Something is lurking in the alleyways... [Isen/Obs]

Jump city had known better days.

Back when they knew that no matter what happens, the Teen Titans would bravely face the foe. But now, people had to live in evil days. Their cause was dead, their protectors gone. And the remaining heroes were too outnumbered and disorganized to put up a resistance to the ever-rising crime wave. The Teen Titans would weep, if the dead weep. But I would weep in their place.

But I would also hope. The world turns, what was, may come again. The Fate still spins the web of men's lives. And perhaps she would wish peace to rule across these lands again. Perhaps a new Titan would take up the sword... Remake the world of men to a better plan. Perhaps...

So far, however, it didn't look that way. At least, for a certain aspiring Titan. Sasha's long-lasting dream of becoming one... It was shattered with the sudden disappearance of heroes she looked up to, before and after her 'transformation'. But if before she was weak, now ... she had more strength to defend herself. And without any rolemodels to follow, the mechanical girl decided to take the affairs into her own hands...

And, a week ago, the Crash Alley stopped being a safe place for the criminals and scumbags that found shelter there. A rumor had spread across the wile circles of the society. That several thugs were found dead, here and there. There were no witnesses, no survivors. But the bodycount began piling up. And soon, even the bravest of folks started to worry. Somebody was hunting them. All victims were found with punctures from a narrow, sharp blade through their torsos. Alone, or sometimes in a small group. Sasha didn't know better, so she did her 'duty'. And was rather diligent at it.

And once more, this night, a dreadful scream had pierced the darkness.

- AAAAAAH!

It was followed by a sound of something sharp entering flesh, and being pulled out. A sound of a fall, something like a burly potato sack being dropped, and soft clanking noises of metal feet against the ground, making distance. Sasha wanted to be a hero, to fight crime, and to be a good girl. She was doing all that ... she was a good girl... Wasn't she?

But, perhaps... her little activity did not go unnoticed.

"Pyrrha, I've seen it all but this is just ridiculous," Agent Stanely Lovecraft talked alone, holding a small tape recorder close to his mouth. "This is the biggest case of paranormal activity I've seen. The disappearance of the Titans with no explanation and a city with a growing crime rate. Robert was right for sending me here to investigate but why alone? I usually work with a team or at least have a base to work at. No. I'm just sent out here alone with nothing but knowledge about the paranormal." As he walked down the sidewalk, not paying attention to what district he was in, he didn't notice that his amulet was glowing inside his shirt. The color was a level 1, but switched between two other colors. Green and Yellow. The reason for his ignorance toward his amulet was the fact that he was enjoying the walk and the nice cool breeze in the night air.

"Pyrrha, there is one good thing about this city. And that's its pie shops. Those little places where most crime is barely noticeable. I emphasis barely mainly because there is still crime. Its not a philosophical thing, like 'crime is everywhere'. I in fact saw a woman, barely sixteen, steel from a shop. I didn't turn her in, that's not my jurisdiction. The amulet would have detected this." He held up the amulet and saw the two colors blinking. He felt a tinge of pure stupidity for not noticing this. Now he just needed to know where this person was and try to help he or she. Fortunately, he didn't have to guess where the person is, thanks to the screams. He took the Bonecrusher out, the pistol with an extended barrel and custom clip entry to fit all kinds of ammo. He ran down the sidewalk, the amulet blinking faster as he was getting closer. He turned down an alleyway and to his surprise he found dead bodies lying around, cut up, and blood smeared all over the walls and the ground. He was used to this kind of carnage, having faced werewolves who have just turned and renegade vampires (the kind that have no masters). They would make such a mess and when he either convinces or kill them, he would be left to clean up. He could see a human form walking away from the carnage.

He held his pistol up and fired, the sound of the gun louder than any normal one, the sound waves bouncing against the walls of the alleyway. He pointed his pistol at whoever it was in the alley way, the light from the street lamp behind him, his amulet glowing between yellow and green. "Freeze." He yelled, sounding like a cop. He was fortunate that he wasn't a cop. He'd be dead way too soon if he was a cop in this city.

Sasha was about to leave the scene of the 'crime' too.

If what she did could've been considered a crime. The punks she had slaughtered have clearly been guilty of some things in the past, even if they did not commit anything in front of the clockwork girl straight away. They were smoking weed, and they were bragging about killing a driver and stealing his car the other day. And their end had been swift and painful. Sasha may have looked fragile, but she was way stronger than any of them, and all of them combined too.

She wanted to find more victims, or targets to eliminate. Her father, after the original Sasha's death, hated the murderers and those like them with every fiber of his soul. Perhaps that was the reason he taught his metal girl to show no mercy to them. Or, perhaps, painful memories were floating about still. The clockwork lady remembered well how she died. But ... those pictures were muffled, they lacked emotional attachment. Mostly. It was like watching a film...

But that train of thought was interrupted, when the metal girl heard a coarse and harsh call from behind. And the very next moment, she stood still. But ... there was something inhuman about her stillness. She was truly immobile, like an object. And in the darkness of the alleyway, the only sound disturbing it would be the monotone "Tick-tock".

A cloud in the sky had passed by, finally letting the moon shine over the lightless district. And its beam fell upon Sasha. Her image was ... weird. She was dressed as a normal, human girl, but it was obvious she wasn't one. The metal parts, the lack of a waist, the strange pink plastic hair... And the rapier, dipped crimson, in her hand.

With an audible screech, Sasha's head turned 180 degrees to face whoever was calling her. Her blue, unblinking eyes meeting the man's. She stared for a few more moments, before a strange grin appeared on her face. It looked almost human... almost.

- Hello. - her voice rang cheerfully, albeit with a metallic undertone. The blue eyes slowly drifted to the gun, then to look at the man again. He didn't shoot immediately, he was well-dressed, and he sounded like a policeman. So, the girl assumed he was such! And policemen were the 'good guys' in her books.

- Are you a policeman? - she inquired, imitating a childish curiosity, and turning the rest of her body to face him. Her clothes were tattered in several places - likely signs of struggle against people who fought for their lives. - Policeman does not need to worry about bad people around here. Sasha's taking care of them! - she affirmed cheerfully, lifting her sword up, a rather warmongering gesture.

But it was what she did best, wasn't it? And she didn't seem to fear a gun pointed at her, at all.

After death, what else was there to fear?

Stan had lowered his pistol when he saw the automaton woman in full moonlight. It wasn't out of fear or confusion, merely curiosity. He began to rule out how to define such a creature. She had magical properties, the amulet never wrong when it came to finding magical beings, but she had a mechanical body. Robot? It wouldn't have been detected by the amulet. Golem? Most of them are based off of elemental composition, like earth or fire or water. Could it be both? These questions buzzed through his mind rather quickly, having been trained to adapt to an ever changing environment and ever changing worlds.

It was a bit comical but he thought of his grandfather's stories when he heard her voice. He was a man of brilliant literacy, having created the best known horror short stories there were. In fact, this seemed like one of his stories right now, come to life right in front of his eyes. Of course, this was before he became a raving lunatic thanks to the mythical race of the Old Ones.

"What you did here," Stan began, approaching her slowly through the bloody alleyway "Is a monstrous deed. You have become something that no hero wants to be. A Judge, a Jury, and an Executioner." He stepped over one body, a boy merely fourteen, cut in half like a cow to slaughter. It boiled his blood some, but he quickly cooled it with a release of air through his mouth. A rather sharp release of air through his mouth. He took his clip out and took the bullet out of the chamber, placing the two in his coat's inner pocket and taking out another mag. The clip was etched with runic symbols that when seen by a Golem would be shining within the lines. This clip he reserved for magical creatures of the Jews, the ones of stone, the Golems. Each bullet had it's tip replaced with melted with the gold blessed by Rabbis and the sides were etched with Runes that gave the bullets an extra kick. He read about golems from the encyclopedia and had learned of their source from Hebrew myth. He always kept a clip just in case an encounter like this would happen, but they were damn expensive.

"Where is your controller rod? Your master? Surely this is caused by a master of some sort?" He asked her, hoping she would give a response. He didn't want to hurt her, it wasn't in his nature to kill a supernatural being unless that being is uncontrollable or in great pain. He hoped neither one would be her cause for slaughtering teens, even though their apparel was clearly gangster. He stopped for a moment, a foot away from the golem.

- Monstrous?

Sasha repeated after the 'policeman', inclining her head a bit, and looked at him. It was not what the metal maiden expected. She thought she did good, dispatching so many criminals within days. And yet, right now, she could see that whatever she did made the representative of the law upset. A sad frown appeared on her face, an almost perfect imitation of a human facial expression, when they wanted to show they were sorry. After all, she was supposed to be sorry, here, no?

- But Sasha always wanted to fight criminals! Isn't this the way how one is supposed to take care of them?

The automaton sounded rather honest here. Her reasoning was simple - she was given these mighty killing implements to kill the evil villains, and she did so. What else would she, or anyone, be given weapons? And she did not understand why the man said that heroes would never want to become all three in one. It didn't make sense! At least... in her twisted perception of reality. But she just stood there, rapier in one hand, looking at her feet, as if a child caught stealing from a cookie jar. She looked up again, when asked about a master, and a control rod.

- Um... what's a control rod? - she was, again, curious about the new term. For all she knew, there was no control rod to speak of. As or the master... - I am my own person, so my daddy said, mhm! - Sasha answered the second question, hoping that it would be enough to quench the policeman's curiosity. Her eyes, glowing eerily blue in the darkness of the night, seemed to be staring right into his soul, as they made eye contact, but she soon looked down, at the gun in his hands, which he reloaded with some sort of strange bullets. They remained dim, however. Because Sasha was far from being a jewish golem. She was a spirit tied to a mechanical construct. A ghost... in the shell. Suddenly, she made a move forward. The policeman was obviously disappointed she killed the criminals, so she had to fix that! Kneeling in front of the dismembered boy, the metal girl took his arm, and placed it back where it supposed to be. As if trying to fit a cog back in its place. But, unlike with machines, no miracle happened. The arm refused to grow back. Her gaze was a quizzical one.

- They come apart so easily... How do you put them back together again?

Stan was taken back by the automaton golem's emotions. Generally, they would have no emotions aside from the ones they would copy from people. But they would never go so far as to seem so human. Emotions correctly corresponding with an action. This fascinated Stan to no end. When she knelt down, he held his gun towards her head, expecting some sort of rising attack, but he was completely fooled when she began to fix her problem. It was a bit disturbing to watch her try to put together the chopped up criminal, but it almost seemed like she was a child trying to fix a broken plate that the parent had bequeathed to her.

The Agent began to lower his gun, not believing she is out of control. She would have attacked him anyways if she wasn't but the bodies, strewed on the alleyway floor, had fooled him into thinking she was uncontrollable. She had a conscious to her, a human like one, and referred to her creator or caretaker as father. This was unusual for a golem. He took the clip out of his gun, the chamber empty, and replaced it with rubber rounds for civilian targets in case anyone ran into this mess. Which includes other gangsters. He put the gun away in his coat and knelt down behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "They can't be put together like a broken action figure. You took their lives, cut them short from any experience, for any chance of redemption. A hero does not kill people that do wrong, they stop them and place them in holding cells until they learn the errors of their ways. Even if it takes years for them to learn. That's what a hero is, that's what justice is, you don't become justice you just help justice make her job easier. Instead of taking her job away. You understand?" He asked, feeling like the mini speech he gave was probably the most cheesiest speech in the history of speeches.

He stood up and looked around for any witnesses. The alleyway was silent, the streets were empty, and the street lights were buzzing. Other then that, no one was around but him and the automaton golem. "Do you have a name? Mine's Agent Stanely Lovecraft. I'm not exactly a cop but I'm a bit above that. I work for an organization dedicated to helping supernatural beings adapt to civil life. This includes protecting them from hurting other or for other from hurting them. So...what's say we leave this place and I bring you back to where your master is and the two of us can talk about why and how you came to this conclusion about yourself. The whole fighting criminals thing." He asked, walking toward the exit of the alleyway, hoping she would follow suit.

Sasha was confused.

The nice policeman said that those she has slain could not be repaired, and so the girl ceased her attempts to fix things. Still, she rearranged the hacked pieces back into place, so that they wouldn't lie there scattered about, adding a pinch of aesthetics to the otherwise grim picture of murder. Frown never vanished from her face. What the policeman said conflicted with what her father said. And at the same time, she was told to respect and treat the representatives of the law nicely. Fiddling with a ribbon of hers, she mumbled:

- Sasha wanted to do the right thing...

The metal girl then followed the man, quietly, and a bit behind, away from the corpses which she enjoyed slaying so much. In fact, it was the strongest 'emotion' she was able to feel for real, the glee and sense of accomplishment when taking a life away. But if it was a wrong thing to do ... then the automaton would need to cease, wouldn't she? But if so... how would she need to fight?

- My name is Sasha... - she said, a name that she mentioned a couple of times already. It was strange the man didn't catch up to it earlier. - Sasha Victoria Baumann. - a sudden addition came. As if the girl wanted to make a point that her name wasn't just some nickname she or her 'master' invented for herself. No, she had a first name, a middle one and a last one. Just like other, normal people.

- Your last name is similar to a famous writer! - the automaton exclaimed cheerfully, when the officer introduced himself. The signs of sadness and remorse vanishing from her voice and face quite completely. - Could you be relatives? His books are lots of fun. I like reading, don't you? - Sasha made an inquiry, as they managed to get out of the alleyways, and onto a relatively lit main street. It was empty, of course - this was not the safest part of the town. Maybe it was for the best too, or they would've seen a strange agent with a gun and a murderous metal doll, smeared in another's blood. She walked by the man's side, frequently rushing a bit forward, her metal feet clanking against the stones. One thing bugged her though. Why he insisted on calling Sasha's dad 'master'?

- And my dad owns a shop on the edge of the city. I can lead you there if you wish, mr. Policeman! We rarely have guests in our home anymore... - the girl sighed, imitating being saddened by the fact.

Stan was somewhat glad that she mentioned his grandfather's work. Glad it didn't die fully or was taken by the Organization he worked for. Those stories weren't exactly fictional. He was certainly curious about the girl, her speech and actions exactly like that of a girl. He might have forgotten her name, but that was a usual problem for him. He remembered faces but never names. Except if they were catchy.

"Sasha Baumann," He mumbled to himself, the name catchy. "Howard Lovecraft was my grandfather. He was part of the Anti-magical Organization and many of his stories that he published were all true. When he published his book, 'Shadow Over Innsmouth' and the short story 'Call of Cthulu', he was ordered by the agency to fake his own death and halt all stories from publication. I remember he use to talk about his stories to me when I was just a kid. Of course, those were the ones he never published." He always felt comfortable when he talked about his grandfather's story. He remembered the time he sat on his grandfather's lap as he watched the fire dancing at the fireplace in a cabin in Vermont. He would have hot chocolate while his grandfather smoked a pipe. Of course, he died in 1995, but his stories were carried on by his grandson. Could this be the same case with Sasha, a man's legacy or a reminder of something.

"Don't call me policeman," Stan asked insistently "I'm above normal police officers. Think of it like a Secret Agent, a man in black."

- Ooooh, fascinating! The things your grandfather had described in his books seemed so real to me as well! I wonder what it'd be like to see all those creatures. It sounds like fun!

Indeed, only Sasha's deranged mind would call meeting the creatures of Hell and Abyss 'fun'. But then again, she had a weird definition of fun as well. And like many automatons, she had no fear or regard for personal safety. Her metal body had never failed her, and she had yet to find out that despite strong and able, the girl wasn't all-powerful. But for the time she simply followed the man, who insisted on being called a man in black, or...

- An agent! I'll call you mister Agent then. My father and you should get along nicely. He is not a famous writer, but he can do amazing things. He is the best clocksmith in all of the world! He made cute little toys for me when I was little...

While certainly an exaggeration, it was not too big. Sasha's words were attested by her very own existence. Inside of her, many cogs were turning, run by a clock mechanism, a tick being made whenever she made a step, or moved an arm. Tick-tock, tick-tock. But then, all of a sudden, the girl stopped. With unnatural flexibilty, she reached behind herself, both hands grabbing the giant key sticking into her back. With effort, she turned it, again, and again, winding the mechanism up. When she succeeded, and let go, the ticking was made louder.

- Mister Agent, sir? - the automaton girl suddenly called out, as they made a turn away from the main road, to move in the direction she knew her home was. - If your organization helps out magical beings fit in, then why is it called 'Anti-magical'?

The girl suddenly stopped, and looked straight into the man's eyes, her own, made of glass, and glowing in ghastly blue light, were almost like looking into his soul! It was such a cold glow too... But ... could it mean that the puppet suddenly doubted his motives?

His curiosity peaked when she mentioned who her father was. A toy maker, he thought, so this is Ponocio and Geipeto. He did notice the clockworks and the gears grinding and ticking in her body, which explains the profession of the father quiet clearly. Though, he was curious how he made her. If she was a golem, then she would have a soul inside that body. If she wasn't, then she'd just be a robot. He still stuck by with his golem theory sense the eye kept blinking between colors and is still doing it.

Then the problem with the name came up. He knew he should have just said "AMO" instead of the entire damn thing. He stopped a little ways from her and looked back, his eyes flashing blue then turning back to brown, a little foreign part of him escaping with the unease of the conversation of the Agency's name. "Well," Stan began in an irritated tone toward what he was about to explain "The Agency's name was given during the 1950's under 'Anti-magical Organization'. Back when Agents would simply kill, kidnap, or enslave magical creatures in a backwards view of what normal was. Now, the Agency has completely changed. They are now about helping the supernatural mingle with everyday life. To appear normal and have a life in society. Though, some would disagree and to those who do I simply leave be. But if they want a good life, then I give it to them. Think of me like Moses, leading people to the land of milk and honey." Of course he left out the part where in certain cases, if the supernatural being is uncontrollable, he would have to kill them. But that was for the rare cases. Those cases that leave him with no choice. He stepped aside and bowed a bit, holding his hand out toward the end of the sidewalk.

"After you, mi'lady." He said, trying to lighten up the mood.

- Oh, ok then. Let's go, mister Agent! - Sasha only replied with a cute and childish smile, before leading the way some more, to her home. She believed the story quite completely, not doubting it in the slightest. She was yet to get acquainted with a human concept known as 'lies'. Until then, the 'golem' was a rather naive creature, taking any word for silver coin...

Despite Sasha saying that her home was closeby, it would take a good half an hour on foot, to reach it. But, guess for a creature of steel and cogs, who knew not tiredness, who didn't need to sleep or eat, the trip seemed short. But, eventually they would find it. A rather old building, out of thick stone, it stood a bit apart from the new constructions - which were made out of steel and glass. There was a thick wooden door, which looked as old as the house itself, and an equally old-looking wooden sign hanged above it. "Ronald's clocks", so it said. Wearing a wide grin, Sasha turned to the man following her, and said:

- Come inside, come inside!

The door she pushed opened with a deep, loud creek, which was followed by the ring of a bell which hanged above the door. Smells of metal, wood and machine oil would hit the man's nose this instant. The two would find themselves in a relatively large hall. It was well-lit - there was a large chandelier right above them. To the left, the right and in front of them there would be numerous shelves. And upon them there were many things - clocks, mechanisms, gears... There was a separate shelf for toys as well - many small whimsical devices moving back and forth, getting down from the shelf and back up, almost as if they were alive as well. Some looked like insects, while others like small animals, mouses and rabbits, and the rest were small cars, trains, and even a plane! In short, it was a paradise for any child. And Sasha fit right in in this kingdom of cogs and clocks perfectly.

- DAAAADDY I'M HOME! - the mechanical girl called out loudly, her metallic chords ringing. And the very next moment sounds of something falling down were heard from behind the door at the back of the counter. These, soon were followed by hasty steps, and another creek of the door, as it opened. From the messy workshop, a new person had entered the stage.


It was a man. A relatively old-looking man too. He was bald, and the remains of his hair were gray. Wearing something akin to an apron above his suit, the apron itself stained with oil - several smudges visible on the brown fabrics. He was slightly limping - no doubt tripping over something, which was the sound of the fall earlier. A perfectly normal old guy... And yet there was something about him ... all the creations in the room, in his presence began to stir. And a warm fire ignited in his otherwise dim gaze, as he noticed who was it.

- Sasha, dear, you're finally home. I was beginning to worry. How was your day? I really shouldn't have let you out so l~oooof! - he only managed to say, before the metal girl came to his side, and constricted him in a tight and loving embrace. Perhaps too tight for comfort too. - Nghhh... too...tight...

Sasha released him as soon as that was said, the old guy falling back on his feet, and taking a few deep breaths. Heh, guess it was hard to be a father to someone who could easily overpower a dozen men, huh?

- My day was great, father! I got to fight some badguys, and I made a friend too! - she exclaimed cheerfully, still smiling. The old man smiled back, his smile small, a bit tired too, but happy, non the less. It was then when he noticed the man in black suit behind her.

- Is this your friend? - he inquired lightheartedly, though a small ring of suspicion was already heard through his voice.

- Yes, father! His name is Stanely Lovecraft. He's a secret agent!

That part ... would've been better if Sasha didn't say it. Because the comely smile immediately disappeared from Ronald's face. He looked at the man, making a brief contact,  a steely undertone appearing in his dim gray eyes. He breathed out then, and nodded, rubbing his temples briefly.

- I see... Well, mister Lovecraft, my name is Ronald. Welcome to my shop. I am glad you and my young daughter get along well - not many people around here do.

He tried to sound benevolent and welcoming. But it was obvious enough this was done just because the pink-haired girl was around...

Stan was suspicious of the toys and the mechanical inventions that were around the house. They gave off a faint level one detection from the amulet but they didn't seem threatening. Though, he still kept his guard up. He went over to a small toy, a monkey that walked with its arms, and picked it up out of curiosity. The miniature thing kept going mindlessly. He picked the hand up and watched as it spun its torso around, smiling a bit at the interesting toy, but then the arm broke off and it began to fell. He juggled with the thing, trying to get a grasp on it, and successfully caught it. He put the monkey back and looked around, putting the arm back with it and moving on.

He didn't know who would be able to create all these things and the automaton woman over there, could be a powerful mage. He wasn't too keen on mages, they were always difficult to negotiate or fight. Of course, he wasn't going to fight here, considering the trip was a bit tiring and the space was cramped. And the fact that his daughter could rip him apart. When he saw the old man he was still cautious, his eyes piercing but not to threateningly. They just seemed focused, as if look at something from a distance.

It did warm his heart some when the two embraced like a family. He never really knew that kind of love, only from his grandfather but never from his own father. The amulet gave off a Level 3 detection when the old man approached him. This made him uneasy, knowing that the old man wasn't so feeble looking at all. The amount of magic in him could disintegrate Stan immediately, if it was projected.

"Ronald...I'll be frank here. I found your daughter slaughtering gangsters out in public. Now even though it was dark and the middle of the night, it was still public." He began, not bothering with introductions or friendliness, he was now in his professional mode. "I belong to a government agency dedicated to helping supernatural beings coupe with life in the normal world. What I just saw was not couping and what she believed who she was was not the right kind of person, that is to say a hero. Grant it, the Titan's dissapearing requires more heroes in this world, it doesn't need ones that kill unmerciful. Which leads me to believe that you taught her this. Now, whether or not I should turn you in to the authorities is no option, sense I can tell you and you obviously know that you are a supernatural being but I'm afraid that I need to know your motives for creating Sasha. Real motives, because if it is 'Just for having a daughter' it would not scratch the surface of my consciousness when I found her like a killing machine." He sounded harsh, angered somewhat, but it was just for an act. He wanted answers, and the best way was to sound a bit intimidating.

Ronald's fake smile was dropped immediately, after the man in black started talking. He knew he was trouble the moment he walked through the door. And while he may have been able to lull Sasha into a feeling of friendliness and complacency, with him, it was not so. In fact, it was rather angering as well - sparks of an old-time rage visible within the old man's eyes. He was not afraid, oh no, not here. Not in the house were even walls would become allies, if need be. No, he was angry at the agent for being blunt, and for being blunt here, in front of his girl.

- Sasha, honey, would you mind to wait for us here? Me and your friend have a few matters to discuss. Privately. - Ronald made an empathize on the last word. The automaton girl's eyes were wide - she heard the amount of harshness her newfound 'friend' unleashed upon her father, and she could tell that he wasn't happy about it too. Her facial expression changed to a guilty one, as she stood there, thinking she was the one to blame for it all. But... I only wanted to do what is right...

Ronald would close the door shut behind the man in black, after he would follow, letting him enter the workshop. Inside was ... a lot different than in the main hall. Here, everywhere, literally everywhere, were parts, instruments, and half-finished constructs. A work table was placed in the corner, and blueprints were hanging from the walls. Among them, was Sasha's. Probably the most intricate and complex one of all. Riddled with arcane symbols that nobody, aside from the creator, of course, could understand.

- Welcome to my workshop, mister Lovecraft. - the tone of the man changed drastically, sounding even more metal than Sasha could ever muster. A reflection of what he felt, right about now too. - And I suggest you pick your words very carefully from now on. Sasha is not here for me to keep myself in check.

With that, the old man turned around, and sat on the corner of a workbench, looking at Stan attentively. As if observing, for a few moments. Nothing about him changed considerably. There were no emanations of power coming about, nothing menacing at all. But there was one change. His eyes, the spark from them vanished completely. For all means and purposes, they looked ... dead. A stare that could make a deadman shudder.

- And ... I am not going to discuss with you whether or not it is just to hunt down and destroy criminals. I will leave that to our cheery bundle of politicians. I'm sure they would do a better job. After all, from their offices way up in the central buildings they could see better what happens in the deepest slums of Jump City.

Ronald sound bitter, very bitter. But he had his reasons. The man in front of him. He could feel nothing but loathing towards. Busting into his home, fooling his daughter, and now demanding answers like he had any right to judge. He didn't, of course, and those would did would probably understand.

Perhaps there would be no need to answer a thing at all. The place itself wanted to offer a hint to the detective of the supernatural. That table at the corner of the room. Upon it there were several things. A lamp, a pen, a ruler and a pencil. A few books, a half-finished blueprint. And ... a picture. A picture of a man, who resembled Ronald, but younger and with a full head of hair. And a girl, who closely resembled the automaton he had seen slaughtering the gangsters so gleefully. In fact, the resemblance was almost photographic. Trailing that gaze, Ronald looked at the agent again.

- Tell me Stan... Do you have children?

Stan not only see the hostility of the old man, but he could feel it. He did enter into this man's house and demanded answers but that was the way he got answers. An air of hostility, leading to friendliness. He followed him and observed the rooms items that laid about. They were typical workshop items, stuff seen in Smith shops and typical workshop fashions, but with a hint of arcane magic. A low level mage, someone only able to use magical symbols to correspond with items. Enchanting, would be layman's term. So his limit would be toward objects instead of people. This was good news for Stan, it made things less complicated. As if it wasn't already.

"I see you are one of those people who look up at tall buildings and ask 'Why do they have that privilege?'. I can tell you, I'm the same guy. Except I look up at an office where a man who was suppose to be caring treats me like another agent. I understand that kind of anger but I'm not here to point fingers or arrest anyone. I just want to know the reason for Sasha's thoughts, construction, and protection. From both humans and herself."

He was a bit questionable about the question on children. He didn't look that old, did he? "No I don't. I'm not planning to have any children for a long time, thanks to fath-...Robert. My boss. Gives me too much work and sends me out here to investigate the impossible. I'm here right now to find out why she is like this and to make sure she doesn't kill anyone else." He said, trying to lighten up the mood. He admitted he was blunt, but he needed to know the reason why Sasha was created and why she kills.

They say that first impressions are always the strongest.

And Ronald was still under the impression this man had given him. In his mind, he was an enemy. An agent of the government, which was powerless to stop real criminals, but did mighty well ruining lives of normal citizens. His coming to this house signified problems in the future. For him, and his daughter. Regardless of what he would say, or do. A bitter smirk appeared on Ronald's face. This man, this ... boy, he was just a child. He was in no position to understand what was it like, to lose ...

- Your persistence at pressing subjects, which should be none of your concern, would kill you, one day. - he sighed heavily, and stood up, turning his back on the man, and slowly walking towards the table. For a few moments, he looked at the picture, cringing ever so slightly, before putting it face-down on the table. As if he didn't want anyone else to see. Over a veil of anger and turmoil, it was hard to think rationally. But he had to - because, whether he liked it or not... Sasha committed something, which was a crime. And there was only one person here to be blamed for it.

- But, I guess, I don't really have a choice. Either I'll tell it to you now, or I will be forced to tell, in front of the court. Uhh... - Ronald gave a deep sigh, and took a few more moments to recompose himself. All this time, he did not face the agent that kept prodding an old wound. A wound that would probably never be closed.

- Make no mistake. Sasha is not a robot of any kind. She is my daughter, always has been, since her birth, 18 years ago...

It was a hard story to force out of himself. The old man didn't really feel like sharing something which had always been his own, private tragedy, so he decided to cut out the fluff talk, and leave only bare details. Anything, to have this nosy, nosy agent leave. He didn't hope to squeeze any shred of sympathy out of the agent.

- Forgive me if I make it as short and to the point as possible. Yes, I used to have a daughter. The sweetest girl you'd ever meet, with a big and compassionate heart, and a strong desire to help people. Instead of doing girly things, she kept watching heroics on the news, and wanted to be like them... Adolescent titans, or something like that. She trained to fight, in secret from me, in order to look just like them, and one day join them as well... - Ronald took a deep breath, thinking over what to say next, and letting this sink in.

- She was killed roughly a year ago, when trying to protect a neighbor from down the street from a bunch of street punks. A bunch of street punks that the local police department was too busy to deal with. I didn't take it too well...

With that, Ronald stood up, half-turning to the large blueprint on the wall. Staring at it, for a few moments he then turned, to face the agent fully. Something had changed, yet again. They say eyes were the mirror of the soul. And right now, his eyes had been glowing with the same blue light that Sasha had in her very own eyes.

- Her departure from here was too early. I didn't want her go. So I ... found a way to bring her back. I created for her a new body. And binded her soul to it. So that she could live on, and continue on with her dreams. It was I who taught her to fight, I created weapons for her. I made it so that her hand would not tremble when thrusting a blade through the heart of a crook. So she would never again fear ... of being gutted by a punk with a knife. Did that answer your question, mister Lovecraft?