle of wings adjusting against the couch. 4CVIT’s lamp clicked off.
Wemmbu stood alone for a moment.
He looked at the couch. At the door to the spare room. At the extra bowls in the sink.
This had not been the plan.
He stepped outside, wings folding tight as he leaned against the alley wall. The city lights blurred together. Somewhere far away, sirens wailed. Somewhere closer, a cat knocked something over.
He closed his eyes.
“Just tonight,” he told himself.
Behind him, the door creaked open.
Squiddo peeked out, hair a mess, glasses pushed up onto her forehead. “Hey.”
“What.”
“…You’re not going to disappear, right.”
He looked at her. Really looked.
“No,” he said.
She nodded, satisfied, and retreated back inside.
The door closed.
Wemmbu stayed in the alley a little longer.
Then he went back in.
Inside, the room felt different. Occupied. Claimed.
The city didn’t know it yet, but something fundamental had shifted.
This wasn’t a hideout anymore.
It was a beginning.
…
Morning arrived loudly.
Not with birds. The city didn’t do birds down here. It arrived with a garbage truck coughing itself awake, someone yelling about parking violations, and the unmistakable clatter of something metallic hitting the floor inside the room.
Wemmbu opened his eyes immediately.
Years of being hunted did that to you.
He sat up, wings twitching, already halfway to summoning something explosive when–
“GOOD MORNING I FOUND A BUTTON.”
Squiddo’s voice echoed from the main room, bright and victorious.
Wemmbu froze. “…What button.”
There was a pause.
Then: “The fun one.”
A loud WHRRRRRRRRR filled the space, followed by a grinding noise and the smell of aggressively burnt coffee.
4CVIT’s door cracked open. “I told her not to touch unfamiliar machinery.”
“I am familiar now,” Squiddo said. “It screams when I press it.”
Wemmbu stood, rubbing his face. “That’s the coffee maker.”
“Oh,” Squiddo said. “I thought it was a bomb.”
“It is not.”
“Disappointing.”
The machine let out one final, tragic gurgle and stopped.
Wemmbu stared at it. “That was a limited-edition model.”
Squiddo winced. “In my defense, it started it.”
4CVIT shuffled out, posture stiff, goggles crooked from sleep. “I believe this is what people call a ‘morning.’”
Wemmbu poured himself a cup of the surviving coffee. It was… awful. He drank it anyway.
“Sit,” he said.
They sat. Again. Like this was becoming a theme.
“You’re not robbing anyone today,” Wemmbu said.
Squiddo opened her mouth.
“No,” he added.
She closed it. Slowly. “…What about tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
4CVIT raised a careful hand. “Logistically speaking, what happens now.”
Wemmbu hesitated.
He hadn’t answered that question in years.
“You eat,” he said. “You don’t get arrested. You don’t die.”
Squiddo nodded. “Strong start.”
“And,” he added, “you go to school.”
Silence.
Squiddo’s wings stiffened. “Like… disguise school?”
“No.”
“Crime school?”
“No.”
4CVIT blinked. “You mean regular school.”
“Yes.”
Squiddo recoiled. “I refuse.”
“You are ten.”
“I am ten and a half and emotionally opposed.”
Wemmbu crossed his arms. “You need records. Names. Normality.”
Squiddo squinted at him. “You’re very bad at villaining.”
“I’m excellent at survival,” he replied.
4CVIT nodded slowly. “School would provide meals. Structure. Access to information.”
Squiddo stared at him. “Traitor.”
“I prefer ‘strategist.’”
Wemmbu turned away to rinse the mug, already mentally rearranging his life. Safe houses. Schedules. Noise levels. Two extra bodies in a world that already wanted him dead.
Behind him, Squiddo whispered loudly, “Do you think he knows he just adopted us.”
4CVIT whispered back, “I think he’s in denial.”
Wemmbu paused.
Then sighed.
Outside, the city continued on, unaware that somewhere in a forgotten alley, a supervillain was googling school districts.
And losing.
…
“Sooooo, since we’re living with you and you’re a villain, doesn’t it mean we’re your uhhh… sidekicks?” Squiddo said, bouncing on the couch like it was a trampoline designed specifically for her chaotic energy.
Wemmbu, perched on the edge of the couch with a glowing screen in front of him, let out a long, tired sigh. “Squiddo, please stop jumping on the couch.”
She bounced anyway. “But! But! This is so exciting! I mean, sidekicks get cool gadgets and explosions and, like… capes and stuff!”
4CVIT shuffled his gooey blue form on the floor, trying to imitate sitting like a human but mostly collapsing into an amorphous puddle every time he shifted. “I… I don’t know if this is… what sidekicks usually do,” he said nervously. “Also, I’m not sure what a cape would look like on me.”
Squiddo spun around to face him. “You’d look amazing! A slime with a cape? Iconic!”
Wemmbu pinched the bridge of his nose, purple hair falling into his eyes. His wings twitched slightly, as if even they were tired of this conversation. “Look,” he said slowly, “I didn’t plan for either of you to become… my sidekicks.”
“Sidekicks don’t plan,” Squiddo said, bouncing once more for emphasis. “They just… are!”
4CVIT’s goo drooped over his shoes. “We also didn’t plan to be living here. Or… y’know, adopted by a villain.”
“That part’s the fun part!” Squiddo exclaimed. “Adventure! Chaos! Explosions in the living room!”
Wemmbu groaned. “Explosions outside the living room. Inside is bad. Very bad. Insurance hates explosions.”
Squiddo pouted, then grinned mischievously. “Then we’ll just make it… strategic explosions. Safe. Mostly.”
4CVIT’s voice trembled slightly. “Do sidekicks… do homework too? Or… like… training? I can train. I can follow orders. Maybe.”
Squiddo grabbed his gooey hand. “You’re perfect! I volunteer you as my first apprentice! Apprentice of chaos!”
Wemmbu rubbed his temples. “You don’t… have to. We could… just live normally. No sidekicks. No explosions.”
“Normal is boring,” Squiddo said firmly. “I refuse. Sidekicks forever!” She bounced one last time, then landed in a dramatic superhero crouch, glasses sliding down her nose. “I solemnly swear to assist you in villainy and mischief, obeying the code of sidekicks everywhere!”
4CVIT hesitated, then molded himself into a small, awkward bow. “I… guess I… swear too?”
Wemmbu finally looked up, eyes flicking between them. “…You’re both insufferable.”
Squiddo clapped her hands. “Yay! Official sidekicks! We’re unstoppable! Do we get costumes?”
“I do not do costumes,” Wemmbu said flatly. “…You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”
Squiddo gasped, mock horror written all over her face. “The floor! Villainous hardship! It builds character!”
4CVIT melted slightly into the carpet. “This is… fine. Probably. Yes. Sidekicks.”
Wemmbu pinched his nose again. “Congratulations. You’ve officially become my sidekicks. Now stop bouncing before you break the couch… or me.”
Squiddo and 4CVIT exchanged a glance, wings twitching and goo shifting with barely contained excitement.
“Best. Day. Ever!” Squiddo yelled, flinging herself onto 4CVIT in a chaotic hug that nearly squished him into a puddle.
“Yes,” 4CVIT whispered, a tiny smile forming. “Sidekicks… officially.”
Wemmbu stared at them, defeated, muttering: “I’m raising chaos incarnate.”
And that… was the day the city gained its tiniest, messiest, most enthusiastic supervillain sidekicks.
…
Squiddo decided she liked mornings now.
This was a new development and she did not trust it.
Sunlight leaked through the blinds in uneven stripes, catching on the orange of her wings where they were draped on her back. Her room was a controlled disaster. Posters half-taped to the wall. A portal remnant on the ceiling she swore was cosmetic. Three backpacks on the floor, none of which were the correct one.
Wait, maybe one of them was the correct one.
Today was 11th grade.
Yippee.
She adjusted her glasses in the mirror, the lenses still obnoxiously split magenta and yellow. They were bigger than her face and she had been told, repeatedly, that this was “not helping her blend in.”
She disagreed.
Blending in was a suggestion, not a requirement.
She tugged on her jacket, wings rustling, then spun once just to check the vibe. Chaotic. Confidence. Unreasonably excited.
“444CCC,” she yelled, flinging her door open, “IF WE MISS THE BUS I’M MAKING A PORTAL DIRECTLY INTO FIRST PERIOD.”
From down the hall came a calm, muffled response. “You are not opening a portal inside the school again.”
“That was ONE time.”
“And it fused two lockers.”
“They were ugly lockers.”
4CVIT appeared in the doorway a moment later, already dressed, backpack neatly secured, goggles resting on top of his head like they always did. He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday. And the day before that. And every day since he’d decided consistency was a survival tactic.
“Your backpack strap is twisted,” he said.
Squiddo glanced back. “It adds character.”
“It adds asymmetry.”
She fixed it anyway.
They moved through the apartment with the ease of long practice. Wemmbu was already gone. He always left early. Always said it was “errands.” Squiddo had learned not to ask what kind of errands required anti-surveillance cloaks.
Hey, maybe she would be invited next time.
The kitchen table was set with two lunches.
Squiddo opened hers. “YES. HE PACKED THE GOOD SNACK.”
4CVIT checked his. “Balanced nutrition.”
“Tragic.”
They stepped outside into the morning air, the city already buzzing. Squiddo stretched her wings, careful not to hit anyone. She bounced on her heels.
“Okay okay okay,” she said, words tumbling out, “first day of 11th grade checklist. Hannah will compliment my jacket. Jumper will be so early but pretends that she’s late. Kab will pretend she’s not judging everyone.”
“And Ash,” 4CVIT added.
She made a face. “Ash will pretend he’s normal.”
They reached the bus stop. It was already occupied.
Hannah sat on the bench, pink backpack at her feet, gently coaxing a small vine to curl around her wrist like a bracelet. She looked up and smiled when she saw Squiddo.
“Oh my god,” Hannah said immediately, “I love your jacket.”
“TOLD YOU,” Squiddo whispered loudly to 4CVIT, then threw herself down next to her. “New year, new chaos.”
Jumper landed beside the bench a second later with a soft thump, pink goggles pushed up into her hair.
“Did I miss anything,” she asked.
“Only destiny,” Squiddo said.
Kab stood a little apart, leaning against the bus stop sign, bright blue hair catching the sun. His bunny ears twitched as she glanced over.
“You’re alwaays loud,” she said.
“You’d miss me if I wasn’t.”
Kab didn’t answer. Which was, in Squiddo’s experience, a yes.
Ash arrived last, hands in his pockets, expression relaxed in a way that never quite reached his eyes. The air around him shimmered faintly, like a skipped frame.
“Morning,” he said.
“Define ‘morning,’” Squiddo replied.
The bus rumbled into view.
Squiddo grinned, wings lifting slightly as she stepped forward with her friends, her family, her carefully balanced double life packed into a backpack that was definitely too small for it all.
11th grade awaited.
And honestly?
She couldn’t wait.
…
The bus doors folded shut with a sigh like it already regretted its life choices.
Squiddo claimed a seat halfway down, the unofficial sweet spot where you could see everyone getting on but still pretend you weren’t watching. Her wings were tucked in tight, pressed politely against her backpack, which was stuffed under the seat and very obviously overfilled with contraband snacks.
4CVIT slid in beside her, already bracing one foot against the floor like he expected sudden turbulence.
The bus lurched forward.
Squiddo grinned and turned dramatically to face the others, who were scattered around their usual orbit. Hannah sat across the aisle, Jumper had taken the seat behind them and immediately started kneeling backwards to talk, Kab leaned against the window with her earbuds dangling uselessly around her neck, and Ash occupied the seat furthest back like it had personally invited him.
Squiddo inhaled.
“Sooooooooo,” she said, dragging out the vowels until they practically fell off the word.
“What’s your first class?”
There was a collective groan.
“Why do you ask like that,” Jumper said, resting her chin on the top of Squiddo’s seat. “It feels like a trap.”
“Everything is a trap,” Squiddo replied cheerfully. “Answer the question.”
Hannah raised her hand a little, even though no one had asked her to. “Botany and Applied Ecology.”
Squiddo gasped. “YES. Plant class. On brand.”
Hannah laughed. “It’s an elective.”
“It’s destiny,” Squiddo corrected. “What are you growing this year? Please say something illegal.”
“Squiddo.”
“I mean… accidentally illegal.”
Kab tugged one earbud out. “Pyschology.”
Squiddo blinked. “…That tracks.”
Kab shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just look like someone who would study my brain.”
Kab’s pink eyes narrowed. “There is something usually wrong with your brain.”
4CVIT nodded thoughtfully. “Statistically, that is sometimes true.”
Kab glanced at him. “What do you have?”
“AP Physics.”
Squiddo recoiled like she’d been personally attacked. “Why would you do that to yourself?”
“Because it explains how things fall,” 4CVIT said calmly.
Jumper leaned further over the seat. “I have acrobatics.”
Squiddo stared. “You are acrobatics.”
Jumper beamed. “Exactly.”
Ash finally spoke from the back, voice smooth, casual, like he hadn’t been watching all of them in the reflection of the window.
“Computer science,” he said.
Squiddo twisted in her seat to look at him. “You’re going to break something.”
Ash smiled. Just a little. “Probably.”
The bus hit a pothole. Everyone bounced.
Squiddo flapped her wings reflexively, then settled. “Okay okay, follow-up question. Who do we think is getting lost first.”
Jumper pointed immediately. “You.”
“Rude. Incorrect. I know this school like the back of my–” Squiddo paused. “Okay actually they changed the hallways again.”
Kab crossed her arms. “They didn’t change the hallways.”
“They emotionally changed them.”
Hannah giggled. “I think I’ll get lost.”
“No you won’t,” Squiddo said. “Plants will guide you.”
Hannah blinked. “That’s not how–”
“They’ll whisper.”
Kab snorted quietly, then caught herself and looked away.
4CVIT adjusted his goggles. “The bus route is slower this year.”
Squiddo leaned closer. “You timed it, didn’t you?”
“…Yes.”
Ash tilted his head. “Why.”
“Variables,” 4CVIT replied. “Traffic patterns. Construction. Probability of delays.”
Squiddo nodded like this made perfect sense. “I love that for you.”
The bus stopped again, letting on a wave of freshmen who looked terrified and extremely breakable.
Squiddo watched them with interest. “Look at them.”
“They’re children,” Hannah said gently.
“We were children,” Squiddo replied. “Now we are… this.”
She gestured vaguely at herself, wings, glasses, everything.
Kab smirked. “Speak for yourself.”
Jumper leaned down again. “Hey Squiddo.”
“Yeah.”
“You excited?”
Squiddo opened her mouth to answer automatically. Jokes. Noise. Something easy.
But then she stopped.
She looked around the bus. At Hannah’s pink backpack. At Kab pretending not to listen. At Ash flickering just slightly when the sunlight hit him wrong. At 4CVIT sitting steady beside her, like an anchor.
“…Yeah,” she said. “Actually. Yeah.”
4CVIT glanced at her. “That’s new.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
The bus rumbled on, carrying them toward lockers, classes, secrets, and a day that would look normal to absolutely everyone else.
Squiddo leaned back in her seat, wings humming softly.
11th grade.
Yippee.
…
Squiddo sighed.
Not a dramatic sigh. Not a theatrical, wings-flaring, please-notice-me sigh. Just a quiet one that slipped out of her nose as she sank lower in her chair, chin propped against her palm.
She had eagerly signed up for the 3D art class. Eagerly. Boldly. With confidence. This was supposed to be her thing. Creative. Expressive. Hands-on. A class where you made stuff and maybe got paint on your sleeves and accidentally glued something to something else forever.
Instead, she was surrounded by strangers.
No Hannah. No Jumper. No Kab silently judging the room. No Ash flickering ominously in the corner. Not even someone she vaguely recognized from the bus.
Just her.
And her thoughts.
Which, unfortunately, were loud.
She tapped her pencil against the desk, wings tucked tight behind her chair like they were sulking too. The classroom smelled like clay and graphite and that weird industrial cleaner schools used for everything. Posters lined the walls. Cubes. Spheres. Cylinders. Arrows pointing to vanishing points like they were trying to escape the page.
Perspective.
Again.
The teacher was at the front, talking calmly about depth and spatial awareness, about how objects existed in relation to one another, about how things looked wrong without understanding where they were in space.
Squiddo knew that.
She knew that.
She just didn’t care right now.
They hadn’t even started drawing.
Not really.
Sure, there were boxes on the board. Grids. Lines converging somewhere far away like the world was being slowly folded inward. It was all technically important. She understood that. She really did.
But she wanted to draw something.
A wing.
A face.
An explosion.
A portal ripping open a wall.
Anything with motion. Anything with life.
She stared down at her blank page.
Perspective without purpose felt like being told to imagine flying and then being handed a ruler instead of wings.
Her pencil hovered.
She glanced around the room. Other students were already sketching neat little cubes, nodding along, doing the assignment exactly as instructed. Someone hummed softly. Someone else erased something three times in a row with increasing frustration.
Squiddo leaned back, chair creaking, and stared at the ceiling.
Why did everything have to start so slow?
She rolled her pencil between her fingers, resisting the urge to doodle something wildly off-topic in the margins. She could already feel it bubbling up. The itch. The need to do something rather than understand it academically.
Perspective mattered. She knew that. Portals went very wrong without it.
Still.
She sighed again, a little louder this time, and finally put pencil to paper.
If she had to draw boxes, she’d draw the most dramatic boxes anyone had ever seen.
Baby steps.
She could survive one class.
Probably.
…
The bell finally rang, mercifully loud, echoing off the walls like the city itself was announcing: you survived art, now live.
Squiddo packed up her sketchbook, pencils rattling inside like tiny nervous soldiers. Her wings flared a little as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. She was ready to escape, ready to breathe in some familiar chaos.
As she rounded the corner into the hall, she nearly collided with someone.
“Whoa–”
“–Squiddo!”
It was Hannah, hair slightly messy, pink backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, the small vine from this morning curling up her wrist like it was trying to high-five Squiddo.
“Hey!” Squiddo breathed, relief washing over her wings. “Finally, a friendly face. I survived 3D art. Barely. Only slightly traumatized by perspective.”
Hannah laughed. “I believe it. The way you described it on the bus sounded… intense.”
Squiddo gestured dramatically with her hand. “Intense is a polite word. I wanted to draw explosions. Instead, I drew… cubes. And cubes are cruel. No movement. No drama. Just—ugh, cubes.”
Hannah smiled, then glanced around the hall. “Well, you’re not alone now. We have world history together. And, you know, I might actually know how to survive Mr. Thompson’s lectures on… well… history.”
Squiddo’s glasses slipped slightly down her nose. “History? That’s just cubes… but, like… with dates.”
Hannah elbowed her gently. “Better than perspective cubes.”
The two of them fell into step together as the bell rang again. The hallway was crowded, lockers slamming, people yelling, and the smell of cafeteria breakfast wafted faintly from down the hall. Squiddo flapped her wings just a tiny bit, careful not to knock over anyone.
“Do you think 4CVIT survived physics?” Squiddo asked, glancing toward the far end of the hall where he would likely be methodically navigating the sea of students.
Hannah snorted. “He’s probably calculated the exact angle to avoid collisions and is secretly taking notes on human behavior.”
“Perfect,” Squiddo muttered, “I need him to survive the rest of my school year. I can’t babysit all of them.”
They rounded a corner, and suddenly another familiar figure appeared: Jumper, flopping into view with a soft thump on the floor beside them, goggles slightly askew.
“Late as always,” Squiddo said, though the grin on her face said she didn’t mind.
“Traffic,” Jumper said, lying instantly, “or maybe the floor moved.”
“Sure,” Squiddo said, wings twitching in amusement.
The three of them walked together toward the classroom, weaving through the throng of students like a tiny, chaotic parade. For the first time since art, Squiddo felt… grounded. A little. Not completely, because the world was still unfairly long hallways and way too much bright fluorescent light.
But she wasn’t alone.
Not entirely.
And maybe… just maybe… she could survive the day without drawing another cube.
…
The cafeteria buzzed around them like a living, breathing beast of teenage chaos. Squiddo, 4CVIT, Kab, Hannah, Jumper, and Ash had claimed their usual corner table, trays stacked with the questionable cafeteria cuisine.
Kab shoved her phone down and let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. My brother. And his friends. And this guy Mane. I swear, if I hear about one more stupid stunt they pull…”
Squiddo raised an eyebrow. “Mane? As in… confident, cocky, obnoxious Mane?”
Kab flopped forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Yes! Exactly that one. Lion hybrid, orange blindfold, struts around like he owns the school or something. And his friends are… ugh. I can’t even.”
4CVIT tilted his head, ever the voice of reason. “Statistically speaking, you’re allowed to be irritated. He seems highly chaotic.”
Squiddo leaned forward, wings fluttering in amusement. “Highly chaotic? That’s putting it mildly. I’ve seen him make entire hallways feel unsafe just by walking through.”
Kab groaned. “And the worst part? Everyone just lets him do it. His friends egg him on. It’s like a little circus of stupidity every single day.”
Jumper leaned on the edge of the table, pink goggles sliding slightly on her hair. “Does he at least do something impressive?”
Kab huffed. “Impressive? Only impressive in the way someone who can’t park a car manages to somehow crash three bikes at once is impressive.”
Hannah giggled softly, playing with a vine curling around her wrist. “Sounds like someone I’d want to avoid… but also secretly watch from a distance.”
Squiddo grinned. “Yeah, Mane is basically a lion-shaped storm cloud with an ego and zero regard for physics. Definitely my kind of chaos.”
Kab threw her hands up. “My kind of chaos? He’s the worst. And the thing is… I can’t even tell my brother to knock it off because he thinks Mane is ‘legendary.’ Legendary!”
Ash, voice flat but piercing, finally spoke from the far end. “Legendary for annoying everyone equally.”
“Exactly!” Kab exclaimed. “And it’s like a team effort to drive me insane. Mane and his friends, all of them. They’re… coordinated chaos. And somehow people cheer them on!”
Squiddo leaned back dramatically, resting her chin on her hands. “I get it. I feel this. Chaos runs in the family, and yet… some chaos is just too loud, too showy, too… Mane.”
4CVIT drummed his fingers on the table. “From observation, if he continues at this rate, he will either be expelled or extremely popular by week’s end. Or both.”
Jumper snorted. “I vote for both. Adds excitement.”
Hannah smiled faintly. “Maybe he just needs someone to calm him down… someone like you, Kab?”
Kab groaned again, leaning back. “Me? Calm him? Please. I’ll be the one losing my sanity while he roars and struts and… bleh.”
Squiddo’s wings flared slightly. “You need a strategy. Like, hide in the shadows, throw snacks strategically, confuse him with mirrors–maybe I can help. I’ve got experience with chaos.”
Kab gave her a mock glare. “I do not need chaos. I live with chaos already.”
Ash tilted his head. “Chaos is inevitable. Resistance is optional.”
4CVIT nodded. “Optional, yes. But a plan improves survival odds.”
Jumper leaned over, whispering to Squiddo. “I vote we let Kab vent and document Mane’s chaos like it’s a wildlife study.”
Squiddo grinned. “Best idea I’ve heard all day. Data collection is my middle name. Well, not officially, but… you get it.”
The group laughed, pitched in little anecdotes about Mane and his antics, each story more ridiculous than the last. A paper plane sailed across the table from nowhere, narrowly missing Ash.
Kab sighed again, a little lighter than before. “Thanks, guys. I feel… slightly less enraged now.”
Squiddo winked. “See? That’s what friends and chaotic commentary are for.”
Hannah leaned back, smiling faintly. “Just remember… Your sanity… hopefully might survive.”
Squiddo, wings twitching, muttered, “…and maybe I can borrow his chaos energy for later. Strategically.”
Everyone responded a collective ‘no’ to that.
Rude.