The Son of Mischief and Moonlight

Stryker was about to start pacing a hole in the cold, sterile floor of the Three Mile Island facility when the scientist finally piped up, his voice shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

"Sir, we've isolated the final gene sequence... we just need the trigger to activate the integration. After that, Project Deadpool will be fully operational."

Stryker barely spared him a glance. His eyes were fixed on the monitor, where a parade of data danced around like some sort of geeky laser light show—tracking vitals, neural activity, and a bunch of other numbers that probably meant something important. For all he knew, half of it was Latin for "success." The point was, it was working. Finally.

"Good," he said, his voice ice-cold. "And the... unpredictability factor?" He didn't even try to hide the edge in his tone. "You've... accounted for that, haven't you?"

The scientist froze, his eyes flicking between the screen and Stryker like he was trying to read some untranslatable language. "Well, sir, as we've seen from previous trials, his healing factor is... off the charts. But his mind? It's... fragmented. His memories are incomplete, and we've only scratched the surface of his mental conditioning. We still have a long way to go."

Stryker's fingers twitched involuntarily, tightening into fists so hard that he could probably leave impressions in the steel desk. "It better be operational soon," he growled. "I'm getting really tired of waiting."

Before the scientist could say anything more (or panic more), a guard burst through the door. His face was as pale as a ghost, and the urgency in his voice was like someone just told him he was about to miss the last train home.

"Sir, you need to see this—now!"

Stryker's instincts kicked in, and his hand slid down to his sidearm like it was second nature. "What is it?"

"Weapon X..." The guard's breath was coming out in quick, ragged gasps. "He's at the gate, sir. Screaming your name."

Stryker's mind snapped to attention, like a calculator suddenly crunching a thousand numbers per second. Logan. Of course. He'd known this day would come, but for some reason, this felt... different. There was something in the air, a new kind of danger, something off.

"Get the team ready," he barked, voice cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. "Now."

---

Minutes later, Stryker was stomping down the narrow, metal-laden hallways, flanked by a couple of armed guards who looked like they were having second thoughts about their life choices. The air was thick with the sound of boots clanking on steel and the sharp, metallic scent of fear. Logan had returned. But why now? What the heck was going on?

As he rounded the corner, he saw him. Logan. Standing at the gates, his muscles tensed, eyes burning with that wild, untamed fury Stryker had come to expect, but there was something else. Something strange. It wasn't just anger. No, this was more like... a weird mix of anger and fun. He had this cocky, almost playful swagger to him now, like he was itching for a fight. But it wasn't just any fight—it was like Logan was finally letting go of all those pesky things like sanity and consequences.

And then, just as Stryker was about to say something snarky (he was good at that), another Logan stepped out from the shadows behind the first one.

Yeah, you read that right. Another Logan.

This guy was... well, calm, actually. Creepy-calm. Too calm. The guy looked like Logan, but not the feral mindless beast he was last time he saw him. And beside this Logan was none other than Hank McCoy. That's right—The Beast himself. Stryker's brain tried to make sense of it, but it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

And then—wait for it—the woman. Tall, armored, and holding a sword that looked like it had seen some things. The sword gleamed under the lights, and Stryker had a sinking feeling that if he had to face this chick, he'd be one sword-stab away from a very bad day.

But hold on, we're not done yet.

From the shadows, a goat-man stepped forward, carrying a bronze bat over his shoulder like it was his favorite accessory. His grin could have lit up a room, if the room happened to be full of maniacs.

Stryker blinked twice. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?" he muttered under his breath.

The first Logan turned to him, wearing that cocky smirk that had been Stryker's least favorite thing since the whole Weapon X experiment began. "What's up, Stryker?" he asked, as if this wasn't the most bizarre thing to happen in the history of crazy.

But wait—here it comes. The real fun. The impossible happened next.

Logan—the first Logan—shifted. No, seriously. His body flickered like some low-budget hologram, shrinking and contorting until—poof—there was a kid standing there. A kid. Probably around ten or eleven. Black hair, green eyes, and a smirk that was way too evil for someone so small.

"Hello, Stryker," the kid said, with all the sarcasm in the world. "I don't think we've met."

Stryker's brain immediately went into panic mode. "What... who are you?"

But before he could even get his thoughts together (or scream for help), Logan took a step forward. His gaze locked on Stryker, ice in his veins. There was something other in his eyes—something dangerous, but more calculated this time. The others moved into position, and suddenly, Stryker realized—this was a group of people he didn't know, didn't understand, and sure as hell wasn't ready for.

And that kid? The one with the wicked grin? He winked at Stryker and said, "Don't worry. I'll leave your soldiers alone. For now."

Stryker's mind was officially blown. This was not how things were supposed to go. He had the plan. He had the power. But these people? Whatever this was, it wasn't just the end of his plans. No, it was the end of everything.

And he had no idea how he was going to get out of this one.

—

The situation was dire. You could feel the tension in the air, like static before a thunderstorm, but Harry Lokison didn't look the least bit concerned. In fact, the grin plastered across his face made it look like he was walking into a candy store rather than a hostile takeover. His eyes, the kind of green that made you think of emeralds and mischief, were practically twinkling with excitement. Harry was born to play the game—and Stryker was just another pawn.

"Name's Harry," he said, with that same cocky ease, as though introducing himself at a dinner party, not about to dismantle an entire operation. "Harry Lokison."

He threw a glance over his shoulder, where his team stood in perfect sync—each one a ticking time bomb of danger and unpredictability. "These are my friends," Harry continued, his voice light, but with an undertone that screamed, we're here to kick some serious butt.

He flicked his hand toward Logan, the brooding mutant with the perpetual scowl. "You might recognize Logan here," Harry said, completely unfazed by the grumpy glower Logan was giving their host, Colonel Stryker. Logan wasn't one for speeches—he was more of the "smash first, ask questions later" type. And sure enough, his arms were crossed, his claws silently itching to come out and play.

Stryker's eyes flicked nervously over Logan, and Harry could practically hear the man's brain sputtering with the realization that this wasn't just any run-of-the-mill team of heroes. This was Logan, the Wolverine.

Harry didn't give Stryker any time to process before he introduced the next member of his team. "Brunhilde," he said, nodding toward the woman standing at ease, her armor gleaming like she had just walked out of an epic battle. "You might not have heard of her, though I doubt you want to. Trust me, she could clear out this whole place in less time than it takes to brew a cup of tea."

Brunhilde didn't even flinch at the mention of her name. Her sharp eyes never left Stryker. She didn't need to say a word—her presence alone was enough to send a chill down anyone's spine.

"And this," Harry continued, "is Hank." Hank McCoy, the towering blue mutant with a brain the size of Texas, gave Stryker a polite nod. "Brains, brawn, and a little bit of charm," Harry said, his voice dripping with amusement. "If you want to talk strategy and muscle, that's your guy."

Hank grinned, but it wasn't exactly friendly. It was the kind of smile you'd expect from someone who liked the idea of punching things. A lot.

Finally, Harry pointed toward the final member of the squad, who seemed way too eager for this whole mess to kick off. "And this is Coach Hedge," Harry said, his grin turning a bit wider, more playful. "Not exactly your average recruit, but he gets the job done. Just don't ask him to babysit—he's got a short fuse and an even shorter patience."

Coach Hedge gave a mock salute, his hooves scraping against the ground in a way that made everyone take a half-step back. "I didn't come here to make friends," he grunted, hefting his bronze bat over his shoulder like it was a casual accessory, not a weapon meant for destruction. "But I'm more than happy to break a few things."

The introduction done, Harry looked back at Stryker, whose face was starting to turn an alarming shade of red. His hand twitched toward the panic button, but Harry didn't give him a chance to press it. He didn't need to. The situation was already under control.

"We're here to put an end to your little experiments, Stryker," Harry said, his tone suddenly turning cold and sharp. "You've been messing with forces you can't possibly understand. And frankly, it's time someone put you in your place."

Stryker tried to bluster, his voice wavering. "You think you can just walk in here and—"

"Attack!" he shouted, his voice cracking, a desperate attempt to salvage whatever control he had left.

Harry, however, didn't seem fazed in the slightest. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled out a metal rod from his pocket and twisted it. With a sharp click, it transformed, extending into a sleek bow. The soldiers surrounding them froze, unsure of what exactly they were dealing with.

And that's when Harry really made his move.

He drew the bowstring with effortless ease, his fingers gliding across it like he had done it a thousand times. The air hummed with power, and before anyone could even blink, a bolt of pure light shot from the bow. It split into several glowing arrows, each one arcing toward a different soldier.

The soldiers never stood a chance. The glowing ropes wrapped around them like they were caught in a web, rendering them completely immobile. Within seconds, every last one of them was unconscious, bound, and utterly helpless.

Stryker's eyes bulged in shock. "What the hell just happened?!" he demanded, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Harry gave him an easy shrug, his grin never wavering. "Don't worry. They'll be out for a while."

Logan let out a low chuckle from beside him. "Guess we didn't get to knock some heads around," he muttered, eyeing Brunhilde. "Oh well, maybe next time."

Brunhilde gave Logan a sidelong glance, but she didn't bite. "We're going for efficiency today," she said with a smirk. "But I'll let you handle the rest, Logan."

Hank stretched his arms, letting out a theatrical sigh. "This was too easy," he said, his voice full of mock disappointment. "I was looking forward to a good fight."

Harry flashed him a wink. "Don't worry, Hank. There are plenty more soldiers inside. You'll get your turn to break stuff. Trust me."

Coach Hedge cracked his neck, grinning from ear to ear. "Now that's more like it!" he declared, tightening his grip on his bat. "Let's go break some bones."

With that, they advanced, Harry leading the charge. Stryker, still frozen in shock, finally managed to sputter something, but Harry wasn't listening. He was too busy plotting their next move, eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement you only get when you know the bad guy's reign is about to end.

"I'd love to stick around and chat," Harry said with mock politeness, turning to face Stryker, "but we've got business to take care of. You've made a lot of mistakes, Stryker. And today, we're fixing them."

He gestured to the others. "Come on, guys. Let's finish this."

As Harry's team moved in, the air around them seemed to crackle with anticipation. The end of Stryker's little empire was near, and Harry, for one, couldn't wait to see the fireworks.

—

The moon hung high over Three Mile Island like the world's most bored security guard, casting eerie shadows over the nuclear facility below. Inside, everything was dark and quiet—except for a group of demigods who had managed to sneak past about a thousand layers of high-tech security, which, to be honest, probably wasn't as impressive as it sounded. After all, when your leader is Luke Castellan, son of Hermes, sneaking into a nuclear facility is just another Tuesday.

Luke, of course, was looking way too pleased with himself as he led the crew, his signature grin plastered on his face like he'd just figured out a new prank to pull on the gods themselves. He had this way of walking that made it look like the world was his personal stage, and everyone else was just waiting for him to deliver his next line. If charm were an Olympic sport, Luke would have more gold than a dragon hoarding treasure.

"Alright, listen up, team," Luke said in that smooth voice that could probably talk a monster into taking a nap. "We're in, we're out, no touching stuff unless we really know what it does. Got it? We're good at breaking in, but we're not here to break anything unless it's absolutely necessary."

He shot a look at Clarisse La Rue, who was practically twitching with the urge to smash something. Clarisse glared back like she could fry him with her eyes.

Luke raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Not yet, Clarisse. We're not smashing things until we're sure they need smashing."

Clarisse grunted in frustration. "Fine. But if anything blows up, I'm taking it down. Got it?"

Luke nodded, keeping the grin in place. "Perfect. That's the spirit."

Annabeth Chase, his trusty partner in all things tactical, was right at his side. She didn't say much, but her brain was already ticking away at the strategy for every potential disaster, and there was a good chance she was already planning their escape route in case they ended up accidentally triggering a massive meltdown. Wouldn't be the first time, though.

Thalia Grace, the daughter of Zeus, was lingering near the back, looking like she was about five seconds away from summoning a storm, which was a very bad idea in a place like this. It didn't help that the air around her was practically crackling with static electricity. If the lights flickered, they could probably blame her.

"Keep it quiet, keep it fast," Annabeth murmured to Luke, her eyes darting around the facility. "We've got this. You know the drill."

"Got it," Luke said with a casual wave. "Let's make this quick. I've got a date with destiny, and she's not the patient type."

Behind them, the Stoll twins, Travis and Connor, were bouncing around like a pair of caffeinated squirrels, whispering and giggling like they hadn't just snuck into one of the most secure facilities in the world.

"This is way easier than sneaking into the director's office at camp," Travis whispered, eyes scanning the high-tech security systems with the usual mix of curiosity and glee.

Connor shot back, "Man, we've practically stolen the entire camp at least three times. This? This is nothing."

Luke rolled his eyes. He knew exactly how many times they had stolen things from camp—too many to count, honestly. But it wasn't like the Stolls weren't good at it.

Meanwhile, Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova, the former Red Room operatives who had an unsettling ability to move silently even when they weren't trying, were keeping to the shadows. The two girls were as sharp as a blade, gliding through the dark like they belonged there.

"Stay sharp, Yelena," Natasha whispered in her Russian accent, her eyes flicking over the room with military precision.

Yelena just smirked, a knife always within reach. "Yeah, yeah. You and your paranoia. Don't let them see you sweat, comrade."

Back at the rear of the group, Nick Fury was having a great time. If by "great" you meant "hating every single moment." He stood there with his ever-present cigar, glaring at everyone like they were all seriously messing with his zen.

"Let me get this straight," Fury muttered, looking more annoyed than usual. "I'm stuck in a place with a bunch of children who think they're gods? Perfect."

Luke glanced over his shoulder and shot him a grin that was equal parts charming and troublesome. "Hey, we're demigods, not actual gods. There's a difference." He paused. "You'd be lucky if we were actual gods. Think of the trouble we could get into."

Fury's eye twitched. "You're lucky I didn't leave you all to go steal a nuclear warhead or something. I swear, you make my job harder than it needs to be. You kids can break into anything, but half the time you act like you're going to blow it up for fun."

"Hey," Connor piped up from the back. "You volunteered for this. Don't act like you're not enjoying babysitting the world's most dangerous field trip."

Fury shot Luke a withering look. "Backup? You kids couldn't sneak through a guard post without waking up the whole facility. And you think I'd call for backup in this mess?"

"Relax, Fury," Luke said, totally not relaxed at all. "This is easy. What's the worst that could happen? A little nuclear meltdown?"

Fury was about to retort, but just then, Beckendorf, the son of Hephaestus, gave them the signal. A small grin curled his lips. "We're in. Bypass complete."

The security doors hissed open, revealing the narrow corridors ahead. Luke turned back, still grinning like he had everything under control.

"See? Piece of cake," Luke said. "You were worried?"

Fury didn't answer. Instead, he sighed heavily and adjusted his weapon, muttering under his breath about how he'd rather be stuck fighting aliens than babysitting these chaotic teens.

Katie Gardner, ever the optimist, flashed a grin. "Too late for that, old man. Let's go."

And just like that, the demigods slipped into the shadows, their mission beginning. As they moved deeper into the facility, Fury reluctantly followed, cursing them under his breath, knowing one thing for sure: they were going to get themselves into so much trouble. And when that happened, he'd be the one left cleaning up the mess.

But, you know, at least they were an entertaining disaster.

—

The mission was underway, and Harry was all business. Gone was the usual smirk and the playful attitude. In its place? A focus that could slice through steel. He didn't mind a good prank now and then, but when it came to rescue missions? That was his sweet spot—rescuing people and smashing heads along the way? Perfect. Throw in some chaos and a touch of divine power, and Harry was set.

He flipped on his comms, his voice smooth but sharp as a dagger. "Warren, you're on guard duty. Take out those tower guards, and I'll back you up in a sec."

Warren's response crackled through, his tone steady but with that buzz of adrenaline only a real mission could bring. "Got it. But don't go thinking you can do this alone, mate. This place is crawling with them. Gotta stay sharp."

Harry chuckled, his lips curling into a grin, the kind that said he knew exactly what was coming. "Yeah, yeah. You just do your thing, and leave the tricky part to me. You know I got this. I'll be there soon."

The comms buzzed again as the rest of his team checked in.

"Hank, Brunhilde, you two take Fury and the others," Harry ordered, voice full of that commanding energy. "Stick to the route, stay fast, and keep it quiet. Anyone who doesn't look friendly—well, you know what to do."

He turned to the other half of the team. "Logan, Hedge, it's time to make some noise. Don't hold back—knock some heads together."

Logan's voice rumbled through the comms, low and gravelly, with that ever-present promise of chaos. "Kid, you got the right idea. I'm all in for some action."

Hedge's voice joined in, practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, it's on. I'm gonna make 'em regret even waking up today. They won't know what hit 'em. Maybe I'll even make 'em cry."

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "That's the spirit."

He took a few steps back, letting out a sharp whistle into the night. Moments later, the whoosh of something cutting through the air reached his ears, and Harry didn't have to look to know what it was. His Nimbus, Aether, swooped down like a streak of lightning, ready for action.

"That's my boy," Harry murmured, reaching out to give the little cloud beast a quick pat. Aether chirped in response, practically bouncing on the spot with excitement. If Aether were a dog, it would've jumped up and knocked Harry over—but as a cloud, it settled for a little nudge, vibrating with eagerness.

"Alright, buddy. Time to go make some noise," Harry said, climbing onto Aether's back with all the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. "Stay sharp."

With a trill of excitement, Aether shot into the sky like a bullet, weaving between buildings, dodging obstacles like a pro. The wind tugged at Harry's hair, and he felt the familiar thrill of the chase pulse through his veins. He could almost hear the hum of Aether's excitement, as if the Nimbus couldn't wait to show off just how fast it could go.

Meanwhile, Logan and Hedge were already deep in the action. Logan's claws gleamed in the moonlight, and Harry could practically hear the snikt of adamantium tearing through flesh. The berserker rage was already taking hold, and Harry grinned to himself. Logan was in his element tonight.

"Feel that?" Logan grunted, slashing at another guard. "This is what I live for, bub."

Not far from him, Hedge was thriving in his own chaotic way. He landed a roundhouse kick to a guard's chest, sending the poor guy flying backward. "This is way better than a sparring match," Hedge cackled, flicking the bird to the next guard who dared approach. "You think they'll be able to walk after this? I'm gonna turn 'em into jelly!"

"Wouldn't bet on it," Harry muttered, watching the chaos unfold as Aether soared higher, carrying him toward Warren's position.

Warren was already perched on a nearby tower, wings spread wide, taking out guards with surgical precision. His every movement was smooth, efficient, almost… graceful. Harry couldn't help but admire the way Warren made it all look so effortless.

"Ready to make some noise?" Harry called, grinning. Aether swooped closer, hovering beside Warren.

Warren shot him a brief look, the faintest smirk playing at the edges of his lips, but his eyes were all business. "Always, Lokison. Just don't get in my way."

Harry chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With a flick of his wrist, Harry cast a simple illusion, creating a few fake figures in the distance to draw the guards' attention. It wasn't much—just enough to mess with their heads. As the guards turned, distracted, Harry and Warren dove into action.

Warren made quick work of the first wave, moving like a predator on the hunt—silent, swift, and deadly. Harry, though? He wasn't quite as subtle. In the blink of an eye, he shapeshifted into one of the guards, blending into the chaos. Classic move—confuse the enemy by becoming one of their own.

Harry walked through the battlefield like he owned the place, taking out guards left and right with a swift knock to the head here, a twist of the wrist there. By the time the last guard hit the ground, Harry was back to his usual self, standing tall with a smug grin plastered on his face.

Warren looked around, taking in the mess they'd made. He didn't say anything. He just gave Harry a quick nod. "Impressive."

Harry flashed him a grin. "Who, me? I'm just getting started."

—

The shadows of Three Mile Island deepened as the demigods and their companions advanced, moving with eerie precision through the facility. As they reached a junction, the quiet tension in the air was broken by the sudden click of boots on the polished floors. At the end of the hall, two figures emerged from the darkness: Brunhilde and Hank McCoy.

Brunhilde, clad in her distinctive Valkyrie armor, looked far too calm for someone who had just been through a lot of chaos. Her eyes scanned the group quickly, and she nodded, the glint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"You guys are really making a habit of this, aren't you?" she said, her voice low but amused. "Breaking into highly secure facilities, taking down bad guys... you really should consider a career change."

Hank, meanwhile, was every bit the towering, blue-furred, muscle-bound genius he was in both physique and intellect. He gave Nick Fury a polite nod, which, to be honest, seemed to irritate the man even more. Fury didn't do 'polite,' especially not when he was trapped with a bunch of overconfident demigods, mutants, and the like.

"I'm surprised we got here without anyone triggering the alarms," Hank mused, adjusting his glasses. "Normally, we'd expect something—"

Fury cut him off with a pointed stare. "You think that's a good thing? No, McCoy, it means we're one minute away from the whole place turning into a nuclear popcorn machine. And I'm still stuck babysitting."

Annabeth chuckled under her breath, exchanging a knowing glance with Luke, who was way too content with himself for anyone's good. "Don't worry, Fury. We've got it under control."

"Yeah," Luke added with a mock solemnity, "if we don't, we can always blame Fury. He's used to it by now."

Fury just shook his head. "I swear, one day I'm gonna take one of you kids by the ear and drag you all back to camp myself."

Before anyone could respond, Brunhilde held up a hand, silencing them. Her expression turned serious. "We need to focus. The real problem here is Stryker. We've got about a dozen mutants trapped in the holding cells, and from the reports, they're in bad shape. We've got to get them out of here."

Luke tilted his head, considering the situation. "Yeah, about that—where's our prisoner?"

"Outside," Hank muttered, his voice dark. "If we get him back inside, you kids are going to tear him apart."

"Oh, don't worry about us," Luke said, grinning again. "Stryker's already had enough time to think about his life choices. Trust me, Harry's capable of worse than anything we can think of. Anyway, how are we getting these kids out?"

Hank and Brunhilde exchanged a look. "We have a plan," Hank began, his voice measured but urgent. "First, we need to disable the security measures around the holding cells. Then we make sure the kids are stable enough to move. Stryker's cells are not safe for anyone, mutant or otherwise."

Clarisse cracked her knuckles. "I'm in. Just tell me where the nearest door is, and I'll be happy to 'secure' it."

"Clarisse, we don't need a door blown up right now," Annabeth shot back, though her voice had the familiar teasing edge to it. "We need to sneak in, not start a war."

Fury's eye narrowed. "Sneak in? These mutants have been locked up in a high-security facility for God knows how long. I'm not here to 'sneak' around—what's the plan to get them out?"

Brunhilde stepped forward. "We're not just breaking them out. We need to neutralize Stryker's entire operation. The only way to keep these kids safe is to make sure Stryker's people can't get their hands on them again."

"Right," Luke said, looking every bit the troublemaker as he rubbed his hands together. "So, what's the plan, then? We blow up the place?"

"Not yet," Fury replied, scowling. "I can get in contact with some of my people. They'll be ready for extraction once we get them out."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "You want me to trust you with this? You guys seem more like 'babysitters' than anything else."

Fury's glare would have made a lesser man shrink back. "Trust me, kid. I've got a hell of a lot more experience in these kinds of situations than you do."

At that, Brunhilde's eyes softened, though the edge in her voice remained. "Stryker may be a monster, but his facilities are equipped with all kinds of traps. This isn't a straightforward break-in and break-out. You'll need to work together. Everyone plays a part, and no one can go off-script."

Clarisse huffed, clearly not liking the 'rules,' but she nodded. "Fine, no blowing things up, yet."

"We don't need to do it the hard way," Annabeth said quietly. "But if things go south, we have backup plans. And Luke? You need to keep that grin off your face. This isn't some game."

Luke's smile widened. "Annabeth, you've been around me long enough to know that everything's a game. The trick is knowing when to win."

Fury's eye twitched. "Alright, whatever. Just don't screw this up."

And so, the group ventured deeper into the facility. Luke, ever the natural leader, took point, with Annabeth close behind, her mind calculating every step. Clarisse and Thalia flanked the rear, their electricity crackling as they kept their guard up. The Stoll twins, as expected, were whispering and laughing to themselves, but when the time came, they would be ready to cause trouble if it was needed.

Hank and Brunhilde led the way to the holding cells. The tension in the air was palpable. Everyone knew that the true danger of this mission wasn't just Stryker—it was the possibility of them getting caught in a trap that would make their entire mission a nightmare.

But for now, they moved forward, focused on getting the mutants out, and dealing with Stryker later. Because in the end, if things went south, they were all ready to create a new level of chaos. And if there was one thing they knew how to do well, it was that.

---

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