《Cuckoo》 Cuckoo 1 The parasite wearing Simon Fairwellow''s body knocked on Sarah''s front door at eight a.m. He was tired. Tense. A more casual observer might have missed the dark rings hiding beneath his eyes, given the way they blended in with his complexion; however, Sarah had known the artist for over five years, and their presence was a major red flag. "Morning," Simon greeted her as rainwater dripped from his coat. "You mind if I come in? We need to talk." His words were curt and distracted, like something was weighing on his mind. Sarah got the impression that he was attempting to be his usual disarming self, yet his intonation held an edge of insistence that sent a jolt of panic racing down her spine. "Now''s not a good time," she told him nervously, her smile feeling more like a grimace. "I have to finish a report for my supervisor, or he''s going to dock my pay. How about tomorrow? Sometime in the afternoon, maybe?" Simon planted his foot against the door before Sarah could lock him out. A faint hum began to build in the early, September air. "It''s important," he insisted as the warble shrunk and surged. "You know I wouldn''t be here if it wasn''t." Simon leaned through the threshold. The harsh buzz shifted in pitch until it almost synchronized with his lips. "Don''t make me stand in the hallway like an asshole. Half the building must be listening in." Behind him, one of Sarah''s neighbors pulled her daughter along as the two of them headed towards the stairs. The woman was distracted by both her phone and her charge; however, she still had enough presence of mind to avoid eye-contact while she tried to disguise her blush. Her daughter was less discerning; the silent pre-teen stared pointedly at their on-going argument until her mother chivvied her along. "...They way I figure it, we can do this one of two ways," Simon continued, once the pair were out of earshot. "Either you let me in, so we can talk about this like civilized people, or I''ll go get a camera and we can reenact an episode of Cops. It''s your choice." Sarah stared at the obdurate parasite before swearing beneath her breath. "...Fine. Fine. But I want you to know that I don''t appreciate being railroaded." She stepped aside to let him in and then scowled at the footprints he left on her white tile floor. "And wipe your feet: this isn''t a barn." Simon silently ground his soles against her rubber welcome mat until the mud slid off his boots in large, dime-sized chunks. "Is this good enough for you?" Sarah just scowled in reply. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and twirled her fingers through the air. "Come on, get to the point. Why are you here? If you keep screaming in my ear, you''re going to shake my fillings loose." The buzz cut out as Simon killed the broadcast. There was still a faint echo to mark the parasite''s presence; however, it was much more muted than his previous atonal screeching. The absence was actually such a relief that Sarah relaxed her grip on her host. She quickly resecured her coils with a shiver of subdued disgust. If Simon noticed the lapse, he chose not to comment on it as he took a seat at the kitchen table. "Kennedy''s called a meeting," he told her while his fingers picked through a decorative bowl of fruit. "I wish I could say that attendance is mandatory, but it''s more like a strongly-worded suggestion. Do you want to take a guess at what the topic of conversation is going to be?" Sarah glowered. "The Light of the World," she said before pulling up the transparent pane. "Specifically, the Network''s recent arrival." "More like our orders from the Offal Sea." Simon flicked the stem of a green banana with a semi-disgusted scoff. "How about it, Fields? You ready to blow up a power plant? Maybe knife a politician or two?" Sarah''s frown deepened. She tucked a lock of golden blonde hair back behind her ear. "Yeah," Simon commiserated bitterly. "Me neither." "It is what it is," Sarah muttered, her support half-hearted at best. "What does Kennedy have to say about it?" She walked around the granite countertop and took a seat across from her guest. The dark-haired parasite shrugged despondently. "No clue. He''s been here longer than either of us, though: I can''t imagine he''s eager to get his kids killed." Against her will, Sarah did the math in her head. She''d been living on Earth for over twenty years - twenty-five of which were in her current host. She''d been inserted during the Second Phase, after the scouts had delivered their report, and Kennedy''s cadre had preceded hers, with all the messiness that entailed. Depending on when he''d been deployed, he could have been here for nearly four decades. It was certainly long enough to get attached. Sarah glanced at the picture of her grandmother hanging from the wall. The old woman was smiling as she applauded Sarah''s high school graduation. "What about you?" Sarah asked him before turning away from the photo. "Where do you stand?" Simon pursed his lips. "Talia maxed out my credit card two weeks after some jackoff totaled my Kia. With that being said? I''d rather take this planet than leave it." He ran a long-fingered hand through his curly hair. "Listen, I''m not asking you to wave a banner proclaiming your new allegiance, but at least let the man know he''s not pissing into the wind. Show up for the meeting. Hear what he has to say. If worst comes to worst, we can always give the new-blood shit." Sarah''s lips twisted into a sour grimace. "No, I hate those kids - every time they open their mouth, I feel like I should shoot one of them in the head. I''ll go, but I refuse to let this turn into some sort of maladjusted, social affair." She tapped her fingers against the table. "What time is this bullshit even scheduled for?" "Four p.m." Simon replied. "It''d be earlier, but I need to pick up Fiona, since her father isn''t read in. The other rugrats are making their own way." That was probably for the best; Massachusetts was getting better about racially profiling drivers, but Simon could run into trouble if he was seen with a bunch of minors in his car. Especially, if none of them were his. "Have fun with that," she jeered sarcastically. "Oh yeah, loads. You hear Fiona got herself shot?" Sarah shook her head. "Apparently, she put one in her leg while she was down at the range. Accidental discharge. I nearly shit myself when Amanda told me about it. I thought I was going to have to sneak into the hospital and doctor her medical records, maybe help her find a new host." Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I need a drink." She stood up and walked towards the fridge. "Do you want water or wine?" Simon glanced at the clock above the sink before deciding that he didn''t give a damn about the early hour. "Wine, it''s been the right sort of week for it." Sarah grabbed two mugs from the lower cabinet and shut the door with her hip. Simon snagged the bottle out of her hand before removing the cork with his teeth. "Don''t you dare spit that on my floor," Sarah warned him, once her ears had stopped ringing from the pop. "It''s bad enough I''ll have to get the mop." Simon set the wine-stained plug on top of her table with exaggerated care. "You''re worse than the Dominionists. You know this cushy apartment isn''t going to last, right? Even if we tell the Offal Sea where to shove it, it''s just going to get wrecked in the fighting." "Maybe," Sarah agreed mulishly. "In the meantime, at least my floor will be clean." She watched the bottle drain into her cup with a frustrated gaze. After the liquid hit the rim, she traded her glass for Simon''s. "Any word on whether the other Networks have arrived, yet?" Simon wriggled his hand back and forth. "I haven''t gotten their interfaces to display, but there''s been a couple of signs. I figure, it''s just a matter of time. The second the Light of the World punched through, the others were fated to follow. Like murderous ducklings. ...Or maybe fucking sharks." If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Sarah glanced at the still open window.
[Warspawn Infiltrator 269733c]
[Level 1]
[Initialization Pending...]
She closed it with a careless gesture. "Fuck, this is a depressing conversation: let''s talk about something else." The blonde hunted for a less soul-crushing topic and latched onto the first thing which came to mind "How''s college been treating you? Are you still painting?" The parasite winced and accepted his mug when Sarah slid the handle towards his hand. "I can''t say I''ve had the time," he confessed while a flicker of pain swam through his dark green eyes. "I was working on a landscape for a month or two, but life got in the way. It''s a shame too - it was turning out rather nice." Sarah raised her eyebrows in vague interest, so Simon continued. "There''s an observatory at the edge of the harbor, which has a pretty good view of the sea. At night, you can pitch the telescope down and see the horizon hovering above the waves. It makes me want to go parasailing. I was trying to capture the essence of that feeling, so I could display it permanently on canvass." Sarah stared into the depths of her cup. "You talk about it like you can''t just pick up a brush." "The stars have moved," Simon grumbled. "I''d need new reference material. Besides, nobody wants to pay for art when they can just get it for free off pixiv." The complaint was an old refrain and one Simon had harped about often. "You should still make the attempt," Sarah insisted, her voice steady, despite the hypocrisy curdling in her gut. "Weren''t you collaborating with that one girl? Cindy or something?" Simon shook his head. "She dropped out of class. She said she wanted to have more time to take commissions. Unless I start working with the Red Library, her current projects aren''t anything it''d be worth signing onto." "Too explicit?" Sarah asked him dryly. "More like they''re not worth the hassle. Even though everyone''s got a friend who draws porn, you develop a certain reputation if you''re open about it. I''m sure you know what I mean." Sarah did. She still got angry texts from Cook after the parasite''s complaints to HR had gone through. Ostensibly, corporate had welcomed her back and had acknowledged her concerns; however, not everyone had been so sanguine about giving Huffman the axe. Most of her co-workers hadn''t been so crass as to say anything to her face. She knew his harassment had become the talk of the office, though. After a week or two, the gossip had gotten so bad that she''d applied for her severance and gone hunting for a new job. "Do you regret it?" Simon asked her as Sarah picked at the sleeve of her blouse. "You used to be pretty aggressive about climbing the corporate ladder. I thought you were aiming for management." "I was young," Sarah explained wearily. "I had this idea that if I was well positioned, the folks back home would cut me some slack when the invasion kicked off. It was all a crock of shit, though. We both know they''d use me up and then leave my corpse to rot. They''ve gamed the system to the point where there''s no real way to opt out and a lot of excuses to buy in. I think I''ve just resigned myself to making the best of things. Eventually, it''ll be back to the grind and doing fucked up shit for worse reasons." Simon gave her a level look. "If you ask me, that sounds like something you should discuss with Kennedy." "Yeah, maybe," Sarah agreed blandly. Unfortunately, she didn''t see the point. There wasn''t a magic bullet that could nip their problems in the bud. Even if there was, the nobility would spoil her happy ending out of spite. As for the locals... well, the less said about them the better. "I should get going," Simon mused as he stared at his empty glass. "Promise me you''ll at least consider it?" Sarah blinked and then scowled at her tablemate. "I already said I''d go." "Sure," the parasite agreed, "but I want you to actually listen to him. Don''t do that thing where you freeze up so you can dodge an awkward conversation." Sarah clicked her tongue. "Get out of my house, Simon." "Alright, alright. I''m going." The dark-haired artist rose from his chair and headed for the hall. "It was good to see you, though, Fields. Seriously." Sarah couldn''t stop staring at his back. "Sure," she nodded woodenly. "Same, I suppose." His footsteps trailed away until the front door closed with a bang. Sarah felt like echoing the sound with her head. Instead, she set their cups down in the sink, so she could avoid the temptation to throw them at her wall. While she ran the water to do the dirty dishes, she pulled up the Light''s interface with her free hand. The pale glow of her old designation cast a blurry reflection across the right side of her face. She hated seeing the numbers there; she loathed the impersonal reminder. If the Network had called her Sarah, or even Fields, she might have been tempted to accept its offer; doing it beneath her old name, though, was too bitter to contemplate. "I''m not interested," she told the Light. "I''m not." The Network didn''t answer. Unlike the rest of its species, the Light could be recalcitrant like that. Sarah turned the water off and stubbornly glared at the pane. Finally, after a minute of scrutiny, it acquiesced and displayed the correct text. Sarah bit the inside of her cheek. There was a part of her that wanted to say, ''too little - too late,'' but the Network could be vindictive. At the very least, she should let it finish initializing, so it didn''t change its mind. There was a faint beep as the Light acknowledged her consent. Then, thin traceries of mana began to dance through the sticky air. Sarah shivered; if she hadn''t been protected by the natural resilience of her host, the spell''s backscatter might have charred her to a crisp. As it was, her fins were becoming uncomfortably warm from the diffuse particles penetrating her skin. The Light ignored her growing concern. Delicate arrays spun into place and took a brief snapshot of her body. Eventually, the Network decided it was satisfied with the baseline it had established and informed her that its ''calibrations'' were complete. [Initialize Tutorial?], it asked her with a chime. Sarah clicked the box labeled, [No]. She was familiar with the menu''s layout, since the Light used the same GUI as its peers. Instead, she silently tabbed over to the [Tasks]section and set her filters to [All]. A collection of assignments filled the screen. [Find a Mana Field], the first one read. The second told her to [Increase your passive intake to .065 mn/min]. Most of these messages were designed to teach the natives how to cultivate the Light''s natural energy. If you were born on this planet, and trying to muddle through, these guidelines would lead you by the nose until you finally got the hang of things. Afterwards, they''d pull back and give you room to run; however, compared to the other Networks, the Light was a bit cloying. Sarah figured it was a side-effect of losing its war with the Offal Sea. If heuristic processes were sufficient then it wouldn''t have been forced to flee from a dozen worlds. Whether or not that made its hovering successfulwas harder to say, but Sarah was inclined to guess no. In any event, it also wasn''t her problem, so she set the matter aside while she tabbed down to the regional objectives. Here, local contributions were displayed in a comprehensive breakdown as the natives strived for milestones. The most active one on the list seemed to be related to the coastal mana level. Sarah wanted access to the bounties. It took her a minute to find them, since there wasn''t much competitive churn without the other Networks to play off of. [Contract - Elimination], the stream of azure light announced. [Target: Charlie Hartman, aka ''ReligiousMike08'' aka @portlandfaithworks]. [Reward: 17.839 mn/ 10 min, purity - > 0.975/1, attunement - TBD]. The name wasn''t familiar. Sarah opened up chrome and did a quick google search. After clicking on the second link, she found herself browsing a webpage for some religious congregation out west. Apparently, the leader had a twitter account full of the usual, self-righteous garbage. His most recent screed was focused on the Light and how it was here to corrupt their souls. A more moderate individual might have blocked the man. The Network had decided to address the accusations by putting a price on his head. That hadn''t shut him up, but Sarah figured it was only a matter of time. The important thing was that none of her cohort were up there beside him. They shouldn''t be; the Light rarely targeted individual warspawn for removal, but it was hard not to harbor doubts. Sarah eyed the window and then closed it with a wave of her hand. Such were the trials of those caught up in the current conflict. The only thing going for her was the immense size of the front. The Light probably didn''t care about a couple of conscripts in a newly initialized world. Not, if they played along like High Command had ordered. ''Social camouflage,'' her superiors had called it. So long as their hosts contributed to the Light''s agenda, it was unlikely to pick a fight. The Network wouldn''t be happyabout its adherents killing each other, but the nobility had encouraged enough skullduggery on Lexifer that they were confident they knew where the line lay. Their operations just had to look personal - like they were targeting native factions. Speaking of which, Sarah checked the clock. Only a couple of hours to go. She should probably get ready for the meeting. Cuckoo 2 Ready, in this case, meant going over her apartment with a fine-toothed comb. Because as much as her cohort had a reason to worry about the Light? The ever-present fear that one of the locals was spying on them was a far more pressing concern. If they were lucky, it''d just be one of the alphabet agencies conducting a routine search; the U.S. government tended to be pretty hands off and often preferred to monitor any security threats they happened to stumble across. Meanwhile, the crackpots who realized they''d discovered an actual alien invasion were much more inclined to get their gun. Since one of these groups was easier to live with than the other, it led to an odd list of precautions. For example? Photograph everything. The easiest way to see if someone had rummaged through her apartment was to know how everything had been laid out. This sort of defense was rarely good enough to catch a professional investigator; however, if Sarah was merely dealing with a couple of local hoodlums, then it could still prove fairly effective. Amanda Tada had proven that conclusively after she''d discovered two intruders within a three-year period. Sure, one of them had only been her building manager, trying to steal her laptop, but it''s not like she''d have been any less screwed if he''d noticed anything amiss. Personally, Sarah was determined to be thorough. She made sure to document her shelves, her cabinets and even the drag lines on her rug before she closed the apartment door behind her. If anyone had a suspicion that she wasn''t Sarah Fields, then the blonde wanted to know about it. So far, no one had ever accused her of anything nefarious. She intended to keep it that way. "Fucking voyeurs. This had better be worth it, Simon." The curly-haired artist didn''t answer. He was too far away for their internal relays to pass the message along. As it was, she''d have to pick up the phone or meet with him in person if she wanted to voice her concerns. After breathing out the tension that was writhing between her ribs, she resolved to do the latter, once their chat with Kennedy wound down. At least, the drive to the meeting proved uneventful. The governor of Massachusetts had issued a curfew, following the Light of the World''s arrival; however, the deadline wasn''t for another few hours, and Sarah had her doubts whether anyone would heed it. The current administration had simply taken too harsh a beating for most people to be willing to comply. Between all of the fear mongering and misinformation that had cropped up during Covid, institutional confidence was at an all-time low. The lack of a massive death toll didn''t help matters. Later on, once the integration was fully underway, the public''s attitude might shift, but for now most people were content to bury their head in the sand until this entire nightmare had passed. Sarah envied them and their delusions. It''d be nice if she could be so comfortably blas¨¦. Instead, she found herself skulking through Cutler Park, so she could make contact with a dozen saboteurs in what was essentially a concrete bunker. "Fields," one of the agents in question greeted her after she''d stepped off the winding trail. Leaning against a plastic garbage can while he slowly caught his breath, O''neal Rogers didn''t look like much at first blush. Your impression also didn''t really change after you took a second glance. He was too small, and too frail, to inspire significant fear or concern. Sarah knew a couple of women who''d take exception to his dour bearing; however, one look at his lame shoulder would force them to write him off as a threat. And their dismissal would be fair: Rogers wasn''t the type to go around winning many fist fights. Once, before he''d fallen from the Catskill Mountains, he might have been more of a contender; these days, though, it''d take a king''s ransom in Merit just for him to lose the limp. ...Merit like he''d receive from killing turncoats and traitors. "Rogers," Sarah muttered while she eyed his long, metal cane. "You seem upset. Care to explain?" The parasite remained silent for a moment and then reached up to touch his face. He must not have realized what expression he was making because he had to visibly force himself to drop his sour grimace. "I suppose it''s just the times," he explained, his fingers slipping free from his chin. "Meeting like this sits poorly with me. A single lapse could put us all at risk. Getting caught in the act..." He shook his head. "That would be one thing. It''s another to be discovered before we''ve even begun." Sarah refused to flinch at the reminder of their upcoming activities. "You''re that eager to get started?" Rogers shrugged, the motion complicated by his weak left side. "I''ll admit, the pain''s been getting to me. I''m not like Hayes - I can''t throw my life away every time it gets too hard. Some of us value what we''ve built." ''But not so much that you''re unwilling to risk it.'' The criticism was sitting on the tip of her tongue for all that Sarah kept the scorn trapped behind her teeth. Unlike Rogers, she still had the option of selecting a new host; the parasite standing across from her wasn''t quite so lucky. Not after his flesh had healed around his host''s broken spine. Now, his choices were to either molt or die, and the second wasn''t really an option. Sarah turned her gaze away from his acrimonious scowl. She focused on the pavilion sinking into the earth behind him. "What about Dillinger?" she asked. "Does ''Little Miss Fuck-it-all'' feel the same way?" Rogers scoffed. "I can''t say I know Samantha''s opinion on the matter. It''s not like the two of us formed a club when we learned the other had gotten hurt." Sarah ignored the reflexive stab of embarrassment, which rushed towards her cheeks. "You don''t talk?" "I''m not sure she talks to anyone. Since that''s what we''re supposed to be doing, I can''t say I disapprove." Sarah couldn''t hide the wince his admonishment elicited. She knew the redhead was right, but she''d never been able to follow through with his prescribed resolution. For all the discomfort her peers had caused, it was easier to be miserable together than marginally less wretched alone. Heck, it was the reason why she and Amanda had gotten along so well until the two of them had finally broken up. "I think I''m going to risk it," she told him, unwilling to argue the point. "Are you going to be okay out here? All by yourself?" The parasite waved her away. "I''ll stagger along after I catch my breath. Tell Marcus I said hello." Sarah didn''t think she''d see him inside but nodded, anyway. Then, after taking a telling step into the grass, Sarah swung around Rogers and entered the rundown building. The hallway was dark. Claustrophobic. Ostensibly, the pavilion had been erected to keep picknickers dry from the rain; however, it was hard to imagine a less inviting refuge when the walls were bare concrete. Even the homeless tended to give this place a wide berth; there was a much nicer shelter downtown, and those bunks had in-door plumbing. Unless someone truly curious stopped by, there was no good reason for their meeting to be interrupted. Naturally, this meant Sarah was inundated with suspicion before she could cross the threshold. "Knock it off!" she snarled at the cacophonous trill from her companions. "You lot know it''s me!" The sub-vocal clamor died down. "Sorry," Kennedy apologized on the rest of the room''s behalf. "Some people thought it would be wise to get back into the habit." "But not you?" Sarah asked him irritably. The stocky, blonde warspawn shook his head. "I think there are better ways for us to begin. Besides, you''re not the only one who''s particular about using the relays." Nikki Pesh came to mind. Melinda Pullberry too. There were a few others who''d prefer to keep quiet when using the internal channels; however, Pullberry was the only one who categorically refused to get involved. Apparently, she was worried about the transmissions being intercepted by an outside party. Whether that was reasonable or not, Sarah couldn''t say. Her paranoia suited the blonde''s prerogatives, though, so she was willing to play along with the excuse. A wordless grunt left her lips as Sarah approached the wide, plastic table. Like most of their meetings, it was currently setup in the center of the floor, where it wouldn''t disturb the noxious mold overlaying the pink graffiti. Behind her, near the southern corner, there were a couple of extra chairs stacked beneath a ragged corkboard. No one really thought they''d need them, though, so they''d been left to rot while a dozen more were strewn about in wait. Sarah decided to take the open seat next to Rachel Hayes. The strung-out parasite shot her a hostile glare, when she saw where Sarah was headed, but her glower proved less than effective. "Who else are we waiting on?" Hayes spat after turning away with a scowl. "I''ve got things I need to get back to if I''m going to pay my rent." Kennedy lifted his hand in a silent plea for patience. The request went largely unheeded by the other occupants of the room. "We''re just waiting on the kids," he informed her at a far more reasonable volume. "Some of our younger cousins had to walk." "Why?" Amanda asked him with an edge of growing suspicion. "Were they discovered?" It was a fair question from the petite infiltrator. As two of the Sea''s newest arrivals, Nickolas Townsend and Barkley ''No-last-name'' were a lot less careful than those who''d been on Earth for several years. William Mannly was a bit better about it, since he''d really lucked out on his host; however, even he was willing to take risks that would''ve caused his older peers to balk. Kennedy just grimaced and fought the urge to hide his face. "...Jason?" Amanda hissed before bracing herself against the table. "What happened?" Kennedy refused to answer. Dillinger spoke up in his stead. "Townsend off-ed his fucking parents the other night. Mannly told me the stupid cunt shot them, using the gun they kept in their closet. Apparently, he was trying to kick things off early to ''earn a little Merit.'' Personally, I think he just caved into peer pressure: Barkley''s been eager enough to run his mouth whenever he thinks they''re alone." Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Amanda covered her lips, torn between horror and disgust. "That''s not how it works! That''s not how any of this works! The Sea isn''t going to reward him just because he went on a killing spree!" Dillinger shrugged prosaically. "Do I look like I share his opinion? He''s the one who said it; argue with him if you''re that eager to waste your time." "Blythe," Sarah called out, causing the sullen teen to briefly flinch. "Did you know about this?" Fiona shook her head. As one of the younger members of their fractious cabal, she was closer to Townsend''s generation than Sarah''s, which left her guilty by association, even if she was telling the truth. Simon groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Damn it all. At least, tell me the little shit''s going to put in an appearance." "Would you?" Pullberry countered sarcastically, her foot jittering beneath the table. The parasite noticed the atonal rapping and planted her heel against the floor. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?" "It''s his business," Dillinger argued with a degree of heartless zeal. "I say we keep it that way until his problems become our own. Have they?" Her ponytail bobbed up and down as she glanced between her peers. When no one chose to speak up, she nodded decisively. "Then, I say we sit on it. If it becomes an issue, we can always cut our losses." "So, you''re saying we should shoot him," Simon drawled. "Not right away, but... eventually." Dillinger sneered at his mocking reply. "Is that supposed to be an objection?" "No, no," Simon hastened to reassure her. "I just want to make things clear." "No one''s shooting anybody," Kennedy cut in, his soft tones doing more to arrest their argument than the spite of the two''s repartee. "At the very least, we should give Nickolas the chance to tell us his side of the story. The kid has a right to defend himself." "Does he?" Dillinger asked archly, but the question was rhetorical at best; she didn''t expect an answer. Kennedy gave her one, anyway. "He does. I know the folks back home are fond of wanton callousness, but there''s no reason we have to put up with it, now that we''re out from under their thumb. While we''re here on Earth, we have an opportunity to make our own choices - to live a life guided by our own principles. I''m not sure about you, but I know I''d appreciate a little more sympathy than the nobility were inclined to grant us." He glanced around the plastic table. "I was hoping to save this conversation for when we had all settled in. Events are going to start moving pretty quickly, and the last few years have already been too damned fast. You all deserve a chance to contemplate what I''m about to say with a clear head; especially, if you haven''t been on Earth for more than a couple of years. I know Hayes and I have had our issues, but even we can agree that the situation you''re about to face is tragic. You shouldn''t have to make a decision in a fraction of the time we''ve been allotted. Nevertheless, it needs to be said." "Are we going to war?" Kennedy asked them with an air of grim disbelief. "For a kingdom that has never had our back? For a species that has only ever offered us a serial number and a chance at a hole in the ground? Because I''ve gotta say, I''m of a mind to tell them, ''Hell no.''" For a moment, Sarah''s stomach rolled as Kennedy actually said it. He didn''t prevaricate - he didn''t dance around the issue - he seriously posed the question to a room full of people, who should''ve killed him for voicing the notion. It was madness. Insane. Sarah agreed with his argument, and even she was thinking about where to hide his body. Kennedy could do a lot of damage if he didn''t like their response. The blonde glanced down at her shaking hands and the flecks of green acrylic coating her half-bitten nails. All it would take was one word to the right doctor for Kennedy to start another witch hunt. The second they took him in for an x-ray, his real body would be revealed, clear as day. If he was feeling ambitious, he could even direct the outrage by throwing around a few accusations. That wasn''t the worst part, though. The one which really rattled her was the Offal Sea would let him get away with it. All of this obfuscation had only ever been for their benefit - to ensure the first four Waves might somehow survive their insertion. If they were forced to work in the open, Earth''s paranoia would serve just as well. After all, it''s not like the nobility had tried to save the Moscow cell, when the KGB had begun to root them out. Her superiors hadn''t even plugged the leak. Once the spooks were done playing their fucked-up game, the aliens had simply written off the dead and sent the Second Wave to take their place. More meat for the grinder. Sarah shivered as Dillinger cleared her throat. "And then?" the latter asked him, her neck tense and her lips pressed together in disgust. "After we''ve managed to piss off our only allies? What''s our next move? Do we ask the locals for asylum? Should we try to jump ship once one of the Dominionists charts a course off-planet?" "If we have to," Kennedy said, his hands spread beseechingly. "I''m not saying this is the best solution. I''m not even going to pretend to have the answers to all of your questions. I just think it''s stupid to put ourselves in a position where most of us are liable to get shot. Hasn''t that always been our MO? To keep our heads down while we wait things out?" Amanda nodded, her shoulders canted forward. Simon also seemed convinced, but the consensus didn''t travel much farther than them. Dillinger, for instance, was content to remain silent and Pullberry was visibly pissed. As for Blythe, the young teen was glancing between the two camps, uncertain where she should land. Hayes was her typical, cantankerous self. "There''s a difference between inaction and desertion," she insisted, her matted hair framing her face. "Dillinger''s right, you''re setting us up for failure." "...But we''ve had that conversation," she continued, reluctantly chewing on her tongue. "And truth be told, I can''t say I give a shit about being on the losing team. I''m used to that. I''ve grown familiar with fumbling around while struggling to make ends meet. No, my question is much more pointed, and we both know it''s what you''re really arguing for without over-complicating the issue. Do you want me to spit it out, or should I just put you on the spot?" Kennedy looked like every one of his forty odd years had decided to kick him in the nuts. "If you think it''s important, then don''t hold back." "Fine. I guess I''ll clarify for everyone who''s been too busy jerking it to pay attention. Jason, why the hell are you trying to convince us to take a stand with the humans? Because of your kids?" Hayes scoffed. "Fuck your kids. Your daughter hates you, and your son barely knows you. You''ve been lying to them since the day they were born, and even your wife is oblivious, despite hardly being a package deal. At least, Tada had the balls to tell her girlfriend before she decided to cut them off. Rather than giving us this day-camp, kumbaya bullshit, why don''t you grow a pair and own up to what this is really about. You just don''t want to let your family down one last fucking time." Kennedy''s shoulders slumped the longer Hayes spoke. He was tired - too tired, perhaps, to respond to her accusations properly. What''s more, he seemed disinclined to waste his energy by retreading old ground. "Are you done?" he asked her, once she had settled back into her chair. Hayes didn''t get a chance to respond. Instead, there was a faint squeak as the pavilion''s door was suddenly flung towards the wall. Rogers walked in. Mannly and Townsend followed behind him, disappointed by the lack of a bang. Barkley tried to bring up the rear, but he lost control of his host''s instincts at the last second. The heavy Doberman bound around the room, excited by all the strange smells. His barks were particularly grating after Hayes'' caustic rebuttal. Mannly''s smirk hardly helped matters as he claimed his usual seat. "I feel like we''re interrupting," he confessed while Rogers pushed his chair in. "Please, continue." Mannly folded his hands into a delicate bridge and pasted an angelic guise across his pudgy face. Dillinger rolled her eyes, refusing to take the bait. "How long have you been listening at the door?" "I think we arrived halfway through Kenney''s ode to treason." The youth glanced at Townsend, who offered a nod in return. "So yes, you can consider us largely caught up." "And your thoughts?" Kennedy muttered, despite knowing where the four of them stood. "I won''t recant what I''ve said. If you have a point, then raise it. If you have concerns, then you should feel comfortable letting us know. This isn''t a democracy, but it''s close enough: consider the floor yours." Mannly raised an eyebrow and peered at the moldy concrete. His posh expression had a bit of a dry twist. "That''s alright, it suits you more. If I might poke a hole in your argument, though?" Kennedy motioned for him to continue. "Isn''t this all a bit moot? Whether or not we protest our orders, there are others who get to have their say. For example, what happens if our peers remain unconvinced by this grand declaration of neutrality?" Kennedy frowned. "I''d like to think we know each other well enough to have moved beyond issues of mistrust." Mannly allowed his lips to quirk with sardonic amusement. "I was referring to our compatriots in Hartford, but if you want to focus on the home front then I can assure you that we''ve very much not. Isn''t that right, Ms. Fields?" Sarah tried to keep her opinion to herself. "Have you considered it?" he asked her, his eyes narrowed in thought. "What it will mean if there''s a permanent division in our ranks? I imagine you must have. You''ve always struck me as the begrudging type and paranoid to boot." "Lay off," Amanda ordered, nearly rattling the beams with her voice. "Let''s not make this personal." "It''s already personal," Mannly countered before eyeing Kennedy and Hayes. "And like our would-be leader admitted earlier, it needs to be said. There''s a reason why Marcus has always kept us at arm''s length. As much as our circle has tried to foster a sense of community, kinship doesn''t come easily to us. Not by nature and not by design. We''re traitors. Betrayers. Saboteurs and spies. It''s practically in our name. I won''t deny that there''s poetry in turning our skills against our oppressors; however, there''s no guarantee that our comrades won''t turn their cloaks twice. I''d like a bit of reassurance." Kennedy''s face was blank. "Did you have something in mind?" Mannly spread his hands in a perversion of his colleague''s earnestness. "No, and that''s quite the predicament. Do you?" When Kennedy didn''t answer, the curly-haired youth let the pretense slip off his countenance like a coat. "Then, I''m afraid I''m just not interested in postponing the coming slaughter." "Same," Townsend grunted, his body obscured by the table''s lip. Amanda growled. "You can shut the fuck up. We''ve already heard what you''ve been up to, and any opinion with your vote behind it strikes me as immediately suspect." Rogers was more charitable. "I think we can weigh the merits of Mannly''s objection without being biased by Townsend''s judgement. I certainly have my own feelings on the matter, and they have very little to do with either suspicion or mistrust." The lame redhead turned towards their eldest member. "I''m sorry, Jason - but I cannot assent to this scheme. There''s no coda where it ends well for me." Kennedy accepted the news with quiet dignity. "I understand. I never really thought I''d be able to convince you otherwise. Not after the accident. Can we at least agree to stay out of each other''s way? A gentleman''s agreement shouldn''t put you out of sorts." Rogers didn''t need to think about the offer for very long. "That seems fair. I''m certainly not inclined to pick more of a fight than I have to." "Then maybe that''s your answer," Kennedy told Mannly. "Are you willing to agree to the same?" Mannly''s teeth were on display, though it was hard to call his expression a smile. "Sure, what are friends for." "Right," the blond grunted skeptically. "Then, I suppose we should put it to a vote? Who here thinks we should turn our backs on the war? I''ll leave siding with the humans off the table, even if that''s what Hayes thinks this will all come down to." Five hands went up, Sarah''s reluctantly among them. "Opposed?" Townsend''s refusal was obvious and Mannly raised his own arm with a lazy disregard. Barkley also raised his paw, once he''d managed to compel his host. Rogers thought about joining the protest but kept his hands in his lap. "I''ll assume the rest of you abstain." Kennedy glanced around the room. "Five to three isn''t a majority, so I''m not going to push for anything more at the moment. There are elements we could discuss - plans, logistics and the like - but I think you''ll understand if I don''t want to get into the details while a couple of our comrades are in the room. How about we agree to take a break for now and meet again in a week or so? I''ll get in touch with everyone privately and by then things might have changed enough that some of you feel a bit differently." Hayes snorted at his optimism. "Sure, Jason. In the meantime, I''ll keep wishing with my left hand: you can feel free to shit in the right." Cuckoo 3 After exchanging a few words with Kennedy, Amanda lingered by the exterior door while everyone else filed out. Twenty-three, and in the prime of her life, Sarah''s ex-partner was wearing a short, pleated skirt and had grown her hair just long enough to brush the top of her lace cardigan. When taken as a whole, the blonde thought she looked rather good; like Amanda had finally gotten her shit together after a lifetime of sustained disfunction. Sarah almost hated to see it. There had been a cruel comfort in knowing they were peers of a sort. Fuck-up buddies, even. Now, she''d have to hang out with Hayes in order to find someone remotely on their level. "Were you waiting for me?" Sarah asked as she shielded her face from the wind. Amanda shuffled her feet. "Sort of, though, I feel like I''d be giving myself too much credit if I actually said so. It''d be more accurate to describe what I''ve been doing as silently dithering because I was too embarrassed to walk up and say hi." The flustered parasite thought about giving voice to the greeting more explicitly before letting the matter drop. "It''s good to see you, Sarah." "It''s good to see you too," Sarah echoed stiltedly. "I... like your outfit. It''s very wholesome." Amanda twisted her upper body around to better show it off. "Thanks, I worked pretty hard on making sure all of the colors matched. I''m not super used to the whole fashion scene, so I was worried it''d come off kind of frumpy." "No," Sarah reassured her. "It looks good. Very... you." The compliment sat heavy on her tongue. There was a fine line between being supportive and being flirty, and Sarah was worried that she was dancing along the edge. "How''s Pallsburg?" she asked in the hope of resettling herself. "I didn''t see her car when I drove up." "Julie''s great," Amanda replied with an edge of nervous enthusiasm. "We''re great. Recent events have been a strain, but I''d like to think I''ve learned from Jason''s poor example - mean as that may be to say." Amanda''s fingers toyed with the purple bangle dangling from her wrist. "Anyway, I suppose that segues nicely into to why I wanted to talk to you. I was hoping we could clear the air, so to speak." Sarah tried not to wince at the pronouncement. "Is this about our breakup or my reaction afterwards?" "The latter," Amanda clarified. "I get why things didn''t work out, and it''s not the sort of objection I''d hold against you. With that being said? As shitty as you made me feel, it was worse when you cut me off. There was more to our relationship than just casual sex." Was there? Sarah had certainly thought so at the time, but she''d never been the best judge of character. In truth, after three years, all she could remember were the moments of carnal passion. The sensation of Amanda''s hands cupping her breasts had been seared into her brain; the quiet cuddling the two had engaged in afterwards seemed more like a pleasant mirage. "I felt like we needed a clean break," Sarah tried to explain. "My wordless pining was never going to be good for either of our mental health." Amanda sighed at the flimsy excuse. "And in retrospect?" she asked. "How did that work out?" Poorly, but Sarah couldn''t bring herself to admit as much. "Maybe I should be the one to ask you; I feel like I''m talking to a whole new person. You can''t tell me you''re unsatisfied if you''re standing here cute as a button." Amanda''s face flushed at the unexpected praise. "Are you finished with the surgeries you had planned, or are there a few more that you still need to schedule?" "No, this is it," Amanda confirmed. "The real me. It took a while, but I''ve finally gotten my body to look the way I want." She held her host out like she was bracing for a blow. Sarah considered the apprehension wasted effort. "Congratulations. I know how much your appearance was bothering you." Amanda slumped, her posture visibly relieved. "Thanks. Your support means a lot. I don''t want you to take this the wrong way, but your reaction was one of the few things I regret when I began my transition. Hearing you wish me well makes me think that I can close the book on that chapter of my life." "Is that so? Well, you''re welcome, I guess. I''m sorry about the way I acted, and I''m glad I could finally help." A moment passed in which Sarah was struck slightly dumb. Eventually, she cleared her throat and motioned towards the trees. "So... is that it? We''re good now? We''ve cleared the air, and I''ll see you when Kennedy calls?" It was hard to not sound faintly bitter. Sarah tried for Amanda''s sake, but she was worried her ex could tell. The mousy parasite surprised her by quietly shaking her head. "No. Or rather, I can leave if I''m making you uncomfortable. I don''t want to hold you hostage via our history of romantic baggage. It''s just... I thought the coming days would be hard enough without having to deal with our relationship on top of everything else. O''neal may have been willing to let bygones be bygones, but I''m not willing to take the kids at their word. Besides, neither Townsend nor Barkley promised shit." Amanda''s expression darkened as she recalled what the two had been up to. "I''m worried about you, Sarah," she whispered. "This is a bad time to be alone." Amanda said it like there was ever a good one - as if the loneliness gripping Sarah''s heart hadn''t been the splenetic default of their species'' monstrous existence. "I''m not moving in with you if that''s what you''re asking. I have nightmares that begin like this, and they end with one of my co-workers trying to convince me to suck off my boss." The dainty warspawn pursed her lips. "Danielle and Paul, right? Are they still bothering you? I thought you quit working for Amtrak." Sarah wriggled her wrist. "Cook likes to get drunk every couple of months and call me a whore on Twitter. I try not to take it personally." Amanda stepped closer as if to give Sarah a hug. She halted in the grass before she could follow through on the gesture, uncertain whether it''d be appreciated. "I''m sorry to hear that. You shouldn''t have to deal with her." Amanda was too kind for her own good; the boy Sarah had dated in high school would have agreed with the bitch and claimed he''d dodged a bullet. "It is what it is," she said, recalling his habitual sneer. "I''d rather talk about whatever you were hinting at earlier." Her ex frowned. Amanda buried her hands in the pockets of her beige cardigan, so no one could see her fidget. "How do you feel about tapping a mana field with Juliette and I. If Townsend is going to be wandering around, killing off his close relations, then you should have another way to defend yourself." Sarah suppressed the wave of bemusement, which followed on the heels of her offer. Amanda had never expressed much interest in the Light, when they''d been dating, and she''d always seemed like she''d favor the Loom if given half a chance. It was strange to hear her make such a suggestion when they were supposed to be plotting its downfall. Or was that the crux of the problem? Neither of them were exactly spoiled for choice, and the Light was both available and convenient. There was a reason why the nobility had gone so far as to encourage its use among their subordinates. "Aren''t you worried about the toxic build up?" Sarah asked her carefully. "I figured that having another thing wrong with your host would be likely to trigger your dysphoria." Amanda waved her concern away. "I suppose I''ve gotten a taste for self-improvement. Besides, Julie can''t afford to bide her time until a different Network shows up." No, she couldn''t, could she. The Offal Sea had a lot of data on how various civilizations handled the integration, and one of the running themes was a re-organization of the old order. Even when the upper-class managed to hold onto their power, it was usually a violent interregnum. The first-mover advantage could be a real safety net, no matter how Pallsburg wanted to proceed. Hell, if Sarah had been born on this planet, she might have been right there beside her; it was hard to say no to easy answers, and the Network had an incentive to dominate the local market. There were going to be a lot of quick gains in the coming days. Deeper development would prove costly, since it''d be more expensive for the Light of the World; however, the same could be said of any business. It also wouldn''t affect anyone on Earth until at least the twenty-thirties. You know, provided they were human. Sarah was a bit more delicate. "I don''t know how comfortable I am with poisoning myself on purpose. Ideally, you''d want to find a density in the area of zero point two with a purity above fifteen percent. Depending on how the mana''s aligned, we could be suffering from side-effects at half that much throughput." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "Only if we were out in the open," Amanda denied. "Why, were you planning on popping out? Maybe going for a squirm through the brush?" Sarah shivered. No, of course not. The only people who were comfortable leaving their host were a few of the psychopaths from the Fourth Wave. For Sarah and her peers, the birthing pools of Deravan were too far in the past to risk taking a dip. Gliding through the water with her progenitor had long since ceased to feel natural. "It''s still a risk," Sarah insisted weakly. "The nobility can make all the claims they want, they won''t be the ones endangering their lives. Do you even remember what the penetration chart stipulated? I sure don''t. I''m pretty sure our superiors expected us to figure it out via trial and fucking error." Amanda blinked, non-plussed. "For human flesh, it''s a thirty percent loss per cubic inch. Don''t ask me to describe the math, it''s been too long since I''ve had to convert the units." Sarah scowled. She fished out her phone and plugged the numbers into the calculator app on her home screen. After a minute, it informed her that a basic construct would reach parity with the environment at just shy of two feet. If Sarah built her foundation near her groin, she might be okay; someone Amanda''s size would have to get more creative. "You''re going to kill yourself. You realize that, right?" Amanda crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Stop acting like this is nuclear physics; mana has more in common with the heating element in my stove. If I screw up, the worst I''ll get is a couple of burns. At that point, I''ll just eject whatever I''m working on and wait for my fins to heal." She said it so easily, like the thought of damaging her coils didn''t make her head feel thick and her heart start to race. Personally, Sarah couldn''t picture what her real body was doing without causing a wave of nausea to climb up her throat. If she reached out with her tendrils and actually felt along her host''s spine, she''d have to take a seat on a nearby bench before her dumb ass collapsed in the dirt. "Please don''t be so flippant with your health. There''s a very low ceiling to what we''re able to endure, and I''m worried you''re going to crack your skull open while trying to bust through the glass." Amanda took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. "Fine. You''re right. I''m sorry. I shouldn''t be dismissive when your anxiety is coming from a considerate place. There are some real issues with my plan, and the nobles are banking on the Offal Sea being able to bridge the gap. If we''re not going to play their game, then we won''t have access to the same resources as the rest of the invasion. But, Sarah," she continued quietly. "You don''t get to stand there and act like it''s impossible just because it''s an uphill battle. We both know this will work." "I can''t convince you otherwise?" Amanda mutely shook her head. "Then, we''ll try things your way. I''m reserving the right to say, ''I told you so,'' though, if it blows up in our face." "I can live with that," Amanda graciously agreed. "Do you want to head out now? Julie and I were planning to make a day of it." Want was too strong a word to describe Sarah''s feelings on the matter. It was more like she had resigned herself to seeing this disaster through. Regardless, she motioned towards the dusty path, and a moment of awkward silence settled between them as they retraced their steps through the park. There was a tendency among humans to walk away from one another after the conclusion of an argument. Warspawn were the opposite, in the sense that they''d been designed to seek out conflict, instead. Both parasites had been on Earth long enough to assimilate its cultural mores, though; this meant neither of them were exactly put out when the parking lot came into sight. Pallsburg was waiting for her girlfriend by the door of Amanda''s Ford. Normally, the brunette was a boisterous woman with bright eyes and an easy expression. Today, little of her manic energy was on display as she clutched at the elbow of her faded, jean jacket. The radio was playing in the car; Pallsburg leaned in through the passenger-side window and calmly turned it off. "Hey, sweetie," she called out with a burst of artificial cheer. "Did you have a rough walk?" "Mmm, it was exhausting. I ran into a bunch of kids, and one of them made a mess. At least, I won''t be the unlucky babysitter who has to clean it up." Amanda paused by the edge of the curb and exchanged a brief hug with her girlfriend. "Oh," she then exclaimed. "I don''t think you two have ever been formally introduced. Sarah - meet Juliette. Juliette, this is Sarah." Amanda gestured back and forth between them until her hands settled closer to the brunette. "I think I''ve told you about her. It was after you took me out to Ruth Chris once we started getting serious." "Ah," Pallsburg drawled, subtly tensing up. "''The ex.''" Oh, so Sarah wasn''t the only one who referred to people like that? Pallsburg''s churlishness made the infiltrator feel better about how she''d been labeling Amanda in her head. Less... childishly petulant. "Your partner invited me to join you on your outing," she explained a little warily. "I hope it''s not a bother." ''Please let it be a bother,'' Sarah''s eyes practically begged. She had never aspired to be a homewrecker, but she''d start a screaming cat fight if that was what it took to call off this whole affair. Unfortunately, Pallsburg merely nodded along after a moment of thought. "Sure," she reassured her with insultingly amiable self-confidence. "Amanda tells me you have a lot of experience." No more than any other infiltrator on Earth, but there was something to be said for even a slapdash education. "Please don''t get your hopes up. I''m really not that impressive." Sarah turned towards her ex. "Speaking of which, did you have a place in mind, or is our destination a work in progress?" "The former; I already did most of the legwork." Amanda ducked into her C-Max and retrieved a map from the glove compartment. When she unfolded the piece of paper atop the car''s hood, Sarah could see several lines of notation penned between the margins. It looked like Amanda had canvassed half the city. Most of her attention had been on the upper east side, but there were pips scattered around Dorchester and Hyde Park as well. "I tried to stick to the coast to take advantage of the nascent ley lines. If we''re lucky, the currents will be quick enough to allow for proper clumping." Her finger moved south. "Alternatively, we can head towards one of the reservations and hope the purity there is a little higher. A lot of them have avoided industrialization, so the mana should be more homogeneous. I guess it depends on what you''re looking for." Amanada looked up from her map. "Are you particular about where we head? I know I dragged you into this out of the blue. It might be unreasonable to expect you to have a preference." Sarah was still trying to puzzle out Amanda''s penmanship, so she decided to deflect the question. "It sounds to me like you''ve narrowed it down pretty well. How long have you been planning this?" "Broadly speaking? About a year or two. It seemed like it''d be pertinent with the way our relationship was headed." Amanda smiled at her girlfriend and intertwined their fingers. "Anyway, there''s a couple of decent options. I''m also open to suggestions." Traditionally, the three of them should head towards the coast. On Lexifer, the Tellim began their service to the Light by practicing a technique known as [From Sea to Shore]. It was a modular skill, which the hairless cats could alter and improve as they developed their arcane abilities. At its most basic level, it served to keep their bodies cool from the large F-class star bearing down on the Central Desert. Once you had enough practice, though, you could also use it to insulate your flesh from the side-effects of your own mana. Given the level of sensitivity the two would be struggling with, it was a really solid choice. The only problem? It was also a technique that the nobles had instructed them to master. Beyond the danger of running into one of her peers, there was something undeniably foul about acquiescing to their command. If Sarah was going to be consorting with a bunch of rebels, then she should have the opportunity to spit in her old boss'' eye. She''d certainly dreamt about doing so often enough during her training. Sarah could still recall the way Harlan had decimated her section in the name of reflected glory. Any infiltrator who couldn''t swim from the shallows of the Green Sea to the tip of Jeel''s Peak, got precisely two weeks to fix their shit, then - ready or not - he''d release a pair of Predators into the ocean to pursue them up onto shore. If they made it, great. If not, then the bulky commandos would tear the trainee apart and haul their lifeless body away for processing. Sarah''s cohort had lost over thirty members before they''d realized that this was Harlan''s solution to everything. In the weeks that followed, they''d lost twenty more hoping his actions would draw censure from command. The final thirteen had died because they''d failed to meet his standards or had self-terminated out of spite. The worst part had been when they''d been shipped reinforcements a few months before graduation; clearly someone had known what he was up to and had officially approved of the winnowing. "Any field we find downtown will have a harsh alignment," Sarah muttered after shaking off the grim recollection. "Both ''Metal'' and ''Lightning'' mana tend to be rough on the body while the more esoteric elements, like ''Law'' and ''Commerce,'' are difficult to find at a high enough concentration. To make matters worse, all four of them are hard to work with for beginners. If you''re serious about wanting me to weigh in, then I vote for one of the reservations." "Julie?" Amanda asked before turning towards the brunette. "How about you? You''re likely to go farther with the Light than either Sarah or myself: what kind of bender would you like to be?" The woman laughed. "I always preferred Zuko, but shooting fireballs is the sort of superpower that only seems fun until you accidentally set your apartment alight. How about I go with something that won''t leave us homeless." Pallsburg studied the asphalt and then snapped her fingers a couple of times. "Who was that one woman who could desiccate plants? The one who tried to teach Katara bloodbending?" "Hama?" Amanda asked uncertainly. "Yeah, her, I want to be able to do that. Only, you know, without the gore and the mind control." Sarah wasn''t quite certain she knew who the couple was talking about. She''d never shared Amanda''s love for cartoons, and her predisposition hadn''t improved after the two of them had broken up. For the younger warspawn, waking up at six a.m. on a Saturday morning had been a way to recapture the childhood they''d been denied. Sarah, on the other hand, had found the early hour exhausting. Piecing together a fictional culture on top of that had felt like choking herself as a hobby. "In that case, I think we have a winner. I can accomplish what I want anywhere, provided the density isn''t too low." Amanda leaned on the hood of her car and dragged her nail across the map. She skipped every site that couldn''t produce at least six motes an hour until she settled on a field near Milton. "How about we try the Blue Hills? I bet one of their hiking trails will be perfect for our needs." Cuckoo 4 The reservation was about twenty minutes away, provided there wasn''t much traffic. Since fifteen miles was a ridiculous distance to walk, Sarah suggested they take the subway to save a couple dollars on parking. The others agreed. A half an hour later, once they''d finally gotten off the Red Line at Quincy Adams Station, Sarah suspected the worst they''d have to contend with was soapy brickwork sticking to the bottom of their shoes. Instead, an immense crowd crawled through the beleaguered terminal, trading feet for minutes at best. "You know, I expected this place to be deserted," Pallsburg mused as the mob shuffled closer to the train. "Maybe I''m biased, but this seems like the sort of situation where most people would call out sick from work. Who decides to sell coffee when they''re getting DMs from another dimension?" Sarah eyed the tired barista Pallsburg was already studying. The man in question was dressed in a white polo shirt with a black apron underneath, and he had the words ''Dunkin Donuts'' plastered across the ballcap on his head. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Schizophrenics?" she offered distractedly. "The working poor? I don''t know what you want me to tell you. We''ve already had one panic attack over the incipient apocalypse: perhaps Covid got it out of our system." Pallsburg hummed, unconvinced. "Maybe. I just find it a little weird is all." Was it truly that strange? Sarah had been living with the invasion for so long that it felt like flunking a test she''d never bothered to study for. She wouldn''t go so far as to say she was happy the Offal Sea was on its way, but its arrival wasn''t unexpected, either. "How are you handling it?" Sarah asked her. Pallsburg shrugged. "When Amanda told me her cousins were dropping by the magical internet became a lot less urgent. How about you? Does it bother you that I know what''s going on?" Sarah chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Yes and no. Every time someone gets read in, there''s always a huge debate. After a while, the argument becomes a bigger pain than whatever point was being raised." Pallsburg would be the fifth human the Boston cell had welcomed into the fold. There''d been a couple of others over the years; however, not many of them still lived in the area. Hell, it was unlikely anyone even knew about the first four, save for Kennedy, Hayes and herself. Once Timothy had moved to Ohio with the rest his family, that ship had largely sailed. Now, the only one who was still around was Paul Easom, and common courtesy kept his name out of her mouth. Given the attitude of the younger generation, Kennedy and Hayes had followed suit. "I guess what I''m saying is, ''don''t worry about it,''" Sarah finished awkwardly. "If it seems like I''m annoyed, the frustration doesn''t have anything to do with you. Amanda said you''re fine, so you''re fine. That''s all there is to it." ...Well, okay, maybe there was a little more to her discontent than Sarah was willing to admit. Her bugaboos weren''t Pallsburg''s business, though. They also weren''t her problem. If Amanda''s girlfriend was going to rat them out, then she would have done so by now. There was no reason the woman''s eyes should feel like a brand on the back of her neck. And yet, somehow, they pulled and pinched at her nape as the bustle of the terminal gave way to more suburban roads. Soon, even those winding avenues were replaced in turn by copses of hickory and oak. The reservation had a couple of well-publicized entrances, down near the highway; however, most of them were miles away, and no one wanted to walk that far. Instead, the three of them entered the park near Chickataubut Road, where a few neighborhood kids had already blazed a trail through the brush. Dead pine needles shifted beneath their feet as they weaved between the branchless trees. The sun was low, casting thick shadows over the hilly terrain, and the distant leaves provided little relief from the glare whenever Sarah turned her gaze west. Since this was the direction in which they were headed, she spent most of the hike shielding her eyes with her hand. "Alright, I admit it," Amanda huffed irritably. "We may have timed this wrong. A morning ascent would have been easier." Sarah grunted softly in agreement while Pallsburg appeared unperturbed. The most physically active of their ill-conceived trio, she had thought to snag her backpack from Amanda''s car before following them into the subway. It was from within this bag that she now withdrew a water bottle and took a long sip. She offered the plastic container to Sarah, when she was finished, only to have the blonde wave it away. "The climb''s not so bad," Pallsburg disagreed while her fingers tightened the cap. "The slope''s gentle, and there''s very little rock. If you trip, it''s going to be a gentle landing." "We might have different standards for crash mats; I think I''d kick myself if I fell." Sarah dug her toe into the packed dirt and heard a low chime. It sounded like someone had struck a ride cymbal with the head of a wooden mallet. The warspawn recognized it as coming from her interface and opened the pane with a thought. [Task: ''Find a Mana Field'' (complete)], the window read. There was no reward listed, but the fact that she didn''t have an additional alert was illuminating in and of itself. The field they were passing through must not be very dense along the outer edge; if it had broken four mana an hour, she''d have finished the second task. Sarah paused by the trunk of a fallen conifer before taking a deep breath. She''d never gotten the chance to practice the techniques they''d been taught on Deravan, so it took her a moment to recall exactly what she was supposed to do. ''Draw the ambient mana in through your feet and cast it out through your nose. Make sure none of the energy lingers in your neck after each cycle.'' If she wasn''t careful, residual motes could clump together in her throat, creating a crude construct close to her fins. Without the heightened resistance conferred by her host''s greater mass, it wouldn''t take much to turn her myelin deposits into ash. Fortunately, the odds of such an outcome weren''t very high, given the anemic strength of the field. They''d need to find far richer stomping grounds before the ambient pressure could overwhelm her fine control. In the meantime, it was possible to minimize her peril even further by actively limiting her intake. The only problem? It was incredibly difficult to distill an alignment using such half-hearted methods. If this excursion was going to prove fruitful, she''d have to engage with the forest directly. Motes of esoteric energy began to rise up along her esophagus. Sarah let them play across the receptors, lining her tendrils, in order to take a snapshot of the area''s composition. The mana tasted like... wet earth and pine sap. She then felt the sharp bite of winter and an oily film, which made her skin feel soaked with sweat. The purity couldn''t have been more than twelve percent. The throughput was also just shy of three mana an hour. Altogether, this meant the field was too weak to be of much use. "Do you want to pause here?" Amanda asked when she noticed Sarah testing the currents. The disgruntled warspawn spat, hoping to clear the synesthesia from her tongue. "No, the band''s too thin. We''d be kicking our heels all night." Most mana fields had a lot of variation in terms of their arcane output. Technically, any expression beyond the local ambiance could count as a separate band when determining its potency; however, most people only drew distinctions between statistically significant peaks. This meant that instead of splitting the data into countless, incremental phenomena, researchers would frequently delineate broad ranges throughout a prospective field. Each of these would then be labeled with an approximate magnitude, which rose as you approached the center. If this particular specimen followed the usual trends, it should only have three or four sub-sections with the third stretching a few hundred feet. Sarah dragged her teeth across the inside of her bottom lip. "I never asked: how close did you get to the terminus?" Amanda squinted into the sun as she considered her answer. There was a hint of concern in Sarah''s tone, and Amanda was clearly trying to assuage it without explicitly lying. Finally, she settled on the truth. "Within a couple of feet. I overestimated the field''s size and almost tripped over the skein." Pallsburg glanced at her girlfriend''s carefully blank face. The two of them had been together long enough for her to know when her partner was being evasive. "I feel like I''m missing something. Does anyone want to clue me in?" Sarah struggled to remain calm. "Do you want the cliff notes version or the whole spiel?" Pallsburg hummed as Amanda began to sweat. "Give me the latter." "Alright, it goes a little like this: mana isn''t native to Earth. This means that the Network''s initial outlay had to be introduced to the environment via an external source. Typically, the Light handles this by seeding a planet with what are essentially feeder zones in order to supply everything automatically. Then, to ensure these foundries aren''t destabilized or destroyed, it protects each entrance with a barrier, known as a ''skein.'' Broadly speaking, it''s a semi-permeable dimensional wall; one built to block or shred any foreign matter, which attempts to access the other side. Now, with that being said, the barricade''s far from perfect. If an intruder weighs less than five hundred pounds, they''ll usually slip through the cracks. Usually. Your survival''s not guaranteed. It''s also pretty dangerous within the seed itself, so even if you live, it''s imperative you stay on your toes." Pallsburg''s frown inched lower at the news. She turned towards her girlfriend, hoping for a rebuttal. "She''s exaggerating," Amanda reassured her. "The skeins are designed to allow native fauna to come and go as they please. Mana is produced by living organisms, so the Light works fairly hard to ensure you''ll be able to survive traveling through the terminus. The part about there being bounds, baked into the skein''s code, is true, but not even Haft¨®r would run afoul of the limits. You''d need to be heavily modified before it ever became an issue. We''re talking enraged Bruce Banner or Darth Vader after he fell into the lava. As for the danger..." Amanda trailed off. "Well, the seed is like the Tardis: it''s bigger on the inside. The chance of running into anything is fairly slim." "How slim?" Pallsburg pressed with a wrinkle stretched wide across her brow. The two warspawn exchanged a look. "Worse than winning the lottery?" Amanda offered. "Maybe if it was the pick four. A minor seed should only be about ten miles in diameter. Since the guardian has to be large enough to contend with the nobility, it comes out to less leeway than you''d think. Plus, there''s the wildlife to consider as well. We''re still in the early stages, so it wouldn''t surprise me if feral dogs have begun to congregate inside. You could run into trouble pretty quickly." "They''re still just dogs," Amanda denied before spinning on her heel in a huff. "Don''t let Sarah scare you; you''ve got better odds of being hit by a car." In other words, about one in five thousand. Amanda''s argument was a lot more convincing the less you knew about the math. "In that case, let''s not malinger. You said we needed to head in deeper?" Pallsburg picked up her pace without waiting for an answer and soon took the lead as she scaled the low hill. This caused the two aliens to realize they could either stand there and bicker or attempt to chase after her. Amanda chose the latter, proving how little credence she gave her own claims. Sarah followed in her wake after choking off a quiet curse; she hadn''t believed the sojourn was safe to begin with and resented the urge to rush. It''d be better to take their time; a lack of care was why Amanda had nearly trip over the skein in the first place. The pair caught up to Pallsburg as the faded detritus gave way to richer loam. By this point, the displacement of the towering pines had grown more forgiving, causing them to develop branches lower on the bole. Ahead of their party, there was a small clearing, which had been cut into the center of the copse. A stone path led towards the more established trails, along the eastern flank, while a wide variety of flowers had been planted throughout the grass in order to create an artificial meadow. Sarah glanced at a large, bronze monument, erected beside a bed of purple yarrow. The light was just bright enough to make out a dull plaque hanging from the eastern face. ''In Memory of Linsey Deirdreson,'' the sign read. Sarah ignored the poignant quote which followed and tasted the field''s mana. "Feels like we''re in the second band. Maybe the third. Since the fourth would be the terminus itself, I suggest we stop here." "That''s fine," Pallsburg agreed. "I need to check my notifications." The brunette summoned her interface with a flick of her fingers while Sarah did the same. There had been a muffled chime when they''d reached the lea, and chances were the Light was letting them know that they had met the requirements for one of its milestones. Sure enough, when Sarah studied the glowing pane, a message was pinned to the top of the screen.
[Task: ''Increase your passive intake to .065 mn/min'' (complete)]
[Reward: 5.035 mn / 20 minutes, purity = local, alignment = local]
[Time before automatic activation: 4:49]
Sarah hissed as the seconds ticked down towards zero. She''d need to pick an alignment to focus on or she''d lose an hour of easy progress. More irritated by the time limit than wasting the opportunity, Sarah scanned the clearing for inspiration and finally settled on the perennials by her feet. ''Fuck it,'' she thought, ''flowers it is.'' The Light chose to interpret her decision as assent because it abruptly canceled the countdown. In its place, a surge of mana began to spew forth from the soil between her feet. Sarah was lucky; if the Network had aimed a little higher, she would have been boiled alive. As it was, her body felt unpleasantly toasty, and she had to contort her shoulders to shield the back of her neck. Sarah cursed the Light''s impatience once this failed to have much effect. Pallsburg, having heard the fear in her voice, began to run over. "No - stay back!" Sarah screamed as she waved off the woman''s concern. "If the Light triggers another font, then the density will compound from the pressure. Just... give me some space. I think I''m good." Or rather, she had fucking better be. Her training had implied that these rewards were survivable, but the nobility had never been too interested in retaining useful talent, merely the invasion as a whole. If the fatality rate happened to be forty percent, they''d happily eat the casualties. On the bright side, Amanda had already made the cut, so it shouldn''t be too close a call. She just needed to stay calm. Well, that and get a move on: she was losing mana. ''In through the feet and out through the nose. In through the feet and out through the nose.'' Sarah silently repeated Harlan''s instructions as she felt around for the most botanical motes in the field. Fortunately, there were a couple of baneberry bushes growing near the back of the meadow, so she had a convenient point of reference should she grow confused. If she had to do this blind, it would have been far more difficult to root through the eldritch stream. Sarah''s sense of taste was amazing; it also grew less precise anytime there was a gap between her tendril and her target. When combined with her general inexperience, she was often left scrambling to identify a specific wavelength, even as she shunted the best bits off to the side. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. In short, the entire process was a pain in the ass. Sarah would need to check her interface to say for sure, but by the time she was finished, she''d probably lost around forty percent of her gains, due to easily avoidable mistakes. If she''d been serious about developing her foundation, it wouldn''t have been remotely acceptable. Since she couldn''t give less of a shit, she decided to pat herself on the back. ''Now, what do I do about the impurities?'' Sarah bit her lip and brushed her sweat-soaked bangs aside. Most wizards would have ignored the unwanted mana, on the grounds that it''d be easier to remove the motes once they had finished aligning with their bodies. Of course, most wizards were also highly resistant to the Light''s presence, so they didn''t need to worry about killing themselves via their own throughput. Sarah didn''t think she''d run into any issues, since most of the particles were located in her thighs; however, the idea of carting around microscopic pools of poison definitely weighed on her mind. When put like that, maybe she had her answer. If she began purging the worst patches immediately, she wouldn''t have to worry about them growing dense enough to form a second core. The busy work might also keep her from panicking about the bomb she''d lodged in her gut. Reminded of the invisible orb, Sarah pointed a tendril at her groin. The mana smelled of rose and citrus. The subtle bouquet was nearly astringent to her delicate senses, and it left her with the vague impression that she was holding a pool of nectar. ...Or would a thimble full of honey be a better analogy, since the energy had been refined? Sarah shook her head; no, the potential applications were limited by the core''s nature, so there was no point in being charitable. It was a pool of nectar. One capable of many things, up to - and including - subverting another''s will. The only question was if she wanted to develop a bunch of abilities, designed for a femme fatale. When everything was said and done, the premise felt rather gross. It''d be like she was succumbing to the lewd accusations Danielle had lobbed her way. Maybe, it''d be better to impress the mana with a suboptimal purpose, provided it was more suited to her temperament. ''Hallucinations, then?'' Sarah wondered soberly. ''Or some form of self-enhancement?'' Both ideas had rather broad utility; they were also tricks she could use in her day-to-day life. If Sarah had any aspirations, it was for no one to discover that her host had been supplanted. A certain level of candor was required to placate her suspicious peers; however, she''d prefer it if no one knew the truth. Being able to gaslight the unwary could help dismiss a number of gaffes. ''Let''s start with something small,'' Sarah decided. ''A scent, maybe. One already associated with flowers.'' In other words, her perfume. Conceptually, the two were linked, so she shouldn''t have to perform any complex transformations to get the result she was looking for. Instead, she simply needed the mana to dissipate through the air in a very specific form. The hardest part was going to be not spending more energy than she needed to. You see, there was a reason why mana was always measured in discrete units, despite accumulating at a fractional rate. While there weren''t any strict limits to the energy''s minimum size, it preferred to congeal together, once enough of it was in one place. This encouraged people to adopt water metaphors with the most popular emphasizing droplets. ''One mana'' was like a bead of rainwater glistening on top of an anvil; you could cut it in half - or parcel it out - but when left to its own devices, the globule would always assume a specific form. This meant that in order to make use of the energy, Sarah would have to induce it to separate or risk losing the rest of her reserve. Fortunately, this was easier done than said; mana mirrored the properties of its environment, after all, and the current ecosystem could be best described as ''Sarah''s body.'' Thus, by taking the Light''s effluvium into herself, she''d automatically begun converting it from ''Flower'' mana into Sarah''s ''Flower'' mana. This distinction may have been minute at her current level of refinement, but it ultimately enabled the control that made all of this possible. She simply had to be careful; her immaterial dexterity would improve as she continued to impress the energy with her presence; however, these were still the early days, and she only had a fraction of her full control. ''Scatter,'' she cajoled the orb softly. ''Disperse into mist. Spread throughout the field and make sure you smell like this.'' Sarah focused on ''Blind Luxury,'' the synthetic extract of coconut and vanilla, she''d dabbed on the side of her neck. If she''d dedicated her life to the Light, then her mana might have been self-aware enough to take the command to heart. As it was, her words created a hypnotic invocation, which subconsciously guided her intent. Slowly, the parasite could feel her core shave itself away. The power would be lost until she refined more from the field; however, the motes expelled through her pores, soon grew into a rolling cloud. Her mana drifted twenty - maybe thirty feet away - before she halted the process. Any farther and her control would be co-opted by the meadow''s abrasive presence. Pallsburg''s nostrils flared as she sat in the cold grass. "Is that us?" she asked, refusing to open her eyes. Amanda hovered behind her, quietly whispering instructions. "Yes, ignore it. I want you to focus on the mana that''s moving throughout your body. Cycle it: in with your breath and out again after every exhalation. With each revolution, there''s a cloud forming. One with more of you in it. More awareness - more control. When you feel like you can sense it, I want you to rotate the wisps around your head; then, shuffle the parts, which feel the most comfortable, into your abdomen. Good. Hold them there. You need to keep those motes in place while we begin again from step one." Sarah listened with half an ear as Amanda walked her partner through a more human-friendly exercise. Unlike the two infiltrators, Pallsburg didn''t have enough sensitivity to simply strip the stream in one pass; instead, she''d need to guide it in a closed loop until she could twist the mana''s alignment. Some women might have been discouraged to learn they''d be working with a significant handicap. Based upon their conversation, Pallsburg didn''t strike her as one of them. If it took her five years to hit the big leagues, then she''d put in the time. It was better to do things right than to kill herself by trying to rush. ...Speaking of slow suicide, Sarah poked a mental finger at the flickering orb lodged beneath her diaphragm. It was down to about one and a half mana. The shallow core could either stink up a bathroom or replace a third of her make-up kit. It wasn''t exactly ''the might of ages,'' but the tiny construct wasn''t worthless, either. All in all, Sarah thought she could find a use for the stupid superpower in the days ahead. It convinced her to keep plumbing the field as the sun sank below the horizon. /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ An hour passed. The light pollution from the city of Quincy was too severe to permit many stars, but the moon hung low in the sky and shed an unsettling, crimson radiance over the loosely curated meadow. In the forest behind her, the Blue Hills were alive with the sound of animal calls as the crows turned in for the night and the coyotes took their place. Ostensibly, the three of them were trespassing, since the reservation closed at dusk; however, the interior was under-policed, and it was easy to avoid the rangers. So much so, that the lack of supervision was becoming a problem for the rest of the city. Last year, the police blotter had been chock-full of young teens getting arrested for screwing around in the brush. After the third couple had misplaced their clothes, the local council had finally had enough. A petition went around; there''d been talk about putting up a fence. Sarah didn''t think it would come to that, since the Offal Sea would render the issue moot, yet the ongoing drama had created a wave of apprehension that left most kids afraid of missing out. Even their older relatives weren''t immune to the mounting pressure. "It''s been a while," one such libertine mused as he hiked up the winding trail. "Do you remember when Denis got drunk and took a shit behind Tammy''s tent. Somehow, he managed to pop a squat over the only badger hole in a two-mile radius, and the damn thing bit him on the ass. Poor animal must have had to swim through thirty ounces of rancid Jack Daniels before Denis was convinced to piss off." A woman laughed, her voice drifting through the open field. "I do. He was a surprisingly good sport about it. When Halloween rolled around, he bought a fursuit off craigslist and dyed it chestnut brown. I heard he was going to tape a bottle of Old Number Seven to his hand until the vice-principal caught wind of the plan." The pair broke through the treeline seventy meters away. Both of them were in their late twenties, and each was carrying a flashlight, so they wouldn''t get lost along the trail. The man was holding his carelessly while he swept the shaft from left to right. The woman was more cautious and kept hers focused on her feet. Between the two of them, it was the man who saw Sarah first, since his spastic flailing caused the beam to dart further ahead. "Shit," he muttered when the pasty glow revealed the pair had company. "Someone beat us to the punch." He ran a hand through his shorn hair and adjusted a woolen overcoat, so it wasn''t sitting quite so askew. His partner, a gangly, young woman with a pair of crystal hoops in her ears, hastily re-fastened her blouse until you could no longer see her bra. The hikers had clearly gotten handsy on their way up the hill. Sarah looked away from the disheveled couple to spare them the embarrassment of her gaze. The chance encounter wasn''t her fault, and there was no reason she should feel self-conscious, yet her mind had always been eager to misappropriate guilt, and this time was no exception. An apology sprang to her lips. Sarah managed to bite her tongue before it could become fully voiced. "Park''s closed," she hollered, instead. "You''re going to have to take your happy ending somewhere else." "You sure?" the man called back. "My hands are pretty quick. I could be in and out before you know it." The woman elbowed him in the stomach, eliciting a muted grunt. "I guess that''s a no. I suppose it''s just as well; not all of my memories of high school have gotten rosier with time." His partner''s cheeks were flushed as she moved to cut him off. "Enough, Justin." The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted across the meadow. "Are you decent? I don''t want to have to yell." Sarah glanced over at Amanda and found her sharing a word with Pallsburg. The blonde wiggled her eyebrows to ask if the smaller warspawn wanted company and only got a shrug in return. Great: now, it was Sarah''s decision. She briefly wrestled with their visitor''s request before realizing that there wasn''t a good reason to say no. When faced with the increasingly awkward silence, she decided to give in and agree. "...Yeah, we''re decent. Come on up." It was only after the two of them had passed a wilted bed of wood sorrel that Sarah realized her response could be misinterpreted as the three of them needing time to get dressed. Sarah didn''t mind the confusion, per se, but it did make her match the other woman as she fought to conceal her blush. "Good evening," the parasite greeted them, her cheeks painfully warm. "I... didn''t think anyone would be in the area." Justin smirked and let his eyes roam across the field. His gaze lingered a little overlong on Pallsburg, and Sarah feared he was checking the flowers to see if this hypothetical orgy stopped at three. "There''s been a lot of that going around," he joked lightly. "Nice night; no rain: it''d be a shame to spend it indoors. Say, you wouldn''t happen to know if there are any other stargazers around, would you? Up by the lake, maybe?" He pointed north with his thumb, where another empty trail cut through the swaying foliage. The soft rustle of the dying leaves made it hard to tell who was carousing nearby until you were in danger of tripping over their dick. "Your guess is as good as mine," Sarah admitted, wishing he''d just shut and leave. "I want to say it''s a bit too cold for anyone to go for a swim, but I''m sure you''ve seen your friends make stupider decisions. I -" A low chime caused Sarah to pause mid-thought. She checked her interface, only to realize the message hadn''t come from her. When Amanda and Pallsburg saw her confusion fail to dissipate, they brought up their own menus. A brief scramble followed as a ring of glowing panes was summoned. Justin''s paramour coughed and sheepishly raised her hand. "Sorry," she announced. "Looks like it''s mine. I thought I canceled this earlier, but the system must have glitched." Sarah bet the woman had ignored the alert, so she could continue to fondle her boyfriend. The Light could be fairly insistent about its announcements, and it''d ping you every fifteen minutes until you picked up the phone. Based upon the quick look Sarah had snuck at her screen, ''Britney Dermith'' had increased her passive intake enough to clear the second task. Now, the Light was springing a mana surge on her, whether she was ready for it or not. The warspawn took a large step back. The field''s density spiked and then redoubled in a blistering rush. The bleed off was intense, even if there wasn''t much of a lightshow, and Amanda gingerly sampled the overflow before telling Pallsburg to take advantage of the opportunity. As for Dermith... well, she didn''t seem to realize what was happening. The woman simply waved the screen away and hoped everyone would ignore her faux pas. Sarah took vindictive glee in refusing to spare her dignity. "Oh, are you not going to help with the milestone?" Dermith blinked in confusion. Sarah gestured at the empty space where her interface had briefly hovered. "It''s like a mobile game. You show up, complete the challenge and get a prize once enough people have participated. I think the current goal is to [Condense One Billion Mana]." The two of them laughed, Dermith awkwardly and Sarah like a bitch. "No. No. That''s... really not my scene," the macilent woman insisted. "I don''t even play Farmville with my aunt." She said this as if it was a source of great shame. Justin was more ambivalent. The fact that he wasn''t being bathed by his own invisible halo meant he''d experimented with the Light before. Whether he''d actually gotten anywhere with his core was harder to say; the same unnatural resistance which made humans such great hosts also made it difficult to determine the state of their foundation. He could''ve been sitting on five hundred motes of ''Fire'' mana just waiting to break free; he might have also stuck his thumb up his ass and picked his nose like a boob. There wasn''t a good way to tell. "I''m a bit surprised," Amanda said while keeping an eye on her girlfriend. "Your earrings are citrine, right? I figured the crystal crowd would''ve been thrilled at an opportunity to legitimize their craft." Dermith lifted a hand towards her ear. "Oh, are you a Wiccan too?" The warspawn shook her head. "No." The couple paused. Amanda''s response was much more unfriendly than they had been led to expect. Between her size and her outfit, Sarah''s ex gave off a very airy first impression. What''s more, her gentle demeanor only emphasized the image of a kind and wholesome girl. To put it another way, she was the last person you''d suspect of hitting you with a hard consonant. Beating a word against your head was the quintessential action of a thug, and no part her mien strove to convey such vitriol. Sarah blamed their childhood for the spite. There were simply too many similarities between the obeisance demanded by the nobility and the religions here on Earth. Questions about dogma, sin and righteousness didn''t even enter into it. You could chase your tail for hours, trying to nail down your relationship with God, and still feel pretty shitty because of the parallels you''d invoked. The situation left most of her species aggressively agnostic. They weren''t non-believers - they just had a lot of difficulty processing their emotional baggage. Some made an effort, despite knowing they were headed for hell. Amanda wasn''t one of them. She had given up on ''salvation'' after being harangued by her last congregation. These days, she continued to maintain a low opinion of the church and tried to avoid the topic whenever it came up. Justin took her curt answer as an easy excuse to dip. "...Right. Well, it was nice meeting you all, but I believe there''s a celebration with our name on it down by the golf club. Good luck recreating Woodstock." He began to guide his date towards the north end of the field. After a moment of hesitation, Dermith followed along behind him. Sarah merely raised her hand in a silent farewell while Amanda made a show of talking to Pallsburg. Finally, once the pair were out of earshot, the younger infiltrator slumped. "I fucked that up, didn''t I?" she asked. "Eeehhh." Sarah held the syllable until it sounded like a drawn-out groan. "If it''s any consolation, I''ve said a lot worse. I wouldn''t waste my time dwelling on it." "No, not that," Amanda corrected irritably. "I was talking about the skein. I should have warned them not to poke around near the terminus, unless they wanted to fall through." Sarah shrugged her shoulders. "What are the odds they even see it?" Amanda glared at her like Sarah had just made their chances worse. "It''s gotta be nearly one in a million," the blonde continued blithely. "I''m sure they''ll get there fine. They''ll only be at the lake for a couple hours. What''s the worst that could happen?" The vivacious warspawn huffed. "Are you trying to jinx them?" "Maybe. Is it working? I think there''s a couple of expressions I might have missed." For some reason Dermith really got on her nerves. It wasn''t anything the woman had said; she simply emitted a certain vibe. Simon had once captured the essence of her animosity when he described his roommate as having a very punchable face. Sarah didn''t want to think of herself as a particularly violent person; however, she knew she wouldn''t lose any sleep if the rangers caught them with their pants down. Amanda tried to choke back a sigh. "You''re going to make me go check on them if you keep this up. I''ll have to chase them down, and it''ll be super awkward." "We can really just leave them be," Sarah insisted stubbornly. Amanda began to pace back and forth. Her feet crossed a three-meter stretch of turf before turning back upon the loosely trampled rut. "No, I''m doing this, and you''re coming with me. It''s your fault, so you''re going to help me fix the problem." "What about Pallsburg?" Sarah argued. "Are we really going to leave her alone? What if her core deviates and she suffers a backlash?" "Juliette can take care of herself," the subject of their discussion informed them before casually flicking her wrist. "Have fun storming the castle." ''What castle?'' Sarah blinked at the non-sequitur, but the words must have meant something to Amanda because she gave her girlfriend a kiss. "This is a huge waste of time," Sarah muttered petulantly. "Just shut up already." Amanda grabbed the edge of the parasite''s blouse and tugged her around a flagpole. Sarah begrudgingly complied. Mostly because the crack about Pallsburg had honestly been an accident. "At least, give me time to curse them with the rest!" Amanda did no such thing. Cuckoo 5 Sarah fumbled for her cellphone less than three minutes into the pursuit. The sun had fully set while she''d been busy communing with nature, and the dimly lit trails had grown far more perilous with only the stars to guide their way. "I hate the fact that those two were smart enough to bring flashlights," Sarah complained as she quickly typed in her password. "This is not where I wanted to fall on the sliding scale of common sense." "Mmm." Amanda''s gentle hum was half-hearted and colored by concern for the couple. "Would you rather be near the top? A sage-like figure of refined and perfect wisdom?" The fair-haired warspawn balked, choking on her instinctive denial. There were over a billion cultists, sheltering beneath the Light''s aegis, and many of them sought spiritual enlightenment by aspiring to just such a state. On Deravan, the lot had been soundly derided as the type to drown on dry land. With the benefit of hindsight, Sarah knew her peers'' contempt was born from envy rather than disdain; however, there was still a part of her that felt insulted by the off-hand comparison. She wondered if she was being mocked by the normally demure parasite. "Is that a serious question, or are you just being sardonic? Would you prefer me to act like Barkley and not give a shit if Boston blew up?" Amanda''s eyes scanned the dead nettles in case their quarry had left the path. "No, I wouldn''t go that far. Sometimes, I simply wonder if ''common sense'' isn''t a little over-rated. Whenever I hear people use the phrase in an argument, it''s always to justify a conclusion that can''t be defended on the proposal''s own merits. Politicians brandish those words to avoid the burden of proof and then ask you why they should entertain your objections. Their position''s obviously correct: it''s just ''common sense.''" Amanda spat into a pile of rotting gooseberries. "Personally, I''d rather be an idiot. At least, your detractors won''t talk as much shit about you when you side with someone you''ve wronged." Sarah yielded the point. "Do you see Kennedy''s proposal that way? Hayes'' criticism feels uncomfortably accurate if you recontextualize him as a martyr seeking forgiveness." "As opposed to what? A cynical turncoat? I don''t think either of us voted the way we did because we bought his line about not getting shot." True, Kennedy''s assertion was a rhetorical flourish, which broke down once you gave it more thought. At the end of the day, they were still spurning their allies for a bunch of unproven friends. To paraphrase her ex, ''those were the actions of an idiot - the very antithesis of common sense.'' "In that case," Sarah asked her, "why''d you agree?" Amanda threw up her hands. "How could I not? All of the joy in my life has been rooted in the epitome of selfishness. The fact that I''m attempting to make amends for my turpitude, doesn''t mean I''m ignorant of the broader implications." Amanda paused for a moment and stopped pretending to study the trail. "Have you ever looked your host in the eye and tried to talk all of this out? I have - I had Juliette tie me to a chair, so I could speak with Lionel face to face. I felt like he deserved that much after I had the gall to crawl inside his head." Sarah shuddered at the thought. "What did he have to say?" "Nothing earth-shattering. I got him when he was four. He could barely speak English, let alone hold a conversation. He just cried for twenty minutes and told me that it hurt. That he didn''t want to be a girl. As if I couldn''t relate." Amanda scoffed. "In retrospect, I think I had this asinine idea that we could work together. You know, like a time-share plan, only the house was his life. It was fucking stupid. There''s no way the two of us could ever co-exist. I''ve worked too hard to get his body to look the way I want, and I refuse to go back to being something you can squish with your boot. ...There is a debt, though," she admitted sourly. "I''m sure you feel the same. After everything we''ve done, we can''t just wash our hands of Earth''s predicament if we want to be able to look ourselves in the face." Sarah''s voice was tense as she formed a pair of white-knuckled fists. "Have you spoken to Pallsburg about any of this?" Amanda nodded. "Some of it. Other parts I didn''t have to; for those, she had a front row seat." For fuck''s sake. "Then, why are you talking to me?" Sarah spat. "I sympathize - I really do - but you''re oversharing all over my shoes." Amanda laughed. It was a hollow sound, one which trailed off as she raised her arm and pointed at a muddy depression a few feet to their right. "Because I''ve found a hat, and because I''m going to ask you to do something that will be as intuitive as pulling teeth." Sarah let the light from her cellphone play over the bloody cloth. The dark-green cotton looked like it had been heavily stained by the fury of last night''s downpour. Especially, since the material had originally been more of an olive hue with a small design evoking the reservation''s namesake. She peered a little closer. In the time since it had been lost, exposure to the elements had smeared the dye and stripped away the detailing around the brim. Now, only the blood remained fairly obvious. Sarah studied the two-inch swathe just above the adjustable band. "This isn''t Justin''s," she noted woodenly. "Dermith wasn''t wearing it, either." "I''m pretty sure it belongs to one of the park rangers. I stopped by the gift shop, when I was scouting the field, and most of their merchandise is the same shade of blue. It was only the staff who wore clothing that was tan or green." Amanda knelt down and gently brushed the surrounding detritus away. Beneath the crooked pine needles was a layer of grass and scree. "What are you looking for?" Sarah asked her. "I was hoping to find a few animal tracks or a sign of whatever attacked him. I can''t imagine he tripped over and fell. Even if he did, this trail''s well-traveled - someone would have removed his cap, since the bloodstain makes it a huge biohazard." Amanda turned towards the ragged treeline. "No, the longer I stand here, the more I think one of those dogs you were talking about might have dragged him off. That or something much worse." It was probably something much worse; a pack of feral hounds was merely the first scenario to cross Sarah''s mind. "Well, look on the bright side: it can''t have been a Deep Forest Variant. The field hasn''t been around long enough for the fauna to begin to warp. The beast would also have to be a local species," Sarah continued thoughtfully. "I doubt the Light would populate a minor seed with anything stranger. Not unless the guardian was pregnant, prior to its arrival." Amanda frowned as the idea of a dozen baby wyverns took root in her imagination. "Do you think there''s much chance of that?" Sarah shook her head. "I doubt it. My guess would be a mana-starved bird simply hit him in the head." "It still seems like a weak explanation." Amanda''s nose wrinkled dubiously. "Even if an eagle was insane with hunger, do you really think one would be strong enough to carry more than fifty pounds?" "I''m not convinced this guy didn''t just walk away on his own." Sarah raked the side of the trail with her phone, so she wouldn''t have to acknowledge Amanda''s glare. "What?" she barked. "It could happen!" "We both know it didn''t." Amanda''s voice was gentle as she delivered the grim pronouncement. In the time since they''d paused to take stock, Sarah had hoped they''d find a piece of evidence to undercut Amanda''s conclusion. Sadly, it looked like their victim had indeed been dragged away. Unless there was a serial killer on the loose, the destination was likely the skein. The next time she opened her mouth, Amanda was going to say they had a responsibility to save the missing ranger. Sarah wished she could think of a reason to let the man fend for himself. "What about Justin and Dermith?" she finally asked. "I thought you were worried about their safety." "I was worried about them falling through the terminus. Checking the seed solves that problem from the other end." Amanda grabbed Sarah by the pocket of her jeans and used the added leverage to help herself stand up. Once she was stable, she slapped her pleated skirt and brushed off a thin film of dust. "You don''t have to come with me if you don''t want to. I''m not going to make you." No, the manipulative warspawn was merely going to guilt her into obliging. "I''ll follow you to the portal," Sarah conceded begrudgingly. "I''m not going through." Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "Okay." Amanda was magnanimous in her victory and didn''t press for more. She simply started walking towards the rocky bluff, which loomed over a bend in the trail. When the two drew closer, Sarah lifted her phone to better illuminate the ragged cliff. It was made of granite, she realized distractedly. Eleven feet high and forty feet wide, the rise was covered in faint striations and jutted forth like a broke tooth. She traced the faint discolorations with her eyes until they reached the top of the lip. There, she found a single huckleberry bush, nestled amidst the cracks. The plant had clearly set up shop, where the soil met the stone. Now, it was slowly creeping forward to smother the crest in a layer of leaflets. "Let me guess," Sarah muttered tersely. "The terminus is at the top." Amanda grabbed her ex-girlfriend by the arm and moved her hand until the beam hit the eastern face. "If that was the case, I wouldn''t be so worried. No, it''s about two feet up and four paces from the end. If you lean on the ridge to catch your breath, you''ll fall right through the portal." Sarah couldn''t tell the difference between the skein and the scarp without tasting the local mana. The dusty ridge appeared to be one unbroken whole, and the single seam she found was too small to fit her finger, let alone a person. It was only by studying the difference in the throughput that she could see the stone for what it was: a hole in the world; a chasm carved into space. The terminus waited for them with malevolent patience and was ambivalent to her growing unease. "Well..." Sarah murmured stiffly. "Here it is. Good luck, I guess." She took a cautious step back and accidentally bumped into Amanda. Her ex was too busy staring at the gateway to flinch from the unexpected contact. "I do need your help," Amanda admitted wanly while streams of mana wormed beneath her skin. "I can do this by myself, but it''d be a lot safer if you were there to back me up." She smiled at Sarah with a bit of a self-deprecating edge. "Hey, if I don''t make it back, will you tell Juliette what happened?" Amanda didn''t give Sarah a chance to reply before stepping through the gate. The transdimensional hole flexed as she approached the border and then glommed onto her host with a sound like a wet slurp. A breeze tugged at her clothing while the rest of her slid through the stone. When the arcane sphincter finally fell still, Amanda was gone, and Sarah was left staring at a wall. She immediately cursed the missing warspawn. Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose. Even though she''d been expecting her ex to pull a fast one, Amanda''s request had been a real bitch move. Perhaps, this was karma for harassing Dermith in the meadow - or maybe Amanda''s sense of fair play was coming back to bite her in the ass. In any event, Sarah was determined to not fall for any of it and settled down by the scarp to wait. Ten minutes passed without a sign of her companion''s return. Sarah turned her flashlight off to help preserve the phone''s battery, but she still kept swiping at the screen to periodically check the time. When the clock read ''6:33 p.m.'' she started to get a little worried. By the top of the hour, she wouldn''t have used a word like ''little.'' "You''d better not fucking die on me," Sarah swore beneath her breath. "I''m not telling your paramour that you disappeared into the asscrack of existence. I refuse to have a conversation that awkward." Amanda didn''t reply. The trail was quiet, and even the insects had fallen silent as the moon''s amber glow illuminated the empty reservation. Sarah began to pace back and forth in front of the bluff. After a few of minutes, she walked along the shallow trough, which channeled rainfall away from the hill. Her loops got longer with each hypnotic cycle until she began to close in on the meadow, where Pallsburg was busy cultivating. Sarah stopped herself before she could be seen through the trees. If their eyes met, she knew the brunette would want an explanation for her girlfriend''s absence. It''d be better to just stay hidden. While there was nothing preventing her from passing Amanda''s message along, she felt like her place was by the skein. Sarah blamed Amanda and her speech. Neither of them were under any obligation to hunt this asshole down. They certainly weren''t to blame for the monsters within the seed. Hell, the only crimes Sarah had ever committed were the ones involving her host, and helping a random human out wouldn''t rebalance those scales. Good deeds didn''t absolve you of your mistakes: they just made life more complicated. "...Damn it all." Sarah kicked the granite bluff. The heel of her boot landed flat against the stone before releasing a hollow thud, which echoed between the moss-covered pines. Along the narrow branches of the forest''s canopy, an owl took flight. Sarah winced when she heard its furious coo. The bird''s voice was lower than she had come to expect, and its call roiled like a basin set atop an open flame. How long must it have been sitting there to sound like a bloody foghorn? Since the Light had first arrived? Sarah didn''t think its foundation had progressed to the point where its physique had begun to warp; however, the essence of what it would eventually become had definitely taken root. So had a growing hunger. The owl circled the moonlit trail, and then dove towards her head when it couldn''t find smaller prey. Instinct made the bird lift its claws as it rapidly approached the ground. Mana honed their edge until they could crack sinew and bone with ease. The infiltrator held her arm up, anyway. Once the animal was in the terminal phase of its dive, she ducked aside, praying she wouldn''t lose the limb. She was lucky; the bird wasn''t used to its new-found speed and was unable to correct its course. This caused it to plummet into the dirt behind her before it skipped off the trail and through the thorny verdure. Sarah could hear the raptor snapping at the weeping brambles in a desperate attempt to free itself. It would''ve been better off using its feet. The thought didn''t occur to it, though, and the firethorn was dense enough to keep it trapped for the moment. Sarah used the time to catch her breath. She honestly needed the break. Her heart was positively hammering from the unexpected attack. It must have been fifteen years since the last time someone had tried to kill her. She was no longer used to the way adrenaline made so much blood rush to her head. The parasite shivered; she could feel her host''s engorged arteries brushing up against her writhing tendrils. The pressure actually caused her vision to blur as a fleeting sense of deja vu began to conjure memories of her first cell''s collapse. There had been a lot of bodies on the ground that day. When Phillip''s latest disagreement had spilled forth from Brendan''s McMansion, Sarah had been caught between the waring factions with a dozen bullets whizzing past her ear. The sound of their long-forgotten gunfire may have been missing from her current environs; however, she could still feel its echo shaking the rust off her old training. Harlan screamed for her to do something before the owl could cut itself free. She didn''t know if she was going to kill it, or remove herself from the situation, but she was leaning towards the latter, given the bird''s observed capabilities. A particularly fat branch split in half while she waited for its attention to waver. When the mana empowering the raptor''s talons began to flicker fitfully, Sarah passed in front of its prison and retreated further along the trail. She figured there must have been about thirty meters between them before something else began to rustle in the underbrush. Sarah froze. Whatever animal was nosing about in the half-dead ferns was moving towards the racket, instead of away from it. Chances were, the perpetrator was one of the reserve''s nocturnal predators or something less ferocious, which had gradually grown into the role. In either case, it was bad news; especially, since Sarah could hear the owl finally free itself with a shriek. "Oh, come on," she murmured petulantly as she spun towards the sound. If both ends of the route were now blocked that didn''t leave her a lot of options. Not unless she wanted to escape into the bracken without the light from her phone. Sarah fingered the sleeping device and quietly weighed the risks. At the end of the day, she knew she couldn''t afford to make herself a target, and the slope was a serious threat. If she wasn''t careful, she could do worse than twist an ankle. ''I guess that means we''re fighting a bird.'' Sarah grit her teeth. Given a choice between the two, she knew the owl''s abilities, and it''d been recently injured in a fall. That meant it should prove weaker than the threat creeping up behind her. Or at least, so went her assumption until a wave of light erupted from her target, then Sarah just felt terribly focused as the mana level began to climb. She took off running. Whatever the bird was doing was causing its core to leak like a sieve. Either the stupid owl had ejected its entire reserve, or it was activating some new technique. Both options were dangerous to her health. "Don''t even think about it!" Sarah screamed as she closed the distance at a sprint. She didn''t get there in time to stop whatever the owl was trying to pull, but she did respond fast enough to kick the bird in the head. The blow didn''t help. The raptor sprang up with a furious caw and tackled her across the chest. Its wings began to batter her ribs while its claws reached for her stomach. Sarah thanked her lucky stars that its talons were no longer glowing; the pressure it was applying was dangerous enough as it pushed her closer to the skein. "Oh for..." Sarah bit her tongue before she could finish the thought. When her reticence failed to improve the situation, she tried to channel her indignation into shoving the owl aside. It felt like she was wrestling with a greased cat; every time she thought she had a hold, it slipped a little further from her grasp. The terminus was inching closer. Soon, a ripple passed over the pool from the waves of coruscating energy. At this rate, they might actually trip the restrictions and get shredded by the Light''s defenses. "You little shit! You''re going to get the both of us killed!" The bird didn''t care. It continued to peck at her coat while forcing her heels through the mud. Ten feet; eight; six. When they were barely a meter from the scarp, Sarah gave into the inevitable and braced herself for the trip. Her head hunched forward; her hip swung out to the side. Both of these ensured the owl''s torso would be misaligned with the top of the field. Between the angle and the animal''s output, the skein pitched a fit. Space rippled. Rather than drawing the raptor into the center of its mass, the dimensional twist cut it in half. Part of a wing and most of its skull landed in the dirt by the ridge. The rest was drawn into the terminus, along with Sarah''s bedraggled host. Cuckoo 6 Sarah complained the entire trip: all four seconds of it. The absence of light pulled at her skin, but without the owl''s technique actively mucking things up, the skein wasn''t as dangerous as she''d initially feared. The Light must have improved the terminus'' defenses, or the Offal Sea''s records weren''t up to date. Regardless of which explanation was correct, Sarah came through the gateway with her body intact and was soon expelled onto a grassy hill beneath a burning, emerald sun. She celebrated her survival by spitting out a mouthful of feathers. Sarah tossed her half of the owl''s carcass onto the ground before rolling over onto her back. The stars seemed bright, despite it ostensibly being mid-day. She suspected the brilliant spectacle was because the seed didn''t have enough atmosphere to obscure their azure glow. A minute or two passed in what was essentially exhausted paralysis. Soon, a pair of footsteps approached her from the right-hand side of the slope. Sarah ignored both the dirty boots and their owner until Amanda leaned down and eclipsed the unearthly constellation. "So..." the parasite drawled, glancing between the blonde and the bird. "Did you change your mind?" Sarah lifted her arm to give her ex the finger. Her wrist made it about six inches above her hip before flopping over her face. "Let''s just say that something came up. Plus, you were taking a while; I was worried you''d gotten hurt." "Ah," Amanda hummed, a little ashamed of her flippant dig. "No. It''s simply been difficult to arrange everything safely. I did say this would be easier with your help, you know." Her words were absentminded. Amanda mostly kept her gaze on the treeline at the bottom of the stumpy knoll. Beyond the willows clinging to the sandy soil, the tall trunks of Abraham''s Regret rose up past their limp boughs and resisted casual inspection. Magical inspection too: the red-veined fronds were notorious in S¨¦lune for their ability to skew divination. "What have you been working on?" Sarah asked, her own eyes glued to the skein. "You never said what alignment you were pursuing." "''Smell,''" Amanda replied, drawing her colleague''s attention away from the gate. "Both as a noun and a verb. I was hoping my construct would be sophisticated enough to pick up the ranger''s trail, but I don''t have enough mana to get the coverage I need. I''d burn through my entire core before I''d manage to narrow it down." "So, you''ve been sitting here," Sarah concluded. "Cultivating. Making use of the seed''s effusive presence." She waved her hand around the verdant rise while Amanda nodded her head. "...You idiot," Sarah whispered. "What were you thinking?" "That I care more about saving a man''s life than I do about risking my own." Amanda scowled at Sarah''s gob-smacked expression. "What? Did you think I''d deny it? I''ve already told you where my lines lay. We both know the stakes." Sarah spluttered; she turned Amanda''s parting comment over in her head. "I didn''t need to tell Pallsburg shit, did I? You let her know what you were doing when we left." "Not exactly, but she got the gist." Amanda couldn''t quite meet the blonde''s betrayed stare. "What? Are you mad?" "Yes." Amanda shrugged listlessly. "Sorry. If it''s any consolation, I was fine with you remaining outside. If this took too long, I didn''t want Juliette to worry." Sarah thought Amanda could take her two-faced sympathy and shove it straight up her ass. "You understand that stuff like this is the reason why we broke up, right? Not to put too fine a point on it, but you lie all of the time. I''m surprised I didn''t learn you were a woman by accidentally finding your bra." Amanda winced before bobbing her head up and down. "I deserve that. I know you don''t want to hear it, but I''ve been trying to do better. Be better. I don''t hide things from Julie the same way I hid things from you." "No," Sarah muttered bitterly, "apparently you bond over them, instead." Amanda flinched at the churlish accusation and Sarah nearly bit her tongue. "Don''t tell me that shit with Lionel was foreplay." "No," Amanda hastened to reassure her. "I wouldn''t use him like that." Sarah found herself getting pissed. "But fucking your girlfriend with his body is fine?!" "You didn''t have a problem with it when I was dating you." The two of them had begun to raise their voices, but Sarah couldn''t bring herself to care. "I''m not the one who''s trying to be a good person!" she snapped back. "I know I''m an asshole! I get it! I''ve resigned myself to being a member of the cuntiest clique on the planet. And you know what?" Sarah hissed while her tendrils squirmed beneath her skin. "It sucks. It sucks, it''s sucked, and it''s going to keep on sucking, but at least I''m not a huge, fucking hypocrite every time I act like a jackoff!" Amanda''s lips twisted in disgust. "That''s such a load of bullshit. If you were half as heartless as you pretend, you would have grabbed a cushy host like Mannly." Sarah sneered down the bridge of her nose. "Please, my grandmother''s going to be dead soon, and it''s not like she''s going to will the house to any of my other feckless relatives. When she flatlines, I''ll just sell it and..." The rejoinder got caught in her throat. Halfway through the snide retort, her eyes began to water. As much as she wanted to pretend the tears were from anger, Sarah knew that wasn''t the case. She couldn''t quite finish the sentence. To Amanda''s credit, the other warspawn didn''t comment on her distress. There was a brief moment where she looked like she was going to press her advantage; however, she ultimately kept her peace. Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. She refused to look at her ex-girlfriend''s humiliating breakdown. "Here," she muttered and held out a package of Kleenex, she''d fished from the pocket of her cardigan. "For your face." Sarah kept her chin tucked against her chest as she pulled one from the wrapper. She blew her nose and then crumpled the mess into a ball. "...Fuck." "Yeah." Amanda''s cheeks were blotchy through her dark foundation. Sarah couldn''t tell if the other infiltrator was embarrassed or upset and assumed it was a mixture of the two. Their spat had gotten increasingly personal the longer it had gone on, and Sarah had said a few things in the heat of the moment that she was beginning to regret in hindsight. Not enough to repudiate her criticism, but it wasn''t a great feeling. A strained tableau settled between them. Off in the distance, a dog howled, and Amanda listened to its mournful wail before the sound cut off with a yelp. "I should get back to work," she said before massaging her stiff legs. "You can head back to the reservation if you want. I''m sorry about what I said, earlier." Sarah didn''t echo the sentiment. The longer she remained mute, the more Amanda seemed hurt by her silence. A part of the reticent parasite urged her to apologize; however, there was a niggle of worry that Amanda was just yanking her chain again. Trust did not come easily to the chary invader, and her ex had a history of violating it. She shifted uncomfortably. Sarah thought about storming off, but the decision didn''t feel right. Not when it might get one of them killed. She''d already survived one near-death experience today; if it helped her avoid a second, she was willing to put up with the seed. As for Amanda, well, the dark-haired warspawn wasn''t willing to abandon their search. The local mana field began to twist as the obstinate mage resumed her vacuum impression. First, throughout the grass, which had been brushing up against her tights, and then along the air currents circling above her head. From there, most of the motes were drawn into her body before being subsequently expelled through her nose. The only exception were the rare flecks suitable for her core; those she strove to retain a few inches below her navel. Sarah whiled away the next few minutes by counting how long it took until the pressure differential was equalized. She didn''t expect the wait to be very bothersome; the plants had already been imbued by the seed, and they''d long since passed the point of being able to produce mana on their own. Sure enough, barely thirty seconds had elapsed before Amanda was in a position to once again devour their largess. The cycle repeated itself. Sarah let the two-tone beat rock her host as she tried not to sniffle like a child. In time, a faint odor began to make itself known atop the hill until it stretched from the crest to the foot. It smelled like muffins - blueberry, maybe, or one of those over-frosted sorts which might as well be cake. The scent was warm and comforting in the otherwise cold field, and Sarah recalled that she hadn''t eaten much in her rush to get ready for their meeting. Her stomach growled. Sarah stubbornly ignored the sensation. She knew that if she traced the aroma to its source, she wouldn''t find any relief. Mostly because the origin was the faint trail Amanda was painting between the skein and the woods. Sarah frowned. The would-be sorceress was struggling to narrow her arcane ribbon and had turned her sightless gaze towards the tips of the crimson conifers. The rigid fronds of Abraham''s Regret must have been obstructing her spell''s dispersion. "How far can you project the trail?" Sarah asked her once her curiosity overcame her discomfort. "Right now? I''d say, two or three hundred meters. I was hoping the scent would drift a little, but I don''t think it''s going to work out. There''s just not enough wind. It''s a shame because a good cross-breeze could really extend my reach." Amanda eyed the dense undergrowth infesting the soil of the seed. She stood up and started walking towards the shrouded treeline. "I''ll be back in a bit. Scream if there''s trouble." Sarah was prepared to scream on general principle, so that wasn''t much of an ask. A better request would have been for her to keep an eye out because otherwise she might begin to wonder if this was Amanda''s plan from the start. Had the shifty martyr always intended to imitate the hag from Hansel and Gretel, or was this her only recourse after Sarah''s unrelenting obstinance? She wanted to believe it was the former, since that would divest her from this whole affair; however, the longer she sat upon the slope, the easier it was to see the shape of her scheme. From what Sarah could tell, Amanda had possessed exactly two arrows in her quiver: one named ''Flowers'' and the other labeled ''Scent.'' Even while weighed down by her own inexperience, it wouldn''t have taken a genius to successfully combine the two. If she could get one of them to generate a signal, which the ranger could recognize, then the other would''ve been free to focus on ensuring the message reached him. It might''ve worked too, had Sarah been willing to play along. Once she''d refused to enter the terminus, though, Amanda had been forced to pull double duty while also braving the seed. It was dangerous - and frustrating - and had Sarah''s discomfort ended there, she would''ve been content with calling these Amanda''s just deserts. Recognizing such machinations wasn''t the worst part of the wait, though. No, the one which really made her squirm was the way the overzealous romantic hadn''t hesitated to step up to the plate. She was always doing shit like that. Moving forward; reaching for the world she wanted, instead of the one she''d found at her feet. Meanwhile, Sarah was left sitting by the curb, going nowhere and getting nothing. She was sick of it. Not because she thought she deserved better, but because Amanda''s actions lent credence to the idea that improvement was possible. She honestly believed they could be seen as more than merely beasts. Sarah''s gorge rose. There was a worried squawk from within the thicket before Amanda came racing back like hell was nipping at her heels. "Time to go!" she shouted as she grabbed her ex by the arm. "Don''t talk - just follow! We need to run!" Amanda didn''t wait for Sarah to obey and physically spun her around. Then, while she was still holding the stunned spy by the wrist, she began to drag her back towards the gate. "What''s going on?" Sarah asked as she was manhandled up the slope. "Did you find the guy we were looking for? ...Is he dead?" "No and no. I''ve done the best I can, though, so now it''s out of our hands." There was a loud crash as one of the willows slammed into the ground. It sounded like it came from a few hundred meters away, deep within the tangled holt. Sarah cursed. She sped up and overtook her lagging companion. "What the hell was that?! Did you trip over the fucking guardian!?" Between her longer legs, and her well-honed cowardice, it wasn''t hard to stay ahead. "Yes? No?" Amanda huffed uneasily. "It''s complicated. There were these... bears, I guess, and they were nestled beside a gigantic paw. In retrospect, I shouldn''t have used something they could confuse for food." Yeah, no shit! "Why were you even that close?! Are you trying to get the two us killed?!" Amanda shrugged as they crested the top of the hill. Behind her shifting shoulders, Sarah could see a Prius-sized quadruped lumber into the clearing. The beast was slower than she might have guessed. Between its sharp claws and gaping mouth, it felt like the animal should be pursuing them at thrice its present speed. Maybe, because it had three times as many teeth as the grizzly it vaguely resembled. Arranged in a trio of concentric rings, around its lipless orifice, the incisors glistened with a phlegmy spittle and groped blindly at the air. "Fuck me, it looks like a Vrawn. Run faster." The eponymous beast was a familiar sight to anyone who had trained on Deravan. More akin to a walrus, than the Ursus of planet Earth, the greedy carnivores ranged throughout the coastal waters and frequently preyed upon the warspawn, who''d been sent ashore to train. Sarah had been chased by three of them over the course of her career. Amanda had actually seen six, although only one of those had pursued her for more than a couple miles. "You know, this really brings back memories," the dainty alien mused. "I wonder how well it swims?" Sarah gaped in consternation. "Are you screwing with me, right now?!" "Yeah, a little." The terminus was waiting for them with barely a ripple to mar its placid surface. From this end of the tunnel, there was no ridgeline to obscure the schism''s presence; instead, the gate hovered in the air like a heat shimmer rising off of the blacktop. When Sarah focused, she could see multiple mana constructs looping around the outer edge. Feeding the motes back into themselves, until they became a tesseract of altered space, the Network had essentially pinched off a portion of reality and then sealed the opening against hostile intrusion. If they were lucky, the beast would be stymied by its defenses; if not, then they''d have to pick up the pace in order to stay ahead. "Go - go - go," Amanda babbled as she waved the blonde forward. "I''ll be right behind you." Sarah didn''t need to be told twice, let alone three times. Not when she''d already thrown herself at the translucent portal and discovered that the trip leaving was much smoother than it had been coming in. There was a brief flash of turbulence, since her body was technically in two places at once; however, the transfer quickly simmered down and left her feeling like it was over in an instant. The skein spat her out by the base of the cliff. Sarah looked around to see if anything was still lurking in the brush and concluded that the trail was deserted, save for a few depressions in the trampled loam. She took a step to the side in order to make room for Amanda while she fished her phone from her pocket. The device lit up with a cheery-sounding chirp. "The owl''s corpse is gone," Sarah announced as her ex stumbled through the gate. "I shouldn''t be upset about that, but it''s making my brain go, ''brrr.''" Sarah mimed shivering. It took the other warspawn a second to shake off the disorientation. "...Huh? Oh - the bird. Yeah, that''s kind of a horrible omen. You know what''s a worse one? The fact that you''re not still running." She gave Sarah a firm push and started jogging back towards the meadow. It took longer to traverse the trail than either of them would have liked. They just couldn''t go very fast without sliding down the precarious slope. Given a choice between taking their time and having the berm give way beneath their feet, they decided to play it safe. Fortunately, they didn''t see much sign of the misshapen bear and soon emerged into a starlit clearing. Pallsburg was lazing about in the grass with her legs crossed at the knee. Her back was braced by one of the monuments, and beside her there were a couple of flower plots smeared with carbonized ash. The wood sorrel appeared to have taken the worst of the abuse; the destruction was easier to spot amidst the yarrow, though, because their bright colors showed the desiccation more clearly. "Hey!" Amanda hollered, startling the distracted sorceress. "Are you missing anything, because we are officially on the clock!" Pallsburg had trouble shifting gears. "I- no, my bag''s right here. Why? Did you two get into an argument?" "We ran into a wild bear," Sarah explained, favoring efficiency over detail. "The animal was a lot more aggressive than I''m making it sound." Pallsburg grabbed her backpack by its sun-bleached strap. "Got it. Are we leaving the way we came in?" Amanda glanced between the trail Dermith had taken and the more overgrown hedge the trio had chosen to cut through. "Yeah, I''d say rougher is better." It was hard to tell from where they were standing, but there was a decent chance the beast would need to knock down a couple of trees if it wanted to follow them through the brush. When each cramped impasse could add another second to their lead, it was ostensibly the safest option. Shorter too; the western route swung around through most of the park before running up against the interstate. The wind released a deafening howl as it throttled the distant treetops. Sarah winced at the unsettling sound and threw a nervous glance back towards the skein. The tumultuous racket made it hard to tell if the brute was skulking along behind them. She tried to taste the mana, in order to pin down its location; however, all the field told her was that a storm was coming later this evening. With luck, it wouldn''t arrive until well after midnight. "We need to move," Sarah reminded them as she reached for the wilted brambles. "If the undergrowth becomes a problem, we can always cut around." There should be a side-road nearby - Wampachuckette or something like that. The street had one of those complicated, First Nation names that made you wish your life came with spell-check. It also led to civilization without any dips or turns. Sarah wasn''t excited about trying to outrun a bear on a straightaway, but the painted lines would certainly make it harder for anyone to get lost on the way. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. "Sounds good," Pallsburg agreed before quickly forging ahead. "I''ll lead." Holding her bag in her left hand while she gripped her phone with her right, the young woman played the luminescent screen over the decaying vegetation as she jogged down the poorly lit slope. Sarah tried to be a bit more careful during her descent since she lacked Pallsburg''s brash confidence. As for Amanda, well, she was bolder than both of them. The silent warspawn grabbed Sarah by her hood and kept her eyes closed while she laid a false trail. The scent of blueberries made a reappearance before drifting further north. "...There," Amanda panted quietly. "That''s the best I can do. If its hungry enough to follow us, maybe it''ll get distracted." Sarah placed the odds at around fifty-fifty. Mana could elevate an animal''s intellegince high enough to see through the ruse; however, it usually required years of effort or a seed with the right alignment. ''Trade'' could do it - as could ''Discovery.'' Sarah hadn''t detected more than a faint whiff of either, though, when she''d examined the local field. If the bear had actually used the Blue Hills to build such a complex foundation, Sarah might have to strangle someone to help choke back her own frustration. ...Speaking of violence and the deserving. "What about Justin and Dermith?" Sarah asked, the couple sticking in her mind like a burr. "Weren''t they headed towards St. Moritz?" Amanda blinked. "Isn''t that a pond? I thought they were going to the lake. They should already be on the opposite side of the river." Oh? Sarah began to second guess herself. The last time she had visited the reservation, she''d been in middle school on an afternoon field trip. Her class had done a lot of hiking - and they''d taken a tour of the observatory - however, it was hardly enough to call herself an expert on the park''s layout. If Amanda said she was mistaken, then the warspawn was probably correct. "Alright," Sarah agreed uncertainly. "I guess, I''ll take your word for it." Amanda''s heavy breathing made her slow to respond. "...Believe me, if I thought it''d put them in danger, I wouldn''t be doing this. If anything, we should be drawing our furry friend away while they make tracks in the other direction. Just be sure to keep an eye out for anyone else up ahead; there''s a slim chance we''ll run into another ranger, and I don''t want Yogi''s ornerier cousin to cross their path without prior forewarning." Yes, because that would be so rude. Sarah snorted and kept up her jog. Soon, Pine Hill Cemetary drifted into view, along with the graveyard''s expansive green. As for the chain-link fence surrounding the sprawling property, the wall was proving to be more of a suggestion than an impediment. Sarah hopped the barrier with little difficulty. Her ex flashed the rest of their party but still hurtled over the top. "This should be far enough," Amanda choked out while she pressed her hands to her knees. "If we haven''t shaken it yet, then I doubt we will." "And you''re okay with that?" Sarah coughed weakly. Amanda''s assertion was a little hard to believe. After everything the parasite had put them through, Sarah expected her to insist they kill the bear in order to keep the city safe. Instead, she calmly shook her head while Pallsburg removed a rock from her shoe. "Just because I have morals that doesn''t mean I need to be stupid about adhering to them. We did the best we could. If it doesn''t feel like enough, then cultivate a more martial foundation. Get stronger. We both know how much the Networks are inclined to reward weakness." The gleam in Amanda''s eye suggested she was going to heed her own advice. Personally, Sarah was more ambivalent. "I take it you''ll be coming back here to harvest additional mana?" Amanda glanced at her girlfriend, who nodded in agreement. "We are. How about you?" Sarah hadn''t decided, yet. It was hard not to resent the game that Amanda had played with her heart. Sarah appreciated the other warspawn''s attempt to bury the proverbial hatchet; she was also deeply relieved the two of them had broken up. If this was how Amanda chose to act after three years of therapy, then putting up with her during her transition would have made Sarah tear out her hair. "I''ll think about it," she said as she poked the orb in her gut. The longer the construct remained within her body, the less it felt like an imposition. Sarah wasn''t sure how much use it would be going forward, but she could see herself maintaining the practice. She pursed her lips. Sarah opened her interface and tabbed over to the [Tasks] section to see what the Light wanted her to do next. The screen read, ''[Form 5 Cores using mana of different Alignments, purity = .051, alignment = any].'' It was the sixth task on the list, sitting just above [Eject the Core with Intent] and [Condense 1.000 mn into a Core}. Since the other three hadn''t come with a reward, the alerts had gotten overlooked in all of the excitement. Sarah began to clear out the messages, so the Light wouldn''t get pushy. Amanda refused to comment as she made her way back towards the train. Once Sarah was done emptying her inbox, she found herself staring at a summary of what she''d accomplished so far.
[Overview] [Tasks] [Communications] [Filters]
[Sarah Fields]
[Level 1] [Regional Area 15 - Northeastern United States]
[2.68 mn - Flower Core] [Output = .000027 mn/min] [Purity = .885] [Compatibility = .004]
It was funny; she''d spent more than twenty years trying to kill the Light, and at the end of the day, the Network hadn''t even noticed. [Level 1]: she''d contributed just as much to its survival as any random Joe off the street. What a joke. Sarah closed the screen and paid her fare with a sigh. The trio boarded the subway at the bottom of the Red Line and wearily rode it back to the station near Cutler Park. By the time they arrived, it was getting late, and the only person still sitting in the lot was a sun-burnt young man, who was selling weed out of his car. He eyed their muddy shoes from the seat of his beat-up Buick. Rather than make his pitch, he turned the radio up and played more Clash of Clans on his phone. Sarah felt like she could relate to his apathy, especially when Amanda grabbed her by the wrist. "You know, I''m not very good at goodbyes," the dark-haired warspawn murmured. "After we had our falling out, I made sure to never say the word, or to imply that you''d burnt a bridge. I didn''t want to close the door on what we''d built between us." Amanda let the blonde''s hand slip through her fingers, their skin brushing lightly before she stepped away. "...But now... Now, I''m beginning to wonder if my decision might have been a mistake. Maybe, I did you a disservice by denying you a shot at closure." Sarah ignored the phantom imprints Amanda had left with her nails. "What are you getting at?" "I know you, Sarah. I know what you want, how you act and the things you''re willing to put up with. We were together for over two years, and it''s not an exaggeration to say that I''ve gotten a handle on how you think." Amanda glanced past her shoulder at Pallsburg and released a shaky breath. "...So much comprehensive foreknowledge makes it easy to take advantage of you. To leverage my growth and experience in areas where I know you''ve always been weak. Earlier, I told you that I''ve been trying to be a better person. This is me proving that I wasn''t just full of hot air." Sarah shifted, the seriousness of Amanda''s promise throwing her off her stride. "You can''t know me too well if you''re making a huge spectacle out of this." She glanced at the bored drug dealer and self-consciously lowered her voice. "Besides, you''ve already said you''re sorry. I don''t need a second apology that''s less sincere than the first." "I was short with you," Amanda agreed. "It''s not an excuse, but I was under a lot of stress at the time. I decided to prioritize my own commitments, when I should have been kinder to the people around me. I''ve been acting like the worst of us. I have," Amanda insisted when Sarah shot her a sharp look. "I''ve been using people. Lying. I''ve deceived those closest to me. If I want to move beyond our roots, then I can''t close my eyes to the way I''ve embodied everything I hate." Sarah tried to remain cordial in the face of Amanda''s self-flagellation. It was hard: she was getting awfully tired of the parasite''s sanctimonious bullshit. "Amanda, I love you, but will you shut the fuck up already? It''s late, I''ve had a long day, and all I want to do is go home, so I can sleep off the last four hours. Instead, here you are, jerking me around again. Do you think I''m blind to your faults? Do you think I can''t see my own? I haven''t stuck around just so I can audit your masterclass in social skullduggery." Sarah clenched her fist around the teeth of her car keys. She resisted the urge to throw them through Amanda''s front windshield. "Look, since you''re being so ''honest'' with me, how about I return the favor. Tomorrow, after I stop feeling like shit, I''ll call you, and the two of us can play house. You can pretend to be a recovering addict, and I''ll be the gaslit wreck who reluctantly pardons your abuse. I swear to you, though, Amanda: if you remind me of where we come from one more time, I''m going to put a hole in your head. Okay?" Her ex made an effort to bite her tongue. "Okay." ...Alright, then. Sarah unlocked her car door and closed it with a self-satisfied bang. She stared at the center of her steering column until the cracks in the plastic started to look uncomfortably serpentine. Suddenly, she screamed at the air bag. Her fist slammed into the horn until she''d nearly bent her keys. Sarah drove out of the dusty parking lot with the utmost care because if someone cut her off, she was going to bury her bumper in the side of a Walmart. There would be casualties. It was, without a doubt, the closest she''d ever come to Mannly''s mentality, and she hated every second of it. The next ten minutes passed in a disorganized blur. Later, Sarah would look back on the few snapshots she could freely recall and wonder how she hadn''t been pulled over for a host of traffic violations. Luck? Incompetence? It couldn''t have been due to a lack of officers on the road - she''d been hearing their sirens all afternoon. Or was she thinking about this the wrong way? Given how her week had gone, perhaps some unseen monkey''s paw had curled its gnarled finger and sent them all off to the waterfront. Missing the chance to argue her way into a ticket seemed like the right sort of punishment after her wish to be left alone. Sarah let the vehicle''s collision detector lose its tiny, synthetic mind as she parked beneath a carpet of wisteria that was climbing up the side of her complex. Across the street, the garage ear-marked for the building''s residents was filled to bursting with over-priced BMWs and out-of-state license plates. Only half of them belonged to people who were actually paying rent. ''Fuckers,'' she thought as she furiously flipped them off. By this point, most of her rage had dissipated leaving only a back-breaking climb up to the fourth floor. After hours of hiking through the reservation''s namesake, the ascent left Sarah''s legs burning like the ashes of a blackened Waldenbooks - one that had been reduced to cinders to stoke an arsonist''s flaccid chode. Even the apartment door fought her as she tried to shove it past her muddy rug. Once she finally bunched the mat up enough to slide it away from the frame, the dirt it left behind on her tiles seemed like the perfect end to her day. "Ugh..." Sarah couldn''t even muster up the energy to properly groan. It just wasn''t worth the effort. Rubbing the bridge of her nose while she buried her face in her palm, Sarah let the tension pool between her fingertips before dragging her nails across her cheeks. The friction was mildly soothing. The blind spot did make it difficult, though, to set her keys down on the mantlepiece. Sarah resigned herself to suffering through the journey as she swung around her waxy, leather couch. When she passed by the dim recesses of her empty kitchen, she glanced inside the abandoned breakfast nook out of habit. The faint, green glow from the microwave''s display told her it was nearly ten o'' clock. Sarah blinked; she let the electric halation wash over her face, paying the hour little heed. Instead, most of her attention was fixed upon the bowl of fruit, she''d left lying on the table. It contained three peaches and an apple. There should have been a banana there too. She knew because Simon had been fiddling with it all morning. Like ice-cream melting in the summer sun, her expression steadily collapsed in on itself. The once vibrant colors of Sarah''s discouragement pooled at her feet, leaving only a disorganized puddle and a small core of frozen ice. She threw herself backwards towards the couch with bone-jarring force. The end of the hallway echoed with a loud retort as a bright, orange flare scattered the clinging shadows. The shotgun''s muzzle flash revealed Townsend''s eight-year-old host skulking next to her closet. He''d obviously been hiding behind her bathroom door in order to ambush her once she''d staggered by. Sarah''s hesitation must have convinced him to kick things off early because he''d taken the shot while insufficiently braced. This in turn had caused his squat form to be thrown against the sink, due to his weapon''s stiff recoil. The fall looked painful. Townsend was visibly clutching his forehead and had trouble finding his feet. The barrel swung around. Sarah scampered into the foyer and out of his line of fire. When the shotgun roared again from deep within the hallway, it blew a hole through the intervening wall. Sarah could hear a subtle click as Townsend reloaded the spent shell casings. ''When he turns the corner, he''s going to have a clear shot.'' The thought was so loud, it felt like someone was screaming the warning her ear. More importantly, the words had the weight of prophecy, and Sarah knew that if Townsend arrived before she''d escaped, he''d put a round right through her neck. She couldn''t take that risk. Hugging the bookshelf while she approached the narrow passageway, Sarah bent her shaking knees and listened for the sound of his footsteps. Years of practice suddenly became incredibly relevant once again as Townsend cut the corner inch by inch. Sarah pushed the shotgun''s barrel aside after it lined up with the flat of her palm. Her assailant''s frayed nerves quickly turned her microwave into scrap, but this meant she now had her fingers wrapped around the weapon''s sight. There was also more than enough leverage to keep it pointed away from her chest. Townsend didn''t let the loss of control phase him. He simply shifted with the force she was applying and rotated his arm around. He whipped Sarah in the face with the butt. The stock made a high-pitched crack as it slammed into her jaw. She briefly saw stars. Those sparkling motes then burst into technicolor fireworks, when Townsend brought the lever assembly around in an arc. It hit her right below the eye. Both strikes were strong enough to make her ears ring like a battered churchbell. The sound was deafening - nauseating, even. The disorientation wasn''t so severe, though, as to distract her from the ongoing fight. Sarah chased after the revolving long arm before Townsend could regain control of it. A moment later, she caught it by the rubber grip while the pre-teen was still off-balance. When Townsend noticed which way the weapon was now pointing, he threw the barrel away, so he wouldn''t eat a bullet to the face. Sarah wasn''t inclined to let him off that easily. With a deftness born from more than rote practice, she forced the metal bar down and carefully twisted her wrist. The shotgun looped around her fingers, thereby chambering a fresh shell. She pulled the trigger. At the same time that Sarah put a new hole in her apartment, Townsend stepped inside her guard. He raised his palm up towards her head. A rush of mana left his splayed hand. ''Metal aligned,'' Sarah noted flatly. ''Recently refined too.'' The spell just didn''t have the same speed it would''ve possessed if Townsend had let his core cook for another month. Had he been willing to wait, she might not have been able to slide out of the way before it could drill through the bridge of her nose. As it was, the arcane missile still gouged a ragged trench across a decent chunk of lavender sheetrock. Sarah blinked numbly at the damage and reached for Townsend''s throat. She preceded to slam the tip of his nose into her increasingly compromised wall. The stunned assassin struggled to push his cheeks away from the now tacky gypsum. Sarah acknowledged his toil by cocking the hammer of the gun. She pressed the barrel up against his ear. Not half a second later, a hiss left her lips as a stream of blood squirted from the back of his neck. It was followed by a four-inch parasite, covered in barbed tendrils. The creature immediately threw itself onto the ground and began squirming for the door. Sarah tried to shoot it, anyway. She shattered a pair of ceramic tiles before she lost sight of it at her apartment''s threshold. A pained gasp brushed against the side of her hand. Sarah subconsciously resecured her grip and swung the gun back around. Townsend was currently in the process of freaking the fuck out. Both instinct and instruction insisted she finish the job. In fact, the propensity was so ingrained that her finger was already wrapped around the trigger before she could finish the thought. It''d only take a shiver to put a round through the crown of his skull. Sarah could almost hear a subtle click as the springs near the hammer were released. It was with a sudden start that Sarah realized the noise wasn''t entirely an illusion. Her hand was shaking, and the pins in the firearm''s frame would rattle whenever she so much as twitched. Her gaze slowly shifted from Townsend over to her spastic limb. Sarah tried to clench the muscles in her forearm, but the strain just made the jitters worse. Why was she...? Sarah glanced at the hole in her wall where Townsend had blasted through the struts. Her neck twisted towards the sparking appliance her grandmother had bought for her birthday. "...Oh," she murmured softly. This... couldn''t be concealed, could it? "Momma." Townsend mumbled into the perforated plaster. Sarah blinked. She wondered if she''d heard him correctly through the ringing in her ears. After a moment, Townsend repeated the cry and some of her confusion was dispelled. More remained. Was Townsend... calling for his mother? Didn''t he kill his mother? ''No,'' Sarah reminded herself, the realization slow to cement. ''Townsend killed his mother.'' This was his host... who was also Townsend. The warspawn wished she could blame her head trauma for how difficult it was to distinguish between them. Sadly, it was actually an atavistic bias, which happened to be clouding her judgement. Of the two, the latter was a far bigger hurdle: you could heal a concussion; rewiring her brain was currently beyond Sarah''s means. ''Not that I would if I could,'' the parasite conceded bitterly. Townsend''s host simply wasn''t someone who''s suffering she was inclined to prioritize. Not when she had hated the asshole for the better part of four years. Even now, it was difficult to look at the kid and not see the person who''d nearly murdered her. They looked the same, sounded the same and - if Townsend was anything like Sarah had been when she''d first arrived on Earth - they probably acted the same, outside of a few, niche scenarios. Altogether, it left her inclined to continue the fight, right where they had left off. Townsend... was less than co-operative. Snot ran down his chin as he began to loudly bawl. Sarah winced at the tinny wail and jiggled his shoulder using the hand keeping him pinned. She had this vague idea that if she just jostled him hard enough, she could snap him out of his funk. It was probably her concussion talking since the pressure accomplished jack shit. Sarah reluctantly lowered the gun. Townsend continued to disappoint her by failing to capitalize on the opening. After half a minute, she was forced to reconcile herself with the truth: unless she wanted to keep whaling on an eight-year-old, the fight was functionally over. "I..." Sarah cut the sentence off with a mild wince. She pressed her tongue against her teeth and then spat out a mouthful of blood. "I need you to stop screaming. Hey!" she hollared when the kid didn''t shut up. "I said, knock it off!" Townsend did not, in fact, knock it off. Under more forgiving circumstances, Sarah might have been willing to grant him that this was a reasonable response; however, it was only a matter of time until her neighbors grew bold enough to investigate the deafening racket. If Townsend couldn''t settle down before they got here, they''d both have bigger problems than shaking off an inconvenient weapons charge. Sarah eyed the screaming youth and wondered how much he knew. More importantly, she weighed who would believe him should he decided to squeal. A few weeks ago, she would have said no one and let the paramedics chalk his tale up to trauma. With the arrival of the Light? Well, people were more open to the weird. Personally, Sarah wasn''t willing to be discovered just because she happened to feel a bit squeamish. Like the tide rolling in, her itchy trigger-finger returned. Sarah started to raise the shotgun up to Townsend''s head as Amanda''s voice echoed in her own. "Please, stop talking," she begged the both of them. "I can''t handle the two of you at once." Neither complied. Through the wet gasps of Townsend''s despair, Sarah could hear Amanda''s stubborn insistence that they had a duty to be better than their nature. To be people. The Offal Sea called them infiltrators. Mannly had called them betrayers. It was the pejorative Harlan had used, though, which really seemed to stick in her mind. ''Worms.'' He''d called them worms. The sort of vermin who were only ever useful to bait a hook. That calloused bastard would have been proud of Townsend''s rampage. Look at what his psychopathy had produced. With a bitter sigh, Sarah closed her eyes. It wasn''t easy, but she let the weapon dip towards the floor. "Shh," she hushed the boy distractedly. "Just... take a deep breath. It''ll be okay." Her attempts to comfort him were pathetic. They were also a necessary stopgap while she fumbled through her pocket for her cell. The line rang three times before someone actually qualified to handle a crying child finally picked up the phone. "Kennedy?" Sarah greeted the groggy parasite waiting on the other end. "Listen... I need a favor." Cuckoo 7 "I''m busy." Sarah stared at the time stamp on her phone. She could feel her grip threatening to crack the thin, protective case embracing the fragile device. "The fuck do you mean you''re busy?! I''m standing in a boxful of spent shotgun shells because Townsend thought my head would look cute mounted atop his wall! Now, the prick''s run off, his host is crying and the only reason I''m forced to deal with this bullshit is you opened your fat, fucking mouth! ''I''m busy,''" she sneered, droplets of spittle spraying across the screen. "You better be busy helping me, or I''m going to break my foot off in your ass!" The over-weight warspawn sighed. He mumbled something into the receiver that the phone couldn''t quite pick up. "Alright, calm down. What do you need?" Sarah spluttered in disbelief. "Did you not hear me? I''m standing in what''s left of the O.K. Corral after Virgil Earp put five dollars'' worth of lead through Billy Clanton''s balls. If that wasn''t bad enough, I''ve got Boston''s least warranted Amber Alert sniveling on the ground with a busted lip. I need you to convince the kid to stop crying, so the two of us can slip out of here. I don''t want to have to shoot one of my neighbors because they decided to play hero." There was a mild thump as Kennedy set something down. "I''ll throw together a video call; put his host on the line." The punch-drunk parasite released a shaky breath and felt the growing tension in her chest begin to unravel. She pushed a few buttons when the prompts appeared and then held the cell out towards Townsend. "Here," she muttered with as much compassion as she could muster. "I need you to talk to Kennedy for a couple of minutes. You remember Kennedy, right?" Whatever Townsend did or did not remember would have to remain a mystery because he reached for the mobile with a glassy-eyed look. Sarah rubbed her temples; she left the aging warspawn to work his magic while she grabbed her bug-out bag from her bedroom. It was hard to walk past the countless photographs lined up along the hall. Sarah kept the negatives in a manilla envelope beneath her passport; however, there was an emotional component to the dismissal, which didn''t sit quite right with her. The discomfort left her struggling to maintain her focus as she ran through her mental checklist. ''Clothes... cash... charger for my phone.'' Once she was certain that everything was squared away, she zipped up the duffel bag and threw the pack over her shoulder. Against her better judgment, she paused for a moment by the door before fleeing back through the corridor. The faded, purple paint cast a washed-out filter over her white, lace duvet. Near the far corner, two bookshelves were filled to bursting with a collection of ink-washed models. Most of the tiny sculptures were made from clay and imitated the fauna of her new home; others were shaped with wire and mocked the threats she had survived on Deravan. One, a particularly large corsk, had been knocked onto the floor during the fight. Its tail was broken off at the base. Sarah weighed kneeling down, so she could return the reptile to its diorama but simply closed the door, instead. "...think you can do that for me?" Kennedy was saying as she re-entered the ruined foyer. Townsend sniffled quietly before mutely nodding his head. "Okay. Plug your ears and pass the phone over to Sarah. I need to read her the riot act." Sarah accepted the call with a put upon expression. "Say what now?" "Don''t give me that shit," Kennedy grumbled testily. "You almost killed an eight-year-old. I''m not going to sit here and pretend I can''t relate, but I had to tell him something. You wanted the kid to stop crying, didn''t you? Has he?" Sarah studied the fidgeting youth, who was softly humming to himself. "...Yeah." "Then, just act contrite or something. You should be good at that." "Kennedy," Sarah growled as her eye began to twitch. "Don''t fucking push me, right now. I''ve had one hell of a day." The dour parasite snorted. "And what, you think I haven''t? Fiona is literally crying on my couch because her father cares more about politics than his own damn daughter. It''s bad enough I''m tempted to shoot the man on general principle. Fiona doesn''t want that, though: they''re family. Like it really fucking matters when he''s using her to rebuild the IRA." Sarah blinked in confusion. "What the hell does Blythe have to do with this jackoff''s retirement account?" "Not his IRA - the IRA. I''m talking about those Irish pricks who spent the nineties bombing the British. Apparently, Patrick got kicked out of the Dundalk chapter for embezzling thirty thousand pounds. He''s been pushing Fiona to take up his mantle, ever since he fled to the States. It''s - you know what, no - nevermind - this isn''t your problem, and I don''t want to get into it with you. Suffice it to say, you''re not the only one with issues." Sarah scowled at the splintered struts that were barely holding up her ceiling. "I don''t know, I''d say mine are worse. Is Blythe still with you?" She could almost hear Kennedy squint in consternation. "Yeah? Why?" "Well, the way I see it, I''m already planning to murder one squirrely shit, tonight: why don''t we trade headaches? You watch Townsend for a while, and I''ll handle Mr. Daddy Issues on the down low." There was a brief pause. "...You''re going after Townsend?" Sarah nearly choked on her tongue. "Of course, I''m going after Townsend! He shot up my apartment, Kennedy! This is my life, and that gormless, little shit blew a hole in it the size of my fist!" Sarah began to pace across her flatweave rug. Specks of blood stood out against the pale cloth, close to where she''d gotten hit in the head. Sarah stared at the scattered droplets and then numbly raised her fingers to her face. When she pressed the digits against her cheek, her nails came away bloody. "...if you run into Mannly?" Kennedy asked. He seemed nervous when there wasn''t a reply. "Sarah? You still there?" The blonde glanced back at her cellphone and then wiped the fluid on her jeans. "What was that? I got distracted." "I asked you what you were going to do if this wasn''t a solo gig. Sarah... level with me here. Did you get hit? Do I need to call an ambulance?" She huffed weakly. "What? No. Townsend missed me with the shotgun. I just got cracked in the face a couple of times." "It shows." Kennedy took a second to moderate his tone. "How about you put a pin in this revenge fantasy for tonight? You''re not acting like yourself." Sarah glared at the photo she''d attached to Kennedy''s number. The parasite was sitting in his wheelchair while he pulled a dozen wieners off the grill. If she focused, she could almost make out his kids in the background and the side of his white, picket fence. The fucker thought he knew how she was feeling? Kennedy didn''t know shit. "Come back and talk to me when it''s your progeny who''ve nearly gotten their skulls ventilated. I''m doing this. Now, are you going to babysit for me, or am I going to give this brat a front row seat to his death by fucking proxy?" The old warspawn cursed her entire bloodline. "Fine. Bring him by. I''ll make sure he doesn''t spill the beans. Maybe, we can fill a coloring book between the two of us. Just remember: I told you this was a bad idea when it inevitably goes to hell.''" He hung up with a click. Sarah boggled at the blank screen. "Well, fuck you too, then! Come on," she grumbled before heading towards the hall. "I''m sure you know the way." Townsend didn''t move. The boy still had his ears plugged and was oblivious to her snide request. Sarah actually had to reach out and shake his shoulder to get him to pay attention. He flinched at her touch. Sarah''s mind flashed back to the last time she''d jostled him, and she wondered if his did the same. "Hey, you got a favorite pokemon, kid?" Townsend blinked at the non-sequitur. Sarah did too. She''d reached for the first topic she could think of to distract him, and the idiocy which had poured forth was the only thing that had come to mind. Personally, Sarah blamed the afternoon she''d spent with Amanda. The childish parasite loved those stupid games and could never stop talking about their countless, palette-swapped permutations. "Uh... I like Vulpix," Townsend admitted as she steered him over towards the door. "T-the white one." "Yeah?" Sarah offered before guiding him closer to the stairs. "Is that the new one from the Hawaii knock-off?" Sarah wasn''t sure. Townsend wasn''t either. The youth shrugged and folded in on himself. "I don''t know. One of the kids at school had a plush version, which she kept tied to her backpack. The snake hated it." It took Sarah a moment to parse his pejorative. Eventually, she made a moue of comprehension. "It probably reminded him of a woodland picker. They dangle their tails into rivers, so they can snap up migrating fish. I bet he nearly got killed by one." "Good." Townsend''s response was brusque. He scowled at his feet as they entered the dimly lit stairwell. The descent to the ground floor was trickier than Sarah would have liked. Her balance was shot from getting knocked upside the head, and she didn''t want to tip over the railing if her vision began to swim. She could already imagine the headlines they''d print in the morning paper: ''Drunk kidnapper dies to her own stupidity.'' Her splayed corpse would either be front page news or buried at the bottom of page six. A bitter laugh bubbled up as she opened the door to the lobby. When she emerged onto the freshly waxed tiles, Sarah spied a bit of movement in the office tucked behind the concierge''s desk. Peter Wilkis, her landlord, was nervously peering through the window, overlooking the abandoned vestibule. Sarah suspected the frightened man had heard the gunshots since his pale cheeks were barely scraping past the frame. The blonde offered him a tight smile before briskly striding by. The moment he would''ve had a clear view of the shotgun, she subtly altered her posture to hide it behind Townsend''s back. Sarah figured it was a coin-toss whether Wilkis notice the deception or not. Regardless, he didn''t try to stop her from chivvying the boy onto the sidewalk. "This way," Sarah said as she led him towards her car. "Make sure you climb in the back." "The back?" Townsend repeated, staring at her uncertainly. "Yeah, we don''t want to get pulled over. That would end badly." Sarah set the duffel down onto the empty seat and shoved the firearm into the footwell. She had to fiddle with the weapon for a minute before the butt would brace itself against the backrest. Once she was satisfied it wouldn''t fall over while she was driving, she climbed behind the wheel. Sarah buckled up and reminded Townsend to do the same. It was only as she was adjusting her mirrors that a paranoid thought crawled inside her brain. "...Get out for a sec; I need to check something." Townsend silently complied. Sarah ignored the creeping discomfort of the pre-teen''s gaze as she popped the hood of her car. It''d be just like that conniving bastard to hide in her fucking Subaru. Maybe, in the exhaust system, or possibly even the trunk. He wouldn''t have had time to set up anything complicated; however, even cutting her brake line was more trouble than she wanted to deal with. Fortunately, her search didn''t turn up any issues, and she was able to set the matter aside. Sometimes, it really was just all in her head. "False alarm," Sarah reassured him. "Looks like we''re good." She slammed the hood down and ducked back into the cabin. Sarah turned the key before pulling away from the curb. Traffic was dead as they cut through Allston and Aberdeen. All along Coolidge Street, many of the city''s residents had either hidden themselves away or were shaking the windows with the punishing beat of their stereo systems. There was a real sense that the end was nigh. While it wasn''t quite visible in the cold light of day, once the moon rose, you couldn''t go half a block without stumbling across a candle-lit vigil or the drunken participants of a kegger. It got so bad that Sarah found herself laying on the horn more than she kept her hand off of it. When two teens climbed out of a second-story window and sprinted into the road, she actually pulled over so she could scream at them face to face. "Watch where you''re going!" she hollered as her heart climbed into her throat. "Don''t you know you''re going to get your dumb asses hit?!" The kids shrieked and jumped back onto the sidewalk. They only stayed there for a moment, though, before dashing off across the asphalt. The scent of licorice and pond scum invaded Sarah''s nose as their interfaces burned neon blue. "Idiots," she grumbled while a subtle tremor returned to her fingers. "Didn''t they listen during DARE?" The first hit was always free. More to the point, magic was a marathon, not a sprint. When the only shortcuts were the kind that would put you in the ground, Sarah thought she could predict the Light''s plan. In a few days'' time, the Network would begin advertising its bounties to every jackoff, who wanted to be a hero. Then, once it''d given them a taste of the good life, it''d start throwing in more dire targets - beasts from the seeds and the like. By the time they met the adherents of the Sea, violence would be a matter of course. Sarah threw up in her mouth. The acidic burn lingered beside her tendrils. "I need to put some music on. Do you have a preference?" When Townsend didn''t reply, Sarah simply flicked through her presets until she found a station that could take her mind off the looming body count. She settled on a local icon called WZLX, which had been blasting the same Pink Floyd tracks since the band was this ''hot new thing.'' Sadly, they were currently jamming through the outro of "Learning to Fly" and soon returned to the usual disc jockeys. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "That was David Gilmour with a few words of wisdom from the eighties. Next up, we''ll be continuing tonight''s blast from the past with Eurythmics and "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)." Before we get to that, though, the station manager is telling me to pass you over to Jules, who has an update on the warnings in effect." "Thanks, Tim. This is day seventeen since our visitation from the outer limits, and it''s the fifth since President Mason has declared a national state of emergency. Right now, Mayor Su is encouraging everyone to stay off the streets, between the hours of eight and five, and the Secretary of Health and Human Services has issued an advisory, warning people to minimize their exposure to our guest. While no wide-spread symptoms are presently being reported, anyone who''s experiencing an unusual medical complication should contact the WHO''s liaison using the number at the top of our website." Sarah frowned, suddenly reminded of their current straits. She tried switching to WROR, but they must have been coordinating the announcement. "...where a full list of school closures and cancellations can be found. Meanwhile, Captain Gladhand would like to remind everyone that all available officers are looking into the thefts that were committed during last night''s curfew. To quote the man himself, ''The law is not suspended when the lights go off. Justice will be served during these difficult times.'' We here at WROR will, of course, wish him the best of luck as we hold Boston''s victims in our thoughts and prayers." Sarah heard Townsend shift in his seat. The leather upholstery creaked as he leaned away from the speaker. "Maybe the radio was a bad idea," she confessed. "No," Townsend told her. "L-leave it on." Sarah studied the youth in her rearview mirror. His eyes were watery, and his voice thick, but there was an edge of anger to his insistence, which convinced her to comply. At the end of the day, she could respect a good grudge. Some people might say that Townsend was too young to harbor such feelings; however, Sarah wasn''t one of them. She had seen her first corpse before she''d finished turning two. Once you added in the half-dozen she''d help create during training, it left her with a fairly warped opinion on the matter. The maudlin parasite peered through the dusty glass of the driver-side window. In the distance, one of the towering skyscrapers was studded with flickering lights as four of its housing units burned. Tomorrow morning, the news would either describe the event as a terrible conflagration, or a shocking tragedy, depending on how many people had died. Sarah had trouble summoning up the same level of dismay, though. The chaos was simply too normal to be appalling. Instead, the world was beginning to fall in line with her lived experience, and the insight bred only disgust. She squashed the snarl slowly twisting her lips. Sarah pulled off the interstate and into the neighboring town of Westborough, where Kennedy had put down roots. His townhouse should only be another five minutes away. It had been a few months since she''d bothered to visit in person, but she''d made sure to memorize the route in case she didn''t have the luxury of fiddling with a map. "Sometimes paranoia pays off," Sarah jeered scornfully as she drove her car up his freshly paved driveway. Kennedy''s van was currently hogging most of the strip, so she scooted onto the grass in case his Caddy needed to squeeze past. This had the side-effect of leaving a crushed divot at the edge of his close-cut lawn. Sarah suspected a normal visitor would have felt bad about the damage, yet the faux pas seemed like small potatoes when she compared it to everything she''d been forced to endure. Besides, maybe Kennedy deserved to see some trouble land in his proverbial lap. It was only fair after the position he''d put them all in. Sarah''s anger simmered beneath the surface as she parked next to a meandering, concrete sidewalk. The path had once been comprised of light-grey cobblestones, with lilacs planted along the border; however, it had become too hard for Kennedy''s wheelchair to navigate, following his wife''s divorce. So much so, that a contractor had allegedly been hired to make the porch more handicap accessible. At the time, Sarah had thought the tale to simply be mean-spirited gossip. Now, she wondered if there might have been some truth to the rumor, given the limestone sitting next to his garage. Townsend quietly trailed behind her until they reached the white-washed veranda. When they drew close, the boy''s mien grew slightly odd. In some ways this was the first time he''d been here in person, and there was a subtle timidity to his footsteps, which Sarah thought she could relate to. The blonde rang the buzzer. A three-tone chime echoed through the building behind its clear, glass glazing. A minute passed before Kennedy managed to pull himself out of the basement. When he finally wedged the door open with the side of his chair, Sarah could see Blythe hovering by the stairs, her flyaway bangs bouncing above her wrinkled nose. "Hey," Sarah greeted him while her gaze panned across the hall. "Anyone beat us here?" Kennedy scowled at her with the beginning of a begrudging frown. "Is that really what you want to say to me, right now?" "Oh, I''m sorry, I''m just a little paranoid after nearly getting shot in the face!" Sarah glared at him and lingered by the bottom step. "...Well?" she asked, once a couple of seconds had passed. "Is Mannly around or not?" "No, Mannly is not around. Neither is Barkley or Rogers. Now, are you going to come in, or do you want to pitch a tent on my porch?" Kennedy looked like he was a hairsbreadth from slamming the door in her face. His fingers had already begun to slip between the spokes of his wheelchair while he ground his palms against the rubber. Sarah sniffed primly and tried to saunter past. The moment was ruined when she bumped into the whicker bench, resting at the top of the steps. "You know, a little sympathy wouldn''t be amiss," she grumbled as she caught herself upon its stiff armrest. Kennedy had to take a deep breath before he could trust himself to respond. Sarah watched him bite back the top three comments sitting on the tip of his tongue. "And you have it," he told her, the admission much more muted than the accusations he''d have leveled in its place. He grabbed her by the shoulder when Sarah tried to blow him off. "You do have it. I nearly slipped a disc when you told me what had happened. I was worried we''d have to carry you out packed up in a cardboard box." "But?" Sarah asked him, her head canted to the side. "No but. No prevarication. I''m glad that wasn''t the case." Sarah clicked her tongue. She stared at a swathe of drywall, where a missing picture frame had prevented the paint from being bleached by time and the sun. "Well... thanks, I guess. Things were touch and go for a bit." Blythe shifted at the blonde''s candor and accidentally rested her weight upon one of the more weather-worn floorboards. The plank let out a low groan. The sound reminded the two of their unintended audience, and Kennedy disguised his growing embarrassment by focusing on Sarah''s tagalong. "Hmm, speaking of touch and go situations, I guess that would make you Nickolas. Still holding up alright?" Townsend rolled his shoulders in a weak shrug. Kennedy wasn''t happy to spot the lingering diffidence. "I see. You know, my son has an Xbox for whenever he spends the weekend here. If you want to take your mind off things, I don''t think he''d begrudge you playing with it." Townsend ducked his head. "No thanks," he replied. "I''d rather wait with everyone else." The words were insistent even as he stumbled over their inflection. Then, softer, he muttered, "...It''s not like I wasn''t around for the rest of it." Whether he was referring to their sporadic meetings or his parents'' murder was hard to say. Especially, since Kennedy was unwilling to press him on the specifics. The bald warspawn swallowed. He swept his wheelchair to the side. "I suppose that''s fair. We were kind of in the middle of something, but if you don''t mind putting it off...?" He glanced over his shoulder and saw Blythe shaking her head. "Then, I guess..." He trailed off. The grimace on the teen''s face suggested her gesture had been born from dismay rather than accommodation. "Not to be a Karen," she called out, "but I was here first. It sucks that things popped off at Sarah''s place, but how long do you expect me to wait? Ten minutes? A few days? You told me we''d work on this, Jason." "And we will," Kennedy agreed placidly. "But you know my opinion on the matter." "Shooting my father isn''t acceptable. If everyone else gets to have a family, then I want one too. Besides, I thought we were trying to move away from the shit we learned on Deravan, not crawl up its metaphorical ass." Blythe crossed her arms in front of her chest and pressed her polyester crop-top flat against her stomach. The better half of a six-pack strained against the tight fabric. Sarah tamped down on the flash of jealousy it elicited. "Maybe ixnay on the parentsae, Blythe, or were you not paying attention?" The teen scowled at the warning. "Why, because I might hurt Townsend''s wittle feelings? Piss off - if I abandoned my host, he''d be older than I am." "Yeah," Sarah agreed mockingly. "By like a year." Blythe rolled her eyes. "Pick a lane, bitch: am I supposed to be more mature than him or less? Better, yet - let''s ask Kennedy - I think he has some opinions on the topic." Kennedy looked like he''d prefer to chew nails. In fact, it was only long habit that convinced him to intercede. "Let''s all just calm down for a moment. Sarah, right or not, getting into an argument with a girl half your age isn''t impressive. And Fiona, Sarah did nearly die an hour ago, so maybe ease up on her a bit. Let''s not tear into each other when we all want the same thing." The teen huffed and checked the display on her phone. "Fine, I need to stretch my legs, anyway. You can settle..." Blythe eyed the older parasite. "Whatever this is in the meantime. When I get back, though, you''re giving me a real answer. I''ve gone out on a limb for you, and I expect you to return the favor." Kennedy sucked on his teeth while a trickle of sweat beaded along his forehead. "Fine, but I''m not sure there''s any more advice I can give you." He held up his hand before Blythe could open her mouth. "Nevertheless, we''ll discuss it," he agreed as she slowly settled down. "Maybe there''s a solution we''ve overlooked. Alright?" "Yeah," the Blythe concluded. "Alright." Kennedy kept his composure until she''d left the room, then he closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. Sarah knew because she could see his Adam''s apple bob with each subvocal invocation. "Well, that was..." Kennedy held up his finger and mutely cut her off. "Don''t even start. You''re half the reason why my skull feels like it''s going to split in two." When he was certain that Sarah wasn''t inclined to continue needling him, he used the digit to rub his furrowed brow. "...Fuck. This really isn''t what I wanted to do today." Sarah couldn''t stop herself from sarcastically snapping back. "Yeah? And what about the rest of us? How exactly did you expect things to play out after making your bombastic stand?" "Not like this! I was hoping everyone could see a losing proposition when it was staring them in the face!" Kenedy slammed his palm against the armrest of his wheelchair. When the steel let loose an indignant squeak, he flinched away from the frame and made sure he hadn''t damaged his ride. "...Maybe I should have, though," he admitted wearily once he was satisfied nothing was broken. "Perhaps I should have guessed that the Fourth Wave would see our insertion as a zero-sum game. They''re used to winners and losers." "Does that make me a winner or a loser?" Townsend''s question caught the tired warspawn off-guard. "I mean, I''m here and the snake''s not, so obviously I should be ahead, but it really doesn''t feel that way. It feels a lot more like the opposite." Kennedy hesitated and then reached out to grasp the boy''s shoulder. "That''s because they''re wrong. Oftentimes in war both parties lose. Especially, when things turn ugly, and the knives come out. It doesn''t have to be that way - we don''t have to act like animals - but it''s hard to be kind through the pain. I can''t imagine it was easy to trust Sarah after learning about where she comes from." Townsend surprised them by slowly shaking his head. "No?" Kennedy pressed, recalling his mistake with Blythe. "No," the boy confirmed. He fell silent then, clearly stewing over whether he should say anything else. Finally, after digging his shoe into Kennedy''s welcome mat, he offered an explanation even Hayes would have found unduly cynical. "...I''m not the one she wants." "Ah," Kennedy mused before examining the parasite in question. "No, you really aren''t. Does that mean you have no objection to staying here for a couple of days? I know you might be used to living on your own, but I''d definitely feel better if there was someone around to take care of you." The boy''s chary gaze cut to the person who''d rescued him. "Somebody else," Kennedy grinned. "Sarah has a few things to finish up." "You mean she''s going to kill the snake," Townsend corrected stubbornly. Kennedy''s expression turned wry. "If I remember right, you were supposed to cover your ears for that part." "I did," the boy groused. "She was just really loud." Kennedy''s exasperation shifted targets. "Yes, she was, wasn''t she. Still, that''s not the sort of thing you should say. It''s..." "Liable to get her in trouble?" Townsend offered with a far too innocent chirp. "Abhorrent," Kennedy chided him, his tone firm. "It''s not the sort of thing that good people do. It''s also why I was hoping you''d stick around. You''ve already had enough bad role models in your life. You don''t need another one." Sarah tried not to get upset at the implication. "You''re all heart, Kennedy." The stocky parasite pursed his lips. "You know it''s true. Doubly so when you''re dead set on getting yourself killed. I''m not going to sit here and pretend otherwise to spare your fragile ego; go talk to Marcus if you want deceptive platitudes." He turned back towards the youth. "I also wouldn''t be doing you a favor if I let you tag along. Your parents certainly wouldn''t thank me for it." Townsend flinched. Kennedy tried to look sympathetic. "Did you forget I knew them? We weren''t close, but four years is a long time, and even casual conversations can add up. Looking back, I think our mutual acquaintance might have been trying to set me up as a ''family friend.'' You know, in case he ever needed an alibi. I never liked him well enough to play along; however, I wouldn''t mind filling that role for you." The boy squirmed at the offer, caught between gratitude and discomfort. "You don''t owe me anything," he whispered quietly. "You don''t have to go that far." "No," Kennedy insisted, his voice thick and heavy. "I want to, and I do. I can''t help it. When I think about the war, and my own kids winding up in your shoes, I''m reminded of everything we''ve justified to ourselves. In the name of peace. Out of convenience. To help us get through the day. I need to believe that there will be someone standing there, who''s willing to help them if the worst has the misfortune to occur." "And if not you then who?" Sarah asked him, struggling to make light of his plea. Kennedy shook his head, grimly certain. "My luck isn''t that shit. Amanda would do it in the event I lost my nerve. Simon too. Maybe even you, though I''m certain you''d bitch and moan the whole way through. Selfish as my wish may be, there wouldn''t be a point if I was the only one who could do it. And to be honest?" he continued after catching Townsend''s eye. "I think I prefer it this way. Very little good comes from dying for a cause." Townsend deflated and chewed on his bottom lip. Even though he didn''t look at Sarah, she knew he was thinking about where her path might lead. "You don''t understand. I need him to die. Like you need your kids to be safe, or Neal needs his body to stop hurting. He can''t... I won''t..." The boy closed his mouth in frustration. He took a deep breath. "I''ll stay here. I don''t need to do it myself, but someone has to stop him. Okay? I can''t let him get away with this." "Yeah," Sarah agreed softly. "Okay." Kennedy twisted around in surprise. Sarah wasn''t sure why he was so taken aback. If there was anyone in their bilious cabal who could empathize with the kid''s motives, it''d be her. Let the others preach about tolerance and forgiveness and all those higher principles, which happened to catch their fancy. Sarah planned to murder Townsend dead. Not because she was angry, or because his existence burned like a splinter beneath her skin, but because it was like the kid had said: she needed him to die. If Sarah let this violation pass, then what would she even have left? A few weeks of hollow pantomime before the cops kicked in her door? No. Never. It wouldn''t fix anything, but Townsend was going to pay for spoiling her happy ending. She''d lay his corpse at her dream''s broken feet and see if that drowned the grief strangling her tears. "I don''t know how long it''s going to take, but I''ll make sure he dies. You have my word on it. If the Loom was here, I''d swear an oath." Sarah clenched her fists and wrestled with the dissonance imposed upon her by her birth. For the first time in their long association, she made a serious effort to differentiate between Townsend and his host. Not because it was the right thing to do, or for the others'' grand ideals, but because no infiltrator could stare at her with that sense of betrayed offense. Like he''d been taught to expect more out of life and was upset about being let down. It was - to put it bluntly - a uniquely human expression, and even with twenty years of practice, Sarah still couldn''t imitate it correctly. Townsend certainly wouldn''t have had any luck. "So don''t worry," Sarah told him for all that she might be lying through her teeth. "I''ll make sure everything works out. Okay, Nickolas?" Cuckoo 8 Blythe followed Sarah out onto the veranda. The faint breeze blowing in from the bay was mild for early fall and carried with it a hint of salt that was too subtle for the human nose to detect. Sarah shivered at the echo it left on her tendrils; she ignored the distant call of the developing ley line and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Something I can do for you, Blythe?" The histrionic teen hummed. "Maybe. Figured I''d pick your brain before the opposition puts a hole through it." She reached into the pocket of her cargo pants and pulled out a package of cigarettes. The word ''Salem'' was faintly visible beneath the porch light''s amber glow. "You mind? Jason rides my ass whenever he catches me smoking. It''s left me craving one all night." Sarah wrinkled her nose, already imagining the smell. "That stuff will kill you, you know." "Let''s not pretend you give a shit; we both have better uses for our time." Blythe cupped her fingers into a loose ball and shaved a wisp of mana off her core. The ambient energy curled around the rolling paper and then gathered near the tip. A burning ember suddenly flared to life with a pop. Blythe ignored Sarah''s sarcastic applause. "Been practicing?" the blonde asked her. A trail of off-color smoke slipped from the warspawn''s lips. "Here and there. My old man''s been real gung-ho about it all. He thinks the Light''s going to be the next big thing." She flicked a bit of ash into the dirt. "He''s half right, I suppose. Broken clocks and all that." Sarah leaned against one of the thin columns that were supporting the veranda''s overhang. She ignored the way the square post left a painful indent in the small of her back. "I thought you were fond of your father. Weren''t you tearing into Kennedy because he advised you to cut ties?" Blythe shrugged, her skin-tight top rising with the careless gesture. "You can love a guy and still not respect him. My Da''s got some weird ideas about the way the world works. Occasionally, he''ll hit it out of the park, but trying to sift through the dross is like digging for grubs back on Deravan: it''s usually not worth the effort." Sarah grimaced at the memory Blythe''s words invoked. "Then, why are you here?" "Because he''s worth the effort - not his stupid conspiracy theories." The parasite huffed irately as the cigarette''s cherry deepened to molten gold. "I don''t know what your life''s been like, but my old man was good to me at a time when even my so-called mother wanted to bury me in a linen sack. Kennedy, though? He just sees the guy''s hobbies and all of the risks they present; the person behind the bullshit might as well be fucking invisible." "You''re thinking of coming clean," Sarah slowly realized. "You want to tear the curtain away." Blythe pointed at her with the fingers holding the filter. "Got it in one. And why not? It''s not like things aren''t turbo fucked, anyway. Kennedy''s hoping I''ll change my mind, so nothing splashes back up onto him, but this is my life: he doesn''t exactly get a say." She took a long hit and blew the haze out in a thick ring. "I''m just here as a professional courtesy. In return for letting him make his case, he''s agreed to help me break the news." Sarah waved the fumes away before they could cross the porch. "Okay. Sure. What''s this got to do with me, though? I''m not exactly out and proud.''" "I want a second opinion," Blythe explained with a short, dismissive snort. "It doesn''t take a political mastermind to realize Kennedy''s got an incentive to screw me." Did he? Sarah considered the man''s position while Blythe enjoyed the peace and quiet. "...Alright," she acknowledged. "Let''s say, I can see where he might be a touch biased. That''s rough. It sucks. It also has fuck-all to do with me. Why should I dip my oar in, when I''ve got my own problems to deal with? I''m too busy to be your life coach." "Yeah?" Blythe drawled. "And I suppose you''ve already figured out where Townsend''s been laying low? All you need to do is pull up and kick his door in?" Sarah struggled to ignore the blatant mockery. "It''s not exactly a mystery. He''s going to do the same thing everyone does when they''ve suddenly become homeless and crash on his friend''s couch. Since Barkley is an itinerant jackass, I figure I''ll start with Mannly. He''s certainly got the space." Blythe didn''t seem worried about having nothing to sell. "That makes sense," she conceded. "If I was in his shoes, I''d probably do the same." She jiggled the moist butt with her thumb. "Pity you''re barking up the wrong tree." Sarah stopped edging towards her car and returned her weight to the column. "You''re telling you know where he is? How? The two of you aren''t that close." "We''re not," Blythe agreed. "But Samantha is, and the two of us talk. She''s mentioned him slumming it at this one place in particular. If the kid''s pulled a runner, I figure he''s staying there." Sarah eyed Kennedy''s front door. She considered pumping Nickolas for the information before acknowledging that the conversation would be too awkward to pursue. "Let me make sure I have this right: if I give you my two cents about your family situation, you''ll give me Townsend''s location?" Blythe nodded. "That''s the deal." Sarah rubbed the back of her neck. "Fine. I''ve done worse for less." When it felt like there wasn''t a steel cable suspended between her collarbone and her jaw, Sarah let her fingers fall free. She thought about how she was going to put her discomfort into words. "I''ve seen this dog and pony show play out a couple of times, and the only universal factor is that it always devolves into a trash fire. I''m serious, Blythe - not a single attempt has ever gone over well. Either, the recipient doesn''t take the news amicably, and they freak the fuck out, or someone gets a bug up their ass, and they decide to plug the leak. Do you know why we don''t talk to the Hartford cell, anymore?" Blythe raised her eyebrow in sardonic amusement. "I''m going to guess it''s because some jackoff blabbed to his friends." "Worse. Half of the cell was afraid he''d blab, and they weren''t convinced when the rest tried to reassure the doubters. The ones who remained skeptical decided to make their rebuttal via bullet. By the time everyone was done shooting at each other, there were only three survivors." Blythe didn''t look too happy as she chewed on her tongue. "So, you''re saying I should drop it." "No, I''m saying you should make sure it''s what you want before you pull the trigger. Kennedy won''t risk his family by taking matters into his own hands. Some of our other peers are a lot less gun-shy. You''ll need to cover your bases." Blythe flicked her cigarette onto the wooden planks and stomped it out with her boot. She dragged the heavy treads back and forth until the paper ripped and the cherry was fully smothered. "Sounds to me like you''ve got your own biases. If this shit never goes well, then why hasn''t Amanda broken up with her girlfriend?" Sarah scoffed. "Because Amanda is a damn good liar. I''m not here to trade gossip, though; if you want the messy details, you can ask her yourself." She waited for Blythe to hold up her end of the bargain before finally crooking a finger. "...The info?" "It hardly seems worth the trade, compared to what I got. Still, if Townsend''s willing to shoot you, then he''d probably drop me just as fast." Blythe scratched at her earlobe before visibly letting it go. "Fine. Whatever. I never liked the cunt, anyway." She pulled out her phone and started digging through her texts. "Samantha said he''s been dropping in and out of this ice rink up in Bridgewater. The place closed down during covid, and it''s been pretty slow to reopen. Given everything going on with the Light, it should be nearly abandoned. Here, I think I found the address." Sarah could feel her pocket vibrate as the message came through. She checked the details. It looked like everything was in order. "Thanks, I appreciate it." Blythe waved the gratitude away. "Sure. And if anyone asks..." Sarah descended the white-washed steps. "This never happened." Before she reached the road, she raised her hand in a silent farewell. "Good luck not becoming a statistic, Blythe." The teen yanked on the front door. "Try not to block a bullet with your face." ''Right,'' Sarah thought as she picked up the shotgun and moved it away from the clutch. ''Nothing but good times from here on out.'' /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ "I''ve gotta stop jinxing myself. It was funny when Dermith was getting the short end of the stick, but it''s becoming a bit of a habit." The rotting corpse dangling from the ice rink''s lintel didn''t reply. Sarah wasn''t terribly surprised. There was a hole in its throat she could have put her fist through if she''d been inclined to stomach the gore. A second sat a meter down, closer to where its beltline would have been, and both looked torn - like someone had carved a cross into the skin before punching through the muscle with a nail gun. Sarah took a quick sniff of the anemic mana field to try to learn more. It didn''t take long to conclude that if the damage had been done with a spell, the traces had long since faded. Still, the idea that it had been inflicted with something besides a core seemed unlikely. Sarah circled around the body hoping to get a better sense of the display. When she reached the edge of the steps, she noticed a length of fishing wire had been wrapped around the victim''s chest. It was this borderline invisible string that was suspending the cadaver in front of the door. Sarah ran her fingers over the thin tether. She suspected the perpetrator had wanted to keep the corpse flush against the frame, except he''d been in such a rush, he''d left a gap between the body and the entrance. It wasn''t wide enough to let her slip by the bloated mannequin; however, it did provide sufficient space to notice the floor was nearly spotless. Sarah deduced that the man had been murdered elsewhere before being made into a public spectacle. "Now, the only question is whether this was intended for me or one of Townsend''s neighbors." Sarah drummed her fingers against the pantleg of her jeans. Her nails sent silent echoes reverberating across the taut material. "You can interject at any time!" The parking lot remained stubbornly silent. Sarah hadn''t expected a response, but sometimes you got lucky and could trick an eavesdropper into revealing themselves via an offhand aside. It was dumb, but so were people, and Townsend struck her as the gloating type. The fact that he hadn''t put in an appearance left her inclined to think this wasn''t his work. "Damn it all." Sarah blew out an irritated breath. "I''m going to need more gun." The firearm she had taken from Townsend had been a comforting presence following her freakout. With that being said, it''s limited tube capacity and prodigious barrel length left it ill-suited for whatever awaited her within. When the infiltrator had a better alternative stashed away in her luggage, there just wasn''t a good reason to make do with a cumbersome trophy. Sarah dragged her duffle bag onto the hood of the car. She groped around near the bottom of the sack and felt her thumb brush against a metallic protrusion once she''d fumbled past the folds of her underwear. She wrapped her fingers around the unseen object. When she pulled her hand out, a magazine full of nine-millimeter rounds came with it. The Uzi they were paired with followed shortly thereafter. "I can''t believe this jackass is making me break out all of the old kit. Ten years, I''ve been sitting on this piece of shit without having to fire a shot; now, I don''t know if a hundred will be enough." Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! She checked the charging handle and yanked on the metal stock. A decade of intermittent maintenance meant the latter was reluctant to unfold. "Are these even still good?" Sarah side-eyed one of the dusty catridges peeking past the magazine''s lip. They''d been stored in her closet, so she didn''t expect much rust; however, everything had an expiration date, and gunpowder was hardly an exception. "...Fuck it." She lined the bullets up with the grip and slid them home with a click. Sarah made sure the safety was engaged before digging through her bag for a second magazine and a clip. The later was especially important because she didn''t think she could fit a reload into the waistband of her pants. "I should have brought my freaking purse." Sarah slammed the car door shut and tried to get used to the weight. The Uzi rose and fell a couple of times as she lined the sights up with her cheek. The weapon didn''t sit well; not physically and not emotionally. Violence may have been her birthright, but there was a reason why she''d let her training lapse. A pity life was determined to break her streak. If it''d been a little more accommodating, she could have been curled up on the couch watching re-runs of Jeopardy with Simon. Amanda would be there - and maybe Pallsburg - and all they''d have to worry about was being too drunk to show up for work in the morning. That was the dream, right? Family, friends and a job you didn''t hate? Sarah might have possessed two of the three, but the first was stolen and the second was strained by her ties to the Offal Sea. It left everything feeling like a wash. "Last chance to stop this from turning into a bug hunt!" The angry shout didn''t provoke a response, so Sarah resigned herself to wading through the spooky death trap. It sucked, but what could you do? She cut the body down with her keys and marched inside the gruesome arena. The interior was pitch black. Sarah''s headlights provided a few scattered pools of illumination; however, none of them reached the concession stand, which bordered the enclosed rink. Sarah kept her weapon pointed at the counter as she swept the rest of the room. It looked like the owner had been using the pandemic to get some remodeling done. Most of the alterations were in a state that the contractors would call ''feature complete,'' while the few that still needed more time had been left ''as-is'' until the laborers could return with their tools. Sarah kicked a rusty paint can over and watched the oily fluid form a puddle between the bathroom and the ticket office. "I can''t say I''m impressed with the digs! The body outside made me expect an Artist''s atelier - not Mr. Freeze cheaping out on his rent!" A drop of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades before sliding beneath the strap of her bra. The Uzi''s grip was supposed to wick moisture away, but Sarah felt like it''d slip out of her hands if she didn''t grip the barrel by the base. She wondered if Townsend could smell her fear or if his nose was too clogged up from the dust and the leaking refrigerant. The mana field remained still. Sarah skulked beside the tacky sheetrock until she found the panel that controlled the lights. When she hit the switch with her shoulder, the emergencies kicked in at once while the primaries followed a few seconds later. Altogether, they left the rink sparkling with a technicolor glare as the air conditioner whirred into motion. The sound of soft clapping echoed from the far side of the room. Sarah covered the lower walkway with her gun since it was hard to make out the source. Finally, with a drawling lit she could have recognized blind-folded, Mannly bellowed across the gap. "I think this is the part where I tell you, ''The princess is in another castle!'' Tough break, Fields; looks like you''re a little late!" Sarah resisted the urge to put a couple of rounds down range. The gun was only accurate out to about a hundred meters, and the far side of the rink was close to its limit. Plus, there was the safety glass in front of the stands to consider; the vitric panels wouldn''t be thick enough to stop a bullet, but a deflection was definitely in the cards. "You know, Kennedy warned me you might be here. Personally, I figured there was no way you''d be that stupid, yet here you are smearing egg all over my face. What happened? You decide to have a sleep over and enjoy some pay-per-view? Maybe dome a gas station attendant and wrap him up like a Christmas tree?" Sarah squinted, struggling to peer through the spots. She didn''t take her eyes off the youth, yet it was hard to make out much besides a skinny, black and red blur. Mannly wasn''t quite so concerned. He propped his feet up on the backrest of the chair in front of him and let his body slump into an inelegant sprawl. "Would you believe me if I told you, ''he was like that when I got here?'' It''s a scary world, Fields. It doesn''t need us to shit in its cheerios." Sarah began to circle around the rink. The growing chill cast a moist film across the floor, causing each of her steps to squeak. "Cut the crap. We both know you told Townsend to take a swing at me. You''re literally sitting in his chair - surrounded by his stuff. Why don''t you just cop to it?" The warspawn watched her approach, most of his body shielded by the bleachers. "Because I''m offended by the accusation? Because I''d rather gargle Windex than lend you a hand? I don''t know what you want me to tell you: my life doesn''t revolve around your damage." Sarah scowled. She couldn''t see what he was doing with his hands, and it was putting her on edge. "Last chance, Mannly. What are you doing here? If you give me a good enough excuse, maybe I won''t test the glass." She rapped the penalty box with her Uzi. Mannly tried to maintain an air of idle disdain, but Sarah could see the way his eyes kept tracking the barrel. The smug prick wasn''t as unaffected as he was trying to appear. Unfortunately, his anxiety was also less pronounced than it should have been, so he clearly had an ace up his sleeve in the event this confrontation turned violent. Sarah scanned the stands. It was hard to make anything out from the half-court line, but a few of the chairs looked wet. Gasoline, maybe? Or blood? The bright-red plastic would obscure the latter, and most fossil fuels were too clear to show up easily when spilt. If Mannly intended to torch the place, she could be in for a rough night. "Do I need to give you a countdown?" she asked him as she probed the local mana. "Maybe hum the Jeopardy theme?" Her finger tightened on the trigger. A deadline was the last thing she wanted; however, it was too late to take the offer back. She couldn''t look unresolved. They''d been trained to target weakness, and Mannly was a proponent of the old ways. If he sensed any hesitation, he''d kill her on general principle. "How about..." The youth shut his mouth with a click. A queer expression slid across his face while his interface opened on its own. [Regional Milestone Achieved], the notification read before the message repeated itself by Sarah''s hip. [Condense Sixty Million Mana (complete)]. [Reward: 88.012 mn / 1.032 m3 / 2 min, purity = local, alignment = local]. [Activation in: 0:47]. Neither of them needed to look at their screen to know the upcoming wave would be intense. They could already feel it in their fins and along the tips of their tendrils. Mannly ran the numbers, anyway. She could see him working his way through the math in the hope that his conclusion was wrong. It wasn''t. Even with the protection afforded by their hosts, this was going to be brutal. Sarah wasn''t sure she cared. She gave Mannly a moment to recall their conversation and then put a three round burst into the stands. "Pay attention, jackass, we''re not done here, yet." Mannly''s head whipped around in a full-body flinch; one which grew more obvious after it stopped dead at his collarbone. "You must be joking." "Did I stutter? Do you see a smile on my face? If you want a chance to kiss your ass goodbye, then answer the fucking question. Where''s Townsend?" Mana was beginning to gather in the arena. The local field was aligned with both ''Ice'' and ''Metal,'' so its initial manifestation was limited to floating crystals, which spiraled up towards the HVAC system, high above their heads. Once the Light opened up the taps, though, the two of them might see an elemental substantiate. It''d depend on the room''s geometry. "I -" Sarah shot one of the chairs a few rows to his right. "I don''t -" She got a little closer. "By all means," she growled. "Keep fucking lying to me. I''m more than willing to throw down while this place goes straight to hell." Sarah realized she meant it too. Townsend''s attack had put her whole world on pause, and there was no reason to pick through the rubble if he could create another pile whenever he wished. Focusing on the bastard wasn''t how she''d prefer to spend her time, but her feelings didn''t factor into it. Townsend was her top priority: accept no substitutes. By this point, Sarah was close enough that Mannly could see the furious twist of her lips. The tacky fluid surrounding his seat had resolved into blood, and his disheveled sprawl struck her as more imposed than intended. He wasn''t hurt - his movements were too crisp for that to be the case - but she figured his recovery was a recent development. A shard of ice suddenly erupted from the back of the rink and extended out across the arena. All along its length, fractal branches peeled away like fronds of broken glass. "Tick tock, Mannly. This offer has a fucking time limit." The infiltrator hawked a wet one. Sarah heard it slap against the concrete. "You want to know where Townsend is? Fine. He''s gone, Fields - is that what you want me to tell you? He slithered his ass into the head of some hobo and strode out here fifteen minutes ago. I wasn''t kidding when I said you''d just missed him." Sarah fought the urge to hold the trigger down. "Bullshit." "Why? Because you want me to be wrong? Sorry, bitch, but life doesn''t work that way." Mannly glanced at whatever he was fiddling with near the floor. Despite the effort he''d put into hiding it from view, he''d gotten a lot more cavalier about the fact that he was concealing something. Sarah assumed his negligence meant he was ready to beat her over the head with his surprise. "Well?" he asked her, his face expressionless. "Are we going to die here or what?" The mana reached a crescendo. Rime began to creep up the wall while thick panes grew out across the rink, creating a ring of crystalline balconies. Above her head, Sarah saw a brace of icicles descend from the catwalk and intermix with the pipes supporting the platform. The tips of the frozen needles gleamed with a brilliant luster. It was easy to wonder where all of the ''Metal'' mana had gone until the image nearly cut you to the quick. Sarah squirmed beneath the growing pressure. "W-why?" she choked out. "You got somewhere to be?" It was hard to form proper sentences. If the Blue Hills had posed a threat, then the field Sarah now found herself within realized that lethal potential. There were no significant caveats to such a statement - no abiding concerns. There couldn''t be; the local mana level would kill her before they ever became relevant. It was just a matter of time. ''Two minutes,'' the Light had said. The message wasn''t supposed to be a promise, but Sarah was inclined to hold the Network to its word. Two minutes... might be survivable. Maybe. It''d depend on how much of her protein sheath was boiled away as her myelin reserves evaporated. If she could hold on, time would repair the damage. If she couldn''t, Mannly would happily stomp on her throat to hide her corpse amidst the rest of the offal. ''...nine... ten... eleven.'' At the fifteen second mark Mannly fell out of his chair. Whatever dignity he''d been trying to preserve fled him as he curled into a tight ball. Not because of the pain - though that was likely a factor - but because it let him protect his body by putting more meat between his neck and the world. Sarah wondered if it would help. There was too much mana in the air to pinpoint the energy''s source, and any desire to imitate the attempt was spoiled by their ongoing feud. At the end of the day, Sarah didn''t trust Mannly enough to lower her gun, so she suffered, instead. For a time in silence and then at volume until her ears grew deaf to her screams. When her throat finally failed her, Sarah assumed it was due to fatigue. Time had gotten a little wobbly, the longer the wave had stretched on, and while she knew she was past the hump, it was hard to say by how much. Ten - maybe twenty seconds? More? Sarah didn''t think it mattered. This wasn''t the sort of test where you got a letter grade: there was only pass or fail - life or death. Still, it was difficult to remain focused as she strove to endure the Light''s gift. At least, until her toes spasmed, then it wasn''t hard at all. ''No. Shut up,'' Sarah subvocally hissed, a dozen inflamed tendrils dancing along her host''s spine. ''You''re not real. You''re not a person. Go back to being the reason I get drunk at two p.m.'' The flailing ghost of the Fields'' dead daughter lacked the self-awareness to truly fight back. It had been too long, and the war too strange, for her to even stand a chance. These were just the last spastic gasps of Sarah''s wavering grip - the psychological equivalent of pissing herself because she''d been tased below the belt. It was awkward and embarrassing, but she refused to entertain the idea that it was evidence of a chronic condition. Let Amanda flirt with that abyss if she had the stomach for it; Sarah was content to self-medicate until her shame was a faded memory. Now, if only her body would comply. Sadly, her internal struggle didn''t end simply because she happened to talk a good game. Instead, it continued to play out in gasps and whimpers as she fought with her host for control. Mannly chuckled to himself by the steps leading up through the bleachers. The metal released an oscillating creak whenever his stomach contracted too hard. "Something funny?" Sarah hollered back, her tone tense and distracted. She could literally hear the youth shrug. "You wouldn''t get the joke. Not really. Plus, I don''t think it would have much punch if I lay here long enough to explain it. I''ll tell you what, though: why don''t you close your eyes and say the first thing that pops into your head." About halfway through his speech, Sarah heard the sirens. They howled with a manic insistence that was too high-pitched to be a fire truck and too low to be the EMTs. ''Must be the police,'' she concluded. It sounded like they were just down the block. Mannly stuck his cellphone out into the central aisle. His finger was stretched across the pickup to better disguise their conversation. "You know, your scream was very authentic. I bet you cut a minute off their response time with your panic alone." He yanked the device back before a bullet could penetrate the screen. If he''d been half a second slower, Sarah would have taken his finger too. "Prick," she hissed while a wisp of smoke wafted from the end of the barrel. Then, louder, "You''re playing a dangerous game, Mannly. What makes you think you''ll get away with this prank." The warspawn didn''t need to watch his words since he had control of the phone. "That''s a good question! Here''s a better one! What makes you think you can kill me and still get away from the cops?" His voice was disgustingly smug. "Think about it, Fields. You''ve only got a limited window before they arrive. Are you going to stick around and finish the job? Are you going to chase after Townsend? It''s like you said earlier: tick-fucking-tock." Sarah ignored the pain of having her words thrown back in her face. She simply didn''t have time to flinch while she balanced her need for safety against whatever short-term satisfaction would come from offing the temperamental, little shit. "You''re a real cunt - you know that, Mannly?! One of these days your mouth is going to write a check that your ass can''t cash!" "Maybe, but it won''t be tonight!" he called back lightly. "This has been fun, though, Fields! We should do it again!" Sarah hosed the bleachers down on her way out. Given his laughter, she didn''t think he got hit. Cuckoo 9 The Uzi screeched in protest as Sarah removed the empty mag. There was supposed to be a pin in the receiver to keep the bullets from falling onto the ground; however, the influx of mana from the Light had caused the part to subtly warp. It meant there was now a long scratch along what was once unblemished steel. "Fucking..." Sarah flipped the magazine around and inserted the spare that was clipped to the base. The cartridges were sticky and didn''t want to slide home, so she slammed them with the flat of her palm until they finally agreed to cooperate. At the same time that Sarah almost broke her wrist, thunder began to rumble through the increasingly tempestuous sky. The air currents were agitated for the same reason why Frosty had nearly come to life, and they were dragging along the storm, which Sarah had sensed earlier in the evening. Altogether, the noise was nearly enough to drown out the sirens, rapidly approaching from the north. Sarah figured she had about three minutes until the police pulled into the parking lot. If she was still here when they arrived, Mannly would do his best to leave her holding the bag. Hell, that shifty bastard might even pull the ''scared kid'' routine just so he could force it into her hands. It was hard to say; she suspected it''d come down to how much he valued his host. Sarah assumed he''d play it safe. The youth had been on Earth for over five years now, and most of her peers got possessive within two. If it''d let him keep living the high life, he wouldn''t rock such a luxurious boat. A thin film of ice broke around her hand as Sarah yanked on her car door. The Subaru''s paint was normally an unobtrusive blue; however, the ice rink''s rampaging mana had left a layer of pale rime spread across the azure frame. She prayed the brittle hoar frost hadn''t wrecked the engine too. If she got arrested because her ride was less robust than her gun, she''d never hear the end of it. "Come on," she muttered as she twisted the key in the ignition. "Don''t you dare quit on me now." The pistons sputtered and then engaged with a wet hum. When Sarah was certain the Light hadn''t turned her fuel tank into an IED, she pulled out onto the road. The asphalt was dangerously slick for the initial three hundred feet. After she reached the intersection, though, the blacktop began to band. First, with what appeared to be a source of pure ''Water'' mana and then a more conceptually mixed ''Earth.'' Of the two, the latter was a bigger problem, since it caused alternating pillars of granite to pockmark the narrow boulevard. The former just made the shoulder wet. Sarah activated her windshield wipers to better combat the spray. Through a wave of glistening droplets, the flashing lights of two police cruisers stood out against the starless horizon. Their distant sirens looked like tiny balls of tricolored lightning, pitched by angels on high. They were also positively humming as they raced each other to the bottom of the hill. Sarah hoped the officers driving the cars wouldn''t pancake themselves against the road''s latest obstruction. To ensure she didn''t join them in the morgue, she checked her speedometer''s display. The little, orange needle was still under the legal limit. Unless the dispatcher had been able to I.D. her during the call, the patrol should just pass on by. Her stolen shotgun shivered beneath the dashboard every time the blonde hit a pothole. Sarah put her hand on the barrel to prevent it from slipping beneath the brake while she watched the cops dip into her lane to avoid a patch of molten tar. It left the three vehicles uncomfortably close to one another when they finally crossed paths. If either of the officers glanced in Sarah''s direction, the parasite couldn''t tell. Half of the streetlights were either inoperable or turned off, and there was a slight tint to their windows, which prevented her from peaking inside. All she could make out through the foggy glass were their vague silhouettes and the glow from an open laptop. The air snapped with a sharp crack as a bolt of lightning ricocheted between the clouds. The deafening boom sent Sarah''s heart into overdrive and her free hand shooting towards the wheel. She missed it by about three inches. Instead, her wrist slapped against the steering column and her forearm along the ring. Her Subaru swerved. Neither of the cops turned around, despite her close brush with the guardrail. If her near death experience hadn''t grabbed their attention, she must not be on their radar. Not really. Certainly, no more than any other vehicle on the road. And honestly, what were they even going to do if she happened to catch their eye? Turn around? Chase her down? Sarah laughed until her stomach hurt. No, she''d be ear-marked for a follow up once they''d gotten a handle on the current crisis. Since there was a decent chance her cover was already blown, Sarah was determined not to sweat it. ''Better,'' she thought, ''to focus on the more pressing issues.'' Issues like chasing down Townsend before he could go to ground. The parasite had a sizeable lead on her, if Mannly had been telling the truth, and he''d apparently found a new host, which she''d have a hard time differentiating from Adam. If that wasn''t bad enough, the Light''s mana had done a real number on the city in general. It was hard to spot anything too egregious while her heartbeat was ringing in her ears; however, the more distance she put between herself and the rink, the easier it became to assess the damage. In short? The weeping thorns spilling out from the underbrush were only a minor concern. A far bigger one was the knock the Light had dealt to the public''s sense of safety. For two weeks, most of the nation had been skating by on the assumption that they could avoid all of this spooky bullshit by sticking their head in the sand. Then, the Network had grabbed them by the throat and strangled their dreams in the proverbial crib. It was enough to make you consider breaking out the benzos. Even though the mana surge had only lasted for a few minutes, the effects it had left behind were both ubiquitous and unavoidable. The level of danger the transformations represented didn''t even factor into it: people were just plain scared. As Sarah drove through the suburbs of downtown Bridgewater, it became increasingly obvious whenever she saw families fleeing their home. Where they thought they were going, she couldn''t say. It wasn''t like it''d be any safer up north. Provided a household made it past the edge of the [Regional Area], there was a good chance that events would simply repeat themselves once their neighbors hit a milestone of their own. Such was the nature of the beast. Well, part of it, anyway. People comprised much of the rest. Hungry; hurting; desperate to get ahead. Sarah would say she''d seen it all before, but to be honest Deravan had been much worse. So far, no one was murdering their sibling in order to eat his corpse. Until a toddler rolled over and began gnawing upon his brother, it was hard to match the same level of misery. Deravan... Deravan had truly been a shithole by every metric save natural beauty. The beaches were terrific; the people inspired only terror. Once, Sarah had been part of that storm and cruel enough to navigate its currents; years later, she''d been deployed to Earth, and the decades of peace had filed away her edge. Townsend... Townsend had yet to finish that process. Hiding from a beating was still burned into his brain. It left Sarah increasingly certain he''d turtled up, the longer she went without a sighting. The milky glow of her headlights played across the shuttered windows of a worn-down laundromat. The sign read, ''24/7 service,'' but the offer was either out of date or more ambitious than the owner himself. The building next to it, an unenfranchised diner named ''Folley''s,'' had closed at eleven. Sarah checked the doors to see if either lock had been picked, and then pressed her face up against the glass when the handles refused to budge. The restaurant''s interior was unoccupied from what little she could make out. There was a bar off to the side, and a tiny window leading into the kitchen, but neither was any livelier than the rest of the abandoned strip. If Townsend had broken in, he''d been far more circumspect than usual. And that was a problem, because Sarah looked suspicious as hell skulking by the side of the curb. There were a pair of cops literally right down the block. All it''d take to create the world''s most awkward conversation was for one of them to pack it in early. Meanwhile, searching for Townsend was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even if she got lucky, and caught the warspawn red-handed, there was no guarantee she''d be able to recognize the person she was looking at. It was just... she didn''t want to give up. She didn''t want to give the bastard a pass. Her vendetta had long since crossed the line into naked spite, but so what? Sarah wasn''t acting like a crazed stalker because she was concerned about her image - she was doing it to murder Townsend. To fuck every piece of his scaley ass. If only she could pin him down. Bit of a key phrase there. One which felt increasingly unlikely as the sound of sirens cut out and Sarah grew resigned to her shortcomings. It was late, she was tired and there was a point when even the most naked fury was smothered by exhaustion and ennui. Giving up wasn''t how she wanted the night to end, but the blonde was used to disappointment. She''d even go so far as to call herself an expert. A light drizzle chose that moment to precipitate across the lane. The rain was gentle, and lacked the poetic timing to wait until the clouds were directly above her head; however, Sarah could still feel the weight of the water''s presence baring down on her all the same. It was nearly paralyzing. Returning to the comfort of her car would have been the simplest thing in the world, yet she chose to loiter by the bike-rack and watch the curtain inch closer to her refuge. The dust-strewn concrete darkened to a muddy brown along a line you could have traced with a ruler. When it was less than a pace away, Sarah felt her phone vibrate and reached down to check the display. The screen read, ''617-883-9250.'' She wished it was a robo-call, instead. You could ignore a telemarketer without having to feel guilty; if Sarah blew her grandmother off, she was definitely going to hell. Her finger swiped at the flashing, green button. Amelia Hauser didn''t wait for the call to connect before she started talking. "-arah?! Sarah is that you?! Please tell me this piece of junk is finally working again!" A couple of raindrops splattered against the toe of Sarah''s boot. The flattened beads spread across the leather in a scintillating smear before slipping down towards the sole. "...Yeah, it''s working. I''m here. Is something wrong? You sound pretty frantic." If she''d been in a better headspace, the old woman might have picked up on the listlessness in her granddaughter''s voice. Since the Light had just finished dragging half the state into Narnia, her tone didn''t quite register. "Of course, I''m frantic!" Amelia complained, frustrated by her carrier''s incompetence. "I''ve been trying to get through to you for the past twenty minutes! Apparently, all of the lines have been clogged because the network was never designed to accommodate seven million people at once!" Sarah glanced at an approaching haze of pink gas. She made a moue of understanding and rubbed the back of her neck. "You''re right; that makes a lot of sense. Sorry, I''m not handling this very well. Can we start over?" Her grandmother paused. Sarah could feel the woman''s gaze narrow into a shrewd slit. "Sarah, have you been taking your pills?" This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The blonde flushed. She may have missed a couple of doses while stressing the Offal Sea. "For the most part. I''ve been talking to my doctor about trying to lower the dosage. Why?" "Because you sound like you need them. Rectify that. I''ll wait." Lexapro didn''t work as fast as the old woman imagined. Sarah didn''t want to point out the flaw in her logic, though. It seemed too whingy. Besides, it wasn''t like her cabinet was even accessible at the moment. Fuck, depending on where those bullets had landed, it might not be intact. She shuffled closer to the diner''s neon pipework. The cloud of semi-sentient mana slowly drifted past. Each curl of the billowing smoke smelled like opportunity, and Sarah could hear it imploring her to inhale its fumes as it beckoned her to come a little closer. Sarah ignored the insidious whispers. The esoteric elements had always given her a bad vibe whenever they''d been addressed during training. "Sorry, but I''m kind of in the middle of something at the moment. Ducking out isn''t super feasible." Her grandmother assumed the worst. "Are you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?" Sarah huffed, the laugh unexpectedly bitter. "You know, you''re the second person to ask me that tonight?" She shook her head. "I''m fine. The light show isn''t the problem." The old woman wasn''t reassured. "What''s wrong, then? I''m worried about you, Sarah." The parasite paced in front of the abandoned plaza, so the overhang could protect her from the rain. She considered remaining silent, but there wasn''t much reason to avoid the broad strokes of her day. Finally, she just spit it out. "There was a break in," she explained, the deception writing itself. "Earlier tonight. Before... all of this." Sarah waved her hand at the eldritch phenomena cluttering up the road. "I think it might have been a robbery? Or one of those doomsday cults? Anyway, the guy tried to get through the door with a shotgun. I''m not hurt, but it''s left me a little shaken." Her grandmother sucked in a breath. "Oh my god! Are you at the station?" "No. I tried to call it in, but nobody got hit. With everything else going on..." She trailed off. "Well, the police have worse things to worry about." Sarah leaned against the diner''s locked door. "I''m actually on the road, right now. It didn''t feel safe to stick around, so I decided to take a drive." "Have you at least pulled over?" Amelia asked. Sarah snorted. She pressed her back against the cool pane and let the evening''s chill sooth her mana-strained scales. "Before I answered your call? Of course, I''m not an idiot." A liar, maybe, but not an idiot. Her grandmother offered some inane platitude, and the parasite responded in kind. The exchange was familiar. Rote. It was the sort of call and response that Sarah could have performed in her sleep. She''d certainly done it often enough growing up in their lavish bungalow. A sick shudder rolled through her throat before settling on the back of her tongue. Sarah struggled not to gag from the weight of her own self-disgust. "Hey, not to cut you off, but do you think it''d be okay if I crashed at your place tonight. I don''t want to be alone if I can help it." Her grandmother didn''t hesitate to throw open her door. "You know you''re always welcome. Are you going to wait until the roads clear?" The smog ran into a racoon and forced itself into the animal''s throat. Its fur briefly turned purple and then returned to its usual brown. "It''s probably not as bad as the news is making it out. I''ll be there in less than an hour." /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ The trip actually took seventy-five minutes. Amelia didn''t hold the delay against her, though. The old woman had always considered Sarah to be a conscientious child, and if the blonde said that she''d been held up by traffic, her grandmother was inclined to believe her. A less forgiving soul might have called her faith unduly credulous. Sarah knew it had merely been finessed. Honed. The warspawn had spent over ten years residing beneath her roof, and most of those halcyon days had been spent crafting a very specific reputation. The fact that it endured two decades later said more about her skill than Amelia''s gullibility. A sharp chirp rang out over the property as Sarah locked her car. Her grandmother, a fairly short woman with an ashen bob, was hovering by the edge of the porch. She seemed tense - impatient even. Sarah got the impression that Amelia would have run down the ivy-covered steps if only her hip could take it. The parasite decided to save her another trip to the emergency room and met her by the wooden railing. "I take it you got my message?" Sarah asked as she embraced the frail woman''s shoulders. Amelia frowned. "If that''s what you want to call it. ''Highway sucks - might be late.'' There''s barely enough there for a tweet." She brushed her hands over Sarah''s blouse as if to make sure she was truly unharmed. When her skittish inspection failed to reveal any bloodstains, the old woman took a step back and led the two inside. Sarah gently closed the door with her foot. "You didn''t have to stay up. It must be almost midnight. I''d have been fine slipping in on my own." "Says the woman who was nearly robbed. And really, am I supposed to let you steal in like a thief in the night? Don''t be ridiculous." She puttered around the cramped foyer, toying with the hatrack and the artistic swirls of the umbrella stand. Half of the rosewood curls were currently occupied by steel and canvas while two more remained dusty from disuse. Sarah scowled at the neglect. Her gaze slowly shifted towards the Persian hall runner leading up the winding staircase. Streaks of dirt marred the colorful fabric as well as the varnished hardwood in front of the closet. Even the wallpaper was looking a little waxy. Sarah suspected the jade petals hadn''t seen a scrub brush in weeks. "What about Maria?" Sarah asked her. "Don''t you think she could''ve handled it?" Amelia grunted disagreeably. "Maria''s on ''vacation.'' Has been since the third. I''d hold it against her, but it''s not like she doesn''t have the time saved up." Sarah couldn''t conceal her dismay. "The hospital didn''t send you a replacement?" "Some woman named Jenny was supposed to stop by." Amelia twisted her nose in an aristocratic snort. "Obviously, she never made it. I''d send them a complaint, but I''m pretty sure they have bigger problems than a geriatric with a broken hip. Besides, she''s not even a member of their staff: they outsourced all of their live-in care to some company up in Montreal." It was a struggle not to curse. "You still should have told me. Work''s been slow since the beginning of covid. I could have handled my responsibilities from your kitchen until she got back." Amelia waved the offer off. "I know how much you enjoy your space. We''d get on each other''s nerves after a couple of days, and then spend every evening until Christmas dancing around the damage. I''ll not have it. Better to just wait the whole mess out." Yeah, except this ''mess'' wasn''t going anywhere, the Light of the World had seen to that. Sarah fought the urge to say as much while the local mana battered her tendrils. Despite the fact that it carried hints of ''Gold'' and ''Success,'' the blonde thought it tasted like futility. "At least let me clean the place up. I can''t stand the idea of you living in all of this filth." "In the morning," Amelia acquiesced. "The grime will keep. In the meantime, let me show you to your room. I think you''ll like what I''ve done with the place." Sarah followed her grandmother through the cased opening, which separated the parlor from the front hall. All across the embossed molding were the familiar, creeping vines, she''d used to measure herself as a child. Not vertically, as most parents might have imagined, but rather laterally along their flowering whirls. She paused to run her fingers over the engravings before ducking beneath the arch. Near the base of the braided couch, Amelia watched her granddaughter with an air of faint approval. "I''ve been meaning to ask: how has Boston been? I never got used to living with all that smog." "It''s been fine," Sarah replied, glancing up from the time-worn relief. "The city''s introduced a lot of initiatives to reduce local emissions. The air quality''s like night and day compared to what you experienced in the eighties. Maybe even literally." "Mmmm. Do they still make you take the subway if you want to get anywhere?" Amelia limped past a crystal vase, set beside a large bay window. "I drove here, didn''t I?" Sarah deflected a few more disparaging comments, disguised as casual conversation. The old woman had never been fond of the urban sprawl, and she kept dropping hints that Sarah should move somewhere less low-class. Not back home, necessarily, but certainly to a town with a lower crime rate. Wayland, perhaps. Nothing horrible ever happened in Wayland. "Ah, there we go," Amelia muttered as she crammed a wrought iron key into its matching lock. "I haven''t been back here since Maria moved in, so let me know if the bedding needs to be changed." The heavy door swung open to reveal an ivory rug with traceries dyed seafoam and pine. At the back of the room, there was a transom looking out onto the expansive lawn, and below it Sarah could spy two glass panes leading out onto a small balcony. If her memory was correct, there should be a four-foot gap between the ledge and the garden. It used to be less, but she hadn''t enjoyed her bedroom being accessible from the yard. She turned away. Sarah let her eyes play over the marbled vanity and the bookshelf full of sun-stained paperbacks. She had always preferred to buy her textbooks, rather than borrow them for class, so barring a bit of reading material she''d taken with her to college, nearly all of the novels remained right where she''d left them. "You''ve kept everything the same?" Sarah asked, touched by her grandmother''s care. "For the most part. I had to install a stair lift after the accident, so I had the electrician redo the wiring while he was at it. I hate the way that infernal machine clashes with the decor, but at least the lights don''t flicker, anymore." Amelia hit the switch and stared at the crystal dome occluding their vibrant glow. "Come to think of it, when was the last time you were in here? Normally, you insist on sleeping in the guest room, whenever you spend the night." "Not since I quit my job," Sarah answered woodenly. "Maybe right after high school? I''m not sure. I was really busy, once I''d earned my degree." Amelia hummed. "And afterwards it didn''t feel like the right fit?" Sarah was unable to suppress a flinch. Her grandmother seemed vaguely amused. "Don''t look so surprised - I was the same way when I moved back in with my parents. During my youth, I must have lived and died to burn my bra, then - once all of that ''free love'' schlock failed to work out - I couldn''t stand the crap I had plastered across my walls. I probably filled three garbage bags throwing it all away. Sarah squirmed, her discomfort obvious, despite the layers of sinew and skin concealing her writhing form. "I don''t think you''ve ever told me that story." Amelia shrugged. "There isn''t much to tell. You also didn''t need to hear it. You were always a very practical child. Extremely down to earth. I never had to worry about you running off just so you could chase a pretty smile. Your mother was the same way. I guess we all learned a valuable lesson from my own poor example." The old woman noticed her granddaughter''s unease. "Do you still hate talking about her?" "Sorry," Sarah apologized. "I know you''d appreciate someone with whom you can reminisce." Amelia huffed forbearingly. "Well, you lost your parents while you were young. It''s only natural their deaths would leave a mark." Sarah remained silent. The strange mix of hateful yearning and callous disregard, which had characterized her youth, made it hard to have an opinion on the matter. The idea of family had been too new, and too impermanent, for the parasite to cling to her guardians in the way she now wished she had. Instead, it was Amelia who had inherited those feelings, along with Sarah''s more atavistic obsession. Thomas and Lisa Fields were just a pair of faces, she''d flayed herself to mirror and ape. "Do you think they''d approve?" "Of you?" Amelia asked. Sarah nodded with a touch of hesitance. "I was very cognizant of their expectations growing up. Or at least... what I imagined their expectations would have been, had they lived. I want to believe that I''ve moved past seeking their affection, but in truth, I fear I''ve merely shifted focus. Become less material." She shuffled her feet. "Do you think people can truly change?" "Intrinsically?" Her grandmother bit her lip. "Perhaps a little. It''s easy to fall into a rut, and life is long enough to let you dig a deep one. There are a number of bad habits I''ve failed to kick, despite knowing I''d be better off without them. Constantly tinkering with this old house, for one. Never getting married would be another." Sarah winced at the mental image. "I can''t imagine you dating." "It doesn''t paint a pleasant picture, does it?" The old woman chuckled. "I''m not sure I''d disagree. I may feel young, but I own a mirror for a reason." She glanced pointedly at the pane hanging next to Sarah''s closet. "To return to your original question: yes, I think your parents would have approved. They both understood how life can come at you fast, and that you might have to make the best of an otherwise bad hand. Neither were without their flaws. It''d be rather strange if they expected you to break the pattern." The blonde let her shoulders sink. "Then, why doesn''t it feel sufficient?" Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. "Should it? There''s a reason why there''s a gap between your head and your heart. Sometimes it takes a little while for what you know in one to make its way to the other." She stared out the window at the dark pall, illuminated by Boston''s skyline. "But why don''t you sleep on it? Maybe you''ll get lucky, and the insight will have finished the trip by morning." Cuckoo 10 Sarah awoke beneath a woolen blanket with the scent of cinnamon wafting through the air. It was early morning, and a ray of sunlight was shining through the large, bay window set into the eastern wall. The hour was late enough that the shaft had begun to creep across the lace trim of her warm comforter; if she''d slept for another twenty minutes, the beam would have risen high enough to stab her directly in the eyes. ''I should have closed the curtains,'' she thought idly to herself. Sarah weighed the advantages of doing so now and decided to roll over, instead. Down the hall, she could hear metal rattling around as her grandmother bustled about the kitchen. The sound reminded her of lazy Saturdays spent sleeping in this exact spot and how little she had valued them during her youth. Like most eight-year-olds, her thoughts had been focused on other obsessions - ''grander'' concerns - that now seemed trite when re-examined with the weight of experience. The fact that those interests had been darker than her peers was irrelevant: they''d both been just as blind. "I want to stay like this forever," she whined softly into her pillow. There was a world beyond the predations of the Offal Sea, and it was found in the taste of morning dew as you stretched your legs before a run. In the chilly condensation coating a cold beer while the ocean''s waves lapped against a sand-covered pier. And yes, in moments like this one when all you wanted to do was go back to sleep but knew the second time you woke up, it would never be this perfect. Above her head, a strand of mana began to twist beneath the coffered ceiling as it was colored by wonder and nostalgia. If the sentiment had been more common, Sarah might have been tempted to nurture a core of it deep within her gut. Unfortunately, feelings like these only came once a season, and sometimes less often than that. Still, she refused to let the dream go until the fragile motes had fully faded. Ten minutes passed in lethargic contentment before the sun had risen high enough to fulfill its hateful promise. Sarah answered the assault by throwing her arm across her face. The experience wasn''t the same, though. She sighed. The blonde crawled out of her toasty cocoon and ducked into the ensuite bathroom, next to her crowded bookcase. The counter of her porcelain vanity was missing its usual toiletries. Sarah kept an electronic toothbrush upstairs, in case she wanted to spend the night; however, it was too much effort to go hunt the widget down, so she made do with her finger and a handful of water, instead. By the time she was done rinsing her mouth out, the smell of French toast had stoked her hunger enough to go beg a slice from her grandmother. She should have spared herself the indignity; there was a plate already waiting for her while Amelia cleaned the stove. "Oh," the old woman said when she noticed her granddaughter slink in. "I was just about to fetch you. I suppose this spares me the trip." "You made me breakfast?" Sarah hovered by the doorway, her elbow dangerously close to an egg-encrusted blender. "I''m grateful, but what''s the occasion?" Her grandmother arched an eyebrow in amused disbelief. "Mmm, I wonder. Be a dear and grab a bottle of maple syrup from the fridge." Sarah flushed and did as she was told. A tub of butter soon joined it, in addition to a pitcher of orange juice, which had been left sitting on the shelf. She took a moment to hunt for the container it''d originally come in, but there must have been an issue with the carton because she couldn''t find hide nor hair of it. Amelia set the table while her granddaughter continued to search. "Oh, do sit down. You''re worse than Maria. Always fidgeting that woman." Sarah retreated towards her chair with a jar of jam clutched between her thumb and her fore finger. Across from her cup, close to where her grandmother normally sat, a weathered tablet was resting on an elevated stand. It looked like Amelia had been listening to the news in between minding the pan. Sarah took a second to read the scrolling ticker while her grandmother grabbed a pair of forks. ''Eight dead following a shootout on I-93. Officers claim the situation is ''contained'' while gunfire erupts at half a dozen locations.'' The studio controlling the feed was having their cameraman direct his attention to an elemental in the background. Every once in a while, there''d be a puff of smoke as its billowing form was dimpled by a bullet before its flesh popped back into place. Sarah thought the cops would have had better luck if they''d beaten it with a broom. "How long has this been going on?" she asked, pointing at the monster made of ash. Her grandmother squinted at the screen. "Two - maybe three hours?" She shook her head. "No, it must be closer to two. Penny Williams was interviewing the Board of Ed. when they found the first body." She watched one of the officers begin to wave at someone off-screen; a few seconds later a patrolman ran over with an M-32 and braced the grenade launcher against the hood of a car. The weapon began firing flashbangs to no effect. Sarah felt vaguely ill on his behalf. The only way they''d be able to put the construct down was if they poisoned it with the right kind of mana. Normally, that''d mean launching a dozen ''Water'' cores at the elemental until its structure destabilized. What were the chances of an arcane fusillade, though? Few of the first responders carried themselves like a mage. The two watched in silence while they picked at their food. About ten minutes later, a bunch of private citizens showed up and tried to subdue the monster using thrown together spells. It didn''t go very well. After one of them hit a van by mistake, the vehicle exploded in its best Michael Bay impression. The elemental drifted closer to feed off the rippling flames; the would-be adventurers got pulled away by the cops. As for the cameraman - well, he took the time to get a wide-angle shot of the two teens who''d collapsed by the pyre. Sarah raised her cup in a half-mocking salute. "If I ever do anything that dumb, please scream at me." Her grandmother grimaced at the blood-stained shrapnel peppering the broken asphalt. "I trust you not to be so foolish." Sarah couldn''t stop a wave of self-deprecation from twisting her lips. "I''m sure their parents said the same thing. Has the Governor released a statement, yet?" Amelia tapped her finger against one of the pastel squares stitched into the checkered tablecloth. "Just the usual tripe about putting together a task force. Between the President''s ''Department of Significant Studies'' and the mayor''s ''Assessment Panel'' there must be half a dozen different programs by this point. If we''re lucky, one of them might even accomplish something by Christmas." She said it with the same rising lit she employed when talking about the lottery. Like she''d already written the money off, even though she knew she could win. Sadly, framing the sentiment around a loss was probably the right way to put it. The odds of the government getting a handle on the Light were pretty low, statistically speaking. If they followed the usual bell curve, Sarah suspected it''d take them around three years to internalize the basics, then two more to clean up the stopgaps they''d used to stem the bleeding. It''d depend on how much they split their attention once the Offal Sea staked its claim. "Do you really think they''ll botch their response?" Sarah asked her. The old woman pursed her lips. "You might be too young to remember this, but it took nearly three weeks before there was an official death toll for Hurricane Katrina. Since our current difficulties cover a much broader swathe of the country, I''m tempering my expectations." Sarah stuck the last of her breakfast into her mouth. The taste of the pan-fried eggs mixed with the sweetened bread and almost drowned out the floral notes clinging to the tips of her tendrils. "That might be for the best. Everyone''s been getting way too excited about jumping on the magical bandwagon. It''s nice to see a more sober take, for once." Amelia shuddered theatrically. "You''re going to put me in the grave with talk like that; I''m only supposed to be as old as I feel." Sarah flinched at the morbid joke while the old woman missed her granddaughter''s growing pallor. "Blasted thing, where''s the..." She tapped a button on top of the tablet, causing the window to close with a beep. This must not have been what she was aiming for because she released a troubled sigh. Sarah refused to read into it. Between the dry rasp and her previous complaint, the exhalation struck her as a particularly ill omen. "How serious were you last night? About me always being welcome." Amelia glanced away from the reflective glass. "Hmm? Oh, always, dear - you know that." "Are you sure?" Sarah pressed. "Because I was thinking it might be a good idea to stick around for a few days in case that guy comes back." ''Or in case he comes here,'' Sarah fret, though Townsend seemed like a distant threat, strange as that may be to say. Amelia narrowed her eyes, suspicious of her granddaughter''s motives. "This is about Maria, isn''t it? And the hospital." "It''s about a lot of things," Sarah deflected gracelessly. "Don''t tell me you wouldn''t enjoy the company. You''re always saying that I should try to visit more." "Yes, because you work too hard. Life should be shaped by mundane intimacies, not a catalog of grand events we''ve been taught by tv to treasure." Amelia''s words were cutting in their sardonic intuition. Sarah couldn''t bring herself to disagree. The source of her fervor might have been kindled in a crucible of cruel neglect; however, she knew her manic obsession was liable to be a mistake all the same. Deravan; the Light - magic and the war: these weren''t the things she should be focusing on when the curtain was closing on the world she had come to love. If she was stronger than her scars, she would have made an effort to cherish her blessings before they could all fade away. Alas, Sarah was a selfish bitch, and greed was in her blood; if she could have her cake and eat it too, she''d risk what she had for what she could hold and spit upon the idea that it''d all slip through her fingers. She''d already been burned once this week when Townsend had shot up her apartment; there was no way she''d let Amelia come to harm if there was any hope of preventing it. "I really do want to stay," Sarah insisted doggedly. "This might be the last chance we have to be a family." Amelia''s hand twitched towards her hip for all that she suppressed the gesture. "Nonsense; now, we''re both being melodramatic. I''m sure this kerfuffle will blow over in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, you can crash in your old bedroom if it really makes you feel better. None of this fearmongering, though: it''s far too depressing." Sarah released the breath she hadn''t realized she''d been holding. "Sure," she agreed easily. "I appreciate it." Amelia waved her gratitude off. "It''s really not a big deal." It was. More than she knew. More than Sarah was even ready to admit. She may have followed Amanda into the Blue Hills out of a mixture of sympathy and concern; however, Sarah was prepared to sprint through the streets of S¨¦lune if it''d disperse the coil of dread that was squirming in her chest. To that end, she excused herself from the table and quietly returned to her bedroom. She''d need the privacy if she was going to stop this from ending too tragically. /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Sarah took a deep breath as the door closed gently behind her. The local mana level seemed to be low, but there was enough osmosis from the Light''s scattered seeds to permit a faintly astringent burn. It felt like... just under one mana an hour. The specifics were hard to pin down without more specialized tools, but the flavors ran the gamut with the biggest surprise being a surfeit of the temporal elements. Most fields could barely manage a hefty two percent. The local bouquet was sitting closer to seven. When combined with a robust supply of both ''Air'' and ''Earth,'' it left her with a number of options, provided she was willing to juggle several cores. A less experienced sorceress might have shrugged and tried to mash everything together into one big ball. Sarah knew that doing so was a good way to end up with an unserviceable mess and ignored the urge to cut corners. Instead, she settled down on the narrow balcony and stuck her feet through the slats in the railing. Her toes dangled over the geraniums as the mana curled between her toes. She spent the afternoon separating the toxic stream. By the time the sun set, she had four relatively solid orbs, which she thought might be worth the trouble. The first contained a few units of ''Flower'' mana while the second was comprised of ''Air.'' The third, a centimeter wide ball of ''Earth,'' would have been her biggest gain if the fourth hadn''t contained almost two full motes of ''Time.'' It was this last prize which left Sarah uneasy. The esoteric elements were never as pure as their material counterparts, and you could make an argument that what she held was closer to an unstable mixture of ''Stasis'' and ''Transmutation.'' It wasn''t necessarily a problem; some concepts had fuzzier borders than their peers - and you could stretch things if you knew what you were doing - but... yeah. There was a difference between theory and practice. "Something on your mind?" Amelia asked while they played a game of Scrabble after dinner. "You''ve been rather quiet today." Sarah glanced up from her wooden rack and realized she''d barely said a word since breakfast. When her grandmother raised her eyebrows in silent query, Sarah felt her face abruptly flush. She rearranged her pieces so she wouldn''t have to meet Amelia''s gaze. "I''ve... ah... just been settling in. There''s this project I want to finish, and I''m worried about one of the programs I''ve been using to access the database back at the office. Sorry if it''s made me poor company." Amelia watched her granddaughter slap an ''E'' and a ''W'' down to turn ''Cash'' into ''Cashew.'' "When were you working on this?" she asked her. "While you were lazing around in bed?" For once, Sarah barely had to lie. "That''s the benefit of working from home. Like most people, I can do half my job from my phone." Her grandmother snorted and added the word ''Ski'' to the end of ''Jet'' to steal the double letter bonus. "Sounds more like brooding to me." "It''s really not." If anything, it was the antithesis. Unlike the angsty teens, who were quietly bemoaning their fate, Sarah knew how to fix her problem. It was called the [Crumbling Wall Technique], and its premise was pretty simple. Based upon the notion that the root of a sorcerer''s control was predicated on aligning a core with their body, the [Crumbling Wall Technique] externalized this process by altering the environment to resemble the flesh. Naturally, this resulted in a deceleration of the mana''s attenuation; perhaps more significantly, though, it allowed for a level of ''reach'' that was impossible for casual adherents. At some point, Sarah was going to resume hunting Townsend; since she wasn''t comfortable leaving her grandmother undefended, measures needed to be taken. Preferably via a core that wasn''t housed so close to her heart. "By the way, do you know whatever happened to my old art supplies?" Amelia tapped her cheek as she rearranged her tiles. "The ones from your high-school mentorship? I believe they''re still in the attic." Good, this was going to be messy, and Sarah didn''t want to stain her grandmother''s best glassware. In the meantime, she simply ruminated over her predicament while she finished up the match. When the scores were done being tallied, she realized she was down by forty points; she''d settled on her spell''s structure, though, so she wasn''t exactly heartbroken by the loss. If anything, it was a good excuse to disappear for an hour while she gathered the necessary materials. "Let''s see... it should be... over here." Sarah dragged her finger across a row of dusty boxes until she reached the back of the attic''s crawlspace. Surrounded by the remnants of her forsaken adolescence, the layers of abandoned bric-a-brac created a sociological record, which stretched back at least twenty years. If she had the patience or the nerve, she could have found the stuffed animals she''d inherited from her mother within the mess. Since the parasite would prefer to give that whole nightmare a pass, she settled on an opaque, plastic bin adjacent to the main aisle. Sarah checked the corner of the container. Right beside the lip there was a bright red slash of permanent marker. This particular color marked the box as being from the ''2010'' cycle of spring cleaning. Unless her supplies had been misfiled, she''d just found the cache she was looking for. Her nails picked at the duct tape, keeping the lid affixed. When she got too frustrated to continue fiddling with the strip, Sarah groped around on the shelf behind her and grabbed a filthy box cutter, which had been forgotten atop their broken space heater. She flicked the switch in the handle. The internals may have been corroded by mildew and rust, but the blade was still sharp enough to slide through the sticky mesh. A wave of stale paint fumes wafted from the soiled interior. Sarah assumed a bottle of acrylic had broken open when they''d originally stored the box. She lifted her phone to better illuminate the potential damage, and then breathed a sigh of relief when it didn''t extend past the egg carton, she''d used to keep her colors organized. "Scared myself for a minute there," she muttered sourly. If the polymers had spread beyond the stained pulp, this could have gotten complicated. Most of her tools were comfortably make do and could be replaced with improvised equivalents; finding a substitute for her dagger brush, though, would''ve been a serious pain in the ass. All in all, Sarah was happy to be spared the hassle. Extracting the more ''sanguine'' reagents was already going to be an ordeal. The gentle rattle of steel on glass followed her out of the attic. Sarah didn''t want to construct her ward where Amelia could stumble over it, so she brought her supplies into the ensuite bathroom, attached to her bedroom, instead. She turned the faucet on. While the heater worked its magic on the antique water tank, Sarah retrieved a pair of mason jars from the bottom of the bin. Both were caked with flecks of hard, green paint. Since the chips would need to be removed, least they ruin the alignment of the ward, Sarah set to cleaning them with a will. Every minute or so, she utilized the short break she was afforded while the vessels filled to dig through her over-stuffed first aid kit. The first sporadic inspection failed to produce a needle or a coil of plastic tubing. Sarah dumped the entire case onto her bed to double check, but if she''d ever procured the equipment, it''d been lost in the shuffle of life. "Son of a bitch," she cursed. She''d have to do this the hard way. Now, where the hell had she put her knife? On the planet, Joast, the ritualists of the Sunken Home sect spent their childhood forging a proper athame. In a more modern city like Pettor, they''d use bespoke tools, designed by a master with centuries of experience. Sarah had to settle for a small scalpel she''d soaked in rubbing alcohol. The parasite figured she''d be lucky if the wound didn''t scar. Muted beams of madder and mulberry painted the surface of her palm as she considered where to place the incision. It was getting late, and the setting sun would only provide another thirty minutes of daylight, so she shouldn''t pick a finicky location. At the same time, she didn''t want to miss the vein. ''Maybe the back of my forearm,'' she decided. ''It''ll be easier to disguise the injury if I can play it off as a scratch.'' By this point, the mason jars were nearly spotless save for a thin film of soapy water. Sarah took the time to quickly whisk the bubbles away, and then balanced the empty vessels between her thighs, near the front of the tub. The blade didn''t even pinch as she slid it across her skin. It was actually harder to go through with the decision than it was to endure the results. Mostly because of her doubts. What if she pressed too hard? What if she mutilated her host while trying preserve her family? Sarah loved Amelia, and wanted her to survive, but her altruism wasn''t limitless. Throwing her life away was too big of an ask. Losing the use of a limb? That was closer to the line. Sarah hoped she wouldn''t have to go that far. She even said a little prayer in case it would help. Anything to take her mind off of what she was doing to herself. To blot out the quiet ''drip - drip - drip,'' she couldn''t mistake for water. "I should have saved this part for the end. It''s going to be a pain to gather the other catalysts using only one hand." That was a lie: if she''d put the bleeding off, she would have invented reasons to delay. ''The timing isn''t right,'' or ''It''ll be easier with the proper equipment.'' Meanwhile, the operation would keep getting pushed back by another few days. Sarah had behaved the same way when the Light had first arrived, and she''d probably still be dithering at home if Simon hadn''t forced the issue. Sarah checked the jar. It looked like there were about eight ounces in the container. She also wasn''t sure when she should stop. Did she draw a line at the half-way point? Keep filling it up to the lip? She''d need to bind her arm, so she wouldn''t bleed out, but more was obviously better. The full sixteen ounces would be great. A couple liters would be ideal. Sarah needed to settle for enough. Right now, that felt like two inches below the taper; therefore, she waited until the fluid hit the neck and then carefully sealed the lid before she could continue to second guess herself. Her head swam as technicolor spots flashed in front of her eyes. Alarmed, she pulled back towards the rear of the tub and braced herself against the textured safety mat. It took a couple of seconds for the disorientation to fully fade. When Sarah felt like she could stand up again without falling over, she relocated to the sink. Her forearm continued to dribble into the hollow of her elbow. "Right," she mumbled drunkenly as she flailed around for the dermal glue. "Where did I put the gauze?" The answer was on her bed, along with all of her other supplies. Because of course it had to be in the most awkward place imaginable. Sarah swore. She tried not to smear blood on her wall as she shuffled across the carpet. Once the warspawn had collapsed atop her sheets, actually treating the injury was easier than she''d feared. The wound wasn''t deep enough to require stitching, and she had enough experience patching up the consequences of her various misadventures that she didn''t even need to shake the rust off of her half-forgotten skills. The only difficult part was doing it all one-handed. Maybe next time, she should cut her leg, instead. Then, she could unroll the tape without having to use her teeth. "Ugh, I''m going to be tasting the glue all night." She spat into a piece of tissue paper and lifted her arm to throw it at the trash can. She paused before the wad had left her hand. The mason jar would serve as a decent base for her ward, but she''d need a few more visceral elements if she didn''t want to bias her working. To that end, saliva would be a good substitute for the traditional ampule of sweat. "Or should I use tears?" Sarah drummed her fingers against the ball. "I''m pretty sure I saw an onion in the fridge. Assuming its fresh enough to get the appropriate volume, what''s left? Vaginal fluid? Peeing in a cup?" Both would be gross, but neither held a candle to the more extreme options. Technically, cerebral-spinal fluid had the best efficiency per cubic volume. She''d also never met anyone who was crazy enough to use it. All in all, it was easier to just get the wand out. Sarah rubbed the back of her neck. She''d do the magical drug test first. If she was going to perform some sort of tantric sex ritual, she wanted to ease herself into it; otherwise, she''d cringe so hard, it''d be impossible to get off. "It''s bad enough I''m sleeping in my old bed. I don''t need to feel like I''m fifteen too." Afterwards, all that would be left would be establishing the spell itself. She already knew what she wanted it to do; the only sticking point would be the targeting. The solution she''d devised was to incorporate a scent; one only another warspawn would recognize. Since Sarah was the individual setting the ward, she could simply disable the arming switch whenever she dropped by. The rest of the time? It''d linger like a dead rat, inert and out of sight. ...At least until it blew up, then it''d trap your feet in the ground and reduce the air pressure around your skull. Death should occur in about twelve seconds. If she beefed the circuits up, she could probably squash Townsend''s head like a grape. It wasn''t quite as immediate as she would have preferred, but that was what the temporal element was for. Those seconds could be subjective. Why worry about the delay when she could make the experience feel instantaneous? It would all be over in a flash. Like butter popping in the pan. Or her parent''s Lexus crashing into a wall. Sarah sat down on her comforter, her heart aching worse than her arm. She hated the idea of protecting her grandmother with the Light''s pernicious essence. She wasn''t willing to be squeamish, though, if this was what it took to keep her safe. It just sucked. Especially, since she knew how everything was expected to end. The distant clatter of screaming children drifted through the open window. Outside, a pair of teens were arguing over who was supposed to babysit their younger brother while a car idled by the curb. A young man with orange bangs was behind the wheel. Sarah could see his hands pounding along to the faint beat blasting from his stereo system. It sounded like Magnolia Park. For a moment, Sarah was whisked away to a time when everything was normal and the worst she had to worry about was who stole the ink from the printer. Then, her eyes picked out the burning disk the kids were bouncing off a tree, and the teen''s argument began to circle around to their arcane education. She could hear the car''s transmission backfire as motes of mana mixed with the fuel. Even the music wasn''t real: the driver was conjuring it himself from what smelled like a screaming Stratocaster. It wouldn''t be long, now. Sarah was no seer, but she could feel the future settling in her bones. It was all going to come tumbling down. Sarah buried her head in her hands. In between her calloused fingers, she could see a small stain on her bedspread, where a few drops of blood had dribbled down past the bleached gauze. The blemish both did and did not register in the cold September air. She summoned up the will to close the curtains. "I should pick up groceries," she reminded herself. "Amelia used the last of the milk." Cuckoo Interlude - Benjamin Carson A florescent light flickered overhead as Special Agent, Benjamin Carson, squinted at the spreadsheet on his monitor. The line he was staring at remained the same. ''Wilson P. - Mariot - 3400 - 5/9/22 - coc.'' He scrolled through the pdf file on his computer to see if there was any video evidence to substantiate the claim. When he failed to find anything more explicit than an ill-shot photograph of the man standing on top of a balcony, he added a ''non-urgent'' note to the cover letter and shipped it off to his liaison at the DEA. Well, a copy of it, anyway. The original would be kept on a server in the FBI''s branch office until Nathan Bennit stopped sending them his weekly ''Retain'' command. At that point, it would be going to... Benjamin double checked the hashtag he''d attached to the file. Albany, New York. Huh. That was the third one today. Channel Five News must be getting pretty popular. It seemed like everyone was mailing them their insurance package on the off chance they kicked the bucket. ''Must be because they''re so small,'' Benjamin mused to himself. ''It''s hard to believe they''d be on the take when they''re barely a ten-man team.'' Of course, in his experience, a compact organization actually made it easier for a conspiracy to take root. No one ever said the clinically paranoid had a surfeit of common sense, though. For them, large forces were anathema; who cared if they were biased, so long as they weren''t in the service of ''Them?'' In this case, ''Them'' would be New England''s political establishment. Mr. Bennit didn''t seem like the sort who''d believe in the crazier conspiracy theories. Not like... Percy Winkle... who was convinced the government was reading his mind with the help of the 5G cell network. Benjamin skimmed the next insurance policy for ''proof'' and was unsurprised when it terminated in a mass of hyperlinks leading to various websites. Citing third parties was common practice for the lunatics using Black Coral. Customers who were legitimately worried they''d be killed often possessed hard data. ''Not always, though,'' Benjamin acknowledged as he glanced over the next set of claims. Gang allegations could be lethal, despite their nebulous nature. Nikolas Wells wasn''t offering the most concrete accusations about his competitor; however, it''d still go to the NGIC for review. Then, depending on whether or not it''d compromise the operation''s security, it might be cleared for wider dissemination. Not that Nick would ever learn about the breach of privacy; as far as he was concerned, Black Coral still had his back. Him and everyone else who was willing to spend three grand for a grey market, escrow service. Benjamin selected the next file buried in his inbox and got halfway through a diatribe about how there were aliens infesting Ms. Mascotti''s neighbor when a pen rapped against the wall of his cubicle. "One moment," he called out while he extricated himself from the database. "I just need to redact all of my paperwork." A light-hearted voice drifted over the divider. "You know, no one actually follows that regulation, right? Antoine isn''t going to bust you if I see three lines and a watermark." Benjamin inspected his empty desktop before resting his pencil beside the edge. "I''d rather not take the chance. I didn''t get this far in life by being sloppy with my workspace. ...There, you''re free to enter." His co-worker chuckled as he ducked between the polyester planks. Forty-two, and carrying only half of those years in his bearing, William Moore reminded Benjamin of the younger field agents, who infiltrated the collegiate drug trade. The only difference? His coworker''s jawline was a bit too cut to let him masquerade as a drunken freshman. No package store clerk would ever look at his face and think ''this man is under twenty-one.'' "...He sure does act like it, though," Benjamin muttered as William leaned against the off-white divider. "What was that?" the older agent asked him, his attention flitting from his phone. "I missed the bit at the beginning. Is IT giving you trouble again?" Benjamin rubbed the inflamed divots, where his glasses had cut into his nose. "No, sorry, I was just thinking aloud. I feel like I''ve been staring at these reports for so long that they''re starting to fry my filter." "Heard," William grunted as he bobbed his head up and down. "They''ve had me working with the Revenue Department since early last November. If I have to see one more spread sheet before I get back to work on Monday morning, I''m going to burn through all of my sick leave and take the rest of September off." The nascent grin pulling at his co-worker''s lips suddenly fell a little flat. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, speaking of which: Jennifer in Accounting told me about your brother. That''s a tough break, man. If you need anything..." Benjamin declined the offer by reflex. "Thank you, but no. It''s.... well, I don''t want to say, ''it''s not that bad,'' but it''s not ''my condolences'' bad. Supposedly, the worst is past." William slumped in relief. "Good - that''s good. I''m glad he''s doing better. After I heard some of the horror stories coming out of New York, I was worried I was stepping on a land mine." A landmine wasn''t a bad way to put it. When Benjamin had been called by Doctor Lavigne to serve as his brother''s surrogate, Devon had been missing his right hand, and there''d been talk of taking his leg. Something about the burns reaching the bone and what it''d mean for his recovery. Benjamin... hadn''t really been listening very well by that point. The shock of seeing so much charred flesh had driven him straight to the trash can before he lost his lunch all over his shoes. In between the dry heaves, he''d informed the doctor that he trusted her judgement. The only thing which mattered to him was whether or not his brother would pull through. Devon... hadn''t been of the same mind. Once he''d woken up and seen how much she''d had to cut away, he''d thrown a bit of a fit. Words had been said. The nurse assured Benjamin that it was mostly the drugs talking, but... "Let''s drop the subject," Benjamin suggested as he struggled to shake off the recollection. "Instead, how about we discuss why you decided to stop by. Are you here for something in particular, or did you just want to blow off the last few hours of your shift? I''ll confess, I was hoping to bury my troubles in the backlog; however, it''s hard to get excited when we''re not being paid by the hour." William ignored the man''s disapproving frown. "Straight to business, huh? I can respect that. You and the boss are a lot alike in that respect. I won''t lie, there is something we need to talk about, but I don''t want to throw it at you if you''re still feeling a little..." William made a whistling sound and passed his hand over his head. "Please," Benjamin insisted. "It''d be a relief." "Sure. In that case, Antoine told me he needs to see you ''at your earliest convenience.'' He didn''t use that terse, flustered tone, though, so I think he actually means it. If the big man''s too much for you right now..." "No," Benjamin reassured him. "I''ll speak to him in a moment." William hovered by the entrance and then patted the file cabinet propped up next to his printer. "Alright. I''ll trust you to give your brother my best, then?" When Benjamin responded with an agreeable-sounding hum, William retreated from the cubicle, social obligations fulfilled. Benjamin paused and re-examined his previous thought. No, he was being unkind. William could be cavalier, but he wasn''t an asshole. If his only intention had been to go through the motions, he could have just sent a card. All it would''ve taken was a quick jaunt to the commissary. In fact, he probably could have signed one the few that had already been passed around. There was no reason to let Devon''s temper tantrum taint the rest of his morning. A manilla folder containing the recent security protocols joined the evacuation map in his desk drawer. Benjamin gave everything one last spot check and then headed for the frosted window abutting the rest of the office. Antoine''s door was closed. Benjamin rapped twice on the bullet-proof glass and then let himself inside once the lock released a soft buzz. Deputy Assistant Director Hertz barely glanced up as Benjamin shut the door behind him. "I understand. I can have it on your desk before four p.m. this Friday. Yes, all three hundred pages. Alright. Let me know how it turns out." He returned the handset to the phone''s cradle with a click. A kink in the cord was looped around his coffee cup and almost sent it toppling to the floor. "Sorry about the wait," Hertz apologized before motioning for his colleague to have a seat. "Based on your trepidation, I assume that Moore relayed my message?" Benjamin sidled into the tall, leather chair, curious about the state of his face. "I... can''t say I know what you''re talking about, sir. Agent Moore was a little vague. Do I have a reason to be worried?" The Deputy Assistant Director studied him until Benjamin began to doubt his own assessment. Were the difficulties in his personal life bleeding through into his professional conduct? He almost wanted to fetch a mirror, so he could find what Hertz had seen in his expression. "Perhaps I was mistaken," the elderly man admitted. "There''s so much scuttlebutt running around that I lose track of who knows what. Regardless, there''s a few things we need to cover, the first of which is your work on Black Coral." "It''s been commendable," Hertz asserted, cutting off Benjamin''s incipient dismay. "I want to extend my thanks - and the appreciation of the Bureau as a whole - for the extended hours you''ve been willing to put into the project. I understand that it hasn''t come at the best time, given the state of your brother''s health." Benjamin coughed into his fist. "Fidelity, bravery and integrity, sir. It is all there in the motto." "Even still," Hertz replied. "You''ve gone above and beyond the call. Because of that, and because I''m aware of the operation''s reputation for being a meritless, fishing expedition, I want you to understand that what I''m going to say next is in no way a criticism of your conduct or your character." "But I''m being reassigned," Benjamin guessed, his lips twisting into a wry smile. "Yes. You and everyone else currently employed on the project. If that''s not clear enough to reassure you, then I''ll say it plain: Black Coral''s being shut down. It''s always been a low priority for the office as a whole, and the recent surge in financial uncertainty has caused our superiors to kill it off early." Hertz pulled a drawer open before tossing a navy-blue folder onto his desktop. "Here," he grunted. "This packet contains the decoupling procedures you''ll need to go through as well as the instructions for how to schedule your debriefing. Needless to say, this is the sort of thing the Bureau would prefer to handle through the administrator''s office; however, the recent chaos has caused your out-boarding to become a little more slapdash than we''d like. Read it over. Don''t sweat it too much if the paperwork takes a few weeks to clear." Benjamin removed the document''s cover letter and skimmed the table of contents. "I''m not seeing much here about my upcoming responsibilities. Is there any word on where I''m headed next?" "Unofficially?" Hertz equivocated with an amused grimace. "I heard from the grapevine that you''re going to be temporarily reassigned to a new initiative in order to figure out where all of the money''s being sent. Whether you''ll be working with one office or another will depend on how the interdepartmental jockeying shakes out. As things stand, everyone''s scrambling for manpower, and you all will be low-hanging fruit: expect to get shuffled around a lot until the fires are finally extinguished." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The Deputy Assistant Director seemed apologetic even as he told Benjamin to pack his bag and march. The young agent wasn''t surprised; Antoine Hertz was a known workaholic, who had a reputation for expecting his subordinates to put in a commensurate effort. If he''d merely demanded twelve-hour shifts, there might not have been as much pushback. Hertz slept in his office, though, instead of going home to his wife. There were weeks when he''d hang a suit behind his desk because the one he was wearing would start to smell by Wednesday. Benjamin liked to think of himself as a reasonably dedicated public servant, but he still enjoyed having a life. If the old man was looking sympathetic... well, that didn''t say pleasant things about his future. "I see. And we''re sure this is final? There''s no hope of putting a word in with anyone further up the chain? Willing as I am to do my duty, I''d hate for my ''temporary'' assignment to stretch the definition of the term." Hertz snorted, numb to his co-worker''s plea. "Oh, there will be a feasibility review, you can be sure of that. Banking on it going somewhere, though, is a different story. No, sad as it may be to say, I don''t think Black Coral will be approved by the bean counters again. We''ve billed the public for too many man-hours, given the gems we''ve managed to produce." A coarse chuckle snapped Benjamin out of his funk. "Oh, buck up, boy! It''s not all bad news. Some of those insights have been quite noteworthy. So much so, that a few agents from the TSC have been asking after you. Once we''re done here, you''re to give them a presentation on a couple of files that have passed through our hands. From what I''ve heard, the Assistant Director wants an in-depth breakdown on how common certain key-word searches have become. If you play your cards right, it might be a good opportunity to avoid accumulating too many frequent flier miles on the Bureau''s behalf. Benjamin twitched at the suggestion. "This isn''t about the election, is it?" Hertz shrugged in reply. "Not unless Roswell has become a new slang term for our southern border." /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Despite Hertz''s insinuation that the TSC were all desk jockeys, they sure flew up awfully quick to hear Benjamin''s report. D.C. to Albany was a three hour round trip; for them to arrive before his shift was through meant they must have been waiting on the tarmac. "I''m special agent, Denoia; this is special agent, Leclark. We understand you have some files, which might be related to our work?" The three men stood in a small, sound-proof conference room on the third floor of the CID''s field office. Known as the Criminal Investigative Division to most people outside of the Bureau, the agents within normally spent their day tracking narcotics shipments before finishing up with the odd embezzlement scheme. Benjamin''s role was a little less ''hands-on;'' as a junior member of Criminal Intelligence Section II, he was often tasked with preparing the reports that would be read by the men inside this room. For him to actually be leading today''s discussion threw him a touch off his stride. He laid his hand on a plush backrest and wondered if it''d be appropriate for him to take a seat. "That was... an iconic introduction. Do you practice that line a lot?" The two agents exchanged a weary glance. "I suppose so," Denoia admitted before dragging his chair across the rug. "The car rides can get rather dull." A faint hint of five-o''clock shadow clung to his cheeks as his lips parted in a grin. At least ten years younger than his wan companion, Denoia was still passionate enough to enjoy the small talk; whereas Leclark looked like he might fall asleep. "It''s one of the perils of the job," the old man opined while girding himself against the Bureau''s decor. "I''m sure the CCRSB has its own petty rituals for when the hours start to stretch." They''d be better off asking William; Benjamin had never been prone to such foibles. "Perhaps. In the meantime, I''m sure you''re both acquainted with this one. If I could get your signatures, here and here, gentlemen?" Benjamin passed the two a non-disclosure agreement for the material he was about to reveal. Technically, they were already cleared to handle intelligence of a confidential nature; however, the Bureau insisted upon a physical record, in addition to the electronic security checks the pair had previously undergone. The agents skimmed the legalese and then jotted their names at the bottom. "Thank you," Benjamin said as he collected the documents. "Now, I believe you had some questions about Black Coral?" Leclark set his briefcase down atop the table and withdrew a plastic binder. "Yes, though before we get to that, I''m afraid it''s our turn to wear out your wrist. If you don''t mind?" He handed over a thick packet of his own with a substantially higher security clearance stamped across the front. Benjamin paused and stared at the intimidating watermark. "I was under the impression that CODE-WORD level material could only be conveyed at a limited number of facilities. This room isn''t rated for a secret that sensitive." "Those considerations are strictly for physical documents and electronic data," Leclark patiently explained. "This CDA simply covers whatever is revealed by our conversation. Hopefully, it will help us avoid the hassle of talking around certain topics." "I see." Benjamin frowned and read the contract''s stipulations with much more care than either of his peers. After the first few pages all seemed to be in order, he began initialing where appropriate. "I have to admit, this is making me significantly more concerned about the files you wanted to discuss." "Reservations are understandable," Leclark agreed. "I''m sure there''s an incentive within your section to take what you hear with a grain of salt. Unfortunately, several of the public''s claims are more credible than our superiors would care to admit. The best the three of us can do is avoid the legal fallout." Leclark picked up the packet as Benjamin slid it over. He flipped through the stapled pages to ensure everything was copacetic. "Thank you. This satisfies the obligations we owe the rest of the Bureau." Benjamin licked his lips. "Of course. Now, is there a place where we should begin?" Leclark sighed. "I was hoping to address the rising incident rate over the last two years; especially as it corresponds to the urban versus rural divide. Sadly, we''ll have to start by picking your brain about the reports that can be geolocated to the D.C. area." He tapped his pen against the tabletop in a rising, staccato beat. "Are you familiar with the interdepartmental review, which the Director ordered on the first of the month?" Benjamin searched his memory. "You mean, the CYA panel inspired by the 9/11 reforms?" "That''s the one," Leclark confirmed after softly clicking his tongue. "The two of us were given fairly strict orders before our superiors shipped us off. I believe the Assistant Director''s exact words were: ''The capital comes first. Then, the big cities. Then, the little ones. We''ll cover the small towns if they''re still standing in a month or two.''" That was... about what Benjamin had come to expect after his meeting with Antoine Hertz. "I suppose we''d best work quickly, then" he conceded with only the slightest trace of guilt. "In any event, as of noon today, there have been seven hundred and ninety-three separate incidents which fit the criteria you provided. Of those, one hundred and eleven appear to be only loosely related, and within that dataset, half can likely be excluded, given the popularity of our search parameters. While I''m not familiar with how many of these cases originate from D.C., I do have a fairly good memory, and I would guess it''s somewhere south of twenty. One moment." Benjamin unlocked the tablet, he''d brought in with the rest of his paperwork, before mousing over to the archival tags. Part of his job was to identify pertinent markers within each file, so it wasn''t difficult to summon a list containing the ones which referenced the city. "If what I''m seeing here is correct, I believe we have just shy of a dozen. There may be a couple of others, but they''d require more investigation to say for sure." "Which one topped the pile in terms of relevancy?" Denoia asked. Benjamin squinted at the screen. "A Mr. John Weisman''s. It''s a pseudonym, of course. We have him logged here as Carey Neels, though that''s also just a best guess based upon the network traffic of the McDonalds where he uploaded his claims. As for the contents of his deposit, he''s alleging that there''s an organization of influence peddlers, known as the Hoffman Group, who are leveraging their personal wealth on behalf of an extra-terrestrial government. The group is successful, well-established and - according to Mr. Neels - responsible for the abduction of at least thirty people over the last ten years. Naturally, when we looked into the disappearances he cited, most of the missing citizens were semi-public figures, whose safety was quite assured. At that point, his claims were dismissed, and we assumed he was attempting to defame them through the actions of a third party." Denoia had begun taking notes about halfway through the explanation. "And this individual made explicit mention of the Offal Sea?" Benjamin scrolled down. "Yes, him and twenty-two others, although none of those were in the D.C. area." "I can''t say I''m surprised - the cells in the capital are more organized than most of their peers. If this is an attempt to implicate the Hoffman Group, then we wouldn''t see much redundancy." Denoia glanced up from his pad. "Out of curiosity, when did this accusation take place? The summer of 2020?" A wave of vertigo struck Benjamin at the casual corroboration of the informant''s outlandish claims. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "No, the spring of ''22. We weren''t fully operational until after the fall election." "Then, we''ll need the report in full, biased as it''s likely to be." Leclark wrote down an official extension, where Benjamin could leave the file. "You said there are more like this?" "Yes," Benjamin confirmed, his mind moving faster than his mouth. "One from Chicago with the proverbial fingerprints removed. Another authored by a Miss Mel..." Leclark cut the agent''s panic attack off while it was still building up steam. "We''ll get to those later," he reminded him, and then motion towards his notes on the table. "Let''s focus on the case in front of us before we start skipping ahead." Benjamin clenched his fists until he could regain his nerve. "...Of course," he agreed with a dry swallow. "I believe the agent investigating Mr. Neels claims gave an interview. We can begin there." /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ When Benjamin got home that evening, there was another message waiting for him on his answering machine. He closed his eyes in exasperation. When he opened them again, the display was still flashing like the burning gaze of Sauron himself. He hit the button to play the recording before he could chicken out. Devon''s voice slipped from the tinny speakers. "Ben, it''s your brother. I know I said some shit at the recovery ward, but you don''t get it: I need you to be straight with me. This isn''t the time for us to be splitting hairs about what paragraph five, subsection B, says in the damn manual. I know - that you know - more about what''s going on than what you''ve been telling me. If we keep playing these stupid games -" He ran out of time and the message automatically cut off. According to the log on the LED screen, Devon had called him back about three minutes later. "...no, I don''t need any - Ben, it''s Devon again. Listen, for once in your life, just meet me halfway on something that isn''t which board game we should play with mom and dad at the home. It''s not like I''m asking for the secrets to Fort fucking Knox. The mayor should be telling us this himself. We''re the ones getting blown to kingdom come every time -" "...every time one of these damn things morphs out of the fucking ether. Do you have any idea how many of my friends have gotten hurt, since this snafu''s kicked off? Would you care to guess how many of them have died?! Just... climb down from your ivory tower and help me do some real police work. You know, the kind that''s more than pushing numbers around for -" There were eleven more messages waiting to be heard. Benjamin didn''t need to listen to the rest to be able to guess their contents. Devon had never been the most reticent about removing the ''stick Ben keeps up his ass,'' and the drugs he''d been proscribed by the hospital certainly hadn''t helped him hold his tongue. Not like Benjamin could; there was a reason why he''d made the cut at Quantico while his brother had quickly washed out. "Damn it, Devon." Benjamin pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was almost funny: before today, he really hadn''t known much more about what was going on. Certainly not as much as Devon had been insisting. "I''m a data analyst," he muttered sarcastically. "This isn''t the CIA. What exactly is he expecting? Little grey men from mars?" Benjamin bit back an angry laugh. It turns out, aliens would have been a pretty good guess. A shame this wasn''t the cinema, where no one ever suffered any consequences for letting the secret slip. Somehow, Benjamin got the impression that his story would end a bit differently if he decided to spill the beans. It might have been all of the paperwork he''d been forced to sign. They''d really made an effort to spell out the potential charges in painfully simple terms. Words like ''ten-year sentence'' had made a frequent appearance. ''Capital punishment'' too. Benjamin liked to think he loved his brother, but prison was a bit much. "I hope he realizes that I have to disclose all of this. I can''t just ignore an attempt to massage me for information." Especially, since Benjamin''s phone was monitored as a matter of course. He might be able to get away with hiding Devon''s plea if they''d had this conversation in person; however, he didn''t have a shot, when the man left a paper trail half a mile long. It''d all go better if Benjamin covered his bases. His briefcase made a soft wheeze as it was compressed against the kitchen floor. Benjamin dug his work phone out of the side pocket before making a request to the Bureau for them to send him the relevant paperwork. He didn''t expect much to come of it. ''Has to be done, though,'' he reminded himself. It was the same story with Black Coral, despite finding another one of Hertz''s ''gems.'' There were rules to be observed - checks and balances upon the system they called civilization. If they ran around doing whatever they pleased, the end result would be anarchy. Some people enjoyed that level of chaos because of the opportunities it afforded them. Benjamin wasn''t one of them: he''d prefer not to live like a beast. The phone rang. For a second, he feared it was Devon; however, the device''s electronic wail was coming from his jacket, instead of the wall. It was the office. He picked up after the third chime. "This is special agent, Benjamin Carson. ...Yes, Deputy Assistant Director. ...Yes, I''ll need several copies -" The wheel ground on. Cuckoo 11 It''s funny the things you think about while smearing blood across a wall. If you''d asked Sarah a month ago, she''d have claimed that she wouldn''t have time for extraneous thoughts, that the ward would require her full attention. In reality? Each intricate whirl could have been penned in her sleep. There was no hesitation between her brush strokes, no academic confusion. The inner geometry charted the power flows, and the outer script described the effect. When combined with her intent, the three transformed into a complimentary whole, whose only limit was defined by her reserves. ''Trilateral symmetry,'' the Tellim called it. Harlan had explained as much when he''d ordered her cohort to assemble in a shallow lagoon, three miles off the Emerald Coast. Sarah could still remember the way the waves had lapped against the crest of her fin. The water had been cold - freezing, really - and small chips of ice had fallen from the sky before striking the surface in bursts of misty froth. Harlan had been content to ignore the hail while he informed the class that he''d arranged for a rare treat. ''Memories,'' he''d told them, with an edge of puckish wonder. ''Ones from a Herald, who''s been fighting along the Annolian Front.'' A thousand beady eyes had stared back at him, unwilling to take him at his word. None of the precocial infiltrators had ever seen a nexus in the flesh, and the hair-thin tendrils dangling from the warspawn''s back had seemed liable to flense them alive. The idea that these prehensile quills could recreate an experience had struck her unit as patently absurd. Harlan must have spent twenty minutes trying to convince them otherwise before he''d waded into the pool to find his first ''volunteer.'' 269588b had been the hapless participant to be selected. Larger than most of Sarah''s cousins, the parasite had answered this noble charge by immediately fleeing for deeper water. Sadly, her prodigious size had made it difficult to dodge Harlan''s claws. After a minute of casually fumbling for her tail, their commander had eventually scooped her up into his palm and inserted one of the strands through the protein sheath protecting her skull. The inter-cranial connection had caused her eye to bulge along the lower lid from the pressure. So much so, that Sarah had thought her fellow conscript had been killed until her body had begun to twitch. Even when Harlan had ordered her to describe what she was witnessing, Sarah still hadn''t been convinced she''d live. It was all too strange - too artfully sly. Sarah had never seen a stage magician until her deployment to Earth, but the first time she''d bought tickets to David Blaine, that had been the memory his sleight of hand had invoked. She could almost taste Harlan''s queer, little grin as he jammed her with one of the barbs. Sarah blinked and let the memory faded back into cerebral static. When she opened her eyes, she found her brush hovering above the wall with the bristles tilted in a jaunty cock. High-Illustrator Dekark had done the same thing after he''d been finished with a ward. The habit must have slipped into the record if it''d survived being copied over twice. "Like ashes in amber," Sarah muttered quietly. "Or Pamela Anderson''s breasts getting burned into Amanda''s tv screen." Her ex had always flushed bright red whenever Sarah had noticed the scars. She''d claimed it was the price she paid for accepting her brother''s hand-me-downs; however, Sarah was familiar with the warspawn''s tastes, and they ran both sporty and blonde. Her protests fell a little flat. The recollection of an August day, when they''d tried to replace them with her own, ran through Sarah''s head as she slowly extruded her cores. Each orb seared her groin before it slipped free, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost mistake the pain for a far more welcome warmth. She braced her body against the wall. The tiny marbles slid into the ward, accompanied by a series of sharp pops. When the last of them were sealed away within the central gathering array, Sarah sensed a connection form between the gruesome formation and herself. The spell was live. If she focused, she could feel it waiting for instructions like a biddable phantom limb. Sarah made sure the arming trigger wasn''t actively engaged. There was no need to kill herself, now that she''d gotten it to work. It''d only taken... she checked her phone: a hundred and four hours of stripping mana from the surrounding field. Amazing. And the Heralds did this for a living? It made her wonder how they didn''t shoot themselves a week into their tour. The Light failed to supply an answer as she covered the glyph with a poster. Rider Strong''s smile had preceded a multitude of sins in her youth, and she was certain his good looks wouldn''t have any trouble hiding her latest indiscretion. Her lips quirked up in a reflection of his rakish expression; a few bars from a half-forgotten theme song played in her head as she made her way to the parlor. Amelia was sitting on the couch reading a dog-eared copy of A Time to Kill. "I''m headed out," Sarah told her while she waved her thumb at the door. "I noticed you used up the last of the milk, so I figured I''d pick some up before the Whole Foods on Walnut Street shuts down. Is there anything you need while I''m there?" Her grandmother splayed the novel across her chest and squinted at the ceiling in thought. "The detergent''s running low, and I wouldn''t say no to a box of fig newtons. Other than that, nothing comes to mind. Do you need money for the groceries?" Sarah shook her head. "You''ve been feeding me all week. It''s only fair I cover the cost." Amelia frowned. "If you''re sure." Sarah was. She also knew they''d get into a fight if she revealed everything she was planning to buy. The cupboard had gotten far more barren than Amelia was inclined to acknowledge. Between the injury to her hip, and the logistical snarls caused by covid, a lot of her purchases had been put off under the expectation that she could pick them up, later, once the errand stopped being a hassle. Needless to say, such an opportunity looked increasingly less likely to arrive. While Sarah hadn''t heard of any hoarding yet, she merely considered it a matter of time. It''d be better to stock up now before Amelia was left in the lurch. Besides, Sarah wasn''t sure how much longer she''d be around to help. Even if Townsend didn''t take her down in some sort of elaborate murder-suicide, there were bound to be a number of parties who''d be willing to take his place. The global intelligence apparatus; hostile warspawn; the local crazies. Sometimes, it felt like it''d be easier to count the people who didn''t want her dead than those who''d gladly cut her throat. When so much of her life was trapped in a state of flux, it was soothing to be able to cross another item off her proverbial to-do list. It helped ensure everything wouldn''t go to hell if her luck took a turn for the worst. "Love you, grandma," Sarah murmured softly. "I''ll be back in a bit." Amelia raised her hand in a silent farewell. She didn''t feel the need to say anything as her granddaughter headed for the door. Sarah wasn''t sure if she was relieved by the reticence or not. It was easy to read into the gesture and see a world where her secret had been exposed. Too much of her time with the Offal Sea had been infecting her life on Earth lately. The comfortable separation of yesteryear had fallen into a river-cut chasm, which narrowed as you tumbled down the slope. At some point, the two shores would meet: likely with catastrophic results. The thought plagued her as Sarah navigated the winding avenues of Medford; especially, since she couldn''t turn her brain off and just take her usual route. Too much of the interstate had been damaged by the Light''s intercession. Sure, there were road crews out, who were working to repair the damage; however, it''d be a couple more days until they''d fixed both the pipes and the potholes. In the meantime, Sarah was left to puzzle out the advised detours as the dregs of the mana surge screamed along her tendrils. All in all, it made the twenty-minute trip take closer to an hour and a half. "I should have bought a moped," Sarah groused as she slid around a Lichtenberg figure burned into the grocery store parking lot. "Or better yet a pack mule. There''s a lot of reliability in a literal unit of horsepower. If you need some gas, grow some grass; if it''s taking too long to get to your destination, just help it develop a mana core. The Qelt got pretty far using what was basically an up-jumped buggy." Sarah slammed the car door shut and fiddled with her keys. After the locks issued an agreeable-sounding chirp, she grabbed an abandoned shopping cart from the mulch-covered meridian and pushed it through the dense crowd milling about near the sidewalk. Apparently, there was another homeless nut preaching in front of the recycling center. This one was wielding a wide, cardboard sign, which read ''THE CHIPS ARE IN YOUR BLOOD!'' More importantly, he''d stumbled across a receptive audience and was milking them for all they were worth. "We warned you!" he screamed as spittle misted through his scruffy beard. "We told you what was in those vaccines! You laughed - don''t lie - but now that they''re whispering their vile lies into your ear, we all know the truth! There''s no magic - no devilry! None save what was injected into your veins by Bezos and his satanic cartel! Don''t believe the hallucinations that are even now beguiling your mind! Together, with the help of the natural remedies these woke charlatans have hidden from us, we can take back our lives and destroy their conspiracy of control!" Sarah tried to avoid eye contact as she traversed the intrigued throng. The last thing she needed was for this jackoff to accost her, so he could explain why his magic potion would be the one to finally have an effect. As if that was even a thing, outside of a few schemes the Loom and the Library liked to play. She clicked her tongue; well, their adherents, at least: the Networks were rather hands-off. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Sarah passed through the sliding glass doors and found herself within a dilapidated hellscape lined with filthy linoleum. Up above, near the beige sign advertising baked goods in ''Aisle Five,'' a distant air conditioner blew a cold breeze down along the back of her neck. If she stood there for a couple of minutes, the chilly tendrils might have been strong enough to reach through the flesh of her host. No amount of frigid discomfort could distract her from the empty shelves, though. Not when they stretched all the way to the deli-counter at the back of the store. She pushed her carriage towards the next row and found only bits of torn packaging. The third aisle was a little better in the sense that it offered to sell her a can of beans for three-fifty a pop. Sarah picked up one labeled ''Country Style'' and turned it over in her hand. The seal seemed alright. Had the employees simply made space by rearranging where they kept the bread? It was hard to tell. She added the tin to her basket and retreated towards the cash registers behind her. From there, Sarah ambled along the main walkway to see how the rest of the store was doing. The answer was both better than she''d feared and worse than she''d hoped. While there was still more than enough merchandise to keep the neighborhood well-provisioned, a lot of the brand name goods had disappeared, leaving only generic offerings in their place. The sole exception seemed to be the hygienics department. No matter where she turned, there were still tampons and toilet paper waiting to be purchased. ''How ironic," she mused with a smile. ''Perhaps the public''s learned a lesson from the last time we played this game.'' The thought startled a sardonic laugh out of her. Sarah couldn''t help chuckling as she returned to the entrance and began snatching non-perishables, whenever they caught her eye. Butter; sugar; flour; salt. She aimed for the ingredients with the most generous best-buy dates and then picked up the ones that would only grow stale once a month had passed. By the time she was ready to ring everything up, the cart must have weighed eighty pounds. Sarah wandered towards the self-check-out lane, where a plastic-capped, orange light was steadily blinking on and off. Beside it, backed up to the nearest display stand, was a second station, which was attempting to deal with the overflow. It wasn''t going very well. Apparently, two customers had gotten into an argument about whose groceries were on the belt and had nearly come to blows over the issue. Sarah didn''t want to deal with their shouting, so she angled for one of the employee-operated terminals, despite the flutter it induced in her heart. To her surprise, the girl bagging the groceries wore a familiar face. "Pullberry," Sarah greeted her, the stilted words slipping from her lips. "You''re... working today?" The young warspawn blew a lock of hair away from her flushed forehead. "Yup. New job. They''re paying me time and a half." Her dead-eyed expression conveyed how little she thought the money was worth it. Sarah watched her scan a bottle of apple juice three times before the machine deigned to read the label. She considered spinning up her internal relay so they could have a less couched conversation but soon remembered who she was talking to. Maybe the youth''s stubborn silence was just as well: it didn''t feel like they had much to discuss. "You want a paper bag, or did you bring your own?" Pullberry''s question was uttered with all the enthusiasm of an alcoholic being issued their fifth silver chip. Sarah shook off the depressing mental image. "Paper, please." Pullberry quoted her a price and Sarah quietly paid it. By the time she was done slipping her credit card back inside her wallet, the argument a few lanes over was starting to get rather heated. One of Pullberry''s co-workers set down the plastic wand he''d been using to scan the available stock and ran off to get their boss. A few moments later, when he returned with the individual in question, their manager began a routine that Sarah could identify as ''placate the asshole.'' She didn''t envy the man and his assignment. "I don''t know how you stand it," she confessed when there was a brief lull in the noise. Pullberry scowled and prepared to snap back, then she noticed the direction of Sarah''s gaze and a wave of understanding washed away her vitriol. "Oh. You mean..." She twirled a finger at the feuding customers. "Yeah." The teen snorted. "You know, if my boss asked me that question, I''d probably tell him it''s because I''m open-minded. Between you and me, though? I''ll give you the real reason. The trick is to treat them like they''re robots. You see the cunt screaming by the candy rack? He''s not a person: he''s just a machine made of meat. A system of buttons and levers you can push to make money fall out and the line move forward. Who cares if he gets hit by a car while walking home from the bus stop? Just smile at the next tubby bastard and tell him to have a nice day." Sarah winced as she resettled her purse. "Please tell me you don''t believe that." "Why, you want me to lie to you, instead?" The parasite laughed. Sarah was much more solemn. "Honestly? Yes. If you have to. I''ve been reminiscing a lot over the last few weeks, and it''s called to mind the impact a teacher can have on our education. We learned a lot of horrible lessons, Pullberry. We''d have been better off if we''d watched more Sesame Street." The warspawn''s levity fled at speed. "Fuck off. Go crawl up your own ass and die." "I mean it," Sarah said as the spite washed off her back. "Don''t they remind you of the kids back home? Maybe even someone in particular?" For Sarah, it was a loathsome, little shit who''d followed along in her slipstream. Every time she''d found a strand of seaweed, he''d put on a burst of speed and try to steal it out of her mouth. He must have kept the act up for months until they''d been herded into basic training. Sometimes, when she was sitting in her kitchen eating a bowl of kombu, she wondered if he''d ever grown out of the habit or if he remained the same annoying bastard. "I''m not having this conversation with you," Pullberry growled. She shoved a box of Rasin Bran so hard it ripped the corner of the bag. Instead of pulling the carton out and repackaging everything correctly, she grabbed another sack from beneath the counter and slipped it over the tear. "If not me, then who?" Sarah asked her. "If not now, then when? After your neighbors are done knifing each other over a box of stale donuts? Once the power company pulls the plug and we''re stuck burning trash on the beach? Be reasonable: you know this isn''t sustainable." She motioned towards the disheveled UPS driver squaring off with a red-faced veterinarian. The former was heavy-set and had angled his body in order to bring his weight to bear. His opponent, long accustomed to unruly patients, didn''t seem bothered by the threat. Indeed, that award went to Pullberry''s manager, who was trapped between the two. Muscles tightened beneath the man''s animal-print scrubs. Sarah waited for him to throw the first punch, only to realize they hadn''t reached an inflection point, yet. "And who''s fault is that?" Pullberry asked her, pulling the blonde''s attention away from the fight. "It certainly isn''t mine. I didn''t do shit to disrupt the status quo. You think I want any part of this clusterfuck?" "Don''t you?" Sarah argued with incisive bitterness. "After all, it''s not like they''re people. Who cares if a couple of them wind up in the ground? Isn''t that what you said?" Pullberry grimaced. "Don''t put words in my mouth." "They''re your fucking words!" Sarah vehemence cut through the simmering tension half an aisle over. The surrounding crowd, already primed to watch someone get their face punched in, spread further out until their retreat was blocked by the flow of traffic. "Is there a problem over there?" Pullberry''s manager called out. A quick glance at his name tag revealed that this was ''Stephen Miller,'' assistant manager for the Whole Foods'' second shift. Normally, that''d be enough to raise Sarah''s hackles; however, the fact that he took the time to check on his aggrieved subordinate eased some of her reflexive irritation. He seemed like a good boss. It was a shame his inattention was rewarded with a shot across the brow. Sarah watched the UPS driver work himself up to it. He wasn''t the type to just cold cock a man at the drop of a hat; he needed to resign himself to the violence - to survey his audience and make sure his actions fit the scene. She could almost visualize him matching his environs against what he''d seen on tv. ''I hit him now,'' he concluded after working through the checklist in his head. ''Quick, while no one''s looking.'' Of course, just because you know what to do, that doesn''t mean you''re actually any good at it. When the clumsy bastard threw his fist forward, he tripped over a cart and accidentally clipped Miller by mistake. Pullberry''s manager went down in a slump. The man he''d meant to connect with responded by lunging for his waist. They both fell to the floor. As they fought each other for leverage beneath Kim Kardashian''s tits, one of them kicked the magazine rack, causing her image to gyrate wildly. "...You did that on purpose," Pullberry spat, her eyes narrowed in a suspicious squint. "Why? Do you think this underlines your point, or did you just feel like being a bitch?" Sarah bit her tongue. "I''m not omniscient, Pullberry. There''s a difference between observation and causation. Or are you trying to tell me that you cause a fire every time you see smoke?" "Oh, so this is a coincidence. You merely happened to show up at the same time Doctor Dolittle decided to punch his neighbor in the dick. Good to know." She pointed at Sarah''s groceries. "Your shit''s all paid for. Take it and have a nice day." The tussle devolved into muffled grunts as the two jabbed each other in the side. One of the witnesses was screaming for them to cut it out, but Sarah thought her tears were doing more to spur the situation along than to halt it. Neither of the combatants were putting their heart into the fray; if everyone just shut up, the two would probably walk away once they''d gotten it out of their systems. Sarah filled her carriage and braced the damaged bag against her chest. After she wrapped her arms around the reinforced sack, she set her weight against the basket and pushed its sticky wheels towards the exit. For a moment, the scuffle barred her way. Then, their crude strikes grew feeble, and she was able to steer around the grapple. ''This should hurt more,'' Sarah noted as the doors slid closed with a click. If there was any justice in the world, the belligerents'' misshapen expressions would have gnawed at her like a pod of freshly hatched kin. Instead, all that bothered her about the fight was their form. A thousand stolen memories whispered that their wrists were cock-eyed and their shoulders set too far forward. This wasn''t how you were supposed to practice any martial art worth the name. Her fingers clenched. Sarah wished she could''ve said they''d done so in accordance with her will. It was too hard to tell, though. There were just too many competing influences to make a definitive judgement. "It''s only an echo," she muttered tiredly, feeling like the loon with the sign. "Simply the shadows of the past." The sharp pressure of her nails continued to call that statement into question as she trudged back to her car. Cuckoo 12 The next morning, Sarah awoke to the sound of her cell phone vibrating. It was a text; one from Simon of all people. ''Got a problem,'' the message read. ''Call me when you can.'' Sarah clicked her tongue. She was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but she couldn''t justify ignoring him. Instead, she blearily scrolled through her contacts until she found the entry labeled ''Fairwellow.'' The line only had to ring twice. "That was fast," Simon greeted her, his mouth half-full of food. "I figured you''d ghost me until I was forced to blow up your inbox." Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose and glanced at the clock on her dresser. The tiny, plastic brick insisted it was ''6:03 a.m.'' It felt a lot closer to two. "I''m operating on about four hours of sleep, so let''s make this quick. What the hell do you want?" Simon took another bite of what sounded like an apple. "You at your best. Go throw some water on your face. Put the coffee pot on. I''ll wait." There was a faint clunk as Simon set his phone down on his countertop. Sarah bit back a curse. The gesture rapidly transformed into a jaw-breaking yawn. "I''m staying with my grandmother, Simon. I''m not going to have this conversation where I might be overheard. Now, are you spilling the beans, or am I hanging up?" A wave of irritation radiated from her neck down to her stomach. From there it quickly spread between her four cores, inciting their power to flare. Sarah tamped down on the unconscious reaction before it could get out of hand. Once she was certain she had everything under control, she returned her attention to the phone. Simon hadn''t noticed the lapse. "You sure?" he asked her, a bit of sobriety peeking past his glib facade. "This isn''t going to be a fun conversation." When Sarah didn''t offer a reply, he took the implication in stride. "Alright, don''t say I didn''t warn you. Do you remember Carl Wellton - that dumbass who was spying on me a couple of months back? He''s put in another appearance. To make matters worse, he''s brought a few friends along with him, and I can see them setting up in a cafe across the street." Sarah stared at her ceiling fan while the wooden panels blurred in and out of focus. "Are they armed?" "Who isn''t these days? They''re not packing long guns, though, if that''s what you mean." Simon kept eating his breakfast as he contemplated the dead air. "Listen, I''ve only been watching them for an hour, so I don''t have an exact headcount, but I''ve spotted at least six of these morons, and they''re not a threat I can ignore." Sarah puffed her cheeks out and then let them slowly deflate. The escaping air sounded less like a sigh than a hiss. "What exactly are you asking me to do here? Be specific." "I''m asking you for that thing we don''t discuss over the phone because we''ve both seen The fucking Wire." Sarah scoffed. With tradecraft like that, Simon might as well order a hitman off craigslist. "Stop screwing around. We both know the feds don''t have the manpower to tap your damn phone line. They''re all too busy watching the Grand Wizard attempt to live up to his namesake." "Yeah, well, I bet it became a lot easier to admit that after your apartment got shot up. Since mine isn''t full of holes, how about you cut me some slack?" A grimace pulled at Sarah''s lips until she could feel the pressure it was putting on her teeth. She rolled over and set the phone down atop the blanket covering her nightstand. "Goodnight, Simon." "Hold up," he sputtered, his voice faint and tinny. "I''m sorry, alright? That was uncalled for. Would it make you feel better if I apologized in person?" Sarah brought the device back to her ear. "No, I want you - and your creepy friends - to stay the hell away from my grandma." "Then, throw me a bone because we both know these freaks will clock you if they dig through my personal effects." Simon let the fear of discovery dangle, certain it''d invite a bite. "But hey," he pressed when she didn''t immediately respond. "Maybe you''ve got better things to do with your time. What do I know? It''s only half a dozen dudes. I can just John Wick my way through it." "You couldn''t John Wick your way out of a phone booth. At least, Neo had Tank to help him learn kung fu: you fight like a punch-drunk Ted." "Fuck off, I''m at Constantine''s level and you know it." Sarah''s forehead wrinkled in thought. ''Didn''t he spend most of that movie getting his ass kicked?'' Whatever. The point was, Simon had a better chance of getting gunned down on the sidewalk than he did of plucking a bullet out of the air. In that sense, asking for help wasn''t really beyond the pale. It was just... "I hate doing this, Simon. Why can''t you call Dillinger or one of the brats? I''m sure they''d love to waste these jackoffs." The warspawn sucked on his teeth. His mounting frustration leaked from the speaker like a particularly ill-tended kettle. "Because I''m not friends with our maladjusted cousins, Sarah: I''m friends with you. When I found a half-dead teenager in my backyard, after Phillip made his play in Hartford, did I tell you to drag your broken legs to the ER and to keep my name out of it? No, I hid you in that stupid Fisher-Price playhouse, my parents bought me, and then stole their first aid kit, so I could try to patch you up. And you know what? It was the right thing to do. The two of us? We''re in this together. Fuck the rest of those assholes and their sociopathic, cut-throat bullshit: you know we can''t go it alone." Sarah could hear Simon struggling not to shout into the receiver. Her ears appreciated his restraint. Her guilt complex did too. Sincerity had never landed right, whenever it''d come from one of her peers. Even when she knew they were being genuine, she''d always second-guessed their motivations. Take their current argument, for example. Was Simon reminding her of their shared history because he wanted to tug on her heartstrings, or was his temper legitimately frayed? Either? Both? She could see him falling prey to the latter, for all that he''d prefer to play it cool. A sick shiver writhed along the base of her throat. Sarah''s ability to empathize with his dilemma should have been a relief, yet the sympathy stuck in her craw. The ties felt too self-defeating; she was reminded of the old witticism that ''you are the people you hang out with.'' She closed her eyes. What did their association say about her if Simon was her closest friend? "...Just this once," Sarah insisted softly. "Should someone else come knocking, you can call fucking Kennedy." "Once is all I''m asking for," Simon agreed. Right. Sarah would believe that lie the second the older parasite rang her up to complain. "I''ll be there in twenty minutes," she grumbled waspishly before groping around beneath her bed. "In the meantime, send me a picture of the idiots in question. Maybe, if I can recognize them, I won''t join them in an elevator by mistake." /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ The photo came through while Sarah was pulling up to the curb. Shot from the balcony of Simon''s sixth-floor apartment, the artist had done what he could to keep his subjects in frame; however, it was still difficult to make out their faces through the blurry pixelation. At least, the colors were all pretty clear. If nothing else, Sarah could differentiate the lunatics by the clothes they were wearing until she got a chance to clarify their features. She leaned back in her seat. It''d be awkward to pluck her cellphone out of the cup holder, every time she needed to reference the photo, so Sarah dug through her glove compartment until she found a mount she could stick to her windshield. The device slid into place with a click. Across the road, Sarah could almost discern the men in question as they gathered around a battered laptop. It was hard to say whether they were using the machine as a prop or if they were legitimately intrigued by its contents. Personally, Sarah would have bet on the computer being part of the group''s collective cover. You could play a lot of disturbing conversations off if you masked them within the context of a game. Grab a few controllers, and questions like how to move your team from ''rally point A'' to ''rally point B'' became far less upsetting to overhear. Her phone beeped. Sarah pulled the message up on her dashboard, so she wouldn''t have to fiddle with the touch screen. ''That you by the fire hydrant?'' Simon asked her. Sarah sent back a terse affirmative and received a string of emojis in reply. Half of the graphics couldn''t be parsed by the tablet, causing them to be rendered into nonsensical code. ''Oh well,'' Sarah thought. The text probably wasn''t important. Not compared to Meal Team Six over there. Simon was right, they were definitely scoping him out. It looked like... two obese bikers with digital cameras and another outdoorsy-type with a directional mike. No. Wait. There was a fourth scanner of some sort being wielded by a customer a few seats over. As with the other three, it had been soldered into a plastic case to make it look like a normal peripheral. It even had a bunch of bumper stickers slapped across the side to help draw your attention away from the lens. What a pain in the ass. Most groups weren''t this weird combination of sophisticated and starkly inept. Either you never saw them coming, and they disappeared into the ether, or they kicked your front door off its hinges and proceeded to shove a gun in your face. There wasn''t any of this sloppy prevarication involved. What the fuck were they even up to? Did they think they had the wrong building? Sarah''s radiator released a muffled cough as it fought off the Autumn chill. There was a part of her that wanted to reach through the window and drag the answers into the light; however, it was smarter to operate from a distance. Even though she knew it wouldn''t stand up to a serious assault, Sarah felt safer behind the wheel of her car. It was like being in the pope-mobile: she was both part of the world and protected from it. A few of her peers disagreed with her assessment. When pressed on the matter, Amanda admitted to skipping Driver''s Ed. because it felt akin to riding around in a matryoshka doll. Especially, when the radio was turned on. There were simply too many parallels to the relay she''d gotten implanted in the tip of her tail. Most warspawn grew out of that opinion. Sarah was the only infiltrator she''d ever heard of who''d never possessed it in the first place. There was just something distinctly humanizing about the ubiquitous vehicles. Every time she got into one, she felt a little less fake. It was a sensation that had become far too fleeting after a dozen organizations had started prying into their affairs. This recent group was particularly ill-timed. It caused their presence hit twice as hard before the stakeout''s drudgery abraded her anxiety. Sarah drummed her fingertips against the top of her knee. Normally, she''d be recording her observations for future reference, but there wasn''t much reason to do so when her cover had already been blown. This was just risk mitigation. She didn''t want any of these chucklefucks to trace her back to Amelia. An hour passed. During the wait, Sarah managed to get a better impression of the group as a whole. In short, they seemed to be members of a local militia. Which one, Sarah couldn''t say, but you could always identify the warning signs because they''d act like their dick was in the Pentagon while their mouth was wrapped around a cheeseburger. Anyone who''d actually served in the military was much more cognizant of their conditioning. They might not be able to maintain the same level of physical fitness, once they''d left the service, but they knew where it was supposed to be. These guys had never hit those benchmarks to begin with. It''d honestly reached the point where even the way they walked was sort of fucked. Sarah almost felt like she was watching a bit. ''So, how''d they get the gear?'' the parasite mused to herself because none of their equipment was standard. Did they make it? Did they buy the basics from Amazon and then upgrade the internals using aftermarket components? Sarah got halfway through texting Simon a suggestion, about how they should follow up on the group''s purchase history, before she realized she wasn''t invested enough to send it to him. The blinking, black cursor burned into her retinas. She might have kept staring at it until the screen turned off if the sharp shock of several police sirens hadn''t jolted her out her daze. "Fuck," Sarah cursed as she scanned the crowded street. She couldn''t see their lights. Had another elemental self-incarnated? Was there spillover from a nearby seed? Her tendrils reached for the local mana field and rifled through its currents. Unlike her grandmother''s bungalow, Simon appeared to be on the vertex between three distinct blooms. A single one would have left him covered in the wispy remnants of a much larger threat; altogether, they suppressed each other''s alignment and left the space feeling mystically dead. "So much for the elemental theory. No way a construct would haunt such a barren shit hole." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. In fact, this was exactly the sort of place that would''ve become a ghetto on a more developed world. Enough time could lead to gentrification as the seeds grew in strength; however, few neighborhoods would get a chance to benefit from the gradually expanding field. Instead, the mana would become monopolized by local luminaries while the backscatter was artificially contained. It''d be a real problem for anyone hoping to emigrate to brighter pastures. Less so for warspawn like themselves. Sarah wondered if Simon had been looking forward to the cleaner air, or if he expected to be dead before he got a chance to enjoy it. She shook the maudlin thought off. Sarah stuck her head out the window and sent the infiltrator a quick text. ''I''ve got noise down here coming up the road. Can you see what''s spooked the cops?'' Simon wasn''t as fast with his reply. ''No, they''re still traveling along the parkway. You think someone''s stolen a car?'' Maybe. There had been a huge uptick in the city''s police blotter following the Light''s arrival. A lot of drug indictments too, so it wasn''t impossible the police had left to raid a poorly concealed stash house. ''Should I clear out on the off-chance things get loud?'' Sarah tapped her foot against the brake. No, better to stick it out. Trying to flee the scene would just make her a person of interest. The last thing she needed was for the DEA to get involved in the train crash that was her life. It was hard to hold onto her convictions, though, as the sirens drew steadily closer. When they were visibly just up the road, Sarah began to scan the apartments for any sign of a reaction. ''What the fuck, Simon? Did you move in next to a meth lab? How do you even miss this sort of thing?'' She didn''t receive an answer. Once four police cruisers arrived to seal off the road, both parasites were panicking too hard to remember they could use their phone. Simon informed her after switching to their internal channel. Sarah told him as she reached behind the seat for her shotgun. Meanwhile, the cops were piling out of their convoy with their own heavy ordinance in tow. The milestone must have spooked them something fierce because half of the officers were wielding grenade launchers and had incendiaries clipped to their chests. In fact, two of them weren''t satisfied with such a ''meager'' loadout and were securing what looked to be a mortar in the parking lot of a nearby Denny''s. Sarah heard a dull thump as they nailed the weapon to the asphalt with a gas gun. It felt like they were stationing themselves awfully close to be aiming the tube anywhere nearby. Had they brought it along to repel reinforcements from outside of the neighborhood? It''d certainly keep her away if she heard there was artillery in the area. Her passenger door slid open. Simon slipped into the front seat. he broadcast while nervously reaching for the buckle. The words bounced around in her ear until they proved difficult to focus upon. Her companion was even worse. If she hadn''t been able to taste the mana literally wafting from his skin, she might have mistaken him for a stranger. Sure enough, the SWAT team''s proximity to Simon''s apartment appeared fairly incidental. Rather than stack up outside his building, in order to breach the lobby, they were racing across the busy street so they could assault the cafe housing the listening post. The reconnaissance team did not take this very well. Four of them bolted towards the kitchen while Wellton reached into the backpack, he''d set beside the foot of the table. When his hand came back into view, he was holding a cut-down MAG-7. The magazine-fed shotgun gleamed beneath the bright florescent lights. Wellton got precisely two shots off before the officers decided to waste him. A flash of mana appeared around his chest as some sort of shield activated. It wasn''t enough to do more than turn aside the first couple of rounds before they punched through the glowing barrier. Since the cops put about forty into him, he was dead before he hit the ground. "Dammmnnn," Simon drawled, his arms laced above his head. "There goes Carl. You think they caught any bystanders in that barrage?" Sarah had ducked behind the engine block after the initial retort and wasn''t inclined to check. "I''m not sure. Honestly, I''m more worried about losing a tire, given Wellton''s fucked up aim. Pop your door and see if we have a flat; I''ll do the same on this side." There was a faint clunk as Simon pulled the handle towards his chest. Meanwhile, a careful glance at the wheelhouse on the left revealed there was little to be concerned about. Sarah did see a number of boots moving between the asphalt and the plastic, but they were headed towards the restaurant, so she ignored the shoes and their owners. "They''re actually trying to resuscitate the big dumb bastard. He''s missing most of his head, you idiot: what the fuck do you think you''re going to do?" Simon braced his fingers against the black top while he peeked beneath the door. "Yeah, that''s right, he is in more pieces than you can reasonably stitch together. Maybe you should go ensure you didn''t perforate a couple of preschoolers." Sarah shot the parasite a disparaging frown for his color commentary. Sarah''s heart was beginning to climb down from her throat, so she decided to refocus on why she''d shown up in the first place. the artist groaned. A long wail interrupted their argument as an ambulance pushed through the frozen traffic. Bright white, and covered in orange stripes, the words ''Boston EMS'' were stenciled beside a gash, where something had clawed at the metal. Sarah eyed the scar and compared it to the medics disembarking from the cramped compartment. The damage looked like it might have been a foot long for all that it had failed to penetrate. Sarah asked him distractedly. Simon closed the passenger-side door and sat up in his seat. <...Provided the cops don''t detain him,> Sarah rotely reminded Simon. There was a brief pause. Sarah rapped her thumb against the edge of the steering wheel. <...Do you think we can blow his cover?> They studied the battered storefront and the broken glass lining the sidewalk. Simon conceded. It''d certainly be hard to get an answer if they decided to lead with the mortar. "Kennedy was right," Sarah groused, "this is fucking stupid." Simon shot her a quizzical look, so she motioned towards the crowd outside. "Think about it. Here we are, the vanguard of an alien invasion, and we''re hiding in a Subaru from what''s essentially a long-range pipe bomb. This isn''t exactly War of the Worlds; the only way we''d be able to take this city is by drowning it in our fucking blood." Simon quirked an eyebrow. He choked back a shiver of a chuckle. "So, what? You want to give up and let this guy walk? Take our chances that he doesn''t climb up on top of a perch somewhere and start plinking people like his name''s Steve Paddock?" "Yes," Sarah bit out, only to suddenly shake her head. "No. I don''t know. I''m just bitching. Do you really think you can grab him without making a scene?" Simon scratched his chin. A dozen hairs had grown in over the past few days, granting him a patchy goatee. "Probably. Why?" "Because I think they''re letting him go. One of the witnesses just got escorted out, and he''s in the same vague line." Simon glanced back at the cafe and saw a grey-haired officer arguing with their gangly target. The disagreement seemed to revolve around his laptop and the equipment he''d brought along with him. The cop was motioning for him to hand everything over, and their observer was visibly refusing. Finally, once it became clear that he was digging himself a hole that would land him next to his buddies, he relinquished the gear with a shout. It sounded like he called the cop ''a cuck'' before he headed for the door. Sarah pulled her car out of park. "Wait two blocks," she ordered her companion as she navigated around the pedestrians who''d stopped to gawk at the show. "I''ll also accept one and a half if he turns off the main boulevard." "Yeah, yeah," Simon whined. "Calm down. I promise not to get any blood on your nice clean upholstery." "You''d better not," Sarah warned him. "If you do, I''m telling the detectives that you were the one who put it there." The road ahead was blocked, so they took their time rolling up to the barricade in front of the traffic light. For a moment, Sarah was worried the plain-clothes lieutenant in charge would order them to shelter in place. Then, he waved them forward and motioned for his partner to remove the gate, they''d painstakingly dragged across the tarmac. The yellow bulwark resisted his begrudging efforts. Eventually, it let loose a hair-raising squeak before the wheels ground through the rust. Sarah didn''t try to hurry the man along. The more space they could put between the cafe and their target, the easier it would be to tail Simon''s fleeing stalker. Sarah asked to help take her mind off the stress. Simon jiggled his foot as the cop cursed the rusty apparatus. A black-gloved hand waved them forward while Sarah kept her eyes on their target. He was currently about ninety meters ahead and thumbing through an app on his phone. Very few of the pedestrians standing between them and the spy were willing to turn away from the crime scene. Sarah kept an eye on the minority who made an effort. It took Simon a minute to spot the man in question. Simon rolled his window down and plugged his right nostril. He chuffed into the wind. The creepy bastard stared at them until a semi-truck pulled into the convenience store. Between the obstructive container and the growing distance, it soon became impossible to make out his suspicious gaze. Unfortunately, Sarah discovered that they had merely exchanged one gimlet eye for another because their target was acting a little harried and kept glancing over his shoulder. It likely didn''t help that they were now traveling well below the speed limit in order to keep him in sight. "Here we go, I guess," Simon murmured as his core began to leak. "How about we try to keep it below five stars?" Then, without waiting for the spell to fully activate, he slipped out of his seat and hit the ground running. No one noticed him dart ahead of the car. Even Sarah, who''d been given forewarning of the crime, found it hard to pay attention. Hell, the only reason she could remember what she''d been doing was the open door and the mana burning her tendrils. "Fuck this guy''s heavy," someone complained before they banged on her trunk. "Pop it, already, I think the effect''s starting to slip." Sarah hit the button on the side of her dash and then heard a dull thump as something heavy was set down. By the time a dark-skinned young man had climbed back into the cab, she could almost recall they were friends. "Drive - drive - drive," Simon cajoled her as the spell faded with a pop. "I don''t know how long we have to get clear." Sarah pressed her foot down on the gas while her memory regained a sense of clarity. "Have I ever told you, I hate this fucking shit." "It worked, didn''t it? Besides, if he didn''t want to get hurt, then he shouldn''t have been roleplaying as Jason fucking Bourne. It''s not like I asked him to spy on my apartment. He made that mistake all on his own." Sarah had been talking about the spell, but the kidnapping bothered her too. When Townsend had invaded her home, she hadn''t been able to feel anything except for fear, anger and adrenaline. Her assault on the ice rink may have struck one of those emotions from the list; however, this encounter was a little different. Her target''s species set him apart. "When was the last time you killed a human?" Sarah asked the warspawn sitting next to her. "Were you ever involved in that shitshow with Amanda and her landlord?" "No, I was out of town looking at colleges that week. My previous dust up must have been in ''07'' or thereabouts. It''s not a complicated story. I needed some cash, so I robbed a drug dealer, who was selling meth on the corner of my block. When killing him started to seem easier than pulling some Oliver Twist-type shit, I scaled a nearby fire escape and dropped a brick on his head. The damn thing ended up cleaving his skull straight to the jawline. Must have stained half the bills I stole from him too." He didn''t sound too broken up by the fact. "How''s it feel to break your streak?" Sarah asked him. "Well, our mutual friend isn''t dead, so..." Simon rolled his shoulders in a shrug. Sarah''s neck snapped around in surprise. "You didn''t kill him?" He met her astonished gaze with a mildly bemused one. "Was I supposed to? I thought we were going to shoot him together." Sarah replayed their discussion in her head. "I assumed you were joking, Simon! I only wanted you to grab him, so we could hide the fucking body!" "Yeah, well, now we can assuage our curiosity before we toss him into a ditch. Don''t you want to know what these assholes have been up to?" Not really. Provided his friends spent the next few months in lock up, she was prepared to leave them to rot. It''s not like they''d be much of a problem once someone let them out again. Hell, they''d be lucky to leave the city without getting strapped to the grill of a car. "Whatever," Sarah muttered petulantly. "Let''s just find somewhere to do the deed. I want to stop thinking about this bullshit as soon as physically possible." Cuckoo 13 Simon directed Sarah onto an unpaved road, which wrapped around the concrete wall of an empty parking garage. Across the street, a pair of mustard yellow backhoes lay idle in the adjacent lot, where ''Dave''s Development Service'' was advertising a new medical center that was scheduled to go up in June. The chain link fence surrounding the construction site had a billboard with a picture of what the building was supposed to look like when the job was finished. Sarah thought the odds of the complex actually getting built were low enough to justify ditching a body amidst the rubble. "How''d you find this place?" she asked Simon as he fiddled with the heater. "Did you hunt it down after the Light arrived, or has it been burning a hole in your back pocket this entire time?" Her companion glanced out the window at a flock of pigeons roosting atop the unlit toll booth. He rubbed his forehead and then ran his fingers through his curly hair when the pressure failed to relieve his headache. "It was in the news last week after an elemental was born at the bottom of a utility trench. This was before the milestone was achieved, so the rampage received a lot of coverage from the local stations. Once the city started talking about condemning the area, I knew it''d be a good idea to keep an eye on the property in case we needed to hide a couple of skeletons. I figure we should have a week or two before anyone trips over his body by mistake." Sarah eyed the battered edifice, put-off by the city''s assessment. "If this rat trap collapses on top of my head, I''m crawling through the dust to eat you out of your host." Simon rolled his eyes and pointed at a sand-strewn cul-de-sac. "Noted. Now, park here. I''ll get out and raise the gate." The wooden bar in question was nominally controlled by an electronic switchboard within the tiny shack. Since the fuse box was disconnected from the city''s power grid, Simon had to duck inside and manipulate the crank by hand. The gate rose in a series of jerky bursts. Sarah could hear her accomplice cursing the machine''s inventor every time it took another rotation. In truth, she thought he was lucky that the parking attendant had been too busy to lock the door. If they''d been forced to kick it open, they could have been stuck here for an hour. "Alright, it''s wedged into place," Simon announced as he shook a cramp from his wrist. "Let''s get this done before the Transportation Department gives me carpal tunnel." Sarah rolled her eyes and carefully swung the car around. When she passed beneath the hanging lip of the second level, she swore she could feel the floor shift, despite knowing it was all in her head. A bit of gravel rolled beneath her tires. Sarah listened to it pop against her mudflap, instead of rebounding off the undercarriage. Once her heart stopped trying to crack a rib, she pointed at a slab of concrete that was still mostly in one piece. "How about we block off the corner over there and press him up against the wall. If anyone passes by, we should be invisible from the road." "Sounds good," Simon agreed while he followed her on foot. "Any particular way you want to do this?" Sarah shook her head. "It''s your show. I was the one who wanted to shoot him and be done with it." "Fair enough." The Subaru rolled into a section of the garage reserved for Dave''s employees. Then, like a crackhead constructing a Jenga tower, Sarah inched the vehicle forward until its bumper was adjacent to a support column. Once she was satisfied that they''d be able to leave in a hurry, she opened the driver''s-side door and stepped into the cell formed by the frame and the stone. Simon was waiting by the trunk. "You think our guest''s up, yet?" he asked her idly. "Bastard had better be, or he''s not getting up at all." Sarah flicked her key fob and took a prudent step back so Simon could pull their prisoner free. He came up swinging. The man wasn''t quick, and he certainly wasn''t coordinated; however, he did make things a lot more awkward than Sarah was inclined to put up with. Simon just took it stride. "Hey there buddy," he greeted the spook before slamming the trunk against his skull. "Nothing personal, but how about you stop fucking around for a moment and answer a couple of questions?" He lifted the compartment back up and threw his stalker onto the ground. This earned him a third blow to the head while Simon grabbed his ankle and dragged him towards the wall. Halfway there, their victim found his feet. He tried to make a run for it, only for Simon to trip him before he got too far. "Now, now - none of that. We both know how this works. Let''s start with something simple: do you have a name, or do I need to keep calling you ''Joe Dirt'' in my head?" Dirt wasn''t looking too good and spat a mouthful of blood onto the oil-stained floor. "Fuck you." "Alright, Joe it is. Listen, Joe: there''s two ways this can go. Either (a) you talk to me, so we can both get on with our day, or (b) you keep acting like a jackoff, in which case, I''ll break your teeth off in that pillar over there. Might even buy myself a burger afterwards because I can guarantee that stomping your head in won''t make me lose my appetite." Simon studied the skinny spy and made a show of staring at his chest. In between the folds of his shirt, there was a subtle bulge where a holstered weapon might have once been concealed. Dirt shifted his arm and rubbed his shoulder against the flattened leather. Simon reached into his back pocket and pulled out a corroded balisong. "Looking for this? I gotta tell you, it''s not going to help." "Simon," Sarah called out, her warning strained by his smug demeanor. "Don''t you fucking dare." He flapped his wrist. "Relax. This will go quicker once he knows he''s outclassed. Here, give it your best shot, Joe." The parasite threw the knife onto the ground, where it scraped against the concrete in a long, tuneless screech. When Dirt seemed hesitant to pick it up, Simon goaded him forward with a sigh. "Come on. I''m a remorseless killer. A mind-controlling, body-jacking evil piece of shit. I took my first life before I ever left the cradle. Are you really going to sit there with your thumb up your ass?" The man inched closer and cautiously retrieved the blade. "That''s right," Simon cajoled him. "There you go. Now, do you remember how to use it?" Dirt fiddled with the latch pin until it wasn''t stuck between the handles. As desperate as he might have been, he didn''t hold it like he was relieved to be armed. He still knew which part went into the other guy. Dirt lunged forward with a punch-drunk gait. When the knife was maybe a foot from Simon''s chest, the warspawn pushed his wrist aside and slammed his palm into Dirt''s face. A bit of clever footwork ensured Simon''s opponent went toppling backward. "You see," he crowed indulgently. "Constantine, at least." Sarah closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. "Please tell me, you''re not still hung up on that." Simon cracked his neck. "It might have played a factor in my decision." A weak groan echoed through the garage as Simon pried the knife free. "More importantly, it let our friend know where he stands. There''s no getting out of this. He''s out of luck, and his compatriots are currently getting intimate with the cops. There''s only two ways this goes. What''s it going to be, Sunshine?" "...T-tim," Dirt choked out, the air forced from his lungs by the fall. "M-my name is Tim." Simon offered him a smile. "See, Tim. Wasn''t that a lot easier?" A gnarled digit stuck up out of Dirt''s fist. "Go wriggle around on a corpse." The parasite squatted on his heels. "Insults are fine. Screaming; crying; carrying on? All of those are fine too. I''m not going to hold it against you. Like I said, we both know how this goes. None of it''s new. You think your friends are the first plucky assholes to pick us out of a crowd? The Russians beat you to the punch by over forty years. This is all just... deja vu," Simon explained, his grin falling painfully flat. "We ape the legacy of our predecessors. With different faces," he murmured softly while dragging Dirt towards the corner. "With different names. Yet, somehow, it''s the same fucking story." The man''s spine hit the wall. "Why don''t you tell me yours?" "Sure," Dirt replied, the words coming in a bit of a rush. "It was all Carl''s idea. I met him online. It seems trite, saying it now. Like, ''Really? Shouldn''t you have known better?'' It was during Covid, though, and I''d been out of work for months. It was easy to give him the benefit of the doubt when everything was so surreal." "...And I''d heard it all before," Dirt admitted with a wet laugh. "Not like he was dishing it, but the theme wasn''t exactly new. After a while, you can just sidestep the bullshit. I didn''t want to pretend we weren''t talking about the Jews." Simon nodded knowingly. "Except, it wasn''t the Jews, was it?" "Naahh, and it threw me for a loop, I''ll tell you that much. It was even funny for a week or two. Then, once I got to know him better, it was mostly just disturbing. I don''t think I got legitimately scared until he started showing me pictures - videos really - of things being extracted from a corpse." Sarah knew which footage they were talking about. The All-domain Anomaly Resolution Office had inherited some ugly files from their previous incarnation. Most of it was buried beneath FLIR recordings of weird clouds, but there had been a couple of leaks over the years that had gotten misfiled in the jurisdictional scramble. No one was terribly concerned. The lunatic fringe thought it was a psy-op; the public saw it as a prank, and the warspawn knew the government would keep their secrets better than the Offal Sea ever had. They certainly couldn''t do much worse.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. "You didn''t think we were just parasites?" Simon asked him. "Some weird infection nature had coughed up?" Dirt shook his head, then he paused. "...Well, maybe a little. The more people I talked to, though, the harder it became to convince myself. There were too many whistleblowers all saying the same thing. I felt like I could draw a line in the sand between those who were using it as a metaphor and the ones who were dead serious." "We actually caught a lot of flack for it," Dirt professed with a chuckle. "All of the other skeptics expected us to take them at their word because they refused to push back on our claims. The fact that we kept asking for ''proof'' got us into more than our fair share of fights." "And that''s what you were doing today?" Simon asked him. "Looking for more proof?" "Yeah," Dirt sighed as he rested his weight against the wall. "People will say all sorts of shit if you let them. When Arnold began talking about how you might have been replaced, the accusation wasn''t enough. We had to make sure it wasn''t just because you were black." Simon laughed. "How progressive of you. I''m touched. Truly." He bounced the handle of the balisong against the center of his sternum. After a couple of beats, he pointed it at the man on the floor. "Was Arnold one of your friends who fled?" "Nah, he passed away, about a week back. Overdose of all things." So, what? Their stakeout was some sort of tribute? The follow up to his fucking wake? Sarah swallowed a snarl and spun up her internal relay. Simon kept any exasperation he might be experiencing from his face. "Was his drug problem why the police busted in? Should we chalk their raid up to the DEA not getting the memo?" The pain slipping into Dirt''s expression took on a puzzled cast. "I... don''t know? Maybe? It could have been unrelated." "Sure, I bet all of the murders you''ve been committing were reason enough to get involved." Sarah could almost taste the sarcasm being directed at her in his reply. Dirt mistook it as being aimed at himself. "Fuck off," he snapped. "This is war. They don''t haul you in front of the Hague for shooting a couple of soldiers. If you didn''t have the feds by the balls..." He trailed off. Simon pushed him to finish the thought. "What? They''d throw you a parade? Maybe hand out a couple of medals?" "Maybe!" Dirt spluttered. "Or maybe they''d just grow a pair and remember what this country stands for! It''s ridiculous! We''re being replaced by pod people, and the only thing our leaders care about is getting re-elected!" "Mmm," Simon agreed with a hum. "Humans are selfish. Everyone''s just in it for themselves. Me? I''m used to the greed. I wouldn''t trust my friends to move my couch unless we''d agreed upon a price first." Dirt opened his mouth but was reluctant to offer a rebuttal. Simon noticed the lull. "Not you, though, huh? Six guys? That''s enough people to start an intramural basketball team. You ever have that many friends, Fields?" Sarah scowled at the jab. "The expression on her face means ''no,''" Simon whispered as he cupped the side of his mouth. "How about it? Feel up to giving me a name?" "Sure," Dirt offered petulantly. "How''s Seymore Dicks, sound?" "Like you stole it from the Simpsons. But don''t get me wrong, I''m not talking about your poker buddies. I want to know what your organization is called. I want to know what you put on the membership cards after you''re done passing out the white hoods." Dirt remained silent, his face more blank than if he''d been paralyzed by Sarah''s coils. Simon wasn''t discouraged by his stoicism. "Come on," he badgered their captive chidingly. "Live a little. I''m sure you''ve prepared a speech in case you ever got caught. I know I did. ...No?" Simon asked him when a response wasn''t forthcoming. "Alright. I guess I''ll have to get the details from that laptop the cops confiscated. You know we love our fed connections." Needless to say, neither of them had any contacts within the FBI. In fact, the closest they had ever come was the time Kennedy''s son had dressed up as Nick Fury for Halloween. Dirt didn''t know that, though. Dirt was a paranoid narcissist, who''d seen a few too many episodes of The X Files. The idea that there was a secret conspiracy out there, preventing him from saving the world, was a sentiment which fit together in his head. Simon barely even had to lie to get him to believe it. "Tch," Dirt grunted as he jerked his chin towards the road. "Fine. Go ahead. It won''t help you. This particular genie''s not going back inside its bottle." Simon''s response came easily, despite the tension beneath his cashmere turtleneck. "What''s that supposed to mean?" Dirt shrugged. "It''s kind of obvious, isn''t it? If a bunch of terrorists want to get famous, you ignore them; if they kidnap a plane full of hostages, you write their victims off, and if a bunch of body-snatchers try to hide how badly you''ve been infiltrated, you blow that shit wide open. The government can''t silence all of us. The truth will win out. Besides, magic''s real: what are aliens compared to that?" He raised his arm and pointed his palm at Simon. There was a brief build-up of mana as the motes coiled through his bicep. Simon threw the balisong before the scent could fully register. He should have waited; it smelled like cherry pie. "Ugh," Dirt groaned as he stared at the blade sticking out of his chest. "That... that hurts way worse than I thought... it..." The stubborn bastard passed out before he could finish the thought. Blood leaked from between his ribs, but it''d be a minute before he''d lost enough to die. "I think you got played," Sarah noted while the incipient spell circled aimlessly through the air. "So much for giving him the Guantanamo special." Simon held his hand out, his fingers still splayed from the throw. A faint tremor rocked his arm and then raced up his shoulder. "Y-yeah," he stuttered before piecing together his broken bravado. "Yeah, shit. Did I seriously just waste his ass?" He knelt by Dirt''s hip and placed his fingers against the man''s neck. "His pulse is thready. We can still salvage this." "Simon..." Sarah murmured, her frustration seeping into the appeal. He cut her off with a bark. "Shut up - we can. What are you packing, right now?" "You mean in terms of spellcraft?" Sarah pulled up a window to grab a quick summary from the Light. "It looks like about twenty units of ''Wind'' mana and twenty-two of ''Earth''. There''s twice that in my ''Flower'' core and eleven in ''Time.''" Simon wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife. He was struggling to keep it in place while still putting pressure on the wound. When Sarah mentioned her fourth element, his head snapped around so fast she thought she could hear his neck crack. "Is it enough to keep him in stasis?" he asked her. "Yeah, for like - twenty seconds. Let it go, Simon. He''s a dead man walking." The parasite buried his face in his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuck," he cursed before jumping up to kick the spy. "Fuck! You weaselly piece of shit! You think you can just check out?! You think you can leave us all to swing?!" He hit him a few more times. It didn''t have much effect. Sarah listened to the dull thumps with equanimous indifference. "We should call Kennedy," she suggested. "He deserves a heads up." "About what?" Simon bit out, his boot digging into Dirt''s stomach. "That something, somewhere might happen soon? Do we look like the DHS?" He snorted in contempt. "Hey, give it to me straight: do you think this warrants an ''orange'' level of terror, or is this more of a ''yellow'' situation?" A flash of anger scorched away her resignation. "How about ''red,'' since you''ve got a little something on your face." Sarah motioned towards her cheek as Simon groped beneath his eye. After pawing around for a second, he brushed away the carmine streak, which had fountained up during his tantrum. "In all seriousness, though," she pressed, "I don''t think it matters what we say so long as it comes from us. Or would you prefer he learn about this when he turns on the evening news?" Simon stared at the body, a low howl building in his throat. "Fine," he bellowed once the clamor broke free. "Call the man if you give that much of a shit!" "Me?" Sarah asked even as she checked the bars on her phone. "Why can''t you do it?" "Because I''m going to be too busy getting that stupid laptop back!" Sarah''s thumb ceased its mindless search. She glanced away from the glowing screen in favor of the fitful flickering of her companion''s dark-green eyes. "Simon... I''ve gotta be the last person to suggest we take this asshole at his word, but we''ve both lived on Earth long enough to understand how the internet works. Retrieving his computer isn''t going to fix our issues if he actually has anything on you." Simon reached out and grabbed Sarah by the front of her jacket. The preoccupied film, which had eclipsed his gaze, cleared for just long enough to drill down into her own. "You think I don''t know that?! You think I can''t see the writing on the wall?! The truth could be held on twelve different servers between here and Dubai: I''d still have to make the attempt!" A torn thread tickled the back of her neck as his breath washed across her face. Rather than become intimidated by his looming presence, Sarah took it as a sign that he trusted her enough to draw close. She reached up and pried his grip from her shirt. "You''re panicking," she told him flatly. "Stop trying to get the last word in and take a deep breath. Running off half-cocked isn''t going to help." "Says the woman who drove across the city to put a bullet in Townsend''s head. Where was that vaunted levelheadedness when it was your life on the line?" "Nowhere," she agreed. "It''s why I''m telling you to chill the fuck out." Sarah felt the urge to poke him and feared he''d interpret the gesture as a threat. "You keep talking about what you think; how about we take a minute to discuss what I know? There''s no way in hell the two of us can ransack the BPD''s evidence locker without getting our names on the news. You saw what they were packing when they cordoned off the cafe. Any attempt that didn''t end with us being turned into chunky salsa would be more than we''d deserve. And really, even if we made it out, what could we possibly learn besides his taste in amateur porn? For fuck''s sake, Simon: at least rob his house first! For all you know, his grand plan was to leave a letter in his mailbox!" Simon spun around and punched the wall. When he pulled his fist back, his knuckles were stained black by the film of mold and exhaust. "You rob his house if it means that much to you! Me? I''m doing this! Now, are you with me or not?" Sarah didn''t have to give the question any thought. "No, I''m not ''with you!'' Don''t you remember what I told you when you called me this morning? You get ''one,'' Simon. One favor - one stupid ass plan. As far as I''m concerned, kidnapping this dumbass was it." She pointed at the pool of blood spreading across the floor then jabbed him in the stomach with her phone. "After that. You. Call. Kennedy. Well?" she hissed when he made no move to take it. "See if he''ll fucking pick up!" "Tch," Simon snarled as he snatched the cell from her hand. "So that''s how it is?" "Yeah," Sarah sneered, doing her best to imitate his tone. "That''s how it is." An electronic chime warbled through the speaker while the warspawn did their best to ignore each other. A few moments later, the call failed, and an automated message instructed them to ''please try again.'' Simon coughed and re-entered the number. "So," he muttered awkwardly. "Are you still willing to give me a lift?" "No," Sarah growled, her throat vibrating around her fins. "Apparently, I''ll be too busy breaking into this jackoff''s house." Simon almost dropped her phone. He only caught it at the last second by snagging the upper-right corner. "Say what?" "You heard me," Sarah grumbled while beckoning with two of her fingers. "Now, throw me Mr. Mulder''s wallet already. I need to know where he lives." Sarah plucked the leather projectile out of the air when it came flying towards her chest. After she flicked the billfold open, she discovered his driver''s license had gotten wet within its laminated sleeve. At least, his address was still visible. ''1826 Parkside View.'' Sarah repeated the phrase a couple of times so she wouldn''t forget. Simon licked his lips "I-" "Shut up," Sarah spat, unwilling to acknowledge his relief. "Just keep calling Kenedy. In the meantime, I''m going to get some air; this pit is beginning to smell like ChapStick and ass." Cuckoo 14 The first thing Sarah did after she left the parking garage was figure out Tim''s last name. It was Pennant, to be clear. Timothy J. Pennant. Born: 05/19/1986; dead: 09/21/2023. He didn''t know how to drive a stick-shift, judging by the restrictions on his license. He''d also been an organ donor since approximately 2019. Somehow, between all of the voyeuristic minutia, it was this last fact which bothered her the most. Killing him was... not fine, per se, but there were enough mitigating factors to justify her role in his murder. Knowing that half a dozen patients would suffer because of where they''d dumped his body? That hit closer to home. It was easier to acknowledge the loss. "I wonder how many of my siblings would have flayed themselves to live your life?" Sarah stared at Pennant''s portrait and flipped the laminated card between her fingertips. Up ahead, past the yellow grass and the tired grandeur of the once great and mighty, there sat a three-story brick building. A pair of hexagonal towers protruded from the worn facade and jutted out across the wild lawn. Between these buttressing spires was a half-dismantled veranda and the doors to the lower apartments. Meanwhile, around back, Sarah could make out a narrow staircase, which led to the two on the second floor. A sign on the wall announced who was renting each of the four units. Pennant had signed the lease for ''apartment C,'' so Sarah waited until the street was clear before she wandered over to peek inside his mailbox. She lifted the iron flap attached to the dented caddy. The receptacle was empty. It was honestly just as well. The area had grown rather rundown since its heyday, and Sarah wouldn''t have been surprised if someone had burgled the bin to make a quick buck. Her hazel eyes speared the forlorn container while the thought played through her head. She... probably hadn''t been beaten to the punch. It''d certainly be a strange twist of fate for events to line up in such a manner. Fitting, though; there''d be a cruel poetry in their conspiracy being unraveled by an act of petty theft. The parasite closed the lid as laughter swelled within her chest. She shook, bent over and then gulped desperately for air. Sarah felt everything save amused. What a joke. She''d question why Pennant had been the one living in this shithole, except the answer was all too clear. It was because he''d had no say in the matter - no choice. Not like Sarah and her kin. After all, why worry about being born with a silver spoon in your mouth when you could just take it out of someone else''s? If you were going to steal a life, it might as well be a good one. Rich; unwary; well-connected. The priorities changed, depending on who you spoke to, but they all had a type. Sarah''s had been minimalistic. She''d never wanted to lie more often than the situation had required. Poverty was a distraction - as was maintaining a personality that had been shaped by an unfamiliar zeitgeist. Thus, a rich, young orphan had truly been the platonic ideal. Especially, since she was already expected to be traumatized; surely, her new guardian could excuse a few, extra foibles? The ghostly sensation of piss-stained sheets clung to her skin as Sarah recalled the first few weeks spent learning to puppet her host. She''d been told what to expect, and trained in the act itself; however, second-hand memories had never been enough to compensate for the subtle incongruities. Those had required more ''bespoke'' fine-tuning until the endless shutters had finally ceased. Her lisp had been the hardest flaw to correct. The elements which had benumbed her tongue had never been physical in nature. Not really. How could they be when she''d spent the first year of her life swimming through the ocean as a starving mute? At least, human children got to cry; Sarah couldn''t even bite her tongue until she''d taken one by force. In that light, was it any wonder why she''d been struck dumb by Amelia''s unthinking largesse? The food had been too inexplicable - too outside of her ability to anticipate. Later, once she''d internalized the idea that this would become her new normal, it''d been easier to maintain her composure. During their first awkward family dinner, though? That had been the moment when she knew she could never go back. It was either this or death: she''d be Sarah Fields or a corpse. A drop of fuel exploded through a passing Ford and pulled Sarah''s mind back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder at the truck''s smoking muffler and then searched the nearby windows to see if any had been thrown open along the desolate road. How long had she been standing in the middle of the street? Was anyone growing suspicious? She couldn''t tell. More to the point, she wasn''t in a position to do anything about their curiosity even if someone had stuck their head through the frame. There was an order to intrusion - a checklist if you will. First, she had to make sure no one was home. Then, depending on whether or not the apartment was empty, she''d need to make sure the entrance wasn''t booby-trapped like Sarah had arranged for Amelia. Pennant was paranoid. Worse, he''d been the type to wake up and choose violence. It wouldn''t have been beyond the pale for him to have hidden more than a camera. Say... a tripwire leading back to a shotgun? Sarah stood next to the threshold and pounded on the peeling wood. A few, quick blows using the bottom of her fist rattled the splintered frame, but no one was summoned by the knock. The door wasn''t perforated, either. That meant she''d have some leeway. ''No time to take advantage of it, though,'' Sarah acknowledged while sweat broke out across her brow. If peering through the windows would be incriminating, then busting through a wall would be worse. It''d be better to just risk the door. Sarah reached into the pocket of her jeans for the small ring of keys she''d stolen from Pennant''s corpse. One of the metallic slats would be for his car; another would''ve been issued by his landlord once he''d signed his lease. Sarah wasn''t sure what the other three unlocked, but she also didn''t need to when she could just jam each of them into the keyhole until she found the set of teeth that fit. It ultimately took three tries. After the cylinder turned, and the handle slid down, Sarah knew it was time to roll the dice. ''Please, don''t blow up. Please, don''t blow up. Please, don''t blow up.'' The chant echoed in her ears as she inched the door forward. A crack appeared in the entryway without her muscles feeling a pinch of resistance. She worked the gap a little wider and then ensured there''d be enough space for her shoulder to slip through the hole. While she lined up her arm, a few rays of afternoon light played over her shaking hand. Sarah hoped they''d illuminate more than her manicure but failed to have much luck. If a wire had been suspended between the door and the frame, it wasn''t reflecting the sun. She ran her fingers along the edge to double check. Praying that the tripline''s absence meant the way was genuinely clear, Sarah slipped through the narrow aperture and then shut the door behind her. "One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi..." She let the count climb into the twenties before concluding there wouldn''t be a response. Not a mechanical one, anyway. Magic-wise... Sarah let her tendrils pick through the musty air. Magic-wise the apartment was fine. There was a seed nearby - some amorphous, social mass - but it wasn''t worth remarking upon. It certainly wasn''t enough to conceal a spell from her questing senses. "I wonder if he went for detection over deterrence. There must be something in place." Sarah got down on her hands and knees. She ran her fingers over the floor to see if anything had been knocked loose from the door. A piece of string, perhaps? Or a sliver of wax, designed to scrape against the boards? When her search proved fruitless, she examined the ceiling, instead. Nothing. Just a few cobwebs and an old chandelier that was sporting a bit of mold around the bracket. "This is going to drive me nuts." It might even throw her more out of sorts than Pennant''s cluttered foyer. He really had just tossed everything by the door, hadn''t he? Knickknacks; old clothes; a replica 1957 Harley Davidson with the front wheel mount missing. The rest of his apartment was clean, minus the visible wear and tear; however, that just meant there was more room for his conspiracy paraphernalia to spread out along the wall. Sarah eyed the nearest corkboard with keen disdain. The porous wood was positively covered in a layer of annotated, black-and-white printouts. Most of them were too far away to be fully legible, whereas a couple stood a touch closer and had enough crooked lines for her to identify them as half of a map. "I bet there''s a method to this madness. A place for everything and everything in its place." The apartment didn''t deign to reply. Sarah refused to begrudge the building its secrets, though. It was already uncomfortable enough to step into her tormentor''s shoes; there was no reason to invite a hallucination while she picked through his scattered junk. And it was junk, Sarah decided as she peered around a discarded Erector Set. There was just too much dust stuck to the refuse to let Pennant ever claim otherwise. It must have been a good three months since he''d last investigated the pile. At this point, any attempt to do so was likely to collapse the whole rotten edifice. ...That or remove the dirty film covering the outer edge. "Yeah, these are decoys," Sarah concluded before rising from her crouch. "The corkboards probably are too. Nobody who believes the government''s been suborned would be so careless about tipping their hand. I''d have better luck looking for a zip drive concealed behind the insulation." Sarah chuckled at the mental image. It was funny because most infiltrators would''ve burned his house down before they''d bothered to conduct such a search. Sarah... wasn''t at that point quite yet. Maybe if his neighbors didn''t live in the same building, she would''ve had fewer compunctions. Sadly, the other units were occupied, and that made arson a complicated recourse. Morally speaking. Practically, it''d be the easiest thing in the world. ''Let''s save that for Plan C,'' Sarah mused, mindful of her own callousness. ''Plan A still has some meat on the bone.'' Besides, she was curious about how much Pennant knew. Or perhaps more specifically, what Simon had done to give himself away. Had it been his behavior; his associates; some physical marker unconcealed by his host? She had to know. If it required her to risk being discovered, she was willing to put in the time. Unfortunately, time alone was insufficient since noon soon passed without further edification on the matter. Sarah uncovered a lot about Pennant''s obsession, but details regarding his comrade''s thought process continued to remain out of reach. It was actually a bit of a pickle because the more she pried into the mystery, the more Arnold seemed to have been fabricated wholesale. This was not all Carl''s idea like Pennant had tried to purport. Instead, the lanky bastard had possessed a ton of opinions on who they should recruit, how they could arm them and what they should be doing with those guns. The material on display could be fake - the details and procedures all wrong - however, that didn''t change the fact that the illusion had been thoroughly constructed.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Honestly, officer, these aren''t my drugs; I''m just holding onto them for a friend! Tch. We should have shot that asshole in the head." Sarah stared at the floor plan for the Massachusetts State House with growing exasperation. Part of the map was guess-work, since some of the rooms weren''t open to the public; however, the rest had been covered in diagrams describing where each security camera was located. The entrances and exits were also clearly marked as were the number of guards stationed beside them. "How''s that go: ''every accusation is a confession?'' And people claim we''re the threat." Sarah tossed the crumpled cardstock onto the floor and then thumbed through a novelty calendar that was missing every entry prior to August. On the current page, an overenthusiastic elephant was roasting marshmallows above a reminder to buy a bag of quick lime. Sarah wondered if the powder was supposed to help Pennant brew a bucket of concrete or destroy the evidence of a crime. The answer was probably both; the man seemed like the type to plan his felonies around what he''d seen on Law & Order. The iconic tone echoed through her head at the same time someone knocked on his apartment''s front door. Sarah stared at the grinning pachyderm, unable to believe the sound wasn''t a hallucination brought about by studying Pennant''s murder map. Then it came again. Finally, with a faint crackle, she heard someone wipe their feet on his plastic mat. "Yo," their owner called out. "It''s three o''clock, man. You done getting ready or what?" A long nose poked its way into the hall. Followed by a bushy mustache and a pair of rectangular frames, the intruder carried himself with a certain, lax gaiety even as he adjusted the backpack thrown over his shoulder. His companion wasn''t quite so sanguine. Nineteen, give or take a couple of years, she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse and had a cloak wrapped around her neck. The latter fluttered fitfully while the three of them froze by the corkboard. Sarah recovered first. "You must be Timothy''s friends," she greeted them as a facade of affability slid across her mien. "I''m afraid, he''s running a little late, today. Sorry about the delay." ''They know each other,'' she quickly deduced. ''You do too. Girlfriend - no - awkward one-night stand. He made you breakfast but had an appointment he couldn''t miss. He offered to let you take a shower and then told you to lock up when you were done.'' Sarah tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while the lie settled into place. "Do you... want a cup of coffee? I was thinking of making myself a pot before I headed out." The hipster blinked and closed his gaping mouth. "Uh, sure? ...Yeah? Yeah, that''d be great." He found his manners not long after his wits. "I''m Adam. This is Kaitlyn. Are you Tim''s sister or...?" The question slowly petered off. Sarah pretended not to sense the lingering distrust as she showed the two her back. "Let''s hope not, it''d make last night rather awkward if that turns out to be the case." The kitchen was more well-used than a mess, so it wasn''t hard to squeeze past the crooked table in order to reach the smoke-stained cabinets. "How do you take it: black; decaffeinated; with cream and sugar?" "Whatever''s fine," Adam replied before glancing at his companion. "How about you?" Kaitlyn bit her bottom lip. "I''ll pass. I''m not comfortable raiding someone''s pantry while they''re not here to okay it." "Are you sure?" Sarah asked. "I promise he won''t mind." The young woman crossed her arms beneath her bust. "Yes. It''s a ''me'' thing. Please don''t worry about it." The way Kaitlyn stood as she made the request struck Sarah as vaguely familiar. The parasite had seen an echo of her sullen stance before. It was her silhouette, she decided. The pronounced curve of her collarbone couldn''t help ringing a bell. Sarah bounced a can of Folgers against the center of her palm while the deja vu prickled like a burr. No matter what she did, she couldn''t quite place where they''d met. "This is going to sound weird, but do we know each other?" Kaitlyn winced. The expression on her face twigged Sarah''s memory. "No, wait. Don''t tell me. You were on the news. That thing with the van." She had been the telekinetic - the one who''d nearly gotten fried by the ash elemental, duking it out with the police. Unlike the rest of her team, she''d been fairly close to the construct, so when they''d accidentally blown the vehicle, she''d avoided the worst of the shrapnel. What a small world to run into her here. "See," Adam whispered while nudging her in the ribs. "I told you we were famous. You gotta flaunt that shit. Play it up." "Let''s not go too far," Sarah warned him after she sensed the woman''s distress. "It did take me a minute to recognize her." She cracked the lid on the can and sniffed the sandy grounds. "Still, that''s no reason to vacate the stage yourself. Activate your swag if you think you have any. Show me your moves." The young man struck a pose. Sarah gave it a four out of ten. "I like the low-angle lean. It''s got a very distinctive flair." Adam removed his hand from in front of his face and carefully straightened up. It was difficult to soothe the pair''s conflicting personalities, so Sarah was relieved the compliment went over well. "Thanks," he said, a broken snaggletooth slipping past his lip. "I put an embarrassing amount of practice into staying on my feet. I don''t suppose you have any tips?" "Nah, I just know what I like." Sarah set the expired beans on the counter before groping around for a pot. "How about you? What did you do before your fifteen minutes of fame?" "Data entry," he confessed, his shoulders rising in a sheepish shrug. "I gotta tell you, being an action hero feels a lot better." Sarah checked the pale green kettle for rust. "I bet. Movie stars get paid, though: when you do it for free, you''re an extra." Adam laughed. "True enough." The knot of tension, which had been wedged between his brows, slowly began to unravel. Much like a strand of fishing line, set below the eponymous rod, Sarah sensed his attention dart to and fro until it finally settled on his companion. Kaitlyn bit the inside of her cheek. "What?" she asked him while he endeavored to communicate with her via his gaze alone. "Just spit it out already." Adam sighed at his teammate''s obstinance. "Don''t you think we should say something? About the thing we had planned?" Kaitlyn shook her head. The tiny shudder attempted to convey her disagreement without drawing Sarah''s attention. The warspawn caught the subtle shiver, anyway. "Is this a magic thing?" she interjected while struggling to project disinterest. "If so, then I''m not sure I really want to know. I played around with learning how to throw fireballs at the beginning of the month, and I have - like - zero talent when it comes to pyromancy. It''s honestly a little hilarious." Kaitlyn cleared her throat. "It''s not a magic thing," she insisted with almost unseemly haste. "We just need to talk to Tim." Sarah glanced at Adam to see if he stood by the same assertion. He wasn''t having any trouble meeting her gaze, so that reduced the number of things this could be about. "Let me guess, he asked you to preview his latest History Channel special." "You know," she continued when they didn''t quite get it. "...Aliens?" Sarah held her hands up like Giorgio Tsoukalos. Adam got the joke. Kaitlyn didn''t, and Sarah suspected her incomprehension was due to their age gap. It was honestly a little demoralizing. On the bright side, her attempt to lighten the mood shook the sorceress out her funk even as the jest expired on the kitchen floor. "You''re killing me," Sarah complained with a wry twist of her lips. "I might literally die in the next few minutes. The least you could do is fake a chuckle." Kaitlyn tried. Sarah was reassured by how bad she was at it. "Sorry," the young woman apologized after her half-hearted spasms died down. "I haven''t been in a laughing mood lately." Sarah empathized; the reasons for her own solemnity weren''t so selfless, though. ''They''ve seen me in Pennant''s apartment,'' she noted idly. ''They''re also close enough to just walk in. When ''Where''s Waldo'' doesn''t turn up, they''ll mark his absence and assume I had something to do with it. He may have spoken to the cops after we allegedly parted ways, but I''ll still be heavily exposed.'' Sarah filled the pot with water and hunted down a couple of cups. ''It''s probably for the best if their lives end here.'' "You sure I can''t interest you in Timothy''s pet project?" ''Please say yes,'' Sarah silently begged them. She knew she wouldn''t feel guilty if her identity was at risk. The way her brain was wired simply wouldn''t permit it. "Nah," Adam admitted, inadvertently dashing her hopes. "We''re just here for a friends and family thing. I should be able to say that much without stepping on any toes." Sarah set the water to boil. "I see." And she did. ''They''re recruiting,'' the infiltrator concluded as she leaned against the counter. ''They took casualties against the elemental and now need to refill their ranks. Pennant''s a radical. He''s also used to taking action. They might not know what he''s been up to, but his temperament''s bound to have colored their interactions. Can I use their interest to kill two birds with one stone?'' Sarah ran through their conversation in her head. ''Yes. Yes, I can. It''s going to fucking grate, though.'' None of Sarah''s peers liked to talk about the Offal Sea. Even when they were forced to acknowledge what they''d done, it was easier to just leave the room and let someone else explain the particulars. There was a... distaste to the proceedings... which none of them could quite ignore. It wasn''t knowledge of the Network that unsettled them, nor the shame of their crimes, but rather a visceral aversion to breaking the masquerade. With that being said? The full weight of their reluctance only ever applied to themselves. "I understand," Sarah reassured them, her eyes lidded with self-absorbed sympathy. "Some things really do feel like they should never see the light of day. Getting together with your friends to form a neighborhood watch? I understand how your concern can come off as legally fraught." "Hey!" Adam laughed while Kaitlyn flinched at the accusation. "We prefer to be called ''vigilantes.'' The other''s a loaded term." "Because Batman beats up fewer brown people?" The pot began to whistle, causing Sarah to take it off the stove. She stared at the rising stream until the water had mixed with the grounds. "Sorry, I''m being unfair. Anachronistic too. My ex told me that fighting criminals hasn''t been a thing since the seventies. These days, the comics all deal with more fantastical issues, instead." Adam canted his head towards Pennant''s crazy wall. "Like aliens, for instance? Darkseid, the Reach and all that?" None of those names were familiar. "Maybe. Would you permit me to give you the fifty-cent tour? I''m afraid it''s something you''re going to have to come to grips with if you mean to execute your duties." "Of course, she''s a conspiracy theorist," Kaitlyn muttered to herself. "Why else would she be fucking him?" Sarah took the backhanded compliment in stride as she settled on which of Mannly''s associates would be most likely to remove them from the board. "Believe me when I say, ''I''m not going to enjoy this conversation.'' I don''t want to tell you these things - I need to. It''s imperative. Both for your sake as well as the public''s." Adam was willing to play along. "Why? Are you going to tell me it was E.T. who gave us our magic powers? That it''s all just sufficiently advanced bullshit?" "I think the nature of mana is tangential to the crux of our problem. There are hostile forces out there, and they''re willing to throw their hat into the ring. You''ve fought one. I know there are others." "Sure," Adam agreed easily. "I believe it. I won''t even claim to be surprised. Running across another by accident, though? Surely, our luck''s not that bad." Sarah was too upset about their conversation to be amused. "I don''t think luck plays a factor once you''ve made a decision to run towards danger. At this point, all you can do is prepare for the worst and mitigate the consequences when you mess up." Adam swayed towards his companion and bumped her with his shoulder. Kaitlyn suppressed a sigh. "Fine," she bit out. "We''ll listen to your spiel. It can''t be any worse than picking aluminum splinters out of Julien''s back." Sarah faked a wince; it''d be expected of her persona. "I''ll get the printouts. It''ll be easier to explain with some aides." Cuckoo 15 Sarah was tempted to ask herself what she thought she was doing. The answer was obvious, though. She was lying. She was lying a lot. Lying like her name was O.J. and someone had just handed her a pair of gloves. Pennant made it easy. The man kept so much incriminating evidence lying around that Sarah didn''t even need to dig through her phone to find the videos she knew were out there. Instead, she could simply reference whatever files he''d kept on hand. It wasn''t like she didn''t know where they were; she''d already spent most of the morning snooping through his apartment, after all. "I suppose the first thing you need to understand is there aren''t any hard rules. The Squigglies - that''s what we''re calling them by the way - are very modular in nature. They can be different sizes, various colors, and they don''t always possess the same number of limbs." Sarah flipped through a manilla folder until she found two warspawn she could compare side by side. "As you can see from these pictures, it''s rather difficult to tell if we''re talking about the same species or a collection of genera within an over-arching family. With that being said, I do have some good news: once we decided to focus on their behavior, we were able to draw a couple of inferences regarding their anomalous abilities." Sarah set another full-color print-out onto the kitchen table. The image was of an infiltrator being cut from a mutilated corpse. "This particular specimen is known as the ''Hermosillo parasite.'' It was found within the body of a twenty-six-year-old male after he started behaving erratically. ''How erratically,'' you may ask? Well, prior to his decision to steal four million dollars from the local Cartel, Carlos here shelved books for a living. He had precisely one vice, and that was feeding a feral coyote, which died shortly before his kleptomania expressed itself. Would you care to take a guess at how the animal expired?" Adam peered at the picture in between sips of his coffee. "I get the feeling you''re going to tell me it was a neck injury." "Perhaps I should''ve included a spoiler warning because you''re right. From what we can tell, the Squiggly attached itself to the canine''s spine and then migrated over to our victim once it became convenient. In other words, immediately because I cannot overstate the control these parasites are able to employ. We suspect it''s total." Kaitlyn winced. "That''s-" "Pertinent," Sarah cut in. "Animal attacks have been on the rise ever since the 28th of August. According to my research, there have been six in Boston alone. During a normal year there might''ve been one across the state." The witch began googling the claim just to be pedantic. Sarah wished her the best of luck; the more time Kaitlyn spent perusing the data, the less she''d have to spare on Sarah''s fictious backstory. Besides, the animal part was true: it was simply due to all of the mana in the air, instead of the Offal Sea. "So, what you''re saying is we''ve got a bug problem? These hills fucking crawl, and I need to do my part?" Adam leaned over and ribbed his distracted companion. Sarah waited patiently for him to get the joke out of his system. "That''s exactly what I''m saying," she confirmed once she''d regained his full attention. "Timothy and I have spent a substantial amount of time combing the city in order to investigate each of these attacks. While my boyfriend prefers to focus on the human element, animals remain my bailiwick, and I''m certain I''ve found another who''s been content to bide his time." Kaitlyn looked up from her phone. "Like ''found'' found or...?" "I''m confident I can reduce our search radius to a two-kilometer stretch." Mostly because Barkley was an atypical shithead. Unlike the rest of the Boston cell, their youngest member had broken with his peers by co-opting a non-human host. It was a huge pain in the ass. If Mannly wanted to go somewhere, he could just take the train; every time Barkley needed to make it to a meeting, someone had to go pick him up. Since half of their compatriots couldn''t drive, Sarah got stuck with chaperone duty more often than she''d care to admit. It left her familiar with the bastard''s stomping grounds at the cost of his host always peeing on her seat. "A mile''s still pretty vague," Kaitlyn groused. "What makes you think our target''s stuck around?" Because the asshole enjoyed his routine. "Trust me when I say it''s a smaller area than you''d expect. These creatures are semi-aquatic, and there''s only so many places one would feel at home. In this case, it''s malingering near Constitution Beach. Unless the shoreline''s packed, we should be able to narrow our search with a glance." Sarah could sense Kaitlyn wavering after each counterpoint. It was also difficult for her to claim that Barkley wasn''t their problem when they''d spent so much time chasing down the Light''s interstellar castoffs. As for her persistent skepticism... well, the Network hadn''t been kind to the narrow minded. Truth be told, the witch already believed in the supernatural; all Sarah had to do was convince her of this particular phenomenon''s veracity. Adam made it easy. "Awesome, I''m in," he exclaimed and slapped the table with his palm. The man had a big grin on his face until he noticed Kaitlyn''s flinch, then he just looked sheepish. Sarah refused to let him walk his commitment back. "I''m glad," she sighed while channeling her sincere relief. "This request is a bit time sensitive, and I didn''t want to handle it alone. Fighting a body-jacker without backup struck me as the sort of ill-advised scheme you''d disparage on tv as poor writing. I couldn''t just leave the creature be, though, since it might snatch an unattended kid. Hopefully, together, we can solve this problem for good." A set of manicured nails dug into Adam''s shoulder as Kaitlyn hissed in his ear. "Can I talk to you for a minute. In private?" The words weren''t soft enough to escape Sarah''s notice; however, the parasite pretended to be deaf while Kaitlyn dragged her companion towards the door. The two of them retreated down the hall until they reached the walk-in closet where Pennant stored his taxidermized animal heads. In other circumstances, it might have been humorous to see Kaitlyn sequester Adam beneath their glassy stare. Today wasn''t that day. Today, Sarah spun up her ''Air'' core, so she could spread a haze of mana throughout the cluttered apartment. It took a couple of seconds before she could get the vibrations to travel back to her ear. "...the fuck," Kaitlyn was saying, her voice distorted from the spell. "Have you forgotten why we''re here? We don''t have time to pick up a side-quest from every two-bit NPC you stumble across!" "Come on," Adam replied, exasperated by her attitude. "Don''t be that way. I''m sure Miss Blonde and Busty has an incredibly rich inner life." "She''s fucking Tim, Adam: the love interests in your hentai have more well-rounded backstories! It''s also not the point! Deckard is dead. So''s Ethan, and Anthony would have suffered the same fate if he''d been even half a second slower. This shit is dangerous! We can''t just throw ourselves into things because you think it''d make a good story!" Adam shifted. It sounded like he was holding her by the arm or maybe hugging her close to his chest. "Hey, those guys knew what they were getting into, okay? No one talked them into anything. Not me - not Ollie - and certainly not you." The transmission blared with static as Kaitlyn choked back a bitter scoff. "Please, Ethan was half convinced he was suffering from a psychotic break. Deckard probably thought it was the Rapture." "It was still their choice!" Adam insisted mulishly. "It was their chance to do more with their life than struggle to outperform a machine! Neither you, nor I, had any right to stand in their way. I''m certainly not going to second guess their resolve after the two of them have already passed. What would even be the point of that, save to beat myself up for a decision I had no business trying to influence?" Kaitlyn had to force herself not to shout. "And what? That makes it okay for us to keep taking the same crazy risks?" "In essence? Yes. We''re not children. If I want to do some dumb shit, then it''s nobody''s problem except my own. The question is: do you? I can''t answer that for you. You have to figure it out for yourself." "Fucker," Kaitlyn spat, the expletive more soggy than stern. "Fine. But we''re not doing this alone." "...No one ever said we had to." Sarah let the spell dissipate as Adam turned the knob. Kaitlyn took a moment to dry her face before following him back to the kitchen. In the meantime, Sarah pretended to be engrossed with Pennant''s files. Whether either of them bought the act was honestly up in the air. Both were too human to challenge her on the little white lie, though, so ultimately, they let the pretense pass. "I have reservations," Kaitlyn admitted while Adam nursed his lukewarm coffee. "I''m not going to say you''re making all of this up, but I didn''t plan to spend my day frolicking at the fucking beach. You said you recognized me from the news, so you can probably guess why. We''ve been in it - to put the past week gently. I don''t know if the two of us are ready to go another round." "I could offer you some compensation," Sarah suggested leadingly. "It''s only fair if you''re putting in a hard day''s work." "That''s not what I meant," Kaitlyn denied even as Adam visibly perked up. "I''m not saying we won''t help you; I''m questioning if we can. You, me and Adam? That sounds like a losing proposition. I''d prefer to bring a few of our friends along in order to stack the deck." So long as one of them wasn''t Pennant, Sarah didn''t consider it a problem. Two people; ten; twenty - past a certain point it was all a numbers game. Maybe she''d be singing a different tune if she hadn''t eavesdropped on their conversation; however, that ship had long since sailed. At this point, she''d gotten a feel for their dynamic, and they reminded her of peers on Earth. Needless to say, it wasn''t a mark in their favor. "I''d love the meet your friends, " Sarah said with a small guileless smile. "Please. Call them." /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Of their six-man team: two were dead, two had been with Sarah at Pennant''s apartment and the rest were some flavor of skittish or injured. Julien, the man who''d allegedly gotten the better of an engine block, turned Kaitlyn down when she asked him for help. He was willing, he told her. Very willing. But he was also beat to hell and having trouble getting out of bed. Maybe it''d be for the best if they found someone else to take his place. Kaitlyn hadn''t possessed the heart to call him out on his bullshit. Especially when their sixth, a young man named Anthony, was too noble to ignore her texts. Well, that or he was thirsty enough to disregard the danger. Sarah couldn''t decide which was more likely until she met him by the gate of the yacht club. Then it was painfully obvious. "It''s a pleasure to meet you," the aspiring hero murmured as he held out a slim-fingered hand. "Please...uh... call me Piers." Nineteen or so, with a bit of a bookish air, he was dressed in a worn overcoat and had a scarf wrapped around his neck. He was also a foreigner, judging by his accent. Italian, maybe, or possibly Greek. It was hard to tell. Regional differences in pronunciation tended to blend together once they were encoded by a warspawn nexus. Sarah dismissed the wayward thought. She was supposed to be aping a decent human being, so she leaned forward to shake his hand. "That''s kind of you to say. I know this isn''t the best time to have this conversation, but you come highly recommended." Sarah pumped his proffered limb between her palms before eventually letting it fall.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The young man''s gaze lingered on the swell of her chest. Sarah had done her best to subtly emphasize her cleavage, and Anthony was crass enough to look. His pupils finally flickered towards her face. Sarah acted like she hadn''t caught him staring. "Has anyone explained what we''ll be doing here?" she asked him. Anthony coughed into his fist. "Uhm, yes. Adam broke it down for me over the phone." "And he spelled out the dangers?" Sarah pressed. Anthony nodded. That wasn''t good enough for her, so she took a small step forward and squeezed his sweaty fingers. "Please... be careful. If this thing slips inside one of us, I''m not sure we''ll be able to pull it out." Sarah could see Anthony''s thoughts stutter as his fantasies nearly aligned with her words. She leaned forward until she was practically pressed to his groin. "Should the worst occur... can I trust you to take care of it?" He must have watched the same porn Adam did because he looked like he might combust. Finally, his head bobbed up and down. "Y-yes," Anthony stuttered nervously. "Of course." Sarah turned away, confidant the earworm she''d planted had taken root. Now, the teen wouldn''t hold back on the off-chance Barkley jumped ship. It''d honestly been a bit of a concern. As soon as Anthony''s teammates approached the edge of the marina, Sarah couldn''t stop thinking about what an infiltrator could do with their bodies. Adam mistook her paranoia for interest in the snare pole thrown over his shoulder. "It''s for our quarry," he explained after giving the shaft a brisk jiggle. "I figured it might come in handy once we finally pin down the Squiggly." "I''m just curious where you got it," Sarah replied, feeling a little nonplussed. "Did they start selling them down at Home Depot?" Adam scratched the back of his head. "I bought it off Etsy, believe it or not. I was going to get my brother some HEMA gear for his birthday, and the algorithm threw it at me in the ''suggested for you'' section. It seemed like a smart purchase, so I figured ''why not.'' Guess I was right on the money." Sarah wasn''t sure whether she agreed with him or not; the plastic-wrapped pole looked pretty breakable, even though it was backed by a core of steel. If Adam had brought the weapon with him to help her fight the owl, the polearm would''ve snapped in half once the bird had completed its dive. Townsend wouldn''t have even needed to touch it; the mana he''d bound to his core would have let him mold the metal like taffy. Given the fact that Adam was currently batting zero for two across her lived experiences, Sarah thought it would''ve been wiser if he''d just brought a gun. "Great job," Sarah told him, anyway. "I bet it works great." The man beamed at her with childish glee. Sarah struggled to match his cheer and wished she had an excuse to bring her Uzi. Alas, it wouldn''t have fit her image. She couldn''t afford to tip her hand until the trap was ready to close. Sarah bit back a sigh. At least, they''d have a few advantages over Barkley. Surprise; numbers - opposable thumbs. All her cousin had going for him was the ability to be mistaken for an animal. And Sarah would never be that stupid. She tasted the local mana. It smelt like... storm and sea salt. Perhaps a bit of surf and sludge. Most of the pressure was farther to the east - out by Snake Island - however, the motes weren''t escaping the undertow, despite their proximity to the nearby seed. The lack of interference made it easy to notice the invisible tethers wrapped around the wind-swept dunes. ''And there''s his tripwire,'' Sarah thought tiredly. ''It looks like he''s using a Gatian Knot with about twenty meters between each instance. Sequential or... no, stand alone. Payload''s probably something subtle. Sink hole, maybe?'' Sarah watched a couple of pigeons fail to set it off. ''Odd trigger mechanism for a landmine. It isn''t proximal - it can''t be life-aligned. Weight-based? No, the sand shifts too much.'' Kaitlyn cleared her throat. The wet rumble wasn''t enough to break Sarah''s concentration, but it did convince her to switch gears. "Are we ready to get this show on the road?" the taciturn sorceress asked her. Sarah nodded doggedly. "Absolutely. The beach stretches for approximately seven hundred meters, depending on how you measure it. From the strand to the road is about another three hundred feet. Since you''re the experts, I figure you can take the seaside while I''ll cover the curb. If we stagger ourselves between those two points, there shouldn''t be a long delay in the event one of us needs help. Afterwards, we can rotate further north and conduct another sweep using the same formation. Altogether, it shouldn''t take us more than twenty minutes per pass." The adventurers exchanged three different versions of the same insouciant look. "That sounds... doable," Kaitlyn admitted, willing to be convinced. "What if we don''t find the Squiggly?" Sarah withheld a wince at Pennant''s idiotic name for her species. "Then I''ll try a magic trick. I''m hoping we can avoid the hassle, though." Adam snorted in amusement. "What, no hint?" Sarah waved the question away while emoting an embarrassed wince. "No, it''s gross - I don''t want to do it unless I have to." "Damn," he grumbled curiously. "Now, I kind of want to know." He''d have to get used to disappointment; scrying was complicated spellcraft, and she was already ''bad at fireballs.'' Damaging that impression further could prove dangerous until it was time to put paid to the lie. Speaking of ending deceptions, Sarah kept an eye on Barkley''s as the four of them spread out along the coast. If she''d planned this right, then the trio should wander through his mine field while she skirted the northern edge. With a bit of luck, it''d draw her younger compatriot out of hiding while impairing her would-be ''allies.'' In the worst-case scenario, it''d kill all three of them leaving Sarah to face Barkley alone. ''That would be... manageable,'' Sarah decided woodenly. Unfortunate, but it''d be a solution to her problems all the same. Hell, in some ways it was almost ideal. The opportunity to remove a liability without pulling the trigger herself would be fine compensation for the inevitable fight that would follow. Let Barkley wash his hands in their blood if he was so eager to make a name for himself. Sarah was more than happy to stand aside and let the chips fall where they may. Of course, when Adam traipsed across the dunes without losing his legs, hesitation stopped being an option. ''Damn,'' Sarah grimaced while she pressed her tendrils against the underside of her skin. ''Not even a wiggle in the matrix. It''s like the ward''s divorced from its anchor. Did Barkley screw up the casting?'' Only the parasite could say for sure. The sand was simply too good of an insulator to let anyone peek at his linework. Not without digging the whole formation up, anyway. ''I guess I''d better give the waterfront a wider berth,'' Sarah concluded as she paced beside the fence. ''There''s no need to stick my nose into a noose when I can have the others beat the brush for me.'' And beat it they did. From one end of the bay to the other, the four of them traced the edge of the shoreline until they reached the peak of the inlet. It was almost funny; when Sarah finished walking past a long row of moored yachts, she actually ran across another ice rink. ''Dellago''s,'' this one was called. Or maybe the ''Triple Eight Figure Skating Club.'' The sign on the building made the owner a little ambiguous. "You find something?" Adam called out from his side of the rusty bulwark. Sarah shook her head. "Nah, just a weird coincidence." At least, it had better be. Half the reason she''d chosen Barkley as her target was because he was incapable of spilling the beans. If Mannly or Townsend were here... if ice rinks were becoming some kind of kitschy gimmick for their faction... A raucous shout dragged Sarah from her spiraling thoughts. Down by the water, near where the tide was recoloring the sand from beige to an earthy brown, there was a small crowd of people squatting amidst the pounding surf. They looked like graduate students to Sarah''s inexpert eye - ones from a marine biology program or some other related field. Sarah squinted through the blinding afternoon light. A couple of the co-eds appeared to be wrestling an animal onto a tarp while their classmates hovered nearby. For a second, Sarah wondered if Barkley was the specimen in question. Then she took a closer look and saw an eight-hundred-pound dolphin of all things. The beast must have been agitated by the seed until it had beached itself by accident. "What are the odds," she muttered distractedly. "You''d think it''d be a jellyfish or -" Mana flared behind her back. Water-based. Five motes in a complex spiral. Sarah threw herself onto the pavement before she could figure out where it was headed. This was a wise decision because the answer was ''through the side of her skull.'' Now, with her nose pressed against the asphalt, it was only ''four feet above her back.'' The sand beside the parking lot rose in a brief plume. Soundless and transparent, the projectile wouldn''t have caused much alarm even if it''d been visible to the naked eye. Water was simply too underwhelming for most observers to grok the danger. Granted, that was a bit different from saying the attack wasn''t a threat. Had the jet landed as intended, it would have split her dome like a melon. "A little help?" Sarah screamed as she rolled onto her side. Across the street, near the decorative treeline separating the beach from the road, a doggy form leveraged itself from the mulch. Its maw parted in a far too human grin. Sarah had half a second of warning before a second needle-thin line drilled into the dry particulate. She was already up and moving. ''Earth-pulse - fifty meters - who else is in that fox hole? Air-wall - four feet from his position - fifty-degree incline.'' The third shot banked wildly as her conjured breeze pushed it off course. Barkley didn''t care; his aim was more than sufficient to adjust for the heavy wind. Two additional shots formed. Sarah quickly spun up her own barrage in order to foul his timing. ''Flower - twist to poison - three-pronged bracketing shot. Earth - twist to stone - edges aimed for his paws.'' Sarah didn''t have enough mental bandwidth to monitor the toxic darts headed for the hostile warspawn. Between sprinting for cover and tracking Barkley''s position, it was all she could do to get the meridian''s soil to compress into a sharpened length of slate. She managed an eight-foot wedge that was about half an inch thick near the center. The base was fragile and rapidly collapsed into the dirt; however, she still heard a pained yelp when Barkley tried to weave between her projectiles. A ray of liquid froth suddenly cut the corner off the pickup truck she was hiding behind. Sarah kept moving towards the concealing brush and grabbed some broken glass while she ran. By this point, Adam seemed to have realized something was wrong and approached at a slow jog. Blind to the flares of mana that Sarah and Barkley were putting out, it was only when he heard the truck''s plastic frame crack that he resolved to pick up the pace. Barkley was a lot faster. The smell of blood swept across Sarah''s tendrils as his muscles bulged in a veiny flex. Then, with a crack of bone and sinew, he burst into a ground-eating lope. ''Enhancement spell,'' Sarah noted. ''Primal-variant. Minimal modification.'' Unlike the Pelinese, who epitomized the art, Barkley seemed to be holding himself back from undergoing a full transformation. Sarah figured it was a logistical issue; he probably didn''t have enough mana to support the technique''s demands. His reserves were still replete enough to let him qualify for an Olympic heat. If Adam hadn''t thrown his hand out, and tried to catch Barkley in the side, Sarah might have had to join them on the ground. As it was, she could feel the asphalt rumble after Adam hit a parked car by mistake. ''That was the same spell he used to blow up the van,'' Sarah realized with a flinch. When she''d seen its effects on tv, she''d assumed he was employing a crude form of pyromancy. Now that she''d witnessed the explosion in person, she knew it was nothing of the sort. ''Is that fucking salt?'' Sarah boggled silently. ''No - wait - salt''s merely the base. It''s got a chemical component baked into the sequence. Saltwater into salt and then into Sodium. The molecularly pure version. He''s mixing it with the left-over water at the impact point.'' There was a second bang as Adam took another shot at Barkley. This one was closer to the infiltrator and convinced him to reprioritize his targets. Barkley turned on a dime. He began chasing Adam, lest the wizard land a lucky blow. "That the-" Adam was bowled over before he could finish the sentence. A spray of blood arced up from his arm after he interposed it between the dog and his throat. Barkley growled. The scattered droplets rained down across the blacktop in a series of muted pops. Sarah rubbed the glass against itself until it was reduced to tiny chunks. "Hold him there! The others are on their way!" Kaitlyn more than Anthony. The sorceress had been in the middle of their formation, so she was beating him by a country mile. Her magic likely helped her stay ahead. Buoyed up by the mana being emitted from the soles of her feet, Kaitlyn bound across the precarious dunes with more grace than gravity typically permit. Barkley flicked an ear. A knot in the middle of the beach unraveled with a short dull snap. Sarah wasn''t sure what happened next; all she knew for certain was the earth heaved, and a thick beige cloud blossomed between the skirmish and the sea. "Kaitlyn!" Adam screamed, his neck straining to twist around. There wasn''t a reply. None save Sarah''s as she enchanted an edge onto the broken pane. "Close your eyes!" "What?" Adam called out, half-deafened by his own spell. Sarah made sure her attack synched up with his open mouth. It helped ensure the scintillating hellscape went down his throat when she flicked the shards forward atop an arcane breeze. Barkley attempted to stop his host from inhaling the razor-sharp splinters. Adam didn''t even think to avoid them, despite being granted a measure of forewarning. They both ended up on their backs, writhing amidst the rubble. A few seconds later, a set of footsteps resounded upon the asphalt as Anthony stumble through the rolling cloud. He swiped at the floating grit. When that failed to have much effect, the teen brought his hands together in a loud clap. His core vented; a hole was blown through the hovering obstruction. ''...Sonic aligned,'' Sarah deduced after metaphorically licking her lips. ''You don''t see too many of those.'' Usually, because it was a pain in the ass to find a pure enough source of mana. Chronomancers had a lot of similar issues building up their reserves. It was why Sarah''s ''Time'' core was half the size of the other three and why she didn''t pay the boy much mind. Instead, that prize went to the dolphin as it thrashed about in the surf. It was practically going hog-wild in its eagerness to join the fight. The students should have taken the hint and given the beast the space it deserved. Instead, they held onto its tail until it finally flicked them loose. The animal''s wardens went flying through the waves. The dolphin itself began to activate its core. Sarah was too far away to catch the astringent scent of its spell. She was close enough to see it dive into the strand, though, like a particularly ornery shark. The dolphin burrowed towards the battle, invisible save for its fin. Barkley hacked up a wad of bloody phlegm and snorted at its approaching wake. the parasite offered wryly. Sarah conjured another toxic lance. Cuckoo 16 The bolt of mana surged through the intervening space like a streak of veridian death. When Barkley sensed it coming, he huffed, shifted his haunches and then threw himself off to the side. It was easy for the parasite to avoid the burning spear. Intuitive. The process might have been complicated by the damage to his lungs, but it still remained relatively artless. Adam was slower on the uptake. Sarah watched him stare gormlessly at the approaching javelin before taking it an inch above his hip. He winced at the phantom sensation, which ghosted across his skin. His hand shifted towards his stomach without understanding the reason for his concern. "What was -" He didn''t even have the words to express his discomfort. How could he when he was largely blind to the eddies of the Light? Like the foolish cyclops who''d preyed upon Odysseus, humans possessed a number of virtues that they were forced to pay for in kind. Resilience was balanced by ignorance, strength by a lack of insight. It wasn''t his fault; this was simply the way homo sapiens were built. Animals were different. Falling between the dangerous sensitivity of warspawn, and the naive fumbling of man, beasts often divined their new environment by observing its effect upon their mana. These changes were subtle, fleeting and all too often limited to the alignments the organism was cultivating. For this reason, the phenomenon was known as ''resonance'' and frequently led to the culling of those capable of the feat. Because if you could see it? You could eat it, thereby improving your core. It was why the dolphin was so riled up, and how it knew they were the cause. The only question was: which of them was the animal interested in? Sarah tracked its progress and saw the aquatic fiend ignore her spell. Likewise, Adam proved rather unappetizing, despite the mana he was peeling from his core. Anthony... Anthony was a maybe. Sarah wouldn''t be able to tell for sure unless the dolphin broke from its course. "Back up!" she screamed while driving Barkley towards the treeline. "Give us at least thirty feet!" Anthony hesitated, reluctant to leave his friend. A piercing warble built and burst before he finally shook his head. ''Fucking...'' Sarah stitched the asphalt with a dozen pungent darts. They were weak, hollow seemings without any true bite, but she trusted Barkley to dodge the projectiles, instead of taking them on the chin. Sure enough, the infiltrator danced between the toxic spikes until Adam lashed out at the airborne hound. Barkley went tumbling into the fecund mulch. The dolphin adjusted its bearing to follow. "Press him!" Sarah hollered. "Mind the beast''s wake!" Barkley took up the call like she was giving him advice. In less than a moment, an immense wave of ''Water'' mana had gathered beside the tip of his snout. Sarah would''ve assumed he was evacuating his core had the spell not lain so close to his fins. As it was, the buildup wasn''t too far off and didn''t show signs of slowing. A doggy snicker resounded across the relay. Sarah missed the rest of Barkley''s taunt as she dumped fifteen motes of ''Earth'' mana into the sun-warmed blacktop. Unfortunately, it wasn''t enough to block his gaze, let alone the blast, which blew through all six inches of Sarah''s emerging wall. Adam caught the tail end of the attack on his chest before the arcane bandsaw carved another crack into the curb. The only reason it didn''t cleave the man in two was because Barkley didn''t have enough control to quickly turn the beam. Not that Sarah had any room to criticize his technique. The second her pillar had begun to rise from the ground, she''d been forced to contort her body in order to avoid the wayward shot. A few inches to the right and she would''ve had to ask Adam to pass her back her arm. A few inches lower and she might have been missing her head. Barkley''s assessment was more generous, albeit largely the same. It was why he trotted across the road like his opponents were both bleeding out. Sarah disabused him of the notion by dumping the rest of her core into the wall. The ragged pillar released a muffled crack, then slid across the asphalt with a groan. Barkley flinched and scampered up the slab when it imperiled his prancing feet. he screeched, his advance slowed by the stone. Her retort was thoughtless and lacked the note of exhaustion which threatened to arrest her heart. ''Implosion - inner ear - disrupt his balance for Adam. Flower - twist to acid - enhance and then spray.'' The ''Air'' mana came easily as it drifted towards Barkley''s head; meanwhile, her second spell was a bit slower since it was limited by her rudimentary attunement. Sarah spent a couple more motes to make sure its effects would stick. When combined with the rest of her expenditures, it brought her down to about half of her reserves. ''Hopefully, Barkley''s doing worse,'' Sarah huffed, struggling to ignore the burn. He certainly wasn''t holding much back. Between the water jets and the energizer-bunny routine, he might even be running on empty. It was all a bit suspicious. He should''ve known better than to blow his load right before things got hectic. He was leaving himself far too vulnerable. ''Or is he?'' Sarah wondered as Anthony lashed out with an oscillating wave. Barkley sure was quick to turn up the heat once he noticed this dissolve into a three way. Was that to simplify the equation or because he knew he couldn''t take it with him? Sarah redirected her aim towards the approaching dolphin. Sure enough, Barkley broke off his assault and began sprinting for the beast like it owed him money. "Switch targets!" she yelled. "He''s trying to swap bodies!" Fur fountained from Barkley''s neck as he tore through his host''s matted hide. Helped along by a double row of razor-sharp teeth, it didn''t take him long to cut a narrow gap beneath the verge of the hound''s tapered skull. Barkley poked his crest up past the flapping viscera. His tendrils remained below, so he could retain control of the dog. When Flipper''s drug-addled cousin reached the edge of the parking lot, it reared up onto its tail and parted the sand with its bill. Barkley leapt forward an instant before they would''ve collided. He cleared the two-meter gap and hit the beast right behind the blowhole. The maddened creature didn''t notice him begin to dig towards its spine. Sarah did and used most of her ''Air'' core to form a caustic dart. ''Compress - contract - let the temperature spike with the pressure.'' There was more than one way to throw a fireball. It took more mana than she could really afford to lose, but killing Barkley would be worth it. The ray lashed out and carved a divot into the dolphin''s head - one which started at its jaw, burned through its skull and then sliced across its brain for good measure. Barkley caught the blast after it blew off a thick chunk of blubber. Sarah had been hoping to bifurcate his trunk with the beam and had to settle for a couple tendrils, instead. ''That still should''ve poisoned the hell out of him,'' she consoled herself, annoyed by the near miss. ''No way he''ll be able to soak the backwash. Not with the overexposure limit sitting at half a mote per minute.'' Barkley could prove a bit sturdier, depending on what he''d earned from the Sea, but it was like the old joke about Kevlar: there was a difference between ''resistant'' and ''immune.'' Barkley knew it too. Mute and writhing, the warspawn scrambled towards the waterfront, heedless of the obstacles in his way. ''He''s probably hoping to wash the impurities off using the tide,'' Sarah deduced as she hopped over the dolphin''s twitching corpse. ''That or my mana''s rattled him. How about it? You yearning for something safe and familiar?'' Barkley kept his feelings to himself while he crossed the burning dunes. Mindful of the wards he''d established with the aid of his host, the fleeing parasite darted around the unraveling strands, unable to stop their collapse. Sarah followed with a comparable degree of care; it wasn''t too often you saw a spell suffer from a deviation. Normally, the phenomenon was restricted to people who''d imbibed too much fresh mana. If a wizard''s control was predicated on impressing their core with their sense of self, then it was only logical for their magic to rebel when that ratio became too skewed. In this case, it was less about Barkley consuming an excess of foreign energy and more like his identity was being redefined by the sudden loss of his mount. What had once been a mixture of warspawn and host was now strictly one or the other. And the hound had the greater claim. "Don''t shoot the dog!" Sarah howled as she chased after Barkley. "We need the damn thing alive!" Anthony was too busy trying to stem his friend''s bleeding to respond to her warning. There was also an argument to be made about whether the thought had even crossed his mind. "W-what about Adam?!" he shouted in a panic. "I can''t get the bleeding to stop!" Sarah barely spared the man a glance. She didn''t need to see the pool of blood on the asphalt to know Adam''s wound was fatal. She could hear it in Anthony''s voice - feel it in the empty void where her conscience usually sat. ''Barkley''s getting away,'' her training whispered through the barren hollow. ''It''s eighty meters to the waterline, then twenty more until he''ll be able to out dive your host. If you want to stop him, it has to be before he reaches the surf.'' ''I know that,'' Sarah spat back, uncertain who she was arguing with. ''Dump time - local acceleration - four seconds subjective.'' The world slowed down while Sarah sped up. Where once her boots had been sliding through the collapsing dunes, the grains now formed a squishy platform whenever she took a step. It almost felt like she was sprinting through a layer of oobleck. The only difference was her shoes didn''t stick to the muck whenever she lifted her leg. Another mine blew up as she closed in on the parasite. Born from a mixture of ''Storm'' and ''Gravitic Force,'' the explosion was smaller than the one that had struck Kaitlyn and merely peppered her host with grit. Sarah suspected the lack of lethality came down to the hound''s poor control; while there was nothing preventing the animal from assuming command of the ward, there was a difference between ''can'' and ''able.'' Barkley was a trained combatant with years of simulated experience; his host liked to lick his own balls. All jokes aside, the latter wasn''t a peer. ''Still dangerous, though,'' Sarah acknowledged after a third randomly burst. So much so, that she had to mind the array, lest she lose a limb. It delayed her pursuit. As a result, Barkley pulled ahead for a bit until he was thrown back by a cresting wave. Then he surprised her; rather than ride the tide out into deeper water, he took a sharp turn and raced towards the students, instead. Sarah cursed. She assumed he was giving up on retreat in exchange for a pyrrhic victory. After all, why hide at sea when he could threaten what was left of her cover? If she respected his gambit, great. If not, then he was hardly in a worse position, given his proximity to the harbor. ''I can make that dash,'' she imagined him wagering. ''I was born to beat a human in a sprint.'' The worst part was he''d win his hypothetical bet. Sarah had withheld a fraction of her core in order to create a crude trump card; however, it''d only be enough for a lunge. Keeping up with Barkley was beyond its current capabilities. It was beyond the students'' capabilities too. At least, Sarah could make an honest go of it; they had barely left the starting line before he was squirming between their feet.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! "Fucking step on him," Sarah whispered, exhausted by the sprint and the skirmish. "Just this once. Please. I promise it won''t be racist." The words fell from her lips in a series of raspy gasps. Far too quiet to be heard over the co-eds'' tears, the class withdrew along the beach, unaware they held the upper hand. Barkley was quick to take advantage of their mistake. He began to herd the students into a loose blob using a series of aggressive leaps. Then, once they''d started to foul each other''s footing, he lunged for the western edge and carefully cut one from the pack. "Damn it, Devon!" a red-faced woman screamed. "What are you doing?! Get over here, you idiot!" "I''m trying!" he yelped as Barkley skittered up his shin. "It must have stung me or something! I can''t feel my leg!" Devon wasn''t too far off; the warspawn had pricked him with his flailing tendrils - there just wasn''t any poison involved. Instead, Barkley had hijacked the teen''s nervous system, starting with the muscles in his calf. The further the parasite climbed, the more signals he could intercept on his way to his victim''s throat. It was part of the reason why the nobility had made them so fast. If an infiltrator could catch you, there wasn''t a whole lot you could do to keep their species from securing a foothold. Not without a potent core, at any rate; those were a lot harder to usurp. So were some of the boons you could earn from the Loom and the Canvass. Unfortunately for Devon, the Networks remained the rare exception; relying upon mundane methods meant you were shit out of luck. Barkley''s latest victim was figuring that out the hard way. "Get off of me!" Devon screamed as he tried to crush Barkley with his palm. Unable to catch the parasite before he''d scamper away, the two played a perverse game of patty cake until Barkley brushed the underside of his wrist. From there, it was easy to rip the volition from Devon''s arm and then leverage it into access to his shoulder. Sarah reached the class while he still had the wherewithal to twitch. Devon couldn''t manage much more, though, once Barkley began chewing on his neck. A layer of muscle appeared beneath his skin and cellulite. Humans called it the trapezius if Sarah remembered right. Or was this one the splenius capitis? In truth, she knew it best as the warm, red ceiling, which kept her pressed to the spine. At the end of the day, names weren''t necessary when so much of their life was instinctual. It was like asking a baby how to breath. They just did it: they didn''t need to understand the complex interplay between organ, bone and muscle. Barkley''s intrusion was cast from the same mold. The moment he''d given the order, the entire process had been almost automatic. All he could accomplish by sticking his finger on the scale was to create a deviation from the ideal. He made the attempt, anyway. It was practically required. With three of his tendrils missing, there was no way for the usual arrangement of limbs to keep his host fully suppressed. "I can feel it," the man stuttered, his hands convulsing in a spasmatic fit. "I-it''s in my head. Controlling me. And the signal... is coming from her." Barkley raised his arm and pointed his finger at Sarah. The infiltrator''s antics made her want to scoff. As far as misdirections went, this one was a little basic. Childish even. Barkley may have been an eager student back on Deravan; however, he''d clearly passed his trials on the basis of martial excellence alone. Hell, Sarah barely had to lift a finger to pry his grip from their suspicious audience. A flush rose to her cheeks. An indignant scowl marred her pretty face. She didn''t say anything, yet her countenance inspired a seed of doubt. One which found fertile soil amongst the rest of Devon''s class. "Yeah, that''s bullshit," a wiry young man hollered back. "I''ve seen The Thing - I know how this goes. Somebody get a flamethrower because it''s the only way to be sure!" Barkley let the act drop with a short, tetchy huff. His convulsions became a lot more random. "Well, it was worth a shot. You can''t blame an honest cut-throat for trying." The class very much could. They weren''t warspawn, and this wasn''t Deravan; none of the students had ever been forced to set their resentment aside for the sake of their own survival. They certainly weren''t going to start now, solely to spare Barkley''s ego. Sarah shifted her body language to better mimic what Kaitlyn''s had expressed. She let the woman''s righteous verve echo through the syllables of her speech. "I know this isn''t what you want to hear, but we''ll be damning an innocent man to death if we don''t stop that thing. At best. At worst, it''ll mean a lifetime of imprisonment beneath the heel of a callous monster. Personally, I''m not willing to stand by and let that happen. I hope you aren''t, either." Barkley didn''t have enough control to raise his eyebrows; instead, the right half of his face twitched wildly while the left stayed placid and smooth. "Oh, fuck off, Fields - like you have any room to talk. At least, I took a sub-sophont for a ride. How long have you been running around in that screaming basket case you call a host?" Her eyes flared with anger. Only Barkley was close enough to notice the caustic gleam. "Yeah, go on," he goaded her, his jeer rife with malicious amusement. "Tell me how it feels to be my moral inferior, you soft-skinned cunt. I don''t know what''s worse: listening to your friends prattle on about how much better the humans have it or watching you all whine and complain as you apply another layer of blackface." He spat on the ground. "It''s fucking disgusting. Have some self-respect. What would the rest of your pod say if they could meet the worm who ate them?" ''That I wish I was her.'' "That your first lie was better." Sarah summoned a seven-inch-wide toxic lance. She wasn''t sure she''d ever been so grateful for humanity''s myopic vision. "Typical. I knew it was the right decision to blow your ass away." Barkley attempted to eject Devon''s core and nearly lost it in the sand. Five minutes was not enough time to assume more than a perfunctory level of control. The orb still made for a pretty good bomb. Especially since it was already primed to burst as the mana trembled and spat. Sarah backed away from the half-dozen sublimating motes. Barkley responded by shifting his arm to better keep the sphere on target. Both of them knew he''d only get one shot and that it''d be a slow one for all its strength. Neither were terribly surprised when he started fishing for an opening. "So, what was your plan, Fields? To put your faith in truth, love and the American way? If so, I gotta say, you really got the proxy war part down pat. Who even were those assholes you rolled up with?" A grimace stole over Sarah''s face at Barkley''s contemptuous dig. "Decent people," she told him angrily. "Better ones than you or I. They heard about the problems you''ve been causing and decided they were the proscribed solution. Should any of them survive, I know they won''t stop until they''ve buried you six feet under." Barkley scoffed. "Fat chance of that. I''m also less than thrilled about being forced to clean up your mess. What? Was Hayes too busy? You had to dump your trash in my lap?" He cocked his head as Sarah kept her eyes on the orb. "She was, wasn''t she. I suppose that''s what happens when you get too good at lapping up shit with your tongue. Speaking of vile interests, how is Tada doing? Did she ask you to eat her ass, yet?" Footsteps pounded against the sand as an arcane crescendo rose along Sarah''s tendrils. "I wasn''t sure you''d make it," she called out while Anthony joined her by the water. "How''s Adam? Is his condition stable?" When Anthony didn''t say anything, Sarah assumed the answer was, no. The silence stretched; Sarah circled around to the right, so she could get a better look at the teen''s expression. His eyes were red; his nose was too. More importantly, he was visually hate-fucking Barkley like the parasite had murdered his family. He wasn''t too far off; Barkley had done Sarah a real solid when he''d cut Adam in half. If he''d managed to restrain his bloodlust for a few more minutes, things could have gotten rather awkward. Not to the point where she''d expected Anthony to betray her, but difficult all the same. Now, the only question was how many more friendly fire incidents it would take to ensure he joined Kaitlyn in the ground. Sarah guessed two or three - he seemed a little too robust to pass gently into that sweet goodnight. Not that it mattered much, in the end: it only ever took one. One for Adam, and potentially one for her as well. The hellacious core narrowed to a stubby point. Sarah readied her host to dodge even as she continued to finesse the crowd. "Get back! As soon as he runs out of magic, he''s going to try to steal yours!" A woman wearing a batik sarong recoiled. The few students who''d stuck around for their fight retreated closer to the road. By this point, there were about ten of them within Barkley''s prospective reach; however, Sarah was too wound up to strive for an accurate count. All she knew was there were more than three, which left the two of them outgunned once Barkley made his play. Sarah needled him, hoping her bravado would cause him to hesitate. Barkley spat while the free-floating mana condensed around her throat. A faint pop precipitated the shift from the conceptual to the concrete. Suddenly, all of the oxygen within a meter of Sarah''s nose found itself displaced by sulfuric gas. It was like being shoved headfirst into the tail pipe of a broken tractor. Beyond the difficulty of catching her breath within the mephitic smog, the cloud was literally blinding. Even her tendrils couldn''t penetrate the malaise since Barkley''s core was too similar in nature. ''Here it comes,'' Sarah thought as she threw herself onto her stomach. ''What''s the play? Center mass, or does he lead the shot?'' ''Lead,'' Sarah decided before quickly scampering towards the waves. Barkley''s control was too weak to believe it''d get there in time. The best he could do was surprise her and then try to roll the dice. Left or right; forward or back. Sarah didn''t have a strong enough core to fly, so there were only four or five options. Barkley bet she''d press forward. The infiltrator guessed wrong. Sarah returned fire with the lance she''d prepared earlier and caught him above the sternum. Barkley dropped. Sarah panted furiously while she nearly hacked up a lung. Anthony couldn''t quite believe their foe was dead. He skirted around the florescent orange cloud and kicked the lifeless human with his foot. "What the hell? Did you infect him with fucking FOXDIE?" Sarah didn''t reply. She was too busy watching the students peel away, alarmed by the unnatural smoke. ''Figures,'' she groused around the burning ache in her throat. ''Magic is clearly bullshit, but a gas attack means it''s time to fuck off.'' She spat a wad of discolored phlegm onto the beach. Anthony was too appalled to notice its unsettling hue. She decided not to hold it against him. It wasn''t like he noticed the spear she shot him in the back with, either. "...And twist," Sarah muttered wearily as the mana turned into atropine. Anthony hit the earth with a thud. It wasn''t a sound you ever got used to; the bone-jarring impact was simply too heavy to ever herald happy news. In this case, it was mostly because of the emotional turmoil surrounding their bitter fight. Sarah had been hoping to keep the body count to just the three she''d planned for. ''Please,'' her inner voice sneered. ''No way you''d take that risk. What if Adam said something incriminating while you were busy haring off? Are you really going to let him walk away when there''s a chance he could connect the dots?'' Sarah tilted her head. Anthony couldn''t have been alone with his teammate for more than thirty seconds. How much could he truly- Barkley tore himself out of Devon''s frothing mouth like the world''s smallest xenomorph. Caught from behind while her gaze was focused elsewhere, Sarah barely even registered the noise before the warspawn was savaging her neck. She reached up to pull him off; Barkley''s tendrils wrapped around her own and overrode the message to her spine. he snarled as his blood-encrusted muscles strained against her own. He scrambled towards the brainstem while Sarah bit down on his tail. She could feel her skin tearing in centimeter-long strips every time she yanked him towards the ribs. Her jaw burned from the pressure. Her third dorsal tendril did too after Barkley trapped it between two of his own. The parasite stabbed it with their needle-sharp tips. Sarah screamed into his scales as he severed it close to the base. She clenched her teeth and heard something in Barkley''s trunk snap. One of his tendrils fell limp while another wrapped around her own. Barkley gnawed upon her nearest appendage until he could access the squishy roots. Once he''d exposed them to the open air, he proceeded to hack at the tendons in a surge of venomous aplomb. Sarah could practically feel the moment her muscles gave up and a piece of her was cast into the sand. <@#$%!!> She wasn''t even speaking words at this point. Instead, her ire emerged like a burst of masticated whale song. Sarah focused all of her remaining energy on eating her way to Barkley''s heart. By the time she reached his posterior serotonin sac, she could sense her host choking on her tongue. A leg kicked out. Sarah was pretty sure it was neither parasite''s fault. She also couldn''t do much about it with Barkley''s liver clutched in her mouth. The infiltrator bit down. Viscous ooze stained her teeth bright blue. Barkley groaned through his relay. Sarah wasn''t sure if he was cursing her or counseling himself through the blood loss. Maybe it was all the same when you got right down to it. Sarah certainly had her own spiteful mantra in mind as she lost another tendril. ''Lungs; liver; heart; spleen. Lungs; liver; heart; spleen.'' She was almost there. A few more millimeters and Sarah would be able to suck the rest of Barkley''s organs out through the gaping hole in his tail. Her attention faded from the parasite''s assault. All that mattered was reaching those pounding chambers. If Barkley had any last words, Sarah didn''t hear them. Like Devon before him, the warspawn merely flinched from a sensation he never should have felt and then collapsed in a limp sprawl. Offal pumped out of the fissure in his side before mixing with her host''s weeping lesions. Sirens resounded in the distance. Through the trembling convulsions shivering along her spine, Sarah feared they were ringing for her. Cuckoo 17 ''Get up.'' White froth broke against her boot as a wave lapped up her thigh. The water was cold. Wet. Perhaps even inquisitive if you were willing to anthropomorphize the way it seeped through the fabric of her jeans. Sarah wasn''t. Not when she couldn''t sense the ocean beyond the abstraction she was modeling in her head. Her eye twitched towards the pieces of her body that had been tossed into the rolling surf. Each of her severed tendrils bobbed gaily in the current before sinking down towards the loosely shifting sand. After the tide retreated, one of them was left half buried by the coarse brown flakes. When the water rushed back towards the sea, it wiggled like an excited lover bidding Sarah adieu. ''I said, "Get up."'' Painted fingernails scratched at the shoreline, leaving eight long rents in the shell-encrusted dunes. Sarah used the additional leverage to pull herself forward until their winding tails were erased by the friction of her passing stomach. She dug a second set a little closer to the road and then gazed at the mangled tarmac. Her vision blurred in and out of focus, stung by sweat and tears. ''Six inches down; another four thousand to go.'' The non-thought crossed her mind while dull spasms raced across her toes, and her legs kicked feebly at the beach. Each blow was too weak to impede her forward progress, but Sarah still took the time to clamp down on the rogue signals regardless of their paltry threat. Her arms groped towards her throat. Sarah reconfigured her tendrils to kill those impulses too. "Wua... ugh... st-taa-taa." ''Ignore it,'' Sarah ordered as her tongue tripped over her teeth. ''Hands down. Shoulders up. Now, push.'' Her body rose. If she wasn''t missing a quarter of her limbs, her knees would''ve slipped forward to help support her weight. Since those particular tentacles were busy stimming autistically, she had to make do on her own. It wasn''t enough. By the time everything was in position, a tremor threw her balance off, and she pitched over onto her side. Once again, her fingers crept towards her nape. ''Piss off,'' Sarah hissed, too livid to even feel mad. ''Get back in your fucking bottle.'' Ribbons of muscle all across her host stretched and contracted in reply. Most were too isolated to do much more than throb, barring two exceptions. One, the middle pharyngeal constrictor, caused Sarah to rock within her fleshy tomb. The other was her lower left pec, which impaired her attempts to get up. Sarah made an effort, anyway. Rivulets of carmine dripped down her back while her head ached from the blood loss. The distant sirens were not helping matters. In between her periodic bouts of dizziness, she could hear them linger in the air like a dry wind passing through an empty gorge. In - out; higher, then lower. The further she crawled, the more they seemed like the former than the latter. Minutes passed. So too did the meters. Neither were enough to reach the parking lot before a set of strobe lights smeared the area with a paroxysm of red and white beams. ''No blue,'' a part of her noted drunkenly. ''The cops aren''t here, yet.'' It was an observation unaccompanied by much relief. Instead, a nameless dread weighed upon her shoulders until she couldn''t distinguish between the psychological pressure and the torn skin dangling from her spine. Two figures wearing bright white shirts ran back and forth beside the curb. They paused for an instant by a familiar, fallen blob before working their way onto the beach. "''m fine," Sarah slurred, her tongue struggling to get the pronunciation right. "''m fine. I''m fine. I''m fine." She practiced the phrase a few more times to ensure it would be ready when the paramedics finally reached her. The line might have been more convincing if she could''ve said it while controlling her legs. A shiver wracked her thigh and then exploded outwards in a minor seizure. Centered around the strip of flesh, located half a foot from her hip, the tremor spread up along the joint and took her sense of stability with it. Sarah lurched to the side. Once she recovered from the disturbance, she found herself leaning upon a Hispanic woman and couldn''t remember how she had gotten there. "Careful, miss," the EMT said, her arm wrapped around Sarah''s waist. "Why don''t we just have a seat for a second?" Rest was the last thing on the warspawn''s mind as a pair of sun-warmed fingertips reached up to check her pulse. "No, no - I''m fine," Sarah insisted before slapping the hand aside out of habit. "It looks worse than it is. My friend should receive treatment first." Sarah motioned towards Anthony, hoping to redirect the medic''s attention. It worked until the woman noticed a thin trickle of blood, sliding along Sarah''s collarbone. She traced the trail back to its source. A sharp wince was sucked through her teeth. "Thomas, get over here! And bring the road rash kit!" "I''m a little busy, Carrie!" the man screamed back. Bent over Devon''s prone form, he had his ear pressed against his patient''s chest and his palm cupped over his mouth. Thomas waited a couple seconds to check the insensate student''s breathing. Then he swore. Chest compressions began shortly afterwards. Sarah gestured more insistently at Anthony. "Please, he really needs your help. I can wait by the van. It''s only a half-minute walk." Carrie''s will began to waver the longer Sarah spoke without slurring. For a moment, the parasite thought she''d get away without having to answer any awkward questions. Emphasis on the past tense. Her knees buckled. She shouldn''t have rerouted so many tentacles up to the top of her spine. "Fuck," Carrie cursed before catching Sarah beneath her arm. "I guess, we''re doing this. Dispatch, I have two U''s, one NPB, and a third V going into hypovolemic shock. Please reroute additional units to my current location ASAP." "Surely, it''s not that bad," Sarah whined, only to catch sight of the woman''s blood-covered hand. She blinked in confusion. A moment later, the warspawn could sense a strange fluid soaking through the waistband of her jeans. She had a feeling it wasn''t sea water. "...Oh," Sarah muttered as a couple ruddy drops struck the sand. "Oh, that''s actually quite severe, isn''t it?" Like diving into a frozen pool, the pain hit her in stages: first, after she slammed through the thick ice, and then again once her body slipped beneath the frigid surface. When experienced side by side, the agony of the impact made the ache of the water''s chill hard to parse through her overworked tendrils. No wonder she hadn''t noticed her host''s difficulties until they were sliding down the crack of her ass; she''d barely even had the right tool kit. A nauseous groan bubbled up Sarah''s throat as Carrie laid her charge on the ground. When the astringent scent of alcohol entered her nose, Sarah wondered if she''d missed another mage during the scrum before she realized it was coming from a package of anti-septic wipes, which the medic had hastily torn open. "Please hold still; this is likely to hurt." Particles of displaced sand were whisked away from Sarah''s wounds in swift, delicate strokes. Carrie wasn''t at the point of investigating the main gash, yet, but it was only a matter of time. Sarah wasn''t sure she had the strength to stop her once she finally made the attempt. She wasn''t sure her host did, either. It was only now, as Sarah wept through her salt-caked lashes, that she detected a disquieting silence in the normally fraught synapses of her brain. Her better half had passed out. She couldn''t tell if it was from the trauma or the pain, but neither was an encouraging sign. The former was worse, though: you could drink away bad memories; organ failure was a lot more permanent. "I don''t know if I can fix this," Sarah muttered softly to herself. She''d meant to keep the admission locked away; however, it accidentally slipped free as Carrie prodded the avulsions along her back. "Don''t worry," the medic reassured her. "That''s why I''m here. You just try to relax. I promise you''ll be fine."This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Sarah laughed. The worst part was Carrie was right. If she simply shut up and let the woman do her job, she''d make a full recovery. The only fly in the ointment was the infiltrator herself. So long as there was a parasite fucking around with her life, the woman called Sarah Fields would always be on the cusp of death. Metaphorically or otherwise. "I hate this. Why couldn''t everything have just stayed the same?" She was happy, damn it. Like peanut butter and jelly, or weed-infused brownies, Sarah had finally found her niche. It wasn''t a great one, nor terribly healthy in the long run, yet it was hers all the same. Hers until someone could pry it from her detached and broken nails. Was this that moment? Had the inevitable come at last? Sarah reached for the mana in her gut. Her tiny core trembled harder than either of her shaking limbs. Could the toxic orb sense it? What she planned to do? If so, then she was glad to hear it was repulsed. She hoped the spell loathed the idea until the last mote burned itself out. ''Flower... twist to poison... Propofol... drip feed the release.'' Sarah sunk a pair of arcane fangs into her left arm. The sharp burn spread up along her shoulder and down into her chest. Half of the signals in her brain started to get fuzzy and soft. The rest grew increasingly clear once they were no longer distracted by her host. A few seconds later, the parasite could hear Carrie shout as ''Sarah'' fell into a coma. ''Eleven days,'' she reminded herself while the medic''s muffled yell vibrated through her back. ''There should be enough mana in the wound to keep a human quiet for nearly two weeks. If not... if I can''t get back before the drug wears off... I''ll just blame everything on hysteria. I could use the therapy, anyway.'' Her relay buzzed with amusement until a wave of visceral discomfort washed the sensation away. Sarah missed her mouth. She missed her tongue. Could she really handle this for the better part of a fortnight? ''Don''t think about it,'' the parasite grumbled to herself. ''Just get ready to run. Out, down and then into the water.'' Sarah pushed through her own ravaged flesh with the tips of her surviving tendrils. Along her side, near her implant, she could feel her three mangled stumps slowly spurting more blue ichor. Something was going to have to be done about those eventually. Maybe if she got desperate, she could pinch them closed with her teeth. It''d depend on how her body reacted after she slipped into the filthy harbor. ''What the fuck did the Sea call my old adaption? [Hydrostatic clotting]? [Saline sutures]?'' Sarah almost wished she could pull up its interface, solely for ease of reference. It had been almost three decades since the last time she''d seen the details, and the stress wasn''t making it easy to translate the words from her native tongue. She took a deep breath. Sarah blew the air back out her gills. ''Fuck it. Stop procrastinating. It either works or it doesn''t.'' She squirmed through the last half-inch of ruined meat protecting her from the mana-infused air. For the first time since the Good Friday Agreement was being touted, Sarah felt real sunlight playing across her fins. The burning rays sucked twelve different flavors of ass. Carrie''s horrified screech didn''t add much to the ambiance as she lashed out with the flat of her hand. "What the fuck!" the EMT screamed, horrified by Sarah''s true form. "Ew - ew - ew - ew - ew." The parasite hopped over the terrified swat and landed amidst the blood-flecked dunes. Half a dozen pores along her flank began to secrete a layer of mucus while her eyes closed in carefully staggered blinks. First, the set at the front of her face just above her mandibles and jaw, then the pair beside her primary fin, where her trunk tapered towards her crest. The tertiary clusters followed afterwards, along with the ancillary globes set deep within her belly. ''Fuck, that''s bright. Now, where the hell''s the water?'' Sarah skittered around a thrashing boot, paying Carrie''s panic little heed. Off to her right, an expansive glare shimmered across the hardpacked sand. By the time the ocean''s waves receded, Sarah could almost make out the clouds'' reflection in a few of the lingering pools. She darted for the nearest one, hoping to coat her body in the shallow brine. The salt burned her spongey carapace as soon as it intermingled with her wounds. ''Ugh,'' she groaned. ''Puddle''s too shallow. I''ll need to fully submerge.'' Sarah could feel her thoughts growing sluggish the longer her lacerations continued to drip. What little clarity she''d regained from narrowing her focus was once again slipping away with each beat of her heart. She probably had twenty minutes at most before her body slipped into torpor. At that point, she''d be dead to the world until her constitution could affect repairs. A strangled shout spurred her on as she dug her tendrils into the basin. With an irritated hiss, Sarah pushed herself above the towering lip and drunkenly squirmed towards the sea. She hit the water while the tide was coming in. After the current began tugging on her limbs, she relaxed her grip and let the surf carry her along like a piece of misplaced flotsam. Her tendrils scabbed over once there were a few more meters between the shore and her battered flesh. She''d call it a quick recovery, except she knew it would''ve been faster had the ley line not interfered with the process. The excess mana was really scorching her raw. Most of the motes were headed south, instead of west towards the coast, but that didn''t mean she couldn''t sense the field as she swam for deeper water. ''Feels like... what - six mana an hour? That''s really too damn high, considering how far I am from the seed.'' As it was, she''d be waiting two or three weeks for her tendrils to fully regrow. If she had to deal with mana burns on top of that, they could be gone for the next few months. ''And I don''t have that kind of time.'' Terror was already nipping at her heels as she dodged the energetic undertow. Aiming for the sea floor, and its layers of thick particulate, Sarah hunted for a natural chasm and then lashed out at the rear wall once she''d found one that would offer some protection. Her tendrils dug into the sticky grains until she was a few feet below the surface. It was only then, after she had covered herself in silt, that she sensed the mana level begin to drop. Sarah paused to take stock of her pain. In short? It''d be nice if she could say that her injuries were soothed by the heavy sand. Instead, the sediment lent weight to the shadows and reminded her of all she had lost. Her host; her mana; her dignity and self-respect. Bits of her tail were missing - as were one of her eyes. Ironically, the only thing that didn''t seem to be gone were the teeth she had used to kill Barkley, and a couple of those might still fall out while she basted in this lightless hell. ''At least, I''m still on Earth,'' Sarah consoled herself. ''I suppose it could be worse.'' ''It could be worse.'' She''d said that a lot before she''d left the oceans of Deravan. She''d spent much of her time squatting in similar holes as well. It was strange how easy it was to imagine she was still there. If she let her body relax, Sarah could almost feel the weight of the Seven Networks hovering just out of sight. The Sea; the Light; the Loom and the Canvass. The Red Library and the Astral Verve. And the Unspeakable One, of course. You could never forget that broken hunk of scrap, no matter how many sleepless nights you''d spare yourself by ignoring its moldering corpse. It was too dangerous. Too unpredictable. Every time its interface popped up, you were literally gambling with your life. So much so, that it''d actually become the preferred form of suicide amongst her bitter cohort. Mostly because you might take someone with you if you got a bad enough roll of the dice. Fuck, but they had been desperate. Had it really been close to thirty years? Sometimes, Sarah felt like she''d barely cleared the portal - as if she could glance over her shoulder and still see a million infiltrators being fed into an arcane cheese grater. Hell, a few of her compatriots had been so terrified of the unstable fissure that they''d preferred to bet on the mutilated Network, instead of searching for a figurative gap. If you were lucky, it might teleport you away in a flash of orange light. Where you went was anyone''s guess, but at least you wouldn''t be in the middle of the nobilities'' latest power play. ...Most weren''t that lucky. The quiet pop-pop-pop of imploding warspawn had hung over the shuffling crowd as Sarah slunk forward. Every once in a while, the Riftkeepers would call another section forward and then pack them into parade-perfect rows until they resembled a can of sardines. 285748b had broadcast before being shoved towards the rippling gate. Sarah had given him a dirty look up right up until the water had begun to warp. Then a whirlpool had formed around his fins and chased most of her expression away. She remembered his skull had turned inside out after she''d fled a few body lengths to the left. A couple seconds later, the rest of him had followed its example, leaving behind a cloud of expanding viscera. He''d almost beaten the odds. Their minders hadn''t cared. They''d just grabbed the next person in line and pulled him through the drifting gore. That infiltrator hadn''t made it, either. Sarah knew because she''d seen his body being torn apart as they journeyed across interstellar space. It had happened about twenty minutes in. The portal had been driving them past the edge of a black hole, and the gravitic pressure was right on the cusp of tearing the passageway in two. Sarah had managed to cling to the transparent currents and safely arc by. Her neighbor had slipped through the cracks and been spat out into hard vacuum. If you swung by Ophiuchus, you might still be able to see his corpse spinning through the interstellar dust. ''Like David Peoples'' C-beams or those burning ships Batty spoke of.'' A wave of lethargy settled over Sarah''s shaking limbs. The opening cords of Blade Runner played in her mind as plumes of phantasmal fire ignited behind her eyes. Sarah couldn''t tell you whether androids dreamed of electric sheep, but she knew she''d never dreamt at all until she''d been spat out above the Atlantic. Now, such visions came to her regularly. At home; in the office; whenever she stared out the window during the waning hours of the early morning. And yes, in this hole, as she waited for the salt to seal her wounds. Where better to be reminded of the past after everything she''d said and done? No tears, though. Those would have to come later. ''Eleven days,'' Sarah promised herself. She''d cry when it wasn''t a pretense. Cuckoo Interlude - Samantha Dillinger Now for the Author''s Note (part 2): the bit you probably care about. In short? Due to royalroad''s content guidelines, the upcoming chapter (Cuckoo Interlude - Samantha Dillinger) can''t be hosted on this site. Fortunately, Patreon is a bit more permissive when it comes to... Drug use The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ... so you''ll be able to view it for free over there as of 6:30 a.m. est. (in other words, right the fuck now unless I''ve failed to predict how royalroad''s calendar system works) Anyway, sorry about the hassle, but I''d rather play it safe, so I don''t have to talk to the content moderation team. As for access to the post in question, the link''s below in the usual place; that is to say, right above the ''Next Chapter'' button. In the meantime, have fun, thanks for tuning in, and if you have any problems actually accessing the chapter, please let me know. It should be good, but this is a new area for me, and I want to cover my bases. Enjoy! Cuckoo 18 269733c held her sibling up against a shard of schist and disemboweled his limp trunk. Offal rained down onto her writhing tendrils before it splashed across the top of her crest. She wrapped her teeth around the faintly pounding valves of his perforated heart; one of her surviving talons cut the connective tissue away, so she could swallow the organ whole. Carson twitched, his tail slapping against the storm-lashed waves using the last of his fading strength. Three inches long and covered in toxic quills, his body was better suited to avoiding hungry esh than contesting the fangs of his kin. There was probably a lesson there; something about future-proofing your augmentations or anticipating likely threats. 269733c made a note to avoid the same mistake and ate part of his liver. Her fins positively ached as the rich entrails were converted into a masticated slurry. It was always so much easier to regenerate missing flesh when you had the right blend of nutrients. If she''d been limited to kelp or seaweed, this would have taken another week. Three sets of eyes rolled themselves in synch. On the off chance that Hayes was observing her from afar, the irritated parasite tore off a limp tendril and stuffed the ragged end into her mouth. Bits of vestigial scale fell into the clouded surf. 269733c decided to throw some conversational chum into the water on the off-chance Hayes took the bait. There was a beat of silence. <...Noticed that, did you?> The warspawn scoffed. A well-groomed businessman emerged from a nearby convenience store and wandered over with a Heineken in his hand. Covered by the false skin, the inhabitants of this world preferred, he was both slim and fit but didn''t wear the weight very well. He walked like he was used to being shorter - thinner - more top heavy. It kept 269733c from freaking out too much when he made a beeline for her position. the infiltrator asked as snowflakes accumulated in fin-high plumes. Hayes grimaced. The bottle went flying towards an icy mooring, where it shattered against the wooden pillar. "Don''t remind me. It''s bad enough this asshole swiped eighty kilos from the warehouse: I don''t need to hear about how he stole my tits as well." 269733c stared at the massive body her sponsor held in such disdain. It must have been almost half the size of an infant starseer. A few favors for the Sea, and the parasite could''ve gone toe to toe with Harlan. Who gave a shit if her host had breasts or not? Just cash in some merit and grow a fucking pair. The smaller warspawn kept the complaint to herself. There wouldn''t be much point in killing Carson if she immediately picked a fight with Hayes. Worse, the Hartford cell might think she was cut from the same cloth and schedule her own execution in a couple of months. It''d be safer to act like the ''team player'' they were looking for until she had cause to stick in the knife. Hayes ignored her companion''s frigid tone. "I can''t believe I forgot what it was like to deal with you brats. Whatever, I''m sure you''ll lose the attitude once you''ve taken a host for yourself." She reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a brown paper bag. the infiltrator asked. "It''s for you," Hayes informed her sardonically. "It''s almost like it helps to have people in your corner." 269733c cut through the fragile paper and found a thick green paste surrounded by sheets of plastic. It looked homemade. Smelled like it too. There was an errant streak smeared across the tie keeping the film sealed, so she brought her tendrils around and sheared off a dry flake. It wasn''t the worst thing she''d ever put in her mouth. "Infiltrator-compatible medicinal salve. You wouldn''t believe the trouble we had sourcing the ingredients on Earth. Preparation was a right pain too. Apparently, Detrain makes it in his air fryer whenever he''s not cooking for Takahashi." That would explain the savory undertone. Hayes shrugged. "Maybe. Remember the rules, yeah? The people around here enjoy their privacy. Carson forgot that; it''s why he''s dead, and you''re being extended an invitation to take his place." ''By you,'' 269733c agreed pointedly. ''Probably by Detrain as well.'' The implication that she''d be expected to repay their support in kind was obvious. What form her gratuity would take, the parasite couldn''t say, but she knew the offer had a catch. She ripped one of Carson''s eyes out. The orb burst between her teeth as drops of noxious jelly slid down the back of her throat. ''Not that I care,'' 269733c conceded equanimously. ''Everyone needs their cut.'' The nobility; the Networks; the locals and their hegemons. Why not Hayes? Why not her? A wayward tendril toyed with the loop of wire keeping the medicine sealed. The parasite decided she''d test the paste later once she was no longer being observed. In the meantime, she settled for an old standby and ate more of Carson''s myelin deposits. she asked her patron waspishly. Hayes shook her head. "There''s one more thing. Nobody gets formally introduced to the cell until they''ve taken their first host. So, you know, make sure you get that shit settled." The parasite hesitated. A grimace marred her handsome features as she buried her hands in her coat. "...And select a good one. Don''t get sloppy and pick some random shmuck off the street." 269733c looked up from her meal. "I don''t. It could become a pain, though, later on. Get... get someone rich if you really don''t give a shit. Someone important. Not too important - because that''s heat we don''t need - but someone like the Gatekeepers. In other words, high enough to be well regarded, but not so significant that anyone with actual power will be talking to you on the regular." 269733c paused. She stopped hacking away at Carson''s corpse. "Fuck off, I''m doing you a favor. Take my advice or don''t. Just don''t come crawling to me when you find yourself getting attached. Because you will. Even if it''s a problem." Hayes glared at the parasite by her foot. "Make sure it doesn''t become a problem." 269733c had difficulty hiding her disdain. /\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ ''I always was a fucking liar.'' The thought cut through the weight of her torpor like a halo of burning light. It hurt; not physically, but rather as a begrudging underscore to the anesthetized ache creeping up her flayed left side. Sarah risked opening an eye. A millimeter beneath her adipose fin there was a stumpy little nub where one of her tendril''s used to rest. She tried giving it a shake. The limb moved, but it''d be another few weeks until it was able to interface with a nervous system. That would put the current date at... early October? Call it a week and a half since the fight. In other words, too soon to make a move and too late to quietly extract her host. Sarah bit back a sigh. Honestly, she shouldn''t complain. Most infiltrators had to sleepwalk through torpor, lest they get left behind by their progenitor. The fact that she''d been allowed to commit to the process while safely ensconced within a cave was practically a personal first. Practically, because something had still woken her up. Specifically, her relay if Sarah didn''t miss her guess. It was quiet now, so she didn''t know who had been broadcasting; however, it wasn''t like there was a long list of suspects to potentially choose from. Hell, she could probably count them all on her hands and still have fingers to spare. It''d certainly be a lot more feasible now that Barkley was fucking dead. Her mandibles spread in a winsome grin. Damn, but that felt good to say. It reminded her of the time she''d nearly torn her hair out after falling into a patch of poison ivy. Also, like said scalping incident, she knew her hatred wouldn''t fade even after blood began to drip from her nails. It was why a self-destructive part of her was hoping she''d heard Townsend''s voice, instead of someone sane like Simon. If her squirrelly assailant was here... if they could go another round... Sarah lost herself in the fantasy of it all. A part of her was still riding high after the memory of her triumph over Carson, and it was easy to reimagine their fight as a battle between Townsend and herself. Events wouldn''t shake out the same way; the brat''s position was far more secure; however, it remained a terribly attractive daydream as she waited for her caller to try again. A minute passed, then two. Finally, Sarah felt her relay vibrate a centimeter from the tip of her tail. the black ring buzzed. Ugh. She knew that wheedling tone. Of course, it''d be Amanda. Who else would waste their time trawling the beach for her rotting corpse? Seriously, between her injury and her reverie, Sarah had half a mind to slip back into torpor. It wasn''t worth the hassle, though. She knew her ex wouldn''t quit until Death itself agreed to get their manager. Amanda sighed in relief. There must have been at least a mile between them because the transmission broke down into static. It took Sarah a minute to piece together the missing words. By the time she was done, another message had already come through. the distracted parasite replied. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Sarah deflected gracelessly. Amanda nearly blew out her implant with the strength of her reply. Sarah clicked her tongue. Sarah quietly did the math. Her ex started cursing. The expletives faded in and out as she drove down the busy highway. There was a moment of silence that had nothing to do with the relay''s dysfunction. No. No, she wasn''t, and that was precisely the problem. Sarah shook her head, even though nobody could see the gesture. Somehow, Sarah had her doubts. She kept them to herself, though, as she crawled out of an inch-high mound of partially settled silt. Detritus bloomed around her while the current shifted the cloud. If the undertow was pulling it towards the right, that meant the coast would be... Sarah spun around. She peered through the cerulean haze at the steadily rising sea floor. ''Over there,'' she finished, already dreading the swim. A four-inch body length meant this was going to feel like a marathon. Add in the fact that she''d be fighting the current, and the comparison got a lot less metaphorical. She''d have to see about staying low to the ground, so she could brace her body on her surviving tendrils. Maybe she could ''walk'' part of the way and save herself some stress. ...Then again, maybe not. There was a lot of rusted junk buried beneath the sand. She wouldn''t want to fight off an infection while her immune system was already taxed. Knowing her luck, that''d be the perfect excuse for a disease to jump the species barrier. <...Hey, have you ever heard of an infiltrator contracting tetanus? Asking for a friend.> There was a moment of silence, then Amanda''s voice vibrated up her tail. Sarah shook her head. Amanda mused. Sarah explained when Amanda didn''t have a response. <...Like a chemical reaction?> Amanda asked, her tone tentative and faint. Amanda replied. Sarah kept swimming. Sarah continued. Amanda''s relay spat silence and static. <...I feel like we''re not talking about squirrels, anymore.> Sarah denied. She poked her head up through the crashing surf. Past the waterline, there were a pair of figures squatting by a tall white chair that would''ve normally been occupied by a lifeguard. A cursory inspection suggested one of them was Amanda and the other Pallsburg. Sarah couldn''t say for sure, though, until she crawled out of the foam. she asked once she''d closed the distance and hauled herself across the dunes. "Not exactly. Remember when I said I had an idea? Well..." Amanda held her hands up as if to present door number three. It took Sarah a second to get it. Amanda shook her head. "It''s the most ethical way to handle this. You need a host that can protect you from the Light, and Julie volunteered." Sarah repeated. "I did," Pallsburg confirmed, despite only hearing half the conversation. "Amanda said it wouldn''t be forever, and I can''t say I''m unsympathetic. If this will help you find your feet, then I don''t mind playing Samantha Carter to your Jolinar Malkshur." Sarah didn''t have enough hours in the day to explain everything wrong with that sentence. "I like you, Sarah, but don''t talk shit about my better half. Besides, it''s already been accounted for. I''ve spent the last two weeks refining a core that can handle deep tissue damage, and it''ll be more than adequate to heal the entry wound you leave behind." "There won''t even be a scar," Pallsburg promised. "It''ll be like it never happened." Sarah boggled at the note of experience present in Pallsburg''s admission. <...You two have done this before, haven''t you?> Amanda''s face was made of stone. "Is that a yes or a no?" Sarah squirmed in a circle. "But you are agreeing to it, right?" Pallsburg got down on one knee. She knew Amanda''s question was rhetorical, so she bent her head and pulled her ponytail off to the side. Her girlfriend whispered something into her ear while Sarah slowly approached. She was too far away to hear what Amanda had said, but Pallsburg kissed her on the cheek when she was finished. Once they''d parted, the woman lowered her palm and offered the parasite a lift. Sarah took it while Amanda began to hum beneath her breath. Sarah snapped. "No comment." Sometimes you could only laugh or cry. Pallsburg did the latter while Sarah peeled away her epidermis. Felt like it too. The second Sarah got one of her tendrils aligned with her host''s spine, the first thing she noticed was how wet Pallsburg''s underwear was. She was getting off on this. No wonder the two were together. ''I''m going to have nightmares about today,'' Sarah realized dully. ''I''m going to be halfway into Cook''s back as she takes it in the ass from Huffman.'' Amanda rubbed circles between her shoulder blades while Pallsburg lost her grip on the wheel. Sarah was tempted to slide away from the gesture, except it was followed by a splash of mana that threatened to blacken her scales. The edge of her incision stopped bleeding. Pieces of Pallsburg''s skin started to close up near the bottom of Sarah''s tail. she huffed. Some of the mana fell back, so it wasn''t chasing Sarah like a cloud of sarin gas. Amanda chided her. Sarah would''ve used her tendrils to say for sure, but she needed them to help her settle in. She didn''t have enough limbs left to bother with trivial minutia. Especially, when a tenth was still sufficient to singe her skin. Sarah shook the errant thought off. Axons began to synch up to their corresponding dendrites as a trio of sharpened tips slipped through the gaps in Pallsburg''s spine. Sarah ordered the woman to shift her head to the side. With several new sections of cartilage exposed, it became trivial to complete the link. It still wasn''t enough to grant her full control. Sarah would need at least one more point of contact to intercept every wayward signal. Unfortunately, all of her healthy tendrils were fully occupied with cataloging the flow of information. Messages to her lungs to keep her breathing steady; missives from her knees, regarding a rug burn at the bottom of the cap - they all added up until she barely had enough bandwidth to ensure her host stayed erect. Amanda caught her beneath the elbow when even that thin margin failed. Sarah could feel the parasite''s nails digging to her armpit right beside the curve of her breast. "Easy now," Amanda murmured. "I saw how ragged you looked before you climbed aboard. If you''re not careful, you''ll be doing the Jack-O pose in the sand." Her ex was right; Sarah''s balance was completely shot. So much so, that it was actually easier to let Pallsburg help her than to juggle everything by hand. "I''ll be fine," Sarah grumbled. "Are you done fixing the damage?" "Almost, give me a few more seconds." Amanda pressed her palm against Pallsburg''s neck and then wiped the blood away with her thumb. When the digit was clear, the only sign of Sarah''s intrusion was a strip of shiny pink skin. "Best to let nature handle the rest," she advised. "It''ll be better for everyone''s health in the long run." A grunt bubbled up Sarah''s throat. She wondered if Pallsburg was trying to say something and then shifted her focus to permit it. Nothing emerged. Instead, the woman followed her influence like a cat rubbing up against her calf. As soon as the warspawn focused on a muscle group, there she''d be with a sense of frission and inertia. Pallsburg''s heart began to race. "I..." Sarah licked her lips. There was no way in hell she was going to have this conversation while there was any hope of avoiding it. "I think I''m good. Maybe even better than good. It''ll depend on how much mana you have tucked away in your core." Amanda grimaced. "Not enough to save your host from the ICU if that''s what you''re asking. I''ve been trying to build up a stockpile for Julie''s sake; however, it''s been hard to find a good seed. All of this running around Kennedy has me doing hasn''t helped matters." Sarah clenched her fists just to feel the tendon''s curl. The bottom of her left pinky was a bit slow, so she adjusted her tendrils to compensate. She looked up from her hands. "You make it sound like there''s more to it than simply searching for Simon and myself." "That''s because there is. I''m supposed to be in Concord, right now. There''s been an explosion. A bad one. Bad enough that you could push a bomb through the skein, and it wouldn''t do half as much damage. When Kennedy heard I was heading up there to help with the relief effort, he asked me to reach out to some of our friends along the way on the off chance they had a hand in the destruction. I don''t mind the hassle, but I can''t say I''m happy about the thought." Sarah''s snort was thick with dark humor. "Because of the devastation, because they were dumb enough to try it or because the most likely culprit is the Vermont cell?" "The former, of course. I know you have your doubts about Kennedy''s plan, but it really is the best way forward. The work''s important. Integration is important. The more of us out there, actively mucking things up, the harder our efforts become." Amanda studied Sarah''s distracted countenance, mindful of her ex-girlfriend''s disinterest. "On that note, why don''t you come with me? The fresh air might do you some good." The odd comment waylaid the warspawn just as she was beginning to explore her new home. A befuddled frown wormed its way onto her face. "I''m sorry - say what?" Amanda canted her head towards the city. "You want to save your original ride, don''t you? Well, this is the way to do it. I''ve been keeping an eye on Reddit, and there''s a seed near Ashland that''s supposed to be producing a lot of white mages. Between the two of us, we should be able to siphon enough mana to fix whatever the hospital can''t. Besides, don''t you need another few weeks for your tendrils to regrow?" She did. The ghostly presence hovering along her spine proved as much. It might fade a bit once she''d acclimated to her new setup; however, Pallsburg wasn''t going anywhere until Sarah recovered from Barkley''s tantrum. Maybe not even then. A shiver of unease threatened to settle in her stomach. Sarah stubbornly shook the thought off with the help of her still extant dream. ''Someone in my corner, huh?'' Somehow, she had a feeling that Hayes would scoff if she could hear what the younger warspawn was thinking. So, what, though? It''s not like she ever gave a shit about that bitch''s opinion in the past. "Yeah, alright," Sarah agreed. "Why not? A new host should mean a new outlook. At least, for a little while. Let me get some stuff out of my car, and you can fill me in on the way." Amanda nodded along, happy she''d be able to knock this off her to-do list while keeping an eye on her girlfriend. Then she winced and couldn''t quite hide her reaction before Sarah caught it fleeing behind a pair of pursed lips. "Ah," Amanda muttered awkwardly. "About that..."