Welcome Home (Invite Only)

For the first time in his life, Bart was free. Free from the prodding scientists watching his every move. Free from the white-wash wall that surrounded him his entire life. Free to make his own choices and live his own life. After about an hour of running, Bart stopped and let this new feeling set in. Gasping for breath, he began to take in his new surroundings. He was amazed by all the different colors, and by how far into the distance he could see. He gazed among the plant-life, having only seen pictures in textbooks until now. Then he began looking at the many houses near him. A particular two-story house caught his eye. The door stood open. Open doors were not something Bart was accustomed to. His curiosity took over, and he decided to check it out. Upon entering the house, Bart was shocked to find a half-dead man writhing on the floor in a large pool of blood. This was something else Bart had never experienced: Death. He wasn't sure how to react, so he shrugged it off and ventured further into the house. He found the kitchen, which made him realize how empty his stomach was after skipping lunch. He opened the fridge, which was mostly empty, save for a few cans of beer and some lunch meat. Bart took one of the cans, assuming it was soda, and cracked it open. Taking a sip, he decided it wasn't exactly his new favorite, but it would do for now. He quickly drank down the rest of the can, then let out a long, hearty belch. He then crushed the can in his fist and tossed it over his shoulder. He thought back on the bloody mess he saw when he first entered. Whoever did that to him is probably still nearby... Eager to meet someone who didn't work in a lab, he shouted, "Hello!?"

Bart looked down at the barrel pressed against his chest, then up at it's wielder. She was an attractive woman, older than Bart by maybe ten years. He smiled, then followed her orders, "I'm Bart. I saw the open door and got..." He stopped for a second as the effects of the beer began to take hold. "...curious. Nice place you've got here, other than the big red stain forming by the door. I gotta ask, what makes someone deserve that?" He pointed to the body, and as he did, his finger extended and came to a point. His powers were slightly out of control due to the fact that he had recently drank alcohol for the first time. "Um... oops."

"I could leave... but I don't have anywhere to go. Guess you could say I'm new in town." He approached the woman, casually offering his hand in assistance and paying no mind to the contents of the trash bags. "Such a pretty face has to come with a pretty name... Need a hand?"

He obeyed, rolling the trash can to the curb as she did. He was still feeling the effects of the beer, but felt more in control. In fact he began to enjoy the feeling, though he was still unaware of what caused it. "Well you see, my dad died before I was born, and my mom died giving birth, so at first I went to an orphanage. Then I guess my powers started to show... so I moved." Bart's stomach began to grumble, and he remembered that the strange soda which had distracted him from his original purpose in entering the kitchen. "But nevermind where I'm from. What I want to know is where to get some food, I'm starving!"

Bart glared at the cup in front of him. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, other than it had vegetables according to Karma. The sandwich seemed a better choice, Bart was familiar with bologna. He began telling his story as he ate, "I lived with a bunch of scientists. Scientists that really seemed to like the color white. I hate white. I've just been around it way too much..." His mouth grew dry from talking, so he decided to try the cup of what appeared to be noodles. He was astonished at how good it was, despite its simplicity. "Anyway, so these scientists trained me to control my powers, so I don't have little mishaps like my demonstration earlier. But I found out things I wasn't supposed to know from one of the doctors, things about my planned future. He didn't agree with it, and neither did I... So I did something about it, and here I am in all my glory. What about you, what's your story?"

Bishop moved down through the city quickly. He kept to the side streets, away from the masses. He passed a few of the bottom-feeders - the homeless, the drug addicts, the prostitutes - but hey either payed him no mind or silently gave him a wide berth. The blood staining his shirt and hands discouraged interaction from others.

He kept going until he reached the more residential area on the outskirts. Once there, with fewer places to 'hide', he pulled his overcoat closed and tucked his bloodstained hands into his pockets.
I need to fnd a house, an empty one. Get some new clothes and some food...
He hadn't eaten since much the previous night, before he'd gone out. It was a bit of a blur - various bars and clubs until the wee hours of the morning, drinking far more than any ordinary Human could put back without dying of alcohol poisoning (a requirement if he wanted to get drunk...thanks, regeneration), falling in with a group of bikers, a gang...getting jumped by a rival gang. He remembered fighting, being much too drunk to control his strength. Bones had broken easily under his fists. Spines had snapped, a skull had cracked, his hands had made their way inside several bodies forcefully. In the heat of the battle, he hadn't even made any distinction between the two gangs. He'd killed everyone, and then he'd hurried away as he realized that he was the only one left standing.

Now he moved past houses at a quick clip, looking for a place to stop and clean up. Suddenly, he saw a likely-looking place. A tire swing, a slide...a family home, no doubt. No car there; they were probably out. Perhaps the mother and father were at work, the children at school. As soon as he saw his chance, he took it. He moved as quickly as he dared towards the house, circling around the back - no need for the neighbors to call the cops about a strange man in an overcoat.

He found the back door locked. With a sigh, he twisted the handle harder. His enhanced strength quietly broke the locking mechanism, and he entered. He found himself in what looked like a laundry room. A washer and dryer stood to one side with various detergents and fabric softeners. Coats hung on a rack near the door, where the owner(s) of the house must have hung them. Bishop stood still, listening for any sound of occupation. He didn't hear anything, so he moved further into the house, quietly. He passed down a hallway, into an empty dining room. He continued through there, into a kitchen...where he came face to face with Skylar and Bart.

He tensed up, but then appeared to relax. In reality, he was scanning the situation in case he needed to react quickly. When he spoke, it was calmly but firmly. He let his overcoat fall open, revealing his bloody shirt and lifted his hands out of his overcoat pockets to show that they, too, were bore the crimson essence of life.
"Alright, kids. Let's approach this reasonably. The blood covering Me is not My own. I am not someone you want to try and tussle with. I need a place to wash up and a change of shirt. After that, I'll be out of your hair and you'll be keeping your mouths shut. Be smart about this."

As Karma told her history, Bart listened and continued to eat. When the new guest entered, he remained silent. Obedience was something he was used to, and the fact that nothing he heard had anything to do with him or his powers was a welcome change of pace. Karma's offer to clothe him made him remember that he was still donning his uncomfortable white jumpsuit, and he smiled at the thought of wearing something else. When he finished his meal, he trashed the cup as Karma had and ventured down the hall toward the bathroom. More white. He sighed as he entered the room. It was nothing like those he was used to, other than the white walls, white ceiling, and white floor tiles. Most noticeably, there was no urinal. Also, the toilet that was present didn't flush automatically. Not everything was white, there were tiles on the walls of the shower, blue ones. Bart found a towel with a similar color and turned the shower on. He rotated the dial to raise the temperature. The showers he was used to didn't have dials, they only had one temperature: ice cold. Bart happily removed his white jumpsuit and stood under the nearly scalding water, forgetting his past and wondering what might transpire next. He also couldn't help but wonder what the story was behind the man with the stains on his shirt.

Bishop raised an eyebrow at the gun. They didn't get through most of the time, but...it still wasn't something he liked to try. Still, the girl seemed unusually welcoming once she put it down. From the looks of it, the boy there with her was some kind of stray as well. Fairly obvious in retrospect, given his monochrome jumpsuit.

The girl didn't look like she was going to shoot, and she had given him directions, so he turned and headed up the stairs. He found the master bedroom easily enough, with its adjoining bathroom. He laid his overcoat on the bed and stripped off his shirt. He tossed it in the hamper with a laugh.
No need to be messy...

He stepped into the bathroom and turned on the sink faucet. He washed his hands well, splashed down his face and chest, and scrubbed with some soap and a washcloth under his arms. He selected a fluffy white towel to dry off with.

Then he moved back into the bedroom, opening the closet door. He selected a simple white tee shirt, put it on, and then his overcoat. He looked himself down in the mirror. Black combat boots, black jeans, white tee shirt, black leather overcoat. Simple.
Handsome devil.
He winked at himself playfully in the mirror before heading back downstairs.

When he got back to the dining room, he looked at the girl.
"Alright. I'll be on My way now."
With that, he walked through the house and out the front door. He made it to the end of the driveway before stopping.
What the Hell is that smell?

He searched around, following his nose, towards the trash. He opened the lid. Just trash bags. Experimentally, he opened the one on top. Yep, that was human remains.
Poor bastard.
Bishop turned around and went back into the house. When he got to the kitchen, he didn't address the girl at first. He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer in a longneck bottle. He used the counter to pop the cap off and took a first swig. Then, still silent, he sat down at the small table. He took another drink before speaking.
"I sure hope they take the garbage soon. It's starting to stink," he said. He spoke nonchalantly, as though he were simply discussing the normal tendency of ordinary trash to smell. He wasn't usually one to pry into others' business, but this was hardly a usual day.