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Isabella Lancaster

Her cerulean eyes flickered open. With the soles of her feet cocooned in a pair of cotton sandals, she beamed as she took a step forward, and then another, as if proclaiming her pride for her flawlessly synchronized limbs. Peeking around, she was dazzled by the beauty of her surroundings, of the unblemished marble walls and granite tiles. Passing by the lofty central stone fireplace, she glanced upwards, only for her field of vision to be obstructed by a cathedral ceiling crafted in the shape of a monarch butterfly and decorated with striking orange, black and white markings. Her presence was undoubtedly welcoming in this household, but as her impromptu expedition progressed further, she began to feel weary. At least until her right foot nearly stepped onto a torn old sepia photograph. Kneeling down, she gingerly picked up the intriguing peculiar-looking item and scrutinized it.

“Alice, what did I say about picking up objects from the floor without my permission?”

Turning in the direction of the voice, Alice sulked in disappointment and promptly apologized for her transgressions before her signature radiant smile returned onto her face. Before her stood her creator, a young and innocent-looking lady of unparalleled elegance and grace, whom she idolized with absolute reverence.

Carrying her up, Isabella Lancaster hugged onto Alice as she strode down the spiral glass staircase. Dressed in an ivory Victorian dress lavishly trimmed with frills, laces, braids and ribbons along with wide pagoda sleeves and heavy petticoats, Isabella was further adorned with wrist length leather gloves, a brooch depicting Hebe, the Goddess of Youth, and a fan which when flicked open, easily concealed at least half of her face.  Upon arriving at the main entrance, she put on her complementary ivory side-lace boots and departed from her mansion, her left hand holding onto a hand bag filled with a couple of her custom hand-made dolls she personally sewed and breathed life into.

The police chief and several other plainclothes officers and detectives were in the office, having a meeting. In front of them was a older man in a suit, with grey hair yet a chiseled face and physique.
"Okay, last thing. I know this last day has been rough on you guys. I want what you all want: to catch these sons of bitches, and put them behind bars. We might have different methods, we might be different people, but if we are going to do this, we must do our best to work together and-"
"What the hell is that!?" A detective interjected, pointed at the vaguely humanoid shape that was Quil. Suddenly, every gun in the station was drawn and pointing directly at the super.
"FREEZE!"

Quil was startled by the sudden loud noise, surprised that someone had noticed him. Immediately he fired three tendrils at the hands of the officers, intending to remove just the guns. However, in mid flight, the feeling returned and instead of the guns, he ended up removing the hands of the officers instead. Making sure not to show his actual face, he continued to appear as a physical shadow with one eye and a toothy grin. Realizing his plan had been foiled, Quil backed slowly towards the vent from which he entered

After what seemed like an eternity, Porshen awoke from his semi-sleep state. His system clock read 24:00, several hours after the store's advertised closing time. The trip back to the store was uneventful, not many were out at midnight, certainly not in this part of town. Porshen tried the door. Flimsy, but locked. About to tear the handle out, the robot reconsidered. What he is about to do will cost the owner considerably, adding a new door handle will make his day worse. With a little bit of work, Porshen fabricated rudimentary lockpicks, opening the door in a matter of a minute. The security system didn't voice an alarm, just as planned. Pocketing the products he identified earlier, he turned to the exit.

Nothing to give back to shop owner. Unfortunate.

With that thought, he proceeded to leave in search of a hiding place to apply his newly acquired goods.