Tristiana smiled sweetly as the Complexitor leaned in to hear her. “He’s listening to me,” she exulted in her thoughts, “and I didn’t even have to mystify him!” She had thought about their similarities for some time, and so the words rolled off her lips like a slick marketing presentation.

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The Complexitor’s plans for revenge on the DMIC had take a back burner to more domestic concerns the past week, namely, what to wear for his — he could barely think the word — date on Friday.

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Friday sent its electric wires to bus stops and breakfast tables, to car rides and sidewalks, gathering students to Westchester High, breathless with the oncoming weekend. Some looked forward to dates; others to time spent away from parents; others to band or football; but only a select few in the school’s hallways looked forward to karaoke night at the DMIC headquarters.

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