"Just come in on the day, shouldn't need to bring anything special beyond a water bottle." Winona replies, kinda waving her off. "I'll order uniforms once I finish interviewing the rest of my applicants."

Winona had finished scribbling down the meager employment details of her potential hire, and finally got out of her creaky office chair behind the counter.

"Don't worry about it." she dismissed, before placing another sticky note with her cell number on the desk. "Plan is to have you start next Wednesday, will figure out a schedule once we get settled. Call me if anything particularly Fucked comes up, though in the absence of any communication I will assume that you are still planning to show."

“Yeah, there’s no value in being low-maintenance unless you’re a potted plant on some poor fucker’s desk. Invest in yourself, you deserve nice things.” she states, hopefully managing to convince that tiny waif.

“Anyways, we’ve got your commute sorted, your lack of records sorted, your work experience sorted, what else is there…” Winona trails off, scribbling deets down on post-its. “Oh, right. Given that you don’t legally exist, the Silver Star Towing Company cannot provide you with health insurance. I’d advise you to get those papers sorted out as soon as possible. If something Fucked happens between now and then, we’ll figure out how to deal with it. “

“Oh pshaw, you can’t get all ethical about work. All the morally sound ways to make money are either being outcompeted by another company or so thoroughly dominated by One Guy that they might as well be nationalized.” Winona states with extreme bitterness. “It’s simple if you let it be: Keynesian economic models mean that you need money to legally exist, money can be most efficiently attained through ethically dubious ways, therefore it is best to attain as much capital as possible to safeguard your continued existence. It’s rude to impound and ransom people’s cars for a living, but it pays my bills well enough.”

"I know you don't really have stuff, more meant that you currently live and sleep somewhere you're familiar with. Moving closer to this place would probably rob you of that, and this neighborhood is kinda barren." Winona countered, crossing her arms. "Anyways, there's always a market for secondhand electronics and appliances, if you can get to a pawn shop or somethin."

Scorn did indeed have similar mass to a truck, and her car door-first bodyslam was appropriately devastating. The ball of sturdy arms and spindly fingers landed in a mild heap on the pavement, gathering itself back to its 'legs' via a lengthy and undignified process.

Her central eye blinked and swept over where Neptune lay, looking confused and infuriated. "This was a pointless use of ten minutes and eleven bones. Your dogma will be your death, in the fullness of time." she tonelessly proclaims, setting down the various junk she had gathered. The completion of her objective made her suddenly aware of how much everything fucking hurt, a white-hot aura of pain settling over her shattered forearm as a various medley of aches seeped into her muscles. Yet she wouldn't make it home to stash her bags without the mobility of this form, so suffer she must.

"Farewell. May we never meet again." she stated, Hitting Da Bricks.

"You know. Intangibles like one's relationship with their family, office culture, climate change, and federal government overreach. I can tell when the car I'm working on is fixed when the car starts running again. When one tries to fix something intangible or theoretical, they can never really tell if what they're doing is actually working or when the problem is solved." Winona explains. "That and you can sell the shit you fix out of the trunk of a running car or at a street corner. Got my car stereo for like twenty bucks from one of those guys."

"Anyways, you sure about the bus thing? Don't want you to have to uproot your life for a job."

"Hm. I can respect your resolve, but my remaining intact bones would've preferred it if you just Hit The Bricks." Scorn stated, voice lacking much of the annoyance she felt. None of her hands were idle. five of them gripping the collection of weaponizable junk she had collected (1x Rear Vehicle Door, 1x Piece of Vehicle Roof, 1x Empty Recycling Bin, 1x Derelict Mailbox {thankfully empty, so she can avoid the wrath of the Postal Inspection Service}, and ~2.8 pounds worth of asphalt particulate.)

The first thing she flung was the disc of scrapped roof metal, ideally occupying Neptune's attention with the Roof Frisbee while her eye revealed herself a bit more and most of her hands braced themselves against the ground. With the most fucked-up looking handspring possible, she flung herself onto the roof, her arms scrambling to nyoom himself at Neptune. A second leap flung herself at Neptune (now that she had a bit of a height advantage), hurling a fistful of Asphalt Particulate at his face before attempting to bodyslam the fella.

"I can spot you bus fare. What could it be, ten dollars?" Winona idly suggested, having never ridden a bus in her life. "Anyways, there's a stop two blocks away. It's not ideal, but it's better than walking."

"It's good that you're actively developing a hobby into a skill. Fixing tangibles is far more rewarding than fixing intangibles." Nona praised.

"My name is Scorn, for the spurned and the contemptuous." Scorn replied, their toneless voice not making her sound any less pretentious. "You know, you're allowed to just walk away. Your flesh and bones are probably more valuable than roughly 13,000 in loose bills and a bit of street cred."

Regardless of her expressed sentiment, she immediately set about arming herself with a buncha shit to throw or bash with. A thick plastic recycling bin (unfortunately empty) was snatched from the curb, along with a blue mailbox being wrenched out of the concrete of the sidewalk.

Scorn was off-balance and unprepared, but she was hardly helpless. A few hasty jabs and a wild backhand were delivered at the onrushing Neptune, though none of those strikes would likely have sufficient strength behind them to serve as much of a deterrent.

A beefy arm was brought up to catch that haymaker, and it connected cleanly enough to dislocate whatever this thing used as a shoulder and turn their ulna into splinters. It also imparted enough force to turn the great Thing a full 45 degrees, revealing more of a flat grey eye that looked upon him with a mixture of shock and fury. "Enough." it rather flatly stated, using the remaining eight arms it had available to parley that spin into a wild Get-Away-From-Me lariat, pirouetting on their fingers with a surprising amount of grace.

The great Thing seemed to panic as the knife formed out of his fingers, seemingly poised to fly directly into its eye. The effect was almost immediate: almost all of its arms curled around its eye, covering as much surface area as possible like a hedgehog curling into a ball. The remaining arms in play (1 grabbing Neptune, one being grabbed by Neptune) were thrashing wildly, trying to either fling him off or supremely fuck up his aim.

The blade-construct unexpectedly arced over a great deal of the Thing's body before going directly for the bags, slashing open a few of them and cutting more of them free from the straps. The sound of tearing canvas seemed to bring it back to reality, and it laughed madly as it realized what happened.

Okay, this was becoming an Issue. Little bastard was persistent, if nothing else.

The great Thing was not going to let Neptune slip past its guard: as he pulled himself closer and closer to that central eye, more of its arms sprang into action. One wide, leathery palm interspersed itself between Neptune and its eye, while another arm gripped Neptune around the waist and tried to pull him off. The strategy of trying to pry his fingers off their arm was doing more harm than good, the sharpened metal gouging both their forearm and his fingers while his grip seemed unaffected. A similarly self-destructive strategy was employed instead, the hand operating the van's door just fukken bashing it against their forearm in the hopes of catching his fingers. Anything to keep their eye safe, after all.

One of the Thing's palms was bleeding a thick, dark ichor from where it grabbed the thorned armor, though it didn't seem too debilitated by taking a few unorthodox stab wounds. This same arm was the only one slow enough to be grabbed and held, the other three retracting after doing their Violence.

"I had expected more." the great Thing stated, its eye revealing itself again to glare at the dazed Neptune where he was firmly latched to its wrist. The arm holding the torn-off door from the armored car attempted to scrape Neptune off with the door's edge, trying to lever it underneath his fingers.

Scorn's main advantages in a fight were multitasking and a long reach, and they would employ both of them to ensure Neptune could not slip into their guard. Nine of their arms were free to attack and defend, the remaining three either holding many duffel bags or lacking sufficiently intact fingers to do much of anything.

Two arms snapped forward at Neptune: one trying to sweep his legs with a wild swing, the other grabbing his rather spiky torso and attempting to keep him pinned in place. The remaining part of their strategy was a two-fisted overhead hammerblow, powerful enough to bounce that poor fella against the asphalt should it connect.

"Even better, it's actively being developed as a skill. Plenty of inventors and mechanics were self-taught."

"There's a bus stop about a block from here, can spot ya an extra few bucks for the fare. They'll let you on if you both have money and display visible contempt to everyone aboard." Winona states, as though she were imparting the secrets of the world. "That's kinda the secret to enduring any unpleasant social interaction: look at them as though they were something lower than dirt and they'll get the message."

"Alright, so a hobbyist's background knowledge of electrical and mechanical engineering, at the very least. That likely entailed either fucking around with machines in your youth or taking a few classes at a trade school, if either jogs your memory." Winona lays out, trying to piece this tiny weirdo's life together and mostly failing. "I'm assuming you don't have any means of personal transport. Do you have a bus pass or would your commute mostly be walking?"

Nona looked extremely perturbed as she jotted down a few notes (18-19? Jane Doe? Little relevant work experience. The word 'CTE?' is underlined three times.)

"Okay, we can work with this." Winona stated, trying to convince herself. "You mentioned doing some repair work: what kind? What sort of appliance do you think you specialize in?"

"Okay, so I'm pretty sure I can't officially hire anyone without an ID or SSN. Might need to check Colorado employment law to be certain, but for now it'll have to be under-the-table employment." Winona explains, seeming a bit relieved. "If you need a fake ID and Social Security card, I know a guy that could help for probably less money than a forger. Maybe. I'll get back to you."

"Anywho, let's get a somewhat proper interview started. Name, age, and past work experience?" the mechanic asks, getting a pen and a stack of post-its.

"Don't worry, you'll learn how to handle conflict well enough. It shouldn't ever get physical with customers: I look too fukken beefy to trifle with and nobody would jump the counter to deck a young lady covered in bandages. It's the cruelty of kicking a puppy mixed with the social faux pas of getting in a fistfight with your waitress."

Winona looks a lil perturbed at the explanation of the kid's circumstances, looking over her again with a slightly more piercing eye. "I mean, it can be cash-in-hand if ya need it.... Listen, I don't really want to pry but I'm just going to ask one question: Can I legally on-the-books hire you? Like I don't really care if there's a felony warrant for your arrest or anything, I just don't wanna be arrested for aiding-and-abetting."

Scorn likewise slowly approached, flinging another handful of Asphalt Chunks with little effect. The great Thing seemed to scuttle more than walk, moving on eight massive fingers like some sort of beetle or crab as it skulked towards Neptune and his several fists.

"Killing with kindness, hm? I prefer working with my hands, but if it's working out for you I can't really knock it." the lumbering beast tonelessly replied, bringing its arms up over its central eye to block or otherwise contest the blue fists. A quick scuttling juke got it mostly clear of the first fist (clipping one of their hands in the process, cracking a few fingerbones. Don't worry, they have a lot of fingers to burn), but the second launched fist strikes dead-on, the great Thing stumbling back as a myriad of arms try to hold the fist in place while an additional three repeatedly punch it.

The great Thing moved exceptionally fast for something so large, Neptune’s initial estimate of its leap distance being rather inaccurate. Though while it was too fast for a beautifully timed and choreographed Swatting, a messier and quicker shield bash still sufficed to knock it away before it bowled directly into him. (the shield may also sustain a few splinters, depending on how durable Neptune’s constructs are).

The Thing cackled as it crashed against the asphalt, cracking the surface a great deal on impact.

“That’s rather sweet of you. Unfettered optimism and forgiveness isn’t common in our profession.” the great Thing stated, revealing its flat grey iris as it gathered up a few softball-sized chunks of asphalt in one massive palm. This cluster of stones was swiftly flung at Striker, its other arms preparing for an uppercut if Neptune dared to close the distance.

The great Thing spoke slowly and tonelessly, in spite of having no visible mouth. The car sagged beneath its weight as it moved, using two of its arms to brace itself against the edge of the roof.

“Indeed. It is immoral and illegal.” it inanely states, the eight fingers supporting its bulk bending and tensing. That is all the warning Neptune gets before it pushes off from the roof in a headlong leap, armoring itself with several forearms wrapped around its Eye as it flings itself at Neptune.

“Perhaps I am just a bad person. Is that something you considered?” it mirthlessly states, several mouths opening up on its forearms to permit speech.

“You sure? Receptionists make higher wages and get dental after six months.” the mechanic asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Look kid, I’ll level with ya: we’re both pretty fukken desperate. You didn’t come here with a resume, and I’ve been trying to run this place without having any other staff for the past week or so. I need someone that can answer calls, calculate rates, and terrify the louts that walk into my office, and you seem to be good enough at two of those. That and there’s not exactly any competition for the role so far.”

Ah, finally her ad campaign was bearing some fruit. Sure, this fruit was a tiny burn victim with a shaking voice and a nervous demeanor, but these positions just needed bodies right now.

The mechanic (Winona according to the name sewn on her pocket) assessed her flyer, gave Jane a once-over, and stated “An assistant position entails a good deal of manual labor: lotta lifting, twisting, and bending involved with scrapping cars and fetching tools. You might be a better fit behind a desk, given your whole deal.”, her recitation sounding like something she had to say to remain ADA-compliant.

“Fucked if I know, something with a lot of arms jumped our car in an alley. It’s still in the back.” the Securities employee replied, trying to quickly drag their concussed coworker off the road. “Don’t worry about us, we’re insured.”

Three grey-blue fists, each about the size of a child, punched through the roof of the armored car, tearing out a massive hole for a rather bulky beastie to climb through. A Thing with thirteen massive arms, each connected to a central mass about the size of a human body lurched its way atop the roof, two of those arms covered in duffel bags like someone trying to get all their shopping in the house on one trip. The other rear door and a discus of Roof Metal was clutched in their arms, and the Thing spread their arms out wide to reveal a great, unblinking eye that leveled its glare at the armored flyer.

The Silver Star towing company seemed rather derelict and squalid: it was a small brick building connected to a mechanic's garage, built on a gravel backlot and protected with an aged chain-link fence. A small impound lot/apparent scrapyard was connected to the rear of the property, and there was only one other vehicle in the small parking lot.

The closing stages of an argument seemed to be playing out as Jane entered the office: in one corner, a visibly furious woman brandishing a handbag, a young man trying to placate everyone, and an absolutely dead-eyed child just disassociating on a shitty plastic chair. In the other corner (the one behind the counter) sat an only somewhat irked woman in a mechanic's jumpsuit, her left hand on the crowbar slung across her back as though she was prepared to jump the counter and duel the pissed-off wine mom.

"As I said, you have three more weeks to scrounge up the fee before I hollow out that shitbox and sell off the good bits for scrap. I've told you five times now that my rates are the minimum allowed by the municipality of Aurora, so you can stop trying to haggle and just get out of my office."

The family leaves in a huff, not paying Jane much attention as they shuffle past. The woman (dark-red mechanic's jumpsuit with a star ironed on to her breast pocket, tall, bulky, and serious.) leans over her counter, muttering expletives under her breath before noticing Jane's presence. "How can I help you?" she states, slipping back into a smoother Customer Service mode.

It was rarely a quiet night in Denver, but one may be hard-pressed to find anything particularly challenging goin' down. Petty theft, random street brawls, and unprovoked assaults within the broader populace were easily solved by intimidation and precisely measured violence, though the cape population weren't the type to concede easily.

The first sign of something Uniquely Fucked going down was the torn-off rear door of an armored car (reading BRI- Secur-), just vibing in the middle of an intersection. The car itself was found two blocks down, having veered off the road and slammed directly into a streetlight after presumably flooring it. One of the occupants was dragging the other out of the driver's seat, both of the -NKS -ities employees seeming pretty concussed yet not horribly beaten up as they Hit Da Bricks.

The rear of the car was rustling and sagging, as though something far too big to comfortably fit was stuck in the payroll truck. The top and bottom edges of the rear entrance was crimped and dented, as though crushed by an uncommonly large hand...

Various flyers, posters, and one ad taken out on a radio show (You're listening to Riley and THE GUNCH at 97.7 FM!) are advertising several openings at Silver Star Towing. The text is as follows:

"Looking for work? Not afraid to get your hands dirty? Hit us up at Silver Star Towing! We can offer flexible hours, competitive wages, and the teaching of valuable skills to help you distinguish yourself in today's cutthroat market."

AVAILABLE POSITIONS:

• Receptionist
• Driver (Requires valid Denver CDL)
• Assistant

Call 970-308-4954 for details, or visit our office in Aurora (50 Potomac St.)

The Tyrant Star will one day consume the earth and devour all the things we loved and hated. Rejoice.