The Pretender and the Baroness stood in the narrow alley, boxed in by brick walls that swallowed the light. The silence was thick, pressing, almost physical.
The Baroness cleared her throat.
“About the messages,”
“Did you get them?” she asked , forcing her words out.
The Pretender didn’t answer.
“I sent a few,” the Baroness went on.
“And I called. You never answered. I thought maybe you didn’t know how to use your Thinker. I could show you, if—”
“I know how to use it,” the Pretender snapped. “I was busy.”
The edge in her voice made The Baroness hesitate. She studied the stiffness in the Pretender’s posture, she can see the barely contained resentment.
“Busy with what?” she inquired, gently.
The Pretender finally looked at her, eyes cold. “Why should you care?”
The question hit harder than any insult. The Baroness had no answer. Her mouth opened, then closed again.
Silence rushed back in, heavier than before, laden with anger and things left unresolved. The Baroness wondered if she should apologize. The thought that the Pretender had been right all along sat bitterly in her chest.
Honk! Honk! Then a deafening alarm blared.
A massive blue trailer truck tore around the corner and screeched to a halt beside them. Its design was sleek and futuristic, almost like a spaceship with lights glowing faintly along its frame.
The window rolled down. 666 sat in the passenger seat, smug as ever and Divine leaning out from the driver’s side with pride.
“Konnichiwa, motherfuckers!” He greeted.
“What is that thing?” The Baroness asks in disbelief of the monstrosity of a machine.
666 gestured proudly. “Tatsuta Raijin X7500.”
Divine nodded, “It’s Japanese. Those hardworking and polite folks deserve respect, regardless of nationality or race.”
The Baroness raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about Japan?”
666 shrugged. “He wanted to be more open-minded about other cultures.”
“Now, he’s really into Japanese stuff.” 666 added
Divine’s grin stretched wider. He reached up to the dashboard and pulled down five books to wave them like trophies. Two of them showed animated characters with wildly spiked hair, frozen mid-shout. The other three featured animated women posed in little more than attitude and fabric.
“I’m on a journey of self-discovery,” Divine announced proudly.
“So now he's racist and sexist.” 666 quipped sarcastically.
Divine scoffed. “That ain’t what that means.”
The side door of the truck swung open with a hiss. Krov leaned out from inside, eyes bright, scars pulling with his smile.
“We meet again comrades!”. He greeted
“Please get in. You must experience this marvel of engineering firsthand.”
The Baroness hesitated and glanced at the Pretender, hoping for a reaction.
The Pretender gave her nothing. She climbed into the truck without a word and moved straight to the back seat, shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on nowhere.
The Baroness exhaled softly and followed.
Inside, the space was larger than she expected. Havoc sat in one corner, stuff as usual.
“Hello.” he greeted flatly
“Hello,” the Baroness replied, a touch warmer than his tone.
“What happened to her?” Havoc tilted his head toward the back.
“She needs space,” the Baroness said.
He nodded once. “Understood.”
666 tapped her Thinker. “Dolly. Take us home.”
“Command acknowledged,” Dolly replied calmly. “Opening portal.”
Ahead of the truck, a massive white portal bloomed into existence, light folding inward like a wound in reality.
Divine slammed the accelerator. The engine roared as the truck surged forward, swallowed by white brilliance.
The portal snapped shut behind them, marking the end of their day.
_________________________________
The Pretender stood at the sink, water running over her hands. She splashed her face deliberately, feeling the chill sting.
When she lifted her eyes to the mirror, she caught herself staring. The reflection staring back wasn’t the Pretender everyone feared—it was someone pathetic. Sad. Terrified.
She inhaled sharply, forcing the thought down, steadying herself. The cloth she used to dry her face felt rough against her skin, grounding her. With one more deep breath. She turned, leaving the bathroom.
Her guest room was at the far edge of the building, isolated and deliberately chosen. She did not want company from the others. She couldn't trust them.
The corridor stretched before her, long and quiet, the sound of her boots against polished stone the only intrusion.
The State Dining Room opened ahead, where the others gathered around the massive table. Krov was absent.
The Baroness waved her a friendly, inviting gesture. The Pretender ignored it, walking past and choosing the empty space next to Havoc. She preferred his silence.
Her choice did not go unnoticed. The Baroness’s expression tightened briefly before being masked by conversation. She spoke to Havoc instead, starting a conversation.
“They say you had quite an experience in Utopia?” she asked.
Havoc shrugged. “We went to the supermarket and visited a church. I got myself a job there while we were there.”
“That must be nice, getting a job so quickly.”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “But we could not find anywhere to stay. No one would let us in.”
“Did you show your documents? They should be stored in your Thinkers.” 666 interjected.
Havoc’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Not the issue. Utopia is in a cold war with a communist nation. They suspected our Russian-accented companion of being a spy. I tried to convince them, but without proper paperwork, they refused.”
The Pretender rolled her eyes silently, bitter. They only came back because they needed something.
“Ain’t that a good thing?” Divine drawled, sliding into the conversation with his typical bluntness.
“I’da skedaddled instantly if I found out that dang place was out here sympathizin’ with commies.”
666 immediately shot him a teasing glare.
Divine lifted his hands defensively.
“Now, now. I ain’t sayin’ there’s anything wrong with that. Those country’s got the right to run themselves how it damn well pleases. I’m just sayin’ it woulda surprised me,” he corrected, flashing a sheepish smile.
“How about you?” Havoc asked the Baroness.
“I went on a shopping spree,” The Baroness straightened, a faint proud curve to her lips.
“Got clothes for everyone, maybe you can try them on later.” She spoke with quiet pride.
“Oh, hell—really? They got somethin’ in my size?” Divine asked, clearly intrigued.
“They have everything there,” 666 assured him.
“I appreciate it.” Havoc gave a short nod of satisfaction.
The Baroness acknowledged the Havoc then leaned slightly toward the Pretender,
“I have something for you too.” She tries to reassure her.
The Pretender provides no reaction, simply tapping her nail against the table and ignoring her.
“That’s cute,” 666 began, steering the conversation to talk about herself.
“I spent my time with techs. I figured I should upgrade this place considering we’re gonna stay here for a while.”
“Maybe put in a router so this whole place has AetherNet,” she added proudly.
“Wow… that sounds expensive,” the Baroness said, unsure about the whole technical stuff 66y spouting.
“It’ll be worth it. AetherNet is a big part of today’s world. You can get everything with it,” 666 explained.
“what about about the Tyrants? Can we find out who they are with it?” The Pretender finally spoke, joining the conversation.
Everyone’s head turned toward her, surprised by her questions.
666 tilted her head, curiously.
“You can, but not everything on the Aethernet is true. All the Aethernet got on us is speculation and theories despite how infamous they are.”
“Cant even get our genders right,’ can you believe that?” she snickered
“I see…” the Pretender muttered, adding nothing else.
The others glanced at one another awkwardly as she withdrew into silence again, staring down at the table. They could all tell she didn’t like them anymore—Wondering if she's plotting something. They just hoped it didn’t involve killing them.
“Comrades!” Krov boomed as he entered the room, proudly carrying a smoking microwave and slammed it onto the table.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“I have prepared dinner for all of you!”
He opened the microwave door, revealing that it was stuffed to the brim with frozen food—pizza fries, beef burgers, and more.
The others cringed at the sight, quietly wondering if they were actually expected to eat it.
-------
They finished their dinner. It hadn’t been much of an experience, and the taste was… off. The meat and bread were lab-grown, giving everything a faintly synthetic edge. Still, they ate, begrudgingly—no one wanted to offend Krov or his microwave.
They lingered at the table, casually recounting their day. The Baroness explained she also hadn’t been able to find a place to stay either; she’d lost her Thinker, which was why she’d needed to return.
666 retreated to a corner, leaning against the wall and idly trying to fix the Baroness’s mistakes.
“How the hell can she accidentally leave her Thinker in the subway?” 666 grumbled, tapping the device with disapproval.
“Want me to track it down?” Dolly suggested, practically bouncing with eagerness.
“I’ve already retrieved her data. Just get her a new one,” 666 replied, flatly.
“Understood,” Dolly said, obedient.
The Pretender quietly approached, leaning casually beside 666. She glanced up, silently waiting to be noticed.
“What’s up?” 666 asked, suspicion lacing her voice.
“I need to talk… privately,” the Pretender said, jaw tight, tone serious.
666 glanced at the group still chatting. She considered refusing.
“Sure,” she said finally, shrugging. “Kitchen? I’m still hungry.” She started walking.
The Pretender nodded, and they slipped out quietly, closing the door behind them.
“Is everything alright with her?” Krov asked, noticing the departure.
“We left her, then came back like nothing happened. She’s allowed to be mad,” the Baroness said.
“Well, I’m blaming you for that—you’re the one who called her selfish and whatnot,” Divine shot back.
The Baroness swallowed hard. He wasn’t wrong.
-----
The frozen lasagna spun lazily inside the microwave as 666 leaned against the counter, eyes flicking to the Pretender.
“What’s going on?” she asked, making it casual.
“I need help forging some documents.” The Pretender’s jaw tightened.
“Is the one I gave not enough?” 666 raised an eyebrow.
“I need more, high school transcript, visas, college diploma… Can you do it?” The Pretender said, voice low but steady.
“Wait… are you thinking about college?” 666 asked, surprise creeping in.
“Ye-yeah… college. Credentials will help me get a job and a place to live.” The Pretender nodded, glancing down at her hands.
“You know you could just ask me to forge the whole credentials package and skip the college part right?” 666 suggested.
“No, I need you to do it exactly like I asked.” The Pretender’s eyes flicked up sharply.
“Why?” 666 asked.
“Why do you care?” The pretender shot back, turning hostile all of sudden.
Where did that come from? 666 shuddered in surprise.
“Can you do it or not?” the Pretender grumbled impatiently.
“Fine, Not like I care.” 666 exhaled
“I’m just doing this so you don’t get into trouble—which would get me into trouble.”
“Now give me the details,” 666 pulled out her Thinker.
“I need a high school diploma, college diploma, a transcript, and a student visa,” the Pretender rattled off quickly
666 rolled her eyes,already regretting helping.
“I also need an admission letter, application form, and scholarship proof for the HRC 101 program at Kingsley academy.” the Pretender continued.
“HRC 101? What’s that?” 666 asked.
“Health and Rehabilitation Course. I’d love to explain, but you wouldn’t fucking get it,” the Pretender snapped again.
666 winced by her profanity
*Sheesh, What's her real deal?* she thought
*I didn't know she had in her,*
*Is she still angry they all left her behind?*
*What does she need all this for?*
*Unless…she’s hiding something*
“Dolly, what program is Kingsley Academy HRC 101?” 666 suddenly called out.
Both of their Thinkers dinged simultaneously.
“HRC 101 is an introductory hero course designed to teach the fundamental skills of heroism, which includes leadership, courage, and ethical decision-making,” Dolly explained.
666’s eyes went wide, staring at the Pretender with utter disapproval. The Pretender stared back, surprised to be caught so quickly.
“Are you insane?!” 666 snapped.
Pow! The Pretender fist connected squarely with 666’s face—hard enough that it should have knocked anyone out.
“Aaaah,” she silently let out a scream as her fingers throbbed.
The Pretender fell to her knees with a sharp gasp, clutching her right hand as pain exploded through it. It felt like hitting a brick wall straight on.
666 slowly brushed her shoulder like dust had landed on it.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” a trace of amusement edging her voice.
The Pretender glared up at her, “Is everything a joke to you?”
“Not everything,” 666 leaned back against the counter, casually opened the microwave, and pulled out the steaming lasagna with her bare hand. “But you, absolutely.”
“So,” she continued, stabbing it with a fork and taking a bite, “you gonna start explaining yourself or what?”
The Pretender stayed silent, gripping her bruised hand tighter.
“Gotta hand it to you,” 666 said between chews.
“You really did fool me. Acting like a total bitch to dodge questions.” She smirked. “I was ready to do everything you asked just so you would leave and I’d never have to see your stupid face again.”
The Pretender seethed, eyes burning with contempt.
“Don’t look at me like that,” 666 warned.
The Pretender slowly rose, rubbing her hand, her glare never wavering. “Are you going to help me or not?” she demanded.
666 sighed, shaking her head. “What do you think? You’re reckless enough to punch someone in the face. I can’t risk you blowing everything up with that attitude.”
“Fine!” The Pretender growled. “I’ll figure it out myself.”
She turned sharply and started heading toward the door.
“Hey! Where are you going?! We’re not done here!” 666 shouted appalled by her audacity.
“Fuck you!” The Pretender shot back
“I know your plan! I’ll tell the others!” 666 try threatening her now.
“Do what you like!” the Pretender called back. “I'll be long gone by then!”
“Are you serious?! You’re going to get us all killed, you idiot!” 666 yelled.
“I thought you were smart! Figure it out!” The Pretender snapped, stepping out of the kitchen.
666 clenched her fork, frustration boiling over. Then she let out a long, defeated growl.
“Fine! I’ll help you!”
The Pretender stopped. Slowly, she glanced back, curiosity cutting through the anger.
“But,” 666 added sharply, “you have to explain everything you’re planning.”
_________________________________
Days had passed since the confrontation. The Pretender spoke carefully, revealing every discovery, every step of her plan.
666 had agreed to help. When asked why, her answer had been simple: for her own amusement.
The Pretender loathed the thought of working with her, but necessity bound them together. Only 666 could forge documents convincing enough to open the gates of the academy.
Now, she sat in the Oval Office alongside the others. 666 had told her to keep a friendly image while she's working on the documents.
The Pretender would have preferred to stay in her room—far from everyone—but she couldn’t let her dislike show. Not now. Suspicion would ruin everything.
The Baroness lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine, sipping wine with perfect posture. Divine, Havoc, and Krov were gathered around a low table, attempting to play Goh, though they spent more time arguing about the rules than playing.
The Pretender did the bare minimum, keeping herself cold and distant, in a way that seemed unintentional. Just another awkward, quiet girl. It seemed to work—everyone left her alone.
666 approached her with wide grin in place, “Sup, Pretender,” she greeted, catching the girl reading on her Thinker.
“What are you reading, Pretender?” she repeated, tone laced with mischief.
“Nothing,” the Pretender dismissed quickly. The screen actually displayed a brochure for Kingsley Academy—something she had no intention of letting anyone see.
“That’s cool,” 666 said with a knowing smirk.
“You got any plans, PRETENDER?” She emphasized the name, testing the edges.
“Why do you talk like that?” the Pretender asked, wary.
“It’s quite the mouthful, right? Pretender,” 666 grinned.
“Where is this going?”
“I think it’s about time you got a proper name.”
666 slid a small white card into her hand.
The Pretender rolled her eyes and took it.
She stared at it for a long moment, unreadable, caught somewhere between curiosity and caution, while 666’s grin lingered
It was a Utopia Citizenship ID—complete with a painfully unflattering photo of her.
Utopia Citizenship ID
901225-02-0520
Robin Da’ Skool
No. 002 Liberty Island,
New York, NY 10004, USA
“This...no way..” she whispered,
“You like it?” 666 grinned from ear to ear. “Quite the name, right?”
The Pretender turned the ID over in her hands, studying it with precision.
“I… I…” She paused, mouth slowly forming a small, startled smile. “I love it.”
“What?” 666 blinked, genuinely taken aback.
“You… like the name?” 666’s voice rose just enough for the others to glance over.
“I… do, What does it mean?”
“It’s… uh… French,” 666 answered, fumbling.
“French? Huh… I don’t hate it.” The Pretender studied her new ID with awe.
“Ahem,” She cleared her throat.
“Je m’appelle Robin Da’ Skool,” she declared proudly—completely oblivious to the terrible pun in her name.
“Uhm…” 666 stammered.
“Y’know what? Now that I think about it, it doesn’t make sense for a French citizen to be in New York.” Quickly, 666 snatched the ID from her hand.
“Oh…” The Pretender’s voice dipped in disappointment
“Uh—ah—I actually made a backup ID,” 666 blurted, handing over a second card.
Everything was the same, except the name:
Robin Richie
“I think… I like this name better,” the Pretender murmured, too earnest for her own good. “Robin Richie…”
*Shit, she isn't annoyed* 666 thought.
*That was supposed to be another bad name.*
*How is she this dense? *
*Too late—she clearly loved it.*
“That’s… good,” 666 said, forcing a smile.
“Hey, that ain’t fair—I want a real name too!” Divine protested abruptly.
“Don’t ruin my fucking moment,” 666 snapped.
Krov raised his hand politely. “Actually… I want a proper name too.”
“Your Thinkers already have IDs. Use those,” 666 said, unimpressed.
“My ID’s is John Johnson. I hate it,” Havoc muttered, monotone but with a hint of sass.
“Not my fault you idiots chose the default names,” 666 shot back.
“Y’all get to choose?” Divine asked surprised.
“I came back here just cause mine are stuck with Faye T. Focker! I want a change!”
666 snorted. “I don’t know, I think it suits you,”
“I’ve heard enough.” The Baroness finally stood, commanding the room with a single motion. “I think we can all agree we deserve proper names now, don’t you think?”
“Alright, alright calm down—I’ll do it,” 666 said, raising her hands defensively.
“So—what’s it going to be?”
“It’s gotta be something strong,” Divine declared, leaning forward.
“But smooth enough to roll off the tongue. Something like Jack Reacher, Conan, Beowulf! Something iconic!”
“That’s foolish,” Havoc dismissed flatly. “We’re supposed to keep a low profile. A common name should suffice.”
“Muhammad Wong is statistically the most common name combined,” he suggested.
“You can’t be serious—y’all, say something!” Divine pleaded.
“I agree we must keep a low profile,” Krov said, hand raised like a student in class.
“But choosing a name is a special and important occurrence. It symbolizes birth—or in our case, rebirth. Which is why I believe our name should hold some meaning.”
Divine threw both fists into the air. “YES!”
“I would choose something with history. Like Nikolay Pirogov or Sergei Botkin.”
Divine’s face fell. “—NO! You were so close!” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
“We are in the USA! Choose an American name!”
“Utopias into the air. “YES!”
“I would choose something with history. Like Nikolay Pirogov or Sergei Botkin.”
Divine’s face fell. “—NO! You were so close!” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
“We are in the USA! Choose an American name!”
“Utopia is not in America,” The Baroness corrected coolly.
“What?!” Divine blinked. “Then why the hell are they talkin’ American?”
“English, comrades,” Krov corrected.
“You Americans are very funny,” he added.
666 crossed her arms, “Utopia in Antarctica.” she explained.
Divine rubbed his chin, leaning back, “Antartica?…Huh that’s actually dang cool.”
A grin stretched across his face, ideas surfacing.
“Well then! If that’s the case, I’mma just name myself after the world’s greatest country.”
“Canada?” Havoc asked.
“You shut your mouth,” Divine shot back.
“I’mma name myself after the world’s greatest country," he repeated—and with dramatic flair, exhaled like a drumroll.
“John America!” he declared proudly.
The others exchanged wary glances. They didn’t need to be mind readers to know they all hated it.
Clap, clap,clap
666 clapped sarcastically. “Cool name,”
“Buuuuut…”
“I already created your new ID.” she revealed.
“…What?” everyone blinked at once.
“You didn’t think I only made one for her, right?” She jerked her thumb at Robin.
“That’d be totally unfair—and suspicious.”
She smirked and winked at Robin.
*Yeah, that makes sense.* Robin thought
Divine threw his hands up. “Then why'd you even ask?!”
“Because it’s funny,” 666 said simply.
“You’re a fuckin’ bitch, you know that?” Divine huffed
“I do,” 666 said with a shrug.
“So… what’s our new name then?” the Baroness asked, intrigued but also bracing herself for disappointment.
666 pulled out four identification cards and flicked them onto the table like playing cards. They landed perfectly in front of their respective owners. Each card displayed an artificially generated portrait—slightly younger, cleaner, with a new name printed beside it.
“Hugh Whitman“Jack Major“Regina D’OroKrov eagerly the last to inspected his card.
“Doc AdamHe let the names fully ingrained to his brain for a moment before reacting.
“Incredible…Now they will still call me doctor.. You are a genius, comrade!”
The other too began murmuring quietly.
“Sure,” Regina said calmly, satisfied.
“Yeah,” Major muttered, accepting it with a small nod.
“Not bad,” Hugh added under his breath.
They seem to like their new name more than they like to admit.
“Finally, someone appreciates my genius!” 666 said, grinning, basking in her own glory.
“Hey… I never thanked you for the name,” Robin tapped 666 lightly on the shoulder, her voice shy.
“uh… Thank you.”
666 blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then she smirked, patting Robin on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Just… try not to make me regret it.”
Robin cleared her throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck.
“So… what should I call you?” she asked.
666’s smirk turned bigger—finally, someone asked. With a flourish, she pulled out her own ID and held it out like a business card.
“You can call me… Hellena Br?nnstr?m“Spelled with two L’s. For extra flair.” She winked smugly.
Robin chuckled and extended her hand. “Well… nice to meet you, Hellena.”
Hellena muttered under her breath, a tiny warmth sneaking into her voice, “…nice to meet you too, Robin,” as she shook it.
For a moment, the room felt lighter. Even with the usual tension simmering underneath, it was just them—new names, new identities, and the strange, awkward bond of having 666 in their corner.
