Tamara
Ares had been incredibly productive all day by his standards— and by his standards that consisted of about one workout and a three hour guitar session. Now that night was approaching, and dinner had passed, he was on his way back to his dorm where he'd pass out for the next twelve hours. 

The corridors, as always, were empty. Rarely ever did people run into each other here, saving catchups and chitchats for the common spaces. Ares was no exception— he wasn't lingering. 

His large combat boots stomped down the hallway as he moved, his jacket chains rattled agains his metal pins and studs like that of a snake, and his incredibly loud music blasted through his headphones. He sounded like a pocket full of loose change, mixed with the audible crunch of rock through cheap earbuds.

A hand with black pained nails held an iPhone with a cracked screen. Ares was staring very intently at something on it— probably some sort of upcoming show he was pissed he wouldn't be able to attend. Didn't matter. He kept a thorough, quick pace. Soon he'd be back in his dorm.
Bernard
Anthony had been productive in his own right. He was always very adaptable to new environments, moving and melding as it was required. Malleable as ever, like a liquid conforming to its new container. New environments were just fine... So long as he could learn every square inch of it.
He didn't care much for spaces he couldn't dissect, and the campus of Newton's Cradle was no exception. 

With his notebook in hand, he'd been traversing the area under the radar, opting to move his exploration to time after hours. Very few people milled about at night, he'd realized, and this made his expedition a bit easier.
He never had a strict curfew at the station, and if he did, he never remembered following it all too closely. 
He wasn't a rulebreaker, but he operated on his own schedule. That's how he was wired.

He scribbled down notes in his naturally italicized handwriting, making points of reference for what doors were where, the spots where you had to turn left instead of right, and all the other things he might need in case of directions. Breaking down the building and exposing its innards. Navigating them.

His associating machine of a brain continued to chug forward, having only the auto-piloted common sense to propel one leg in front of the other.
His ears picked up the clambering of another pair of footsteps, but the notice never seemed to travel up his neurons. Too many thoughts crammed in there.

He looked down to write another word, and instead collided with a completely different person, sending him partially reeling.
His notebook fell to the ground open-faced, the pages and pages of instructions bearing their teeth.

He placed a hand to his head, rubbing it a little after the collision, stopping himself from falling backward.
Brown eyes scanned the other person up and down, not realizing how long he'd been eerily silent. Anthony was... Typically eerily silent.

**"Sorry."** The word was gentle and quiet, and he figured that was all he needed to say.
The other man would likely be on his way afterward. Nothing more than a simple 'bumping-into-each-other' event. That's all it would be.

R—Right?
Tamara
Ares' music was far too loud for him to hear the person approaching, and his gaze far too locked on his phone to notice. This wasn't the first time this behaviour would turn on its heel to bite Ares, but old habits die hard. 

Within seconds, the taller boy was completely knocked off his course. He stumbled with the impact, catching his balance. He very quickly yanked both his headphones out with his free hand, and flashed his eyes forward to see the obstacle that had blocked his patch. It was an intense stare, a piercing gaze that sat under a thick, furrowed brow. For a second, Ares looked enraged. 

That was until he fully realized who was standing in front of him. Some kid, obviously significantly younger than him, that looked like a heavy gust of wind could send him tumbling. He was put together, *Too put together,* Which caused Ares to immediately write him off as another academic nerd that *Didn't deserve to be here, because they had such good grades.* 

He titled his head to the side with a sigh, his expression smoothed out into a blank stare. 


"...It's aight man." 

The notebook on the floor sat open, and Ares very quickly leaned down to pick it up. He shoved his phone in his pocket, and grabbed the book by the spine with rough fingers. Just as he was about to hand it back, he paused.

"Hey wait a second— you're new here... Right?"
His voice was rough with exhaustion, which resulted in a rumble at the end of each word akin to that of thunder before a storm. 

Ares pulled the notebook back and held it at a distance, forcing the stranger to engage in conversation. The expression on his face now curious.
Bernard
It wasn't hard to decipher that this stranger was clearly displeased at Anthony's existence. The fact he had apparently set foot too close, that he had wandered into his space, breathed the same oxygen, the very notion of his presence seemed to make the air gain weight. Making it just a bit more tense. Harder to move in and out through your lungs.
This... Wasn't going to be a one-and-done interaction, was it?

Something Anthony knew very well about himself was his ability to infer. To take pieces of something and create a bigger picture.
This applied to his ability and, well, everything else.
Some might call it psychoanalyzation. He called it getting to know the other person; just a bit more covertly.

*Why is he so upset?*
*Did I do something wrong? I don't think I did anything wrong. I just bumped into him, that's all.*
*Quick to anger. Good to know.*
*Maybe that's rooted somewhere. Stems from something.*
*I'll have to figure that out.*

His eyes drifted around as his brain moved in its all-too-familiar cycle. In fact, even when the taller of the two picked up his precious notebook, it took him a few more seconds of staring before his neurons even started to draft their response.

*What does he want with it?*
*Is he gonna give it back?*
*He needs to give it back.*
*I'd really hate to start over.*

He processed the action first, and the question second.
**"May I have that back?"** A gentle smile on his lips, a practiced second-nature.
*He asked you a question.*
Without missing a beat, and as if his thoughts had abruptly changed courses, he said;
**"I got here two days ago."**

His eyes wandered past the boy's, practically looking through him. They settled on the notebook.
**"Please give it back."**
It wasn't demanding. It was soft and unintrusive, as he always was.

It wasn't likely he'd take it that way, though.
Tamara
The kid across from him looked, distant. There was a far off look in his stare, one that spoke to a brain behind his eyes that ran like a machine. He didn't appear nervous, and even if he did Ares didn't care, but there was a hesitation in his action. One that made everything appear thought out, planned. 

That must be exhausting. Ares scoffed. 

"So you're like, *New new* Then." Fresh meat.

He tilted the book in his hand, as he had initially grabbed it upside down. Holding the pages in front of his eyes, he scanned them intensely. The paper was covered in scribbles, things Ares' couldn't make sense of. Numbers, layouts, maps, nerd shit. It wasn't a diary so his interest was immediately killed. *No juicy gossip,* He almost laughed at his own thought. 

"Yeah alright." 
He held the book out, allowing the other to grab it. 

His gaze remained curious, but it held a flare that burned into the one he stared at. Relentless eye contact, like the ache of an injury. 

"Sorry for uh, bumpin' into you... Uh..."
Ares didn't sound sorry, but he was. 
"What's your name?"
Bernard
He wouldn't be wrong to assume the Anthony ran like a machine. He filed away his messy thoughts as they came through, he organized and sorted each brainwave as they manifested. Constant whirring cogs running on thousands of lines of shoddily written code. 
A machine. A likely damaged one, at that.

He *Would* Be wrong to assume that this affair was exhausting, however. It can't be exhausting if it's all you've ever known. The status quo doesn't tire out those who have always lived in it.

**"...Yes."** That was all he said. He did just arrive, after all, and quietly validated his statement.
When he tilted the book around, he instinctively raised a hand to try and stop him, but lowered it almost instantly.
*It's whatever.*
*The reconstruction notes are towards the front, right?*
*Right.*
*He isn't gonna find much.*

Thankfully, the latter proved true, as his treasure of scribbles was returned to him with one dismissive, scarred hand.
Scars. Hm.
His eyes locked on his hands as he delicately took the notebook from their grasp. He scribbled down a mental note instead.

They then snapped upward to meet his, gazing through his lashes.
"**My name is Anthony Solace."**
In an equally nonchalant tone, as if the phrase had been uttered countless times before;
**"And yours?"** A smile trailed the ends of the words.
Not a grin. Not a grimace. A small smile. 
Comforting, he hoped.

Anthony's eyes wandered back down to his knuckles. He bit his tongue (quite literally) to avoid openly asking about them, knowing that you couldn't just jump into something of that nature.
*At least get to know him, genius.*
*He probably doesn't wanna open with that.*
*He DEFINITELY doesn't wanna open with that.*

Without moving his head or his eyes, he tucked the notebook into his blazer's breast pocket, safe and sound.
He figured he'd have a lot more to write about once this conversation concluded.
Tamara
The overly polite tone of, the one he now knew as, Anthony *Almost* Pissed Ares off. In any other context the rehearsed smile and copy and paste answers, would've made Ares eager to knock this kid out of routine. However, tonight he was feeling nice and didn't find what he usually did entertaining. Luckily for Anthony. 

"Pleasure to meet ya." 
Sarcasm. At the end of his words, Ares' mouth twisted up into what was almost a sneer. A smirk pulled over sharp canine teeth, that displayed a cunning that otherwise wouldn't be so visible. It wasn't the most malicious, if not only slightly unnerving, but it was too mocking to be a genuine smile. 

"The name's Ares." 

Unlike *Anthony Solace,* Which Ares pronounced with an overdrawn faux british accent in his mind, the taller boy did not give his full name. Didn't feel like it. 
The smile remained, only now less immediately jarring. 

"What're you doing wandering through the halls all... Frantic and shit?"
Ares leaned forward ever so slightly to survey Anthony.

"Lost?"
Bernard
Violent. 
That was the word that appeared in Anthony's mind in full color, exploding in shades of red, orange, and other firey tones. This 'Ares' fellow could be described as violent. 
It was written all over him, from his piercing gaze to his cocky attitude, from his air of ever-so-slight superiority to the way he simply carried himself.
He tensed without realizing it, his body almost getting READY to be attacked. You never knew what might come next in places like these.
*You never knew what might come next anywhere outside the confines of a story, did you?*

At his incredibly sarcastic greeting, he gave a curt nod and left that stage of the conversation at that. 
Finally peeling his eyes away from the other's hands, he looked intently at the smug expression he had adapted.
*I should tread carefully.*
*He could hit me. Or worse.*
*It's too late for this.*

A pause passed between the two again.
**"I'm taking notes."** He said, matter-of-factly.
**"I'd like to memorize the building."**
The reasoning for such a desire was left out. He wanted to get this done quickly.
But Ares didn't seem like the type to let his fish off the hook easily. And boy, was he a fish right about now. Internally flopping around and squirming like he'd been removed from his habitat. In a way, he had been.

They made eye contact. He was never afraid of eye-contact.
Some found it to be polite. Some used it to assert some sort of dominance. He found it to be a very helpful learning mechanic. 
Ares' eyes burned. They were full of flames and the associated smoke, something famously dangerous to play around with.
There was a lot to learn about Ares. Ares Lastname. Ares Something.
He'd have to get that part eventually.

**"What about yourself? Heading back to your dorm? It is getting late."**
He guessed and inferred based on what he already knew. That's what he did.

He'd considered choosing his words carefully. Chose to speak normally instead.
But curiosity seemed to kill (or at least viciously injure) the cat time and time again.
Maybe he'd be able to evade it.

And worst case? He wouldn't walk out empty-handed. He'd still come out having learned *Something* About Ares.
Tamara
Ares tilted his head to the side. Why on earth would this kid need *Notes.* That was a freakish level of preparation that Ares didn't understand. Did the kid have shitty memory, or was he mapping the place out of some innate need to understand? That kind of thirst, that kind of hunger to *Know* Everything was lost in the mind of someone like Ares. 

The two stood face to face, a firecracker and an extinguisher. Water perhaps, a hood you place over a candle, whichever brand didn't matter— this kid had no *Fire.* In fact, not only was he devoid of it, but he seemed avoid it too. His tone too nice, his voice too smooth, his hair too neat. 
Ares always wanted to run a soldering iron across the motherboard of well-oiled machines. Why exist in such perfection. 

"*Notes.* Okay." 
He shrugged, but not in a way that showed he was unbothered but in a way that taunted the other. The gesture called the others actions stupid, without a single word. 
"Whatever."

Ares absentmindedly cracked his knuckles. His hands were tense from guitar. 

"Yep. Exactly that."
Way to state the obvious, Sherlock Holmes. 
"You should do the same. We have *Curfew.*"

His tone made it sound like he was telling some sort of campfire story about ghosts and mysteries. Clearly, he wanted to spook this straight-laced rule follower into panicking at the fact he could be doing something wrong.
Bernard
Shitty memory. Far from it. 
No, no, this was simply a step of reinforcement. Taking a strong foundation, and coating it in more strength. Stability is a close friend of success. He'd rather his memory be as stable as possible.

He continued to run the figurative numbers in his head. Analyzing and breaking down and distilling and dissecting and making Ares that much easier to digest. To explain. 
*I'm going to explain you.*
*I'm going to explain your behavior.*
*I will.*
He fought to keep his eyes in place, as much as they begged to drift around freely.
He was winning the fight, for now.

At the taunting of his shoulders and the acidity of his words, he simply nodded once more. 
*Yes. Notes.*
*I get the feeling that isn't his speed.*

At the crack of his knuckles, his body involuntarily tensed up again, if only for a moment.
The pops of his fingers made him lose the war with his optics, as they immediately looked down towards his hands.
His incredibly scarred hands. A mystery to be solved. Another facet to explain.
The tension released with the promise of more information. That typically did the trick.

Curfew was mentioned and instantly discarded, Ares' fear-mongering being put to little use. 
He'd lived at a police station for the past 2 years, for Christ's sake. He KNEW it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permisson.
**"I see,"** Was all that he said in regards to it.

His vocal cords overcame their shackles and asked another burning question, possibly at the cost of Anthony's currently unbruised body.
Without missing a beat;
**"Are you alright? Your knuckles, I mean. They're injured."**
He looked back up at him in one fell swoop. Scanning for any change in emotion, continuing this odd stand-off.

This was far more than he usually spoke in a conversation. Maybe *This* Is why he preferred to hold his tongue.
Tamara
Anthony was staring a lot. Ares figured it was similar to his other weird behaviour and wrote it off. 

Until he, like most, placed his attention directly on Ares' hands. The physical manifestation of what most assumed of him, giving them a sick sort of confirmation on a silver platter. More reason to whisper, more reason to be on edge. The hands that held themselves so tight in the offices of guidance councillors and principals— that had seen concrete and broken noses alike. They were signals, loud and clear with blinding light. 

The question did not seem to visibly offend Ares. His smile fell, though, but in a contemplative sort of way. 

"They're scars."
Ares held up one hand, showing the other properly. Rings decorated a few of his fingers. 
"All healed up."

Once done speaking, he crossed his arms. Not in an attempt to be intimidating— it was just comfortable. He did not know if that would come across, and he didn't care. 

What was asked was so forward, Ares was almost proud of the sheepish boy in front of him. Most people waited a few more interactions to inquire about his hands and all his scars— coated their ignorant prods with sugar and expected the heat to burn less. 

Not yet had Ares figured out whether this kid was the type to cry wolf and get all nervous about it— throw himself back in self defence at the perceived threat of someone dangerous— or if he'd be rational about the information presented to him. 
Ares had little faith, as he did with most people, but this nerd had to *At least* Be logical. The upside of machines. 

There was silence for a moment. 

"You got any other questions?"
Despite attempting to sound genuine, Ares' sharp tongue did little to add comfort to his words. He sounded coarsely sarcastic, with a hint of boredom and complete apathy. 
Yet he still waited for a response.
Bernard
Anthony WAS staring a lot, by any metric of societal norms. Unfortunately, the two didn't seem to get along, always butting heads. Being textbook 'normal' wasn't quite par for the course in his regard, and made conversations that much more difficult to navigate.
Hard to move your mouth in the right way when your eyes are looking in all the wrong directions.

When Ares raised his hand to give him a better look, it seemed as if a bit of light fluttered into his iris. Intrigue. Maybe even a dull brand of excitement.

Anthony himself wasn't one to ask a question then back down out of fear. Ares was wrong again. No, when he had one inquiry, another would follow. Then another, and another, and ANOTHER, until the fleshy controller to his machine was simply swarming with them. Infested, like bugs in the walls. Something no exterminator could clear.
It was only up to him how much he'd let slip through.

Something about Ares prompted him to talk. Maybe it was the notion that he was here — at Newton's Cradle — as well, that they both shared SOMETHING in common. That Ares didn't know anything about him, perhaps it was a clean slate that he hadn't realized he'd been begging for. There were countless reasons for Anthony to feel drawn to speak a bit more than his normal; his normal consisting of barely anything at all.

*Yes, of course I have other questions.*
*I don't think all the time in the world could answer all of my questions.*

The hostility of Ares' body language didn't deter him in the slightest.
**"How'd you get them?"** He asked, bluntly and with curiosity in tow.
**"How long ago?"** 
He blinked in solidarity, confident in where he was headed.
Out of the threatening frying pan and into the fire, it seemed.

*It's too late for him to start a fight.*
*I hope.*
Tamara
Ares rolled his eyes lightly. That wasn't the type of question he meant. 
However, once again, he was rather intrigued by how blunt this kid was.

There were many possible answers the taller boy could give. He could lie, or he could tell the truth. Maybe he'd mix the two, be vague— or he could tell the kid off for asking a completely invasive question. Ares tilted his head to the side. 

"*I punch a lot of walls.*"
His tone was overdrawn sarcasm, it was incredibly obvious he was playing it up for effect. 
A part of him wanted to say *'I got them by shoving little nerds like you into the dirt,'* But he knew more than one person that would be displeased with him should he vaguely threaten a kid like that. So, he left it at the less violent answer.
The fact he punched walls wasn't a *Complete* Lie, however it wasn't the only way he got his scars. Ares left it at the half truth; there was no way he'd sit here and spill his guts to this stranger. 
*Oh yes, I actually have quite a troubled past and a history with bullying and therefore I learnt to defend myself and cope in the only wicked way I knew how.* Pfft, yeah right. 

"They accumulate. I think I stopped *Adding* To them about 2 years ago."
He scoffed softly.
"You don't get scars like these from a one time injury— this is a repeated thing."

Now that he had said far more than he wanted, Ares shut his mouth.

"*Anything else?*"
Bernard
It didn't matter what Ares *Meant* In regards to the question: he had fed the bear. He had a taste for it now. Validation that his questions would garner an answer of some kind. That was the most affirming feeling in the world.

His sarcasm was transparent, and Anthony thusly saw right through it. Dramatics. Half-lies and partial truths. There was more to Ares than meets the eye. Layers of stories beneath his skin, tiers of memories beyond that.
He couldn't take out his notebook. Not without being hit; he knew that for certain.
He hoped his memory would serve him well instead.

Ares didn't have to say everything, after all. He could always fill in the gaps himself.
*Am I really going to do that?*
*Breach of privacy, isn't it?*
*He hasn't done anything wrong.*
*But it's good to learn about my peers.*
*One way or another.*

When Ares finished talking and Anthony (momentarily) stopped thinking, he nodded curtly, softly yet strongly communicating that he understood. 
He seemed to be opening up more than he expected. Was that a correct assumption? 
Suppose he could never turn that part of him off. The aura that beckoned others to talk.

**"Yes."**
He indicated that there was more to say.
**"Are they layered with some kind of burn scarring? It looks like it."**
He cast another glance between Ares' eyes, then back to his hands. 
**"The way they spread across your knuckles and palms... It might have something to do with your ability."** He murmured this, talking to himself more than Ares.
Snapping back to the conversation at hand: **"Do you have a fire-based ability?"**

Nothing more and nothing less. To the point, as he was.
Interrogating a student in the hallway. Interrogating him at ALL.
Suppose old habits die incredibly hard.
Tamara
Inquiring about his *Ability* Was a more typical question that Ares was willing to answer. In fact, the boy held an insane amount of pride in what he was capable of. His strength, how much he had honed the skill. Perhaps he was a show off, perhaps he didn't care. 
The expression on Ares' face shifted more towards amusement. 

"Hm. Well. Not exactly."

Ares could leave the question at that, the explanation that it was an entirely physical matter, but he didn't want to. He wanted to have *Fun.*

Without a word, Ares pulled up his sleeve, resting the fabric in a bunch around his elbow. His forearm held one or two other small visible scars, and his wrist was wrapped in various bracelets alongside a spiked cuff. With a smirk on his face, he held his arm away from his body, and then his open palm right beside it. 

Suddenly, the centre of his hand begins to spark. A white hot yellow, pooling into the middle. In the second it took to reach the size of a golf ball, Ares pressed his hand firmly onto his arm. 

Then, *Crack.* 

A bang rang out, like that of a small firework being set off directly beside them. A flash of light and fire, muffled by Ares' fingers. 
It wasn't nearly big enough to cause *Any* Damage to the one across from him, he made sure of that. 

With the same amused smile on his face, he pulled his hand away from his arm. Residual black smoke rose from his palm, the air smelt like gunpowder, but his arm was completely unaffected by the explosion he just set off directly against his skin. There wasn't a mark, or redness, it looked exactly the same. 

The taller boy let his display sit in silence for a moment. He knew the other, with all the pestering questions, would deeply appreciate the demonstration. 

"I'm immune to my abilities. So no, my scars are not related."

He blew the smoke away from his palm, and returned his sleeve to its usual place. 

"What about you hmm? What are *You* Capable of?"
Ares wanted a trade.
Bernard
This was more than he could've asked for. 
He didn't know where Ares would take this, the wildcard he was proving to be. Maybe he'd retaliate against Anthony's barrage of questions, maybe he wouldn't answer at all.
This was the ideal scenario, by far. 

His pupils widened in brief excitement before his lids narrowed in focus. Taking note of every little thing, the newly revealed scars, the even-more-cocky expression, and — of course — the show he was eagerly seated to watch.

The light drew him in like a moth, hungry not for the warmth, but for the information that held to its coattails. That's all he could think about as he briefly stepped forward.
He didn't even flinch when the miniscule explosion went off, too lost in the moment, exploring the maze of his brain.
He nodded slowly as the smoke lifted off his skin, Ares himself completely unharmed. He didn't speak his running inner dialogue, the collection of 'wow,' 'interesting,' 'intriguing,' that had begun to plague him. 

He wasn't familiar with other people like him in ANY capacity, only reading them in the most decrepit of files. Let ALONE seeing a physical demonstration of something so abstract, quite literally burning into his brain.

The silence that passed was that of an effective stun. It wouldn't be long before more questions began to show their faces to Ares' sun, would it?

And then came the obvious part. 
*What can YOU do, Anthony?*
*Do you even have the confidence to say it out loud?*
His thoughts taunted him ever-so-slightly, dangling ideas in front of his eyes, just out of reach.

The station forbid him from talking about it. A habit long learned, always avoiding the question of how he did his work.
*Well, I'm not at the station.*
*What's he gonna do if I tell him?* 
*What's he gonna do if I DON'T tell him?*
*I don't trust him enough for this.*
*What other choice do I have?!*

He played a few fake scenarios out in his brain, options where he declined to answer, or even ran away. None of them ended well.
*Be vague, maybe?*
*I don't want to start on such a rough foot.*
*Oh, god.*

He adjusted his blazer and met his eyes again. Sharpening his stare to a knife you could almost cut the tension with.

**"Do you want a demonstration as well?"**
Tamara
The surprise and intrigue at Ares' display fuelled a sense of pride and ego he hadn't felt in a while. He enjoyed when people found him impressive, interesting. That his existence was something to stare at, to remember. Ares lived loudly, and appreciated when those around him recognized that without looking away. 

That small tiny explosion was *Far* From Ares' full potential, and even then, this kid looked incredibly interested. 

The two looked at each other for a second after Ares' inquired about *His* Ability. Then, his gaze sharpened, the shift felt in Ares' cold stare. 

There was a slight hesitation in his expression. What if this kid could turn him inside out— or replace his skin with sandpaper— surely the tiny one across from him wouldn't be *That* Dangerous. 

He shrugged, and smirked. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he put both of his arms to his side in a *'show me what you got,'* Stance. 

"I'd *Love* A demonstration."
Bernard
Maybe Anthony wasn't initially dangerous, no. He couldn't alter the environment around him, much less another person. He couldn't do anything mystical or jaw-dropping, couldn't wow a crowd of anyone but forensics.
That didn't mean he couldn't deal incredible damage. Knowledge is a powerful tool, and very few want you to wield it. 
This goes for ANY branch of the phenomena, academics, street smarts, and, worst of all, personal history. Nobody wants you to mess with their personal history. People revel in their privacy, and Anthony's very existence lived and breathed to spite it. 
It was a silent intruder that would pick the lock to the home that was your psyche, taking what it wanted, and leaving.
The damage only comes after you realize what it took.

So; that was that. He wanted a demonstration. This could proceed in several directions, with slim chances of success. This was a dice roll of risk, and Anthony risked — at best —, being ignored out of impatience, and at worst, being beaten to a tenderized pulp.
Neither sounded appealing, not even the ignorance. He was never a show-off, but being able to present to SOMEONE that he hadn't LIVED around for the past 2 years was exciting.
This was, in a way, exciting.

**"This is going to take a few minutes."** He spoke this clearly and with purpose, starting to adjust himself. Legs shoulder-width apart, eyes starting to get heavy. **"I hope you'll understand."** Was all he said before his lids closed and he was plunged into darkness.
Anthony Solace is a one-trick pony. But damn, was it one good trick.

When he opened his eyes, he was somewhere he'd never seen before. The back of someone else's public high school. He stood a bit shorter than what he was used to, observing the world.. Differently. 
His face burned with anger from an unknown source. Looking into the eyes of a taller, larger, and evidentally stronger boy.
Then the thought cycle started.

*He and I have never gotten along.
Always butting heads.
I'm not afraid of him, or of any repercussions.
This is only part of the person I will become.
We bicker.*

As that thought passes, the world fills with noise. He hears his own voice and the voice of the opposition mingling, splattered with insults and obscenities.
Things quickly move from bad to worse. 

*The larger boy snags me from the ground, letting his emotions get the better of him.
I struggle.*
He kicks his feet and attempts to free himself from the bully's grasp. To absolutely no avail.
*I do the one thing I know to do in a situation like this.
I've never been one to flee, so naturally, I fight.*

He hears himself cry to be let go. Nothing happens.
He feels himself swing at the other boy, knocking him twice in the mouth; teeth making contact with skin, and blood making contact with tongue. Something happens.
He stumbles back, dropping him in the fray.

*I look at my knuckles, shaking from the adrenaline. Fear is present too.
'This is gonna scar,' I think.
'What am I going to DO?'*

He listens to the ringing shock for but another moment; and his eyes open again.
For real, this time.

In the present, he readjusts himself to the hallway's dim lighting. His eyes focus in on Ares, the boy giving him a sarcastic stare of disbelief.
He sighs.
**"When you were 15, you got into an altercation with a boy much bigger than you were."**
Pause.
**"He picked you up after the two of you exchanged verbal blows. You wanted to be let down, so you knocked him in the mouth — twice —, and his teeth damaged your right knuckle. It scarred."**
He tilted his head vaguely at Ares' open hand.
**"That's one of many reasons it's mangled like that."**

There was no hesitation in his voice. He knew he was correct. He had to be.
He studied Ares' expression as he carefully picked the lock to his brain. A silent intruder.

Dangerous; in his own right.
Tamara
Ares' face twisted into something other than anger or a smug chill for once. His eyebrows raised, his usually narrow eyes wide with shock, his mouth ever so slightly open. His face spoke to amazement— it yelled every way Ares was incredibly impressed. 

The memory that Anthony described was fresh in his mind. Ares was young, targeted by a boy whose conflict with him he did little to soothe. Annoying taunts, refusal to bend or bow, *Enraged* This kid to no end. Ares was everything people who craved authority *Hated.* He was defiant, he was angry. He still is all these things— now even more so. He still angers people. 

"That's... Yeah— that's how I got my... First knuckle scar..." He breathed deep and then caught more words between his sharpened teeth. 
"That's *Crazy,* You... Saw my memory? Or did the *Knowledge* Just pop into your head?" 

Although, by every right Ares *Should* Be mad at the idea of his personal life being witnessed by a stranger, he asked for a demonstration and got just that. 
The amazement never truly left his face— Ares looked more intrigued, more interested in Anthony. He wanted to know *More.* 

This would be the first in a very long string of interactions. 

"That's quite a useful power... Do that without my permission though and we have problems." He laughed softly, clearly meaning that lightly but the warning still held weight. 

"I can see why you'd get sent here for something like that. You should be like... An interrogator or something. Work with people who lie." 
People like Ares.
Bernard
This was familiar. Really, it was.
The gentle shock, the slightly agape mouths, the softening of a previously cold exterior.
He saw it in his parents. The missing girl's mother. Everyone at the station, at first.
It was a very effective party trick to everyone who witnessed it. And a useful one, at that. 

Despite the severe deja vu he was experiencing, his posture loosened a little as Ares did the same. No longer in fear for his wellbeing, he lost a small degree of the tension that had been keeping him perfectly upright. Not slouching by any means, but visibly more relaxed. Not nearly as... Stand-offish.
Psychology 101: If you can get someone not to see you as a threat; there's no need to continue acting tougher than you are. They let you in already. Don't waste it.

Along with this itty-bitty change in posture, a gentle (but, for once, genuine) smile came across his lips. It was a smile that communicated relief and a smidgen of contentment. He was content with the success of this small endeavor. He breathed out strongly through his nose... A method of grounding common after a reconstruct. 

He shook his head at his questions.
*No, nothing like that.*
*I WAS you, for a minute.*
*I thought like you. I saw through your eyes.*
*I won't tell you that part.*
*Not yet, Ares.*

**"No. It's... A bit more complicated."**
He finally broke what had been a very long session of prolonged eye contact, brown eyes meeting the carpet.
**"I won't bore you with all the details."** Obvious code for: *I don't trust you enough for that yet.*

*God, the station would kill me if they knew I did this.*
*Told someone. SHOWED someone.*
*Out of line, aren't I?*

Softly: **"I won't do it without permission. I'm not like that."** Anthony could lie, too.

At his final statement before he retreated back into the silence, he gave a small, breathy chuckle.
"**I've had my brush with law enforcement before."** The room seemed to cover in a haze for a moment before he blinked it away.
**"Not for me."** He said, as his eyes wandered back up to meet Ares', his smile still quietly resting.

This was more comfortable, wasn't it?
Sometimes it took a matter of having your guts spilled and exposed to feel that way. Feel that comfort with a stranger.
At least, in Ares' situation.
An atypical kind of case.
Tamara
Ares thoroughly respected when people held themselves with enough confidence to show him they had the strength. Stare down the barrel of the gun and refuse to move. Anthony had that— that *Stare.* 

It almost reminded him of himself, in a strange, twisted, roundabout kind of way. 
Anthony was a quieter strength, Ares was seeing that now. 
Almost like Owen. 

*These two would get along.* 

Ares tilted his head to the side. 
"Alright then, keep your secrets." 
He smirked. 

When Anthony admitted he wouldn't without permission, Ares immediately knew he was lying. That didn't matter though, Ares wasn't a weak case— he could hold himself. *Try it. Watch me arrive, see and conquer.*

"Oh yeah. Me too." 
Law enforcement, Ares' good ol' friend. He knew they meant that in two *Completely different ways.* The tone of his voice spoke that loud and clear. 

"Me and police," He crossed his fingers and clicked his tongue, "Tight." 
If Anthony was paying enough attention he'd see the *'1312'* Painted on a patch on Ares' jacket pocket. 

He was feeding this kid information.
Bernard
This was a dangerous game to play.
Knowledge functioned as Anthony's weapon, yes, but it wasn't a weapon he was entirely capable of wielding just yet. A true double-edged sword, something that could help him just as much as it could do the inverse. 'Feeding' him information wasn't always the smartest choice. It gave his rapid, VIVID imagination more FOOD for thought. 
This interaction would fill more pages in a notebook, more space in Anthony's mind.
This interaction would keep him awake at night.

There were secrets to keep, and with Ares' smirk, his placid smile replaced his genuine one. A small change. Noticeable if you were looking for it.
*You'll find out at some point.*
*I promise I'm just biding my time.*
*This is new for me, too.*
*I'm not used to this.*
*Hesitance never hurt.*

He noticed the patch instantly, but didn't have any kind of large reaction. Everyone had a different experience with the law. NOT everyone thought very highly of it.
But in his eyes, what he did was the simple pursuit of justice. Was it not Ares' mouth that had suggested he do interrogation work? 
The law served a role. Someone had to fill it. 
It happened to be Anthony Solace.

His left eye twitched for a fraction of a section as his mind raced all over.
He knew he was being 'fed.'
And that glutton for information could not be satiated. 

He checked his unassuming wristwatch and sighed, looking at the time, then Ares, then the time again.
**"You said something about curfew."**

**"It is rather late."**
He adjusted his blazer, his tie, subtly dusting himself off even though there wasn't a speck of dirt in sight.
**"It's a good idea to head back."** Cut and clear. This interaction was over.

He started to turn on his heel, giving Ares a small wave with one hand.
**"I'm sorry I bumped into you."**

Waiting no fewer than 2 seconds for a response, he was on his way. Shaking a fair bit, from excitement, adrenaline, or a mysterious third reason. 
As he checked his notes for the way back to his dorm, only two thoughts surfaced from the regular churning slush.

*There's a lot to learn about him.*
*I want to know everything.*
Tamara
Ares' expression was dripping with curiosity. It was painted within every line of his face like melting gold in the broken cracks of a shattered vase. It was highlighted— visible, clear. He was intrigued. Far beyond intrigued. 

"Ah yes, of course. *Curfew.*"
Ares placed his hands up in a shrug. 
"Totally forgot."
He didn't. 

He then put his hands solidly back in his pockets. 
"Hey, don't worry about it, yeah? I bumped into you an equal amount."
A scoff sort of laugh left his lungs, like he almost couldn't believe what he was saying. 

"Have fun with your notes, kid."

As Anthony took off, so did Ares. Just like that, the interaction was over. 
Before he went on his way, Ares did a 180° on his heels and watched Anthony slink away down the hallways like a mouse in the rafters of a barn. 

*Careful now, little one, watch the rot in the wood. Wouldn't want you to fall.*