The Central District Mall was a temple of glass, neon, and the smell of overpriced cinnamon rolls. It was exactly the kind of place Rebecca Jones—Bunny—usually avoided.
"Carrie, we have been in this candle shop for twelve minutes," Rebecca said, checking the military-grade stopwatch on her wrist. Her matte-black tactical jacket was zipped to the chin, hiding the thermal-weave undershirt of her new suit. "We have a schedule. Groceries at 14:00, hardware store for my soldering iron at 14:30, and home for tactical drills by 15:30."
"And at 13:58, we are appreciating the scent of 'Summer Rain and Lavender,'" Carrie Jones Smith—Mini Mic—replied, holding a jar under Rebecca’s nose.
Carrie looked every bit the pop-idol. She was wearing oversized designer sunglasses, a neon-green hoodie that was definitely too bright for "stealth," and a pair of platform sneakers that made her look four inches taller than she actually was.
"Smell the lavender, Becca. Embrace the lavender. The lavender is your friend."
"The lavender is a distraction," Rebecca muttered, though she secretly inhaled the scent. It was better than the smell of burnt ozone and grease that usually filled her workshop. "We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile. You know, like normal roommates?"
"Normal is boring," Carrie chirped, putting the candle back and striking a pose. "Besides, I’m wearing a disguise!"
"Carrie, everyone knows those sunglasses. You wore them on the cover of City Beat last week."
As if on cue, a teenager nearby froze, eyes widening. "Wait... are you... Mini Mic?!"
Within seconds, a small swarm of fans had gathered. Rebecca sighed, leaning against a display of decorative gourds as Carrie flipped into "Idol Mode." She was a whirlwind of smiles, finger-hearts, and quick selfies.
"Yes! New album dropping soon! Stay tuned, guys! Love the energy!" Carrie beamed, her voice naturally projecting like she was back on the Shirogane stage.
Rebecca’s eyes scanned the crowd, her internal "hero-radar" never quite turning off. She saw the happy faces, the flashing phone cameras, and the mall security guard leaning sleepily against a fountain. Everything looked fine. Everything was safe.
But then, her ears—the ones hidden under her dark hair—twitched.
It was a low, heavy thud. Not a footstep. Not a dropped shopping bag. It was the sound of a pressurized door being forced open.
"Carrie," Rebecca whispered, moving to her roommate’s side and grabbing her arm.
"One more pic, Becca! This fan has a shirt with my face on it!"
"Carrie, listen," Rebecca’s voice went flat and cold—the voice of the Bunny.
Far down the east wing, near the jewelry district, a scream pierced through the pop music playing over the mall's speakers. Then came a sound every hero in the city knew by heart: the rhythmic, terrifying clack-clack of a semi-automatic weapon.
The fans scattered. The mall security guard bolted upright, his radio squawking.
Carrie’s smile vanished. She looked at Rebecca, the playful pop star replaced by the hero who had survived the Spire.
"That didn't sound like a sale," Carrie muttered, reaching for the locket around her neck—the one that housed her sonic-amplifier.
"Food court is that way," Rebecca pointed toward the nearest exit, her mind already calculating the tactical layout of the building. "We need a place to change. Now."
"The food court?" Carrie grinned, even as the first wave of panicked shoppers began to run past them. "Finally. I was wondering when we’d get to the snacks."
"It’s not for snacks, Carrie! It’s for cover!"
"Both," Carrie winked, already sprinting toward the commotion. "It can definitely be both."
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.