[attr="class","castleonthehill"]The internet's chatter had been, for the time since she'd arrived in Japan as a vigilante, instrumental to Jackie's success. Though she was less skilled in the direct act of accessing all its contents, including the aspects regarding infiltration, she could craft software more capable than any human could ever hope to be in that regard — to that end, the vigilante would argue she was, in more efficient than any lone hacker could manage.

Though, in the case of the wide net she cast, there often circulated different kinds of intel, ones ranging wildly from local cryptids to the sightings of new vigilantes. Most namely, in the case of today's excursion, unnatural phenomena were a particular topic of interest. Though most tended to be nothing more than explainable occurrences — often incidents that the average folk weren't equipped to explain — they sometimes held jewels to be found. And, hopefully, this time would prove to hold something intriguing.

Standing before the dilapidated house, the Argentine tipped her cap back, looking to examine the outside. As the legend went, there resided in this place a spirit — a ghoul of sorts — that traveled the electricity still running through this place. Exposed wires, damaged appliances — anything powered by electricity could prove fatal. Though, to teenagers, most anything could prove dangerous; hopefully, she was experienced to handle what lay within.

"Look, I get yer interested in all this hullabaloo–" came a voice in Jackie's mind– "but what do ya even hope to gain? Not like yer guaranteed ta harness whatever ya find."

Pundit — Jackie's quirk — was more sentient than it had any right to be, and even more so of an annoyance because of it. She supposed it was a better fate than some had with theirs. It wasn't like she was actively discriminated upon by the basis of it, at least. Then again, she was the only one who had to deal with Pundit's constant presence, no matter how loudly she tried to drown out the world around her.

"But I might," she thought, "and that's enough for me."

Jackie stepped through the doorframe, reaching over the splintered door that now lay off his hinges. The walls had gradually been covered in graffiti — most of which seemed incomplete — and trash was littered along the sides beneath it. Some of the floorboards jutted upwards, almost like spikes, leaving the vigilante to hop over or step around them.

"Place is a bit of a shit'ole, though."

"Bunch'a street urchins tryin' to make a hangout spot, I'm guessin'?"

"Clearly didn't 'tick around too long."

Tracing a finger along the wall and into the kitchen, Jackie looked from cabinet to cabinet, from the silent microwave to the rusted oven. "Where do shou think it's 'iding?"

"I don't think it exists, frankly."

"What, don't be'ieve in ghosts?"

"Ya don't believe in ghosts either."

"No, I totally do."

"I am literally in your mind; I know what yer fuckin thinkin' every second of every day."

"Then shou know 'ow fun it is to annoy shou."

[attr="class","castleonthehill"]Grinta tilted her head. A bat was all she had, was it? Perhaps, in the superficial view, that was indeed all Freja had to name for herself; a blunt object capable of bashing heads in, with little more beyond that to be said about her. Though, to the vigilante and her endless escapade to pick apart everything that stood before her, little was there ever a time when things were so one-dimensional.

From the darkness above the two, there descended the machine once sent away from their attention. Now it returned to its master, holding in its fabric what appeared to be a drive of sorts — kept safe in a plastic bag, as if already prepared for this night's scene. If Grinta's words were to be believed, this piece was the "deal" she had set herself on prior to their encounter. What was stored on it, though, only the vigilante knew. Or, at the very least, she was the only one capable of bringing out the most potential stored within it.

"Shou say shou're loo'ing at the facts — but I couldn't disagree more." Placing her hand right before Freja's eyes, the vigilante snapped her fingers. She didn't touch her, but it was most certainly an invasion of personal space. "Do I look li'e I'm 'just my quirk'? Do I look like just some i'iot who re'ies on the basics I'm inclined toward', without e'er doing things I hated to change?"

She snapped her fingers again. "No; I 'pent 'leepless nights working and learning. I threw away months, shears of my life in the pursuit of change, shu''ing out eve'ything that made me 'me' so I could, later, return as a combination of the ideal." And then, even now, she still felt short of that goal. Though, as her cloak now stretched out behind her, like a set of wings blocking out the light of the moon, she couldn't help but feel the weight of those times again. But it wasn't the same as it was before — it was a burden she could now proclaim as something she'd endured and defeated.

Once again, Grinta snapped her fingers. "Take shour bat, for eshample; is that the best ver'ion of it shou could have? Could shou improve the design in some way? Could shou even learn how to design things beyond shour bat?" The vigilante would move her hand even further in Freja's face before snapping her fingers again; this time, however, her thumb flicked against the girl's forehead. "Shou may not see that path, but I promise shou that it's there. All shou need to do is build it, believe in it, if shou want to make that i'eal a reali'y."

Finally standing up from her squat, the vigilante offered a bound hand to Freja. "Do shou be'ieve shour path, 1st-Year?"

[attr="class","castleonthehill"]Grinta would have otherwise offered, again, the same silence at Freja's proposal, but in the dripping air of this night, even the vigilante could hear the sound of an epiphany. Perhaps it was faint — maybe seeming like it had never been there at all — but the notion of a challenge now fell away. At long last, Grinta's words finally found their mark, and now the student was ready to not just hear her.

Though, that wallowing voice had still yet to be drowned. There was truth in Freja's plight, that much Grinta was certain — she had, by this point, figured her to be properly quirkless — but to justify that as a lack of all possibilities? No, the vigilante shook her head at the notion, swaying the gaze of her mask and its illuminating sight. She was lucky enough to have something, a place of thought, that she could pursue as her path. Though this thorny path she walk gouged her soles, and though the ash in its air tore through her lungs, it was still one she walked regardless. Where this road broke away from the beaten into the darkness, consuming men in their embrace, Grinta aimed to ignite a light along her steps; though the thorns might still sting, and though the ash would be no more clear of the wind, there would be hope.

But there was something that Freja did hold over the vigilante; she had no carved path for her. There was nothing to guide her in any specific direction, no road laid out for her to start from. But, in this expanse of void, there was a new opportunity that inevitably presented itself if one cared to find it — the chance to build out one's own path.

"I'm not a benchmark to beat, 'tupid — shou won't gain anything by bea'ing me in a fight. Shou might become 'trong physi'ally, but ju't being 'trong like that won't save,'top, or 'elp everyone; there are only so many things shou can do with shour body. Like shou said, there will be things shour opponents gravitate toward' — they won't just be their quirks, they will be even more. Shou don't 'ave the room to complain about a missing path when shou don't even 'ave a quirk to make up for it. If shou want to have a chance, shou need to choose something, anything to work from."

Even more so than by terms of physicality, Grinta was not one to be aspired towards — even if it was with the intention to surpass her. Even now, despite the years she'd dedicated herself to this role, she still felt weak. She couldn't bring about the change she wanted to see, and some nights, she wondered if she would ever be capable of making that little girl's dream. Though she continued this unending marathon, continuing to stab her feet again and again in this dogged pursuit, she never seemed any closer than when she started.

But, standing here before someone at the beginning of their change, the scale of her efforts thus seemed evident. Though those thoughts had once haunted her — and even now still resurfaced time and again — their voices had been muted with a voice of her own. In that darkness, where the soot plagues one's lungs and makes it hard to speak, there is nothing more meaningful than being able to hear the sounds of yourself again.

"Shou know... I don't have the re'ources shou 'ave, either." She'd lean away, though still kept her eyes fixed on the girl. "Shour a 'tudent at UA, shes? Shou go to an in'titu'e with many things shou can learn? Many of those things are more than just training a quirk, no?"

"Becau'e I 'ave to do things like thi' to get by. I 'ave to make sha'y deals and beat unscrupu'ous contacts who try to wea'el out of our deals. But shou have options all at shour fingertips, ones ready for shou to pick them — so why are shou conti'uing to 'ide be'ind that same eshcuse?"

[attr="class","castleonthehill"]One might wonder why a vigilante, of all the types of people in the world, would join an organization like the Pantheon; Grinta was independently sufficient by her lonesome, and continued to grow in competence with each passing day. Yet, she'd still chosen to become a part of a group — one so much larger than herself — so conceivably villainous. What did she stand to gain from such a group, and why would she choose to affiliate herself with their like?

Truth be told, she wasn't much better than the "villains" of the Pantheon, nor was she in any position to critique their methods. Though she held concrete motives of her own and abided by a personal code — something she was sure not every member held as importantly as she did — her exploits had left her with hands just as bloodied as her contemporaries; by all accounts, the vigilante seemed more of a villain to those who knew of her. If one looked at the history of her actions, it wouldn't be hard to imagine why. Even if her ultimate objective was something benign in nature, the choices she made in the present — and the reputation she garnered as a result — didn't appear to be of benevolence, nor were they indicative of anything more than a villain's deeds for satisfaction.

So, for the time being, she leaned upon those labeled as villains. Many of them held convictions similar to her own, or just as proudly subscribed to their own — something Grinta could respect, regardless of the principles she held for herself. So, she would work as a part of them, as a part of Loki's court, and do as she did as a part of their ranks.

Thus brought Grinta to her current circumstance; just as times prior, Grinta had capitalized upon her abilities of thievery, breaking into and extorting a robotics lab for information — details, designs, the like. Beyond her own intentions, however, there was an even greater purpose beyond her actions: her Admin, Loki, had many competitors in the legal world, many of whom held the resources to stake their claims on the market.

Grinta, unlike her peers, wasn't to be readily trusted. It was such that she would need to prove herself; not her abilities — she'd been accepted because of her skills, not in spite — but rather, her loyalty. No matter how quick they were to accept her, the vigilante doubted that all disparities between herself and her new allies would be so quickly looked over. If she was to ensure a layer of trust between them, it would be through action.

The vigilante, under the veil of Babel's chaos, had managed another successful heist. She was sure that Loki would be pleased, both in the breaching of a competitor and of the secured internal documents and blueprints. Of course, Grinta had every intention to keep some to herself, but such was the nature of their relationship.

Walking along the silence of an alleyway — well, relative silence, given the greater chaos screaming through the rest of Tokyo — Grinta surfed through the data collected by her latest excursion, looking at it through the brilliance of her IYF and its holographic projections. She thought it was wildly more convenient than a phone.

"Which to keep for myself..." She'd murmur to herself as she continued sifting through, pondering which she might find use for. "That one's pretty inte'e'ting, eh..."

[attr="class","castleonthehill"]The vigilante, in the completely blank stare of her mask, looked upon the student in silence. The light patter of rain continued to fall — now more prominent in the two's ears as their dialogue fell silent — with the neon glow radiating from Grinta's mask being the sole source of illumination; her stare of two crossed eyes, as well as her wicked grin, bore down into the girl, as though the question itself wasn't deserving of her attention.

And, given the circumstance, Grinta would normally consider this answer to suffice. Diluting attention away from her point and tracing it back to herself, while clever as a "get-back" of sorts, wasn't what the Argentine sought; no, from someone such as Freja, who was saddled with the expectations of a hero — and the resulting responsibilities associated with such duties — fearing such questions wasn't what Grinta wanted to instill.

Of course, she was under no obligation to instill anything into Freja, let alone teach her from a perspective borne of her own shortcomings as an agent of change. Still, when presented with an opportunity such as this, the vigilante couldn't simply avert her gaze. Perhaps it was petty, idiotic even, but to not take it upon herself would defy everything she'd held of value, as well as a slight upon the core of what she believed true heroism to be.

And so it was that Grinta leaned forward a tad, still placing her weight in her arms, before she lifted her wrapped hand to meet Freja's gaze. "Don't do that," she'd reply, attempting to flick the girl between the eyes. "Don't try to get cle'er with me, under'tand? Shour garbage language is 'till a pain in the ass for me to use, and I'm not trying to play mind games. No more than I 'ave to, anyway." She didn't consider her own roundabout tactics to be mind games, however illogical that might be; at the very least, it soothered her conscience.

"Be'ide'," she'd continue, "shou've alrea'y deci'ed who I am, shes? Shou don't actually want to know who I am, what I did to that other guy, or why I'm doing any of this." With 'any of this,' of course, left vague in relation to the many things she'd done in this alley alone. "Did shou leave shour ima'ina'ion in the womb? Eh?"

Grinta let out a sigh. With droplets still sliding down her mask, the vigilante turned her gaze toward the clouded sky, perhaps basking in it for a moment. She couldn't have been much older than the student — she refused to believe any age below 30 was "old" — but were heroes not taught to look beyond the scene before then? Surely, even if they didn't care for motive, creativity would be imperative for their work, right?

"But," she'd start, returning her focus to Freja, "shou can call me Grinta. Satisfied?"

[attr="class","castleonthehill"]"What's the word, Criosho?"

"Carjackers; three involved. The driver's evading the police well enough, the passenger's armed with a low-caliber weapon, and the one in the backseat seems to be equipped with a dangerous quirk."

The vigilante, adorned in her typical manner as "Grinta," flew forth above the cityscape, shooting through the air in pursuit of their would-be thieves. Though such action wasn't irregular for her, Grinta's niche presence in this superpowered world granted her not the amenities of her more law-abiding counterparts — namely, the assistance of existing law enforcement wasn't a benefit she'd known. Rather than a passive observer that acted when the situation presented itself, however, the Argentine sought out the places where the fire burned the hottest and dove straight into the flames, hoping to douse them before heroes were even a necessity.

"How dange'ous?" She'd ask aloud, the wind whipping at her mask as she soared along near rooftops.

"The type to crush a car with its force, Lady Grinta."

"Some pe''y crook ha' that level of fi'epower?"

It wasn't impossible, she supposed. The advent of quirks had, too, included the means to enhance them — whether that be through diligence or through external boons, stepping into the next level wasn't as impossible of a feat as it may seem. Really, the willingness to do so depended entirely upon one's will to manage it.

"Quirk 'timu'ants must really be ta'ing new 'teps to get this far."

"Two blocks on the left, southbound. They appear to be ranged-type who releases tremors, ones that can even travel through the air."

"Not ma'ing it any easier on me, eh?"

"...No one is making you do this."

"And that's reason to 'top?"

If danger was enough reason for Grinta to cower in the face of her ideals, then she surely wouldn't have managed to survive as a vigilante — not for as long as she had, anyway. If the fear of failure — the terror of death, even — was so potent as to dissuade her from this path, then what good would she be in realizing her dream? She wouldn't allow her standard to remain a fantasy, not while her heart still beat and her lungs continued to breathe.

As she now tailed the speeding vehicle — following it at a nominal distance, as to not agitate her targets — she looked ahead to the scene playing out, and the readying of someone in the middle of the path. Were they a hero? Whatever their prerogative, the driver seemed to want to swerve out of his path; they'd rather not let their heist go array just yet, and charging headlong into a pedestrian would be of no help to help that. As a result, the passenger-side occupant reached a pistol outside their window and fired down to the street, hoping to scare the hero by shooting at his feet.

"Out the way, ya feckin' bastard!"

[attr="class","castleonthehill"]Yet to ease her grasp from the girl's hand, the vigilante kept herself at Freja's height, refusing to simply let her break away. No, in the vigilante's efforts, she'd finally bore witness to the moment she'd so delicately engineered. The initial dread of her presence, a demonstration of ability, the sheer terror of failure, and now the desperate, seething hatred of a wounded beast — as Grinta saw it, the most pivotal moment; one where, regardless of emotion or temperance, Freja's brain would not soon forget her next words.

There was no doubt — in the Argentine's mind, anyway — that she held the full attention of her opponent. The younger woman could struggle, she could even get out of this grip in time, but what came afterward? Did she believe the situation would become anything more than what it had already been? Even if all hope had vanished for retrieving her weapon, did she figure herself capable of escaping the villain she perceived? What was the choice to be had?

As Grinta would posit it, she would have to listen.

"Shes; like ma'y, I 'ave a gift. I did not earn this gift, nor did anyone teach it to me. It's something unique to me, embedded in my ve'y bio'ogy, that I cannot change." Pulling her face just a few inches away from the student, Grinta fixated her gaze squarely on her face. "And there will be many more who, like me, possess such abili'ies. When the day comes that shou face such individuals, people even less merciful than myself, will shou bitch and moan about shour weakness then? Hm? Will shou bemoan shour misfortune while shou watch shour collea'ues surpass shou at e'ery turn because shou 'weren't born spe'ial enough'?"

Rising up from her position near the concrete — though she continued to press her foot down upon Freja's hand — she further spoke. "Shou've gotten this far, I concede that. It's impressive that shou 'aven't died since 'tepping on this path, too." The vigilante had known her share of days where, though she lived to tell the tale, she'd not expected the next day to come, days that seemed to be the last she'd ever known. "But when the time comes to pro'ect a life against a real threat, what will shou do?"

Slowly, Grinta raised her foot from the student's hand, placing it back beside her other. She still positioned herself ahead of the bat, if for the sake of staying between the weapon and its wielder, but she let her posture loosen. Once again returning to the ground — this time in a squat — she'd place her arms between her legs before angling them forward. The gash from the student's hook still remained visible in the pittering rain.

"Shou can't do anything as shou are right now, can shou?"