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"Yes."

This is, as of recently, relevant to Shell Bell's interests.
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"There was this girl, y'see," he says. "And I guess she thought there were too many criminals in Gotham—mind you, she mighta been right—and she decided what they really needed was the hell scared out of 'em. Worked out fine as far as that goes. After the first coupla times she swooped in on a drug deal and beat everybody half to death, they were sure as fuck scared, lemme tell ya. But some of 'em were mad, too."

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"Okay," Bell says, trying to figure out if she's supposed to imagine a rogue Peacekeeper or maybe a member of the fictional United Panem Defenders.

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"Some of these people decided—well, I say decided, I might've had a little something to do with it—anyway, they hired me to kill the lady. She had 'em by the balls, see; they couldn't make any money with her wrecking their operations from here to Sunday. Heh."

He delicately picks another jelly bean out of the bowl in front of him. This one is blood red.

Crunch.

"Buuuut I didn't really wanna kill her," he says. "I just wanted her attention. I got it, too. We chased each other around the city a couple times, she got me in a police interrogation room and roughed me up some, I detonated a friend'a mine and left... oh, it was loads'a fun."
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"It sounds like... an adventure," says Shell Bell diplomatically.

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"Oh, it was," he says with a nostalgic smile.

"Didn't last, though. I blew some more stuff up; she threw me off a building and then turned me over to the cops." He dusts off his hands.
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"Oh." Well - he's not an Avox. He looks like he could've been flogged, maybe more than flogged, but he doesn't sound like that would stop him. What is it other worlds usually do? "And your prison has enough doors in it that you can come here sometimes?"

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"Nope," he says. "I started coming here in my dreams, the night she caught me."

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"I've never heard that one before."

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"Her majesty hadn't either. Guess I'm just special."

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"I guess. So you're technically there now?"

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"Nope," he says again. "Her majesty didn't like my style, so she found somebody to take her to my world for a bit and she put me on a little asteroid all by myself."

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Bell blinks.

"...Because her boyfriend cheated on her with you?" she asks skeptically. That doesn't sound like her, let alone like the utopia-building versions of her with magic whose citizens tend to have such nice things to say. "Or because you were going to blow up more things from inside prison?"
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"Well, I was gonna get out first."

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"Oh."

Yeah, she could see doing that.

Bell doesn't even know enough about astronomy to ask how he can live on an asteroid. She is vaguely aware that asteroids are in space.
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He shrugs.

"Kinda lonely up here, but she gave me some neat magic toys, so I don't starve or get too bored. And every so often, this place shows up. That's always fun."
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"That's good, then," says Bell.

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"So," he says, "how do people get famous where you're from?"

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"They go on television and outlast twenty-three other teenagers in a deadly arena, usually by killing at least some of them," says Bell. "There are other ways that I guess are more common world to world - other television, some books, some music. But most celebrities do that first."

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"Sounds like my kind of game," he says.

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"You're too old for it, or I'd take you through my door and suggest you volunteer and some kid could stay home and live."

Bell says this as one of the kids who got to stay home and live.
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"You see any of me the right age, you make an offer. They'll love you for it."

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"I will," says Bell earnestly.

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"Thanks." He smiles. "You're a sweetheart."

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"Well, it helps that if I bring a terrorist home, there's some people I'd be willing to aim one at," Bell says, shrugging. "I have to overthrow a government."

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