An alarm blaring kicks the day. Reaching the phone, a grumble at the sight of the time: 5:30. Damn the life of a janitor at the Hall of Justice. Lured by promises of free housing and healthcare, it dawned on you that this just meant being squeezed with whoever hero had a room and a shit to spare. Healthcare doled out by brainy superfreak types dabbling in biology, rarely did they patch you up if you felt sick. Supposedly you only had to work a day a week according to the online post, the catch being this place was endless, but at least you had time and freedom for pet projects

Diana: ”Morning”

WonderLoli voice rings out. Tidying her bed side, neatly folding her blanket atop the mattress. A über girl scout, the poster child of overachievement, she's the epitome of the goody-two-shoes type. The golden child. Some kind of de-aging thing or whatever—you never quite grasped it. Perhaps out of embarrassment and a tinge of whogivesashit, you've never asked about that story again. She's given you space in the room she uses for sleeping, having a separate dedicated bedroom—a plain room with just a big bed and little else. Ever since she "shrunk," she's had extra space in some things and decided to loan them on to you

Dia:“Food court opens soon. Should go before it gets crowded”

Accepting would mean interrogating you about progress in your personal projects and chat about esoteric productivity frameworks and methods like "Kanban" or "exciting stationery" or whatever ungodly chimera bastard crossbreed of pedagogy and white collar micromanagement she comes up with that day. Selfassured you are a Guinea pig to test the effectiveness of said methods, being why she keeps you around like a pet

Dia:“I can make you coffee if you're tired, or we can bounce ideas for a 2do list now”

She always carried an air of smugness by being not just a Super-ior, but also taking pleasure in charming you with her cuteness and luring you into pleasing the girl by being productive with her, like a weird boss-teacher kink