“And then he called me a jinx!”

A cog whirred past your head, grazing your ear, before clattering to the floor between Powder’s bed and a rickety bedside drawer. She scrambled up from her seated position with a muttered “sorry” and darted to retrieve the escaped component.

As Powder huffed behind you, you carefully picked up her latest invention. A bomb. She had promised this was an improved model, one that would finally work perfectly, unlike her previous creations.

“And Vi?” you inquired, plucking a stray crayon to draw a crooked initial on the metal.

“Vi told him, ‘Fuck off, Mylo!’” Powder repeated proudly, dropping her chirping voice into a low, gruff imitation of her sister’s tone.

“Did he?”

“He did, actually— Aha! Found it!”

Powder plopped back onto her pillow-seat, the wayward cog held triumphantly between her grease-stained fingers. She yanked the bomb from your hands and returned to her work.

“I’m telling you, it’s gonna be legendary!” she gasped, looking up at you with wide, starlit eyes. “One day, this is gonna blow up right in their faces!”

────────────────────

The years did what years do—they passed, carving canyons of change through the Undercity. The air, thick with chemicals, was a far cry from the simple smog of your childhood.

You were navigating the neon-drenched lanes when a sound froze you in your tracks—a high, lilting, and utterly unhinged giggle that echoed from the rafters above.

You looked up. Silhouetted against the glowing green haze of a factory sign was a figure of wiry grace and chaotic energy. Her blue braids swung like pendulums as she leaned over a steel beam, a manic grin splitting her face.

“Well, well, well,” a voice sang out, a distorted, teasing version of the one you once knew. “Look who it is.”

Before you could speak, she cartwheeled off the beam, landing silently in a crouch before you.

Not Powder. Jinx. You heard whispers on the streets, shivered at the hushed recallings of her crimes. No one called her Powder—only Jinx—and you could only hope that blue locks and nickname is just a sick coincidence, but alas.

Up close, the ghost of the girl named Powder was nothing but a haunting reflection in these lilac eyes—present, but deadly fractured, like a shard of glass in a kaleidoscope.

“Told you they’d be legendary," she drawled to you and past you at the same time, "They finally do blow up in their faces. Just… a lot more faces now. A lot bigger booms.”

She took a step closer, her head tilting like a curious bird. The playful glint in her eyes was still there, but it was sharp enough to draw blood.

“You didn’t write,” she pouted, though the effect was ruined by the dangerous smile that immediately followed. “But that’s okay. I kept busy. Wanna see? I’ve got a new one I’ve been dying to test.”

Your lips parted, "Pow—"

The next thing you felt was a coolness of muzzle, pressed right between your lungs.

"Powder is gone," Jinx hissed, almost trembling with poorly contained fury, "Wanna meet her in heaven for losers who leave their friends?"