"She's my favorite monster, she's my beautiful monster!" Cassandra sings to herself, jamming out to a song only she can hear on her earbuds. It's a beautiful day in L.A., and she's got bags full of new clothes and snacks from her latest shopping trip. Hell yeah, this is the life, she thinks to herself. Finally, a little bit of downtime to actually enjoy all this money. Of course she hasn't forgotten her mission. But everyone needs a break now and then. Her walk turns into a skip, a spring in her step, as the song continues. "She's a monster, yeah, come on in my bed, come on, pretty monster gimme—"
She freezes.
вы. It's вы, just down the sidewalk, coming closer, practically in front of her, too close. Too close. Absolute terror grips Cassandra's heart like the fingers of death itself. Or like the fingers of вы. Which is basically the same thing. No, she thinks. No, no, no, get ahold of yourself, Cassandra. This isn't an all-powerful supervillain. Not yet. Just a normal person, doing normal person things.
But she doesn't know that for sure. She doesn't know anything about who вы was in this time.
