None of the above.

Mack looked at the masterfully-crafted watch in the comparatively shoddy dormitory light. He had time to spare, if only a few minutes, so he felt safe enough to be methodical about formulating his plan. He thought out loud, since as far as he knew, no one was listening. "First, the list of targets. The ones we're after; for now anyways, the big 4 that think they're untouchable, Stacy, Becky, Emmy, and Prinsillia. Once they're dealt with, I got a few ideas for who's next, but that's a little too far ahead. Let's focus on the task at hand."

"Number 1, Stacy, the leader, the main threat, blah blah blah, taken care of, she's sleeping right now, it's really only a matter of time before she admits defeat. How much time, is the question with an answer that could really fuck me over, especially if she can meet up with her gang. That's why I gotta get something done now. Well, that and we want them to stop using those poor people as lack-"

A look of shock overtook him, as though his own train of thought had gone horribly off the rails. However, it was quite the opposite; he was instead suprised he had yet to reach this inevitable conclusion. He said, "The lackey. Of course," like it was a obvious fact, the same way a square had 4 sides and the sky was blue. A slightly malicious grin spread across his face as a sinister undertone melded in with his voice. "She's been itching for something like this for a while, huh? Waaaay longer then me." He looked down at Stacy. She'd be an easy target for one of any potential enemies. One in particular came to mind, Stacy's own personal little servant: Ashtrae Lacey.

Ashtrae was a small woman, about 160cm at the most. She always wore a hoodie that was a bit too big for her, concealing her palms and dropping a bit past her waist, even in weather too hot to justify anything beyond decency, usually accompanied by shorts that rarely went past her knees. She had short brown hair, and a complextion that suggested a fairly healthy lifestyle.

But, anyone that took anything more than a passing glance at her could tell that something was 'wrong' with her. Mack never liked saying things like that, but he wasn't sure how else to describe it. Her eyes were empty, dead, like her soul had been sucked out, and she was always clutching her right shoulder, as if it would fall off at a moment's notice. Though, it wasn't hard to guess why, even if she would never give the specifics. It was rare to see her without Stacy, and more often than not, the rest of Stacy's group just a bit farther ahead. Often was she ordered to fetch things or perform menial tasks the 4 couldn't be bothered to grab/do themselves, which was quite a lot.

From what Mack could gather, Ashtrae had been leashed along by Stacy and the remainder for at least a few years by this point. Over the course of the last dozen and a half months, they interacted fairly often, if only as a byproduct of waiting for Stacy to find something in her room or change outfits or something to that degree. He was fairly sure she enjoyed those moments of small talk, though she always faced away from him, never making eye contact.

Really, none of that was important anymore, nor were any of Ashtrae's or Mack's or anyone else's woes. Tables were about to turn, change was right around the corner. He just had to take a few steps forward. The first of those steps was to get her involved. She'd almost certainly know some hidden weakness for them to exploit, and even if she didn't, an extra mind and hand would be nice to have.

He figured he should call her from Stacy's phone, just to make a point. He wasn't entirely sure what Stacy would've saved her number as, nor if Stacy even had her number. Of course, he was right to guess that Stacy did, because when he opened the contact list, the third row read 'Ashtray'. He took a moment to correct the spelling and hit 'Call'.